City of Amnesia

OOC: Having talked to Finale, I think it'd mutually agreed that it's time we get this thing rockin'n'rollin'! ;D
I think we've agreed on the setting for the start of this RP to be before Big Fau (again)... So let's get the ball rolling :)
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The whirring sound of industrial fans... the chilling whisps of homogenized filtered air from ducts high above... the main meeting floor of Paradigm Tower was designed to be quite intimidating. Beams of artificial sunlight shown down through the glass of the observation deck, which began rotating with a jolt as soon as the Paradigm Committee had entered one of the numerous meeting rooms radiating from the central core-spire.

The committee had seated itself at one end of the table, closest to the slowly rotating deck... a number of folders and papers stacked neatly before them. A brief moment passed before a large desk and group of office furnishings passed one of the room's high walls into view; President Alex Rosewater seated stoicly in his chair. It was at that time that the person who had been summoned by the home office walked in.

"Colonel Dastun," Rosewater said as he rose from his chair, "please, have a seat."

The colonel looked up with an ever present furrow in his brow and walked to his seat... the door behind him closing with a deep thud.

"You see, we've been alerted to some rumors that have been floating around the Military Police."
Rosewater proceeded to walked down the wide stairway to the head of the long table. One of the committee slid an envelope down the table to Dastun

"Oh don't worry, you're in not in any trouble Colonel...quite the contrary. It's just-- "

Dastun's eyes widened with horror as he gripped the sides of the labeled envelope before him. "It-- can't be..." he gasped.

Rosewater smirked... "We'd like your professional opinion on some matters."

A loud crash was heard echoing through the halls... visitors and secretaries glanced down hallways in unison.

OOC:  Sorry, these are kind of, uh.. non-action-y posts for now, and took much longer to write than they should have given their length.  I didn't want to jump into anything crazy just yet.  

---

Beck circled his work carefully.  Everything seemed to be in place.  The lightning strike from his previous prison break had given him all these strange memories, and the more things he built, the easier it became.  It was a shame that the RX-3 had been denied its proper glory, but at least he'd managed to escape the police van before being slapped with another 700+ year sentence (with hard labor, to boot).  He rubbed his shoulder absently.  His method of escape was not, perhaps, the best, and had caused him plenty of aches and pains.  He'd been desperate, though.        

"Good job, boys."  Dove and T-Bone grinned like eager puppies waiting for a treat.  They weren't all that bright, but they did what Beck told them and that was good enough for him.  He shooed them off with a wave of his hand and they scuttled from the warehouse.  

Beck's eye twitched suddenly.  He wasn't sure what made him more irritated:  That Crow Boy had successfully humiliated him several times now, or finding out that Crow Boy was the dominus of that stupid black Megadeus.  Either way, his new robot would surely be able to stand up to Roger Smith's.  

Surely.

He circled it again, brushing a hand along its cool metal every so often.  Sometimes he even impressed himself, and that was no easy feat.  

---

Angel didn't bother sneaking into the Paradigm Co. building anymore-- at least not during the day.  After all, there was nothing illegal about being in the building just because she was no longer Alex Rosewater's secretary.  Alex didn't seem very concerned with what she did anyway, judging by his attitude the last time she'd seen him.  Besides, these days Rosewater was usually in some meeting or another.  She wasn't worried about running into Alex.

It was Alan she tried to avoid.

Today, though, she was in luck, for Alan was nowhere to be seen as of yet.  Alex was in some sort of committee meeting, and Alan was likely off doing some errand or chore on Rosewater's behalf.  She felt free to stroll the halls as she pleased, not really looking for anything in particular.  The real trick to finding out things at Paradigm was acting like you weren't trying to find anything out.  Most people with low-level jobs were only too glad to spread whatever gossip they'd heard, and Angel used this to her advantage at all times.  

Unfortunately, she hadn't learned anything of real value today.  At least, nothing she didn't already know.  That was why she stood now in front of that strange painting on the ground floor, looking up at the swirling clouds and the large, glowing angel in the center.  She looked as if she were reaching for something beyond the borders of the canvas, and Angel still couldn't decide if her expression was one of longing or of pain.  

It made her feel strange, looking at that painting.  And yet she'd stopped to look at it every time she'd come into the Paradigm building.  

A crash interrupted her reverie, coming from an upper floor.  It was faint, and not everyone seemed to notice it at first.  However, it was Angel's job to notice such things.  She stood still for the time being, debating whether it was worth it to go see what had happened.

Meanwhile...

Evangeline Celeste Townshend. Beloved wife & mother..

The inscription upon her mother's grave held no comfort for Emilia. It was barely a reminder that a person named Evangeline Townshend lived but it did not nessecarily mean she had truly died. At least if she knew her mother's body lie beneath her feet she could come to terms with her abandonment. Perhaps she could forgive her. Emilia had insane thoughts, morbid ones. There were times when she wanted to claw the earth till she reached her mother. She wanted to look upon her mother's corpse. Emilia was sickened. However her urge to confirm whether or not her father spoke the truth was stronger than her own disgust. But daddy is a liar. Emilia gritted her teeth as she knelt before her mother's grave. She touched the smooth pink marble, slick with droplets of rain. A bust of her mother was engraved into the tombstone. Droplets slid down her visage. Are you crying as well? Emilia felt the moist dirt beneath her fingernails, loose and malleable. She resisted. "What a waste of time. I know this couldn't have been your fate." Emilia at once felt a chill go through her. The emptiness of her own realization. Her mother had gone far away and she would never come for her. This was worse than if she was dead. If she was dead Emilia would have her there, always. Unfortunately for Emilia, she was astute. She knew now that for all these years she'd been confiding to a marble bust resembling her mother. Frigid, unfeeling, unthinking marble.

Emilia stood, throwing down a bouquet of pricey white roses at the foot of the tombstone. At the very least somebody with some sense could steal them and re-purpose them as a gift for someone who truly lied in that cemetary. If she ever saw her mother again, she had something else intentioned for her and it wasn't roses. That's for damn sure.

                                                    ************
"That took you longer than usual."

"Well, I just had so much so say." Emilia's sarcasm would've been obvious to everyone, but it was lost her young company. His name was James Kurt. He was a minor character, who, much to his chagrin, would go through her life just as a mention. For the moment, however, he was blessed with her presense. He was grateful that he'd landed the job as Thomas Townshend's assistant. He had hoped that he would win Emilia's affections and her father's approval. Yes, he would've been the perfect candidate for Emilia. He just had one fatal flaw; her father liked him. That alone was enough to make him repugnant.

"Is father at one of his meetings?" Emilia changed the subject quickly. James had a habit of making a fool of himself. She knew it was all well intentioned but any mention of her mother today and she'd burst into hystronics.

"Of course, you know your father is a very important asset to Paradigm! I bet you he's with Alex Rosewater right at this very moment." He sounded excited. Poor thing.

"Oh, good to be reminded of where his alliances are." Emilia rolled her incandescent brown eyes and flashed a smile, Jame's way. James, as to be expected, melted on the scene. Emilia was one of those girls who had an extra something. She was the personification of word angelical. She had inherited her mother's extraordinary (some would even say foreign) good looks. Her oval face was made beautiful by her shapely eyebrows which delicately rounded a pair of large brown eyes garlanded by long bare lashes. She was Evangeline's image, perhaps in doll form. Had she still posessed her pale blond hair, she would've seemed, from a distance, to be her mother. She had it cut and dyed brown precisely for that reason. Her mother's image saddened her. She came to a point where looking at her reflection would bring back all her recollections of that terrible evening.

"Would you like to leave now?" James sounded hopeful, like his was waiting on a Emilia to give the word so he could wisk her off.

"Yes. I'm all done here."

"Hungry? your father told me to make sure you got a bite to eat."

When father is in one of his board meetings I could be starving and he wouldn't care. Emilia knew that , as always, it was a well intentioned but at that moment she felt highly annoyed by the statement. He was clearly asking her out to lunch, she knew that. He was just using her father as an excuse. That bothered her immensely. She wanted to be honest and say how much but it would be wasted on poor James. She politely declined his invitation.

"Just have the driver take me into the city. I'll find a way to entertain myself there. After that you're free to run over to Paradigm Corp."

(Note: This is a modified version of my character's backstory from the MFL. It's not happening at the same time as other posts; it's a flashback. Maybe about the time of R.D.)

Jim did not remember his parents or any family; his earliest recollections were from about age six, when he was living on the streets Outside the Domes. Not an easy life, but he was adept at finding enough food to get by, avoiding trouble, and picking good hiding spots to spend the night.

He was picked up by the Military Police in his early teenage years and sent to a Paradigm-sponsored children's shelter. There he got a modest education and though he ran away from it less than five years later, it allowed him to find a steady job washing dishes and cleaning tables at a diner Inside the Domes. He got a decent apartment with his first paycheck, and lived his life from one day to the next--not unlike he had as a child.

Until the day the Red Megadeus came, anyway.

He had watched the battle between the two armored titans, understood that the Black Megadeus was standing against the Red to defend the city (even with all the collateral damage). And though it was an agent of destruction, Jim could not help but feel awed by the Red Megadeus--so much faster and more agile than its foe, evading attacks seemingly without effort. Even after the Black Megadeus had dropped from the dome and smashed it to pieces, he couldn't shake a sense of wonder at something that huge and powerful flying through the air with the greatest of ease.

The diner he worked at was destroyed during the fight, and while he searched for another job in the weeks following, he felt something calling to him. As if seeing the flying Megadeus had awakened some memory that lay dormant in the back of his mind. Though he was not aware of it, his wanderings gradually took him further out of the city, until one day he turned a corner and found himself staring out at the endless wastelands. The call was even stronger now, and it took all his will to turn away. But he had no intention of resisting forever.

With the last of his money, he bought a decent pack and enough food & water to last him a week or two. Without looking back, he walked out into the desert.

After two weeks of trekking across the sands, with only his instinct to guide him, he came to a vast canyon, wider than a city block and deep enough to swallow skyscrapers. He managed to find his way down to the bottom, and while he was drinking from the river that ambled slowly past...

------


Jim dunked his head in the gloriously clear water. His water canteen had run out two days before, so finding the river was either a miracle or a sign that he was heading in the right direction. Right now, he didn't care which. He shook his head, throwing droplets everywhere, then bent again and drank greedily from the river. When his immediate thirst was sated, he pulled the empty canteen from his pack and began to re-fill it. His legs still ached from walking, so when that was done he settled back against a large, inviting rock. "Think I'll just...take a nap..." he muttered to himself before drifting off into sleep.

------


Gradually stumbling into awareness, Jim opened his eyes to find a pair of deep emerald ones staring back at him. A moment passed before he jumped with surprise; the other person yelped and fell back on her rear.

She was younger than he was--not a child, but no more than eighteen at most. Her long, blonde hair was tied into a ponytail that reached almost to the waist of her scruffy-looking work jeans. She must've liked green--she wore an emerald hair-band and a shirt only a shade or two lighter than her eyes.

Jim had wound up partially sitting on top of the rock he had slept against, and she had scooted away until her back was against a boulder a few yards away. They stared at each other, and neither could shake the feeling that they knew the other somehow...despite the fact they had never met before.

Finally, Jim cleared his throat. "I'm--I'm sorry if I scared you, miss, but you took me by surprise."

She blinked. "No, no--I was surprised as you--I was worried you were dead, you were lying so still..."

"Heh. No, I'm not dead, though my legs certainly feel like it..." he groaned as he sunk back to the ground.

She gave him an odd look. "You're... a traveller?" He nodded.

"Been walking two weeks, and I ran out of water two days ago...stopped to get a drink, sat down, and guess I just drifted off. I don't even know how long I was asleep..."

She thought this over for a moment, then gasped. "You're from the city?!"

He frowned. "Paradigm? Of course...why?"

She stood up, dusting herself off. "I'll have to take you to see Father. He said someone would come eventually." She came over and extended a hand to help him up. "Don't worry, it's not too far." He took the offerred hand and she pulled him up with much more strength than he would've expected from a girl her size. Combined with the fact that her hand was cold--

"You're an android?!"

She nodded. "My father built my brother and I... even though he doesn't remember how. He's old, and--well, you know." Old enough to have lived through whatever had robbed the world of its memories, forty years ago.

She turned and started walking along the riverbank. "Come on!"

Jim blinked, still somewhat confused. "Wait...you never even told me your name!"

She paused, peered over her shoulder, and smirked at him. "My name is Kaisera. Now come on, it's going to get dark soon."

------


The sky was turning red from the sunset as Kaisera led him up a well-worn path to a small cabin, nestled up against a small forest of pine trees that clung to the canyon wall. They passed gardens with plants Jim had never seen before; though presumably the fruits were edible. There was a ryhthmic thok, thok, thok from the back of the cabin. Kaisera led him around.

A young man, older than Kaisera but probably still younger than Jim, was chopping wood in the backyard. He stopped as they approached. "Jim, this is my brother, Greystar. Grey, this is Jim Starluck--he's from Paradigm City." Greystar raised an eyebrow at this, but said nothing. "Greystar's vocal circuits burnt out several years ago," Kaisera explained apologetically. Greystar simply shrugged, obviously used to it by now. He gestured at the cabin--smoke was coming from the chimney--where someone was apparently cooking dinner.

Kaisera opened the door. "Father?" she pulled Jim in by the wrist. "This is Jim... he came from--"

"Paradigm City. It was bound to happen sooner or later." answered the man getting up from the table. If Jim had expected a feeble old scientist he would've been sadly dissappointed: though old, the man was obviously in shape. He put down the knife he'd been chopping a carrot with and extended his hand. "Welcome. You've good timing, now I can cook enough for two." Jim took his hand and shook it, surprised at the grip--he definitely kept in shape--but not nearly as much as he had been with Kaisera. Her father was clearly human. "So, young Jim...what brings you out this far?" he asked, smirking to himself as if enjoying a private joke.

Jim explained over the vegetable-and-fruit dinner, telling them about the battle between the Black and the Red Megadeus, and the strange urge he felt driving him into the desert. He didn't notice, but during his tale the two androids and their father glanced at one another knowingly. As Greystar was collecting the dishes, the old man sat back in his chair with a thoughtful expression. "I see...then it's finally time. Kaisera, tomorrow morning I want you to take Jim here and...show him around. But for now, lad, you look like you could use a good night's in a real bed."

-----


As Jim slept, strange dreams wandered through his head. Dreams of the battle, of clouds, a sense of soaring high in the sky, and of something calling his name. He only dimly remembered them when he awoke, refreshed and well-rested after his trek across the desert. Yawning, he looked up to see Kaisera watching him from a chair by the table. "Morning, sleepy-head. You ready?"

After an excellent breakfast, they set off down the river, in the opposite direction from where she had found Jim. They walked for quite some time... and when Jim asked where they were going, Kaisera simply smirked and said "You'll see soon enough."

As they walked, Jim puzzled over the girl leading him. "Kaisera... wait a minute." She stopped and turned to face him. "Do you mind if I ask a personal question?" he finally said.

"Not at all," she replied.

"You're an android, and you said your father built you but didn't remember how... but you don't act like any android I've ever met, and I've known a few. You're more..." he paused to find the right word. "...human."

She smiled and looked down, and Jim could've almost sworn he saw color in her cheeks. "I'll take that as a compliment, so thank you. And yes, I know. I've never met another android besides Greystar, but Father told us that we were different. We're both more than forty years old, though, so..." she trailed off, then shrugged. "Neither of us, or Father for that matter, knows how or why. It's just the way we've always been." She glanced back up at him. "It's not a problem, is it?" she asked worriedly.

"No, no, it's alright," said Jim hastily. "Not a problem at all." He smiled. "In fact, I like this better than I would if you were like any other android." Something subtle changed in her expression as Jim realized how that sounded, and he pushed on before she could ask. "It makes sense, really, if your father's out here all alone. He probably didn't want to be lonely."

Kaisera was still looking at him funny, but nodded. "We should get going," she said after a moment. Jim nodded in return, and they resumed their journey.

Eventually they came to a sturdy door, set into the canyon wall. Kaisera pulled out a key and opened the heavy padlock, then swung it open. A staircase descended into darkness. Jim looked down, then glanced at her and raised an eyebrow. She rolled her eyes. "Just go on in. There's nothing that's going to bite you." He stepped down and she followed, turning on a series of lights set into the walls when she closed the door.

The stairs were actually quite short, reversing once and leading to an elevator. They climbed in and Kaisera turned it on; it immediately dropped down at a speed that worried Jim but didn't seem to phase his guide. After a few moments of descent, the rock face vanished and they entered a vast, cavernous space, the extent of which was not illuminated by the single, feeble light on the elevator. It stopped at a catwalk that went off into the darkness. Kaisera walked down it confidently and stopped at a control panel right on the edge of the light.

She put her hand on a large switch, turned to Jim, and said "Brace yourself." He expected lights to activate when she threw it, and they did.



What he did not expect was the Megadeus they illuminated.

The massive robot stood surrounded by gantries and work ladders, but the overall shape of it was discernable. It was the same general shape as the Black or Red Megadeus, except its metal skin was a gleaming silver with blue stripes here and there. Its eyes were dark, cold...and it radiated an aura of sleeping, of waiting.

Kaisera led a stunned and speechless Jim down the catwalk and up a gantry that brought them level with what was obviously the cockpit. "Father, Greystar and I have been keeping him in perfect condition for the last forty years--knowing that someday, someone would come from Paradigm City to awaken him. Someone drawn by urges they couldn't explain. His name is Big Avenger."

Jim, still somewhat in shock, repeated her blindly: "Big... Avenger?"

The eyes of the Megadeus lit up, flashing with a brilliant blue-white. Kaisera smirked. "I think he likes you."

No longer aware of his own actions, Jim slowly made his way down the catwalk leading to the cockpit. There was a chair, surrounded by controls, facing three circular viewscreens. Almost on instinct, he swung himself over the controls. He sat, slowly, reverently, as though the chair was fragile--but it was comfortable, perfectly suited--the chair he hadn't realized he'd been looking for all his life.

The three viewscreens lit up, all the other controls began to whir as they came to life, and across the central and largest screen words began to scroll:

CAST IN THE NAME OF GOD... YE NOT GUILTY

Elsewhere.

