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?