

Lynch walked down the mall. Hallways opened onto the central walk from his left and right. The wide crosswalk looming ahead of him was attached to a large central pillar, with a stairwell, creating an island in the river of the cement-floored prison garden.

"Someone wants a beating! Well, I'm here to oblige you," He was just out of sight of his comrades when he passed under the catwalk.

"I'm going to take this stick," Lynch lifted his stun-baton over his head. "And I'm going to shove it up your..."

Something heavy hit him in the shoulder, knocking him to the ground. He gurgled. Blood ran out of his mouth.

Ashley had dropped from the catwalk above and stabbed him through the soft tissue of his throat, straight down into his chest. The weight had slammed him to the ground, the blade shredding his circulatory system.

When she pulled the sword out, his lifeblood burst forth in a great splash onto the gray cement. Lynch was dead before he hit the ground.

The collision had been violent and loud.

Ashley heard the approaching tromp of another pair of booted feet. She retreated back to her ambush spot. Another, smaller guard rushed over to Lynch's lifeless body, bending over him, inspecting the wound.

This time she dropped to the side and brought the blade down across the exposed back of the soldier's neck. The helmeted head leapt away, and the stump gave several spurts of crimson as the body fell.

She listened for more approaching soldiers but heard nothing.

The two young men were strapped with all kinds of gear. Ashley set the Little Dragon down and unpacked the guards.

She got a helmet, a gas mask, four tear-gas grenades, two more assault rifles and two pairs of handcuffs. She secured the gas mask to her waist and snapped on shin, shoulder, and forearm bracers. They were a little too big to wear properly, but fit snugly over her sweatshirt and baggy pants.

She pulled on the headless soldier's vest and donned his recently emptied helmet. They were both several sizes too large and looked it.

Ash peaked around a corner. The mall was empty. Of the three remaining soldiers, no one was standing outside the guard post. She reasoned that they were all inside, huddled around the security monitors, hoping to catch a glimpse of her.

##   
THE LEGEND OF ASHLEY FOX

### Ashley Fox – Volume 2

### Ninja Orphan

### John Carrick

Copyright © 2019 John Carrick

ISBN 978-0-9836916-2-4

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Published by Smashwords and Alpha Channel Books, California.

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

The Legend of Ashley Fox

Ashley Fox Adventures - Volume Two - Ninja Orphan

www.AshleyFox.Ninja

Cover by Jay Arcilla

Acknowledgements and Special Thanks

My family, Jay Arcilla, Liezel Co, Karl Morgan, and Rob Newman. Denise Poirier, Peter Chung and Mark Mars. Shirow Masamune and Ken Kesey.

The Authorities \- Stephen King, J.R.R. Tolkien, Victor Hugo, Arthur Conan Doyle, Mark Twain, Jules Verne, Richard K. Morgan, James Ellroy, Arthur Miller, Elmore Leonard, Joseph Conrad, Thomas Wolfe, Joseph Heller, Stan Lee, Robert E. Howard, Cormac McCarthy, Ernest Hemmingway, William Faulkner, William Gibson, Ray Bradbury, Futaro Yamada, Hiroaki Samura, Thomas Cleary, Fydor Doystevesky, Albert Camus, Homer, Gaius Julius Caesar, Publius Ovidius Naso, Marcus Tullius Cicero, Plato, Socrates, William Shakespeare, Francis Bacon, John Dee, Eliphas Levi, George Bernard Shaw, Thomas Paine, Thomas Jefferson, John Adams, Jun Fan Lee, John Lennon, Paul McCartney, Charles Michael Kittridge Thompson IV, Quentin Tarantino, Kurt Sutter, John Wells, Aaron Sorkin, Oliver Stone, Guy Ritchie, Ben Edlund, Joss Whedon, Robert Towne, William Goldman, Christopher McQuarrie, Garth Ennis, Warren Ellis, Neil Gaiman, Akira Kurosawa, Shinichi Chiba, Shimozawa Kan, Grant Morrison, Jimi Hendrix, Clive Barker, Alan Moore, George R.R. Martin, Donna Tartt, Nichola Tesla, Lian Hearn, Nelson Mandela, Gautama Siddhartha, Mahatmas Gandhi, Lao Tzu, Sun Tzu, Jesus and Hunter S. Thompson.

Also: Tashunka Witko and the Oglala Lakota, the Óglaigh na hÉireann, Sinn Fein, Michael Collins, Tom Clarke, Seán MacDermott, James Connolly, Joseph Plunkett, and Thomas MacDonagh. Dr. Martin Luther King, Cassius Muhammad Ali Clay, Malcolm X, Tommie Smith, John Carlos, Fredrick Douglas, Nat Turner, Fred Hampton, Terry Longbaugh, Robert Parker, William Henry Bonney, Henry Antrim, Hank McCarty, Wayne Steinmetz, Frank Mueller, Lu Dongbin, Miyamoto Musashi, Yagyu Munenori, Yagyu Jubei, Hattori Hanzo Masanari, Morihei Ueshiba, Ark Yuey Wong, Ed Parker, Haumea "Tiny" Lefiti, Tino Tuiolosega, Alex Garza, Sher Lu, Carl Totton, Alan Watts, Jorge Suarez and Thomas Quinn.

Dedication:

This book is Blood-Orange Lemonade for your Brain

\- John Carrick

### Part One – On Fighting

# Prologue – Flying Dragons

June 19, 2309

The arrival of a giant tuxedoed lion caused chaos among the students of the Flying Dragons Martial Arts Academy. The monster cat weighed in at just over a hundred pounds. Like a panda, or killer whale, his coat sported only two colors; his head, back, and most of his tail were black, while white fur covered his belly, forelegs, paws, and mouth.

During the summer, the Flying Dragons Martial Arts Academy was relatively empty, as compared to the regular school year, and the few remaining students were infatuated with the playful lion. The animal showed no aggressive behavior, but rolled and tumbled with the children, baring neither fang nor claw.

Ashley and Geoff were at breakfast when word of the massive animal spread through the school. They arrived in the courtyard with a handful of other students, excited to gawk at and play with the giant cat.

However, when Ash and Geoff stepped into the courtyard, the animal ceased its games. His ears went up, and he sniffed the air. Fixating on Ash's little brother, the lion bounded over to Geoffrey and sniffed him intently. Then, softly, the lion rubbed its face against Geoff's, licked him repeatedly and began to purr.

Ash stood next to her brother, her hand brushing the cat's thick mane. She knew that if the animal were to turn hostile, there would be little she could do to protect her brother from its claws.

Across the courtyard, the head abbot entered with a pair of adults. Ashley stared, stunned.

"Geoff," she said. "Geoff!"

In the next moment, she was running across the courtyard. "Mom!" she cried, reaching them, hugging her mother.

Her father stood beside them, his hand on her shoulder.

Ashley looked back at Geoff, frozen beside the lion. "Geoff!"

Geoffrey sprinted across to them. "Mom! Dad!"

The rest of the day passed in a whirlwind. Ashley and Geoffrey left that very minute. They said no goodbyes, took nothing from their rooms. Dr. Fox arranged for it all to be delivered later.

In the car, Geoff played with the cat, petting him and wrestling with him.

"What's his name," Geoff asked.

"He doesn't have one yet," Dr. Fox answered. "Any ideas?"

Geoff smiled and squinted into the sharp morning sunlight. "Mono."

"Mono?" his father asked.

"Yeah, short for Monochrome," Geoffrey answered, beaming.

The first night away from the Academy, the Fox family moved into an absurdly expensive and secure hotel. Movie stars wandered the halls. Room service was always available and fast. It was only temporary, but exciting for Mrs. Fox and the kids.

Of course, Ashley and Geoff had dozens of questions for their father, starting with how he and their mother had survived their apparent murder. Dr. Fox explained that he had applied some first aid to their mom, after Mr. Dunkirk had attacked her. There had been a kit of the healing goo in the kitchen and it had saved her life.

Director Stanwood's bullet had also been a stroke of luck. The .22 hadn't penetrated his skull and given him nothing more than a prolonged nap and a lovely new scar for his hairline.

Stanwood and his cronies kept Dr. Fox's survival a secret in hopes of blackmailing him once he recovered, but Ashley and Geoff's escape had thrown a monkey-wrench into their plans. Stanwood's death at the hands of Ashley and the embarrassment of Dunkirk's escape had further frustrated any political designs against Ashley's father.

He apologized profusely for not having located them sooner, but after all, the martial arts academy was the last place anyone, included their parents, had thought to look.

After six weeks in the huge suite, with maids, room service and a carpet that felt like a fur-covered bed, Ash didn't want to leave the hotel. Certainly not to move into the spare, modern house, newly purchased in up-town Angel City. There wasn't a hard edge on a single piece of furniture in the hotel. The same could not be said for the new home they were about to move into.

Ashley and Geoff asked about their old possessions, but Dr. Fox explained the police had sealed the house during the Dunkirk investigation. As far as he knew, it was exactly as they had left it. Despite Geoff's insistent pleading, Dr. Fox refused to return to the address. He refused under any circumstances, even if it involved replacing all of Geoff's previous clothing and toys with newer, more expensive versions.

Their new home, on the prestigious top-shelf of the technology sector, was a cold, hard structure that made magically efficient use of space. Ashley and Geoff got to choose their own rooms, in the final tally, a total of three each. The estate was immense and secured by heavily armed soldiers, as well as a fleet of house and grounds keepers, all living on the property.

Exploring the neighborhood, Ashley and Geoff quickly discovered the Angel City Parks, miles of hoverboard ramps, multi-tiered playgrounds and carefully cultivated forests, supervised by young citizens doing their mandatory two years of public service.

Soon the school year started, but the horror they experienced on Calistan Way continued to haunt Ashley. Occasionally Mr. Dunkirk would make headlines, he'd have a close call with police, or take another victim, or be blamed for one.

Ash alone seemed concerned, she regarded the threat of his return as not just probable, but inevitable. Especially since she was the only living person who could link Dunkirk to any crimes. Ashley's testimony, that she had found Mr. Dunkirk in the home with his murdered family and that he had attacked her with a butcher knife, would be enough to hang the suspected murderer.

Ashley knew that her mom was technically one of Dunkirk's victims, but she was no longer dead. The incident had never been properly reported or filed, due to Stanwood's federal interference.

Whenever Ashley thought about those days, her heart would literally begin to ache, a hollow, burning sensation in her chest. She missed things the way they used to be. She'd loved the canyon forest, their neighborhood friends, and their beagle. She missed their adventures, but those days were long gone.

The day Chairman Pierce fell from the sky everything changed. That was the day her father's prototype had first come into Ashley's possession, carried from the heavens by a divine messenger, delivering the item to the daughter of its creator.

The Micronix, a computer to brain interface, was a device that could store thoughts, connect to other computer systems, transmit messages, anything a regular computer could do, all without the use of keyboards or monitors. Ashley didn't like to use it, but her younger brother Geoffrey had effortlessly mastered the device.

Their father had never asked about it after his return. Ashley hadn't mentioned it, and Geoff didn't talk about it either. He never borrowed it or asked Ashley about it. He'd said it worked best for him when Ash had it, and she always had it.

In addition to being her father's unexplained legacy, the interface doubled as a knife, its single button releasing a hidden blade.

After her run-in with Mr. Dunkirk and the showdown in the police station, Ashley reasoned it was best to keep the device with her at all times. Mr. Dunkirk had lived on their street as long as Ashley could remember. No one had ever suspected him of being a mass murderer. Director Stanwood had known Ashley's father all his life and even as Stanwood shot him, Dr. Fox trusted him enough to ask for his help.

Ash's memories of her home and the canyon where she and Geoff spent so many happy hours were all tainted with concealed evil. Ash felt death lurking all around her now, never more than one step out of sight, just waiting to jump out and say hello. She never left the device out of arm's reach, even when she slept.

Just before Halloween, Mr. Dunkirk was spotted in Phoenix, but quickly vanished again. Ashley's father assured them that he had taken every precaution to protect their new address.

"Besides, we aren't worried Ash. You're here to protect us," he often joked.

The idea terrified the young girl, but her family, everyone, looked at her differently now.

The footage of her fight with Dunkirk, captured by the hovering police vehicles, had been all over the news. Geoffrey's big sister had brutally humiliated one of the most dangerous serial killers in history.

Inside their first week at the new school, he'd turned her into a playground legend. Whenever the issue of childhood bravado reared its ugly head, Geoff found the spotlight. The other kids loved his stories about Ashley, they would crowd around him and listen, reverently.

Ashley would notice them looking at her strangely for several days afterward. Occasionally, one of Geoffrey's particularly brave classmates would get up the courage to ask her some meaningless question and later, brag to his friends about his brush with fame.

Ashley didn't think of herself as a hero. She knew the truth. She was terrified. At one point, she even paid Geoff to keep quiet, but the damage was already done. Ashley did not want to get caught up in the obligatory tough guy challenges leveled at any and every karate kid, especially one who happened to be female.

As far as the school kids knew, she didn't practice martial arts anymore, just ballet. In truth, Ashley spent every afternoon at Flying Dragons. Now she showed the same single-minded devotion for violence that she'd once shown for dance. Whenever news of Dunkirk's continuing escapades reached the girl, she redoubled her efforts.

Wednesday, September 14, 2310

The night before her fifteenth birthday, after Ashley came home from practice, Dr. Fox approached her in the kitchen. "There's something I want to ask you."

Ashley and Geoff had been reunited with their parents for a little over a year now. The family had finally settled into something that, on the surface, appeared regular, safe and happy.

"Yes," Ashley answered.

Her father half-sat / half-leaned against a tall stool, pinning it against the center island.

Ash was already unnerved by his very presence, but lately he'd been nice enough. He had not been like that when she was younger. Ever since he'd returned from the grave, finding them at Flying Dragons, the stern man he had once been was no more.

"So, you really didn't want to go to that Kung Fu camp?" he asked awkwardly.

"No, I didn't." Ashley found it easy to be cold toward him. She didn't trust this kinder, gentler man. He was and yet he was not her father. After witnessing his death; that had changed her.

He was here, and yes, he cared for her, but Ashley was no longer a child, and she no longer sought the protection of her parents. In this moment, that feeling made itself known and isolated her.

He continued, "But you went, and then you went back. You spent a full year there, and now you go all the time."

This she had not expected. The young girl paused, waiting for the question, making him ask whatever it was he wanted to know.

"Well... Why?"

"You know why. You were dead. Things changed."

Dr. Fox waited, apparently unsatisfied with the short answer. Suddenly he was her Dad again, the Old Man was there, watching, judging.

"And because, well, they were searching for a ballerina. If I went to ballet school, Geoff and I would be dead now."

He smiled. "You loved ballet, you were so talented."

She saw through his words. This was something he'd been planning, this moment, for some time.

Ashley narrowed her eyes. She had not once lost her sense of self. Not when confronted by the murderous Dunkirk, nor when experiencing a distortion in time that could only have been a mild hallucination.

When first holding her father's device, the Micronix, she hadn't seen anything happen, what she had felt was a lack of things happening. She hadn't felt the breeze on her face, or heard the rustle of the branches, rubbing their limbs together in the cool winds; _that didn't mean they had stopped all together_.

In a sudden epiphany, Ashley realized it hadn't been a lack of time at all, but a lack of sensation. When she had released the device into her back pocket, the connection had broken, and her other senses had rushed in again. _just like this moment_ , she thought to herself.

She paused and wondered how she could explain, _to herself_ , the frozen laser light and her transfixed friends. She could not. So she put it out of her mind, resolving to deal with it later, or possibly never.

Her father was still watching her. Only a fraction of a second had passed. She didn't drop eye contact.

"I worked hard," she said. "But I didn't love it. It didn't add up to anything."

"What does that mean, it didn't add up to anything?"

"I did it to prove I was better than the other girls, not because I liked it. I did it because other women look up to dancers, and men prize them, not because I loved it."

Dr. Fox said nothing.

"I don't do this out of that same place. I do this because I don't want to end up like all those people in the canyon."

"That never should have happened."

Ashley heard him clearly. She knew he was somehow involved with the man who fell from the sky that afternoon, two summers ago. She knew that the black knife was at the center of it all.

She knew something else too, but she did not know what that _something_ was; only that she possessed the Micronix and that it made her powerful. She did not need to know anything more. She did not want to hear the whole story. She was not ready for that yet.

He seemed as if he needed her to be ready, as if there were something he wanted to tell her. She hoped he would wait, maybe a few weeks, or a few years. Their life had just gotten good.

Ashley explained, "Geoffrey does things because he wants to. He does things for fun. The way he used to play with Jack, and how he does his experiments. I'm not like that."

He took a breath and leaned back, relaxing against the counter. "I see. What are you like?"

Ash hesitated, "I do things because I have to. This is something I have to do. It was the same with ballet. I don't know why, but I had to."

She stood quietly for a moment.

"It's weird. I was mean about ballet, but I'm not about this. Because this is all about being mean, I can be nice. I don't know if that makes any sense."

Dr. Fox tilted his head, inviting further explanation.

"It's different than ballet. That was all about what I could do. Now, I just want to learn, to help the other kids too. I'm not just doing it for me, but for Geoff and everyone, because the bad guys are out there somewhere, and they're not the other kids," she replied.

Her father smiled.

"I'm better than most of the boys already," she said, smiling back.

"Of course you are." He hugged her. "I know you don't always like it when I tell you to look out for your brother, but I'm glad you're here to protect him. I can count on you."

"You're here too, right? We're safe here. Aren't we?"

He turned toward the fridge. "Of course," he said, as he opened the door, filling the room with light from the interior.

"But then again, we were safe back on Calistan too," he pointed out. "Until we weren't." He turned back to face her, abandoning whatever it was he had wanted, letting the door swing closed, shutting out the illumination.

Fox raised his hands to his daughter's shoulders and looked her in the eyes. "That's why I made you go. That's the way life works, the way knowledge and experience work. Once you need it, it's too late."

# Chapter 1 – The Good Life

Thursday, September 15, 2310.

Ashley could hear her mom yelling from downstairs. She hated her mother's proclivity to shout commands from one end of the house to the other. Ash rolled her eyes behind closed lids and buried her head in her pillow, trying to savor a few last moments of warm, comfortable sleep before the grueling process of waking and preparing for school began.

Her mother's voice in the doorway startled her. "You're going to be late."

"So," she said, the pillow swallowing her flip reply.

She heard her mom bark a similar charge at Geoff from down the hall.

Today was Ashley's fifteenth birthday. She didn't see why she should have to go to school on her birthday, but she rolled from bed and pulled on a jersey.

In the hallway, as she stumbled toward the bath, Geoffrey sprinted past her. He reached the bathroom first and slammed the door in her face with a hurried, "Sorry Ash, I gotta go!"

"Damnit, Geoffrey!" Ashley pounded the door with her fist.

Back in her room, Ash calculated her options and fell back into bed.

"ASHLEY-ERIN-FOX! Get up now!" Her mom screamed from the downstairs kitchen.

Ash sat up to yell back, "Geoff's in the bathroom!"

"No, I'm not!" her brother replied from the kitchen table.

A few minutes later, she stood in the bathroom doorway, her face flush with rage.

The room was a complete mess. Pools of water stood all over the floor, a towel lay soaked in a corner. The counter was covered with spilled soap and toothpaste, sloppily smeared about.

"Geoffrey!" she screamed in frustration.

Later, outside, Geoff and Ash headed down the front walk. Their parents waved from the doorway.

"Take care of your brother, Ash," her father instructed, as he had every day for almost the entire past year.

Ash waved goodbye to her parents. As they turned away, and the door closed, she brought her hand down across the back of Geoff's head.

He yelled and spun to confront her.

They rarely got into fights. Geoffrey was four years younger and even angry he posed little threat, which usually fueled his frustration, rather than tempered it. "What the heck?" he yelled.

Ash stepped toward him scowling.

Geoff took an involuntary step back. "What did I do?"

"I told you a million times to stop leaving the bathroom a mess! If you can't wait till after I get out, at least keep it clean."

"You could use the one downstairs," he argued.

"So could you!" Ash walked through the gate, holding it open for him. "Come on."

"You didn't have to hit me," he said, as he passed her.

"Tomorrow, I go first," she answered.

"I just really had to go," he said.

"You leave it a total disaster every day."

"You never hit me like that before." Geoff glared.

"I'm sorry, but you have to think about other people sometimes." She put an arm over his shoulder, but he shrugged her off and stepped forward, moving out of reach.

"I'm sorry. You're right. It was mean. I won't ever hit you again."

"Promise?"

"Yes, I promise."

"You have to say it," he said.

"I promise I won't hit you again," Ash said.

"Ever?"

"Ever."

Geoff stood still. It was apparent he didn't genuinely believe her.

"Come on," she smiled. "I didn't hit you that hard."

Geoff wrinkled his nose as he rubbed the back of his head.

Ash stepped forward and put her arm around him again, walking them toward the shuttle stop that would take them to school.

"You're using the downstairs bathroom from now on, understand?"

Geoff didn't argue, but he didn't push her arm off his shoulder either.

As Ashley and Geoff approached the walled campus, Ash's friend Mandy waved from the gate. Ash and Mandy stood roughly the same height, both tall for their age, five foot seven and female, but the similarities ended there. From Mandy's short wavy blonde hair, to Ashley's relatively straight jet-black locks, they were as different as night and day. Mandy was a bright student who never studied and barely did her homework. She got straight B's and didn't care. She was friendly, and everyone liked her.

Ashley was her polar opposite; aloof, cynical, and sarcastic, she rarely smiled. When it came to schoolwork or athletics, she was always at the top of her class, not in the top five, or even the top three, Ashley was always number one. When she wasn't, it was because she consciously let someone else win, or because she wasn't in that class. She was the ultimate type-A personality, but not because she tried; she put forth as little effort as possible. If the other kids had known she was sleepwalking through school, they'd have hated her that much more. Even the boys were jealous, especially of her athletic abilities. Not to mention the fact that her courage had been tested and proven, against an infamous serial killer.

Ash and Mandy seemed an unlikely match as friends, but they genuinely liked each other. Then again, Mandy had lots of friends. She couldn't name an enemy. Ash was fascinated with her.

A few years earlier, a ballet instructor had taken some time to explain that the ability to turn enemies into friends was what truly set people apart. Her explanation had so impressed Ashley, that she too believed it to be the only skill worth actually having. Of course, it was the only thing she'd been unable to master, or even become functional at.

Most of the other kids avoided the ultra serious Ash. She couldn't pinpoint why. Perhaps they felt outclassed, out-gunned. That was fair and relatively accurate. Ashley didn't try to beat the other students, but they did seem have an air of deference and defeat in her presence.

It wasn't her fault that school, really all of life, was arranged as a competition. She'd heard that in other, more dignified cultures, there was a greater sense of teamwork. Unfortunately, that was not where she lived.

Ash and Mandy didn't feel compelled to define their friendship, which existed almost exclusively at school.

Together, the three of them, Ash, Mandy and Geoff, slipped across the courtyard. The first bell rang, Geoff smiled, waved to Ash and set out toward his classroom.

Two steps later he returned and hugged her. "Happy birthday," he said. Before she could reply, he'd run off toward his wing.

Mandy grinned at Ash. "It's your birthday, huh? I had no idea."

"Yeah well," Ashley replied.

"It's the fifteenth, your golden birthday!" Mandy smiled. "We should do something. We should have a party for you this weekend."

"I can't. I've got... so much stuff this weekend."

"You've always got stuff," Mandy said.

The girls stood quietly for a moment, Ashley's usual and predictable rejection of weekend companionship still lingering in the air.

"What are you gonna do?" Ash asked softly.

"I don't know, watch cartoons, eat pizza and ice cream." Her clipped words clearly expressed her dissatisfaction, but she immediately adjusted her tone. "Find a party, I guess."

Ashley looked down, but didn't offer to join her friend. The girls stood silently beside each other.

# Chapter 2 – Lunch Time Traffic

Dr. Fox, still quite fit for his fifties, approached his radiant wife, already seated at a table near the fountain in an overly floral restaurant. He looked around, impressed. "Wow, they really work hard on this place," he said.

Mrs. Fox smiled and nodded, "I told you it was nice." Her eyes sparkled in the diffused sunlight, reflected off the water and chromed surfaces of the restaurant.

"I love you." Dr. Fox leaned in to kiss her.

"I love you too," she answered.

"Sorry about earlier," he apologized, running a hand through his light brown hair.

"Sorry for what?" she asked.

"On the phone, when I hung up, I forgot to tell you that I love you."

Mrs. Fox blushed and smiled. "You don't have to say it every time."

"Well, what if something happened?" he argued. "I don't want my last words to you to be... something else." He looked down at his napkin-wrapped silverware and adjusted its position on the patterned tablecloth.

"Thank you." She smiled and reached out to his hand, lying on the table. "If you'd stop driving like a lunatic you wouldn't have to worry about things like last words," she chided him.

"I've never even set off any proxies, well except that one time," he smiled.

"And that one other time," she countered.

"Oh, yeah. Well... Fine. But we both know that today's countermeasures prevent any serious sort of life-threatening injuries during vehicular collisions."

"But you aren't driving a vehicle that has those life-saving countermeasures."

"Yeah, but everybody else is," he answered.

In an effort not to give in and laugh, Ana silently drank from her water glass. She knew she best frustrated her husband's arguments by not arguing.

The waiter arrived with menus. Dr. Fox unwrapped his silverware and used the napkin to wipe his forehead.

"What's going on?" his wife asked.

He looked up and smiled, "We did it."

"You did what exactly?"

Fox didn't answer, he just continued smiling.

"The _What_ you told me you weren't going to do? The big _What_?"

Dr. Fox tempered his pride with a dash of humility, "Yes, that one."

"You said you wouldn't." She was beyond frustrated.

"I didn't do it. It did me," he attempted.

"That's such a load of shit," she replied. "Is this really what you want?"

"We're not going forward with it, if that's what you mean," he answered.

"You're not?"

"We all agreed."

"Who else knows?" she asked.

"Just Charles and Frank. And Tom," he replied.

"Jesus," she exclaimed.

"No. We left him out of this one."

"We'll have to move again," she sighed.

"I've been thinking about that. Do you still want to get away from all this?"

"I don't want to go on the run." she answered.

"No, I mean retire, for real this time, somewhere away from the whole mess, somewhere out in the country."

"Like we talked about?" she asked.

"I wasn't sure when we'd have a breakthrough, so... I bought some land out in the Dakotas a while ago." Dr. Fox smiled. "I only just worry about Ash and Geoffrey?"

"They would love it," she said. "The cat could have a proper back yard."

"It's all set up. Everything is ready, waiting for us. We can go whenever we want."

Ana smiled, her eyes wet and shining. "Let's go tomorrow."

Her husband leaned forward, his elbows crowded the silverware and water glass. "Everything ready for Ashley's party tonight?" he asked.

Ana nodded. "Pretty much. The house and presents are done, I just have to pick up the cake this afternoon."

"She didn't say anything this morning?"

"Not to me. I'm sure she doesn't know."

"You're probably right." He smiled and looked out the window.

Outside the building, a weaving vehicle distracted Andrew. It caused and narrowly avoided accidents in the surrounding antigravity lanes.

"Speaking of countermeasures, look at this guy," he said.

"Shouldn't they have kicked in by now" Ana asked, horribly fascinated by the vehicle as it barrelled toward them. The car ricocheted off several others, triggering their jerky autopilot maneuvers. Vehicles slid to a hovering stop in nearby loading and emergency lanes as the offending coup careened along the side of a building.

Instead of slowing down, it accelerated.

Dr. Fox cynically calculated which of the malfunctioning safety devices might allow the vehicle to keep moving while so obviously out of control. He put the odds around five thousand to one against the possibility of legitimate accident.

That meant this was deliberate.

Behind the several sheets of glass and steel, he and everyone else believed themselves to be perfectly safe. No one panicked. The terillium-alloy walls, charged and bulletproof, provided more than adequate protection from a lunatic rental.

As it approached, a massive thunderclap of energy exploded from the vehicle. The lights of the restaurant blinked out. Several vehicles dropped like stones from the sky. The out-of-control car headed directly for the restaurant. It smashed through the window over their table.

Then it detonated.

The ensuing explosion ripped a three-story hole in the complex, killing forty-five citizens that afternoon, including Dr. Andrew and Mrs. Anastasia Fox.

In the observation lab, Mr. Reid and his colleagues panicked. Mrs. Fox's monitors had gone black, her vitals non-existent.

"They're both dead," Mrs. Fox's supervisor, Sanders, said.

"Accident?" Reid asked.

"That was no accident." Mr. Samuel hopped out of his chair. "That was an explosion, their fail safes went off."

Ortiz gestured for Samuel to return to his seat. "Let's think about this. If that wasn't an accident; they will be on their way here directly."

The commanding officer of the lab, Colonel Ross, was ex-special forces. The rumor was that he'd taken a spot in the lab as a favor to Dr. Fox, in some Faustian bargain involving revenge and each other's immortal souls. Ross didn't say anything, despite the glances from his subordinates.

Mrs. Fox's operator, Wash, looked back at Sanders. "We can't let them take the lab. Not after everything that happened last time."

Colonel Ross nodded and stood up. "We have protocol."

While working the civilian post, the colonel dressed in civilian clothes; a sharp suit, tailored to conceal his sidearm. Without the slightest hesitation, he fluidly drew the weapon and shot each member of the team in the head.

He then moved to each man and put two rounds into their chest cavity.

Colonel Ross opened his desk drawer and removed an unlabeled glass bottle. He poured the acid onto the face and hands of each of the agents. It took a moment, but soon pale white smoke began to rise as the acid ate away at the soft tissue.

Back at his desk, Ross took a deep breath before dousing his own hands and his face with the acid. As the smoke began to rise from his skin, he raised his handgun to his mouth.

He bit down on the barrel and pulled the trigger.

A few moments later, gas jets set into the floor ignited and proceeded to incinerate the command center.

Ashley sat in sixth-hour English, drenched in sunlight, laced with perfumed breezes. Just after lunch and siesta-warm, it was quite possibly the sleepiest class of the day.

The boys tried to repress their drowsy love for the young teacher, as Ms. Timmerman, one of the sexiest instructors in the school, read aloud from Watership Down. The ancient classic told the story of a small group of orphaned rabbits and their search for a new home.

The intercom screeched to life and released a contagion of yawns through out the classroom. "Is this 208? Is this Ms. Timmerman?" the unseen Administrator asked.

Ms. Timmerman answered in the affirmative, but the interval for her to answer was so dangerously short she doubted they heard her.

"Please send Ashley Fox to the Administration Office. She can bring her things, she won't be returning to class. Thank you."

Ms. Timmerman looked over to Ashley and nodded.

Ash stood, returned Ms. Timmerman's nod, Mandy's wave, and walked to the door.

Outside in the locker-lined hallway, once the door closed, Ashley stood for a moment. Ms. Timmerman began reading again, continuing the adventure.

Ash leaned against the wall, listening to Ms. Timmerman's melodic voice. She wanted to know what happened to Hazel, Big Wig and the other rabbits. She missed a few sentences of the muffled story and couldn't regain the thread. Frustrated, she turned away.

The halls stood bright and vacant. Ash moved with exaggerated slowness. She arrived at the door to the administration office without encountering anyone. She leaned against the doorframe, hearing little from inside the office.

She waited, watching the shadows moving behind the frosted glass, trying to catch a hint of what lay in store for her.

Three full minutes passed while she waited and listened. There were several people in the office, two men standing, just on the other side of the door, big men who made the floor creak when they moved.

No one spoke, which seemed strange.

Ash adjusted her books and reached toward the knob. She heard sniffling, someone crying. Ashley opened the door; revealing two uniformed Angel City Police Officers. Behind them, her brother sat on the counter, his eyes wet with tears.

Geoff sprinted past the officers and jumped into his sister's arms.

The taller officer stepped forward. "Is your name Ashley Fox?"

Ashley nodded.

The officers moved their mouths. She understood their words but later couldn't recall hearing them. From somewhere underwater, they told her that her parents had been killed in a traffic accident. She understood, but she didn't hear their voices. She didn't hear the sounds.

Geoff sobbed her name like a prayer. She couldn't, or didn't, breathe. Her mind clung to worthless details. The officer talking was the taller one. On his arm, three stripes. The other stood shorter, younger, two stripes, his hand resting on the butt of his weapon. They had badges, but no nametags.

Ashley felt trapped; she checked the hall behind her.

It remained empty.

Three Stripes continued talking. He moved past the siblings and stepped into the hallway. Ash and Geoffrey followed, two stripes behind them. Three Stripes looked up and down the halls, watched doorways and constantly looked over his shoulder, but he didn't watch her. Two Stripes kept his hand on his weapon.

They went to Ashley's locker. They told her to take everything she wanted to keep, but to leave the books. She wouldn't be coming back here again. She dropped off her English text and packed her bag.

Ash closed the locker and looked at the officers. Unseen, the black metal prototype lay nestled between her palm and the bag strap.

The Micronix had once been her father's. It had fallen to her the last time he was killed, over two years ago. When he returned, he hadn't asked for it back. Now she kept it with her at all times.

She relaxed, feeling its weight in her palm.

Geoffrey was capable of using it as her father had, a liquid-core computer, capable of projecting the cyber-verse directly into the user's mind. Ashley wasn't interested in that aspect of it at all.

If something happened, Ashley would engage the device's more mundane function, it doubled as a lethally sharp switchblade.

Outside the school, the officers led them to the cruiser. The sergeant opened the hatch. The corporal pulled out his handcuffs and stepped toward the children. Ashley stepped between him and Geoff; the scowl on her face making her intentions clear.

Geoff thought she'd gone crazy. Even she couldn't take on two cops. Then he saw the Micronix, hidden behind her back, and stepped to the side.

The corporal frowned, raised an eyebrow and took another step forward. Ash let her pack slide off her shoulder and defensively raised her empty, left hand, curled in a loose fist. She brought her right around to hang loosely over her stomach.

The corporal was stunned. He didn't know what to do.

The sergeant looked over at the confrontation. "What the hell are you doing?" he asked his partner.

The corporal answered by yelling over his shoulder. "Any civilian traveling in a department vehicle will wear restraints. You know the regulations."

"Get onboard, corporal," the sergeant ordered.

"It's a regulation, sergeant," he countered.

"Get onboard, jackass!"

The corporal rolled his eyes and returned the cuffs to his belt, bowing low and gesturing for Ash and Geoff to freely pass.

Ash picked up her bag and Geoff smiled at her. She winked in reply.

Inside the transport, Ash gave the sergeant their address, and they suffered the remainder of the ride in silence.

Geoff leaned forward, his head pressed against the terillium-tinted glass. The air outside the transport reached one hundred percent humidity; raindrops drenched the vehicle and ran down the windows, their shadows trickling across the inside.

The Angel City traffic crept along in that cautious, panicked, and slow-as-molasses way that only Angel City traffic does, whenever confronted with the awesome malevolence of mother nature, in the form of a bit of drizzle.

# Chapter 3 – Happy Birthday

The transport drifted to an imperceptible landing in the courtyard of the top shelf home. Ashley and Geoff trudged up the rain-slicked front walk, followed by the officers.

Geoff raised his hand to the access panel and it recognized him as a resident. The front door slid back, revealing an inappropriately decorated house. Ash, Geoff and the officers, stood shocked.

A _Happy Birthday_ banner stretched across the main room, attached to the ceiling and far wall. A nearby table sat covered with presents. The balloons and streamers felt wrong, perfectly cruel. The empty house magnified the awkwardness of the moment. The decorations anchored them, threatening to leave the four of them on the step for eternity.

"Are you surprised?" Geoff asked his sister.

"I thought they forgot," she answered.

"They made me promise not to say anything."

"This better not be somebody's idea of a joke," the corporal said.

"You are such an asshole," the sergeant replied.

Ash looked at the ground. Geoff looked up to his sister as tears welled in his eyes. He turned and ran inside, past the presents and up the stairs. The streamers and strings on the inflated balloons swayed in his wake. Ash followed after him, but the sergeant interrupted her flight.

"Excuse me, miss," the sergeant said, stepping forward. "I'm sorry, but we aren't permitted to leave you guys here on your own. We're just here so you can pack some personal items. You know, a change of clothes, socks, underwear, and toothbrush. We still need to bring you back to the station."

Ashley stared at him.

"It would be criminal negligence for us to just leave you here."

"I'm going to just go up then." Ash gestured to the stairs.

The officer nodded for her to go ahead.

Ash left them to the lower level of the house. She stopped outside her brother's room. He sat on the bed, blankly staring into space.

"Geoff," Ash sat next to him on the bed and put her arm around him.

He stared at the floor.
Downstairs, the officers milled about.

"Nice place," the corporal commented.

"Yeah, not bad," the sergeant agreed.

In the backyard, Mono lay sleeping just outside the sliding glass doors. The domesticated lion heard the sounds from inside and raised his head. Somehow, he'd slept through their entry and only now heard the strange voices. He stood and stretched.

The animal saw the strangers standing inside the house. He looked at them, blinked once, then again, and yawned. Created in a laboratory, Mono had been part of a recombinant DNA experiment. The project's stated goal had been to develop a feline counterpart for law enforcement operations: a cat that could be trained and employed like a police dog, only better. Too docile to be properly considered, the defense department classified Mono as an unsupportable line of inquiry.

The king of the urban jungle poked his head through the over-sized doggie-door. His body followed and soon the entire cat stood inside the house.

The officers froze with shock. Mono ignored them and cleaned a paw.

"What the fuck is that?" the corporal exclaimed.

"It looks like a giant cat to me." The sergeant kept his voice low.

"It's a fucking lion."

Ashley appeared at the top of the stairs and called him. Mono looked away from the cops, trotted past them, and up the stairs.

"He's just a cat," she said, calmly.

"He's not just anything," the corporal replied.

Ash smiled, left the officers and walked Mono to Geoffrey's room.

Mono walked over to Geoff and pushed his face up against the boy's. Geoff made room for the massive animal to curl up next to him on the bed. He did. "What about Mono? Who's gonna take care of him?" Geoff asked, hugging the cat.

Without answering, Ashley stepped away.

Down the hall, she entered her own room. Despite the open door, the room remained dark. She walked over to the windows and ripped the heavy curtains from their frames.

Light flooded the room.

She stood breathing, unsure of what to do next. On a low table, across from the window sat the large dollhouse, her father had built if for her years ago; before the prototype, before Dunkirk. It had been in her old room. She hadn't seen it since they'd left.
Downstairs the officers waited, much less at ease after the appearance of the over-sized house cat. They heard a loud crash from upstairs, the sound of breaking glass and snapping wood, something big crashing through a window.

A moment later, the object exploded into the front lawn, amid a hail of glass and window dressing. The officers stared out at the ruins of a dollhouse. They looked up to the ceiling overhead and then back down to the girl's shattered childhood.

"Maybe we should let them take their time," the sergeant suggested, drawing silent affirmation from his partner.

An hour or so later, Ash and Geoff appeared with their bags. Ashley also had her hoverboard tucked under her arm.

"I'm sorry, but you can't bring that," the sergeant said.

"It would just get stolen anyhow," the corporal added.

Ash took the board back up to her room.

They silently followed the officers out of the house and back aboard the department transport. The children looked utterly exhausted and somehow, older.

The transport lifted off, turning from the Fox home toward the gradually swelling traffic of the late afternoon.

Geoff stared out the window, watching other vehicles give the police cruiser a wide berth in their climb toward the nearby freeway cable. The prowler moved into lanes on the right side of the massive electro-magnetic strand of braided steel, flowing with the close-cable traffic.

The electro-magnetic cable generated current used by the vehicles that ran alongside. Smaller guidelines ran with the freeway cable, delineating lanes and travel direction. Beacons mounted on the guidelines provided visual and aural alerts. In the center, closer to the cable, the beacons were brighter. In the outer lanes, where the current was weaker, they glowed faintly.

The transport landed in the huge parking dock of the Angel City Police Department. The officers led Ash and Geoff through the bustling main hall to an opaque-walled holding cell.

The sergeant addressed them from the door. "Stay here. We'll send down a placement officer." He triggered the panel and the otherwise indistinguishable section of the wall slid shut.

Ash and Geoff took seats on the plastic bench. The various layers of plastic muffled the noise of the crowded central hall outside. The blurred shapes on the other side of the frosted walls seemed little more than fuzzy silhouettes. The volume of activity, as the officers put their clients through the processes of the department, illustrated confusion in sharp contrast to the relative peace of the holding cell.

Watching the hazy silhouettes, Ashley and Geoff discerned a scuffle. Blows were thrown; an officer went down. A gun was waved through the air and people hit the ground.

In a single moment, everyone on the other side seemed to vanish and go silent. Only the criminal's shadow and that of his newly acquired hostage remained standing. Five officers stood slowly, their weapons trained on the young man. He looked toward the door, a good twenty meters away.

The hostage made her move and dropped. The standing officers fired, splattering pieces of the boy against the frosted wall. The bullets embedded themselves in the soft, trap-plastic panels The blood splattered and ran.

Ash and Geoff stared in horror at the pink splashed wall. The bullets lodged in the plastic like blackheads in the otherwise pure skin of the police station.

Ashley and Geoff moved across the plastic cell, to sit on the floor, away from the wounded walls. They watched the hazy aftermath and observed that it wasn't so different from a reality cop vid, where all the participants were blurred out to comply with privacy regulations.

Geoffrey leaned up against his sister and she put her arm around him. He pulled her hand up and looked at the black-metal rectangle nestled in her palm; the sight calmed him and he slept.

Ash watched the blood stain several layers of plastic. It turned entire panels pink and darkened the seams.

Time passed slowly, if at all.

Ash woke, startled to discover she'd been asleep. A suited detective stood at the open door. He was a big man, even for a cop. Thick sideburns offset his shaven head and gave his face an ominous appearance. He held a clipboard.

"Come on. Let's get moving. Chop, chop." He gestured for Ash and Geoffrey to come out of the cell and stepped out of sight, deeper into the hallway.

Ash didn't hear him walk away. She reasoned that he must have been patiently waiting in the hall. The door remained open. Fresh air made its way over to the siblings. Geoffrey stirred and sat up. He saw the open door and looked at his sister.

Ash said nothing, but with a tilt of the head, narrowing of her eyes, and a subtle movement of her mouth, she communicated the situation to her brother.

Together they stood and picked up their bags. She gestured for him to stay behind her. She counted the detective's patience as points in his favor, but the black rectangle remained in her palm.

Geoff watched her. Her thumb rested on the knife's trigger. He breathed easier knowing his deadly sister led the way, secretly armed. His trusting calm helped her remain cool.

To the young boy, she was everything. Ashley was Ninja. He knew why she needed to sleep late all those early summer mornings. After he discovered her secret he tried hard to catch her in the act, but never could.

A couple months earlier, something woke him. Geoff had thought the hooded hoverboarder fleeing their house had been a burglar, but when he went into her room, Ashley was gone. It was almost four in the morning.

Geoff had tried to stay awake. When he woke again, it was after eight. He opened her door and his sister was curled up in bed. She mumbled and pulled the blankets over her head. He hadn't seen her return, but he had seen her leave. Geoff surmised she could only be attending sunrise classes at the academy. He never asked her about it, but after that, he tried to stay quiet in the morning.

In the hallway, the detective waited. As the siblings exited the holding cell, she watched the way he appraised her. He seemed to acknowledge her posture and the item hidden in her hand. He took a polite step back.

"I'm sorry for your loss. I'm Detective Cole."

Looking to Ash, he asked, "Do you remember me?" Cole had shaved his head and the sideburns were new, but his face came back to her. Now that he spoke, she remembered him and nodded.

"Sorry about your partner," she said. Detective Urich had been recently wounded in a headline making case, and later succumbed to his injuries.

Cole nodded. "Thank you. Of course we're still looking for Dunkirk. The feds interfere whenever they can. We can catch up more later, but for now, I need you guys to come with me." Detective Cole led them down the hall.

Ash noticed that he watched them in his peripheral vision and at no time did he seem unprepared. Ash kept her brother in the lee of her movements, shielding him from any possible attack as they passed random people in the halls. The detective subtly tried to reinforce her maneuvers, positioning himself between the children and other officers or citizens.

About halfway to their destination, they encountered a crowded hall, packed tight with humanity. Cole caught Ashley's attention and gestured for Geoffrey to walk between them. The detective moved them through the crowd and when they reached an empty hallway, Ashley relaxed a little.

After wandering for what seemed like a mile, they arrived at the witness stacks. Cole punched a code into the access panel and the bay door opened. The large interior warehouse was lined with tracks and cables running off into the stacks, room-sized safes, locked and maneuverable, robotically-parked single-unit motel rooms.

A room detached itself from the grid and approached the dock. Once secured, the hatch opened and revealed the interior. The unit was really just a large living room; two couches faced a dual-terminaled coffee table. Mini-fridges served as end tables for the vid-steam remotes. The couches were of the extra long variety, doubling as a perfectly comfortable bed.

Cole gave Ash some money. "Get some food." He gestured to the battered menu, tethered to the phone, itself bolted to the top of one of the refrigerators. "I need to figure out where you two are spending the night. Don't break anything."

Ash thanked him as Cole vanished behind the sliding doors. The room kicked off from the platform, instantly losing itself among the thousand other such cubes.

Geoffrey looked at the armored terminal and sturdily constructed couches.

"Don't break anything. Who is he kidding?" Geoff jumped for the couch. Suddenly the box changed direction and slammed him deep into the well of a cushioned seat. He screamed in exhilaration. Ashley crashed onto the other couch, her bag forgotten on the floor.

Detective Cole maneuvered through a maze of halls and stairwells, toward his office. Beside him, a tall man appeared, walking with him.

"Something I can do for you, Nancy, I mean Leonard?"

"Detective. How are you?" Leonard Waltman, Mayor Westbury's secretary, asked.

"I'm feeling a little nauseous."

Leonard smiled. "I've been asked to discuss a rather urgent matter with you."

Detective Cole remained silent.

"A couple children were orphaned today."

"We usually get about a dozen," Cole answered.

Leonard glanced at his watch. "It's still early."

"What are you doing up? Thought your kind couldn't handle sunlight."

"I'm sensing some anxiety in your tone, Detective."

"I'd have gone with hostility, myself."

"Is that a veiled threat?"

"No, it's a direct threat, shit-for-brains."

Leonard smiled, "Is that what you want me to tell him?"

Cole stepped forward. "Tell his highness, that I told you to fuck off."

"I'm just here to ensure that your orders are received and understood, detective."

"Thanks, Mr. Secretary."

As quickly as he'd arrived, Leonard turned and walked away. He made the corner at the far end of the hall and was gone.

Detective Cole waited for a moment and then continued through the maze of the department, one identical intersection after another. Finally he reached an unmarked room. He unlocked the door and entered.

The large room, wide with a low ceiling, stood spotted with support pillars. The detective made his way trough the jumble of filing cabinets, overflowing bookshelves and stuffed study carols. The wall at the far side of the room was split lengthwise by a band of closed windows on horizontal hinges, tinted against the brash California sun.

Cole opened a tall filing cabinet and pulled out a new pack of cigarettes, a bottle of whiskey and a glass. He peeled the plastic from the sweet-smelling tobacco pack and from the top of the whiskey bottle. He tapped out a cigarette and set it between his lips.

Cole swung the window open and set the glass on the low, wide ledge. He slowly opened the bottle and filled the glass. Cole set the bottle beside it on the ledge. He removed the cigarette from his mouth and balanced it across the mouth of the glass. Cole sat facing the window, watching the Angel City afternoon slowly fade into evening.

Across the department, Ash and Geoff picked at cheap heat-packet food, utterly uninterested.

Later they sat before the blaring monitors, the vid-streams as unappealing as the super-heated foodstuff.

Just after six Cole stood, lifted the unlit cigarette and set it adrift on the Angel City wind. He tossed the whiskey after it and shook the glass out.

He returned the bottle and tumbler to their drawer, closed the window and dragged his chair over to a nearby phone.

The detective lifted the receiver and dialed a number from memory. He'd set the call to audio only, displaying the Angle City Youth Facilities logo in place of his head and shoulders.

Across the city, in the lobby of a large building, the phone rang. Outside the office, out of earshot from the ringing phone, the secretary, crossed to a set of stairs leading to the parking garage.

The dialed connection continued to ring until someone answered it, elsewhere in the facility. The machine didn't get it; the light went from flashing to solid.

Detective Cole fidgeted with some paper. He straightened his tie and pretended to be busy, hoping the ruse carried over into his voice.

A female voice came on the line. "Angel City Juvenile Facility, District Thirteen. How may I help you?"

_This was it_ ; direct contact with the target. District Thirteen Governor Agatha Dorchester Maime, cousin of Angel City Mayor Howard Westbury, suspected cannibalistic serial killer, murderer, and conspiratorial confidant of one Martin Evander Dunkirk.

Detective Cole had several reasons to believe that District Thirteen was a festering cancer of heinous evil, eating, sweating and excreting the children of Angel City. He had been ordered to turn Ashley and her brother Geoffrey over to them. Whereby they might entrap the monsters, or help them, by eliminating the threat posed to Mr. Martin Dunkirk, by his only witness, Miss Ashley Fox.

Cole was aware of how deep the conspiracy ran, implicating the Mayor and his aide, Mr. Leonard Waltman, whom he'd visited with only just moments ago. He was also aware of the other lunatics in Governor Maime's psychotic administration aboard the most-unlucky district.

The recently deceased Dr. Fox was a genius. The fact that his daughter defeated a world-class serial killer astonished the detective. He did not believe in coincidence.

Cole smiled to the phone. "Ma'am, this is ACPD Juvenile Placement. We've got two kids here and no beds. I know it's late, but can we send them your way?"

"That's no trouble, we have lots of beds. We'll run the paperwork in the morning," she answered.

"Can you give us, say, ninety minutes?" Cole asked.

"Of course. Names and ages?" she asked.

"A brother and sister: Fox, Ashley, fifteen. Geoffrey, eleven."

"We'll take good care of them," she answered.

"Thanks so much. Again, sorry about it being so late."

"Not a problem. Good evening, Detective." She hung up.

Cole set the handset down. A cold sweat broke out across his brow. He hadn't told her he was a detective.

The mayor's office had tipped her off.

He felt nauseous, but it was too late, the point of no return, no going back now, or so he told himself.

# Chapter 4 – Hard Knock Life

Geoff and Ash were both lying on their couches, their eyes closed but not sleeping. Suddenly the room began to move, up, forward, down, pushing to the left, then forward again. Finally it stopped and the doors opened.

Detective Cole stood in the bay. He looked older, weary, more exhausted than he had just a couple hours ago. "I found you some beds. Come on, transport's waiting." He gestured for them to follow.

Ash and Geoff gathered their bags and followed the detective through the sprawling station, eventually reaching their destined dock.

Cole walked the children out past the gate and onto the loading ramp. Three corrections officers herded a group of convicts onto the transport. Two anonymous officers wearing tinted visors on their helmets stood nearby, but paid no attention to Ash or Geoff. Their superior, a bald black woman, Sergeant Washington, approached. Geoff stared at her head.

"Detective," she acknowledged Cole. "Where to?" she asked glancing at the children.

The Detective handed her the clipboard with the transfer order. "Thirteen."

"What did they do?" she asked.

"Didn't do anything," he replied.

The sergeant looked at Ash and Geoff. "Tough break, kids."

"The toughest," Cole said flatly.

Geoffrey looked up at Detective Cole and back to Ash.

Washington turned to her subordinates, "Get these two in restraints," she instructed.

A corporal nodded, moving toward the children with handcuffs.

The waiting prisoners immediately began taunting Ash and Geoff. The closest two, known only as _Rat_ and _Dog_ stood center stage.

"Hum, yum. I want some," Rat chuckled. He was short, thin, and wiry, his head narrow and his face pointy, named for his most memorable features in a criminally efficient fashion.

"Hey, Zero, lemme see your hole," Dog leered. Big, dumb and clumsy-looking, he had a wide but lightly-muscled frame.

"Shut up, maggot!" the corporal yelled. He placed his stun baton to the side of Dog's head triggered a massive blast of electricity.

The prisoner fell to the ground, reduced to stunned and drooling submission.

Soon, the vehicle was loaded with its prisoners, their hands locked to rails running through the seats. The hatches were sealed

Ash and Geoff sat in the front row, in handcuffs, but unlike the others, their hands were not shackled to the seats.

The remaining corporal turned and stepped out of the prisoner section. Once inside the compartment with the other officers, he shut the hatch. On the other side of the door, he could see everything through the small window, if he happened to be looking.

Rat and Dog leaned over the seat, toward Ash, their faces close.

"Hey, honey. How old are you?" Rat drooled. "Wait, lemme guess. I'm gonna guess your just about... ripe!" he chuckled.

"Bet she ith!" Dog's speech and other basic motor functions still suffered from his recent close-contact with one hundred thousand volts. "Ripe asth a daisthy! Lemme get a tasthe testh, babeh!"

Ash leaned closer to Geoff and whispered, "When I nod, duck."

Geoff nodded.

Ash leaned back.

The guard wasn't looking at the moment, but still faced the window and could glance up at any time.

"We gonna have babies, baby!" Rat pulled himself as close to Ash as he could get. "The moment I saw you, I knew you was for me!! Yeehaw!!" Rat thrust his groin up and down in the air. "I pull it out and put it in your ear! You ever been fucked in the ear, girl? I heard it tickles!"

Ash looked over to Geoff and pulled her cuffs tight across her wrists. She checked to see if the corporal was looking, he was. He looked directly at her; he knew what she had planned. He smiled and slowly turned his back to the door.

Ash nodded to Geoff.

He ducked.

Ash stood and spun, swinging her shackled fists with everything she had. Her metal-bracketed wrists slammed into their faces, one to each, breaking both noses.

Rat and Dog cried and screamed, but the corporal didn't look back and his position blocked anyone else from looking in over his shoulder.

Ash sat and lowered her head.

Geoff stared at his sister, smiling.

Forty minutes later, the transport glided to a landing on the prison. The corporal opened the metal door. Rat and Dog's faces were destroyed, dried blood clumped all down their chests. The corporal walked to the back of the transport and began unlocking the prisoners, silently lining them up to disembark.

Sergeant Washington stood in the open doorway. She said nothing. She followed the human chain off the vehicle and turned them over to the prison officials. No one made any acknowledgment of the newly wounded Rat and Dog.

Once the prisoners offloaded, the transport made preparations to disembark.

Sergeant Washington addressed the corporal, "Uncuff these two," she said, gesturing to Ash and Geoff. "I think they're safe for the moment."

The corporal nodded and removed their handcuffs.

Ash looked out the window as the transport lifted off.

The guards surrounding the prisoners rushed toward the chained men. With fully charged batons, they beat them to the ground. Their arms worked like pistons, their legs spread wide for sure footing and extra power.

She could practically hear the bones snap.

Blood splashed into the air as a thing alive, leaping both from the batons and the prisoners' broken bodies. Ash watched the attack until the transport made a turn into traffic, removing the spectacle from her field of vision.

Nearly an hour later, the vehicle moved away from the steady flow of freeway traffic toward District Thirteen - The Angel City Orphanage and Juvenile Detention Facility.

The transport landed and everyone stepped off. The guards stretched their legs and looked around at the old style courtyard.

Sergeant Washington led Ash and Geoff toward a pair of large double doors. "I'm sure someone will be out in a minute."

Ash thought the facility seemed less inviting than the prison, with the exception of a similar reception. She sincerely hoped no one had noticed their presence; perhaps they could go somewhere else, but inevitably the tall front door of the orphanage unlocked and opened.

Two district guards stepped out and approached the sergeant. Their manner seemed both hostile and submissive. Despite the fact that they bore the same rank as Sgt. Washington and her corporals, Washington and her ACPD officers stood taller and prouder than their District 13 counterparts.

The pronounced differences consisted of numerous subtle affectations, individually inconclusive, but taken as a whole, definitive. From District 13, Sergeant Wulfgar and Corporal Harrison were of the Neanderthal variety; both powerfully built, wide and muscular. Their uniforms were rumpled and worn, their faces unshaven, boots scuffed, rough and old. Their unkempt appearance a sharp contrast with the metropolitan officers.

Sergeant Wulfgar silently directed Ash and Geoff toward the gaping entry and then turned to Sergeant Washington. "Documents?" he asked.

Washington handed Wulfgar the clipboard. He didn't look at it, he simply turned and re-entered the orphanage without another word. Corporal Harrison following behind and once inside, he closed and locked the huge doors.

A reception counter occupied most of the foyer. At the opposite end; an ornate stairwell lead to the second floor. Young guards lined the walls, standing at attention, perfectly still. Wulfgar stopped just inside the doors and folded his hands behind his back. Ash watched him cautiously. Geoffrey huddled at her side.

"You are now wards of the court," the gruff sergeant stated.

He pointed at Ash, "You are orphan number 2310091503." He emphasized the zeros. He turned to Geoff. "You are number 2310091504. That's today's date, zero three and zero four, in case you forget; you's the zero."

"I'm not a number. I'm a free man," Geoffrey said.

"Cute." Wulfgar let the joke slide. "You will attend school, participate in athletics and if you are very smart, stay as quiet as possible," he directed the last to the young boy.

"Now, if you would be so accommodating as to empty your bags." Wulfgar gestured for them to dump their bags on the floor between them.

They did.

"This facility prohibits certain items." The sergeant pushed the piles of clothing around with his foot. "But you aren't going to kill anyone with t-shirts and underwear, are you? Clean this shit up and follow me," Wulfgar ordered.

Geoff desperately wanted to look at his sister's hand, but he resisted the temptation.

As they walked from the central hall, Geoff watched the guards who remained silent and still. They never once acknowledged the children's presence.

Sergeant Wulfgar led them across the district, to their dormitory. "While walking or in the presence of the security staff, keep your hands behind your back at all times. Any deviation from this rule will be dealt with in the severest possible terms." The sergeant swung his baton in a low arc for emphasis.

Ash and Geoffrey's hands were full with their bags but they noticed that all the kids they saw put their hands behind their backs once the sergeant came into view.

As they entered the designated dormitory, Wulfgar gestured to a set of bunk beds and lockers. "You're green stripe, Level 3, North Wing, units 315 and 316. These are your lockers. They've already been stocked with your full issue. These are your beds.

"You will eat in the green stripe cafeterias. You will go to school just like everybody else. Learn the rules. If you break them you will regret it. The recreation rooms, video screens and game consoles are through those doors over there. May as well go meet your neighbors and get it over with."

Ash and Geoff didn't move.

"Good luck," Wulfgar said, as he and Harrison left the dorm.

Two heavily carpeted, stair-stepped ledges occupied either side of the recreation room. Twenty to thirty kids of various ages lay scattered across the semi-comfortable platforms, watching a vid stream. Ash and Geoff entered at the back of the room.

In the front, two orphans argued over which program to watch. "Man, I don't want to watch the news!" a lanky boy complained.

A healthy amount of grumbling echoed his lament.

His opponent, Zager, black-haired and sporting a bowl cut, was persistent. "I'm telling you, man, they got pictures!"

Zager succeeded in his struggle for the remote and changed the channel. On the news an anchor sat at her desk in the upscale studio. Over her shoulder, gruesome images emphasized her report.

"We now take you to the Angel City suburb of Eagle Rock, California, where earlier today, the Carlson family was brutally murdered."

Images of bodies, bound and vivisected in gory detail filled the screen. "This is the fourth such case attributed to Angel City's newest serial killer, the Family Man," she said.

A young girl turned away from the display, horrified, "Turn it off!" She waved her hands in emphasis.

She opened her eyes and saw Ash and Geoff, standing at the back of the room. "Who are you?" she asked.

Everyone turned, the newscast instantly forgotten.

One of the bigger kids, Paulie, marched forward.

"Yeah! Who the fuck are you? What the fuck are you doing here? This ain't your stripe!"

Paulie was mostly bald, except for a sharp pointed strip at the crown of his hairline. His upper lip was thin and nearly non-existent below his bulbous nose.

Geoff stepped forward. "Get fucked, ass-face."

Paul hesitated; stunned to be openly insulted by someone he could so easily crush.

Geoff held the floor and continued to mock the older orphan. He walked in a quick little circle, swinging his arms at his sides and sticking out his lower lip, doing a simian monkey impression. "Who the fuck is you? What the fuck? Fuck you two!"

The children gasped, giggled, and laughed.

"Oh, a toddler. I'm scared." Paul grabbed his crotch and stepped forward. "Prepare to level up, D13-style!"

Geoff snapped forward, his fist up.

Paul jumped back, flinching at Geoff's sudden movement.

"Ha, two for flinching," Geoff laughed, stepping up to hit Paul in the shoulder, but Paulie raised a fist, furious.

Ash reached out to Geoff's shoulder, gesturing for him to back off.

Paul glared at Ashley.

She glared back.

No one moved.

Out of nowhere, Ashley punched Paulie in the mouth, chipping his teeth and shredding his lips. Paul went backwards, knocked from his feet.

On the ground, he lifted his hand to his ruined mouth, the fight fully gone out of him.

Silence.

Ash glared at the new faces, looking for other challengers.

Someone giggled. Someone else laughed.

"That was awesome!" Zager said.

Paul struggled up to a sitting position. He tried to get to his feet, but collapsed again.

Someone pointed at him and burst into laughter.

Paul looked humiliated.

Ash turned and walked from the room, taking Geoff with her.

As they returned to the kid-filled dorm, Ash noticed a couple guards at each intersection and doorway. She and Geoff headed to their beds.

Reaching Ashley's locker first, she dug out her bathroom kit. "I'm gonna go brush. You should too."

"I forgot my toothbrush," Geoff said.

Ash pulled Geoff's travel bag from her pack and handed it to him.

He smiled. "Thanks Ash."

She ruffled his hair.

Geoff watched her slip the black stiletto, their father's legacy, into the side pocket of her shower bag.

Ashley entered the bathroom. Several girls stood talking in the sink area. When she entered, they went silent. No one spoke to her as she picked out an open sink to brush her teeth at.

Between the sinks and mirrors, Geoff stood in the center of a ring of older boys.

"Your sister, huh?" Zager asked. "She fucked Paulie up good!"

"Yeah, he got on her bad side," Geoff agreed.

"Bad side?" one of the boys joked, "From where I was standing, it was all good!"

Everyone laughed. Geoff grinned.

A few minutes later, several girls stood clustered around Ash.

"I can't believe you just hit him like that!" Lisa, who hadn't wanted to watch the morbid news story, exclaimed.

"I think she broke his jaw!" a redhead asserted.

"I saw bits of teeth go flying," a dark haired girl said.

"He was all bloody, I heard," Carla said. A brute of a girl, she stepped forward, followed by an even meaner looking friend.

"I fucking hate Paulie!" said Mona, Carla's companion. She resembled an Olympic power lifter, in a muscle shirt with shoulders like a man.

"It was obvious his weak spot was his mouth," Ash humbly observed. A bunch of the girls laughed, but nervously drifted away.

"There are a couple guys, won't go down so easy," Mona said.

The boys leaned in around Geoff, somber and serious. "All I'm saying is, Paulie is a small fry. There are guys here that will break your sister like a twig."

Geoff shook his head and rolled his eyes. "You don't understand. She's Ash; she's never lost a fight."

The guys shook their heads.

Geoff took offense. "You don't believe me? Fine. You go mess with her," he laughed. "I dare you."

"Listen, muy pecuito amigo, we don't have to do anything. But someone will, guaranteed."

"Yeah, well, Paul won't do it again." Geoff grinned.

A bunch of the guys laughed.

Kima had joined Mona and Carla. The three of them cornered Ashley.

Clearly the leader, Kima looked her up and down. "What I'm trying to say is there are some very heavy hitters in this hell hole."

"I believe you," Ash answered.

Kima leaned in. "Sista, we gotta work together here. We're an all girl gang. No one lays a hand on us, we don't want 'em to," she explained. "We look out for each other, understand?"

Ash didn't move away.

"What I'm trying to say is, you wanna join up with us?"

"Join up with you?" Ash asked.

"Run with our set, posse up with this crew." Kima gestured to the two other girls nearby.

"There's only three of you?" Ash asked.

Suddenly, several other girls, who seemed to not be involved all, stood up straight from where they'd been leaning or sitting and turned to face Ash.

"We're the Leonas," Kima said, gesturing to the room full of fierce-looking teens. There were dozens of them, though few as intent or threatening as Kima.

Ash didn't recognize any of them from her earlier conversation.

"Well, it's something to think about, isn't it?"

Kima leaned forward again, smiling.

"There is one thing, though." Ash raised her hand between them. "I have to take care of my little brother."

"That's exactly why you should join up with us, so he'll be protected," Kima answered.

"But you said you're an all girl gang, right. Could you take boys in your gang?" Ash asked.

"Absolutely not."

"Well, then, what if he joins a different gang? Would I maybe have to fight him, someday?"

Kima leaned back to think about it. "Damn, girl. That's a hard spot."

"That's what I'm saying. Maybe, think about letting boys in."

"Then we'd have to be the Lions. We can't do that. That name's retired on this District."

Ash shrugged and extricated herself from the gang, holding up her toothbrush.

Back in the dorm, Ash met Geoff as they headed back toward their bunks. Geoff looked tired, disconnected.

"I don't want to sleep here, Ash," he said.

"I know. Me neither," she answered.

"Let's jack a ride and break out of this shit hole."

"You want the top bunk or the bottom?"

"Can I sleep with you tonight?"

"Yeah, okay, sure."

Ten minutes later, at eleven, a bell rang and the lights in the dorm automatically shut off. Geoff fell asleep before Ashley's eyes had even finished adjusting to the darkness.

She listened to the sound of the kids settling to sleep around her.

The guards patrolled the wide aisles of the dorm, their measured footfalls consistent and rhythmic. She heard one nearby and another across the room, while two more walked the distant section of the hall. She closed her eyes and listened. She could hear at least one citizen standing at each of the major doorways. She wasn't sure about the far one until he finally coughed and gave his position away. Ash knew where all of them stood or walked.

Then, as if her listening channels were a collapsing house of cards, her brother whispered in his sleep. "Surprise! Happy Birthday, Ash! Are you surprised? It was a secret..."

Ashley didn't sleep for a long time that night.

She heard all the guards exit the dorm after an hour or so. She listened to the kids cough, move around and eventually she too, drifted off to sleep.

When next she woke, it was morning.

# Chapter 5 - Murder Torture Rape...

### It Could Happen To You

Ash and Geoff rose from their bunk, dressed, and after visiting the bathroom, reunited and joined the current of children as they flowed to the cafeteria. They entered the door-less cavernous space and found the main line, waiting their turn to pull trays from the stacks and slide them along the rail toward the morning's various foodstuffs. The orphans around them moved at half-speed, making eye-contact with no one.

Someone got in line behind them. Ash heard him laugh, loudly, right in her ear. Then he grabbed her butt, hard, squeezing it.

Ashley spun, confronting the boy.

"Hi. I'm Vic," he said.

Ash punched him in the mouth, hard; rocking his head back, leaving his lips and teeth bloody.

Vic shook his head, furious. He wasn't big or especially tough, but he looked plenty mad and ready to retaliate.

However, someone in the crowd over Ashley's shoulder distracted him. Two huge guys cut in line ahead of Ash, sliding trays down the rail.

Geoff looked at Ash and scowled. She shook her head, discouraging him before he opened his mouth.

Suddenly Vic wasn't just nervous, he was terrified. He'd forgotten all about Ash and his lip. He spun, ready to flee the cafeteria, but froze when he saw two other kids walking directly toward him.

He turned around again, holding his place in line. They all ignored him, but he was petrified.

Ash and Geoff moved down the line. Ashley watched the other kids moving around the cafeteria, they seemed groggy with that early morning, pre-breakfast lethargy.

She watched a kid walking up the line, moving past everyone. He wore his red sweatshirt with the hood up, partially concealing his face. He was moving fast. He approached Vic and put a hand on his shoulder.

Ash positioned herself to appear as though she weren't watching.

"Lethal, no, I swear, I was coming to see you," Vic said.

The hooded boy whispered into Vic's ear and lightly punched him in the small of the back. Vic appeared to be in agony, gulping air like a fish that found itself removed from water.

The hooded boy, Lethal, moved away, vanishing into the crowded cafeteria.

Ash watched Vic tremble. He leaned against the rail for support.

The two big guys, who'd cut in line ahead of her, left without looking back, crossing through the cafeteria. The guys behind Vic were already gone, their trays abandoned on the rail.

Ash saw a puddle of blood spreading around Vic's shoes.

She backed away, grabbing Geoff and leaving the line as the fatally stabbed boy collapsed to the floor.

No one noticed her stepping away; all they saw was Vic. He reached out for help, from someone, anyone, his eyes saying what his lungs had lost the strength to voice.

Everyone in the room decided they'd had enough and left their trays. In moments, the cafeteria held abandoned breakfasts at every table.

Outside, Ash and Geoff wandered down the seemingly endless playground. The idea of putting food to mouth seemed nauseating in the cold, hard sunlight.

District Thirteen, Angel City Orphanage and Juvenile Detention Facility, was made up of six separate properties, welded, bracketed and fused together. Their anti-gravity disks worked in unison to keep it aloft.

Not all the kids were juvenile delinquents, nor were they all orphans, but of the ten thousand residents, most served some of their time in both camps. Delinquents with parents in good standing never found themselves consigned to Thirteen.

An athletic complex occupied the center position of the district. Shaped like a vertical box kite, the complex featured sprawling athletic fields, over a dozen full size gymnasiums, a massive arena and seven smaller stadiums, along with medical facilities and dormitories for up to four thousand residents.

Almost as large as the athletic facility, was The Bolt, occupying the northeastern half of the district. The Bolt was like Russia to the rest of Europe, big, mean and cold. The juvenile detention section was once a portion of a maximum-security prison; now defunct, it had been cut into pieces and parceled out to charities, like orphanages.

A couple thousand grammar school students occupied the ancient Victorian orphanage on the northernmost side of the facility, where Ashley's prison transport initially landed. Also known as the Double Zero, (for _Old Orphanage),_ it was the only unit in the district built for the express purpose of housing children. Of all the units, it was by far the most frightening and intimidating, as it resembled a massive haunted house.

Running the northeastern edge of the district was a proper school, called The Terminal. Made up of three large rectangular structures; each housing one of the traditional grading groups, i.e. Grammar School, Junior High or High School. It was called the Terminal for the massive bays of free-use terminals on every floor. Vid streams were authorized during off-school hours and the black market economy aboard the district depended heavily on the legitimate wages earned by the code monkeys: kids working full or part-time writing computer code and streaming it for credits.

Finally, at the southwestern corner, was God's Hotel, a donated resort property housing the toddlers and grammar school students. District maps referred to it as the white block. Each block could be reached by following its stripe on the district signage; every block had its own color.

In the crisp morning air, Ash and Geoff walked with the general flow of children, across the fields toward the terminal education buildings.

As they approached, Ash noticed the kids splitting up. The kids her age headed toward the building on the east side of the complex. Geoff seemed bound for the center building of the structure.

Geoff stood, looking at his sister.

"I guess I'll see you after school," she said.

Geoff looked away, not speaking.

Ash hugged him.

He briefly returned the hug but then pulled away.

"See you, Ash." Geoff turned, not wanting his sister to see him cry.

Ash watched him go until he vanished in the sea of kids.

Inside the high school building, Ashley noticed that all the interior doors had been removed. Most rooms were terminal halls, row upon row, back to back, five or six columns deep. Hundreds of kids could fit in each hall. Being kids, most of them goofed off unless a guard stood nearby.

In the presence of the baton-wielding citizens, the orphans remained silent and reserved. Intersections where the guards clustered together were completely avoided, if at all possible.

Ash went up a flight of stairs and slipped into one of the terminal halls. Some of the other orphans noticed her, but pretended not to. She took a seat near the door.

A bigger-than-normal guy, half-sitting half-kneeling on the next chair, talked with someone on the other side of the row. Without even looking at Ash, he reached out and grabbed a hold of her chair, spinning it away from her. "Seat's saved," he said, over his shoulder, between chomps on a mouthful of chewing gum.

Ash didn't let him take the chair. "Not anymore," she said.

He stood up and turned away from his conversation. He was at least a head taller than Ashley and looked significantly stronger. Like sharks having caught the scent of blood, those sensing the oncoming conflict quickly grew quiet.

"Are you gonna hit me over a chair?" Ashley asked.

The silence hung in the air for a moment. He hesitated.

"Don't be a dick," Ashley said, forcing the issue.

A few giggles and snickers slipped out of the kids nearby.

"Yeah, Dick, don't be a dick," someone said.

At this, a dozen students burst into laughter.

"That's like telling a mouse not to eat cheese," a fully bearded teen, with garishly orange-frosted hair, Oddball, said loudly, inciting peals of laughter.

Dick grew beet-red.

"Just don't call him a penis," another kid yelled out.

Even Ashley laughed.

"The best name in this hellhole!"

"Go on, tell her, Slim Jim," someone yelled.

Dick shook with anger.

"Give it to her straight, Johnson."

"You gotta be cocky, Peter!"

"Give her the beef, Slick Rick!"

The taunts came from everywhere. Dick became enraged. He threw a haymaker at Ash and she easily dodged it.

The audience gasped.

Ash stepped back.

Dick followed like a stumbling windmill, his flurry hardly a threat to the experienced girl.

She sidestepped him and let him careen past her.

Dick burst into the hallway and collided with a guard. He hit the citizen in the face and knocked him backward.

The guard touched his mouth; his hand came away wet with blood.

The guard looked at Ash and back at Dick, comprehending what must have been going on. He raised his baton and turned the voltage all the way up. He unmercifully smacked Dick across the face with it, the shock blasting him from his feet.

"Chasing a girl around, huh?" the guard inquired, literally hitting first and asking questions later. He charged up the baton again and gave Dick a shot to the ribs, followed by one to the groin. He continued with a boot to the face, another baton to the head and he was just getting warmed up.

The guard went berserk on Dick, beating him with the baton until he broke almost every bone in the poor kid. Dick began to have trouble breathing and finally the guard stopped, probably no more that a hair's breath from putting the boy into convulsions, a coma, and/or death.

A bell rang. The guard looked up. The room before him was full of staring and speechless children. "Well? Get the fuck to it, bitches!" he shouted. "Unless someone else would like to volunteer?"

They all turned, unfolded the shutters from their monitors, activated their terminals, and buried their faces in the streaming schoolwork.

The guard gave Dick a final kick. Richard groaned but held on. He stayed conscious, his breathing stabilized and convulsions never set in.

"Six weeks and you'll be fine," the guard muttered and wandered off.

No one spoke, looked around, or did anything but schoolwork. Except for Dick, who twitched every now and again.

A few minutes later, a pair of nurses with a collapsible stretcher arrived to load up the wounded boy. The nurses, young women in their early twenties, were both quite pretty, even in medical smocks. Some of the boys turned away from their terminals to watch.

Once the nurses wheeled Richard away, the kids looked over to Ash.

Big Chris broke the silence. "Hey, new girl..."

Ash ignored him.

Chris spun his mounted chair around. Everything about him was thick and heavy, from his feet to his dark black hair. "Hey, Hot Stuff," Chris called out.

Some of the kids laughed.

Ash turned to face him.

The room went quiet.

Chris stood, crossed the aisle and offered his hand. "Big Chris."

"Ashley," she replied.

Ash shook Chris's hand, but didn't stand up.

"Why was he so mad?" she asked.

"His name's Richard Peter Johnson," Chris explained.

"No, not him. The guard. Why did he go nuts like that?"

"They're all like that," a lanky black kid with a massive afro, Jones, answered. "All them citizens, they're all alike. I'm gonna kill every fucking one of 'em, if I ever get the chance."

"Hear, hear, my man," said the bearded Oddball. "Hear, hear."

Lunchtime in the cafeteria, Ashley sat with a tray of unappealing food. Across the table and halfway down from her, sat a few other girls. One of them looked up at Ashley but before the girls could acknowledge each other, her friends drew her attention away. Ash heard them call her Sky and watched as she tucked her long beautiful brown hair behind an ear. She looked like any of the other pretty girls who'd attended Rivendell. But Ashley wasn't at Rivendell anymore.

Ash thought about the morning so far. After self-study, the high school students had two ninety-minute classes called practicals, first, science then English. Every other day they would switch between these two and mathematics and history. _Practicals_ were taught by actual instructors, with assistants, but they weren't teachers like Ashley was accustomed to. They seemed more like tour guides, completely uninterested in whether the students were paying attention or not.

Ash looked up, distracted from her thoughts by a knot of quick moving boys that entered the cafeteria. Carver, Otai, Mike, and Robby stepped through the doors and double-checked their objectives. They acted with decisive swiftness. They hadn't come for the food.

"Don't screw this up," Carver, said to the younger kids behind him. Philip Carver wasn't especially tall or otherwise intimidating, but what he lacked in stature, he made up for in mean-spirited aggression. The thin soul-patch on his chin seemed to identify him as his own evil twin.

Robby glanced over to Mike as they split off to handle their individual duties. Mike and Robby, apprenticing to Carver, were a few years younger.

They each approached one of the standing guards. Robby, a tall lanky kid, slipped the guard something and a moment later, the guard left. Across the room, Mike stood in the other guard's place, that uniformed young man was also on his way out. In a few moments, and the room contained only children.

Walking next to Carver was his right hand man, Otai. He too sported what little facial hair he could, across the top of his lip, with a little patch on his chin.

The Devils proclaimed to be an equal opportunity gang, culturally diverse and not segregated by race. Carver, an indifferent American mutt, might have been welcome in almost any of the six major gangs. He considered himself a player and he made money.

Otai, of Hispanic / Asian descent, could have gone with the Yellow Jackets or the Blades. They both offered recruitment opportunities with their parent organizations, the Hong Kong Triad or Mara Salvatrucha, should he survive the District. However, the Devils held a substantial amount of territory in Angel City, and on the district, they ruled.

Carver and Otai walked directly to the other side of Ashley's table. Carver smacked the girl Ash had earlier made eye contact with, Sky.

"Hey, Bitch!" Carver said.

The girl next to Sky, Shelly, turned toward Carver, but Otai grabbed her head and pushed her face down into her food. "Mind your business, sloot!" he said, smearing Shelly's face in her tray, getting food everywhere.

Carver tried to jerk Sky up by the shoulders, attempting to pull her from her seat. "Come on, get the hell up!"