---

"Wake him up."

The first thing Alan saw was light.

"Can you hear me?"

The initial glare failed more and more until human shapes distinguished themselves against their featureless background--a dozen black eyes set into white walls and scrubs and flesh. He sat up, and then they all descended upon him in unison.

"Don't get up yet," exclaimed the chief surgeon. "Sudden bending of your spine is the last thing you need right now. You need to let yourself adjust gradually. Only one thing at a time." His gaze followed a technician as she attended to the bags and monitors at the patient's bedside, then turned his attention back to him. "Vision normal?"

Alan was frowning. "It's bright in here."

"It's quite dark in here, actually, comparatively speaking. As I said, adjustment. You'll naturally experience some permanent increase in sensitivity to light, as long as your visual network operates within its current parameters, but most of what you see now should subside in a short time.

"You sat up just now. Am I right in assuming that the pain is manageable?"

At that, Alan smiled thinly, glancing at his colorless face reflected on the side of a nearby metal tray--gray lips, gray skin, all boring and nothing--and then down to the surreptitious IV tube vanishing into the inside of his elbow just above his metal arm. With a note of satisfaction, he replied, "I don't feel anything."

"Good. Then, slowly, we're going to stand you up. Don't go making any sharp movements. Just tell us if anything feels wrong. Gentlemen, ladies? Carefully, now."

Somehow Alan could sense the floor on the soles of his feet before he came anywhere near it, but his dead legs buckled immediately under his weight. His attendants steadied him, supporting him entirely, while the chief looked on.

A tech huffed. "It's a wonder you're even capable of communicating, the meds we've got you on, much less stand. It would probably be safer just to sleep, if we didn't need your feedback."

"Seems everything went smoothly, though," said the chief, pulling off a bloody latex glove with a snap. "I'll have Mr. Rosewater notified that you're out."

"It feels good."

Alan gave a dull look to the IV tugged loose from his arm as they settled him back, and the closest nurse reinserted it after a small flail.

Brightly: "Good! Rest for now."

Alan looked forward to seeing what he could do when he woke.

Inside the domes, the weather nature had intended for the day was never an issue. It was always sunny, or a variation thereof. Some days it would be sunny with a bit of clouds. Other days, like the current one, it was sunny with a light breeze curling through and over the towering buildings. They were stifling things, the buildings. Looming over everyone with the constant threat that perhaps they'd just tilt over and fall, dooming everyone below. As one went further into Central Dome, the home of the Paradigm Corporation, it got even worse, coming to a head with the immense tower that was the evil company.

She sat with legs dangling over the edge. Gaining access to the apartment, and from there the rooftop, had been simple enough. Wearing fine clothing that surely only Dome-dwellers could afford was half the effort, and from there all that remained was but to act as though you belonged where you were going, moving in a rush, deflecting questions and suspicion with arrogance and dismissal. It was far too easy to fool the people who lived here. The woman's eyes caught on the ugly monstrosity at the center of the Dome and a sneer tried to force itself onto her lips at the image she immediately associated with it, the vile man called Alex Rosewater.

Instead, Vera smiled lightly and began to hum a simple little tune under her breath to pass the time. Paradigm City was going to burn.

R. Dorothy could certainly fool anyone. She would have made a fine young woman, had she actually been made of flesh and blood. Even Roger Smith himself had to admit, she was quite lovely to look at. She wasn't necessarily modeled as a woman, though. She was petite, of statue and build. Her body modeled to be youthful or not yet matured as a woman’s would be. Roger knew that she was made to resemble Wayneright’s daughter, who in life was in her late teens. She was young only as far as her demure features were concerned, however her demeanor gave her away. She lacked the sparkle and natural awkwardness of youth. She was poised, rigid, and stern. Had Wayneright really programmed her correctly? Perhaps in his bumbling mind he had missed certain elements that would have made her more human. Or perhaps this was who Dorothy was in life. Most of the androids made as replicates to human beings were programmed with a certain false warmth. While R. Dorothy would at times lapse into behavior that could almost be called “emotional”, she was still decidedly android.

There R. Dorothy sat at the dining room table, her small white hands folded neatly in her lap. She had finished her tasks and was now stationary. It was in those rare moments that she actually did appear to be quite human. As the sunlight filtered in through the sheer curtains, her face illuminated with a warm white glow. Her dark eyes reflected a lighter hue and for one rare moment it seemed as though she was real. She was as lovely a vision as any. Perhaps this was the Dorothy Wayneright she was based on. This warm, placid creature who simply radiated with such an honest, graceful beauty.

Honest. It was difficult to consider one's self honest when you were made to be a lie; an illusion of what was once real. R.Dorothy did not seem to care who she resembled. She was a creature all her own. While most beings would be curious on the matter, she was not. She was curious about the lives surrounding her, but not necessarily that life; not Dorothy Wayneright's life. Andriods were not unquestioning, she did question to be certain. She reasoned that it was unnessecary to bother Roger Smith or anyone with a past that didn't truly belong to her. She knew she was correct in her processing, it would be a waste of time and it would serve no one. So she was the only Dorothy that existed as far as everyone was concerned.

                                                    

After lingering around for a while longer, Angel decided that there was nothing to be learned at the Paradigm building that day.  The crash, whatever it had been, didn't seem to be anything of interest, judging from the way the Paradigm employees continued their work.  And even if it were, Angel decided she'd simply learn about it later.  She had to admit, she was disappointed with how her day was going.  Nothing new learned, and not even so much as a glance of Roger Smith.  With one last look at the strange painting, she sighed, turned on her heel and exited the Paradigm building, into the fake sunlight of the domes.  

Much to her reluctance, it was about time to visit an.. acquaintance.  Her Memory gathering wasn't going very well lately.  To be honest, she wasn't sure if she even cared anymore, but this was the life she had resigned herself to long ago, and she had no choice but to continue on with her mission.  Still.. things weren't going the way she wanted, and while she much preferred to work alone, there was one person who could perhaps be of some use.

---

Beck settled down with a cigar, a glass of wine, and that day's edition of the paper.  Plastered on the front page was a mugshot of himself, with the headline "Notorious criminal Beck Gold once again loose" and the subheading "Military Police promise Gold will be caught and brought to justice once and for all".  He couldn't help but laugh, and next thing he knew he was clapping his heels together, rocking back and forth in his chair.  It was all too perfect.  They'd never know what he had in mind next.  His creation was safe in a new location, a place where he was certain no one would ever find it.  He hadn't even told his henchmen.    The more he thought about it, the funnier it became, until he could hardly breathe from all his laughing.  

"Well, someone's impressed with himself."

He looked up to see a curvy silhouette in his doorway.  She stepped forward slightly, enough for him to see the blond curls partially obscuring her face.  His laughter stopped as suddenly as it started and was replaced with a scowl.  He sat upright and slammed his feet on the ground.

"The Fallen Angel herself.  I thought you weren't allowed out during the daytime.  Something about you bursting into flames in the sunlight.  I guess artificial light doesn't count?"  

"Why, that's no way to talk to a lady," she said, sauntering towards him.

"You're no lady, though.  What do you want?"  

She snatched his cigar suddenly, ignoring his question.  "Ooh, real tobacco?  Very vintage.  This must have cost a pretty penny."  

Beck snatched it back.  "It's worth it.  Have you tried the synthetic stuff Paradigm makes?  It's crap."  

"For you, maybe."  

"Just because you work for Alex Rosewater and you have your head up his--"

"Ah, ah," Angel wagged a finger at him.  "Language, Jason.  How rude."  She brushed her hair over her shoulder.  "As it happens, I no longer work for Rosewater.  It would seem I was fired some time ago."  A pause.  "You would have known that if you hadn't been in prison."  

"Not surprising.  That tends to happen when you try to steal information from your boss."  He began to tap his foot impatiently.  "What do you want, Angel?  I'm a little busy here."  

"Oh, are you?  How rude of me."  She walked in a slow circle around his chair.  She reminded him of a cat playing with its prey.  Finally she stopped in front of him.  "I know all about your little plan, you know.  I'm just not sure what you hope to accomplish by it."  

He choked on his cigar.  "What?  How did you--" He sputtered, sending cigar ash flying everywhere.  "I--we-- built it in secret!  There's no way you could have known."

"It's my job, dear Jason.  Though I must admit that I've never understood your grudge against Roger Smith."

"He's humiliated me over and over!  Him and that obnoxious android of his."

"You're a criminal!  What do you expect him to do?"  She laughed.  "You were lucky to get the sentence you did last time, by the way.  The Military Police would love nothing more than to be rid of you once and for all."  She took the newspaper from his hands, scanning the headline before tossing it back at him.  "I wouldn't be surprised if it's an execution next time.  It's a good thing no one else knows about your newest plan."  She laughed brightly.  "Oh, except me, of course."  

Beck flicked his cigar ashes in her face.  "What do you want, Angel?"

She stood up, brushing the ashes off with a gloved hand.  "The same thing I always want, of course."

"Memories."  

"Obviously.  And I need you to help me find some in particular."  She began to walk out the door, then looked back over her shoulder for dramatic effect.  "I hate to resort to blackmailing, but I do need your help.  Unless, of course, you'd rather I went to the Military Police with what I know."  

Beck dropped the last of his cigar to the ground and took his time smushing it rather aggressively.  He hated to rise to her bait, but with this woman, there was no telling what she'd do if she didn't get her way.  Beck knew he couldn't trust her, and yet he had no choice but to do what she wanted.  "Lead the way, Angel," he said through gritted teeth.    

She stood back from the door, ushering him out before her.  "After you," she said sweetly.

This can't end well, Beck thought as the door closed behind him.

"A world in flames."

In a building outside the domes, was an office, barely lit through venetian blinds. Not much light in Paradigm, not sunlight anyway. Sitting in his chair with a note in his hand was Harold Werrington, your own private eye to hire when the going got shady. Sure, you might hire one of the better negotiators to scrounge about to you, but if you want to find something you call an investigator, like old Harry here. The note could easily pass for machine print at a glance, but it was just really well done handwriting. The message was short, simple, and yet carried a sense of foreboding that let Harold know it wasn't just some moron rambling.

"A world in flames."

He repeated it over and over again, slowly, trying to find anything he could link to this. The arson incidents, rare in this City of Amnesia, stopped months ago, the perp still one of the Military Police's most wanted, and to the day the offers he's received to join the force again to hunt down this sumabitch keep coming.

He slid open a drawer to his left, crumpled up the note, and removed a thick black metal case with a gold eagle on it, a symbol of something long dead to this city. Sticking out its side was a small combination lock embedded into the thing itself, and Harold turned it accordingly. A neat stack of cigarettes were residing in their own cozy little compartment in the lower left hand corner, ready to be consumed in fire for the benefit of Harold at the expense of his lungs.

A long polished black cigarette holder was held in the clutches of two latches that suspended it on the top half of the case, and quickly escaped by Harold's hand, only to find itself pushed into a slot near the stack of cigarettes. A series of small mechanical arms shuffled about and started a process of lifting a cigarette, lighting it, and placing it in the aforementioned holder.

One of the various small arms held it up and offered it to him. He took a drag and exhaled, watching the smoke for some sort of sign.

Flames.

---

Embers died underneath mechanical foot and force, being crushed into the aged carpet. Not so different from the dirty streets of Paradigm, not like before. Inside this condemned building, it was like looking at the city itself make a joke of the conditions of those outside the dome. A man wrapped up tightly in a trench coat and gas mask tinkered around with a few small cylinders no bigger than a can of soda; tanks for the flamethrower in his hand, to recharge the bigger tank on his back that was obscured by the trenchcoat. Once he was satisfied with their condition, he obscured them within his coat and went to the roof.

He jumped from rooftop to rooftop with ease, crossing several blocks in a matter of minutes, after which the man in the mask stopped. He descended into the building, an antique shop heavily guarded against conventional entrances. The owner was a light sleep, and even the mechanically guided footfall could not help but alert his sharp ears. He watched the man peruse through several old watches, the kind they can't make anymore, before making his move with a hammer in hand.

The man noticed this, and with his unnatural speed made his way back onto the roof. The owner followed, ready to smash this bastard's face in. When he came out, he smelled smoke. The flamethrower was spewing its payload high, causing the ignited mixture it shot to blanket the ground. In panic, the owner tripped and fell down the stairs, escaping the flames but breaking his neck. The flamethrower retracted.

The man in the mask descended toward the body, and searched his body. He fished out a closed gold pocketwatch by its chain. A murmur came from underneath the gasmask, a sort of chuckle. The top, engraved with the word "METRON", came open, showing it had apparently stopped working at 5:00 sharp, as well as a photograph on its other half.

On both of the inner halves, a counterclockwise movement removed the faux covers, revealing a green almond shaped ring being orbited by a white square and red triangle, with a black background. On the bottom side of the cover was a curious display of a digital gauge, manipulated by the knob on the bottom of the watch. A number appeared in the empty center of the green ring, showing the specific frequency it was tuning to.

Every so often, when a certain frequency was reached, a name briefly flashed below the number in red font, with a miscellaneous message below it. The magic number was 65536. Green, O.K., Clearance code desired.

A grunt of frustration came out of the mask. He took out a notepad, and in machine-perfect writing he copied the displays to scale. On the back, he wrote something. He closed the watch, opened the coat, and put it in his pants pocket. He left as he came, leaping on rooftops without much fuss.

---

Harold opened his eyes, finding himself in his chair, as he was, minus the cigarette. He looked at the case and found a drawing of two circular displays. He flipped it over and saw "Find this code" nicely written. A sigh escaped his mouth, the sigh of a tired man in light of more work to be done.

Emilia was not of the opinion that she could actually enjoy herself in a day about town. She had lied, a habit that had become second nature to her in her soon to be twenty second year of life. She was not in reality a good liar by any means, even though that seems to be contridictory. But like most citizens in the this city of amnesia, Emilia suffered from a contridictory nature. She was both outspoken and tactful, aloof and friendly, innocent and ,in some small measure, perverse. In her logic the only true liar was her father, whatever tales she spurned were insignificant in comparision to his.

Emilia had directed the driver to just let her off near Paradigm University, under the pretext that she was to meet with a brilliant former professor of hers. It was the truth. She was going to meet with an former "professor"...but the term was used very generously in this case. With an unquestioning glance James' eyes met with Emilia's. He seemed to be soaking in the brief moments awarded to him, as he sat adjacent to her in the car. He gave her an awkward, crooked little simper. It reminded her suddenly of an old beau she had..."beau" also being used rather generously. In that moment as she met James' smile with her own she recalled that exciting young man. Her heart fluttered and in that instant where she had caught a glimpse of the past. She remembered it was James and the illusion was over; the flutter expired.

"Shall I accompany you? I would love to meet the man who inspired you." James said rather dreamily, trying to impress Emilia.

"That is kind of you, however, he is a very stubborn old gentlemen. He'd rather I did not interrupt his research with many guests. He has got an awful temperment for working alone." Emilia saw the little sparkle die out in James' eyes. She felt rather awful, then. He was a man who'd do anything for her and here she was pining away for an old flame. A shady character who did nothing but trifle with her, but such was temperment of a young heart.

"Oh. So what time shall I have the driver pick you up." James spoke with all meloncholy of a child who hadn't gotten that train he wanted for christmas.

"I'll take a taxi home, I can take care of myself, you know." She spoke with a teasing smile on lips. " Just run along to Paradigm or you'll never get that big important promontion! You will have plenty of time to spend with me later."

James got the feeling he was being humored. He would not have time to spend with her. He allowed her to leave, trusting that she'd navigate herself back to her home safely. Trying to prove that he trusted her, knowing that he'd lose his job for losing sight of her. But such was the temperment of a young heart.

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

Emilia glided into the halls of Paradigm University with ease. She came as a returning conquerer. She was a collegate, even in dress. Her short cropped brown hair flopped over her warm chesnut colored eyes, round and garlanded with thin feathery lashes. She managed to greet a few familiar faces but the spring term was long over, leaving very few faculty. She found her way to the library. It was an exquisite, gothic, hall. There were monumental dark pillars made of a rare wood called "mahogany". In them there were beautiful angels carved, almost ascending into the sky. The building was there before amnesia, the referances, inscriptions still obscure to most people. The building itself the subject of many research papers.

"Emilia!" A creaky voice shattered the silence of the library, echoing in the space, sounding much bigger than it actually was. Emilia was taken aback but quickly recognized the voice.

"Mr. Vanguard, how have you been?" Emilia replied to him.

"Trying to keep these books in order. Everyday we have new ones. I suppose people are trying to make up more nonsense about forty years past." He lamented somewhat teasingly. He chuckled, "but they don't know what I know, do they?"

"I guess not. They will spend ages trying to figure it out." Emilia laid a guiding hand on Mr. Vanguard's shoulder. She led him to a seat, taking the small stack of books into her own grasp.

"Is this the...oh yes...shall I start to put them in order?"

"You are a darling, Emilia, truly." The elderly Mr. Vanguard took a deep relaxed breath.

"It's no trouble, Professor." Emilia glanced back as she was storing the books, "I don't believe that this university knows what a true miracle you are."

"Don't you dare say a word, Miss Townshend."

"You very well know that I would not. You are my greatest teacher. I would never betray that confidence." Emilia finishing placing the books on the shelves and took a seat next to her professor.

"I know you would never, but that boy you've been seeing...he's trouble."

Emilia frowned, Mr. Vanguard didn't seem to realize that her association with said individual was terminated.

"I do not have contact with him." She retorted rather crossly, not really directed at Mr. Vanguard but at the whole affair in general.

"Good."

Emilia leaned in eagerly. "Mr. Vanguard, will you ever share what you know. You haven't even told me."

"So you believe me to be a liar."

"Never that," Emilia couldn't help but smile. "I was simply suggesting that if you do have this memory perhaps it would answer many questons."

"It would not do any good to anybody. What do these people care for the memory of an old man. It's not something I want to sell. It's all the inheritance I have left to give."

"I can understand your logic. People these days would kill for any memory. It's sickening, really."

"Well it musn't be as repulsive to you as you suggest," he snickered, "you're mighty curious about mine."

"To be honest, yes, I am."

