[bgc/world of darkness][xover][fanfic] Lamentation for the Lost (intro + 1-7)

[I.Heath]

Lamentation For The Lost: Credits, Glossary and History (revised).

Those people I know personally: All my long-suffering family of course,
everyone at UEA Games Soc. past and present (Rat, Malk, Mike, James,
Neil, J.J., Dave, Hugh, Chris, Hannah and anyone else I may have
forgotten), Jos for being a drinking/smoking/fighting/whatever partner,
Stefan Ekman for language help with Norse pronunciation (Tacc!!) and
patience, all the Anime nuts at UEA (Alex and Bruce) for giving me
something to do of a Friday night, Damocles for his coffee and wit, Romek
for bleak Gothicness (or is it Gothicity), everyone who has put up with
me at Livewire 945, Niamh for lending me a helping ear ,a big Nene-style
"Konnichiwa!" goes to Ben Pritchard for proof-reading and alcohol supply
and 101 other things too numerous to mention, Uncle SdiveBOMB!!!T Nobby
for making Olaf the most memorable lupus ever, Psyko 'Lil Sis for giving
a metaphorical well-placed kick in the balls when needed.

Of course words alone cannot express my gratitude to you Jo. I hope
you're proud of me. I love you.

A BIG Dank U goes to: Ronnie, Heidi Guy, Guy, Sigi, Tom, Thomas; Bert,
Bart, Dirk, Evi (Nene incarnate), Lief and the whole of the Pumpkin
Records crew....Andre for the sickness and ideas.

Those people I don't know personally but who are still cool anyway: A
major "YO!" goes out to everyone at AA in Sheffield, Rik for being the
first genuine contact I have on the Net, Alex for his info on MegaTokyo
areas, and Darren for ideas and comments on the supernatural. Other
greetings to Geoclimber and Rogue1 for inspiring me to write this damned
thing in the first place!!! Since going to Belgium other thanx go to
Francis "MORE BEER!!" for being a Net Get and proof reader. Mr. Hagen for
being a kindred (groan) spirit.

Finally a big thanks is extended to the excellent White Wolf Games (for
Werewolf: The Apocalypse) , everybody who created BGCrisis and Crash (you
all know who they are), Adam Warren, without whom this FanFic would have
never been even thought about.

A big F.O.A.D. to: all those who have cheated, lied and hurt me thinking
that I would crawl. I'm still here and getting stronger every day.

Quick glossary of terms that crop up:

Garou: the name werewolves give themselves.
caern: place of great spiritual power, protected by Garou.
sept: a pack of Garou who protect a caern.
tribe: a Garou's family, usually tribes are grouped by ethnic origin.
auspice: the moon-phase under which a Garou is born, it generally defines
the Garou's role within the tribe or pack . The five phases are:
ragabash (new moon-trickster), theurge (crescent moon-shaman), philodox
(half-moon-judge/peace keeper), galliard (gibbous moon-bard), ahroun
(full moon-warrior).
great klaive: large two handed blade weapon about the size of a great
sword, made of silver and usually of great spiritual power.
anruth: a Garou who wanders from caern to caern (read also mercenary).
Gaia: embodiment of all creation, the Garou are her sacred protectors.
Weaver: embodiment of logic and order.
Wyrm: embodiment of death, decay, and entropy.
Wyld: embodiment of primal flux and raw energy.
Crinos: the half-wolf, half-human form a Garou can take (also known as
the war form).
Delirium: a form of temporary trauma that a human gets when seeing a
Garou in the above form.
Veil: a mental defence which means that after the human suffers the
delirium, they cannot remember exactly what they saw, or in extreme cases
forget the incident entirely e.g. if attacked in a forest, on questioning
they would probably say it was a grizzly.
Fianna: a Celtic tribe who are as famed for their drinking and singing
skills as for their fighting capacity.
Glass Walkers: an urban tribe who stalk the cities as other Garou roam
the forests.
Get of Fenris: a tribe hailing originally from Northern Europe (and later
Britain), they are renowned for their ferocity and love of fighting, even
among other Garou.
Author's note: the terms modi and skald are simply the Get equivalents of
ahroun and galliard respectively.
Umbra: the spirit world.
Step Sideways: to reach into the spirit world.

History: I got the idea for this after I'd GM'ed a Werewolf: The
Apocalypse RPG campaign in MegaTokyo. Thus there is a going to be a lot
of ideas and names which have been culled from the RPG and from various
myths and legends. This gave the BGC universe a slightly weirder spin
than many of you may be used to. After editing out any Crash timelines (I
kinda like it, but due to artistic licence it was unhelpful so it was
given the chop, no offence Crash fans) I took the Adam Warren "Grand Mal"
timeline, and mixed it with the "normal" BGC world. Then to make things a
little more interesting I added a few blood-crazed psychotic Garou, mixed
well and stood well back.......fun for all the family. The only real
differences that you might spot are:
a) Sylia and Mackie's real surname of Stengovich.
b) Priss' musical style which is a lot heavier.
Well that's probably just about offended everyone. Any comments,
crits, plaudits or brickbats please let me know. BTW this is the first
time I have done anything like this, so bear with me in case I collapse
in the middle of the story.......Good Luck.

Lamentation For The Lost: Part 1.

Jan-Anders Jivarp gazed sullenly out of the Plexiglas window of
the airliner. He had a stinking hangover to start with, and being bundled
on to a flight to MegaTokyo At such short notice made him feel worse. The
seats were evidently not designed for someone of his size, and he had to
swap with some old biddy before his legs seized up altogether. Over the
internal speakers Muzak was playing, designed to soothe the anxious flyer.
A thousand odours assailed his nostrils, the pungent tang of alcoholic
drinks, the sickly aroma of various airline dishes (some things never
improve with time, he thought wryly), he could even deduce the mood of his
fellow passengers from individual pheromones. It never ceased to amaze him
how humans could say one thing, but their body betrays their true
emotions. Still it beats being bored in SF, he thought ruefully to
himself, stretching his legs into the middle of the aisle, a chance for
some action at last, to take the war to the ailing Wyrm.
"It's a real war out there Herb! I don't know why you had to choose
MegaTokyo for our holiday!" the speaker was an overweight elderly woman in
one of the adjoining seats, whose natural hair colour appeared to be a
rather bilious shade of purple.
"Don't worry dear! I'm sure the police will do their level best to
protect tourists like us.......just relax honey!" Her thin, nervous
husband mopped his brow and tried to return to his magazine, Jan-Anders
caught the reek of fear that he seemed to radiate like an aura.
War....protect words that he had heard before in a similar context
but not there and not then, his gaze turned inwards as the babble of music
inside the cabin seemed to fade. When he next opened his eyes he was
standing ankle deep in viscera, trews and woollen shirt matted with his
own blood and that of others, his cloak lying tattered at his feet. His
great-klaive, wailing a song of death dripped with the remains of his
foes. Around him twisted gibbering creatures giggled hysterically as they
capered among the burning charcoal ruins of what was once a sleepy fishing
village.
Dragon-prowed ships that once carried his kin to glory over the
seas lay as skeletal remains on the shoreline. He breathed deeply and
gagged on the foetor of rancid and roasting flesh, and the sulphurous
miasma of the Wyrm.
"Are you OK sir?" These words jolted him out of his waking
nightmare. He looked up suddenly, his eyes clearing.
"I'm fine thank you!" The words came out almost as a guttural
snarl, and he felt a bit embarrassed as the hapless stewardess visibly
flinched.
"Sorry. I'm just not used to flying at all, I always get a bit
jumpy." he added softly, "I shouldn't take it out on you."
"Well I'm sorry for startling you sir!" the stewardess beamed, "
Can I get you anything?"
"Yes.....a double wodka....oh shit I mean vodka please!" There were
certain speech patterns he found difficult to break, even after spending
fifteen years in the States.
The stewardess brought him his order with the same fixed smile,
which he did the best to return. he paid for the drink and proceeded to
down the glass in one, much to the horror of Mrs. Purple-rinse.
"I tell you Herb," she griped, "the youth of today have no manners
whatsoever, and as for there so-called culture. Well look at him, he's got
hair longer than our Cherry's.."
"Will you pipe down puh-leeze! He might hear you!" her husband
interrupted desperately, "Look at the size of him!"
Jan-Anders suppressed the urge to laugh out loud, he knew what the
couple were seeing. A young man in his middle-twenties with honey blonde
hair, reaching to the small of his back, with a distinctive platinum
streak. He usually had to keep it tied back to avoid it totally obscuring
his face, which was strikingly Nordic (as well as handsome) with finely
chiselled features and high cheekbones. It seemed that he was designed to
stand out in a crowd, if you're over two metres tall, he sometimes joked,
what's the point in trying to blend in? His weight compounded the problem;
two-hundred and eighty pounds of muscle and sinew. His blue-grey eyes
seemed to burn with barely suppressed homicidal fury when enraged, which
appeared to be most of the time. He had at least toned down his dress for
the flight, a black lace-up shirt and black denims hid most of his bulk
from view while a ubiquitous leather jacket lay crumpled at his booted
feet.
Despite the hangover (which was not being ameliorated by the
effects of another double vodka), he appeared to be lost in thought for
most of the long flight. When I was last in the world of men, he mused,
Bill Clinton was President of the States, Guns 'n' Roses were on the verge
of splitting up, and GENOM was little more than a conglomerate of Japanese
hi-tech firms.
"We are now beginning our final approach to Narita International
Airport." an anonymous voice intoned over the internal PA." We would like
to remind passengers to refrain from smoking, and to stay seated until the
aircraft has come to a full and complete halt. Thank you for flying Japan
Air Lines, a subsidiary of GENOM Development Corporation."
Bathed in the early morning light, the metropolis below looked
serene enough but behind the facade? Jan-Anders extracted his jacket from
where it lay stashed at his feet. There was a slight jolt followed by a
distant rumble as the airliner bit tarmac. Across the aisle, Mrs.
Purple-rinse had found something else to complain about. The airliner
slowed to walking pace and finally trundled to a halt outside a monolithic
terminal building. At some unseen cue umbilical docking hoses extruded
themselves from the walls and attached themselves to the doors in the
fuselage. After a few moments, the cabin doors opened and the stewardesses
began to usher everyone out.
"That has to be about the worst flight I've ever been on!" Mrs.
Purple-rinse shrilled, "Not only was the food atrocious, but you sat us
across the aisle from that long-haired thug!"
Jan-Anders locked gaze with the harridan and gave her his Sunday
best grin. His usual expression was one of sullen anger, so a grin for him
had the same effect as, "I'm going to rip your entrails out and scatter
them over a very wide area indeed." It had the desired effect on the
miserable crone, she blanched and bustled her hapless husband out the
plane. The stewardess mouthed a silent, "Thank you God!" before returning
to her task of helping passengers into the docking tube.
As he stepped into it, the early morning light dazzled his eyes
momentarily, triggering the pounding headache again. Fumbling with the
inside pocket of his jacket he found what he was looking for, the trusted
Oakley's. As the bright sunlight faded to a mellow haze, so the pain eased
to a distant throb. Much better he thought to himself as he walked
purposefully toward customs
####################################
"Shit! he's not here!" Priss exclaimed with a grimace, "OK! Who's gonna
be the one who tells Sylia!"
Linna looked up at her closest friend from the reclined seat of
her car, "Can't we wait a bit longer," she suggested desperately, "he
still might arrive."
The two were parked outside the airport's main entrance in Linna's
compact estate. It seemed unlikely that these two should be such close
friends, even though they were both very attractive both physically and
mentally they were a study in opposites. Priss, decked out in her usual
ripped denim and leather toyed with her coifed chestnut hair distractedly.
An assortment of Band Aids covering her arms and face, gave testimony to
another concrete kissing incident on her motorbike.
"Fat chance of that!" she snarled, "I think some moron's given us
another dead end! What prick would think that he'd be working at the
airport. Face it Linna, Mackie's been gone for to years now, he's as good
as dead!"
"He can't be...." Linna choked, not daring to harbour the
possibility, "He's all Sylia had left.......why did he freak like
that?.......We were only having a bit of fun!"
Linna sat upright in the car seat, her makeup running slightly as
she cried. On hearing that there was a possible lead she had come directly
from Phoebe's health centre and was still clad in her skin-tight aerobics
outfit from the previous evening, with an oversize sweatshirt on top. Her
cropped black hair was tied in place with the usual headband, and both she
and Priss felt in urgent need of a shower and something to eat.
"I guess it's my turn to get the coffee huh?" Priss forced a smile
to try to lighten her friends mood, "Don't do anything I wouldn't!" With
that she opened the car door and stepped out into the early morning
sunshine.
Jan-Anders was amazed at how smoothly the passage through customs
had been, all the necessary paperwork had been cleared in advance. The
long-stay visa had been already cleared along with his permanent residence
in MegaTokyo. The Sept of the Rising Phoenix has a tight operation going
here, he thought, in another part of his mind he made a mental note to
thank Alex when they met.
He was used to this life, He was an Anruth, a wanderer, he went
where he pleased and did what he liked. But when he got a request from an
old friend he felt honour bound to help. Especially when that request
entailed the two biggest loves in his life, fighting and music. The
hangover was easing off now, partly from the Alka-Selzer that he had
downed ten minutes previously and partly due to the continued wearing of
the shades.
He hefted the token suitcase, and the black reinforced plastic
hardcase for his guitar and made for the exit. It was more for show than
anything else. The rest of his equipment had arrived the day before by
somewhat more unorthodox means. To all intents and purposes he had to
appear as an exchange student, arriving early to study at MegaTokyo's
prestigious Academy for the Performing Arts. That was the reason for
Alex's personal request, he had noticed some highly puzzling and sinister
occurrences at the Academy. All Jan-Anders knew was that in order to find
out what was going on inside, the Sept needed a talented musician who was
prepared to travel and he seemed to fit the bill best.
He was jolted out of his reverie by the screech of brakes, and the
ominous bang and tinkle of bending sheet metal and broken glass. Everyone
round him winced involuntarily, hoping that it wasn't too serious. He
caught a glimpse of a good-looking young woman in denims and a leather
jacket, with a very dated 1940's hairstyle, as she dropped the cups she
was carrying and pelted out the nearby exit.
"A lady driver parks her car!" someone quipped, "Bet she abandoned
it three feet from the curb!!" This witticism got little response, the
terminal soon returning to its normal routine. Jan-Anders stopped to take
the elastic band out of his hair. Fucking annoying things, he thought
sourly, makes you look like some kinda art fag critic. Then hefting his
cases again he made his way through the automatic doors of the terminal.
It was a pity that Alex couldn't meet him personally, being a
Glass Walker meant that business always came first. He had agreed to meet
him at his flat, somewhere in District Three of MegaTokyo. That's if I
ever get to the place, he thought scowling, trying to find a taxi here is
like finding a sober Fianna. As he looked up and down the road in the vain
hope of attracting a taxi's attention, his gaze alighted on a scene which
looked to him like it was going to get very interesting very shortly.
By the looks of things, a group of four drunken students (he could
smell the reek of cheap booze a mile off) driving a sports saloon had come
to see one of their mates off. It seemed like they were trying to avoid
another vehicle, and had swerved into a parked car. Three of the students
were unharmed ,they had alcohol on their side. Unfortunately a young woman
had been in the other car, and although she didn't appear to be hurt, she
leant against the hood of the car apparently shaken. The woman that he had
seen running out of the terminal was there too and by her pugnacious
stance, seemed like she was about to take all three of them on at once.
The fourth student lay crumpled at her feet, clutching his groin and
moaning curses into the pavement.
"Listen you piss-heads," Priss snapped, "you'll get the keys back
after those nice men in blue uniforms arrive!!"
"Give us 'em back yer stoopid bitch!" one of them slurred in
return, "Or me an' da boyz'll have t'get nazty n'put a few new plasterz on
yer pretty little face!!"
Priss looked at Linna in exasperation, wishing she had brought a
hardsuit instead of normal civilian clothing. Linna to her credit had
recovered enough from the shock to be ready to cause some serious hurt.
But before either party could act, a husky voice growled from one side,
"Hey! You girls in trouble there?!"
"Whatz yer probl..." began one of the bums, a greasy character
wearing an outsize T-shirt and jams. He stopped short when he saw who he
was addressing.
Jan-Anders dropped the suitcase, and without pausing grabbed the
hapless student by the throat, his arm blurring faster than any eye could
follow. With a sneer of contempt he jerked him off his feet and up to his
eye level, all the while without letting go of the guitar case in his
other hand. The helpless drunkard thrashed feebly in his vice-like grip
as he started to choke.
"Now then," Jan-Anders whispered throatily, "you can either
apologise to these girls and wait for the police to arrive like good boys,
or you can go home in an ambulance, your choice."
He smiled at the luckless teenager and released his grip, the body
falling in a semi-conscious heap at his feet. The other two instinctively
backed off, and looked like they were about to make a run for it, when the
uncanny silence was shattered by the wail of an airport security patrol
car. As vehicles dived for safety, it screeched to a halt not three feet
from where they were standing. Jan-Anders sighed, sat down on his case and
propped up the guitar case alongside him, this could be a long wait.
"Right what happened here then?!" asked the officer, as if it
weren't blatantly obvious.
"I was parked here, minding my own business," began Linna, trying
to keep her temper, "when these morons ran into me! Just look what they
did to my car!"
"Yeah! They also tried to leave the scene as well," added Priss
with a faint smile, "so I took their car keys.....for their own safety of
course! Unfortunately since they're a bit bombed, they got a bit nasty so
I had to defend myself!"
"I see Miss." said the officer, and turning to Jan-Anders, "Did you
witness these events Sir?"
"No I didn't see the crash itself," he admitted, "but as I was
coming out, I saw three guys about to pile on this woman here. Since
nobody was gonna help, I just had to step in."
"He nearly killed me!" whined one of the students, rubbing a livid
mark around his neck and coughing every now and then. The others looked
very crestfallen as the officers checked their ID and breathalysed them.
"Thought you MAPA boys were rich enough t'know better," quipped one
of the officers as he finished checking the ID's, "I think you'd better
come with us." With that the other officer began reading the students'
rights, and the unlucky foursome were bundled into the back seat of the
patrol car.
"Don't worry," one of them said to Linna and Priss, "we're just
sending for the recovery truck. We'll have you home as soon as in
possible."
"Well in that case I've got a call to make." Linna stated as she
headed for the airport main terminal, "Back in a minute Priss!"
"As for you Sir, you did well to intervene, but in future please leave
any action to us, you might've been hurt." admonished the patrolman.
"I'll bear that in mind, thank you officer." replied Jan-Anders
mechanically.
With that the officer returned to the patrol car. The Plexiglas
canopy swung down with a muted hiss and locked into place, then with
sirens blaring it roared into the distance, startling other sorry road
users.
Priss looked down at the man who had stepped in on her behalf. A
taciturn, blonde maned giant with a distinctive white blaze running
through his hair, dressed virtually all in black. Even though he was
wearing a baggy lace-up shirt , she could see the musculature straining
the fabric. A pair of wrap-around mirror shades hid his eyes from view,
but he seemed genuine enough.
"Thanks for helping," she said, slouching against the hood of
Linna's wrecked car, "by the way I'm Priss and that's Linna." She pointed
at Linna's disappearing form as she entered the building.
"Jan-Anders Jivarp." He rose from his suitcase offering his hand,
they shook warmly.
"Unusual name though ain't it?" mused Priss, "I mean not that I
think it's funny or anything......." She stopped, flushing slightly as she
realised that she was only digging herself deeper hole to bury herself in.
"Not in Sweden though!" he replied with a barking laugh, "My folks
emigrated to the States when I was a kid, I grew up in San
Francisco........By the way what the hell is MAPA?!"
"MegaTokyo Academy for the Performing Arts," Priss sneered, "it's
where all the rich kids go who want to become rock stars!"
"No shit!" Jan-Anders exclaimed, "I'm supposed to be heading there
on an exchange scheme or something. I thought it was one of the best
places to go!"
"Only if yer want to come out playing listener-friendly, no-balls,
cock-rock!" Priss replied contemptuously, "You don't look the kinda guy
who'd play that sort o' crap!"
Jan-Anders patted his guitar case affectionately, "Nah! I grew up
with thrash, and by the time I was sixteen I started getting into European
bands like Heaven's Gate and Helloween, and it just got kinda more
technical from then on." He looked at Priss with a puzzled expression,
"Ain't I seen you someplace? 'Coz you look kinda familiar."
"Well if yer into thrash you might just of heard of me," she
grinned, "I ain't too well known outside of Japan though."
"Shit! I know, Priss and the Replicants right?! Sorry I just didn't
recognise you there at all!"
"That's OK! You'd be surprised how many people don't!" Priss
admitted with a laugh. "So what's in the hardcase?" She asked
inquisitively.
Jan-Anders lovingly placed the case flat on the hood of the
students' wrecked saloon and flicked open the catches. Nestling in the red
velvet cushioning was one of the most vicious looking guitars that Priss
had ever seen . It's angular reversed headstock contrasted strongly with
the elegant superstrat style body contours. The black body had four wide
tick shaped slashes airbrushed on like a hash mark, from behind these
"bars" a pair of savage yellow eyes could be made out, set over a snarling
muzzle. The same runic symbol was repeated the markers on the twenty-four
fret neck.
"Nice piece," Priss whistled, "how does it play?"
Before he could reply a breathless female voice called out, "Hey
Priss! Whatcha looking at there!"
"Just an axe Linna, nothing that would interest you!"
"Oh! The cavalry's coming by the way," Linna wisecracked, "so who's
our heroic rescuer then?!"
As Jan-Anders shut the case, Priss formally introduced him to her
friend. She was about the same height as Priss, but there the similarity
ended. Linna was evidently the more feminine of the pair, despite the
fact that she undoubtedly hadn't seen a shower in nearly twenty-four
hours. Not that it really bothered him, his kind much preferred a natural
human smell to the artificial chemical-laden stench that most modern
persons seemed to reek of. Mind you, in this situation, Priss seemed to
be the most comfortable, even though both of them seemed to have had very
little sleep.
"You two had a bad night out?" he suggested, "I don't wanna sound
rude, but the two of you look totally hammered."
"We were due to meet someone here last night, but they didn't
show." Priss replied, "Then this happened - things just get better and
better. Anyway, what are you hanging around here for? Ain't ya got a
place t'go to?"
"Yeah, but tryin' to get a taxi here is like tryin' to find
rocking- horse shit!" Jan-Anders retorted dryly, "Anyway if you don't
mind, I'd like to make sure that you two are OK.......yer friend seemed to
take quite a knock."
After a few minutes a police liveried recovery vehicle pulled up
at the scene with a sneeze of brakes. A pretty brunette leaned out of the
cabin, "Excuse me! Is there a Linna Yamazaki here?!" she inquired.
Linna excused herself and sorted out the necessary paperwork.
Within minutes the two cars were loaded onto the back of the transporter
vehicle and Linna waved a cheery good-bye to the two, as she was taken
back to her apartment, via an accident repair shop.
"Hey I'll tell you what," Priss said as the recovery truck faded
into the distance, "there's someone gonna pick me up in a few minutes.
I'll try and get you a lift back to yer pad if yer want, if yer want."
"That'd be really cool," Jan-Anders replied honestly taking a slip
of paper with the address out of his wallet, "you know where this is?"
Priss looked at it, before bursting out laughing, "Course I do!
It's virtually over the road from where my friend lives, the one who's
gonna pick me up! Hey...if yer free later on, how about I show you some
places of interest to real musicians?!"
##########################################
As Sylia approached the airport in the Silky Doll delivery truck,
beneath her normally serene exterior her mind was in a turmoil. First of
all another lead on Mackie had transpired to be a dead end, then Linna and
Priss had been involved in an accident which, but for the intervention of
what Linna called "A blonde hunk" might've resulted in her closest friends
being seriously injured. Since her brother's disappearance almost two
years previously in emotional circumstances, she had kept her hopes alive
for his safe return. But now despair was beginning to take its toll and
every day she seemed to find an excuse for continuing the fight. A
solitary tear coursed down her cheek as she turned off the main highway
and approached the terminal building.
From the cab, she could see Priss chatting to a tall blonde-haired
man. From his size and build, he could almost pass as a combat Boomer she
thought to herself, as she pulled up in the vacant parking spaces. Priss
looked in her direction and waved impishly, Sylia despite her anguish
smiled and waved back.
"Hey my lift's arrived," Priss said, "just wait a sec, I'll see if
I can get you a ride." With that she strolled over to the lorry and yanked
open the cab door.
"I'm sorry we didn't find Mackie," Priss said quietly as she half-
stepped into the cab, "we did the best we could, we were out all
night......"
"Don't worry about it," Sylia's smile was strained, "you did your
best, noone can ask any more than that."
Jan-Anders looked up from where he was perched on the suitcase and
removed his shades. Despite the distance, he could overhear the
conversation between the two women perfectly. Something wasn't right here,
and he was getting bad vibes off the woman in the truck. She was a tall,
dark-haired, elegant beauty whom he guessed to be about the same age as
himself. Everything about her, from dress to mannerisms when talking, in
his mind at least, oozed class and poise. How she knew a fiery headbanger
like Priss, let alone be good friends, was an enigma. To him however, her
cool at the moment appeared to be contrived. She's like a swan, he thought
to himself, calm and graceful on the surface, but paddling like crazy
underneath just to stay afloat. After a few moments however, Priss jumped
down from the cab and approached him.
"You got yerself a lift Mister," she said, "d'you reckon you can
make it tonight"
Jan-Anders pocketed his sunglasses and looked up at her through
his blonde curtain of hair, "Hey! It's not every day that a local star
offers to show you around," he quipped deadpan, "just pop round anytime!"
"Yeah right!" Priss snorted, "I wouldn't go that far though!" She
said with a hint of a smile. Then turning on her heel she made for the
truck. Sylia watched as the stranger picked up his cases and headed for
the truck also. As she helped Priss into the cab, a shaft of late morning
sun illuminated his face , it might have been a trick of the light but for
an instant his grey-blue eyes appeared to glow a feral yellow.