Sky struggled to stay put.

"Tai, this bitch ain't up and walking in five, I want you to break Shelly's nose for her. Hear me? Five... Four... "

Otai pushed hard on Shelly's face. She cried out in pain. Otai leaned over her. "Hear that Shelly? I'm going to break your beak!" he taunted.

Sky struggled to get out of her seat, but Carver tried to hold her down and kept counting. "Three... Two... "

Sky twisted away from Carver and out of her seat. She stood in the aisle looking at them. "What the hell is your problem, asshole?!" she yelled.

"You're my problem!" Carver shouted back. "Fucking get outside, bitch!!" Carver shoved her toward the door.

Otai roughly kissed Shelly's face, put his tongue in her ear and pumped his hips against her back. "Thanks baby, you were great," he whispered.

Before he stepped away, he slapped Shelly's head, bouncing it off the table.

She sat up, crying, her nose and mouth bloody.

Otai followed Carver out of the cafeteria.

Shelly ran to the bathroom, blood streaming from her face.

Ahead of them, Mike opened the door. Carver shoved Sky through and out onto the playground. Otai glared back at the lunchroom then exited, followed by Mike and Robby.

Ash stood up from the table. A bunch of kids watched her walk directly toward the door.

No one made a sound.

The boys had deliberately chosen a door that opened onto a forested part of the facility. Ash could hear them ahead of her, but she couldn't see them yet. She followed.

In a small clearing, Carver confronted Sky. "So, what the hell, Sky? What are you gonna do about my 2 hunny?"

"Look, Carver! That is not my fault!"

"I fronted you two bills, Sky! That's a lot of yardage by any stretch. I fronted you!"

"Oh, Bullshit! I never came to you with my hand out. You forced this on me! I never wanted any of this."

"What? You think I set you up! You're saying I set you up? You fucking BITCH!!" Carver violently slapped Sky across the mouth, knocking her back a couple steps.

Sky looked up at him, her mouth bloody.

"Yeah? What you got to say now, bitch?!" Carver taunted the defenseless girl.

"Screw you!" Sky yelled.

Carver stepped forward and delivered an overhand punch to Sky's nose, knocking her from her feet. "Fine by me. You still got assets I can repossess. I'm gonna shift-6 in your guts, slut."

Carver started to unbuckle his pants. "One way or another, I'm getting my monies' worth."

Ashley moved in a wide circle around the drama, not drawing the attention of Otai, Mike or Robby. She could see Carver and Sky now.

Sky squirmed backwards, away from Carver.

He jumped on her, pinned her to the ground and ripped at her top.

Sky fought back and he punched her in the face, repeatedly.

Dazed and beaten, she was soon incapable of resisting.

Carver ripped Sky's shirt open and started to undo her pants.

Ash stepped into view from behind the brush on the other side of the clearing.

Kneeling over Sky, Carver faced Ash, his friends arrayed behind him. "Oh, hey sexy!" he said, sitting on Sky's hips, "Wanna join the party? We're just getting started."

Ash walked toward Carver, stopping just a step away.

"How's about I tear up your asshole, just as soon as I'm done with this bitch? How's that sound?" Carver laughed.

Ash stepped forward with a mighty kick, connecting with Carver's chin. The kick snapped his head all the way around on his shoulders.

Carver fell backwards off Sky.

He landed on his back, his face twisted down into the grassy dirt.

Carver's friends stared at the body, its head one-hundred-eighty degrees wrong.

They looked up at Ash.

"Is he dead?" Robby asked.

"I'm out." Mike turned and walked from the scene.

Robby hesitated for a split second, but followed.

Otai looked at Robby and Mike, who left him to make his own choice, but quickly. He could face Ash and Sky, but they would inevitably be caught with Carver.

"Another time, then, bitches!" Otai said to the girls, abandoning his dead or dying friend.

"Is he really dead?" Sky asked.

Ash knelt next to Carver. "It looks like he's breathing, maybe."

Ashley picked up Sky's shirt and handed it to her. "Let's get out of here," she said, pulling the battered girl to her feet.

The shirt was still wearable, albeit ripped and stretched out of shape. Sky pulled it back on.

As they left the clearing Carver made a hideous croaking sound. The further away they got, the louder his guttural cry became. His death rattle, if indeed it was, pursued them under the overcast sky.

Soon Carver's terrible cries could be heard all the way across the playground. Before long, a couple of the social workers, compelled to investigate, discovered and rushed the injured teen to the closest medical ward.

In a nearby girl's bathroom, Ash and Sky stood in front of a mirror, checking out the damage Carver had done to her face.

The room stunk of disinfectant and wet cement.

"Why did you help me?" Sky asked.

"I dunno," Ash answered.

"Well, I don't mean to sound ungrateful. Thank you, but now we're both in real trouble."

"I've been in trouble before," Ash answered.

"Not like this." Sky held a wet paper towel to the bridge of her nose.

"I couldn't just let him rape you," Ash countered.

"He's a Devil. They're the toughest gang in the district." Her right eye seemed to swell and grow more purple with each passing moment. "I'm glad you helped me though. Really, thank you."

"You're welcome," Ash replied.

"You're new, aren't you?" Sky asked.

"It's my first day," Ash nodded.

Sky looked at Ashley in the mirror. "Then you're not protected?"

"What do you mean?" Ashley asked.

"Everyone pays protection to one of the gangs. It's like insurance. A lot of kids here are with the Fist. Some are Martians."

"Martians?"

"Red Stripe," Sky answered. "A lot of gangs pick names based on their color. Yellow stripe is the Yellow Jackets, mostly Asian, all dressed like Jun Fan disciples.

"Some gangs don't care what race you are, like the Dragons or the Devils. The Devils are the worst; they pretty much run everything."

A bell rang, indicating the end of their lunch hour. Sky jumped at the opportunity to change the subject. "Afternoon practicals are more fun than the morning classes. First it's art or music and then gym. Today is art class. I like music days better. I play piano."

"That's so cool," Ash said. "I can't play any instruments."

"I'll teach you, if you want," Sky offered.

Ashley smiled and nodded as they left the washroom.

# Chapter 6 – The New Girl

As the girls passed a medical station, one of the social workers saw Sky's face and pulled her into the ward. The girl barely spoke, but went to work treating Sky's wounds with blue healing gel and nano tape. She didn't object to Ashley lingering and a few minutes later, sent them on their way.

Ash and Sky slowly drifted down the hallway toward the art class. A large group of boys leaned against the wall near the door. As they approached, Sky explained the breakdown...

"We're green stripe, so that's the only real democratic gang here, The Iron Fist. There's a bunch of them right up ahead. The kid talking, that's Kazimov."

Sky lowered her voice. "He's lead striker on the district punchball team. And he's not stupid either. He's honor roll, aiming for a sponsor. He'll get it too, if he doesn't get hurt or anything. Technically, he's not in the gang," Sky whispered. "Hambone runs everything. He and Kaz have been tight since grammar school."

"No man, that's not what happened," Kaz said. Taller and stronger than most adults, Kaz glanced up and caught Ashley's eye as she approached.

"I was there, fool," Hambone, a well-fed teen with thick sideburns, pointed out. He wore district issued clothes, but several sizes too large, sporting expensive sneakers and a track jacket. Off-district items were a hot commodity, standing out amid the otherwise standard-issue apparel.

"Yeah, so? We all were," Kaz reminded his rotund partner.

"Really, Ham. What the hell?" Rudy asked.

"That's Rudy and Taylor," Sky explained. "They claim to be twins, but no one believes it. They arrived at the orphanage on the same day, but the similarities end there." Rudy was black. The teen was wearing an extravagant derby cap, colored in red, green and orange swatches. He wore a full beard and boasted a gut that rivaled Hambone's. His brother, Taylor, in stark contrast, was white, tall and thin. He wore an electric guitar strapped across his back and couldn't shave if he'd wanted to.

Jones, whom Ashley met earlier, also stood nearby. The lightly muscled teenager wore a double zero basketball jersey over a t-shirt. She hadn't noticed the off-district shirt earlier; all she'd remembered was his perfectly spherical hairstyle. Jones smiled as the girls approached.

Ash and Sky crossed in front of them and, predictably, the boys stopped talking. The girls kept moving, gliding past. Ash and Sky entered the hall and after a moment they heard the laughter, sighs and awes.

Inside the vast hall, Ash was overwhelmed by the variety of artistic activities available. There were literally dozens to choose from. One group of students were sketching at easels, gathered around a tastefully clothed model. In another tiled section, teens practiced making pottery, the wet, spinning clay splattering across floors and aprons. Several painted on canvases, set up over drop cloths. Most of the students sat, scattered around various desks, peacefully doodling with pens and markers.

Sky looked at Ash. "What do you want to do?"

"I don't know. I never did this kind of stuff."

"They didn't have art at your school?"

"They did, but I took different electives."

"What's an elective?"

"It's... We just... It wasn't like this."

"So you don't have an artistic hobby?"

"Not really."

"Wanna draw up some t-shirt designs with me? You can make good money selling custom shirts and stuff," Sky said.

Ash nodded. Sky led her toward a supply cabinet.

"If you design something really cool you can sell it online for like twenty bucks. If you're really good, or you have an idea people like, you can sometimes get more"

"Wow," Ash said, genuinely excited.

Sky smiled. "Everything we need is here," Sky opened a cabinet and carried baskets of markers, pencils and paper over to an empty table.

Ash followed, noticing the guys' hungry sidelong stares. If they were anymore obvious, they would be drooling.

Rudy wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, just to check.

Ash laughed.

Sky ignored the flirting, still unsettled after her run-in with Carver. "You can draw anything on a t-shirt," she said. "Sometimes I just draw different symbols. You know, musical notes, hearts, stars and stuff." Sky set down the supplies, taking a seat before the pencils, markers and paper.

"I had a few that were bars of music from famous symphonies and then I would put the composers name under it, like a quote, you know. They sold pretty good, for awhile."

"You did that? That's cool! I remember those. Some of the girls in my class had them." Ash smiled, genuinely impressed.

Sky blushed and looked away. "Yeah. We only sold maybe two hundred before some big label copied us and everyone had one. No one wanted mine anymore."

Hambone turned out to be the one who approached the girls first. "Looks like we're drawing today, gentlemen," Hambone spoke to the guys over his shoulder as he walked toward Sky and Ashley.

"Man, oh, man. This is gonna be good." Jones laughed and sat at the closest table.

Hambone seemed to have second thoughts and veered off in his direct approach. He did smile at Ashley and Sky, before turning to Kaz and the others, proclaiming, "Let's get some supplies. What do you say?"

Sky watched the boys rummage through the various supply cabinets. After a moment she looked back to Ash. "So, you never took any music lessons or art classes, huh?"

"No, I was mostly into dance. And school, you know. Grades."

"Yeah," Sky said.

"How long have you been here?" Ash asked.

"Oh, uh, well... " Sky scratched her head.

"Sorry," Ash said.

"It's okay. I've been here, since the middle of second grade... Almost eight years."

The girls sat quietly for a moment as Hambone and his friends loudly raided the supply cabinets.

"Hey," Sky said. "I didn't say anything earlier, but I heard about what you did to Paulie last night. You know they had to wire his jaw shut? That was you, wasn't it? You broke Paulie the Parrot's Jaw?"

Ash lowered her head. "Paulie the Parrot?

"Yeah, that's what they call him. Anyhow, I'm sure he deserved it; the guy is a total asshole, just like Carver. Thanks again, for that, by the way."

"You don't have to keep thanking me." Ash looked up at Sky.

"No. It's okay. I mean, I'd heard that a new girl beat him up and, when I saw you in the lunchroom, I knew it was you. I mean, I thought it was."

Ash looked at her and flashed a warm, conspiratorial grin.

Hambone stepped forward. "Hey, Sky," he said. "Can we sit by you guys?" he asked, sitting before Sky could answer. Hambone waved the rest of his friends over to the girls' otherwise unoccupied table.

Hambone sat next to Sky, across from Ashley. It was Kazimov who sat down beside her.

"Hey Hambone. Guys," Sky said.

The rest of the crew filled in the table. Some of them raised their hands and offered grunts in lieu of proper greetings.

"What, um, happened to your face?" Hambone asked.

"Nothing," Sky replied, unwilling to share the details.

"That nothing that must have really been something."

"What do you want, Hambone?" Sky asked.

"You know, liberty, equality, the good stuff. So who's this?" he asked, gesturing to Ash.

"Guys, this is Ash." Sky gestured to Ashley, introducing her to the guys. "Ash, this is... Hambone, Kaz, Li, Rudy, Taylor, Max, Liam and..." Sky pointed, "that's Jones."

Ash recognized him and waved. Jones smiled and winked.

"Pleased to meet you." Hambone reached out for Ashley's hand and she instinctively withdrew.

Kaz laughed.

Hambone held his hands up, smiling. He turned to Sky, "So, what are we drawing today, Blue?"

Ash raised an eyebrow.

"I call her Blue," Hambone said, looking at Sky, who was blushing. Ham turned to Ashley, "Since fourth grade or so, I think. She's my little sister." Hambone put his arm over Sky's shoulder. "And when I find out who did this..." Hambone brushed some of the hair away from Sky's battle-damaged face. He looked at Ashley.

Ash met his stare and changed the subject. "So, can any of you guys draw?" she asked.

"Li's a goddamn genius." Kazimov said, gestured to the smaller boy sitting on the other side of Hambone.

Ashley smiled and nodded to Li. "I want to put a drawing of a Fox on some of my shirts," she explained. "But I don't want him all cutesy and weak."

"You want me to draw you a fox, but you don't want him to be cute?" Li asked.

"Yes, please. Can you make him cool? Maybe a little dangerous?"

The boys melted. Sky rolled her eyes.

"Sure, um..." Li leaned over a piece of paper and went to work with a marker. In moments, he finished and lifted the paper.

"Like this?" he asked.

The image was shaped like an inverted star, with the top points, the ears, flared out. The bottom points on the right and left curved up, like whiskers. The bottom, narrow chin was squared off. In the center, he drew narrowed eyes and sharp peaked brows.

The fox looked wicked dangerous.

"Damn. You are good." Ash said, impressed. Without thinking, she nonchalantly pulled her t-shirt over her head, and handed it to Li. Beneath the tee she wore a sleeveless white tank top over her bra. Her shoulders and arms were tightly muscled and toned.

The boy's mouths fell open.

Sky rolled her eyes, twice.

Li picked up the marker and drew directly on the shirt. A moment later he held up a carbon copy of his earlier design. The fox was perfectly centered, sharp and black.

"Thanks." Ash said, pulling the shirt back on and then admiring the design from her inverted perspective. "Thanks a lot," she said, beaming.

Sky suddenly felt crowded by the boys but didn't make a scene. They were oblivious, utterly captivated by her fearless new friend. They didn't even know anything about her yet.

Sky knew nothing about her either, but she knew this girl was something different, someone unique.

The boys peppered her with questions, the more personal of which she artfully dodged or inverted on the questioner. Their chief interrogator was Hambone, he steered the conversation; effortlessly engaging, including and complimenting everyone. He was the consummate showman, selling the air itself, with hints of laughter, friendship and good cheer.

Sky kept her head down, doodling, as Ash remained artfully vague. Sky knew her new friend would only succeed in making herself that much more mysterious and thus captivating the imaginations of her new fans.

"And so it begins," Sky muttered to herself.

A couple hours later, Ashley and her entourage stood at the center of a large gymnasium.

The instructor, wearing a referee's jersey, blew his whistle. "Alright. Single file line and let's get a head count. Count off, 1, 2, 3, 4. Remember your numbers. Today, no one is a Zero."

This last bit had endeared him to the children. Mr. Zee, once an orphan himself, didn't play favorites. He treated the children with respect and got the same from them.

Eager to get to the games, the children started their count and quickly finished. "102," the last child yelled.

"102, huh?" Mr. Zee did some metal calculations.

"All right," he yelled. "Numbers 23 and 24 end game one, Numbers 49 and 50 end game two, Numbers 75 and 76 end game three, the rest, court four. Evens versus odds, move now!"

Sky and Ash, standing next to each other found themselves assigned to opposing teams. Kazimov was also assigned to the team opposite Ash. He smiled at her as they separated. Ash didn't get a chance to smile back before he looked away.

Mr. Zee walked the perimeter of the room and dumped baskets of red rubber dodge balls across the floor. "You know the rules. Get hit, you're out. Catch it, the thrower's out and you get a buddy back."

The kids carried the balls to the center, setting up a line of rubber projectiles and returning to their respective sides of the court.

"Stay behind your line, cross it, your out. On my whistle, come and get 'em. One each." He blew a short blast on the whistle and a hundred kids sprinted for the centerline of their courts.

Ash, Sky and Kaz each grabbed a ball and turned back to their own sides. Ash smiled at Kaz, who blushed as he ran back to his own side.

Hambone, who started off close to the center, reached the line of balls ahead of the others. He ran down the line and rolled balls toward his teammates, away from the opposing team, successfully denying the other team half their opening firepower.

Rebound punished him with a well-aimed blast to the shoulder.

Ham rolled with the hit and jogged off court, amid cheers from his teammates. On the sidelines, he waited for someone to catch a ball and bring him back into the game.

Ham didn't stay lonely long. Three kids on each side went down with the opening volley.

One kid kicked an incoming ball and Mr. Zee called him out. "This is dodge ball, not kick ball."

As the game progressed, more kids got hit and make their way to the sidelines.

Ash danced through the incoming shots. Kaz displayed terrific aim and a powerful arm, but he couldn't hit her. Ash, just as fast and just as accurate, often fired while he stepped in, scaring him out of the zone.

Finally, the game came down to just the two of them.

Ash didn't realize it, but the boy was the star striker of the punchball team and considered the district's premiere athlete. Professional agents and scouts had already inquired about his college and professional interests.

Ashley and Kaz were the only two players left on the court, the ammo theirs for the taking. They each held two balls.

Tired of waiting, Kaz hurled his first.

Ash dodged it.

Undaunted, he threw the second; she dodged again. Kaz stood empty handed. He could move for a ball, but he'd have to look away from Ashley.

She didn't wait, without warning she threw the first directly at him, but it was just a little short and it bounced before it reached him.

Kaz looked up from the first throw, just in time to be hit with the blistering-fast second ball.

Mr. Zee blew his whistle. "Court 2, Switch."

# Chapter 7 – Ashes, Ashes, We All Fall Down

Ashley and her new friends walked across the fields, laughing about the best plays of the past ninety minutes, until a group of hostile kids intentionally obstructed their progress.

Ash recognized Otai, who'd hurt Shelly, glaring at her with the new band of comrades.

Otai nodded at the biggest kid in the group and gestured to Ashley.

Marco stepped forward and addressed Ashley directly. "Hey, you the bitch what broke Carver's neck?" He looked like he could be twenty years old. He had a full beard and it spread right down onto his neck and chest. At least six feet tall, Ash guessed he weighed well over two hundred pounds. His scarred face and ears attested to his brute persistence, if nothing else.

The crowd of kids swelled into a circle.

Tanaka, the most intimidating of Ashley's new friends, stepped forward in her defense. In a lot of ways he appeared to be Marco's twin, save that he was Japanese, kept his head shaved bald and grew no facial hair. Under a sun visor, several parallel scars ran across his left cheek, over the eye socket and up onto his forehead. The eye itself appeared unharmed, the scarring disappeared over it.

In approaching, Tanaka, being a senior member of the Iron Fist, was directly challenging the entire Devils' gang. If they fought, regardless of whoever won, the Devils and the Fist would go to war.

Marco lifted his hand up. "Back up, Tock, no one's talking at you."

Tanaka didn't move.

"You hear me, bitch? I'm talking at you." Marco pointed at Ashley.

"You back the fuck up, Marco, less you want a lesson in respect." Tanaka took another step forward. "Can't you see the lady is with me?"

"Is this your bitch?" Marco inquired. "Is you gonna cover what she cost me?" Marco turned to Ash. "You insured, bitch? Tock here got a policy on your ass? Cause I heard you was new."

"Say the word," Tanaka offered.

Ashley paused but then shook her head. She stepped up next to Tanaka, confronting Marco.

He was three times her size.

"I'm nobody's bitch," she said.

Marco slapped Ash across the face with blinding speed and a resounding crack. The impact knocked her from her feet.

"You're my bitch now, bitch!" Marco paced back and forth

Ashley tried to stand. Marco had knocked her silly. Ashley was dizzy; on her hands and knees, she shook her head, her balance was off.

Marco hit hard.

"You fucked up my boy," he ranted. "Spun his shit around backwards. You cost me. Now you pay."

Marco turned to one of his crew. "Start rolling, Swoop."

Swoop, a curly-haired orphan, flipped out a small screen and a pen-camera. Properly introduced, Marco came forward to collect his payment.

Tanaka stepped forward, holding up a hand. "Hey Marco! She owes Me. She broke Paulie's jaw. That was yesterday. Carver was today. So she owes me first!"

"So what are you saying?" Marco asked.

"I'm saying..."

"It's not for you to say." Ashley raised a hand. The fire in her eyes holding back Tanaka as much as Marco.

Hambone grabbed Tanaka's elbow. "She just beat Kaz three in row. Let's see what happens. Kaz ain't never lost at dodge ball before."

Tanaka stepped back to watch.

Ashley got to her feet. "Carver tried to rape my friend."

Marco gestured to Sky. "This junkie-whore is your friend? You don't know her! She's into Carv for two bills, you stupid bitch. They was doin' biz-i-ness, consensual and shit. Now we're gonna do a little business." Marco stepped forward again.

Ash gave a bit of ground, involuntarily stepping back.

Marco paused. "You say he was gonna rape her, over two hunna dollars?" He looked over to Sky and back at Ashley. "That can ain't worth fifty. He'd have to hit her half a dozen times to get his ends."

Some of his thug-comrades laughed.

Marco then looked Ashley up and down. "But you're pretty," he smiled. "You and your titty gonna earn me plenty!" He grabbed his crotch, much as Paulie had the night before. "I'm gonna shift this Big 6 in your ass, sista. Got me? Here I come!"

Kaz stepped forward, past Tanaka, confronting Marco.

Marco stepped aggressively toward Kaz. "Oh, you want some too? I ain't into guys, but if you wanna get fucked, you in the right place!"

Tanaka stepped between them, holding up his hand. "She's mine, Marco. She hit Paulie last night. She owes me first. You can settle up for Carver with me. What do you want for him?"

Marco looked at Tank. "Well all right then. I'm a businessman. Let's negotiate."

Ash straightened up and cracked her neck. "I'm nobody's property. You are not paying him for me."

"Bitch, pipe down. The men are speaking," Marco snapped. "You about to have these nuts in yo guts, so be patient now."

Ashley glared at him. "I'm not yours and I'm not his. People aren't possessions."

"So you not covering her than?" Marco asked Tank.

Tanaka smiled, raised his hands and took a step back. "Looks like you got a fighter."

"All right then." Marco turned to Ashley. "Let's have us some fun, little girl."

He lunged toward her, but she sidestepped him easily. He stumbled, off balance and embarrassed.

Ash condescendingly pushed him. He dropped to a knee.

"You bitch!" he roared and lunged after her, swinging.

Ash dodged a couple haymakers but got clobbered with an unexpected left. She crumbled to the ground.

The crowd swelled forward.

Marco hesitated before kicking her.

Ash slipped away, getting to her feet. She coughed and wiped blood from her lip.

Marco saw the blood and lowered his guard. "Ready to cooperate a little bit?"

Ash caught her breath and nodded.

Marco relaxed out of his threatening posture. "That's more like it. Now, come over here," he ordered.

Ash walked over.

Marco smiled. "Unbutton my pants," he commanded.

Ash looked down at the front of his pants.

Without warning, without even looking up, she elbowed him in the face. He staggered backward, blood poured from his nose; his giant paws swung blindly.

Ash ducked, dodged, stepped to her left and planted a heel in his stomach.

Marco collapsed.

She watched him cautiously.

Faster than she anticipated, he lunged, tackling her to the ground. From on top of her, he unloaded on her face. Ash blocked with her arms and got a knee between herself and Marco, but he continued swinging.

Ash pushed him back with her leg, but he was too strong, too heavy. She huddled down and pondered of her next move.

Marco got tired and leaned back. Still fixated on her body, he started to undo his pants.

Ash sat up violently, her forehead smashing into his face. His nose cracked loudly and blood gushed from the twice-ruined major sense organ. Marco screamed.

Covered in blood, Ash rolled away, scrambling to her feet.

Marco made it up to his knees, he was still almost as tall as her. He held his nose and desperately tried to stop the bleeding, forced to breathe through his mouth.

Ash wiped the blood from her face and circled him warily.

Positioning herself for a ruthless kick to the head, Marco saw her and held up his hands, gesturing for mercy.

Ashley checked her kick and stepped to the side, allowed him a moment to deal with his injury.

Marco exhaled forcefully, blowing blood and snot all over the playground.

Ash took a step back, contempt painting her features.

Marco reached into his pocket and pulled out a shank. He lunged at her, but only caught her shirt.

Furious he slashed again, several times, missing with each.

The surrounding children held their breath.

With his next jab, Ash saw Marco's wrist sail by.

She caught it, pinned it close to her shoulder and turned against it. The bones snapped and cracked against one another, the makeshift knife falling to the ground.

Ash twisted Marco's arm around behind his body. She continued twisting until it dislocated at the shoulder with loud pop and released him.

He collapsed to the ground, pinned by the excruciating pain radiating from his shoulder.

Ashley circled him.

She picked up the knife.

Originally a spoon, the flat metal handle had been sharpened to a dangerous point, one side ground to a relatively dangerous edge.

Ash walked over to his head.

The crowd remained silent.

She stood near Marco's outstretched left hand.

She took a moment to catch her breath. "That was pretty rude."

Marco coughed.

"I need you to apologize," Ashley said.

He didn't seem to hear her. She knelt in front of him and lifted his head by the hair. "I said I need you to apologize."

Marco screamed, "What the fuck did you do to my arm, you bitch?"

Ash held the knife by the point and hit Marco on the head with the bowl of the spoon.

"Apologize!" she insisted.

"Fuck you!" he yelled.

Ash spun the spoon and stabbed it through Marco's outstretched good hand.

He screamed.

"Apologize!" Ash yelled.

"You fucking slut! I'm gonna kill you!"

Ash stomped on the end of the soon, driving it through Marco's hand and into the cracked and broken ground beneath.

"Apologize!" she demanded, pressing down on the spoon.

Marco howled obscenities.

Ash pushed down, folding the spoon against the bones of his hand. "Apologize!"

"Fuck you, you fucking Kunt!"

Ash stomped his hand.

Everyone up front heard the bones crunch as they broke.

Marco's screams rose an entire octave.

Ash stomped the hand over and over and over.

Marco screamed himself hoarse.

The audience watched silently.

Finally she stopped.

Marco continued moaning and crying.

When he paused, Ashley stomped the hand again.

Marco screamed and cried, calling her every curse word he could think of. Eventually he screamed himself out of breath.

Ash stomped the hand again.

Marco gasped for air and finally got enough oxygen into his lungs. "I'm sorry! Please stop. I'm Sorry!! Please!!" he cried.

"Louder," Ash commanded.

"I'm Sorry! I'm Sorry!" he yelled.

"Louder!" she yelled back.

"I'm Sorry. I'm so Sorry. Please." Marco was burnt out.

"You're gonna shift-six me? Huh? Asshole!" Ash mercilessly stomped his ruined hand a dozen more times.

Finally, she was finished.

Almost.

She wound up and kicked him in the face, knocking him out cold.

"Nobody owns me," she said. "Nobody owns Sky. From now on nobody owns anyone here. I don't care who I have to fight."

Everyone around her stayed silent, the crowd was stunned and speechless. Ashley's new friends looked conflicted. They appeared impressed and horrified, attracted to and repulsed by the stalwart teen.

She understood their conflict. She felt it in herself. She walked past them without a word, without a single personal glance.

No one followed her as she left the field.

Everyone left, going their separate ways, everyone except for Marco.

Later, in digital playback on a flex-screen, Ash silently stalked from the scene and the recording froze.

Swoop held the screen for Otai and three other kids, Dante, Yama and Frost. They were, for all intents and purposes, the operational head of the Devils' gang. Big Mo and Kid Lethal were unapproachable by zeros like Otai. Dante was their public negotiator. Mo and Lethal only got involved in serious breaches of etiquette.

Dante also bore the district's insignia of manhood, in the form to a tri-pointed goatee and sideburns. He kept his upper lip shaved but let the hair of his chin climb to the center and edges of mouth.

Frost, a heavily muscled Filipino, kept his head shaved close to the scalp, like a monk of the Far East.

Yama, a tall and thin Japanese boy, wore a dark blue cap and a t-shirt displaying an image of Mt Fuji, backlit by a rising sun.

They were easily among the top-five most-deadly orphans in the district. Their immediate superiors, being numbers one and two.

The chopped and soul-patched Dante spoke first after watching the vid stream. "That's too bad. Marco was a good hand."

Yama and Frost laughed at his pun.

"Go get her and her crap. She's moving to the stables," Dante ordered.

Dante nodded to Swoop and Otai. "You two come with me, we gotta show this to Mo."

The gang members nodded their understanding and left in their separate directions.

In the girl's shower, Ash stood under the water.

She didn't lather her body with soap; she just stood and cried. Occasionally she hit the wall with her fist. She coughed, caught her breath, relaxed, only to start crying again.

After a while, she just stood silently as the water poured over her.

Yama and Frost walked into the green stripe dorm. Squirm, one of the teens who still hadn't hit his growth spurt, saw them coming and turned around.

Yama chased him down and pinned him up against a wall. "The new girl, where's her locker?"

Squirm lived up to his nickname and struggled against Yama, who promptly kneed him in the stomach.

Frost stepped forward and grabbed Squirm's hand. He bent the index finger back, holding it at the breaking point.

Squirm screamed and pointed with his free hand. "Over there! Over there! Third from the end, right side, right side," he cried.

Yama threw him aside and waited for him to scramble out of his path before moving toward Ashley's locker.

In the girl's shower, Ash toweled off, dried her hair and inspected her swelling bruises in the mirror.

Yama and Frost wasted no time and easily jimmied open Ashley's locker.

Geoffrey jumped down from his bunk and confronted them. "Hey!! What do you think you're doing?" he yelled. "Get out of my sister's locker, shit-heads!"

Frost and Yama looked at each other.

Frost halfway closed the locker. "This is your sister's locker?"

"Not yours! Get lost, now," Geoff replied.

Frost smiled to Yama and turned back to Geoff. He held up his hands in surrender. "Right, you're right. You're new here, you and your sister?"

Geoff visibly relaxed a bit. "Yeah. We got here yesterday."

"Well, listen, see... Your sister sent us down here to get her stuff. You guys are moving."

Yama nodded and smiled at Geoff.

"Bullshit. You're lying." Geoff didn't bite.

"Serious, little man," Frost argued.

"Where is she, then?" Geoff inquired.

"She's over at the Zoo, with Big Mo." Frost answered.

"The Zoo? Who's Big Mo?" Geoff replied.

"He's a friend of ours. You got any friends here yet, tough guy?"

"Not really," Geoff answered.

"Considering how you act, that's not surprising," Frost smiled. "We got shit to do."

Geoff kicked the locker shut, but Frost had damaged the lock and the door didn't stick. "Where is my sister?" he asked.

"She sent us down here to get her shit and you. What's your name?"

"Geoff."

"That's right, Geoff. But you're carrying your own crap, cause I ain't coming back down here to do it." Frost turned to leave the dorm.

"There's a zoo here?" Geoff asked stepping after them.

Frost patiently explained, "No, they just call it that. It's more like a swap meet, you know, an old school flea market. It's across the fields, up the escalators." Frost walked toward the double doors, Yama followed.

After a second Geoff tagged along. "How did you guys meet my sister?" he asked.

"Oh, man, you wouldn't believe it," Frost laughed.

"Your sister is something else," Yama answered. "She kicked this big moron's ass."

Frost, Yama and Geoff walked from the dorm, only moments before Ash entered.

Finding her locker open, she froze and cautiously looked inside. The lock had been broken and would no longer catch.

The stiletto was still in its place, in her shower kit, in her hands; everything else was also just as she'd left it. She hung up the towel and collapsed into bed, exhausted.

The dorm was dark.

Ash woke and sat bolt upright.

She rubbed her eyes. She heard something, footsteps. The silhouette of a patrolling guard moved past. Ash slipped out of bed and stood.

The top bunk was empty. _Where was Geoffrey?_

Geoff's bed was empty and cool; it hadn't been slept in.

Ash looked around the darkened dormitory. She pulled herself up onto Geoff's bed to get a better view. Kids slept across the sea of bunk beds. Far across the room, two guards talked quietly.

Ash, in sweat pants and a t-shirt, slipped down off the bed and pulled on her sneakers. She moved across the dorm and through the doorway with no doors. She silently climbed a stairwell and out into the tree-shrouded night.

The athletic complex was composed of a series of terillium charged plates. On the topmost level, a massive coliseum stretched across the complex. Beneath it, six smaller stadiums surrounded a central unit. Three massive plates make up the first three levels below the stadiums. At several kilometers across, they offered substantial room to run and jump and play. Smaller levels hung below these, all broken up by tall berms, hedges and artistically arranged tree-lines.

On one of the lower levels, Ash walked through the faux park-like surroundings, letting herself drift with the perfumed breeze. She breathed in the deep tonic, as though it held the cure to her encroaching madness.

In the distance, she heard music coming from one of the gymnasiums and moved toward it. Housed beside the central stack, the gymnasiums surrounded the elevator banks that run up and down the spine of the complex.

As she got closer, she heard something in addition to the music. At first she couldn't make it out. It sounded like singing, but wasn't.

Only the interior district doors had been removed. The exterior doors of the gymnasium stood open and even from outside, she clearly heard the sounds of girls crying and occasionally screaming in pain. The voices sounded tired, hoarse, exhausted. Ash slipped inside and across the atrium.

The girls, stripped to their underwear, danced atop a group of tables, assembled in the center of the gym. Their teenage flesh bore the marks and bruises consistent with a prolonged struggle.

Three guards laughed and cackled while they tormented the girls.

They yelled, "Keep moving."

And "Go with it"

Or "Dance, Bitch!"

And "Move that Ass!" All the while they delivered jabs and strikes with the stun batons.

The trio of guards focused on the center girl, jabbing at her groin with their shock sticks.

Ash crouched in the darkened foyer.

To her left, she noticed a tin trashcan. She picked up the metal lid, gauging the weight and balance. She saw a chain hanging from the handle of the outside doors. The padlock was open and looped through the links.

Inside the gym, with half the lights on, the guards felt relaxed and secure in their persecution of the girls. Then, abruptly, one of them caught movement in his peripheral vision and turned to get a better look.

Robinson watched the metal lid come sailing toward them, spinning like a UFO. His friends noticed his distraction and turned to see what had pulled his attention from three squirming girls.

The lid sailed across the gym on a perfect trajectory, at head level, straight for them.

Robinson could tell it wouldn't hit him, but flinched just the same.

The guard to the right, Donovan, saw it too, but too late to warn Watkins, who turned directly into the lid.

It was difficult to say whether he saw it coming.

With a loud crack, the disk bit deep into his mouth, shattering his front teeth. He fell to the ground with a fluidity that suggested unconsciousness.

Donovan got a good look at his friend's perfectly wrecked grill, a mess of blood and shattered teeth. Better that he sleep it off anyhow. Donovan and Robinson heard female laughter from the alcove, confirmed by the sounds of hasty flight.

Enraged, they flew across the gym.

The guards bolted through the doors and once outside, scanned the surrounding area for some hint of their prey. Behind them, the captive girls retrieved their clothes and escaped the gymnasium through a back door.

In their search for Ashley, Donovan and Robinson split up.

Ahead of Robinson, a tree stood near the top of a hill, with a good view of the nearest access point to the downstairs bathrooms, dorms, and parking garages.

Robinson jogged up the hill and crouched under the tree. From here, beneath the concealing branches, he could watch the surrounding landscape without giving away his position. After a few moments of silent stillness, he put his back against the tree and pulled out a pack of smokes.

Trapped directly behind the tree, Ash prepared herself. She held the heavy chain in her hands.

Robinson lit his cigarette.

Ash swung the chain around the tree, catching the far side of the metal links as they came around and jerking it tight.

The suddenness of the attack caught Robinson off guard. He dropped his cigarette and struggled with the chain.

Ash planted a foot on the trunk and pulled the chain into his throat. She fished the lock from her belt loop and slipped it through two intersecting links.

Robinson's cigarette started a small fire in the kindling around his feet. He struggled with the chain and also stomped the fire, which did more to spread it rather than put it out. He weakly screamed for help, but panicked and desperate, chained to the base of a burning tree, he was having trouble catching his breath.

Ash sprinted away, vanishing into the surrounding darkness.

A moment later, Donovan arrived. Together, he and Robinson extinguished the fire.

As soon as he confirmed that Robinson was okay, Donovan lit out after Ash. Of the three original guards, he was easily the most physically capable and ruthless. A gifted athlete, he quickly gained on the young female, fleeing in the distance.

Ashley crossed the bridge to the terminal unit and sprinted for the high school. Inside, she reached the stairs and dashed up a floor.

In the upstairs hallway, she heard him enter below her. She slipped into one of the halls and hid under a group of terminals bays.

Ash heard Donovan reach the top of the stairs and methodically move down the hall. He entered each room, paused, and then moved on.

As he approached her room, Ash remained silent under the terminal.

Donovan's silhouette filled the doorway, blocking the light from the hall. He entered, turned and walked down the row.

He walked slowly and steadily, past her and down to the far end of the bay. He stood, just listening.

Ashley waited. He didn't move, but she knew he couldn't be gone.

She looked over her shoulder.

The older boy grinned, only inches from her face. "Boo!"

Ash jumped and slammed her head into the tabletop.

Donovan grabbed her by the ankle and dragged her into the aisle.

Ash struggled, only to have him attack her with his stun baton. She curled into a ball, covering her head with her hands.

Donovan ripped the back of her shirt from her cowering body. Then pulled at her cheap, orphanage-issued pants, the seams audibly popping, but for the moment, remaining whole.

The young girl kicked, squirmed and managed to get into a defendable position. She kicked Donovan in the balls. He went down to his knees, clutching his groin. She kicked him squarely in the chin. She heard and felt his jaw snap and dislocate.

Donovan screamed in pain and fury.

Ashley saw the baton lying nearby, grabbed it and attacked him, blasting at his head and shoulders.

When Ash thought he'd had enough, she paused.

He lunged at her.

She rammed the baton into his broken mouth and down his throat. Ashley twisted the voltage knob to its highest setting and clicked it on.

Donovan convulsed as the baton electrocuted him from the inside.

Disgusted with herself, Ash backed out of the room.

Outside in the hall, a janitor stood with his mop and its wheeled-bucket. He stared at her. He didn't speak or move, he just looked at her.

He was tall and old, his hair mostly gone gray and white. For a moment, she stared back, but Ashley never stopped moving. She glided to the top of the stairs and then down, letting her momentum pull her into a jog that continued until she reached her bunk.

Geoffrey was still missing.

She crawled into bed, her breathing ragged and chaotic. She curled into a ball between the much-too-thin blanket and the much-too-cold sheets and worried that she might burst into hysterical sobbing.

She forced herself to breath slowly, and lay in the dark, silent for a long time, surrounded by other sleeping kids.

Finally she willed her body into a numb and dreamless sleep.

# Chapter 8 – Saturday Morning Cartoons

On weekends, the morning fare was do-it-yourself meals of cereal, toast and fruit. The trade off was that it was available all morning, until lunch was served around noon. The kids drifted in and out of the cafeteria. Ash sat, dejected, alone. She ate dry, toaster-oven French toast. The syrup dispensers were empty.

Dante approached the table and sat down across from her. She didn't like the way he looked at her. He was tall and athletic, his t-shirt bearing an image of a tattoo gun, the handle artfully merged into that of a revolver. His goatee made her instantly dislike him.

He pulled out a cigarette. "You mind?" he asked her.

She stared at him blankly.

Dante lit the cigarette and stared back.

Ash looked at the guard across the room. He showed no interest in reprimanding the smoking gang leader.

Ash let him sit there, staring at her, as long as she could stand it.

"What do you want?" she finally asked.

"Me, nothing. What do you want?" Dante countered.

"To eat in peace and privacy."

"I never eat in front of other people, it's a disgusting habit. And that," he gestured to Ashley's breakfast with his cigarette. "It looks no better now, than how it will when it comes out the other end. I don't eat that shit. No, thank you." In his enthusiasm, Dante tapped his cigarette over her tray.

Ash stared at him in disbelief.

"Oh, I'm sorry, excuse me. But really, it's no good for you anyhow."

Ash pushed the tray away, but retained the metal fork in her hand.

Dante smoked his cigarette and looked up at the ceiling.

"Hey, don't you have a brother named Geoffrey?" he asked.

Ash, unwilling to confront Dante and his bodyguards until she calculated her options, looked down and subtly glanced at his friends. Yama was the tallest of the three, and Frost was stocky and strong. Ash didn't want to fight any of them.

A table full of girls across the room had distracted Yama and Frost.

Dante attempted to recapture her attention. "I met him last night, your brother."

Ash openly looked over at the table full of girls, ignoring Dante and consciously looking scared of the confrontation. She had to draw him in, make him feel secure.

Dante jumped in with both feet, "I saw him take a nasty tumble down some stairs."

Ashley dropped her gaze to the floor and pulled a foot up onto the bench, her knee coming between herself and Dante. She let her shoulders fall, submissive.

Ash heard Dante give a victorious breath, it was clear, he considered her beaten. He glanced over at the girls across the room.

Yama and Frost grinned and waved to the girls. They were cute and smiling, a couple waved back. Ashley watched everything from her peripheral vision, her head lowered.

Dante, Yama, and Frost lived on the Bolt. They didn't know these girls, but everyone knew them. They were famous. The Devils ran District Thirteen. Dante, Yama and Frost were the most senior members the other gangs could bargain with, be friendly with. If Dante paid you a visit, you might survive, he was the good cop. If Big Mo or Kid Lethal had to come see you, it was a different story entirely.

Ashley was perhaps the single-most person in the district to have absolutely no idea who these three Devils were but she did know that young men always have something to prove. She could see that these three particular individuals believed Hell was a hierarchy, just like every other faction of society, and they were eager to _earn their place_.

Dante was now blatantly ogling the girls across the room. The girls, impressed with their legendary status, and naturally competitive, were eager to distract the Devils from whatever business they had with Ashley. They openly flirted, smiled and giggled.

Only a moment had passed, but her opportunity had come. With two smooth upward steps, Ash climbed onto the table, crouched low and grabbed Dante by the back of his head, her left fist balling up in his hair. Her right hand pressed the tines of the fork into his throat.

Ashley smiled at him, ready and willing to open the carotid artery with the blunt utensil.

Dante remained perfectly still, not allowing the slightest look of surprise or concern to cross his features. He did, however, have a hard time repressing a smile in admiration for Ashley's graceful attack.

Ashley drove the point home with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. Not only had she taken him by surprise physically, but she had suckered him too, with the cowering-puppy act. Her expression said it all; y _ou are outclassed_.

The cigarette smoke alone dared move.

Dante curled his hand, as if to flick the cigarette at Ashley's face.

She planted a knee in his chest, leaning into him, putting her face in the same general area as his own, and pressing forward with the fork, daring him to flick the cigarette.

Dante did, but over and past them, at Yama and Frost. They suddenly caught on and rushed toward the girl and their hostage leader.

Ash kicked Frost, the closer of the two, in the chest. He crashed backwards into Yama.

When she savagely pressed the fork against Dante's throat. He held up his hands in surrender.

Yama and Frost held back and waited for the right moment.

"Where's my brother?" Ash demanded.

"Medical." Dante coughed.

"Why?" she asked.

"Fell down some stairs." Dante abruptly twisted out of Ashley's grip and away from the fork. He coughed several times. "Fucking Psycho!"

Ash remained on Dante's side of the table.

With their leader out of the way, Frost and Yama charged her.

Ash spun, grabbed Frost and backed over the table, pulling him with her. He slammed his shins into the bench, and she bounced his face off her tray of unfinished breakfast.

Yama stepped up and over the table, chasing Ashley down onto the other side. In a large central aisle, they stood perfectly still, regarding each other warily.

The kids at the nearby tables vacated. A couple guards approached, but veered away when Dante waved them off.

Yama and Ash stood, hands by their sides, but ready. Neither blinked, patiently waiting for the right moment.

Someone coughed and it began.

Yama opened with a whip hand strike, but missed, and smoothly transitioned into _Cloud Hands_ , his palms rushing up at her in quick succession, as if they were metal barbs at the end of a flail.

He was moving far to quickly to try and block, so she evaded and countered with two sharp kicks to his knees, but he sidestepped her.

Ash continued with strikes of her own, a jab, a hook and another jab. Yama drifted toward her weak side, but she matched him step for step.

He pivoted, delivering a blindingly fast sidekick. She moved to flank him, but he stayed with her, chasing her with two jabs and a cross. Movement after movement, they swung at each other, each perfectly timed, balanced, countered and reacted to. They seemed to be dancing rather than fighting.

Then Yama caught Ashley's elbow and the dance collapsed.

Ash struck with her free hand. She had taken a calculated risk and Yama had fallen for it. The leopard strike slipped in, beneath his chin. A pointed jab, just enough to loosen his grip. She spun out of his grasp and smashed the bridge of his nose with her elbow, scoring two consecutive hits and drawing first blood.

Yama held up a hand, pausing the fight. He pinched his nose to stop the bleeding. He felt the break, took a deep breath pulled it out and reset the bone with an audible snap. He took a moment to breathe, blinked the involuntary tears away and raised his eyes to hers.

Suddenly he struck her.

Yama slapped Ashley across the face so hard she literally saw stars, but somehow managed not to fall. A second, blisteringly fast backhand split her eyebrow and he calmly stepped out of reach.

He had hit her twice while holding his nose pinched shut with his left hand. Ashley had never seen anyone move so quickly. She was one of the fastest kids at the Flying Dragons, but that was because Yama hadn't been there.

"Do you want to see your brother or not?" he asked.

Ash looked over to the angry-calm Dante and the scowling, breakfast-stained Frost. She said nothing, but turned back to Yama and nodded.

The blood ran into her eye and she wiped it away.

Yama turned and walked from the cafeteria, followed by Frost, Dante and Ashley.

They walked in silence for some time. The Devils' presence turned nearly every single head, even guards gave them a wide berth.

After ten minutes of silence, Ash looked over to Yama and Frost. "So, you're his bitches, huh?" she asked.

They didn't reply.

"He doesn't seem so tough."

Ash looked at Yama. "I bet you could take him," she taunted.

Yama ignored her.

"But he's someone else's bitch too, isn't he?" she continued.

After a moment, Dante said, "His name is Moses Modred Mohammed, and you are his newest slave."

Ash didn't reply.

Dante continued, "You will be chained to a bed and gang raped until your spirit is broken. You'll be given drugs for the pain and mental anguish. Once hooked on these drugs, you will beg... Fucking Beg for the chance to participate in the most vulgar disgusting... Well, you'll see.

"You are going to fuck, every miserable day of the rest of your miserable, short, worthless existence. It will be recorded and sold and perhaps some small amount of your debt to your betters will be paid."

Ashley stopped walking and waited for Dante do likewise.

He did.

"Where's my brother?" she asked.

"I told you, Medical." He pointed to an escalator in the distance.

The escalator was one of the sporadic access points where the Athletic Complex connected with the ex-prison section, the Bolt.

Dante smiled. "You go up those stairs, over to the elevator bank and hit the Red Cross button." He turned and continued walking. Yama and Frost drifted after him.

Reluctantly Ash followed toward the towering but unmoving escalator, slowly growing closer in the distance.

Alongside, the massive connecting bracers and wire-frame scaffolding tied the hovering structures together.

In silence, they reached the bottom of the motionless stairs.

Dante turned toward Ash. "You're nobody," he said. "By tomorrow, everyone will have forgotten you. By next week, you're ancient history."

She silently continued past him, reaching and ascending the dead and still escalator first.

At the top of the sharp metal stairwell, a huge sign read simply, ZOO. Ashley stood at the entrance and surveyed the area. It was a prison rooftop doubling as a swap meet.

Four large squares of cyclone fencing formed the foundation of the Zoo. Outside the fence, child-merchants managed market stalls, their goods piled high on tables, carts and hung from the fencing. Crude awnings and tented canvas offered some defense against the midday sun.

Despite the fact that the fences were lined with heavy duty green plastic, Ash could hear that at least two were reserved for basketball, a third sported the distinct sound of free-weights, and she suspected it was from the furthest that she picked up the scent of a grill, laughter, and the clink of poker chips.

It was what she saw that intrigued her most. Hanging before her was a hologram shirt, in one of the main shops. It looked like her brother's shirt, the one he'd been wearing yesterday. Ash walked toward it.

The shopkeeper, Ron, noticed her interest and approached.

"Hey, sweetheart. We got all kinds of goodies here. I'm Ronnie. Anything you want or need; just let me know. If it's not here, I can get it for you."

"That shirt," she said, pointing to it.

"Don't you think that's maybe a little small for you, sweet cheeks?" Anxiety already nibbled the edges of his otherwise brash approach.

"Where'd you get it?" she asked.

"Hey now, a man's got to protect his resources. I can't be going and giving away my secrets now, can I? Shit."

Dante, Yama and Frost crested the stairs. Frost and Yama fanned out, but stayed out of Ashley's immediate area.

Dante stepped toward her, "You'll have time for that later, if at all."

Ash turned on him. "I have time for it now."

Ash and Dante stared each other down.

People noticed. No one spoke back to Dante, not ever, and certainly not here. Everyone stopped whatever they were doing to watch.

The zoo went mostly silent.

Kid Lethal, Big Mo and a couple other Devils sat on the other side of a fabric-covered fence playing dominoes.

Once the silence began, their ears perked up, the game forgotten.

Out on the main floor, Dante relented. He raised his hands, unwilling to get physical over something so trivial as a misappropriated t-shirt.

Ash turned from Dante, ignored Ron, and stepped over to the shirt, hanging on the fence.

Caught in the middle, Ron held his hands out to Dante. "Yo, D, what is up?"

Ashley pulled the shirt from the hangar and checked the tag. She read the initials GF in big black marker. "This is my brother's shirt."

"What's that?" Ron asked, full of disbelief.

Ash held it up, letting him inspect the initials.

Ron looked over to Dante again, whose expression said that Ron was on his own.

"Look. Hey, now. I'm just a salesman, right? I sell stuff. That's what I do. Where it comes from, that's none of my business." He clapped his hands together and then opened them. "My name's Paul, that's 'tween ya'll."

Ashley smiled. "I thought you said your name was Ron?"

She noticed a piece of heavy wire stitching together a section of overlapping fence. The end was bent and sticking out dangerously. She stepped over to it.

"It's a saying sweetness. My name is Ron," he explained to her back. "But I got no reason to get caught up between you and the man here."

Ash grabbed the metal sliver and bent it back and forth. "He's not a man," she said over her shoulder. "He's somebody's bitch."

The wire gave under her continued abuse and six inches of it broke off in her hand, sharp and dangerous.

"Hey, now! Why you want to be breaking up my store?" Ron took a step toward her.

She stepped forward to meet him. "Where'd you get the shirt?" she shouted into his face.

Ron cowered, looking over at Dante.

Ashley slapped him, regaining his attention. "I asked you a question."

Ron stumbled backward. "What is the matter with you?"

Ash swept his feet from under him, slamming him to his back. She knelt on his chest. With the piece of metal folded in half, clutched tightly in her fist, she held the two sharp points an inch from Ron's eyes. He squirmed in her grip; she put more weight on him, crushing his chest.

"What the fuck, Bitch?!" he coughed.

"I asked you a question?"

"Have you lost your fucking mind?" he croaked.

She pressed harder on his chest and moved the metal barbs closer to his pupils. "Where did you get the shirt?!"

Ron yelled to Dante. "Yo man, get this bitch offa me!"

Ashley leaned forward, filling his field of vision with her face and the sharp wire. "He can't help you! This was my brother's shirt! Tell me how you got it or I'll stab your goddamn eyes out!"

"Fuck you! They'll kill me!"

"This is your last chance!"

"I can buy new eyes, you fucking cunt! Goddamn it! Do you know where you are?! Are you out of your mind?!"

"Who did it?! Who gave you this shirt?!"

"Fuck you, bitch! You're thirty seconds from dead, so go nuts! Blind me! Two days, I'm good as new, but no matter what, you ain't seeing tomorrow! I'm not telling you shit! I'm not dying for you!" Ron spit in Ashley's face. Not just a little, but a great wet mouthful of panic and fear.

Ashley drove the twin metal prongs deep into Ron's vision. He screamed as blood and viscous fluid burst from his penetrated eyeballs. Ron struggled and flopped around, increasing the damage.

Ashley jerked the prongs out and stepped away.

Dante gestured for Yama and Frost to step in. "Take him down to the docs."

They nodded and stepped forward to help Ron, ignoring Ashley. Together, they got him to his feet and lead him toward the elevator bank.

The entire Zoo watched, captivated.

Once Ron's screams faded, things got quiet again, but no one went back to business as usual. Everyone remained rooted to their places, watching.

Ashley stood in front of Ron's shop, at the mouth of the center aisle.

Kid Lethal stood in the shadow of the entrance to the game room. "He got the shirt from me," Lethal called out.

Everyone looked down to the Kid.

Ash stared at him. "Are you Big Mo?"

"No, honey pot, I'm Lethal. I stole that shirt off your brother's back right before I kicked him down the escalators." Lethal gestured to the jagged-toothed stairwell behind her.

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He packed the case against the back of his other hand before drawing one and lighting it.

Lethal didn't look especially intimidating. Ashley suddenly recognized him as the red hood that'd murdered Vic the Ass-Grabber yesterday at breakfast. He was a normal-sized teenage boy, fifteen maybe sixteen, tall and slender.

"I'm guessing he's in pretty bad shape," Lethal said. "He told me his sister was gonna come up here and kick my ass, and _abracadabra_ ; here you are."

"Dante, this the bitch who did Marco?" Mo's voice thundered across the rooftop.

No one spoke in its wake.

Mo stood in the shade of the enclosure, leaning against the entrance post, just behind Lethal. He was huge, three times the size of any normal teenager, well over six feet, three hundred pounds of ripped muscle.

Dante nodded.

"Come over here, bitch," Mo commanded.

Ashley stood, Geoff's shirt in her left hand and the bloody metal prong in her right. "Make me," she replied.

Mo stepped out of the shade, walking out into the sunlight where Ashley could see him.

"Girl, you hurt my clients. They're insured against injury. You owe me big time. You gotta make it right."

Ash remained where she was. "I don't owe you shit."

Mo nodded to Lethal, who pulled a knife from his belt and started toward her.

Ashley laughed, undaunted. "What the fuck? You're right there and you still send a bitch. You fucking coward."

The Zoo remained silent, even Lethal stopped, looking back to his giant leader.

Ash changed her focus and gestured to Lethal, "Fine, whatever, bitch. Come get some."

Mo raised a hand, Lethal waited. "You want to fight me?" Mo asked. "Lee here is the one hurt your brother."

"I'll get to him, but he works for you, doesn't he? And Dante, he works for you? Marco, and Carver, and Otai, they all work for you, don't they?" she asked.

"That means that all this happened because I didn't let Carver rape my friend, Sky. Dante says that I'm your property now. So... What? You want me? Then you come and tell me what your problem is and let's see if we can settle it. But why should I come to you, you big lame-dick motherfucker?"

"That's a filthy mouth you got on you girl. You must be uptown trash, because downtown got more class than that." Mo walked forward, stopping only once he reached reasonable conversing distance. "Your wish is granted, I'll fight you, but there's a place and a time. You see, if I fight you now, and I just fuck you right here, we lose something special. An event like this, what we need is an audience. Besides, I think you'd probably like to see your brother one last time, before the final curtain. I understand he's down in ICU. The fights start at three. Gives you a few hours. Dante will see you to your brother and then collect you for our grudge match."

Mo turned to walk from the Zoo.

Ash hurled the metal prong at him. The point found his scalp and imbedded itself in his skin. Mo brushed the bent wire from his head, without otherwise acknowledging it.

He paused and spoke over his shoulder, "Dante, take her to see her brother."

Dante nodded, and with a glare that could melt glaciers, he led Ash toward the elevators.

Inside the elevator, Dante hit the button for the medical ward.

The doors closed.

For a moment he and Ashley were quiet.

Then Dante spoke slowly, calmly and with genuine curiosity, "What the fuck is your problem, anyhow? Ronnie didn't do nothing to you."

Ashley stood in front of him, closer to the doors. She could see his hazy reflection in the brushed steel before her. She glanced to the ground, letting his sincerity soften her reply. "I guess I'm really just mad about my parents being killed."

Dante let that sink in.

Ash raised her head, waiting for his response. In the reflection she could see he was baffled.

He snorted. "Your parents? You miss your parents? And you think that makes you special? In an orphanage? You Dizzy Bitch."

Without turning, Ash savagely elbowed Dante in the face. His nose exploded with blood.

The elevator stopped and the doors opened.

Across the emergency room, the recently blinded Ronnie screamed. Three nurses struggled with him, trying to strap him to a wheeled bed. A fourth administered a shot.

Yama and Frost glared at Ash as she stepped out of the elevator.

Dante lurched out from behind her, his nose gushing blood.

A nurse saw him and hurried over.

Ashley smiled at Yama and Frost as she walked across the room.

They were stunned, shocked.

Ash walked over to the abandoned reception desk. She thumbed through the admissions log and bed assignments. The staff, occupied with the trouble Ash already caused, exhibited little interest in arresting her exploration. She looked around the station, located a hospital directory and headed for the ICU, looking for her little brother.

She soon found him, his face and head covered with short parallel slashes, places where the lip of the escalator bit into him as he fell.

She cried into his blankets for a while and then she slept.

# Chapter 9 – Odds and Ends

A couple of hours later Ashley woke and crossed to a nearby sink and mirror. She ran some cold water, splashed her face and dried it off with a small white hospital towel.

She looked into the mirror. Her eyes were puffy and red. Small cuts and fading bruises bore testimony to her fight with Marco yesterday.

She slammed her fist into the mirror, shattering it.

Ash tentatively withdrew her hand from the spider-webbed glass. Her knuckles reflected red wetness and glittering light from the small glass shards.

On the mirror, crimson smeared the central point of impact.

A young nurse rushed into the room, responding to the sound of the crash. She saw Ashley's pained expression, her hand and the shattered mirror. The nurse didn't admonish her. She just took a deep breath and pulled a chair over to Ashley.

She wheeled an urgent care cart over and placed Ash's hand in a shallow metal bowl. She rinsed the hand and removed the pieces of mirror with a pair of finely pointed tweezers. Once the wound was clean, the nurse spooned blue pluri-potent antibacterial goo, (a cheap version of her father's creation), over the knuckles and wrapped the hand with gauze.

"This is going to harden in twenty minutes. It'll start to deteriorate after twenty-four hours. Go easy," she suggested.

Ash nodded.

The nurse looked over at the mirror, shook her head and left.

Ash flexed her fist, the blue goo was already hardening. She glanced at the clock. 2:35. Dante will be coming for her soon. She doubted he'd be in a good mood.

Ash looked at the large jar of blue goo and then back at the broken mirror. She picked up a towel and laid it over the metal sink. She pulled a surgical hammer from the instrument cart and held another towel in front of the mirror. Ash lightly rapped the mirror with the hammer, knocking chunks of silvered-glass into the towel.

She then transferred the operation to the floor. Ash folded the towel and used the hammer to smash the mirror into smaller and smaller bits. Once the loud cracking sounds turned into quiet crunching, she stopped. She opened the towel to reveal a small pile of glittering mirror-sand.

Ash wrapped more gauze over her damaged hand then wrapped the other as well. She slathered them both in the blue goo and then lightly dipped her knuckles into the small mound of mirror shards. She stood and inspected her hands in the light and smiled.

Ashley looked around for any other useful items. The hammer, great for breaking mirrors, was far too small to provide any significant help against Mo.

She looked in the drawers of the surgical cart, lots of clamps and bandages. Then she discovered the knife drawer. A dozen chrome scalpels of varying sizes, sheathed in plastic caps, arranged on a towel. Ash chose a particularly wicked looking model and slipped it into her back pocket.

Behind her, Geoff moved and slowly woke. He sat up and smiled at her. Ash hugged him, careful not to get mirror shards on him. She asked him if he felt well enough to get dressed. He nodded and struggled out of bed.

As Geoff tied his second shoe, Dante, Yama, Frost and two other guys arrived in the doorway.

Ash turned to face them, placing her hands behind her back, offering no resistance. Yama and Frost stepped into the room, one to each side of the door.

Geoff recognized them with a gasp.

Dante remained in the hall.

Ash nodded to Geoff and they walked out between them.

The jumbled mess of golden curls, Swoop, followed the action with his camera, recording everything. Near the elevators a small crowd waited. Several held cameras, flashbulbs popped.

Ashley's hands remained behind her back, in exactly the submissive posture required around the district guards. They rode the elevator to the bottom floor. The doors opened. They were in an abandoned maintenance wing.

Ash, Geoff and her bodyguards drifted along with the rather heavy adolescent traffic. They walked the passageway, flanked with machinery so massive that they were as ants: the general flow informing anyone unsure of their mutual destination.

Ash saw other groups of bodyguards and fighters as they made their way deeper into the prison. Kids floated along in groups of twos, threes, and dozens. In the dull roar of conversation, she felt the expectation, the air itself seemed charged with excitement.

People looked at Ashley, surrounded by Dante and his crew.

Dante, with his newly broken nose, walked with a simultaneous swagger and a sobering measure of humility. He made eye contact with almost no one.

Finally the entourage reached a deep corner of the prison, underneath the recycling center; the waste chutes. There were only three working chutes. The fourth had been renovated into an auditorium.

Bleachers and box seats had been erected around a central shallow pit. A concessions stand offered cold drinks and sweets of all kinds.

The fights were professionally produced and filmed from dozens of angles. All of it broadcast live, available to anyone who cared to tune in.

Ash estimated the spectators numbered in the hundreds. The stands were packed, kids milled about everywhere. Three walls of odds makers offered constantly changing digital wagers on the afternoon's events.

Ashley's fight, a late addition to the card, was scheduled last. The odds against her hovered at a thousand to one. The odds were so high, the bookies drafted pools on how long she might last, just to drum up any action at all.

Her current expectation was somewhere between 15 to 30 seconds. On a small screen to the side of the offered bets, footage of her fight with Marco was mixed with Mo's most recent bouts.

Ash and company walked out onto the apron, between the bleachers and the pit. The pit looked twelve to fifteen feet deep, with slanting walls and a shallowly banked floor. All painted white, leaning toward a flat circular metal grate, set in the center.

Video screens hung everywhere, cycling through commentary on the upcoming participants. The announcers broke down the odds and explanations of the various bets to the waiting crowd.

Ash and her crew wound their way through the auditorium, under and behind the bleachers, to abandoned offices in the back, doubling as the fighters' warm-up rooms. Ash was given her own and Geoff stayed with her. Dante locked the heavy door behind himself as he left.

Ash and Geoff could hear the announcer's muffled voice on the loud speakers. They heard the bell and the thunder of the crowd as a fight began. Over and over again, the fighters heated exchanges were identified by a roar that built to a crescendo and then tapered off. Ash guessed that these must be brutal fights to draw such volume from the crowd.

Two and a half hours later, Dante returned for her, marching her out to stand near the front of the bleachers. They allowed Geoffrey to follow silently.

On the apron, Sky, Kaz, Hambone, Tanaka and the rest of the kids she'd met, came over to her. They wished her luck and tried to talk her out of it. Ash asked them to watch Geoff and told him to stay with Sky and to not let go of her hand.

The pit, that had so recently been pure white, was now bloodstained in several places, streaked and smeared. Despite the fact that the blood had been hosed down, it left long pink lines toward the center grate.

The main card fighters stepped up onto the elevated platforms. At the base of the platform, on Ash's right, hung a banner reading, _Challenger_. On that platform stood a huge goateeed teenager in black shorts and a black robe, twin swords were crossed in embroidery on his back. The video screen nearest him displayed his name, stats and record.

Across the pit, on the other platform, stood a shorter but wider kid. He stood perfectly still. The banner under his platform read _Champion_.

"Tonight's title match," the announcer called out, "Hector _Macho-Man_ Mendoza, standing six foot two, weighing in at two hundred and ten pounds with a seventy-four inch reach. Macho-Man sports an impressive record of seven wins, five by knock out."

He continued. "Tonight he'll face the champ, standing at six foot even, two hundred forty pounds, with a seventy-two inch reach and an undefeated record of seventeen wins, all by knock out, Harold _The Bear_ Arcilla."

Harold dropped his robe to the platform, but otherwise remained still. Across his back was a massive tattoo of a snarling bear.

Hector bounced and shadow boxed, keeping himself warm, Harold didn't bounce or stretch, he didn't do anything at all. A bell rung and the ref gestured for them to enter the pit.

Hector bounced down the steps from his platform. The Bear walked with exaggerated slowness. Once in the pit, the crowd went crazy as the fighters approached each other at the bottom.

Dante lead Ash out to the base of the platform Hector had occupied.

Below her, Macho-Man jumped at the Bear, a mountain of muscle, who caught Hector easily and spun him into a full nelson.

They struggled for a few moments.

Harold increased the pressure on Hector's neck.

Macho-Man stepped forward and then back, lifting a heel into the Bear's groin, escaping from the hold.

Harold doubled over in pain. Macho-Man kicked him savagely in the face, shredding his lips against his teeth.

The crowd screamed wildly.

Macho-Man leapt at the Bear, swinging wildly. Harold took it all. He even turned his face into the punches, attacking Hector's fists with his head. The strategy worked.

Hector punched away but his hands were soon reduced to hamburger. He stepped in with elbows, knees, and finally a couple kicks, but he was out of gas, and it showed.

The Bear caught a lazy kick and spun, hurling Hector across the pit. He landed in a tangled mess of arms and legs.

The Bear stumbled after him, careful to avoid the grate in the center. He grabbed Hector and dragged him toward the grate.

Hector kicked and jerked and kicked again.

The Bear paused long enough to punch him a few times.

Someone tossed a lead pipe into the pit. A large knife, several homemade shivs, a hatchet, a pair of brass knuckles and a machete followed it.

Hector kicked free of the Bear's distracted grasp. Instead of fleeing and picking up a weapon, Hector scrambled up the side of the ramp attacked with a knee to the face. The Bear absorbed the strike and flipped Hector past.

Hector rolled dangerously close to the grate, but avoided it. He hopped to his feet, quickly snatching up the hatchet and pipe.

The Bear stood. Blood gushed from his smashed nose. He pinched it off, wiped it away and picked up the machete at his feet.

Hector set down the pipe, kept the hatchet and swept up three shivs, all needle sharp.

The Bear anticipated Hector's attack and rushed toward him, hoping to close the distance in time.

Hector leapt backward and hurled the first knife at Harold's shoulder causing him to drop the machete. Hector threw another and planted it in the Bear's thigh.

The Bear reached him before he could throw the third.

Hector defended himself with the last shiv, stabbing it deep into Harold's forearm.

Harold delivered a powerful punch to Hector's ribs, cracking three of them. The not-so-Macho-Man scrambled away, across the sloped floor, the hatchet in his hand, useless.

The Bear stood upright and pulled the knife from of his forearm. He pulled the shiv from his thigh and pulled the last one from his shoulder. He held the three small blades in his fist, protruding from between his fingers.

A hush fell over the crowd.

The fighters lined up, staring at each from the length of the oversized trash chute. They silently agreed to a game of chicken and sprinted toward each other at full speed.

Hector held the hatchet upside down, the blade along his forearm.

The Bear retained the three shivs, nestled in his palm.

As they neared each other, Hector took the high road, up the slanted ramp, attacking from above.

The Bear slashed at Hector's legs and opened three parallel gashes across his right thigh.

Hector's hatchet opened the Bear's right shoulder to the bone and nicked his ear. Hector came down behind the Bear, turned and positioned himself for an overhand attack.

Harold spun and his hand lashed out, shredding Hector's shirt. His left caught the descending hatchet arm and the Bear prepared to deliver the final blow, a needle-filled right hand; all three shivs, to Hector's lung.

Hector abandoned the hatchet attack and ducked past the Bear, sprinting around the pit, putting some distance between himself and Harold.

The Bear saw the machete lying nearby moved toward it.

Hector threw the hatchet.

The weapon spun end over end.

Finally the backside, the hammer, not the blade, collided with the Bear's forehead. He went down hard.

After a moment, he struggled to his hands and knees to discover Hector standing over him, with the machete held high.

The Bear leapt forward and slammed Hector to the ground. He grabbed his head. Harold _The Bear_ slammed Hector _Macho-Man_ 's head against the floor until his struggles subsided and his ears bled.

It would be considered bad form to drag an unconscious fighter over to the grate, and Harold didn't have the energy for it anyhow.

The Bear stood and raised an arm overhead, victorious.

The referee, standing with the announcer, blew his whistle. "Harold _The Bear_ Arcilla is declared the winner by way of knock out."

The crowd cheered and Harold raised both arms in victory. He was soon thrown a thick rope and helped from the pit.

Three medical techs slid down to Macho-Man and strapped him onto an emergency sled and Hector was hauled out of the newly bloodied chute.

Several guys with water and towels began rinsing the sides and the floor of the newest stains.

# Chapter 10 – The Tragic Death of Ashley Fox

The audience's attention was directed toward the platforms as the final event was announced.

"Tonight, in an encore exhibition grudge match, we have Miss Ashley Fox, standing five foot seven, weighing one hundred and, um, twenty pounds. This is Ms. Fox's first fight.

"She will be going up against a champion who has not graced the ring in some weeks, at a towering six foot four, and weighing in at three hundred seventeen pounds, and with an outstanding, undisputed record of twenty-eight wins, the one, the only, Moses _Modred_ Mohammed!" The announcer stretched Mo's name out, each word taking forever.

The bell rang the fighters were directed to the apron.

Ash saw Geoffrey in the front row. Sky's arms were around him, the rest of Ashley's friends were gathered behind them.

Mo walked down into the pit as Ash was shoved over the lip. She slid smoothly down the steeply banked floor. Mo walked toward her with no hint of aggression or malice in his steps. Ash waited, and he stopped just out of arm's reach.

"Interested in ending this peacefully?" Mo asked.

"How's that?" Ashley asked.

"Be my girl, come work for me," he offered.

"I don't think so," she said.

"Don't be stupid. now"

She smiled. "Are you calling me stupid?"

"That's cute." Mo paused to give her time to think it over.

He looked around the packed auditorium and back to the frail girl standing before him.

The brief moment didn't seem to have changed her mind. "Look, I get it," he sighed. "So maybe it's not your fault. Let's work something out. I don't want to hurt you, but you're making me look stupid here."

Ashley didn't know how to respond. She couldn't give in.

She lifted her glittering hands for Mo, letting him get a good look.

He leaned forward, confused by the nature of the tiny specks of glass on Ashley's gauze wrapped hands.

The cameras zoomed in and got a good look too. The big screen displayed the shards of mirrored glass coating her wrapped fists.

Ashley snapped her loose hands into fists and the tiny shards shot into the air between them.

Mo shielded his eyes as he ducked. It took him several seconds to wipe the razor sharp specks from his hands and face.

Finally he approached her again.

Ashley kept her hands up in a loose fighting stance.

"Your funeral."

Impossibly fast, Mo reached out and grabbed Ashley's wrist. He backhanded her across the face, literally knocking her senseless.

She hung from his grip like a rag doll.

The bleachers, the entire auditorium, went silent.

Mo's next strike went to her solar plexus and lifted her body into the air. He released her wrist and let her fall to the cold metal floor.

Ashley struggled to her hands and knees.

Mo kicked her in the ribs, rolling her across the chute. "I guess we just gotta tenderize the meat a bit first." He kicked at her again, but Ash scrambled away and made it to her feet.

Mo approached, connecting with another backhand. The strike spun her into the sloped pit wall. He grabbed her ankle and dragged her toward the center grate.

Ash kicked free of his hand. She scrambled away and once more got to her feet.

Mo waited.

Ashley took a few deep breaths but the fury in her eyes told him she wasn't ready to give up, not yet anyhow.

Mo charged at her, moving faster than she believed he could. He swung with an uppercut designed to rip her head off.

Ashley shifted her posture, the massive paw whistled past her chin and cheekbone, but didn't connect.

Fully committed, Mo's strike slowed as it reached the top of its arc. If it had hit her, he might have killed her, but now she'd found his _soft inside_.

Mo had put everything into the strike, he'd need a moment to recover his posture; he was stuck.

Ash jabbed with her right hand; her mirrored knuckles shredded their way across Mo's eyebrow and forehead.

He stepped back and ran a hand across his brow.

It came away wet with blood and glittering mirror fragments.

Mo stepped in, swinging and missing with another backhand.

Having found his speed, Ash slid past him easily.

She drove splinter-coated knuckles into his throat, followed by a shattering right to his mouth.

Mo spit wet shards of mirror onto the floor.

His face was covered with blood.

Unable to risk a deep breath, he first exhaled forcefully, spraying blood and glass everywhere.

Ash heard the tiny shards ping against the metal floor.

Able to breath again, Mo growled and charged.

As he lunged for her, Ash executed an improved version of a move she'd just seen Macho-Man do; she went up the ramp, spun, and planted a solid right fist against Mo's ear.

The punch was strong, with lots of momentum, and it scrambled Mo's circuits, leaving him dangerously off balance. He stumbled to a knee.

Ash delivered a well-placed kick to his head, followed by another right hand to his eye.

Ashley took a position in front of him and unloaded on Mo's face. She hit him a dozen times before her grabbed her hip and pushed her away.

Mo stood.

He was effectively blind, his face a mess of bloody tissue.

Ashley came forward with a kick, but he caught it and grabbed her by the waist. He lifted her from her feet and slammed her to the ground.

He didn't release her, but instead lifted her several more times, smashing the small girl to the hard metal floor.

Though one small area of vision, Mo looked for the grate and shifted her battered body toward it.

Ash struggled, getting an elbow into his face, but he was far too angry for it to have any effect.

The circular grate at the center of the pit was composed of two-inch intersecting metal bars and held closed by a pressure sensitive switch. Beyond it there was nothing but empty sky for twelve thousand feet.

Mo lifted Ash and hurled her onto the grate.

She landed right in the center of it, but miraculously the switch didn't pop. Going with her momentum, she rolled off the other side, landing on her feet.

Mo was standing directly opposite.

They glared at each other.

The crowd went wild.

A second too late; the grate latch popped. It didn't fully open, it just dropped a foot or so, and registering the lack of any weight, automatically reset itself.

Ashley and Mo never took their eyes off each other.

The crowd was screaming madly. Then the weapons began to rain in around them, the metallic clatter bolstering the applause.

Mo wiped the blood from his face. His left eye was swollen shut and his right offered only a thin sliver of vision.

A massive bowie knife slid to a stop at his feet. He picked it up.

Ash didn't move toward any of the weapons scattered about. She discretely fished the surgical knife from her back pocket. She flipped the plastic safety cap from its tip; the blade was no bigger than her thumb.

Ashley and Mo both walked away from the grate, facing each other across the weapon-strewn, bloodstained, white metal floor.

Mo rushed toward her, slashing with the blade.

Ash dodged the big knife and found the inside of his elbow with her scalpel, severing the tendons between his forearm and bicep.

Mo grabbed her upper thigh with his left, but attempting to stab her with his right, he discovered the damage she had done to his elbow.

Ash then hit the knot of muscle at his shoulder and chest with her blade; weakening his grasp on her leg, but he didn't let go.

Ash moved the scalpel in a blinding fury and lacerated him half-dozen times, but obstructed behind the massive arm, Ashley failed to reach any key arteries or tendons, inflicting only surface damage.

Mo summoned all his strength; he lifted, spun and hurled Ashley again toward the center of the pit.

With her final strike, Ashley reached out and slashed at Mo's neck, but as she sailed away from him, the blade only grazed his cheekbone.

She sliced him from ear to mouth, but missed his carotid artery by several inches.

And then she was airborne.

The grate was under her and she was going to land on it.

She watched the scalpel float away as she angled to catch the bars.

Her feet came down first, her left made solid contact on an intersection between bar and crossbar.

Her right foot slipped, missed the crossbar and dropped between them.

Her hands made contact and closed.

The full weight of her landing hit the grate.

The latch popped.

Ashley felt the grate give and grabbed the bars with all she had, her right leg wrapped and tucked around the crossbar.

The grate dropped, spinning her out over the empty sky.

She vanished from the auditorium like a cheap magic trick.

Her scalpel clattered to the floor behind her.

Mo remained a motionless ball of bloody meat on the pit's white painted surface, bleeding toward the gaping hole in the center.

Situated on the western edge of the city, the infamous bar known only as Doc's floated less than two miles from the international border over the Pacific Ocean. The rundown structure hovered at anchor along the north south flyways, just over the border.

Angel City had become the last outpost of the Wild West. Over international waters, no taxes could be excised and no laws could be enforced. The lure of international airspace infected the atmosphere with lazy exuberance. There was plenty of money to be made, but hurrying attracted attention and those profiting over the border's blurry lines preferred their business remain private.

The numerous establishments all offered similar services; and just like anywhere, location was key. The building pilots would jockey for position to catch the drifting traffic that descended from the gravity-cables to the east. The architectural flotsam drifted up, down, north, south, east, west and across the border with a casual nonchalance.

The municipal authorities weren't about to enforce Federal regulations, not when the lure of the High Seas was half the draw of Angel City. Of course the entertainment industry was still important, but they also had the busiest ports on the continent. Some would argue; that's all it really was, a port city in the middle of nowhere.

Judging by the vehicles tethered to the parking lot, Doc's generally pandered to road trash. The twin antennae-style parking structures were full and several patrons had anchored at the nearby pay lot, which offered vehicle security and a shuttle to Doc's gangplanks.

The overhead sign read simply BAR.

The place overflowed with low-life, drifters, con men, thieves and cutthroats of all distinctions.