"Isn't everyone, though?" He said with resignation, tinged with a tad of disapointment. "Is that why you always come visit me?"

"Don't be so dramatic!" Emilia teased, "I've been fond of you before I even knew you had a memory."

"Yes, you are correct. You are the grandchild I never had. You are the nearest one to this old man's heart and you know it."

Emilia wrapped her arms around the elderly gentlemen, embracing him tightly. She teared up, feeling as if this was what having a grandfather must have felt like.

"Emilia, listen to me closely." Mr. Vanguard allowed her to back away a bit before trapping her within his grasp. "If I die, I'm going to give you my memory."

"But..."

"You made me realize...I'm not going to be around much longer. There is someone else who knows of this secret of mine. This person will do anything to attain this knowledge. I need someone to guard my inheritance, and I've choosen you."

"Mr. Vanguard..." Emilia was flabbergasted at his sudden change of heart. The words just didn't formulate quickly enough for her to even begin to try and respond to him.

"In fact, I felt that this person is already here to finish the job."

Emilia's pulse hastened. Who could he have been talking about? When in their discourse had he noticed that some one else had come in unannounced? They both were in a rather secluded area of the library. Who could have entered?

"Mr. Vanguard, there is no one here but us! What are you speaking about?!" Emilia's thoughts flashed through the spaces of her mind like a strobe light. They were simply continuous repetitions of the thoughts before. Such was her panic.

Then suddenly Vanguard's blue eyes glazed over. His vision seemed lost, as if his eyes were following one bee in a swarm. Beadlets of sweat collected on his brow and suddenly his grasp grew tighter, out of control. In that instant of insane panic he told her were he had recorded the memory....everything. He begged her to find it, and if she was lucky she'd get back in time to explain it to her.

Before Emilia could even process what was happening she found herself searching frantically for the record. He had hidden it in a book titled The Secret Garden a title from a memory. She snatched it up in her hands and ran back to Mr. Vanguard. She held something precious in her hands, this lonely old librarian's final & sole legacy. It burned in her grasp.

She found him. Dead. A heartattack. His memory in her hands, undeciphered.  

The crash had resonated around the spacious interior of the building before finally diminishing into a barely audible hum...

"COLONEL DASTUN!" a surpised but angry voice called out.

Every ounce of instinct in the old soldier overpowered his rational senses of etiquette... the chair he sat in flew back into the door, and then slid into a pedistal holding a rather fancy ceramic vase.

Following a few moments seething rage, Dastun snapped back to reality and realized what he had just done before the committee and Rosewater. He looked nervously over at the shattered pottery, which must have been a relic from before 40 Years Ago, and was about to beg forgiveness when Rosewater spoke...

"Oh it's quite alright. It can be quite a--  touchy subject."

"With all due respect, if you're asking my opinion on if the military police needs to have...... I believe we already have more than enough to handle the current threats to Paradigm City."

"Is that so," Rosewater sighed mockingly; it was apparent to everyone that a decision had already been made. "Tell you what, I'll let you think about it for a while. If you change your mind... you know what to do."

Dastun didn't know why Rosewater of all people would need his consent on such an audacious project...or why he wouldn't be reprimanded for destroying an actual Memory.... but what he did know was that life in the City of Amnesia was about to change. He saluted the group and then left, leaving the opened folder on the table. The three chairpeople of the committee exchanged glances at each other.


Colonel Dastun walked down the hallway to the cable-transport platform, and waited angrily for the next train to come.

"I have to tell Roger," he muttered.

An 'up' car passed on the outside track-- a glint of light...  Dastun glanced upward towards the rim of the main hall, high above the floor.... a man in black watching him.... on the other side, a second man....

"Damn it."

R. Dorothy Waynewright

   R. Dorothy on rare occasion was dispatched to the store to pick up a few utilities that ran short in the Smith household. She kept well organized list in her mind; was instructed to pick these items up and return straight away. These were the instructions she was supposed to follow. Dorothy would get around to it, in an eventual fashion. However those who commanded her might have known better than to think that R. Dorothy was such a simplistic being. It was that heightened sense of "being" that provoked her to more stimulating pursuits along the way.

Before reaching the store she squandered a great deal of time observing a group of motley street musicians. She watched one quite intently, a young man. His face obscured by long, oily, brunette tresses. He shot a playful side glance over at the petite andriod. An odd sensation seemed to wash over him, as his flirtacious grin was not reciprocated. The teal of his eyes seemed to dull to a grey as he realized he had no effect over that lovely, yet queer creature. R. Dorothy observed that as the first song came to an end the small group of humans surrounding the musicans clapped politely. She brought her hands together and did so; although merely out of "politeness" for R.Dorothy had a critical ear. Their playing was definately not to par with other renditions she had heard. However she took into account what Roger had told her about playing with "heart". Dorothy then marched onwards, remaining as a puzzle to the perplexed young performer.
                                                          ***********
Paradigm was a city where it was not uncommon to see an android, but if you did happen to see one you'd recognize it as such. The unique quality about Dorothy was that at first glance you could not imagine that inside of her shell she wasn't made of anything but circuitry and parts. However she reasoned that most humans were made of the same components, although different in composition. She was an organism as well as they were. Aside from her physical attributes she did have a working conscienciousness. What she knew for certain was that it was a mystery even to herself as to how she operated. Even more perplexing was that she experiance strange sensations, although they were not physical.

On her little voyage to the store she experanced many diverse sensations. Her circuitry sparked with new thoughts and processes. She let her mind wonder, she thought of Roger. He occupied the majority of her new thoughts. He seemed to have a strange way of just enveloping her ideas about humans. Whenever she met someone new that wasn't her father, Norman, or Roger she'd draw a comparision. Roger who was generally interested in having her exihibit more "humanlike" behavior seemed to encourage her to initate in polite conversations. It seemed to Dorothy that he found her more tolerable, when she was trying to adapt. Thus when she was on her own, he was always present, almost as if her own memories of Roger were coaching her. She remembered this whenever she ran into the shopkeeper.

"Hello, how are you?" She spoke in a manner that lacked any affectation, however the gesture was appreciated just the same, usually. Dorothy finished her chores, about an hour late, and proceeded back to the mansion. If andriods could experiance hope, then she was hoping that Roger would, by then, be home. Why she wished this was illogical, but not entirely beyond her reasoning. Just as when Roger was with that woman named Angel, what she felt in those instances was illogical as well but she was beginning to understand what the human concept of "jealousy" was.

The door to the grandfather clock latched into place, sealing the swinging pendulum inside. There was a handkerchief in Norman's pocket. He nimbly removed it with thumb and index, and ran the soft cloth across his dusty hands. Until Roger deigned to rise from his tomb and take to the world of the living, the cleaning of this antique, pre-Event timepiece was the last outstanding duty he had. Norman looked at the piano. Dorothy was gone for the moment, off purchasing supplies that the mansion required, and Roger's awakening by way of pounding music was delayed.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

He faced forward again, returning the handkerchief to his pocket. His reflection in the mirror-like glass covering caught his eye, and he observed it. Though there was no questioning of the assertion, no one had forgotten everything. For example, Norman's black patch. From the very start, he'd been aware of it. His vision had been thinner than he thought it should be, and unbidden, "I'm missing an eye" had popped into his head, and he knew it was true. And of course he'd known how to speak, and how to use a telephone, and, when he discovered the giant figure standing silently in the hangar, that it was waiting for it's true master and it was his station in life to safeguard and maintain the machine, the megadeus, the Big O, until that master came.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

Norman stood from his kneeling position. Master Roger would be rising soon with or without piano, and breakfast had to be waiting.

(OOC: Continuation of flashback. For the record, if you aren't listening to Sure Promise right now, you should be. ;D)

Kaisera couldn't stop grinning. He had come. He had finally come. Their decades of dilligence were about to pay off. She leapt from the top of the gantry and landed with expert grace on the main catwalk below. Running to the control panel, she began to retract all the service equipment, clearing the way for the Megadeus to deploy. It was a procedure they hadn't done in years--and the last time was only to ensure that nothing had broken in the launch mechanism. This time was for real.

Inside Big Avenger, Jim went through the start-up procedure on automatic...long-dormant memories surfacing from the depths of his mind and guiding his hands to the proper controls. A metal ring lowered from behind him and twin control sticks slid out into the perfect position for him to take hold of them. He felt a shudder as the maintenance gantry began to move forward, ancient gears rolling it along the dust-covered path.

A ray of sunlight stabbed down into the hangar as the blast door high above began to iris open. Jim regained control of his senses long enough to wonder how the Big was going to get up there, but his hand moved of its own accord and flipped two switches on a panel which his memories labeled [Ignition]. Outside, he saw Big Avenger's arms raise to point his hands upward... except his hands were retracting, fingers telescoping inward to be covered by a protective cone.

Then he heard--no, felt--a rumble that had nothing to do with the service gantry. On a smaller monitor he noticed Kaisera jumping up and down and, presumably, cheering... because the two massive jet engines inside Big Avenger's arms had been the most difficult system to service, and they were thundering to life before her eyes for the first time in forty years. Twin collumns of flame erupted from the Megadeus' elbows, and the roar increased steadily in fervor. Just as he was starting to get worried that something was going to explode, Jim noticed that it was getting lighter--he could see the wall of the launch shaft moving downward in front of him.

The silver-and-blue Megadeus rose, like a fallen phoenix reborn from its ashes, out of the opening of the launch shaft. His armor gleamed in the mid-day sunlight, shining like it never had in the dim lights of the hangar. Though he could not explain it, Jim felt a profound sense of freedom--and then pure euphoria boiled up out of the depths of Big Avenger, at the simple fact that he was airborne again.

Nothing that can fly ever enjoys being underground for forty years.

The Megadeus gently prodded the mind of his Dominus, silently directing his attention to the engine controls. They were barely at one-half power. Jim, not for the first time in his life, felt the need for open sky. He grabbed the throttle control, took a deep breath, and pulled it all the way back. The Megadeus went from rising with stately grace to hurtling up into the sky like a rocket. As he cleared the canyon, slots on his arms opened, and two great silver wings telescoped out, extending and inter-locking, spanning a width more than twice Big Avenger's height. Four stubby maneuvering wings similarly deployed from his lower legs, and Big Avenger guided his Dominus into a barrel roll for the sheer joy of it.

Kaisera stood outside now, telescopic eyes tracking the silver Megadeus up into the sky. As he passed out of sight over the lip of the canyon, she frowned. The ground was still rumbling.

------


The memories surging through the silver Megadeus had awoken it. It remembered its ancient adversaries, who would rain death on its ken from the skies. It would face this one again, and it would bring it down or be destroyed in the attempt. It did not, could not know any other fate.

But first, it would need a servant to unlock its greater capabilities. It extended its senses, and found two within a reasonable distance.

They would suffice.

------


Flying, it would seem, came naturally to Jim. He had finally regained full control of his mind and body, but still knew how every control in the Megadeus' cockpit worked. That switch deployed the beam cannons, those buttons over there controlled the shields...and the control sticks and the pedals beneath his feet guided the Megadeus through the sky.

He banked around, covering more distance in a few seconds than he had in an entire day of his cross-desert trek. He was so high up he could even see the domes glinting in the distance. Jim glanced up at the clouds, tempted to find out what was above them--but Big Avenger had other ideas.

The controls locked, and for a moment Jim panicked...until the central monitor brought up a radar display. He could reckognize the canyon and hangar, and the spot where the cabin was...and something heading towards them, in the glaring scarlet of a hostile contact.

"Well...I needed to test out the weapons anyway. Looks like it's SHOWTIME!" He tilted the now-unlocked controls down, diving back towards the hangar.

------


Kaisera realized something was truly wrong when rocks began to fall from the canyon walls around her. She turned away from the hangar and ran--and boy, can androids run when they want to--back towards the cabin. She did not get far when something huge burst from the canyon wall.

It was immense, bigger than even Big Avenger. She glimpsed a giant 23 on its side. It screamed, a strange warbling cry that triggered something deep within her mind: fear...and something else. Her mouth opened and began spewing code until she slapped her hands over it, and the mechanical monster turned its massive, draconic head toward her. It began to crawl, gleaming yellow claws turning the floor of the canyon into sand at its touch. She turned and began to run, but the sand caught up and she fell into the deepening crater with a scream.

Terrified, she turned to see its face looming above her...and then it reared back as bright bolts of energy slammed into its body from above. A volley of missiles streaked down and impacted around its arms, sending it toppling onto its back. Big Avenger roared past overhead, banking around for another pass.

------


A new icon appeared on the monitor. It was only a default reading for Android, but Jim knew that only one android could be that close to the hangar right now. "You LEAVE HER ALONE!" he yelled as four beam cannon turrets extended from Big Avenger's chest and back, and fired as one. The focused energy blew off the Leviathan's (he wondered how he knew what it was called) front left leg, and it screamed again.

Finding its footing, the purple centerpiece in its right front leg glowed and shot out a blinding beam of light. It missed Big Avenger by a good distance, but it reminded Jim that he wasn't the only one with weapons. As he began evasive maneuvers, he tried to figure out if he could display any information about his enemy on the monitors. Schematics of several bizzare machines blinked past before it settled on the Leviathan-class Megadeus.

"Lesse here... automated... burrows... turns stuff to sand--mental note, keep your distance--lasers in hands and feet...ah! This is where it gets interesting."

Big Avenger knew his Dominus was busy researching their enemy, and while he agreed that it was a good idea in principle, he had some concerns about doing it while that enemy was shooting at them. So he took the liberty of subtly exaggerating Jim's evasive maneuvers enough to keep them alive, and considered prodding his Dominus' mind in the general direction of the shield generators and how to turn them on.

"Equipped with substantial armament, which can only be unlocked by interface with specific types of androids for security purposes... units are largely feral, but when all capabilities are unlocked become extremely dangerous..." Jim swallowed loudly. "Not normally a phrase you want to see. So, I need to keep it from getting Kais--uh-oh."

The Leviathan had finally figured out that it wasn't having very good luck with the claw laser, and had deployed a number of large missile racks from its back. The monitor strobed and an alarm dragged Jim's attention away from the datafile.

"Time to get low and fast... damnit, I wish I knew what that meant!"

Jim's memories did, though, and guided his hands to send Big Avenger into a steep dive and pull up just above the desert sands.

"Oh."

The maneuver threw the missiles off for a moment, but they arced down after the silver Megadeus and the alarm began getting more insistent as they closed. Jim was frantically wondering what to do next when Big Avenger discretely poked his mind towards the beam cannons. This Dominus was proving suprisingly easy to influence...possibly too young. Perhaps he needed another few years to ripen... no, wait, wait, that was for plants... mature! That was the word!

Big Avenger was not built with the capability for deep thought in mind.

At any rate, Jim got the hint and fired on the missiles with the beam cannons. He managed to blast several out of the sky, and the detonations threw a few others off-course. Some of them lost their lock and slammed into the desert, but a handful homed in on him no matter what.

They detonated around Big Avenger's feet, and a schematic displayed a "Damage Level 2" to the lower legs. Jim figured it wasn't too serious, and began coming around to face his enemy again.

------


Kaisera had began running again as soon as Big Avenger attacked--remaining in the vicinity of a Megadeus battle was not conducive to one's health--but with the missiles keeping him busy, the dragon was free to search for its prey.

She had found a small cave, though what good it would do against a monster that turned stone into sand she wasn't sure... but she could feet its footsteps heading away. She sighed in relief--then gasped as she realized where it was headed.

"The cabin! Greystar! Father!"

------


(OOC: cue Stoning)

Jim realized what had happened when the monitor thrummed a new warning: the Leviathan had found an android.

Greystar was paralyzed by the sheer force of memory flowing from the monstrous machine into him and then back again. He did it unknowingly and unwillingly, but he still did it. The draconic Megadeus screamed again with triumph, and dropped the hapless android back into the ruins of the cabin as it turned to face its foe.

Another beam of energy lanced from the claw-crystal, joined now by fire from a dozen cannons deploying from hidden compartments around its shoulders. Big Avenger dodged and weaved a corkscrew path across the sky, keeping ahead of it easily, but he could not attack and evade at the same time.

Wondering if he could get out of this, Jim scanned the controls and his new-found memories for something that could help them. His gaze rested on one panel that his mind called [Shield Controls]. He pressed a few buttons on it, experimentally.

A pair of shimmering, disc-shaped barriers appeared above and below Megadeus, flickering before fading almost to invisibility. The bottom one flared again when one of the claw-beam blasts struck it, but the weapon did not penetrate--it was stopped cold.

Jim grinned and swung around, guns blazing. The Leviathan practically ignored the light weapons fire--something heavier was needed. Big Avenger tried to plant the word "Chromestriker" in Jim's subconscious while the Dominus was busy evading fire from the extra beam cannons that had just deployed.

"Man, how many weapons does this thing HAVE?!"

Two additional sets of missile racks extended and fired a massive salvo.

"...forget I asked!"

The Beam Cannons cut through the salvo, weakening it to the point that the shields could deflect it, but they were running out of time. The Leviathan was rapidly discovering what it was really capable of; it was only a matter of time until it got to the rather disturbingly large energy cannon mounted in the head. Big Avenger remembered those, and he'd prefer to end the fight before it could be deployed.

Jim finally noticed the button that was labeled [CHROMESTRIKER] in very large bold letters in his memories. He swung around in a sharp turn and pressed it.

Big Avenger's helmet began to gleam and a faint beam stabbed out to strike the Leviathan squarely on the chest. It didn't seem to do anything and Jim started to feel cheated, but a moment later it surged with immense power and blew a hole clean through the other Megadeus. He tilted the controls downward slightly and the powerful beam sliced the Leviathan in two, carving right down the middle. The thing staggered, stood there bewildered for a moment, and then its head exploded. It fell backwards, slamming into the canyon wall and sliding down to slump and lie smoking, internal compenents occasionally exploding with muffled *thooms.*

------


Kaisera ripped aside part of the rubble, fighting artificial tears as she dug.

The silver Big settled to the ground not far away, and Jim could clearly see that the cabin had been smashed by the creature in its search for an android. He leapt over the controls to Big Avenger's waiting hand, which lowered him gently to the ground.