For your delectation(?) here's chapter 2. I apologise for any in getting
this part to you, some bits underwent a fundamental rewrite at the last
moment. So pitch in, and I hope you enjoy it.

Cheers!

Ian.

P.S. Things get a little messy, in this Part, I would suggest reader
discretion.

Lamentation For The Lost: Part 2.

Night reigned in MegaTokyo but the city was still alive, high
above street level holographic advertisements peddled everything from soft
drinks to the latest in Boomer technology, contrasting starkly with the
deserted, grimy roadways. Occasionally a furtive shape could be perceived
darting down a ginnel or side-street. The sultry, oppressive atmosphere
continued unabated, and it wouldn't be too long before the sun rose for
another day in the metropolis.
In one such alley two men bent down to examine a bloodied corpse,
gaping holes in its chest. It was of a young man in his mid to late teens
who at one time must have been quite handsome. But the livid scars on his
face and around his limbs stood in silent testimony to illegal cybernetic
surgery. All his limbs were obviously cybernetic in origin, and a
multi-optic viewer like old fashioned skiing goggles was implanted deep
into the flesh around his eyes. One of the men fumbled in his jacket
pocket and produced a case the size of a old cigarette case. He opened it
and removed a small stylus, on pressing a concealed stud a high pitched
whine suddenly pierced the night air and a needle of red light flickered
at the tip of the stylus. As he touched the light beam to the flesh around
the limbs, the whine became more muted, skin, muscle and sinew parting
beneath it.
Working with practised deftness they began to dismember the
cadaver, first they removed the limbs, taking pains to keep the neural
interfaces intact. Any damage to the prosthesis would be taken out of
their commission and they were paid by the part. Next they set about the
multi-optic viewer, there were no eyes under it, just two empty pits with
sheaves of wires running to straight to his optic nerves. These were
carefully severed and bagged with the other cannibalised body parts. Once
they had finished, they removed the man's wallet before dumping his body
into the nearest bin.
"Not bad fer a nights work eh!" The first man said with grin to his
partner, "Reckon this haul'll fetch us 20k. Okay lets find Creeps 'n get
the fuck outta here!"
Ghosting silently through the shadows they made their way to the
agreed pick-up zone where as usual Creeps would be waiting. He would
relieve them of their cargo in exchange for cash, it was a simple
arrangement, the black market always needed cybernetic parts and sometimes
GENOM products could be a little too expensive.
They arrived at the contact point, Creeps' battered limo could be
made out down another of the back alleys belonging to some condemned
tenement blocks. It's number plates had been altered again, in case anyone
got too smart and tried to inform the AD-Police. The two punks crept
towards the car, in the stifling silence even the rustling of their
clothing seemed to amplify to thunderous levels. As they stole into the
alleyway, they noticed that one of the limo's doors was wide open.
"Hey where did Creeps get to?!" One of them exclaimed, his voice
echoing loudly in the alley.
"Shut the fuck up, you dipwad!" The other replied, "Do you really
want everyone to know we're here!"
The first hood stuck his head inside the car, the keys were still
in the ignition, which meant that Creeps was still around somewhere.
"I'll have a look down the alley!" He said to his comrade.
"Well watch yer back," the other replied with a wide grin which
split his pugilist's features, "you know what happens in the movies to
people who go off alone!"
"Then I'll take an equaliser then." The other countered, removing a
wicked looking handgun from his belt and cocking it.
Moonlight bathed the alley in a silver glow, on either side the
hollow shells of tenement blocks stood watch like stone sentinels. He
ghosted lightly forward, nerves strained, apart from the rustling of the
odd sewer rat the alley was deserted. He pressed on, keeping in the shadow
of one of the buildings. Under one of the fire escapes, something wet
dripped onto his jacket which glistened dark under the moonlight.
Momentarily, he glanced up to find its source. After he had finished
emptying his stomach he recognised the body as Creeps.
Still clad in his cheap suit, Creeps hung from the gantry of the
fire escape. His thin, snide features were contorted into a rictus of
terror and his empty gun lay nearby. The worst part was the way he was
hanging parallel to the ground, by his own entrails, his shattered spine
bent in an inverted V. From his ruptured chest cavity, fragments of bone
and viscera had been torn out and left splattered across the alley.
From further into the darkness he heard a growl, too low to be a
stray dog and far too menacing somehow. As it advanced out from the shadow
slowly the hood looked at it in disbelief. He hadn't heard of any wild
animals escaping recently but there was no other rational explanation.
He heard a loud expression of revulsion from behind him as his
friend, alerted by the noise had stumbled across the body.
"What the fuck is that?!" His friend exclaimed as he drew
alongside.
"Whaddoes it look like, it's a wolf stoopid!" He replied bringing
his gun to bear.
It stood some three feet off the ground at the shoulders, thickly
muscled and covered in thick light grey fur. Eyes gleaming malevolently in
the silvery light, it opened its fang filled maw with a snarl of welcome.
"Take the fucker out now!!!"
Two shots rang out, shattering the solitude of the MegaTokyo
night. There was no question that the shots had found their mark, the
wolf was physically blown off its feet and sent careering into a group of
bins. The cacophony seemed to take forever to cease, but when silence
once again ruled, the two looked at the target. It was indeed a huge male
wolf, with a distinct white streak in its long mane.
"Cute pet!" Snorted one, "I wonder who it belonged to...?"
"I don't give a fuck, lets grab the dough and get the hell out of
here!"
With a last look at the two corpses, the pair made their way
towards the car. As they were about to leave the shelter of the alley,
they heard the crash of upset dustbins, followed by a guttural snarl of
rage.
"My turn now! Face me and die you murdering bastards!!" The voice
spoke in English, but there the resemblance to anything human ended. It
wasn't so much spoken as growled throatily, and with an unmistakable air
of intent.
"FUCK YOU!!" One of them screamed in panic, pivoting blindly on his
heel, and letting rip with a full clip into.....nothing.
From the alley's entrance there came a muffled thud, as something
landed behind them, neatly blocking their only escape route. The voice
laughed, a soft bass rumble that set their nerves on end.
"Aww! You've run outta bullets, whatcha gonna do now...?"
They turned back to the car to see the owner of the voice. Their
minds blanked in sheer terror, unprepared for the sight that met their
incredulous gaze. The wolf that they just shot was standing by the car,
bipedally on powerful lupine hind legs. It seemed to be as tall as a K-11,
and perhaps weighing more than large motorbike. Underneath the fur on its
casually folded arms, they could make out raised pigmented scar tissue in
the shape of strange eldritch symbols. Its flowing mane floated gently in
the night breeze and the lips of its powerful muzzle were twisted in a
grin of satisfaction.
The punk with the gun managed to recover himself enough to try and
reload his gun, but they were already as good as dead. The wolf-creature
sprang towards them, closing the distance to them in a few bounding
strides. Without pausing its flowing movement it reached down and grabbed
the gunman's arm and wrenched. His arm was ripped from his shoulder as
easily as a wing from a cooked chicken. He screamed, eyes widening in
shock as he clutched the ragged stump of his shoulder, severed arteries
pumping scarlet. The last thing he saw before oblivion was the creature's
four inch long talons reaching for his throat.
Jan-Anders dropped the severed arm and looked around, the other
killer was trying to make a run for it, rushing blindly out of the alley,
he could be in an inhabited area within a few minutes. He loped after him,
with every stride he took the distance between them narrowed. When he was
within range he struck, scooping up the struggling hood, he opened his
powerful jaws wide and bit down hard. Human blood, tainted by chemicals
and the Wyrm flowed over his tongue, the hood's neck vertebrae parted with
a sickening crunch and suddenly Jan-Anders teeth met. He dropped the body
on the road and looked at the decapitated head, its mouth and eyes were
still working as the blow had come so fast that the brain hadn't had time
to register the fact that it should be dead. He watched it disdainfully as
consciousness slowly faded, then proceeded to head toward another alley.
Best leave the bodies where they are, he reasoned, with the AD-Police so
overstretched it would probably be passed off as a rogue Boomer or cyborg
incident. Any attempts to mask the cause of death would only make them
likely to investigate further. The more overt the carnage, the less notice
the police take, he thought with a wry grin, I could get to like this
city.
As he entered the alleyway his body appeared to be in flux, losing
hair and excess muscle mass. Ears began to retract closer to the skull and
his muzzle receded into his face, claws dwindling to human nails and fangs
to teeth. He removed the bundle of stashed clothing from behind a bin,
along with some stashed food and bottled water. Minutes later, he strode
out of the alley, and straightening the collar on his jacket proceeded to
jog toward the centre of MegaTokyo.
####################################
The alarm went off suddenly. The sleeper had little choice to
respond as an offensive digital siren, with underlying radio babble cut
through the veil of sleep like a switchblade.
"Okay I'm awake goddammit....Lay off willya!"
The sleeper rose wearily and stumbled into the kitchen of his
apartment clad only in a pair of old boxer shorts. Once there, he
proceeded to get himself a coffee from the automated wall dispenser before
heading bleary-eyed to the shower. He was a tall, brawny young man well
over six feet in height and weighing the best part of two hundred and
fifty pounds. He lurched in a semi-comatosed daze into the shower cubicle
and moments later the sound of running water could be made out from
outside the room.
Once out of the shower and dried, he eyed his body critically;
the completed tattoo on his right arm, an intricate interlaced knotwork
pattern of thorns, with the name "Juliette" entwined within.
Why did they have to find me, he thought sadly, at least we could
have been together. He silently reflected as he regarded the long, ugly
slash marks that adorned his wrists. Every scar told a different story,
and he seemed to have gathered more than his fair share recently. The
reflection of his face painted a slightly different picture: fine, elegant
features, complimented by a neat goatee and moustache and framed by
tousled dark hair that fell past his shoulders. His dark eyes however held
a depth of experience and pain far beyond his nineteen years of age.
"Ho-hum! Another day at the office!" He quipped sarcastically to
himself as he dressed, a casual shirt, jeans, boots and a waistcoat would
suffice. Ten minutes later, he strolled into his living room, which
would've been quite spacious were it not for the collective debris of
manuscript paper, bass guitars and amps in various states of repair strewn
across the floor. After tying his hair back, he hefted a black gig bag and
practice amp, opened his front door and stepped out into the hallway.
####################################
Sylia sat bolt upright in bed, mouth open in a silent scream,
heart battering against her ribcage, her lungs seemed unwilling to take in
oxygen. She shut her dark eyes and choked back a sob, trying to erase the
picture branded in her mind's eye. The silk sheets clung to her body,
slick with sweat caused by the throes of her nightmare. It would always
start on that fateful day two years ago when Mackie inexplicably snapped
during one of their meetings. It was the first time she had ever seen him
so upset, but it was the eyes that she would never forget, they were
trapped, haunted, as though he were crying out for help but they couldn't
hear him. Or wouldn't, Sylia thought harshly, Mackie was one of the team
and we failed him when he needed us most. Worst of all, in a subsequent
letter he had blamed himself for the outburst and had officially resigned
from the Knight Sabers, claiming that he was no longer capable of carrying
out his duties. Then for two long, lonely years nothing at all, he just
disappeared without trace.
She pushed back the covers and got out of bed. Pulling a
diaphanous white robe over her statuesque frame, she strode over to the
window and opened the blinds. Early morning light dazzled her for a
moment, before the vista of MegaTokyo panned out before her, in the near
distance the GENOM Tower stood out like some malignant tumour on the face
of the city. Somehow I'll find you Mackie, she thought to herself, her
beautiful, regal features hardening with determination, I'll find you and
make it up to you, I swear.
####################################
"Will someone please wake up Mr. Jivarp!" Jan-Anders looked up at
fixed the lecturer with a baleful stare, "Oh, I'm sorry have I ruined your
beauty sleep!?" He continued sardonically.
Some of the students present tittered on cue. Jan-Anders let his
gaze take in the assembled masses, most of them seemed like members of
MegaTokyo's brat pack, who seemed to have more money than taste or talent.
One of the worst offenders was seated on the front row, surrounded by a
gaggle of admiring females. Dressed in ultratight PVC pants, pixie boots
and cropped jacket, he had the intensely annoying habit of running his
hand through his collar-length brown hair every few minutes.
Mercifully the lecturer decided to finish for the day, and left
the auditorium. Simultaneously, several different conversations sprung up,
none of which interested him in the slightest. Having really been socially
forced into chatting to some of these people, it became manifestly obvious
to him that a lot of Academy students were shallower than a paddling pool
in the dry season.
"Hey pal! I don't blame you for falling asleep in his lectures, you
know what they say about frustrated musicians...." A cheery voice
addressed him.
Jan-Anders twisted round to see who was talking to him, standing a
few seats along was a powerfully built young man, who was only a few
inches shorter than himself. Jan-Anders watched him intently as he
approached, he was dressed smartly but casually in an open necked shirt,
waistcoat, black denims and matching boots. It was the face that struck
him the most, despite the beard, he could've sworn he had seen it
somewhere before. From within sculpted features, dark eyes fixed on his
keenly.
"Hi! I'm Michael, so you're the fresher around here then?!" He
joked, extending a callused hand.
"Jan-Anders....yeah you could say that! I'm actually on a years
exchange scheme, starting next academic year," Jan-Anders replied, "I know
its only two weeks to the end of semester, but I had to get some
groundwork done!" He finished, grasping his hand with a barking laugh.
The two of them picked up their instrument cases and amps, and
made their way out of the auditorium, heading for one of the many common
rooms that peppered the MegaTokyo Academy for the Performing Arts' Modern
Music Department. As they entered through spring-loaded double doors, a
blast of music assaulted them.
"....I'm a weapon of the night," the vocalist warbled, "put your finger
on my trigger and watch me blow you away!!"
"Urrggghhhhh!!!! Pass me a bucket quick!" Michael yelled, "I think
I'm gonna hurl in a minute!"
"What's your problem Stengovich," a nasal voice replied, as the
music ceased, "apart from being a bass player with no talent!"
Jan-Anders looked at the speaker, it was the same person who had
been seated at the front of the lecture. At the moment he was lying on one
of the sofas, feet resting on the coffee table, with his usual retinue of
admirers. His clean-cut good looks screamed corporate rock to Jan-Anders
from twenty paces. He regarded the two of them with amusement through
rose-tinted Lennon sunglasses.
"So who's your new chum then?" He asked Michael irritatingly.
"Jan-Anders Jivarp," Michael replied, "he's..........."
"Whaaaaaattttt? Michael look, I wouldn't hang around with anyone
who's name sounds like a medical condition!" This wisecrack gathered a
ripple of laughter from the assembled crowd.
Jan-Anders butted in, "I still don't know who you are!" He stated
bluntly, trying to keep his temper in check.
The other looked at him genuinely put out, "You mean you have
never heard of Rik Dangerfield and The Hazards?!" he exclaimed.
"Or as anyone with taste calls them, Dick Dipshit and The
Sellouts!" Michael interrupted.
With a sudden burst of speed, Rik leapt gracefully upright from
the sofa, scattering cups of coffee all over the pristine carpeted floor,
and advanced towards them, fists clenched. Despite Rik's change of mood
Jan-Anders resisted the urge to laugh out loud. On balance, Michael had a
good four inch height and sixty pound weight differential in his favour,
and as for him, it wasn't even worth the energy expenditure. He motioned
to Michael and then to an empty seat.
"C'mon, let Mr. Ego stew for a while!" He said dryly as they
dropped their cases and amps beside another sofa, then making a beeline
for the bar at the far end of the room Out of a corner of his eye he
noticed that Rik had returned to his groupies, looking quite smug. One of
them pressed the play button, on a portable CD-player and another tune,
this time a sickly, saccharine ballad oozed out of the speakers.
By the time Jan-Anders returned from the bar with two bottles of
beer in each hand, he was sorely tempted to take the CD and ram it player
and all down or up one of Mr. Dangerfield's orifices, which exact one he
hadn't yet decided upon. However there was a way of getting back which was
equally as fun, but didn't involve the ultimate prospect of a charge for
GBH.
He looked around the floor area, and quickly found what he was
looking for, two of the floor mounted power points with their bronze,
spring-loaded covers. He rapidly began to set his amp up, whilst telling
Michael to do likewise. Glancing over at the Dangerfield party he noticed
to his savage amusement that they were all but ignoring them,
concentrating instead on Rik as he did what he did best, hold court.
Jan-Anders removed his guitar from the hardcase and plugged it via a mini
FX-processor into the amp. Michael meanwhile was doing likewise.
"I'll start," Jan-Anders whispered with a mirthless smile, "and
when I get bored you have a noodle!"
"Sounds just fine to me!" Michael replied as he bought another
round, and sat down to watch the fun. An eye for an eye, he thought.
The cloying ballad had finished by now, and Jan-Anders let the CD
prattle on as he warmed up dutifully, sans amp. Just before the final
track was due to start he let rip.
"What the......" yelled Rik, as the noise barrage hit home.
The composition in question had originally started life as a
classical lute concierto, but Jan-Anders had arranged it and suitably
modified it for his style. As the piece progressed he gradually upped the
tempo, so by the end of it individual notes had just merged in a blur of
distortion.
"Over to you Michael!" he yelled.
Michael took the bit between his teeth, taking his 5-string for a
funk workout that would have had lesser men in tears. He finished his
little run-around with a baroque bass tapping solo, that had even some of
Rik's groupies taking notice, much to his annoyance.
"So that's what you call untalented!" Jan-Anders said sardonically
to him, "If that's the case then give me no talent any day. Get a life you
sad prick!"
####################################
Sylia looked at her computer with mounting concern, there was no
doubt about it, a pattern was emerging. The AD-Police had overlooked the
incidents of the past week as being just Boomer related, but she was
unsure. The MO was the same in virtually all the cases, as were the
victims. She had already ruled out the possibility of it being cyborg
related, yes enhancement did give the person increased strength, but not
enough to rip a human being limb from limb. A rogue Boomer was a
possibility, but there were no blastmarks nearby, or on the bodies,
whatever was doing this killed in close proximity to the the target.
Try as she might, she felt little compassion with the victims,
they were all Wreckers, about as low as a human could stoop. With GENOM
controlling the supply of artificial prosthetics to the hospitals, they
could charge anything they wanted to. This meant, that in recent years
there had evolved a whole underclass of people needing cybernetics, but
were unable to get it done from a hospital due to price and couldn't
afford health insurance. For these poor wretches, the only option was a
black market clinic, who made millions out of exploiting helpless
individuals. Wreckers were thugs who would track a person with cybernetic
enhancement, kill them and take whatever he had to sell back to the black
market. Sylia had heard it rumoured that a person going for a black market
operation was likely to receive an implant with at least three previous
owners.
So far there had been three incidents, with at least two deaths
per incident. The usual survivors were the intended victims of the
Wreckers, and from the reports purloined by Nene, they had yielded
surprisingly little information to the AD-Police. The most that any of
them could remember about the perpetrator, was that it was large,
blindingly fast, and most likely a combat Boomer of some kind.
"So whaddya think Sylia?!" came a perky voice from behind her, "Is
it a Boomer or not?!"
Sylia turned from the computer terminal to reply to the speaker.
Standing behind Sylia, hands crossed in front of her attentively, was a
young woman dressed in the uniform of an AD-Police dispatcher. Her
personality and flaming red hair were in complete contrast to her petite
frame. She regarded Sylia with inquisitive emerald eyes.
"I honestly don't know Nene," Sylia replied, "combat Boomers
would've almost certainly killed the intended victim as well, to make sure
that there were no witnesses. Then there is the enigma of why none of the
survivors remembered any details about the attacker."
"Shock?!" Nene suggested brightly.
"Good point, I had thought of that and reread the reports, it seems
that all other details of the incident are remembered clearly enough,
except for the identity of whoever saved them. Working on the supposition
that it is a Boomer, we are faced with the worrying prospect that it can
somehow mask its presence."
Nene's face fell at this prospect, then her pretty features became
suddenly grave.
"Do you want me to contact the others Sylia?" she asked.
"I have already done so, you'd better go check the Motoroids."
Nene grinned, "Okay chief!" It was almost impossible for her to
stay serious for any length of time, Sylia thought, it was probably just
as well because she seemed to be the one who was cut up the most when
Mackie left. She was working part time at the AD-Police now, spending
more time with Sylia on the support side, maintaining the Knight Sabers
equipment and vehicles.
Within twenty minutes, the Knight Sabers were asssembled in
Sylia's penthouse apartment above the Ladies 633 building. Priss looked
slightly disgruntled, which she attributed to the fact that she had been
disturbed whilst writing a song for her new album. Sylia briefed them
quickly on her findings, before suggesting that they patrol a notorious
slum stretch along the fault that had become known as "Wreckers' Alley".
"So ya really think its gonna show?!" Priss stated bluntly from her
position on the bed.
"It seems to strike every other night," Sylia replied, "so if it's
a creature of habit it should be out on the prowl this evening."
"Well I'm in," Priss interjected, "I don't know about you guys but
kicking the shit out of some Wreckers seems a fine way for a girl to spend
an evening!!"
Linna sighed and looked to heaven, her expression told it all.
####################################
The office was sumptuously furnished in a tasteful way, an antique oak
desk with the usual executive toys filled the room, leather wingback
chairs completed the decor. A secretary knocked on the outside door and
entered.
"A Mr. Jivarp to see you sir!" she said.
"Show him in please, and Janice we are not to be disturbed!" The
speaker was short and stocky, dressed in an double-breasted Armani suit,
his iron-grey hair was cropped short and his craggy features lended him
the air of an old-fashioned gangster.
Jan-Anders strode into the room, the secretary obediently pulling
the door closed behind her. For a few moments, they stood weighing the
other up.
Jan-Anders took a deep breath and began the formal introduction,
"I am Jan-Anders Jivarp Laments-for-the-lost, Modi of the Hand of Tyr,
servant of the Get of Fenris, of the line of Get-of-Fenris-slays-Grendel."
"I am Alex Slater Net-Cleanser, Philodox of the Glass Walkers and
Sept Warder of The Sept of the Rising Phoenix," the other replied, "I bid
you welcome, and I thank you for your patience."
He motioned for Jan-Anders to take a seat, which he gratefully
accepted . Alex drummed his fingers on the desk whilst collecting his
thoughts before beginning.
"Two weeks ago, we noticed that some unusual equipment was being
unloaded into MAPA from GENOM, we are a bit concerned about the use they
are going to put it to."
"And what's that?" Jan-Anders interjected.
"Since it's military level interrogation hardware, I don't know!"
Alex replied, "Just try and find out!"
"Do you still want me to deal with the Wreckers?" Jan-Anders asked.
"Yeah! Get rid of those parasites any way you can!!" Alex snarled.
Whoever said that Glass Walkers were good for nothing had never
met Alex Slater, in the late '90's he had made a killing by buying up vast
tracts of unspoilt American wilderness, and turning them into nature parks
and holiday resorts. In doing so, he had kept environmental damage to a
minimum, and prevented other parties with less scruples from taking them
over for redevelopment. He was currently engaged in creating a network of
inexpensive cyber-clinics for the needy, and the Wreckers were his first
stumbling block. They were putting off people from having necessary
surgery, for fear of being murdered. Thus, as a little side task, he had
asked Jan-Anders to put them out of business. A task which he had jumped
at, because it involved the chance of hitting the scum where it hurt.
"Good! Who are the next scuzzballs to hit!!" Jan-Anders growled.
Alex produced a list from behind his desk and handed it to
Jan-Anders, he scanned it a few times to memorise the details, then fed it
into the document shredder. He then turned to leave.
"Oh by the way," Alex interjected with a smile as he was about to
leave, "any chance of finding a permanent bassist and vocalist for
Katabolis yet!?"
"I'm working on it," Jan-Anders grinned, "I've probably found a
bass player, but I ain't found a vocalist yet."
"Pity, Lycanthrope Records could do with some metallers on it!"
"I'll think about it." Jan-Anders said as he saw himself out, "By
the way thanks for the easy passage here, catch you later!"
"No problem, all part of the service.....see you!" Alex called out
as he left. He turned to the window with its panoramic view of MegaTokyo
and chuckled evilly.
"You poor bastards," he said with a grin, "you don't know what the
hell's going to hit you!!"