The mortician and chief security officer for District 13 sat at the bar. A great collection of empty bottles stood abandoned before them.

"We pulled in Dunkirk's witness the other day," Morgenstern said.

Franklin Gustav Morgenstern was a giant. He stood almost seven feet tall and weighed close to four hundred pounds. A veteran of three wars, he'd served in two of those with the man to his left.

Disgraced by scandal and forced to resign, Colonel Keller was now serving as 13's Warden. With them, on the other side of Keller, was another man; wide, loud, and given to fits of violence. They knew him only as The Texan.

"Dunkirk's witness, is that so?" Keller could not have cared less, despite the fact that the infamous serial killer and once been the unit surgeon in Keller's former command.

Morgenstern pointed up to the vid screen. "That's her."

Colonel Keller looked up to the monitor.

On screen, Ashley was being introduced as the challenger against Mo.

"That's Thirteen, isn't it?" Keller asked.

"It is," Morgenstern replied.

Keller waved to the bartender. "Turn it up, " he ordered.

The bartender scowled, but triggered the remote, raising the volume.

"And clear away some of these bottles, huh? What the fuck?"

The barman scowled again, but collected the glass and moved to the other end of the bar.

Morgenstern's eyes were glued to the screen. "I've seen her before."

"Really?" Keller asked, and looked back up at the data stream.

"She's Dunkirk's witness, you know?" Morgenstern said.

"Yeah, you said that." Keller took a swig from his bottle.

The Texan watched the screen, but apparently not paying any attention to their conversation.

"She came in two days ago. She came in late," Morgenstern said.

"No papers?" Keller laughed.

"Lost in the shuffle," Morgenstern answered.

The vid screen displayed a close-up of Ashley after her first solid hit to Mo's face.

"If she's bait, I'll clean that hook," Keller said.

Morgenstern wasn't listening.

The battle-scarred giant looked pale, haunted. Keller had never seen him like that.

"What is up with you tonight?" he asked.

The mortician took a deep breath and focused. "I used to have this dream, this nightmare," he explained. "It was a long time ago. That's where I've seen her. She was younger, in my dream, younger."

Keller looked at Morgenstern, surprised to hear the death doctor express something as intimate as having nightmares. He'd known this man for almost twenty years. They had killed together, on and off the clock.

The Texan looked over as well. "Are you serious? You have nightmares? You fucking pansy."

Keller laughed.

"Just one." Morgenstern watched Ashley's every movement. "But if I had it once, I had it a hundred times, every night for months.

"It starts out, I'm flying and it's pitch black. I can smell the air. I can hear the wind around me. Then I hear water and I smell the ocean. I'm flying over the water. I see my reflection; I'm a dragon, exhaling fire.

"I see land up ahead, a cliff-side resort town with shops along a cobblestone walkway. I head for a bluff, overlooking the water. It's a narrow strip of manicured park, with little trees and paths, separating the perfect village from the cliff's edge.

"It's beginning to get light, almost dawn. As I touch down, I realize that I'm not a dragon anymore, just myself.

I stand in the grass. A wooden fence stands between the park and me.

"As I step toward it, I feel the blades of grass crushed, broken and splintered under my boots. It's cold out; they break like glass. The sharp tread of my boots shatter them and shred them into green-bleeding splinters.

"I can hear it happening. Almost like I can hear them screaming. I look down and see them bleeding green blood, the grass. And I see morning dew, wet on the leather tops of my boots.

"I look up, I look around. I see no one.

"I jump over the quaint wooden fence and then I see her. She's ten or twelve years old, standing maybe twenty feet away. Same long dark hair, same blue eyes, same face, wearing a blue and white dress.

"I notice that her hands are behind her back.

"She smiles, like a viper. That smile scares me to death every time.

"I try and smile back.

"She snarls, her ears tuck and she's moving toward me like an animal. She holds a sword and it's on fire. She's running toward me."

Morgenstern watched Ashley's televised fight.

Everyone watched the fight.

Mo held her down, battering her arms and head.

"Then what?" The Texan asked.

"What, then what?" Morgenstern replied.

"She slices me in half is _then what_.

"My head and my shoulders fall away from my torso.

"I see her look at me. She sets the tip of her burning sword between my eyes and pushes. I feel the burning metal blister my skin. Sometimes, I would wake up, and I swear, I could smell my own brains sizzling."

The bar sat quiet and still.

Everyone watched the fight with diamond-tipped focus, desperate not to turn and look at Morgenstern.

The tide had turned; Ashley was winning.

But then Mo heaved her onto the grate and she vanished.

Morgenstern blinked and shook his head before slamming his beer.

Onscreen they played replays.

The girl had been thrown out the grate.

"What do you say we go slash up a couple whores later?" Keller offered. "That usually cheers you up."

Morgenstern took a deep breath. "Maybe some Russian roulette," he said. "And I hope I lose."

Keller smiled. "Now you're talking. Clear your head out a little."

The three of them burst into laughter.

The bartender stepped away.

# Chapter 11 – Look Mom, No Hands

Mo struggled to his knees and failed to keep his hands over the deepest points where Ashley had slashed him. He was losing a lot of blood. He watched it run down the sloped floor toward the yawning hole.

The grate remained open.

The camera feed mounted over the grate exposed the gaping maw of the recycling pit. The grate could not be seen, the hinge swinging it all the way under the opening.

The announcer gestured for the emergency crew to see to Mo, who hardly noticed as they went to work on him. He appeared dazed, captivated by the rivulets of blood on their way toward the grate.

The crimson liquid found no obstacles as it ran toward the pit's hungry mouth. It poured out into the Southern California sky, several thousand feet above sea level.

Before the blood fell fifty feet it vanished.

It didn't seem to fall, as much as glide away into the evening sky.

Ashley hung upside down from the grate, hooked by one leg, her arms swinging free.

The grate was designed to actually drop a foot before the hinge caught; the violent impact had ripped it from Ashley's grip. Her hands had been jerked from the oiled metal when grate opened.

The foot that missed the crossbar had wrapped and hooked around the bars. The bar-wrapped leg saved her life. Hanging there, she watched the crimson liquid glide away beneath her.

Ash discovered she was strangely calm, relaxed, enjoying her inverted siesta outside the chaos that had become her new life.

Ashley heard the mechanics of the grate resetting itself and prepared to close. It twitched upward and Ashley did an easy sit up, grabbing hold with both hands.

The motor engaged and slowly brought the grate back into view. On the overhead camera, the lights of the auditorium illuminated Ashley, crouched on the metal bars.

The spectators noticed and immediately began yelling and screaming.

As the grate brought her level and closed, Ash rolled off, safe now, on the metal floor of the pit.

The grate snapped shut and locked.

Ashley stood.

The audience erupted into frenzied cheers and laughter.

Mo sat on the wheeled stretcher, battered and stunned.

Ash saw her scalpel lying near her feet.

She picked it up.

She walked around the pit toward Mo, the scalpel gripped with a purpose.

The EMTs backed away.

"Hey! Bitch!" Kid Lethal stood on the apron.

The crowd fell silent.

He was holding a Japanese short-sword.

Ash faced him as he stepped out and slid down into the shallow pit.

"You couldn't find a real sword?" she asked.

"For that I'd need a real challenge," Lethal answered.

"Yeah, well." Ashley held up the scalpel.

Lethal attacked.

He was much faster, more accurate and far more dangerous than Mo.

They danced around the pit floor, trading strikes and parries with mechanical precision.

Ash saw no weakness.

It took all her attention to survive.

She almost gave up hope, fearing he might score a debilitating hit.

She knew it could happen at any moment.

Then, suddenly, it was there.

She saw a soft spot. She moved into the opening and caught Lethal at the wrist with her blade.

He jerked back as if burned.

Ash stood straighter. She leisurely stretched and rolled her neck.

The crowd got quiet.

One of the cameras spotted the tiny stream of blood that ran from Lethal's wrist, zooming in and magnifying the wound, multiplying it on all the hanging screens.

Ashley reversed her grip on the scalpel, holding it upside down, the blade protruding from the base of her hand.

Lethal launched toward her, his feet seemed to float above the ground. He slashed at her.

She was ready and countered, opening a long red stripe down his ribs.

Lethal looked at the wound, stumbled backward in shock and took a moment to regain his composure. He too inverted his grip, spinning the kodachi in his hand.

Ash let her guard down and backed away.

Lethal charged her.

She ducked his blade as her scalpel found his throat.

A few steps past her he stopped.

He raised his hand to his neck and touched.

His fingers came away clean.

He held his clean hand out before his face, confused.

Then his life's blood burst from his neck in a successive rhythmic spray, each weaker than the last.

The whole of his hand was now painted bright red.

Lethal fell to the ground, his eyes open but unseeing.

Ash stood near the center of the pit, covered in blood and bruises.

The auditorium had been relatively silent since Lethal had shouted at her, and no one spoke now either.

Ashley turned and climbed the steep sides of the pit. Walking at an angle, her shoes barely held the painted and blood-slick sides.

When she reached the top, the auditorium exploded with thunderous applause.

Ash took a couple deep breaths.

Geoff was there, smiling with all the other kids, her new friends.

The EMTs gestured for her to raise her arms in the air, so they could inspect her wounds.

She did; the official gesture of victory.

The kids shouted, screamed and cheered louder.

The medical techs looked her over. They dabbed her cuts with antibiotics. They cut away her mirrored gloves, then cleaned and bandaged her hands. They checked her face; dabbing on blue goo here and there. They checked her pupils, her heart rate, and the inside of her mouth. Finished, they backed away, clearing her.

Sky, Geoff, Kaz, Hambone and Tanaka, accompanied by Jones, Big Chris, Oddball, Li Rudy Talor, and lots of kids she'd never met, all sood cheering for her. Geoff ran forward and hugged her. She hugged him back.

Sky stepped forward and offered her shoulder for support. Ash undoubtedly would have fallen if Sky hadn't caught her. Ash didn't smile, but no one else seemed to notice.

Ash held on to Sky; letting her lead them from the madhouse.

Dante sat in a center box seat.

Hunched forward, elbows on knees, fists at his mouth. His nose was red and swollen beneath the butterfly bandage.

### Part Two – On Killing
# Prologue – The Birth of Dante Magnus

Three hours later, Dante still sat, forgotten in the darkened waste-chute auditorium.

He had a lot to think about. He'd just seen Mo and Lethal beaten stupid by a girl.

Hell, Lee was dead.

That left him in command of the Devils.

That left him to deal with this Ashley. And, by his calculations, over thirty other individuals who would try to kill him for control of the district.

Dante knew that if he didn't handle _The Ashley Problem_ and, at the same time, confront the other significant threats, he would be dead in less than forty-eight hours.

In the distance a couple janitors appeared.

The short weasel-faced one in glasses was Nelson, followed by a taller man. Dante didn't recognize him, tall with a full head of graying hair.

Dante had no way of knowing, but he was the same fellow Ash had seen in the hallway after she killed Donovan.

# Chapter 12 – King of Pirate Island

The next morning, Ashley woke at dawn.

The recovery ward was relatively open and quiet. Sky, Kaz, and dozens of other kids slept sprawled on every available chair or bed. A few had even crashed on the floor.

Ashley remembered how the techs had insisted on checking her out in the ward. She'd stayed with them and so had the underdog victory celebration. The techs were forced to stitch her up under raucous conditions, but their only instruction for the patient was to take it easy and stay awake for a couple hours, to avoid a coma.

Hambone had reasoned that company would help her stay awake and that ingesting and/or spilling alcohol would serve as disinfectant/painkiller.

Sky too insisted the victory celebration stay in the recovery ward.

The place looked like a frat house after finals, empty bottles and cups stacked anywhere there weren't sleeping kids.

Ash looked over to where Geoff and Sky slept.

Movement caught her attention.

Across the room, a tall man in a white lab coat stood with his back to her. He was pulling supplies from a cabinet. He closed it and turned to look directly at her.

Morgenstern kept his features blank as he made eye contact with the young girl.

Likewise, Ashley didn't react with either a smile or a frown.

Closing the cabinet, he turned and walked out.

A few minutes later Geoffrey woke and saw his sister. "Hey, Ash."

"Hey, kiddo," she replied.

Geoff smiled.

Ash struggled to get out of bed. Her entire body ached. Her forearms were in so much pain it hurt to use her hands. When her legs took up her weight, they screamed in protest. She limped over to Geoff's bed.

"Are you okay?" she asked, brushing his hair back from his forehead.

"I'm okay," he answered. "How are you?"

"I'm okay," she replied, smiling.

Ashley looked around the crowded room. She gestured to the sliding doors of an outdoor patio. "Wanna go outside?" she asked.

"Sure." he answered.

Ash and Geoff slipped out of the crowded ICU and onto the patio. They leaned against the railing as the sky gradually filled with light.

"Did you fight them to get my shirt back?" Geoff asked.

"No. They took your shirt and pushed you down those stairs because of something I did."

"What?" he asked.

Still groggy with sleep, Sky stepped out onto the patio. "Hey you two," she said.

"Hey, Sky," Geoff answered.

Ash smiled, glad to see they had become friends.

"Geoff," Ash said. "Lethal knew you were my brother. He took your shirt because I beat up a friend of his who was hurting Sky."

"What happened?" Geoff asked Sky directly.

Sky took a deep breath. "This guy, Carver, was pushing me around and Ashley broke his neck."

"You broke his neck?" Geoff asked his sister, astonished.

"I didn't mean to," Ash offered.

"Yes, you did," Sky said. "And I'm glad. He was an asshole."

"You broke his neck?" Geoff asked.

"She kicked him and his whole damn head spun around backwards."

"What?!" Geoff exclaimed.

Hambone stepped out onto the patio and lit a cigarette. He was clearly not awake yet and suffering from a hangover. He stood at the railing, smoking and coughing, but otherwise ignoring the Ashley, Sky, and Geoff.

Sky watched him for a moment and then turned back to the stunned Geoffrey. "Get this, he's still alive and now his head is stuck on backwards." Sky pantomimed Frankenstein, but looked over her shoulder, as if her head were twisted around.

Geoff and Sky laughed. Even Hambone smiled.

"The Doctors don't know what to do," Sky laughed.

Geoffrey cracked up.

Sky grinned at Ash, who smiled in spite of herself and rolled her eyes.

"Did you just roll your eyes? Don't roll your eyes. I'm not making this shit up. I couldn't if I wanted to, no one would believe me." Her voice had taken on a new seriousness.

Sky turned back to Geoff. "So, Carver's buddy, this little weasel Otai, goes and gets a bigger kid, Marco, to try and beat up Ash. This idiot, Marco, he comes by and tries to hassle her. Man, she broke him down into six little pieces. They're fighting, she's doing alright, so he pulls a knife. She took it away from him, broke his arm, and made him apologize."

Sky knelt to look Geoff' in the eye. "Tell me, do they call her grasshopper?"

"Grass-who?" Geoff asked.

Sky stood up, "Is she some Top-Secret Ninja-Warrior or what?"

"What do you mean?" Geoff smiled, well aware of his sister's prohibition against telling anyone of her training with Sifu Pan.

Sky continued, "Maybe an Ultra Fighter from the cosmic-rift, sent here to protect us from assholes and bullies and whatever?" Sky laughed, "Come on, Ash, what's you're secret word?"

"Okay, wait. This I know for sure." Geoffrey said. "Ash is not an Ultra Fighter from the cosmic rift. I watch that show!" He surreptitiously turned to his sister. "You're not an Ultra Fighter, are you Ash?"

Ash tilted her head, and raised an eyebrow, trying to be serious. She laughed a little, but it hurt her face to smile.

"Cause if you were," Geoff said. "I'd catch you in your uniform once in a while and think you were just a crazy fan. But I never caught you in your uniform, not even once."

"That's just cause I'm good." Ash smiled, taunting her little brother.

Sky and Hambone both burst into laughter.

Hambone leaned forward and interrupted with his cigarette. "Shit. The way you put down Lethal and Mo, you are the top dog now," he said.

"Whatever," Ash said, disturbed by Hambone's interruption.

"Yeah. Right. Whatever," Hambone answered.

Sky and Geoff stayed quiet.

"What's your deal?" Ash asked, confronting him.

"What, me? Nothing," Hambone answered. "But let me just say this... There are a dozen hyenas here, all waiting to take Mo's place, and a dozen Lethals all dying to earn their rep. A rep they're going to earn on your ass."

Hambone took a drag from his smoke. "The Devils, Mo and Lethal, they pretty much ran the show. But don't mistake them for a keystone, they were more like a grenade pin. Mo was the leverage behind a dozen truces. Nothing happened without his approval. You got a beef with someone, you save it for Saturdays. It was working too. Without him; it all blows up. This right now, this is the delay, before everything explodes."

"Did he approve Carver trying to rape Sky?" Ash asked.

Hambone leaned back against the railing and looked over at Sky. "Indirectly. It's all about keeping the peace."

"You mean getting a piece," Sky replied.

Hambone laughed. "Yeah, well, that's why they say: don't let anyone do you any favors. There's a big power vacuum now and it's gonna get ugly before things get sorted again." Hambone gestured with his cigarette, "Like it or not, as of last night, you are the new King of Pirate Island."

"That's ridiculous," Ash said.

"I agree," Hambone laughed. "But that's where it stands.

"I have no influence here," Ashley said.

"You keep telling yourself that," he smiled. "There's this guy, Mongo. Him and his crew, they used to be with the Lions, but some shit went down and now the Lions are gone. Now, Mongo and his crew, they won't take on new colors, won't side between the Dragons, the Devils, or anyone else.

"See, Mongo knows, that if he does go with anyone else, he's coming down a few pegs. Right now he's got fifty guys behind him, so everyone just lets him be. The problem is that he can get fifty guys around him. The only reason he can do that, is because he's the only guy to ever beat Mo.

"Until last night, that is.

"Mo beat Mongo half a dozen times, but one time, Mongo laid him out cold. I bet you money, he's the first guy comes looking for you,"

"She did kill Lethal," Sky pointed out.

"My point is." Hambone spread his hands. He took a drag and spoke through the smoke. "Mo and Lethal were the only thing keeping Mongo from raping half this fucking place. And there's dozens of Mongos. Maybe they didn't actually beat Mo, but they're thinking, maybe they could've. Sky, you know I'm right," he said.

Shy shook her head and looked away.

Hambone counted on his fingers. "Slick Rick, Mendoza, Pug, Little Ollie, Big Bat Benson. Oh, that's not even mentioning the fact that Mo was the one bartered our current truce with the pigs."

"That's just a rumor," Sky asserted.

"I don't like the guy, but I know that shit to be true. I had friends go down on that shit! He put a hard stop on those motherfuckers and he did it public."

"You don't know that was why," Sky said.

"Yeah, well, fuck. I guess, technically. But when a man gives a reason for cold stomping four mutha-fuckers to death, I take him at his word. Whether the pigs were selling the grammars or not, he thought so. And if that's what he'll do to 'tards he thinks are slaving little kids, then that guy is alright by me."

Hambone took a deep breath. He lowered his voice and continued. "Obviously you guys had different issues. If he'd been trying to rape me, I might have had to reconsider my opinion of the man. But I'm not in that position."

Ashley raised her head. "As long as I'm the boss here, there won't be any more rapes," she said. "There won't be any turning girls into junkie prostitutes and pimping them out. Mo draws the line at selling kids into slavery? I draw the line at enslaving them here. You're not in the business of exploiting kids for profit, are you, Hambone?"

"No."

"You don't run a whorehouse where girls are raped and then addicted to drugs, do you?"

"No."

"Then what do you care if I kill-off your competitors?" Ashley asked.

"Hey, go nuts. All I'm saying is that it's people pimping themselves out, is how it looks to me. I don't go for that. I don't deal drugs either. Weapons, contraband, smuggling, protection, escapes, that's our racket. But let me ask you this... People selling themselves, how are you going to solve that? You gonna outlaw sex?"

"People are going to do what they're going to do," Ash asserted. "But forcing anyone to do something, that I can stop. People are not a commodity to be bought and sold. How they market their own services is none of my business."

"What are you going to do? You're a kid. You're a fighter sure, but you're still just a kid. You're not the cops. You're not God."

"Not yet," Ashley said.

Hambone took the last drag off his cigarette and flicked it over the rail. "I'm sorry. I'm being an asshole. Forgive me. I'm hungry, I gotta get some food. You guys want to have breakfast with me? I promise, no more shop talk. I'll be cool. Not another word." Hambone opened the door and held it for them.

Ash gestured for Geoff to walk with her. She put her arm over his shoulder.

"I'm starved," the boy said.

Together they went looking for food.

Dante and Dr. Mallus walked through the medical ward, their hands folded behind their backs. Dante still wore the butterfly bandage across the top of his nose.

"Is that something I should to take a look at?" Dr. Mallus asked, gesturing to Dante's bandaged beak.

"Not unless you want one of your own."

The surgeon smiled and shook his head. Despite his affable manner, it was clear he wasn't the least bit interested in actually helping Dante. His eyes told the truth, Dr. Mallus lived for other people's pain.

Marco, Carver, Ronnie and Mo all occupied beds within a stone's throw of one another, but far too drugged to be aware of much.

Dante gestured to the unconscious Mo. "How bad is it?" he asked.

"Several arteries, ligaments and tendons were severed, it will take some time for him to heal."

"So his bare knuckle career is over?"

"For the immediate future."

"Scouts and sponsors aren't interested in the distant future."

"I suppose not."

"You tell him yet?" Dante asked.

"I gather when he wakes, he will be aware of his predicament."

Dante nodded.

"You, know, this could be seen as an opportunity," the doctor offered.

"Spit it out," Dante snapped.

"We could augment the joints, replace the cartilage, tendons and ligaments with more durable materials. Recovery would be a little longer but that's the only downside."

"The cost?"

"Three hundred thousand, give or take, but it's best not to skimp on materials."

"Whatever it costs, start as soon as possible."

"Of course," Dr. Mallus nodded.

"And Ronnie, what about his eyes?" Dante asked.

"New lenses won't be ready till Thursday, which is unfortunate. The procedure will be more painful once the body has begun healing."

"Well then let's make sure it's Thursday and not Friday."

"Every effort, I assure you."

"Marco?" Dante asked, nodding toward the sleeping gangster.

"The damage to the hand and wrist were extensive. Once the swelling goes down, we'll pin it. He'll be wearing a brace for some time. The right shoulder was dislocated, significant damage to the surrounding tissue."

Dante nodded.

"Your friend with the... " The Doctor twisted his head, referring to Carver's broken neck.

"Carver."

"He's in tremendous agony. We can't reset the vertebrate until the muscles relax. They're locked around the displacement, possibly protecting him from further injury to the twisted spinal cord. We've done everything we can, but it's been almost forty-eight hours. We were hoping for some improvement, but we're just managing his pain."

"And?"

"And nothing. There's nothing we can do. Once his body adapts to the condition, it may become irreversible," the doctor explained.

Dante scowled.

Mallus raised his hands. "I have a colleague in Austria. He may be interested. I've already called him, but it's a long shot."

"Please and thank you, Doctor," Dante handed him a thick envelope.

"And thank you, sir," Dr. Mallus pocketed the envelope.

Dante nodded and left the ward.

# Chapter 13 – The Devil's Sunday

Dante entered the Devils' block, impeccably dressed in a black suit, shirt and tie. Yama and Frost stared at him.

"Right. Well... Let's get to it," he said.

"What's with the monkey suit?" Frost asked.

Dante crossed to a locker with a skull and crossbones painted on it. "Last night was a big night. We had three wins. Should be something worth picking up."

"Yo, Dante. I know you wanna be all business as usual and shit, but come on now. What are you thinking?" Frost inquired.

Dante didn't answer or look away from the open weapons locker.

"Do I have to say it?" Frost stepped forward. "You ain't got Mo standing behind you no more."

Dante looked down to the floor. "I never did, Frost. All I ever had was you and Yama." He turned away from the locker and looked at Frost, clearly annoyed. "We're still Devils, aren't we?"

"Yeah, man, of course. I'm just saying... " Frost raised his hands in frustration.

Dante looked at the ceiling, "You think maybe we aren't up to the task? You think we should consolidate our power, lay low, something like that?"

"No. Yes. Look. Who you want to collect from? Who first?"

Dante turned back to the task of inspecting the weapons. "Usually we hit Paulie first. But since little Miss Ashley put him in the infirmary... I think, today we should go see Mongo first."

Frost turned his back on Dante, and rubbed his forehead. "Yeah, right, D. He's the one fucking guy... "

Dante plucked a long metal cane, with a skull handle, from the locker. The spine shot down to a needle-sharp point.

"That's right, Frost. He's the one fucking guy. It's time we bury the hatchet. Once word gets around that Mongo is behaving, everyone else is gonna fall right to line."

Yama laughed, but Frost shook his head.

"If it goes south and it's just us... Forget the money. It'll be shift-six on all of us, dead," Frost said flatly.

Dante closed the locker. "Then we'd better not lose." he asserted.

In the hallway, Dante headed in the wrong direction, away from Mongo's cell block. "First however, we have to pay a visit to the warden and convince him to deal with that bitch."

Frost tilted his head. "You're nuts, man. But I'll come with, just to watch."

"You don't have to do a thing. Just watch," Dante said.

Dante, Yama and Frost entered the district command center and stopped before the reception desk. The duty sergeant ignored them.

"I need to speak to the Captain of the Guard," Dante said.

The sergeant didn't look up.

"It's about Donovan," Dante sighed.

The sergeant scowled. "Take a seat."

Dante, Yama and Frost sat on the bench anchored to the wall.

The sergeant placed a call. "Get me the Colonel."

A few minutes later, the sergeant walked Dante, Yama and Frost into a training hall. The spacious gymnasium sported open wrestling mats, weapons racks, punching bags, and a sagging boxing ring.

Colonel Keller and a dozen of his elite guard were practicing throws and strangle holds. The colonel was of medium height, but wide and powerful, and he was the smallest of the group. They stood on a mat, raising them an additional two inches above the orphans.

The practice came to a halt as they approached.

Dante held the cane before him, tip resting on the wooden floor, his hands crossed over it as if he were standing in his own personal gym.

"Captain?" Dante queried.

"Colonel. Who the fuck are you?" he asked.

"I'm Dante," the boy answered.

"What 's with that fucking cane? That's beyond illegal."

"I took a rather nasty spill yesterday," Dante explained, gesturing to the butterfly bandage on his nose. "I was carrying this to assist me in moving around the facility. I found it in the Gardens. I think perhaps a professor left it behind. Rather morbid, though, don't you think?" Dante held up the wicked skull-handled cane, showing it to the guards for a quick moment. "Anyhow, I was afraid that a child might find it, and since I found myself in need, I took it with me."

"You'll leave it here," Keller commanded.

"I am rather fond of it. I don't think I will."

Dante raised a hand before the colonel could interrupt him. "But that's not why we're here. I wanted to give you some information about the death of Corporal Donovan."

"Give," Colonel Keller said.

"It was Ashley Fox."

Frost and Yama looked at each other.

"Ashley Fox? The fighter, from last night?" Keller snapped.

Dante nodded, "The one and only."

"How do you know?" The colonel appeared interested.

"Everyone knows."

"Do you have any proof?"

"Do I need any?"

"I don't have time for games."

"Really? Nice outfit, captain." Dante gestured to the tight wrestling singlet worn by the colonel and his troops.

"You want to lose your teeth?" Keller asked.

"You want to touch my what?" Dante laughed.

The guards seethed with anger but Keller held them back.

Dante stepped forward, addressing all of them. "Fuck heads, I make more in a week than you do all year. Whatever you do to me, I'll just get upgraded and be more dangerous than before."

"Can they bring you back from the dead?" Keller inquired.

"You'd have to kill me first, like little Miss Ashley did Donovan."

"Without proof, that's worthless."

Dante smiled. "First off, you do the proof. That's your job, you shit. The fact is she killed Donovan." The insolent teen continued, "Yesterday, she beat Modred into the ground and killed Leland, all live-stream during an illegal pit fight. There's plenty of proof; pick a fucking crime. Perception is more important than proof. She's not going to fade away quietly. You saw what she did to Lethal. I thought it looked premeditated."

Keller narrowed his eyes and took another look at the teen.

Dante stood his ground. No longer laughing or smiling, just glaring at the guards. He straightened and somehow, the courageous boy seemed to be standing taller than any of them. He waited a moment and finally rolled his eyes.

Dante turned and slowly walked to the door, his hands folded behind his back; the needle-cane pointed directly at them like a sharp, metal tail. He opened the door with his foot and exited the gym, followed by Yama and Frost, who both shot looks of contempt at the guards for their cowardice and hesitation.

Keller alone smiled. "Find his record and make him eleven years old. He's never getting out of here."

The guards cackled and dove back into their judo practice.

Dante marched through the district taller than ever before, the silver needle rising from behind his back. Soon he, Yama, and Frost entered the North Wheel, Mongo's block.

Only four circular blocks could be found in the bolt. Three stories of cat-walked cells opened onto a central common area, decked out with couches, video screens, and workout equipment. The resident inmates lounged about, watching TV or playing video games.

Mongo and his buddies sat atop a raised platform.

When they spotted Dante everyone stopped whatever they were doing.

Mongo saw Dante and jumped up. "Well, well, well. All dressed up and no one to blow, huh, cocksucker?"

"Can we just do this, this one time, without screwing around?" Dante replied. The cell denizens were shocked by Dante's scorn. Neither they, nor Mongo moved.

"Who's screwing around, buddy?" Mongo asked, in a serious tone.

"Good. So then give us the percentage and we'll be on our way."

Mongo laughed. "You think today is the day you get by?"

With a smile to Yama and Frost, Dante waited for Mongo to talk, but whenever he did, Dante spoke too, purposefully and deliberately driving Mongo mad.

"That's not what day it is, buddy," Mongo said.

"That's bullshit, Mongo," Dante replied.

"Today is not your day," Mongo said.

"I have other pick-ups to make," Dante interrupted.

"Today is different. This is my prediction... " Mongo continued.

"Stop fucking around and let's get moving here," Dante snapped.

"Today you don't make any..."

"I don't have time for this bullshit, you ignorant monkey," Dante blasted in reply, laughing.

"Today is a bad day for you my friend," Mongo yelled, furious.

Dante moved to speak but then yielded the floor.

"I'll give you one chance to improve your fortune!" Mongo offered at the top of his voice. "Get Out! Right now, get out! This is your one chance. I'm being merciful here," he huffed and puffed.

Dante remained calm, cool and collected. He planted the cane on the ground between them, his hands folded over the skull. "As much as I'd like to set business aside, in recognition of our loss, I cannot. The business has to go on, or else we'll have anarchy. Do you understand?"

"I understand," Mongo answered. "I'm looking at this as an opportunity."

"Why don't we do something about patching things up," Dante offered. "Maybe we can even forgive some of your debt."

Mongo tilted his head to the side.

"You know, if you and your boys agree to swear in as Devils."

That did it, Dante hit Mongo's soft spot.

He pressed his momentary advantage. "If you don't stay on schedule, I'll have to consider alternative collection measures."

Mongo came out from around the table, moving carefully, but furious. "Like what, motherfucker?"

Dante dragged his words out, speaking slowly, making Mongo wait, taunting him. "Like, maybe selling your markers to more aggressive, loan-recovery establishments."

Dante smiled. "You're supposed to get out of here in, what, six months? This kind of thing can follow you much longer than that."

Mongo took a step closer, but they were still a good distance apart. "How about this, Bitch... You forgive All my debt, I let you walk out of here with no blood leaking out your corn hole?"

Mongo was huge. Not quite as big as Mo, but he towered over Dante.

His soldiers laughed.

Dante stepped forward, the cane held low, behind his back.

The mood instantly got much more serious.

"How long have you been here, Mongo? Something like three or four years now? You're a runaway, right? I fucking _HATE_ runaways." Dante looked around at the other kids, then back to Mongo. "I bet you were the source of all your momma's problems, weren't you? I bet you had a good home and you, being the shit-bag that you are, you fucked it all up, didn't you? Drove your parents apart, drove your mom nuts. Yeah, you did it. I know you did."

"Fuck you, Dante! You don't know shit!" Mongo screamed.

Dante stood his ground. "I know I was born here. I've been here all my life. What do I have to lose?"

Everyone stayed quiet, watching, shocked. Usually the kids would cheer on a good old-fashioned fight, but the physical conflicts of the last few days had taken a more permanent turn.

"Who busted up your hoover?" Mongo asked.

Dante flashed a glare at him but didn't reply.

Mongo laughed. "I'm guessing it was the bitch then, wasn't it? Got you too, huh? Probably been telling people you fell." Mongo's crew laughed riotously.

Dante waited for a lull, before speaking. "They say the best fighters know the outcome of a fight before it starts. Do you believe that, Mongo?"

"You think you can beat me? Is that what you're saying, Don'Tay?" Mongo mocked the use of his proper name.

"If you don't pay, you're going to find out," Dante answered.

"You fucking bitch, I'm down. Let's get it on." Mongo rolled his shoulders and raised his fists.

"Let's." Dante raised the cane, offering it to Frost.

"No, wait. Keep it." Mongo pointed to a heavy snake of iron links hanging on the nearby wall. "Gimme those chains."

One of his soldiers pulled the long chain from the hook and handed it to Mongo. He wrapped one end around his left fist and swung the other in lazy circles. "Let's see what you got, bitch."

After a couple revolutions of linked metal, Mongo stepped forward, attacking, the chain already hissing with its wind-up momentum.

Dante sidestepped the clumsy maneuver and buried the cane in the center of Mongo's chest. Eighteen inches of bloody chrome penetrated into the open air on the other side of his back.

Mongo dropped the chain and fell to his knees.

Dante planted a foot on his chest and pushed the dead boy from the silver piece of steel.

Mongo's eyes rolled up as he collapsed to his side, blood spewing from his mouth and chest, the bright crimson pouring onto the floor.

Mongo's soldiers were stunned.

Dante turned to them. "Any of you want jobs?" he asked.

The room was quiet.

Dante swung the excess blood from the cane and wiped it across dead Mongo's shoulder.

"Go tell the other gangs what happened here. I want all payments delivered to my block by tomorrow at noon. I'm offering one day of amnesty in remembrance of Lethal."

Dante, Yama and Frost walked to the doorway. Dante paused. "One more thing. This is now a Devil's block. If you ain't swearing black, you ain't sleeping here."

Dante pointed at a big redheaded guy. "Red, who's the toughest guy here, after Mongo?"

"Me," he answered without hesitation.

"How old are you?" Dante asked.

"Fifteen," he answered.

"You're the new boss until someone kicks your ass. You send me an earnings report and your percentage every week. Starting next week, you pay ten percent. Got it?" Dante explained.

"Ten percent?" Red asked. "Mongo was paying fifteen."

"Mongo was paying eighteen," Dante corrected him. "And that's what I expect tomorrow, but you've got a clean slate.

"Remember, taxes never go down, they only go up, and you've heard what they say about death and taxes."

# Chapter 14 – The Clone Reaper And Robo-tards

The entire district heard about Dante's bold power move by mid-afternoon, but most orphans didn't even take their eyes from the replay of Ashley's fights. By the end of the day, Ashley's incredible win had been played on screens all around the world.

Many of her old classmates were long time fans of the underground fights. They informed the rest of their peer group that apparently Ash had quit school to begin a career as an pit fighter. This of course, seemed like a logical and enviable pursuit to the average teenage male. They vividly remembered and retold Geoff's stories about his older sister.

The fights were hosted at a secret location and broadcast on an open channel, their origin scrambled by a beautiful array of hacked sub-channel protocols. Neither the footage, the date/time stamp, not even the dialogue, offered the slightest clue as to the event's location. The story wanted to be told and the lack of details only fueled people's curiosity.

District Thirteen, home to many of the most dangerous juveniles on the West Coast, also provided residency for a long-flowering computer science department. This was due, in part, to one of the science instructors having himself once been an orphan-resident of the district. With a compassionate heart and a keen understanding of what kids really needed to know to survive, he modified his classes accordingly.

The report of Dante sucker-punching Mongo with a metal spike, was indeed news, but you couldn't play it over and over again in slow-motion from any of two-dozen angles.

In addition to being captivating and beautiful, Ashley's recorded performances had an interesting sociological effect. Her tremendous upset had kids everywhere standing up to bullies, believing they could win too.

Outside, in the crisp afternoon air, after a morning of watching her fight over and over again, kids everywhere glowed with confidence. All over Angel City, bigger kids, used to bullying their juniors, found themselves outnumbered and violently confronted by docile cowards they heretofore pleasantly bruised every day of the year.

By sunset, many such bullies sported glistening new black eyes, split lips, or bloodied noses.

On the district, the linchpin of power that was Big Mo, became clearly represented in the break down of a dozen truces he'd arbitrated. The balanced threat presented by the partnership between Mo and Lethal had been the sustaining force behind several ceasefires.

The Dragons and the Blades exploded into warfare by dinnertime. It began when a couple of isolated Dragons found themselves cornered by a dozen Blades. Their bodies had been stabbed at least a hundred times each, the Blades offensive signature. The Dragons, following their time-honored tradition of arson, burned the Blades out of their rec-rooms and dorms, taking no prisoners.

Martial law was soon declared, if only to better facilitate the emergency crews tasked with extinguishing the roaring fires. The Blades simply carried the fight to the dragon's block, plunging half the district into uproar.

The guards pursued both gangs, indiscriminately throwing them into the same holding cells, again relocating the fighting and murder from one block to the next.

The athletic complex served as the districts' main hub. The other sections were anchored to its perimeter. Together, their combined gravity drives kept them aloft and fixed in their assigned piece of Angel City airspace.

The bottom-most layer of the complex was composed almost entirely of playgrounds and forested parkland. A winding river ran through the level, replete with a waterfall and diving points.

The iron fist owned the lower levels exclusively. Like many places on D13, regular guard patrols hadn't set foot there in countless months. A large number of the gang had given themselves to outdoor living and set up semi-permanent campsites on the lower level.

On this particular evening, the kids set up a fire on the exposed shoreline. They also made use of the half-dozen park grills, cooking all afternoon.

Celebrating like never before, the victorious orphans bribed a couple guards and looted a cafeteria of its wealth of fruits, vegetables, high quality chicken and steak, along with a small fortune in snacks and junk food.

The barbecue left everyone stuffed.

By evening they were roasting marshmallows over a cozy fire at a bend in the river. The low rise above the river offered a perfect view of the setting sun in the distance.

Everyone settled into comfortable spots around the fire with plates of food and desert. Ashley never got the whole story of how they'd gotten their hands on an entire cafeteria's worth of food. They explained that the power vacuum had freed up lots of resources. Ashley was amazed at how well they could answer her questions without revealing anything questionable.

Tanaka had taken up security duties and while there was often a crowd around Ash and Geoff, they were always known and trusted friends. The guards stayed away. The Devils, the Dragons and the Blades stayed away. From their vantage point on the AC, the athletic complex, the fist watched the bolt burn as power struggles gave way to murder and arson.

Ashley looked around, naming all the new names in her head. Of course, Sky and Geoff were both in arm's reach, followed by Kaz, Hambone, Rudy, Taylor, Oddball, Big Chris, Tanaka, Poison, Jones, Rebound and Rain. Outside that immediate circle were younger members of the gang, older than Geoff and mostly unknown by name, but Ash recognized their faces.

In a quiet moment, Ashley cleared her throat.

The circle hushed.

Ashley leaned forward.

Heads turned toward her.

"What's the deal with this place?" she asked. "Why is it so un-fixable?"

"That's easy darling," Oddball replied, "Negative Turnover."

"No doubt."

Others nodded and murmured affirmations.

"A bad pastry?" Ash grinned.

Their smiles faded.

Jones leaned forward. "No, girl. Here's what it is. We got ten kay in the mix, right? That's just about all the damn time. That's ten thousand"

Ashley was listening.

Everyone was listening.

"Fifteen-hundred citizens, here, every night, twenty-five hundred during the weekday and eighteen hundred on the weekends. Now let me introduce you to turnover..."

"Best explanation I ever heard," Big Chris interrupted.

Jones shot him an evil eye, but smiled. "Citizens have a balanced turnover, they come and go, but their numbers always stay the same. That's balanced, equal."

"For us, it's negative. Kids come in about one a day, average; half that leave, maybe less than. That's negative turnover. That's why you can't change shit here. Harder you try, sooner you're in the negative."

Oddball spoke up, "Turnover is another way of saying meatgrinder. Kids vanish and it ain't cool. We know lots of zeros escape. But we also know some get poached."

"Paramilitary teams come in at night," Chris affirmed. "Sometimes the guards work with them."

"And if you bite it in conditioning, it's a hard landing after a long fall," Jones added.

"Plus the old fashioned suicide too."

The kids were quiet for a second.

"Tell her about the witch," Poison said.

"That's just a horror story to scare little kids," Chris asserted.

"Fuck you!" Tanaka's girlfriend, Rain said, sitting up. "I saw her!"

"And then we never saw Jesse again," her friend, Poison, added.

"Yeah, yeah," Chris waved them off. "Heard all about it."

Rudy, chimed-in from beneath his hat, "I saw her too, Chris. That psycho-bitch is for real. I didn't se her stealing no one, but she was one hundred percent kay-ray-zay."

"From the man in the hat," Chris retorted.

"What about my hat? Ass-hat."

"What about robo-tards and the clone-reaper?" Oddball asked Chris.

"We may as well tell her all our secrets, if she's One Of Us."

"One Of Us! One Of Us! One Of Us!" Half a dozen kids laughed.

"No one's in a group that includes you, Odd," Chris laughed.

"I am wounded to my depths by your stinging rejoinder," Oddball smiled.

"Robo-tards?" Ash asked. "Do I even want to know?"

"I want to know," Geoff said, "tell me."

"Where's Drews?" Tanaka asked. "Should let him tell his own story."

"I can do the reaper half, that's easy," Chris offered.

Everyone quieted down and Chris re-positioned himself, sitting a little higher; the firelight playing across his features as the last of the sunlight faded from the sky.

"Basically, here's the deal on District Thirteen. You gotta watch your shit, you gotta watch your six. You don't look anyone in the eye if they ain't in your set, and sometimes, not even then. A good rule of thumb is the _Arm's Reach Rule_."

Several kids laughed and joked. "Oh, shit. Here he goes."

Chris smiled. "Considering how those jerk-off citizens like to swing their gay-ass little batons around, this one carries special weight here." He waited for the crowd to settle a little more.

"Here's the deal. If it ain't in arm's reach, it ain't a problem."

Oddball and Jones knocked their fists together.

Several kids seemed highly amused, but Ashley didn't really get it.

Chris waved his hands, quieting them down. "Okay, okay. The story of the clone reaper goes like this..."

"If you see yourself, out in a crowd or in an abandoned hallway... Within a couple days, you disappear... or die in some horrible way."

Everyone was quiet in the lee of his words. Digestion and the setting sun worked their drowsy magic on the children.

"I, myself, don't know anyone that's happened to," Chris followed up.

Ash looked around at the gathered kids. Their faces confirmed their belief in the myth.

"It's not that we believe in it," Poison says, "but, I dunno... "

"Do you know people that has happened to?" Geoff asked.

"Yes," Poison answered, her gaze fell to the ground, unwilling to elaborate.

Dante stood next to Mo's bed, reading from a clipboard, outlining his next few operations. Severely doped up, it was obvious that Mo understood none of what Dante was telling him.

Dante ignored the foam at Mo's lips as long as he could. Finally, he got a piece of tissue and wiped it away.

Disgusted, he left the medical ward.

The Governor, Mrs. Agatha Dorchester Maime, lived aboard the old Victorian style orphanage, anchored at the district's northwest corner. She occupied the penthouse suites, three of them, by herself. The governor was an avid cook. She hummed in her kitchen as she prepared a new recipe.

A terrified child cowered, tied up in a tiled corner, over a drain. Whenever the girl became lucid, she would cry and scream into her gag, often going horse, staring at the bandaged stumps where her legs should be. Usually, Governor Maime relished these kinds of cries, but this had gone on too long, even for her.

At the moment, the child was awake. Cooing, as if with a baby, Governor _Call-me-Auntie_ Maime, raised the instant camera and snapped a photo of the young orphan. She leaned in with massive steel scissors and snipped a lock of hair from the horrified child's brow.

Doctor Mallus drifted through the ward and looked at medical charts. He walked up to a little boy, smiled and double-checked the chart.

The boy was connected to an IV. The doctor removed a syringe from his pocket. He inserted the needle into the port on the IV, depressed the plunger and removed it, smoothly.

He waited.

Over the next twelve seconds Dr. Mallus watched the child suffer horribly then die. He wrapped the syringe in plastic and slowly wandered away in his silent hospital sneakers.

Later in his office, the doctor removed the needle from the syringe and stuck it into a white foam cactus sculpture on a shelf. The white sphere was half-filled with needles. Dozens of cacti line the walls and shelves of the closet, all together bearing hundreds of needles.

Across town, a gardener planted a flower. He was thick, quiet and nearly featureless. His eyes were narrow and small, as were his lips and nose. His hair was nondescript, brown and cut close to his head.

A manmade irrigation system ran under the flowerbed among the dirt. Below the irrigation system, a low room held several large clear glass enclosures. The roots of the plants above wound down into the enclosures, each of which held a human corpse. On the wall, a chart explained which corpse produced which flowers.

On the campground level of the athletic district, the sky was dark, punctuated by stars and the moon, obscured by the smoke of the campfire.

"There are some theories on the clones," Oddball explained. "The most convincing are the head-pennies and the robo-tards. Have you heard of head-pennies?" Oddball asked Ash and Geoff.

"I've heard of them," Geoffrey replied. "They say it's harmless."

" _Just_ a terillium build-up between the base of the skull and the first vertebrate. _Just_ a side effect of life in the anti-gravity world, right? _Supposed_ to be harmless." Oddball laughed. "Did you know they think there's a way to read the electrical charges that are naturally stored in the metal? I saw it on Science World. They think they can decode it. We're talking visual data, aural data, digits and codes. Lots of codes, text, passwords, addresses, phone numbers, bank accounts. Did I say _Passwords_?" Oddball was on a roll. "Your entire memory, everything, you're whole life, back to front, is stored in there, waiting to be downloaded onto someone's system. Right now, it works with some people, not on others. They say all they have to do is fine-tune it.

"You see what could happen? Guy gets killed, skull ripped off, robber downloads the combination to the family jewels." Odd leaned forward and lowered his voice. "So if Science World is doing episodes on this shit, is someone going to tell me that the Gee-Oh-Vee ain't already got a handle on this hot po-tay-toe?"

"And where better than to experiment, than on Pirate Island, full of cast off zeros?" Oddball laughed, "Hiding that shit in plain sight."

"Elementary, baby." Jones said.

"This is also where clones come in," Chris interrupted.

"That which can be downloaded from - must also be able to be uploaded to. That's just logic." Oddball tapped the side of his skull.

"Was that in the show, the uploading?" Ash asked.

Odd shook his head. "I don't know, I didn't see the whole thing."

"Anyhow," Chris explained. "The robo-tards are true, and they're fucking weird for sure. When we were just kids, me and one of my friends, Drews, he's a lawyer now... Anyhow, we discovered this special-ed wing while looking for an open port where we could get picked up by the auto-taxis. The rules were a little more lax back then and we were making runs out to Spring Dale Mall, fetching Cinna-bons and Mega-Warriors and shit, making mad cash."

"Ha! Mega-Warriors!" Ash laughed.

"Like I said, mad cash," Chris asserted. "Remember Captain Savage and the Marines of the New Republic!"

Several of the boys burst into song, a few lines of an ancient tune that had long ago been converted into Marine Chant, hijacked from an ancient ballad and inserted into the theme of a show:

"If you see me coming, better step aside,

"A lot of men didn't and a lot of men died!

"I got one Fist of Iron, one Fist of Steel.

"If the left one don't get you, then the right one will!"

They burst into cheers and laughter. Cries of "Iron Fist" shouted into the darkening twilight.

Deep in the back rooms, at the far end of the bolt, was the morgue. Lethal's post-autopsy body lay on a table. Morgenstern stood, holding a communicator to his ear. Someone knocked.

A thin, disabled man, Dr. Cedric Bergstrom, opened the door and limped across the crowed room. He carried a leather doctor's bag, clutching it to his chest, as he awkwardly worked himself past the sheet-covered bodies. He looked sick, drawn.

"This better be good." Cedric sounded rushed.

Morgenstern laughed at the irony of Cedric trying to hurry. He gestured to Lethal's sheet draped body.

Cedric dragged himself over to the table and pulled back the sheet.

Morgenstern was still messing with his comm. unit. "Allow me to introduce Robert Leland Kidd," he said, over his shoulder.

Cedric looked over the cadaver, he traced the faint autopsy scars with a bony finger. "Superficial autopsy?" he asked.

"Not at all. I was in there for quite a while. Gave him a full overhaul, top of the line upgrades. Recovery rate's astonishing." Morgenstern pointed out the cables running from Kid Lethal's hands. "He's only been plugged in for about eight hours."

Cedric produced an electro-magnetic scanning-suite from his bag, helmet, goggles, and hand-held focus controls. He donned the headgear, triggered the scanner and jerked as if struck, shaking his head in disbelief.

He checked the settings on his equipment. All correct.

He put the goggles back on.

Lethal's body glowed with a solid blue luminous life-energy.

"What? What is it?" Morgenstern asked.

"It's like looking at live electricity, living nitroglycerin! He's on fire, marking well above two hundred! I'll have to re-calibrate." Cedric pulled the helmet off and messed with the controls. "I've never had to recalibrate before," he mumbled to himself with astonishment.

Morgenstern stepped closer to the table.

"A fucking static shock and we've got a walker! Talk about a diamond in the rough," Cedric beamed. "He might even be able to talk!"

"Over two hundred? You're sure?"

"Maybe two-twenty, two-fifty!" Cedric looked up at the giant mortician. "He was right under your nose, all this time? You're slipping, my friend." Cedric turned back to his inspection. "So blue," he said, staring through the goggles.

"He's blue?" Morgenstern asked.

"Bright. Who did this to him?"

"A girl. A slip of a girl."

Cedric whispered to himself, "Standing on the shore, glowing like an atomic fucking bomb and doesn't even have two pennies to rub together."

Kid Lethal, in his recently recharged mind, stood in the pit, staring at his blood soaked hand, the moment before he fell.

The kids huddled around the campfire; it crackled and laughed, taunting them. Chris kicked at it and fed it a couple more logs.

Poison and Rain had gone for blankets and now returned, passing them out to everyone. Ashley suspected the girls had full proper names, like Skylar Macbeth, but she didn't know them. After all, she was Ash.

She laughed to herself. She fit right in here, these kids were all like her; they were all on their own.

Suddenly she felt the slightest twinge of remorse for having elbowed Dante in the face. Then she remembered his little speech about gang-raping her and put him out of her mind.

Chris continued, "So anyhow, Me and Drews, we found this wing, half a dozen ports, no guards. It's down on the north-side of the old orphanage. It's stuffed: five floors of retards. It's the special-ed wing. And out in the back, way-way-way-back, there was this attached section. We could see it when the taxi would pick us up and drop us off. It was bolted on, behind where the ports were, invisible to almost everything.

"Every time when we came back, we saw this thing. Drews got all curious, wanted to go down, see what's what. So, we thread our way down, and it took a while, cause we had to dodge a dozen wired checkpoints.

"We're climbing through ceilings and shit and all he kept saying was, 'Anything this secret has to be worth seeing.' So we kept going.

"Sure enough, we get in and it's handicapped kids all upgraded with military bio-mech-tech. We came back and the name robo-tards stuck. PDQ, we realize we have to go back for some snaps or be called liars every time we opened our mouths.

"So, we grab some camera gear and go back. We get in cool and smooth, We take tons of pics and even get a grip of video. On the way out, everything's quiet, only this time, they're waiting for us. Caught us red-handed, caught us deliberate. Took all our gear and we got a month of conditioning."

"You never went back?" Ash asked.

"After a month of the Big C, you don't leave your bed for six weeks."

"What's conditioning?"

"Torture designed to make you more cooperative," Oddball answered.

"I tell you, after that, I didn't even think about it. No one asked me about it. Took me almost a year just to talk to Drews again.

"But now-a-days, everyone's heard about it, some went In-Search-Of. Some came back, some didn't. All I know is, I've never seen a photo. Not even the ones I took," Chris said.

The fire was burning low.

After a long silence, Ashley asked, "Why don't you guys escape?"

"Because escaping is the easy part," Chris answered.

"It's tough out there, if you ain't a citizen," Jones said.

"No shit, Food ain't free," Rebound agreed.

"Even bad food is better than going hungry," Oddball contributed.

"We all done our time in the street," Tanaka explained. "This is better and worse. The devil you know instead of one you can't see coming."

The kids murmured affirmations and slowly drifted off to sleep.

Ash noticed that Geoff had stayed quiet most of the night. She couldn't help but think that he was more than a little afraid.

Those were her last thoughts until morning.

Far from the orphans, Angel City traffic drifted along, overhead, to the sides and below the district. Beyond the traffic, the stars could be seen, if one looked hard enough.

One of the glittering traffic stars; Morgenstern let the computer navigate his black sedan, flowing along with the current. He fiddled with the radio, scanning the frequencies for something interesting. It was a drum solo he settled on.

In the district's security command center, Warden Keller sat in a central chair. The wall before him displayed five hundred and twelve camera feeds from all over the district. He watched the emergency response crews suppress the fires while the guards suppressed the zeros who caused them.

A young lieutenant entered and saluted. "Reporting as ordered, sir."

The colonel ignored the salute and gestured to the big board. "Look at this, lieutenant. Madness! Chaos! What are we going to do?"

"Call in the Ultra-Force, sir?"

"We are the Ultra-Force here, son."

"Yes sir."

"Lieutenant... Werther, is it? You're with the judge advocate's office? You're an assistant-prosecutor?"

"Yes, sir."

"Son, I need you to build me a case against Ashley Fox. I want a warrant, with solid grounds for arrest. Schedule the hearing for Tuesday morning. Deliver it all to me here, before dawn. Understand?"

"What's the charge, sir?" the young officer asked.

"You know who I'm talking about? You saw the fights?"

"Yes, sir. Everyone's seen them."

"I want her charged with the murder of Robert Leland Kidd. And lieutenant, make the premeditation stick."

"Yes, sir," Werther answered.

It was after midnight when Morgenstern anchored his car at the service entrance of an upscale estate. He bounded over a gate and into the grounds. He heard the dull roar of construction machinery. Something loud and heavy was running somewhere on the property.

The ex-soldier silently moved along the side of the house and through the back of a beautifully sculpted garden. He found an unlocked door and slipped inside.

Morgenstern moved through the first floor of the house. Most of the large rooms were open, the stone decor flowing seamlessly from one into the next. He smiled at the traditional household objects rendered in varying shades of light pink to dark-red stone.

A series of glass doors opened onto an outdoor patio, replete with a kiln and a variety pottery tools. Ahead of him, an older man worked a noisy cement mixer. His back was to the house.

Several black plastic bags were clustered nearby, filled with blunt, wet looking objects. Human limbs protruded at awkward angles from the bag closest to the resident. The man fed the cement mixer with body parts from the bags.

Morgenstern stepped quite close and set an envelope on the stone floor. Over the sound of the cement mixer, the owner had no idea he'd been so thoroughly compromised.

Morgenstern enjoyed the moment and silently moved over to a nearby picnic table. He took a seat and made himself comfortable.

After watching the resident feed three arms and two legs to the mixer, Morgenstern checked his watch and cleared his throat.

The mason sat up straight; he turned slowly to face the intruder.

The leather-clad giant seated at the picnic table raised his finger to his lips. He then gestured to the envelope on the floor.

The mason picked it up. He opened it and removed the flat square piece of paper.

You are cordially invited for an evening of conversation and refreshment amidst a gathering of your peers.

A date, time and address lined the bottom of the invite.

The stonemason looked up, but Morgenstern had already let himself out, not a terribly difficult trick, over the sound of the cement mixer.

# Chapter 15 – Keep Moving

Monday Morning, September 19, 2310

Ashley and Geoff had fallen asleep next to a log. Kaz, Sky, Hambone and the fire all slept nearby.

Ash sat up, hyper-alert.

Geoffrey was violently thrown to the ground. He woke in time to catch himself and mumbled her name. The syllable barely escaped his lips before her hand clamped over his mouth.

Early morning fog covered the level.

Ash couldn't see more than ten feet away.

Kids slept all around them.

She heard the water of the stream flowing close by, but couldn't see it.

Ashley crouched perfectly still, listening, her eyes closed, her head loose on her neck, mouth slightly open.

Geoffrey copied her.

They heard it; the tromp of booted feet. The approaching sounds of big, heavy men. The unmistakable rattle of metal against metal, leather, and cloth.

Then they heard others, even closer, stealthily moving toward them.

In a flash, Ashley was running. Geoff found himself dragged across leaf-strewn ground.

The cops were all around them now, yelling and shouting.

The other orphans also began to rise, always ready for fight or flight.

The cops tried to get a handle on the quickly deteriorating conditions, but their radio chatter gave away the nature of the chaos.

"Who is that running?

"Is that her?

"It looked like two people.

"Who are we looking for?

"What do we do about this goddamn fog?

"Who's fucking idea was this in the first place?

"Stop her,

"Stop Her!"

Ash sprinted through the mist, using her brother as a counter-weight for her more extravagant moves.

Then one of them tried to stop her.

Ashley kicked out his knee.

He screamed and fired his riot gun into the air, waking everyone.

In the fog Geoff only caught glimpses of the cops in their heavy gear, helmets, face-shields and gas masks, riot-shields and less-lethal tasers and pellet rifles.

The dense fog also obscured the vision of the armored soldiers, slowing their assault. Their hearing was hampered by the helmets and masks. Throw in the aural confusion from the radios built into their helmets; they may as well be deaf.

Ashley moved at twice their speed. She was faster, lighter and more coordinated, even dragging Geoff along. She crossed from dirt paths to forested undergrowth with a grace and precision that Geoffrey found mesmerizing.

The soldiers couldn't keep up with her, let alone identify her. They had drifted so far apart in the fog; their command and control had completely deteriorated.

Ash took full advantage of the conditions and advanced on them at full speed, invisibly striking with such force that no one remained standing.

She attacked from their sides and periphery, they didn't see her coming or going. Once she hit them, all they knew was that they were now broken.

They shouted in pain.

Their screams and poorly aimed shots added to the accelerating chaos.

Ashley was everywhere and nowhere. She was every orphan and none of them. Soldiers continued to fall, as the kids took up the fight. Weapons caches were looted and distributed, the children already moving in coordinated groups.

Soldiers closed in from the back, unaware of what was going on up ahead, and launched tear-gas canisters into the fray.

In the confusion, many of the advance troops pulled off their helmets and gas masks to try and communicate better. As the tear gas began to stain the fog with its yellow tint, they struggled to get their masks back on, most falling victim to it, like the children.

Ashley twisted helmets, broke arms and shattered knees with astonishing force. Soon, she and Geoff had escaped. Even the sounds, the curses, shots, and screams grew faint and distant.

Geoff looked at his sister with a new appreciation, but she didn't acknowledge the look.

They found one of the protruding corridor hatches, a door at the base of a grass-covered mound, set into the side of a tall berm.

Ash looked at the diagram map mounted next to the door. Making a mental calculation, she showed her brother, with a quick hand gesture, their direction. He nodded.

"We have to run," she whispered. "You ready?"

Geoff nodded again.

Ash opened the hatch, the corridor beyond was clear. It stretched away and turned at an intersection ahead. They found tunnels leading away in four directions.

Soon she and Geoffrey had crossed the entire level. They reached a corner stairwell on the other side and climbed from the bottom level to the top of the topmost stadium. It took the better part of two hours, but thankfully the area was utterly abandoned.

All across the district, over the course of the morning, the search for Ashley widened. Soon all available officers were involved. Angered by the extra duties, the citizen-soldiers vented their frustration on the unlucky orphans. Three cafeterias descended into riots well before lunch time.

When Ash and Geoffrey finally went looking for a meal, the district had virtually melted down. Fights and riots consumed entire blocks.

It was Monday and no one had gone to class.

Soldiers openly assaulted orphans all across the facility, beating them with their batons and indiscriminately firing less-lethal pellets at the kids. Occasionally they demanded Ashley's whereabouts, but for the most part, they simply beat the children mercilessly.

Outside a cafeteria, Ash and Geoff found a fight already in progress.

A guard, only a few years older than Ash, held his baton over his head, yelling at one of the orphans. The kid was on his knees, his hands behind his back. His face was swollen and bloodied. He was crying, having trouble staying upright. He favored a broken shoulder and was obviously in intense pain.

Three other guards stood nearby, laughing and watching. Half a dozen others could be heard in the cafeteria, smashing up the room.

"What the fuck did I tell you?" the young guard shouted. "I have a fucking warrant! Don't you understand that?! I told you to keep your fucking hands behind your back! Now you got yourself a broken fucking arm, don't you? You lucky bastard!"

The guys standing nearby chimed in. "Ole' boy gonna pass the fuck out in two minutes," one laughed.

"Ha! A ten spot says he don't got a minute left."

Ashley stepped up. "I bet he stays awake longer than you."

Without waiting for them to acknowledge her remark, Ash stepped forward, took the bully's baton and broke his arm in one smooth motion.

Then she stomped his kneecap, blasting it down the front of his shin and delivered a stunning elbow to his temple. The eyeball ruptured and filled with blood.

As he screamed and stumbled, the ruined orb swelled and bulged, then burst and leaked down his face.

The remaining guards stood huddled together, terrified.

Ashley struck the two outside guards with the baton, one in the throat, the other in the ear. Their heads collided with the man between them.

Ash delivered several lightning quick jabs to the center guard. With her final strike, she hit the men at the sides. All three fell to the ground.

The two-dozen guards inside the cafeteria caught wind of her arrival and rushed out to surround her.

Ashley fought them off as long as she could.

Geoffrey was pushed away with all the other orphans, he was not their priority, he was just another zero.

After almost a dozen guards had been critically wounded in the line of duty, Ashley was finally subdued and restrained.

Handcuffed and shackled, she was dragged away, over the bodies of her victims. In only two encounters, Ashley had put twenty-seven soldiers in critical-condition. Thirteen others were also injured.

The platoon dragged her through the facility like a trophy.

Their comrades cleared a path with ruthless efficiency.

Ash was taken directly to the Bolt's main elevator bank.

They rode up to the district headquarters, where she was formally charged and processed. She was then dragged to a large open shower, stripped of her clothes and blasted with water from a fire hose. They threw her a small towel, a set of hospital-thin scrubs and dragged her to her cell.

On the way, she saw the tall janitor again. She was sure it was the same man she'd seen after killing Donovan. He reminded her of a famous movie star, but she couldn't remember the actor's name.

Before reaching their destination, Ashley passed out. The soldiers dragging her didn't notice.

Ash later woke in her tiny iron cell. A thin mat lay on the floor. Through a small rectangle of thick reinforced glass in the door, she could see that the narrow block extended three stories up from her level.

The filthy tile wall across from her cell reflected the above tiers. She could make out the catwalks of the second and third floors, empty of patrolling guards. The doors were all made of the same heavy red iron with imposing locks.

# Chapter 16 – Lead Striker

When Geoff woke he found himself in the medical ward, again. It was already late in the afternoon, the last few hours of sunlight.

Geoff's stomach growled and he climbed out of bed.

Across from him, slumped in the chair, Sky also woke.

"I'm hungry?" he said.

"I'm starved," Sky agreed.

In the cafeteria, Geoff and Sky sat next to each other on the bench and picked at their food, utterly uninterested.

Sky looked over to Geoff. "Not hungry?" she asked.

Geoff dropped his fork onto his tray and sniffled.

He reached out to her and put his arms around the teen girl. In almost no time at all, they both began crying, leaning on each other.

Across the room, Hambone saw them. He stood with Kaz, Jones, Rudy and Taylor. They finished a few minutes ago and were leaving.

They stood there, silent, looking at the ground.

Other kids started to notice and started to stare.

The guys watched Sky and Geoffrey crying and with each passing moment, their fury grew, violence seemed imminent.

Soon the entire cafeteria was silent in respect for Sky and Geoff.

Eventually they looked up.

Assembled before them stood some exceptionally angry teenagers.

At first Sky was scared, but these were her friends standing before her.

Kaz, Hambone, Jones, Rudy and Taylor seemed angered by Sky and Geoff's emotional reaction.

"What did we do? We were just crying." Sky said.

Kaz stepped forward, nodded to Sky and Geoff, and then left the cafeteria. He looked angry enough to kill someone.

A good number of kids went back to their food, but a bunch followed him out, curious... Lead Striker Kazimov was going to do something.

Sky and Geoff watched them stream out of the cafeteria.

Soon they were practically alone.

A couple minutes later, several kids came rushing back into the cafeteria, asking for Sky and Geoff. They walked outside to discover a massive crowd. The kids stood with their backs to them, facing the screaming and yelling which could be heard from somewhere ahead.

The kids who'd come back to get them cleared a path. "It's her brother," they explained. The word brother rippled through the crowd, punctuated by requests for clarification, but the crowd parted.

At the center, Kaz stood over a three-man patrol, shouting and waving a stun baton. The largest of the trio lay face down, bleeding from several head wounds. Kaz stood on the broken leg of another soldier, who writhed in pain.

An officer waited on his knees, his hands cuffed behind his back. Kaz wore the officer's handgun tucked into his belt. The weapon made the fifteen year old look ten years older, as did the blood splashed across his arms, chest and face.

Sky noticed that the front audience members held most of the guards' gear; shields, helmets, batons.

Kaz gestured with the baton to the radio in his other hand. He screamed into the radio. "Can you hear me now, motherfucker!! Wanna hear some more?"

Kaz glared at the wounded soldier and increased the pressure on his broken leg. The soldier screamed.

Kaz held the radio out for the citizen on the other end of the line.

The radioman yelled, "How do I know that you aren't just a bunch of kids who got a handset?"

"I told you how I got it," Kaz replied. He increased the pressure on the guard's leg. The soldier instantly started screaming again.

"I swear to god," the radio operator laughed over the handset. "If this is Jenkins... Jenkins, if this is you, I'm shifting-6 in your ass!!"

Kazimov turned to Geoffrey. "What's your name kid?" Kaz held the handset out to him.

"Geoff. Geoffrey Fox."

"Okay. What's going on here, Geoff?"

"Uh, it looks like you beat these guards up," Geoff said. "I think that one is dead."

"He might be." Kaz laughed. "He might be at that."

Kaz handed the bloody baton to Geoff, who took it warily. Kaz drew the Light-9 and waited for a response from the soldier on the other end of the radio.

"So, what's your lucky number then, you fuck?" the radio operator barked.

"I am not a number!" Kaz shouted.

"I'm a free man," Geoffrey answered.

"That's right," Kaz smiled. "We are free men," he said into the radio. "I'm gonna tell you one more time. Release Ashley Fox."

"Not happening," the dispatch officer replied.

Kaz tucked the pistol back into his waistband and traded Geoff the radio for the baton.

"Press the key." Kaz gestured for Geoff to key the mic and hold it out.

He did.

Kaz walked over to the broken-legged guard and kicked him in the face. "You want my number, huh?" Kaz yelled to the radio.

Kaz stood on the guard's broken leg and yelled to the microphone. "That is Officer Hodges you hear screaming! His number is 7262."

Kaz kicked the officer and then began to hit him with the baton. After a full minute of beating him, Kaz grew tired and paused.

He looked over to the radio. "Did you get all that?" Kaz took the guard's badge. "That was Officer Hodges, badge number 7262."

Kaz moved to hand Geoff the baton, but Geoff hesitated, it was covered in gore.

Kaz gave it a few good raps on the ground and most of the bloody chunks fell off.

Hodges began convulsing and foaming at the mouth. His eyes rolled back and went white.

Kaz pushed the baton into Geoff's hands, distracting him from the dying soldier. Geoff took it and gave up the radio. On the other end a great commotion could be heard, several people talking, arguing.

"Who's he kicking?" someone asked.

"What guard?" another voice inquired.

Kaz rolled the other unconscious guard onto his back and pulled his badge from his chest. Kaz then took the badge from the kneeling officer.

"Let me talk to him," an older voice demanded and then came on over the radio. "This is Major Watrous. Whom am I speaking to, please?"

Kaz spoke into the handset. "If you release Miss Fox, I'll let this last one live."

"Who is this?" the major asked.

"I've just sixed two of your citizens and I'm about to make it three."

Kaz put the gun to the back of the kneeling officer's head and held the radio up to the man's mouth. "Tell daddy your name, bitch."

The subjugated guard kept his cool. "Sir, this is First Lieutenant Grey. Fleming is dead. Hodges is dying. I've been handcuffed and my weapon has been stolen."

"Pull it together man! I need you to stand your ground!" the major barked.

Kaz grinned and keyed the mic again, holding it before Grey's face.

"Ahem, sir, I'm not in any position to put up a fight," Grey explained.

"Goddamn, son! Did you say those monkeys have a firearm? What the hell is going on down there?" the major screamed.

"Sir, there's three hundred kids here. Corporal Fleming hit a young girl, and, well... It's become a rather serious issue now, sir."

"What the hell do you expect me to do about it Corporal?"

"Lieutenant, Sir. My name is Lieutenant Grey."

"If you don't find a way out of this mess you've made, it's gonna be _Inmate_! Do you understand me, son! Wakarimaska? Goddamn it! Do I have to speak another fucking language for you?" the Major screamed from the communicator.

"Sume'masem. Watashiwa wakarimas, Gozimas," Grey answered, cool and levelheaded.

"What the fuck did you just say to me?"

"I said, Excuse me. I understand, Sir."

"Well, you just hold fast, Captain. We're gonna get you outta there. Let me talk at the screwball," the Major demanded.

Kaz and the other kids watched, impressed with the Lieutenant's calm and fluid command of Nihongo.

"Listen up," the Major shouted over the radio. "I don't know who you think your dealing with here..."

"I'm dealing with the Colt Firearms Company," Kaz interrupted. He lifted the gun from the back of Grey's head and admired the weapon, reading the embossed type. "Of the Light-9 Variety, it would appear. Hey, look at that, that's really just how they spell it," he said, amazed.

The Major's voice sounded weary. "What is it that you hope to achieve with this little display?" he inquired.

"That's the trouble," Kaz snapped. "No one listens until you do something drastic. Sometimes; not even then. You haven't been listening have you, Major Shit-heel? I want Ashley Fox free, right now!"

Kaz lowered the gun to the officers' head again. "Right this very moment, in fact."

In the headquarters a dozen guards studied the five hundred and twelve monitors. They switched between the A and B channels, scanning for the incident occurring over the radio.

"I'm holding my nine to the back of this cat's head and I swear I'm gonna dust his cheese if you don't let her go."

"Dust his cheese?" Hambone said, rolling his eyes and laughing.

Kaz shrugged, grinning.

"What? Wait! Just a second, Son! Please, don't hurt anyone. I'll get you whatever you need," the Major seemed to have come to his senses.

"Whatever you need. I'm going to help you. Maybe we can get Miss Fox released. From what I understand, there are just a couple, some court proceedings to be followed." The major was stammering, stumbling through his words.

"Did you know that she's going to have a hearing and a fair trial? Did you know that? Now, listen to me, it's all very legal and all that. Do you understand what I'm saying?

"Please don't shoot the lieutenant, that's First Lieutenant Grey, there, son. He's one of the good guys. Come on now. I know he's cooperated with you. Just let the lieutenant go. We'll sort everything out."

More noise in the background, it sounded as if the other guards were explaining the situation to the major. "Ashley who?" the muffled Major asked.

"The girl from the fights," a young soldier answered.

"What fights?"

"The pit fights. She won. She killed Kid Lethal."

"That hot girl?" the Major replied. "That was this district?"

"The colonel had her arrested."

"For what?"

"Murder," the soldier answered.

"It was self defense! Even I know that," the major exclaimed. "She's a goddamn hero. Kids all over the country love her. My own goddamn kids love her. Has the colonel lost his fucking mind?"

Kaz interrupted their not so silent background conversation. "I'm going to shoot this man in the back of the head and blow his face off."

Kaz set the weapon directly against the back of Grey's head and addressed him directly. "You hear that, motherfucker? Closed casket for you!" Kaz cocked the pistol.

Grey closed his eyes.

Kaz keyed the radio again. "Major Watrous, what's it gonna be? Yes or no? Can you release Ashley Fox right this very second?"

"Well now, just hold on a second," the Major stammered. "These things take time."

"That sounds like a no."

Inside the command center, the Major and other soldiers were startled by the sound of a gunshot from over the radio.

"I've got like a thousand more bullets in this gun. I suggest you release her before I find some more of your guards," Kaz snapped.

The radio erupted with horrible screeching feedback from the stomped handset. The major and other officers covered their ears until one of the techs turned the volume down.

On the athletic block, outside the cafeteria, the radio lay smashed to bits. Grey lay on his side, his head bloodied but intact.

A couple moments later he came to and sat up.

Kaz squatted next to him, holding the weapon in one hand and the cuffs in the other.

Grey's hands were free. He sat up.

"Lucky you," Kaz smiled.

"What happened?" Grey asked.

"I pulled the trigger, but I guess I missed. I don't know what happened. Anyhow, you're okay. Looks like the bullet grazed your grape a little, but you're fine. Genuine battle scar."

Grey touched the top of his head. His hand came away wet with blood.

Kaz helped him to his feet.

All the kids stood by, holding their newly-seized riot gear, waiting for the signal to beat the standing guard into mush.

Grey saw the badges pinned to Kaz's shirt, his own among them. He considered his options.

The lieutenant moved to exit the ring of fierce children.

They stood firm against him and didn't open the circle.

Kaz waved his hand, gesturing for the kids to let Grey go.

"Good day, Citizen," Kaz said.

"Good luck." Grey counted his blessings and exited through a sea of growling orphans.

Hambone stood next to Kaz. "What the fuck are you thinking?" he asked.

"Letting him go?" Kaz replied.

"No, asshole, killing them?" he asked, gesturing to the dead soldiers.

"They're not dead," Kaz explained. "Besides, I got three badges and a fucking 9. What have you got?"

"After they're through with you, another dead friend."

Kaz kicked Fleming. "He beat the shit out of three kids, just this week!" Then he kicked Hodges, eliciting a fresh set of convulsions. "Far as I'm concerned, if they're walking around here, dressed for fucking battle, then I'm gonna give them one."

"But we're gonna lose, idiot. They've got the guns." Hambone said.

Kazimov winced. "We've got the numbers?"

Hambone glared.

"Fuck, Ham! What are we going to do? Wait for another super-girl to come along and start breaking heads. If you want something done, do it yourself. You can't just wait, hope, and worry."

Rudy held up a fist. "Amen, brother," he said.

"Fuck you, Rude," Hambone replied.

Rudy spoke loudly, for the whole crowd. "I don't call it violence. When it's in self-defense, I call it intelligence."

His words rolled through the crowd, partially repeated with choruses of laughter.

"Give peace a chance, Buddha," Hambone countered.

"I have not yet begun to fight." Kaz yelled, raising the weapon into the air.

The kids cheered.

"Are you all retarded?" Hambone had to get loud to be heard over all the noise. "Have you lost your fucking minds? They will destroy us! Not just some of you, all of us!"

Kaz backed up a step. "Okay. Fine, for the sake of argument, I fucked up. I can't declare war on all of Angel City by myself. But don't you think you could offer something constructive, maybe?" he asked.

Hambone rolled his eyes.

Kaz stepped forward. "Look, Ben Franklin ain't on the talent for nothing. Stand together or hang apart."

Hambone looked at the bashed and bleeding guards and then at the waiting crowd of kids. "Fuck, man," he muttered. "We have to move them over to the elevators." Ham addressed the younger orphans nearby. "Set up look outs and diversions."

The kids stood there, staring at the mess, perhaps waiting for Kazimov to ratify Hambone's instructions. Kaz, however, was not the leader of the Iron Fist, and in Tanaka's absence, Hambone held the reins.

"Fucking Now!" he ordered.

The kids scattered. They knew these procedures well. Scouts positioned themselves at key points and supplied a steady stream of information. Kaz and crew would have no trouble avoiding the patrols.

Kaz and Ham, assisted by Jones, Rudy and Taylor, lifted the guards by their shoulders, belts and legs. They carried the bodies over the fields toward the elevators at the center of the level.

The lookouts ahead signaled that it wasn't clear. The carriers paused, setting the broken citizens down behind a berm and kneeling beside them.

Hodges began to moan; Jones beat him back into unconsciousness.

Ahead of them, the younger kids harassed the posted elevator guards with rocks. They continued pelting them until they couldn't take it anymore and gave pursuit.

Once the guards were gone, the younger kids disconnected the level's camera feeds by accessing a panel running alongside the elevator shaft.

The gang leaders dragged the unconscious men to the elevator bank. When they reached the doors, Hambone had the guys set the bodies against them. The kids propped up the critically injured citizens so that when the doors next opened, the bodies would naturally fall in.

Kaz hit the button and the elevator car began its approach.

"What if someone's in there," Hambone whispered.

"Fuck it," Kaz said, drawing the weapon from his waistband.

The boy stood alone in front of the carriage doors. His friends crouched behind cement structures and pressed up against the walls.

The elevator arrived.

Kaz took a deep breath and swallowed.

The doors slid open; the car was empty. The bodies leaning against the doors fell into the empty car with two distinct thuds.

Kaz tucked the pistol into his belt and stepped forward to push the solders the rest of the way into the car. Soon they had moved the guards into sitting positions against the half-closed doors. Kaz hit the Red Cross button and they climbed out.

"This isn't going to fucking work," Hambone said as they made final adjustments.

"Mr. Positivity," Kaz replied, holding the unconscious guards back as the doors closed.

A moment later and the wounded men were gone.

The kids laughed as they drifted away from the elevator bank.

"We have to call a Council," Hambone said.

"What? Why?" Kaz asked.

Hambone turned to Rebound, Rudy, Jones and Taylor. "That's the deal. We have to. We promised," Ham said.

"Why?" Kaz asked.

"After the last riots, we all promised that if any zero ever got their hands on a heater, we promised to let each other know."

"What kind of stupid shit is that? That was almost three years ago," Kaz replied.

"And besides, you aren't even in the gang anyhow, I know." Hambone said.

