Jac pulled out a small radio to warn Giresun that his escape was not successful, that the unthinkable had happened, that the intruder had actually hitched a ride on Giresun’s escape vehicle. But all the Red Ninja got was static as a response, the several short circuit bugs still actively sending their jamming signals.

The ninja pulled back his hood, he and Anja just standing there, the two warriors unable to believe what they had just witnessed as the vehicle’s jets already vanished in the morning light.

The intruder’s plan was perfectly executed.

Randal was about to have his revenge.

The two attacked Randal. The glyph ran at him sending a torrent of silver, liquid spears flying; the ninja charged with a yell, one hand with sword drawn, the other firing a gun.

Randal dropped his empty hand cannon and fired the short projectile at the escape vehicle, ignoring these new attacks. The barbs of the grappling hook grabbed hold of the vehicle’s side and yanked the Special hard into the air after it, avoiding the attacks of the ninja and glyph.

Jac was quick to pull out a small radio to warn Giresun that his escape was not successful.

There was a deep rumble from the ground. Just behind Randal, the earth opened up in an explosion. This is what he was waiting for.

Ran fired several more shots at the glyph and the ninja, trying to keep both occupied and pinned down. Ignition jets fired and a small vehicle rose rapidly from the ground.

Instantly Ran threw one hand cannon to the ground and withdrew a handheld propulsion grappling hook. Anja and Jac realized what the intruder was attempting. They had to stop him. They had to attack.

Randal fired with his lone hand cannon. The two charged.

Taking cover, Jac returned fire, swords not the only weapons he carried. Randal avoided this attack, keeping himself near this desired spot. It couldn’t be long now. Protocols were set and would be followed to the letter.

Ran returned his attention to the glyph, biding his time. Anja once more sent metal strands flying toward him, this time dozens of thin blades, leaving only a little liquid armor to circle the glyph and protect her from harm.

The Special threw several small explosives at her, forcing the tendrils to deflect and absorb this attack.

Then there was a deep rumbling.

Ran switched to his hand cannons and fired on Anja while he ran. The higher caliber weapons had the effect he had hoped. Her silver armor couldn’t simply bat these away with ease, instead needing more liquid metal to smack the larger projectiles away and the strands chasing Randal pulled back to aid the defense and move the glyph out of harm’s way.

“You will not prevail,” Jac called from behind, forcing the Special to turn his attack and leave the glyph for the moment. The ninja dodged and rolled to avoid the gunfire rather than trying to deflect it.

Anja the glyph fell quickly to the ground directly in front of Randal, slowing her final descent with strands of her liquid metal armor just before impact. She eyed Randal and struck again. He leapt out of the way as wide bladed pikes slammed into the ground where he had stood. Then these pikes became thinner, bladed strands, passing inches away from piercing Randal.

The strands turned and changed course, still coming after the Special. His desperate course of action was to give the armor something else to worry about, namely protecting its host rather than trying to kill him.

Finding the spot then biding his time, Randal rounded another corner then stopped dead, finding five more security waiting for him, guns at the ready. Randal and the guards all fired at the same time. The Special dove to one side and sent a flurry of bullets their way, aiming to kill each or when necessary, aiming to deflect their attack. All five fell to the ground, as Randal somersaulted to a standing position, his systems on overdrive, his aim flawless, each motion controlled and purposeful.

Suddenly Anja fell to the ground like a meteor, directly in front of Randal.

The ninja leapt from the roof, throwing one sword to the ground and grabbing the rope with his now empty hand, slowing his fall. Ran spun and fired at the ninja as he descended, but Jac, flying through the air, again deflected the bullets with his sword. The weapon was a blur as he expertly maneuvered it. He was good. Not all Red Ninja had yet mastered this bullet deflection technique.

Randal ran, turning a corner of the building.

Landing, Jac retrieved his sword and chased Randal around the building.

Randal turned another corner then stopped, five security facing him.

With his simple proclamation, Jac withdrew two swords from his back.

“Very well,” Ran said, turning both guns on the ninja, unloading them. Jac deflected the bullets with his swords while charging the Special just as Anja flashed her hand forward and a dozen silver strands flew forward, spinning, changing trajectory, training on the Special, razor edged and coming to a deadly point at the head.

The Special jumped from the roof, grabbing the zip line, and swinging to the ground.

“We will not fail our master again,” the Red Ninja said, continuing his assault and leaping off the roof.

Jac was dressed in the traditional garb, red from head to toe, face covered with a red hood, his eyes the only area visible.

Ran kept a gun trained on the ninja. To Randal’s left, Anja was propelled to the rooftop by her armor, silver strands pushing off the ground and quickly returning to her, the armor swirling and circling her body, ready for an attack or ready to protect its matron.

“This does not have to go badly between us,” Randal said, backing further to his right, a gun held on each.

“I’m afraid it does,” the ninja said.

“My fight is not with you, Glyph,” Ran said, vaulting himself from the zip line and grabbing the edge of Giresun’s roof. He pulled himself to the top, the three dead guards at his feet. “Nor is it with you, esteemed Red Ninja,” the Special said, gun at the ready, facing Jac thirty feet at the other side of the roof.

“If your fight is with our employer, then your fight is with us,” the Red Ninja said. “We are honorable warriors, and we hold to our word.” He was dressed in the traditional garb, red from head to toe.

Anja the glyph was tall and muscular standing on ground level below the Special flying through the air. Her dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She had wide shoulders and took a wide stance, feet several feet apart. She wore no clothes over her dark tan skin, only the liquid metal suit that served to protect her and served as her weapons.

Narrow strands of her suit knocked the Special’s bullets aside, then turned to sharp points and continued flying toward him. Ran grabbed his zip line again quickly changing his body’s trajectory, again avoiding the glyph’s attack.

Dropping the zip line, Randal narrowly avoided striking blasts of liquid metal from the glyph’s bioarmor, blades that surely would have cut him in two had they made contact. Instead, he landed on the rooftop of a neighboring house, rolling to lessen the impact.

Randal continued the motion, rising to his feet and running, still coming for Giresun’s home. Guards began firing from Giresun’s roof, but Ran killed the three with his heater, putting several holes in each.

Suddenly a multitude of liquid metal blades slammed through the roof beneath Randal. He jumped off it, firing on the glyph below.

Besides the glyph who had guarded Claude Revel a month earlier, Giresun also had Jac acting security, the Red Ninja who had ultimately lost Revel to Turtle. After Revel’s abduction and subsequent disappearance, Giresun went into security high alert. Both Anja and Jac would be with Giresun, along with a number of other security.

Randal smiled, enjoying the ride on the zip line and thinking of the panic Giresun and his personnel must be in right now, frantically trying security, wondering why alarms weren’t going off and realizing outside communications were shut down.

Nearing Giresun’s home, Randal had to dismount.

Ran lined up the shot and pulled the trigger of the reeva. The rifle fired an anchor grapple at the reinforced walls of Giresun’s home, blasting through it and then slamming back into place, anchors extending and locking the grapple into place, the rope between it and the reeva completely taut.

Satisfied with the outcome of this maneuver, Randal attached a zip line handle to the rope and leapt off the face of the cliff, riding the handle down toward Giresun’s home.

Clara’s intel told Ran that Giresun had his glyph with him now, Anja who Kurl had effectively delayed.

He knew the walls were fire resistant and reinforced, so they would be able to withstand several types of direct assault. But they would also be able to hold up under the strain of his next move.

Ran pulled out the small device Sprite had given him, waiting to receive several important signals. It wasn’t long before they all came in, letting Ran know that Giresun’s security and communication systems had been cut off and that the bugs were now in position to send jamming signals, effectively cutting off the home from the outside world.

It was time for action.

Happy with the weather conditions and distance, satisfied that Sprite’s information on the area had been accurate, the Special removed the long rifle from its soft case. He flipped out the tri-stand and lined up his shot through an enormous scope attached to the reeva, adjusting the stand as necessary. Then from the duffle, Ran bolted the tri-stand to the rock with a bolt gun and six inch spikes.

Randal loaded the reeva, lining up his shot. He knew what would happen. He knew the glass in Giresun’s home was armored, so the kill would have to be up close.