So that's Part 2: Any comments etc, address to I.H...@uea.ac.uk

Here we go! Now things are going to get really interesting!! Again a big
"arigato" goes to my friend and partner in mayhem Beni P. for ideas on Ru
Shu Kwan and violence in general. If you are pleased/outraged/indifferent
by this or any other part then drop me a line, but for now sit back and
delve once again into my vision of MegaTokyo.......

SKOL!!

Ian.

Gift -any (super?)natural ability which a Garou learns.
For-eldra - (Old Norse) ancestors.
Apocalypse (2007-2027) -supposedly the end of the world, known as
Ragnaro by the Get. In fact a series of natural and man-made disasters

which decimated the world's population. The Second Great Kanto Earthquake

was one of these.
Kinfolk -humans or wolves who have the Garou gene but not in the active
form, but are immune to the Delirium.

Lamentation For The Lost.
Part 3

The shadow of the AD-Police helicopter swept low over the urban
canyon that was Wreckers' Alley, shells of buildings stood as silent
testimony to the impact of the Second Great Kanto Earthquake, leaning
shattered against each other like broken teeth

"Whisky-12, anything to report?" a disembodied voice came over the
intercom.

"Negative, Dispatch, looks calm from up here." the pilot replied,
scanning his FLIR and Mag-Res sensors.

Jan-Anders padded softly from his position on the rooftop,
thankful for the gift of Blissful Ignorance, the chopper had been hovering
barely twenty feet overhead yet had seen nothing. As it peeled away,
towards the AD-Police tower he took up position by the fire escape, his
powerful Crinos form was the least subtle of the five he could adopt, but
for this task it was perfect. If need be he could rip through a cement
wall with his bare claws, or bite clean through a Boomer's arm. His black
lips twisted into the feral snarl that passed for a smile, revealing rows
of ivory fangs. A huge scabbard hung diagonally across his back at a
length of some seven feet, with another three feet of ornate hilt poking
out.

Looking to his left, over the main road to which the alley
adjoined, a garishly neon-lit four- storey building peddled its wares.
Nobody really cared about this part of town, and it seemed like a living
nightmare from which many would never wake. "CHROMIUM HEAVEN" the sign
proclaimed in its incandescent glory. It was unusual to see an illegal
clinic be so overt about its operation, but it had every right to be.
According to Alex it was in fact a GENOM run affair, as well as dealing
with the unfortunate and the downtrodden, it also had a clinic on the top
floor which catered for those with exotic and not to mention illegal
tastes in cybernetics. Alex thought that GENOM might be fuelling the
Wreckers intentionally in order to foil his plans, and as a rather
unorthodox form of quality control for Boomer parts. Any Boomers that got
destroyed in the field would be scavenged and returned to GENOM R&D for
assessment.

He hoped that Alex was in position, unlike many of his tribe he
was not afraid of getting his hands dirty from time to time, a legacy of
his years spent as an industrial terrorist The plan was of devastating
simplicity, he was to storm the building and eradicate any resistance.
Alex meanwhile would be in the Umbra, soliciting the aid of the Weaver
spirits of the building, and possibly helping them escape before their
home was destroyed if they were not Wyrm tainted. He would then set the
fire-alarms off before blowing the whole building sky-high with what he
called "Slater specials". These were bombs filled with a highly corrosive
compound which would eventually ignite on contact with air. Any solid
objects which it hit, it would react violently with producing enough heat
to ignite flammable objects, and even cracking concrete! Jan-Anders knew
that at this moment he was probably in the basement where the boilers and
oxygen cylinders were stored. From the spirit world Alex could just about
go anywhere, he could get in and out unseen. He on the other hand
preferred the more direct, brutal approach.

Jan-Anders felt the surge of rage that thrilled along every fibre
of his being. He was a modi, born under the power of a full moon, he
craved battle as junkies craved their next fix, and if it were not for his
self-discipline he might have found it there and then, even if it meant
taking a few innocent lives along for ride. It was a hard feeling to
describe, even to other Garou; an unending lust for war.

"Honoured for-eldra, guide my claws in battle." he growled softly,
almost in a whisper.

He glanced once more at the building, the set-up was perfect, his
Crinos paw reached for the hilt of his great-klaive and slowly grasped the
leather bound grip, the muscles in his forearm twitching in anticipation.

************************************************

Sylia permitted herself a slight smile, the plan was deceptively
simple. The mysterious assailant was not just a mindless killer, he had
been targeting the Wreckers who worked for Chromium Heaven. According to
Fargo, they had gotten a bit jumpy of late and were on the verge of a mass
exodus. She was dressed in a tailored black business suit, with matching
skirt and blouse. For the bait to work, she had to appear as a
professional cyberoid assassin looking for the latest in prosthetics. She
would lure the Wreckers after her, and wait for the mysterious combat
Boomer or whatever it was to show. In case things got too heavy for her to
handle alone, the other Knight Sabers were on watch nearby. All she had
needed to complete her cover was a shoulder holster containing a silenced
Beretta automatic, and a pair of sunglasses. She dropped a gear, and
guided her Mercedes roadster around the wreck of a burnt out saloon.

Her face resumed its normal placid, cool aspect as she pulled up
in front of the clinic, drawing admiring glances from the assembled
crowds. She killed the engine and opened the gull- wing doors.
Immediately, the air-conditioned comfort was replaced by the oppressive
stickiness of the MegaTokyo night.

"Ah! Miss S. I've been expecting you'" an oily voice exclaimed.

She scanned the gaudy entrance, to find the owner of the voice.
It was not too difficult, there were three figures framed in the
entrance. The speaker was a small, wiry man who appeared to be in late
middle-age, his thinning hair was slicked back with gel and a broad grin
split his thin features as he regarded Sylia. The other two looked like
his bodyguards, and were clad in ripped T-shirts and denims, although
they were nowhere near the size of a combat Boomer, they still gave the
impression of being cybernetically enhanced .

"Good evening," Sylia answered in clipped tones, "I trust one of
those gentlemen could guard my car for me while I'm inside, it would be
very unfortunate for your business Mr. Hayashi, were it to be stolen!"

The older man looked visibly hurt be this comment, "There's no
need for veiled threats Madam, we are all at your service here!" He
turned and gestured to one of the guards, "Tab stay here and guard that
car with your life gottit?"

"Yessir"' the goon responded. taking up position by the car.

Sylia fought the urge to smile, Fargo had done a good job of her
cover, and she quite liked the idea of bossing these low-lifes around.
Her face however betrayed nothing as she was led into the building by Mr.

Hayashi.

***********************************************

Jan-Anders froze like a gargoyle on the rooftop where he lurked.
Were he in his natural homid form and looking hard enough, he might have
recognised Sylia. But in his present form higher thought was more linear
and less creative. All he saw, was a potential Wrecker statistic and that

was all he needed to see. He stepped off the parapet into the darkness,
landing cleanly with a muffled thud on the alley floor, some four stories

below.

************************************************

"Where the hell's Sylia!" Priss complained, leaning against the
remnants of a fallen ceiling, this whole building was structurally
unsound but it provided the best cover and the best overall view of
Chromium Heaven. As she peered out of a grimed-up window, the optics of
her hardsuit panned to the red Mercedes and zoomed in. There was some
goon standing close by who was obviously armed but posed no real threat.

"We were told to wait for her signal, and keep our eyes peeled
for that Boomer, or whatever it is." replied Nene folding her arms, her
blue helmet nodding as she emphasised Sylia's orders.

"Well I'm bored, why can't we...." Priss' comment was cut
short as they all heard a muffled thud from the adjoining alley, followed
by an eerie silence.

All three Knight Sabers looked at each other, Priss brought a
metallic finger up in front of her helmet in a "quiet" gesture. Weapons
prepped they filed carefully towards the back door of the ground floor
flat which opened into the alley. It was if someone had suddenly turned
up the volume control on the flat, creaking floors amplified to the
extent where the building itself sounded in pain. Priss slowly opened the
back door. and peered out.

"Shit there's nobody here'!" she swore, sounding disappointed.

She turned to head back indoors, as she swung round she almost
collided into Nene, who was standing by her shoulder.

"Jeez Nene! Why d'you always get under my feet"' she snapped.
Nene stood there apparently rooted to the spot, dumbstruck.

"Nene you OK!?" Linna chipped in, concerned.

Nene seemed to snap out of her trance, "Er guys there's something
in the alley and its big........hang on," she double checked her Mag-Res
and thermo imager, "omigod it's........ it' s organic' ' "

"Whaddya mean it's organic?!" exclaimed Priss.

"It's the size of a BU-12 but the heat pattern is all wrong!!"
Nene's brain analysed. the heat pattern. Approximately three metres tall,
most certainly exothermic, a mammal, it's outline was humanoid, but
appeared to be canine in form. She swallowed as she realised that she was
gazing directly into the snarling muzzle of a creature that until now
only existed in fairy tales and late night horror movies that she used to
watch through her fingers.

"How can y'see it!!" Linna held Nene, trying to shake her out of
her reverie "I can't see it at all!"

"Just show me where Its ugly butt is, " Priss said through gritted teeth,
"and I'll blow it away !" She raised her palm cannon, and aimed it out into the
alleyway.

***********************************************

Jan-Anders' muzzle twisted in an exasperated snarl, what were
those two doing here! They had barely opened the door, when he had caught
the pheromone traces that clung to their suits. Each one was as unique as
a fingerprint, and he recognised two of the traces: the woman in the blue
and red suit, by her stance and attitude it had to be Priss; the other
more surprisingly for him was the green-suited one, who smelt like Linna.
They didn't need my help at the airport at all, he thought slyly, if
these are the legendary Knight Sabers! He had overheard them talking, and
even in the mentally impaired Crinos form he knew that their smaller
companion was called Nene. She appeared to be looking at him quizzically,
she could see him he realised, yet she wasn't going under. Shit, he
thought, have to deal with this another time.

The stand-off was interrupted by the sound of muffled gunshots,
coming from the top storey of the clinic. Jan-Anders cocked his head
sideways and listened intently, it sounded suspiciously to him like a
suppressed automatic pistol. Nene seemed to hear it also, which broke the=

deadlock long enough for him to act.

He exploded from cover, a grey blur of fangs, fur and talons.
Priss had barely enough time to bring her palm cannon to bear, before he
was over the road, giving no time for the Delirium to take hold if it
could. If anyone else saw him, they would just forget. Hurdling the
Mercedes in a fluid bound, he flicked his great-klaive out of its
scabbard in a slicing arc. As it left its sheath a coruscating aurora of
energy erupted around the viciously hooked eldritch blade, accompanied by
an unearthly wail. The blade impacted with the guard in a blinding blue
flash at waist level, slicing upwards in a diagonal arc to his opposite
shoulder. Then with a growl he stalked through the doors and was gone.

Priss and the others were not far behind, covering the ground to
the clinic in long legged strides. They paused momentarily by the Mercedes

"Guh-ross!"' spat Priss.

Linna just shook her head, and Nene looked like she was about to
be ill. They had seen the victims of Boomer crimes before, but this was
pushing the limit. Half the bodyguards torso lay face up on the pavement,
seared pits that were once eyes, staring into finality. Skin and flesh
had charred beyond recognition and an oozing blackened mass slithered
from the defiled thorax. The other half lay not too far away, and it too
appeared to have been scorched in a similar fashion. A nauseating smell
of roasting flesh wafted towards the trio.

"Right let's GO!!" Priss snarled, "we gotta get to Sylia before
that bastard does'!"

***********************************************

Sylia headed for the emergency stairs, cursing her bad luck. The
plan had been working perfectly until one of the bodyguards had picked up
on the fact that she was fully organic. How was she to know that he had
thermo-imaging optics' She had shot the bodyguard at point blank range,
and in her mind's eye she could still see the snap of his head and the
tracer of blood as her bullet hit home. His eye had shattered - obviously
a cybernetic construct but how much of the rest of him was still human.
Fromfurther up the stairwell she could hear Mr. Hayashi directing his
bodyguards.

"That bitch is working for someone! You take the stairs! You two
the main entrance!! I want her alive"'

She jumped the last steps to the second floor landing, Beretta at
the ready. The doors to the second floor burst open and a body was framed
in the doorway with his back to her surrounded with a halo of blue light.
She was about to fire, when she realised that it was already dead, a
wickedly sharp blade emerging from a ragged, charred gash in its back.
Then with the sickening tear of ripping flesh, it slid to the ground in a
crumpled heap. Sylia wrinkled her nose in disgust as she smelt the
smouldering cadaver. Something was standing in the doorway, and it was
most certainly not a Boomer!

Jan-Anders looked into Sylia's dark eyes they were still clear
without the glassy panic he was used to seeing of humans under the
Delirium. She knew what she was seeing, which meant that she was either a
kinfolk or very resilient mentally. Since most of the kinfolk had died
along with the Garou in the Apocalypse, and only a few select families
remained to guard the caerns, his money was on the latter. If she was
hanging around with Priss and Linna then most likely she was one of the
Knight Sabers also. Especially as they were staking out Chromium Heaven
from the flats opposite.

Pausing for a moment, his feral brain struggled to come to a
decision. Killing her would remove a witness and repair the Veil, but it
would make an enemy of the Knight Sabers. Besides she could not exactly
tell the police what she had seen, they would never believe her. Besides
the repercussions for her would be severe at least if she were seen in an
illegal clinic. He lowered his great-klaive, and breathed deeply trying
to concentrate, speech was difficult in this form.

"Sylia...your friends are further down the building," he stood
aside to let her pass, "now GO and don't look back!!"

As he spoke, she could make out the sound of a firefight going
on, on the floor below. For a moment the creature's grey-blue eyes lost
their feral gleam and seemed to regard her with something like
compassion. As she passed it, it almost seemed to smile. Her mind was in
somewhat of a daze, standing before her was a creature from mortal
legend, a werewolf. Its grey furred, thickly muscled body seemed to be
perfectly adapted to the task of killing, with long claws and a powerful
muzzle. Runic scar tattoos stood out against the flesh, the most
prominent being a stylised T symbol, overlaying what appeared to be a
severed paw. It's long light grey mane was tightly braided, and a blaze
of white fur ran through it, tickling a memory in Sylia's mind though she
couldn't quite place it. It seemed to fill the clinic operating room that
it had probably destroyed, equipment lay strewn across the floor as well
as the burnt remains of anyone who got in its way. Two prospective
patients of the clinic were slumped in a corner, apparently alive but
unconscious. Up the stairs from where Sylia had just come, there came a
clatter of footsteps.

"You'd better leave now," Jan-Anders growled softly hefting his great-klaive
once more, "they won't be going anywhere............don't betray me Sylia."

Sylia did not need to be told again, she made for the swing doors
at the opposite end of the surgery. As she headed for the first floor,
she shivered involuntarily as she heard an eerie banshee wail, followed
by the screams of the dying.

************************************************

On the ground floor, the battle was raging in earnest. Priss,
Linna and Nene on entering the building had found the entrance crawling
with security Boomers, intent on ensnaring Sylia when she arrived. Priss
had waded in with scant regard for herself and was proceeding to do what
she did best, cut loose. Weaving like a maniac, two of the combat Boomers
had fallen with gaping blistered holes in their armour.

"DIE you sonofabitch!" she screamed as the second exploded,
sending a cascade of biomechanical ichor fountaining.

Linna joined the fray, arcing gracefully overhead, her monomer
blades fluttering. She vaulted through gunshots, contorting through
impossible openings in the incoming fire. Around her explosions
detonated, scorching large chunks of plaster out of the walls and
charring greenery. Any survivors in the entrance lobby had huddled behind
upturned settees and kept low, hoping fervently that a stray shot did not
hit them. Linna finished her deadly ballet with a flourish, somersaulting
lithely onto the shoulders of one of the Boomer. To its credit, the
doomed creature tried to prise her off but to no avail, Linna activated
her knuckle bomber and punched downwards with all her strength. The
Boomer's head caved in like an overripe fruit before detonating, rattling=

her armour with shrapnel. Linna rode the impact, using it to propel
herself toward the next target.

"Now that's what I call a headfuck!" Priss yelled, palm cannon spitting

Wow I can hardly believe that I'm getting around to posting this after so
long. Various bits have undergone revision, spell checks etc to make sure
that no continuity errors crept in. To all those who did this thanks a
lot, you know who you are.

Ian.

Sylia groaned and came round, the first thing she felt was something soft
and woollen which covered her whole body. Then the odours crowded in,
fresh earth, bracken, flowers, leaves, wood-smoke, wild animals......wild
animals!? She opened her eyes slowly and blinked in the sunlight. Looking
down at her was a huge male wolf, as it saw that she was awake, it backed
off and let her sit up. She looked around her, eyes widening in wonder if
not fear.

She was sitting in a forest clearing, late afternoon sunlight
dappling the bracken and ground foliage. The place smelled pure, as
though it had never really known the corrupt touch of man. Wrapped around
her was a hooded soft wool cloak in woodland shades, fastened at the
shoulder with an ornate knotwork pin. In front of her, a campfire roared
merrily and around it lay a pack of wolves seemingly unconcerned. Alarm
bells sounded in her mind, if these creatures are feral why are they not
afraid of fire?

Three seemed to distance themselves from the others and approach
her. Instinctively she huddled further inside the cloak, feeling the
reassuring warmth of the cloth against her naked skin. Two of the three
seemed familiar enough, but she had no recollection of the third. She
could not place where she had seen them exactly, perhaps it was just the
way they behaved?

The lead wolf looked to be the eldest male of the three, with
dark brown fur, flecked with iron-grey. Its craggy face seemed almost to
tell its life story and by the way it advanced steadily it was the alpha
here. The one on its left was taller and wiry with a short unkempt light
mane. It seemed less trustworthy then the other somehow, but there was
something in its posture that was familiar to her. The third she
recognised on sight, a huge hulking young male, with light grey fur. It
seemed somehow more noble in its bearing then the other two, a fact
enhanced by its long mane with its characteristic white blaze. Sylia was
certain she was looking at the creature from Chromium Heaven, but where
had she seen something like that before? There was a piece of the puzzle
missing.

"Who.......what are you?" Sylia pleaded, trembling slightly.

"There is nothing to fear from us," the old wolf spoke, words
flowing easily from his black lips, "We are Garou, the chosen defenders
of Gaia, a race that exists between wolf and man. The Goddess giving us
the gift to change our form."

"Why can't my friends remember seeing you?" she asked, mind dazed
by the possibility that such a race of creatures really did exist.

The long-haired wolf took up the story, "Many centuries ago we
thought that the best way to stop man raping Gaia was to cull him." he
said in a deep solemn voice, "Now whenever a human sees us in the
wolf-man Crinos form, the night fear, the Delirium takes them, a legacy
of our arrogance. Mercifully the Veil stops them from remembering too
much afterwards, which is the reason why we have remained undetected for
so long."

Scattered puzzle pieces were falling into place now. These
creatures see themselves as holy warriors, protectors of Mother Earth,
Sylia thought, and now that fight has taken them against GENOM, so be it.

The long-maned one spoke again, "We share the same dream as you
and your friends Sylia. Come, run with us, for we are truely free."

Sylia gazed into its grey-blue eyes, which regarded her intently.
Then smiling slightly she unfastened the pin and stood, the cloak falling
in a rumpled heap at her feet. The other wolves almost seemed to look on
approvingly as flanked by the threesome she walked confidently towards
them. Gentle breezes blew against her skin softly and closing her eyes
contentedly, she breathed in deeply the heady aromas of the forest. In
the distance some woodland bird began to chirp, and it was getting louder.

Sylia opened her eyes again, they eventually swam into focus and
she made out the interior of her room. Three days had elapsed since her
encounter, and this reoccurring dream would not shift. Still, she thought
ruefully, it definitely beats reliving Mackie's breakdown over and over
again. There was none of the usual lethargy after sleep, she felt awake
and lithe. Reaching over to the computer that stood at her bedside, she
typed in a combination that shut down the alarm. Instantly the bird on
the screen, which was having an apoplectic seizure by now, was dismissed
(much to its surprise) and a list of daily newspapers appeared. She
selected a reputable broadsheet and a tabloid then poured herself a
coffee from the dispenser. The others seemed to think that a Boomer was
behind the carnage and she had neither the knowledge or the heart to tell
them the truth. Apart from Nene, she had almost said something at the
debriefing, but had rapidly clamed up again. Sylia suspected that she had
seen something that night, but wasn't telling anyone.