"And besides, I'm not even in the... Fuck you, Ham."

"Whatever," Hambone replied.

"You're gonna let Dante know?" Kaz asked.

"I give my word, I keep my word. I'm going to let him know."

"You're such a bitch, Hambone," Kaz sighed.

"Can't have it both ways, Striker. Besides, it's only you and your fucking wanna-be sponsors who think you're not in anyhow."

"I'm not in," Kaz insisted.

"You don't take a cut," Ham argued. "That's not quite the same thing. And now you're packing," Hambone gestured to the handgun. "If you're not a gang member, you're a fucking terrorist."

"Fine! Let's have us a war then?" Kaz snapped.

Hambone smiled. "Load the cannons, we've got the gold."

Kaz smiled, "We need to get us some terillium-vests and a bunch of machetes."

# Chapter 17 – Full Disclosure

Later, Hambone, Kaz, Jones, Rudy and Taylor drifted into the large vaulted library.

Kaz had showered and cleaned up. He'd pocketed the badges and carried the gun tucked into the back of his belt. Under his shirt, with his hands properly folded behind his back, it was impossible to see.

As they walked in, Li looked up. He sat at a nearby table, drawing.

Kaz nodded. They traded smiles and tapped fists.

"Where's Drews?" Hambone whispered.

Li jerked a thumb over his shoulder, "In the back."

Hambone headed deeper into the library.

Kaz sat down at Li's table. Rudy and Taylor loitered nearby.

A short distance later, Hambone discovered his friends hadn't accompanied him. He contemplated going back for them but didn't.

Ham took a seat at an abandoned carol. The troubled teen enjoyed a brief moment of silence. He suspected it might be his last for sometime. He recognized the moment as the fabled calm before the storm.

A couple minutes later, Ham rose and continued through the library. He found Drews, the district's resident teen-lawyer, in the back surrounded by open books and assistants, Big Chris among them.

Chris stepped forward and shook hands with Ham as he approached.

Drews stood and smiled. "What's the word?"

"Murder one, Doc," Ham replied, no smile in his features to be found.

"Those are big words," Drews countered.

""What the fuck you talking about?" Chris asked.

A small breathless kid came running into the room, "Oh my God! Oh my God! The Striker, Kazimov. He attacked a patrol and killed them all! They say he took a Light 9 and is going around the district, shooting every guard he runs into!"

Shocked, Chris and Drews looked at Ham.

Hambone raised his hands. "Half true," he explained.

"Which half," Drews asked.

"Some of all of it and mostly none of it." Hambone said.

"What does that mean?"

"Kaz did take on a patrol, but he didn't kill all of them. He does have a 9, but to my knowledge hasn't killed anyone with it, yet.

"How many," Drews asked.

"Dead? One, I think, unless he lives, but if the other one dies, then two. So, maybe none, maybe one, but also maybe two."

"How do you know?" the little kid asked.

"I was there," Hambone answered.

The kid folded his arms across his chest, stuck out his tongue, closed one eye and shook his _ugly-face_ at Hambone.

Hambone flinched as if to hit him and the child laughed, retreating from the area.

Drews summed up, "So of a three man patrol, there's at least one living citizen who is witness to a possible murder? What the heck, Hambone? Where were you? You didn't do anything?"

"I didn't do anything?! I was there, man! I was the only one who _almost_ did something, but what was I going to do? First off, he was right. Second, he didn't ask me, he just went and did it. I didn't do anything and you couldn't have either. Know that."

"And the, Going-Around-Shooting-People? He's not out doing that?"

"He most definitely is not," Ham replied.

"The murder weapon?" Drews inquired. "He used the gun?"

"He didn't shoot anyone," Ham replied. "Well, he tried to, but he missed. How you miss at point blank range; I'll never know."

"What did he use?"

"A baton."

"Nice." Chris smiled and nodded.

Drews pondered the situation for a long quiet moment. "Where is he?"

"About fifty-feet that way," Ham gestured back the way he'd come. "Watching the door, no doubt."

Drews looked at the ceiling. "Where's the baton?"

"He told the kid to get rid of it." Hambone slumped into one of the nearby chairs.

"What do you mean, _told a kid_? It's a murder weapon! Who did he leave it with?"

"Geoff, the girl's little brother. Ashley's little brother. He's with Sky. Kaz handed him the baton and told him to wash it off and get rid of it."

"You're kidding? He gave it to a kid? And you mean _The_ Ashley? She has a brother here? Who else knows that?"

Hambone rolled his eyes and raised his hands.

"You told him he was out of his mind? That he'll get us all killed?"

"Yes. That I did, and it went over really well, let me tell you."

In the front section of the library, Kaz and the others sat talking. He pulled a badge from a pocket and handed it to Li. The young artist held it, fascinated by the weight.

"All right. Don't pick this up," Kaz dropped the 9 into Li's lap.

Li stared at it, amazed. He didn't dare raise it up over the lip of the table. He didn't even reach down to touch it. His hands remained in sight, hastily sketching the object. He drew it from dozens of perspectives, without ever even actually touching it.

A few minutes later, Hambone walked out from the racks as Li put the finishing touches on his master Light-9 sketch, now working on it openly. The drawing looked totally realistic and weapon was no longer anywhere to be seen.

Hambone took a good look at the drawing.

He looked over to Rudy and Taylor. "You guys are no help either."

"What, Big What?" Rudy asked. They both held up their hands, confused.

"Hey, Kaz," Hambone addressed his pal. "Where's the... uh?" Hambone mimed a striking gesture, as if holding a club or baton.

"I told you, it's taken care of," he said, leaning back in his chair.

Hambone crossed his arms and tilted his head, gesturing toward Drew's customary location, deep in the shelving.

"Whatever, Mom," Kazimov replied.

Ham laughed and sat down. "You're right. Sure, fine, what-the-fuck-ever. I'm cool with it, really."

Hambone realized he'd become the wet blanket at an otherwise flawless picnic, but kept pushing anyhow. "The survivor, the one who walked, is witness to a homicide and the murder weapon is with a kid."

Kaz glared at his friend. Hambone was right, as usual. Unfortunately, the opportunity to ditch the meeting and handle the situation evaporated as a handful of Blades entered the library.

Ricarlo and Manuel entered, followed by six younger members. Per gang protocol, they stopped a good distance from the Fist and waited to be acknowledged.

Ham gestured for them to come over. He turned Li's drawing of the Light-9 face down, but not before they saw it.

Once within speaking-distance, the gangsters flashed signs. The Blades: four fingers, thumb tucked behind, flat against the stomach. Ham, Rudy and the others raised their fists in response.

Only Kaz refrained from any gesture. When Ricarlo and Manuel looked over to him, he simply nodded. They returned the nod.

Manuel stepped up, gesturing to the drawing. "Can I see that?"

Hambone looked over at Li, who looked to Kaz, who nodded. Manny picked it up, showed it to Ricarlo and set it back on the table, where everyone could see it.

"You got mad skills, my man," Manuel extended his fist to Li, who replied in kind.

Manny turned to Kaz. "But what are you gonna do, come the season? I made a lot of money betting on you, Striker. This other game you're running, it's not so profitable. Not so easy to bet on."

"I'm not doing it for fun. The shit has gone too far."

"I hear you, man, slow train coming, I know. But remember, last riots cost thirteen hundred zeros. That's not a lucky number round here."

"I'm tired of living like a bitch," Kaz replied.

"But you go super-nova wrong place and time, you burn all of us too."

Kaz rubbed his forehead.

Everyone looked over to the doors as Tanaka, Jones and Rebound escorted the leaders of the Dragons: Cho Fu Sah and Kjell, into the library with their bodyguards.

Manuel and Ricarlo regarded their hated rivals with open hostility.

Before posturing could turn to violence, the Martians entered through a side door. Ericson and Mikael with Tommy and Oddball, followed by the final gang, the Yellow Jackets. Drews and the others also appeared from the back of the library.

Kaz stepped forward and nodded to Tanaka, Oddball and the others.

They secured the doors.

No adults worked the library after six; the kids had the place to themselves. Kaz approached a table and pulled out the handgun. He set it down. He then pulled out the badges and set them on the table.

Kazimov spoke loud enough to be heard by everyone. "This shit has got to stop. Right now we are weak. Our unity is weak. It's been broken and our enemy can see that. Things were peaceful under the Devils because Mo knew who the real enemy was. He knew that first and foremost, it's a case of _Them Versus Us_.

"After that, we could have our differences. But Dante isn't like that. You can see he's not here. We sent word, but I knew he wouldn't come. That's because he makes deals with them. He uses them against all of us.

"You guys treat me like I'm crazy because I don't wear colors. And I've always said that was because of the punchball thing

"Yeah, yeah, I'm lead striker, but that's bullshit. I don't roll with you because I can't stand fighting other zeros. I live here, on D13. I play for D13. All you guys support the team. I know your set doesn't matter. I'm the same way. You guys, all you guys, are my family. I don't care what colors you wear.

"Our enemy doesn't care either. They don't face us with honor.

"They carry cattle prods and guns. We're livestock, and they're cowboys. We cannot fight amongst ourselves anymore. We have to remember who the enemy is, and I say it's time we make a stand."

Ericson, leader of the red stripe Martians, stepped up. "What do you have in mind?"

"First, I need you idiots to declare a full truce, right now."

"Idiots, huh? Lot's of respect you've got there, Striker," Ericson said.

Manuel stepped forward, diffusing the tension between Kaz and the Martian leader. "Hold one, Red. Let me get a little more direct.

"Kazimov, this I have to ask. I've seen this girl, and she is _fine_. So what I need to know is this. Are you taking us to war over a piece of ass?"

This influenced a series of nodding heads and affirmations.

"Nothing against you, but I can't go buying shares in another's man's woman." He laughed, dispelling the tension.

The other kids laughed too. The mood grew a little brighter.

The smiling Kazimov paused.

Manuel took the opportunity to rephrase his inquiry. "I mean, are we talking full-scale mutiny, or do you just want your piece of tail outta jail?"

Kazimov laughed with the other kids. After a moment he raised his hands and spoke. "Okay, okay. Fair enough. Here's what I say to that. I've got no claim on Ashley. She's hot, I do like her, but I've hardly said two words to the girl.

"Really, she doesn't take shit off anyone. What would she want?" Kaz asked.

Laughing, Hambone rephrased, "What would Ashley do?"

The kids burst into laughter.

Kaz spoke over them "She's not just a piece of ass. She's beautiful. But there's more to this. For one thing, she is innocent. She's not some psycho muscle-head. But here's what it is... For us, for you and me... We need to stop waiting to be rescued and do some rescuing of our own.

"Drews, listen up, I want your thoughts about this next part." Kaz refocused on the gang leaders. "The citizens don't give a fuck if some unlucky zero wins an occasional beat-down, but a frail little girl? She's here for less than a week and now she's arrested, for an act of self-defense?

"She's more than just a zero, she's a symbol. She's an underdog. And they know it."

"Which is exactly why they're never gonna let her out." Ericson stated.

Kaz replied, "All she did was stand up for herself. Fight back. What any one of us _should_ do. She stood her ground and she took down the two biggest criminals here."

"Word is she did Donovan too," Cho Fu Sah said. As the leader of the Dragons, the gang second in stature to the Devils, Cho commanded a great deal of respect.

"That's right," Kaz replied. "Word is she did Donovan too, who was a fucking-psycho-rapist. But where's the proof?"

"Shit, who else could have done it?" Cho asked.

"My point exactly! They're afraid of her. " Kaz said. "And they should be. Now they're going to be scared of us too. These rich-ass shit-bag citizens waltzing around here like they own the fucking air we breathe, just popping kids for no reason. Fuck them.

"I don't care about Ash or Dante or Mo or Lethal. I really don't. What I'm really pissed about is Joe Dicknose, candy-ass Angel City spoiled-brat citizen, who comes in here on pub-serve and takes out all his shit on us!

"I mean, what are we?" Kaz asked. "What purpose do we serve to this city? Are we really here for them to beat on? They could care less if this district bursts into flames and we all get flushed down the gravity-well.

"I'm sick of it. I say we revolt and kill the man before he kills us."

The kids made neither sounds of agreement nor any motion to interrupt.

"You know something," Kazimov continued. "I had every intention of attacking that patrol when I first walked up on them. Hodges saw me coming too, he saw it in my eyes and I hesitated. He saw me think twice. So just to rub it in, he smacked a little girl in the back of the head. He hit her so hard she went flying, knocked the hell out.

"He wanted me to see him do it. He wanted to see if I'd do anything. Now he's most likely dead and I swear to you, he's just the first one. I've been here as long as I can remember. My first memories are of God's Hotel. I care more about that innocent little girl than Ashley, or myself, or any of you. And I want these goddamn soldiers out of my fucking house."

The kids stood quietly, but he could tell they were leaning his way.

"Then... I want to sail the whole district out to high-water and live happily ever after. That's what I want."

The kids were stunned. Their hopes had been raised, yet the goal beyond impossible.

Finally Ericson spoke, "Shit, son. You got a magic wand?"

"Better yet, say we get that far, then what?" Cho Fu Sah asked. "I mean we gotta eat."

Kaz picked up the handgun. "If some fool is so tough, you need a gat to keep him in line, then he can sure-as-fuck figure out how to grow potatoes and steal cars."

"Thank you!" Manny said, clearly pleased with the answer.

"Okay then, what now?" Ricarlo asked.

Drews held up a hand, "If I may?" he asked.

Kaz gestured for him to speak freely.

"In response to Kazimov's hasty actions, the administration will play their usual gambit. They will arrest some innocent kids for conditioning, perhaps a few more than usual. They will react with fear and aggression, the way they always do." Drews pushed his glasses up.

"To continue toward our goal, we must confront them in a way they are not prepared for. They are accustomed to playing us against each other. We should let them think it's working. And then when they least expect it, we give them Little Bighorn."

"Is that some kinky shit? Oddball asked.

"Yeah, What the fuck?" Jones echoed.

"No," Drews held up his hands. "Like the Native Americans AT the Battle of Little Bighorn. We sucker them in and then crush them with overwhelming force. We must hit them so hard that they cannot hit back."

Kazimov held up his open hand... "What's the motto on this country? Out of many, one." He closed the hand into a fist.

Hambone smiled. "The cry of revolutionaries everywhere."

# Chapter 18 – The Baton

Three junior high kids stood surrounded by a dozen of their peers. Each member of the trio held a piece of law enforcement gear. One kid wore a helmet, another a shield and the third, an arm guard. Interrupting and overlapping each other, they breathlessly told their story in a braid.

"Oh, Man! Striker went nuts with the baton, just WHAM, WHAM, WHAM!" Todd was wearing the much-to-large arm-guard, as he mimed striking someone with a baton, it bounced on his forearm.

"Oh, Damn!! Look, look!" one of the kids pointed at the spots of blood that freckled the riot shield.

Mike, who held the shield, continued with the story, "And then, remember, give that kid the..." Mike gestured as if he were handing someone something. "And it was all dripping." He explained with more body language than words, but his meaning was clear, the baton had been covered with gore. "And he just, Bam, bam, bam! Here you go." Mike mimed the rapping the baton on the ground. "Goddamn insane!"

Despite their obvious confusion, the audience appeared utterly entranced.

Across the district, Dante listened to a similar story.

"Shit, I think that kid still has the baton," Jason explained.

"You're telling me that a murder weapon is floating around in the possession of a ten year old?" Dante asked.

"I would say the 9 is more important."

"I thought you said he didn't shoot anyone?"

"Not yet, I mean, almost, but he didn't. He shot at a guy, but he missed. Get this, fucking hysterical, asshole striker is holding the gat to the back of the pig's head and," Jason mimes firing a gun, pivoting his hand ninety degrees, his index finger going from a horizontal to vertical adjustment. "He fucking missed. I mean, how do you fucking miss from this fucking close?"

"So he didn't shoot anyone?"

"Like I said, not yet."

Dante shook his head in frustration. "Not yet, not at all. He's cooled off by now. He's thinking now. He's got a heater. No need to be reckless. He's not shooting people now. He's thinking! The baton is what he used, that's what we want. You said he left it with the boy? Geoff, her brother?"

"They said that's who he was. He was swinging it on the string. He was with that girl, Sky." Jason sounded pleased with himself.

Dante was not as entertained. "Get me that fucking baton! Don't let me see you again unless you have it, you fucking idiot! Are you a Devil or did you join the goddamn hippies?" Dante was furious. "Yama, go with him," he ordered.

Yama rolled his eyes, but walked from the block with Jason.

"Is he serious?" Jason asked.

"You heard what he did to Mongo?" Yama answered.

"Yeah," Jason answered. "I heard."

"Well I was there, man. Believe that shit. Whatever he wants. I'm giving that fool whatever he wants."

Knowing the older members of the fist were in the library for the Light-9 council meeting, Jason and Yama fearlessly stalked their dorms, searching for Geoff and Sky.

The younger kids mostly tried to avoid the intimidating Devils.

Jason cornered a middle school kid, Wilson. "Where's Sky?"

"Who?"

Jason punched him in the stomach. The younger boy collapsed to his knees. "Funny guy," Jason said. He kneed Wilson in the mouth, splitting his lip. Wil stifled a cry and Jason let him slide to the floor.

Yama leaned against a locker, content to let Jason do the heavy lifting.

"Where's Sky?" Jason yelled. "Who else doesn't wanna tell me?" He advanced on the next closest kid, Lenny.

"No! No! I don't know! She's not here!" Lenny fled Jason's reach.

Jason moved toward Ben, a portly orphan with no hope of escape, "You don't know where she is either, fatty?"

Ben cried out in terror and threw up his hands. "They went to the pits! They went to the pits!" he stammered.

"To the pits, huh?" Jason replied, cockily standing taller.

Ben darted away from the angry Devil. "I don't know anything! Don't ask me!"

Lenny, much smaller then Ben, didn't hesitate to smack him. "You just told them everything, you pussy-asshole."

Sky and Geoff walked into the dorm, not twenty feet away.

Everyone froze and stared.

Ben hit Lenny back.

"Ow," Lenny yelled.

"I was _messing_ with them," Ben explained.

"Hey, Bitch!" Jason yelled, ignoring the bickering kids.

"Hey, Asshole," Sky replied, recognizing Yama and Jason as members of Carver's hierarchy, the Devils. She turned to confront Jason, giving Geoff as much of a shield as possible.

Geoff slipped behind her.

"Run," Sky said over her shoulder.

"Where is it?" Jason demanded.

"Go fuck yourself," Sky answered.

Geoff backed away but didn't run, as he'd been told.

"We'll see who fucks who." Jason walked toward her.

Sky tried to kick him, but he caught her foot and threw her to the side.

Geoff pulled the baton from behind his back. "Looking for this?" Geoff turned on the electrified weapon.

"Are you smart enough to just give that to me, or do you want to try your luck?"

"Where do you want it?" Geoff asked.

Jason took a couple steps forward.

Geoff didn't move.

Jason hesitated with only a small gap between them.

Geoff had also spent a year training at Flying Dragons. He'd learned that: _Those who hesitated got hit_.

He swiftly stepped forward and smacked Jason across the face with the stun baton.

Jason stumbled after the electric blast. The rather devastating shock-smack combination seemed to take some of the fight out of him.

"You still want it?" Geoff jabbed him in the ribs, blasting him from his feet.

Jason dragged himself away from Geoff and the electrocution device.

Yama kicked off from his place against the wall and walked toward Sky and Geoff. The devil glanced over to Sky and nodded politely.

Geoff, his ego bolstered by Jason's easy defeat, saw his opportunity and charged Yama as well.

The older boy was ready. Without even really looking at Geoff, he effortlessly evaded the boy's short strikes and jabs. Then, suddenly, Yama kicked the weapon from Geoff's hands.

The baton spun across the room, bouncing off lockers, bedposts and finally skittering along the floor. Geoff rubbed his stinging hands and backed away.

Jason struggled to his feet and lumbered after the baton.

Wilson, still angry over the split lip and punch to the guts, sprinted over to the weapon, scooped it up, and fled from the dorm.

Jason cursed him, but after his recent shock, could do little else.

Yama turned away from Geoff to sprint after Wilson. He was so fast, Sky feared he would catch Wilson before he even got clear of the dorm.

Sky, Geoff and the other kids followed, a procession of orphans chasing after Wilson, Yama and the baton.

Once outside, Wilson had turned to the right, sprinting for a nearby bridge, while Yama accelerated to close the gap. Wilson cleared a hedge and turned hard left. Yama adjusted his course to close ground faster.

Yet, before the infamous devil could catch the younger orphan, Sky crashed into him, dragging and wrestling him to the soft athletic field. Yama's turn had brought him into line with the girl and she made the sacrifice he clearly hadn't anticipated. He wrestled with Sky, trying to escape her, but Sky noticed that he didn't try too hard. She had wrapped her arms and legs around him, holding him to the ground.

From their place on the field, the entwined Yama and Sky watched Wilson reach the bridge and hurl the baton into the empty air.

Yama stopped struggling and Sky released her hold. He got to his feet and offered his hand to help her up.

Sky took it. He gently lifted her to her feet.

The kids gathered around them, waiting to see what might happen next.

Yama looked at Sky for a long time, then smiled but said nothing. The boy turned, leaving the athletic complex for the Bolt, abandoning the shocked and stammering Jason to make his own way back.

# Chapter 19 – The Killer of a Thousand Men

Lieutenant Grey, whom Kaz had tried to shoot in the back of the head, waved to the security panel at the servant's entrance of his father's stately home. The multi-winged domicile hadn't been home to any sort of family during David's lifetime, though he had grown up there.

He silently moved through the house, encountered no one and reached a small door in the basement. David unlocked the knob with a solitary key from his pocket and twisted it open. He entered the pitch-black room and closed the door again behind him, locking the dead bolt.

In the darkness, he made his way over to the edge of a cot and sat down. He didn't turn on the lights. He just sat there quietly in the dark. Years ago, in this makeshift childhood bunker, he and his closest friends had organized missions, planned recon ops and raids, and unanimously decided they would become soldiers.

David's father, a senator, spent most of his time away from his home state. After a bitter custody battle, his non-citizen mother returned to her homeland, somewhere in Europe. David was three, he never saw her again.

The senator had been married at least once before and a few times since. David suspected the man remembered his mother, Aurelia, more often and more fondly than his offspring by her.

David knew of three older brothers and sisters living in Connecticut, from his father's first marriage. He'd once met a brother from New York named Douglas, but didn't know if it was he or Douglas that were older.

David had learned of his siblings during a period of self-discovery when he found himself obsessed with hundreds of news stories about his father. After seeing the pictures of his father, with siblings he'd never met, David refused to be photographed with the man ever again.

Tutors and instructors had run David's early life. The estate employed housekeepers, grounds keepers, nannies and security staff; satisfying the relatively un-enforced legal requirements of supervision during his younger years.

Once he'd entered school, the teachers vaguely knew him as the senator's son. He seemed to be a generally well-adjusted boy, so the circumstances concerning his home life rarely came up. No one saw fit to make any suggestions. After all, he was a senator's son, and if it ain't broke, stay off the grass.

Years ago, David would occasionally wake to discover the estate overrun by his father's staff. He would slip through the halls, looking for a glimpse of the man he knew only from news photos. When encountering him, he was always struck by how much older he looked than when they'd last spoken.

In addition to the political ambitions of his father, David's grandfather had served as a senator and even held a term as chief executive. David presumed his father's childhood might have been similar to his own.

Participating in sports and other extracurricular activities, David gave the impression that his home life was perfectly comfortable and fulfilling. He saw no reason to behave otherwise. He would not complain; he was a senator's son.

As he got older he avoided the staff and the senator as much as possible. When they arrived, he vanished. By ninth grade, David had mastered the art of stealth. He could go for days without encountering any of the estate staff.

On more than one occasion, the senator mistook David for one of his aides and directed him in some tedious task. David always agreed and nodded, only to immediately vanish again.

All through high school he had kept himself busy. He wondered what would happen when he graduated. He had thought it possible his father might forget him entirely. He might become a prisoner of the estate, unable to leave without a state issued citizenship identity card.

Considered temporary citizens during childhood, young adults of the republic must apply to have their citizenship ratified by the state upon reaching the age of eighteen.

As he neared his June birthday, the staff began delivering letters addressed to David from his father's office. The correspondence informed David that one of the senator's most-trusted constituents would handle his sponsorship. The summer session was in full swing and the senator couldn't leave Washington just now.

David was amazed by whichever secretary had remembered and scheduled the appointment. He waited at the application hall the entire day. The sponsor's secretary called late in the afternoon to reschedule for the next day.

The late afternoon rescheduling went on for an entire week. David suspected his father's relationship with this particular constituent might be a little strained. He could sympathize with that.

David himself showed up promptly at eight am every morning, as agreed. He sat on a bench across the street from the induction hall and watched his classmates enter.

The weather that week was rather pleasant.

David read books and ate at a nearby cafe.

Everyday, a street vendor would show up around lunchtime; selling steaks and chicken, hot and sizzling from his rolling grill, which beat the cafe's cakes and muffins by miles.

David watched the park personnel trim hedges and rake leaves.

He could wait.

David had mastered the art of waiting and considered this skill foremost among his unique talents. Most people grew hostile whenever forced to wait more than a few minutes. David could do nothing for hours.

One evening, as a young man of twelve or thirteen, he'd spent three hours behind a chair in his father's study, less than five feet away from the man. His father never knew and David told no one. He considered that evening his masterpiece. If he never spoke of it, it would remain flawless and perfect. He knew, if he ever bragged of it, if he told anyone, the magic feeling of those few hours would be dead to him.

He hadn't called his father's office to report the sponsor-citizen's absence. David knew politics was a game. In this circumstance, he knew he played the part of a pawn. If it bothered him, no one would ever hear about it. He just continued waiting.

While waiting he pondered many facets of the society he inhabited.

It seemed that everyone believed the Republic hovered on the verge of collapse, for well over a century now. People felt that anything could spell disaster, _The End_.

Mankind had eradicated disease, tamed fire, electricity and gravity, socialized labor and silenced dissent. If the world were collapsing, the only likely culprit was man himself.

David didn't see crisis.

He saw exploitation. The people lived in fear, very real fear, because their leadership insisted on robbing them blind and threatened all protestors with a charge of treason.

David happily watched society decay right before his eyes. He hoped to get an opportunity to give it a nudge or two toward the edge.

A pretty girl walked by and smiled at David. He smiled back.

His mind wandered and he let it go, fascinated by its sheer force of will to keep thinking useless thoughts.

A man tossed a plastic bottle in a recycling bin. David wondered if, say, a plastic toy, worn out and tossed in a recycling bin, ever became another object that the same person encountered again, later in another form, maybe as a bottle. The possibility fascinated him.

Eventually his mind returned to the citizen who'd consigned him to a park bench.

The third day he brought a notebook and a pen.

After an hour of waiting, he wrote.

Ten years later, in his father's basement, David reached up to the shelf of military command manuals. Without looking for it, he found the tattered notebook. He turned on a soft, dim lamp and opened the first page.

The Problem of Citizenship

An essay on our political system

By David Grey

June 17, 2300

I am eighteen. My father is a senator. I am sitting here waiting to become a citizen, which is something I am not even sure I want to be. I have nothing but contempt for this society and its citizens. What does the word even mean, citizenship?

They say only citizens are truly free.

Really?

Free to do what?

This is what I know, some of it could be wrong, but here it is; my brief history of the Republic.

Fleeing from aristocratic tyrants in Europe, my ancestors inherited this land after infecting and decimating its native people with war, famine, pestilence, and death.

We farmed and built a nation on the backs of slave labor.

We had a civil war, a gold rush, an industrial revolution, two world wars, and a civil rights movement, (instead of another civil war), followed by three centuries of imperial dominance; including wars fought over drugs, oil and religious fanaticism.

However, our biggest winning front was the wars fought with lawyers and banks, for, by and with money. After all, business is war. Starvation is a sufficient non-violent weapon. As Sun Tzu said, the best generals win without firing a shot. They hold the entire world under siege.

In the late 2090's, the world population topped ten billion. Greed bred poverty and crime. Murder rates reached an all time high. There wasn't enough room, food or blankets to go around.

America choked on tired, poor, and hungry huddled masses, drowning in filth and on the brink of collapse. Riots and looting had become rampant; the police had been spread too thin for too long.

The democratic-republican government, driven by a capitalist economy, became unstable and unsustainable. If it continued, the country would have become a failed state.

_They_ couldn't let that happen.

The legislature presented a solution. If the people wanted health care and other basic human rights and services, they would be required to give.

Citizenship Required Sacrifice, two years, in most cases. The seventy-third through the ninety-second amendments to the constitution, commonly known as 'The Citizen's Equality Act' inverted citizenship and recreated the country.

This one act of legislation, composed in three parts and over seventeen hundred pages, laid out the foundation for The Gates of Citizenship.

Amendment eighty-three pertained to the office of the President, declaring it an appointed, not elected, position. Eighty-eight and eighty-nine laid out new laws pertaining to registered churches and charitable foundations. Ninety through ninety-three created new federal restrictions to States powers.

But, first and foremost, the seventy-third amendment stated that birth on American soil did not guarantee citizenship. The equality act declared that the privilege and honor of citizenship must be earned.

First one must _graduate_ childhood. Applicants for citizenship must be eighteen years of age. They must be healthy, educated and accompanied by an adult sponsor, an accredited Citizen of the Republic. If approved, after the tests and interviews, the applicant must choose a s _acrifice_ to the state.

According to amendment seventy-four, the sacrifice, or _Affirmation of Allegiance_ , could be made in one of three ways: land, currency, or service. That being, one acre of municipal land, its equivalent in currency, or two years public service. The suggested value of one municipal acre is around a million talents. No one could ever hope to earn that much doing two years of menial chores for the state.

Most applicants choose public service. The two years could be served in either the national defense forces or humanitarian social services. One could also opt for the officers, or executive courses, but the requirements were higher and the term of duty longer. In return for the extended service, the applicant is promised advancement through the gates of citizenship at an accelerated rate, providing he or she doesn't washout somewhere along the way.

Each successive gate of citizenship requires further sacrifice, but also awards additional rights. As the propaganda so clearly explains; Citizenship Requires Sacrifice. I sit here staring up at the six-foot letters, carved in granite, hanging over the gates of Angel City induction hall in district one.

C I T I Z E N S H I P R E Q U I R E S S A C R I F I C E

Enlistment terms are broken up into two categories, national defense or social service. This is said to be the last real choice a citizen ever makes.

National defense, the military and law enforcement branches, guns and rockets of all sizes, jets, helicopters, tanks, long-range satellite guided roaming missile squadrons. The alternative is the social service, medical, health, convalescent care, veterinarians and dental technicians.

Most citizens serve their enlistment, graduate to second gate and attend university. The gates are a series of grades or levels. Each gate requires different sacrifices from the applicant and is awarded in the form of a key and an updated republic ID.

With each gate of citizenship, additional rights are earned. First gate citizens have the right to emergency health care, subsistence rations, secondary education and the right to a hearing in a court of law if accused of a crime.

A second gate citizen with decent high school grades and two years honorable service can pretty much get into any college they want. They can get married and can appeal a case decided against them in a court of law.

Third gate citizens can purchase land and serve on public committees.

Fourth gate citizens can go into business and run for office.

Fifth gates can form corporations, hold governorships, chair public committees and serve as municipal judges.

Sixth gates can hold senate and congressional seats, chair ambassadorships to other nations and sit on the bench at the state level. State governors can commission and develop new cities and districts, as well as reform or close existing ones down, a god-like power over entire metropolitan areas.

Seventh Gates often hold numerous chief executive positions and occasionally serve on the Supreme Court. Among the masses, seventh gates are the first men of the republic and are largely believed to be responsible for over two thirds of the worlds' health, wealth and welfare.

The prerequisite for the eighth gate is that the citizen be nominated and inaugurated as the federal chief executive officer.

A government is chiefly concerned with its own survival. The Nation is a business, a monopoly on protecting the country. When one Chief Executive steps down, another is nominated to take his place.

There are only a handful of ninth gate citizens. Occasionally their names are tattooed to the flagstone of a new building.

Tenth Gate Citizens are unseen, unknown, a myth.

When I go inside to my induction ceremony, there will be five rituals to undergo. First, a six-question placement test, then the pledge, my choice of sacrifice, participation in a trial, and last, the practical exam.

The six questions as I've heard them are,

Do you believe in...

1), the freedom of speech?

2), the freedom of religion?

3), the right to bear arms?

4), the right to work and earn capital?

5), the right to own property

6), the right to self-defense and the defense of national security?

A No in response to any of the above questions disqualifies the applicant for citizenship.

Next, the loyalty pledge is straight forward enough.

Please raise your right hand.

Do you pledge and affirm by your oath, all fealty, loyalty, homage and obedience to the Democratic Republic of the United States of America?

The applicant, supplicant, (bitch), replies...

I do affirm, by my oath, all fealty, loyalty, homage and obedience to the Democratic Republic of the United States of America.

And that's it. You are now officially a Citizen of these here United States. You can fuck off the whole next part. Your sponsor is out, his obligation is satisfied and you are now, from this moment forward, subject to the laws and hierarchy of the Republic.

Some people, do in fact, screw up every moment from that point forward. Their sponsor is off the hook. He's only responsible for you while you are in the Republic's building. He's there for liability issues, literally. In case you should slip and crack your head open After you start the process, but Before you complete it. That is literally all he is there for. If you are a parent, this is the moment you are legally no longer responsible for your child. As a citizen you are a voluntary adult ward of the court. And in this world on anti-gravity cables and cars that pilot magnetic currents in the sky, it would be appropriate to say, as I have often heard it said, _All roads lead to court._

If you're still with the program, and hey, let's go if just for the ride...

The choice of sacrifice is the third step of the application process. If I choose to become a citizen, I must choose time in the military or the medical ward; inflicting wounds or dressing them. You don't get to choose what unit you are assigned to. You just took an oath of obedience. The choice you are getting here is a convenience, where-in consideration of those involved makes it easier for everyone.

Then comes the trial and the practical. All new citizens are required to participate in the legal process. They must deliver a verdict in a capital case and then commute or execute the sentence.

They must either personally execute a convicted criminal or reduce the sentence to life in a labor camp. This is the applicant's final test. It becomes a permanent part of their permanent record.

In the Social Services Department, the death penalty is frowned upon. Citizens who chose to execute a prisoner don't usually do well in the SSD.

Also, as one might expect, soldiers who pardon a traitor or murderer often find themselves isolated in their new environment as well.

The issue of the death penalty separates our society more than sex, affluence, religion or intellect. One could say it's a test of intellect, in fact, many do. It is also a test of will and composure under pressure. Half of those who undergo the practical exam choose to execute a person they have never met, seen or even heard about.

At eighteen years old, the Democratic Republic of the United States, sets one half of itself at odds with the other half, in perpetuity, ad infinitum.

Fifty percent is divisive to say the least. Let's not forget, the citizens who do execute a convicted criminal are awarded a thousand talent executioner's fee. If I choose to become a citizen, I must choose to grant someone a life of pain and suffering or end them forever.

It feels like such a trap. Society is like a casino. If you play, you play by their rules. Their rules say you are going to lose.

I don't want to be cynical, but what kind of game is that?

But I have an idea. Wait till they get a load of me.

In the storage room, in the basement, David set down the notebook and recalled the day his sponsor, a fourth gate citizen, finally arrived, late in the afternoon on Friday. David didn't complain about the four previous days he'd spent waiting. He was sure the man's bold act of protest would end up hurting him more in the long run. You don't keep a Senator's son waiting for a week by accident.

David's father was a powerful man and those who routinely insult their superiors eventually find someone willing to indulge their self-destructive desires.

David presented his application. He qualified for the officer candidates' commitment and picked foreign military service as his preferred term of service.

The republic accepted his application and he was sworn in. His sponsor's work done, they silently shook hands and parted company. David watched the man go, feeling a deep sense of pity for him. So many seemed ill-suited for their destiny.

David and the other new citizens were ushered into a large orientation amphitheater. After a short speech, they were issued their new Republic ID's and corralled into the nearby judicial branch. There they participated in a capital case, served on a jury and delivered a verdict.

After that came the Practical Exam that everyone was so obsessed with. The summary courts building served as a massive storage and processing area between the courthouse and the designated prison, or just as likely, the morgue.

Eighteen and old enough to balance life and death, the practical exam could not be avoided, postponed or escaped, (short of physically fleeing the entire ritual, which was simple enough, several had done it). On the surface, the practical had been designed to illustrate the core principles of integrity, honor and self-determination. _Interpretation_ of the results was what really mattered.

David suspected that in reality, it was the young citizen's composure that mattered most, regardless of the choice. The lives of the convicted meant nothing and applicants who crumbled under stress couldn't be counted on, not on the battlefield, nor in the emergency room.

At the reception counter, a battle-scarred veteran greeted David's group. He explained the finer points of handgun safety. He pointed out the weapon's safety, trigger lock, and explained that the modern pistol would fire 1024 rounds of case-less ammunition on a single magazine.

"That's a lot of bad guys," he laughed, doing his best to keep the feeling light. David thought it just made him seem insensitive.

The basics explained, the vet grew serious as he issued weapons to the new citizens. He encouraged them to vote their conscience and dispense justice or mercy, as they saw fit.

Restrained in large cylindrical one-man-prisons, the convicted waited patiently. Frosted panels revealed only the head and shoulders of the condemned, so they might be engaged in final arguments, their last chance to plea for mercy and their lives.

What the opaque fiber-weave tubes lack in dignity, they make up for in efficiency. Plugged into an intravenous chemical diet and strapped into a humiliating waste removal unit, the convicts wait. Their hands and legs immobilized, only their minds are free to wander. They wait and watch as their neighbors are either shot or sent to the labor farms.

Some new citizens offer polite cross examination, but most have their minds made up long before arriving at this point in time. The citizens serving the social service department immediately offer the first criminals encountered life sentence in a labor camp. The criminals thank them profusely.

When confronted by a young citizen bound for the military, all that is usually offered is a final moment for last words. The convicted may plead, some even struggle, but none have escaped the tube, except through clemency.

The odds are well known: fifty-fifty, an even split, life or death. The labor farms lay scattered across the mid-west. Some try their hand at escape and more than a couple make it. Mercy _Is_ , after all.

That day, David Alexander Grey executed over a thousand condemned criminals. The weapon they issued him held one thousand seven rounds, seventeen having been fired since the weapon's last reload and servicing.

David calmly shot one thousand, seven criminals in the face. He lost count early on. Once he started, he just kept moving until the gun failed. He didn't get emotional. He just moved and fired, moved and fired. Some of the criminals freaked out. They screamed and yelled at him, he was a murderer, worse than any of them.

David stepped up, slid his ID through the panel and pulled the trigger. Again, again, again. His composure remained flawless. He never winced, blinked or flinched. He didn't smile or frown. He kept firing until the gun was empty, until it ran out of bullets. He didn't enjoy it but neither was he terrified. His id displayed his growing account balance with each new execution. No one stopped him. Only the weapon betrayed him, in the end. He laughed at the irony.

Now David had a new ninja masterpiece. This eclipsed the secret hours of his life in so many ways. For one, it was not a secret. His hatred for the world had been exposed: to be judged and sentenced. Who would question him, arrest him? After all, he was now out of bullets.

David returned to the armory. The gun coach at the counter took the weapon from him. He didn't offer to reload it; he simply took it and backed away. David turned from the counter and walked to the exit.

He'd discovered something else that was rather profound that day. He discovered he was free to be silent in public. This was different than remaining silent and unseen. This was just as powerful, but in an inverted sort of way. In most cases, some explanation of exposition was called for, but not always. As in the case of the prisoners; many of them had asked him questions, but he had not replied. He was not required to. Courtesy and obligation were different, but in both cases, everything depended on inner stillness.

While David was killing, people started talking about it. Before he returned the weapon, a small crowd had formed outside the hall. News reporters had been called and arrived, cameras rolling.

No one had ever done anything like this before.

Just before David exited, a member of the reporter's crew came out of the hall, "One thousand, seven! One thousand, seven! The most anyone has ever done was thirty-four, and that was in Jersey. It's a new record all right!"

A couple minutes later David stepped out to a sea of blank faces. They all just stared at him. A stunningly beautiful chestnut-haired reporter, just a few years older than himself, was at the front of the knot of live-stream journalists. They stared at him with shock and horror.

David looked down at his chest and arms. Light red spots had long ago given over to dark red stains and lighter, wet blood splattered atop it. The wind shifted and the stink of death washed from David and spread out over the crowd. They recoiled as if of one mind. The pretty reporter took two steps backward.

David caught his reflection in a nearby window. He smiled at himself, but refrained from the thumbs-up. The thought did make him chuckle, however, and that was every bit as damning as if he'd coming out chewing on a baby's skull.

David turned and walked twenty feet to the nearby fountain. No one made any move to stop him. He rinsed the thickest red from his arms and face, but his shirt was a lost cause.

The reporter steeled herself and advanced.

The first thing David noticed were the freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose. She'd tried to cover them up with foundation. He wanted to ask her why, but the rose-pink of her lips distracted him and then she spoke.

"Sir, excuse me, Sir." Her voice rang of condescension, accusation and judgment, and to be fair, he was covered in gore.

"Yes," David answered.

"What's your name, citizen?" she asked.

"David Grey."

"Mr. Grey, during your practical, did you... Did you... What did you do?"

"The food we eat should not be harvested by prisoners."

The reporter stalled.

"Also, I think it should be illegal for me to kill a thousand people in one day. Don't you?" David smiled.

The reporter just stared at him, utterly befuddled, dumbfounded.

"Where are the authorities? Who will arrest me?

"No one?

"What will you do with me?

"Who will cast a stone? You should at least, try me for murder and put me in one of those tubes. No?

"No. They gave me a million talents instead. How's that for irony?"

"What are you saying?" she asked, shocked. "Did you just kill a thousand people to make some kind of political statement?"

"Do you think anything will change?"

No one obstructed him in his next task either; visiting a nearby shopping center and replacing his soiled button-up with a clean and fresh pull-over version. His ride home on public transport drew horrified stares and terrified glances. His hair was still thick with red, his hairline especially. His skin still wet with blood, that became pink-wet as he sweat on the June evening, and ran off in butcher's rivulets. His new shirt became stained before he got home.

He arrived after dark, naturally approaching from the back of the house, his unseen ninja path into the estate. The lordly manor was outfitted with the best surveillance system, but every system has holes. David was rarely picked up on any of the cameras if he could avoid it.

He arrived at the back door, opening to the anteroom between the vacant study and the second kitchen. Across the patio, the self-sustaining greenhouse reflected the night sky. David looked up at the stars for a moment.

The cosmos; dazzling in its brilliance, the great S shape of the twinkling suns, the Milky Way galaxy, winking at humanity over the vast ocean of space.

The fresh air, after his brisk walk, felt both relaxing and invigorating, cooling his face, neck and shoulders.

Then his gaze fell to his own reflection in the glass wall.

He was something to behold. For a moment, he did not recognize himself. His skin looked dead-white pale, under the crimson death-tint that had washed over him.

This time he did not smile.

He had been caught unaware, and for the first time, he knew, he had finally seen himself. This was his true visage. This is where his self-interest had led him.

Perhaps they would change the law, but that could never change who he was now, not in this lifetime. The blood might wash off, but not really, not ever.

David took a deep breath

Later, the shower ran red for almost ten minutes.

After he was finished with them, the white towels had a pink shade.

The weapon, having been returned, as they all were, went up on the wall over the instructor's counter. The metal plate on the small plaque bore only one word, KILO.

The next day the senate drafted and passed legislation, restricting citizens to one executioner's fee _period_ , not one per executed criminal. Grey's performance assured copycat attempts. When the treasury was threatened, lawmakers were swift to act.

Years later, the pistol was tracked down by some colleagues and presented to David, a farewell gift from friends as he transferred units. It had been cleaned, oiled and officially registered as his personal sidearm. David was touched. Over the intervening years, he'd formed an attachment to the gun like nothing else in his life.

Now, on a temporary assignment between deployments, he'd handed the weapon over to some rioting high school student.

David set the notebook on the floor. If he was going to ask for help from anyone, he needed to retrieve his badge and weapon first.

# Chapter 20 – Ignorance is Bliss

Lieutenant David Grey arrived on the lower level of the Athletic complex just after dawn. Dressed in civilian clothes, he looked more like an instructor than a cop. He found Kaz and his entourage on their way to breakfast.

Kaz recognized him and stepped forward. The three badges pinned to his chest reflected the early morning sunlight. The handgun tucked into the back of his pants pulled his waistline tight.

"I thought I told you not to come back here, citizen," Kaz said.

"I'm willing to help you, but I need you to trust me," Grey replied.

The kids nearby turned to watch, some laughed, Kaz remained quiet. Hambone, Jones, Rudy, Taylor and Oddball stood behind him.

"How's that work?" Kaz's hand found the butt of the weapon.

"A small group of people can change the world," Grey said.

Now Kaz laughed.

"You don't like the way things are? Do something about it. You have to. Because no one else can do it for you."

"What are _you_ doing here?" Kaz asked.

"Everyone needs help," Grey offered.

Hambone stepped forward, "You just said we have to do it ourselves."

"I just can't do it for you."

"Do what? You can't do _What_ for us?" Kaz asked.

"Lead your revolution. You have to do that for yourselves, but I can help from the outside."

The kids stood silent.

Kaz faced the officer. "Who said anything about a revolution?"

"It's not, until you win, that is. If you don't win, they call it a riot."

"We just want them to stop fucking with us," Kaz said.

"It's never going to happen. You need a real victory, a perfectly executed coup."

"What's a Koo?" Oddball asked.

"He means a Mutiny, you ox." Big Chris smiled.

"You have to take over," Grey explained. "And you have to do it without killing anyone. If you start killing people; they will blow you out of the sky, kids or not. You have to take hostages, so you have something to bargain with. Is this making sense? Even prisoners are taken seriously when they take hostages."

Kaz and the orphans stood quietly, blinking in the early morning sunlight.

"I can help you. I can talk to the Mayor, the Governor, whoever. But first, you have to give me back my weapon and my badge."

"Now I know you're crazy," Kaz laughed.

"I can take them from you, if you prefer."

"If I prefer?" Kaz said to the audience over his shoulder, fearlessly mocking the adult. Several of the kids laughed.

"I don't mind shooting unarmed children," Grey said. "I could have shot you, but Hodges and Fleming had it coming. Soon, they'll send State Troopers, then the National Guard and maybe even a few Marines."

The kids stood silently.

"Have you shot anyone yet?" Grey asked.

"What?"

"With the gun, have you shot anyone?"

"Just you." Kaz pulled the weapon out and held it at his side.

Hambone and the other kids stepped back.

Grey cocked his head. "I bet you can't even hit me from there."

Kaz raised the weapon, but he never even came close.

Grey moved like the wind, covering three steps and catching the boy's wrist before the barrel ever found him. Grey twisted Kazimov's wrist.

The youth tried to step away but the lieutenant trapped his heel and elbow. Grey took half a step to the side. Kaz teetered; off balance, his body knotted in opposing directions, he stifled a cry.

Grey held the boy in check and removed the weapon from his hand. He then moved his heel and shoved Kaz, who spun loose and crashed to the ground several meters away.

"I'm sorry, but this has sentimental value." Grey tucked the weapon into an empty holster on the back of his belt.

Kaz got to his feet and charged the lieutenant.

Grey evaded him and flipped the teen onto his back. Pinning the student to the ground with a knee, he plucked his badge from Kaz's shirt.

"I could have killed you last night," Grey said. "But I was glad you attacked them. I wanted to shoot them myself."

Grey rapped his fist against Kaz's forehead. "You do whatever you have to do, but one piece of advice, try to kill as few people as possible. Believe me."

The officer stepped away.

Kaz climbed to his feet and they glared at each other for a moment.

Finally Grey turned and walked from the level. This time no one attempted to obstruct him.

That same morning, kids mobbed the administration building. The main hall was quiet, despite the throng of children. Metal posts, firmly anchored to the floor, broke up the lobby. Chains connecting the posts created an orderly pathway for occasions when the orphanage found itself crowded with new residents.

Andrews, Geoffrey and Sky stood at the main counter. Hambone and Kaz stood behind them.

The secretary, Miss Mifton, stood behind the counter. She held the telephone like a shield between herself and the silent crowd of children filling her lobby.

Miss Mifton reached whoever she'd called and turned her back on the students in an attempt at increased privacy.

Kaz triggered the spring-loaded links and removed a section of chain from its rightful place. He quietly wrapped the chain around his fists.

Behind him, Rudy, Taylor and the others got the idea and quickly stripped all the chains from their posts and handed them out to their comrades.

Hambone shook his head. "Here we fucking go," he muttered.

"Shh!" Kaz grinned with excitement.

Miss Mifton turned back to face Drews.

"You say you're his Attorney?" she asked, pointing to Geoff.

"Yes, that's correct. I'm the family counsel, including his sister, Miss Fox. Please tell the Governor..."

Miss Mifton held up a hand and turned away from Andrews. She intently listened to the party on the other end. Finally, she concluded her call, hung up and turned back to the kids.

"The Governor will be happy to see you," she answered. "How's next Thursday?"

"You mean this Thursday?" Drews asked.

"No. I mean next Thursday. Oh, and I can accept any documents or motions you would like to submit to the court."

"I would like to see my client," Drews demanded.

"I'm afraid that's not possible."

"On what grounds?"

"The District Attorney is afraid someone will attempt to kill Miss Fox. She's being held in isolation for her own safety."

"The District Attorney?" Drews asked.

"Yes, that's right. Would you like so see him?" she offered.

"I would, produce him at once," Drews commanded.

"Well, he's not here... Listen, young man... " The secretary leaned over the counter toward Drews.

Drews got in her face. "I'm Ms. Fox's legal council... "

Kaz stepped forward and roughly shoved the smaller Andrews to the side and dropped his chain wrapped fists on the counter.

"We know our rights. You can't with hold visitation or access to counsel."

Miss Mifton ignored the implied threat. "Does this look like a jail to you? Have you all lost your minds? If you want jail, I can call security."

The guard on duty, Ted, stepped up behind her. "No need, Misty. I'm right here," he said.

"Wait a fucking second," Kaz said, looking at something on her desk.

Ted and Misty paused.

"Your little plaque here," he gestured the triangular bar on the desk. "It reads M Mifton. I was wondering about that. Your name is Misty Mifton? Did your parents hate you or what?"

The packed hall giggled and snickered.

"Aren't you lucky little rabbits supposed to be in school?" Ted asked.

"We're taking a few days off, Ted. You got a problem with that?"

Ted came out from behind the counter. "Guess you're not one of the lucky ones, huh?"

Ted came down the few steps of the elevated secretaries platform. Instead of being taller than Kaz, like he was behind the counter, he was now half a foot shorter.

Kaz burst into laughter. "Come on, man. I wasn't going to hurt Madame Molly. Can't we just let it go?" Kaz smiled as he backed up, tactically making more room for his show-down with Ted.

"What's the matter, you scared, zero?"

"Scared of hurting you." Kaz laughed.

"Hurt this!" Ted clumsily attacked with his shock baton.

Kaz avoided him and snapped a chain-wrapped fist into his face.

Ted stumbled and coughed splintered teeth into the air.

Kaz swung again, knocking him to the hard tiled floor. He unwrapped the chain and hung it over his shoulder. He relieved Ted of his baton, his badge and gestured to the nearby kids.

"Get his gear."

Several kids stooped to strip the unconscious Ted of his forearm bracers, shoulder bucklers, boots and equipment belt.

Kaz affixed the badge to his shirt as another kid put on the guard's cap.

Kaz looked over to Misty and pointed the baton at her. "Tell the Governor to release Ashley Fox, or I'll beat down every guard in this District."

He pointed to the badge, held up four fingers and winked at Misty.

Kaz kicked Ted, lying unconscious on the floor, "Who's lucky now, dumb shit?"

He turned toward the door just in time to see a three-man patrol burst into the room.

Kaz walked directly toward them. "Get on your knees!" he shouted.

The guards saw Kaz, their fallen comrade, and a dozen kids all swinging six-foot chains.

The kids behind the guards stepped forward and drove them to their knees. Chains were wrapped and locked around their chests and necks, holding them in place.

Kaz stepped up to the center guard, the officer, and pulled his sidearm from his holster. He cocked it and held it to the side of the citizen's face.

The kids holding the guards hostage tore their gear and uniforms from them.

Kaz tucked the handgun into his belt. "Leave this district and never come back. Understand?"

The guards nodded. Kaz gestured for the kids to release the chains, and the humiliated soldiers ran from the building.

The entire incident, from the time he struck Ted, until the stripped patrol had burst from the lobby, had taken less than a minute.

Kaz turned back to Miss Mifton, "Call the Warden, the Governor, the Mayor, call God, and tell him that if they don't let her go, I'm going to beat them stupid. Just like Ted here."

Kaz turned and exited the hall. The kids followed them out into the morning sunlight. The early rays shone on the chains and newly acquired gear. They immediately burst into mock fights. They loudly attacked each other with the chains, batons, bracers and bucklers.

Drews waited until the hall was empty and he had Misty's full attention. He handed her some documents. He pointedly looked over at the beaten and unconscious Ted, then back to her. "I'd appreciate it if you'd pass these on, but if I were you, I'd leave right now and never come back."

Drews turned and followed his friends into the sunlight.

As soon as the door closed, Misty grabbed her purse and fled the reception counter. She took the stairwell to the parking garage below. In less than a minute, she was homeward bound. In what she would later come to regard as the clearest and most astute decision of her life, Misty vowed _never_ to return to District Thirteen.

# Chapter 21 – The Trial of Ashley Fox

Ashley's cell was made of rusted metal walls and a cold steel floor. A raised wooden platform was covered with a hard mat for a bed. There was no sink or toilet, just an exposed drain in the far corner.

Some time the next morning, three guards dragged her from her cell. They restrained her in a specially designed wheel chair. Once she was gagged and hooded, they wheeled her from the block.

Ash couldn't tell if the elevator traveled up or down. When the doors opened, Ash felt the chilly air of an outdoor level. She didn't hear any voices as the guards wheeled her away from the elevator bank. When they stopped and removed the hood, Ash recognized what appeared to be a hastily constructed court on an unfinished level of the district.

The room, composed of unpainted sheets of drywall on a cement floor, was created in the shape of a horseshoe. Beyond one partition she saw a plastic draped exterior wall. The open window ledge and distant horizon were only partially obscured by opaque sheets of ripped and tattered plastic.

The cement was scuffed and marked. The ceiling was lined with terillium beams. A folding table and chairs stood in a row atop a wooden platform. Another row sat facing opposite, albeit a foot lower in elevation. I-beam pillars stood at four points in the room and two more occupied the open space beyond the end of the horseshoe.

Ash was wheeled up to the rightmost table. Her seat faced the plastic sheeted opening to the sky fifty meters across the unfinished level.

She wondered if they meant to simply throw her overboard and be done with it? Why then all the elaborate, or rather, crude efforts at the construction of a courtroom? Perhaps the informality severed to reinforce her level of importance, or lack there of.

She remembered to breathe.

Guards milled about, not paying much attention to her. She studied the building materials stacked outside the courtroom, drywall, plastic-wrapped carpet, boxed cubical panels and spools of terminal-wire.

The young officer tasked with drafting Ashley's arrest-warrant sat to her left. Another man entered, introduced himself as her public defender and took the seat next Ash. The gagged and restrained teen made no effort to acknowledge him.

Across from them a young woman, the stenographer, entered and occupied a small chair set away from the imposing platform. She removed a large pair of headphones from her bag and set them around her neck. She then removed a cylindrical device and set it on the floor next to her. She hit a button, powering up the recording suite, it automatically extended its tripod legs, raising itself twenty inches from the floor. A central post extended three additional feet up from the cylinder.

The stenographer connected her headphones and set them over her ears. She removed her goggles from the bag, connected their cable and placed them over her eyes. She hit a button on the control panel and the indicator on the camera assembly began to blink its red recording light.

A massive guard noted the light. "All rise," he commanded.

Everyone stood, except Ashley, who was strapped into her seat. Not that she would have, even if she'd been free to do so.

From the left, an elderly woman dressed in a black judge's cloak, entered and proceeded to the center chair of the raised platform.

"The court of District Thirteen is now in session," the bailiff proclaimed. "The honorable Governor Agatha Dorchester Maime presiding."

The governor-judge lifted her gavel and rapped it once.

"Be seated," the bailiff ordered.

Everyone not already sitting sat.

"So, what do we have today?" she asked, as though this case were just another day on the job.

"The People versus Ashley Fox," the bailiff replied.

"What's the charge?" the judge asked.

The prosecutor stood, "If it please the court..."

Governor Maime nodded.

"Your honor, the State charges orphan number 2310091503, Miss Ashley Erin Fox, with one count of murder in the first degree and one count of assault with intent to kill"

The attorney approached the judge's table. "Specifically, The state charges Miss Fox with murder on behalf of orphan number 2292121701, Robert Leland Kidd, whom she killed in an illegal pit fight, cutting his throat."

The prosecutor handed a stapled file to the Judge. "The State also charges Miss Fox with assault with intent to kill, on behalf of orphan number 2290061002, Moses Modred Muhammad."

The prosecutor handed Governor Maime another file. "The state will prove that Miss Fox is a danger to herself and others. We are recommending she be tried as an adult and the state is seeking the death penalty in this case."

"Miss Fox, due to the gravity of these charges, the state has no choice but to try you as an adult." She picked up her gavel, rapped it on the tabletop.

"As you're an orphan, with no resources, the state will provide you with counsel at no expense. Mr. Gransil," she addressed the public defender next to Ash. "Do you accept the responsibility to defend your client to the best of your ability?"

"Yes, your honor," he replied.

"Prosecutor, please state your case," Governor Maime said.

"Governor, your Honor," he began, "the State argues that Miss Fox and Mister Kidd had words earlier in the day, an incident taking place on the south west rooftop of the Bolt, known as the Zoo."

"Will the defendant please rise," Governor Maime asked.

The gagged and restrained Ash remained seated.

"Let the record show," Governor Maime spoke to the stenographer, "that Miss Fox is held in contempt for willfully disregarding the order to stand before the court."

The stenographer nodded.

"Miss Ashley Fox," Governor Maime addressed the defendant, "you are hereby charged with the murder of one Robert Leland Kidd. How do you plead?"

The gagged Ashley made no attempt to speak.

Auntie waited a moment and turned to the stenographer again.

"Let the record show the defendant entered a plea of no contest."

Governor Maime rapped her gavel and said, "The court is adjourned."

Lieutenant Grey entered the Mayor's Office shortly before ten am.

The secretary asked him to identify himself and state the nature of his visit.

The lieutenant replied that he urgently needed to speak to his honor regarding District 13.

He was asked to take a seat.

Kima and the Leonas ambushed a patrol. Two guards were murdered on the spot, their bodies were later discovered castrated, their genitalia stuffed into each other's mouths. The third soldier was kidnapped and dragged back to the Leona's block, where he spent the next few days being _conditioned_ to death.

Despite Kazimov's publicly demanded truce, three Dragons faced off against three Blades in another cafeteria. Someone blinked and the unarmed gangsters were fighting. However, they fought with a suspicious lack of physical violence, more yelling than punching.

The altercation devolved into a food fight and soon the entire cafeteria was involved.

A group of guards arrived to quell the violence and discovered themselves outnumbered and surrounded. They wisely surrendered their weapons and armor.

Several more patrols waded into the chaos, only to be likewise ambushed and stripped of their weapons and gear.

Before long, a dozen soldiers had been overpowered and disarmed, but unlike the Leona's engagement, the Dragons and Blades released the guards unharmed. By the end of the lunch hour, six handguns had benn taken by the juvenile residents of District Thirteen.

Much to Warden Keller's dismay, the Blades and Dragons were caught congratulating each other over the security feed. He summoned his majors to the command room.

They sat at the conference table.

"Reports?" Keller asked.

"In the last twenty-four hours we've had two men killed, twenty critically injured and five MIA," Major Armitage replied. "To the best of our knowledge, the lucky bastards have at least seven firearms and over a dozen batons."

"What the fuck is going on out there gentlemen? Someone please explain to me how the world's most elite fighting force is getting their asses handed to them by a bunch of school children?"

"Ambush, sir," Major Dumont stated. "Starts as a gang fight, our boys get involved, they join forces and take them by surprise."

"Surprise? How do you take a squad involved in a fight, by surprise?"

"Our orders are not to fire unless fired upon. These kids are mostly unarmed, we can't just light them up. Plus our guys are mostly green, sir. And they're not elite, they're not even National Guard."

"I don't want excuses, I want results," Keller snapped.

Watrous leaned forward. "Sir, our men have sent twenty zeros to the morgue in the last twenty hours, that's almost one an hour, plus countless rabbits in ICU."

"We can all do the math, Major. I'm not interested in how many of these rabid monkeys break their teeth on a citizen's boot. I do grow concerned when they start working together. It shows evidence of higher intellectual function. Next thing you know they'll be talking. What if they learn to write? Then, all of a sudden one of them builds a bomb and it's ka-boom! No more majors."

The majors remained silent.

"Ambushed, huh? Coordinated? Planned?" the colonel asked.

"Clearly, sir," Major Watrous answered. "If we had some reinforcements, we could..."

"First, let's rule a few things out. One, we are not calling in reinforcements. Two, we are not calling in reinforcements. Now, any other suggestions?"

"Assault rifles, sir. Let's remind them who runs the district," Watrous asserted. "A couple heads up on spikes couldn't hurt either. We know who the ringleaders are."

Dumont leaned forward. "Really. Who?"

Watrous hesitated.

"We do not know," Dumont said. "You might know who it isn't, but you don't know who it is. These gangs, who, up until yesterday were hell bent on killing each other, are now working together."

"We know it's not the girl," Keller interrupted. "We know it's not Moses and we know it's not the kid, Dante. History has shown that our primary target must be the ringleaders, and we know who runs each of the major gangs, correct?"

"Yes, sir. We just don't know who brokered the deal. If we ratchet up the pressure, we'll only add to their ranks." Dumont answered.

Armitage thought for a moment, and then smiled. "We could close all the cafeterias and reduce the patrols by half, the men are exhausted. Outfit the hard posts in swat gear and less-lethal ammo, in case more weapons get taken. If we give the bastards a false sense of security; when the real trouble starts, we can extinguish it immediately,"

"Actually, we do know where this resistance started," Watrous said. "It's that same knot of kids that was hanging around Fox. Supposedly, her brother was there when they took down Fleming, Hodges, and Grey. Also, we never recovered Grey's body. The little fucks actually sent the other two back by elevator, but the docs couldn't save them."

"Do you think Grey is working with them?" Keller asked.

"Doubtful, but he's a self-righteous prick. We haven't seen the last of him."

Colonel Keller leaned back in his chair. "Once rebels commence hit and run tactics, we're required to declare martial law. That always puts the Mayor's dick in the soup."

"We're getting a new batch of gunners Monday." Armitage said. "We don't have to call anyone. For the next six weeks we will have double our usual numbers. We just need to get to Monday, by any means necessary.

Watrous laughed, "We should drug them into next week, literally."

"Too expensive," the Colonel answered.

"What if we smash them up a bit first?" Armitage reasoned.

"This is all about that Fox girl." Watrous said. "Let's execute the bitch. That'll shut 'em up."

Major Dumont rolled his eyes. "If we martyr her, this whole place will burn. We need to keep them fighting amongst themselves, not against us."

The colonel stared at his majors, then smiled and leaned forward.

"Okay. I like the suggestion of halving the patrols and the less-lethal ammunition. Issue the rifles and load them with pinks. Lock up the live shells and keep plenty of special response teams on standby. One more thing; offer amnesty on any returned weapons and gear. If they turn over all the gear, we'll release Miss Fox. The deadline is noon on Thursday. Just to show them we're serious, round up at least a hundred rug-rats and spend the next twelve hours reminding them that they're worthless, and I mean make them feel ugly. Don't waste your time with the muscle-heads, we can hurt them worse by damaging their little brothers. I want this message to reach the ringleaders, loud and clear."

Colonel Keller stood. "Gentlemen."

Lieutenant Grey remained in the anteroom of the Mayor's office, waiting. As the secretary left for the day, she assured him that Mayor Westbury would be along shortly. She said good night and left the building.

Groups of guards prowled the district, armored in full-swat issue. Randomly they subdued errant orphans. Their orders were to beat twenty for every one they placed under arrest.

Before nightfall the district had begun conditioning procedures on a hundred and twelve orphans and the nursing staff was held back for double shifts.

Just before eight pm the Mayor stepped out of his office, dressed in his coat and hat. Flanked by bodyguards, and trailed by his personal secretary, Leonard Waltman, his honor approached the young lieutenant, dozing on the anteroom couch.

The Mayor roughly jabbed him with his cane. "Lieutenant. Wake up."

Grey awoke with a start. "Your honor, sir." Grey rose to his feet, he towered over the rotund municipal authority.

The mayor was unperturbed by Grey's physically threatening stature, he pushed ahead. "Indeed. What are you doing sleeping out here? Come, walk with me, and tell me your woes."

Westbury was a hugely fat man and his frame did not appear to have been constructed to support such massive bulk. The cane was definitely for balance and support rather than style.

"Mister Mayor, I'm here in the interest of confidentiality."

Westbury stopped as they reached the elevator and looked up at Grey, taking a good close look at him. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean; You have a situation developing in one of your districts, and I thought you should be informed personally."

"Well, then inform me and stop speaking in riddles."

"District Thirteen."

"What about it?"

"What else do I need to say?"

"I told you not to waste my time."

The elevator car arrived. Westbury stepped on, followed by his secretary, Waltman. He stared at Grey.

Well, what are you waiting for?" Westbury gestured for Grey to step aboard the car.

Grey nodded, began to stammer a reply but thought better of it and simply stepped aboard the elevator.

"What's wrong with you?" Westbury asked, looking directly at David again.

"Nothing, sir."

"Well it can't be nothing," Westbury grumbled, looking down. His glace fell to David's waist and lingered there.

David wanted to step away, but the elevator car left little actual room for escape. The mayor looked back up to David's nametag and all-black codec.

The elevator dinged and the door opened onto the parking garage. Westbury waddled off first, followed by Grey and Waltman leisurely taking his time.

Westbury raised a fat finger in the air. "Presuming I do know a little something about the troubles of block thirteen, what would you have me do, Lieutenant?"

"If you're thinking about doing something publicly, that would be difficult. You'd have to establish a pattern of abuse over time."

"Am I to understand you're suggesting a black op against an orphanage?"

"Of course not."

Westbury's gaze again fell to David's gunbelt, and suddenly he understood.

They stood waiting at the valet area, while Waltman walked to the vehicle, unlocked it and pulled it around.

Westbury opened the door for himself and climbed inside. Again David was left waiting. This time he didn't make the Mayor ask him, and after a moment, climbed into the luxury cruiser.

Once the vehicle lifted off and got into the relative safety of the municipal flow, the mayor turned to Grey.

"I am well aware of the conditions aboard the district," he said. "I have long been seeking a solution, but the problems are... pervasive and systemic. This could be a very big black eye for Angel City, and I'd like to avoid that. However, eradication of a weed, or a cancer, sometimes requires surgical procedures."

Grey felt a bit of fear as he tried to balance the mayor's words against his rapacious grin.

When they arrived at Westbury's home and stepped out of the vehicle, his honor informed the soldier that he, now, wanted to ask a favor of him.

The mayor looked David in the eyes and said, "We're the same, you and I."

"How's that, sir?" Lt. Grey replied.

"We both hold significant positions of authority. Wouldn't you agree?"

Grey smelled a linguistic trap. "I don't consider myself significant, or any sort of authority, You, Sir, are in a position of power, not me."

"Don't patronize me, son," the mayor turned surly.

The lieutenant bowed his head, "I meant no disrespect." David was well aware that this man could charge him with treason and have him executed with a nod.

"If I understand correctly, you are Senator Grey's boy, Old Dakota's grandson?"

"Yes, sir," David answered.

"You know Dakota once lived on District 13. He was an orphan, did you know that?"

Grey nodded.

"Your father has sired himself quite a number of sons, hasn't he?"

"Five, that I know of, sir," Grey answered.

"Judging by that solid black codec there, you are David. David Grey? Is that right?"

David nodded again.

"Well then, about that favor... " The Mayor gestured to the young officer's holstered weapon, on his hip. "Could I?"

The lieutenant drew the sidearm and checked that it was on safe before turning it over.

"I understand that this is the one you used?"

David nodded again. His cordial expression fell to reveal the true lack of emotion he felt, the true lack of empathy or concern he held for this obese creature, this fan, standing before him.

During his citizenship induction ceremony, David made history. One thousand, seven was not a number easily brushed aside. His nickname amongst his comrades, Kilo, attested to that.

Instead of being vilified, as he'd hoped, instead of the practice being outlawed, David became something of a cult hero, overnight. He'd been immediately drafted into the Special Forces, and after completing the required schools, he was issued the highly prized _all-black_ codec, the designation of a wet-worker, elite amongst all the republic's military units.

Lt. Grey was always disappointed to discover one of his superiors was a fan. It reinforced his impression of how corrupt the society was. This attitude probably had something to do with his stale rank as first lieutenant.

Westbury practically drooled over the weapon. The mayor took aim at a street sign and illegally discharged three rounds, hitting it with two of them. He smiled and handed the gun back.

Grey knew Mayor Westbury hadn't listened to a single thing he'd said about D13. All he'd wanted was to fire the weapon that executed a thousand men in a single day.

Westbury instructed Waltman to have the street sign framed and hung in his study.

Back on the district, the screams of pain coming from the conditioning blocks could be heard for half a mile. The guards tortured the randomly arrested children without mercy. In one cell they used fire, in another water, electricity, drugs, splinters, pliers and every other imaginable torture device close at hand. The soldiers didn't try to get any information and their prisoners didn't have answers. The evening's activities are about the infliction and endurance of pain.

The nurses came in during the lulls in the action and to administer derivatives of the magnificent healing compound Ashley's father created, a generation ago.

In two weeks, all that will remain of their suffering will be the nightmares and their distinct memories of the experience.

In their recreation rooms, the members of the Iron Fist sat on couches arranged around a mounted vid screen. Guards didn't come this far down into the complex. Especially considering the latest acts of mutiny and the numbers of critically wounded citizens.

Hambone leaned over to Kaz. "Word is they rounded up a hundred kids. I got another hunny, 'tween you and me, that says they bust down our door before lights out." Hambone alone laughed at the macabre joke.

"Come on, no takers?" Ham said loudly.

The other orphans did not find Hambone's joke to be amusing. No one laughed or spoke.

A bell rang. It was eleven, the lights clicked off.

"Guess not," Hambone laughed.

"I should have taken your money, you dick," Kaz said.

In her lightless cell, tied into a straight jacket, Ashley sat in quiet meditation, much as her father had a couple years earlier.

# Chapter 22 – Assault Rifles and Rubber Bullets

Wednesday, September 21, 2310

Per the colonel's orders, the cafeterias were closed. However, with guards manning only half their usual posts, there was nothing to prevent the hungry children from breaking into the chow halls.

Every third or fourth cafeteria was full of kids; no guards were anywhere to be seen. The zeros who'd been beaten sported casts over broken bones, stitches, and red-blue stained bandages.

Despite the fact that the interrogators had been told that extracting information about the ringleaders was not a priority, old habits died hard. They had spent the night beating the story into and out of the kids, but all the orphans remembered was pain.

Hambone, Kaz and a few other members of the fist entered a liberated cafeteria. Kids everywhere looked up. They recognized him. Since Ashley had been taken, Kaz and the Iron Fist were all the orphans talked about.

A bandaged child approached them. He had one arm in a cast, his face and lips were cut and bruised. He stared at Kaz.

Kaz thought the perhaps the young orphan was angry with him. After all, it was his attack on Hodges and crew that had caused this latest mess.

The boy raised a single fist. The kids who could cheer and clap did, applauding Kaz and the other members of the Iron Fist.

Hambone rolled his eyes and headed for the limited breakfast fare.

Later, as they sat at a table, Hambone spoke over tightly clenched fists. "I still can't believe they took a hundred kids!"

Tanaka leaned back, "What do we do about it?"

Jones sat up, "If they separate us, get us all fighting each other again, they'll kill us, slowly."

"Yeah, We have to stick together," Hambone agreed.

"So far, the plan is working; they're panicked. Now we gather resources, weapons, prepare for the next attack," Drews added.

"It will be soon and it will be heavy," Kazimov said. "We have to consolidate our strength. Make sure everyone eats. We'll all have to fight, and soon."

Yama and Frost stood guard as an adult, a civilian Devil, disguised as a teacher's assistant, met with Dante. The area was a large game room, featuring several couches and a number of orphans involved in one form of leisure or another.

When Sergeant Wulfgar and Harrison showed up, Yama and Frost managed to hold them off long enough for Dante at least to be informed.

Wulfgar and his sidekick entered the Devil's wing and found Dante sitting at a huge desk, signing a series of checks. They walked up and stood directly in front of the preoccupied teen.

The block had a lot of open space, interrupted by an occasional wall, and spotted with couches and vid stream sets.

The racks were loosely clustered around the areas with more intact walls, but every thing had been so shifted and rebuilt, the area no longer resembled a prison at all. Each living area blended into the next. Some spots had been converted into kitchens, the ventilation so artfully blended with the existing infrastructure, as to be nearly invisible.

Dante was dressed in an immaculately white linen suit. He tried hard to ignore the soldiers standing before him, but that was impossible, so he simply made them wait while he finished signing the checks.

"So?" Sgt. Wulfgar snapped.

"So, what?" Dante asked without looking up.

"Some lucky bunny lost his shit and declared war on the State. I'm taking it personally."

"Then why are you talking to me? I'm a peaceful resident with a record of cooperation."

Wulfgar stepped forward. "Far as I'm concerned you shamrocks would all be better off shifting six feet of dirt. But it isn't up to me. I'm here to tell you, lucky rabbit, that we want the gats. We want the batons, the badges, the shields, armor and every other piece of stolen gear, all of it, back by noon tomorrow, or you're all burning."

"Promises, promises," Dante replied.

Harrison stepped forward. "It's called amnesty. Tomorrow at twelve oh one, it ends."

"Did you just learn that word?" Dante asked.

"Bite me," Harrison answered.

Dante laughed. "Do you think I'm happy about this? Are you even slightly aware of what this shit is costing me?"

"It's going to cost you your life if your not careful," Wulfgar said.

"Is that what you were sent here to tell me? To make myself useful?"

"No. We were sent here to tell you that you have amnesty until noon tomorrow. We came to you, specifically, because we figured we might get through the conversation without killing you."

"What about announcing it on the vid screens, the same way you fuckers do everything else? You own the feed, why not use it?"

"Don't be stupid."

"Kind of like trying to piss into the wind, isn't it? You can't broadcast the amnesty because you'd have to admit there are half a dozen loose nines in the block. It would be all over the news in less than an hour. So instead, you come down here like you own the place. You want my answer?

"Go fuck yourself."

Wulfgar's rage painted his features a hostile red.

Dante remained in his chair.

The sergeant coolly checked the chamber of his assault weapon.

Dante stood and came out from around the desk.

Wulfgar took a step forward. "Whatcha got, Mitsubishi?"

The teen walked directly up to the soldiers, challenging them to shoot him. "This is The Devil's house. Do you understand what I'm saying to you?"

"You think you're untouchable?" Harrison switched his weapon off safe. "You're not!"

Dante stepped directly into Harrison, Wulfgar pushed them apart.

Out of sight, dozens of metallic clicks and clacks and snaps were heard. Given the number and variety, it was difficult to tell how many were firearms and how many are some other bladed, chained or projectile-type weapon, all waiting nearby.

Devils filled the block, they were all around them, and they were paying close attention. There was no chance Wulfgar and Harrison would be walking out, if anything went wrong.

The teacher's assistant waited quietly. As a representative of The Devils, the adult-professional gang, outside District 13, he didn't want to get caught up in a shootout, but he smiled at Dante, just the same.

Dante stepped back, out of the soldiers' personal space. He reached into his pocket, but before Harrison and Wulfgar could aim at him, he'd pulled out a pack of smokes.

They'd flinched and regretted it; dozens of teens snickered and laughed.

Dante lit a cigarette.

"Let me ask you something." He leaned back against the front of the desk, exhaling twin plumes of smoke.

"Fate and circumstance stuck us orphans here, but you... " Dante leveled a finger at the sergeant's chest. "You chose to be a pig. Maybe you didn't choose to be stuck in this shithole, but here you are, and it's your own damn fault. My question for you is, do you think that was unlucky or just plain stupid?"

Harrison leaned forward. "We are the ones holding the guns."

"On children! And they're loaded with pretty-pink rubber bullets. What kind an impotent motherfucker does that make you?"

Wulfgar raised a hand to restrain Harrison.

Dante raised his eyebrows. "Your suggestion that I make myself useful to your superiors is pathetic. What kind of insecure shitbag sends short-bus-riding fuck-tards like you, to enlist the assistance of a child?

"I'm disappointed; your boss is obviously an idiot. But what about you? You could have been a painter, a musician, a fucking Race Car Driver. You chose to be a pig and I just don't get it."

Dante paused and dramatically took a drag from his cigarette. "You know what I'd do, if I were in your shoes, right now, with everything that's going down here?

"I'd quit. I'd resign. Today, right fucking now. Before I had to try and defend my life with those pansy-ass rubber bullets. Cause you would lose, and that would suck." Dante smiled.

The smoke from Dante's cigarette curled up and obscured the space between them.

It was Sergeant Wulfgar's turn to smile. "I don't know where you got your information, but I always carry hot, son. Test me and see." He stepped forward, getting directly in Dante's face. "Maybe we'll just let that little girl loose after all. Bring her down here and let her finish what she started."

Dante smiled, he took another drag and backed down. "Right. Fine. Whatever. Tomorrow noon, crossroads elevator bank at the center of the mall. I'll sort it out. We'll all be there, with all the weapons and your pretty little badges. You bring her, we'll make a peaceful trade, and we'll all go our separate ways."

"That's a good little zero," Wulfgar said, leaning back.

The soldiers and the teen stared each other down.