Ran stopped at the cliff’s edge, a spectacular view of the beach community below him, amazing houses tightly lining narrow, curving streets. The houses were bright pinks, blues, and yellows as was apparently appropriate for a beach community. Balconies and rooftop patios adorned them all.

Ran pulled the reeva from his back, setting the long, rifle and case on the ground. He withdrew binoculars from the duffle, setting this bag down as well. He scoped out Giresun’s home, knowing the man actually preferred coming here after summer was through and crowds had diminished. He enjoyed his privacy and the quiet.

But it was unlikely any hikers would show up at this picturesque location today. It was late in the season now and the air was cold.

Randal looked out over the ocean, briefly enjoying the view, the rising sun behind him, the dark ocean as far as the eye could see. He inhaled deeply, feeling refreshed and ready. The Special then threw on a backpack, grabbed a duffle bag, and carried the reeva over his shoulder. Ran tromped into the tall grass, following another foot path that eventually led him to the edge of the cliff, the beach community below.

Ran’s tires still pulled traction on the narrow dirt footpath because Sprite had changed out the roadster tires of the double R with steep terrain the week before. The drive here on the regular highways had worn them down pretty good, but Ran only needed them for less than twenty hours of abuse.

By the time Randal reached the top of one of the cliffs, the sun was rising from the eastern horizon. The Special stepped off his Rider Rocket, killing the engine. It was quiet up there, a picnic table sitting to one side, a beautiful view for hikers.

Randal drove past the closed front gates and kept traveling north, pulling over a quarter mile later. There he released Sprite’s bugs, metal, spider looking devices, bodies smaller than a fist and several long legs. The bugs quickly vanished, heading the way the Special had just come from. Ran kicked the Rider Rocket back to life and continued up the long, dark road.

Eventually he took a left, heading toward the ocean through winding roads as he snaked his way up the cliffs. Then Ran slowed and turned off the paved road, driving up a nearly invisible, narrow dirt footpath.

Ran had chosen this path for a reason. City gates weren’t tightly manned here, and the signal from the double R was clean. He got through without even having to stop.

Eventually he made his way into the desert and really opened up the throttle.

It was an hour later when Ran approached one of Giresun’s weekend homes, a large estate in a vacation beach community, private gates and beachside cliffs keeping residents safe and cut off. A large, functioning lighthouse sat at one end of a long, hollowed out cove and private sandy beach area for the residents’ enjoyment.

Reynolds put the cigarette back into his mouth. “I understand,” he said, cigarette bobbing. “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Ran said, and headed for the garage. There he hopped onto Sprite’s red and black double R, thumbed the starter, confirming driver ident, and punched the throttle, disappearing down the empty streets. They were still wet with the nightly acid rains, his tires hissing and sizzling as he drove.

Though dry, it was still dark two hours later. Ran traveled north on a four lane back road with sporadic traffic, starting to make his way out of the sprawling metropolis of Lost Angels.

Reynolds held the cigarette with two of the three fingers on his disfigured left hand, though no more disconcerting than the rest of his body which was covered with self inflicted scars.

Reynolds nodded. “Thought you might.”

Randal stood there silent a moment. “Do you take issue with that?”

Reynolds shook his head. “Not my place,” he said. “But are you sure you’re up for this one alone? If you need any backup, I’m more than happy to offer my assistance.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I think this is something I need to do on my own.”

Reynolds nodded.

Randal packed a few more items and pulled on his long trench coat, the inner lining a thin armoring. He donned his fedora and made his way through the shadows to the garage.

“Going somewhere,” a voice asked Randal behind him.

The Special turned, and it was Reynolds standing in the hallway, smoking a cigarette.

“I am,” Randal said simply. He thought it was amazing that even with his own heightened senses, he still didn’t hear the man approach.

Reynolds took a long drag on his cigarette, taking it from his mouth with two fingers of his diminished left arm.

But Clara had done recon work for the Special, understanding he had to end this in his way on his terms. Sprite too had done her own fair share of assistance for Randal, giving him some technical specs and working out several short circuit bugs for the security. Besides, without Giresun, Revel wouldn’t have been an issue to begin with. Though her black mark was removed, retribution was always appreciated. How else could one keep making a living the way they did if their reputation wasn’t held sacred?

Randal packed a few more items and pulled on his trench coat.

epilogue

Randal woke up early. It was technically morning, though it was really still the middle of the night. He packed two heaters, his hand cannons, his kitana, and his reeva, a hyper long range rifle, thin and over six feet long. He put the reeva in a case, throwing it over his shoulder.

It had nearly been a month since Randal was rescued by Clara and Claude Revel erased, but this was something Ran had to handle on his own.

They couldn’t tell Turtle or Helen; Helen wouldn’t understand Ran’s need to do this alone, instead insisting the two help.

Clara too was injured, but she insisted if Randal’s wounds could be deemed “wait and see,” then she too could be monitored for lack of improvement before she was forced to see a doctor. Helen agreed reluctantly, but made the Red Ninja promise to remain in bed the next several days.

Sprite had her freedom; the mark soon a memory. Turtle felt good, certain Revel had not implicated him in the affair.

All that remained untied was Giresun. And all agreed that that discussion should wait for Randal, wait for him to heal and ultimately wait for his final decision.

The next morning, Clara brought Randal home. The Special still slept, his battered and beaten body still needing much rest. Both Helen and Sprite examined him, Clara insisting to remain at his side during this. They both agreed that rest was the best thing for him and thought that his body would soon heal itself, already seeing some amazing changes, if Clara’s testimony of Randal’s torture and condition when they made their escape was to be believed.

They would all keep an eye on him, though, and if any changes were seen, they would immediately bring an actual doctor in.

Naturally Revel’s fear and regret was great. Getting caught can have that effect. And being tied to a chair in a dim basement room with no windows can only add to that. Throw in the fact that your captors are professional killers and adventurers, people you yourself betrayed, and their friends are large men wearing ski masks, yes, fear and regret are the natural emotions.

And they had gotten everything from Revel. He had nothing more for them.

Turtle took Revel’s confession and served him the Eucharist before they killed him, his body carefully and thoroughly destroyed and disposed of.

Sprite had broken several laws in her work as a dart, but she had not broken any code of the ace mechs, so this evidence had been fabricated. Sprite looked at it, devising a rebuttal for each accusation. Then Revel gladly placed a formal regret and removal of accusation, claiming a plentitude of mistakes made in the charge and in the evidence, expressing formal regret to the ace mech code, governing body, and to Sprite specifically.

Sprite was fully confident that it would not be longer than a few days before the charges were dropped and the mark officially removed.

With Revel calling for the black mark, he was connected to her within mech records. It was probably Giresun’s move to force Revel closer to him, make him rely on Giresun for support. Revel revealed what evidence he had and where he had it stored. Sprite pulled copies, devising ways around the evidence. There really wasn’t much to it; there was nothing she had done that served to get her marked.

Yes, she had broken several laws in her work as a dart and the mission Revel hired them for was no exception. But she had not broken any code.

Anja the glyph and Jac the Red Ninja were in fact on Giresun’s payroll, the two on indefinite loan as Revel grew in the public eye.

The darts had assumed as much and also surmised that the two bodyguards were meant to report Revel’s activities to Giresun as well. Revel hadn’t come to the same conclusion, perhaps wanting to trust the man; but Giresun did not get where he was out of foolishness and naïveté.

Then it was Sprite’s turn. Revel confessed putting the black mark on her. The record could be retrieved and probably forced Revel closer to Giresun.

Already Giresun’s friendship had lead to several profitable business opportunities, and the political connections were unbelievable. Giresun introduced Claude Revel to powerful and influential people, people like council member Tobias Treadhook, the businessman and vampire, Blaise the Ukraine, and even a short conversation with Matron Cassandra, head mother of the Glyph Sororal, to name just a few.

Revel gave the darts what little information he had about Giresun. The two had met mostly at a number of offices near wherever Revel was campaigning at the time. Only once was Revel brought to a home of Giresun’s for a short meeting.

No, it was not pretty, but it was relatively short. Revel gave the darts what information he had quickly. He begged; he pleaded. He apologized for his betrayal, as if something like that could be wiped clean with mere words. There was forgiveness, yes, but there was also judgment.