By the time he ran up to the ruins, Kaisera had unearthed Greystar--battered, damaged, and in shock, but otherwise functional--and her father.

He was bleeding from a massive cut on his head, one arm and both legs were clearly broken, and there was a large red stain spreading across his stomach. Kaisera wept as she held him in her arms.

"Don't... cry..." the old man murmured, barely conscious over the pain. "It was... my time anyway..." She lowered him gently to the ground, tears shining brightly on her cheeks. He turned his head to Jim, and beckonied him close with his good arm.

"You have to promise me, son... promise..." he coughed, blood spattering on his chest. "Promise me... that some day... you will remember."

Jim knelt, and took the old man's hand in his own. "You have my word," he answered in a tone more serious than ever before in his life.

The old man nodded, and smiled weakly... before his eyes shuddered closed and his head fell back. Jim felt the arm in his hands go limp, and Kaisera screamed with grief.

------


They buried him on the top of the canyon, on a bluff where he always liked to watch the sunset before coming down to cook dinner. Greystar had an arm around his sister, comforting her as best he could with his silent presence. Jim stood beside them, swearing a vow to himself that no matter what happened, he would fulfill the man's dying request.

Behind them, Big Avenger silently bowed his head...

...in respect for the passing of his former Dominus.

------


Much time had passed since then. Jim, Kaisera and Greystar had moved into living quarters they'd found attached to Big Avenger's underground hangar, and had busied themselves preparing the facility for regular use. Jim had taken the Megadeus out for another few test-flights over the wastelands, making a point to stay clear of Paradigm City for the time being.

Jim knew, despite the fact that he'd never considered such a situation before, that he didn't want to be like the Red Megadeus, or like any of the other monstrosities that had attacked the city before. He also didn't think Big Avenger would stand for it, and as close as the two had become in the weeks since they had met--despite the Megadeus never speaking a word--he didn't harbor any illusions about how the giant machine would respond if he attempted to mis-use its power.

The one thing that kept worrying him was the Black Megadeus. He didn't know how it would react to him and Big Avenger muscling in on its "turf," and given that it and whoever piloted it had won every battle he'd heard of and defeated many foes--including the Red Megadeus--he didn't want to get on their bad side. So for now, he stayed low.

That didn't stop him from keeping up with what was going on in Paradigm City. During their refurbishment of the Hangar, Kaisera and Greystar had come across a transport system: an underground railcar which, when activated, ferried its passengers to an abandoned station just outside of West Dome #5. Jim had utilized it to make discreet trips into the city and get in touch with some of the people he'd known off the streets. He had heard from them the tales of what had happened since he'd left--the Black Megadeus winning more fights, even smashing an angel falling from the heavens. Much of it was rumors and gossip, the facts clearly distorted after being passed around by word-of-mouth. He needed a reliable source.

A few inquiries had pointed him to a bar called the Speakeasy and a man named Big Ear, but one meeting alone made it clear that he was far above Jim's league--both in status and in price. Some other whispered suggestions had pointed him to a group spoken of in hurried, hushed tones: an organization called the Union. A discreet closer investigation hinted that they weren't the nicest people to deal with so he decided to stay clear of them, which left him very few options.  There was one person, however...

Which is how he came to find himself in the main lobby of the Paradigm Building, feeling extremely out-of-place. He had returned to his apartment (the landlord was forunately very relaxed about his month-overdue rent) and retrieved his best clothes, but it still didn't compare to the fine buisness suits around him. He could feel people's eyes on him, automatically classifying him as being from Outside the Domes, but he steeled his nerves and headed for the main reception desk.

The woman seated there in the smart grey uniform noticed him approaching, and the friendly smile she had worn while dealing with the well-dressed executives faded from her face. By the time Jim reached the counter, she was eyeing him with a mixture of suspicion, curiousity and distaste. He hesitated, but then swallowed the lump in his throat.

"Can you deliver a message for me?" he asked, pulling an envelope out of his jacket. "To a Miss Laura Atherin? I don't have a number or address for her, but I do know she works in the Records Department on Floor 247." He handed her the envelope, which she eyed with about the same mix of expressions she had applied to him. Then realization flashed across her face.

"Oh, so you're Jim?" she said, now looking at him with a sardonic, sinister and distinctly female smirk. "Okay, yeah, I can send it up." She turned and leaned towards the woman at the next desk over. "Hey Nancy, guess who this is?"

Jim slowly backed away from the desk as the receptionists began to twitter and shoot amused looks at him, and he began to comprehend the awful power of the Paradigm HQ rumor mill.

They didn't speak during the drive.  Beck blew puffs of smoke out the passenger window while Angel steered a sleek, anonymous black car towards their destination.  Beck was just grateful it wasn't that hideous pink vehicle he'd seen her in previously.  He knew females usually had a fondness for bright, pastel colors, but the ridiculous amount of pink present in Angel's life was overdoing it a bit.  At least Beck's preferred shade of gold was flashy without being nauseating.  

"Ah, here we are.  I'm sure you have fond memories of this place."  Angel parked and they exited the car.

Beck stared up at the building's facade, hands in his pockets.  "If by fond you mean bad, then yes."  

"It can't have been that bad, getting a.. partial.. education, now can it?"  Angel began climbing the steps to the door of Paradigm University's library.  

"I didn't say I was here for schooling."  

"You don't have to.  I know more about your past than most people probably do.  Funny, you say you detest Roger Smith for his privileged upbringing and his opportunity for an education, but it seems to me you had the exact same thing handed to you as well."  She smirked.  "It's not Roger's fault you couldn't keep your life together."

"Don't make assumptions about me.  You don't know a thing about why I detest Roger Smith, or what happened to my life."

"Perhaps not.  It doesn't really matter right now anyway."  She opened the door.  "I'm sure you know who we're going to see.  He simply wouldn't cooperate with me, and our time is running out.. or maybe it's already too late."

"So what, you want me to intimidate him?  Real ladylike, Angel."  

"Not intimidate.  Persuade."  They walked down a silent hallway, shoes clicking on the marble floor, before reaching the main room of the library.  "The old man was fond of you once, I hear."  

"Once.  That was before things changed."  Beck dropped his cigarette to the floor, grinding the ashes into the polished marble.  "You don't know a thing about me after all."  

"Oh, but I do.  It's not the old man I want you to talk to.  You see, I learned that this girl still thinks rather fondly of you, even though you're a lowlife piece of scum who nearly ruined her life."  

Angel opened the door with a flourish, revealing Emilia Townshend kneeling over the corpse of the old librarian, a book held tightly in her grasp.  Beck felt himself go cold at the sight of her and felt a horrible combination of anger and... remorse.  He prided himself on being callous and unfeeling most of the time, but right now he simply couldn't manage it, and he hated himself for it.  More than anything, he longed to turn around and simply march out without looking back, but instead Jason found himself raising a hand towards Emilia, and suddenly he was speaking to her.

"You changed your hair," he said quietly.

OOC: I should be doing my lingustics homework but...I couldn't resist!

                                         --------------------------------------------------------
Emilia was caught in a stupor. Disoriented, frozen in her terror, and unable to commit to reality, she merely clutched the book more tightly to her breast. Her eyes glanced over the corpse of Mr. Vanguard and as soon as she was able to organize her thoughts she allowed the tears to flow. She almost hadn't noticed that before her stood Jason Beck and a tall, slender, blonde. Perhaps it was her shock that did not allow her to fully formulate an answer at the moment Jason had addressed her but soon her anger erupted and did job for her. Although her anger was latent and completely pointless once a sizeable interval of seconds had past between them.

Emilia refused his hand. "I assume that I know why you are here." Emilia stood, her arms still grasping the book. She noticed the binding was in very poor condition. She felt in that moment if she had held it any closer it would have disentrigated in her arms. "You wanted his memories, don't you? You bastard! That's why you're here!"

Emilia had completely disregarded the mention of her hair. She knew that Jason was always partial to blonde women. Perhaps because the closer it was to gold the better, in his estimation. However while she would've gotten a strange tickle of satisfaction to know that Jason had noticed that there was something different about her, his comment only propeled her contempt for him even further. How can you react so casually? Mr. Vanguard is... She didn't dare complete the thought. The reality was far too devastating.

Jason was perhaps the only other person who had truly come to know Mr. Vanguard. He and Emilia were of the same age, had both gone to Paradigm University, had both been afforded one of the best educations that money could buy. Jason, however, felt that schooling was completely inadequate. He was a genius when it came to robotics, lightyears ahead of everyone else. Perhaps he was better than anyone, but the problem was never his genius but his maturity. Emilia knew of this first hand. She had perhaps had gotten closer to him than anyone, had done things that she was sure would've killed her father or more than likely would've caused her father to kill Jason. Whatever enjoyable moments she had spend with him in her earlier days were soured by their bitter parting. Perhaps she would've found a little solace if she knew he really did care for her, but she was uncertain that he actually ever did.

She observed only that with him stood the shapely blonde, eyeing the whole scene. Who is she? Emilia thought in the corner of her mind. She picked up on the resemblance this woman had to others she had seen, more specifically, the resemblance this woman had to her mother and in a way to herself. Emilia thought of a far off memory, she heard her mother call herself a "foriegner". Could this woman be that? Was this woman a "foriegner", like her mother? Emilia tossed the idea away quickly. These people were here because they knew of Mr. Vanguard's memories.

"Well," Emilia sighed heavily, relaxing her guard, "As you've noticed he's gone." Emilia had trouble uttering the words he's gone ,for they were precariously close to the phrasing her father used to explain the death of her mother. She paused and met eyes with Jason, expecting him to explain himself. Partially to explain why he and his companion were there and partially she wanted him to explain when their lives went in such different directions.

"That's a shame.  I was hoping he'd still be alive when we got here."  Angel sighed for effect.  

"This is pretty low even for you, Angel."  Beck clenched his fists, trying to maintain a layer of calm over the anger that was rising within him.  "I don't give a damn about the old man's memory, and I never did.  It's got nothing to do with me anyway."  He straightened up suddenly, scowling at Emilia.  "And I certainly never wanted to see you again, believe me.  If she hadn't threatened me, I wouldn't be here at all."  

"How rude, Jason.  You make me sound so.. manipulative."

"Believe me, I'd like to call you a few other things besides that."  

Emilia hadn't said another word yet, but she was still looking at him with an angry, accusing gaze.  He didn't care what she thought of him now.  What happened with them was over and done with, and Beck had no desire to relive that part of his life.  Emilia Townshend had been a distraction, the daughter of a man who was leagues above Beck in social status, which only made her more alluring.  Beck came from very little, and while he had a limited interest in education, he knew that he would get nowhere without it.    Her father had thought of Beck as a lowlife from the moment he met him, someone undeserving of politeness or courtesy, and yet in public, her father was thought of as a generous, altruistic businessman, an upstanding employee of the Paradigm Corporation.  It sickened Beck to know how he really treated people he saw as beneath him when he thought no one was looking.    

And then before he knew it, his disgust with Thomas Townshend had nearly driven him mad and though he started with noble intentions, Beck soon lost sight of that in favor of the rush he got from defying authority.  Emilia defended him for a time, but strong-willed though she was, there eventually came a point where even she was only willing to put up with so much.  He had left, without a word, hoping that their paths would never cross again, his perverted sense of what was right long lost, replaced by greed and an obsession with gadgets, electronics, and robots.  He wreaked havoc where he pleased.. until that stupid Negotiator came along.  That made things difficult.  

He looked away from Emilia.  "You're right, we came here for the Memory.  But like I said, I don't give a damn about it."  He jerked a thumb toward Angel.  "She's the one that wants it, probably so she can go cause trouble somewhere with it.  Or maybe so she can get Crow Boy to come out and play."  

"My, aren't you observant today?"  

"Shut up, Angel.  If you'd known anything, you would've realized that bringing me here isn't going to make her give you that Memory.  If anything, it's just going to make her more stubborn about not giving it to you."  He smirked at Emilia.  "Right?"  He turned his back to the two women then, lighting a cigar as he exited the library.

It was mildly amusing how Jason presumed to know Emilia so well. He was right, afterall. Emilia wouldn't budge, she wouldn't just hand Vanguard's legacy to some unknown third party. She glanced over the woman, this Angel. Many inquiries formed within Emilia's mind but foremost she wanted to know who this woman was working for. There was something alien about her. She didn't hold herself like a person from Paradigm. Why would she care about these memories? There was something amiss in her nature, a displacement that Emilia could sense instantly. It made Emilia uncomfortable, although the woman in question didn't seem entirely dissimilar to herself. Perhaps this heightened sense was acquired from her mother, whom Emilia suspected was not born in Paradigm.

Emilia didn't quite know how to explain that she now posessed the memory, but whoever this woman was, she seemed to be on her toes. Emilia knew that Angel was probably quite a few steps ahead of her. She couldn't very well fool her. "He's dead," Emilia said warily, "I'm sure you know that I'm the one who carries his memory."

She gestured to the book in her hands, her once determined,scornful,glance now melted into remorse. "I shouldn't have come here today. Perhaps, his memory would've just died with him and would have been left alone. But I realize that as long as this memory exists there are going to be people willing to hunt it down, for nothing other than money. I refuse to let that happen." She spoke slowly regaining strength in her conviction, "I can't let you have this, I will never allow anyone to touch it! He trusted me.What purpose would his memories serve, other than to bring more destruction to this city than there already is?"

((For the benefit of mr. finale, I'll do one of my things here, eschewing the carefully crafted post left back eastward on my laptop.))

Dig dig dig, snoop and watch till you drop. That was his job, and he did it well.

Harold Werrington wasn't the type to complain, anyway. He focused all his energies on getting his, didn't want to waste by whining about it unless it actually made things easier. So he kept on at it, looking for that damn code his alter-ego wanted. The watch, if that is what it was, was a military spec Metron brand doohickey, bearing the serial number 2702-USAF. On intuition, he knew it was a military device, but you can't be sure with these things. His digging ended up with a big blizzard of papershuffling, culminating with an antique document hidden beneath a mountain of redtape, a few levels of basement, and a particularly irritable Military Police secretary.

An old government paper detailing the specifications (now mostly illegible) of the Metron Mark V-Timepiece set Harold off on a new trail, off to Electric City. It was in the basement of a secluded little cabin in its woods that he uncovered an array of Metrons atop a table, some in wristwatch form, some in pocket watch (like the kind he had), and finally a sort of blockish version reminiscent of those non-rotary phones you find in the outskirts of the city, among the rest of the odd trash. They were all active to some degree, apparently sending out distress signals.

"One of these Bigs..."

It occurred to Harold that these things were somehow connected to the Megadeuses that randomly decided to visit the Domes like antsy, unwanted relatives. Always messing your shit up, getting in your face, until someone steps up to get rid of them. At this thought of unpleasentness Harold noticed a faint yet foul smell eminating from beneath the table. He bent down to look and saw a skelton, a hole in its skull and a gun not to far from it. Suicide before the Event? Something to look into afterwards, but he didn't care much as he nearly forgot it after he stood up.

There was a box sealed with a strong lock besides the things, but the lock did not hold up very well to a mechanical foot stomping. To Harold's relief, there was an intact book of codes. He took out his Metron, tuned the frequency, and began entering them one by one. After the fifth hour or so, he managed it, but something scrambled the signal.

In a tinge of uncharacteristic anger, Harold smashed the devices, which were alot sturdier than you'd give them credit for at a glance, notwithstanding the hidden gadgets they seemed to be chock full of. A blast of repellant spray hidden in one of the pocketwatches irritated his eyes, causing him to stumble backwards and up the stairs into top floor of the cabin. He took out a cigarette and enjoyed the smoke, and it was pleasant before hearing a cacophonous military bugle in his mind and blacking out.

---

Rommelflammenwerfer, thats what it was branded. The name is familiar. Irwin, where did that name come from. It's appropriate enough for someone who wields fire and lacks a name. So Irwin he is.

Irwin, in gasmask and trenchcoat, ran through the domes like a spectre, moving with enough speed and care your average domedweller dismissed it as some trick of the eyes, something unimportant. Legs, legs dangling. No one here dangles like this. The flamethrower was ready, ready to make its mark with marvelous fire. In and up he went.

"Foriegner.."

Angel scowled, but did not try to stop Beck from leaving.  He was right, she should have known better than to bring him.  Emilia was even less likely to talk to Angel than Beck.  She was still clutching the old, worn book as though her life depended on it.  

"First of all, I'm not in this for money," Angel said cooly.  "And I'm certainly not in it to destroy the city, either.  I could care less what happens to this miserable place."  This wasn't entirely true, although it wasn't an outright lie, either, as usual.  True, she didn't do this for the money, unlike most of the amateur memory hunters scouring the city.

As far as Paradigm City, however.. Angel's lack of communication with her countrymen meant that she wasn't sure what their leader was up to at the moment.  For all she knew, they'd all gone home and left her to rot in Paradigm for the rest of her life, or maybe they were already destroying the city.  There was no telling when it came to their impatient leader.  Perhaps that was why Angel had been less than enthusiastic regarding her mission lately.  It seemed like she was more effective on her own, without having to report in and be instructed further by a maniac who couldn't even stick to her own plans.  She found herself suddenly helping Roger Smith as of late, when she should have been using him to her advantage as she had when they first met.  Not that he cared.  He had made it quite clear on several occasions that he would never trust her based on her previous actions.  

Emilia didn't need to know all that, however.  Angel doubted that telling her the truth would really change her mind, judging from the suspicion in Emilia's eyes.  The girl already believed the worst of her, and Angel had no choice but to avoid talking about herself and try to persuade the younger woman.  

"Since our dear Mr. Vanguard is, unfortunately, no longer living, you must know that there will be other people coming after that Memory.  Honestly, I'm probably the least dangerous of them."  She paused, hoping Emilia might say something, but the young woman stubbornly kept quiet.  Angel sighed in defeat.  "You don't even know what it means, do you?  You ask me what purpose his memories would serve, but if you can't decipher it, it's useless.  How does it help anyone to continue keeping it a secret?"  She stood with her hands on her hips, staring Emilia down as confidently as she could.

"Oh.. and also," Angel said slyly, an idea suddenly forming, "What will your dear father do if he finds out you have that memory?  I suspect he'll be forced to take it away.  After all... he works for Paradigm, and they want those memories worse than I do."