Dante exhaled an impossible volume of smoke. "Here's a bit of news. The Leonas got a hold of one of your guys. Word is they're juicing him on crystal and lapis, making him their bitch. Making him fetch 'em shit, paint their toenails, give 'em rim-jobs, real cowardly bitch-shit. I heard they're selling it, live stream."

Wulfgar scowled, but didn't interrupt.

"Let me know if he liked it. I hear they're pretty wild, those butch-ass dykes." Dante said, tapping the ash from his cigarette over a golden tray on his desk. "Now get the fuck out of my office or I'll have you skinned alive."

The guards, having said their piece, turned to leave the block.

Dante tossed something shiny over Harrison's head. It flashed and glittered before crashing to the ground, where it bounced and slid along the floor. His hand went to his chest.

Dante laughed as the sergeant discovered his was badge missing.

Harrison spun, raising his weapon.

Dante had just picked up his expensive pen.

Harrison fired.

The ink-stick exploded with a great splash of black. Dante's white suit was heavily splattered, instantly a modern art masterpiece.

Harrison and Wulfgar both laughed obnoxiously.

Dante smiled, "You should be putting those skills to work against our communist friends, don't you think?"

"Naw, I'm not that good; I was aiming for your head."

Wulfgar retrieved the badge from the floor, handing it to and exiting with Harrison.

The teacher's assistant smiled and stood. "That was fun."

"It's a job." Dante smiled and handed over the stack of signed checks.

Lieutenant Grey walked into his father's office building in the executive district. It's not often that his father was on the west coast and he counted himself lucky for the coincidence. Then he remembered he didn't believe in coincidence, and wondered if his father was somehow tied up in D13. David was shown to a private suite, just down the hall.

The senator arrived rather quickly, considering they'd had so little to say to each other for so long. Danforth, his father, gestured to a nearby set of couches. They sat. After a moment of shared silence, his father got directly to the point.

He gestured to his son's holstered weapon, "Is that it?"

David nodded, removed the handgun from its holster, checked the chamber and handed it to his father. Danforth held it out, switched the safety off, on, off again.

"I asked them to let you have it; did you know?"

David's silent reply fit the circumstances, as his father put five rounds into a nearby chair.

The volume and concussion of the weapon unnerved the old man. It had been a while since he'd fired a gun indoors without proper hearing protection.

Neither spoke for a moment.

"That chair cost twenty grand."

"Probably worth more now," David said.

They both laughed.

The senator returned the pistol to his son.

David holstered the hot gun. "I wish I could sit our Governor right there."

"State? Balthazaar, what's he done?" Danforth asked,

"District. Psycho bitch named, get this, _Maime_." He watched his father's expression.

"What's the issue?"

"That district needs a bath."

"Ya, that's not all.

"What do you know about it?"

"I know that the governor of D13 is niece to the mayor, or cousin."

"Ahhh. The penny drops. Regardless, this is an orphanage, not a prison."

"What's that?" Danforth asked.

"Well, it's an orphanage and a prison."

"I thought it was a gang rehab facility."

"It is. It's also a fully functioning orphanage. Kids of all ages."

"You know your grandfather was there?"

David nodded. "It's insane. They're chewing them up. Every way you want to imagine it, they're guilty. One of the gangs put an end to the sales a few months ago, but the rest is worse."

"And why are you bringing this to me?"

"The chain of command there is utterly compromised. Whatever I do on my own; reflects on you. I figured, since you were here, at least I could do you the courtesy before I burn it down."

"You're going to go back then?"

"Not officially, no."

"What will you do?" Senator Grey asked. "Career-wise, I mean. How will you square it with the Republic?"

"I don't think that will be a problem for me. The lawyers will do all that. My part just has to be neat."

"I can arrange a team for you. I can also check out what firewalls are in place, if any," the senator offered.

"Thanks, I'd appreciate it. There's at least a few. I ran a cursory scan at ACB level white and we got four active protocols in play. One or two of them might even be legit, but I'll need to know which, before I just go off and nuke it."

"Well, you're not going to nuke it, are you?" Danforth asked. "I mean, not really, right?"

"The end result will be the same. I think we can avoid the radioactive fallout, though. It might be politically radioactive, but I won't used depleted uranium shells or anyting."

"Still, you're talking about blowing an entire district from the horizon. Are you mad?"

David laughed. "I don't think many people would argue that, and I am certainly not one of them. But if you were there, you'd know, this is not just a head change. This place needs to go. You can't just wash it clean."

"Coming from the all-black codec."

"Yeah, well. I did earn it. Point of fact, I believe I was put there for a reason and I believe that reason is; to handle this issue as I see fit."

"That's one way to look at it."

"That's the only way to look at it. Anything else could be regarded as treason."

"Son, at this level, anything you do could be treason, because the winners write history."

"Ha. Yes, by that logic, only winning is not treasonous then," David chuckled. "No forgetting that."

# Chapter 23 – Slow Train Coming

Wednesday Afternoon, September 21, 2310

Dante, Yama and Frost drew the eyes of every orphan as they crossed the athletic fields. Word quickly reached Kaz and the others.

As Dante approached, sans cane, the present members of The Iron Fist paused their video game.

"Kazimov," Dante said.

"What do you want?" Kaz asked, standing up.

The Mongo rumor had been confirmed. Dante had stabbed the giant orphan through the heart. No one wanted to be caught sleeping when he showed up.

"I've come to apologize," Dante said sincerely.

Kaz didn't buy it. He came around the low table and approached the trio of Devils. Of similar height and build, he and Dante had once been evenly matched.

As they'd grown older, Kaz stayed in sports and had become the captain of the punchball team. Now he had a good fifteen pounds of solid muscle over Dante. It was so obvious that Kaz had the advantage in a fair fight, that Dante absolutely could not be trusted.

Instead of sports, Dante had gone into business, moving from one gang to the next. Kaz knew that the Devils pulled in almost twenty to fifty grand a month, sometimes a week. Dante needed the status quo to remain calm. He needed things to get back to normal in order to turn a profit.

Yet, the handgun tucked into Kazimov's belt, rendered the issue moot.

"You do need to apologize, but not to me," Kaz said.

Dante reached into his back pocket.

For a moment, everyone held their breath.

Kaz's hand twitched toward the weapon at his waist.

Dante slowly, deliberately taunting everyone, pulled out his pack of cigarettes.

Kaz stepped forward and slapped the cigarettes from his hand. "Someday that little trick is going to get you killed." He was right in Dante's face.

Dante didn't flinch or back up. He didn't even look at the pack. He just stared directly into Kazimov's eyes. "Not today, apparently."

Dante glanced down at the weapon tucked into Kazimov's pants. He smiled, "And what's that old samurai saying? If my enemy has a sword, I have a sword?"

Like a chess player who realized he's left himself vulnerable to checkmate, a cold sweat broke out over Kaz's body. The gun, which he'd so proudly shown off, now hung, right over his dick, well within arm's reach of his most dangerous enemy.

Instead of letting Dante light a cigarette and occupy his hands with something, Kazimov had provoked him and practically offered him the gun.

_Was it loaded?_ Kaz wondered. _Was it on safe? How could he step backward after slapping down the smokes?_ He would lose all his influence if he showed the slightest hint of fear.

These thoughts drenched his mind with bitter adrenaline.

His mouth watered. His stomach flipped, twice, then three times.

Dante inched closer. No more than eight inches between them.

"So you're Mr. Clean, huh?" Dante asked. "Never jumped in, no gang life for you, right? You were gonna be somebody. You were gonna be a star."

Dante stepped back, turning away from Kaz and fetching his pack of smokes. "But not now. Not no more. So, what now, hero?" Dante smiled.

Orphans surrounded them.

Dante saw that most of them displayed some piece of cop gear, like the formation of a new tribe or gang, the kid cops.

"You know the difference between us?" Kaz asked.

Dante shook his head.

Kaz drew the nine and offered it to the gang leader. "I still remember when we were friends."

Dante hesitated.

Kaz watched him closely. Now it was Dante's turn to sweat. Kaz knew he couldn't refuse the weapon and not look like a dick, but accepting it meant accepting a gesture of friendship, as well as taking something from the striker, even if it was just _holding his gun_.

"When in Rome," Dante said, perching his cigarette between his lips and accepting the weapon. He held it like a professional, with both hands, at a forty-five degree angle to the floor. He slid the bolt back far enough to expose the loaded chamber.

Kaz didn't move.

Dante released the bolt with a snap. He clicked the weapon back over to safe and lowered it to his side. "You should keep this darling on safe if you're gonna jock her like that, sport. Now, like I said, I came down here to apologize."

"For something specific or for just being a bell-end in general," Hambone offered.

Dante glared at him and flicked the weapon from safe back to fire.

Yama and Frost laughed.

Hambone lifted his shirt, exposing his extravagant gut and another Light-9 tucked into his belt.

"You take that yourself, or did someone give it to you?" Dante teased him.

"You want to try to take it from me?" Ham asked.

"Like candy from a fatty," Dante answered, with a generous smile, the handgun held low at his side.

Only Yama and Frost laughed, both relieving some of the tension and yet antagonizing the situation simultaneously.

Kaz addressed Dante. "So what exactly are you here for? Apologizing for what? Sending Yama after the baton?"

"No, actually. That's just business." Dante shrugged and handed the gun back to Kazimov.

"Then you might want to apologize for giving a girl over to the fuzz?" Hambone stated.

"Fuck her. Psycho-bitch broke my nose."

Kaz, Hambone, Sky and a several others enjoyed a laugh at Dante's expense.

Yet he continued, undaunted, "She's a threat, to all of us. She is fucking crazy. You heard what she did to Ronnie? And you saw what she did to Marco. Carver's in the hospital, can't turn his fucking head around."

Dante raised his hands. "Okay, Carver's a scumbag and he maybe had it coming. We can all agree on that. But Ronnie, I mean, what the fuck? The kid never fucking hurt no one. He's the nicest guy. And she's stabbed his goddamn eyes out! Over nothing! Over a two dollar shirt? Told him to go buy new ones! What the hell is that man?"

"Rotten Ron?" Kaz asked.

"Big pimpin," Dante answered.

"Stabbed his eyes out?" Kaz asked.

"With a rusty piece of wire."

"Sounds like some shit Lethal might do, doesn't it?" Hambone asked.

Several kids nodded and mumbled affirmations were plainly heard.

"Not anymore," Sky said, loudly.

Dante snarled at her.

"How'd she jack you?" Hambone asked Dante.

"In the elevator, taking her down to see her brother in ICU," Dante explained, patiently.

Hambone looked back at Geoff. "How did he end up in ICU?"

"Lethal kicked him down the escalators," Dante answered without thinking.

The block was quiet for a couple seconds.

"And Ronnie knew that shit, didn't he?" Ham pointed out.

"It happened ten feet from his stall. Lethal gave him the kid's shirt. So, I'm guessing yeah." If nothing else, Dante prided himself on his balls and his honesty.

Hambone nodded, "He saw it happen."

Dante ignored Hambone. "Anyhow... We're in the elevator and I asked her... Why'd you do Ronnie like that? He didn't do nothing to you."

"You asked her that?" Hambone inquired.

"Yeah! What the fuck?" Dante replied.

"That's why she broke your nose?" Hambone asked.

"No. I asked her and she was all quiet like. She thought about it for a bit, right. And then that bitch said, " _I'm still really upset about my parents being dead_." And man, what the fuck? I asked her, " _You think that makes you special? In a orphanage_?"

No one said anything for a second.

Sky suddenly burst into joyous, best-Christmas-ever laughter. She laughed so hard she started coughing

Hambone and Kaz laughed, even Yama and Frost laughed. Soon the whole block was laughing.

Dante laughed in spite of himself, but he didn't seem to get the joke. "Right?" he said. "That was when she blasted me in the face man. I didn't even see her turn around. I mean, what the fuck was that for?"

Kaz shook his head, smiling. "Sometimes you can really be an idiot."

"What?" Dante asked.

Sky smiled. "You're lucky all she did was break your nose."

"Do you have any idea how much she's cost us? In one week? I have to answer to higher powers, just like everyone else here. The bosses heard they were looking at almost a mil in reconstructive surgeries and her number is up, one way or another."

Kaz shook his head. "So she's a threat? You're a threat to everyone you meet."

Dante grew serious again. "Listen to me. The reason I'm down here man. The pigs are coming down hard. They're hot about the ambushes. Guess they resent having Porkchop here running up on their backside." Dante gestured to Hambone, who growled in reply.

"Point is, they're all freaked out. I mean really, look at you guys. Every kid as far as I can see is holding a piece of state-issued gear. You guys look like some mad band of misfits. Keystone Kops meets Lord of the Flies. What kind of mash-up is that?"

Dante looked over at Hambone again. "Even the tubby bellhop is packing."

"Butter, bacon and jam, baby," Hambone smiled.

"And," Kaz asked.

"And? Okay. I was wrong. You're right. We have to work together. Or the show is over for all of us. They want the gear back. They're offering you a deal: give up the guns, the badges, and the armor, and they let her go, tomorrow at noon, center of the bolt-garden mall. A million ways in or out, you know, all roads lead," Dante sounded sincere.

"You're serious?" Hambone asked.

"When's the last time I came down here?" Dante asked. "You drop the gear, they let her go. That's the deal. Happily ever after."

"No way," Kaz said. "It's a trap."

"Of course, it's a trap," Hambone answered. "The whole fucking district is a trap. But we're already here, so what the fuck? We do it all at once, we'll have the numbers, instead of letting them pick us off one at a time."

Dante raised a hand, "Notice I said, you give up the gear, they give up the girl. They were specific about that. Notice the order, you give up the gear first. That part was clear," Dante said.

"Fuck that. If they don't let her go, they're going to need a lot more than rubber bullets," Kaz tucked the gun into his belt. "I'm tired of being guarded by soldiers with stun batons, rifles and riot gear. They want to wear that shit, let's give them a reason."

The kids cheered and slammed their shields like ancient warriors before battle.

"You're fucking insane, the lot of you," Dante said.

"Are you going to be there?" Kaz asked Dante.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world."

The Mackenzie Pass shopping center was home to the Mercury Outfielder, a famous cop bar. The strip mall floated with a dozen other such facilities, out in the residential sub-divided atmospheric soup of the southern California sunset.

The center was anchored along the western spire of a suburban commercial-hub, out on the edge of the Tarzana airspace. It sported a few dozen shops, restaurants and clerical operations along with carbon-fiber docks and an internal parking structure. There were no working surveillance cameras and conversations could be had with some measure of privacy.

The setting sun illuminated the drab interior of the bar with a startlingly beautiful light.

Grey sat on one of the stools, leaning on the bar, blissfully drunk. An old comrade/instructor recognized him and came over.

Grey's iconic position in the republic's pop-history had a way of leaving an impression, people remembered him, whether he remembered them or not.

First Sergeant Steve King stood at the bar next to him. "What's going on, killer?"

Before he took offense, David remembered that King called everyone _killer_ , the way someone else might call his friends _bud_ or _champ_.

King towered over David, tall and heavy, He'd fought as a champion kick boxer, winning a dozen Muay Thai trophies for his battalion. Most of the time, he was a first rate Special Forces operative. It was rare to see him in a bar, and it was just as rare for David to be there.

David reminded himself that he did not believe in coincidence.

_Black Willow? This had something to do with the Black Willow Operations_. But Grey was just an alternate on that team, c-string.

David smiled. "First Sergeant, how you doing?"

"What's the objective?" King asked, jokingly referring to the assembly of empty beer bottles.

"A district governor," Grey said, not thinking.

King took a deep breath, "Nothing's impossible. Where?"

"Zero one three," Grey answered.

"What?" King looked shocked. "You're over there? I guess that makes sense in a twisted sort of way."

"Hey, you name it we've got it, girls, drugs, torture. What's your pleasure?" Grey asked.

The First Sergeant pulled out his phone and dialed a number from memory. It was answered and he spoke. "Jimmy, I've got someone down here you need to meet. Yes, _now_ and I don't give a fuck. Mercury Outfielder, Mackenzie Pass, find it." He hung up the phone and smiled. "On his way."

Grey scowled. "Jimmy who? Croswell?"

"Now, now. Don't go throwing that name around. No. He's out on the east coast. And frankly, the less he knows about this, the better off we are."

Grey shook his head. "Your guy and your _field tests_. Someday it's going to blowback on you."

"Funny you should say that."

"Why?" Grey asked. "Is that what this is?"

"Does it feel like your whiskers and your tail are on fire? That's usually a pretty good sign. Suddenly nothing is what it seems to be, that's when you're in Fox country."

"What are you talking about?" Grey asked.

"You can't really be that dense," King said.

"You'd be surprised." Grey was getting angry and sobering up quickly.

King held up his hands. "Hey, I couldn't be selling you out, cause I don't know shit, right? The man I called knows more than me and I trust him with my life, and yours; apparently. Ha."

"What don't you know?" Grey mumbled through the alcohol.

"I haven't been here in almost twelve years. What are the chances we'd run into each other now?" King asked.

"Who sent you?" Grey asked.

"No one; that's what I'm saying."

"Who did you call?" Grey asked.

"Homicide detective, friend of mine."

Detective Cole arrived before Grey finished his beer. He was dressed in a three-piece suit. Grey guessed that a significant percentage of the weave was a bulletproof terillium blend; it looked expensive.

Grey was a couple inches taller than Cole, but the detective looked like he could put up a hell of a fight, and had on several occasions. King towered over both men, as he introduced them to each other.

Detective Cole asked for a beer and the three of them moved back to a table. Cole activated a signal-jammer and set it on the table between them.

"So, what do you know about the district?" Cole asked.

"Everything. What do you want to know?" Grey mumbled.

"Okay. How about, have you ever been there?" Cole asked.

"Seven months, permanent assignment."

Cole laughed. "I've been investigating them for almost six years, and I've never been there at all."

"Not getting very far, are you?" Grey smiled.

"Considering the history of the place, I'm doing okay. Where were you stationed before you got there?" Cole asked.

"My citizenship was sponsored in twenty-three hundred." Grey answered.

"And?" the Detective asked.

"And everything after that is classified." Grey replied, drunkenly waving his hand flatly between them.

Cole rolled his eyes and laughed out loud.

Grey opened his jacket, flashing Cole a glance at his codec, the solid black identification bar. He did an involuntary double take. Only a few, very select professionals, were issued an all black codec. Even First Sergeant King had strips of white running through his.

"So you want my help?" Grey asked.

"Maybe. Maybe I can help you," Cole said.

"What are you going to help me with?" Grey asked.

"What do you need?" Cole replied.

Back on District Thirteen, despite throngs of kids milling about, there seemed to be no guards present in any of the common areas. All over the district, no patrols were patrolling, no posts being posted. The entire place was eerily quiet, dead calm.

Only the guardhouses were occupied. The uniformed citizens stayed behind the thick heavy windows. The NCOs kept their units quiet. They watched the security monitors, played cards, and totally refrained from harassing the orphan residents.

# Chapter 24 – No Retreat, No Surrender

Thursday, September 22, 2310

Dawn came and the sun rose on the fourth day of the student's strike from school. The guards and children steered clear of each other. Their interactions dwindled to hard stares across yards of open ground.

The chow halls remained mostly closed. The few broken into by the residents remained open and crowded.

Apollo continued his journey to the center of the sky without a single violent interaction between orphan and guard, a first in the memory of anyone living on the district. There were kids in the terminal buildings, and even kids in class, but the guard presence was minimal and teachers had been asked to stay home for a variety of false and deceptive reasons. The truth that their safety would be in danger remained a confidential secret, but of course, they all knew the situation for exactly what it was.

A lot of the kids hadn't yet heard about the administration's amnesty and looming deadline. None of them knew the security forces were gearing up far a major assault, but by eleven o'clock the word had spread.

_The pigs were going to release Ashley Fox if everyone turned in their weapons_. Many versions of the message stated only that Ash would be released at noon. Soon the twisted message was that the administration had completely folded.

Over the next hour, thousands of kids flooded into the mall. They waited, chattering in a dull roar, anticipation charging the crowd. At the center of the mall was a raised platform housing the elevator bank, where the long garden crossed the short one. It was there that the orphans expected the release of their underdog hero.

In the center, stood four platoons of shock troops at parade rest. Perfectly still, their armor made them appear like shiny black statues. They were arranged in four separate blocks, each of them facing a different direction, down one of the long four lanes of the garden. Their assault rifles stood on the deck, aligned along legs, perfectly still.

Everyone was there.

Even Dante and the Devils had come down.

The children wore all kinds of protective sports equipment, in addition to the stolen police gear. They carried makeshift shields and spears hacked from tree limbs. Many held stolen batons, kitchen knives or broken table legs. Almost everyone had something.

Yet despite all their looted and pilfered equipment, it was obvious that the kids did not present any real challenge. The one thing that everyone had noticed was that the shock troops did not have Ashley.

From inside her cell, Ash heard an alarm blare, followed by the sound of a heavy gate being opened. That was her signal that they were coming for her. She heard the predictable sound of heavy boots running over cement and metal floors, coming closer and closer. Then they reached her door and stopped.

She wished that just once they would keep going, down to some other cell, but they never did. Ash suspected she was the only prisoner in this section of the district.

Outside, on the mall, Jones stood atop one of the planters and rallied the kids. He began to chant. "Free Ashley Fox!"

The kids picked it up in seconds.

"Free Ashley Fox"

"What?" He yelled.

"FREE Ashley Fox"

"Who?"

"FREE ASHLEY Fox"

"Amen!"

"FREE ASHLEY FOX"

"Hallelujah!"

"FREE ASHLEY FOX"

"Merry Christmas"

"FREE ASHLEY FOX"

"I said!"

"FREE ASHLEY FOX"

"Yes, Brother!"

"FREE ASHLEY FOX"

"One more."

"FREE ASHLEY FOX"

"My Sisters!"

"FREE ASHLEY FOX"

It was noon.

The battalion commanders shouted orders to their subordinates, who repeated them. The companies of shock troops snapped to attention.

All over the district, the vid screens lit up, displaying the district seal, an amalgamation of the national eagle, the California state bear and Angel City coyote.

"Residents of district zero one three," a female voice announced over the loudspeakers. "This is your governor speaking. It is after twelve and you haven't turned over any of those weapons you took from the legal guardians of the state."

"FREE ASHLEY FOX" the kids shouted.

"This is your final warning."

"FREE ASHLEY FOX"

"Put all your weapons down immediately."

"FREE ASHLEY FOX"

"You really want me to Free Ashley Fox?" the Governor asked.

"FREE ASHLEY FOX"

"Very well then," the Governor replied.

The kids heard the microphone thump as it was set down. They heard muffled voices, instructions given to someone on another line.

Far down the mall, several levels above the chanting kids, a sniper centered his crosshairs on Kaz's forehead.

On the screen, the district seal was replaced with a live vid stream. A squad of riot-suited guards was dragging a hooded and straight-jacketed female down a hallway.

The kids lost steam and the chant disintegrated.

On the screen, the guards reached the lethal injection chamber and the hood was pulled from a gagged and enraged Ashley.

Colonel Keller stood before her and read from a clipboard. "Orphan Twenty-three ten, zero nine one five, zero three, Ashley Erin Fox, you have been found guilty of murder in the first degree. You have been sentenced to death by lethal injection."

Ash went berserk.

She thrashed herself loose.

She kicked one guard unconscious and head-butted another, shattering several teeth.

With electrically charged batons, they subdued her.

The kids watched as Ashley was beaten to the ground, shocked, and struck over and over again.

The heard the meaty strikes.

Her broken and unconscious body was then lifted onto the table. The jacket was removed and she was strapped down.

The guards left the room and two male nurses entered. One of then opened her shirt and affixed heart rate monitors. The other attached blood pressure sensors and brain frequency scanners.

They swabbed the girl's exposed elbow with a disinfectant solution on a cotton pad. The nurses stepped out of frame.

The kids were silent, horrified, but glued to the screens.

The shock troops remained at attention, behind the riot helmets, their gaze was firmly fixed on the great beyond.

On the monitors, two more doctors in surgical scrubs entered, Dr. Mallus and the brute Morgenstern. The surgical scrubs concealed their identities, but it was easy to tell who was who. Morgenstern was six and a half feet tall. While anyone who'd ever met Dr. Mallus would have found it difficult to mistake his cruel and violent eyes for someone else.

Mallus took another alcohol-doused cloth and again swiped at Ashley elbow, regardless of the fact the nurse had just done it.

Hambone asked, "Why do that if they're just going to poison her?"

No one answered him.

On the video screens, Morgenstern handed Dr. Mallus an empty syringe and a vial of poison. He held it up to the light, the green syrupy solution within rolling thickly.

In the background, Ash woke up. She was panicked, terrified.

The Doctor pierced the vial with the needle and pulled the syringe's handle out, filling it with the oily liquid.

Strapped to the table, Ash whimpered and struggled, but to no avail.

Mallus approached her with the syringe.

In the open-air mall, the kids all watched, stunned into silence as the screen displayed Ashley's futile last moments.

Several looked away.

Earlier, Sky hadn't let Geoff go with Kaz and the others. She'd been forced to slap him across the face to stop him, but he'd stayed with her, in the recreation room.

Now he hugged her, and screamed through gritted teeth, but couldn't turn away, as they publicly killed his sister on live stream.

The guards were called to port arms, their rifles coming up across their chests. Behind them, the stairwell doors popped open. Several guards rushed out, unrolling empty fire hoses.

On screen, Ashley wasn't making it easy for them. She struggled and lunged at Mallus and Morgenstern.

Several guards came to assist them and helped fight to hold Ashley down. She screamed into her gag and fought against the restraints.

She fought with everything she had, she was fighting for her life.

Dr. Mallus abandoned all formalities and jabbed the needle directly into Ashley's neck, hurriedly injecting the foul poison.

Ashley's fury became wild panic, followed by uncontrollable seizures. Her body snapped into vicious convulsions, her mouth frothed and her head snapped back and forth. Then she lost the fight.

Overcome with toxins, her organs gave out, her muscles seized up, her heart stopped. The medical machines behind her screamed in protest as their patient ceased life functions; blasting out their mournful minor-chord death-note.

The piercing sound, designed to bring able-bodied nurses, doctors and staff, all running at a dead sprint, now screamed at a room full of people who did nothing.

Outside in the mall, the video screen switched back over to the District Seal but the audible death tone lingered under the still-frame broadcast.

Then the tone cut out and the voice of Colonel Keller boomed over the mall. "The convicted murderer is hereby declared dead at twelve hundred hours and four minutes, September, twenty second, year twenty three-ten."

The monitors then powered down.

The kids were stunned.

They continued to stare at the blank screens.

A single shot rang out.

Kaz was taken from his feet as if hit by a truck.

That was the signal for the shock troops to move in. They attacked the front ranks of confused children, blasting the kids with wooden slugs the size of a fist, plastic pellets and beanbags filled with pepper balls. For almost three minutes, the soldiers rained rubber-projectile-hell down upon the orphans.

Soon the kids were driven behind waist-high planters, benches and fountains, umbrellas of cover in the otherwise open space.

The troops, wearing riot helmets with built in gasmasks, fired tear gas grenades at the knots of holdouts. This was quickly followed by a torrent of horizontal water from the assembled fire hoses.

Without any central command, their hero martyred, the formerly unstoppable children were reduced to a panicked rabble, picked off and humiliated in their futile retreat.

The soldiers chased them down and beat them into fetal positions, only to move on, chasing after kids who dared to hurl rocks in an effort to distract the guards from their brutality.

The tear gas canisters sputtered out and the fire hoses were turned off.

Then the stairwell doors were held open for dozens of waiting troops.

Fresh from a few days of rest, the lightly armored guards poured out, flooding the mall. At a full sprint, they pursued the fleeing orphans all across the district. They spent the early afternoon hours beating the orphans and stripping them of their state-looted gear.

Throughout the rest of the day, the guard presence remained oppressive. They were everywhere, joking with each other, and pounding any kids who stumbled into arms reach.

Detective Cole, First Sergeant King, and Lieutenant Grey sat around a hacked terminal in the sergeant's basement. Using Grey's pass-codes they had piped the district security feeds into the civilian residence. They watched everything leading up to Ashley's execution and now witnessed the aftermath. They watched as the orphans were decimated, ruthlessly gunned down and beaten.

They watched the chamber feed where Ashley's body was disconnected from the monitors and wheeled away, under a sheet.

"I have to go meet two of these assholes in a couple hours," Cole complained.

"You're undercover?" King asked.

"Yeah, I'm tight with a couple fuck-ups who ran off a farm."

"Shit, you can walk off the farms," Grey said.

"You want any help?" King offered.

"I'm cool, but I really gotta go," he said, scooping up his jacket.

Grey thought about what he'd just seen. He stared hard at the ground.

"There was nothing you could have done," King said.

Cole looked over from his place halfway up the stairs, "Some things I don't know, some things I can't tell you, but I'll bet you everything I own, she's not dead. Don't believe everything you see. This ain't over yet." The detective left King and Grey with a nod and headed up the stairwell.

# Chapter 25 – The Second Real Death of Ashley Fox

Friday Afternoon, September 23, 2310

Holding a wireless telephone receiver to his ear, Morgenstern opened the doors to the morgue for two medical techs. He wordlessly directed them to Ashley's corpse.

The nude girl hadn't been subjected to the usual a postmortem autopsy. The guards hesitated, staring at her naked body before beginning their task. Moving with exaggerated slowness, they transferred and zipped Ashley's body into a sturdy, white plastic bag.

Morgenstern pinched the phone between a shoulder and his ear. He stood at the desk, filling out the death certificate for the valiant teen. He folded the certificate into an envelope, sealed it and handed it to a young tech. He then handed him a clipboard and pointed to the address printed on the top sheet. The officer nodded.

Morgenstern handed him a thick envelope and a key attached to a scratched and battered can opener in the shape of a shark. Its jagged teeth were nicked and dented where it had pried the caps from glass bottles.

The tech silently pocketed the envelope, the key and the metal shark.

Morgenstern lifted an athletic bag and set it atop Ashley's plastic shrouded corpse, all the while holding the phone to his ear.

They pushed the gurney from the room. Down on the loading dock, they transferred Ashley to a medical vehicle. The technicians boarded, typed their destination into the onboard computer and pulled out into Angel City traffic.

Nelson Gransil, Ashley's public defender, finished shaving, toweled off and pulled on a shirt. He'd dressed in his nicest outfit, for an evening with friends. He unlocked and entered a room filled with framed artwork.

There were almost a dozen abstract prints mounted on the walls. A dozen more stood in neatly arranged stacks. Nelson selected several and moved them to the hallway before closing and locking the door.

In his house of red brick, Roger Courtland prepared for the evening. He stood naked under slate rock waterfall shower. Every surface was made of stone, all some hideous shade of pink, crimson or vermilion.

After treating his skin with a terillium-enhanced lotion, Roger moved into a massive closet. First, he pulled on terillium-weave tights, followed by a long-sleeve terillium undershirt. Then a pair of thick winter slacks, impervious to bullets, knives and objects intended to pierce his skin and do physical harm.

Soon Roger was dressed in a full three-piece terillium suit, the price tag for this particular outfit, a cool seven million. In return for which, he was exceptionally insured against physical damage. Even his hair was treated.

Governor Maime wrapped, stacked and bagged the various dishes she painstakingly prepared over the past weeks. The tiled corner where she kept her children, now empty; scrubbed spotlessly clean and liberally rinsed with bleach.

In the district's medical offices, Dr. Mallus opened the door to a tall cabinet. He photographed the dozens of statues, each elegantly lit, bearing hundreds of gleaming needles.

In his quarters on the upper floors of the Bolt, Colonel Keller stood before a mirror, his massive bulk supported by his palms resting on both sides of the sink. He stared into the mirror. He turned on the faucet, cleared his throat and spat into the basin.

The afternoon grew warm despite forecasts for stormy weather. Yet, the sunlight proved to be short lived, as dark clouds gathered over the ocean.

The techs in the medical van fiddled with the radio and smiled at pretty women in traffic, playfully arguing over whom the lustful honeys were actually lusting over.

Afternoon sunlight poured through a window in the back of the van. Multiplied by the glass, the light wavicles warmed the opaque sheet of oil-based polymer.

Under her white zippered plastic, Ashley's body lay still, her face serene. Her color was not pallid and dead, but healthy and promising.

Beneath her eyelids, the eyeballs twitched. Her brows furrowed and then relaxed.

Below the medical transport, on a mid-shelf street, a group of kids walked down an alley, near an upscale shopping cluster. Four of the five teens smoked cigarettes, sported tattoos, and the shredded clothing of lazy rebellious youth.

They enjoyed the glorious afternoon. Smoking, sipping from spiked drinks, and slamming occasional shots from a flask, they joked and drifted along the sidewalks.

An elderly bum passed them in the alley, huddled in filthy rags. They didn't abuse him, but don't acknowledge him either. Perhaps one day, long ago, he was as rebellious as they are now, but today, they inhabit entirely separate worlds.

As the kids stepped into the uptown shopping district, the limping homeless fellow made his way deeper into the darkness behind them.

A few minutes later, when no one was watching, he quickly scampered up a drainpipe and onto a nearby rooftop.

On the rooftop, the bum jimmied open a skylight and slipped into the empty building. Set at the edge of the shopping district, the owners of the failing structure, unable to afford necessary renovations, rented the unit out as meeting hall. They hoped that one-day a developer might take an interest in the location, freeing them from the rotting shack.

Inside the meeting hall, the homeless fellow wandered among the rows of empty chairs. He pulled together a group of them and stretched out to take a nap, wrapped in his heavy coats.

After a few minutes, small bugs dislodged themselves from his clothing and made their way to the floor. Several roly-polys streamed off into the corners of the room. Larger beetles, insects and flies set off from various pockets and sleeves. A small squad of wasps zipped away from a lapel and made a b-line for the cracked window overhead.

Close to the janitor's face, REM cycles drove his eyes back and forth under closed lids, but sleep cycles were inconsistent with the keyboard work his fingers performed against his legs.

The sanitation engineer, whom Ash had seen at such odd moments during her time aboard the district, was now disguised as a bum, in command of a robotic insect army. The man soon finished issuing commands, relaxed and drifted off to sleep.

The medical transport made its way through the metropolitan megastructures and descended the side of a nearby urban corridor. The passenger smoked a cigarette while the driver took his turn fiddling with the radio.

Deep in the heart of the metal city, the truck dropped into the very same alley and docked at the back of the bum's meeting hall.

The driver, with his shark-shaped bottle opener and key, unlocked a garage door to the building and rolled it up, assisted by the unseen counterweight. They pulled the back of the truck open and slid their cargo from its interior. Together they wheeled the gurney into the building.

The techs gently set Ashley's tray on the concrete. The driver unzipped the body bag all the way to Ashley's naked feet. From the back of the vehicle, the passenger fetched the athletic bag. It contained a clothing issue in Ashley's size.

The technicians dressed her and then rolled her onto her stomach, cuffing her hands behind her back. Careful not to obstruct her nose, they taped her mouth firmly shut.

The driver turned to the passenger. "You got the hood?"

The passenger pulled a black hood from the bag and tossed it over. He slipped it over Ashley's face and tied a bow at the chin. They left her lying on her stomach.

"I hope you don't toss your cookies when you wake up darling. I hear that's a terrible way to go," he said.

"We're out, then?" the passenger asked, glancing around nervously at their vehicle in the alley.

"We're out." The driver stood and pulled the overhead door closed.

Inside the truck, the passenger stared blankly out the windshield. "That fucking freak Morgenstern freaks me the fuck out," he said.

"Copy that," his partner replied.

A few minutes later, deep in traffic, the driver handed his partner half of the bills from the envelope.

The slam of the metal door and pulling away of the truck roused the girl. She awoke with a start, rolling to one side and curling into the fetal position as the effects of the drug threatened to cause her to vomit.

Ashley took stock of her situation; her mouth was taped shut, her face hooded and her hands cuffed behind her back. She was dressed in cotton underwear, a t-shirt and hospital pants. She was wearing slip-on hospital shoes. They hadn't given her any socks.

Alone in the darkness, the haunting trauma of her execution came back to her in a rush. She became overwhelmed with fear, panic rising in her like a tide. She tried to push it aside and breath slowly. Losing her stomach under these circumstances would probably be fatal. After surviving Dunkirk and her fights on D13, the absurdity of drowning in vomit blown through her nose almost made her laugh.

She maneuvered into a kneeling position and waited for her head to stop spinning. She breathed as best she could though the hood. If she began to hyperventilate, that wouldn't be fun either.

The teen relaxed and focused on slowing her heart rate.

As her senses cleared she realized she could hear cars humming along above the nearby street. She could hear people. Ash tried to orient herself. She could faintly see through the hood. She was on a cement floor in some kind of urban structure. It was dark and details were elusive.

The hood smelled of synthetic fiber. The stench was horrible. She tried to breathe past it.

Ashley realized she was as calm as she was going to get.

As it grew dark and the building cooled, people working nearby closed their offices and headed home.

Sounds grow more distinct and yet came with less frequency.

Ashley's options were few. Calm and patience required all the effort she could muster. She meditated, focused on listening.

Inside the building she heard a cough followed by the rustle of clothing. Soon the sound of rhythmic breathing could be heard. It came from the large open space some distance behind her, deeper inside the building.

Ash didn't know who might be sleeping nearby, but she was sure she didn't want to wake them.

# Chapter 26 – Lodge of Conquerors

Evening had just given up to night as Cole piloted his vehicle to a stop at Abby's diner in Eagle Rock. The boxcar had been slightly remodeled from an old terillium train car. Long since decommissioned, many of its cafe-cars had been purchased and turned into mom-and-pop diners.

The antenna-style dock, mounted to a side of the box, sported a few vehicles tethered to its appendages. Cole highlighted an open slot and let the autopilot take over. The vehicle locked into its bindings and he popped the hatch. The detective navigated the grip-tape walkway, bordered on both sides by thick rope, tethered to metal posts rising along the superstructure. He could jump if he wanted to, but the station's nets looked fresh and promised to catch anything bigger than a wallet, a phone or a gun.

Inside he ordered a coffee and took a seat at an empty booth across from the stool-lined counter. His undercover work was promising to pay off. This was his third meeting with the suspect and tonight he'd promised to introduce Cole to his connection.

A few minutes early, the detective stared out the window as the last commuters of the workday made their way home from the office. Just after sunset, still too early for the party crowd to be out, the freeway traffic had thinned to a sporadic trickle. The moon crested the horizon, fat and orange.

Cole worried that he'd let Ashley down, but inside he knew he'd played it right so far. There were much bigger fish nibbling from the district and to catch them, he'd have to be patient.

The second death of Ashley's parents was not something he could have predicted, but once the children's names popped up in his alert box, her fate was sealed.

From his contacts in Washington, he'd confirmed his suspicions that her parent's death had been a professional job. This time, however, it was public, with lots of collateral damage. Fox couldn't _return from the dead_ this time, at least not publicly. His days of making headlines as a genius inventor were over.

Dr. Fox's success had guaranteed him plenty of enemies. His children were still being sought by several government agencies, but once Ashley and Geoff reached the district, they vanished from the city records, as the detective suspected they would.

Cole hadn't been able to catch the district at this trick before. He was a homicide cop and didn't have the cross-department leverage necessary to bring child services on board. He knew that occasionally children would arrive at the district and never get checked into the system. There was just nothing he could do about it. His designation was citizen related homicide, nothing else.

Detective Cole worked the case over in his mind, examining the angles... He'd gotten telecom records connecting Governor Maime, the mortician, Morgenstern, and Ashley's neighborhood serial killer, Martin Dunkirk. Martin's son, Bobby, was somewhere on the district. The volume of resistance from Westbury's office, as well as federal interference and appetite gave Cole the feeling he was out in the deep end with panicking tigers, alligators and sharks for company.

Ashley's reappearance as an underground fight sensation was something no one could've predicted. To think the waif of a girl he'd walked through the department just last week... Her instant fame could have been the wedge that cracked the case, but her execution had been more than just a surprise. Every time he turned around, Cole was being surprised lately.

Looking through the window, out onto the Angel City skyline, Cole reconsidered what he'd seen. She'd really looked dead. He took a deep breath and opened his mind to the possibility that his suspects had brutally murdered a child on live-stream. It certainly was something that would appeal to them.

Cole's breath caught in his throat. He's sent her to her death. The guilt washed over him like a vinegar bath, drenching him in rank sweat, toxins and poisons excreted though his pores, the stink clouding his mind as it tingled on his skin, cooling.

The conspiracy crowd was deep in the rumor mill and questioned the genetic composition of Dr. Fox's daughter. Everyone knew Fox could have easily performed any project he wanted on his own nickel; he had the resources and expertise. Some argued that if he had children at all, it was hard to believe they had not been, in some significant way, enhanced.

Washington wanted Ashley and Geoff for several reasons, both to satisfy its compulsion to tie up loose ends, and to feed its insatiable appetite for cutting-edge technology, even living breathing children.

However, once Ashley became a household name, she was radioactive, toxic, drawing unwanted interest; she was now an agency budget killer. Anyone with a claim on her had to explain the nature of their interest. In the past twenty-four hours a dozen warrants had been rescinded.

Of course, at least six new ones have been issued. More than a few contractors were on the same job with new commanders; which promised to make for some interesting double-dipping invoice confusion.

Ashley's live stream execution only poured fuel onto the speculative fire. Now her corpse became the prize, but calls to the district weren't being returned and landing clearance was not being granted. The feds needed special clearance to raid a district, so they waited, knowing full well any delay could mean they would be too late. The district would hand them a small box of ashes and flatly deny Geoffrey's existence.

Cole realized he needed to make some adjustments to his plan.

Someone slid into the booth across from him. He didn't recognize the man, close-cropped sandy-colored hair, military-cut, thin eyes over a square neck, set atop a power-lifter's physique. He resembled any of the dozens of law enforcement personnel Cole encountered in his day-to-day at the department. His first guess was that the guy recognized him from the office and that Pablo would see them together, blowing Cole's cover. But the way the stranger looked at him told the Detective he was not with any police force.

Then Cole's guest slid into the booth beside him. Pablo Escurrido; convicted of petty theft, fraud, drug running, armed robbery and multiple murderers, he'd escaped the labor farms twice at least.

Cole realized he hadn't heard the men enter and hadn't seen them walk over from docks. The waitress behind the counter had vanished.

Pablo squeezed something. Liquid leapt from his palm and splashed the officer's eyes and face. Before Cole could wipe it away, the chemical worked it's magic, chasing the detective's consciousness into darkness and sleep.

Ashley sat cross-legged in the darkness.

Out in the alley, she heard a vehicle park. The car door opened, then closed with a muffled thump. The vehicle lifted off, abandoning its passenger in the alley. _Maybe it was a taxi?_

Even after the vehicle was long gone, the passenger in the alley continued to wait.

Then she clearly heard the sound of footsteps approaching the building. They stopped right on the other side of the door.

Again he paused and waited. Perhaps he was listening too.

Finally, she heard him slip his key into the lock. She heard the key click against the tumblers and turn the center plug. She heard the lock detach the large heavy rolling door.

Under her hood Ashley could barely detect the subtle intrusion of light as the door rose up an inch, pulled on by its counterweights. The man reached down to the door and lifted it. The failing twilight illuminated the back room of the hall. Ash could see the light falling in around her.

The man with the key gasped with shock.

Even through the hood, Ashley recognized Martin Evander Dunkirk. Now well into his fifties, his dark greasy curls had been traded for an inch of bristly, waxed, salt and pepper. The short, wide murderer had also given up his expensive taste in clothes for beachwear. He wore a loud red and white floral-print blouse and long shorts, or short pants, depending on your preference, topped off with beaten and worn flip-flops.

He held a canvas valise and was deeply tanned. If anything, Mr. Dunkirk looked much healthier than when Ashley last saw him, fighting off a group of police officers, a little over two years ago.

He looked around, confused, but anxious and excited. "Oh my!" he exclaimed, like a bad actor in some insipid vid stream.

"Are you okay?" The concern in his voice was mocked by his own uncontrollable grin.

Ash noticed that Martin had appropriated a southern accent, rolling his r's, adding h's where they didn't belong and mumbling as though his mouth were full of popcorn shrimp.

"Miss?" he asked, approaching Ashley.

Ash was instantly on her feet and backing away. Even without her hands, she was prepared to kick him, if necessary. She had defeated him once that way, after all.

"Are you okay?" he asked. "This is so unexpected. I'll call a nine eleven, we'll get you an ambulance," he stammered.

Dunkirk again moved towards Ash, but caught himself. "Are you injured? Here, let's get you untied."

He slowly moved around behind her.

She let him. In her current situation, she could kick backward with more accuracy and force.

"Oh, Handcuffs! My goodness! Who did this to you?"

Dunkirk stepped away. "Let me get you a chair. Would you like something to drink?"

He carried his valise over to a nearby rack of chairs. He set the case down, pulled out two folding chairs and set them up.

"Here now, darling. Don't be afraid. We're gonna call the police and get you taken care of." He gently grasped her by the shoulders and guided her to a seat.

Ash realized he had absolutely no idea who she was.

He seemed so different, so changed. She considered the possibility that perhaps this wasn't Mr. Dunkirk at all; maybe a brother, or a cousin, or someone else completely, perhaps no relation whatsoever.

Martin settled himself in the other chair and leaned toward her. "Now let's get this hood off you." As he reached up toward her, she spotted his gaudy rings. It was the same man all right. He hadn't done away with all his garish quirks.

Ashley leaned away from him.

Her movement put the ends of the knot in his hands. Dunkirk pulled the cord. The bow unknotted and let fresh air and light in around Ashley's neck. It felt like coming up from being underwater.

A well-dressed man stepped into the dim light coming from the open door.

"What do you think you're doing?" Dr. Mallus asked Dunkirk.

Dunkirk spun, guilty, caught red-handed. "What... Who? I just... It's not what it... We need to call the police! We need the authorities!"

Ashley heard him. His old voice was back, that was the Dunkirk she remembered, not the southern beach bum he now pretended to be.

"Authorities you say?" Mallus replied.

"I just found this young woman, obviously beaten, abused in who knows how many dirty... Filthy! Filth!!" Dunkirk grinned and jabbered.

"Get a hold of yourself, man!" the doctor commanded.

"I'm just renting this property! Do you know anything about this?!" Dunkirk blubbered.

"I'm a passing stranger and I look over to witness you, an obviously a horrid little man, with this delicate creature! It's an outrage what you've done here! I believe must contact the authorities at once!"

"And get to bottom of this!" Dunkirk agreed.

"It's you, villain! You've committed crimes against humanity!" Mallus declared.

A man and a woman entered past the bickering Mallus and Dunkirk. They both carried grocery bags of food and moved toward a group of tables. Ashley recognized them. It was the judge and public defender from her trial.

"Get in here and help us, you pinheads," Governor Maime snapped.

Ash flinched at the sound of the woman's voice. Gransil, her attorney, carried two bags of foil wrapped appetizers, and accompanied Auntie into the kitchen. From there she turned on the lights in the rest of the building.

The Texan walked into the hall and was greeted warmly by Dunkirk and Mallus, the three of them shaking hands.

Ash slipped out of the chair and over to the wall. She couldn't head for the door; the other guests blocked it. Yet distracted as they were, no one seemed to have noticed her movement. Despite the black fabric of the hood, she had little trouble seeing through the weave. Since Dunkirk had untied it, breathing had become less of a problem as well.

The men slowly moved away from the doorway and it yawned beckoningly. Twilight had given way to night and Ashley doubted she'd get far, handcuffed and hooded in a dark alley. Still it was worth the risk.

She bolted for the door, but before she got halfway, Governor Maime pushed a drink cart into the girl's path, tripping her. Gransil stepped forward to close the door, but Ashley had been sufficiently damaged by the cart. No one rushed over to her. No one shouted obscenities.

She stood and moved to an unoccupied wall of the room. Otherwise ignored, she worked at her cuffs, twisting her hands in them, trying to find a position to slip one out.

Through her hood, she watched the obscured images of her captors as they prepared a banquet of some sort. Auntie arranged food, while Nelson, moonlighting attorney-at-law and fulltime sanitation engineer, set out the plates, silverware, napkins, cups and other domestic details.

In the main room, the bulk of folding chairs were arranged in somewhat orderly rows. Ashley knew, in the back row, the unseen lord of the flies, the bum she had heard earlier, continued his drunken slumber.

Someone at the door coughed and the resident lunatics looked over. In his expensive suit, real estate tycoon, Roger Courtland, stood in the doorway. Being a complete stranger to those gathered; no one spoke.

The stonemason noticed the hooded and bound Ashley. He gestured to her, "I gather I'm in the right place then."

Dunkirk stepped forward. "You think so, huh?"

Courtland offered his hand. "How do you do?"

Dunkirk ignored the gesture. "You were invited, then? How about you let me see your invitation. You brought it with you, didn't you?"

This was the Dunkirk Ashley remembered.

"I know you." Courtland smiled. "You're famous."

Dunkirk burst into laughter and seized Courtland's arm. "Hey, hey, sure you do. I'm Marty. Let's get you a chair." Dunkirk guided the new arrival into the hall. "Can I get you something to drink?" Dunkirk laughed like a school kid. It was unnerving.

Ashley tugged at her cuffs.

The affable Marty pulled up short when he spotted the sleeping bum stretched across the back row. As he considered his options, a new presence at the doorway distracted him.

Pablo Escurrido led Detective Cole, shrouded in a red silk boxing robe, with flames rising from the hem, into the building. The tall, wide, Gardner entered behind them. From the alley, Morgenstern and Keller also arrived and stepped inside. They both wore long black coats and carried large duffel bags.

From his place beside the snoozing janitor, Dunkirk signaled Nelson to secure the front doors. Morgenstern pulled the garage door closed.

Pablo climbed atop a chair and began repeatedly punching the hooded detective in the head. Cole took the punches, wobbled, but refused to fall. He seemed to be taking pleasure in the damage his skull did to Pablo's hands. The wet slapping sounds went unaddressed for some time.

Morgenstern glared at Escurrido until he caught on. In defiance, Pablo punched Cole one last time, but cracked a knuckle on his rock-hard head.

Everyone in the room heard the snap. Their suspicions were confirmed by Pablo's sharp and stifled cry.

Cole laughed.

Still atop the chair, the short Pablo elbowed Cole in the head, knocking him from his feet and consciousness. Nelson hovered by the front door. He held the long chain but hadn't yet locked the bar style handles, as he was distracted by Pablo's antics.

Ash continued working the cuffs. She'd slid her left hand halfway out and had it trapped over the back of her thumb.

Suddenly the front doors opened, spilling five hungry young rebels into the hall. The street behind them was drenched in a sudden downpour. Their hair and shoulders were already soaking wet. They made straight for the far table, laden with snacks. They knew they were turning heads, but did their best to avoid eye contact, pretending to belong.

Morgenstern scanned the hall; his associates were drooling at the five young runaways. He gestured for Escurrido to move Cole into a sitting position, and stepped forward to block their view of Ashley. Keller walked the hooded girl to a chair, ignoring her hands. Morgenstern closed the separators to the garage, sealing the room.

Escurrido jerked Cole into a seat and took the next one, holding the officer upright.

Outside, lightning split the night and thunder followed.

The storm had reached them.

# Chapter 27 – The Sin of Lust

Friday Evening, September 23, 2310 - Twenty Minutes Earlier

From far out over the ocean, the storm clouds raced toward the city. People hurried home to avoid the imminent aeronautical chaos. Angel City hovered above old Los Angeles, but from any vantage point, the ominous clouds on the distant horizon blocked the setting sun, accelerating the afternoon's cooling into night.

The International Waters, or high water, also known as pirate territory, was already awash in the oncoming storm. It promised to roll in from the ocean and do its best to drown Angel City before midnight.

When a real storm hit an elevated city, the entire metropolitan area was in the middle of it. On sunlit, cloud-filled days, the celestial municipality could be like heaven, and just after a storm is one of its most beautiful moments, but during a heavy storm, the air itself will seem to come alive with madness.

The handful of teens who'd earlier passed the bum-janitor, now loitered on benches outside a convenience store. They were still smoking, drinking, ridiculing people and otherwise misbehaving.

The chief antagonist, Slick, carried half a dozen illegal weapons. His best friend since childhood, a massive beast called Abbot, had recently decided against a professional career in the ring. A healthy sense of greed informed the young thug that winning as a fighter often meant losing as a man. His father and grandfather had both been professional fighters. Abbot had seen too many champions in their later stages of dementia and he watched those who called themselves friends, rob the old men.

Dancer, Slick's exceptionally attractive girlfriend, hung on his arm. Her best friend, Candy, had been trying to catch Abbot's eye all afternoon.

Last but not least, trailed the respectably dressed Nate, odd man of the group. His expensive clothes disguised a short temper. His battered knuckles, scratched and bruised face testified to his exceptionally explosive tendencies. The polished clean-cut image contrasted with his single goal of punching your lights out. He was obsessed with an open act of rebellion against everyone. How he got along with Slick and Abbot was anyone's guess.

Down the street, Dancer saw the lights of the meeting hall flicker on. She watched a couple people enter through a side door, carrying groceries.

Every street urchin worth their salt knew that for fifteen minutes at the start of any open support group, there was free grub and no cover charge. The only catch was that you have to get there on time or the finger food would be gone and the meeting would have gotten too deep to slip in unnoticed.

Morgenstern removed his coat and laid it across an unoccupied chair. He had dressed in a tailored black suit, replete with vest, tie and handkerchief. Almost seven feet tall, he called the meeting to order and gestured for everyone to take their seats.

The teen ruffians made their way toward a central group of unoccupied chairs and spread out. They were in no hurry to step back out into the rain. Smiling, they compared the treasures piled on their plates and muttered to each other about how good it all looked, yet something about the way the adults were staring at them had subtly discouraged the teens from stuffing their mouths.

Candy noticed the robed Cole and the hooded girl. She clutched at Dancer's elbow. As the odd and awkward vibe sunk in, the kids reevaluated their situation. The chairs had been arranged in a haphazard semi-circle, with just a few filling the top section, near the podium. The adults regarded them with either open lust or indifference. It seemed half the adults present wanted to eat them, the other half were just curious to see what might happen. Before digging in, the teens found they had lost their appetite.

When Morgenstern began to speak, his captive audience turned their attention toward the podium. "Good evening, welcome, everyone." His deep voice fit him.

Morgenstern read from a sheet. "We gather here to acknowledge that which sets us apart from our peers. We are not here to judge, but to listen. If we can help, we will attempt to do so with compassion and humility."

He looked out at the crowd and then scanned the rest of the paper. He set it to the side. "Let's just move on to the introductions." The battle-scarred mortician came around from the podium to take a seat in the front of the room.

"Some of you are new here," Morgenstern nodded to Courtland. "So I'll just start."

He cleared his throat. "I'm an old man. I have lived an interesting life. I have learned many things the average person does not learn during their average life. I know this because the average man has never killed another man. I have killed many.

"I know many truths about killing. I know there is an afterlife and it is populated by other beings. They seem alien to us. They are beyond us. They feed on our energy, on our souls.

"We are as grapes, grown for a single season. During that time we are the vintner's chief concern. We are his labor and his love. In the fall we are harvested and remembered by our Lord as a fine vintage, with a pleasant meal, shared among friends.

"The Lord is our shepherd, we shall not want. Our coats shall be cared for and grow thick and full. Our meat and marrow, seasoned and succulent." Morgenstern grinned.

The teens stared; slack-jawed, eyes glued to black-suited giant.

Dunkirk and the governor sat to their right, both drooling at the children. Across from them, Ashley and the Detective sat with Escurrido and the Gardner. Mallus and Courtland sat few rows back.

Morgenstern addressed the teens directly. "Cain and Abel. You know the story? Two brothers who worshiped the Lord, both desired to make a pleasing sacrifice. Could be any lord, or landlord, really. Doesn't so much matter that it was God. It's best not to think of him that way. Think of him as you would any other banker, could be a man or a woman. It makes his actions look a lot more rational. Anyhow, Cain sacrificed the fruit of his labor, his finest sheaf of wheat. Abel, the shepherd, his finest calf.

"God liked Abel's sacrifice better. Why? What was the difference? Look here, I'll tell you. This is the most closely guarded secret of all time. Bread or meat? Wheat or blood? You can't have much of a sandwich if you only have the bread, but steak, everyone has eaten steak. The Lamb of God, flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood. It takes ten pounds of grain to produce a pound of meat, did you know that?"

"Why did Cain kill Abel? Jealousy? Come off it. The bible tells us that then Cain slew Abel and that God asked him, _Where is your brother_? Cain should have answered, _Sacrificed for your pleasure, my Lord_.

"Perhaps Cain, acknowledging that God's delight in blood, thought he might be rewarded if he sacrificed Abel. God does seem to love the blood.

"Abraham was asked to kill Isaac. He never objected. Sacrifice didn't seem too strange a request, back in the day.

"And our souls? Worth about the same as an apple or a steak; life and energy. In the end, we are angel-fruit. The wine from our souls, our blood, is heaven's fabled ambrosia.

"The Secret of the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil? The secret we were warned against, on the pain of death. The fruit of the tree of life is the truth of the blood sacrifice.

"There is a little of God's fire in each of us. More in the angels, but there is some in every life, even in the plants and animals. When stoked, when fueled and fed, it grows. The only limit to the accumulation of this energy is the quantity of fuel available. A soul containing others, consumed, compressed and multiplied, becomes unstoppable. I know this, because I have found Eden and the trees of life and knowledge are unguarded.

"Guarded by an angel with a fiery sword?" Morgenstern looked over to the hooded Ashley, then back to the teens. "I have murdered her.

"For a long time I thought the gods must surely try and stop me, but with each kill I'm stronger. I've walked through a thousand attacks and accidents, any of which would kill a normal man, but I've killed hundreds, and so somehow I always survive. I should make peace with myself and make the most of my life. Don't you think?"

Morgenstern's gaze settled on the teens.

Slick leaned forward in his chair. "I think you are one fucked up motherfucker. I don't even believe in God, but I know you're an asshole."

Morgenstern laughed. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. The best mankind has had to offer; they have all been assassinated. The eye of the needle, as it were. At any time in history, all you have to do is speak the truth. Yet how few of us have that courage.

"Here I sit, a murdering sadist. I am healthy, wealthy, free and prosperous. We were created in God's image; the blood we have spilt is on his hands as much as our own. My name is Franklin Gustav Morgenstern. Nice to meet you."

The lunatic nodded to Courtland in the back, who smiled in reply.

Morgenstern looked over to Nelson, nodding and passing the torch.

"Um, okay. Wow. How do you top the secrets of the universe? Yeah. Survival, Origins, Evolution. Angels and Demons. I dig it. Okay. I'm Nelson," he said.

Ashley's head pricked up at the sound of his voice.

The sanitation engineer, who'd also been appointed by the state as Ashley's worthless legal defense, leaned forward. "I recently got my law degree and passed the bar. Tried my first case this past week. It took a whole day. They make it look so fast in the vid streams.

"For fun I like to do pressings. We have this big electric press at work. I just lay the canvas out, arrange my subject and hit the button. They make such fascinating shapes. I have some samples I can give away later, if anyone's interested. That'll be fun. Anyhow, that's it for me."

Nelson looked over to the Governor.

The old woman took a drag off her cigarette. "Everyone calls me Auntie, Auntie Maime," she said. "My hobby is cooking. I love preparing special dishes. I have a scrapbook but I don't know what to call it. Cooking with Kiddies? Children 'ala Mode?" she laughed.

Several members giggled at the terrifying inside joke.

"I like Hansel and Gretel, a Retrospective," Auntie mused.

Horrified, the kids set their plates on the floor and pushed them away.

The Texan roared with laughter. Several members snickered.

Ash growled. Her left hand was still trapped, halfway over her thumb.

Governor Maime nodded to Dunkirk.

"Hi. I'm Marty," he announced.

Forgotten in the back row, the bum sat up. Beneath his wide brimmed hat, he blinked repeatedly. He moved, crablike, toward the front. He took a seat in the open circle of guests, looking strangely at Dunkirk.

No one spoke. His sudden appearance seemed to unnerve the psychotic group. Keller, however, smiled and leaned forward.

The janitor-bum stared at Dunkirk. He pulled out a bottle of alcohol from the folds of his coat. He tore the plastic from the cap and discarded it onto the floor. The janitor downed half the bottle and burped. He returned it to his jacket, the bottle clinking against another.

"I have this condition. I have a really short fuse. I get so fucking angry." Dunkirk scowled and directed his comments at the group's newest guest.

The bum leaned back in the chair, pulled his hat over his eyes and slipped back into his drunken sleep.

"Obscene behavior is a personal pet peeve of mine. It gets under my skin like nothing else."

As if on cue, the bum shifted his position and scratched his groin, he then commenced to snore softly.

Dunkirk leaned forward, one leg began to bounce maniacally. "Some people just don't know how close to the edge they get sometimes." He took a deep breath and spoke to the floor, "I'm done."

The room stayed quiet for a few moments.

Next to Dunkirk, the Texan leaned forward. "Well howdy, how-dee. So. I've learned to accept it, to live with it. I've got my habits, my desires and a talent for making my wildest dreams a reality." He pulled out a cigar. "If there's a God, fuck, man, he likes me." The Texan lit the cigar. He talked around it, between mighty puffs. "He gave me everything I wanted. Maybe because I understand, like you do," The Texan gestured to Morgenstern, "that you gotta make sacrifices.

"And I have to say, that's a real cute analogy about Cain. Rest of what you said is pure horseshit. I should know, I came up in Texas and I've had my share. But if you like the smell, fuck son, it's your stable." He tapped a bit of ash from his cigar onto the floor.

"Anyhow, you want something, you gotta give. That's how I see it. And the good Lord does like them blood sacrifices best; let me tell you that. You got that much right, big man. I have the bank accounts to prove it, but I've said enough."

Again the silence lingered.

The not-so-good Doctor Mallus simply raised his hand and nodded, saying nothing.

Eventually, the assembled citizens started looking over to the kids, as Slick was next in the line up.

Slick exposed the hidden joint he had cupped in his hand. He took a drag and exhaled.

"Y'all is fucked up. Rain or not, I'm out." Slick stood and walked toward the door. With mock surprise he pointed out a fact he'd already noticed, the door had been locked and chained.

"Oh, what the fuck? Now that, my friends, is a fucking fire hazard. We can't have that, can we, Abbot?"

Abbot, Dancer, Nate and Candy looked at the chained doors.

Abbot stood up and walked over. "That is a fire hazard."

"Sit down, both of you," Morgenstern said calmly, condescendingly.

Slick turned on him. "Look, mate, I'm not a killer, but under these conditions, I got no problem with becoming one. Unchain these doors."

Morgenstern didn't reply but Slick hung in there and didn't break the stare.

"Abbot, what about the hinges?"

Abbot looked the doors up and down, inspecting their durability. The chain was secured with a timed padlock, digitally counting down toward zero. There was a little over ninety minutes remaining.

"Cheap bolts. I can bust us out, if it comes to it. But it would put us in a right jam sandwich," he said.

The janitor stirred, produced another unopened bottle, cracked it and drank a good amount. He sealed it returned it to a pocket before drifting back to sleep.

Ash continued to work at her cuffs. Her left thumb was likely dislocated, the hand itself numb, swollen and bruised, still jammed halfway in, halfway out of the cuff.

"The doors will be unchained at ten pm," Morgenstern said. "That's not so long, is it? Suffer the presence of your elders, boy."

"Besides, the food is tasty, don't you think?" Nelson interjected.

The Texan pulled out a dark terillium revolver and Dunkirk, sitting next to him, pulled a machete from his valise.

Slick saw the weapons and a flechette pistol appeared in his hand.

Dancer leaned forward, "You're a bunch of fucking serial killers!!"

"You don't know that." Governor Maime said. "Try and look past appearances. This is called role-playing. This is the creative part, right before the wild orgy. But you'll never know unless your patient. When's the last time you had your asshole licked clean?"

"Eww." Candy grimaced and huddled closer to Nate and Dancer, "Did you hear what she said? She's fucking crazy!"

Dancer was horrified. "I want out."

Slick pulled weapons from his pockets and passed them out. He gave Dancer a massive knife. To Nate, went a wicked pair of stun-knuckles and for Candy, a butterfly knife, he opened it and locked the handle for her.

Across the aisle, Pablo's eyes sparkled at the sight of Slick's knives. "Hold it like this," he suggested to Candy, gesturing for her to turn the knife over, upside down, along the inside of her forearm.

Candy looked to Abbot, who glanced back and forth between her and Escurrido before confirming the suggestion.

"For defense it's safer," Abbot agreed. "He's right. Hold it like that."

Candy inverted her grip.

Dancer did the same with her massive knife.

Pablo grinned in affirmation.

Slick pointed the flechette gun at his face.

Escurrido leaned back in his seat.

Slick addressed the assembled strangers. "Any of you want a cyanide bolt in your dome, just fucking sneeze."

"May we resume the introductions then?" Morgenstern asked. "I believe that beautiful creature on your left is next."

Dancer looked up, "Me? I pass, you freaky motherfucker."

Nate followed her lead, "Pass."

Candy as well, "Pass."

Abbot was last on their row. "I have killed before," he flatly stated. "And I have no problems with putting you miserable fucks down. Like the man said, Sneeze, and I will rip your throat out to piss on your heart."

# Chapter 28 – The Sin of Pride

"Me? I brought a present," Escurrido tossed Cole's badge into the center of the hall. It glittered and rattled across the floor.

The detective sat in the chair next to him. His hands were tied, plus he was blindfolded and hooded by a boxing robe.

Pablo elbowed Cole in the face, knocking him from his chair. Cole landed right in front of Ashley.

Escurrido stood over the detective and pulled out the weapon at his belt. He held it awkwardly, in his left hand. His right had swollen up nicely after cracking it on the detective's skull. Red and purple, he cradled it close to his chest as he stood and viciously kicked the plainclothes officer.

"This pig went undercover. Got himself dressed up as a killer. Got his-self put on death row. He made friends with an amigo." At the end of each sentence, Pablo delivered another kick.

"Then tricky dick got released. He looked me up. Said he had a message, from an old friend of mine. Turns out he did. The message was; _I'm a pig_." Escurrido kicked the Detective with each phrase, pacing himself. "We got us this here hog, for roasting, on occasion of them putting Five Hundred Thousand Volts through my pal Paco's brainpan." He threw in a few extra kicks for emphasis.

Exhausted and pained by his damaged hand, Escurrido returned to his chair. He set the detective's gun on the vacant chair next to him.

Through the hood, Ash saw the gun lying on the seat next to her. With a tremendous burst of will, she put increasing pressure against her wrist.

Cole struggled to his hands and knees. His hands were cuffed together and centered beneath him. The detective turned his back to Pablo and kicked out with a heel, catching Escurrido in the mouth. Teeth splintered into the air, shredding his lips. A fine mist of blood, along with several chunks of flesh and spit, followed Pablo to the floor.

Hooded and blindfolded, Cole climbed to his feet and faced Pablo Escurrido.

The killer leapt at the detective.

Cole heard him coming and stepped forward, raising his knee into Escurrido's already damaged face. He then stepped to the side and delivered a sweeping two-handed punch to Escurrido's temple.

Pablo went down, out cold.

Ashley's hand popped out of the cuff.

Under her hood, the sweat poured off her face as the pain in her hand registered in her brain. She hid her damaged hand with the other, maintaining the illusion of still being restrained. She coughed behind the tape, to try and disguise her pain.

Cole stood near the center of the room, dizzy and having trouble keeping his balance. He took a deep breath, planted his feet and tried to get his bearings.

"You're all under arrest," he said. "Give yourselves up peacefully, or I'll have to use force." He coughed.

Big Texas laughed, lifted his pistol and cocked the hammer with his thumb.

Cole heard the revolver, but with his hands tied and blindfolded, there was nothing he could do.

The Texan fired, striking the detective in the chest.

Cole flew past Ashley, crashed into the wall and collapsed.

The revolver offered no closure in the form of a brass shell tinkling across the cement floor.

In the wake of the shot everyone's ears rang.

"This ain't no role playing," Dancer whispered, mostly to herself.

The bum cracked new bottle of alcohol and drank half of it.

Morgenstern stood and looked over at Ashley. He waved at the haze lingering from the Texan's pistol shot and the smoldering cigar. "This seems like as good a time as any for the unveiling of our mystery guest." He walked over to Ashley and pulled loose the drawstring that Dunkirk untied earlier. He opened the mouth of the hood and prepared to lift it off.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," Morgenstern announced, "here sits a convicted murder, sentenced to death by the State of California. Remanded to persons present for her execution as decreed by law."

He grasped the two corners of the square-cut hood. "I give you Miss Ashley Erin Fox." Morgenstern lifted the black cloth from her face and stepped back.

Her eyes were anxious and alert, her face sweaty and her expression one of fear and fury. Her mouth had been taped shut.

Ashley focused on relaxing her body. She inhaled slowly. Finding calmness, holding the jagged end of the cuff behind her back, waiting for the right moment. She needed Morgenstern to come just a little closer, just a little bit.

Dunkirk leaned forward and studied her face, confused. He leapt from his chair and stumbled forward, shocked and surprised.

"Ashley Fox? Ashley Fox! You fucking Bitch!" He lunged toward her, the machete held high overhead.

Morgenstern placed a single hand on Dunkirk's chest and completely halted his forward progress. He took the machete from the relatively short man and tossed it across the room. It slid to a stop under a row of chairs.

Dunkirk scrambled after it, interrupting and displacing the orderly rows. A moment later he returned. "I thought we were supposed to look out for each other?" He waved the blade for emphasis.

Morgenstern displayed an eerie calm. "She's not going anywhere. Sit down."

Dunkirk sat down.

Morgenstern looked over at Ashley, who returned his glare. "What shall we do with you?"

"Let's cook her into soup," Governor Maime suggested.

"Let's roast her and cover her with chocolate," Nelson said.

Ashley exhaled slowly.

The drunken janitor-bum began to snore more loudly this time.

Ash looked over at him. Without the hood, she recognized him. She'd seen him. He was the janitor she'd seen that night after her run in with Donovan. He hadn't helped her, but he hadn't stopped her either. _What was he doing here_? Under his rags she saw he was wearing a Reverend's collar.

Morgenstern addressed the room. "For those of you who don't know what's going on here, Miss Fox was orphaned last week. Some years ago, Ashley's family lived on the same block as Mr. Dunkirk, where she saw some things I'm sure she'd rather forget."

Morgenstern leaned into Ash's face and stared into her eyes.

Ash was intensely calm, seeming to be on par with the killer, betraying not even the slightest bit of fear.

"Have you forgotten what you saw?" he asked. "I bet it's as clear as if it happened yesterday."

Morgenstern turned away to address the room. "A week ago Miss Fox was delivered to District Thirteen. Three days later she was involved in an illegal pit fight, which she won. She is the most dangerous of all Angel City's fifty thousand criminal delinquents. She is our most valuable recruit. We will train her, but first we will break her."

He turned back to the girl. "We will clone you and kill you a thousand times, the first being tonight." He smiled. "But you've been through all that before. There is one thing I'm curious about, Miss Fox, before I kill you...

"The moves you used against Mohammed, Lethal and Marco. Everyone knows them; they are thousands of years old. But your style, your form, is unique, fluid. Lots of people are curious, who is your teacher?"

Ashley only glared at him.

He ripped the tape from her mouth.

She coughed and cleared her throat. "You want to know who my teacher is?" she asked.

Morgenstern nodded.

"Vid streams," she smiled.

The monster before her laughed and leaned forward, his face just inches from hers. He inhaled, preparing some witty retort.

Ashley's right hand shot up to his face. She planted the sharp point of the loose cuff deep in Morgenstern's left eye. The sharp claw punctured the lens and ripped the retina from the back of the socket.

Ash was on her feet, driving the big man backwards, twisting the cuff back and forth, purposefully inflaming the injury.

Morgenstern got his hands around her neck and squeezed. He channeled all the pain from his eye into the crushing power of his forearms and hands.

Ashley was caught; she would die now, again.

Over three hundred pounds of disciplined muscle, Morgenstern focused on choking her. Without a growl, a grunt or even a sharp intake of breath, the balance of power shifted from the girl and her jagged metal cuff to the giant and his pain.

She could not win.

Morgenstern exploded with effort and drove the girl down into her seat. He pressed on with everything he had.

Ashley twisted beneath him. She kicked at his stomach, stomped his chest, he held her upside down.

Twisting, her left foot found his head and neck, with three kicks she stomped his face into red jelly, but he didn't let go. His arms were long and he held on.

She tried to flip through and break his grip, but he pinned his elbows to the center and trapped her.

As her consciousness faded, she clawed at his left arm, her right hand twisting the cuff in his wrecked eye-socket.

Blood ran from his ruined visage, down their arms, staining his hands, her face and her shirt.

Unable to crack the child's windpipe, her thrashing had prevented him, the lack of oxygen finally knocked her out. Ashley lost consciousness and her struggle ended, her legs dropped and her hands fell away. The cuff and the shredded eyeball came out with a wet pop and a metallic jingle.

Morgenstern let her settle into the chair and backed away from her. He reached up to his breast pocket and removed his handkerchief. He used it to hold the remains of his eye, wet against the side of his face. The optic nerve ran into the bloody socket like a miniature umbilical cord.

From a sheath strapped beneath his jacket, Morgenstern produced a hunting knife. With a grunt he severed the thick nerve. Blood and plasma splashed onto the floor. He discarded the ruined tissue with a wet slap. No other sound escaped him.

He removed his tie, placed the handkerchief over the empty socket and tied it into place, an improvised eye-patch.

Slick, Dancer, Nate, Candy and Abbot sat stunned and speechless.

Governor Maime held two gleaming carving knives. She smiled madly, utterly unhinged.

Ash lay slumped in the chair. Detective Cole lay bleeding on the floor nearby, his gun abandoned, forgotten on the chair next to the throttled girl.

Escurrido remained unconscious and bleeding from his ruined face and mouth. Nelson, Courtland and the Doctor each sat quietly, watching.

Next to Dunkirk, Big Texas obscenely fondled his revolver.

# Chapter 29 – The Sin of Wrath

Morgenstern wiped clean the knife he'd used to sever his optic nerve and approached Ashley. "An eye for an eye..." He straddled her, tilted her head back and positioned the blade.

The janitor coughed and stirred. He stumbled to his feet. The Reverend's collar was plainly evident and a hush fell over the room.

"I know you." Morgenstern lowered the knife. "Something you'd like to say?" he asked.

The drunken Reverend turned away from the half-blind giant and projectile vomited all over Dunkirk and the Texan. The two men leapt to their feet, howling in disgust. The vomit reeked of fruit and alcohol as the man had been drinking rum.

The Texan raised his weapon; it was covered in red and yellow syrupy chunks. They dripped and ran from the gun, all down his hand and arm. He waved the slop away, flinging the pungent bile to the floor.

The Reverend charged between them and crashed through the door, into the hallway toward the restrooms, vanishing from the hall.

Dunkirk had gotten the worst of it. He wiped the vomit from his shirt. It hit the floor with volume. He grabbed his machete and chased after the drunken reverend-janitor-bum.

Morgenstern turned back to the business of mutilating Ashley's soon-to-be corpse.

Dancer nudged Slick, "Do something, asshole," she said.

Slick was already pointing his gun in Morgenstern's general direction. When Dancer hit him, it fired.

The flechette gun was not a powerful weapon. Designed for self-defense, it was not a killing tool. Yet several of the darts found their target; two buried themselves in Morgenstern's upper back, another in his shoulder and a fourth gashed his neck and jaw.

Morgenstern turned on Slick, his knife glistening in the low light.

Slick fired again. The darts spread low, a few found Morgenstern's upper thighs as he lurched forward and hurled his knife at Slick. The blade penetrated his chest with a wet thud.

The wounded teen fired one last time.

Morgenstern took six darts to the chest and didn't even flinch.

Everyone remained silent, tense.

They waited for something to happen, and so it did.

The Texan then raised his revolver at Slick and the teens, but Slick collapsed, dropping his weapon.

Abbot moved, hurling his chair into the Texan's face. The weapon fired, the bullet ricocheting into the ceiling as the metal chair knocked the revolver from his hands.

Abbot threw himself at the unarmed Morgenstern. He delivered a haymaker catching the big man in the chin, knocking him from his feet. His momentum carried them both through another row of chairs and onto the raised platform of the podium.

The teen picked the mortician up and drove him downward through the platform, slamming him into the lower floor.

Auntie leapt away from the fight, her knives flashing.

Keller stepped aside and watched Abbot pummel the struggling Morgenstern.

Nelson too backed away, while Nate, Dancer and Candy huddled over Slick's wounded form.

Abbot rained punches down onto the clearly loosing Morgenstern.

The other silent members of the evening's festivities, Courtland, Dr. Mallus and Escurrido's friend, the Gardner, watched as though they had ringside seats at an exclusive event.

No one seemed inclined to interrupt.

The massive teen savagely struck at the giant mortician's face over and over again. The wet thuds grew farther apart as he ran out of steam and it ended. Then Abbot stood, exhausted.

Keller stepped in front of him, deliberately confronting, challenging the teen.

Abbot laughed.

They attacked each other at the same time.

Abbot hit Keller in the nose, destroying the cartilage and breaking the nasal bone beneath, but Keller's _Leopard Fist_ smashed into the young man's throat.

The collision knocked both men to the floor. They rolled apart.

Warden Keller had a fountain of blood running from his nose. He found his feet and pinched the bridge, shutting off the crimson stream.

Abbot fought to get to his hands and knees. He coughed; blood colored the air in front of him. He slumped to the floor, where he lay struggling to breathe.

Otherwise, the room was quiet.

The stinking Dunkirk entered the bathroom to find the Reverend puking in a stall. He fumed, but didn't advance. Wrestling a vomiting man from a toilet to hack him up was seemingly a bridge too far for the man who had reportedly murdered women and children without inhibition.

Dunkirk took a deep breath, and walked over to the sink. He washed his face, arms and shirt, and then left the restroom.

In the main hall, Ashley woke. The last thing she remembered was gouging out Morgenstern's eye and being throttled.

Mr. Nelson Gransil, her attorney, stood directly before her.

They stared at each other. The room was littered with victims.

To Ashley's right, Nate, Dancer and Candy were huddled around Slick, trying to keep him breathing, despite the massive hunting knife protruding from his chest.