He confirmed their thinking, that he had hired the darts with the intention of betraying them to Giresun. He gave the tycoon incriminating information on Randal and Sprite without implicating himself in the attack. He even withheld information on Turtle, for fear Giresun would track the business opportunity back to Revel.

Hawk and Kurl protested, pleaded, argued, and begged; but Helen insisted that the two could not be anywhere near their prisoner. Turtle agreed completely. Helen kept the two upstairs away from this dirty scene, both parents knowing what had to be done; but both unwilling to open the younguns to this darkness just yet.

It was not a pretty scene that followed but objectives were pure. Claude Revel had employed these darts and then betrayed them, his actions leading to the attempted death or capture of two of their own, and who knows how many more later, if not stopped.

Turtle, Sprite, Gunn, and Reynolds waited to administer Revel a wakeup call via a large syringe. The latter two wore ski masks to hide their identity, Gunn and Reynolds having never met the captured dignitary and having no connection to him other than working with Turtle.

Sparrow had been unwilling to aid any further with the situation, her glyph code forcing her to remove herself. She had dropped Gunn and Reynolds off and then retreated to her own safe house, not even getting out of the car.

No one faulted her for this, grateful for the part she had played.

The reception was mixed. Everyone was relieved Ran and Clara had made it out of the Rocky, perhaps even somewhat surprised. But there was concern for Randal’s wellbeing. Their internal medical response had its obvious limitations. They had a doctor contact, but preferred avoiding an outsider, especially with their recent public work. But nothing further could be determined for Ran until the two arrived.

They had tied Revel’s unconscious body to a chair in a dimly lit, enclosed basement room, hood still over the dignitary’s head. Turtle, Sprite, Gunn, and Reynolds were down there, waiting to administer a wakeup call.

Helen and Kurl had traded their van for a panel truck in another underground garage, not willing to risk being noticed with the retractable blast door down, rather than your conventional van doors. This would later need repairing but could wait now. Helen donned a hat matching the delivery logo on the side, and Kurl hid in the back until they got home.

Clara and Ran had not yet returned, though Hawk informed everyone that he had received a coded transmission from Clara earlier. She had rescued Ran; he was as well as could be expected but have medical waiting.

On lockdown, if Sprite’s equipment were left for a week untouched or if disturbed improperly, the machines would self destruct. Sprite was pretty sure the tactical team hunting her down had served to destroy the equipment and perhaps even a few of themselves in the process.

Gunn and Reynolds were picked up by Sparrow after making their way out of the building through the service tunnels and meeting her several blocks away. Again, nothing fancy, nothing assuming, just a vehicle that was reliable and could easily disappear in a crowd.

Helen and Kurl had traded their van for another vehicle.

It was only a few hours later before all the darts returned to the compound, Hawk glad when each arrived. T had been first, after ditching the Red Cherry Turbo in another garage and coming back in an unassuming four door. He had stashed the still unconscious Revel in the trunk, pulling a black hood over his head and tying his arms and feet. T had dosed him with a narcotic that should keep him under for several hours, but why even risk the highly unlikely?

Sprite took public transport home, riding the underground and leaving her equipment on lockdown.

Clara revealed her head from the body stocking, putting her contacts away and wiping off the black eye makeup. She pulled on a poncho, its hood over her head, and slumped Randal’s unconscious body over the second horse, covering him with a blanket and towing this horse behind hers. They headed south toward her waiting rotocoptor, hidden in a haystack, glad she had gone to the precaution of leaving her electronics out of range of the Rocky’s electromagnet.

Upon uncovering the rotocoptor, Clara freed the horses and dragged Randal onboard, letting him continue to rest, heading once again for home.

Eventually Clara spotted the small fire of the mute Eskiman trader slow burning her dead donkey, twenty-four hours after the creature’s death as was required by the old customs. Now knowing how far down the mountain she and Ran had traveled, Clara adjusted her descent to a steeper mark, banking east toward Rancher.

Landing in the outskirts of the village, Clara wasn’t sure if Ultramax Rocky Pen had set off its electromagnetic pulse until she found all of Rancher in the dark. She left Ran with the hang glider and silently stole into the horse stables. There she retrieved her horses.

the ending

The subsequent avalanche would prevent any other sensors from tracking them.

“We made it,” Clara said, the hang glider slowly descending as the elevation continued to drop around them, she and Ran making little more than a dark mark on the sky still wearing their black body stockings, attached to a black hang glider. There wasn’t even more than a sliver of a moon.

She smiled.

“We made it,” she repeated, but Randal did not respond. He had passed out. The two soared over the forest and Clara turned her glider, using her compass to determine the direction to follow.

Clara reached to her waist and pulled out her blowgun and the last exploding blue dart. Taking aim from the hang glider, she hit the fabric and frame package she had left on top of the overhang. The small explosion of the dart caused the chemicals in the package to mix, the bundle then erupting in a massive explosion, heat seekers made useless by the roaring flames, a large plume of gray smoke filling the sky and disrupting visuals of the small patrolling aircraft.

There was a deep rumble and rocks, snow, and ice began to tumble down the mountain.

“Just a little further,” Clara said, fastening the final strap. Gunfire erupted from the balcony across the courtyard. “Run with me,” she said, taking off for the edge of the building. Randal stumbled several footsteps, at least not hindering if not exactly helping them either.

Guards reached the roof and opened fire as the ninja and the Special disappeared over the edge of the building. Clara opened the dark triangle at their backs, extending it outward on both sides, the two flying away from the building, gliding over the barren mountain side on a simple but large, black hang glider.

Clara pulled out a large bundle of thin black fabric and light framing, discarding her backpack and unfolding the unit into a large triangle. She pulled straps over her shoulders, attaching it securely and turned to grab Randal. Already guards were scrambling for the rooftop, trying to pull themselves up. Others were running to the far side, looking for vantage points to open fire.

Randal was dizzy and sweaty, his body now shutting down from the torture, malnutrition, and nanaline overdose. “I think you’re going to have to help me,” he said, as Clara strapped him in behind her back.

The orc’s body, perhaps unconscious, perhaps already dead, was dragged quickly along the floor of the remaining hall and vanished through the open doors of the elevator shaft, following the elevator to the bottom most subbasement.

“Give me your hand,” Clara said, reaching down and pulling Randal back up to the top floor. The guards burst out of the stairwell, shouting and readying weapons. “To the roof!” Clara said, and the two leapt, pulling themselves up as weapons erupted below them.

The two ran toward the edge of the building, Clara removing her backpack and pulling out a dark bundle.

The Special held tight to the rope, falling toward the courtyard, the orc above him falling as well. Then the orc was suddenly jerked hard and pulled back up, the rope around his neck and arm, straining, yanking him and Randal toward the elevator shaft that the elevator was rapidly plummeting in.

The orc’s massive body smashed through the railing and the bottom of the exterior hall overlooking the courtyard. Randal whipped back and forth behind him, holding tight to the rope until finally seeing a safe dismount. He let go of the rope and landed a story below Clara.

As the elevator began to fall down the elevator shaft, Clara jumped from the roof of the car through the open elevator doors as it fell past, careful to stay free of the rope that was rapidly being pulled through the opening and down the elevator shaft.

Randal soared out over the courtyard, but grabbed the end of the rope just as the other end yanked severely on the arm and neck of the orc. The orc grunted and was pulled over the edge of the hall, his massive body tearing through the railing like it was made of toothpicks.

Then Ran jumped at the orc and immediately propelled himself off the creature’s massive belly, looping the rope again around the orc’s arm. Ran bounced off the wall with his feet and managed to drop a loop of the rope around the orc’s neck as well.

“Now, Clara!” Ran yelled.

The orc bellowed with rage, dropping his ball and chain in favor of more speed; the orc simply backhanded the Special, sending Ran flying out over the railing.

Upon hearing Randal’s call, Clara swung her sword once, slicing through the thick elevator cable. The elevator car plummeted beneath her feet.

The Special caught the rope in a bundle and jumped back, dodging yet another swing of the orc’s ball and chain.

The guards continued to run up the stairs, just a couple more flights to go.

Clara disappeared into the elevator again, pulling herself back on top of it.

The Special didn’t know the best way to do this, but playing off the orc’s size and speed, Randal ran directly at him. The creature swung his mace at the Special. But Ran was already past it, and he quickly looped a portion of the rope around the orc’s available wrist.