Alan felt... aware. Surely it wasn't due merely to his presence here, in the library's old halls, amid bound relics as dusty as their crypt of marble and fine wood. This mass grave. Alan perceived death in everything these days. Clearly he needed to lighten up a bit--or would, if he didn't already find the world suddenly so much more delightful to experience.

Any lowly secretary could come here to carry out the pretense for his presence: oh, yes, Mr. Rosewater, the Union is very interested in what meager records Paradigm has managed to cobble together. Let us just see, in the spirit of diplomacy, what knowledge there is to be gleaned.

In the spirit of diplomacy! But no, Alan had little to no care for any of these flaky corpses. The fact of the matter was, well, that there happened to be a very important man here.

Diplomacy, diplomacy. Official business, nothing to see here, nothing of interest, nothing to hide. Alan's heels clopped against the stone floor with gusto as he approached the main wing, breezing past a sullen and smoking Jason Beck leaned against the wall without so much as a glance.

I should just kill her.  No one will miss her.  I wonder if Emilia will call the police if I strangle Angel in front of her...

The tobacco calmed him down a little.  Jason stared at the floor as he smoked, watching his distorted, blurry reflection glare back at him.  He wasn't sure which woman he was more angry at, Angel or Emilia.  They each made him mad for different reasons.  Angel was infuriating the way she treated everything like it didn't matter, when Beck knew that she cared about things much more than she let on.  Everything was a game to her.  Beck certainly got his own delight in his life of crime, but Angel was different.  She was too reckless about everything, and it would only backfire on her in the end.  There was no plan, no style to anything she did.

Emilia.. she was more complicated.  He wasn't sure whether it was her, her father, or himself that he loathed in that situation.  

At the moment it was himself.  He was supposed to be a criminal mastermind.  Criminal masterminds did not dwell on their pasts.  They went on with their lives as if nothing mattered.  The unexpected sight of Emilia stirred something in him, and he didn't like it one bit.  He had no business thinking about her.  That morning he had just finished building a giant robot, fully prepared to go around tearing up the city, and now he found himself thinking about things that he thought he'd let go of.  He was quite disgusted with himself at the moment, and that made him disgusted that he was disgusted, and the cycle of self-loathing continued.  He shouldn't even be here anymore.  He should have continued walking out, but something stopped him.  

He was still puffing away on the cigar when the sound of clicking heels drew him out of his thoughts.  He didn't bother looking up completely, and only saw an oddly thin pair of pinstriped legs pass by him quickly.  Beck looked up as the person passed to see that the pinstripes covered the entirety of the man's suit, the ensemble completed with a sharp tophat.  He looked .. scarecrow-like, unnaturally easy, almost sterile in the perfection of each movement he made as he walked.  

It took Beck a moment to realize that he was headed toward the main wing, where Angel and Emilia were.  

He followed the man, making no effort to hide the fact that he was there.  "Yo," he said loudly, flicking ashes from his cigar onto the gleaming marble floor.

"Foreigner."

A voice. Someone was here? Her humming came to a halt and she looked over her shoulder just enough to gauge the intruder. It was an... interesting ensemble of patchwork to wear, that was certain. He looked the type to let actions be his speaking, and the way his hands wrapped around the flamethrower only reinforced the perception. Very interesting. Vera planted her hands into the edge and swung herself back onto the roof, blonde curls swinging with the motion. Her hands slid into her pockets and she took a relaxed, observing stance, committing more of the man's appearance to memory.

"Now, what reason do you have to call me a foreigner?" The accent was heavy, the sarcasm likewise. "By my looks alone? I could say the same."

¨Your voice carries a heavy accent.¨

Dastardly cunning foriegner, ready to cause harm. Must not be allowed to do so. Cinders only safe way to maintain such beings. Building, however, not best kept as a cinders. Collateral damage is currently counterproductive, especially without the Megadeus. Devious foriegner might cause bodily harm to self, but much more importantly to Metron device. Furthermore, how foriegner is here without arousing suspicion might be signs of a Rosewater company whore. If case is as such, it would be best to make self scarce. Cinderization seems appealing, still.

"If I may enquire as to where you are from or why you are here as opposed to not somewhere else doing something less suspicious, I may be less inclined toward igniting you and your gaudy hair."

Irwin raised the flamethrower, took aim, and created a long line of unignited napalm between him and Vera, which if lit would make Vera crossing it very difficult and dangerous.

"Now, answers."

The heavy smell of that liquid hit her nose as it splattered across the ground. She snorted. He was trying to wall her in, force her into talking or burn. She looked back at his face, covered in the gas mask. It was nearly impossible to read the mind behind it, with his expressions concealed. Vera's hands came out of the pockets. This person was clearly a madman, but she was an agent of the Union. Threats were not something to be tolerated. They wouldn't be tolerated.

"Sitting on a roof and humming to myself are suspicious? I think not. And I have no answers for a dog like you." Vera shook her head, her shoes scratching against the ground as she readjusted her position into a more guarded and ready one. Fingers reached surreptitiously under the loosely hanging purple jacket, seeking out a certain lengthy, rope-like weapon.

Beck's movement behind him hummed across his skin. He grinned. It had been days into his recovery and the healing incisions overlaying his spinal column still ached, but how marvelous did he feel otherwise. Had Beck known him--and most people didn't--he might've decided that Alan's stride and posture were a fraction stiffer today. Beck didn't know Alan, but he would still be able to catch sight of the crosshatched relief of stitches underneath a strip of bandage hidden just slightly beneath his shirtcollar.

But he, as it happened upon turning around to face his addresser, did know Beck. Alan's eyes often saw more than faces.

"You're Paradigm detention's repeat-escapee," he remarked cordially, smile mild, noncommital. It somehow failed to comfort with half his face obscured. "Jason Beck."

He could hardly be surprised at the recognition.  As far as Beck knew, he was the only yellow-clad escaped convict wandering Paradigm City.  He was slightly more startled at the use of his first name, however, and couldn't help but raise an eyebrow.  

"Yeah, it seems I am."  He eyed the man quickly, observing the stitches under his collar.  He wasn't sure what sort of operation would be necessary on that part of the body.  The way the man smiled was slightly creepy, as was the fact that his eyes were hidden.  Beck had the sudden feeling that he couldn't let the man into the other room.  "You work here?  I'm looking for a particular book.  Didn't see it in there."  

Is this all that is left of me?  To have my words spread, and, for a time, believed, then to fade into naught?  To leave this world before the Truth has been spread over all of Paradigm?  Before all those who oppose the Truth are brought lower than they thought possible, before the false skies are shattered?

“No…”

He was indoors, the cold, damp brick he lay against told him that much.  Opening his eyes, the man once known as Michael Seebach looked upon his surroundings.  A single bulb hung above him, suspended from an unseen ceiling.  The light confirmed that it was stone he lay upon, spread-eagle, with the light fading into the darkness just beyond himself.  Sitting up, he inspected himself, and realized he had only his bandaging to clothe him, and most of it was worn and ripped.

This will not do.

Rising to stand, he finds himself dizzy.  Without a wall to lean upon, he simply pushes through, passing from the small patch of light, into the enveloping darkness.

Of course, there is little to do now but go on.  Only a blind fool would sit idly in a pool of light, hoping for rescue.  To stop in the darkness, however…

He stopped as soon as the thought reached him.  Raising his head, he uttered but one word.

“Duo…”

A resounding smash filled the air, the ground shook with terrible force, dropping him to his knees.  Dust and tiny chunks of rock rain down from the still unseen ceiling.  However, now, instead of pure darkness, there is a faint glow above him.  Enough to see the stone floor he stands on.  Enough to see that there is a ladder, standing not two yards from him.

Emilia was not surprised that this woman knew the type of people that ran Paradigm, everyone knew. Even she knew that her father was as crooked as any of them but for a stranger to suggest even what Emilia herself knew to be true, hurt. She failed to deflect the last statement, and merely averted her gaze down unto Mr. Vanguard, the fact of his demise almost entirely obscured by her possession of his memories. With dizzying quickness the grief over the death of this poor man had dissipated into a heated contest of wills. Emilia finally acknowledged Angel, not for this woman’s sake but for Mr. Vanguard’s. She placed the book down adjacent to were he lied, in his peaceful eternal sleep. This way Emilia reasoned she could more clearly illustrate her position, and in her way this gave her much more control over these memories than she ever had clutching them to her, physically.

“It is obvious that you have been trying to get a hold of these memories for quite some time. You have your reasons for wanting them and perhaps I can pretend to believe you when you say that you aren’t in this business for money.”

 Emilia found herself in a state of eerie calm, for the first time in a long while. She took up a gentle nonthreatening tone that suggested her willingness to negotiate.

“I know very well what my father is capable of, Miss Angel, you did not need to remind me. I know very well that he would have pried those memories from me, with violent speed. He does not care about what they mean to me personally, all he ever cared about was Paradigm Corporation and the money that goes with it. You know who I am, I’m sure, because you were working for Alex Rosewater, weren’t you? I’ve seen you before, if I remember correctly, you’re name was not Angel.”

As memories often are lost and then suddenly resurface, Emilia recalled that Alex Rosewater had a secretary, named Patricia Lovejoy. Emilia never interacted with her, only on one occasion were they were introduced at a Heaven’s Day party. Angel bore a striking resemblance to her, if she was not her. But Emilia was not ignorant.

“So there are the memories. Honestly, I do not know what to do with them. All I know is that I lost a man who was very dear to me. That is all I am concerned about. I don’t know what I would’ve done with them. So if you are convinced that you want them so badly, please, tell me what you know. Tell me the truth. That’s all.”

"Halt. Hands up."

This woman with terrible hair was moving for something, probably a firearm. Well aimed shot could incapacitate, possibly kill. Misfire could ignite napalm before information could be processed, or potentially detonate napalm. Irwin increased the ante by increasing the amount of the stuff on the floor, the thick gelatinous mixture slowly inching forward. Fingers slipped toward the ignition switch, and Irwin began to withdraw backwards towards the way he came up, basically making the entire roof one giant barbecue waiting to happen.

"I am no dog, and especially not here. Now, give me answers or I'll have no choice but to send you to hell in a broad pyre."

A click came from his back, the sign that an entire tank had been drained. He still had two others loaded, with a spare in the event he would need to reload. He was almost certain he wouldn't, though he was feeling a bit hazy and mistakes sometime occur. A ticking noise began to fill the air, soon after followed by a screech of static. The Metron. While still maintaining his aim at the badly accented woman (?) he fished the pocket watch out and opened it. Something had radically gone wrong with the frequency it had previously locked onto, and it was now trying to attempt to find another one. Irwin cursed softly, so the sound did not escape the mask. He pulled the igniter and his hand twitched to prevent itself from pulling the trigger.

"Answer..."

The hand stopped half an inch from what it was seeking, but it didn't move back out into the open. Vera's mouth flattened into a line at the command. He'd noticed her, naturally. Such motions didn't go ignored among like individuals. She did have to admit the similarity between them, as he spread more of the dangerous material on the ground. It was apparent that they both shared a taste for destruction. Still, he was a slave to the accursed Paradigm, most likely one of Rosewater's favored tomatoes. Sympathy? There was none. Not for him. Not for any of them.

"You want answers? This is what I have to give you."

The fingers closed, wrapping themselves around tough leather, and Vera leaned forward as her arm swung out, a streak of brown cord trailing it and extending across the rooftop to strike like a snake at Irwin's hands. As the first snap resounded, she pulled the whip back, twirled it over her head, and lashed out again, and again.

Damn.  She hated when they were perceptive.  Usually most people didn't bother arguing with Angel.  Of course, most of the people she duped tended to be men, and, well... persuading men to give her what she wanted was quite different than dealing with women.  Unfortunately, Angel was going to have to do more talking than usual with Emilia.  The problem was, the girl wanted the truth, and Angel had never been very good at telling the truth.  That tended to happen when one was trained as an agent of the Union.      

"You're right.  My name was not Angel when I worked for Rosewater.  Surely I wasn't the only Paradigm employee to be using an alias."  She couldn't help but glance at Vanguard's book, out of Emilia's grasp but still too far from Angel.  "As far as my name is concerned, Angel will do just fine."  She paused, unsure of how to continue.  "I was.. terminated.. from Rosewater's employment following a conflict of interest."  That sounded innocent enough.  "As for the old man's memories.. I don't really care what they are.  I'm just doing my job to find memories before Rosewater does and report them to my superiors."  Angel wasn't sure what more she could say.  Anything else would give Emilia too much information, if she hadn't already.

Against her better judgment, Angel lowered herself to the floor, kneeling at Emilia's level.  "So, Miss Townshend, it appears we are at a stalemate.  I will say this, however.  You may not want me to have those memories, and I can't really blame you for holding onto them so stubbornly.  But you can't let Rosewater have them either, and if that means hiding them from your father, so be it.  The truth.. the truth is that those memories mean more than anything else to Alex Rosewater, and it's only a matter of time before someone from the Paradigm Co. comes looking for them."  

Well, that was odd.  It didn't sound like she'd lied very much at all.

One strike. The force of the blow bruised Irwin's left hand, and forced the other to launch an ignited stream of flames. The roof was instantly alight, in a glorious instant in the distance the building would appear as the Olympic Torch of old. Olympic, another memory. Irwin ran back down the stairway, avoiding the further whippings. He then jumped out the window and stretched out his legs, sliding then tumbling down the gap. He landed with all the grace of a stunted bird, but the impact was relatively light. He took the Metron out, checked it, and put it in the pocket of his pants.

Harold Werrington stood up, looked up, and tore the gasmask off his face. He took off his hat and reversed it, and looked at the flamethrower in his hands. He created a wall of fire on the streetside entrance to the gap, removed the coat, and proceeded threw a backway, holding the damn evidence in his arms. The flamethrower was a bit tough to conceal, but he managed to make it all look like some sort of wrapped package underneath his arm of more innocent contents.

He made it out of the dome, somehow. Hailed a taxi, back to his place. He slunk into his office, threw the stuff in the corner, and dragged himself out and up into his room. For a guy who wasn't exactly struggling, it was pretty shabby. Simple, pragmatic. He collapsed on the bed, seeing half dreams of burning rooftops and the sky filled with silhouettes.

Beck must've been confident. Of course, maybe he was just an idiot, to break out of prison and completely fail to disguise himself, to be incarcerated in the first place for attempting the same crime in the same location twice... Whichever it was didn't really matter to Alan. Both suited him just fine.

Did he work here... Really. The man had eyes, didn't he? But, of course: "I hadn't figured the rogue Jason Beck to spend his remaining free days with his nose in books. A church would make a much better refuge."

It was abundantly clear that Beck wasn't after books at all.

"I'm nothing but a Paradigm lapdog," he attempted to reply in that same mild tone, but his voice broke as a laugh interposed itself mid-sentence. Not to be deterred by the sight of the most wanted criminal in the city, Alan turned on his heel and continued his trek towards the door to the library proper.

It was as if two like forces were facing one another, neither was making any forward progress and both were just being pushed farther from their goal. Angel was right, time was running short. She knew that if an outsider like Angel knew of Mr. Vanguard's memories, that the knowledge of their existence had, most likely, been pumped through Paradigm's valves as well. Emilia's father had mentioned to her long ago, that there was not one occurrence that Alex Rosewater was not privy to. Emilia was not entirely certain of the veracity of this, however, Alex Rosewater was a business man with an investment to protect. She realized that memories were precious, especially to Paradigm Corporation.

Emilia saw a certain nobility about Angel. She knew that perhaps it was unwise to assume this about a woman who seemed to be concealing even her true identity but there was a quality about her that was so benine, it almost seemed comforting to her. Perhaps for once spellbinding instant Emilia saw her mother's face in Angel's. The resemblance was in the eyes, mostly. Emilia's memory of her mother had been quietly fading away, yet Emilia could never forget her eyes. Emilia readied herself to make a deal with Angel, then, she noticed someone.

Emilia caught a glimpse of what looked like another man, beyond Angel. A gentlemen in a pinstriped suit, bottomed out by abnormally thin legs, was hovering around the entrance to the library. Emilia could not make him out but she was certain he was not affiliated with either the university nor the police. He might have come with Angel and Jason...but Emilia doubted that Angel would be so careless as to inform yet another person of these memories. All Emilia was certain of was that this situation was not looking good. Emilia planted a worried glaze upon Angel, signifying that her momentary silence was an armistice.

"Angel," Emilia whispered with a now frantic gravity, "are you certain that you and Jason were alone?"

Emilia silently gestured over to the entrance of the library, where she also observed Beck's silhouette, as well. He seemed ill at ease, but not entirely perturbed.

Emilia's voice quivered as she peered down towards Mr. Vanguard "Or do you think that Paradigm has ready sent someone?"

A church?  What the hell was that supposed to mean?  This guy didn't exactly strike him as the church-going type.  Beck frowned and scratched his head, unable to think of a suitable response to that.  The man simply continued walking as if Beck hadn't been there at all, and before Beck could do anything, the door was opened.  He saw Angel's back and Emilia's worried face, and yet he simply stood there, uncertain as to why he was hesitating.  His cigar fell from his hand.

---

They should have come sooner.  She had been too careless this time.  She didn't even need to turn around to see who it was.  She only wondered if he really was here on Rosewater's orders, or if he was serving his own agenda today.

"We came alone, but we were too late."  Angel shivered slightly, her back stiffening.  Turning around to face him would be the smart thing to do, but she did not want him to have the satisfaction of seeing her scared.  And yet she found herself turning anyway, carefully, no sudden movements involved.  Maintaining her composure was painful.  Instinctively, she started to reach for her gun, but hesitated, her hand stopping in midair for a split second.  Not enough for a normal human to notice, but Alan surely would have.   In that case, better to go ahead and grab the damn thing than try to pretend she wasn't armed.

Beck was behind him in the hallway, looking a bit ill and dazed.  Had Alan already done something to him?  He appeared unharmed, but he was standing a good distance away, partially obscured by the blur of stripes making its way towards her.      

"Stop right there, Alan!"  Her voice was stern, but her hands shook as they pointed the gun at him.  She took a step back, in front of Emilia and the corpse of Mr. Vanguard.  