"Hi Sylia how yer feeling?!" came a chirpy voice from the door.
Sylia smiled openly, as she recognised the owner. Nene was framed in the
doorway, clad in tight black denims, a Rik Dangerfield and the Hazzards
"White Heat" T-shirt and pixy boots. Since discovering reverse enzyme
engineered foods she had managed to have her cake and eat it, Sylia
thought with a more private smile, literally. In the past two years, her
weight had only fluctuated by three or four pounds at the outside and she
was justifiably proud of the way she looked. Her new image had led to a
bit of stick at the AD-police, leading to her being dubbed "The Pocket
Rocket" but according to Leon never to her face.

"A lot better." Sylia admitted openly, sitting on the edge of the
bed, "Thanks for keeping an eye on me, I appreciate it."

"NO problem!" Nene replied spiritedly, "Any word in the papers?"

"The ad is still in," Sylia's smile became a little wistful, "but
still no response. I'm sorry Nene but if nothing comes through in the
next two weeks, I'll ask them to remove it. There's no point in
continuing it any longer, he's gone now and I'm just going to have to
accept it."

"But you can't give up Sylia!" Nene knelt by her friend and took
her hands in hers, "He's out there I know it, he'll come home!"

"I wish I had your faith Nene," the other replied sadly, "I
really do."

***********************************************

Jan-Anders came round slowly, Michael' s room swam sickeningly
for a moment before coming into focus. Something heavy was still strapped
to him, he craned his neck and looked down.

"Oh shit!" he cursed, "Crashed with my goddamn guitar on, again'!!"

He sat up and examined the guitar carefully, apart from a few
finger marks it was okay. He grabbed the nearest rag and wiped the
instrument down carefully. An original Vai pattern Ibanez Universe series
is expensive nowadays, he thought, a seven-stringer is even rarer. He
picked the strings to check his tuning, he grinned, it was still okay.
Looking up the neck his smile turned to a frown, it looked like he had
restrung it the previous night in an alcoholic daze. Spare lengths of
string, stuck out like needles on a porcupine. He grasped the headstock
and proceeded to tidy the mess of wires up. He had just finished the last
string when he heard the burble of water from the shower and something else.

"Pull me under, pull me under, pull me under I'm not afraid." the
voice sang, "All that I feel is honour and spite, all I can do is to set
it right..." Jan Anders sullen face split into a broad grin as he
recognised the old Dream Theater number. Wandering into the kitchen, he
grabbed himself another Alka-Seltzer, guitar still strapped to him. He
waited until the shower had stopped before calling out

"Hey I never knew you could do vocals!" he yelled.

"I thought you had already got a vocalist," the disembodied voice
replied, "besides you never asked!"

Jan-Anders replayed the events of the previous evening in his
mind. What had started as an alcohol-fuelled knock-around jam had
developed into something much more serious, when the idea was suggested
that he reform his old progressive metal band Katabolis. Michael had said
previously that he had no family commitments, so he could devote all his
time to a serious outfit. Something didn't fit, no something was wrong,
very wrong, he had said something about having a sister that night. With
a sickening, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach he visualised
Michael's face, suddenly the pieces fitted. Without the beard and shorter
hair he would be the spitting image of Sylia Stingray.

He strode into the lounge and flopped into the sofa, disbelief
mirrored on his face. On the coffee table, were scraps of manuscript and
other odds and ends. Old photos of himself and his bandmates were
littered across the table, as well as some of Michael's. Grabbing them
into a pile, he began to sort through them sequentially. The feeling in
his guts grew worse as he examined the evidence in the cold light of day.
There were various group shots of himself and the Knight Sabers, plus
some with an unknown girl with dark bobbed hair and green eyes. He took a
deep breath and sighed, he really liked the kid, this was not going to be
easy.

"Michael we gotta talk seriously'" he said firmly.

The door to the bathroom opened and Michael walked out, dressed
in a plain black T shirt, and matching denims, bracers covering his
forearms. Jan-Anders glanced up and saw that he had shaved off the beard
and moustache, without them the resemblance was even more striking. He
sat wearily in the armchair opposite, and sighed heavily.

"Yeah I was wondering how long it would be before someone found
out," he said softly, "I guess I owe you an apology and an explanation.
First of all ditch the Michael shit, my real name is Mackie "

"I thought so what about your surname though, I thought it was
Stengovich or somethin'?"

"Stengovich is my true family name, Stingray was kind of a
nickname that was given to my dad, and it stuck." Mackie suddenly looked
thoughtful, "I guess I'd better start where all this shit happened........."

It transpired that in the early spring of 2033, he had met a girl
called Juliette who was a friend of Anri and Sylvie from Genaros. After
their deaths, Priss had given him the disk containing the data on curing
the 33-S blood disorder, she could not bear to have it lying around, too
much pain tied up in it she said. It was a chance meeting at one of
Priss' gigs, he had noticed her looking lost, out of place and a little
forlorn.

"So I ended up going back to her place, where she then tried to
suck me dry!" he joked half-heartedly, "I put two and two together and
figured she was a Sexaroid."

"Then what happened?" Jan-Anders growled quietly.

"I snuck her into Doc. Raven's place one night and made her
free...." a faraway smile lit up his face, "things kinda got more intense
from then on in Problem was though I couldn't tell anyone, Priss had lost
two close friends who were 33-S , and I think Sis wouldn't have approved
at all!"

"So you started seeing her in secret then?" Jan-Anders suggested.

"That's about the size of it." Mackie sighed, "Anyway this went
on for maybe two months. The rest of the guys kinda figured I was seeing
someone and took the piss, but I didn't really care, I was young, single
and in love."

Mackie stopped at his point and appeared reluctant to go on.
Jan-Anders took off his guitar and laid it carefully aside, then turning
back to Mackie, he fixed him with a level gaze.

"If it hurts too much then stop, I ain't forcin' you to dredge up
shit" he said quietly.

"No you need to know the truth." Mackie said with quiet ferocity,
trying to keep his voice from shaking, "I saw her for about two months,
she was incredible, she made me see and feel things that I had never
dreamt possible. Then the SDPC got wind of her and sent two bounty
hunters her way." Mackie bunched his fists involuntarily as he
remembered, "I found her tied up, naked and bleeding on the bed, with
some guy's cum all over her, the bastards had raped her then shot her!
Guess the clusterfucks thought that 'coz she was a boomer they could do
whatever the fuck they wanted. I managed to get her loose but she was too
badly hurt, I could do fuck all man......except watch her die. I held her
at the end....it was all I could do." Mackie's shoulders slumped and the
Garou looked on in pity as bitter tears welled in his dark eyes.

"Anyway, I couldn't really tell the rest what had happened. So I
tried to get on with my job." he said with venom, "Unfortunately Priss
and the guys didn't know when to call it a day and pushed it a little bit
too far, and the rest is history. All I got left is some photos, memories
and these........"

He rolled up the sleeve of the T-shirt exposing the tattoo which
decorated his upper arm. Then releasing the velcro fastenings he removed
the bracers exposing the ugly slash marks which adorned his forearms.
"Badge of failed membership to the FuTWOH club!" he joked sardonically.

"FuTWOH?" Jan-Anders asked curiously.

"Fuck This We're Outta Here"' Mackie grinned darkly, miming
slashing his wrists.

Jan-Anders shook his head sadly, he had known Mackie for a
fortnight and he seemed a laid-back, quiet but fun-loving guy. Well, he
thought ruefully, it proves the proverb about still waters running deep.

They talked until well into the evening, discussing Jan-Anders
arrival in MegaTokyo and how he had met up with Sylia, Priss and Linna.
Jan-Anders took another deep breath, if Mackie had the courage to be so
honest with him, he deserved by honour the same in return. Besides Alex
had told him why Sylia was immune to the Delirium, if that were the case
then it should be the same for her brother. By the time he had finished
the story of what he was and why he was in the Academy, it was late into
the night.

"Let me get this right," Mackie said incredulously over a bottle
of beer and a take out pizza, "you're a shapeshifter correct? I don't
wanna sound a sceptic but it sounds a little hard to swallow......"

"Right," Jan-Anders smiled slightly, "watch and learn......."

Taking off the plaid shirt he was wearing, he shut his eyes and
breathed deeply, concentrating. His right arm swelled and grew fur,
increasing muscle mass by almost fourfold, fingernails shifting to four
inch talons. He flexed the Crinos paw and held to towards Mackie.

"Touch it, its real Mackie," he said softly, "forget everything
you thought you knew about life, and step into my world. We could always
do with some more human allies."

Mackie grasped the paw in an arm-wrestling hold, fingers and
talons grasping over each other in the age-old bond of friendship. His
dark eyes regarded him fearlessly as the paw became a human hand once
more, the grip broke.

"What do you think I should do about Sis then?" he asked softly.

"Get back in touch first of all, if you can't face them yet," the
Garou replied, "but do it soon, you can always go back to them, they're
your pack, your family."

Mackie nodded in reply his jaw firming, "And what about the shit
going down at MAPA? ! "

"We do a little bit of snooping, tonight!"

************************************************

Alex grinned as the five gathered in his plush office. They
chatted amongst themselves as though they had never been apart. Alex knew
otherwise, he had gone through a lot of expense to get them.

"So the big guy's gotten off his ass and found us a bassist
then?!" one of them asked with a wolfish grin. He was the same build as
Mackie, but with screaming ginger hair which was painstakingly braided.
His strong jaw and blazing eyes, spoke of a rage being barely held in
check. Leather trousers, boots and an old Fates Warning T-shirt completed
his look, a denim overshirt lay nearby

"Yeah! That's me." Mackie interjected, "I should also be taking
over vocal duties as well if its okay with you?"

"Yeah sure, Leaves me free to concentrate on my axe work"'

Alex cleared his throat and began the meeting, "I thank you all
for being so prompt in arriving, this was really just to formally
introduce our new arrivals to their new bass player, but it seems you've
got acquainted slightly already. Before any concerns are raised he is
free of Wyrm-taint, and if you read my preliminary message, immune to the
Delirium."

"All this and tall, dark and handsome too'" the speaker was a
tall, slender dark haired beauty. She grinned mischievously at Mackie and
winked. A cut-off T-shirt was tucked into ripped denims which in turn
disappeared into large combat boots. Her dark hair was long on top, but
she had undercut it at the sides and tied it back.

"Ja Vikky, ve all know vhat you're after......." growled a voice
humorously. The third member was some five inches smaller than the
red-headed Garou but made up for it in breadth. His close cropped ash
blond hair and beard leant him a fierce aspect, but the weathered face
and rogueish smile more than made up for it.

"Shut yer fukkin' hole Olaf before I do........!" she mock
snarled in return.

Mackie looked at the banter with some amusement, Jan-Anders had
told him about the tribe that Vikky came from, the Black Furies, a mainly
all female tribe who saw themselves as protectors of women and Wyld. It
was a source of some amusement, that she would have voluntarily joined an
all Get group, as the two tribes did not get on well together at the best
of times. Jan-Anders had met both Vikky and the other guitarist Axel
while he was at the prestigious Berkeley school of music in the US. Olaf
the drummer was a later addition, an old childhood friend from when
Jan-Anders was still living in Sweden.

Mackie snapped out of the reverie, the band was gathered in a
small dressing room in the Hot Legs cafe. After a great deal of effort,
they had tracked down the equipment being smuggled into MAPA. The fact
that it was being held in a disused practice room and combination locked
in flightcases aroused their suspicions. Mackie had revealed a great deal
of resourcefulness by hacking into the Academy's computer net, and
locating who the equipment was destined for. It seemed that this had been
tagged as "special PA equipment" for Rik Dangerfield's forthcoming
concert at the MegaTokyo Civic Hall, as part of the Vision Trust competition.

"Hey you nervous kid!?" Mackie looked up, jolted from his
thoughts into the solid gaze of Axel Van Drunen, their other guitarist.
His braided ginger hair bobbed like a bead curtain as he spoke.

"Yeah! Just a bit," he admitted, I just hope I don't run into
Priss or the rest of the guys here!"

Axel nodded in silent understanding. Five weeks had elapsed since
Mackie's fateful jam with Jan-Anders, which resulted in them deciding to
reform Katabolis. The original members had jelled within hours, leaving
him feeling a little like a fifth wheel. Olaf had surprised him, in the
respect that as well as being an incredibly adept drummer, he was also a
gifted lyricist. They had been rehearsing eight original songs of which
five had been completed to the satisfaction of the original members, the
other fifteen minutes of the forty five minute minute set would be
completed by covers. The timely intervention of the holidays had been an
absolute godsend, since he was then able to concentrate a lot more on
rehearsing.

Axel clasped his shoulder firmly, "Look Mackie, if the crowd
don't like what we play, that's their problem!"

Mackie grinned, "Yeah! Yer right, what the fuck lets go and bust
some skulls huh?!"

Axel's wolfish grin returned, "Now that's more like it! Better
soundcheck we're on first......c'mon. "

************************************************

Alex watched them soundcheck from the haven of the mixing desk.
They had hit the Lycanthrope recording studios, mere days after Mackie
had joined them. His craggy face broadened into a smile, there were the
beginnings of something rather special here. Lycanthrope records was an
offshoot of Slater Entertainment Entreprises Ltd, and they had tried to
sign the old Katabolis in the early 90's, the problem had always been
finding a stable vocalist. He knew the songs back to front, but the
addition of Mackie on vocals had given the band a tighter sound. He had
managed to get the first hundred copies of their EP printed with just
hours to spare before the gig. The two boxes of CD's lay at his feet, the
scrolling band logo overlaying a composite image: broken machinery
bleeding oil into the parched ground, with a nearby rose withering to
death. The reverse showed a moody band picture taken in a forest.

There was more to it, than just their first gig, he had pulled a
few strings and had got them entered in the Vision Trust band
competition. Only newcomers, or those signed to indie labels could enter,
with 2,000,000 yen going to the winner. It was also a prestigious media
event, so any chance of finding out what this equipment did would be a
boon. This gig was a warm up, opening for two of the other entrants.
Priss and the Replicants had finally got a suitable deal, and were
headlining preceded by underground punk giants VX, with Katabolis on as
openers. This too had taken a fair amount of negotiation.

"More kick drums'" a gruff voice bellowed from stage, the sound
engineer immediately adjusted the levels. Alex looked to see Olaf, all
but lost behind a huge array of toms and cymbals, pounding the kit, the
only part visible being a red bandanna that covered his whole scalp. The
rest of the band were on too, Jan-Anders and Axel clad in cut-off T
shirts and denims swapped lead lines at a leisurely pace. Mackie ambled
around the stage, pumping out a few distorted bass lines, while Vikky
checked the MIDI banks on her keyboards, occasionally letting rip with a
synth choir or organ.

Mackie looked out at the empty club. In under an hour, there was
going to be a capacity crowd of three hundred people. He tried to
visualise what that would be like, but his mind drew a blank. Still, he
thought, its too late to back out now.

************************************************

"It's nice of you to come out with us'" Linna said as they walked
towards the club, "I would have hardly thought that this sort of music is
your style Sylia!"

Sylia smiled wryly as they approached the doors, "Well Priss has
entered herself in the Vision Trust competition, and from what I hear is
widely tipped to win. I wanted to find out what al1 the fuss is all about."

"Have you heard anything more from Mackie?" Nene asked brightly

"Well, in his last letter he said that he was with a group of
environmentalists who were helping him get back on the right track. He
promised also that he will try to get in touch properly as soon as possible."

"Great!"' Nene beamed, "I can hardly wait to s......"

Her words were cut-off by a blast of noise from the club. A
high-speed frenzied buzz of harmonised chord changes, over jackhammer
fast kick-drums. They proceeded past the doorman, producing passes and
took up residence at two tables. where they were soon joined by Priss,
carting a tray of drinks.

"Pretty good huh?" she said, handing the drinks round then
flopping into the spare seat next to Linna, "You know that big Swedish
guy that helped us at the airport, he's one of the guitar players "

On stage all that could be seen of Jan-Anders and Axel were blurs
of hair as they headbanged in time to the snare beat. Mackie's soaring
vocals howled above the maelstrom while Vikky counterpointed the main
melody line. Solos were dispatched at blistering velocity, notes merging
as the leads spiralled around each other. Suddenly everything stopped,
leaving a solitary clean-tone guitar to carry the melody as Mackie sang
in a soulful drawl, intermittently the other guitar and drums would erupt
with a blast beat before leaving the melody to carry on as before. With
the same precision, the song erupted back into life, hammering away
before suddenly coming to an end with a blast from Olaf's crash cymbal.

Mackie looked out at the crowd, heart pounding, adrenaline
rushing through every vein. Some of the punks who were there for VX
looked a bit unsure, the Priss fans seemed to appreciate was they were
doing and the people near the PA, they looked as if they had gone ten
minutes inside a washing machine. He took a deep breath and pulled the
mic towards him.

"Shit! If yer gonna do anything at least rattle yer bones, you
guys sound fuckin' dead out there......and I shouldn't say fuck! You'd
better wake up for this one or we're goin' home! This song is about the
cycle of life of which we are only a part this one's called 'Yggsdrasil'"

In the meantime, both Jan-Anders and Axel had swapped their
guitars. Both Ibanez 7- stringers, Axel's cloudscape graphic design
contrasting with the other's sickening multicoloured swirl pattern. Olaf
counted them in, and then they let loose with a thundering riff that
would have probably registered on the Richter scale.

*********************************************

Priss smiled privately to herself, Jan-Anders was right in one
respect, he didn't play cock rock, she thought. If it were not for the
fact that she was due on stage later, she would have shown her support by
pitching into the mosh pit that had developed two songs into their set.
The blurb on the flyer had labelled them "Techno-metal" and for once the
band had lived up to the hype. Nene had already gotten into the band,
probably as much for the looks of the frontmen as the music. She had
spent the last quarter of an hour after their set had ended mooning over
their vocalist and bass-player.

"So Nene, is it going to be a full service or just a registry
job?" Prlss quipped.

"What? huh?!' Nene snapped out of her dream-world, "Hey' No fair!
Yer just being mean to me........again!" she complained.

"Anyway I thought you lusted after Mr. Dangerfield, Little Miss
Pocket Rocket!! "

"Stop that! You know how much I hate that name!" Nene snarled,
fists bunched.

The argument was interrupted by the sound of shattering glass,
followed by scuffling and a meaty dull thud of a fist connecting solidly
with flesh. Looking up, Priss saw a large group of GENOM construction
workers, who had just floored one of her fans. His girlfriend was looking
on in horror as they began to kick his prone form. Priss stood up
bristling, fury mirrored on her face. Before she could make a move
however, a knot of mixed fans piled into the fray, armed with whatever
they could lay hands on, or whatever they managed to sneak past the
security guards. In the ensuing scuffle, she failed to notice the stage
doors opening and a group of four emerge.

This bit is merely a continuation of part 4 which I split off to make it
easier to handle. By now you might be asking,"How come Mackie's ended up
so big?" Well after chatting to one of my mates (take a bow Francis) we
came to the conclusion that Mackie had been overlooked. Sylia is about
5'11" - 6' ish which means that Mackie by the time he's finshed growing
should be knocking 6' 5" or thereabouts, and for heaven's sake the
guys an engineer he should be powerful. Anyway that's my interpretation,
sit back and enjoy the carnage.

Ian.

"Oh shit!" Mackie said, "Looks like trouble brewing'" At the
moment a group of fans from both bands were engaged in a heated debate
with a group of drunken GENOM construction workers, who seemed to be
itching for trouble. Unfortunately, the general look of glee on the faces
of his bandmates, lead him to suspect that his view was in the minority.

"Don't worry!" Axel snarled. "Just use yer initiative and kick
the shit outta the clusterfucks!"

By now the slanging match had degenerated into a full scale
brawl. A hardcore group of fans from both bands were engaging the workers
in a free for all. By the time Mackie and the Garou had joined the fray,
bodies, bottles and furniture were flying with merry abandon. The less
militant fans looked on, some lending moral support. Priss meanwhile had
snatched up one of her empty beer bottles and with a gleeful shout of,
"Every girl for herself!" had joined battle.

"Priss wait!" Linna yelled, she glanced at Sylia and Nene
despairingly, then ran after her friend.

Axel meanwhile was brawling in the only way he knew how,
brutally. Within the first few seconds, five had fallen to a hail of
blows to head and body, and he was sizing up his sixth. Vikky was also in
her element, revealing a level of ferocity that had many of her opponents
diving for cover. Olaf had taken up residence by the bar, and was
casually taking out any opponent that came within arms length by beating
their skull against it, until they stopped moving, a couple of blows was
usually enough. Mackie had started well enough, but his lack of
experience in this field had caused problems when faced with multiple
opponents

Four burly workers grabbed a limb each and threw him out of the fight.
Jan-Anders came out of the stage-door after relieving himself, to be
confronted by a flying bottle. Instinctively he plucked it out of the air
by the neck, and brought it down on the head of the nearest target,
luckily a worker. Hardly pausing in his fluid movement he stuck the
broken end into the belly of his friend. He systematically began to
eradicate the workers, using whatever part of his body which seemed
appropriate. Fists, elbows, knees, feet and head were all used to
devastating effect, if only for the purpose of disabling the workers.
Within seconds a pile of numb bodies lay about him. He nimbly leapt over
them and proceeded to size up the next most vulnerable targets.

Mackie's ignominious extraction from the fight had lead to him
sailing gracefully through the air. He felt the world turn sickeningly
about him, next a heavy blow to his legs and shoulders then everything
went black.

***********************************************

Nene squealed with fear as the body hit both chair and table
simultaneously, it was a good job the barmaid had cleared their glasses
or he would have ended up a human pincushion. He was a tall muscular
young man, a shade under two metres in height with long dark hair. She
knelt down beside him, he was still breathing and there appeared to be no
lasting damage. He groaned and from under a curtain of dark hair a pair
of brown eyes slowly focused on her.

"Uh! Hi Nene," Mackie said groggily, "Yer looking better'n ever!"

He sat up slowly, gagging slightly as he swallowed some of his
own blood from a split lip. Shaking his head to clear the fuzziness, he
hawked to clear his throat and spat a gobbet of bloody phlegm on the
floor. Nene backed off, stunned beyond words, her mind refusing to accept
the evidence of her senses. Sylia already on her feet, noted this
reaction and steadied her friend. The pair watched dumbstruck as he
clambered to his feet, brushing tousled hair away from his face, which
bore a frightening resemblance to Sylia's.

"Oh.... hi Sis" he said awkwardly, then noting her shocked
reaction, "Hey a guy can change a lot in two years." he finished softly.

In the background, some brash punk was being played, it seemed
like VX had gone on regardless. Scoot, JD and Lucky were playing with
their usual gusto and abandon, ideal music to fight to, Mackie thought
ruefully.

"Hey Mackie get yer ass back in here now!" Axel's voice carried
over the din.

Mackie looked at the brawl, by the looks of things a few of the
workers' friends had pitched in, upsetting the odds a little. He looked
at his sister, then Nene then to the shattered debris of the table.

"Is this table taken?" he asked rhetorically, with a slight
smile, "No I guess not........"

He picked up a piece of the table, and wrenched the leg off with
his bare hands, "Back soon I promise." With that he pitched back into the
melee, wielding the leg like a two handed sword.

************************************************

Priss had been doing well, even by her standards. There was a
growing pile of bodies with bloodied noses and mouths nearby and she was
hell-bent on adding to it. Linna covered her friend desperately trying to
avoid her getting hurt and was subduing any attackers with her usual
balletic grace. Suddenly the pair of them heard Mackie's name being
yelled, the distraction was only momentary but enough for Priss to be
pinned to the bar by two attackers.

"Get offa me you bastards!!" she gritted.

"Say wonder if she's a real brunette," one of them joked
coarsely, "let's find out..."