Clara pulled herself on top of the elevator car and tied the last of her climbing rope to a steel ring at the top of the elevator.

Guards were rapidly gaining, already several stories closer.

The orc swung his mace; the Special ducked then dove out of its way, the orc smashing into the floor in front of it.

Clara came running out of the elevator, coil of rope in her hand. “Ran, tie this to him!” she yelled, throwing the rope over the opening to the courtyard below, across the chasm, cutting a corner to the other open hall.

“Stall him,” Clara said, dropping the empty weapon and running away from the orc.

With the commotion of the gunfire, some guards in the courtyard pointed up at them, and others already started running toward the stairwell, the elevators still automatically called to the top floor and shut down.

The orc swung its spiked ball. The Special dodged, and the ball slammed into the wall. The orc yanked it free, and Randal dodged the attack again.

Clara stopped at the nearest elevator and pried open the doors. She sliced a large opening in the ceiling and pulled herself through it.

The orc in the warrior’s gray face paint smiled briefly, happy for a distraction, then his business face was back and the huge creature started walking toward Ran and Clara, a massive mace in one hand and spiked ball on a chain in the other.

“I’ve got him,” Randal said, exhaustion clearly on his face.

Clara stepped forward and emptied the guard’s weapon into the orc’s knee, chunks of green brown flesh flying free of its monstrous leg.

The creature roared with rage, stumbled forward and continued to limp toward them, dragging its wounded leg behind.

“Stall him,” Clara said.

The two burst out of the stairwell at the top floor only to find an orc standing guard, stationed to keep the inmates here in order. The hall was open toward the center of the building, a railing separating them from the courtyard several stories below. Clearly the orc was surprised to see the escape attempt had made its way here, but he was also happy. He was dressed the same as the orc in the courtyard, loin cloth and little else, though he also wore gray warrior’s paint on his face.

The orc smiled briefly, then went serious again.

Clara fired the dead guard’s weapon at terrified men before Randal sliced them in half, leaving their dying bodies in his wake. The ninja quickly followed the Special, but by the time she reached him at the top of the stairs, there was nothing but bodies remaining.

“Hurry,” Ran said, weariness on his face. Clara just nodded. The two passed the exit to the main, courtyard level, and continued to climb the stairs to the top of the tower. They didn’t come across further resistance in the stairwell, the guards presumably expecting them to attempt their escape from ground level.

Randal did not hesitate, running straight through the rubble and smoke. Startled yells and dying screams were heard as Ran slashed his way through the armed men. Gunfire erupted, and Clara feared for Randal’s safety. More bursts of automatic fire. The screaming continued.

Clara cautiously entered the stairwell, dead bodies strewn about, the sounds of battle and death coming two stories up. Clara mounted the stairs, picking up one of the dead men’s weapons. Looking up the center of the stairwell, the Special advanced on the men, swords swinging like a wild man’s, guards hacked to pieces in his wake.

The vampire without a throat and the final creature Ran was to face both died about the same time, joining their fallen brothers on the ground, bodies all rapidly aging, rotting away.

“Let’s go,” Randal said, now holding two of the vampire’s swords in his hands, his short sword in its sheath on his back and the long knife at his waist. Clara simply continued the path to the stairwell.

Upon nearing the door, the ninja stopped, throwing a knife at it. The door exploded upon contact, men on the other side yelling orders to stand down and wait instructions.

Seeing the fleeing vampire, Clara quickly dropped her swords and withdrew her blowgun, sending a blue dart sailing toward the retreating vampire. She hit him in the back of the neck and the resulting small explosion blew out half of his throat. The vampire stopped its running, trying to put a hand to the wound but gave up the futile attempt at staving off the bleeding when he realized his hand was buried in his own gore. The vampire turned and looked back. It saw Randal kill another of his friends, then turn his full attention on the remaining vampire.

The vampire with the missing hand screamed and raised his bleeding stump of an arm for protection as his own sword and dead hand came at him in a fast arc, Randal sweeping the blade toward its former owner. But the arm did little to defend the vampire as the blade passed through the forearm then neck, this one’s head falling to the ground as well.

Two of the remaining vampires screamed a battle cry of rage and came at the Special again. Randal deflected their blows, but the last vampire had turned and was running away down the hall.

The vampire howled in anger and pain, his stump still pumping blood, spraying the ground around him. His hand was slowly decaying, still wrapped around the hilt of the sword now in Randal’s hand.

Another vampire in front of Ran saw his opportunity and came in quick, a sword coming at Randal’s open belly. But the Special was so fast hopped up on nanaline. With the knife, he deflected the vampire’s blow and with the newly acquired sword, took off the head of the attacking vampire. But Randal didn’t stop his attack, instead turning his body and continuing the blow.

Clara stood back, not believing her own eyes. The Special was taking on three of the front vampires, deflecting blow after blow with his long knives, following each defensive move with his own offensive strike, finding home and slowly bleeding these vampires out.

A vampire from the back knocked another of his own aside and attacked the Special. His blow surprised Ran, knocking his short blade from his hand. Randal kicked aside a vampire behind him, grabbing the other’s hand holding the sword. With a quick, hard motion, Randal cut off this hand at the wrist with his remaining sword.

Randal stuck several inches of his short blades into the vampire multiple times before the creature even realized where the attack was coming from.

The vampire screamed and turned to face this new foe. The other vampires flew to their comrade’s aid, but it was too late for him. Randal deflected the blows of the fast and insanely strong creature, then made a swift strike at the thing’s neck, cutting it half free, blood spraying the walls and ceiling.

Before the vampire even fell to the floor dead, Randal turned and charged blindly into the crowd of five advancing vampires.

The attacking vampire drove Clara back with ease, the ninja doing all she could just to stay alive, desperately deflecting each blow of the creature’s blade.

Randal squeezed his eyes tight, fighting back the urge to scream. He opened his eyes and the world slowed down around him. Randal blinked one slow, surprised closing of his eyes. This was what ODing on nanaline was like. His veins pumped maddeningly, his muscles ached to be used. Then the Special flew into action. Immediately he went after the vampire attacking Clara, sticking the animal multiple times, shallow and deep, with his blades.

“You can’t handle them all by yourself,” Randal said, withdrawing his own blades to help.

“Not in your condition,” Clara said.

The six vampires faced them, confident smiles turning into snarls as they began to slowly stalk Ran and Clara, the vampires withdrawing their own blades, determined to enjoy the kill.

Randal pulled out the last syringe of nanaline, injecting it into his neck.

A particularly vicious looking vampire snarled, snapping his jaws at them. Spittle flew from his deadly maw.

The vampire flew at Clara, swords at the ready. He drove her back effortlessly, she desperately deflecting his blows.

“We have a fighting chance with the stairs,” Clara said. “We’re easy kills climbing that elevator cable.”

“Agreed,” Ran said, running with Clara.

Another corner and another automatic ceiling rig. Clara disabled it the same as the last one, retrieving her sword as they approached the useless weapon.

“Wish I could have done that,” Ran said.

“What?” Clara glanced back, the two still running.

“Nothing,” Ran said.

The two rounded a corner and came to a dead stop. In front of them, six vampires stood, smiling confidently.

“Get back,” Clara said, drawing both swords, standing between Randal and the vampires.

Approaching the elevator, they passed the bodies Clara left in her wake. “Wait,” she said, putting up a hand. Randal paused and Clara pushed the elevator doors open, sticking her head in, looking up.

Gunfire erupted above them and Clara only barely got out of the elevator in time.

“The stairs,” she said.

“What about the other elevators?”

“If they’re at one, assume they’re all burned,” Clara answered. “We’re taking the stairs.”

“Won’t they be at the stairs too?” Ran said, following Clara.

“Yes, but at least there we have a fighting chance. We’re target practice climbing that elevator cable.”

The werewolf brought up a hand to remove the obstruction, handle of Randal’s knife still hanging out of the creature’s mouth. But before he could, Clara swung her blade and decapitated the were beast.

“Come on,” she said. Ran retrieved his knife and followed.

“Can you make it up the elevator shaft?” she asked.

“I think so.”

“You can or you can’t,” she said. “But we have to know.”

“I can.”

“Ok, let’s go.”