Across from them, the Texan tended a busted lip, courtesy of Abbot's flying furniture.

Beside her, Detective Cole lay sprawled against a wall, where he'd crashed after Texas put a bullet in him. Escurrido lay a bit further away, still unconscious due to Cole's superior, blind fighting skills.

Abbot was sitting on the edge of the podium, rubbing his throat and keeping a cautious eye on Keller, who sat nearby, smoking a cigarette.

Morgenstern lay beyond them, twitching occasionally.

Governor 'Auntie' Maime perched on the edge of her chair, watching everything, her hands still clutching her carving knives.

Ashley was breathing okay, her hands moved to her own throat. Her swollen and damaged left hand naturally caught the loose cuff of the right.

That was when she saw the gun on the chair next to her.

Nelson saw it too and leapt for it.

In slow motion, Ashley glided out of her seat, she moved straight forward, away from the weapon, it would wait. From a solid stance, she slammed her right elbow into Nelson's face.

Her defense attorney had been solely focused on the gun. His nose and spectacles snapped like cold glass against concrete. Mr. Gransil, serial killer, part-time lawyer and full-time sanitation engineer, went down like a sack of potatoes.

Ash snapped up the handgun as Dunkirk stepped forward. He froze, machete held low at his side.

Ashley moved to her right, keeping the whimpering Nelson between herself and Mr. Dunkirk, forcing him to navigate that obstacle first, before he could attack her with his blade.

"It's on safe," the vomit-soaked Dunkirk asserted.

Holding Dunkirk's stare, Gransil on his knees between them, Ashley's thumb slipped over to the selector switch and clicked the weapon over to _Fire_. She cocked the hammer.

"Want to bet it's unloaded too?" she rasped. Her vocal cords hadn't escaped Morgenstern's crushing grip unscathed.

Dunkirk lowered the machete to his side.

The room was quiet and still.

Everyone's attention was now on Ashley.

To her left, Abbot stood.

Ash took the moment to grab the loose, gore-coated cuff dangling in the air. She deftly snapped onto her right forearm, then regained her hold on the detective's handgun.

Keller remained seated in his chair and Governor Maime perched on hers, dangling her knife wielding arms like a demented chimpanzee.

The bleeding and whimpering Nelson, on his hands and knees, found his broken glasses and tried to piece them back together.

Ash moved past the unconscious Escurrido and Detective Cole, toward Nate, Dancer and Candy. Slick looked deathly pale.

Struck by the smell emanating from his clothes and skin, Dunkirk scowled. He swung his blade with impatience and stalked back toward the restroom.

Martin Dunkirk heard the sound of running water being turned off as he approached the bathroom door. He heard the flick of a lighter, followed by sound of the man puffing on a cigar. The man was smoking.

Dunkirk tried to enter the room as quietly as he could, but the door creaked, the handle jiggled, the machete bumped against the frame and his foot hit the metal sill.

Except for the smoke, the bathroom stood empty.

Through the obscuring haze, he saw several liquor bottles standing on the counter, their contents, clearly mixed with soap, their tops plugged with soapy-wet paper towels.

A gunshot came from the main room, followed by screaming. The hysterical screaming of a man, screaming _like_ a woman.

Dunkirk turned back just in time for a bottle of soapy alcohol to be broken over his forehead. Half-blinded by the glass and the runny syrup, he felt himself pushed and steered out of the restroom, his face used to batter open the door.

Moments Earlier...

Ashley held the detective's gun like the life preserver it was.

Absorbed in his pain, Nelson pointed to Detective Cole and raged at her, "You know they sent you to us on purpose? You're bait! They don't care about you. We can kill you, or your brother, any time we want!"

"Not if I kill you first," Ashley replied. "Not if I kill you all."

"You don't have enough bullets to kill me," Gransil laughed.

Auntie bounced maniacally on her chair.

Ash smiled, "Well then. Let's get started." With no further hesitation, she shot Nelson in the stomach. He collapsed to the floor, screaming. Nelson was so loud that he woke Escurrido.

Then, from the hallway, the sound of breaking glass was heard, followed by another high-pitched male scream. The new screamer was being driven toward the closed hall door at full speed. It sounded like a dozen people running toward them.

Dunkirk was smashed through the flimsy wooden door. His chest and shoulders were engulfed in flames. He crashed through several rows of chairs, took three bullets from Ashley, and three more from the Texan, before collapsing in the center of the room, thrashing and burning.

The screams ended as Dunkirk inhaled the fire, cauterizing and sealing his lungs. Lying in the center of the room, riddled with bullets, flames danced across his squirming and flailing torso.

As the flames fell, his gyrations decreased. The fire had cooked his internal organs and the bullets let some air in. The man's brain, otherwise intact, experienced all of it.

The Reverend stepped through the doorway. He had a lit cigar in his mouth and three flaming half-pint Molotov cocktails in his right hand.

With the free left hand, he removed his coat. He wore the preacher's collar and a large silver cross hung from his neck. Below it, dozens of weapons were strapped and belted over a shiny terillium-vest and shirt.

A massive blunderbuss was slung from his shoulder, and a bandoleer of fist-sized shells crossed his back.

Auntie leapt at him from her chair, her twin knives high overhead.

The Reverend threw his long coat into the air, catching her knives and head under it. She crashed to the floor, the remaining bottles in the coat breaking around her.

She stumbled over the still flaming Dunkirk. The coat, dripping and soaked in soapy alcohol, burst into flame. Governor Maime screamed, jumped and thrashed, but the coat held her prisoner.

Keller rose to his feet as Morgenstern worked himself into an upright position against the back wall.

Governor Maime spun, jumped and shook, flinging liquid fire everywhere, but in the end, she had to drop the serrated knives to escape the fiery jacket.

Now free of the jacket, oxygen and flame dashed over her rum-soaked torso. As her hair burned off, her polyester sweater melted into her chest and shoulders. Screaming like a mad woman, she leapt for the floral carpetbag under her chair. She dumped it, knives clattered across the floor. She grabbed a new one with each hand. As her body burned, her eyes burned with the fire of hell, and she screamed and leapt at the Reverend.

He sidestepped her and broke another flaming bottle in her face.

Now completely engulfed, Maime screamed, inhaling the deadly mixture into her lungs and setting them on fire. She collapsed to the same sputtering fate as Dunkirk.

The Reverend and Warden Keller now found themselves facing each other. The gut-shot Nelson shook, whimpering on the floor between them.

The Gardener, Escurrido's silent guest, had long since vanished. No one had seen him go.

Dr. Mallus and Courtland decided with a mutual nod, they'd also rather be elsewhere. They exited from the hall through the kitchen door. Dr. Mallus led Courtland to an obscured back door. He produced a key and the men slipped out.

Outside, they shook hands.

"A pleasure," Courtland said.

"Indeed."

The two men nodded and each went in an opposite direction, fleeing both the building and each other's presence.

Above them, innumerable insects congregated around a dim streetlight. Half a dozen broke off to follow Courtland. An equal number pursued Dr. Mallus. The rest remained transfixed by the dull bulb.

The Reverend's wide-brimmed hat was folded and tucked into his belt. His face was pale, and drawn. He looked like a man who had just thrown up a gallon of alcohol.

Morgenstern came off the wall, as Escurrido stumbled to his feet.

Ashley and Abbot stood with the Reverend, to his left, facing the killers with him.

Big Texas had flanked them on their right and crouched in a darkened corner of the room. He held his revolver, with only had two rounds left, pointed at the Reverend's back.

Morgenstern and Keller watched Texas zero in.

The Reverend's left hand slipped to the pistol on his right hip. He pivoted it in its hinged holster. He fired three shots at the Texan without looking, only scoring a single hit.

Keller and Morgenstern remained still.

The Reverend spun and blasted the Texan with the blunderbuss. The small cannon was deafening in the confined space.

The Texan didn't cry, moan or move. He just smoked from the impact of several shots.

Morgenstern and Keller still held their positions, not moving.

Ashley organized Abbot and the teen survivors, moving them toward the chained doors. Abbot kicked at them, but they didn't give.

The Reverend faced Morgenstern and Keller. Escurrido moved nervously behind them.

The Reverend reloaded the blunderbuss.

Ashley tugged at his elbow. "We need to get out of here," she said, pointing to the small atrium and the chained doors.

The Reverend moved toward the doors and gestured for the girls to back away. Abbot dragged Slick back.

The blunderbuss fired again, ripping a three-foot hole in the center of the double doors. The chains fell away but the doors held their place.

Abbot kicked them open. He and Ashley helped the others from the building.

The Reverend turned back to find Morgenstern and Keller huddled over duffle bags, their back turned toward him and the main doors. He crouched, reloading the shotgun again.

Ashley was beside him, tugging at the wounded Detective Cole, but she couldn't get him very far.

The Reverend helped Ashley drag Detective Cole outside.

Ashley dug through the detective's pockets, coming up with his keys and fumbling at the cuffs on her right arm. She quickly grew frustrated, attempting to manage the keys with her damaged hand.

The Reverend said nothing, drew a pistol for his left hand and holding the pirate gun with his right, he turned and re-entered the building.

Keller and Morgenstern had assembled and armed themselves with fully automatic rail guns from the large bags they carried.

The three combatants opened fire together.

The combined shock of the weapons blasted everyone from their feet. The Reverend flew backward ten feet.

Ashley fired at them with Cole's handgun, from the open doorway.

They naturally directed their fire at her, only to watch the girl leap back behind a planter.

The Reverend's body lay broken and smoking, across the room.

In the distance sirens could be heard approaching.

Nelson peeked around the corner and seeing little threat, he limped into view of the doorway.

Nate, Candy and Dancer huddled and cried over Slick's pale and breathless corpse. Abbot stood with them, wary and alert.

Ash crouched behind a raised waist-high planter; the dirt and stone protecting her body as the brush obscured her eyes peering over the top. She rubbed her swollen left hand for a moment, until movement grabbed her attention.

With the detective's weapon aimed directly at Nelson in the doorway, Escurrido sprinted through the darkness behind him and Ashley's finger twitched on the trigger. The bullet slapped into Nelson's chest.

Ash held her aim on the doorway as Morgenstern and Keller lurched into view. She fired five rounds before automatic bursts from their rifles cracked the front of the planter she hid behind.

Keller came forward and put two bursts into the group of teens. Then he dragged the stumbling Morgenstern toward the kitchen.

Ashley returned fire, but her rounds seemed to have little effect. She suspected he must have been wearing a terillium-weave coat. She stood.

Dancer, Candy and Nate lay on the ground near Slick and Abbot. For ammo, the rail gun used water mixed with iron shavings, flash frozen before being fired by a magnetic charge. The teens' bodies were shredded. Blood ran and mingled in a spreading pool.

In the kitchen, Escurrido found the door Courtland and Mallus had used. It was unlocked. Seconds later he was sprinting down the alleyway, driven by the sound of the approaching sirens.

Pablo Escurrido was also chased by a variety of robotic insects.

Several more airborne bugs left their place around the streetlight, and moved off in groups seeking out the other members of the evening's event, and settling, unseen, in their clothes.

The sirens grew louder.

Ashley moved into the alley running alongside the building, away from the well-lit street. The dark, litter-strewn corridor seemed quiet and safe. Bugs swarmed around Ashley's face and hair, she swatted at them.

She heard a noise and a door opened beside her. She froze.

Keller dragged the unconscious Morgenstern into the alley. He moved away from the sirens, directly toward Ash.

The girl stood, the detective's weapon low at her side.

Seeing her, Keller stopped. His rifle was pointing down, to the side.

Morgenstern was barely conscious; his rifle was also directed at his most imminent threat, the looming ground.

Ash raised the pistol.

Keller tried to bring his rifle around, but muzzle couldn't possibly reach her in time.

Ashley fired. The bullet slapped into Keller's cheek and punched a chunk out of the back of his head.

Keller fell forward to the ground. Morgenstern fell with him.

Ashley fired three more shots into Keller's back. His bullet-resistant jacket did little 'resisting' at this range. Blood splashed into the air. She then put four rounds into Morgenstern's back. His terillium jacket also tore and he bled. For good measure, she put a round into the back of his head.

Ash lowered the gun.

In the wake of the shots, the alley seemed silent.

She watched their blood run into the dirty water, together racing toward the lip of a sewer drain.

Gradually the vacuum of sound was filled with the wailing scream of approaching sirens and the shrill screech of electro-magnetic brakes. Doors opened and slammed shut. Voices shouted commands and were echoed by others.

Ashley sprinted down the alley at top speed, the pistol in her hand.

The narrow alley was at a slight decline and she moved so fast, the slightest misstep promised to throw her to the pavement with bone-snapping force.

A couple of blocks from the chaos, she spotted a junk bin and rested for a minute. She found a semi-clean rag, wrapped the handgun, tucked it into her waistband and moved on, holding it in place.

Rush hour was long over. Now the flowing traffic was directed toward restaurants and bars. Ash stayed to the alleys until she reached a stairwell leading down to a residential district.

The lithe girl slipped from the uptown commercial shelf and jogged through residential neighborhoods. She kept an even pace, parallel to the metro line. She didn't allow herself to break into a sprint or slow to a walk.

The only problem was the gun. She had to carry it in her hands, as her hospital pants really weren't up to the challenge of keeping it secure against her waist. It was a hassle but she didn't think it would be wise to pitch it.

Thankfully, just as she threatened to overheat, the heavens cooled and a light rain chased the sweat from her body. The water energized her, giving her another twenty minutes of speed, carrying her away from the chaos on the uptown shelf.

Ash didn't have to wonder where she would go. Weary and battered, the rain soaked girl reached the next metro stop and punched her family codec into the ticket kiosk.

Her father had never fooled around when it came to security. After he'd been killed last time, he'd locked down a dozen secret family accounts. Ashley and Geoff had been forced to memorize all of them.

Ash was so tired and angry, she realized she was failing to properly appreciate her father's forethought. She actually kind of hoped someone would suddenly arrive to either rescue or confront her, like last time, but no one did.

She caught her reflection in a poster glass and felt like she was looking at an alien. She hadn't seen herself in almost a week. She was bruised and battered. Her face crossed by scratches and blood from the evening's excitement. Worse than that, she looked broken, defeated.

Her eyebrows furrowed and she glared at herself. Anger, fire; that was better. She could handle that. Yes. That was who she was. The hostile, competitive ballerina, the girl who'd beaten every boy at Kung Fu Camp and been nicknamed Everest. The girl who'd outrun a train and jumped from the crown of the city with nothing but a kite board. _She_ was the girl who'd fought a serial killer and avenged her father's murder.

The kiosk beeped at her. Her ticket printed and she took it.

A few minutes later the train arrived. She boarded and collapsed into an empty booth. Her feet hurt. Her neck hurt. Everything hurt.

Ashley watched the city from her window. She saw ambulances and police vehicles whizzing by, sirens flashing. Perhaps they were on a different call, maybe a fire, or a burglary. It was possible the emergency crews were headed somewhere else in the massive city. She laughed to herself, closed her eyes against the rain-speckled glass and slept.

### Part Three – On Dying
# Chapter 30 – No Rest For The Wicked

The courtyard in front of the meeting hall was packed with emergency vehicles; the fire and police departments, the coroner, forensics, ambulance crews and curious bystanders crowded the small area. Most of the investigators silently went about their work, cataloguing every pebble and cigarette butt in the area. Reporters pushed their luck with the cops and strained to overhear anything worth hearing.

A sergeant spoke into his radio, "Dispatch, we've got a real mess down here. We're going to need another meat wagon ASAP."

At the perimeter, a uniformed officer raised the police tape separating professionals from spectators. Chief Del Toro nodded his thanks and ducked under.

"How bad is it?" he asked the nearby lieutenant.

The officer gestured to the forensics investigators, who hovered over the corpses. "We've got eight dee-bees, three kids right out front here. One died of a stab wound to the chest, two others were gunfire, two more in critical condition, also gunfire."

The lieutenant gestured to the inside of the hall. "It's a mess. We've kept a lid on it so far, but we've got an OIS. We're not sure how it went down yet, sir, but it's Detective Cole. He went missing last night. Looks like he's been held hostage, tortured. We sent him and the two critical juveniles out to Saint Andrew's."

The officer lowered his voice. "Sir, in addition to the detective, there's a District Governor in there. She's been burned pretty badly. One of the guys shot out back is her security chief."

"Who else knows about Cole and the Governor," Del Toro asked.

"As it happened, I pulled their IDs, so as of this moment, just you, me and God."

Del Toro gripped the man by his shoulders and looked him in the eyes. "Keep it that way, Lieutenant."

"No worries, Chief."

The light drizzle thickened into actual rain and began pelting the crime scene, making further documentation almost impossible.

"Talk about a shit storm, huh?"

Chief Del Toro sorted through the mess in his head. Cole had been rooting out a vein of corruption on District 13. He'd connected Dunkirk to the orphanage but D13 was something of a black hole when it came to jurisdiction.

Crimes against non-citizens, even though they might be children, were hardly a priority when it came to law enforcement budgets, especially if citizen parents weren't present to force the issue.

Del Toro's mind raced. Cole had believed Governor Maime was directly tied to the Mayor.

This was it: Cole's big case, the whole enchilada, and even though there was plenty of beans, cheese and sauce, there was no meat. There were plenty of dead bodies, but more questions than answers.

Del Toro walked through the scene. He watched the investigators transfer the deceased victims into body bags and into the back of a truck.

Later, sitting in his car, Chief Del Toro dialed the Mayor's office and explained the situation: "Governor Agatha Dorchester Maime, Warden Keller and homicide Detective James Cole have been involved in an incident."

"A what?" Secretary Waltman asked. "What kind of incident?"

"A shooting incident; they're dead."

"And?" Waltman asked.

"There was another suspect killed along with them."

"And who might that be?" Waltman asked.

"We think it might be Martin Dunkirk," Del Toro replied.

"How long till the story breaks?"

"That's your first question?"

"For the Mayor's office? Yes, Chief, this is politics. How long?"

"It might stay quiet over the weekend. Guess it depends on what happens tomorrow."

"What happens tomorrow?"

"I have no idea," Del Toro replied.

"I'll let the mayor know, thanks for the call. Good night, Chief."

"Good night." Del Toro terminated the connection and squeezed the bridge of his nose.

_A governor, a mass murderer and a cop in a meeting hall..._ It sounded like the beginning of a bad joke.

Chief Del Toro programmed a route to the hospital and hoped no one had heard about his critically injured, but very much alive Detective Cole.

Mayor Westbury, frustrated by the Chief's news of the meeting hall massacre, took a deep breath, dialed a number and waited. The call was answered by the California State Governor's Office. The Mayor identified himself and asked for the Governor. The secretary asked what the call was regarding.

"Project 7982," he replied. The sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line confirmed that Westbury had struck a nerve,

Inside the medical transport, corpse-filled body bags lay on their shelves. Morgenstern, Warden Keller, Governor Maime and the others rested in their eternal slumber. The vehicle drifted with the twenty-four-hour congested traffic, knotted around downtown at ten thousand feet.

In his darkened apartment, Lieutenant Grey's phone rang. The young officer took his time about it, but answered.

First Sergeant King explained that Detective Cole had been shot. Chief Del Toro wanted to keep Cole's status, and the subsequent investigation into D13, off the record.

"What do you mean investigation?"

"I need you to come down and meet me at the hospital. We need people we can trust. Someone on the inside sold out our Detective friend. If they discover he survived; well, he won't."

Grey agreed, hung up and climbed out of bed.

Ashley opened the gate and moved down the leaf-cluttered walk toward her family's front door. The dollhouse her father had made for her lay broken and smashed across the overgrown lawn. Her bedroom drapes hung out of the broken window.

It had only been a week or so, but it felt like months.

She waved at the front door and it slid open. The birthday decorations were still in place, faded and sagging. The presents too, stacked against the wall, sun-bleached where the windows permitted.

The door slid closed behind her. Ash approached the table of presents, but hesitated. She turned and went into the kitchen instead.

"Mono." Ashley called him several times, but the giant cat did not appear. Suddenly starving, she opened the refrigerator.

In the downstairs living room, she ignored the fine layer of dust and collapsed onto the couch, her snacks in a pile on the table. Ash triggered the vid stream by remote and fell asleep.

Malik Watkins finished prepping the several bodies for autopsy. He'd removed the plastic body bags and the victim's clothing and sent them to the hair and fiber lab upstairs. He'd then covered the bodies with thin linen sheets. Once finished, he'd taken a break, leaving the rooms to Bill Martinson, the junior assistant on duty.

Doing his paperwork at a front desk, Bill heard the unmistakable sound of someone moving behind him. Despite his knowledge that everyone behind him was dead, he stood and turned to investigate.

To his surprise, one of the John Does was sitting up, the sheet rumpled about his waist.

Martinson was struck by the physical size of the man. Even from the back, he was huge, a giant. His broad shoulders sported several fresh gunshot wounds, and those were the new ones. Scars crisscrossed over each other, some red and thick, others white and faded.

The dead man stood and turned. He rolled the gurney to the side.

Martinson panicked, his heart raced, he couldn't move.

With his one good eye, Morgenstern looked at him.

The giant mortician was suddenly wracked by a series of violent coughs. He doubled over; something had lodged in his chest. With a deep breath, a final cough ripped the obstruction free. It caught in his mouth. He spit it into his hand and dropped the chunk of lead onto the table.

Bill stumbled backward out of the room.

Morgenstern smiled. He tied a sheet around his waist and grabbed another to cover his shoulders. He pulled the sheets from the other corpses and quickly found Keller and the Governor.

In the next room Morgenstern discovered the attendant on the telephone, describing the situation. He looked up and his words ceased.

Morgenstern was carrying the heavy body of the Colonel over his right shoulder and the Governor's frail corpse under his left arm.

He briefly set Governor Maime against the wall and lifted a set of keys from the peg next to the door. He then carried Keller and the Governor from the morgue to the department transport and placed them in the back.

Dunkirk woke a bit later to find himself in the fatality cooler. He noted that he could breathe and leapt from the table. He was still in considerable pain, but conscious and angry enough to move.

In the next room, Martinson explained the missing bodies to Watkins.

"You're sure he was dead?" Martinson asked his superior.

"Yes. I'm sure," Watkins replied. "Dead is dead. They don't get up and walk about."

Martinson showed the Watkins the bullet. He'd put it in a Petri dish, where it rattled against the plastic.

"Fuck. Fucking zombies, man." Watkins shook his head.

"He wasn't a zombie. He was alive," Martinson said.

"How do you know?"

"Well, for one thing, he didn't try to eat my brains."

"They do like the brains." Watkins smiled.

"So I've heard."

Dunkirk, the skin of his face and neck burnt to a blackened crisp, his teeth exposed in a hideous grin, opened the door and dragged himself into the room.

Malik's jaw dropped open.

Bill was closer. Dunkirk charged and crashed into him, biting at his head and neck. They collapsed into a tangle of limbs.

"Zombies!" Malik ran for the door, but Dunkirk was there, biting at his neck, digging into the soft tissue.

The man cried out as his life's blood splashed down Dunkirk's throat. The last image his brain processed was that of Bill Martinson, his colleague and friend, murdered by similar bite wounds to the neck.

Dunkirk stood over his victims, burnt and covered in fresh blood. He stripped the larger Watkins of his clothes and dressed.

A couple of minutes later, Dunkirk stumbled out of the morgue. He wore pants, stolen off the dead attendant and an EMT jacket over his shirtless chest. He was barefoot, his charred skin cracked and oozing fluid.

There were no vehicles nearby.

The ruined killer charged up a nearby stairwell to another part of the facility. He found himself on the emergency tarmac. His mind recognized the irony, but his mouth and lips were already twisted as close as he was going to get to a smile.

Here, on this level, there were several vehicles idling at the curb, the closest being a taxi and a mid size SUV. Nurses and EMTs worked near the entrance, wheeling patients from ambulances and private vehicles into the reception area.

Dunkirk used the canopy support pillars to conceal his movement until he saw his opportunity. Lurching from the shadowed lee of a support, he sprinted toward the driver's door of a waiting family vehicle. The owners, a pregnant woman and her husband, in the atrium with nurses and doctors, completely missed the burnt Dunkirk climb into their sport utility.

He pulled away and streaked toward the nearest freeway cable. The husband and wife summoned hospital security, but it was too late. The security staff asked if they knew where he'd come from. The couple directed them toward the far stairwell, the only possible source of his approach.

"The only thing down those stairs is the morgue," one guard remarked without thinking.

A nurse, also accustomed to plain speaking said, "Some one broke out of there about an hour ago."

The wife's contractions began again and they were taken into the emergency room.

The guard was left to investigate the stairwell.

A minute later, he stood in the open doorway of the morgue, shocked at the sight of the murdered attendants, Malik Watkins without his pants. Nauseated by the gruesome murder and the implications of the missing pants, he turned and tossed his last meal over the railing.

Once he'd cleared his stomach, the guard notified his duty officer, who demanded that he clear both rooms. He did so, trembling and returned to the catwalk to stand his newly designated post, outside the crime scene, waiting for whomever it was that would investigate the homicides.

In the back room, the Reverend sat up. He found a locker full of hospital clothes and quietly dressed. As he approached the door, the guard spun and staggered backward. The Reverend was dressed as if he might be any hospital employee, but the guard had checked the rooms and they were empty, excepting the dead.

Reverend Luther Wolfe walked past the guard and up to the railing. He climbed it and leapt from the edge of the building, several thousand feet above terra firma.

The guard ran the three steps to the edge and looked over. The jumper hadn't been caught in the hospital's safety nets. He was just gone. The security guard crossed himself, as the night moved into its darkest hour, just before dawn.

# Chapter 31 – Crashing Waves

Half blind, Morgenstern let the autopilot park the hospital transport outside District Thirteen's medical ward. He stumbled from the cab, bleeding anew from his wounds. A steady river of blood ran from beneath his bandaged eye and down his cheek. He took a moment to marshal his resources and then crossed the hard metal dock toward the emergency room.

Inside, he collapsed to the floor, where several nurses rushed over to him. Morgenstern instructed them to call Doctors Mallus and Bergstrom and to see to the colonel and governor in the back of the ambulance.

Back at the hospital, Abbot and Candy slept in the ICU recovery ward, connected to dozens of life support machines, monitored by committed and competent technicians. A video monitor in the background played a news story about Ashley's fights, the riots and her execution.

Two uniformed Angel City Police Officers stood at the closed door of a hospital room. Inside, Detective Cole lay in bed, his face, neck, chest and arms, painted with a mixture of the blue healing goo Ashley's Father had invented so long ago. First Sergeant King sat in a chair next to the detective while Grey leaned against a far wall. Chief Del Toro paced back and forth at the foot of Cole's bed.

The Detective raised his head. "Chief, you gotta stop that shit, you're making me seasick." He looked at them. "You guys look as bad as I feel."

First Sergeant King laughed, Grey smiled.

Chief Del Toro leaned forward. "Your case exploded all over my street, Detective."

"Did we get anything?" Cole asked.

"If you mean by the way of questions, we've got a shit-ton of those. We had a bunch of cold bodies, and somehow we've managed to lose half of them. Answers, we don't have."

A confused look was the only response Cole seemed able to manage.

Chief Del Toro explained, "We recovered half a dozen high profile corpses, including your Governor and her Colonel, but they walked out of the morgue. The crime scene guy's initial assessments of the gunshot wounds were consistent with a police issued weapon and your handgun remains unaccounted for. No one at the scene tested positive for ACPD residue, so at the moment we believe the shooter fled the scene."

Del Toro leaned forward, hands on the bottom rail of the bed. "Detective. Have you ever tampered with or removed the state required transmitter in your firearm?"

Cole's face went white. "The recorder on the gun works. I know it does. But maybe the transmitter... It might be on the fritz."

Del Toro rolled his eyes. "Can you give us a quick rundown on just what is going on?"

"She was there. It was her, Ashley Fox." Cole looked over at King and Grey. "I told you she wasn't dead."

"You were wearing a blindfold when we found you," Del Toro stated. "Did you see her? Or did you just hear her?"

"I got shot. I passed out, but not at first. For a little while, I was just lying there. She was there; the big guy introduced her. He announced her, presented her to Dunkirk. But then they got into it about doing her and the big fucker took first dibs.

"He was taunting her and I guess she got out of her cuffs somehow, she hurt him pretty bad. That's all I remember."

"The morgue said he was missing an eye," Del Toro remarked.

"Dunkirk was there. And if someone put him down, as well as a bunch of the others; it was her. It sure as shit wasn't me."

"No mention of Westbury?" Del Toro asked.

"He's smart enough to steer clear of something like this. I heard he was supposed to be there, but someone sold me out."

"You think it was the mayor's office?"

Cole laughed. "It was a doomed operation. I was stupid to agree to it. All I did was get more kids killed, or almost killed, or tortured."

"We don't have anything on Westbury?"

"You know what I know," the wounded detective muttered.

"We don't know anything then?" Del Toro surmised.

Morgenstern gripped the rails of the surgery table with white knuckled fury as Dr. Mallus cleaned his ruined eye socket. Using suction hoses, scalpels and clamps, the surgeon cut away the ruined tissue. Bobby Dunkirk stood by in scrubs, as the surgeon's assistant.

Mallus gleefully whistled as the restrained Morgenstern past out from the pain. With a clumsy jab, Mallus woke his patient for more suffering.

Behind them, Auntie and Keller lay on similar tables, silent and still.

Down the hall from Cole's protected room, Lt. Grey took a seat at a networked terminal. In the otherwise unoccupied office, he investigated young Miss Fox and was confronted by the video streams of her fights and execution. Going further was frustrating, as all the information on Ashley was a little less than a week old.

Before the fights last Saturday, the world at large had never heard of Ashley Fox. There was footage of her kicking out Dunkirk's knee, when he'd attacked her a few summers ago, but her name had been withheld from the press. There were no public records of her birth, no medical records and no school transcripts, none that he could find.

Grey found the reported death of Ashley's parents in the explosion that had rocked downtown last week. The conspiracy theories surrounding Andrew Ignatius Fox III numbered in the thousands. Foremost among them was the absurd concept that he was immortal. As adults, he, his father, Alexander, and grandfather Andrew Junior, could easily be mistaken for the original Andrew Ignatius Fox.

The first Dr. Fox had been a brilliant bio-physicist. His son, grandson and great grandson followed in his footsteps, graduating from their years of study with honors and accolades. They ruled a dynastic family of wealth and power. Naturally, the conspiracy theorists leveled accusations of cloning and genetic experimentation at the Fox family. The name held patents in hundreds of fields, not least of which, the advancement of bio-cybernetic military technology.

When questioned about the uncanny resemblance between himself and his descendants, Andrew senior had been fond of remarking that nature had peaked in his personal case and could no longer be improved upon. When pressed, he always fired off that he preferred recreational procreation to lab experiments.

In the past week, Ashley's dramatic entry onto the world stage had generated dozens of _theories_. The wildest being that the recently executed Ashley had been another example of Dr. Fox's macabre military hardware, a cleverly disguised bodyguard for his newest cloned progeny, her younger brother, Geoffrey. A boy was highlighted briefly at the end of Ashley's pit fight with Mo and Lethal. Of course the wrong child was circled, but the point was made.

It also seemed clear to the conspiracy theorists that Fox's death's was a premeditated/deliberate hoax. They presumed that, like dead rock stars, Dr. Fox sightings, real and otherwise, would continue for years.

Grey logged into the department database and watched the traffic footage of the explosion that had so recently killed the doctor and his wife. Whatever this explosion was, it was not accidental The erratic vehicle's journey, combined with the electro-magnetic pulse, which preceded the impact and detonation, was what looked like an authorized attack. Someone with access to Fox's personal schedule and a non-nuke EMP. Without the pulse, the terillium charged walls and glass of the building could never have been breeched by a run-away transport, even one rigged with a bomb.

Grey searched for the Fox family address but failed at every turn, discovering only agent's and publicist's offices. He searched the schools and found over thirteen hundred students named Fox, but no Geoff or Ashley. It wasn't surprising that their schooling was private; the records would be stored off-grid.

Yet, Detective Cole had acquired the children after the accident, once their parents were deceased. _How_?

Grey exited the administrator's office and returned to the detective's guarded room. Cole was sleeping, King and Del Toro had gone home for the night. He approached Cole slowly and whispered, "Detective."

Cole surprised the lieutenant by raising a weapon into his face. He recognized Grey, lowered the gun, but said nothing.

"How did Ashley and her brother end up out at District Thirteen?"

Cole looked at the young officer.

"If I'm going to find her, I need a lead," Grey said. "How did you get to her so fast, after that explosion downtown?"

"Anytime a registered witness or a family member rings the bell, the detective in charge gets a call. Fox gave me two numbers to call if anything ever happened to him or his wife again. There was one number if it happened during the day, another at night. I called and a prerecorded message named their school."

"And the second one, did you try it?"

"Disconnected."

"Look. She probably went home. I've been looking, but I can't find anything on them."

Cole closed his eyes. Grey thought he might have fallen asleep.

"They went home first, before they came to the station. Talk to Jake Whetland. I sent him to pick her up. I trust him, she did too." He gestured to the nearby phone. "Dial this number." Cole rattled off a number from memory and Grey dialed, handing the ringing receiver to the detective.

"Hey, it's Jimmy. Yeah. No, I'm okay. Yeah, very hush-hush. I got a friend needs to see you. Yes, about that, listen, this is sensitive material. Keep it under wraps, no matter what it takes, except for my friend.

"Be careful, you'll be seeing feds before sunset. And send your partner out of town. Find something upstate, or out of state, if you can. Yes, that serious. Listen, Jake. When my boy gets down there, I want you to speak the piece but give him some wrapped herring. Exactly right. Thanks." Cole hung up and handed the receiver to the lieutenant.

"He's standing a shift down on Santee Alley all morning. You can trust him. He'll tell you the coordinates and give you a written diversion."

"Clever."

"Get your ass down there and find her before someone else does."

Grey moved toward the door, but turned back.

"Wait. Why would the feds be coming in on this?"

"Down on D13 there is a secret weapons lab. The senators want it but Westbury has been using it as leverage to keep them from smoking Maime and Keller."

"A Weapons lab on an orphanage? Do I even want to know?"

"I don't think Dr. Fox ever worked there, but he knew about it. We talked once in a while, when I ran out of steam looking for Dunkirk. He told me to watch 13. We've been digging into them for years, but always got the cold shoulder from on high. We know Dunkirk has been there to visit his son, Bobby.

"Maybe Fox didn't know anything about the connection between Maime and Westbury, but once we started watching Bobby, we started seeing strange things going on there and Fox never told me how he knew. I kept digging and I ran across the name Dr. Cedric Bergstrom. He's wanted by the feds for carrying out sadistic experiments on, guess what, children."

"Then why did you send the kids there?" Grey asked.

"Orders came down from on high. The Dunkirk case has gotten a lot of attention. Everyone in the chain of command knows Ashley Fox was the witness. I was ordered to send her and Geoff over to Thirteen."

"Like it was planned?"

"Oh, it was planned, but not by them. As you can see, she's not been much of a helpless victim so far. They want to kill her, sure. But she wants to kill them just as bad. And if Dr. Fox knew what they were up to, then I suspect Ashley may very well be his equivalent of _Revenge From Beyond The Grave_.

"Jesus, his own daughter?"

"Yeah, well, we're all being played. I mean, how do you think you ended up here?" Cole asked the young Lieutenant.

"What are you talking about?" Grey was taken aback.

"Sergeant King and Fox go way back. They created Black Willow together; did you know that? They knew each other as kids. He didn't tell you that, did he?"

"No, he didn't."

"Black Willow was Fox's follow up to The 3 AM Bodyguard Project, ever hear of it?" Cole asked.

"No," Grey replied.

"Well, no reason you should have. It was an attempt to create the perfect bodyguard. Want to guess what they discovered?"

"What?"

"You."

"Me?"

"You are your own best bodyguard. No one can protect you as well as you can protect yourself. The conclusion to most all their tests ended in failure. Sometimes the bodyguard survived, but the client rarely did."

"Your point?"

"Well, they did find something curious. When the client worked with the bodyguards, when he engaged the enemy and returned fire, their success rates skyrocketed."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"From what I've been able to learn, Black Willow was a nine-man team," Cole said.

"Yeah, so what are you saying?"

"I'm saying there was only ever nine individuals who worked on Willow operations."

"You mean nine people at one time, right?"

"No. I mean nine names, period."

"Bullshit, that unit ran dozens, if not hundreds of missions. They're on record losing thousands of soldiers. Even I ran on a couple third string Willow Ops."

"You ever meet anyone else work a BW op?"

"We don't kiss and tell."

"So that's a _No_ , then."

"What are you trying to say?"

"Why do you think you were sent to district thirteen in the first place? Look at your all-black codec; you think that's a coincidence? No. Someone's got an agenda for you too, pal."

Grey laughed. "Yeah, well, they don't know me very well then. I have a history of being unpredictable."

"I believe that's exactly what they're betting on. Welcome to the other side of the looking glass. Ashley isn't done yet either."

Grey looked down. "There are a lot of innocent kids down there."

"Jake Whetland?" Grey asked.

"Lieutenant." Cole nodded.

Then Grey was moving down the hall, toward the fugitive teen.

# Chapter 32 – Flipping Switches

In the district morgue, Keller began to come around. Cedric and Mallus were operating on his face. Bobby Dunkirk stood close at hand.

"What the fuck is going on?" Keller mumbled. The warden's head was locked into a surgical brace, immobilized. His body strapped into the chair below.

Cedric gestured for him to keep quiet. He explained in his slow, condescending way, "Morgenstern brought you in. You've suffered multiple gunshot wounds. You're missing a significant quantity of brain tissue. I don't know how it's possible that you're speaking."

Mallus reached over and pinched some of the exposed brain tissue with a pair of surgical tongs. "Do you feel that?" he asked the warden.

Keller glared at him.

Morgenstern sat propped up in a nearby bed, both eyes and his upper head wrapped in gauze. "I woke up in the city morgue," he said.

"Morgenstern, is that you?" Keller asked.

"Yes, it is I." Morgenstern was still very doped up, his speech lost at sea. "It was the girl, you remember? She shot us. She shot us with the detective's handgun."

"That Fox bitch," Keller growled. "Get me the Majors. She's got a brother here somewhere. I want him found!"

"It appears neither of you suffered any significant cognitive damage. That's encouraging," Bergstrom observed. "It seems my failsafe wafers are something of a success. Now shut up the both of you."

In the District Command Center, the news that the colonel had been wounded had everyone on edge. Over the radio a nurse requested the watch commander to report to surgery immediately.

Major Armitage was shown to the ward and was surprised to find Keller conscious. "Colonel Keller, sir. I'm relieved to see you're recovering sir. We can do this another time if you want."

"We'll do it now!" Keller barked.

Armitage nodded.

"Listen jackass, I want you to pull all the rubbers off the line. You're giving the boys live ammo, you hear me?"

"Yes, Sir."

"I want you to send a gang of head-smashers down to green stripe to secure that bitch's brother"

"Which bitch is that, sir?"

"Ashley Fox." The name tasted like raw hatred in his mouth.

Keller's vitals were accelerating, his blood pressure was up, splashing blood around the exposed brain tissue, making Cedric's job that much more difficult.

The surgeon released more anesthesia into the patient, and Keller lost consciousness, effectively ending the conversation.

Morgenstern turned his gauze-wrapped head toward Major Armitage. He seemed to watch the Major nod to the unconscious Keller, before exiting with an audible sigh of frustration.

Armitage returned to the command center, ordered the ammunition swap and unlocked the armory, granting a group of drooling corporals access to the live-ammo cage. He mused that was rather like watching a pack of hyenas attack a broken-down bus full of cheerleaders, or maybe that was more akin to what comes next.

He assigned Sergeant Wulfgar and Corporal Harrison to the task of arresting Geoffrey. They left to assemble a properly outfitted head-smashing team.

Leonard sat at the mayor's desk, engaged in a call over the videophone. "No, I'm sorry senator, the mayor is not available right now," the secretary explained.

"Bullshit, son," Senator Miller replied over the link. "Do you have any idea how many times I've sat in that office and watched you speak those same words to some other poor fuck, while that lard-ass stands fifteen feet away?"

"Then you know how this ends."

"Listen to me you fat bastard," Miller yelled to the unseen Mayor of Angel City. "If I have to get on a plane to come down to run your fucking city, I swear to Christ, I will feed you to the goddamn hippies myself."

From the balcony, the mayor gestured for the call to be disconnected, but it was unnecessary, the senator had already switched off.

Mayor Westbury was smiling broadly. He seemed utterly untroubled by the senator's ire. "This is the best part of the morning. Maybe he needs to eat. That always makes me feel better. Are you hungry, Leonard?"

"Not just now, your honor."

"Neither am I, not this morning. Perhaps that's why I feel so pleasant today." The mayor stared out at the city. "We should put some pressure on the state and the federal government to provide assistance in this Ashley Fox investigation. I know the National Capitalist Party, those _Nancys,_ they are in on the situation on District Thirteen. I want to know what they're so afraid of down there.

"There is no point asking my cousin, she would only lie, especially to me. And now she's dead, so that's pointless. I suspect the feds have something dirty going on down there.

"For all I know, Fox may have sent his daughter for the same reason. It's a bit like something out of a comic book, isn't it Leonard? Super-Scientist's mysterious prodigy takes on the morally suspect competition."

The console flashed with an incoming call. "Mayor's office," Leonard answered.

The governor's aide appeared on screen. "The Governor of California would like to extend his support in the form of a federal task force to assist with your on-going investigations." The aide then burped.

"Please let the Governor know that any assistance would be much appreciated," Waltman replied.

"Sure." The aide leaned forward and switched the unit off.

Mayor Westbury grinned like a jackal. "Call Del Toro, tell him he's downhill on this shit ball. Tell him not to cooperate in any way. Make them spend some goddamn money. I don't care if they blow up the whole city. I want to see swat kites and soldiers and riots and shakedowns all over town. Violate some rights and if they don't cooperate, drop the anarchists over the side!"

Leonard knew not to take the mayor literally when he was off on one of his rants. Still, he was disturbed by the concept that the man's primary objective seemed to be child's image of a city at war, replete with people being dropped from aircraft like bombs.

Keller was fully conscious for the last bit of surgery. Cedric and Mallus hovered, their fingers moving quickly, cleaning all the dead and burned tissue from his wounds and packing the brain area with Cedric's purple healing goo.

They couldn't risk giving the colonel any more anesthesia, he'd already had three times the recommended max. He was safer awake and in pain, rather than comatose and suffering irregular electro-cardiogram patterns.

The colonel screamed at the assembled majors, who had so far been unsuccessful in locating or even identifying Geoffrey. Of course, this was due to the fact that Ash and Geoff had never been properly registered in the first place.

"I hope you all packed your fucking parachutes," Keller growled as the Majors took their leave.

Morgenstern alone laughed.

Finished with the surgery, Mallus exited, leaving Cedric to stitch and bandage the wounds.

Bobby stood in the background, desperate to ask about his father, but too terrified to draw any attention to himself.

FBI Director Trafford arrived at the Angel City Police Department at dawn. Accompanied by six anonymous agents, he appeared at the main desk and asked to be directed to Chief' Del Toro's office. Upon arriving, his agents took up key positions at nearby intersections and hallways.

Del Toro came out from behind his desk as Trafford entered the Chief's office alone. He extended his hand; they shook, introduced themselves and sat down.

"I just want to be up front with you, so we're not stepping on each other's toes," Trafford began.

"I appreciate that," Del Toro replied.

"I'm up from Atlanta to determine if we can't help each other with our ongoing investigations. We're chasing a mass murderer, a vigilante by the name of Luther Solomon Wolfe. A Reverend."

"Interesting. A religious man?"

"He may have been, at one time," the director replied. "But he killed eleven people in Valdosta about six months ago. As far as we know, he currently has no connection to any registered faith."

"Tell me, Director, those victims down in Georgia, did they stay dead?" Del Toro asked.

Caught off guard, Trafford looked away. "Why do you ask that?"

"What do you know about military grade bio-mechanical engineering?"

Trafford scowled, disturbed by the questions. He spotted a frequency scanner in the corner. It glowed with a solid negative read.

Trafford looked back to the chief, his words laced with condescension. "I know a lot, Chief, but my focus is the Reverend. We believe he's involved with District Thirteen. We want him."

"The Reverend?"

"That's right."

"And?" Del Toro asked, smiling.

"And I have a writ of extradition, should the Fox girl be taken into custody." Trafford removed a folded document from his briefcase and handed it to the Chief.

Del Toro didn't even glance at the paperwork; he simply slid it to the side, as a non-issue. "Ms. Fox was executed by the state, Thursday, September twenty-second. Didn't they tell you?"

Trafford pouted.

Del Toro leaned forward. "In the interests of inter-agency cooperation, let's cut through the bullshit. Four suspected serial killers, the people responsible for the Fox execution, were reported DOA with your Reverend last night. They all got up and walked out of the morgue. Dunkirk bit two technicians to death, bit them in the neck, like a wild animal."

"Your man Cole, he's not dead either, is he?" Trafford asked.

"This is the part where I tell you to go fuck yourself," the Chief smiled.

"So we'll be looking for Ms. Fox on our own then?"

"Between us, let me ask you something." Del Toro stood.

Trafford stood as well.

"Don't you wonder why they sent you down here, after Fox and this Reverend character, instead of after the other gang of fuck-ups?"

"Ours is not to reason why." The director offered a weak smile.

"Good luck, Director."

Director Trafford nodded and left.

# Chapter 33 – Fame And Infamy

Saturday Morning, September 24, 2310

At home, Ashley slept on the basement couch in front of the mumbling television. In her dream she heard her name being chanted by thousands of kids. She woke and blinked in the morning light.

During the night Mono had curled up on the floor next to the couch. She petted the big cat; who purred and raised his head. Ashley had missed the giant house-lion, and he looked very happy to see her.

The television caught her attention; it was a story on the orphanage riots. She scanned back to the beginning and turned up the volume.

The scene jumped to the meeting hall Ashley had escaped. Several news crews and emergency vehicles were on the scene. The light rain was falling, making the sidewalks and buildings glisten with reflected siren light. An attractive female reporter was posted on the sidewalk, talking with the anchors back in the studio.

"That's right, behind me is the meeting hall where Angel City Police Detective James Cole was among the victims of a multiple shooting. Chief Del Toro was here but declined to comment. Early reports are that a district Governor and Security Chief were among the victims."

The anchor interrupted, "We're talking about District Thirteen?"

"That's correct. The district is the largest orphanage slash juvenile detention facility on the west coast, housing over ten thousand children. Earlier in the week the district required a coordinated offensive to offset growing unrest among the residents. Here's that story."

The in-house camera feed was switched over to coverage of the riots, thousands of kids chanting, "Free Ashley Fox!" The camera focused on the protesters in the front row. Jones leading them from atop a planter. Ash recognized Kaz, Hambone, Tanaka and several others.

The camera cut to the studio again. "Ladies and gentlemen, behind me is the scene which unfolded last Thursday, aboard District Thirteen. The youth assembled here are requesting the release of a young woman whose only crime was, some argue, a matter self-defense. We've acquired this footage of an underground fight ring aboard the district," The camera cut to her encounter with Mo. "Where, as you can see, she was forced to fight someone almost three times her size.

"Now, here's how the district responded." The stream displayed the footage of Ashley's execution. Colonel Keller read her death warrant. Ash watched herself fight. They strapped her down. Dr. Mallus injected her in the neck and she died, or appeared to.

With the orphans distracted, the authorities gave the signal to begin their coordinated assault. The sniper at the far end of the mall fired one shot. Ashley saw Kaz go down.

Then the shock troops indiscriminately opened fire.

Despite the fact that they were reported to be using rubber bullets, the sounds and images were of domestic warfare. Only in this nightmarish twist, the children were the enemy, assaulted with tear gas and blasted with water cannons.

The reporting shifted gears and adopted a more aggressive stance, lauding the district authorities for their decisive action in suppressing what could have turned into a much more violent crisis aboard a municipal facility.

"More violent how?" Ashley thought.

On the screen, the guards beat groups of cowering children with batons and kicked them with their heavy boots.

The footage was psychotic.

There were bloody-faced kids everywhere. Arms and legs broken, eyes swollen shut, lips split and blood; teeth broken and missing.

The news anchor, reading from index cards, flatly congratulated Colonel Keller, pictured in a blurry photo that looked twenty years old. He praised him for the flawless execution of a bold plan against domestic terrorists, who had threatened national security with their treasonous protest.

The commentary then charged Ashley with a battery of violent crimes as a notorious gang leader, with a history of ruthless violence. They played footage of her fight with Lethal and with Mo, followed by the excessive damage she inflicted on Marco's hand. The report even featured an interview with Carver in his hospital room. His head was twisted backwards, but he still managed to scream and berate the reporter and camera crew, threatening to someday get out of the hospital bed and get even with his arch-enemy, his nemesis, Ashley Fox.

The anchor reminded the audience that Ashley was the daughter of the infamous Doctor Fox. The mad scientist who had wired crippled soldiers into tanks and sent them against the lightly-armed and relatively peaceful Christians of South America.

Ashley was astonished at the ease with which the programs re-defined both history and the present to fit their _angle_.

She felt sick, but didn't turn it off.

The reporter from the previous broadcast introduced a guest and invited speculation about theories regarding Ashley's genetically-enhanced abilities. They talked until the commercial break.

After the sponsor's interruption, the anchor recapped the scene outside the meeting hall, where the on-site reporter speculated about the political nature of the multiple homicides.

The program abruptly cut and jerked back to the present. The studio anchor interrupted, "Breaking news here, we're getting reports that the victims of this attack, some of the bodies have been taken. That's right, apparently there was an attack at the hospital. We're taking you now to Saint Andrew's."

Ashley sat up as the feed cut to the new location.

The third-string reporter addressed the camera, "Ladies and gentlemen, this is breaking news. In a gruesome attack at a local hospital, five corpses have gone missing. Speculation into who, how and why these dead bodies were taken continues."

The camera panned across a frantic scene on the emergency tarmac. Outside the stairs to the morgue, three news crews were hassling police and security guards.

"Initial reports indicate two morticians have been brutally murdered at the morgue here. We were told persons as yet unknown bit their throats out.

"We do know that this morgue checked in twenty-seven corpses and that only twenty-three are presently accounted for. It is believed that the Calistan Canyon Killer, one Martin Dunkirk, may have been among the corpses that have gone missing."

Ashley was stunned.

She had watched Dunkirk burn. Governor Maime had too. Whatever else, she had killed Morgenstern and Keller. Of that much, she was certain.

"We also believe that the other high profile corpses, of the district governor and her security chief are among those that were taken."

Ash turned off the stream.

She was furious and filled with anxiety at the same time. The detective's gun leapt into her hand. She left the room, determined.

Mono followed. She found her spirits lifted by his tuxedoed, yet informal company. Mono was far more dangerous than any gun. No one could hurt her if she stayed with her giant battle-cat.

Ashley found herself drawn to her bedroom. She stood before her desk. This was shy she hadn't slept here last night.

It was waiting for her, in the top drawer. She stepped over to it and opened the drawer. Looking at it, Ashley realized she had no way of telling, was this actually the original? Was it one that had fallen into the canyon with Chairman Pierce or the second one she had taken from Deputy Director Von Kalt?

Ashley remembered what it had told her then, it was the Metachron, and it had taken forty-seven thousand, five hundred and one lives. She had re-written it and explained that, "No. It had Come from the Micronix, and now, that it had returned, it was the Micronix once again."

It had agreed and become the Micronix again. The original was back on the district. She'd brought it with her. This one was different, but still worth bringing.

Kaz sat up in bed. The hospital ward was filled to capacity.

The lead striker climbed out of the hospital unit and walked to the end of the recovery room. Dozens, hundreds of kids lie sleeping or, in effort to keep the moaning and wailing to a minimum, drugged out of their minds.

The teen was startled by his reflection in a nearby mirror. His face was bandaged, his left eye covered with gauze and taped over. Kaz found the edge of the tape and pealed it back from the top, from his newly shaved scalp. The wound stretched halfway back across the top of his head. The stitches, black and alien, rose like insect hair from the irritated tissue.

Terrified he'd lost an eye; he pealed the bandage back to reveal his healthy blinking eyeball. Above and below the eye, a long, twisted and stitched scar ran from the top of his forehead, down through his half-shaved brow. He walked from the ward, ignoring protestations from nurses and staff.

A few guards, roused from a nearby vid-monitor, approached the commotion as Kazimov attempted to exit the ward. His wounded, one-eyed glare was enough to give them pause and he exploited their hesitation. Thinking their rifles to be loaded with rubber bullets, Kaz leapt at the center guard, the handgun-carrying officer.

They struggled.

The guards on either side raised their rifles, but didn't have a clear shot and hesitated to fire the live rounds.

Kaz got possession of the handgun and slipped around behind the officer. At gunpoint, he ordered the teen soldiers to set down their rifles and back away.

They hesitated.

Kaz shot one in the thigh.

The man went down, screaming.

The officer struggled and Kaz struck him with the butt of the weapon.

The second soldier tried to get a bead on Kaz, as he walked the captive officer forward, his handgun in the soldier's face.

The soldier set down the rifle and held his hands up.

Kaz reached around to the officer's waist and unsnapped the gun belt. He threw the belt over his shoulder, over the hospital gown, scooped up the assault rifles and fled. Barefoot and clutching his weapons to his chest, he ran for all he was worth.

A contingent of armored guards, lead by Sergeants Wulfgar and Harrison, swept through the athletic complex, assaulting any orphans who weren't quick enough to escape their reach. They demanded Geoffrey's location and were answered with nothing but fleeing footsteps.

Soon the squad was reduced to executing coordinated ambushes, followed by fifteen minutes of high intensity interrogation. News of the sweep reached Sky and Geoff long before the guards did.

A seven year veteran, Sky knew every quality hiding spot in the district. She took Geoffrey on a tour.

Dressed in civilian clothes, Grey drifted down the infamous Santee Alley. He wore a loose fitting poncho, but despite his efforts at blending, he was much too tall and muscular to go unnoticed.

He quickly found Sergeant Whetland, stationed near the front gate.

"Afternoon, officer," Grey said.

"Afternoon," Whetland replied.

"I'm looking for a friend of a friend," Grey said.

"A friend in need," the Sergeant replied.

"How's the domestic side treating you?" Grey asked, flashing his all black codec.

Whetland nodded. "You tell me. Lately it all feels like another country."

Grey scanned the area.

Whetland handed Grey a slip of paper. "Here's what you want the warrant to read."

The sergeant looked Grey in the eyes and continued, "From here, take cable seventy-three, to exit one-eighteen, you want four-twenty-five Kestrel, top shelf."

The lieutenant listened closely and repeated the numbers, "Seventy-three, to one-eighteen, four-twenty-five Kestrel. That's a nice neighborhood."

"You're telling me," Whetland replied.

Grey spotted Director Trafford, and his men in black, hovering in the distance. "This place is crawling with roaches."

Whetland nodded but didn't look around.

Grey continued, "I'm going to draw my weapon and fire at you. After I miss, chase me away."

Whetland laughed, "You got it."

From beneath his poncho, Grey pulled his weapon and fired. He appeared to be pointing at Whetland, but the bullet traveled across the open market and shattered cement next to Director Trafford's head. Splinters of rock blistered his face.

Grey sprinted from the scene, pursued by Whetland. Together, they disrupted carts and shoppers as they dashed through the crowded market.

They raced one another like children, doing more to make a mess than actually catch or escape one another.

Trafford gestured for his team to give chase, but the hostile merchants and shoppers immediately tripped them up.

Once far enough from the pursuing agents, Whetland stumbled and allowed his quarry to escape. He stood, brushed himself off and made his way back toward his post.

Soon, The black-suited feds ran toward him, their weapons in hand.

Whetland, a uniformed officer, stopped them and demanded ID, which they angrily presented.

The feds, officially superior officers to the sergeant, were fully aware that the he had assisted their quarry in his escape. They immediately began questioning the sergeant about his conversation with the lieutenant.

Trafford and a couple other agents sprinted past them, not giving up on Grey's apprehension.

Some distance ahead, the lieutenant ducked into a stall and out the back. He slipped down a stairwell to a lower parking level. Grey emerged from between a couple parked vehicles and discovered two agents running directly toward him. He ducked back into the row of cars, but he knew they'd seen him.

He dashed back toward the stairwell, reaching it as Director Trafford opened the door. Grey didn't hesitate. He put a foot in the director's chest and kicked him backwards down the next flight of stairs.

On his way up, two agents, who'd been following the director, tackled Grey to the ground. They furiously beat him into submission.

Director Trafford returned and helped search the lieutenant's pockets. The address Whetland gave him was discovered. Trafford gestured for the agents to hold Grey's arms out to the sides. The director struck the lieutenant in the face and body repeatedly. Trafford was a powerful man; his punches loosened teeth and split skin.

After a couple dozen strikes, he gestured for his men to dump the body down the stairwell. Grey tumbled, end over end, as the director had, finally coming to rest on the lower landing.

# Chapter 34 – Smashing Heads

Sergeant Wulfgar and friends continued to reign chaos across the athletic block, terrorizing the halls between the rec rooms, rest rooms and dorms.

Kaz assembled some friends for an impromptu ambush of their own. The plan was to send some kids ahead to draw the squad out, to distract them. They would be the bait, unlucky rabbits.

Everyone looked at Jones; he was the fastest of the group. He naturally asked why any stupid motherfucker would volunteer to do that.

Kaz handed him one of the assault rifles. "She's yours as long as you want. Go run relays with it, give everyone a shot. It's just rubber bullets. What's the worst that can happen?"

"You're crazy," Jones said.

"You got a better idea?" Kaz asked.

Jones shook his head.

"Look, you got the easy part." Kaz meant it.

"Don't leave me hanging."

"You hit 'em, we'll hit 'em. It's easy. Volleyball, right?"

"Monkey in the middle," Jones said.

"Plus, when it's over, we'll have a bunch of new guns."

Jones shook his head and set off with a few others to distract Wulfgar and his squad of bastard-smashers. As long as they kept a good distance between themselves and the guards, they had nothing to fear but the sting of a rubber pellet.

Armed with a handgun full of live ammo, another assault rifle, some rocks and a healthy volume of anger, the orphans closed in on the soldiers.

Wulfgar and his five-man team drifted through the athletic gardens.

Corridors opened onto the terraced horticultural center from a dozen different directions. It was difficult to see someone coming, as several balconies ran up both sides of the open structure. Four-foot cement planters, stairwells and crosswalks obstructed the thoroughfare. Only the exact center was open, but even that curved and flowed.

Far ahead, Jones coolly carried the assault rifle into the guards' field of view. Falsely believing it was only loaded with rubber bullets, he didn't even bother firing it. Instead he held it like a guitar and pretended to play, mocking the young soldiers.

Sergeant Wulfgar was the first to raise his weapon and open fire.

Believing them to be plastic, Jones stood perfectly still as Wulfgar's poorly aimed rounds whizzed past his head.

He let three go by, before nonchalantly walking out of sight.

Wulfgar was furious and predictably gave chase, but hesitated when a different orphan stepped into view, pointing another weapon at them.

Unlike Jones, Rebound opened fire, sending three rounds streaking toward the squad, but scoring no hits. Behind the soldiers, he saw Kaz creeping toward them.

Rebound ducked back behind cover as they returned fire.

Kaz walked out into the mall, placed his weapon next to a soldier's head and fired. The bullet caught the citizen under the ear and traveled across his head at an upward angle. It slammed into the far side of the helmet, denting it from the interior.

Kaz was out of sight before the dead man hit the ground.

Their fallen comrade distracted the guards as Tommy took his turn with the assault rifle in the distance.

Tommy got off three shots and scored two hits before a hail of gunfire drove him behind cover.

Miraculously he suffered only minor scrapes and bruises.

Kaz and Hambone, from the flank, opened fire simultaneously.

Kaz drilled Sergeant Wulfgar in the teeth. His brains and helmet exploded into the air. Hambone sent a dozen rounds into the guards. Their bodies were blasted into bloody chunks.

The orphans looked at the rifle, amazed, suddenly understanding it was loaded with live rounds.

From the distance, Jones fired, dropping another soldier.

Hambone cornered and executed the last guard as Jones and the others returned.

They now had eleven weapons, all loaded with live rounds.

The children handled the assault rifles with a new respect.

Kaz counted their blessings in that no one had fired on each other in jest. Even rubber bullets hurt too much to screw around with.

Grey limped to his car, only to discover another government agent waiting for him. It took David a few moments to recognize his brother.

"Father wants to see you," Douglas said.

"Good to see you too," David replied.

Douglas opened the door of a waiting car and helped his brother inside, if only to move things along at a proper pace.

The athletic complex was composed of a series of layers, five levels of practice fields, each partitioned by high-berms, dug outs, bleachers and all sorts of support structures. Peppered with access stairwells to dorms, cafeterias, training halls and medical wards, all Swiss-cheesed with stairwells to the parking garages below.

Under each level's parking garage there was four stories of open sky and then the next level started over again.

The bolt and the athletic complex shared a common design feature, the main elevator banks served a function similar to that of a spine, anchored to the central columns of the individual structures. Additional stairwells could be found at varying points throughout the facility but the elevator banks and their wide conjoining wells were primary security concerns. They were the easiest point of vertical motion between floors.

Lead striker, Kazimov and his newly drafted squad of orphan soldiers had their sights set on a contingent of guards holding the elevator bank on the third level. The zeros stealthily advanced on their unwary targets.

Hundreds of inappropriately armed, bandaged and limping teens, secretly, silently surrounded the six soldiers standing outside the elevators. The teens pretended to be simply milling about. The guards had no idea they were about to be jumped.

The unlocked cafeterias had been raided of every kitchen knife, steak knife and butter knife. In addition to the clumsy cutlery, the mutineers of District Thirteen carried rolling pins, broomsticks, book shelves, broken bottles, slings, rocks and broken bricks tucked into socks. They even swung kitchen appliances, like flails, from their power cords.

The zeros slipped closer, from behind every object and every corner. They had already cut the young soldiers off from any possible hope of escape or reinforcement, other than the elevators themselves. From a floor below, they waited for the signal to rush up the stairs nearby and crush their oppressors.

The guards stood outside the elevators, ignorant of their fate.

A floor below, Hambone signaled for the elevators to be called and boarded. The kids crammed themselves into the cars. They managed to fill five of the six cars before one door slipped closed and the car began its upward journey. The other elevator doors were hurriedly closed and the orphan filled cars began their one-floor trip toward destiny. The orphans inside prayed the doors wouldn't open directly onto machine gun fire.

Outside the elevators, on the open athletic fields of the third level, dozens of kids milled about nearby, waiting for whatever it was that would signal the launch of the impending attack.

The guards had begun to catch on and regarded the children warily. After what had happened to Wulfgar and his bastard-smashers, they knew anything was possible. At the same time, they couldn't indiscriminately fire on anyone walking by. They needed to be provoked. After all, they had live ammunition now.

Still, the orphans threw more aggressive glares and pretty much stopped pacing and milling all together. They simply stood, staring down the half-dozen guards.

One of the smaller citizen-soldiers got nervous and pulled his rifle from his shoulder, where it hung by the sling. He pointed at the ground, but in the general direction of the surrounding zeros. His comrades followed suit, barrels indiscriminately aimed in the orphans' general direction.

With each passing moment the number of kids in the area doubled, until finally, there was no denying it, something was definitely happening.

The soldiers were still and quiet.

The kids remained motionless.

Then the elevator bell went off, signaling an incoming car.

That was all it took. The kids rushed toward the guards, sprinting the dozen yards that separated them.

The guards raised their barrels and opened fire.

The hot bullets ripped through the enraged teens, shredding muscle, splintering bone and destroying organs. Blood, tissue and shrapnel from the first row painted the second, but the charge was on.

As the elevator doors opened, the guards' weapons were ripped from their hands, followed by their limbs from their bodies.

The serial killers' fondest wishes had come true. The children, who had been abused for so long and so deliberately, finally blossomed into exactly what their torturers wanted them to be.

The Zeros gleefully stomped the skulls and torsos of the nineteen and twenty-year-old soldiers into small bits of wet flesh.

The Guard Headquarters for the Athletic Complex was a dozen stories up, just below the second stadium level. They loaded the bodies into the elevator cars and sent them up to the headquarters.

Over the video monitors Major Watrous had watched the massacre. He ordered all guards on freestanding posts and patrols to relocate to their reinforced stations.

The guards abandoned the free-posts in dorms, intersections and elevator banks. They reported to the concrete bunkers, with bulletproof glass, comm.-gear and a security-feed monitor-bank.

The major stared at the screens; they displayed the grisly feed from outside the elevator bank. He watched as the orphans called the empty cars back and filled them with their own dead and dying. The full elevator cars were then sent to the medical ward. He looked at the clock and calculated the hours to their relief on Monday morning.

Over the security monitors, Watrous found it odd that one can't tell the blood of his enemies from the blood of his friends. The blood of the orphans is the same bright red as the blood of the citizens, whose armor-stripped torsos rode the cars, just moments before.

In his private medical suite, Cedric wheeled some exotic equipment over to Governor Maime's corpse. He inserted a large needle into each side of her neck, and then connected a red wire to one and a blue wire to the other.

Cedric turned back to the machine and powered it up. He picked up a large tank nearby and sprayed bright purple-blue foam over the Governor's body, coating her face and shoulders, where she was burned the worst. In some places she was buried under eighteen inches of it.

Finished, Cedric set the tank down, twisted a couple dials on the calibration machine and wandered off.

Bobby sat in the torture dormitory, on one of the upper bunks.

Throughout the room, kids were chained to their beds. They groaned and moaned, suffering with the pain of severed limbs and the terrible memories of the sadistic thrill had by their torturers.

Bobby sat cross-legged on the bed, his six bullets arrayed before him in two rows of three. The three unfired rounds had told him they were the wavelets, Meyer, Morelet and Sancho. They were the three wise men.

Behind them, in the second row, were the three angry men. They were the bullets who had been fired. Their names were Powyr, Kuning, and Forse and they knew everything. Even though the wise men were wise, the angry men had all the answers.

Bobby had begun to suspect that the angry men talked three times as much as the wise men, maybe ten times as much. And lots of what they said was wrong. But the wise men were almost always right. And if they weren't sure, they said wait.

Bobby waited often and that was fine. He had lots of time to kill. Time never got angry about being killed. If it did, there was nothing it could do about it anyhow.

Bobby smiled, lay back on the bed and slept.

# Chapter 35 – The Order of the Dragon

Saturday Evening, September 24, 2310

First Sergeant King tied the laces on a pair of boots in a safe-house locker room. All around him were various pieces of armor, waiting their turn. His nametag read Tarnung. Their unit patch was the mouth of a striking serpent, below a winged parachute.

Across the aisle, a beautiful woman in a t-shirt was likewise occupied with her weapons and battle armor. She pulled on her jacket; captain's bars were attached to her collar, her nametag read Snow.

Next to her, Staff Sergeant _Splitter_ , and beside him, the youngest member of the group, Corporal _Sorpresa_ , secured armor and weapons.

The combat engineers checked their various large and watertight cases, installing batteries where necessary and running function checks.

"Where's Spider?" Splitter asked.

"He'll be here," replied Sorpresa.

"Not tonight," Captain Snow said.

They looked over to her.

"We've got a stand-in. Spidey's TAD out to MI-5 Special Teams. We got someone special ourselves. Lieutenant Grey. Well, he's a captain now."

"The Grey; Kilo?" Splitter asked.

"Yeah, you know him?" King asked.

"Not personally," Splitter answered, "but I've heard of him."

"Everyone's heard of him," Snow said.

"Who?" Sorpresa asked.

The others laughed.

In the Senator's warm and comfortable study, the fire had died down to a glow, crackling embers under mounds of ash.

Danforth handed his son a large envelope. David looked through bruised eyelids. It hurt to sit, he did not want to read.

"Your grandfather wrote that while he lived on 13. Read it later. We have something more important to do right now."

Danforth extended his hand.

David took it and his father helped him up. "I don't think I understand," he said.

"I'm promoting you to captain and awarding you fourth and fifth gate citizenship ranks."

"You're a senator, you can't promote me."

Danforth handed David another packet of documents. "It's already done."

The Senator led his son toward a back wall of his study.

David followed, suspicious and conscious of the heavy pistol at his side. He hardly knew his father. He hadn't spoken to him in years, with the exception of just a few days ago. He had no right to be suspicious, but promotion in rank and citizenship were not cheap favors of the Republic.

Danforth produced a key and unlocked a panel. Above the transom, set into the woodwork was a circular carving of a winged dragon encircling a two-armed cross.

Danforth entered first. Low lights came up, triggered by his entrance. Medieval standards, shields and weapons leaned against walls of the small dark room.

"Son, I'd like to invite you to join the Royal Order of the Dragon."

David blinked but didn't reply.

"Stand here." Danforth gestured to an ornate version of the same seal on the floor. David stood on a circular seal, set into marble in the center of the room.

From behind a curtain his Father wheeled out several large medical machines and devices. Danforth arranged the items around David.

The senator handed his son a red cloak, a sword and a heavy chain with a large seal attached.

Then, from behind, David's father stepped up and drew his son's weapon. David spun but his hands were full, holding the cloak and sword. He felt like a fool. He'd been played.

Danforth walked around in front of his son. "In the old days, this is where they would talk about _honor_ and _loyalty_. Back then they used swords, but I'm not going to waste your time."

Danforth raised the weapon and fired, shooting his son in the chest.

The senator crouched with his son as he fell, "You have to die in order to live."

David coughed up blood.

"My son, you're already so much closer to immortality than any of us. You don't realize it, but Black Willow was Fox's unit. You served with the finest military unit the Republic has ever had the privilege of forming."

David coughed up more blood, clearly confused as to how a unit he hardly served with had inspired his father to shoot him in some maudlin melodrama.

The last thing David saw was his half-brother Douglas and several other men rush forward to lift him into the air.

A surgical station was rolled beneath him. His arms and legs were placed in the corresponding slots and the station was activated.

David knew his heart had stopped. These would be his last thoughts, ever.

The men surrounding him stepped back.

The robo-surgeon went to work. It performed over seventy procedures on David's mortally wounded body. First, it cut away and stripped him of his clothes. Then, using its perfectly precise lasers, it unzipped his skin.

The surgical unit worked on the entire body all at once. Over the next few minutes, it repaired all the damage caused by the bullet. Then it moved on to enhancements.

The surgeon used ninety-two different scalpels, made over twenty thousand incisions and set fourteen hundred, twelve clamps. David's limbs were vivisected and his entire blood-supply was completely transfused. His heart, lungs, major and minor organs, including his entire digestive tract, were replaced with improved models.

Two needles pierced each eyeball. They removed old humors and injected new, from left to right, replacing the natural fluid with enriched versions. The needles injected flexible monitors which expanded inside his eyeballs, providing his brain with an optical interface for the wireless bio-mechanical system that were being embedded throughout his musculature.

David's skin and muscles were treated with a multi-million-dollar terillium cocktail, guaranteed to perform at top proficiency for twenty years in the most hostile environments on earth.

David was awake for the first half of the procedure, before he lost consciousness due to oxygen deprivation. Once brain death occurred, twelve needles pierced David's skull. The surgical unit again flushed his natural fluids and replaced them with a more advanced mixture.

The enhancements to David's physical structure; his nervous system, his musculature, his circulatory system, all reinforced or replaced. His bones and muscles coated and saturated with terillium protein chains designed to withstand violent impact as well as extreme temperatures.

A bit later, the robot zipped David up, firing the final laser stitch only forty-seven seconds after brain death occurred. The young man had been awake for three minutes and six seconds of surgery.

The moment David lost consciousness; the machine began pumping his blood for him, with a mixture of anesthetics, sparing his mind the remaining horrors of the biomechanical upgrade.

The new fluids had dyed his skin a metallic blue, the color of winter, the color of pale death.

The surgeon paused to run its final diagnostic, then twin metal plates whirled out, settled on David's chest and administered a violent jolt of electricity to his new heart.

David's eyes fluttered and he inhaled his first breath with new lungs.

The young man lurched from the station and doubled over in pain as his nervous system came online, experiencing what can only be described as the equivalent of a total-body brain-freeze.

He vomited syrupy blue fluids, tinged with the scent of potent industrial chemicals, into a puddle on the floor.

In the secret lab on District Thirteen, Cedric's machine _dinged_ and revived Governor Maime. She sat up and ripped the rubbery purple goo from over her face, gulping in fresh air. The woman looked alien, darkly-tinted and bald, utterly devoid of brow or lash.

Far across the wide hall, Cedric and Mallus separated corpses: dead citizen some-ones to the left, dead orphan no-ones to the right. Bergstrom's cyber-reincarnation project would have many new recruits tonight.

# Chapter 36 – God Laughs

At home, in the basement, Ash ransacked the family camping gear. The Metachron-Micronix drew a hard outline against her jeans, stuck in her hip pocket. The setting sun painted the room in orange, pink and purple, highlighting the space from the high windows.

Geoff's stuff was by far the most useful. He had top-of-the-line survival equipment, stuff built to survive the toughest conditions on earth. Like his father, he had a taste for expensive tools, and he maintained them with much more care than their common areas. The binoculars were in perfect condition.

Ashley heard a noise from somewhere inside the house, someone moving upstairs. Mono sat up as a pair of booted legs stepped into view at the top of the stairwell. The figure descended toward them.

Ash grabbed the Detective's weapon and aimed it at the newly promoted and surgically reconstructed Captain David Grey. He raised his hands, but continued down the stairs.

He stopped at the bottom and wearily sat down. "I'm sorry," he said. "I've had a shitty day." The soldier surveyed the assembled survival gear. "What're you gonna do, attack?"

"Whatever I have to," she answered.

"Rescue the little man, cut and run?"

"You don't think I can?"

"No. I'm sure you'll do fine, but what about the rest of them? And the real question is where will you go?" he asked. "You're not coming back here, are you?"

"No one knows we live here."

"Except the cops. And everyone who was invited to the birthday party. That was for you? Sorry about that. But they all know where you live. These people will ask your friends and their parents, and they won't ask nicely."

Ash remained silent.

"I'm sorry about your parents. I'm told I knew your father but I never knew that I knew him, if that makes nay sense?"

"Not really. You either knew him or you didn't."

"Then I guess I didn't. But you've been through this sort of thing before and you know they won't give up easy. They will find you. How far will you get, a teen-aged girl and a little boy? Won't be too hard."

"You already found me."

"Exactly. So why bother running?"

"So what, get lost in the forest, build a house?" she mumbled.

"Three weeks, six months, two-years on the road. They will always be there. Anytime you're weak or tired. Soon as you stop to rest."

She thought the Captain looked pretty tired himself. He leaned against the side of the stairwell and closed his eyes.

"You may not know this yet, but they survived," he said. "Dunkirk and the other one, the mortician, Morgenstern. Got up and walked out of the morgue before the sun came up."

"They're fucking vampires?" Ashley asked.

Grey laughed. "They're not vampires."

"You look really sick. And you're blue. Do you know that?"

"Miracle of modern medicine," he replied. "It'll wear off, so I'm told."

Ashley held the gun steady.

"That's Cole's gun isn't it?" he asked.

"They shot him."

"He's going to be okay," Grey said. He leaned back against the stairwell. His eyes hardly open, he was no threat to anyone.

Ashley lowered the gun.

"The tall one, dressed up like a preacher, he walked out too. Jumped from the hospital rail," Grey said. "This town is full of whack jobs."

"The Reverend," she whispered.

"Who?" Grey asked.

"Why are you here?"

Grey looked at her, squinting one eye. After a moment he closed his eyes again. "I just need to rest for a minute."

His eyes closed, he explained, "Morgenstern coughed up a bullet. He carried out the Governor and the Warden. Picked them up and carried them out. The cops got it all on security cams. They're terrified."

"Call the national guard," Ash suggested.

"They did. They're going to drop the whole district down the gravity well. They're gonna set it on fire and flush it out to sea, just drown the whole mess."

"What?" she asked. "You're serious?"

"Governor Maime and Keller were identified at the scene last night. It made national news. The tops want the whole operation scrubbed. They're going to ice the drives and flush the district out to sea. They'll say fires from the riots caused the malfunctions."

"What riots? Why are you telling me this?"

Grey handed her the envelope Danforth had given him. "My grandfather was a resident there. He wrote this. You should read it. He wanted to change things, but he never got the chance. He eventually became Chief Executive, but he still never had an opportunity, not like the one you have now."

"What are you talking about?" she asked.

Grey's exhaustion was taking its toll. " Listen...." he mumbled.

"Why should I listen to you?" she asked.

"Black codec." Grey pointed to the binary strip under his nametag.

Ashley coughed with surprise and embarrassment. Everyone knew what an all-black codec meant. Considering that only the greatest doctors, surgeons and healers got all, or mostly, white codecs, everyone was well acquainted with what an all black codec signified. The striped-bar signified one's place in society, assigned by a very specific system, all computer-controlled, very precise and detailed. Black was reserved for executioners, swat teams and spec ops wet-workers.

"What do you want?" she asked him.

"You have your parent's car?" he asked.

"I can program it. I know the codes."

"Good. I want... Here's what I want." The soldier seemed drunk, exhausted, but not confused.

"Tonight, at one minute before midnight, precisely eleven fifty-nine, you will land on the lowest level parking garage for the bolt, on district thirteen, park on the bottom level of the bolt. If they don't see you pull in, they won't come looking. You need to find the guards before they find you. Create a diversion, something to lead them away from the terminal."

"And?" she asked.

"And then double-back and plug this into one of the ports." Grey handed Ashley a small drive.

"But they'll see me on the security cameras."

"That's okay," Grey laughed. "It'll scare the shit out of them."

"Back from the dead?"

Grey smiled. "Once you get this in a secured terminal, it's lights out. The whole system goes dead."

"You're sure?" she asked, holding the small drive.

"Only one way to find out," Grey answered.

"Do I have to leave it in, or can I take it with me?"

"Plug it in, cough to the left, and the whole house comes down. After that, sure, you can take it with you. The cameras will keep rolling but nothing gets recorded. Nothing comes in or goes out."

Grey was quiet for a moment.

"Are you sure you're all right?" she asked the sick officer.