Roger found himself descending a ladder running down into the bowels of the earth. What had possessed him to follow this path to the dark and foreboding chasms of reality wasn't an issue at the moment. What mattered was surviving the sinister primordial forces and terrors that ruled this netherworld, and already he felt his mind struggling against the nearing demonic presence that lurked there. He told himself quietly, "I have to keep hold of my faculties... it's the only way I'll be able to make it back in one piece." He paused, his hand clutching a rung, quivering in fear, as if unwilling to let him proceed any further. And honestly, what was the point in going willingly to your doom? He was about to change his mind and begin climbing when he heard something that chilled him to his bones.

"Who said anything about going back?"

'That voice-!'

His throat clenched as he felt the ladder give way, ringing as it snapped away from the wall, his stomach knotting from the sensation of falling into the hellish void. He tried to cry out in frustration and terror, his mind clutching at the last moments of life, but his voice didn't want to work. Would even his death cry be denied him?

He landed on something solid in the blackness, but as he scrambled to his feet, he wasn't sure this was anything to feel grateful about. Something wanted to make his last moments a tortuous ordeal. An apparition came to view in the darkness, and he realized the source of that voice with a start, as there could only be one being to torment him in this bleak, lonely moment.

Schwarzwald!

The wraith was standing on a whirlpool of stars, spiraling into oblivion, facing Roger as he rode that bizarre cycle of destruction, as if presiding over the very end of the universe. "There is no turning back from the Truth, Paradigm lapdog! What makes you think you're above facing the Judgment to come! There will be no negotiations when the books are opened, and the Truth laid bare!"

Roger forgot how afraid he should be as he rebelled at the absurdity of the circumstance. "I'll not be judged by the likes of you! No madman has the right to even think of himself as qualified to weigh the worth of anyone's life!"

But he shuddered at what the maniac said in reply. "Who else is more worthy than the one who has actually witnessed the Truth!"

Roger nearly fell down from the shocking implications, and he gasped in alarm, "You... know what happened... forty years ago?!"

The maniac simply laughed at his question as if it was self-evident, spreading his arms dramatically as he called, "Big Duo."

There was an explosion which rocked the entire world as the red Megadeus roared up from below, the blast of wind knocking Roger from his feet. Flames were everywhere. The city was in utter ruin, and most of the people had died from the cataclysm. Roger tried to make sense of it all, shielding his eyes from the flames. No... from the reality all around him. It was just too horrible to bear. "What's happening?!"

"You world is being judged by fire! The Flames of Judgment will reduce the lies of your so-called reality to ashes!" Schwarzwald was high above him, standing in the ruins of his mansion. He watched helplessly as the villain kicked open the door to his safe, dangling precariously in the wreckage, the wealth inside pouring into the inferno below. He laughed at Roger's reaction. "Will your money save you, Paradigm fool?! How can it? It's just paper!" He threw a bundle of it, striking Roger in the face, and as he caught it, he realized how true it was. "Money only has value because everyone thinks it has value! But it's really nothing but a pretty pattern on a slip of parchment! Make believe value, just as real as your make believe world!" Roger watched in shock as Big Duo struck the University Library with his fist, spilling the priceless contents into the flames. "People kill for money, while ignoring the true value of this world!"

The Negotiator cried in shock, "Stop it! The Memories-!"

"Why do you pretend to care about Memories so much," Schwarzwald interrupted, "when you defend the facade your kind has built over this world to shield them from the Truth! You want the falsehood instead! Admit it!"

Somehow in that moment, he could see Paradigm as Schwarzwald did, as a cheap lie laid down over the world as it really was, a system of superstitious beliefs and made up memories to fill the void of ignorance. He came to himself and exclaimed, "But... it's out of necessity! We need something to fill our minds! We have to have some kind of world to live in!"

"How pathetic, and you of all people, entrusted with the title of Negotiator! You choose lies to hide behind, because the Truth would crush you!" The wraith beckoned to the wrecked mansion. "Big O, show him!"

Roger swallowed in fear, as he knew deep inside how true that was, and cried in false outrage, "How dare you! Big O is not your friend-!" But abruptly, he found himself in the throne of the Dominus, the console of the Megadeus humming all around him.

But this wasn't a sanctuary, as Roger realized with a start Schwarzwald was there beside him. He asked mockingly, "Is Big O truly your friend?? Or is he a mass murderer like you are?" He lunged across the Negotiator, blurting out, "What does this button do?"

"Stop it!" Roger cried, trying to fend the putrid fiend off, but it was too late. He watched in horror as the beam of the Chromebuster lanced out, slicing skyscrapers in half and crushing the people, huddled inside for safety. Blinking back tears of rage, he grabbed the madman by the tattered lapels of his jacket, driving the both of them through the cockpit window to perch on the Megadeus' shoulder. "You depraved lunatic! I'll destroy you!"

Schwarzwald merely leered up at him. "So, your true nature is revealed. You really are a destroyer, aren't you! The mere mention of what might have happened forty years ago is enough to reducing you to a jibbering fool!"

Roger blinked at him incredulously, running his hands through his hair in exasperation. "Y-you mean... none of this is real?!"

"Fool! I told you! The real Truth would crush you! And the truth is, your inactivity is causing Memories to pass from this world forever! One by one, they perish! Behold!"

And out in the wastes of Paradigm, Roger was witness to another series of tragedies as he saw a young woman weeping over the body of an old man, clutching a book in her arms. Elsewhere, an old engineer passed away as his loved ones watched tearfully, his body badly wounded in a calamity, one of the few who knew about the Megadei. And what gripped Roger by the throat, he saw Angel in the hands of some cackling witch, her clothes torn and bloodied as the maniacal woman lashed her mercilessly, crying out in agony. "Oh my God... I have to save her!"

Schwarzwald merely laughed contemptuously. "What a joke! To think that a destroyer can become a savior! Besides, it is too late! There is no negotiating with Judgment!" Roger turned away from the maniac, thinking that at least he had to rescue Angel, but he froze as he heard a banging against Big O's armored hull, and turned in shock to see Schwarzwald pounding on the crown with a sledgehammer, the metal beginning to crack. "Now... to unveil the final Memories, and bring an end to this world of LIES!"

Roger's knees buckled as he heard terrible sounds leaking out of those spreading cracks, and tried to beg the madman to stop. "No! Big O... don't remember that!" But it was too late, the hull shattering, and the screams of terror and blinding glare overwhelmed him. And it was impossibly cold...

He gasped out a cry, clutching himself and blinking in the light, shivering from fear and chill, and it took several moments to come to his senses. He was... he had no idea where he was, and stammered anxiously, "Wh... where am I now??" He pushed himself up to a sitting position and when his eyes focused, he sat there, stricken with shock.

The building had collapsed, and he was huddled in the debris against a partly intact wall. His mind reeled with terrified notions as he scrambled to his feet, gasping as the rubble stung his bare feet. He was further stunned to see that he was wearing only his pajamas. At least it was daylight, perhaps the early afternoon, the only remotely comforting fact he could cling to.

But he truly had no clue what had happened. He fought to remain calm, trying to piece things together, but the last thing he remembered was that horrible dream. "At least, I hope it was a dream," he muttered, looking around and calling, "Schwarzwald?" He heaved a sigh of relief as there was no answer. "That's two things to be thankful for. But... what the hell happened??"

He was somewhere in the outlying ruins of... he hoped it was Paradigm City, but it had to be, and slowly, he noticed reassuring clues. He could hear the distant banging of the reconstruction workers, relentlessly dismantling the blasted ruins of the old buildings to reuse the material, and there over the skyline, he could see the sturdy Domes of Paradigm. But still... he was at a loss as to explain what had transpired. "This has to be the most extreme case of sleepwalking ever... if that's what happened." It was as if an angel had plucked him from his bed to abandon him in some remote place. He had to smile at the association. "If only Angel were here to rescue me, but wouldn't that create a bizarre scene-"

He stopped short as he heard a sound behind him, turning to see a thug approaching him with a knife in his hand. "I ain't no angel, that's fer damn sure, but I could use a little offering..." His voice trailed off as he saw how his victim was dressed, then recognized who he was and blurted out, "Smith?! And let me guess, you ain't got a friggin' dime on ya!" As Roger began to respond in a disarming way, he was cut short as the rogue edged closer. "Shaddup. A rich guy's gotta be worth somethin' to someone, even to yerself! Now just come along nice as ya please and there won't be any trouble-"

But Roger wasn't in the mood to deal with such a low life, grabbing the man by the wrist and throwing him face first to the rubble, his arm twisted painfully behind his back as the Negotiator planted his knee in the hooligan's spine. Forcing the knife out of his hand, Roger growled to him, "I don't have time to explain this unusual circumstance, not that it's any of your business anyway, but as you can see I'm in need of some clothes. I figure giving me your shoes and coat is the least you can do in exchange for not turning you in, along with a promise you won't do this again. Right?"

"Hey, can't we negotiate this-?" Roger strained his arm in response and he yelped out, "Okay okay, just a little joke!"

He managed to get the shoes off but when he let the robber up, he bolted into the wreckage, and Roger sighed, "Well, that's gratitude for you." He grumbled as he forced the ill fitting footwear on, "Can't criminals afford decent shoes? I guess not. At least it isn't raining..." His voice trailed off as thunder rumbled in the overcast sky, and he made his way out to the crumbling sidewalk as cold drops began to fall. "Oh, perfect... how am I ever going to live this down? I just hope no one sees me like this-"

As if on cue, someone appeared. "Oy, I wouldn't go round these parts dressed like that. Ya might end up in a fix you won't want to share with your mates." The Negotiator sighed in resignation as a young chap sauntered over, but his grin faded when he saw who he was approaching. "Say, you... Roger Smith?? Has there been any trouble?"

He replied with a faint smile, "You could say that. I just got these shoes, and they don't suit me at all."

The man gave him a dubious look, but it chose to finally rain in earnest just then, and Roger was grateful as he opened a most welcome umbrella, hugging himself for warmth as the two crowded under it. "Come on then, I'll see you home. And... if you're in the mood, maybe you can say just what the devil is up."

Roger didn't know what to tell him, and he frowned, doing a lot of sidewalk watching as they went along. "I know I went to bed just before dawn. How I wound up back there... I have no clue. I can be a deep sleeper, but nothing like this." He mulled over that dream and wondered... could Schwarzwald have had something to do with this?

"I don't suppose rich food contributes to sleepwalking," the man offered with a grin, then looked up, evidently seeing the mansion just a block away. "Listen chap, I don't mean to leave you in the lurch like this, but you're practically at your tea right now and I'm running late. Perhaps you could invite me in sometime. Take care."

Roger blinked as he turned on his heels, running back down the way he'd come. "Hey, wait! I don't even know your name!" He shrugged resignedly as the man with the Norman-like accent hurried on without a backward glance, muttering, "Well... I'd better get to that tea before I'm soaked through."

'Or before I embarrass myself further,' he thought as he dashed across the street and down the remotely maintained sidewalk leading to the mansion. He splashed his way up the steps which were now a little waterfall from the runoff, pressing the buzzer and standing there shivering, hugging himself as the weather refused him any relief. "This is just great... locked out of my own home, and wearing my pee-jays in the rain, no less." He shouted up the face of the building as if that would hurry his butler along. "NORMAN?!"

There was a thundering in the dark skies and the world outside the domes was drenched. Shortly thereafter...

BZZT.

Norman looked up from placing the last part of breakfast, a small cup of tea with steam rising from inside for Dorothy. A visitor? Well, it was certainly to be expected, given how late in the day it was. However, the Negotiator they were doubtlessly here to see was still in bed, and couldn't give his permission for anyone to enter. The guest would simply have to be turned away, regardless of their business. Norman straightened his coat and hustled his way to the ground floor. It was raining and dreary, and it'd be altogether wrong to leave someone waiting outside in this kind of weather.

...

A minute later, locks clicked and switched, and Norman swung a door open to reveal a thoroughly rained-upon and miserable looking man in pajamas, wet black hair tangled and sticking to his skin. He stared at the figure, eyebrows raised, hardly believing his eyes. It couldn't be. But it was.

"Master Roger? But, I thought..." His voice and words left him abruptly, and the butler put a hand to Roger's soaked back, quickly guiding him inside and shutting the door.

Michale navigated the marble-floored halls of Paradigm University with a rapid pace and uncanny ability to avoid obstacles even with his nose buried in the ancient tome cradled in his hands. His eyes devoured the text with a hunger for knowledge rarely seen in someone so young, and every so often he muttered theoretical calculations under his breath. So fascinated was he with the book that when he finally arrived at the library, he managed to completely ignore the unfolding drama taking place; a corner of his mind registered the presence of other people in the room but that was about as much as he could be bothered with.

He glanced up from the book for the first time since he had opened it in his lab halfway across campus, only looking away to follow the numbers on the shelves to the section where his colleague had found it. It was clearly only the first book in a volume, and if there were more and they were just as incredible as the first, it would be a veritable tresure-trove! He couldn't begin to imagine how such a valuable Memory had gone unnoticed in the middle of Paradigm U's (understandably, the school's name was never, EVER abbreviated to its bare initials) main library. Regardless of how it got there, if he managed to work out the underlying theory behind what the book described it could be the single greatest scientific achievement in forty years!

All he needed to do was find the other volumes, the ones that covered the theoretical knowledge that this one described applications for. He didn't think much of personal glory, but a corner of his mind was giddy at the idea that he--the formerly inconsequential Michale Essen, undergraduate student in Paradigm U's advanced physics program--would be forever enshrined in the university's history for his astounding discovery. He might even be tapped to work with the Paradigm Science Group, where he would have access to the most comprehensive accumilation of Memories in the city and all of the most advanced laboratory equipment neccessary to employ his new-found knowledge...

He still hadn't realized that the people he had passed on his way in with nary a thought would probably throw a Megadeus-grade monkey wrench into his dreams of knowledge and prestige.






Laura Atherin did not think of herself as terribly important in the grand scheme of things. She was just another inhabitant of Paradigm City, who lived in an apartment three times more expensive than its size warranted simply because it was Inside the Domes, and who drove to work every day to type away at her computer for the Paradigm Corporation.

Her life had been routine almost since she had graduated high school. She had gotten a data entry position with a small buisness, and the only thing that had changed over the years was the place she drove to. Only a few events really stuck out in her mind as something to be remembered.

The most prominent one was, obviously, was the battle between the Red and Black Megadeuses. She and a couple dozen other secretaries, clerks and receptionists had gathered by a large window near their cubicles. Being halfway up the side of the Paradigm Building had given them an excellent view, and they'ed watched the whole fight. Laura had shuddered at the damage the two battling machines were wreaking on the city and prayed no-one she knew was caught in the cross-fire.

The next was that guy from the diner she had dated for a few weeks, Jim. She didn't recall his last name, though it was something odd. He had just vanished not too long after the attack by the Red Megadeus, and she was still sore that he hadn't at least given her a phone call or left a note at her apartment or something. Still, it had been nice while it had lasted. He was a decent enough guy, and sore as she was she wished he was still around.

Though if he showed up on her doorstep with an excuse and a bouqet of roses she'd rip his balls out through his nose and dump him out her 12th-story window.

The final oddity wasn't anything she could put her finger on, but for as long as she could remember, she had felt like she was--or should be--part of something bigger, something more important. The logical side of her mind told her that there wasn't much more important than the Paradigm Corporation in this city, but she felt that whatever it was came from beyond the city. She had spent many an evening on the observation deck at the top of the Dome her apartment was in, just gazing out into the western wastes, wondering what might be out there.

She pondered all of this as her hands typed automatically at her keyboard, methodically filling out the records request forms and sending copies off in triplicate. Why the Paradigm Science Division wanted to know about the status of the city's power grid she had no idea, but that wasn't her job.

"Hey, Laura!" The voice snapped her out of her reverie and she looked to the entrance to her cubicle. Several women and a few men were standing there, looking eager. The one in front had a letter in her hand, which she held out for Laura to take. "This came in from the front desk for you."

Laura blinked, and took the envelope. It wasn't unusual for people in the department to get letters from other departments delivered to them, but one from the front desk was an oddity. As she reached for her letter-opener she spotted the name on the return address and her eyebrows shot up. She quickly opened the envelope, pulled out the letter and read.


Laura,

I'm sorry I left so suddenly and that I didn't send any word, but things happened beyond my ability to control. I've been away for some time, and now I need your help.

I can't say any more here, since I don't know who might read this before you do. We need to talk in person. Please meet me at the corner of West 122nd Street and Clairemont Ave, tonight, at 8:15 PM. Come alone, and I will explain everything.

Hoping to see you soon,

Jim


She had hoped to hear from him again, but to say that it wasn't what she had expected was an understatement. She slowly lowered the letter, puzzled, and then noticed that the small crowd was still outside her cubicle, apparently waiting to see her reaction. She glared at them. "What?" she snapped, suddenly annoyed. The crowd blinked. "Go on, show's over." They slowly began to disperse, the women exchanging theories on what the letter said and some of the men exchanging cash. Laura rolled her eyes, then looked back at the letter.

Well, it's not like I have anything planned for tonight... she thought to herself.

Dorothy.

   Dorothy preferred to walk in the rain. After all she could not derive any discomfort it. She was soaked, through and through. With her clothes saturated with water, her wet auburn hair stringing and sticking to her face, she proceeded along the sidewalks of Paradigm City on her way home. It had not dawned on the android that her behavior was highly unusual, however at the moment logic did not prevail over the baser instruction of her own free will. Dorothy had a desire.

 Why did you create me this way, Dr. Waynewright. Dorothy even chose, at times, not to try to comprehend why she functioned the way she did. Though she was, by creation, a curious creature even she experienced a sort of fear. A fear not dissimilar to the fear experienced by humans upon deep introspection; a fear about the truth of one's own being.

  Dorothy arrived at Smith Mansion, soaked. Not just her person, but the groceries, as well. Once Dorothy caught sight of her mistake she knew that she would have to request that Norman examine her memory. She certainly could not be functioning properly.

  Although she wasn't the only person who arrived home, worse for wear. Roger was in his bed clothes, looking as poorly as a wet kitten. Dorothy studied him, then analyzed Norman's reaction.