Figuring one elevator was as good as any other, the two made it to the same elevator Clara had come down, dead guards littering the hall.

Clara righted herself, leaping to face the werewolf again, but it was already flying at her.

“Clara!” Ran yelled behind her and the ninja knew his tone, working with him enough. She dropped to the ground as the werewolf came at her again. If she was wrong, there was little defense from this position.

But she was not wrong. Sailing over Clara’s prone body, a knife struck the werewolf in his open, gaping jaw. The creature immediately stopped, shaking its head violently as if trying to free something stuck in its throat. He shook his head again as if confused.

The two ran some time before hearing a noise behind them. “Down!” Clara yelled turning and drawing a blade. Randal obeyed immediately, dropping to the stone floor, covering his head as an enormous werewolf leapt over the Special. Clara tried to gut the beast as he flew toward her, but the creature was too fast, pushing her arm away with his clawed hand. The creature snarled viciously, driving its tooth ridden maw toward her throat. It was all she could do to drop to her back and kick the creature over the top of her, vaulting the thing flying overhead.

Ran left the cell behind, a place of such darkness and pain. He was glad to have Clara leading him again. Though he would not admit it, perhaps not even to himself, he felt safer when she was around. Perhaps it stemmed from her abilities as a warrior and a Red Ninja; perhaps it was simply that their relationship had begun as teacher and pupil; or perhaps it was that he truly did love her.

Whatever it was, he was happy to follow her plan and happy to have her as his rescuer. He truly held complete confidence in her.

“I’ll make it,” Ran said, pulling the sheath over his back and putting the knife at his waist. “Where’s everyone else?”

“There isn’t anyone else,” Clara said. “Just me.”

“But how are we going to get Giresun?”

“That’s not the mission. I get in and get you out. That’s it. Giresun can wait for now.”

The Special considered this, then nodded. “What’s our escape?”

She told him the plan and the two quickly entered the hall, body stockings changing from black in the dark cell to dark gray in the wet stone hallways. Ran was more than happy to go.

“Are you ready?” Clara asked, handing Randal his own thermal body stocking and flexible climbing shoes, pulling her hood back up and checking the hall.

Randal sat up, his body still aches and pains but doing better. He wanted to go before the nanaline wore off. “I’m ready,” he said, pulling on the clothes and smearing black makeup over his eyes. She didn’t have contacts for him, but otherwise they were dressed identically.

“Are you sure you’ll be fine?” she asked him, concern in her voice and handing him one of her short swords in a sheath and a knife.

“Here, I brought you this,” Clara said, holding up a syringe. “Nanaline. Sprite said it was the best thing for you. She gave me three to take with. She didn’t know how much to give you, but she said you would know how much your body could handle.”

“I can handle two right now,” he said, drawing in a deep breath. “Thanks,” he said, taking the first and injecting it into his neck. He closed his eyes, a warming sensation flooding his body. Clara handed him a second. This he injected half into each thigh.

“Are you ready to go?”

The rest Ran desired didn’t exactly come, each tug of bamboo sending a surge of pain through him. But the removal felt good too, a foreign object removed and his body, no matter how damaged, returned to a more natural state.

He kept his eyes closed, enjoying the pain, knowing he was more himself.

“Ran,” Clara said softly, hand gently touching his chest, as if waking him a late morning after a night of passion, rather than waking him from this living nightmare. “Ran, we need to go.”

He opened his eyes and gave her a small smile. “I know.”

“Ran, are you ok?” Clara asked, pulling back her hood to reveal her face, an oval of black makeup surrounding her black eyes.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” he said, his voice a rough whisper. “Just get these things out of me.”

She looked at the rest of his body and began to expertly remove the stalks of bamboo. “What did they do to you?” she said.

“I’m ok, now that you’re here.” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, wanting just a moment of rest before he would have to rise to his feat to begin their escape.

The angel of death held Temmins to the wall.

“Kill him,” the prisoner rasped.

The angel drove the sword home with both hands, swiftly plunging the weapon, puncturing the fat man’s neck.

Temmins felt pain, like pinching, and the feeling like a lump in his throat. He couldn’t draw in a breath. Then with a swift jerk to her left, the sword freed itself. Temmins felt a flash of cold air on his neck and saw a spray of red on the wall to his right, before his head flipped over to the left and his vision blurred to blackness.

The door kicked open and the angel of death herself stood before Temmins, head to toe in black, sword in each hand, dripping with the blood of the guilty.

His time had come. His time of reckoning was upon him. His time to pay was here. No more delays. No more avoidance. His debt was due.

The angel of death advanced quickly on Temmins, putting one bloodied sword away, the other at his throat, driving the fat man to the far stone wall, dampness soaking the back of his shirt and pants.

“Ran!” the angel said, glancing at the prisoner.

“Battle sounds don’t end so abruptly. Battle noises are not short bursts followed by long silences. Battle noises keep going, longer than you ever want them to go. To the point that you’re begging for the noises to stop. But slaughter, that’s worse. Slaughter is quick. Slaughter is fast. Slaughter is terrible. Those are the noises I hear now.”

Temmins shook his head, refusing to listen. Then there was the terrible screeching, wrenching sound of metal on metal. Temmins turned his fat body toward the door and saw a sword protruding from it, a neat cut going around the locks.

“Tell me,” Temmins said, trying for understanding and caring. “Tell me what you know of battle.”

“Not battle really,” the man said. “I shouldn’t have said that. This sound is more like slaughter.”

“Slaughter?” Temmins tried brushing off the word, tried holding to ignorance, tried forgetting its meaning, and yet something gnawed at him, deep down. Perhaps truth.

“Yes, slaughter. These noises. They are more slaughter than battle.”

“What do you mean?” Temmins said, stepping closer, needing to know the answer to his questions more than any other questions he had ever asked any other victim, subject, patient of his.

Icy water still dripped and poured on the prisoner’s face, ice still hung from his hair, and his body still had dozens of bamboo stalks protruding from open sores and wounds. And yet the man chuckled.

“Scary, isn’t it?” he said, his voice weak and raspy from lack of use.

“What do you mean?” Temmins asked, stepping forward, trying to engage him in dialogue. Perhaps just getting him to talk would eventually lead him to share the information Giresun wanted.

“The noises. Of battle. When you can’t see what’s going on. When you don’t know what will happen. Or why.”

Another short burst of gunfire broke Temmins’s thoughts, and the fat man spun back toward the cell door. As fast as it started, the firefight was over. What could this mean? Did they kill whoever was here? Was the danger over? Curse them for not utilizing the loud speaker. Someone tell me what’s going on!

The man on the table chuckled, and Temmins turned on him, scared of even this small sound, so foreign in this place.

Icy water still dripped and poured on the unknown man’s face, ice still hung from his hair, his body, a field of pain.

Gunfire! And so close! That sounded like the very floor they were on! Temmins stepped back from the prisoner and listened at the door. The gunfire stopped. Could that really mean they had an intruder? Someone foolish enough to attempt a jailbreak?

Or perhaps an escapee? Temmins looked back at the man on the metal table. His naked body was damaged but still strong, and Temmins remembered this man’s own attempt at escape only a couple short weeks ago.

For the first time, Temmins wondered who this man really was. What was his mystery?

Then another short burst of gunfire.

The place was laid out like a maze, obviously meant to disorient and confuse. But Clara had memorized the schematics of the place and knew exactly where she was going. She rounded one corner and threw her kitana without hesitation. The blade embedded itself into a ceiling mounted cannon just where Sprite had told her to hit it, sparks flying from the disabled weapon. Clara retrieved her sword and continued her way through the damp, stone covered hallways, her body stocking, makeup, and contacts again a dark gray, mirroring the walls, ceiling, and floor.

She must find Randal and quickly.

She was a living nightmare. None had ever seen a vampire so easily vanquished nor a foe more confident.

Someone yelled open fire, but by the time the words were spoken, Clara had already worked her blades through a dozen men, swords flashing in the dim light, more blood spraying, coating the floors and walls, men screaming, the last sounds they made on this mortal plane.

Before any had gained the fortitude to pull a trigger, the nightmare had nearly killed them all. Cutting the last of them in half, Clara began to search for Randal’s prison cell in earnest.