"Nothing a week in the tropics won't fix." He coughed. "After that, get some of the kids to help you. If you can get set up by 3, you'll have 9 hours to collect keys." Grey slurred and mumbled the last sentence. Even sitting, he wobbled on the step.

"What are you taking about, keys?"

"To the armory and cars. Get rifles. Get keys." He leaned back sleepily. "Send the kids to God's Hotel. Keep them safe on God's Hotel."

Ashley didn't understand what he was talking about. She reached out and shook him awake.

Grey vomited a small pool of syrupy blue on to the unfinished cement floor. He wiped his mouth and sat up, suddenly lucid.

"The demolition warrant is dated for tomorrow, so the crisis box will go up at midnight. By 12:03, no one gets in or out of the district. Then the charges will be set and at noon tomorrow they will blow, one after another, first the bridges, then the buildings, one at a time."

"The gravity drives will drop the district, momentum will carry you out to past the continental shelf. Once out there, the shells will sink into the ocean." Grey was nodding off again.

Ashley leaned forward, "We're gonna defuse the charges, right?"

Grey snapped awake. He sat up and looked at her. He stood up and cracked his neck. He was wide-awake. He slowly sat and looked Ashley in the eyes. "You don't touch the charges. Don't fuck with them."

"You can't let them blow up the whole district!"

"We're not going to." He looked like he'd just gotten several hours rest, instead of mumbling for thirty seconds.

"How are you going to stop them?" Ashley asked.

Grey smiled. "I'm leading the demo team."

Ashley grinned. "Think you're up to it?"

"What I need you to do," he said, as he reached into his pocket, but it was empty. He felt the outside of his pocket and looked over to Ash. She held out the mini-drive. Grey shook his head again.

"You said just get it in a security terminal, then you lost me."

Grey took a breath and swallowed. "Okay. Get it in a terminal, a security terminal. Their network controls will be frozen solid. Get to your friends and get them organized. If there are enough of you, together, you can make the patrols give up their weapons."

"The news said they were using rubber bullets."

"Yeah. Rubber bullets, ha. Well..."

"And you said they're gonna blow District Thirteen out of the sky."

"Controlled detonations on the gravity drives. They'll look like power failures and the buildings will fall from elevation. The ground-based structures will provide a cushion, after they've broken apart, but you lose that once you get out over open water. The district will sink and that's that." He leaned against the wall.

Ashley rolled her eyes.

Grey sat up straight, forcing himself awake. "You need the guns, you need to take the adults hostage. Don't hurt them; just take them hostage. Take all the keys." He raised a hand, index finger pointed at the ceiling. "The keys." Now he seemed drunk.

Ashley considered slapping him.

As though he could read her mind, he sharply narrowed his gaze and sat up again. "We're not going to blow it up," he said. "Not all of it, just some of it. The Old Orphanage, gone. The administration buildings; gone. You can have the athletic complex, the bolt and the terminals to live on."

"To live on?"

"God's Hotel stays where it is. Top Secret."

"God's Hotel?"

"Send any good adults you have out to God's Hotel. Hold the bad ones in a stadium somewhere. Somewhere swat can rescue them without too much trouble, once it's all over."

The lieutenant was awake again. "SWAT and ACPD will storm the buildings. Let them land on the admin unit and the old orphanage. You keep the AC, the bolt and the terminals. Move all the cars to those garages. Defend those garages most. Give all the kids keys. Assign them seats in all the cars. The bombs go off at noon, you need to be in full retreat at 11:50. Give everyone enough time. When the shit starts rocking, the cars will be safe; they're built for it. The bubble countermeasures will protect you from anything that could possibly hurt you."

"Except water."

"Even water," he replied. "Most have sea level sensors, most are airtight. Plus, you can fly out. Fly out if the buildings go under. But they won't go under and SWAT can't chase you."

"International waters."

"The bombs won't be set on your units. But someone has to get to the controls and fly them out. At noon, you just power down."

"And float out of town."

"Float out of town, the AC, the Bolt and the Terminals. Ride it out in the cars. You'll be safe in the cars. Bubble wrap," he gestured, referring to the inflatable outdoor safety feature of most vehicles.

He was fading again. "Get the keys. Get the guns."

Grey leaned forward and pointed at the weapon in Ashley's hand. "Play the footage on the gun. It proves everything. Broadcast it."

"How do I contact the press if I freeze the network?"

"Oh, yeah, damn. You need to get the central router. The drive I gave you will just burn the security network. But to permanently cut off communication, you need the router. And to get the guns, you need to take over the command center. You need a key card for the live ammo in the armory."

"You make it sound so easy."

Grey tried to focus. "You need the router. That gun records everything it sees or hears. You need to download the gun and broadcast the footage to the news channels, broadcast it to the kids."

Ashley looked at the weapon. Earlier she'd found the smooth-covered data-port.

"Get the router, download the footage. Play it for the news, tell them what is going on. Don't kill the hostages, keep them alive; use them as leverage. Trade them for time. Hold out till noon. Just hold out till noon."

Ash sat, considering this, the strangest conversation of her life.

"Oh, before you go, you should go to a camping store and buy some propane torches and cheap machetes. Get some terillium security-netting and a bunch of military sand bags."

"Why sand bags? We're not gonna have time for that."

"They're bullet resistant, cut vests for the kids. Hang the security net in the garages. Machetes are always good and they're cheap."

"What are the torches for?" Ashley asked.

"You'll think of something." Grey said, snoozing.

The Captain spent a couple hours with Ashley, alternately sleeping and detailing her objectives. Soon he was out of time. They summarized the plan, wished each other good luck and he left.

Ashley didn't know if he'd been drunk, or drugged, but she seriously doubted he'd be much help in his current state. He'd better sober up quick.

An hour later, Ashley looked up from the terminal. The clock beside her, in her father's study, chimed ten. The order was placed, all she had to do was stop by the surplus shop and pick it up.

Dressed from head to toe in black, the detective's gun tucked into her belt, Ashley stood and walked over to the glass case.

Inside, standing upright on its wooden stand, rested a dual-curved samurai sword with no _tsuba_ , or hand guard. Kanji script ran down one side of the smooth, black wooden sheath.

A brass plate on the exterior of the case bore two small lines of text, two Japanese characters over two English words, Little Dragon.

Ash had never been allowed to touch the sword. She hesitated for a moment, then opened the case and removed it. She lifted the sword and slid the sheath back a several inches, exposing the blade. It was lightly oiled and razor sharp.

Ash turned and carried the weapon from the room. The case left ajar, naked and empty.

In the garage, she triggered the overhead door, spilling dead leaves into the damp and musty space. Ashley threw her bags into the driver's seat as Mono followed her, curious. He hadn't left her side all day.

Ashley held the door open and Mono happily climbed into the wagon. He curled up in the backseat, next to a giant bag of food. She smiled and climbed in.

Ash activated the driver's panel, programmed the surplus shop's address into the flight computer and strapped herself into the passenger seat. With its plan logged and confirmed, the car fired up its magnetic disks and lifted off.

Ashley reached back and petted Mono's head. Despite his usual fear of electro-magnetic travel, the big cat was purring.

Out over international waters, the wagon parked at Big Joe's Twenty-Four-Hour Hunting and Military Surplus Emporium. Ashley explained the situation to Mono, who lowered his head onto his paws.

She went in and within a few minutes, two employees had helped deliver three carts of stuff to her car. The trunk was completely packed. Mono remained hunkered down in the middle section and they didn't notice him. For a moment, Ashley was afraid he'd escaped, but then she saw what looked like a thick blanket balled on the floor.

Ash avoided the guys' compliments and their eyes, tipped them generously and programmed her route back to the district.

In Cedric's secret medical wing, Colonel Keller scowled at the majors. The back of the colonel's head was bandaged, his face swollen and wrapped in gauze. It was difficult for him to talk. He was too angry to talk, he mumbled and growled, but he made himself heard. "By this time tomorrow night, I want this entire room full of dead motherless fucks."

Behind them, spread across dozens of tables, murdered soldiers had been partially pieced back together and reassembled. Cedric wandered from one corpse to the next, his head encased in the scanning equipment, studying the corpses extensively.

Bobby listened from the hallway, fists clenched tight over his magnetically infected bullets.

# Chapter 37 – God Cries

As she approached the District, Ash programmed the vehicle to make a detour on her way into the Bolt's parking garage. The car stopped on the lowest level of the Athletic Complex. She designated a small clearing and set the vehicle down on the forested level.

Mono slept, curled up in the back seat.

Ash climbed out and the fresh air filled the car. Mono stirred. He spotted Ashley outside the open door and leapt from the vehicle. She pulled out his bag of food and opened it up, pouring out a small stack for the huge cat. She rolled the bag closed again and set it next to the pile.

Ash knew that if anything happened to her, Geoffrey would hear about the giant cat and find Mono soon enough. She just hoped she got to see them together again.

Ash hugged the giant cat and climbed back into the car.

Mono didn't appear disappointed with his new home. With a flick of his tail, he moved off to explore it.

Far above the district, a vehicle kicked out from the cableway.

It maintained its heading and elevation, but drifted, like a boat pushed out over calm water. A figure stepped out of the vehicle. Wearing a bulky gravity suit, he drifted away from the vehicle as if he were in outer space.

The floating agent held a long rocket launcher. Composed of three tubes bundled together, the launcher had a triangular shape. A moment later the man adjusted something at his belt and vanished from sight.

Another figure exited the vehicle carrying a similar rocket launcher and he too quickly disappeared. Two additional agents stepped out, their hands free of the cumbersome rockets.

The four agents floated, invisible, above the district. They switched their optics over to infrared and located each other. Hand signals initiated the mission and two operatives dropped to the left. The two remaining agents moved to their assigned coordinates and prepared the rockets.

They raised the launchers and aimed, not directly at the district, but to its sides, and fired individually. Small rockets shot from the tubes, unraveling magnetic cables in their wake.

The agents turned ninety degrees to the left or right and fired a second cable the length of the district. They fired again, this time up or down, three cables extending from each agent's corner.

They dropped the launchers and moved to the cables themselves. As the empty launch tubes fell toward earth, the agents physically crossed the tips of the charged cables. The magnetic lines clung to each other with a love that could only be described as scientific. Once the magnetic lust of the corner knots was activated, the charge pulled each cable tight. They stretched themselves square, tightened by the forces at each corner.

The loose ends drifted toward each other and formed tight magnetic knots. The district was locked down. No magnetic or anti-gravity vehicle could move through the planes created by the cables. Not without the proper coded frequency.

Usually municipal authorities were the ones to execute this particular law enforcement procedure: known as a lock-box, during hostage situations. For invisible agents to be firing a stateside lock-box, in the dead of night, was rare, and with the exception of extreme cases of national security, deemed highly illegal.

The combat engineers returned to their anchored vehicle and were joined by a fifth soldier. Captain Grey, already familiar with the district, pinpointed specific locations and mapped out secure routes.

Each of the soldiers carried a full pack of demolitions gear, pulling them from the back of the truck. They would spend the next four hours wiring every bridge, strut and connector in the district. They would make no sound and leave no trace. The explosives would be so cleverly concealed; only detailed instructions or expensive scanners would reveal their placement.

The ionized energy drives, attached to their backs, saturated the immediate area with deflective light particles, preventing objects from reflecting light onto them. Everything within a four-foot diameter was invisible. No one could see them with the naked eye.

First Sergeant King, codenamed Tarnung, and Corporal Sorpresa, would set charges along the connections between the athletic complex and the bolt, while Captain Grey would take care of the terminal buildings, the schools and the administration building. Staff Sergeant Splitter was assigned to cover Ashley, while Captain Snow would handle God's Hotel and the old orphanage.

Once charges were set, the agents would regroup below the old orphanage for the second phase of the mission.

It was eleven fifty-nine when the wagon parked in the Bolt's garage, on District Thirteen. Grey hadn't told her why that was important but she was on time, regardless.

Ashley popped the passenger-side hatch, holding the handle so it wouldn't make a thud as it opened. She pulled her backpack, hoverboard and the sword from the car, before locking it shut.

Crouched beside the cooling vehicle, Ashley adjusted the pack between her shoulders and peered at the guards from over the car's hood. The soldiers hadn't registered her arrival. Undoubtedly their computer had, but a terminal can't force its custodians to follow up on every event it logs.

Ash had parked behind the greatest number of unoccupied vehicles, in the most remote section of the lot. Now, she studied the surrounding architecture with Geoff's binoculars, looking for a way to approach the guards unseen.

The guard shack was a circular bunker, set against a large pillar. Most of the crew sat outside, at a picnic table, playing cards. Between turns, they traded insults and swigs from a flask. Their assault rifles leaned against the table. Ashley noticed that the soldiers had removed their helmets but not their bulletproof vests.

Ash spotted a fifth guard inside the command post, sitting at the terminal, reading a magazine. She suspected he was the one who'd overlooked the arrival of her parent's car.

The terminal, registering the new day, clicked over from the events of the previous day, to a brand new, empty log page. Ashley's arrival had been displayed for less than a minute, reducing the length of time the assigned soldier had to notice and react to the entry.

She packed up the binoculars, climbed onto her hoverboard and slipped away, staying hidden by the parked cars.

Across the garage, the guards continued their fun, exhibited by drunken laugher, bragging and taunting.

The Fox family station wagon ticked as it cooled.

A few minutes later, a fire alarm went off.

"Where is it?" the sergeant yelled to the private, inside the bunker.

"Grid 18!" he replied, checking his monitors. "It looks like a car fire! There's a bunch of smoke pouring out of a boat down there, Sergeant."

"18! 18! Move out!" the sergeant yelled at the young soldiers. They pulled on their helmets, picked up their rifles and set off in Ashley's general direction.

The troops jogged toward the smoke billowing from an obscured vehicle, far across the garage. As they got closer, they looked around, confused. The smoke had mostly cleared, the car looked fine.

One of the soldiers pointed to the nearby pillar, the fire alarm had been pulled and the extinguisher was missing from its mount. A lance corporal moved over to the smoking vehicle and pulled the extinguisher out from under the car.

"You fucking believe this?" one of the soldiers laughed.

"Gentlemen," the sergeant said, "we got zeros need a beating."

"Come out here, you little cowards!" a belligerent corporal yelled.

"What the fuck, man. I was winning!" another complained, referring to the card game.

Ash sailed along, crouched on the hoverboard, the tip of the black-painted scabbard half an inch above hard cement. She approached the guard shack in a circular fashion, staying behind vehicles when possible.

Ashley crossed last bit of open ground at an angle to the open door and circular window bank. She stopped below the window and set the board on its side. The fifteen-year-old girl drew the blade from its sheath and set scabbard next to the board.

Sword in hand, she crept forward and silently peeked around the corner of the door. The guard sat, hunched over the control panel, still reading his magazine.

Ash entered the room, smooth and dangerously silent. She reached the back of the soldier's chair and stood.

He laughed at something he'd read, without a clue she was there.

Ashley thought about what Captain Grey had said, about keeping the citizens alive.

She could knock him out and just plug in the drive. His gun was too far away for him to reach it.

She noticed that he was reading a rape-porn magazine and laughing about it. The girls in the photos looked tortured and abused, they were not smiling or laughing.

With a single strike, Ash severed the young citizen's head from his body. The neck exploded with a geyser of blood, covering the monitors. The head landed on the counter, a few feet from the body, spinning and rolling to a halt. The body was spinning too, still in the office chair.

Ashley rolled it away from the terminal and plugged in the drive Grey had given her. The terminal's activity monitor froze.

A glance at the monitors showed the guards, still distracted across the structure and generally goofing off.

A warning came up on the main terminal, informing the user of a mandatory optimization update. _The crash cycle was disguised to look like maintenance_. She watched the _time required_ indicator climb from twelve to thirty-six, finally hovering at forty hours.

"Genius," she whispered and stepped back from the machines.

Ashley retrieved the scabbard, cleaned the blade, sheathed it, and grabbed her board.

Ashley pulled the young man's badge from his headless body and tossed it into her pack. She slung his assault rifle over her shoulder and grabbed the canister-shaped grenades from the table. Her pack swelled with the plunder.

She heard voices and crouched low. Another glance at the monitors showed that the guards had returned. She was trapped; they were right outside the door.

Ashley ducked against the half-windowed wall, crouching against the painted bricks, below the glass and to the side of the shallow depression beside the reinforced doorframe. She set her sword on the floor and drew the detective's handgun.

One of the soldiers entered the bunker. "Lentz. Lentz?" he called out.

The soldier saw the blood covered terminal and the headless body. Lentz stared at him sideways, from his place down the counter.

Two other soldiers entered. They saw the head, oozing blood and plasma onto the stained counter.

When the young girl fired the weapon, the several loud explosions were punctuated by the wet slaps of the bullets splashing into the young guards' heads and bodies. The soldiers were thrown against the console by the handgun's heavy rounds. They ripped through their uniforms, blowing out blood and muscle as the bullets chewed into their bodies.

Ash knew at least one citizen-guard remained in the garage, but from her place against the wall, she couldn't see him on the monitors.

Ashley's pack of ammo and grenades sat on the terminal counter near Lentz's severed noggin. She pulled it from the counter and closed it up. The soldier still hadn't appeared on the monitors. The coast was clear. She slowly stood, seeing no one outside the window.

A plastic bag lay on the nearby table. Ashley scooped up Lentz's head and floated out of the post on her hoverboard, quickly vanishing among the parked vehicles.

No one fired.

The sergeant was nowhere to be seen; as Staff Sergeant Splitter held a hand over his mouth and a gun to the side of his face, both men well inside the invisibility radius of Splitter's phase-frequency camouflage.

Once Ashley was out of the garage, Splitter knocked the sergeant out and handcuffed him to a picnic table. He double-checked the guard shack. He saw the decapitated body and the bullet riddled corpses, and noted that Lentz's head had gone missing.

He tapped his transmit button, "Captain Snow, we've got a problem."

"I noticed the network is down," she replied. "What's wrong?"

"She killed four of them."

"Was she defending herself?"

"No, she ambushed them."

Captain Snow didn't reply.

"She didn't give them a chance to surrender or anything."

"She's not exactly a trained professional," Snow pointed out.

"Captain, these are citizens we're talking about," he replied.

"Staff Sergeant, are you having a problem following your orders?"

Splitter hesitated.

"This mission is a matter of National Security," Captain Snow said. "Acknowledge."

"Copy," he replied. "No, problems."

"Maintain radio silence. Snow out," she replied.

# Chapter 38 – No Remorse

Across the city, a little girl cowered in a tiny, dark cell with a floor of cold cement. The single feature of the floor was a small drain. Three walls of wood and one of brick, with a window near the top. She could not reach it. Only the faintest bits of light drifted down to her. There was more during the day, but at night, there was very little.

She heard an exterior door close somewhere in the house above. Footsteps made the floorboards creak followed by a few minutes of silence.

She thought of home, of her parents and her sister. She cried. She was scared and she missed them. She heard sounds of movement in the basement. As the sound approached her, her own cries rose in volume.

The featureless door opened and the burned Dunkirk stood before her. His face had been horribly blackened. His eyes, nose and mouth seared open; exposing charred tissue and teeth. His hair, eyebrows and the skin of his face had been burned off. He had been transformed into a perfect representation of the monster he truly was, deep down inside.

The small girl cowered against the cold brick wall and screamed.

Dunkirk tried to grin and bathed in the sound.

He grabbed her wrist; she recognized his rings and thick forearms. She screamed even louder. He dragged her from the cell and back down the corridor. She felt him purposefully aim her at the doorframe, taking the trouble to cause even the small pains in his boundless cruelty.

Now in the monster's work chamber she screamed herself hoarse. When she stopped to catch her breath, he would growl and snap at her.

The walls were covered with particleboard tool racks. All manner of weapons, knives, saws, needles and hammers were hung for easy access.

On District Thirteen, Ashley rode her hoverboard down the long terraced canyon, the prison garden on the Bolt known as the Mall. After fleeing the parking structure for a stairwell, she had climbed to the vertically central level, the ground floor of the mall, without encountering any guards or children.

Ahead, she spotted a team of guards outside their post. Remembering the news story, she set the rifle down. Rubber bullets wouldn't cut it against five of them. Ashley had no idea the weapon was loaded with live ammo.

She studied her surroundings, looking for some way to approach while remaining undetected. The mall was mostly open overhead, aside for the occasional bridges that connected one block of the prison to another.

She could get past them by taking a higher route, but she needed to enter the hall right next to them. The next crosswalk was just as far away from their post, it wouldn't help her.

There was a stairwell she could take up to the next level, but it would expose her to the guards. Ash set Lentz's head on a waist-high planter and vaulted up. From here she could reach the overhead walkway.

A bathroom and stairwell stood in the center of the bridge over the open canyon, creating two gaping maws to pass under.

She jumped, caught the edge and pulled herself up onto it. The crosswalk provided the perfect ambush point. She climbed out over the rail and crouched, concealed against the sidewall. Ash pulled the sword from its sheath and tapped the wooden scabbard against the stone a few times.

One of the guards heard her.

Two hundred pounds of ugly, nineteen year old Lance Corporal Lynch gestured for silence from his comrades. He walked toward the crosswalk and paused.

"Go check it out," the nearby officer ordered.

Lynch walked down the mall. Hallways opened onto the central walk from his left and right. The wide crosswalk looming ahead of him was attached to a large central pillar, with a stairwell, creating an island in the river of the cement floored prison garden.

"So someone wants a beating! Well, I'm here to oblige you."

He was just barely out of sight of his comrades when he passed under the catwalk.

"I'm going to take this stick," Lynch lifted his stun-baton over his head. "And I'm going to shove it up your..."

Something heavy hit him in the shoulder, knocking him to the ground. He gurgled. Blood ran out of his mouth.

Ashley had dropped from the catwalk above and stabbed him through the soft tissue of his throat, straight down into his chest. The weight had slammed him to the ground, the blade shredding his circulatory system. When she pulled the sword out, his lifeblood burst forth in a great splash onto the gray cement. Lynch died before his helmet touched the ground.

The collision had been violent and loud. Ashley heard the approaching tromp of another pair of booted feet. She retreated back to her overhead ambush spot. Another, smaller guard rushed over to Lynch's lifeless body, bending over him, inspecting the wound.

This time she dropped to the side and brought the blade down across the exposed back of the soldier's neck. The helmeted head leapt away and the stump gave several spurts of crimson before the body fell.

She listened for more approaching soldiers, but heard nothing.

The two young men were strapped with all kinds of gear. Ashley set the Little Dragon down and unpacked the guards.

She got a helmet, a gas mask, four tear-gas grenades, two more assault rifles and two pairs of handcuffs. She secured the gas mask to her waist and snapped on shin, shoulder, and forearm bracers. They were a little too big to wear properly, but fit snugly over her shirt and pants.

She pulled on the smaller, headless soldier's vest and donned his recently emptied helmet. Even though he was much smaller than Corporal Lynch, the vest and the helmet were both several sizes too big and looked it. She left the assault rifles; if they were loaded with rubber rounds, they were useless. She was tempted to leave Lentz's rifle as well, but didn't.

Ash peaked around a corner. The mall was empty. Of the three remaining soldiers, no one was standing outside the guard post. She reasoned that they were all inside, huddled around their broken security terminal. Probably watching the camera monitors, hoping to catch a glimpse of her.

The lithe girl easily avoided the blindly panning cameras and reached the door of the guardhouse unseen. She removed the tear gas canisters from her pack, pulled the pins and tossed them inside, grabbing the door and slamming it shut. The doors to the guard posts were auto-locks, so you needed keys to open them from either side.

Ashley heard the soldiers collide with each other and the door. She stepped away, looking into the room through the bulletproof glass. The guards had regrouped from their little accident, but the room was becoming thick with the potentially lethal gas.

The soldiers appeared to be looking for their keys, but couldn't find them. They soon disappeared from view. Ashley held her weapon on the door, just in case.

After a few minutes, she collected her backpack and Lentz's head. She slung the seemingly useless rubber-bullet assault rifle back over her shoulder and walked off.

The next post was positioned behind a blind corner and in the center of another bridge, like the bathrooms behind her. Ashley climbed atop the bridge and shot three of the five soldiers with Cole's weapon, scoring two headshots. Ashley was aiming for the head, as any shot to the armor could be ruled out as a kill shot.

The unwounded survivors dove for the guardhouse, taking cover. Two of their comrades were dead, the third fumbled with his rifle, trying to get a bead on Ashley, but she withdrew.

Ash climbed down from the bridge and slipped around the underpass to the left. She came around the corner to find the three of them staring at the crosswalk above.

Two more headshots and two more of the guards fell. Ashley had always been good at Geoff's video games, but scoring four out of five headshots was impressive, even for her.

She shifted her aim to the wounded man, on his back against one of the planters, but he had moved on to his next life. His mouth and throat were wet with blood.

Ashley suspected the gunfire would bring more soldiers running, but she heard nothing.

A few minutes later, the guards standing outside post seven forty-four heard more gunshots, immediately followed by bullets whizzing past their heads, ricocheting and careening off nearby objects. The shoot out they had heard sounded to be heading their way.

The comm. terminals were still unresponsive, so the young men took up positions to defend their post.

A gas grenade arced through the air, followed by another, tumbling to a stop close by. A nuisance, but the soldiers were still a good distance away. Even the pair of grenades weren't enough trouble to inspire donning gas masks, not on the open mall, not yet.

A fire extinguisher on a nearby pillar exploded, spewing flame retardant into the air, ruptured with single shot. Now the smoke grew think and full. The guards tried to peer through it, but it was pointless. Another object flew toward them.

They raised their weapons.

The head bounced and rolled, coming free of its bloody plastic.

One guard stepped forward and looked down. "Fuck, that's Lentz."

In the distance, beyond the smoke, another guard appeared, wearing his gas mask and fleeing as-yet-unseen pursuers behind him. He ran through the smoke, paused to return fire with the rifle, and continued toward them.

The rifle pops sounded significantly different than the pistol shots they'd heard earlier. The soldier's helmet bounced painfully on his head.

Upon reaching them, he nodded and bent double to catch his breath. He kept the rifle always pointed safely away from them, generally in the direction of the smoke.

The guards watched, waiting out the next few critical moments.

The new arrival turned, positioning himself alongside them, turning to face the enemy, pursuing from behind. He leveled his rifle at the smoke, prepared for his pursuers to arrive at any moment.

The guards of post seven-forty-four stood with him, their weapons likewise pointed into the smoke, determined to put up a fight.

As soon as all their rifles were up, Ashley shifted the sling-supported rifle over to her left hand, and drew the pistol at her belt. She'd positioned herself correctly; all four of them were to her right.

The guard closest to her looked over in her direction.

She raised the handgun and put a bullet through his face, blowing his brains all over the other young men. She shot the remaining guards before the first man hit the ground.

Keeping the mask on, she dashed back through the gas and smoke to retrieve her pack, into which she deposited the newly dead soldiers' grenades, the officer's handgun, extra magazines and their badges. She had to rearrange the stuff in her pack, swollen with booty, she twisted and turned objects until it all fit.

Finally, the smoke dissipated. She pulled off the helmet and the gas mask. She wiped the sweat from her brow, dropped the helmet and tucked the mask back into its pouch. She left the rifles where they lie.

Across the district, the security communications were down, disrupted by the virus. Some posts tried restarting their terminals, but it didn't help. No one had ever reset an entire network before. No one even suggested it. The particle servers, sealed in their artificial environment, continued the false optimization protocol. Only a net-wide power cycle could unlock it and blindly powering down an airborne facility would be suicide.

FBI Director Trafford had been granted access to the district's security network and despite the main server's massive crash, he was still able to surf the active camera feeds.

The director watched hundreds of monitors, keeping track of Ashley and scanning for the Reverend. He was only interested in the girl as a means to locate or draw out the reclusive man of the cloth.

The cameras displayed one empty hall after another. The district was remarkably quiet, aside from Ashley's calculated assaults. As she ruthlessly destroyed the better-armed outposts, he couldn't help laughing to herself, enjoying the brutal revenge.

# Chapter 39 – No Quarter

In his basement, preparing for the young child's subsequent dismemberment, Dunkirk quite clearly heard the upstairs kitchen door close. He stood, head-tilted and staring at the ceiling.

His ruined ears were hardly to be trusted, but it appeared that the child had heard it too. She had paused in her crying. _Had he forgotten to lock the kitchen door?_

The child wailed with all she had.

Dunkirk struck her hard enough to knock her senseless, ceasing the lyrical scream. He listened for some time before he eventually wrote the sound off to fatigue and physical trauma. The burned Dunkirk turned back to the child.

Gauging her size and weight, he wavered between several wicked-looking tools, trying to define the most satisfying for the job ahead. He narrowed it down to a few favorites and set them within easy reach.

An upstairs floorboard creaked.

It could have been a normal noise houses make. He meditated on the sensation of sound and tried to block out his pain.

Hearing nothing further he returned to his preparations and removed the unconscious child's shirt. He lifted her frail body and laid her on the cold metal worktable.

She stirred and woke. He grinned at her, and the child shrieked.

When Dunkirk raised a long silver knife, she screamed louder still. He relished the sound. He felt her terror measurably improving his otherwise miserable mood.

Just before the down-stroke Martin heard the distinct sound of crashing glass on the hardwood floor, directly overhead. This time, he didn't look up, he just lowered the knife.

Then he heard the crunch of broken glass under a booted foot.

Martin flew across the room to the spiral staircase, the child forgotten. He flung his gorilla-like physique up the narrow spinning stairwell with reckless aggression.

On the first floor, moving through the bedroom, he heard calm footsteps on the stairwell heading up to the second floor.

Dunkirk moved down the hall and paused in the living room. He listened, but the house was silent again.

Martin looked down at the shattered fragments of colored glass. The scattered and crushed shards were the remains of a glass clown knocked from its central place on the shelf. The clown had occupied the place of honor in this, his oldest of homes.

It had been there all his life. He had grown up here and that glass clown had been the only remaining souvenir of his first victim, his mother.

Martin looked about the room, to see if anything else was out of place. The room was covered with a thick layer of dust, the front door securely nailed shut.

Martin's eyes drifted to the stairwell, leading up to the second floor. Determined to root out the intruder, he approached the stairs, the long blade clutched in a death grip.

Halfway up the stairwell he paused, listening.

Hearing only silence, he continued.

Dunkirk sniffed at the air, the smell of decay was stronger here, but there was something else. Even his ruined nose could detect it.

He made a mental note to purchase more deodorizers. The rot was obscuring the intruding odor, making it difficult to identify.

At the top of the stairs, he stopped. All three doors to the upper rooms were open. He never left them open. Never. Not once.

The bathroom door, on the right, mostly closed, was the only one that should be fully open.

Martin walked to the first door, on his left. The room was filled with corpses wrapped in heavy plastic. The smell was overwhelming. That was why he'd smelled it on the stairs.

He peered inside, but there was nowhere for anyone to hide. He closed the door. Martin didn't need to check the closets. The doors were difficult to reach and they were packed anyhow. There was no room to fit anybody else in, not even a child.

Martin crept to the bathroom door. He pushed it open with his elbow. The scent that had escaped him earlier revealed itself. _Alcohol, Rum_ , he was sure of it. The shower curtain had been pulled back, just as he always left it, open, exposing everything. He could see the rest of room in the mirror.

Satisfied it was empty, he turned back to the hallway.

Martin went to the top of the stairs and waited to see if the intruder would perhaps reveal himself below.

Behind Mr. Dunkirk, Reverend Wolfe slipped out of the bathroom and stepped into the hallway. He raised a terillium edged saber and pistol at Dunkirk's back and quietly crept toward him.

From the top of the stairs, Dunkirk watched the daring preschooler walk into the living room below. She had courageously come upstairs. How brave. This one would be sweet.

She walked around the broken glass, careful not to step on any of it. Martin began to descend the stairwell, followed by the stealthy Reverend.

The girl saw them and backed away.

Dunkirk stopped at the base of the stairwell, facing her. She looked over his shoulder, at the Reverend behind him.

Martin spun and caught the pommel of Wolfe's sword in the mouth. The strike lifted him into the air and delivered him directly onto the pile of fractured glass. His head struck the floor with enough force to render him unconscious.

Shocked by the corpses she'd left at each post, Staff Sergeant Splitter drifted along behind the lethal Ashley.

He knew she'd been instructed to secretly approach the HQ, which wouldn't have been difficult. Instead she'd chosen to wreak bloody carnage.

He was having a difficult time following orders. These citizens were just children themselves. His job was to protect them. Of all the people he'd killed or seen killed, none of them had been civilian citizens.

This was wrong.

The Mayor, in his office, sat in a comfortable chair turned toward the open balcony, a large glass of red wine in his hand. The lights of the city around him burned far brighter than the stars above.

Westbury was alone. He'd charged Leonard with Detective Cole's termination, and the secretary was dutifully searching for the wounded civil servant.

Unable to communicate and relatively helpless from their place in the command center, Keller's majors watched Ashley murder her way closer and closer to the elevator banks.

They watched as she crouched behind a pillar and drew a second handgun. Two guards walked right past her. Ashley raised her weapons and dropped both the young soldiers with what appeared to be a simultaneous shot.

That post only had a single guard left. Ashley didn't even bother with any subterfuge. Dressed as a soldier in vest and forearm bracers, she boldly walked up to the young man and shot him three times. She tossed his badge into her pack, fat with so much glittering brass.

At the next post she coldly killed four men without blinking.

Her pack grew fatter.

Only half a dozen left now, which normally would have been the world, but Ashley treated them like speed bumps.

In Martin Dunkirk's childhood home, the Reverend tucked his pistol into his belt. He knelt and picked up Dunkirk's knife.

The Reverend set down his saber and with his free hand, pinned Martin's arm by the wrist. He spread the hand flat on the ground.

Wolfe looked over to the little girl and said, "Close your eyes."

She shook her head and continued watching.

"Please?" the Reverend asked.

Again she shook her head.

"Oh my God, what is that?" he exclaimed and pointed behind her.

Already jittery and terrified, the toddler fell for it, spinning around.

Reverend Wolfe forcefully drove the knife through Dunkirk's hand, deep into the wood below, pinning it to the floor.

The child turned back, realizing she'd been tricked and caught her breath at the sight of blood spreading from beneath the twitching hand.

Wolfe stood, sheathed his saber and crossed over to the little girl. He knelt before her, careful not to make any sudden movements. "I'm going to take you to the police and they're going to call your parents," he said.

She stared at him with wide unbelieving eyes.

"Would you like that?" he smiled.

She blinked and nodded, exhaustion washing over her. He stood, picked her up and carried her from the living room, out through the kitchen.

Outside, they crossed the street to a black SUV. He laid her in the back seat. "You'll be safe here," he said. "I'll be right back." He smiled and closed the vehicle door.

He walked around to the back of the truck and picked up two tanks of liquid fuel. The girl watched him carry the heavy tanks across the street and back into the evil man's house.

Wolfe set the tanks in the kitchen, pulled all the knives from a decorative wooden block and carried them into the living room. He kicked the waking Dunkirk forcefully in the ribs.

Dunkirk attempted to sit up, but his hand was stuck to the floor. He screamed, or rather howled, without functioning lips.

The Reverend stepped forward with another boot, this time to the face. What remained of the man's nose released a fountain of blood.

The Reverend sat on a nearby ottoman and fired the knives into the floor before him, standing them from their points like a small forest of sharpened steel.

"I'm going to ask you some questions. For every question you get wrong, you get a knife. For every question you get right, you get another question. We play till we run out of questions." Wolfe smiled and gestured to the knives. "They're all yes or no questions, but there's only one right answer. Understand?"

Dunkirk silently glared at him.

"Okay, that one doesn't count. But this one does."

The Reverend pulled the smallest knife from the floor. "Do you know the difference between good and evil?" he asked.

"Uck you!" Dunkirk replied, his burned lips inhibiting his attempts at meaningful dialogue.

The Reverend pulled his arm back and let the knife fly. The blade sunk into Dunkirk's shin.

He screamed.

The Reverend pulled a medium sized knife from its place in the hardwood floor. "Are you willing to confess your crimes and ask for the forgiveness of your victims?"

Dunkirk glared at the Reverend. "All dead."

"I can help with that." Wolfe threw the blade at Martin's face.

Dunkirk's free arm came up, the blade sinking deeply into the forelimb. He screamed again.

"You've killed dozens of people, is that right?"

"Hundreds!" Dunkirk leered.

The Reverend plucked another blade from the floor. "Are you willing to ask our victims for forgiveness?"

Dunkirk caught his breath. "Ouu said Our. Our!" He laughed, his grim rictus a shredded tapestry of black and red.

"I won't ask you again," the Reverend said.

Martin began tugging at the hand pinned to the floor, desperately trying to work it free.

The Reverend hurled the next knife at him. It bit deep into the meat of Martin's pinned shoulder. The arm fell limp and ceased its bid for freedom.

"Okay. Now we get to the hard ones." Reverend Wolfe pulled one of the long blades from the floor. "These you can't throw so well. It needs to be more of a stabbing motion." He stabbed the knife into the air before Dunkirk's face.

Martin scowled, as well as he could without lips or eyelids.

"Do you accept the Lord Jesus as your personal savior?" he asked.

"Uck you," Martin sneered.

The Reverend knelt and deliberately stabbed the knife through one of Dunkirk's meaty thighs, driving it into the floor beneath.

"This one is important, so I'll give you another chance." Wolfe pulled up another knife.

"Are you willing to accept the Lord Jesus Christ as your personal God and Savior?"

Martin hissed in the Reverend's face.

Reverend Wolfe pulled the man's leg flat and stabbed the knife clean through his second thigh. "Only a couple left and they're pretty big. You wanna keep fucking around?"

Dunkirk didn't answer.

Wolfe laughed. "That one doesn't count either."

In a massive display of strength, Dunkirk reached over and pulled the knife from his pinned hand.

Reverend Wolfe leaned forward and stabbed Dunkirk in the chest, between the ribs, puncturing a lung.

"Wrong answer," Wolfe said.

Dunkirk dropped the small blade.

Wolfe pulled the last blade from the floor. It was the largest, the thick heavy butcher knife. "You haven't gotten any right yet."

He let Dunkirk get a good look at the blade. "Ready for another one?"

Dunkirk scowled and struggled to breathe.

"Are you sorry for the pain you've caused?"

Dunkirk tried to lift his arm, but could not.

The Reverend knelt before him. "Are you sorry?"

Dunkirk scowled with his ruined brows.

"Are you sorry?"

Dunkirk took a deep breath, summoning his strength. "Kill Ouu!"

The Reverend drove the butcher knife deep into Martin's other lung.

Dunkirk fell back against the floor, gasping for breath.

Wolfe stood and exited the room.

Dunkirk blew blood bubbles from his mouth.

Wolfe went down to the basement and scanned it with an infrared camera, confirming that the house was empty.

In the kitchen, he unscrewed the cap from the first of the fuel containers and splashed it onto the floor and walls. The Reverend toured the house, dousing it with the high-octane gasoline.

He then returned to Dunkirk, pinned to the floor, splashing the fuel in a circle around him, around the walls of the living room, but leaving the floor directly around him relatively dry.

Reverend Wolfe knelt next to Dunkirk. "Mysterious ways, you know."

Wolfe then exited and lit the hallway behind him. Fire leapt up the walls, across the floor and up the stairwell, it surrounded Dunkirk and appeared to growl at him, they way a pack of hyenas might.

Outside, the Reverend didn't look back. "Forgive me, Lord. Your servant is weak."

He crossed the street to the SUV. The child was asleep in the back seat. He reached over and tussled her hair as they lifted off. "Sleep tight, darling. He'll never hurt anyone again."

# Chapter 40 – Burning Bridges

On District Thirteen, Captain Grey set his last mine on a strut between the Bolt and the Athletic Complex. He triggered his radio, "All right, gents. Done with phase-one. Commencing part-two."

Captain Snow replied, "Finished here too. I'm going to see a couple guys about a boat."

First Sergeant King and Corporal Sorpresa floated through the double zero, placing their last mines on braces and beams. "We're wrapping up. See you when you get out back," King replied.

Captain Snow triggered her mic. "Hey, Kilo, Splitter says our girl is swimming through this mission. I thought you told her to stay dry?"

"Kids now-a-days, what can you do?" King laughed.

"Kilo, you copy" Snow asked Captain Grey directly.

"Snow, this is Kilo. What channel is Splitter on?"

"Deuce-deuce," she answered. "All right gents, I'm going radio silent while I wake the Docs. Do what you have to do. Snow out."

At the lowest of the connecting struts, First Sergeant King lit Corporal Sorpresa's torch. He attacked the beam; the super heated metal blasting into the air around them. The plasma-torch ripped through the metal like butter. Sorpresa laughed and First Sergeant King smiled.

Ashley paused to take stock of her resources. Three guards stood between her and the elevator bank. There was a lot of open space between them, too far for the handgun.

The elevator doors opened, three more guards stepped out.

"Armitage says keep your eyes open. Shoot anything that moves."

The three new uniforms set out at a jog, away from the hedge where Ashley crouched in shadow.

She planned her route and whenever the remaining men turned away or adjusted their stances, Ashley slipped closer. There were small pockets of cover between them, a planter here, a park bench there. Thirty feet, then twenty, ten.

Materializing from the shadows, she slipped up behind a corporal and drove the Little Dragon through the soft tissue above the crest of his hip, above his pants, but just under his vest.

The oiled blade pierced a kidney, spreading poison up into the lungs and severing major arteries before bursting out through the soft tissue of the throat.

The two other guards could hardly see her and hesitated to fire directly at their comrade. Holding the dead corporal upright with one hand, Ashley drew the detective's handgun and fired twice, killing the two standing men.

Ash pulled her blade from the NCO and stepped back. The three of them collapsed together.

She stepped over to the elevator bank and pressed the call button. While she waited, she stuffed her overflowing backpack with more grenades and badges. Mostly the guards had smoke or tear gas grenades, but she'd found a few of the lethal kind as well.

The elevator dinged; Ashley raised the handgun, ready to fill the car with hot lead.

The doors opened, the car was empty.

She propped it open with one of the dead soldiers and hit the call button again.

Her pistol at the ready, another set of doors opened. She propped this one open as well and then a third. The fourth car she jammed open with the backpack.

In the first car, Ash hit the button for the top floor, the guard's HQ. She popped two gas grenades inside and pushed the dead guard all the way in. The doors closed. In the second car, she sent two more grenades to the top floor, with another dead man along for the ride and did the same with the third.

Ashley strapped the backpack over her shoulders and slid the hoverboard between the pack and her back. She stepped into the fourth car and donned her gas mask. She hit the button for the top floor, and popped a gas grenade. She pulled the pins on two more as they climbed toward the command post.

Across the district, Captain Snow approached a pair of heavy, bolted doors. She landed and powered down her phase-cam. She waved a keycard at the access panel and the gate rolled back.

The district guards standing inside snapped to attention and saluted the officer.

"Wake the resident Directors," Snow ordered. "Have them call me here from their control center."

Before long the nearby monitor fired up and a fresh faced lieutenant saluted and sounded off. Behind him, two sleepy-eyed doctors stood silently.

Captain Snow took the lead, "I've been sent to inform you that this facility has been compromised. Your internal network is secure, but the remainder of the district is blacked out. Prepare 7982 for emergency evacuation protocol three-alpha."

"Which one is that," the thin doctor asked.

"The underwater one," his rotund colleague replied.

"Aren't they all underwater?"

"It's the deep one."

"How deep?"

"Thirty-six months."

"Does that mean I can go back to sleep now?" he asked.

The round one laughed. "It means that if you stay up for the next few hours and help me, you can sleep for a week."

"You've got a deal."

Outside, along the back of the wing, King and Sorpresa held torches to the connecting metal braces.

Snow arrived and triggered her radio. "Splitter, what've you got."

"The kid is already inside the bank and moving upward."

"And you were disappointed with her progress?"

"Well, she's killed everyone. We'll have to arrest her."

"Not before she carries out her mission, Staff Sergeant."

"This was supposed to be a dry op," Splitter asserted.

"She's not a soldier. She doesn't have to follow orders like you do. Do you copy, Sergeant?"

"Yes, sir. Splitter out."

Snow looked over to King and Sorpresa. "Where's Grey?" she asked.

They shrugged.

"Goddamn it. Keep on it. I'll be back." Captain Snow pushed off and flew her gravity suit up into the night.

As her elevator neared the headquarters, Ashley could hear the commotion. The command post was a mad house, roaring chaos.

As the doors opened, she dropped the grenades in her hands and drew her handguns. The car unleashed more gas into the command center, and it unleashed Ashley.

Wearing the mask, she stepped out. She methodically picked her targets and opened fire. The guards and technicians fell around her, she spared no one.

In less than thirty seconds, Ashley fired her weapons over a hundred times. Her fingers were sore, burning, over twenty had fallen and none of them moved.

She crossed and entered the server room. In order to broadcast on the video screens, she'd need the internal network up and running. She leaned over the network connection grid, found the cable for terminal 726, the post in the garage where she'd inserted the drive, and disconnected it.

They didn't want to cut power to the network running the gravity drives, so Ashley selected the system carefully. She located and rebooted only the particle servers running the communication systems, like Grey had told her, by briefly interrupting the circuit. There was no need to reboot the entire system, as long as you knew where the problem was.

Ashley traced the cables to the main router, which she disconnected and removed. Without it, no one on the district could make a call. Nothing could be transmitted; no citywide alarms could be sounded.

Ironically, this situation was only possible on controlled districts, like prisons and schools. In those places the main router was always located in the most restricted and controllable location, administration offices, command posts, headquarters.

The router in her pack, she smiled. "Objective two complete."

Far below her, on the open mall, Splitter argued with Grey.

"Special Agent Kilo, yeah, you told her to do this, didn't you?" Splitter shouted.

"I told her not to." Grey said.

"Bullshit! You're the big bad ass! Killed a thousand guys all locked in tubes. Yeah, you're real tough."

Grey stepped forward and punched Splitter in the mouth, knocking him from his feet.

"You son of a bitch!" The staff sergeant scrambled up and leapt at the newly promoted captain.

Captain David Grey stepped off the line of attack and delivered a stinging blow to the side of Splitter's head. The staff sergeant stumbled to the ground, his balance knocked out of alignment.

Splitter got to his feet but had a hard time standing. He didn't raise his hands. It took all of his concentration not to collapse to the ground. He wobbled on his knees, holding his hands up between himself and Grey.

Captain Snow landed between them. "I have three torches sitting cold because you two are out here proving your manhood to one another."

Splinter dropped to a knee.

"What the fuck did you do to him?" she snapped at Grey. "I need him working."

Splitter coughed a couple times and finally straightened up. It took him a minute, but he managed to point a wavering finger at Captain Snow.

"This is bullshit," he said. "She's out there killing citizens."

"Get political on your own time, right now I need you on a torch." Snow stepped directly into Splitter's face. "I suggest you get to it."

Splitter shook his head, took a moment to get his balance and lifted off toward the 7982 wing.

Snow turned on Grey. "Remember who the stranger is here, Captain."

Grey didn't reply.

Captain Snow turned her elevation dial and lifted off. Grey watched them with his newly enhanced vision, and followed to the next task.

Within minutes, there were five torches burning through the metal beams holding the Project 7982 Laboratory to District Thirteen.

# Chapter 41 – Wrecking Homes

Ashley stepped out of the command center onto an exterior patio and pulled her gasmask off. She immediately found herself face to face with two-dozen, coughing, puking guards. Unarmed, they hesitated, their weapons forgotten in the panic.

Ashley's guns came up as the soldiers charged her. Her weapons tore threw through the front line, hitting them in the chest, the neck and the face. The case-less ammo spewed from her weapons. Even at this rate, it would take her a while to burn through the thousand round magazines.

The next wave attacked with anything they could find. The air around her was suddenly alive with projectiles, mostly patio furniture, broomsticks, chairs, chair legs, flying at her head.

Discovering her handguns useless against flying furniture, she drew the Little Dragon. Ash darted through the guards' ranks, opening an artery here, severing a tendon there, every movement a perfect strike, block or parry. For every hit the guards score, Ash made five. One after another, they fell, until all who would stand against her couldn't. Ash alone remained on her feet.

Ashley cleaned her sword and sheathed it. The rooftop was a dead end; there was nowhere to go from here. Tear gas still wafted from the command center. She looked down at her filtration mask. It was covered in gore. She didn't reach for it.

Ash pulled her hoverboard from beneath her pack. She stepped onto it, took a deep breath, opened a door and kicked back inside. She shot across the large room, toward the stairwell. She didn't breathe again until she'd dropped several floors.

The board, a Vertical 4 Classic, was composed of a light terillium alloy, soaked, cured and varnished in the liquid T256 isotope. When fully charged and properly ridden, the Vert 4 was unstoppable, an icon of hoverboard engineering. As it flowed over the ground, the ride was tailored for the rider.

The V4 was smooth, it corrected mistakes, choosing the best and safest paths ahead, navigating around any impending difficulties, and was especially good at compensating for stairs. The model's built-in auto-correction algorithms set the standard for everything else on the market. Newer models were either significantly better than the V4, and disgustingly overpriced, or considerably worse, costing only slightly less.

When Ashley and her V4 dropped into the stairwell, it was as though she were surfing down a water slide, wall-riding the tight turns at the landings in a constant counterclockwise spin. She stretched out into the drop, her right arm reaching up high, her left down ahead of her. She let the board plot the course and focused on balancing with it.

Back home, less than two weeks ago, Ashley had lived in a top-shelf residential district. While she had ridden stairwells before, she'd never attempted anything like this. It was like a half-pipe, except she was carrying a gun, a pack, and a sword. She found herself working to balance the sword and rifle, while still compensating for the bulky weight of the armored vest and the backpack.

Sinking onto the board, she flew downward, faster and faster. The hairpin one-eighty at each landing came faster and snapped harder each time.

The gas was long gone, the floor numbers blurred by. She tucked in her arms, let out a sigh and spun downward at a blinding speed.

It was difficult enough to focus on riding, let alone planning, but she knew that when the stairwell hit the center floor, it would flatten out and open up. She couldn't continue downward indefinitely. _But how was she going to slow herself down?_

In the distance the final floor spun toward her, only half a dozen flights away now. She tried to slow for it, leaning back, taking more of an arc at the landings.

She saw the doorway she'd need to hit when she crashed into the flat opening below. She lined up, anticipating the force she'd need to stay in control and ride out the next few seconds. The floor came at her with dizzying speed.

She kicked and ducked, the force exerted on her body by the sudden change of direction pushing her down onto the board, while flinging it upward.

Crouching as low as she could, Ashley barely missed the top of the doorframe. Her head cleared it by the smallest of margins. It would have knocked her out. Apparently even the V4 had its limits. Ash didn't want to find the board's breaking point.

She steered over to a patch of close-cropped lawn. She stumbled off the board and collapsed.

For a couple of minutes, she didn't move. Then she struggled out of the backpack and ditched the gun belt.

Lying on her back, the Micronix was digging into her butt and she was feeling nauseous. She rolled onto her side and tossed her cookies.

After puking up everything in her stomach, then coughing herself blue, she lay still, just breathing.

Ash looked over at her Vert 4. It spun in lazy circles, the front end tipped and anchored while the power back drifted half a foot off the ground, kind of like Evan's had, all those years ago, after he'd kicked it at her in the clearing.

The Micronix. It had fallen out of the sky. The original.

As far as she knew, it was still in her locker. Hopefully Geoff had it.

That day.

Bobby and Evan had been exposed.

Bobby had carried the infection home, exposing his father, Mr. Dunkirk. But he'd been killing for years.

Ashley paused.

It was the sensation.

Time.

She felt it again, now.

She sat up.

Ash heaved again, but her stomach was empty.

A cold sweat hit her and she struggled to her feet.

The vestibular humors in her ear were rolling, giving her the false sense of moving when she was still and making her feel still while moving.

She took a breath and felt, for a moment, as if every pore had opened and had taken a big drink of oxygen. She exhaled and her skin tightened. She took another breath and the sensation lessened somewhat. Two breaths later it was gone.

The knife. In her pocket... In her locker... They were both here now. The prototype, it was a direct computer-brain interface, The Micronix. As a computer, her father had been able to do almost anything with it. Geoff could use it, but Ash hadn't been interested.

Chairman Pierce had known her father. She had learned that later.

Yet it wasn't just the knife.

It was also her father, every time. It was his life that had put her here. Ashley shook her head. On some level, everyone's circumstances could be traced back through their parents. Even one's grandparents could be held responsible, if one looked far enough.

Ashley knew her father hadn't _created_ the world. What had happened here was not his _fault_. Her father hadn't tried to rape Sky. Her father hadn't kicked Geoffrey down the massive escalator. Her father wasn't hanging out with a gang of serial killers who were trying to eat her.

That was insane.

_Where did Dunkirk come into it?_ He had been killing for years, but Ashley was also a killer now. She'd trained for it, and this had been her test. She'd trained well.

Ash had left the knife in her locker when she went to breakfast, that Saturday Geoff went missing. She hadn't been back to it since. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

Ashley shook her head. Now was no time to have a religious experience. She coughed a couple times and blew out foul puke breath. She looked around for a drinking fountain. There was one right nearby.

After a drink, she pulled the Vert 4 over to her pack and lay down, using the hoverboard as a pillow, the weapons clutched to her chest.

The detective's handgun was black, the officer's silver. The bracers and vest were stamped in black and fringed in the red. Her face was stained red, her clothes and hair, thick and heavy with blood. She lay canted to the left, so the Micronix wouldn't dig at her.

After a few minutes she managed to calm her body down, but her brain was way too excited to relax. She pulled on the backpack, slung the rifle, holstered the handguns and slid the sword through her belt.

She was so weighed down with gear; she would have had a miserable time walking. The stairs would have been impossible, but the Vert-4 hoverboard made everything possible. It made her footsteps silent. It made her stronger than she really was. Ashley realized it was perhaps her most valuable possession.

She drifted through the garden like a wraith and reached the athletic complex without meeting any unlucky citizen-soldiers.

Dr. Morgenstern's head was still wrapped with gauze when he and Colonel Keller arrived on the street outside Dunkirk's childhood home. Only moments after Reverend Wolfe left, they parked in the very space he had vacated.

Smoke was pouring from Dunkirk's house. It was obvious it was on fire, but still to early to have caught anyone's attention. They crossed the street and entered through the unlocked kitchen door.

Despite the blinding bandages, Morgenstern moved as though he could see perfectly well. He and the Colonel were surprised to find Martin pinned to his living room floor, bleeding and struggling to breath. Upon seeing them, Dunkirk attempted to speak, but succeeded only in blowing blood all over himself.

Morgenstern shook his head in disappointment. Keller knelt and stared into Dunkirk's burnt and ruined face. He showed him the black edged machete.

Dunkirk closed his eyes.

The blade made a deep thwack as it bit into the hardwood floor beneath the man's neck. Dunkirk's head rolled away from his body and Keller scooped it into a plastic bag.

A couple miles away, Reverend Wolfe parked outside a police station.

He lifted the sleeping child from the back seat and carried her through the front door of the building, up to the reception desk.

The young desk sergeant looked up, "Can I help you?"

"Yes." Reverend Wolfe handed the toddler to the Officer. "I found this lovely child wandering the streets. Please return her to her parents."

The officer took the child and held her in his arms. He looked at her. "I've got a little girl too. We'll find your parents, sweetheart, I promise."

"Where did you find her?" he asked, looking back to the Reverend.

The officer froze. He was alone. He hadn't heard the door open or heard the man leave. He was just gone.

Captain Snow adjusted the black fabric strung between the old orphanage and the special projects wing. It concealed the torch-wielding soldiers from wandering eyes. The soldiers phase-cam systems couldn't suppress a torch's flame, but behind the black velvet, they could work without fear of discovery. The operators focused behind their welding masks, burning through the struts.

Standing on the roof, Kilo pulled out his control module and double-checked the detonators as Snow scanned the district for activity.

Everything was quiet.

Splitter finished cutting his assigned braces and joined them on the rooftop, making an awkward situation downright chilly.

King waved, signaling that he and Sorpresa were almost finished.

Captain Snow's phone vibrated, the administrators on 7982 were ready. She gestured and the three of them climbed down into the braces.

From their belts, the agents connected terillium lanyards, replete with lockable d-rings, to the structure. They fished the cable out longer than necessary and fed a loop through a gap in the strut, snapping it into the ring. If they had to disconnect in a hurry, the thick cable could be twisted out and it would spring from the gap - much easier than trying to maneuver a d-ring through a strut, while dropping at terminal velocity.

Grey realized that everyone, even Sorpresa, had watched to see if he would buckle up like a newbie or not. When he noticed that they'd been watching, they all laughed.

Grey had held-his-own with the torch, both fast and accurate, a skill only acquired after hours of practice. Kilo had spent more than one night with the combat engineers.

Boarding and commandeering a freestanding structure was one thing. Stealing one that's bolted down was quite another. The wing did have its own terillium drive, but it could not be counted on for accurate maneuvering power.

Just strapping in at the top of the slide was a serious commitment. As the winds picked up, the team felt the anxiety acutely. Big units often shifted when first separating from their mother structures, and struts had a habit of impaling engineers.

As Sorpresa finished with the final brace, Snow gave the signal for the others to power up. They charged their gravity drives and pulled their cables tight.

Snow pointed at Sorpresa. He adjusted his elevation controls until the lanyard pulled tight.

Snow gave a final signal and the soldiers directed their gravity drives in a concerted effort, increasing the pressure against the back wall structure, pushing the wing from the bulk of the district.

The final bits of metal, anything still slightly connected, began to snap off. There were a few pings and with a high-pitched metallic scream it broke free.

The wing's drives had been powered down, and the unit shifted like a bolder at the edge of the cliff. A moment later the building slid over the lip of the gravity well, plunging from the district.

The cables of the lock-box had been designed to prevent the escape, or entrance, of vehicles. The building wasn't using its magnetic drives, and the cables couldn't have held it anyhow. They caused only the slightest pause as the wing dropped.

It slid over the charged city, flying out to sea like a piece of ice on glass, the buildings below keeping it aloft for now.

The soldiers hung on, the city lights flying fast below them.

# Chapter 42 – Join or Die

In the district command center, off duty soldiers and guards began to filter into the HQ from their sleeping quarters. Because of the virus Ashley had used to shut down the comm. system, they had no idea of the damage she'd caused or the number of their friends she'd killed.

The Majors who had fled earlier, now returned, wearing their masks, and took stock of the situation. The floor was covered with dead soldiers. Avoiding the blood puddles was difficult.

The lack of response from any of the communication channels and the discovery of the missing router forced them to confront the truth of their predicament. There would be no municipal reinforcements, at least not in time. Their Monday arrival had just become far-too-far away.

Once they discovered the massacred soldiers on the patio, the remaining young citizens began to panic.

Helpless, they watched the monitors, trying to make sense of what had gone wrong and what would happen next.

It was clear the facility was up for grabs. Without the ability to control the electric locks, surviving till Monday would be a miracle. Without centralized command, riots could engulf them in an hour.

The young citizens scanned the monitors for any traces of organized orphan activity, while others scanned the footage of Ashley's smoke filled attack on the room they currently occupied.

Down on the athletic fields, Ashley cursed Grey. In her parent's basement, he'd told her he didn't have any idea how to run the stadium camera rigs.

"The kids broadcast the fights. How hard can it be? Find someone knows how to do it. That's the easy part."

Ashley wasn't a hacker, she had no idea how to patch a feed in and turn on the monitors by remote. Riding her hoverboard, she dropped down onto the third level of the athletic complex, in search of her brother and any orphans with technical expertise.

Ashley really didn't know the district very well. She'd spent as much time on death row as she had as a free orphan. She wasn't sure where she was or where to find Geoff and her friends. Sooner or later she'd have to ask someone for directions.

Tonight the place seemed virtually abandoned; there were no soldiers or orphans to be seen.

A few hundred yards from the edge of the level, she saw an entry hatch set into the side of a berm.

A few orphans were clustered nearby, smoking cigarettes. This was a post usually manned by soldiers.

Ash stopped the board in front of the zeros. They stared at her, shocked.

Ashley was strapped with weapons, a sword, a rifle, two handguns and her pack full of grenades.

"Are you a ghost?" one of the kids asked.

"No. I'm not a ghost," she answered.

"You're alive?"

"I'm alive."

They stared at her a bit more.

"I'm Miguel. We tried to break you out of jail a couple days ago, but they killed you. They put it on the stream."

"Yeah. But they didn't kill me," Ashley said.

"We saw it," the second kid said. "Are you sure you're not a ghost?"

"That's Mark," Miguel said, gesturing to the boy. "That's Hiro," he pointed to the quiet orphan standing nearby.

Mark smiled. Hiro nodded.

"How come you're wearing a guard's uniform?" Mark asked.

"I'm looking for my brother," Ashley said. "Do you know him?"

"What does he look like?" Miguel asked.

"His name is Geoff. Geoffrey Fox," she said. "He looks like he's my brother. He's eleven."

"I don't know him," Miguel said.

"You're really her?" Mark asked.

Ashley smiled, "I really am."

"Nice board!" Mark said.

"Thanks."

"How did you get that rifle?" Miguel asked.

Mark elbowed him, but he just grinned.

"Did you kill them?" Miguel asked. "Cause you know, they're not using rubber bullets anymore. They killed a bunch of kids today, over at the elevator banks."

Ashley ejected the rifle's magazine. The top round certainly wasn't made of rubber. She looked at it, shocked.

"You didn't know?" Miguel asked.

"I just got back," she answered, looking up.

"Back from the dead?" Mark laughed.

Miguel smiled. "We'll help you look for him. Come with us."

The three young lookouts led her away, carelessly abandoning their post. Ash drifted along as the boys bounced over the field. The zeros occasionally threw her sideways glances followed by nods and grins.

Twenty minutes later, Ashley entered the rec room where Sky and Geoff sat watching a kung fu movie with the rest of the convalescing members of the Fist. It was late, but they were still awake.

Kaz stood with the others in shock.

Geoffrey ran to his sister and jumped into her arms.

She could sense the Micronix. He had it in his pocket.

Drifting away from the lights of the coast, sailing above the black water of the pacific, the combat engineers hung from the backside of the laboratory wing. They moved at fifty knots, a steady clip for mid-size building. The soldiers leaned back into a seated position.

They had been traveling for the better part of an hour and would continue for a couple more, curving to the southwest. They would sail out past Long Beach harbor and over the Channel Islands.

By dawn they would be far out into international waters, a three-hour gut churning and turbulent ride.

Corporal Sorpresa only threw up once.

Keller and Morgenstern returned to the district with Dunkirk's head, only to discover that it had been locked down. The crisis box refused the sedan entry into the district.

They attempted to contact Cedric and found the frequencies jammed or killed. It was strange to come across a locked, yet otherwise silent location. Usually siege procedures were accompanied by blockades of anchored police forces, emergency units and a heavy coast guard presence, not to mention reporters. Yet, the district was still wrapped in deep slumber.

They circled to the north and discovered the 7982 bio-mech wing had been cut from the facility.

"Sappers," Morgenstern said.

Somewhere, a legislative hearing hadn't gone their way and the district had been slated for termination.

Keller piloted the small craft away from D13.

An hour after finding Geoff, Ashley and friends had sorted out the router and taken control of the internal broadcast network. Every monitor in the district powered up, displaying her half-washed, blood-smeared face.

The girl stood alone, on an empty stage along a center field sideline.

"Is it working?" she asked someone off camera.

"It's working," someone answered.

Ash looked into the camera. "Hey everyone, wake up. Come on. Get up! I need you to listen to me. We need to talk..."

"Tell them you're not dead," young Mark blurted.

"No, I'm not dead," Ashley smiled. "But not for lack of trying. They tried to kill me, but the psychos who run this place, they suck. We can take them. Lethal and Mo, they were tough. They were Angel City Orphans. But the administrators here, the adults, picking on children... How weak is that? They are punks. We can whip them easy.

"You know who they are; the psycho governor, her warden and a couple other crazy fuckers running this place. They tried to torture me and kill me. They even kidnapped a cop. Now I have his gun." Ashley held up Cole's gun for the camera.

All over the district, children cheered.

Ashley held up her hands, "Now, now... I know what we're going to do. We're going to show them, right? They don't run this place. We do!"

The cheers and roaring applause echoed across the district.

Ashley held up Cole's weapon and continued. "This is a cop's gun and it recorded everything. I don't know why they haven't tracked it and come to arrest me. Either this cop doesn't trust his department and hacked his gear, or the department has a live feed and likes what I've been up to. Either way, I'm doing something right, because no one has killed me yet."

The cheers, whistles and floor stomping could be heard, even over the camera, recording the infamous teen.

"But now hold on, first let me explain a little bit. They're going to try and kill us. All of us."

She gave a hand signal to her crew and the cameras panned and zoomed out into the night sky.

"Where, I don't see it," a cameraman said.

"I think it's over there..."

Ashley pointed, "Those flashing lights, right out there..."

The monitors displayed a flashing intersection of magnetic cables, the knot pulsing faintly. The residents had seen enough cop shows to recognize a lock-box for what it was.

"That is a crisis box," Ashley said from off screen. "District Thirteen has been locked down and they're going to sink us." The camera feed came back to her, "This whole district is going to be flushed down the gravity well. To survive, we have to work together."

She held a wired black box up to the camera. "As long as I've got this router, no one is making any calls.

"So listen up citizens, this part applies to you. There is nowhere for you to hide. If you run, or fight, you're only going to make it harder on yourselves. We are taking your IDs and your car keys. If you don't want a beating, get up to the second level, center stadium. And I mean right now. Get dressed and get up here, because I promise you, if you don't, you will be sorry. If you make us come looking, you're going to pay for it. You had better do what you're told, or whatever happens to you, it will be your own damn fault."

Ashley winked, "Kids, doesn't all that sound just a little too familiar?

"They call us Lucky Rabbits, Zeros and Mitsubishi. I heard them call us that. They think they are insulting us, reminding us that we are orphans.

"But way back, when the US fought Japan, the kamikaze pilots who flew the Mitsubishi Zeros were legendary and fearless. They sacrificed themselves to cripple their enemies' warships. That is Samurai.

"These guards aren't samurai. They wear armor and use guns on kids. They have no honor. They have all the resources, all the money, all the power and they still beat on us for fun.

"But we have our honor. And we have nothing to lose. And if you fight them with me, by the time the sun sets tomorrow, we will be free.

"Or Dead " someone yelled, laughing.

"Or dead, of course." Ashley smiled.

"But if I die, I swear, I'm taking a whole bunch of them with me."

The children's cheers could be heard all over the district.

"Okay, serious though. Get up, get dressed, and get up here. You guys living in the double zero, the Old Orphanage, bring whatever you want to keep, because that building is being evacuated."

Ashley sent Miguel, Mark and Hiro with a bunch of other orphans to her parent's car after the surplus gear. Using her father's expense account, Ash had bought their entire stock of cheap machetes, a hundred butane torches and two-dozen huge spools of terillium camouflage silk, great for reinforcing and concealing field positions.

She corralled a group of orphans and had them split the spools of netting into two piles. She gave half the kids machetes and told them how to cut the netting into squares and then cut neck holes, making bullet-resistant ponchos for everyone. The guys at the shop explained that the netting was both stronger and cheaper than sandbags Grey had suggested.

The second group assigned to the garages, hung the netting over the open spaces to protect and conceal them from anyone with a high-powered rifle, posted outside the crisis box.

Within an hour, squads of recently drafted infantry, outfitted with makeshift armor and weapons, stalked the hallways and walkways where citizen soldiers had patrolled the day before.

Gangs of armed kids cleared the orphanage of adults, one room at a time. Dozens of citizens had tried to get to their cars. Orphans armed with assault rifles intercepted them.

Several adults put up a fight, but no one escaped.

On more that one level, entire groups of orphans went mad with blood lust and moved through the district, killing any adults they encountered.

# Chapter 43 – Five To One

By two-thirty, the children had corralled over a thousand adults in the stadium, and they were methodically collecting keys. It was the one thing Ashley had been explicit about, and it was an easy task to focus on.

Now, the stage was empty, but for the thin microphone and stand.

Ash and her gang of orphaned revolutionaries had yet to return from her second trip to the guard's headquarters. They had set out twenty minutes ago.

The orphans in the stands chatted about what all this meant, while adults, those who came voluntarily, as well as those who did not, were directed onto the field.

Loud boisterous voices came from the side of the stage, where six conference tables had been arranged in two rows of three, creating a giant rectangle. Rival factions had paired themselves opposite each other.

Drews and Chris looked dissatisfied with the arrangement. Drews had suggested the conference after the Blades and Dragons almost went to blows. In light of the sensitive conditions, the young lawyer had suggested that it might be more productive to sit, and discuss a rational, reasonable plan, like gentlemen.

Big Chris organized the tables, reasoning that if nothing else, six feet of table top between one group and their enemies was better than air and opportunity. And with six tables, no factions would have to share.

Their natural allegiances were strong, the gangs dominating the athletic complex sat opposite those from the bolt. Drews and Big Chris sat with Rudy and Taylor, representing the Fist. Dante, Yama and Frost sat opposite for the Devils. Cho Fu Sah and Kjell of the Dragons sat across from Hector and Ricarlo of the Blades. Likewise, the Red Stripe Martians and Yellow Jackets glared at each other from their seats.

Drews grinned at Chris. For all their bluster, the orphans were working together. It was an uphill battle, but far better then open war.

Near the guards' main headquarters, Ashley stood between two groups of pointed weapons. Rifles and handguns were aimed over, around and through her.

Ashley's recently drafted teen army was in a standoff with a group of guards on the outside rooftop adjacent to the zoo. Several dozen soldiers stood before them, blocking their way toward the command center and the armory. They had refused to surrender their weapons.

If anyone opened fire, a lot of kids on both sides would die.

Still suffering from the shot to his head he'd taken earlier in the week, Kaz rode the hoverboard, doing his best to remain upright. Tanaka, Oddball, Jones and Rebound followed. Sky and Geoffrey were both armed and walked with them. Everyone who mattered to Ashley was right there. She hadn't been able to keep them away. She hadn't tried.

Ashley tried to reason with them, "One, you are outnumbered. Two, you have more to lose."

They didn't reply.

Ashley was growing impatient. She needed to get moving if they were going to be ready by noon.

"Surrender and we'll let you live, I promise."

No one moved.

"Put them down now."

The guards still hesitated.

Ash slung her rifle over her shoulder and drew the pistol from her belt. She turned and the crowd of zeros at her back parted for her.

The soldiers and the orphans held their weapons on each other, but everyone in the front row was hesitant to begin, aware they would all die.

Ashley returned with a young guard, a prisoner they had disarmed, only eighteen and small for his age. She dragged him into the open space between the two lines, holding him like a shield.

She pointed her handgun at his head.

"We told this guy we'd let him live. And we did. But if you don't put down your guns, _You_ will kill him. Don't make me go back on my word. I hate that. Put your guns down, now."

Several of the guards laid their weapons down, raising their hands and stepping away.

Yet several more continued to refuse.

Ashley's finger tightened on the trigger, cranking the hammer back into firing position.

Her hostage began to shake with fear.

A few more guards set their weapons down and backed out, but the front line remained, and they were still too many for such a small space.

"You won't do it," Michaud, said, standing at the front. In his early twenties, he looked far meaner than her hostage.

He pointed his weapon at Ashley. "I can end this bullshit right here."

Ash turned her weapon on him and fired.

The bullet struck Michaud in the forehead and splashed brain matter onto the citizens behind him. He fell, his weapon clattering to the cement.

No one did anything.

Then, as if of a singular mind, the remaining guards set their weapons on the ground. They were corralled with the other surviving prisoners as the orphans collected the abandoned weapons.

Every one of them having a loaded weapon, the orphans rushed up the three flights of stairs and secured the command center, killing all inside. Only four kids had been killed, with another six wounded.

Ashley found and used Major Dumont's key card to open the armory. The kids streamed in, creating a chain and emptying the shelves of their contents.

It was still dark, the deepest black of night, when the mortician and the colonel returned to the district. This time they were properly prepared.

Keller anchored the vehicle just outside the lock box above the district's highest point, the dome over the central stadium. They looped ropes through the landing rails and slid giant cases of equipment and gear down through the top of the box. The cases landed safely on the dome and didn't slide.

Keller and Morgenstern stepped out together, each sliding from one side of the anchored vehicle, down to the coliseum rooftop. With the proper tools, a crisis box was no more secure than a doggie door.

They unknotted their ropes and pulled them down, setting the transport free. Following its preprogrammed plan, the vehicle sped off toward a safe house across town.

An entire layer above the children's impromptu mutiny, Keller and Morgenstern hefted the cases and made their way over to the Bolt. His eyes still bandaged, the giant had no trouble seeing the cases, or picking his way across the rooftop.

Keller didn't ask any questions. He'd seen what he girl had done to the giant's eye. He presumed Morgenstern had gone with stereo optics, a good deal better than a singular augmentation, but requiring the sacrifice of his other ocular orb as well. The man had balls of terillium.

The warden stifled a laugh, remembering that, at her trial, Ashley had been charged with blinding another boy. She did have a thing for eyes. Some girls scratch, some go for your balls, some go after your money. Ashley liked to fuck you where you see.

Eventually they reached the decimated HQ; finding the murdered soldiers and the ransacked armory. The dead soldiers had been slid to the side, making room for the orphans to carry out the weapons and ammo. There were dozens of bloody footprints, children's footprints, running across the floor.

Keller swung open the armory hatch. His good eyes confirming what his mind already knew, the racks were empty. He looked inside the live ammo locker. The shelves were empty. The orphans had taken everything.

Together, Morgenstern and Keller scanned the security monitors. All across the district, children brandished assault rifles, handguns and machetes. The bulk of them were still assembled in the stadium. The resident adults had been taken hostage and were being held on the field.

Colonel Keller checked the communications equipment; there was no off-district access. He walked into the main communications room and discovered the missing router.

Morgenstern removed Dunkirk's head from its bag and set it on the counter in sight of the security streams.

The triumphant orphans returned to the stadium. They drove the captured soldiers and citizens ahead of them; distributing weapons to kids they met along the way.

The children could not be dissuaded from kicking and punching the adults as they passed. Neither did they hesitate to shoot those who tried to run or fight back. Several littered the route back to the command center.

The adults' hands, upon initial capture or entering the stadium, had all been cuffed behind their backs with heavy-duty flex-cuffs that Ashley had picked up at the surplus store.

Now, inside the stadium, Ashley ordered her captives separated into two groups, teachers and social workers to the right, guards and security personnel to the left.

Near the stage, the gang leaders sat, hotly debating their imminent future.

Ashley walked over to them. "What the fuck is this?" she asked, looking at Big Chris. He had been one of the first people to speak to her, when she'd arrived, but now, no one answered.

"Why are you guys all down here instead of in the stands with everybody else? Why are you all at separate tables like that? What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Drews cleared his throat. "Nation building?" he joked.

Ashley pointed at them and spoke to the crowd in the stands. "This is a major problem we have here. Instead of working together some of you are already fighting over who's gonna run what."

"We are working together. And you need our help," Dante said.

"Really?" Ashley threw the major's key card onto the table in front of him. "What do I need your help for?"

The orphans behind her raised their guns and cheered. The noise was unexpected and deafening.

Ashley raised her hand, they calmed down, but only just.

Dante showed no fear and stood. "We're doing the right thing, the best for everyone. We're going to legitimize the student government. We're here in the spirit of charity and cooperation. Ask not what your district can do for you, but what you can do for your district," he smiled.

Ashley came around the tables and put the barrel of her rifle to his ear. "If I blew your brains out, how many points would that get me for charity and cooperation? I would be doing a public service, after all."

Aware that the threat was hollow unless she pulled the trigger, she lowered the rifle. "Fucking asshole," she said, walking toward the stage.

Behind the microphone stand, the teen girl looked absurd, wearing body armor two sizes too big for her, a rifle slung over her shoulder, pistols tucked into her belt and a sword strapped to her back.

She leaned toward the microphone. "Orphans of Angel City. My name is Ashley Fox. We need to talk," she said to the packed stadium.

The kids cheered and screamed.

It took a full minute for them to calm down.

Ashley leaned forward again. "We have all these adults here, who believe they are obligated to educate us in pain."

The shouted hostility for the adults forced her wait another minute.

Once quiet, she looked over to the gang leaders, "And another thing, no more zeros fighting zeros. This is our one chance. If we lose today, we're all dead. The truth is some of us probably won't make it. But if we don't work together, none of us will. We need to become one gang, an army. Are you with me?"

A tremendous cheer went up from the stands.

"Okay, wait, now listen. I know you've heard that the fucks running this place have been selling orphans, murdering us and even eating us. It's all true."

Ashley held up the detective's weapon. "I said I was gonna show you the truth, so watch." She popped the slide back and ejected the chambered cartridge.

Gage, the young hacker who'd helped Ashley first get wired up, handed her a cable. She connected it to the weapon's AV port and began scanning through the footage. The stadium monitors switched over to the stream. They fast-forwarded through target practice and cleanings.

Once she found the action in the meeting hall, she let the footage roll. The hooded Detective was introduced by his kidnapper, Escurrido, and beaten with the weapon. The massive screens and speakers broadcast the data stream to the crowd. Every monitor in the district displayed the images. Everyone watched in stunned silence.

Keller helped Morgenstern remove the bandages from his face. The forehead over the eye sockets was raw pink tissue, tender. His eyes themselves were shiny, black and faceted, alien, optical gemstones. The insect-like eyes were expensive, despite their unnerving appearance. Internally, Morgenstern's vision had been enhanced a thousand-fold, granting him awareness and focus over hundreds of spectrums, but on the outside, the eyes looked grotesque.

"We should get this thing working." Keller gestured to the packs.

Morgenstern and the Colonel knelt and unpacked the weapon system. It consisted of a wheeled-mount supporting three riot shields and two machine guns. Built for urban combat, the two-horned beast could splinter anything caught in its path, and it only took a few minutes to assemble.

Once finished, the mortician and colonel again scanned the security monitors for a suitable target. The district was either silent or engulfed in anarchy. The central stadium had become a place where madness reigned. Adults awaited justice at the hands of feral children, all in obedience to the blood-spattered Ash.