The sentence was interrupted by a dull thud, the attackers eyes
rolled back in his head and he slumped to his knees then to the floor.
The other faced his attacker knife at the ready, but was felled by a jab
to the stomach with a table leg, as he doubled over Mackie used the butt
end to cosh him over the back of the head. He too fell senseless.

Priss gawked at Katabolis' frontman, it couldn't be! The face was
the same, but everything around it had altered almost beyond recognition.
He looked at her and smiled, it had to be Mackie, he was the only person
she knew with that goofy grin!

"Yo Priss! Managed to fix my bike yet?" he asked jokingly.

"Ha! Ha! Very funny yer big lunk!" she snapped, trying to mask
her relief, "Just when I thought....BEHIND YOU!"

Mackie dodged to one side as the man tried to cosh him, using the
attacker's own momentum, Mackie simply tripped him and finished the move
by braining him against the bar.

"Yer due on stage soon c'mon!" he said bluntly.

Battling their way to the stage door, he wrenched the handle open
and shoved Priss roughly inside, "Hey watch what yer doing, yer....."
Priss began, the rest of her threat was cut off from Mackie's earshot as
he shut the door behind her.

************************************************

Alex watched the fight progressing with a groan, how the hell was
he to bail out those hotheads this time?! At least the young human has
shown some balls, he said to himself as he watched Mackie crack another
worker across the shoulders with a table leg. Security was doing its best
to separate the fighters and succeeding, by the looks of things they were
trying to get things under control before deciding whether to call any
backup or not. By the looks of things, there were no serious injuries, by
Get or Fury standards. Many of the workers had picked themselves up off
the floor, bar or wherever they had fallen and were heading towards the
exit, nursing injuries between mild bruising to broken limbs. They were
jeered out of the club by both sets of fans, and even by some security.
He looked about him and saw the manager was about to make a phone call,
he grinned slightly and began to chant under his breath.

*************************************************

Linna had to admire Jan-Anders technique, what it lacked it form
and elegance it made up for in efficacity and brutality. It seemed to be
a form of kickboxing, but all bodily surfaces appeared to be used,
including the head. She also noted that he was pulling his blows and
targeting areas that would be painful and temporarily debilitating but
hardly fatal. She winced as his elbow connected solidly with a target's
solar plexus, he doubled over and fell retching to the ground. She had
only pitched in to protect her headstrong friend and seeing the
approaching security, she thought it prudent to cut and run. So weaving
through the final straggling melees she made for her table, where Sylia
and Nene stood aghast.

"Hey guys what's up?" she said airily, "You look like you've just
seen a ghost or something."

"Mackie he's here." Nene blurted out, with an effort.

"So I've heard, can't see anyone resembling him though."

"You won't," Sylia said, having recovered slightly from the
shock, "he's grown up quite a bit in two years!"

"Yeah!? What I want to know is why he ran out on us like that!!'
Linna said sharply.

"No!" Sylia's voice was low but carried an edge that did not
invite argument, "We can't risk upsetting him again. Just leave him be
for now please." she finished more softly.

By the bar area, the security appeared to be mopping up the last
of the brawl. Odd as it seemed the GENOM workers appeared to be on the
receiving end of the worst of the treatment, most of them being escorted
to the door in no uncertain terms. Five tall figures were bunched in a
tight knot by the bar, appearing to be locked in deep discussion. An
older man, with cropped iron-grey hair, dressed in dark grey slacks and a
polo-neck sweater approached them.

"That was too close!" Alex breathed with relief as he approached
the band, "Let me know in future when you're going to pull something like
that, I can only cover so much!"

The Garou looked at him in silent understanding, Mackie looked a
little confused and it must have showed.

"A little gift I have," Alex whispered, "I just tell someone to
do something, and they do it!"

"Cute trick!" Mackie snorted, "Listen guys I'm really in the shit

of all the tables, in all the bars I could've landed on, I had to pick my
Sis'! What do I do!"

"Talk to them," Jan-Anders growled, "there's no time like the
present. Can the rest of you guys get everything packed in the truck?"

"No problemo!" Vikky smiled, then looking at Mackie with almost
maternal concern, "Don't worry, nobody can blame you for what you did.
Remember, they'll be as jumpy as you are. go easy on 'em...."

************************************************

Priss prepared for her set in somewhat of a daze! Christ no
wonder we couldn't find him, she thought to herself.

"Hey Boss you OK?" a concerned voice called.

She turned to see her guitarist, leaning against the doorframe, a
worried look on his usually easygoing features, his right hand gripping
the upper horn of his BC Rich Warlock.

"Yeah!" Priss called, "Just met someone who I haven't seen since '33!"

"Really! Old flame or just a friend?"

"Whadda you think dipshit!"

He laughed and returned to the band dressing room, swigging from
a can of Special Brew. Priss breathed a sigh of relief, at least the band
had been sensible and had stayed in the dressing room while the fight was
going on. From the stage she could make out the strains of VX's latest
opus "Fuck GENOM" blaring to the assembled crowd. She had a sneaking
affection for the band, they had been on the underground circuit for
years and had helped her out when The Replicants was just a garage group.
Even though she had a deal and was finally making a decent living, she
had never forgotten the values that Scoot had drummed into her, and
despite big-money pressure to "sell-out" to a major label she had never
done so. To her, it seemed almost like betraying a friend.

**********************************************

In the club proper, VX were getting their fans warmed up for the
madness to come. Pogoing bodies launched themselves at each other, and
once again the club had turned into a battleground. Security and bar
staff patrolled the borders of the pit, righting wreaked furniture and
generally tidying up the mess caused by the fight. Sylia, Nene, and Linna
sat at their righted table, gazing at the huddled knot of bodies that was
Katabolis

"Can I get you anything ladies?" a cheerful voice called.

Sylia looked up to see the professional smile of one of club bar
staff, notepad and pen in hand.

"Could I have a Bacardi, a Malibu and a Glayva for myself
please." Sylia replied, producing a credstick.

"Right away." the other replied, scribbling down the order. After
a couple of moments he scuttled off towards the bar, leaving them to
their thoughts and each other.

"Is there room for two more?!' a deep voice said softly

Momentarily startled they all glanced up, Jan-Anders towered
above them, two bottles of beer in his hands, a ghost of a smile playing
around his usually brooding features. Mackie stood alongside him looking
strained, and more than a little nervous. They had taken the time to
clean themselves up after their set, but now looked slightly dishevelled
with the after effects of the brawl. Jan-Anders had changed into a clean
black vest and plaid shirt, which was now slightly blood-stained. Mackie
was applying a band-aid to a cut on his cheek, and was not making a good
job of it due to the fact that his hands were all over the place.

"Be my guest," Sylia replied, "if you can find any chairs that
are intact...."

He placed the bottles on the table, looked round and grabbed the
nearest two that appeared to be free. The rest of the Knight Sabers
shunted round to make room for them at the table, Mackie ended up
sandwiched between Nene and Jan-Anders, while he had Linna to his left.
An uneasy silence reigned over the immediate area, neither party wanting
to break the deadlock. Even the racket coming from the stage seemed to
fade into the distance.

"So how've you been keeping then?" Nene ventured somewhat lamely.

"Not too bad all in all, MAPA and the band keeps me busy."
Mackie replied honestly, "Just a chance to do something different you
know. What
about you guys?"

"Pretty much business as usual," Sylia replied, with deliberate
ambiguity, she was quite sure that the Garou knew what was going on but
didn't
want to acknowledge the fact, "other than the fact we missed you...."

"Yeah....I'm sorry....maybe I can explain some time what....." he
began
awkwardly desperately trying to find the right words.

"Enough of that," Sylia interrupted softly, "that's in the past
now, you're back and that's all that matters..." She reached over the
table and took Mackie's hands in hers, gazing at the features that were
so like her own. The eyes still disturbed her though, there was something
inside him that still bled, a wound that refused to heal, when she had
first met Priss she had the same look, the thought of her brother going
down the same path was almost unbearable.

Jan-Anders sensed the change in mood and acted, he leant across
to Mackie and whispered, "It'll be okay, if you need me I'll be outside.
Excusing himself, he stood and carrying his bottle proceeded towards the
exit. Mackie needs some space, he thought, the last thing he needs is me
cramping his style.

Sylia glanced after his disappearing form, more pieces in the
puzzle were dropping into place. The hair was definitely the same, as was
the eye colour, even certain mannerisms were identical. From what she
remembered of him, when giving him a lift home with Priss he appeared not
to be a ready talker, but whatever he did say appeared to be weighed up
in advance, nothing superfluous, just a steady conviction. That would
come later, she thought to herself, first try and get Mackie back into
the fold. She switched all of her attention back to her brother, who was
recounting his life since he left.

"After bouncing my trust fund around several different places, I
had enough cash to do pretty much what I wanted. Even Nene couldn't trace
it, I musta done a good job!" Nene beamed up at him for that remark, a
big smile plastered over her pretty features, green eyes twinkling merrily.

"Why decide on the Academy then?" Linna asked.

"I stood in the wrong queue!" Mackie laughed, "Seriously I needed
a complete change, somewhere where I could find an outlet.." he petered
off reluctant to go on.

"Anyway I'M glad you're back!" Nene butted in, was it his
imagination or had her chair moved closer? He looked down at her and
grinned a little awkwardly, "Thanks Nene I......er..!"

Linna spared him his blushes, "How did you get so good in two
years? Some of those bass runs look hellishly hard to play!"

"Oh the Academy uses deep psych intensive teaching methods, its
akin to a military style mind alteration only not as nasty. All the
theory and structure can be placed in at a cerebral level. Plus being
immersed in an instrument ten hours a day non-stop means you get to
practice quite a bit. I was a bit of a problem student, due to my
accelerated learning curve, the rate I picked things like that up was a
bit gross!! So I got most of the two year course done in a maybe fourteen
months, and after that I began branching out picking up jazz, funk even
some neo-classical shit 'scuse me. Anything to stop me from sounding
like another Academy moron."

Sylia noted the change in tone and responded, "What was wrong
with the teaching style. A lot of places are using similar techniques."

"The teaching gives you the technique sure, but it doesn't give
you any of the feeling for what you're playing! A lot of MAPA jerks sound
like they're playing on Mogadon, you know nothing there." He mimed
someone playing a guitar
in a robotic fashion.

Meanwhile VX were coming to the end of their set. As the lights
came on, everyone was momentarily dazzled, and in the background piped
music from Priss' last album "Who Pulls The Strings?" was being played in
preparation for her set. The club was suddenly filled with the rumble of
conversation, which seemed quiet after the din of the PA system. The air
was thick with expectation, rumours abounded of an imminent album
release, if so she would probably air some of the new cuts that night.

In the light, Mackie glanced over the assembled company. His
sister and Linna had hardly changed at all, but Nene had been busy in his
absence It seemed like she had found a permanent solution to her yo-yoing
weight problem and looked great, the spray on jeans and a Priss tour
T-shirt gave testimony to that. The cropped jacket that she had been
wearing over the top, now lay draped on her seat and she seemed to be
bubbling with barely contained joy.

************************************************

Backstage, Priss was running through her final checks before her
set, warming her voice up by running through a few scales.

"Give 'em hell Priss!" a brash voice drawled.

She looked round to see a large red-haired man addressing her, he
was currently engaged in the task of placing guitars in flightcases. She
recognised him as one of Katabolis guitarists, but the name eluded her
momentarily. Axel, Axel Van Drunen that was it!

"Thanks! Storming set by the way!" she responded truthfully.

"Thanks, we try our best." he said with a mock flourish.

"The problem fer me is, how the fuck am I going to follow it!"
She said with a chuckle.

"That's your problem!" Axel shot back, "But yer sure to find a way!!"

Priss smiled, at least someone else in this town's got backbone,
she thought with satisfaction. When she had first heard the rough mix of
their EP, she had had her doubts in performing with them. Usually the
more technical a band got, the more arrogant and pretentious they got as
well. Having met Jan-Anders though, he seemed to be someone who had both
feet firmly planted on the ground, so she finallyrelented and was now
glad of it She had spent the whole set with the rest of the Knight
Sabers, but itching to get into the mosh pit which quickly developed.

"Well! it's cool that yer dug the set!" Axel continued, braided
hair shaking as he fitted his 7-string !'Cloudscape" to its case after
wiping it down lovingly, "In our books that counts fer a lot!'! He
fastened the case and stacked it with the others. Between the two
guitarists and bass player, Priss noted with a hint of awe, there were
about eighteen or so hardcases. Either they were GENOM supported, which
considering their choice of style was unlikely, or they had already got
some serious endorsements, which seemed the most likely.

"Two minutes until showtime Miss Asagiri!" Priss was shook out of
her thoughts by one of the club staff. She looked around, the others were
in position and ready to give it all.

"Lets go kill boys!" she said half in jest.

************************************************

Jan-Anders leant up against the wall just outside the club, drink
in hand. He had returned a few times to refill his glass, and Mackie
seemed to be doing just fine. In some ways he felt jealous towards him,
even before the long Sleep of Heroes he had had no real family to speak
of. They were killed by Black Spiral Dancers when he was ten, in his
mind's eye he could still see the skeletal husk that was once his house
and the eerie hunting call of the Whippoorwill. He had been moved to the
States for his own safety, the first change coming a mere three years
after. He could still see the look of primal fear on the young punk's
face before his claws ripped him into fragments of bleeding meat.

Behind him a burst of distortion from the PA told him that Priss
was onstage. Her style was less technical and polished than theirs but
that did not matter in the slightest. Her brutal sound was unique and by
the sounds of things, faster and meaner live. Pounding drums and bass lay
beneath riffs so thick, a fan could almost surf off the distortion. Out
here though, you could make out her powerful vocals more easily, and her
barbed political allusions. She was approaching the end of her hour and a
half long set, and he was beginning to wonder where she got the energy from.

"This one's a new 'un," her voice sounded a bit hoarse but still
in good shape, "I'm giving it an airing tonight to see how it goes down.
So if yer like it, go fuckin! apeshit okay! One thing I have learned, is
that many Boomers can't help being what they arein some cases they're
fucked over equally as hard as the victims. This song is about seeing the
world from their side, it's called 'Digital Dreams.'"

A slow powerful intro chugged into life before the song erupted
at around mach seven. It was a slamming stop-start sort of number that
would leave the fans feeling as if they had just gone ten rounds with
said Boomer. The variations in tempo and feel showed that she was
maturing as a musician, but Jan-Anders doubted whether the average fan
would appreciate that, it just sounded good. VX aired their political
statements by bludgeoning people over the head with obscenity, Priss
preferred to take a scalpel to their kidneys, some of her lyrics were
blood-chilling in their intensity of hatred.

***********************************************

Priss towelled herself off in her private dressing room, she did
not mind sharing dressing rooms with the band, but in situations like
this, she needed some privacy. The show had gone very well and the crowd
had shown their appreciation for her latest material. Of late her
perceptions as a songwriter had been changing, before all that had come
out of her was venomous hatred at GENOM. Now she was looking at herself,
using her music to express her own hopes and fears, dreams and
nightmares, rather than a soapbox for her own political ideals, it felt
liberating.

Slipping into fresh underwear, she padded to her wardrobe and
rummaged around, ripped denims and a cut-off T-shirt would suffice, this
was hardly an arena tour. She was regularly filling the club out to
capacity, with the record deal and all, how long before major success?
How long before the corporate worms came crawling with billion yen deals
and the promises of everlasting fame? Her jaw set resolutely, she would
never whore herself before the altar of fame, she sang because it was in
her soul, a passion needing an outlet. Breathing deeply, adrenaline still
coursing she opened the dressing room door. An hour or so later, Priss
finally made it to the table where Mackie and the others were sitting.
Grabbing herself a beer she sat down heavily, a little off balance,
rubbing her aching wrist. Autographing shit can be such a bitch, she
thought somewhat sourly. At least she had been bought rounds by some of
the fans, and by now was more than a little inebriated. By the sounds of
the conversation Mackie had been finding out what they had been up to. A
lot can happen in two years, she thought somewhat sadly, and he's proof
of that. By now the alcohol had been flowing for a while and the group
was getting a little merry, even Sylia was loosening up. Linna was
spouting the anecdote of the time Nene got drunk at an office party and
ended up being photographed in some less than innocent poses.

"She's still trying to find the negatives to this day!" Linna
finished breathlessly, tears of laughter in her eyes. Nene was bristling
with pet up fury, and seemed to be considering doing something violent
and possibly terminal to Linna in the immediate future.

"Hey cheer up Nene!" Mackie smiled, "It could have been worse, at
least you had all your clothes on! You might have ended up as a Playboy
centrefold!"

"Yeah right Mackie!" Priss slurred slightly, "And you'd know all
about them huh?!"

Mackie ignored the taunt, he had not brought up the subject of
Juliette yet and he hoped they had forgotten by now. Some things were
best left in the dark, he thought, but the way the conversation was
going, he was going to have to tell them sooner or later.

"So whaddabout that girl yer wer seeing then ?!" Priss needled.
"You still going out with her or what?! C'mon what's she like?!"

Mackie cringed slightly, he just hoped that the others would not
notice it. He examined the faces of his companions. Priss had a slightly
malicious grin on her face, a pale echo could be seen in Linna, Nene and
Sylia looked at him expectantly. His mind screamed at him to cut and run,
he clamped down on it, they don't know what happened, he tried to tell
himself .

"Dead." Mackie's voice was flat, totally emotionless, "She was
raped and murdered by two SDPC goons just before I left."

"Why?" Sylia's voice was little more than a whisper, "Why didn't
you tell us?!"

"She was a Boomer, a friend of Sylvie's from Genaros, I knew what
you'd have said." bitterness welled up in his voice, "Two months then..."
He stared at his drink, it was easier than looking at their faces,
"Nothing left but scars."

The others might have been able to handle another emotional
outburst but this was a side to him that unnerved even his sister. Priss
and Linna exchanged guilty glances while the others looked on in horror.

"Whaddya mean scars!" Priss snapped, trying to cover her tracks,
"You haven't lived enough to .......

Mackie's stare cut her short, the face was taut, pale and set but
his eyes mirrored the pain within him. He unfastened the velcro straps on
his bracers and laid his bare forearms on the table. There were two sets
of scars on each arm, one set were neat and precise, the other ragged and
gash-like.

"I mean scarred Priss," Mackie's voice was soft almost a whisper,
he pointed to the neat set with a mirthless smile, "had the luxury of
razor blades for those. The others, I had to use a bread knife, nearly
got the job done that time....pity the cleaner found me. Another ten
minutes and it would've been 'goodbye cruel world', well that's what the
docs told me." he concluded morbidly.

Priss slumped back in the chair, shocked rigid as Mackie
refastened the bracers. How could this have happened? One of her closest
friends driven to attempted suicide by her? She looked into his eyes and
saw herself mirrored there, lost, alone and more than a little confused,
trying to cope with the storm of grief, anger and guilt that raged
inside. She had opened her mouth and put her foot right in it, Mackie was
treading a thin edge at the moment, she felt it might be better if she
just kept her mouth shut.

"I.....I'm sorry Mackie I never knew," stammered a small voice.
Mackie felt a trembling warm hand gently press against his knee. The
owner of the hand was gazing at him steadily with solemn green eyes. His
stomach lurched as he saw Nene, snapping him out of his bleak mood, she
looked fragile and close to breaking down.

"So am I Nene....maybe I should've told you....oh shit what am I
going to do now!" he said desperately, voice beginning to crack.

"That's up to you Mackie, I can't make the decisions for you
anymore!" Sylia's voice was quavering and were those tears welling? Sylia
excused herself and headed for the exit before anyone could stop her.

***********************************************

Jan-Anders waited patiently outside, the rest of the band had
come to talk to him a few songs into the Priss' set, before retiring to
their temporary camp in Lycanthrope's rehearsal studios. He had ghosted
in and out a few times to get drinks and to check on his young friend,
everything seemed to be going okay. He stood with his back to the club,
as though propping it up, one raised foot flat against the outside wall,
a growing army of beer bottles was forming on the nearby dustbin lid, and
was slowly swelling in ranks. Apart from the collection of empties, there
was little evidence that he had drunk such a ferocious quantity of
alcohol. He glanced up at the orange on black haze that passed for the
night sky in MegaTokyo. Pity, he thought, a clear night like this would
be good for stargazing. A slender dagger of a moon hung in the sky, a few
more weeks and it would be full, then he could really have some fun.
First he had to wait for Mackie to emerge either with or without the
others. If he decided to return (if they allowed him) then he could
return with them to his flat (which was spitting distance from Sylia's),
and if not, then Mackie was going to need some serious consolation. These
thoughts were running through his mind when he was disturbed by the sound
of stilettos clicking on pavement, followed by the hurried inhalation of
someone drawing on a cigarette, followed by a longer exhalation.

Looking down, he saw the silhouette of a young woman dressed in a
tailored business suit highlighted in the sickly gleam of the neon sign.
It was Sylia, and by the way she was hugging herself with her arms, it
appeared that she was not in the most emotionally stable frames of mind.
He's probably told them everything, he thought sadly, Holy Mother of Gaia
Jan-Anders what have you got yourself into here?. He finished the bottle
he was drinking in one final gulp and set it aside with the others, he
was a modi of the Hand of Tyr, a splinter group within the Get. They saw
themselves as protectors of those who could not protect themselves, and
he was one of the most perfect killing machines that Gaia had ever
created. not a Samaritan. He was however human enough to realise that she
needed help.

Sylia had left the club hurriedly, trying to calm the emotional
rush that was playing merry hell with her whole system. Shock had been
rep]aced by joy which in turn had given way to horror and anguish as she
realised there was nothing she could do for Mackie. In a sudden spasm of
guilt she realised how much she had taken him for granted, despite his
supercharged hormones he had always been there to help out, and to
lighten the mood when things got grim. She had never really told him how
much she loved him, and seeing him now made that fact worse. Trying to
reconcile the loveable goofy Mackie she had known, with the lonely,
embittered young man she saw now, was difficult at best. Silent tears
coursed down her cheeks as she struggled to make sense of it all.

"He'll be okay Sylia, but he'll never be like before." a deep
voice said from the shadows.

Sylia recognised the voice and turned to see where he was, in the
shadows underneath the neon. she caught the impression of a giant of a
man, dressed in a plaid shirt and denims.

"Where do you fit into this Mr. Jivarp?" she asked despairingly,
trying to check herself.

"Cut the Mr. crap just call me Jan," he replied, "I met your
brother by accident at the Academy, and I put two and two together after
we both got drunk one night. You know how all the old stories come out
when yer ratted. I just persuaded him to get back in touch." he said
simply, it was the truth.

"So you and the band are the 'environmentalists' that he was
mentioning In his letters?"

"Yup. We didn't know how much you knew about us." he looked round
slowly, the club was still busy and would be for another two hours or so.

Sylia joined him on the wall, still quivering slightly and taking
long draws on her cigarette to calm herself.

"Trying to get cancer or something?" Jan-Anders said with a hint
of a smile.

"No." Sylia examined the burning tip, "We've got active filters
nowadays, removes all of the carcinogens and tar, not like the old days."

There was something in his voice that was so familiar to her, a
calm ferocity that was quite soothing. A soft bass growl that was felt
rather than heard by her. More pieces were falling into place, memories
of her dreams and the events in Chromium Heaven began to interweave.

"What I really meant to say is, why are you here in MegaTokyo?"
she asked softly.

"I'm investigating MAPA, I think that GENOM is using it as a
front for something, but we won't know until they do something and that's
at the Vision Trust gig." he looked at her, trying to gauge her strength,
her will to cope with the truth, "Plus to repay a debt by eradicating the
Wreckers for an old friend."