Clara decapitated the vampire and landed on the narrow ledge of the elevator. She kicked his body forward out of her way as his head fell several more subbasements behind her. His severed neck sprayed decreasing spurts of blood; his head landed with a soft thud. Pulling her other sword free from the elevator door, Clara stepped forward, sword in each hand, the vampire’s body now quickly rotting away at her feet. She was the angel of death clad in black, about to send these men to Hades. The guards before her trembled. One wet himself. Another started to cry.

There was the sound of screeching metal, and the doors lurched open a bit. Clara saw two hands reach in on both sides of the elevator doors. The guard grunted with the effort and pried the doors open a shoulder’s width.

The ninja steadied herself, ready for action. A vampire ducked his head in, peering down the elevator shaft. The last thing he saw was the sight of a slim woman in a black body stocking, rocketing upward from the door’s ledge in a flash, sword in hand.

Clara decapitated the vampire with a swift gesture using her other sword.

As the ninja flew through the air, several guards positioned behind the elevator door opened fire, fist sized holes appearing in the as they made fast action of things, quickly turning the access into Swiss cheese.

The gunfire continued for at least a minute, then orders to stop were yelled. A few more random shots and then there was silence.

Orders were given to check the door. After some obvious hesitation, orders were given again. Then someone volunteered loudly and with some disgust. The commanding officer thanked the volunteer, and clearly there’s was not a relationship of commander and subordinate.

If she could push off the heavy elevator cable, then Clara would just have to worry about what she would grab onto once she jumped to the SubBase4 door. Clara removed one of her swords, throwing it like a javelin through the elevator door. There, now she had something to grab hold of when she jumped across.

But after impaling the door with her sword, there was a muffled scream from the other side and muffled orders and shouts.

Clara cursed her stupid luck and desperately jumped for the ledge at the bottom of the door, having little other choice.

After climbing down the elevator shaft past the basement levels and then past three of the subbasement levels, Clara stopped nearly one hundred feet below where she began, still hanging onto the thick, twisted metal elevator cable. Clara looked at the doors, labeled on the inside as SubBase4. They looked a lot further away from this side of the elevator shaft, no longer able to push off anything too sturdy to make her way across. She tried swinging, but this elevator cable wasn’t going anywhere.

Wouldn’t swing? Maybe she did have something solid enough to push off of after all.

The Red Ninja spat blood on the ground, Jac’s face a disfigured interpretation made from raw hamburger. This was his first failed employment, and it certainly wouldn’t help his career. He wondered what Gireson would say.

Jac would have to talk with the glyph and see if the situation could still be salvaged. Anja certainly wouldn’t be pleased, if she were even still alive. Of course, if he had survived, she probably had too. And if he was angry, she had to be livid.

There’s was a code, a way of life.

It wasn’t often that a glyph was bested.

Sprite passed young hips looking for the perfect, overpriced clothing and exited through the front. Just a hundred feet to her right, at the end of the block, Sprite took broad, cement stairs to the underground public rail. She boarded using a false ID pass, taking a seat near two exits, a couple cars from the back.

She tried to relax, exhaling, though she continued to scour the passengers for anything unusual. Finally the transpo began to move. After a couple transfers and a couple of hours, Sprite would be home.

There she hoped to find everyone else, including Turtle.

Sprite walked down the narrow alley, identical to the last, passing three metal doors on her left before sliding her key into the lock of one.

Behind her, she heard a muffled popping. The guards had tried to move or activate her equipment, and the backup failsafe went off, destroying the equipment and possibly even some of the intruders. Sprite smiled, then unlocked the bolt.

She concealed her snubbie rapid fires in her duffle and made her way past two dressing rooms, short pale curtains acting as doors. She entered a small boutique filled with retro lace and leather clothing.

The ace mech squeezed her small frame behind some shelves and into a narrow passageway. She had to hunch over now, the ceiling even lower. But she followed the hall which lead her beneath the street out front, where at least one van of armed professionals were seeking Sprite, and into the basement storage of a neighborhood grocery.

She pushed several crates of dried goods forward just enough for her to slide out. Then she slid the crates back and made her way upstairs to the back room. From there, she exited to the alley and pulled out a key.

Hard to say how many other guards were out there, and Sprite didn’t want to draw attention to herself with the speedy Double R 50. She quickly but quietly made her way into the low, stone cellar. The expanse was pitch black, but this was one of the main reasons the darts had chosen this location for Sprite’s setup. Too bad they wouldn’t be able to use it again.

Sprite waited a moment for her eyes to adjust, then she made her way to the back of the room. Behind some shelves, Sprite had just enough room for her escape.

Sprite quickly climbed out the rear window onto the old, rusty fire escape. The back alley was narrow, brick buildings on each side and trash cans next to nondescript metal doors, the drive too thin for even dumpsters.

Buried in cardboard, 300 feet at the end of the alleyway, Sprite had her yellow Rocket Rider 50 waiting for her. She considered taking it; the two wheeler was narrow enough to maneuver these alleys in the old neighborhood, but her darts didn’t need yet another high profile roadway getaway. Instead, she pulled open the horizontal cellar doors, entering the building’s basement.

Sprite had had enough physical confrontation over the last couple weeks. She was getting out of here if she still had the time. She locked down her machines then grabbed her joystick rack. It had been a precision job that she didn’t want to have to repeat if unnecessary. She threw this in a duffle bag and withdrew two snubbie rapid fires, throwing the duffle over her shoulder.

She glanced outside and saw a white paneled van pull up and six armed guards quickly piling out. The front entrance was not the way to go, but Sprite had another option.

The large caliber ammunition tore into the road behind Turtle leaving melon sized holes. T saw the armorcoptor spinning out of control behind him and punched the nitros, sending the Red Cherry Turbo zooming down the street, the dart expertly maneuvering through traffic.

The armorcoptor spun uncontrollably and nosedived into the pavement in front of it, rotating guns still firing, the gunner’s death grip an instinctual response to his shock.

Sprite didn’t see the outcome, her own video and audio feed ending as soon as the first blade pierced her final faerie. Instead she locked her machines, preparing to escape.

There it was. The coupling of the tail rotor.

“You have your orders,” the pilot of the armorcoptor said to its gunner. “Take the shot.”

Sprite tweaked the tiny joystick, and instantaneously, her final remaining faerie burst into a deadly vision of blades. It quickly sliced through the coupling at a forward angle. The rotating blades snapped, sending one through Sprite’s faerie and another flying forward, into the main rotor.

The armorcoptor’s pair or rotating guns lit up just as the machine lurched forward, its bare tail turning over the top as its main rotor splintered apart, fractured blades scattering.

A warning sounded in the large room Sprite was working in. The trace had narrowed her location to a city block. She only hoped they weren’t a mobile until. But she couldn’t worry about this now. The problem would have to take care of itself.

Her faerie surged toward the armorcoptor, almost a look of determination on its inhuman face.

Then another warning. The armorcoptor had weapons lock on Turtle! It was now or never. If Sprite failed, T would die.

She pushed the faerie forward, not wanting to expose blades until the last second for fear of wind drag.

The signal trace on Sprite’s faerie transmission was gaining, but there was nothing she could do now. She only dreaded the possibility of the armorcoptor’s weapons lock. At that point, it would only matter how long it took the gunner to pull the trigger.

Turtle dropshifted hard, cranking through another corner, coptor hard on his tail. Then he punched the accelerator, skipping two gears in the process.

The coptor slowed ever so slightly to follow. This was the opportunity Sprite had been waiting for. She boosted the remaining fuel in the faerie for one final effort, rocketing the machine forward.

Jac switched transmission calls, having given the armorcoptor final authority to fire.

“Report,” he said to the new communication.

“Sir, the mobile unit has a solid grasp on the faerie’s signal.”

“Were you detected?”

“Hard to say. The data geek thinks it’s unlikely, but it all depends on the skills at the other end of that faerie.”

“How are you coming with location?”

“We’ve got transmission location narrowed down to two city sectors. We’re on the move now; I’m confident we’ll have an exact location shortly.”

“See that you do,” the ninja said, switching off, his face still smoldering.

Another signal intercept from Sprite’s faerie and speakers filled the room with transmissions with the armorcoptor.

“When you have weapons lock, take the shot.”

“Sir?”

“The time for hesitation is over. The package will be lost unless we stop that vehicle.”