Yet the orphans seemed oddly controlled. They were coordinated and intuitively working together. Keller had never seen soldiers cooperate in such a selfless fashion, even when their lives were on the line. The children saw their enemy with clear eyes. They were unified in courage and desperation. There was no ideal way to attack all of them at once and no way to reach their obvious enemy, at their center, Miss Ashley Fox.

Keller pointed to a place on the district map. "We should attack there."

Morgenstern laughed and nodded, his new eyes glittering with broken light.

A short time later, the gang leaders and their followers had been won over, properly armed and assigned specific missions.

Dante, Yama and Frost organized the sack of the administration building. Yama and Frost oversaw the removal of the unit's terminals, having them delivered to the school, while Dante searched offices, looking for some hint to the location of the governor's secret offices.

Finally he tracked her to an abandoned wing of the old orphanage. Digging through some old maps, they realized that section was huge. Unsure of what they might be getting into, they assembled a company of a hundred orphans to help them sweep the entire space.

Soon they were clustered at the locked stairwell leading up to the abandoned wing. They tied the caged-grate doors to heavy maintenance equipment and pushed it through a newly created gap in a staircase railing.

The equipment fell three floors before the grates were jerked from the wall with a terrific snapping and wrenching of metal. The whole mess crashed to the floor below with a reverberating smash.

The orphans cautiously moved up the darkened stairwell, rifles at the ready. On the first floor, all they found was a bunch of abandoned rooms, beat-up office equipment, empty desks and filing cabinets.

It was the same for three more stories.

On the fourth level they found bloodstained walls and floors, ruined bloody clothing, pajamas, sheets, caked and dried blood everywhere. Beds so thick with murder they've bred entire colonies of insects.

The kids pulled up their shirts to cover their noses.

They soon came across the first corpse. A child's body, discarded on the floor next to one of the beds. Most of the tissue was gone. The hair lay black and ruined, the face turned away from their flashlights.

Over the next twenty minutes they found fifty-seven bodies.

Almost half were missing limbs.

Several were chained to their beds.

Someone signaled for quiet.

They'd heard something up ahead.

Terrified of what might be ahead of them, the children held their rifles pointing out and clustered in tight knots. Flashlights bobbed along over the gunners' shoulders.

The next floor revealed over a hundred corpses, newer and fresher. Wicked scars crossed their bodies. Many were missing eyes and some their lips. Some had staples across their foreheads, where parts of their brains had been removed.

Some still had empty IVs plugged into their ruined arms or legs, some tubes plugged directly into limbless torsos, Horrific as this was, the orphans were more shocked by the living children they found.

Like the corpses around them, they bore the same mutilations and scars, only they hadn't moved on yet. Their eyes cried out for mercy, an end to their torment.

Then the orphans met their adult caretakers.

The first encountered assistants were immediately riddled with bullets, but the zeros didn't hesitate to get creative with their revenge.

None of the three-dozen conspirators left those rooms alive. The images of the sadism perpetrated against the adults were recorded by adolescent cameramen and broadcast to the stadium.

The orphans found the stairwell leading up to the governor's ostentatious living quarters.

Dante insisted on going in first, with Yama and Frost. The other kids had no complaints but followed closely.

Dante made them all put their rifles on safe as they crept up the stairs. He did not want to get shot in the back, either by mistake or on purpose.

They kicked in the main door to find the bald and plum-stained Governor Maime doing her makeup, unarmed.

As they filed in, she attacked, barehanded, all teeth and claws.

The children easily subdued her, cuffed and gagged her, according to Ashley's orders.

The investigation of her quarters revealed cases full of homemade recipe books. Journals of gruesome evidence, all composed of her murdered and eaten victims. She kept ID cards, locks of hair and drops of blood, all sealed and stapled to the facing pages, opposite the description of the dishes she created and her own reviews of the taste, texture, etcetera.

Dante drove her to the stadium at makeshift spear-point, her recipe books accompanying them as evidence.

Carved from a hefty tree limb, the spear was planted in the soft earth of the field, the gagged Governor Maime secured to it by hands and throat, and guarded by machete-wielding children.

Soon, Dr. Mallus joined her; bound to his own spike, where together, they faced their captors.

Far out across the ocean, Captain Snow spotted the blinking infrared beacon of their anchored transport. The vehicle had arrived at its pre-programmed destination and awaited their arrival.

The engineers cut their speed and Captain Snow dialed the lab control room. Inside the wing, the conductor answered and saluted her. He stated that all seals were secure and that the wing was ready for submersion.

Snow gave the official clearance and the conductor nodded, repeating the order to his subordinates.

Snow gave the command and her team set their elevation controls, detached their cables and kicked away from the building.

As the 7982 wing began its descent, the engineers glided over to their vehicle. The secret projects wing broke water and a moment later vanished from view.

Inside the vehicle, Captain Snow powered up the monitor. The conductor reported that all seals were holding, all dials in the green, their landing gear deployed properly and he expected touchdown any moment.

Then the wing landed safely on the ocean floor, the conductor saluted and Snow returned the gesture of respect.

None of them wanted to go swimming, and thankfully they didn't have to. Snow gave the hand gesture to rally up and King engaged the transport's gravity drive. Their flight back would be quicker and considerably less turbulent.

Grey and the others sat in silence. He felt as though his guts had been ripped out, shuffled out and randomly stuffed back in, but it couldn't tell if it was because of the shaky ride, or because his father had just had his guts ripped out, completely replaced, and dumped back in, along with a few gallons of that brackish blue syrup.

# Chapter 44 – Free or Dead

Sunday Morning – September 25, 2310

Just before seven am, a team of municipal network administrators alerted the Angel City Police Department to the blacked out district. Further investigation revealed the lock-box, preventing local officers from meaningful reconnaissance.

Despite the fact that all communication with the district was down, the police picked up the internal broadcast from the stadium. The kids were beaming a real time feed for anyone who cared to tune in.

In typical fashion, as soon as the department dispatched their first patrol, the news crews reported to the scene. By six am, all the major networks and their local affiliates had massive trucks and transmitters anchored on all sides of the district. They beamed reports of the black out, inter-cut with bits of the earlier stories on Ashley as well as the murdered and now missing district governor and her security chief.

They also recorded and amplified the transmission from the stadium in real time. The whole world watched the horrifically violent events unfolding on the district below. Auntie's discovery and the evidence against her, as well as Ashley's experiences at the meeting hall, all openly available to anyone who might be interested.

Gage pushed all the signals out through the main dish. In possession of Ashley's stolen router, there was nothing he couldn't do.

The stage was awash with heavily armed children. Ashley stood at their center. Cole's handgun lay on the podium, feeding its signal into the monitors. The orphans in the stands watched the recent event from the weapon's point of view.

Slick was protesting the locked doors. Escurrido raised and pointed the gun at him, but then set it on the chair. The cuffed and blindfolded detective knocked Escurrido out and the gun was forgotten.

Morgenstern unveiled Ashley. She took his eye. He choked her unconscious and was shot by Slick. Soon after, Abbot attacked him. The Reverend vomited on Big Texas and Dunkirk, who followed him from main hall.

The orphans cheered as Ashley woke, picked up the gun and shot Nelson.

Dunkirk returned in flames, followed by the Reverend, who made short work of the Governor and the Texan. He helped Ashley and the teens escape by blowing apart the chains at the front doors.

Ashley carried the weapon outside.

Keller shot the teens as he and Morgenstern crossed through the main room. Ashley's gun fired at them but they went into kitchen, deeper into the meeting hall

The orphans watched as she fled into the alley, where moments later, she confronted the murderers and shot them both. The orphans cheered themselves hoarse as Ashley fled with the weapon.

The monitors cut from the handgun, back to Gage's main camera. Ash stood behind the podium, very much alive, her adult hostages crowded onto the field behind her, beaten and broken. She held the gun aloft.

The children cheered and applauded with painful enthusiasm. They fired their weapons into the air, cracking the luminescent dome overhead.

Ashley held up the document Grey had given her, only a few hours earlier, and raised the microphone to her lips.

"This was written over a hundred years ago by one of us, right here in this district. During a riot, he escaped and later became a citizen. He even became Chief Executive. And here's what he had to say about this shithole...

"Plans for the Violent Overthrow of District Thirteen..."

The recently liberated zeros screamed with unrestrained fury.

Ashley waited for them to settle down.

"Plans for the Violent Overthrow of District Thirteen and Reformation of the Republic. By Dakota Elijah Grey, July 12, 2232."

"First, the death penalty must be abolished. Until we acknowledge the value of all life, we cannot respect it."

Ashley laughed and looked over her shoulder at the captive adults. "Should we apply this rule to these retards?"

The orphans packing the stands booed.

Ashley went back to the document, "Second, the Republic must declare all people everywhere _Equal_ , with equal rights. Gated Citizenship is slavery by mutual consent, an assault on basic human dignity and the integrity of the individual."

All across the globe, Ashley and District Thirteen had become big news. Her fight with Mo, her execution and the subsequent riots, this was the story of the day and the people watched.

On the surface, the district appeared desolate, but watching the broadcast transmitted from inside the stadium, it was obvious things were out of control.

The police department, swat teams and National Guard reserve moved into position, surrounding the district on all sides and just as importantly, pushing back news outlets and other non-essential personnel.

Ashley continued to read, "The gates of citizenship are the birth of your conflict, a misery which you spread and inflict upon others.

"If all men are equal, then all rights of citizenship must be conferred upon all members of the race, everywhere, equally. With the gates of citizenship in practice, surely all men cannot be considered equal.

"This nation was once the home of liberty, a beacon of hope for all men, founded on the concept that all were equal under the law.

"Everyone. Equal. Everywhere. Citizenship is dead.

"We declare war upon the true thieves and torturers of Angel City, those who profit most, the top one percent, board members, the shareholders, the CEOs and CFOs, bankers, and bourgeoisie, the oppressors of their brothers.

"You paper men, you lawyers and executives are a weak and cowardly bunch. You have no discipline. You hire and exploit real men to do your dirty work for you. Once we find you, your soldiers will abandon you or die, and then you will crumble and burn. You are the real traitors of all mankind; we will seize your Property and redistribute your Wealth among your orphans.

"You think we are worthless and treat us like refuse, but we are the children of men and Liberty is our God. We will execute her enemies with her praises on our lips."

Ashley set down the rage filled papers.

Ash smiled. "I like this old guy. He knew his shit."

The orphans exploded into overwhelming applause.

The air was charged with the weight of the moment.

"As for what I think about all of this." Ashley looked at the hostage adults. "I think we would be justified in killing every one of you."

The kids in the stands roared with applause and cheers.

Several orphans dashed onto the field to attack the helpless adults. They carried batons and a few even had machetes.

"But that's not what we're going to do!" Ashley shouted.

The boys didn't stop in their attack. They continued to swing on the unarmed adults. Some were falling, mortally wounded.

Ash screamed, "Stop!" into the microphone, but she was barely heard.

Several adults were down now.

Ashley held the detective's weapon next to the microphone and fired.

The amplified sound was deafening.

On the field, the orphans paused in their abuse of the helpless adults.

"Stop!" Ashley said again. "Go back to your seats."

A few adults were severely hurt, dying or dead.

Most of the boys turned and walked back toward the bleachers.

Suddenly, Ash felt deeply ashamed.

However, it simply would not do for her to lose her cool here, in front of everyone. She took a deep breath.

A couple of the more aggressive orphans remained on the field.

"We can't just let them go," one yelled back to Ashley.

"We're not going to," she replied.

"You said they were going to blow us up!" the other shouted.

"Listen to me. They are our ticket out of here," she explained. "Don't lose your head now."

"Who died and made you God?" the first boy asked. Ashley recognized him; he was a Devil, one of Dante's crew.

Ashley stormed from the stage. Her weapon pointed directly at the face the young devil that dared question her.

Swoop and the cameras followed, broadcasting her every move and word onto the big screens overhead.

"Hey, you stupid fuck, I beat Mo. I killed Lethal. That's who died. Your old gods are dead. And who the fuck are you? You wouldn't be here, if it weren't for me."

Ashley didn't hesitate, upon reaching the boy; she punched him in the mouth. He dropped his machete as he fell backward.

Ash towered over him. "You listen to me now, if you want to survive the next twelve hours, you little asshole."

She looked back at the stands and the cameramen surrounding her.

"This goes for everyone of you here. Anyone questions my orders, anyone wants to fight me, come and face me, one on one, or five on one. I don't care. But until then, I am your King, or General, or whatever the fuck. Until then, I'm the boss."

"Just like the old boss," the wounded orphan retorted.

Ashley kicked him in the face, knocking him unconscious.

"I'm willing to discuss anything, if you can be reasonable, but if you if you threaten me, I will fucking end you."

After a moment of silence, the orphans roared.

They chanted her name as she returned to the stage.

After a brief moment, Ash smiled.

The kids in the stands laughed.

The tension was broken.

"Go," she ordered the gang members still on the field, pointing back at the stadium bleachers.

Several adults were kicked as the extra zeros walked from the field. Ashley had already conscripted specific rifle-toting gangs to act as guards for the prisoners, she didn't want extra orphans getting caught in the cross fire if the adults go out of hand.

One orphan, as he walked back toward the bleachers, sliced off an adult's ear and threw it at the girl.

Ashley was mortified.

_This was her fault_.

She had caused all of this, not her father, like she'd thought earlier. It certainly was not the fault of the black knife he'd left her, even if it was an _intelligent_ computer. Ashley realized that was the first time she'd admitted the truth to herself.

The Micronix, the prototypes she and Geoffrey now both carried, was intelligent. Ever since it had come into her possession _things_ had been different; she had been different.

Right now, at this moment, watching a boy casually slice an adult's ear off and throw it at her, this was not her father. This was not the device. This was her own fault, her own doing. Whatever influences she might have had, this would always be her fault. This is what she had created in her own life.

Then, suddenly, in the same moment, Ashley realized that He, the Ear Slicer, was responsible for his own actions. She was involved, but she didn't slice the ear off. The same as those on the field arrayed before her were responsible for their own actions.

They had made this necessary; they had tried to kill her.

All over the world, people watched. She was re-broadcast on almost every channel. The news channels split the screen, displaying swat and National Guard troops moving into position, while on the other half of the screen Ashley continued her rant.

"Did you know, the law says that if a citizen attacks you, you can only use enough force to defend yourself from his attack? For example if he threatens you, all you can do, legally, is yell and run away."

She allowed the children a moment to shout their replies.

"I'm with you. Fuck that. If someone insults me, I break his face. If he tries to punch me, I break his arm. If some asshole comes at me with a weapon, I will put him in the ground.

"That includes cowardly attacks from a distance, or through some scheme, like hiring assassins, or soldiers, or cops. First, I will kill your soldiers, and then I will come and find you where you live and I will murder you in your sleep. I'm coming for you, I am your karma."

Ash turned away from the cameras and addressed the prisoners. "You are all Citizens, correct?"

No one replied.

"Many of you have been assigned to this district as part of your citizenship-mandated public service, correct?"

Again, no one replied.

"Now, Who's willing to denounce their citizenship as immoral and demand equality for all people?"

No one spoke or moved.

"Let's make it easy for both of us. Uncuff them." Ash gestured to her soldiers for the restrained citizens to be freed.

Almost every child carried a blade of some sort or another. She waited as the machete-wielding children freed the hands of their captives. Ashley held almost fifteen hundred prisoners, but not all of them had been bound.

The district's census was skewed toward the older end on the orphan side, while the guards and teachers were mostly young adults themselves.

Competent orphans outnumbered the citizens better than five-to-one. Full-grown adults in their thirties were few and far between, and heavily outgunned by the fearless and angry children.

It took a good five minutes to sever the bonds, even so grossly outnumbered. Several adults decided this was their chance to make a stand, but none escaped and only seven were killed or knocked out.

Ashley held up the microphone. "We are going to give them a choice. The only way we can only beat them; is if we don't become them."

"We can beat them with sticks," the Ear Slicer yelled, as he strutted from the field.

A large number of the orphans laughed at this remark.

Even Ashley smiled. "That's not what I meant." The smile crept into her voice and the good humor was amplified through the speakers. "I do have a plan."

The statement elicited more cheers and yells from the children.

Ash turned and addressed the adults, calmly, rationally. "We're going to settle this once and for all, between us, at least. We're going to do it with a vote. Everyone's vote counts. What you choose over the next few minutes will change your life."

The orphans assembled in the stands listened attentively, curious.

"First, the death penalty should be abolished. And second, citizenship should be equal rights for everyone, on the whole planet. Two questions, one vote."

No one spoke.

"Raise your left hand if you want to keep things the way they are. Raise your right if you think everyone should be equal under the law."

No one moved.

"Left, in the name of the Republic, stay a citizen, try to change things from the inside. Right, renounce citizenship as immoral and declare all men equal. Sound simple, right? So, okay, go ahead."

They didn't move.

Ashley raised the handgun at the adults. "Go on, vote." She pulled the hammer back; it clicked loudly over the speakers. "Somebody vote, or I'll just start shooting you."

They continued to hesitate.

"I can bring them back out onto the field." Ashley pointed to the stands.

The Orphans screamed, whistled and cheered.

Ash slowly and dramatically pointed her gun directly into the crowd of teachers and guards.

Slowly the citizens placed their votes.

Most of the humanitarians voted for equality, raising their right hands high, but some did vote for citizenship. The soldiers voted for citizenship, almost to a man.

Ash instructed the orphan soldiers to separate them by their vote, left and right, a few teachers joining the clustered guards, but almost no guards on the equality side.

Ashley shook her head with disappointment.

She gestured for Swoop and the other cameramen to back off while she conferred with Hambone and Oddball. "Which medical bay is safest, hardest to get to?"

"The Bolt's," Hambone answered.

Ashley turned to Gage, "Can you shut off the monitors there?"

"Sure, easy," he answered.

Ashley pointed to the assembled instructors. "Separate out the nurses and medical staff you think you can trust and take them down there. Take their phones and cut all the cables to the monitors."

"What, why?" Oddball asked.

"We will need to them to stitch us up if we get away."

"If." Hambone and Oddball said simultaneously.

Ashley smiled.

"Okay, but why cut the monitors?" Hambone asked.

"Because if they see what I'm going to do up here, I don't think they'll want to help us. Now go."

She assigned several platoons of zeros to accompany the teachers who'd voted for equality to God's Hotel and to inform them that they're being evacuated.

Oddball nudged Hambone and they called over a waiting platoon to lead the good ex-citizens from the stadium.

Ashley and the orphans continued with their plans and preparations until Oddball radioed that they were ready.

The footage streamed out across the world.

Mayor Westbury gave the command to prepare for the attack. Swat and the National Guard moved their assault craft into ready positions, along the outermost edges of the crisis box, but without the codes, they could not breach the locked magnetic barrier.

Leonard had called every political department the Mayor could think of, but no one claimed responsibility for the crisis-box.

High above the chaos, Captain Snow and her soldiers returned to the district. They activated their invisibility cloaks and stepped from their transport. Using minimal power, they dropped past the surrounding police, National Guard and news outlets.

Snow had specified the old orphanage as their rally point and the soldiers briefly congregated there. At Snow's command, Captain Grey was sent to double-check his charges. First Sergeant _Tarnung_ King, Splitter and Sorpresa were assigned to the stadium, while Captain Snow set out to secure the infants and toddlers on God's Hotel.

On the screens, on the stadium field, Ashley approached Auntie and Dr. Mallus. "Agatha Dorchester Maime, Governor of Angel City, District Thirteen, we charge you with cannibalism and crimes against humanity. We hold you responsible for the serial murder of hundreds of children and introduce your personally assembled cookbooks as evidence."

Ash turned to Doctor Mallus. "We also charge the Chief Surgeon, Doctor Lorenzo Mallus, with hundreds of murders by lethal injection. We introduce your cactus statues.

"Confronted with the evidence before me I have no choice but to find you both guilty. Oh, wait, how do you plead?"

Ash didn't wait for their answer.

She stepped forward, drawing and swinging the Little Dragon, slashing Auntie's head clean off, in one smooth stroke.

A fountain of blood sprayed from the severed stump.

Lifeless, the body sagged to the ground, but unsatisfied, as it was still restrained by the spear.

Ashley approached the Doctor.

"I plead innocent, I plead innocent." he chattered.

She slashed again.

His head jumped free and his life's blood shot into the air.

"Your plea will be taken into consideration," she said.

The children cheered for all they were worth.

Majors Armitage and Watrous had also been arrested. Ashley didn't speak to them at all, but in two more clean strokes, she separated their heads from their necks.

Ash lifted Auntie's head onto the stake restraining her dead body. Blood and other cranial fluid ran down the spike as she speared it. The Doctor's and the Majors' heads took similar places atop tall splinters of wood or metal.

One of Ashley's requests had been for the children to dismantle sections of the Old Orphanage's gothic fencing. Dozens pointed metal stakes had been carried in and distributed among the orphans. Finding sharp pointy things had been much less trouble than anyone could have anticipated, and there were at least fifty other adults that had been singled out by the zeros as having been among the district's worst offenders.

Ashley encouraged the orphans to confront the guilty with their crimes in person.

Morgenstern and Keller wheeled the dragon across the district without encountering a single zero. The hovering police and news vehicles, however, did see them. A sniper relayed their movements to his superiors and asked for permission to fire, but was asked to wait for clearance, which never came.

Orphans all over the district occupied strategic positions, but the police didn't know anything about it. They had hung the terillium netting across the open spaces of the parking garages, concealing their movements. All weapons and riflemen were ordered to remain below the ledge until the police got past the lock-box.

Outside the crisis box, the police department and National Guard awaited orders. They didn't have the access codes and so couldn't move their vehicles through the lock box if they had wanted to.

Westbury had called in some favors and a group of hackers were working on digitally cracking the box.

ACPD Swat, like Keller and Morgenstern, had begun cabling men down onto an upper wing of the Old Orphanage.

Grey's instructions to Ashley, to abandon the Old Orphanage, ensured that it, with its high towers, would be one of their first landing points. It wouldn't be long before they found the Governor's torture wards.

Almost immediately, the swat team was stalled by the discovery of the dozens of child corpses. They also rescued dozens of captive children, orphans in desperate need of medical attention, as a result of their time in Governor Maime's captivity.

On the monitors, the citizens accused of crimes were brought forward. Ashley asked only that the children accuse the citizen of their crime in public. After which they were free to pronounce any verdict and sentence, to be carried out immediately.

The crimes and grievances were graphic and exotic. Rape, torture, all the standard fare, but also accusations of murder and selling children were brought forward on the behalf of absent victims.

Several were shot, impaled, burned and attacked with machetes. Ashley made no objections to loaning out the Dragon. The curved ribbon of steel drank from many throats that morning.

After the guilty were mercifully dispatched, Ashley again addressed those who had voted for citizenship over equality.

"This is your second chance. Would you rather be equal or dead?"

Dozens of right arms went up.

Ash again had them separated, another group marched off toward God's Hotel.

She stared at the remaining citizens, those who had twice voted in favor of the gates of citizenship.

She gave the signal and several dozen orphans walked out onto the field, surrounding the adults. They were carrying lit torches and machetes.

One at a time, the citizens were again given an opportunity to vote.

All but a few voted for equality.

Those who voted with their left arms, lost them to steel and fire.

These orphans, hard gang members one and all, did not shirk from what Ashley asked them to do.

The challenge for these children wasn't whether they could stand the sight of blood, but whether they could get a clean cut. Their challenge was to take the arm in a single stroke.

The challenge for the guards was to stomach it, without crying, for which they would only be beaten and teased.

Those carrying the torches showed no aversion in cauterizing the wounds, though many guards screamed during this part of the ritual and lost consciousness.

Of the remaining soldiers, less one arm, most were in shock. Almost no one was standing. Only a few could stay on their feet.

Ash casually approached the biggest, toughest soldier on the field. He was older, experienced, battle scarred, standing straight as could be. He hadn't participated in the voting and had lost his left arm for it. His face was crossed with lacerations and spotted with bruises. His arm lay at his feet, yet he stood strong.

Once Ashley was within arms' reach of the soldier, she didn't hesitate, slashing his head from his neck. None of the remaining soldiers stood with the dignity this man had.

Ashley had lost her taste for the brutality and hoped her point had been made.

She signaled for Dante and his men to see to the prisoners, as they had agreed. On the field, Dante and his Devils were hardly noticed.

Most of the orphans were more interested in staking claims on the too few vehicles and picking out choice spots for fighting off the police.

Frost and Yama had objected to guarding the adults, but it was clear Dante was up to something.

Once Ashley left, and the remaining zeros were Dante's loyal soldiers, he stepped over to the corralled the citizens. "She wants to hold you, keep you here, but I've got a better idea."

The doors leading under the bleachers were opened and the adults were forced to pick up their severed limbs and roughly escorted from the field to the central freight elevator. From there, they were taken to the lowest level of the complex, the parking structure under the Iron Fist's campground level.

The one-armed ex-citizens were crowded into the parking garage and seated on the floor, behind a makeshift barricade.

The relocation of the healthy guards exposed dozens of wounded citizens, lying on the grass, too wounded to travel.

Dante walked through the field, executing them with a pistol.

# Chapter 45 – The Easy Way Is Mined

Around ten-thirty in the morning, First Sergeant King moved into the central stadium, followed by Splitter and Sorpresa. This was, at one time, definitely the right place. Now, however, it was abandoned, only blood, trash and corpses remained. Governor Maime's head stood next to Dr. Mallus's on stakes near the center of the field.

On the monitors, Ashley was still organizing their defense. Several hours old, the broadcast was a perfect distraction. Sergeant King watched as Ashley spoke to some of the kids on the monitors overhead. In the background the prisoners huddled on the field.

In reality, however, the killing was over and had been for some time. The orphans had played them all.

King directed Splitter and Sorpresa to the rooftop access door. They flew over the stands and exited the stadium.

Outside on the rooftop Corporal Sorpresa pulled off his mask and vomited for the second time that morning.

First Sergeant King radioed Captain Snow. "Ma'am, we have a problem."

Hovering above the crowd of teens and adults at God's Hotel, Snow replied, "Only one?"

"The stream was delayed by a couple hours at least. It's a mess in there."

Sorpresa threw up again, loud, wet and meaty.

"We're going to need a minute before we're airborne," King said.

"Copy, First Sergeant."

Splitter interrupted, "Ma'am, permission to speak?"

"Go," Captain Snow answered.

"We need to redistribute the charges!" Splitter exclaimed.

"Say again?"

"We should sink this shithole! They have to pay for what they did! Those were citizens!" Splitter sounded angry and irrational.

"Sergeant, we're talking about children here."

"They're savages, animals, all of them! This place is a cancer! Senator Miller is right. We should burn it off the face of the earth. That girl especially."

The Staff Sergeant advanced on King. "We can't let them do this."

"They did it. It can't be undone," King said.

"We can't let them get away with it," Splitter argued. "We can't just let them sail out to high water. This is bullshit! I swear to god, I'm not letting them get away with this!" Splitter gestured with his rifle. More than once he'd pointed it directly at First Sergeant King.

King looked at Splitter and made a decision. "You're right, okay. You're right. Here's what we're going to do."

King walked over to the woozy Sorpresa. He shook him by the shoulder. "Can you fly?"

Sorpresa nodded.

"Get your mask on." King triggered his comm-set "Captain, we're moving. Splitter's right, this is something we have to take care of now."

"Say again, Sergeant," Captain Snow ordered.

"We're coming to you, Captain. I think we should meet in the security wing, get ourselves squared away."

The soldiers heard her exasperated sigh, "Copy, Sergeant."

Sorpresa turned and stepped off the rooftop. King and Splitter followed, with King taking the lead. They sailed toward the rooftop of God's Hotel.

Onscreen Ashley directed hundreds of orphans in preparing for the imminent police attack. In a nod to Drews, and a deft consolidation of power, Ashley had commissioned the gang leaders as her generals.

There were tons of things that needed doing and tons of kids who needed things to do. Whatever she didn't handle personally, Big Chris or Drews took over for her.

Kazimov and Hambone, with Jones, Rudy and Taylor, were occupied with the car keys. They handed out keys and radios to the four man fire teams. Using the radios, the teens were able to find the correct cars for the corresponding keys with an astounding lack of difficulty. Before long, groups of armed orphans had been assigned to the necessary posts, relative to their specific cars.

The police, deceived by the false broadcast, believed the children were still in the stadium. It also seemed likely that they intended to kill the hostages. Mayor Westbury's hackers disabled the crisis box and he gave the command to launch a full assault.

With hours to prepare, the orphans had carefully hung the terillium netting across the open spaces in the district's parking garages. From behind it, they watched the police gear up for their big approach. The zeros kept their weapons below the ledge, waiting for the perfect moment.

The police and the National Guard vehicles sailed through the crisis box as the orphans' rifle barrels slipped up under the netting.

From behind the thin layer of bulletproof material, from open windows inside the school, from everywhere on the bolt, the orphans opened fire.

They had the officers and soldiers from every direction, and fired in concert. The police vehicles, though heavily reinforced, took a significant beating. The barrage scrubbed the vehicles of every unarmored protrusion. Mirrors, lights, antenna and landing gear, all were destroyed as the vehicles made their play for a successful boarding.

However, the blaze of gunfire didn't stop the assault. It was the stream of citizens being pushed from the lowest level garages that caught law enforcement's attention.

The adults were being pushed out into empty space, one hundred twenty seconds between them and the ground. Several of them were missing arms, or holding them, the severed limbs falling with them.

The combination of the incoming rounds and the forced ejection of the hostages caused the assault to break apart.

Several vehicles immediately began rescue operations, circling downward, collecting the falling bodies with their nets. Some of them hit the vehicles, leaving bloody marks in their passing, but none were missed.

Inside the garage Dante smiled. After about a hundred adults, he cut off the stream of forced jumpers. His plan worked, their assault had crumbled.

The news crews focused on the chaos and broadcast images of the falling bodies. In his office, Mayor Westbury leapt to his feet, an irrepressible grin slathered across his face.

Leonard feared the implications of that grin, but it was too late. They were both damned.

The portion of the incoming assault team that managed to land, found themselves on the old orphanage. The zeros had deliberately left it unguarded. It was the one place they could easily contain the officers.

Using a leapfrog strategy, the kids tactfully retreated. They let the police take ground, only to find it booby-trapped and then be attacked again. After losing a couple officers, the cops became irrationally desperate to hold their ground.

The children would let them have it and then withdraw a little more.

Soon the orphans had withdrawn to the bridges, and those were blown. The old orphanage became the police department's default HQ in the district.

Several teams had been assigned to secure the stadiums, it was a central part of their strategy, and it was from that area that they had been fought the hardest.

Before the assault, it was presumed that most of the orphans were occupied with their violent posturing in the stadium. It was now clear that the broadcast had been a ruse.

The volume of fire that met their initial assault, along with the expulsion of the hostages, implied that the images onscreen couldn't be happening in real-time. The orphans had been lying in wait.

The police forces had been reduced to half strength in a single assault. Several vehicles had been too damaged to make an accurate landing. The commanders knew their cause was lost. They could never take and hold the district against such superior and organized numbers.

Several soldiers acknowledged that the textbook definition of the word _infantry_ had beaten their years of experience and superior firepower.

The orphans had shown power, decisiveness and cunning. The ruthless expulsion of the hostages had forced the police to reconsider their approach.

A few swat teams came in from directly overhead. They reached the rooftop of the domed amphitheater and made their way down to the next group of smaller stadiums.

Prepared for imminent hostilities, they discovered the abandoned central stadium, where corpses littered the field. By radio, they confirmed what many already suspected. The broadcast had been delayed.

The trio of combat engineers approached the top floor of the facility commonly known as God's Hotel. They wirelessly hacked a maintenance door and entered.

Invisible and silent, King, Splitter and Sorpresa floated at the end of a hallway in the infants' ward. Sounds of new lungs crying and cooing gradually registered as signs of life, as opposed to the cries of death they resembled.

God's Hotel had been one of the west coasts' premier resort hotels. Then it had grown old, fallen out of fashion and been donated to charity. The district allocated the unit for toddlers and infants. Life on God's Hotel was the inverse of the rest of the district.

The younger the child, the higher the floor they lived on, starting with the maternity ward they currently floated through. As the orphans grew older, they were moved down through the building until they started school. At that age, they were transferred to the Old Orphanage or the Athletic Complex.

Once a child entered school, getting sent to the Bolt was relatively easy. All you had to do was mildly annoy any of the adult supervisors on the wrong day. God's Hotel was paradise by comparison.

The female orphans who lived aboard the district were secretly, and temporarily, rendered infertile by the food and water, but infant orphans in a city of thirty million were expected.

The next two floors were that of a hospital fused with a preschool. The combat engineers remained silent as they passed the nurses, huddled with the babies and toddlers.

The video monitors had been disconnected, the shades were drawn and the women kept the young children focused on games or stories, distracted from what was happening outside.

King thanked God they were invisible. He was well aware that their presence would have caused the room to devolve into panic and desperation.

Evacuated personnel occupied the lower levels, teachers, nurses and soldiers who'd voted to surrender citizenship in the interests of survival and equality, but mostly survival.

King entered the administration wing. They met Captain Snow in the security offices. King led the soldiers into an empty holding cell, seeming to desire a private conversation.

Captain Snow shut the door.

They pulled their oxygen masks off.

"Look. Okay. I get it." Splitter said. "No one wants to sink a bunch of innocent kids. But they're not innocent. What they did in the stadium was unforgivable. There must be a hundred corpses in there. Citizen corpses. Someone has to answer for that!"

First Sergeant King looked at the floor, "There's a lot at play here. We have to be cautious. We don't call the shots."

The staff sergeant looked over to his captain. "So what are we going to do?"

"We aren't going to do anything." Snow answered.

"Then what are we doing in this shithole district?" he asked. "They're killing US Citizens! We can't allow that. This is all because of that guy Kilo! Fuck that son of a bitch. Where is he anyhow?"

"He's double checking the detonators, making sure everything is still wired." Captain Snow answered.

Splitter didn't like the menacing looks he was getting from First Sergeant King and Captain Snow. Like he'd been hit with a laser, he realized what was happening.

The others watched understanding wash over his face. Splitter pulled his weapon; no one spoke or moved to stop him. He held it, pointed at First Sergeant King.

"Do you realize you're pointing a weapon at me, Sergeant?"

Splitter lowered the gun.

King put a hand on Splitter's shoulder. "You seem a little stressed out. I need you to take a step back for a minute. We're not going to put anything in your jacket, but things are about to get real hairy out there and we still have a mission to complete. You understand what I'm saying."

Splitter nodded. He calmly gave up his weapons without a fight.

"Go on, take a seat, kid."

Splitter sat down on the wall bench of the plastic holding cell.

Snow, King and Sorpresa replaced their masks and stepped out. Splitter stayed on the bench.

Captain Snow locked the door.

Outside the cell, Captain Snow told King to take Sorpresa over to the athletic complex and look for kids or adults who needed medical evacuation.

King nodded and they set off.

# Chapter 46 – You Can't Go Home Again

On the first level athletic complex parking garage, Ash sat in the passenger seat of a convertible muscle car. The Meta/Micronix dug into her hip. The canvas top was up, Kaz sat in the driver's seat, while Sky and Geoff were huddled in the back, cramped and buried in rifles, cases of ammunition and gear.

Ash listened to two radios; they had one tuned to the police band and another handheld unit for reports from the teen commanders.

The cops were in a tailspin. The police had returned fire but only briefly. Dante's bold gambit paid off.

Ashley had deliberately left the hostages in the stadium so they would be protected during the firefight, but once the police assault became a rescue operation, chasing falling adults, it hadn't taken much effort to figure out what happened. Ash clearly remembered Dante volunteering to guard the hostages. It had seemed odd and now she knew why.

"We need to keep them alive," she had said.

"I understand." Dante had looked her in the eyes.

She confirmed the forced exodus by radio, but decided not to confront him over it. His idea, however ruthless, had worked. After all, he had released hostages, alive. It would be difficult to argue with his success and now was not the time. Instead she kept the orphans focused on their efforts to protect the parking garages and the others still hiding in the dorms.

They listened to the radioed reports. Once they got news of the police breaching the stadium, Ashley climbed out of the stuffy car. Kaz joined her, followed by Sky and Geoff who climbed out of the crowded back seat.

The sounds of gunfire came to them from everywhere and nowhere. All around them, kids ran back and forth with supplies for their teammates.

Kaz triggered the ragtop, retracting it into its compartment. Since she had such a central role in the on-screen diversion, Ashley's fire team wasn't involved with the initial assault. If the police had spotted her outside the stadium, before they realized the broadcast was a scam, that jig would have been up.

Besides, Ashley didn't want Geoffrey running around in the mix. It was easier to watch him if he was with her. She had insisted that he stay with Sky, in the car, keeping both of them out of harm's way.

Now that the police had discovered their ruse, there seemed little reason to remain in the cramped vehicle. Passing orphans waved to them, but no great catastrophe met with her getting out and stretching her legs.

All across the district, the Angel City Officers were ruthlessly pinned down by the coordinated teens. The orphans had acquired all the district's small arms and they didn't hesitate to fire on the cops.

In spite of the chaos, the police and National Guard had secured a landing site on the backside of the Old Orphanage. They streamed ships in until there wasn't any more room to anchor. In the end they had more than two hundred officers with boots on the ground, but their command was fragmented, severely hampering their effectiveness.

For the most part the orphans showed little or no restraint. They killed indiscriminately and without mercy, as if their lives depended on it.

Soon the officers were reduced to isolated pockets of soldiers holding defensive positions. Without clear objectives, they were easily outmaneuvered and picked off.

The Police department's crisis control center, a massive flotilla, was anchored outside the district, beyond the range of the children's weapons.

In the control room, a junior officer approached his superior.

"Mayor Westbury, again sir," he said, handing the phone to Major Schoneville.

Westbury demanded the major commit all his soldiers in a surprise attack.

"Well, it wouldn't really be a surprise, sir. It would be more of a _second wave_."

The mayor's reply was not heard.

"Yes, sir. Right away, sir." Schoneville hung up.

The control room was silent. The men waited, looking at the officer.

He raised his head. "Direct order, open fire, all weapons."

The men passed the command down the line. A ripple went through the ranks and the assembled soldiers opened fire on the district.

They opened up with everything they had, mostly small arms fire. They hadn't come prepared for a siege war. They didn't stock rockets or missiles for regular patrols.

As soon as the gunfire started, Dante again began forcing citizens out into the empty sky. The National Guard and Coast Guard had foreseen this tactic and deployed large numbers of nets and rescue craft. Still, the wicked maneuver did influence some officers to hold their fire, if only so as not to strike the falling citizens.

Across the city, Mayor Westbury watched the firefight with a pair of binoculars from his balcony. He laughed, giggled and danced about like a rather large, ungainly child.

Leonard sat alongside, silently enjoying the sunshine, thinking he might have to buy Detective Cole more than one beer to apologize.

For eleven minutes the cops and guards rained wave after wave of hot fire at the orphanage. They only paused to launch troops in transports.

The orphans themselves fired from behind cover when and where they could. Three times they turned assault craft back. Some were killed on both sides, but no new ground changed hands.

From her place deep in the garage Ashley was hearing troubling reports. Despite the fact that no one had been firing from God's Hotel, orphans and police alike reported that it had taken a significant amount of damage.

Ashley hadn't posted any shooters there, deliberately to keep it from becoming a target. The police also knew the resort facility was designated as the toddler's residence and had refrained from firing at it.

Ashley and her crew ran over to the northwest side of the garage. They were up above the hotel and had a perfect view of the chaos.

It was burning in three places and the front area was massively destroyed. Dozens of windows had been shot out and the fires fed columns of thick black smoke high into the air. The bodies of murdered citizens and small children were strewn all across the grounds.

Sometime Earlier...

Keller and Morgenstern reached their destination. They'd crossed the athletic complex and boarded the maintenance section of God's Hotel. To reach the main floor, where most of the children and adults had congregated, their best route was through the maintenance corridors, into the administration section and through the abandoned security offices.

As they passed the holding cells, Morgenstern, with his enhanced vision, saw that a soldier had been imprisoned. He also saw that Splitter wore powered up phase camouflage, making him undetectable to the naked eye. Morgenstern explained their good fortune to Keller.

The senior ranked colonel entered the cell and ordered Staff Sergeant Splitter to remove the phase cam control unit.

Splitter was, at this time invisible and it was clear that Keller couldn't see him, yet there was no way past him and through the door.

He remained silent.

Keller drew his weapon and turned, handing it to someone in the hall.

Morgenstern stepped into the small cell, raised the weapon and fired at Splitter's head.

It only took a couple minutes to strip the camouflage unit and attach it to their rolling weapon system. Keller cranked it up to full volume, giving them a twelve-foot radius of invisibility, and made their way to the building's front atrium.

There were almost a thousand adults gathered with the resident toddlers on the hotel grounds. Children and adults milled along the shore of the miniature lake that dominated a large part of the grounds. They hung out in the gardens and sitting rooms, filling the spaces through out the ground floor of the building.

Keller and Morgenstern moved to the front of the building, an unseen lethal presence in the midst of those who had voted for life and equality.

With a ripping sound not unlike an invisible bolt of lightning, Keller and Morgenstern opened fire. The red-hot slugs ripped through the crowd, destroying everything in their path, plant, animal or otherwise. Within moments they'd decimated the lobby and ground floor.

Captain Snow had been caught off guard by the brutal attack and only got off three rounds before they moved inside.

She dropped, chasing them, but the moment she found a clean shot, they withdrew further, destroying everything they came across. The machine gun reduced all matter to hand-sized chunks, furniture, people and walls, pulverized into single servings. The children and citizens had no idea who was firing on them, or which way to run.

As Captain Snow pursued the murderers, they entered an elevator, ascending to spread death among the least-deserving children and nurses.

Snow could hear them firing again on the upper floors. She flew out to the front of the building and fired at them through the walls and windows.

The copper slugs from her fifty-caliber plasma rifle ripped through glass and wood, but veered and ricocheted of the terillium armor plates of the death machine.

People screamed and ran in every direction. Even though she was able to track Keller and Morgenstern across multiple spectrums, she had nothing resembling a clear shot. She was obscured at every turn, while their targets surrounded them.

Snow was overcome by the massacre left in their wake.

Flames licked the walls and the grounds of the resort. Bodies of children and adults alike were carelessly strewn, broken, red and black among the smoldering grounds.

Frustrated, she relayed the situation to Grey, King and Sorpresa, who didn't even know the hotel had been attacked. After locking up Splitter, they had been airlifting wounded kids to ambulances parked around the district. Before long, they were escorting ambulances into the district, hiding them from view and getting them back out invisibly.

Grey had just finished double-checking the charges on the far side of the district when Snow called for support.

Keller and Morgenstern escaped the inferno of God's Hotel through a freight entrance on the far side. Captain Snow had begun mobilizing some of the surviving nurses.

The killers were halfway across the bridge to the athletic complex when the battery in Splitter's phase cam reached the end of its charge. Having cranked the device to its highest imaging radius, they'd burned the unit out. Now half the district, and a number of cops, watched as they wheeled their guns across the open trestle.

As most of the gunfights had paused to admire their handiwork, no one missed them.

The volume of firepower that rang out from the garages chased the two veterans behind the heavy shields of their cart. They pushed forward, desperate to reach the corridors of the complex and escape the line of fire.

From her place in the garage, directly above them, Ashley set her last three grenades to contact detonation, pulled the pins, and dropped them over the ledge.

The grenades hit the bridge right in front of Keller and Morgenstern and triggered the explosives set by Grey earlier, utterly destroying the wheeled machine-gun mount.

The smoke cleared to reveal Morgenstern lying unconscious fifty feet back, near the entrance of the bridge. Keller was nowhere to be seen.

On the radio, some of the orphans reported seeing him fall.

It wasn't clear how he'd avoided the coast guard's rescue nets, but he wasn't spotted in any of them.

As Grey flew toward God's Hotel, he too saw the colonel and mortician attempting to cross the bridge with their wheeled guns.

He watched Ashley drop her grenades. Huddled behind the swat shields, the explosion knocked Morgenstern unconscious. Keller was tossed over the edge.

Grey dove for the falling colonel. He didn't want a bunch of rescue workers catching the homicidal sociopath. That wouldn't end well for anyone, except maybe Keller.

The colonel's leap hadn't carried him very far when Ashley's grenades set off the charges under the bridge. Even Grey felt the concussion, and much closer, it knocked Keller unconscious.

Grey caught the falling colonel and carried his dead weight high into the atmosphere, his phase camouflage rendering both men invisible.

Inside his sealed armor, Grey was capable of climbing to twenty-five thousand feet. Keller was only wearing loose swat armor. He had no protection from the harsh climate of higher elevations and no oxygen to supplement the necessities of consciousness.

Grey pulled an elevation disk from his pack and strapped it to the unconscious officer. He set the disk to thirty thousand feet, its highest setting, and let Keller go, up into the wild blue yonder.

Grey let his own kit softly carry him back down to the action below.

Eventually the police and the orphans stopped firing at each other. The orphans had to be low on ammo and it was getting close to noon.

Eleven forty-three, seventeen minutes until the detonations would begin.

Grey scanned the action with his helmet cams as well as his newly enhanced vision. The orphans held their posts, containing the police on the old orphanage. Many were close to their chosen vehicles. Anyone who hadn't found a vehicle was hiding out in the dorms, armed to the teeth.

Grey pondered the mission's objectives and realized he was witnessing a compromise on the part of the powers-that-be. The military industrial complex had been satisfied with the hibernation of the beta wing.

The crimes committed by the mayor's cousin and her crew would be covered up in the destruction of the old orphanage. The social activists would be spared the spectacle of the entire orphan population being executed for rebellion, despite the fact that dropping them out of the supply chain was equally terminal.

Grey landed on the old orphanage and headed for the central gravity drives. The charges had been set on the main elevation controls, the terillium disks, as well as on the bridges and braces. This unit was going to come apart from the district and then explode into a hundred thousand little pieces as it fell from the sky, unless he stopped it.

Grey knew Mayor Westbury was involved with what had happened here. Westbury had been a prison governor, once upon a time. His cousin, Agatha Dorchester Maime, had been one of his assistants.

The least Grey could do was preserve the crime scene for the lab boys. He reached the drive bays unseen and pulled his detonation control from its pouch. He called up all the devices and one at a time, disarmed them.

He left only the charge on the central power coupling activated. When it detonated, the commands from the control panel would be interrupted. It could be easily repaired, if necessary.

The unit would fall with the others, but wouldn't be destroyed. It would drift to a stop first, while the other buildings would glide out over international waters, where the orphans would be out of the jurisdiction of the law enforcement personnel who currently surrounded them.

This unit would crash on the shore of the Pacific Ocean. The ACPD would be forced to investigate it. Even though the National Capitalists and their bioengineering wing would remain secret a while longer, Governor Maime's crimes would be front-page news before the week was out.

Mayor Westbury stood at his open patio, watching the district through a telescope. He watched the clock, eleven forty-seven. He watched twenty news stations on a sectioned monitor that had been moved out onto the expansive patio.

Leonard didn't know what to think. He didn't know how to judge himself for his role thus far. _What precedent could provide a measure for his personal culpability in this fiasco? To what layer of hell was he to be assigned?_ The only thing Westbury needed was a violin.

What neither of them expected was a man's hand to reach up over the patio railing. A second hand joined the first, and then a head came into view. The intruder, plainly dressed as a Reverend, with a black suit, collar and cross, was huffing and puffing. He was clearly winded.

Leonard rose and gestured to one of the patio chairs.

Westbury frowned, "Offer the burglar some water, why don't you?"

Then the man's identity suddenly came to both of them. They had never met Reverend Wolfe, but his file was on the desk. Obviously, this was the man Director Trafford was searching for.

The FBI director and his team currently occupied a group of suites below the mayor's office, searching for the Reverend over the District Thirteen security cameras.

Wolfe leaned against the railing, exhausted by his climb. Reading their faces, the Reverend held out a reassuring hand. "I'm just here to talk," he said. "I don't want any trouble."

Waltman lifted the handgun at his side. He didn't remember reaching for it, but there it was, just the same.

The Reverend, however, was faster still; he raised a large pistol at Waltman, and fired.

The secretary felt his gun-wielding hand suddenly grow numb, the weapon leapt from his hand, but he saw no blood.

Had this man just shot his gun from his hand?

The Reverend raised his left hand, gesturing for patience, "Just one question and I'll go right back the way I came in.

"Who was it? Not on D13, I mean, in the government. Just tell me who it was, and I'll leave, calm and peaceful." Despite his honey-coated tone, Wolfe slowly inched forward, his pistol leveled at the mayor and his secretary.

Westbury caught his breath. "Director Trafford, with the FBI, is right downstairs. I'm certain he'd like to speak with you, shall I call him?"

"Who sent him?" Wolfe asked.

"I imagine you did, indirectly," Westbury answered.

"Well let's focus on _Directly_ then. Someone called you and cleared him. Now you're going to tell me who that someone was."

A wasp had flown in and was agitating the air between them. Allergic, Mayor Westbury was terrified of them. He waved and swatted at it.

The insect flew away.

"Who?" Wolfe demanded.

"Go fuck yourself. I'm not telling you anything!" Westbury shouted.

Wolfe laughed.

A moment later, the large mayor screamed and flailed at his own chest. He slapped and pinched at the wasp, having already been stung.

Flinging the insect away, Westbury collapsed into his chair. The black stinger protruded from an angry red welt just above the mayor's open collar.

Waltman moved to the large man, but Wolfe raised the pistol.

"He's allergic!" the secretary shouted.

"Then he'd better tell me what I want to know."

Westbury's breath was already growing short. The wound was swelling with each passing heartbeat.

"Miller," the obese mayor rasped. "Senator Miller is who you want."

Reverend Wolfe stepped toward the railing, but not lowering the gun.

Waltman turned to grab the phone, before he even spoke the word _help_. Wolfe was gone, over the side, true to his word.

A few minutes later, the mayor was breathing, albeit unconscious. Director Trafford and the on-staff medical team had stabilized him.

Trafford showed Waltman the insect's stinger. It looked natural enough. The director then placed it under a portable microscope his team had on hand.

Waltman was astonished to find the device was not organic at all, but clearly mechanical.

"This guy, Wolfe, whether he's the inventor or simply a representative of larger players, wherever he gets his technology, its top-shelf stuff. Even the military isn't this precise."

Waltman laughed.

"What's so funny?" Trafford asked.

"He's a Reverend. Get it? He works for God."

"God has no jurisdiction here." Trafford wasn't joking.

Waltman couldn't help himself and burst into laughter. For all he knew, the Reverend might actually work for Senator Miller, and Westbury was being punished for having spoken the man's name, but he doubted it.

"So then it's not allergic shock at all?" Waltman asked.

"Nope, neurotoxin cocktail. There's no telling when he'll come out of it, or if. To my knowledge the previous victims still haven't, but they haven't died yet either, so..."

Waltman nodded. He plainly disliked the redundant Director.

In the distance, the charges set on District Thirteen began to detonate.

The assembled medical techs and law enforcement personnel turned to watch the fireworks.

_This was what he always wanted,_ Waltman thought to himself. _Poor Moses. What kind of karmic justice is at play that he's missing it?_

Waltman watched with the others, the once mighty Ex-Mayor Westbury, comatose and already forgotten, unconscious behind them.

# Chapter 47 – High Noon

Ten minutes earlier...

On the athletic complex, Ash and Kaz searched for Morgenstern while Geoff and Sky protested from the back seat.

"Drop down to the campground level," Ash said to Kaz. "There's someone we should pick up before this place goes to hell."

Kaz laughed at the irony of the statement. He slipped past a couple roadblock vehicles, guarding a parking structure entrance, and waved to the orphans as the convertible sailed out over empty space.

He dropped the car in a gentle spin, dusting off on the lowest level, just seconds later. Far outside the crisis box, the cops didn't fire at him, he was harmless and the single car certainly couldn't escape this blockade.

Rather than pulling up to the garage, Kaz put the convertible down on an open picnic areas of the forested level.

The four of them climbed out. The lower levels were half the size of those above. It was just big enough to get lost, but not for more than twenty minutes.

From inside a maintenance corridor, Morgenstern saw the sports car pull out of the garage and drop to the lowest level of the complex. With his newly enhanced vision, he'd been able to make out Ashley in the passenger seat. He'd seen her drop the grenades onto the bridge as well. He'd been seeing too much of her for far too long now.

The black-eyed mortician reached the campground a few minutes later. The elevator doors opened and he exited into the lush forest. Morgenstern carried a bright red fire-safety ax, holding it low, at his side.

Together, Ashley and Geoffrey climbed a nearby hill.

"What are we doing out here," Geoff asked.

"I told you, someone we have to find," his sister answered.

As they crested the hill, Geoff saw Morgenstern in the distance. Ashley saw him too, and he saw them.

"That guy?" Geoff asked, as Ash quickly pulled him back the way they'd come.

"No, not him," Ash answered, as they raced back down the hillside.

As they got back to the car, Ashley's watch beeped, it was 11:57. She keyed her radio. "All Zeros, Go Bravo! Go Bravo!"

Without waiting for any kind of response, she switched the radio off and dropped it in the backseat.

"What's going on?" Sky asked, with Kaz standing nearby.

Ashley just raised her finger to her lips, gesturing for quiet. "Get the guns and get ready," she whispered.

All across the district, the children heard the command and repeated it out loud, _Go Bravo!_

They stopped whatever they were doing, switched off the radios and abandoned their positions. Some orphans sprinted for the dorms. The teams with cars ran for the garage.

The cops, most of whom knew something about traps, weren't hasty to pursue.

Many kids were wounded. In the classrooms, in the bolt and the garages, anywhere they had fired from, several lay bleeding, many would die before nightfall.

Those surviving did their best to make the wounded comfortable. It would be some time before any medical attention could be provided.

On the campground level, Ash dug through her pack, the grenades were gone. The pack held a few ammo clips, but it was mostly filled with badges, dozens of them.

Kaz handed out a variety of guns from inside the car.

Morgenstern then appeared on the path, the heavy ax at his side.

Ashley found herself staring at the black orbs that had replaced his eyes. She raised her rifle, but Kaz beat her too it, firing from behind her.

Morgenstern broke for the nearby forest.

Ash looked over to Geoff and Sky and gestured to the car. "Get in and lock the doors."

Geoff and Sky looked blankly at the convertible; the top was down and locked doors wouldn't help anyone.

Then Ash was gone, sprinting after Morgenstern and quickly out of sight in the overgrown forest.

Kaz had already taken off on the hoverboard. He had taken a light wound to the leg, and would have been hobbling without the board.

On it, however, he was moving too fast and had already lost the stealthy Morgenstern.

Ashley caught up with the murderer in a small area where the trail opened up into a little clearing. Here, they would be able to attack each other freely, not constrained by the underbrush.

Ashley stared at him.

He held the ax out to the side, suggesting that her use of firearms didn't constitute a fair fight.

Ash shrugged the assault rifle into the grass and drew her sword.

Hovering above, the invisible Captain Snow watched them begin the ancient ritual.

On the athletic complex, the garages were a flurry of activity as kids waited for the explosions to start.

Some fiddled with the car radios, torn between their own news story and the never-ending search for good music. They argued over what to listen to, an entertaining activity in-and-of itself.

On the old orphanage, its amalgamation of police officers, swat, state and National Guard troops, tried to come up with an operation they could all agree on.

At eleven fifty-five, Captain Grey switched off his phase cam and marched into their command center, where he confronted the commanders. He informed them of the demolitions set throughout the building and explained that the central gravity drive had been wired with pounds of munitions. He didn't recommend tampering with it, but suggested they vacate the building immediately.

The officers all recognized the black bar below his nametag, which read Kilo. They didn't ask any questions.

Grey walked from the hall, turned a corner and vanished.

Several officers ran off to the gravity drives. They found the explosives and radioed back to their off-site commanders, who asked if they were joking.

Ash held her sword directly before her and advanced slowly.

Morgenstern remained perfectly still.

They were nearly within striking range of one another.

The giant's ax began to move in lazy circles at his side. Suddenly it arced toward her face but missed.

He changed direction and came at her in from the side, she evaded. He jabbed and hooked. She stepped out of range.

Morgenstern was overextended, trapped in a weak and especially vulnerable position.

The teen-aged girl smiled. This game she had played before. This game she knew well.

Ashley struck, moving in with the sword and slashing several times, the terillium-alloy blade easily separated the threads of Morgenstern's jacket. The jacket itself, however, was also terillium-weave, and though Ashley had ruined his suit, what should have been fatal strikes, barely drew blood. She had to realign herself for a thrusting strike.

Morgenstern evaded the thrust and smiled.

Ashley caught him with a slash, taking the top part of the first knuckle on his left hand and slicing the side of his face open. She caught him straight down the cheekbone and took the top half of his right ear.

The powerful giant had moved, barely. If Ashley had been just a little faster, she might have clipped his carotid artery. As he jumped back he'd dipped a little, putting her aim off.

Morgenstern chopped an ax full of dirt into her eyes, almost obscuring the bits of finger and ear lying on the path.

It was noon.

The charges on the main bridges detonated, followed by the main struts. Then the supporting braces exploded. The district buildings, no longer locked into place with each other, began to drift apart.

Some bridges and supports hadn't fully separated, the metal screamed and cried as it bent and ripped apart.

District Thirteen, which had come into being almost two hundred years ago, despite its many iterations, had, for the first time, come asunder.

The plaintive cries of its metal struts and braces were heard throughout all of Angel City.

Orphans sprinted for their assigned vehicles as the district came apart.

From a distance, news crews watched the buildings push at the deactivated crisis box. For a moment, it arrested their movement, then, stressed beyond its capacity, the magnetic-cable-locks snapped and unraveled. The cables fell away from the district like streamers from a cruise ship.

Previously held down by the other structures, the athletic complex and the administration building both gained altitude, rising into the sky. The admin building, like a punchball held under water, climbed over the athletic complex and the bolt.

The old orphanage, God's Hotel, and the school buildings, all dropped away from the athletic complex. The bolt seemed to sink below the athletic complex, but actually stayed level.

From inside their cars, anchored to the magnetic locks in the garage levels, the orphans watched the horizon tilt and shift as the units lost equilibrium. They watched the remaining police officers and National Guard troops evacuated, their vehicles streaming away from the tilting and tumbling structures.

Above them, the administration building suffered another series of explosions. It caught fire and quickly dropped from the sky, falling directly into the old orphanage. The extra weight began to sink both units.

Swat teams had rescued the surviving children from the upper floors of the old orphanage, but if the building were destroyed by the burning administration facility, all evidence of what happened there would be lost.

Grey had disarmed the charges that would have destroyed the Victorian-styled structure. Yet without the power coupling, it would still fall and crash. He approached, not looking forward to tackling the gravity controls himself but willing if necessary. He knew how to bypass the destroyed coupling, but first he had to clear the admin building, which was driving the old orphanage downward,

The admin building had come down against the orphanage, perching itself atop the second structure. From the direction of their descent, Grey couldn't simply tip the orphanage over, he needed to spin them a hundred and eighty degrees first.

Grey shot for an open door on the ground level. Once he reached the control room, rerouting power and actually tilting the building was another matter entirely.

There were four drives set across the main floor of the building, Grey powered up number three and the southwest corner shifted toward the sky.

He adjusted his personal gravity controls to stay in front of the main panel, and powered up number two, raising the southeast corner of the facility. The building shifted again, and began to spin.

Then, with a shrill metallic scream, the massive structures slid away from each other. Both buildings dropped from the sky, but now heading out to sea on their own trajectories.

Captain Grey powered down the two drives and got off as quick as he could. The slowly fading charge of the drives, and the cushion generated by the buildings below, would prevent the structure from crashing into them like a cannon ball. Instead it would glide out, over the metropolis, away from the city lights, until finally settling into the shore break of the Pacific Ocean.

# Chapter 48 – Gates of Heaven

On the athletic complex, down on the forested level, the sword-wielding ballerina and muscle-bound murderer paused out of respect for the explosions happening around them.

They watched the charges set on the bridges and connecting struts of the district explode, pushing the units away from each other. The ground under Ashley and Morgenstern shifted.

Shaped like a five-tier box kite, the athletic complex was massive. It served as the anchor for all the other units of District Thirteen. The complex held its structure. Grey and the other Combat Engineers hadn't set their charges anywhere near the complex's four corner pins, but they had still worried about the unit's main supports.

Each of the five levels was equipped with a set of terillium anti-gravity disks. In theory, as long as the gravity controls were operating correctly, the support structure could have been made of dental floss and it wouldn't have been in danger of snapping.

Across from them, the administration building crashed into the old orphanage and they both dropped from the sight.

Ashley and Morgenstern faced each other.

The mortician bled from his face, ear, and hand.

Kaz appeared on the path behind them. He paused, seeing that Ashley was holding her sword, her assault rifle abandoned in the grass.

Kazimov raised his rifle at the lunatic killer.

"Aim for his head," Ashley said. "His clothes are all terillium."

Kaz fired, but the mortician dashed off to the side.

On the run, Morgenstern produced three throwing knives from beneath his coat and hurled them at Ashley and Kaz.

Ashley ducked, dodged, and pursued.

Morgenstern attacked with several strikes from the ax.

Ash evaded them, but only just.

Kaz couldn't get the serial killer in his sights; Ashley was in his way.

Morgenstern attacked Ashley with the ax, the handle, his elbows, his feet, his knees and his one good fist.

Ashley dodged the sharp ax head, blocked the handle and the elbows. She took a knee to the ribs, dodged one kick, evaded another, and ducked the final haymaker.

Morgenstern stepped back to switch his grip on the ax.

Ashley didn't need the pause. She slashed upward, taking his weapon hand at the wrist, stepping back as the ax and hand fell to the ground.

Morgenstern looked at his disembodied hand.

In the sky behind them, zeros at the controls of the terminal facility set their elevation for sea level. Aware that the descent needed to appear as if it were the result of an explosion, the kids controlling the gravity drive had been instructed to bring it down as fast as it would go.

With howls of glee, the first unit of the newly liberated district began its plunge toward freedom. The orphans in the garages, having strapped themselves into the cars, instinctively clutched at the steering wheels and restraints, as the horizon tipped to the side.

On the trail behind Morgenstern, Mono stepped out. The three-hundred-pound tuxedoed lion looked tired and groggy.

He yawned. He'd been napping.

Kaz hesitated, shocked and confused by the giant cat. He had lived there all his life and never seen anything like it.

"Hey, Mono," Ashley knelt, summoning the massive feline.

Mono padded over, walking right past the lethal mortician and his severed hand. The cat didn't even notice the hand.

He did however, pause at the bit of ear. Morgenstern watched the cat sniff the piece of meat and pick it up between his teeth.

Morgenstern, minus a hand, reached beneath his coat and pulled a handgun. He aimed and fired into Mono's back.

The cat flinched and whimpered at the sound of the gun. The impact drove him toward the ground. Mono dropped the bit of ear and crawled, whimpering, over to Ashley.

In the distance, the massive juvenile detention facility, the bolt, tilted to the side and lost altitude.

Morgenstern brought his weapon around on Ashley.

Kaz fired at him.

Morgenstern took two bullets to the chest and ran from the trail.

Ashley checked Mono for blood. There wasn't any. She found the bullet trapped in his fur and pulled it out.

He licked her hand.

"Stay here," she told Mono, and with a glance to Kaz, picked up her sword and took off in pursuit of Morgenstern.

Ash saw him ahead, as he dashed toward the elevator.

Kaz, on the hoverboard, opened fire on Morgenstern again. The bullets raced past his shoulder, bouncing off the closed metal doors

Morgenstern ran from the elevator as Ashley and Kazimov pursued. He quickly realized that the limited space of the level produced a ledge in every direction.

Ashley tracked the movement of the buildings around them as the one-handed giant ran directly toward the edge. The bolt was falling past them. Morgenstern reached the edge and fearlessly leapt into air, jumping for the falling rooftops of the bolt, just a few hundred yards below.

Ashley sprinted after him and leapt into open space.

Kaz followed on the hoverboard, firing at the serial killer.

The movement of the buildings, combined with their own velocity, had an otherworldly feel, almost like jumping onto some low-gravity moon. The landing should have killed them, but Ashley watched Morgenstern land softly on the falling prison. She reached it just behind him. Kaz, on the hoverboard, sailed past her.

Back in the campground Sky and Geoff had discovered the giant cat. Geoff sprinted toward Mono and buried his face in his fur. Reunited at last, Mono licked Geoffrey's face and playfully wrestled with the boy.

Sky, having never seen the cat before, stared at Geoff, confused, as if the boy and the whole world were absolutely crazy. The horizon shifted eerily in the distance and the buildings of the city flowed past beneath them as district broke up and drifted out toward the ocean.

On the rooftop of the bolt, Morgenstern fired at Ashley. Her only weapon was the sword.

Kaz fired half-a-dozen rounds at Morgenstern as he fell toward them.

The bolt was moving at a forty-five degree angle to the south, and as Morgenstern fled, the circumstances weirdly accelerated his steps to the north; multiplied by gravity and the structure's horizontal motion, like running down an escalator.

Behind them, the drives on the athletic complex had clearly cut out.

Soon, the two units had come parallel with one another. Due to its weaker drives and the bolt's stronger charge, the athletic complex fell past the prison wing.

Morgenstern leapt through the sky once again, back toward the athletic complex. The simultaneous descent of the units made the jump look as if he were flying.

Ashley and Kaz followed.

Kaz fired, but the shots went wide and were wasted.

Captain Snow hadn't missed a moment of the aeronautical engagement. Invisible, she watched but didn't yet intervene.

When the explosions separated the pieces of the district, King and Sorpresa were ferrying wounded adults and children from the charred and smoking remains of God's Hotel. The other buildings were on the move and the hotel remained stationary, they had decided to stay and help the wounded.

First Sergeant King had briefly stopped in the security wing to requisition Splitter's help. He'd discovered the cell door ajar and the staff sergeant's lifeless body within.

King instantly understood what had happened. Morgenstern and Keller had taken Splitter's phase cam before their attack. It would be hours before the sergeant's corpse could be properly looked after, so he closed the door and turned back to the issue at hand.

Ash followed Morgenstern as he leapt from the bolt. She tucked her arms and accelerated through the air, determined to overtake the monster that had, only moments earlier, murdered scores of innocent teachers and children, and out of spite, tried to kill her beloved cat.

Morgenstern reached the central fields, larger and two levels up from the lowest campground plane. In the weird falling gravity, the grass under his feet broke crisply under his boots as he touched down.

Overhead, Ashley shot past him and landed a good distance away.

Morgenstern turned, firing, but missed Ash as she had already passed overhead. He looked for his pursuers, but saw only Kazimov, some distance back. He fired three times, but his aim was poor, the severed wrist curled to his chest.

Kaz, with an open shot, hesitated to fire.

The giant realized why and spun, but a moment too late.

Ashley, behind him, had the wind and gravity at her back. She was already moving; the sword held high.

The giant tried to get his aim around in time, but then the sword bit into him, driving diagonally from collarbone to hanging rib.

Morgenstern's conscious head, attached to the upper torso, watched itself fall away from his waist and legs. The left hand, holding the pistol, was now separated from his head and could not be made to fire.

Ashley stood over him.

Morgenstern felt the recently watered grass soak his neck and the back of his head.

This was the feeling from his nightmare, the repetitive dream, in which a younger Ashley defended a slumbering seaside town from his draconic-self. In his dream, she had held a flaming sword.

He looked up at her.

She glared at him, the bloody red sword held low at her side.

The sun flashed across the silver of the sword, turning it gold and the blood a brilliant orange.

Behind the teen, Morgenstern's enhanced eyes discerned another figure. An invisible female hovered in the air. She was armored, just like the staff sergeant had been, and held a long-barreled rifle.

Ashley saw the monster look up and through her. He was dying. Unaware of her spectral shadow, Ashley stepped away.

Captain Snow attached a large suppressor to her rifle and floated down toward the dying killer. She placed the barrel at the center of Morgenstern's forehead. The cold oiled metal of the silencer caressed his skin. She knew that Morgenstern, with his black faceted eyes and enhanced vision, could see her. She smiled and fired.

Morgenstern felt the ejected gasses blister his skin. He smelled the sizzling of his brains as the round punched through the gray matter behind his eyes. Then all was dark.

Captain Snow kicked off from the field and drifted away.

Kazimov had landed the hoverboard and stood with Ashley. Neither of them heard the suppressed shot over the roar of the wind.

Sky and Geoffrey touched down in the convertible. The pair had managed to get Mono into the back seat.

Geoffrey and Mono jumped from the car and hung in the delayed gravity before landing on the grass. They romped through the air, playing in the suppressed natural forces, as the unit plunged earthward. Too soon, however, the descent flattened out and gravity returned to normal.

The convoy of buildings passed over the Long Beach Harbor and out to sea. The burning wreckage of the administration building and the old orphanage settled at the shore, while the bolt, athletic complex and school terminals drifted over the ocean.

Ash checked Mono again, combing through his fur for any sign of blood or sore spot. He was perfectly fine.

Her father had said that Mono was created in an experiment using domesticated felines in law enforcement. While the big cat's temperament may not have been ideal, apparently bullet-resistant fur had been one of his _genetic enhancements_. Ashley laughed, astonished yet not surprised at all.

Once they'd crossed into international waters, and an ACPD pursuit force still hadn't materialized, the orphans let down their collective guard.

Hambone and the other members of the fist found Ashley and her crew as they all naturally congregated back down on the campground level.

"What now? Hambone asked.

"I'm taking a nap," Ashley said.

"Screw that. We're going to party," Hambone laughed. He pointed across the water. "We called the bolt and the terminals. We're going to lash them together. We'll be back to normal in no time." He smiled.

The structures were gradually drifting closer together. Soon they'd been crudely lashed together; the blown bridges were shoddily repaired.

Hambone organized a barbecue and by late afternoon, all the orphans had been fed.

Ash and her friends sat in the sand around a fire pit and watched the sunlight fade from the heavens.

In the distance, a school of dolphins investigated the buildings on their journey out to sea.

"A week ago, I never would have believed this was possible," Hambone said.

"Shit, I don't believe it now," Kaz replied.

In the early evening, on the distant horizon, someone pointed out a group of lights moving toward them. The kids scrambled for their weapons, but by the time the ambulances were in range, they had decided not to fire on them.

First Sergeant King had coerced an entire convoy of Red Cross to sail out and help the battered kids. Soon the wounded had been treated. The hostage nurses in the medical wards on the bolt were all released.

Those orphans who were severely wounded were treated and if necessary, evacuated to back to the staging are triage area, now set up on God's Hotel. They were promised that no charges would be filed.

That night, Ash, Geoffrey and Mono fell asleep before a roaring fire, surrounded by their friends, battle-scarred heroes, one and all.

# EPILOGUE – Baby Steps

The media didn't know what to do with the Ashley Fox, Martin Dunkirk and the District 13 story.

Senator Danforth Grey called a press conference and demanded reforms. He even renounced his citizenship, right there on live-stream.

The nation held its collective breath.

Everyone expected federal agents to leap from the shadows and bludgeon him to death with lead pipes, but it didn't happen. In fact, nothing happened. No one arrested the senator or even yelled obscenities.

The newscast continued rolling, so Danforth continued talking.

"I knew my grandfather, Dakota, had written those words, all those years ago. How ashamed am I; that an innocent girl, tortured and nearly murdered, reads them in her own defense?

"Why haven't we done anything? Why haven't I done anything? Why haven't WE helped them?

"This country is called the U. S. Let US help one another.

"I do believe all men are created equal. The gates of citizenship are wrong. We should know better. How many martyrs, how many saviors, how many reformers and how many wars before we can live in peace?

"None of us are Zeros. We, Us, We will build a better nation, a better world, with liberty and justice for all."

Even Captain David Grey, the senator's son, had tuned in. He watched his father campaign for change. He supposed it was the silver lining, but he feared that the Zeros of District Thirteen would become little more than yesterday's headline, bumper-sticker politics. It would happen before their food supplies ran out.

In the morgue, below the lowest mapped levels of the bolt, Cedric checked the security feeds and made a list of where his comrades had fallen. He tucked the list into his pocket and gestured for Bobby to follow with a hover-cart.

First they went to the bolt's command center, where Mr. Dunkirk's conscious head sat in shallow platter of blood and water.

Despite the burns and lack of a body, his father's eyes were open and followed them as they crossed the room. Perhaps he wished to speak, but without lungs or a voice box, there was little he could say.

After it had grown dark in the central stadium, Governor Maime, atop her spike, opened her eyes.

On the post beside her, Mallus was also awake.

Cedric stood before them with Bobby, who came forward and removed their heads from the wet posts.

Cedric had installed the failsafe pulse generators a couple years ago. Anchored to the back of the skull, under the scalp, in the case of decapitation, the wafer-sized module cleaned and circulated nutrients and oxygen to the brain.

Even though they'd lost their bodies, Mr. Dunkirk, Governor Maime and Dr. Mallus had survived. Whether or not they would again know speech and movement was another matter entirely.

The Red Cross didn't get to the stadium until well after midnight. The heads of Governor Maime and Doctor Mallus were gone, as well as their bodies. Almost all of the bodies were gone. Only a few remained on the gruesome stained field. There were standing pools of blood without any sign of a contributing body. The volunteers commented on the situation, but made no serious attempts at an immediate investigation. Under the circumstances, missing bodies, while odd, hardly registered as an emergency.

They had seen the footage, along with everyone else. They would have to ask the orphans where the bodies had gone, if only in hopes of containing any type of viral outbreak.

On the third level, Morgenstern's separated pieces had also been collected and carted off, but no one noticed his abandoned bloodstain, as no one had come looking for him.

Monday Morning, September 26, 2310

Ashley stirred. She sat up, looking around. A week ago she had slept in this same spot, on the campground level, under the stars, surrounded by other orphans.

That morning, she had wakened to a mist shrouded level, haunted by the sounds of armed men creeping toward them. This week the sun rose, illuminating a safe and secure, if battle-ravaged District Thirteen.

Kaz and Sky slept next to her, Geoff in her arms. She kissed him as he slept. They were safe. Everything was just as it had been the night before.

The dawning sun bathed her circle of friends in radiant warmth.

Ashley shifted Geoff onto Mono, yawned and stretched. Mono twisted himself into one of his absurd feline positions, utterly at peace with the boy leaning against him.

Ash realized her worst fears had all come true and she had been ready.

The sun seemed to rise for her alone that morning. For a moment, she felt whole, complete, fulfilled. Then she remembered that her parents were dead and her grief returned like a lead weight, chained to her soul. The smile fell from her face before any of her friends woke to see it.

Her moment of peace vanished and the cold one, the fearful one, the killer inside her, returned. Something was wrong. She could feel it. Ash stepped up onto the log, surveying the area. She saw nothing out of the ordinary, heard no menacing sounds. They had been homeless before. They had slept outside.

She remembered curling up early, under the moon and stars. It had been scary, but fun. She hadn't been ready, but had done her best to care of her brother.

Her father had been proud. "Life is not without risk," he'd said.

This time, things had been different.

Ash had more children she'd needed to look out for, and despite their losses, she had exceeded her own expectations. She doubted her father would return from the dead again, but stranger things had happened. He had already done it once. She hoped he was proud of her, wherever he might be.

Ash realized that the friends surrounding her were her family now. They didn't have anyone else looking out for them, and neither did she, Mono or Geoff. She slowly sunk to a seated place on the log.

As if on cue, Geoffrey woke, sat up and looked around. He discovered Ashley on the nearby log, picked up the blanket and joined her. Mono stretched out and meowed.

Ash wrapped the blanket around Geoff's shoulders and smiled.

Geoff smiled back and reached down to scratch all the big cat's favorite spots. They were soon wrestling, both cubs of the same family.

Soon the other children were awake too.

Kaz sat next to Ash and together they watched at the rising sun paint the ocean with color.

Before long, the water was filled with the sound of laughter and splashing.

The children dared each other in, leaping from the campground level, falling past the parking levels and plunging into the clear blue water forty feet below. They jumped and dove and played for hours.

Luckily, not one child got hurt all day.

The night of that first day came in cool, almost cold, from far out over the sea. Chased inside by the ocean's chill, Ash, Geoff and their friends crashed in one of the green stripe dorms.

Geoffrey woke in the middle of the night. The hall was filled with sleeping kids, but he saw Bobby Dunkirk awake and standing nearby.

He was older, but Geoff easily recognized him. He was dressed in district issue clothes, but pressed and spotless. Around his neck he wore the six bullets, tied into two rows of three, the empty rounds above the unfired ones.

Geoffrey got up out of his bed. He walked toward Bobby, but stopped.

Bobby stood waiting.

Geoff slowly reached into his back pocket and pulled out the prototype, the Micronix. His thumb rested on the button.

Geoff watched as Bobby reached to touch the tethered shells.

Bobby's expression grew angry, aggressive, but he didn't move.

Geoffrey raised his hand, pointing the rectangle at Bobby, who now took a quick step backward. Geoff pressed the button, the blade snapped out with a loud crack of metal on metal.

Bobby flinched and stumbled backward, falling to the ground.

Geoff lowered the blade.

Bobby scrambled from the room.

Geoff turned to find Ashley standing behind him.

She looked at the knife and back to him.

He met her eyes.

"That was Bobby Dunkirk, wasn't it?" she asked.

"I saw him the first time just after they arrested you," Geoff answered.

Ashley stared at the doorway. "He's been here all this time."

Geoffrey looked at the knife in his hand and back up to Ashley.

"Don't lose that," she said, nodding to the knife.

Geoffrey nodded, retracted the blade and pocketed the knife. He leaned over and picked up an assault rifle. Like a seasoned pro, he pulled back the charging handle, checking the chamber to see if it was loaded.

Ashley smiled and tousled his hair.

Geoffrey laughed and ducked away.

They hadn't discussed the identical black knives tucked into their pockets. The Micronix hadn't come up at all. Even after Bobby's appearance, it wasn't necessary for them to talk about it.

Ashley was not at all sure if she had the original, or if Geoff did. When she'd taken it from Von Kalt, on the stairwell, the Metachron had ceased to exist. The Micronix had been its source and it had simply returned. She was confident; she could cure Bobby again, if need be.

###

About the Author

John Carrick grew up in northern Illinois and spent four years with the Marine Corps. He graduated from The Art Institute of Los Angeles with a degree in Computer Science: Animation and continues his education at The Gnomon School of Visual Effects.

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