If Sylia was shocked it did not show, instead the faintest of
smiles flashed across her pale features, before she had another drag.

"So those dreams I've been having are...." she thought out loud.

"Totally true." he interrupted, "and the creature you saw in
Chromium Heaven was me." Sylia watched as he removed his shirt, and
turned his arm to the light. On his upper arm was a raised scar tattoo in
shape of a stylised T, mounted over a severed paw. Numerous minor scars
crossed his arm at various intervals, and some worryingly larger ones.
Satisfied that she had seen enough, he put his shirt back on.

"I never wanted to involve you, Mackie or the others in any of
this." he said softly.

"It was my own fault," Sylia admitted, "if it weren't for me
thinking you were a new type of Boomer, I would have never shown up at
that place at all."

He looked down at her and saw that her breathing had calmed, she
would be okay, he thought with mounting respect, this woman is tough. He
put a huge callused hand gently on her shoulder.

"C'mon lets go back in, he'll be worried about yer." he said quietly.

Sylia gave his hand a gentle squeeze before murmuring a subdued,
"Okay then." The two walked out of the shadows of the street, into the
bright neon lit womb of the club.

More magic and mayhem! Pitch in folks part seven coming your way shortly!

Ian.

Jan-Anders regained consciousness painfully, his head was pounding as fast
as one of Olaf's kick drum flams and he felt like hitting something until
it felt as bad as he did. At least someone has done their Florence
Nightingale, he thought, lifting his head slightly from the pillow. He was
lying on the floor of a flat, whose exactly, he knew not.

Raising his head groggily in the gloom, his lupine eyes perceived
the lay of the room. On the long sofa opposite Sylia's bed, he made out
the sleeping form of Linna. All that was visible of her, was a shock of
cropped black hair. The blankets gently rose and fell as she slept,
occasionally ruffling as she moved lethargically in some half-remembered
dream. Sylia's bed was empty however, and looked as if it had been all night.

Alarmed, he sat bolt upright in his makeshift bed, then wished he
hadn't as the room lurched and realigned. His hungover brain bravely
fought to sort the information that was being force-fed into it. Flinging
the blankets aside, he stood up carefully, already his inhuman metabolism
was repairing the damage although he wasn't yet aware of it. Shattered
fragments of the previous night's drunken debauchery sliced into his
memory like shards of crystal, refusing to become part of the gestalt.

He wracked his brains hard, Sylia had mentioned something about
sleeping in the study. He breathed a sigh of relief, it figured, she
struck him as someone who needed her privacy. But like her brother there
was more to her than the polite exterior, she was driven to extraordinary
lengths by GENOM. He could relate to that. He looked up and glanced at
the computer that stood over the bed, it was reading 10.13 am. Damn good
job the Silky Doll doesn't open on Sundays, he thought.

He stretched, trying to relax his stiffened muscles, he was still
fully clothed with the notable exception of his vest, which had
disappeared somewhere along the line. He padded his way softly to the
atrium that led to the kitchen. Carefully opening the door, he crept
through into the kitchen proper.

He switched the light on without thinking, then winced as the
pounding in his head grew worse. Tight-lipped he hunted for the Med-Pak
that Sylia kept there. After rummaging around for a few minutes he found
the green plastic case under the sink. Moments later, he looked with
slight distaste at the fizzing glass of Resolve in his hand. Looks like
fizzy piss, he thought as he drained it with a gulp, but tastes worse.
The brew effervesced uncomfortably in his stomach, and his head still
felt like it ought to belong to someone else.

Flushing out a mug, he downed a goodly measure of water before
deciding it would be more beneficial if he just stuck his head underneath
the tap. "Oh fuck it!!" he swore as he shoved his hair under the icy torrent.

He eventually came up, feeling somewhat better than before.
Whether this was due to his supernatural regenerative abilities or the
impromptu cold shower, he didn't really care. It was light outside, and
the early morning sunshine was filtering through the Venetian blinds. By
the looks of things, nobody was going to be around for another hour or
two at the least. Perhaps a brisk run and a bite to eat would clear his
head? Shrugging off his boots and socks he headed for the door.

***********************************************

Mackie awoke from sleep with a fitful start. Light was beginning
to trickle in through the blinds, and he could feel the change even
through closed eyelids. His face however was uncomfortably warm and
prickled slightly, and his right arm felt dead as though he had been
lying peculiarly. He opened his eyes slowly and looked down with mounting
horror at a tousled mop of red hair that was nuzzling gently into his
face and neck.

Pulling away slightly, he saw a contented smile on Nene's elfin
features. At least she knows her booze limits, he thought wryly, unlike
Priss. Looking down her recumbent form, he froze suddenly, her T- shirt
was still in place but somewhere her jeans had been lost and he prayed
that she was decent underneath. The pins and needles in his arm were
easily attributable to her, she was lying on it. Her own limbs were
causing him the most worry though, one arm was wrapped around his neck,
while the other was on the inside of his thigh uncomfortably near groin
level. His right leg was held between her naked thighs, luckily she
hadn't locked it in place.

He gave the air and the sheet beneath him a couple of exploratory
sniffs, there was no lingering musk of sweat or anything else that
pointed to late night drunken intimacy. He breathed a deep sigh of
relief, despite the headache he needed to get out of there fast!

Reaching down slowly, he gently parted Nene's legs far enough so
he could extract his without disturbing her too much. Her arms however
were a bit more of a struggle. Lifting his head he tried to remove the
one around his neck. Not the easiest of tasks, he thought grimly. A faint
murmur of protest showed that his efforts were being noted and objected
to. A pair of sleepy green eyes gazed into his, from within a cloud of
red hair.

"Oh....hi there!" Nene breathed dreamily with a faint smile, not
quite aware of the situation.

The hand that Mackie had clasped around hers to remove it, was
suddenly squeezed, while the other began to rub gently. Nuzzling into him
further, his right leg was once again trapped but this time held fast,
while a pair of soft, full lips brushed his for an instant.

Mackie squeezed his eyes shut, trying in vain to order the tumult
of emotions that washed over him. Nene was a friend, nothing more, or was
she? Fragments of the previous evening came back to him, she had been
overjoyed to see him back but the rest of the party was lost in a blur of
warmth and drink.

Nene in the fuzziness of half-sleep sighed happily, she had
always felt affection for Mackie, even in the earliest days of the Knight
Sabers. He had always been fun to be around, and he certainly seemed to
be more at ease around her than the others. She had lost count of the
number of times she had fallen asleep on him during late night coding
sessions. The warmth of his presence, so close to her and yet so far.
This shocked her out of her reverie, she'd been cuddling up with him all
night!

Her eyes shooting open in realisation if not in embarrassment,
Nene pulled away from Mackie; face turning as red as her hair.

"Omigod!....I....I... never told you!" she stammered, hugging her
knees, "Sylia needed help with the technical side of things so I kinda
took over yer room I'm so s..s..sorry!!"

Mackie looked about him quickly, realisation dawning, discarded
computer magazines lay scattered across the floor as did a lot of
printout. The thing that did strike his attention was the amount of Rik
Dangerfield merchandise there was in the room: posters, CD's interview
clippings from magazines and newspapers. He didn't have the heart to tell
her what an asshole he really was.

"I shoulda got tidied up before..." Nene blurted out guiltily.

"Hey don't worry about it!" he replied giving her hair an
affectionate ruffle, trying to ride the churning backwash of feelings, "I
guess I came up here after you'd already gone to bed. We both didn't
realise, that's all!"

"Yeah I guess so! Mind if I use yer shower big guy?" Nene's usual
chirpiness returned.

"Sure, you know where it is."

Nene slipped off the bed and picked her way through the chaotic
mess that constituted the floor. Finally locating her discarded jeans
amongst the jumble, without thinking she bent over to retrieve them,
revealing to Mackie's utter relief that she was indeed clad underneath
the T-shirt. He drew breath reflexively.

"Hurumph! Men!" Nene pouted with mock offence, when she realised
what he was staring at, "You're all the same!"

"What's the matter? You look great!"

Gathering a small pile of fresh garments she headed towards the
small shower room installed on the upper floor of the flat. Pausing
momentarily in the doorway, she turned, winked and blew a kiss to the
flustered Mackie.

************************************************

The white coated technician hammered away at the keyboard like a
demented pianist, behind him a shadowy figure sat hunched over a table,
breathing heavily and chuckling from time to time.

"You shouldn't be doing that stuff in here," the technician
scolded, "MAPA can only cover you so far. If you OD'ed, five years of
research would go up the spout!"

"Oh shut the fuck up 'n do yer job!" the other slurred, "How much
longer before we c'n test it?"

"It should be ready to roll in a few hours. Some of these
subliminal algorithms are bitches to code. You try getting that many
messages out over a standard PA!"

"Listen, we spent three years g'ttin' the prime'ry implant on the
friggin' disks, it's about time I got some results!"

"You're the boss Rik! We'll be ready for a test run by Wednesday,
can you get something arranged at short notice?"

"Wot ? S'rprise club gig or s'mt hin', no problem!"

"Advance bookin g only, by Smart or Credit card."

"Hey I'm the star r'member! Get one o' th' tech rats t'sort it out!"

The room in MAPA fell silent, punctuated only by the rattle of
the keyboard and the muted hum of the optical drive. Rik pondered his
situation, his narcotic addled brain leaping from one delusion to the
next. He would show them all: his family; teachers; all those who never
believed. He was the greatest.

"Soon MegaTokyo," he giggled at his pun, "yer'll all dance to my
tune!!"

************************************************

The traffic had settled into its early afternoon crawl when
Jan-Anders returned to the Ladles 633 building. He had called via
Lycanthrope Records to check how the rest of the pack were faring and to
explain his absence. By the time had ascended in the private elevator, he
was leaving bloody smears on the floor. He paused by the video-intercom,
hoping that everyone was either up or at least in a fit state to
function. He pressed the call button with slight trepidation. After a few
moments, the screen flickered into life resolving itself into a
bleary-eyed Priss.

"Huh! Who is it?" she slurred unsteadily, "...Yeah c'mon in!"

The door clicked open, and he stepped through. Priss stood in the
entrance hall to the flat still in her underwear (and his vest) swaying
slightly and looking more than a little worse for wear.

"I'm gonna haveta quit gettin' smashed with ya," she groaned, "I
don't think m'liver can take much more at this rate! Where's the goddamn
sink!"

She lurched towards the kitchen, supported by what Jan-Anders
thought was sheer bloody-mindedness. Her legs finally gave way over the
kitchen sink; putting one arm quickly around her waist to steady her, he
brought her back to her feet.

"Leggo me yer big dipshit!!" she cursed.

"Not until you're OK!" he replied, removing anything from the
sink that was within spewing range, "Are you gonna hurl or not!?"

"No fucking way!" she gritted, taking deep breaths, eyes screwed shut.

"Good! The last I need right now is trying to swill cold vom down
the sink!!"

"Gee Jan yer all heart!" Priss said sarcastically as he helped
her to a chair.

"How yer feeling," he asked, reaching for the Resolve once more,
"on the 'Feel Like I Wanna Die' scale?"

"About six, I've been worse." she replied gulping the brew down,
"What the fuck were we drinking last night?!"

"Put it this way, if Customs and Excise get wind of it, I'm in
deep shit!"

"Guh-reat! Swedish moonshine, on top of all that beer!" Priss
looked down and shook her head, partly from disbelief, partly at her own
folly.

"Get yerself showered and dressed? you'll feel a lot....."

"Uh Jan, " Priss interrupted, "I think yer'd better take a look
at yer feet!"

"What? Oh yeah I tend to tear 'em up if I go out fer a run.'! he
said matter-of-factly.

"Whoah there! I saw yer boots m the hall, so yer were runnin'
barefoot?!"

"Yeah. "

"Fer how long?!"

"Oh not that long," he replied distractedly, lifting a leg to
examine his shredded soles, "hour and a half, two hours tops."

"Jan, you are seriously fuckin' disturbed!''

"Thankyou, yer not too bad yerself!" his face creased into a
deranged grin.

Priss scowled? "I give up!" she sighed despairingly.

"OK. If it makes you feel any happier, I'll patch my feet up." he
looked at the trail of bloody footprints with a chortle, "Hope the
carpet's stainproof!"

Priss' reply was cut-off by Nene's arrival from upstairs. Gawping
she followed the trail into the kitchen.

"Jan! What have you been doing to yourself!" she exclaimed with
concern. Priss winced at the noise.

"Oh I'd thought I'd try a Bavarian slap-dance on razor blades."
he replied deadpan.

"You should take better care of yourself!" she chastised, hands
on hips.

"Yes Auntie Nene!" he replied mockingly, spraying his feet with a
fast acting coagulant and antiseptic, "That better?"

"Uh-huh. I don't like seeing you hurting yourself."

"Nene, if you could tell me where the cleaning stuff is in here,
I'11 sponge the mess out OK?"

If any of his pack had been around five minutes later, they would
have been treated to the strange sight of a Get of Fenris on his hands
and knees, sponging blood out of the carpet.

"Just where I like to have men, at my feet!" Priss quipped with a
malicious smile, over a large coffee.

Jan-Anders ignored that comment, "What I want to knew is how the
hell yer got wearing my vest?!"

"Fucked if I know!"

Nene watched the interchange with amusement in her eyes, "Well I
wouldn't get as drunk next time!" she teased as she took a seat at the
breakfast bar.

"That's rich coming from you!" Priss retorted, then returning to
the Garou, "Nice collection of scars there!"

"Yeah! Most of 'em are from fights, bike accidents, the usual."
he replied, it was a half-truth, Priss wouldn't have understood what a
Black Spiral Dancer was, "The raised ones are colours from the gang I was
in as a kid."

"They did that!? I'm glad I didn't meet your lot in a fight!"
Priss snorted.

"They were actually kinda cool, they were sort of a vigilante
bunch, you would've liked 'em!"

Jan-Anders continued to methodically sponge the brown stains. He
had almost finished his task when Sylia put in an appearance, as cool and
poised as ever. Looking at the remaining trail of bloody footprints, then
to Jan-Anders's torn soles, it didn't take her long to work out what had
happened.

"Put your foot in it again?" she asked wryly, a ghost of a smile
playing at her lips.

"You could say that, too much broken glass here fer my liking."
he replied, finishing the last stain.

Nene put her empty cup aside and got to her feet, "I'm going to
check on Linna." she said with a hint of concern, "She still isn't that
used to heavy duty partying."

"Yeah good idea." Priss admitted, "She's gonna be feelin' really
shitty."

The two of them left the kitchen to cheek on their comatosed
friend who was still in the living room area. Jan-Anders straightened,
wrung the sponge out and stowed everything back under the sink.

"You're going to have to tell the truth to the others before
long." Sylia said, pouring herself a coffee.

"Yeah, but the problem is proving it without them going under."

"This can't be the easiest of things for you," she sighed, "I
tend to forget that I'm the exception rather than the norm. I'm sorry."
After the others had retired from the party, the pair of them had talked
until six in the morning. He had explained everything to her, why he was
in MegaTokyo, even dredging into his past, she had done likewise. Sylia
found herself sympathising with him, she could understand the loss of
family and the almost fanatical extremes to which he pushed himself.
After all, she had ditched her own life to pursue a crusade against
everything GENOM stood for. Finding out that it was a manifestation of a
greater cosmic evil, was of very little surprise to her.

"I don't like lying in front of your friends," he admitted
openly, "but fer now it's the only thing I can do."

Sylia looked at him intently, "About last night, outside the
club, I didn't get chance to say thanks, not to mention Chromium Heaven.
If you hadn't have intervened things could've turned out much different."

His face lightened, "Look, it was the least I could do under the
circumstances. You needed......" he broke off as Nene reappeared around
the door.

"Linna's okay, but she's going to be like a bear with a sore head
for a while.

"Thanks Nene, have you seen Mackie by the way?" Sylia said.

"Oh yes!" Nene replied, a wistful look in her eyes, "I'11 go see
how he's doing." She was out of the door and heading for his room before
anyone could reply.

"I think she's gone for your brother in a major way." Jan-Anders
said quietly, watching her mount the stairs, a roguish grin alighting on
his features for a moment. He had got to know Nene, when she and Linna
had accompanied both himself and Priss on their numerous drinking sprees.
Although he hated to admit it, he had already developed a soft spot for
the vivacious redhead and felt more than slightly guilty about scaring
her that night. Despite her talent for hacking, her cute looks and
innocent charm set off an almost primal instinct in him to protect her.
In his eyes, she was a cub.

"I know." Sylia replied, "She hardly left his side all night, now
I recall she hardly left his lap all night."

Jan-Anders looked at the elegant young woman standing in front of
him, she seemed visibly more at ease than the previous evening. Even
though she was dressed casually in a sky blue sweater and miniskirt, she
still radiated an aura of calm confidence. He looked down at himself,
suddenly realising how incongruous he looked in just his sweat soaked jeans.

"Look, I'm going to head to my place and get changed 'cos I feel
really antisocial like this!"

"Well, at least you're not wandering around as a three and a half
metre tall killing machine." Sylia replied wryly, sipping at her coffee.

"Yeah, Crinos ain't that suited to social niceties!" he said,
gathering what was left of his clothing into a bundle, "Thanks for
putting up with me, I'm not the easiest of guests I know."

"No problem, you re not fussy about where you sleep though, I
came through for a drink and found you asleep on the floor. I think you'd
given your blanket to Linna, so I had to make you comfortable as best I
could!"

"Well she had need of it more than me." Jan-Anders replied
bluntly, putting his boots on.

"Who says chivalry is dead?!" Sylia riposted

"I had it drilled into me since I was a cub. I've got one hell of
a rep to live up to!"

"In that case Sir Knight," joked Sylia gently, "does your code of
honour allow a Lady to show her gratitude by buying you dinner sometime?"

By now, Jan-Anders was framed in the doorway, turning to Sylia he
grinned a broad feral smile, "Madam it would indeed be an honour!" he
replied as a parting shot, before closing the door behind him.

If he had stayed a few seconds longer he would've seen a rare
occurrence, Sylia's reserved expression melting into a gentle, open smile.

***********************************************

Rik Dangerfield paced the floor neurotically, cigarette in hand,
while his private technician worked the keyboard.

"The final list should be coming up now Rik, everyone whots
booked, photos, full history, the works. Well what shall we start with?"

Rik grinned, "Okay Sammy start simple, how about picking the ten
best looking bimbettes, an' tellin' 'em to meet me backstage?"

"That's all?"

"Okay, how about fulfilling my every whim?" he laughed nervously.

"No problemo," the tech rat hammered away at the keyboard with a
lecherous grin, "with this in place, it'll be, 'Stand back and watch the
panties fly!'"

"I was only joking, it isn't that good, is it?"

"You better believe it Rik!"

"Fuckin' excellent! Let's have a look at who we've got comin'! Oh
yeah 'n call Green, I need the usual hits o' SynthiKrak 'n Dust."

************************************************

Mackie slumped in a chair in Jan-Anders' flat looking perplexed,
for the past three days he had been interviewed along with the rest of
the band by several underground music magazines. What reviews they had
had of the gig and the EP were favourable, in the "free" press at least.
The GENOM controlled magazines tended to dismiss them with comments like,
"Pretentious art-rock" and "The kind of CD that teenagers buy to impress
their friends with." Mackie had expected as much, and was not too
disheartened. Outside dusk was beginning to fall, buildings becoming dark
monoliths to consumerism. Neon lights shone brightly, stars in a digital
firmament.

"What's on yer mind kid?!" came the Garou's gravelly voice.

"Nene is." Mackie replied, "Something's bugging me."

Jan-Anders vaulted into a free armchair and tossed Mackie a beer.
After looking in vain for a bottle opener, he wrenched the top off in his
hand. Mackie grinned and pulled out a bottle opener from his pocket to
open his.

"Okay, shoot."

"It's this Dick Dangertwat concert tonight, you know the
'surprise gig', Nene heard it on the radio, and had bought her ticket
about two minutes afterwards."

"Yeah so? She seems a passionate kinda girl, so if she's a fan of
his, yer'd expect that right?"

"Have you seen my room though, she's got EVERYTHING, all the
albums on all formats, t-shirts, the fucking works! That ain't healthy!"

Jan-Anders' snarling laughter rang out, "What you tryin' to say?
He's put some hidden message on his shit saying 'Buy all my products'!"

"Yeah! I suppose it sounds kinda...." Mackie chortled, then a horrible
thought crept into mind.

The two of them suddenly stopped joking, as an ugly truth
suddenly hit them simultaneously. Mackie's expression became icy, getting
up from the sofa he finished his beer and threw the bottle in the nearest
bin.

"Come on Jan, we're going to rifle Nene's music collection. Would
yer get in touch with the others and ask them to have an editing studio
prepped in about half an hour."

"Gotcha!" the other replied heading for the vid-phone.

***********************************************

Nene stood glassy-eyed with a huddled knot of fans, and flicked
her damp hair away from her eyes with a trembling hand. She had spent the
past two hours screaming herself hoarse in one of MAPA's main concert
halls, along with fourteen hundred other fans (mostly female), as Rik
Dangerfield pranced and posed his way through an exhaustive as well as
exhausting set. I'm never going to catch his eye like this, she mused
distractedly whilst heading for the ladies room. After fixing her makeup
(and getting her mane of red hair into some sort of shape) she emerged,
slinging her jacket over one shoulder. The white crop top she had been
wearing now clung to her enticingly like a second skin with sweat, her
arousal leading to several cat-calls from lecherous onlookers.

Picking her way through the group, she made her way to the
backstage entrance, she just HAD to see him. Barring the way were, two
black T-shirted figures, earpieces in place whom by their demeanour and
stance were most definitely C-class Boomers. As she approached they
appeared to notice her.

"You wanting backstage Miss?"

"Uh yes #giggle#."

"Are you on the guest-list?"

"Yes I am!" Nene lied, it was worth a try just to see if their
AI's were stupid enough to believe her.

"Could I have your name, please?" the other asked, clipboard in hand.

Dammit, Nene thought, I'm never going to get to meet him, but
might as well attempt to get in. Out loud she told him. One of them
turned away from her and appeared to be communicating with security
elsewhere. After a few seconds he turned back to her.

"Okay Miss Romanova, go on." he said, opening the door and
ushering her through it. "The dressing room's at the opposite end of the
area, you can't miss it."

Nene could hardly believe her good fortune but gave it no more
thought, darting around flighcases and Boomer roadies, following the
directions given to her by security. She was irresistibly drawn to the
star-marked door as though she'd spent all her life preparing for that
moment. As the door opened, she suddenly found herself face-to-face with
her idol

"Hi! You must be Nene right?" Dangerfield said, an easy smile on
his lips.

Nene to her credit found the courage to speak, "Y....yes." she
stammered demurely, flushing, though more from passion than
embarrassment. "H....how did you know my name?"

"Every concert I invite ten ticket holders or so backstage, and
you were one of them." he said, "You just decided to try and find me,
before we could find you!"

"Th....this is incredible! I had no idea you would invite little
'ole me!!" Nene sighed, looking up at him with liquid green eyes, and
quivering like a trapped fawn.

"C'mon in, the party's just about to start." Dangerfield said
ushering Nene in, "The other guests are here."

"Party?! Why thank you!"

"The pleasure's all mine!"

************************************************

In one of the Lycanthrope Records editing suites a silent group
gathered. Mackie and the other Garou sat clustered around a terminal
monitor, Mackie himself had the keyboard and mouse and was currently
engaged in dissecting Rik Dangerfield's latest album. Finally after a
good two hours he sat back in his chair, a grim smile on his face.