“Sir, if we fire weapons, in all likelihood, the package will be killed.”

“I understand. Nonetheless, you have your orders.”

“Yes, sir.”

The communication ended. Clara had warned the darts of this possibility, knowing Jac was Red Ninja. No one wanted to acknowledge it, but there it was.

Sprite had to get to that coptor, or Turtle was dead.

This alarm had come from Sprite’s own faerie. It has opened a view hole into the armorcoptor’s system. The machine was trying to lock its weapons on T’s Cherry Turbo. Sprite didn’t know when they would fire, but if they were locking sites, the question wasn’t if.

Turtle slowed slightly, rounding another corner, tires barely keeping contact with the road. Then he accelerated, flying down the road. The armorcoptor slowed slightly for the turn too, but Sprite saw her faerie make a significant gain in ground, the small machine not even slowing for the corner.

This would be the way.

The physics looked possible, if still improbable. Sprite’s idea could theoretically work, but she would have to hit the armorcoptor just right to make it happen. It wasn’t easy, but it was the only option she had.

Then Sprite’s system went off, alarms blaring. She checked the readout. Someone had snatched her faerie’s signal. She had dampeners and rerouts, but someone with skills would have Sprite’s transmission location soon. She had this warning as a bailout. But if Sprite cut contact now, she would lose control of the faerie and who knew what would happen to Turtle.

Then another alarm!

Turtle weaved in and out of traffic, armorcoptor in his rearview. T hooted with pleasure, quite enjoying being behind the wheel of the Red Cherry Turbo again. Any day he could enjoy a cigar and drive a fine machine like this was a good day.

Sprite punched the faerie, giving it all the juice it had left. The machine darted forward. Just a little further.

Sprite flipped through the specs on the coptor. There wasn’t much her airborne device could do without about fifteen times the explosive power it carried. Then she had an idea and quickly crunched some numbers.

The Red Ninja, his face a gory mess of burned and exposed flesh, did not hesitate or even slow down. With the wireless earpiece, he ordered the armorcoptor to stop the Cherry Turbo or the package would be lost.

Turtle tore down the road, but the armorcoptor was right behind him, flying low through the streets.

Sprite sent her one remaining faerie after the armorcoptor. It gained on the coptor, its blades again concealed within the body of the faerie for a more aerodynamic flight. Sprite pulled up specs on the armorcoptor with her system, trying to find a weakness.

Sprite triggered the faerie to explode in Jac’s face, knocking him back another step which was enough for T to punch the accelerator and hit the auto close of the door.

At the sound of the shotgun blast, guardsmen had turned toward the car. Unwilling to risking hitting the politician, some fired only at the rear tires. These were reinforced, however, and the gunfire only served to put a few holes in the rear fender.

They opened up their firing more as T drove away, but the reinforced glass and body of the Red Cherry Turbo protected Turtle and Revel.

Sprite saw that some of the pellets from the shotgun drew blood, but most were stopped by the armor weave of the Red Ninja’s black suit. Turtle hit Revel again, this time knocking him out cold, and grabbed him by the pants, dragging the rest of his body into the vehicle. Already Jac was coming at the car, and Sprite saw no other choice.

With two flicks of her fingers, Sprite sent the bladed faerie back into the sky and the other faerie in the car rocketing toward the open passenger door, slamming into the Red Ninja’s face and detonating.

The ninja was fast, grabbing for Revel’s jacket, but another faerie dropped from the sky, slashing at his hand and wrist. Jac took several deep cuts, but would not be deterred, struggling to pull Revel from the vehicle.

“No! Not you!” Revel yelled in terror. Jac saw the driver smile at the recognition, a bald, broad shouldered man with a bushy red beard. Then the driver elbowed Revel in the back of the head, and leveled a double barreled sawed off at Jac, pulling the trigger.

The blast hit the ninja in the chest, knocking him back, gasping for breath.

Jac took Revel to the Turbo. The other personnel watched their escape, allowing the two to pass through, guarding their rear. Why hadn’t Anja opened the door yet? All Jac could see was the reflection of himself pushing Revel forward.

Just as the two were about to reach the Cherry Turbo, and Jac thought Revel would have to open the door himself, it finally slid open. But to Jac’s horror, another small, robotic faerie darted through the opening and grabbed the dignitary by the collar, pulling him into the car with surprising force. Revel screamed, falling into the passenger seat.

Jac pushed Revel through the other guardsmen toward the red hot rod. Later the Red Ninja would admit to himself that the Red Cherry Turbo wasn’t exactly Anja’s style. Yes, it was fast and it was flashy and it was unique, but it was not new. It was a classic. The glyph preferred her vehicles new, the latest burner. Jac rarely saw her drive the same car twice, but they were always new.

But Jac pushed these doubts to the back of his mind and took Revel forward. Gunfire, explosions, low visibility. The dignitary had to be removed from here.

Reynolds and Gunn broke from the pack, heading downstairs to the locker they had rented for the month. They pulled on the one-piece janitor suits over their street clothes and proceeded to pick the lock to the underground maintenance tunnels. They made their way through the maze of intersecting tunnels, every building in a five square block united underground, when two explosions went off above ground behind them. The two smiled and continued through the tunnel.

Three blocks from here, Sparrow would pick them up in an alley and the three would make their way back home, their jobs complete.

Jac stood between Revel and the sound of gunfire coming through the smoke; guardsmen returned fire blindly. The blades of the armorcoptor were clearing the air but not fast enough. A Red Cherry Turbo pulled into the curved drive, stopping hard in front of them. The Red Ninja turned, but still held Revel’s arm.

The politician pulled toward the vehicle, eager to leave. But something felt off to Jac. He wanted to see Anja, but the windows were mirrored.

Two resounding explosions went off behind them. He had to get the dignitary out. Jac pushed Revel quickly toward the car.

A spike of liquid metal rocketed from a pile of rubble, piercing the faerie through its abdomen. Anja stood from the rubble, several silver tendrils throwing massive rubble aside, while others wrapped around her body in a protective embrace. The spear holding the faerie jerked back, thin silver wrapped around and through the faerie.

Sprite didn’t hesitate, knowing this was its final action in her service. She flipped a switch, unwilling to let any piece of her hardware fall into enemy hands, and the captured faerie erupted in a small explosion, silver strands batting fragments aside before harming the glyph.

The wreckage had been a Silver Racer, latest model, 500 made. The glyph Anja’s single vice: car collecting, the newer, the faster, and the rarer the better. 499 remained now.

The faerie flew through the passenger window. The glyph was gone. The driver’s seat was in perfect condition, dash and wheel mangled and pushed aside, the glyph’s living armor protecting her as the car collided through the building. The driver’s door was gone too, and Sprite navigated the faerie through the opening to try tracking the glyph.

Then from a pile of rubble, a spike of liquid metal rocketed forward.

As Helen and Kurl escaped in the van, Sprite’s faerie flew into the gaping hole at the base of a building. Anja the glyph had driven her Silver Racer into the building moments earlier, after the orc Kurl had filled the vehicle full of holes and then given it a hard nudge.

The car was a complete wreck, the front of the Racer now the middle, the top flattened, passenger’s window mangled metal and broken glass. The faerie flew toward this opening, Sprite operating it with the slightest touch of a tiny joystick, watching its video feed from miles away.

The only immediate access points of the subbasements would be through six elevators or three sets of stairs, and Clara didn’t have time for anything less than immediate. She just hoped no one had figured who she was here to rescue. There were certainly others here who were more powerful and had more wealth than anything Randal or Clara could ever dream of. Men such as these had standing offers for anyone who could grant their freedom. And hopefully most would assume Clara was here to make money by freeing someone, rather than why she was really here.

For love.

Approaching the elevator, Clara pried open the doors and removed her climbing claw. She jumped at the elevator cable, the elevator doors snapping shut behind her. Clara was beat and tired, but her body refused to quit, surging on adrenaline. She climbed slowly downward, having much further to go than just four floors. True, she was on the main floor after coming from the courtyard and processing area. But the subbasements were more than just a few simple stories from an ordinary building. The subbasements had eighteen foot ceilings and each was separated by at least six feet of concrete.

More residents were locked up underground, in the heart of the mountain. This was the case for Randal, and there was no other way in but from the top down. Clara would have to access subbasement four quickly before too many defensive positions could be taken.