"Why were you out and about dressed in your bed clothes? It's raining out, you know." Inquired Dorothy, looking herself like a porcelain doll that had just been doused with water. "You are so strange, Roger Smith."

Rain seeped into their dingy basement, trickling from the edges of the windows down the stone wall. You could smell the must, everything moist. It would only be a matter of time before the mold moved in, but by then they would be gone again, to some other place.

Alan sat on the damp sofa, glumly nursing scotch and a broken arm, skimming files that he had little patience for. The old coffee table in front of him felt sticky under his bare feet. Everything bored him here: the rain, the sticky table, his own condition. This place made him want to jump out of his skin.

Though aware of the danger--the military police on alert in the wake of the incident that had caused his broken arm in the first place--Alan wanted out. He wanted something better to do, but he'd have to be stealthy about it, too. 340 was too aware of his proclivities already, too cognizant and appreciative of the fact that he should be the responsible one between them. She must've thought he was a real slacker. Or maybe just capricious.

He stood carefully and made his way to his shoes in silence, then slunk away to the stairs.

And then, behind him, with amusement in her voice:

"Stop right there, Alan!"

He grinned. "Angel," he greeted, tone rich with a kind of synthetic elation. He continued to advance, heedless of the gun tracking him as he walked along the far wall and came to a stop across the room by the window, nearer now to the corpse on the floor. For only a second, his smile faltered at the sight of him.

"I didn't expect that you'd take care of him for me, sneaky kitty. It's not in your best interests to go around assassinating the holders of priceless Memories. Isn't that the case?"

Somehow unmistakably, his gaze fell to Emilia.

"Or maybe you're even sneakier than I thought."

"I didn't assasinate him.  He was dead when I got here."  She steadied her hand, the gun following Alan's movements.  She glanced to the doorway quickly, where Beck still stood with a confused look.  He was staring at something beyond her vision, but she couldn't risk turning her back on Alan to see what it was. 

There was something.. off.. about Alan.  She no longer knew him well enough to figure out exactly what it was, but now that he was standing closer to her she caught sight of a bandage hidden just under his collar.  She felt her hands jerk involuntarily.  The smell of rain and scotch came to mind suddenly.

"Alan.. what have you done to yourself this time?"   

But before Alan could answer, Beck's voice interrupted from the doorway where he was now leaning, hands shoved in his pockets.

"Sorry, I know you're in the middle of something, but it looks like we have a guest."  He jerked his head toward a young man with his nose in a book.  Somehow he had simply walked past them into the library.  He was either very absorbed in his book or he was hoping they wouldn't notice him.  Angel couldn't help but feel a little sorry for him.  There were fewer worse places in the world to be than stuck in a room with Alan Gabriel.

Alan Gabriel? His eyes were obscured, nevertheless Emilia still felt his hollow, violating, glance upon her. A feeling was aroused within Emilia upon seeing him, a puzzling familiarity intensified by panic. It was even more startling a fact that he seemed to be personally acquainted with Angel. He was there to find Mr. Vanguard, as well.

Emilia did not dare to speak, she was caught by Alan Gabriel's stare. Frozen in place by a force greater than her own will. Fear. She wondered if he knew about the book, laying innocently near Mr. Vanguard. Alan had accused Angel of assassinating Vanguard. Although it did not seem possible to Emilia. At least she was certain that Beck would not have acquiesced to accompanying Angel if that was her intention. If there was anyone as attached to Mr. Vanguard as Emilia Townshend was it was Jason Beck. Emilia wasn't sure she could trust anyone present, including her self.

A young man walked past the scene with what seemed to be minimal interest. He was absorbed in his reading, so much so that he did not seem to bare witness to the spectacle unfolding before him or he simply did not care. Emilia snapped her head towards him, an undergrad. She was hoping he'd wake up and have enough sense to alert the Military Police. Of course she understood that it would only complicate the situation all the more. If Angel had prior association to Paradigm Corp, why shouldn't she suspect the same of Alan Gabriel? She allowed the young man to walk past and her final remnant of hope went with him.

She glanced upon Jason, piteously, he was the only person she thought she knew. Even though it was fleeting, she once again placed her trust in him. She pulled her eyes away, feeling vulnerable, hoping he did not note her weakness. Although everyone present knew how powerless she was in face of the circumstances.

Alan grinned at the minute distraction the stranger's arrival made and snapped up the book at Vanguard's side with inhuman speed. Without answering Angel's low and mournful question, he retrieved the gold-plated gun from his jacket and fired.

The window nearby cracked sharply, the sound snapping in the air, and hairline fractures crept out from the hole in the glass to its artfully arched frame. Let it never be said, Alan thought, that he should return empty-handed. To, perhaps, Rosewater first; let Angel crawl back to Vera in the short term, or let Angel chase her own ambitions.

He could almost feel Angel's gun tremble in his periphery as he retreated to the window in a flash, wanting to shoot. Wanting to shoot so much...

"The fact of the matter is," Alan began, as though she and he were the only ones in the room. Chipped glass clinked onto his shoe: he had known that it would, and knowing it made him want to burst with rapture.

You'll see. Everything will be...

I don't want to see.

Alan's hand plunged through the glass; it shattered.

"It looks like you're still not quite who I thought you were."

The gun went off without her meaning for it to, her hands unable to control the course of the bullet.  The sound of the gun mingled with the clinking and shattering of glass as Alan's hand plummeted through it.  Artificial sunlight poured in through the broken window, and Angel shielded her eyes.  Alan was silhouetted agains the light for the briefest of moments, and she was unable to focus on him as he pushed himself over the ledge with little effort.   

"Neither are you," Angel said quietly.  But Alan did not respond.  He was gone. 

"Well," Beck shuffled over to the window, glass crunching underneath his feet, "That was very exciting and whatnot, but you should have shot him a lot sooner than that, Angel.  For someone in your line of work, you really hesitate too much."  He peered over the window sill.  "How'd he get away so fast?" 

"He's... he's not normal."

"Really?  Surely you jest.  I couldn't help but notice his hand seemed to be rather metallic."  He brushed broken glass off the window sill and turned to lean on it.  He pulled a cigar from his pocket.  "What's with you two, anyway?  You know him?"

"I thought I did."  She slid her gun back into her jacket.  "But that was a long time ago." 

"Whatever.  I don't really care that much." 

Angel looked out the window wearily.  "Now what?" 

"How should I know?  You're the one that wanted that memory so damn bad."  He shrugged.  "I guess your next move depends on how important it is that you get it."  He jerked his head towards Emilia.  "Or, rather, how important it is that she get it.  I have the feeling she still doesn't want you to have that memory, even if you get it back from that creep.  Right, Emilia?"

Emilia was startled by the sudden violent realization that the memories were gone. It had all happened so instantly, it was as if she was pinned to the floor, stupefied by her futility.

“How? How did I let this happen?” She thought, “ He left those memories to me, I should have…should have…destroyed them!” She uttered, her voice wavering hesitantly at first.

She glared in Jason’s direction, her soft brown eyes becoming hard with ferocity. He was right, in a sense. Even if Angel was to help her locate those memories it did not necessarily imply that Emilia would allow herself to be vulnerable enough to just trust either Angel or Jason for that matter. Emilia was overcome with sudden and violent emotion. Suddenly her thoughts narrowed and any inhibitions she had seemed pointless. She knew with all the certainty that remained with her in this insane whirlwind that if those memories reached Paradigm Corporation it would spell disaster. Although she did not disclose it immediately she knew that whatever was in that book was deadly. She had to get that book back and hopefully burn it. She knew that it would not be an easy task, seeing as how Angel desired the memories as badly as Emilia wanted to dispose of them.

"He's not from Paradigm City, isn't he?" Emilia looked for some spark of recognition in the woman's face.  "I felt it...he's like you! Evangeline...was like you both." Emilia spoke with restrained melancholy, as she mentioned Evangeline's name, her mother.  Emilia let the question slide away, and pressed on to a more important subject.

"We must find them that's all I know! If we don't..." Emilia paused, "I'm afraid that what was written there wasn't just his memories. It was a memory so valuable, he was even afraid of it."

Emilia bent down, moved Vanguard's arms restfully over his chest, in prayer like fashion.

"He mentioned something else unto me before he died. Although they were his memories they were only copies...implants. Those memories belonged to someone else...who died long ago. They were used to construct an android, not too long ago and if I had to guess that android is the key to deciphering those memories."

A silence finally rested over the them yet questions still saturated the still air.

A siren finally broke. The Military Police. Their arrival was always delayed yet they were consistent when it came to responding at the absolute most inopportune moment, but then again the whole situation was inopportune. Here they were, the daughter of a Paradigm official, a wanted criminal, and a femme fatale gathered, quite conspicuously, over the dead body of a librarian at Paradigm City University. In that instant the atmosphere shifted, the questions would have to wait.

There was a thump from off to one side. Michale was leaning against the side of a bookcase, legs trembling, face ashen and staring at the dead man on the floor.

He had just found what he had been looking for when a gunshot, then shattering glass and then another gunshot had muscled their way into his attention. He'd had only a glimpse of someone slipping out the window and the woman going on about memories didn't seem villainous, but the woman in the pink coat holding a still-smoking gun and Paradigm's #1 Most Wanted criminal (he reckognized him from the television broadcast of his last arrest) were sufficient to convince him that his life (even worse, his research) was in immediate peril. He drew minimal comfort from the approaching police sirens; there was still plenty of time for him to get shot before they got here.

He clutched the books--the one he had been given by his colleague and the one he'd been looking for and found--closer to his chest and stammered out "Wh-what's going on h-here?"

"Wh-what's going on h-here?"

"I'm not entirely sure even I know." Emilia responded, more for her own self, as she approached the young man, cowering between the racks of the library, clutching a book in his arms. She recognized him only by face, he was an overachieving underclassmen with big aspirations. She recalled sharing a required class or two with him before graduating. She was not even sure she knew his name, and moreover the fact that he had witnessed the whole scene left her understandably mortified.

She looked back at Angel, her eyes meeting Angel's disapproving glance. Suddenly a voice broke in through the silenced library.

" Surrender your weapons," The voice on the megaphone crackled through the still air, "We have the building surrounded."

"Shit" She heard Jason say behind her. His gun clicking as he loaded a new clip, which she knew we would never be able to empty. She was certain that this was Paradigm's doing, they would not hesitate in resorting to heavy artillery, especially where memories were involved.

She peered at the young man, trying to decide if she would trust him or not. Angel stepped up towards him yet before Angel gotten around to inquiring, Emilia had already said what was on all of their minds.

"We need to get out of here and you're going to help us." Emilia frantically grabbed the young man by the arm, noticing the book in his grasp. " Do you know a way out of here, without us attracting too much notice?"

The man with the megaphone lifted his hat to scratch his head... the depressed scowl on his face predictable.

"What was said in the initial call again?" Dastun asked the officer next to him.

"Not much, Sir. Just that there were sightings of two suspicious people, and gunshots fired. There now seems to be a possible hostage situation."

Dastun's eyes shot open... but then slowly closed with a troubled sigh.

"A shooting in a school... What is this world coming to--"  COLONEL DASTUN!!


It was for a brief instant but a dark figure was seen escaping through an allyway near the school... on the side where the reported sightings were said to have taken place.  Dastun was not a happy man today... dealing with armed students was not necessarily a stress reliever.

"Alright, you men go after him! The rest of you, enter the school around the back and try to block off the library's doors! Wait for the order to move in, REMEMBER there might be hostages!!"



There was a sudden urge, a twitch, going up Dastun's spine... he turned his head towards the row of police cruisers and heavy trucks. In an odd sort of satisfaction, he was relieved not to see a certain black sedan.

Shock silenced Michale again for a few seconds, then he shook his head and focused. "Uh... tunnels! The tunnels!" At the blank look the other two gave him, he explained in the quick, rapid-fire voice that he often adopted when describing something while excited.

"Every main building on campus is connected underground. Some old materials and lab projects can't be taken out of controlled environments, and the tunnels are the only way to move them from building to building when the weather gets cold. Plus the students like to use them when they don't want to go out in the rain or snow. It isn't widely known outside of the student body, so unless one of those cops out there went to this school they aren't going to know about them. There are at least three ways out of the library through those tunnels, and three or four branches in each direction past those. If we're quick, there's no way they can block them all off even if they do know about them." He finally took a deep breath and fought the urge not to tremble.

"Tunnels!  Wonderful.  I was so hoping that I'd end up on the run again, less than a week after breaking out."  Beck stood to the side of the broken window, carefully peering out of it.  A handful of Military Police had gone running off in the direction the scarecrow man had gone, but he wondered if they even knew what they were looking for.  Beck had the feeling that Alan Gabriel would only be found if he wanted to be.   
 
"We should just give you to the MP.  You're the most wanted man in Paradigm right now.  They'd probably be happy just getting you."  Angel was sitting on the floor, head in her hands.  She'd been uncharacteristically quiet in the few minutes since Alan got away.   

"As much pride as I take being Paradigm's number one criminal, I really have better things to do than play games with the Military Police today."  Beck sauntered over towards Michale and threw an arm around him in an almost friendly manner.  "So, little bookworm, how about you steer us towards those tunnels already?"  He slapped the boy on the back without letting him respond.  "Thanks.  Now then," he yanked Angel from the floor roughly, blonde curls flying in all directions, and shoved her towards Michale.  "You get yourself together and stop moping, and you--" he pulled Emilia up much more gently, and Angel scowled at him as she patted her hair back into place.  "You, I finally get to teach how to make a proper getaway.  Your father will be so proud." 

"If you're done talking, we really need to be leaving now."  Angel smiled sweetly at Michale.  "Now then, why don't you be a good boy and open whatever door or wall it is we need to get out of here?" 

Michale blinked. "Uh... it's not really that secret, or anything, we just have to go downstairs... there's a stairway at the end of the hall out here," he said, half-heartedly pointing over his shoulder with his thumb, "if that's what you mean."

"Please excuse her," Beck said, still gripping Emilia's hand.  "Angel here is so used to making sneaky escapes that the concept of a very obvious route is beyond her.  Now then, shall we?"  He swept Emilia out the door, hurrying for the stairwell.  Truth be told, Beck was pretty sure he recalled exactly where these tunnels were from previous visits to the library, but he wasn't about to admit it.  He skirted the edges of the hallway until they reached the stairs to the ground floor, then flew down them, skipping every other step.  Emilia followed closely, then Angel and Michale, the younger man still clutching books to his chest. 

"Where do we go once we're in the tunnels?"  Angel hollered from above them.

"Wherever there aren't Military Police!"  Beck called back.  "They can't have blocked everything off.  We'll follow the tunnels to another building and get out through it." 

They reached the bottom of the stairs and Beck pulled open the first door he saw.  It was dimly lit inside, but wider than he recalled.  They filed in and Beck shut the door with a quiet thud. 

"So, bookworm," he said casually, "Which way now?" 

"My name is Michale," he said, and pointed down a long corridor to the left, "and that way leads towards the engineering buildings, and from there under West 120th Street. The tunnels extend to another cluster of school buildings a couple blocks away; you should be able to get clear to West 122nd before coming above ground."

"Well, it sure sounds like a plan." Emilia nodded as she set foot off the stairwell and unto the cool cement of the tunnel. She had heard affirmations of such a place beneath the university, but was never keen on investigating these passages for herself. There was never any motive for her to do so, Emilia never held any charm for the cramped, gloomy, underground. Darkness was by no means a friend to her sensibilities but she would have preferred darkness over what she beheld once they reached the underground passageway. The tunnels were more ominous than she had imagined. Not only was the way cluttered with broken furniture and excess storage but an eerily dull florescent lamp flickered above them. The pale yellow light illuminated washed out concrete walls, tagged with graffiti. Emilia was anxious about the next leg, underneath West 122nd street. They were perilously close to the underbelly of the city. A place her father had warned her about.

She noticed that Beck had not relinquished her hand from his grasp. She felt a bit more serene, and simultaneously aggravated. After all it had been a while since she had laid eyes on him and if it were for fate they would have never reunited. Emilia was not optimistic about their prospects, and it certainly was not the time to sort things through with him but she was comforted at least with the hint that beneath that gaudy exterior belied a gentleman.

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

"I'm assuming we've cleared the engineering buildings." Emilia said sorrowfully pondering what was to come next. "Michale, have you ever been any farther than this? What I mean is, do you know your way underground?"

"Not this part of the tunnels, no," he said, looking up from the book he had started reading again as they walked. "I've only been in the sections under the science buildings, and even that was rarely." He glanced around. "I think we're still headed in the right direction, though."

((Finally!!))

Snake woke up and looked around. He let out a heavy sigh. He had yet to figure out why he was living in the underground base where he became what he was, but to him it was a home nonetheless.

He had slept the whole night, but the dreams kept him turning. They were the nightmares that would keep normal human beings from ever sleeping again. Then again, Snake Marcato was no longer human. He was something else. He was an experiment gone wrong. And those nightmares were the memories of what had happened to him.

Memories. That's what was wrong now. Noone had any. Something happened, and everyone forgot what or why it was. As for Snake himself, he never lost the memories, but he didn't know to begin with. He was supposed to be frozen in a tank, never to be released. Sometime over the forty years, some mechanism failed and he was released. Maybe it was programmed in, he didn't know. Maybe someone wanted him out at some point, to lead an army for some purpose.

Someone. That's right. Snake wasn't alone. He had Julia who, not to his surprise, he had no clue as to the whereabouts. And then there was the android that Snake had found in the facility, Barthow. Barthow was usually performing some task so that Snake didn't have to, and Snake made it a point to usually avoid him, because he couldn't stop the android from calling him "Mr. Marcato." He heard Barthow singing somewhere. He was as enthusiastic as he was annoying.

Snake got up and got dressed. he looked at the various sunglasses that he had, and grabbed the red ones, "Need my eyewear before my eyes see anyone. I don't need another incident of what happens without them," Snake said to himself.

He walked over towards the elevator that led to the surface. On the way past, he walked past Big Soh, the "Brother Big" as he had once heard it called. The weaponry on it was almost entirely energy based, save for the anchor chains on the waist. He looked at the red scars that covered the black body of the Big as he took the elevator up.