"Bingo, I've just hit paydirt" he said, "I knew those signal
anomalies were something more than that!"

"Well whaddya got then!" Vikky said impatiently.

"Do you really wanna hear?"

The general expression on the faces of the others convinced him,
that it was probably a good idea if he did put them in the picture.

"The anomaly in question is a ghost signal that is almost
inaudible. I overlooked it a good few times thinking it was just
feedback. It's also masked into the music."

He moved the cursor to a window, that was headed "Isolate" and
systematically began to remove all the other signals from the recording.
When he was finished, he moved to another icon and increased the volume
to an audible level.

"Ready guys, well here goes nothing!" Mackie clicked on "Execute".

The suite was filled with a hypnotic digital pulse. Mackie
recognised it instantly, it was the type used by MAPA to initiate deep
psyche implants in teaching. The worst part was the voice, a monotone
endlessly repeating, "You love Rik Dangerfield. You will obey this voice."

Mackie cut the voice off, "I think we've heard enough." he choked.

Jan-Anders' growl cut the silence, "Well, at least we know what
this 'special PA equipment! is for, handing out 'messages' to the masses."

"Yeah and Nene's one of 'em!" Mackie snarled.

"Easy Mackie," came Vikky's husky voice, "if anyone can find a
way of breaking the programming it'll be the Glass Walkers. You just
concentrate on keeping Neon's mind off that GENOM clusterfuck."

"Yeah how?"

"I don't know improvise, a good musician should always be able to
play be ear!" she joked, trying to lighten his mood. "Once we find out a
way of freeing Nene, Dangerfield has a slight Boomer related accident."
That raised a chuckle.

"Why do I get the feeling that Dangerfield has decided to fuck
with the wrong people?" Mackie looked up at the grinning pack and saw
death behind their smiles.

Okay folks this explains a few questions:
1) How come the Garou know so much about the KS.
2) What the hell has happened to Nene.

All you Nene fans are in for a BIG surprise ^_^

Ian.

The watcher lurked in the shadows of the alley, its light unkempt mane
lending it a somewhat dishevelled appearance. Across the street an
apartment block sparkled in the afternoon sun, it had only recently been
completed in a prestigious rebuilding program. Like a monstrous spider's
web, it was a shimmering lattice of glass and high tensile cables.

Patience was everything, the tall rangy wolf had been waiting all
day for Dangerfield to emerge since he'd arrived home in a private limo
earlier that morning. It glanced up at the pinnacle of the building, that
was where it had to go and soon Slater would be wanting results. It
watched the flow of traffic go past the building, noting with cold
interest when a white stretch limo pulled out of the traffic and parked in
front of the entrance. Minutes later, it saw Dangerfield exit the building
with his ever present bodyguards and enter the limo which then drove off.
The wolf bulged and twisted, passing through the hulking Hispo and Crinos
forms, and finally dwindling once more to a man, with ratty blond hair and
three days growth of stubble dressed in a battered suit and a trenchcoat.

"Okay Dangerfield, lets see what you've got up there." he said
with a faint smile Hefting a worn briefcase, Fargo stepped out into the
bustling street.

***********************************************

"Good morning Sirs, how may I help you?!" Janice beamed at the
two figures.

"We'd like to see Mr. Slater ASAP." Mackie tried to smile, but it
was more a grimace. Dark shadows under his eyes spoke of a restless
night, and his patience was being strained more by the minute.

The secretary looked up at both him and the taller Garou, and
noting their grim resolution immediately reached for the intercom.

"Sorry to disturb you Sir, but there's a Mr. Stengovich and a Mr.
Jivarp to see you. They don't have an appointment but they claim it's
urgent."

The reply was the door to the executive suite being thrown open,
and a worried looking Alex Slater stood framed in the door.

"Well don't just stand there, come on in! Janice if anyone phones
etc, I'm not in!!"

"Very well Sir."

Alex showed them into the plush executive suite and closed the
padded soundproof door behind him. Computers chattered away to themselves
in the corner, while on the table, a thick wad of official documents were
being sifted through.

"What's on your minds boys?"

Mackie took a deep breath, "Only a flying visit, we found what's
going down at MAPA."

"Okay Mackie, have a seat son." Alex motioned for them to sit in
the leather, wing back armchairs.

"The equipment stored at MAPA is for military grade deep psyche
implants. GENOM's got some form of mass mind control plan worked out,
using Rik Dangerfield as their agent......" Mackie told him.

"You mean the geek in the Spandex?!" Alex interrupted.

"The very same. Yeah, where was I..oh yeah, the primary implant
is done at a subliminal level through his records and we think that
specific commands are added at his gigs. But that's just a theory, as yet
we don't have any proof, but it looks more than likely. The other reason
we came here is someone I care for's been affected, and I was wondering
whether you could possibly help?"

Alex smiled avuncularly, "I ain't going to promise anything," he
drawled, "but I'll do my best. At least we know what our friends in GENOM
are doing, but that ain't much of a consolation to you is it kid?"

As the pair made their excuses and left after a few minutes, Alex
looked out at the GENOM tower in the near distance, "Scratch one to the
good guys Wyrmspawn!" he snarled as he pulled the blind down on the scene.

************************************************

Nene awoke with a whimper in her own bed, she had been hungover
before, but this was something else. She curled into a little ball of
pain, as her whole body felt like it was burning up. She staggered to the
bathroom twice to be sick and the second time, she almost didn't make it.
She lay on the bathroom floor sobbing for what seemed like hours. Finally
finding the strength to stand, she did her best to tidy herself up,
before stumbling back to her bed and falling asleep almost instantly. As
she came round for the second time, she made out a pair of worried dark
eyes looking at her from within a frame of black hair.

"Hi where'd you come from." she slurred.

"Christ Nene, what have you been doing to yourself?!" Mackie's
face showed his concern, as he sat on the end of the bed.

"I don't remember, the last thing I recall is the end of the gig"
Nene sniffled, "then waking up back here."

"I've been here for two hours, it's a good job you gave me the
spare key. I put you back to bed, and tidied things up. I also phoned up
the AD-Police to tell them that you probably won't be able to make the
night shift tonight."

"Thanks, l don't know what I would've done if you hadn't....."
she suddenly went bright red, " ...I didn't crash on top of the bed did
I?" Nene asked sweetly, realising that all that was protecting her
modesty was an oversize T-shirt.

"'Fraid so." Mackie replied, as Nene avoided his gaze.

"I'm sorry." she said in a small voice, "I must look a real wreck."

"Nah, c'mon let's get you cleaned up, do you think you can make
it to the bathroom. "

"I'll try." Nene pushed back the covers and got unsteadily to her
feet, swaying slightly as she tried to make sure that her sleeping
garment covered everything.

"Oh come here." Mackie muttered, bending down he scooped Nene off
her feet and gently carried her into the bathroom.

"Ohh! Why thanks...." she purred into his chest.

"If you need me I'll be right outside."

Quarter of an hour later, Nene reappeared and weaved her way back
to bed, and propped herself up with the pillows. Mackie popped his head
round the kitchen door and grinned .

"That looks better, can I get you anything?"

"Uh-huh! Would tea and a chocolate biscuit be out of the
question?" she asked.

"As long as it doesn't ruin that lovely figure of yours!"

"Why thank you kind Sir...." Nene smiled for the first time that day.

"That's more like it!" he tried not to look at her too hard. Even
tired and a little under the weather she was still really very
attractive, especially when she smiled. It seemed that when she did, her
whole face lit up with an inner radiance, that was just infectious.

Mackie came through shortly with a mug and a plate of biscuits
and sat down on the edge of the bed. Nene scoffed the biscuits within
minutes, but took longer over her tea. When she had finished, she glanced
up and saw Mackie stifling a yawn.

"What's the matter Mackie, tired?"

"Yeah a bit, didn't sleep too well." he replied.

"Too much partying with Jan and the guys huh?" she asked, putting
the mug and plate on the table beside her.

"No, I was worried sick about you!" Mackie countered.

"You were?!"

"Yeah! I thought you'd been hurt or something, I was up all night
trying to call to see if you were okay!" he admitted.

"Aww that's sweet of you, c'mere!" Nene interrupted. She leant
forward and wrapped her arms around his neck. Pulling him closer, she
sighed and kissed him deeply, tongue slowly lingering over his lips.
Mackie tensed momentarily, heart hammering, but it only lasted an
instant, cradling her in his arms he returned the embrace. As their
caresses became more passionate, he felt his cheeks getting damp, and her
chest heaving against his own. When their lips finally parted, he saw
silent tears coursing down Neon's pretty features, staining her T-shirt.
Smiling softly, he gently brushed them away with his hand.

"Hey what's this for?" he asked, slightly bemused.

"....I....I never had the nerve to tell you how much I cared
before you met Juliet." she said softly, "then it was too late, you'd
found someone else who loved you and I....." she started to sob softly as
she clung to him.

Mackie looked stunned, all the times she had volunteered to help
him in technical support suddenly took on a completely new light. "All
these years," he shook his head sadly, "and I never saw
it......I'm......I'm sorry Nene, I've been a real selfish bastard, I don't
deserve someone to care for me."

"No, don't say that!" Nene squeezed him tighter. "I took you for
granted, I thought you'd always be there."

"I'm here now, and I m not going to make the same mistake twice."
he replied, holding her close.

Nene said nothing, but the smile on her tear-stained face spoke
volumes.

************************************************

The Garou met in Jan-Anders flat, this was less of a social
affair but more of a war council. Jan-Anders sat in one of the armchairs
in the living room, glowering at a bottle of Absolut. The other pack
members were dotted around the same area, trying to control the Ahroun's
increasingly fraying temper. Finally the door com broke the atmosphere.
Jan Anders was on his feet and at the door before anyone could stop him.
He yanked it open to reveal a surprisingly calm Mackie.

"Sorry I'm late, I kinda lost track of time a little." he smiled
apologetically.

"We got yer vid-message, how's Nene?" the Garou asked, as Mackie
walked through into the living room.

"Asleep, the poor girl was totally...." his reply was cut short
by a yawn.

"Which is what you should be doing." Jan-Anders said firmly, "Yer
gonna be use to no fucker in that state, c'mon try and get some shuteye."

"Yeah okay...." Mackie relented. "If you decide on anything major
let me know when you can!" he called to the assembly, as he entered the
bedroom, "Catch you guys later!"

After a few minutes, having decided to let Mackie sleep, three
figures headed out of the building and towards the private car park.
Jan-Anders watched them leave, they were all worried about Nene's memory
lapse. From the concert ending at around eleven thirty the previous
evening, until the early hours of the following morning she could've been
doing anything. The other Garou had headed towards MAPA, hoping to find
out about anything of her movements that evening. He had given himself
the onerous task of telling Sylia what was going on.

He headed to the vid phone, and was about to dial the number when
he realised that the Ladies 633 building was only just around the block.
Dumping the phone, he scrawled a quick note to Mackie in case he woke up
in his absence, grabbed his jacket and headed out

Sylia took a sip at her coffee and sat by her laptop, jacket
folded over the top of a nearby chair. Looking at the day's figures,
business was on the upswing, it was nowhere near her actual income, but
it was always nice to see. Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud knock
at the door, closing the lid on her computer, she headed to the front
door. Activating the outside camera, she saw it was the towering form of
the Ahroun.

"Come on in," she said as she opened the door, "I have the nasty
suspicion however that this isn't going to be a social call."

"I wish it were," he replied, "Sylia yer'd better sit down, we've
got ourselves a major problem. For starters I think Nene can remember
seeing me in the high-speed shred and dice form, which is not good. Had
she told you anything about that night?"

"All she told me, was that her sensors picked out an organic form
approximately three and half meters in height. She supposed that it might
have been a new type of biomech, but seemed to be reluctant to go into
any details, why do you think she's immune to Delirium also?"

"From the way she was looking at me tho' I don't think she was
under at that point. At the moment there's a bigger problem with regard
to her...."

"What else could be the matter?"

Sylia took the bombshell with her usual calm reserve, the only
outward sign of stress was a momentary frown which clouded her normally
placid features, contrasting markedly with Jan- Anders' which if possible
had become more glowering, eyes gleaming ferally.

"Jan, you're shifting...."

"Huh? sorry " he took a few deep breaths and tried to rein in his
anger. He had unconsciously shifted to Glabro, the near man form, whilst
relating the events of the past forty-eight hours. It still took a good
few minutes for him to regain his human aspect.

"Sorry Sylia, I should keep a better lid on my temper." he apologised.

"Don't worry," Sylia looked at the Garou with admiration, "from
what you've told me about your tribe, you seem remarkably self-possessed
for a 'deranged berserker'. Besides you don't have the advantage I do in
that department, if it can be called that." The last words were spoken
with a sad smile.

"I'm not usually this bad tho'," Jan-Anders stared at the
steaming mug of black coffee in his hands that Sylia had brought him, "I
guess it's coz' I'm worried about Nene."

"You really care about her don't you?"

"Yeah, partly coz' I want her and Mackie to be happy," he
momentarily brightened, "and well she's such a sweet kid, she still seems
so innocent. I dunno, I just want to shield her from a lot of the shit in
this world, is that such a crime?"

"No, it's nice to see that there are still people who care."

"You must be about the first to think that," Jan-Anders replied a
touch bitterly, "I keep feeling like I'm prehistoric y'know, like I've
outlived my purpose."

"I can't say that I know how you feel," Sylia sat by him on the
sofa and leant towards him slightly, "but you're in a position to make a
difference, that's why you're still around. For the years after Mackie
left, I often wondered why I carried on, but if I didn't, who else would
stand up against GENOM? Now I'm glad I did, because I'm no longer alone. "

Jan-Anders looked at her intently, was she being deliberately
ambiguous? But as usual, Sylia radiated absolute control. Trying to read
this woman is impossible, he thought to himself as she took another sip
of her espresso.

"So what do you think is the best course of action?" Sylia broke
the silence.

"Well, part of me wants to razor dance on Dangerfield's corpse,"
the Ahroun replied coldly, "but that isn't going to help Nene. I'd
suggest keeping a close eye on her until the lab boys find a way of
cleaning the shit out of her head."

"How's Mackie taking it?"

"Pretty good so far," he said simply, "he's getting some much
needed shuteye. The poor kid was up all last night worrying about Nene. I
think he really does love her. From what I've seen, I think the feeling's
mutual."

"I hope that nothing happened last night," Sylia sighed,
"Mackie's been through enough without having another loved one hurt."

Jan-Anders hung his head, "Listen, I'm really sorry about dumping
this shit on you, just when things were going okay."

"Don't be," Sylia laid an elegant hand on his knee, and squeezed
gently, "it's best that it comes out in the open. A threat that's
recognised, is one that can be dealt with. If the worst happens, please
don't do anything rash, you're not immortal remember."

"Near enough as dammit." he replied softly.

Sylia looked puzzled. "What do you mean?" Knowing that she wasn't
going to like what she heard.

"Before the Apocalypse, a few dozen were chosen from every tribe
and blessed with the mark of the Phoenix. They were to sleep through the
so-called final days and emerge to protect Gaia when it was all over."
the Garou explained softly, "They are the Chosen, of which I'm one. I
can't age Sylia, neither can the rest of my pack. The only way I can die
is if I fall in battle, and even then I'll be reborn to fight again. It's
what I do best, after all I've been doing it for millennia, in one form
or another."

Sylia looked at him pityingly, suddenly aware of the immense
weariness that lay behind his voice, and the proud loneliness of his
existence. She felt humbled, her own crusade was no more than a full stop
in a war from the annals of antiquity, and the fact that this holy
warrior trusted her, or was it something more?

Jan-Anders suddenly looked up at the clock by Sylia's bed as if
he'd suddenly remembered something.

"I gotta go," he said softly, taking her hand, "I got someone
coming with more info on Dangerfield and his little game. By the way thanks."

"What for?" Sylia asked.

"For listening," the Garou paused as if lost in thought, "for
caring. There ain't too many people like you left."

Sylia watched him through the Venetian blinds, as he headed out
into the gathering twilight. Once he was out of sight, she lay on her bed
with her eyes closed trying to catalogue the emotions that were racing
through her head. Why did she feel this way towards him? On the face of
things they were so dissimilar, but underneath? He'd lost his family when
he was young and was driven inside to lengths that most people would find
fanatical. Sylia paused in her musings, a knowing smile blossoming, that
was why she cared, looking into his soul was like staring into a mirror,
she knew him.

***********************************************

The bar was a glitzy affair that catered for the rich, all neon
lighting, chrome and overpriced liquor. Away from the usual clientele, a
group of three figures sat huddled around the table, which was becoming
littered with empty bottles and glasses.

"Great, just fucking great!" Axel swore into his beer.

"I'm telling you, ve hav three or four vitnesses who say they saw
her go backstage avter the gig!" the usually quiet Olaf reiterated.

"If that bastard has done anything to her, he's sushi'" Vikky
snarled revealing already elongated eye teeth.

"Yeah, the problem is who's going to tell Jan?" Axel winced,
"C'mon we all know what he's like, if it's small, cute and innocent he's
a gonner'"

"Can you blame him?!!' Vikky interrupted heatedly, "From what
I've heard from Jan and Mackie she's worth it."

"Speaking ov vhich, Mackie ought to know vhat's going on too, he
is closest to her avter all.

"Yeah, good point, let's get outta this dump and do some more
spadework, huh?" Axel finished his beer, grimaced, and looked at the
bottle dubiously, "Where do they get this shit from?! I'd sooner lick the
sweat off a dead Spiral's nuts!"

***********************************************

Jan-Anders opened the door to his flat to be greeted by a manila
wrapped parcel lying at his feet with a note attached. Typical of Fargo,
he thought grimly, get the job done and fuck the consequences, never stay
around to follow things up. Well isn't that a Ragabash all over, he
concluded, sneak around and don't attract attention. He wondered if Sylia
realised how long she had been interacting with Garou, and with the
Slater Corporation in particular. He scooped up the parcel, and went to
check on Mackie. Poking his head into the spare bedroom he saw the sheets
heaving rhythmically. Good, the kid's still asleep, he thought, probably
just as well.

Returning to the living room, he took a slug out of the bottle of
Absolut before examining the package. Unwrapping it, he could see that it
was a standard five inch vid disk that was unmarked. Putting it aside he
examined the note attached to it:

"Laments- yuf,

I liberated this disk from Dangerfield's flat earlier today. The
guy in the video is a local big-time dealer, calls himself "Green". He
hangs out in "Le Blue Smoke" jazz bar in District 10, probably filmed it
himself, the sick motherfucker. After seeing this I felt like smoking him
myself, but I know you'll probably get a bigger kick out of it. Just make
sure he screams.

Fargo (Prowls-in-alleyways)."

Jan-Anders picked up the disk and examined it closely. He was
half-tempted to destroy it, then the person in question without further
excuse. Fargo must have seen a lot of shit in his line of work, he
reckoned, so anything that gets him in the mood to party must be bad.
However the Hand never killed indiscriminately, they avenged. He knelt in
front of the vid-screen, fed the disk into the playback machine and
thumbed the play button viciously.

As the flickering, grainy images came up on screen, he watched
with disbelief then mounting horror at the squealing, sickening images
that crowded his consciousness. The nauseating display of debauched
female flesh was not the insane product of some lewd director's artifice,
but reality. Knowing that Nene was probably somewhere in there made it
worse. Blinking back tears of helpless rage he shut off the player
wishing desperately that he could erase the images that were etched on
his memory. Green would die, slowly and painfully then Dangerfield
afterwards. He slowly stood and headed stiffly towards the bedroom,
Mackie wouldn't forgive him if he wasn't told about this. He still felt
sick to the core though.

*******************************************

Dangerfield eased himself into an settee, a frown creasing his
clean-cut features, where could he have put that damn disk. Never mind,
he thought absently, Green'll have copies. He didn't exactly approve of
Green's penchant of fucking and filming everything in sight, just in case
he got caught in the picture, it would provide the perfect blackmail
material. He had left with a couple of peroxide bimbettes before the
party could get into full swing, and had had a more intimate soiree back
at his pad. Still each to his own, he thought, reaching for the syringe.
The annoying buzz of the phone interrupted his thoughts, he swiped the
receiver and gazed at the picture that appeared on screen. It was a the
image of a grey haired man of oriental extraction, in his middle fifties,
with piercing dark eyes.

"Well, well if it isn't God himself," Dangerfield chuckled, "to
what do I owe the pleasure of this call?"

"To you maybe," the other replied, "I heard that your concert
went according to plan. I'm moving ahead with the schedule. I want
everything to be in place before the Vision Trust line-up."

"Look old man, this is my show, where the hell do you get off
calling the shots!" Dangerfield asked angrily;

"Because I made you. I brought you out of the sewers, and I can
put you back there just as easily, so don't get smart with me whelp. If
it hadn't been for Genaros records needing a pin-up boy to sell its
product, you would be still touring the karoke bars by now. Just remember
that Rik."

"Okay, okay, so whaddya want!?"

"More concerts, this time with at LEAST a weeks notice between
tickets going on sale and the event itself. So that more.......useful
messages can be spread to the flock." his smile was reminiscent of a
hunting Great White that had just scented blood.

"Okay, I'll get in touch with the promoters and see what I can
do. Can't promise anything tho', I'll just try my best okay!" Dangerfield
replied a touch nervously.

"I know you'll do your best Rik, I'll be in touch later, have a
good evening;" At which point the older man hung up.

"God, that bastard gives me the creeps!!" Dangerfield swore under
his breath, reaching for the needle once more.

***********************************************

Nene ran through the darkening forest, her legs felt as though
they had lead weights attached to them. Her muscles burned with the
exertion, she couldn't let it catch her, she just couldn't. Her bare feet
were sending needles of pain through her, bare skin muddy and scratched
from where brambles had pierced her in her headlong flight. Red hair
flowing in her wake she hurdled a fallen branch. Around her sunlight
attempting to pierce the canopy of trees cast dappled shadows all around.
Behind her, her pursuer wouldn't rest, she could hear it's feral breath
at her heels, she just had to wake up. She stumbled and fell headlong,
throwing her hands forwards she tried to cushion herself from the
incoming impact. Closing her eyes, she felt the jolt, and the
feel.......of the bedroom carpet under her fingers.

Raising a trembling hand to wipe the sweat away from her eyes,
she glanced up at the clock, 5.02 p.m. the glowing figures read. God, she
still felt so tired. Why won't that dream just leave me be! Her pretty
features hardening into a scowl. She had been having similar ones for the
past two years now and thought she had finally got rid of them after
counselling. After that night at Chromium Heaven, they had returned with
avengeance. She was going to have to tell Sylia what she saw before long,
but what if she didn't believe her? Having browsed through occult and
folklore texts at the main library she was pretty sure of what she had
seen, a werewolf. Whatever it was it was certainly unlike ANY Boomer she
had ever come across.

Padding through into the kitchen, she fixed herself something to
eat then sat down in front of the TV. Trying to calm her still rapid
pulse rate she idly flicked through the channels, looking for something
to watch. Finally alighting on one of the news networks she distractedly
waded through the day's events. She was about to flick to something more
interesting when one of the articles attracted her attention.

"These scenes were captured today at the home of Dr. Paul Rogers,
self-styled inventor of 'reverse-enzyme' technology, as he was arrested
on charges of fraud and tax evasion." the newscaster droned. The scene
cut to a large mansion, where police were leading a figure away into
custody, who was shrouded by a large towel "The scientific community have
already disowned him after a medical research paper revealed, that his
so-called "miracle diet" was no more effective than traditional low
calorie products. Already several lawsuits are being filed by failed
dieters, who claim that due to his fraudulent misrepresentations, they
actually put on weight whilst using his products. More on that in our
'Lifestyle' program at ten........"