She knew stairs would be guarded and elevators would be called to the top of the tower and automatically shut down, furthest away from the most vile of felons, as per protocol. So Clara made her way to the nearest elevator, hoping not to have to kill too many more on her way there.

Sitting down at the admission computer, Clara pulled up recent acquisitions. There he was; nearly three months ago, an unknown man was processed and assigned a prison number. Clara pulled up his image and saw a bruised and bleeding Randal giving the camera a cold stare.

She smiled to herself. Yes, Randal, you will soon be free and have your revenge on these people.

With the room assignment and already memorizing the Ultramax’s schematics, Clara now knew Randal was in subbasement four. She was afraid of that. Some residents were held in the tower, but more were kept safe underground.

The guards fired their weapons, but Clara was fast and fluid. She cut her way swiftly through the squad with her blades, leaving a bloody mess of bodies behind. She was glad this troop was just men. Men were much easier than facing orc. She hoped those three had been the last of their kind here. She had been lucky in this face off, but tighter corridors, less space for Clara to utilize her speed advantage, who knew what the end result would be?

Finally she came to the processing area, opening the door with a dead man’s access card.

If Temmins learned the man’s name, how long could it be before Temmins knew everything else about the man? No man was an island. They each had their breaking point. And when the damn broke, it wasn’t long before everything came pouring out, often much more than you every wished to know, almost as if all secrets had to be confessed. All secret shames. Disgusting really.

And invigorating.

But Temmins was glad he hadn’t quite reached this man’s breaking point. Yes, such an impressive specimen. Temmins tweaked another bamboo stalk and poured in more salt. Such joys, such simple pleasures.

They were fine guardsmen, guard vampires, guard orc, oh whatever they were! They were all just fine and certainly didn’t need this sort of humiliating practice to keep them on their toes. The target practice and required physical training were enough, Temmins thought.

Yes, simply no reason to play childish games like this at night, when instead they should be resting and preparing for a new day tomorrow, a day bright with possibility. Perhaps tomorrow would be the day Temmins would learn the man’s name!

He hoped so, but that would also signify the beginning of the end. Such conflict!

Temmins would have to be careful not to let the man die on him. Keep those wounds open but clean. Wouldn’t want any sort of infection settling in and spoiling the fun. That wouldn’t do at all.

No, this really had been a fun ride. And he hoped the man would hold out another two weeks. Just think of it! Another two weeks in this place. His life really was his work, and what fun work it was.

Now if they could only shut off those irritating alarms. Temmins wished Giresun would end his silly little game. A drill? Really!

This wasn’t at all like his usual work assignments, a handful of days at most. Temmins had been at work on this fellow for nearly two weeks. He smiled at the thought. Two weeks! What fun it had been.

He tweaked another bamboo stalk, smiling. Yes, this really had been quite the enjoyable experience. Very little could spoil it now. Not even the incessant alarms and clamor of footfalls outside could deter Temmins from enjoying this time with his work and with his greatest subject. He would enjoy knowing this man’s name. Something to truly honor and remember him by.

Temmins on the other hand, his work was his life. He enjoyed his extended stays at the Rocky, though truth be told, they rarely went as long as this one was.

Temmins idly twisted another bamboo stalk and poured in more salt. No reason to even ask the question really. This unknown man wasn’t going to break yet. And that’s what was making Temmins’ stay here so enjoyable. Yes, this really was a wonderful time. He got to do what he enjoyed doing, and it wasn’t over in just a few hours or even a day or two like normal.

Temmins was a firm believer that Ultramax Rocky Penitentiary was impregnable, even without its guards. But Giresun was old fashioned; he liked the human, vampire, orc, and werecreature factor as well. He didn’t want to just rely on technology to keep his prisoners in his care. So he insisted on arming and hiring some of the most ruthless and cruel people out there.

Of course, Giresun wasn’t here now. It wasn’t like he lived at the prison. Could anyone blame him? The man was ridiculously wealthy. Why should he even consider living in such a hell hole as the Rocky?

Getting in, Temmins thought, sure, that was near impossible but somewhat understandable, but that was nothing compared to getting out and getting away alive. The majority of their systems were concentrated on keeping people in. If they thought it was hard to break in, just wait until they tried to break out.

No, it had to be a mistake. Some sort of malfunction. Or perhaps a drill. He reasoned that could be it. Perhaps Giresun was running some sort of drill, not wanting his men, and other employees, to grow soft. Perhaps they were taking all this security for granted.

Temmins looked up from his work, not believing his own ears. A jailbreak? Here? How could that be possible?

Ran lay on the cold metal table, a small smile on his face as he pulled himself briefly to surface, allowing his senses to focus on what his ears heard. An alarm. In the grounds. Someone was here. Someone was here to rescue him.

It had to be a mistake, Temmins reasoned. There was no way anyone would even dare to attempt a break here. The security was too much. And then to even hope of escaping alive? An impossible dream.

On top of the startled orc, Clara pushed her sword farther into his chest. He seized, then slumped, head and arms falling to the cold ground, moving no more.

Clara removed both blades from the orc’s body and used his loin cloth to quickly wipe them clean. The other two orc lay on the ground moaning quietly, content to let the small woman dressed in black leave them to their wounds.

Clara ran for the other side of the courtyard as the alarm went off, announcing there was an intruder in their midst and a possible jailbreak scenario in progress.

The orc bellowed, but Clara couldn’t let his screams alert other guards. She jumped right at him, her remaining sword at the ready. With one quick slash she slit open the orc’s throat, cutting free his vocal cords, his roar switching to a silent wind of air. Dark blood spouted from the gaping wound.

Ponytail grabbed for his throat, but Clara quickly brought the blade around, plunging it into the orc’s chest. It punctured a lung, striking the heart. She rode him as he fell backwards, surprise on his face, not believing such a small thing could actually kill him.

Clara was desperate. The orc had hold of her foot and could crush it to nothing with very little thought. The ninja turned, sticking a sword deep in the orc’s wrist, slicing tendons to his hand, his grip immediately loosening.

He roared, bringing his other fist crashing down toward her. Clara scrambled to her feet, running from him, his fist slamming into the frozen ground where she had been a moment earlier. But she had left one sword still sticking out of the creature’s wrist. The orc stood up, roaring out of frustration.

Clara couldn’t let his noise alert others.

Both of Clara’s swords sunk deep into the orc’s groin. He froze, grip loosening on his sword. He made a small groan and even smaller whimper. She sliced her kitanas down and out and the orc collapsed, leaving his sword buried in the earth, clutching his wound.

Ponytail roared directly behind her. Clara leaped, but he grabbed hold of one tiny foot with his massive hand. She fell, being dragged back to the earth by her foot. She scrambled, knowing he could simply crush her foot to pulp at any moment. Clara turned, sticking her blade deep in his wrist.

The orc wielded his sword with both hands. Clara tried deflecting the blow, but there was so much power behind it, her own defense did little more than keep the blade from slicing her in two. Instead, the blow pushed her back and toward the ground. Dead eye loomed over her but didn’t slow to savor the victory too soon. Instead, he swiftly brought the blade down toward her again.

Having little other choice, Clara rolled toward him and stabbed at what was behind the loin cloth. Both of her swords sunk in and the orc froze, his eyes wide.

The orc on the ground was not dead, it taking more than a few dozen cuts and an elephant tusk buried in the orc’s back to do him in, but Clara doubted she would have to worry about him again this day.

Then ponytail came at her in a dead on charge. Clara sidestepped, avoiding his grasp, but realized too late that he was actually driving her toward dead eye. He wielded his massive sword with both hands now, leaving his club still impaling his friend on the ground. Clara tried to deflect the blow, but it was no use.

With fluid motion, Clara dove and rolled, feinting an opening for the orc’s attack. Dead eye came in quick, bringing his enormous sword down, but Clara rolled away. Taking advantage of his blind eye, she jumped at the other orc on the ground whose knee she had sliced. Dead eye swung his elephant tusk club blindly toward her. Clara leaped away from the fallen orc, the tusk piercing the creature’s back, dead eye unable to stop his own momentum upon seeing his compatriot on the ground.

The orc on the ground was not dead, but he was out of commission.