Once to the surface, Snake ran his hand along the black Griffion that he drove. He opened the driver's door and slid into the black seat. He was the man in black, and his chariot matched him the same. He drove toward the city, out of the desert. It was a long drive to make, but that was something that didn't matter to him. The action was hardly out there.

He pulled in front of the bar known as the Speakeasy and sat down at the bar, three stools from the door. He looked around, wondering if there were any faces that would grab his attention, and how many people grabbed the attention of his face. Dale set down a glass of vodka in front of Snake at the bar. He faced forward, picked up the glass, and took a drink.

Angel shivered slightly.  It was a little chilly in the tunnels.  At some point her gun had ended up back in her hand.  She didn't remember when she had pulled it out again.  There was something about simply being underground that made her feel funny, even though they were still within the boundaries of Paradigm University.  The tunnels had started out fairly well lit, but the further they went the more space there was between the dim lights, and the less they saw of discarded objects and graffiti.  Things that prove other people have been through here.  She pushed the thought aside quickly.  This was a safe sort of underground.  This underground had lights and paths and actually led somewhere, and soon they'd come to a building or something and they'd be out and--   

"Where are we?  I haven't seen any doors or signs in a while."  Beck looked around suspiciously.  He had his gun in hand too.  Knowing Beck, though, it was more likely a defense against any MPs they might encounter than some strange sense of paranoia.  Angel felt herself twitching at every little sound she heard, and her stomach was beginning to feel queasy.  She glanced at Beck, who looked calm and collected, though he still gripped Emilia's hand.  She found herself staring at the two of them for perhaps a moment too long, and Beck shot her a dirty look, as if daring her to say something.  Angel raised an eyebrow, but remained silent.

The bookish boy, Michale, was still flipping through pages of text, not really paying attention to anyone.  A strange boy, Angel thought, to be so consumed by a book that he had walked right into the middle of their conflict without realizing it.  It had taken a gunshot to get his attention.  Even now, he didn't seem to register that there were other people with him, and yet he continued to follow them without really looking at where he was going. 

They reached a small open space, with a few different paths leading off of it, all of them narrower than the ones they had come from.  Angel frowned.  "Michale, you said the tunnels extend to a cluster of buildings, didn't you?  Does it matter which of these we take?"

Michale looked up from his book again (how he could read in the steadily darkening gloom was anyone's guess) and frowned. "I, uh... I don't know. We should've found another stairway by now. I've walked the distance to West 122nd on the surface, and it didn't take nearly this long." He glanced over his shoulder at the long, poorly-lit tunnel behind them, then turned back looking slightly alarmed. "I-I think we might be... lost."

Lost. Underground. The dim, dark recesses beneath the city where everyone knew ghosts and memories of the past lurked, ready to swallow up the unwary explorer without a trace. It was entirely more dangerous than being lost on the surface, where you could at least guess at your location by reckoning from the Domes. Down here, there were no references... just endless tunnels and featureless corridors, some winding deeper and deeper into the bowels of Paradigm City where who-knows-what kind of relics of 40 years ago waited, merely slumbering until some foolish denizen of above came down and awakened them.

Michale's earlier fear from being in the room with people considered "armed and dangerous" was now replaced by fear of the unknown, the dark, and most of all... the past. He trembled slightly, but tried not to give away how suddenly afraid he was.

The door to the underground clicked gently shut just prior to a horde of Military grunt rounding a corner rushing to the Library doors. The call went out over the radio...

"We're in position Colonel Dastun, and awaiting your order!"

Dastun took hold of the short brim of his hat... he had this-- this feeling...

"Move in."

The soldiers broke down the doors with guns at the ready.... the room before them: empty. They were taken aback, but on their guard... perhaps they were merely hiding. A small group of MP's moved in sweeping the area only to find a broken window and the body of an old man dead on the ground.

"They're not in here, Sir!"

Dastun clenches the radio microphone... "What?!"

"They must have escaped..."

"Is there any way they could have gotten out of that room? They didn't all go through that window--"

"...Sir, there's also a body here. Dead."

Dastun's eyes dropped slowly. He sat down, legs out, in the driver's seat of his patrol car.

"Was he shot?"

"There's no visible wound, Sir." --- "The area is clear, Sir!" --- "Remaining units, standing by."

He hung up the radio, and sighing rubbed his head.  There seemed to be no end to the insanity of the city. Stundents held hostage... disappearing criminals... Rosewater's p-- ... *Rosewater* ...The image of Rosewater, the folders, and the watching guards all flashed before his eyes.

..."I've got to tell Roger!"...

The ever present determined scowl reappeared on Dastun's face as he affixed his hat and started the engine. A rookie quickly moved to his window.

"Colonel Dastun, where are you going?"

"There's ahh... information I need to look up back at H.Q."

"But Sir! Who's in comma--"

"Then I'll send somebody over! Bustems, Sullivan, I don't know!..."

The window rolled up as Dastun drove away... he hadn't time to mess around. The rookie ran a few yards, but gave up in confusion.

The patrol car rounded a corner, heading for the freeway towards the residential districts. On the corner, a suited man in an unmarked car watched as Dastun took the on-ramp...watching coldly...

---

Alex Rosewater sat cross-legged in his private cablecar in Paradigm Dome... reading journals and files as he made his descent down the center tower. The bell in the car dinged and it slowed upon reaching a platform... not the platform Rosewater had selected, which instantly irritated him.

A young female doctor in labcoat hurried boarded the car with a folder with photographs and charts just barely kept from falling out. She sat down in the compartment and the cablecar continued with its descent.

"Mr. Rosewater! I'm sorry... but--"

"How is our dear patient doing, doctor? I take it everything is coming along alright?"

"The surgery was a success, Mr. Rosewater, but the patient... The patient-- well, he's left, Sir."

Rosewater raised an eyebrow, and looked up at the doctor.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Rosewater! We had guards outside his room during recovery, but he's--"

"...Doing just fine I take it, doctor. That's good to hear."

"...Sir?"

"Your patient is no ordinary human. I trust he can take care of himself for the time being. Thank you for your services, doctor, please see my secretary to receive your payment. You'll find its the amount we agreed upon."


Rosewater pressed a button on a panel to his right, signaling the car to stop at the next platform.  The doctor disembarked, still rather preturbed. Rosewater smirked to himself as his private car continued down the spiraling track.

"Oh, that's just wonderful."  Beck flung Emilia aside suddenly, nearly knocking the poor girl over as he lunged at Michale, his gun pressing at the young man's chest.  "Maybe if you'd bothered to look up from this stupid book--" he ripped it from Michale's hands and threw it over his shoulder, "-- we'd be above ground by now." 

"Oh, honestly."  Angel rolled her eyes as she quickly retrieved the book from the floor before grabbing hold of Beck and pulling him off the boy.  "We don't even know that we're really lost.  What good does it do you to threaten the poor boy?"

There was a moment of silence before Beck shoved Michale against the nearest wall.  "It makes me feel better," Beck growled.  He shot Michale a last dirty look before sauntering away into one of the tunnels without looking back. 

Angel shrugged.  "Fine, go get yourself even more lost," she said to Beck's disappearing backside.  "That makes sense."  She shook her head.  "Idiot.  He'll be back."  Angel squinted down at the book as she handed it back to Michale, unable to even make out the title, if there was one.  "I don't even see how you can read in here in the first place, though."  She paused and fished around in her pockets for a moment before retrieving a small flashlight.  "I should've turned this on earlier, but I wanted to make sure the MP weren't onto us yet."  She shone the light around them quickly, checking their surroundings.  "Much better.  Now then, what are you reading, anyway?" 

Michale shivered, slightly in shock from Beck's threats. "It's...uh..." he gulped and visibly composed himself. "I-I'm pretty sure it's something from before forty years ago--a Memory. I don't know how nobody ever found it in the library, but the information in here is amazing. A whole branch of science that's been completely forgotten."

Noticing the shock on the women's faces from the M-word he pushed on quickly. "A-according to science as we know it, everything in the universe is either one of two things: matter or energy. And two of the most basic tenets of physics state that neither matter nor energy can ever be truly destroyed, just changed into some other form. The Conservation of Matter and the Conservation of Energy, so that the universe doesn't run out of either."

"But this book mentions a modification to those laws. A change. When they found out that they weren't quite accurate. It's not the Conservation of Matter and the Conservation of Energy, it's the Conservation of Matter AND Energy. This book says that it is possible, under the right circumstances, for matter to be transformed into energy and energy into matter. So the Conservation applies to both at once, because they're interchangeable."

"The amazing thing is the conversion rate. A very, very small amount of matter can be turned into an absolutely phenomenal amount of energy. Let me see here..." he flipped back several pages. "Here! This is the key to all of it! Everything in this book relies around this one simple equation!" Michale turned the book so that Angel and Emilia could see. He pointed at one bit of text, bolded and seperate from the rest:

E = mc²

"The E stands for energy and the m stands for matter. The c stands for the speed of light. That means that if we took any amount of matter, the energy we'd get out of it would be equal to the amount of matter multiplied by the speed of light squared." He looked up to see both of them blinking. "The speed of light is a very big number--almost 300,000,000 meters per second. Squared it's absolutely huge."

"The rest of the book--and another one that was found along with it which I forgot in the library--describes what this means and how it can be used in practical application. If we could figure out some way to turn matter directly into energy, we could power the whole of Paradigm City with just a spoonful of matter a day!" Michale started to get stars in his eyes. "The way the book describes it, the discovery of this equation revolutionized science throughout the world. When I manage to present my findings to the Paradigm Science Comission, it's going to do it all over again!"

Emilia was unsure of what exactly to make of Michale's discovery. Amongst the many events and revelations that had taken place she could hardly process this new "memory".

"A remarkable find, to be sure." Emilia attempted to appease Michale, though she could hardly veil her puzzlement. "I'm afraid that it won't help us, now. I'm more concerned about finding that android Mr. Vanguard spoke of."

"And Beck." Emilia glanced off into the distance, " I could care less about what happens to him, personally.  But he has had this habit of crossing the wrong people in the past."

Emilia inadvertently glanced at the aging book once again, her eyes catching the remnants of a name in fading gold lettering. "What's this?" She ran her fingers across the engraved letters. The book was indeed ravaged by time and abandon but she could just make out the name. "Way...ne...right. Waynewright! Timothy Waynewright, he was in the news some time ago! Yes, it makes sense. He must have written this forty years ago. We have got to find that android. But where do we start?"

At Emilia's revelation, Michale blinked. He'd been entirely too wrapped up in his excitement to look much into the origin of the book itself. He looked back down at the weathered tome and then flipped to the title pages.

An Introductory Guide to Special Relativity
Prof. Timothy Wayneright

Huh. What do you know.

(Big Finale and I had been sitting on a post for some time now, and since things are quieting down a bit... *cue crickets* I thought maybe I'd go ahead and post. I don't want to interrupt anything, but maybe a new post here and there will spark some activity. Besides, poor Dorothy has been unconscious for months now. :P  In any case, here it is, better late than never. I'll back up a bit)

Roger began to ward Norman off when footsteps signaled the arrival of Dorothy, and he was surprised to see her as soaked as he was. And naturally, she had to comment on his condition. "Why were you out and about dressed in your bed clothes? It's raining out, you know," she remarked, giving him what he knew was a dim look. "You are so strange, Roger Smith."

Roger didn't feel like dealing with Dorothy's sarcastic if motherly personality right then. "You're one to talk, lecturing me while you stand there dripping wet." But he realized he could be opening a can of worms and put his hand up. "Never mind, just... don't. Norman, get me a towel."

"I..." Dorothy stopped short of Roger and suddenly what would've been a rather spirited and routine quarrel between Dorothy and Roger darkened ominously as Dorothy's legs gave way beneath her. She collapsed rather like a string puppet. Her mechanical limbs hanging limply at her sides. Yet strangely enough she was still conscious, "A memory..." She managed to say before her luminous dark eyes went dead.

“Miss Dorothy!” Norman cried, all thoughts of Roger's well-being thrust aside for a moment. He may've been cold and wet still, but the girl falling dead to the floor was a little more concerning. He knelt down, running his eyes over her form. No external clues that he could see... what could've caused this, the old man had no idea.

"Dorothy! " Roger cried at the same time, falling to his knees across from Norman, watching nervously as the old butler and Megadeus technician studied the android's unmoving form. Dorothy had proven to be an incredibly robust and reliable android, and had never had a problem or... for lack of a better word, fainted before. What could have caused this? To get the obvious out of the way, he asked Norman, "This... couldn't possibly have happened because she was drenched, could it?"

Norman frowned at that. “She's been in the rain quite often before, Master Roger. I can't say I believe something had changed this last time.”

He shook his head, muttering, "No, of course you're right." And like most worried people, he was just making conversation to occupy his mind. But there was something to ponder, what Dorothy said as she faltered completely.

"A memory..."

'Dorothy had a Memory... all this time??' That was a startling revelation. But... what was the nature of it? Had something triggered it? Was it trying to be 'remembered,' and had that caused her to collapse? What she'd spoken was echoed by another remark, something dark from his nightmare of just a while ago.

"Your inactivity is causing Memories to pass from this world forever! One by one, they perish!"

Memories... everyone wanted to get hold of them, but the nature of just what they were was a perpetual mystery, and here, Dorothy seemed to hold one in her electronic mind all along. Roger wasn't the superstitious type, but the disturbingly vivid dream and it's subjects just before this happened bothered him. Was there possibly any meaning to it... could it even be a warning? And furthermore... with Dorothy's Memory, if indeed it was a Memory, was it something he wanted to know?

Norman's musing were more immediate, but he was likewise silent, lost for the moment. “...We're not going to get anything done here,” he stated at last, the unspoken messaage being that they needed to move her down into Big O's maintenance area, where all of his tools were. He was nowhere near as capable as Professor Wayneright when it came to androids, and to be perfectly frank with himself, he doubted he could do anything for her when it came to this. Still, if nothing else, the fact there was an attempt at repairing her would no doubt ease his employer's troubled mind.

Roger was glad to have something to do, leaning down to take the slender yet incredibly massive android in his arms. "You'd better let me tend to this. Dorothy isn't losing any weight."

Before the Negotiator could even start to act, Norman had slid his arms under Dorothy's frame, and with a bit of huffing and effort, hoisted her up, hurrying to the laboratory as Roger followed, dumbstruck.

"Wayneright?"  Angel stared at the book.  "Well, if it's connected to him, it's only going to lead to trouble," she muttered.  "I'm not sure if I completely understand this, but if it's got to do with creating mass amounts of energy, I can only imagine that Paradigm will use it to do something stupid.  Besides, Emilia's right, it doesn't help us right now."  She paused, tapping her foot quietly.  Finding the android that Vanguard had mentioned would definitely help them, that was true.. but Angel was beginning to feel agitated about it.  "I can't help but wonder if Vanguard's android is also connected to Timothy Wayneright."  She began pacing around.  "Most of the androids around Paradigm seem to trace back to him in one way or another.  Which means.. we go looking around Wayneright's old mansion, and if that doesn't get us anywhere..." She didn't really like the other option, and paused before continuing.  "... then we need to talk to Roger Smith and Dorothy Wayneright." 

---

Beck was lost.  He had already turned around once, yet somehow this did not take him back the way he had come.  Instead, the tunnels grew darker and darker and there was no way of knowing which direction he was going.  Eventually he stumbled over something, and upon crouching down to inspect he felt a scrap of cold metal, but had no idea what it was.  Every so often he thought he saw light ahead of him, but it disappeared when he blinked. 

Strangely, he felt more annoyed than panicked.  He was eager to get out of the tunnels and back to his regularly scheduled crime and debauchery, starting with his latest creation.  He could practically hear it calling to him, begging him to come and use it to wreak havoc on the city.  Being away from it felt like nicotine withdrawal. 

He continued onward, holding his arms in front of him.  It was completely dark by now.  Wherever he'd gotten to, it must have been large, because he could hear the faint echo of his footsteps and he touched nothing as he waved his arms around. 

Turning around and trying to go back would do no good.  He flicked his lighter on, but all it did was illuminate his own hands.  Still, it was better than nothing.  Beck crouched down on the ground, which was now very smooth and cool.  Taking a break couldn't possibly make things worse than they were, after all.  He lit a cigarette, the next to last one he had on him, and closed his eyes. 

Snake looked at his vodka after taking a drink. He looked to the back wall to see if Roger Smith had been in. There was something he wanted to talk about, or so he thought. He couldn't remember. Perhaps he just looked for some company. Of course, with his luck, he would have to deal with that man in the yellow suit. The flamboyant and annoying Beck.

There were a number of people he could run into in here. Half of them that he had met would be some form of trouble or another. Like a run in with some of those Union agents...two specifically popped into his mind. He wasn't really in the mood for a confrontation, but on the other hand anything would be better than sitting at the bar alone. Unfortunately, he had nothing better to do at the moment.

A couple of guys started to get a touch rowdy behind Snake. One of them bumped into him. Dale started to set down the glass he was cleaning out, but Snake waved him off and stood up. "Excuse me," he said, turning around, "but that kind of behavior will not be tolerated in here."

One of the men pulled a knife on him, drunk, "Oh, yeah? And whadda you gonna do about it, bub?"

It took some restraint to not retaliate to that. All Snake did was take off his glasses and reveal his ruby red eyes, "I will have you escorted from this place. Please, if you wish to fight each other, take it outside. I am hoping to meet a familiar face in here and do not appreciate your disturbance of the peace." One of the main rules is not to get violent, He thought.

The men were too drunk to notice the abnormality of his eyes and just stared at him. The unarmed man went back to his drink. The other persisted, determined to fight anyone, "You some fancy Negotiator? We gots one of them already."

"Yes, I am somewhat. And yes, I know Roger Smith somewhat as well. Please, why can't we all get along and enjoy our drinks in peace?"

The drunk frowned at Snake and pointed the knife at him, "You're just a coward." With that, he walked off.

Snake sat down, really hoping someone would turn up soon now. it took a good portion of what he had not to break that guy's arm for pointing that knife at him. He was trained not to put up with that kind of treatment.

He turned back to the bar and rested his head on his hand.