Nene switched off the TV with a disgusted sigh. So much for her
wonderful weight control plan. Unconsciously she stepped into the
bathroom and weighed herself. Either her scales were broken or she was
the same weight. Perhaps it was that exercise program that Linna had
developed for me, she thought eyeing herself critically, because there's
more muscle than I remember seeing before. She sighed which turned into a
lengthy yawn. She needed sleep badly, whatever happened at the concert
must've really burned her out. That's the last time I get so drunk, I
can't remember what I did, she thought firmly, as she climbed between the
sheets.

***********************************************

"Vell ve hav sum good news at least," Olaf smiled crookedly as
the threesome made their way towards Jan-Ander's apartment, "I talked to
one of the security people, and he said that he saw one ov the roadies
carry a cute redhead to a van and drive off."

"When was that that?" Vikky asked, "C'mon pooch, wrack that feral
little brain of yours!"

Olaf gave her a withering glance, unlike the others he was a
lupus. Whereas most Garou were born of human parents, his had been
wolves, and his lack of sophistication was still a point of amusement
amongst his packmates. "Shortly after the concert ended," he replied
thinking hard, human concepts of time still seemed so artificial to him,
"that vould be around tvelve or so......"

"Give that doggy a chew bone!" Vikky grinned as Olaf looked up to
heaven, a "why-me" expression on his craggy features.

"That means that nothing too bad could've happened to Nene
right?" Axel had been uncharacteristically silent for the walk back. Get
of Fenris mentality was designed for linear problem solving, if something
annoyed you, hit it repeatedly until it stopped moving. Unfortunately
this sort of approach was not what was required. "Did anybody find out
anything about what happened back stage?"

"Weeellll, it seems like there was some kind of Dangertwat party
with a LOT of illegal shit," Vikky said sullenly, "probably Nene took
something she shouldn't, crashed out, and Rik being the charmer that he
is got rid of her before she could ruin the party."

"How the hell did yer find that out?" Axel asked incredulously.

"Oh I just used my feminine charm on one of the security apes, he
seemed to be very easy to persuade." Vikky fluttered her eyelashes
mockingly. The others tried to repress the grins they felt forming,
imagining Vikky being coy and sweet was just too much.

"Could he walk after you used your charm though!" Axel pointed out.

"Why Axel!" she replied with pretend offence, "You make me sound
like I'm some kind of ball-breaker. Nah he was just a grunt, wouldn't
want to waste my boots on him. I'm saving that for Mr. Dangerfield." The
others winced, almost feeling sorry for him, Furies had some pretty
fiendish ways of dealing with men like him.

"Uh, that's another thing," Olaf changed the subject as he
remembered a detail he'd previously overlooked, "Rik left with two vomen
just avtervards, security said he was heading home for a private bash."

"So who the hell was throwing the party if Rik wasn't there!?"
Vikky burst out.

"Some guy who was a friend of his. That vas all I could find out."

"Well whoever he is, he's toast!!" Vikky threatened as they
entered the apartment building.

***********************************************

Darkness was starting to fall over District 10, when a dark blue
GMC van pulled into the car-park of a local bar. This part of the
district was a well known watering hole for all walks of life, salarymen,
pimps, pushers and junkies all rubbed shoulders here. Above them
holo-signs flashed in psychedelic hues, while clubs advertised their
presence in shocking neon. In contrast the streets looked as if they'd
spent their previous incarnation in a war-zone, dodging potholes seemed
to be almost a national pastime here. The ambience of entropy and
decadence was further enhanced by the steam-spewing manhole covers, whose
emissions clouded the area in a preternatural mist.

"Remember kid, no heroic shit, I don't want to haveta start
puttin' you back together." Jan-Anders growled softly. He was clad simply
in denims, leather jacket, T-shirt and his trade-marked "shit-kicker"
boots. At least these items were dedicated to him and would become spirit
if he shifted, eliminating what he termed "Incredible Hulk syndrome".

"Don't worry 'bout me I can handle myself." Mackie replied with a
mirthless smile. He was clad in a reinforced biker's jacket and pants
which would at least give him some armour protection in case of stray
shots. He hefted a heavy calibre flechette pistol, and jammed it into the
shoulder holster, "Well shall we dine?"

"Indeed sir, after you!" Jan -Anders gestured mockingly for
Mackie to go first. He had vague misgivings about Mackie accompanying
him, but he appeared to be able to handle himself in a fight. Well he's a
Saber, he reckoned, he should have had at least minimal combat training.

Mackie descended from his van and closed the door, locking it
behind him. Walking around to the passenger side, he opened the door and
jokingly saluted Jan-Anders as he got out. Together the two of them
walked towards the nearest bar, mist swirling about their ankles.

"Okay the plan is, we wait here for the others to show, then we
proceed to where Mr. Green hangs out. We snatch him and ask him a few err
probing questions shall we say." Jan-Anders said softly as they entered
the bar, "Olaf can pin-point us anywhere in the city. We give them until
eleven, then we go in solo."

"That gives us a couple of hours to scope things out. By the way
where do you pick up those cute tricks?!" Mackie asked with a wry grin,
"Is there a school or course for you guys or something, you know, 'How to
break all known laws of science in one fell swoop.' Coz' you guys seem to
have a trick for all occasions."

"Nah its a perk of the job, if yer've lived as long as I have you
get to pick up a few nifty 'tricks'. C'mon what can I get yer?" he
replied steering Mackie towards the bar.

************************************************

Nene opened her eyes, around her the virgin forest stretched out
into the distance. She felt the familiar frisson of fear running through
her veins. Not again; she moaned aloud, tears starting to well in her
green eyes, she was getting sick of this. In the distance a flock of
birds suddenly took to the air, their cries drowning the silence. Almost
unconsciously she started to run. Behind her something broke cover and
began the chase. She dodged fallen trees and cut the brambles, thorns
scratching and tearing her pale skin but she didn't care, all she cared
about was that the "thing" that was pursuing her didn't catch her.

"Wake up Nene, forgodssake wake up!" she wept, legs beginning to
burn with the effort, chest heaving with exertion. Behind her, her
pursuer kept pace, a small rational part of her brain noted. It wasn't
falling behind but it wasn't getting any closer either. She slowed
slightly, so did the chaser. Finally bone weary and exhausted she
collapsed , knees buckling, sobbing, naked and muddy. She closed her eyes
expecting the chaser to do whatever atrocity her subconscious had thought up.

"Just get it bloody over with!!" she screamed, nothing happened.

Opening her eyes she glanced behind her. To her astonishment, her
pursuer sat not a metre away from her on its powerful haunches, also
looking a little muddy and tired. It or more appropriately she was
regarding her with inquisitive green eyes as the sunlight dappled her
ochre fur slashed with black bars. The tigress stood slowly and padded
softly towards Nene and lay down, putting its huge head in her lap.

"I've been running from you all this time?" Nene asked in
wonderment, brushing tears away and scratching the feline behind her ears.

"Not from me," the tigress gazed steadily into Nene's eyes
speaking in a perfect imitation of her voice, "but from yourself. You
have much to learn Nene about yourself and about the world. You are one
of the Folk, you carry the changing blood of warriors in your veins."

"I......I......don't understand," Nene stammered, "this is just a
dream isn't it?"

"No Nene, this isn't just a dream, the form you wear is just one
of many you can chose. You descend from the Kahn the hunters of forest
and jungle. You are one of the Bastet, the eyes and ears of Gaia....."

"Gaia??? Oh Mother Earth right?"

"She is much more than that Nene, she is everything, the sum of
all creation, the whole of which we are all part. She is the delicate
fabric which we are sworn to protect."

"Protect from whom......what?"

The tigress began to weave a story, spanning countless aeons of
time. The birth of creation, the time when spirit and flesh were one and
the time that they were agonisingly rent asunder. The Triat, the three
forces of creation that there once was, the Wyld the force of pure
creation and primal flux, the Weaver the force of order and logic and the
Wyrm the force of entropy and decay. In the beginning the Weaver spun the
Wyld into form and the Wyrm destroyed the excess, but the Wyrm got
trapped in the Weaver's web and went mad threatening to destroy not just
excess but all of Gaia. The Apocalypse fortold a great upheaval where the
Triat would find a new harmony and the Wyrm would finally return to what
it had been before. She told Nene of the other shapeshifters, the two
wars of the Bastet, the War of Sorrow, when tribe fought against tribe
and the War of Betrayal when the Garou rose up against the others in a
false jihad. Finally she finished looking up at Nene solemnly.

"So you see, like the Garou you have a duty to make sure the Wyrm
never becomes as powerful as he once was."

"Well, how do I do that?" Nene asked a little awe struck, she
certainly didn't see herself as the mighty warrior sort, "I mean I drop
the odd Boomer now and then, you know, but fighting evil?"

"You already are fighting the Wyrm Nene, GENOM is his new
corporate arm. By doing what you have been, you've been fighting the Wyrm
unwittingly for some years now. But beware Nene, the Wyrm nearly got his
claws into you, when you awake you will remember, evil is at its most
insidious when given a sugar-coating. Farewell Nene Romanova or should I
say Nene Silent-hunter-in-shadows."

"Wait I don't know what you......" Nene began as the world around
her faded to black again.

Woah, what a wierd dream, she thought to herself as she levered
herself upright in bed. She stretched and glanced at the clock it read
9.30 pm, funnily enough she didn't feel the slightest bit tired anymore,
in fact exactly the opposite. She felt alive and full of energy, she
positively bounced out of bed and headed towards the bathroom, shrugging
off the T-shirt as she went.

Once underneath the torrent of water she allowed herself to
luxuriate in the sultry blast. Hands idly stroking herself through the
suds she found herself thinking, not of the dream but of Mackie as she
started to feel warm inside. She'd always dreamed of a knight in shining
armour coming to carry her off, but he was just too much: tall, dark and
handsome, not to mention sweet, talented, and intelligent. She slipped
into the bath and rested her head on the tiles, rivulets of silver
cascading off her body. Suddenly a noise jolted her back from her
thoughts, a low hypnotic rumbling that reverberated through her sylphlike
frame. She looked down at herself in disbelief. She couldn't remember
being this tall before!

Dashing out of the shower, she stood before the bathroom mirror.
Picking up a towel to wipe it off, she glanced suddenly at her hands,
where there were once nails, there were now small diamond shaped claws.
As she gazed up at her reflection, memories began to crowd in.

"The form you wear is just one of many.......changing
blood..........Bastet.........Kahn........changing blood........changing
blood."

She looked at herself in the mirror, her face was the same except
for the addition of elongated canines. Her ears had altered, becoming
elongated and feline, and covered in short ochre fur. Her hair had
changed too, becoming a silky black streaked mane that flowed over her
soft breasts. Then she realised with a musical giggle what the noise had
been, she'd been purring! She stared at her reflection for a few moments
and imagined what she looked like before. In the mirror she could see her
body fluxing as she returned to normal.

"Well I'll be....." she began before freezing. Other memories
were surfacing like flotsam on top of the waves, the music, the insidious
voice that urged her to do Rik's bidding, the party. The scenes playing
in her head seemed to be from someone else's point of view, not hers.
Drinks that tasted weird but the others said were "just for fun", a
groping hand slipping inside her top and then unbuttoning her jeans, then
darkness. She saw the leering face as the memory faded, a thin, pale
youth with a shock of green hair.

She snarled, a surprisingly deep, feral sound that seemed to come
from her toes. That....that.... words escaped her, when she thought of
what Green might have done. All she felt was rage, an all-consuming
inferno of primal anger that overwhelmed rational thought. She wanted to
kill that toad slowly for what he did to her, she wanted to mark the
length of his death in screams. Not only that but she had wanted to save
herself for Mackie. She hoped that all he tried to do was cop a feel,
otherwise she would have to get really nasty. Reining in her temper, she
stalked with predatory grace into the bedroom and changed. Grabbing a bag
she stuffed some trainers, underwear, T-shirt, jacket, and jeans inside.
Half way into her packing she stopped, something was in the bag,
something that glistened with an inner fire. She reached inside and
pulled out two blades. Each was about the size of a large bowie knife but
were wavy like a kris, eldritch runes were carved along the length of
each blade.

"Where the hell did these come from?!" she wondered out loud.

Two soft voices whispered in her mind, "We belonged once to your
great, great grandfather, now he wants you to have them, as the carrier
of his legacy."

Nene balanced each of them in one hand, they seemed almost to
have been made for her; They felt perfectly balanced and ready to use.
She whispered a silent prayer to her ancestor, whoever he may have been,
before continuing with the packing. Once finished she gave herself to the
anger, and felt the changes wash over her like the tide. It wasn't
painful, but curiously arousing in a way, the way in which her skin
prickled as fur sprouted, the tightening in her limbs as bone, sinew and
muscle increased. She looked at herself in the war form, although
muscular, she was still sleek, sensual and curvaceous, nine feet of
aesthetic, poised death. Picking up the bag in her paw she stared hard
into the mirror, and vanished.

************************************************

Mackie was beginning to give up hope of seeing the others, when
the rest of the pack entered the bar. It didn't take them long to find
the Ahroun and Mackie, they were loafing at a corner table, feet firmly
planted on it, and very uncharacteristically the only bottles that could
be seen littering the surrounds, were from orange juice and pop. The
others ordering swiftly from the bar and joined them.

"Well did yer see the video then?" Jan-Anders asked the gathering
as they found convenient perches. For some reason the other clients
didn't seem to want to be around that table and so the group were left in
relative peace.

"Damn right we did, and what's the big idea huh? Runnin' off and
havin' fun without us, 'kin good job Olaf could find you guys!" Vikky
grinned mirthlessly.

"Thought we'd scout the place out before the heavy brigade
arrived." Mackie replied taking another swig from his bottle, "So what
did you find out at your end then?"

"Well we pretty much know that Nene wasn't in that display we
saw," Axel replied after he had filled the others in on their findings,
"seems she crashed and was taken away shortly after the gig ended. Rikky
boy left shortly afterwards, which just leaves us with this Green dude,
who seems to be the friend that Olaf mentioned."

"Okay lets nail this Green fucknuts, and see if we can get any
dirt on Prick." Jan-Anders stated bluntly as the others finished their
drinks. The pack trooped out of the bar, heading with single-minded
purpose towards Le Blue Smoke. If they had been a little more alert, they
might have noticed a shadow stalking with deadly languor up the fire
escape of the night-club, pause by an open window, then dart inside.

************************************************

Green listened idly to the piercing notes of the sax, as it
drifted like smoke into his upstairs office come apartment. Loafing on a
bean bag, he took a long drag of the loosely rolled joint, waiting for
the pleasant anaesthetic effect to take hold. The lights of the apartment
were darkened, and through the slitted blinds, flashing neon hues painted
his skin in weird tribal patterns like some strange urban primitive. His
thoughts drifted back to the party the previous evening, pity that Rik
left before things really got underway. His only small regret was that
the cute redhead had crashed out before he had got the chance to fuck
her. She had felt tight enough to be a virgin, and looked ready to party
though for some reason, despite all the shit pumped into her, she kept on
mentioning some guy called Mackie which had turned her on no end. He had
had one of the roadies take her home in the end, the blood-curdling
growls she was making in her sleep had started to unease the other girls
despite the fun powder. A well perhaps she would be at another one of
backstage "do's", there would be other times.

"Hello there honey remember me?" a soft female voice enquired.

Startled Green twisted around eyes scanning the room in order to
find the owner. Unbelievably, sitting in the corner was the same cute
redhead, hugging her knees and apparently completely naked. Green stubbed
out the joint, that's the last time I'm ever doing this shit he thought,
mouth going dry with lust.

"Y...you!" was all that escaped from his lips in a dry croak.

"Then you do remember me," for some reason she seemed delighted
as she started to stand, "that's good because I certainly remember you
and I want to know exactly what you did to me!"

If this was some kind of trip from the acid he'd took earlier
he'd just have to ride it out, he'd had far worse one's than this. He
looked up at her pale form as a flash of neon illuminated her face, she
smiled lips pulling away from elongated fangs, vertically slitted eyes
narrowed on him.

"Oh by the way Green, this is real," she spoke softly, as she
padded towards him, "and so are these." Blades flashed silver in the
darkness, glittering malignantly.

************************************************

The pack trooped into Le Blue Smoke, Jan-Anders and Mackie at
their head. Despite it being supposedly a jazz club, it seemed to be more
of a narcotics den. Very few people paid attention to the music that was
being played, only the odd decadent couple, more intent on impressing
their neighbours than on anything else. The whole place had a mock Art
Deco feel, which extended to the polished brass fittings, floral prints
and sunrise Capiz shell lamps that ornamented the walls and tables,
casting a soft, lush light everywhere. Mackie didn't like the feel of the
place it just seemed wrong to him, he turned to the Ahroun beside him
voicing his concern.

"Yeah I know kid, just be glad yer not a Garou this place stinks
of the Wyrm!" to the rest of the pack members the whole place stank with
the rank foetor of the Defiler, "Perhaps coz' yer kinfolk like yer
sister, means you can pick it up too. 'Cept you get it as a bad vibe."

"He's up the stairs on your left," Olaf whispered to the party,
"vell vot do you know it's marked private, I'm so scared!" he concluded
sarcastically.

The guard standing behind the door barely had time to react
before a crushing blow to the base of the neck sent darkness rising up to
swallow him. Jan-Anders eased him to the floor and motioned for the rest
of the group to follow him. The others appeared from the darkness of the
Umbra, Vikky leading a slightly worried looking Mackie like a child.

"That's the spirit world huh?" he whispered, "Nice place but I
wouldn't want to live there, too many of them damn pattern wotsits!"

"This is too quiet for my liking," Jan-Anders hissed, "either
he's totally fucked out of his shit-addled brains or he's asleep. I
would've thought he'd have heard the guard at least. They proceeded up
the stairs slowly, everyone painfully aware of every creaking floorboard,
even breathing seemed to be too loud in the preternatural silence of the
stairwell.

As they arrived at the office door, it swung silently open, a
warm breeze ruffled their hair as they saw that Green had vanished. A
quick scan showed the only possible escape route, the window to the fire
escape was open and the Garou could just make out faint pattering noises,
that seemed to be leading to the roof, not to the trash strewn alley
below. Jan-Anders sighed deeply, then a familiar smell sent his mind
reeling in disbelief. Nene was around here somewhere, he tried to
pinpoint the trace, she smelt subtly different, sensual, deadly.........
feline. It couldn't be, she wasn't, but his olfactory systems told him
otherwise. The other Garou had detected it also, especially Olaf.

"Umm guys I think we now know why Nene's immune," Jan-Anders said
slowly, realisation dawning, " shit, why didn't I see it before!"

"'Cause she's probably just changed," Axel hypothesised, "before
that she'd have smelt like any normal human being."

"What the hell are you talking about?!" Mackie restrained the
urge to garb the Garou by the lapels of his jacket, "Whaddya mean Nene's
just changed?! You mean she's here now, she's one of you guys too?!"

"Kind of," Jan-Anders replied as he headed to the open window,
"we're not the only type of shapeshifter, you know that don't you?"

"Yeah, so what's this got to do with Nene?"

Jan-Anders looked at his young friend wishing there were a more
delicate way of putting it, "She's a Bastet, a werecat, don't know which
tribe but by the smell of things she is mighty pissed off."

Mackie sat on the nearest table, shock and disbelief warring on
his face. Why me, he thought, why goddamn me. He was jerked back to
reality by Vikky putting a sisterly arm around him.

"It's not so bad," she tried to console him, "she'll just act a
bit more on emotion than she used to do."

"Well it does explain a few things," Mackie said with a sigh, "no
more yo-yoing weight problems, flaunting herself a bit more, and
well.......ermmm" he looked a little embarassed.

Vikky smiled, "......and seems to be acting a little more
romantic around you?" she suggested.

"Err......yes." he replied sheepishly.

"Uhh guys, I don't wish to be a party pooper but should we take a
look at the roof?" Axel suggested, "I don't know about you, but if Nene's
around her first change, she's going to need someone when she comes
down." he looked at Mackie with that last remark.

"Okay folks let's roll!" Jan-Anders dove out of the window and
started running up the steps.

************************************************

Green lay on the rooftop coughing weakly, clothing and skin had
been torn to bloody streaks by that thing, whatever it was. Flaps of
flayed skin hung from his torso and limbs like a ghostly shroud. His mind
was numb, not from the substances he had taken but from its own
endorphins. The creature was intent on keeping him alive for now, that
much he was sure of. It loomed over him now, its golden orange fur
spotted with his blood, two inch sickle claws flexing from their sheaths.

"I only felt the goddamn redhead, that's all dammit!" he moaned
into the gravel.

"You sure?" a soft voice growled thickly.

"I'm sure now leave me the fuck alone!" he tried to shout, but
all that came out was a hoarse whisper.

"Good." Nene's paw grasped the stricken dealer, she brought him
level to her face. She could see the primal fear that twisted his
features, then wrinkled her nose in disgust as she realised he'd watered
and fouled himself in fear. She brought her other pad in front of his
face, flexing her claws menacingly.

"Nene," a familiar voice broke through her crimson thoughts, "let
him go, he isn't worth the effort. C'mon Nene you know me don't you?"

Nene whirled to face the speaker, dropping Green to the roof
surface. It was a tall dark haired man dressed in black, behind him stood
four Garou who were also in Crinos form. They didn't appear to be ready
or willing to attack, they were just stood there expectantly. The human
walked towards her fearlessly.

"That's right Nene it's me Mackie, you remember me don't you?"
behind her there was a whimper as Green passed out.

A warm glow suddenly rushed through Nene's body, it was him! How
could she forget her beloved! Before the Garou could react she had swept
an alarmed Mackie off his feet and had plastered him to her purring
chest, nuzzling him like a cub.

"Nene," came a strangled voice, ".......need oxygen............"

Mackie felt overwhelmed to say the least, her fur was so soft and
luxurious, and even in the so-called war-form he had to admit she looked
beautiful, an elegant, graceful killing machine.That was killing him with
kindness right now.

"That better?" a small voice inquired.

He looked down, then suddenly shut his eyes in total
embarrassment when he saw the lack of clothing. Nene still had her arms
wrapped tightly around his chest and was sighing deeply, which enhanced
her charms even more. It was a few minutes before she finally let go and
retrieved her clothing stash. Mackie headed with her and Jan-Anders to
the van, while the others in the meantime removed Green from the roof, he
would live for now. Besides they had questions of their own to ask him
back at the studios. They were mostly soundproof so no-one would hear the
screams. Once inside the van, Mackie handed the keys to Jan-Anders and
climbed into the back of the van. Nene had nestled herself amongst the
cushions there, and was now lying on her back, toying with her mane of
red hair while she looked at the pair of them with luminous green eyes.
As he climbed into the back she snuggled up to him and started purring
softly to herself.

"Could you drive, I've got to look after the Kitten back here."
he wanted to take her mind off Dangerfield, Green the whole sorry mess.

"Sure no problem, I think I know the way;" then looking at Nene,
"You okay?"

"I guess so," Nene smiled up at him, "I still feel a little weird
though."

Jan-Anders laughed, "Don't worry you'll get used to it, just
start to panic when it gets a lot weird!"

Nene didn't reply, she had already wrapped her arms around
Mackie's neck and was kissing him passionately in the back of the van.
Jan-Anders smiled to himself in resignation, how the hell was he going to
explain this one to Sylia?!

************************************************

Part eight on its way soon............