RKMBs Forums .::Important::. Writer's Block Tabula Rasa

"How does this work?" The general's eyes focused on the soldier moving through the empty room. The soldier's head was adorned with a strange helmet that came down over his eyes. A facsimile of a rifle was poised for action as the man crouched his way through the empty room.

Doctor Faber pointed at the helmet. "Sensors inside the helmet pic up the brain activity and focus in on it. The computer will map the area and its activity while the simulation runs. The sensors in the suit and gun will also feed information back into the main database downstairs. The system down there will compile both sources of data and upload them to the unit."

"And the robot will copy it?"

"Not exactly," the doctor said as he moved the general to the other side of the room. With a few commands typed on a keyboard, a series of monitors came to life. The set on the left showed the soldier and the computerized world he was interacting with. On the right a humanoid machine moved in a similar fashion within a simulated environment. "As you can see, though they act alike, the Legionaire prototype isn't merely copying Lt. Col. Davis. If we change the parameters a bit, the prototype's brain will act accordingly."

He tapped away at the keyboard again. Several enemy soldiers appeared on the screen. The prototype moved quickly and methodically eliminated each one. "The program remembers and extrapolates from the donors' actual experiences. The Legionaire, once fully operational, won't mimic an elite soldier in the field, it'll act like one."

"When will the body be ready?"

"Shortly. Dr. Little and his team are finishing weapons testing. Once that is accomplished, I will be able to install the brain and my software. We can begin advance testing then."

"Good, Dr. Faber," the general took a seat as he continued to watch the simulation. "I want a full battery of tests for the brass in a month."

"That's cuttin it close," Faber became uneasy. "There are hundreds of factors that we must consider when the brain is installed. We'll have to calibrate the..."

"The Pentagon is looking to cut funding unless we have an operational weapon. I need to show them that we are making progress here. A functioning robot is what they want, and it's what they'll get."

Things look bright, Doctor Shoemaker” said another General at another secret facility across the continent. “The Pentagon is looking to cut founding to Doctor Faber and his pathetic robot. Esogenetic looks much more promising...”

“There will be much money for our project? For me?” The words came from the salivating mouth of Shoemaker, Otto Shoemaker, renowned geneticist from former East Germany.

“Yes, there will be, but only if our subject will be ready before Faber’s work.”

“Oh, it will, it will. Look for yourself! We are going to inject the grey’s staminal cells in our man by minutes, now.” Shoemaker pressed a button on the console next to him, and a metallic rolling shutter opened up, revealing a window looking down to an operating theatre.

A young black man was lying down on what seemed a bath tub, actually a sensory deprivation tank, and next to him a pool of men in white lab coat was attaching him many sensors and tubes.

“Who is him?” asked the General, looking for the first time at the chosen subject.

“He is nobody” said Shoemaker. “He is a nobody that soon will be the first on a race of superhuman. Or, should I say, superslaves...”

The General frowned. “Let’s see if it works, first”.

“It will work, it will” laughed the scientist. He bended over a small communicator over the console. “You can proceed, Eugene!”

Down in the lab, the guy named Eurgene took a big syringe from the metallic plate a nurse was holding up, and inject the slimy green serum inside the neck of the lying man.

And Emmanuel Nuanjoku saw the face of God.

Doctor Lewis Faber sat on the cold, unforgiving Alaskan ground. He wrung his glove covered hands as his breath condensed into a light fog in front of his reddened nose and cheeks. The sun was beginning to creep down behind the tall trees and mountains.

"You do realize that it's about to drop another fifteen, twenty degrees, sir?" a voice called out behind him. Faber turned back to see his assistant, Pvt. Barrows, walking down the hill behind him. "Besides, I wouldn't want you to get eaten by wolves or bears or something."

"There's not an animal within twenty miles of this place," Faber chuckled. "We're a bit too noisy." Barrows came up to the doctor's side and put out his hand. Faber grabbed it, and the young soldier pulled him to his feet.

"We'll take the cargo elevator," Barrows said as they began walking away. "It's closer." They ascended the hill and then back down on the other side. The scenery was a vast change. Metal grates covered the muddy, leveled ground to the east and created their runway for the cargo planes. Humvees made ruts in the ground as they zoomed back and forth from the makeshift airport to the main building directly in front of them. Lamp posts and metal buidlings cut a gash in the midst of the vast wilderness.

The main building was constructed in the side of one of the larger hills in the area. As the two men approached, they bureaucraticly fished their badges from out of their thick coats and presented them to the armed man outside the entrance. He waved them through as he had done hundreds of times before. They walked through a large cargo door just a few moments before it closed for the night.

"How did the test go?" Barrows asked as they waited for the elevator.

"Excellent. The Legionaire couldn't have performed better," Faber answered. "It both amazed and scared the hell out of them. That's why they cut our funding." The elevator rose up into view. The giant cage doors slid open, and men began moving huge containers of garbage and other waste out.

"I hadn't heard," Barrow said as soon as the news sunk in.

The Doctor nodded. "We start shutting down the complex in a few days. Everything will be loaded up and flown down to Fort Richardson and then to somewhere in the main 48. It'll probably be boxed up and stored in between some tin foil UFO and Gen. Patton's testicles." As the last container was pulled away, both men stepped onto the elevator. The cage doors slammed shut and they began to slowly sink. "They're too afraid of a robot that acts on its own. Apparently, Terminator is a very popular movie in the Pentagon."

"You told me that couldn't happen."

Faber sighed. "It can't. I purposefully designed the software to prevent that. We're not creating sentience. We're creating the appearance of sentience. That's not enough of a fine line for them, though. Hank was right. I should have just created a remote software and let some grunt a thousand miles away control it like some video game." He reached up and pulled the wool sock hat from his head and then ran his hands over his salt and pepper hair to get it to lay back down. "But I had to be brilliant. I had to push the envelope and develop something groundbreaking. So now we get ten years of slaving away on a project instead of five. For what? Just to have it pulled out from under us when we finally get it right."

The elevator came to a stop, and they stepped off. "Do you want to grab some chow?" Barrow asked as the maneuvered down the hallway past the lab.

"Thanks, but I'm not really hungry. You go ahead. I think I'll just go on and start packing."

Marshall rubbed his eyes and sat up slowly. He turned and looked at the insistently-chirping clock-radio. "It's only nine," he mumbled as he started to lie back down.

"No you don't!" Jeff protested from the doorway. "Get outta bed. You're not gonna be a total dead weight if I have anything to say about it."

"Come onnnnnnnn," Marshall complained. "Would you be in a hurry to get out of bed every morning if you were in my shoes? I don't even wanna know what it's gonna be today."

"If I wanted to, little brother," Jeff replied, "I could take MetaDyne public right now and never have to work again. Thankfully, I don't have your work ethic. Now we're gonna go to the lab and see what your genetic structure looks like today."

"Look," Marshall explained, "I appreciate your taking care of me, since I can't seem to hold a job and all with this... condition. But sometimes it seems like you're just exploiting me and my weirdness to fuel your research, and that's just not..."

"Shut up and shower," Jeff interjected. "And turn that alarm off."

"Fine," Marshall grumbled. "Yesterday I had gills, the day before that I could levitate - only upside down but still, the day before that... oh... I molted... This sucks." He reached over to shut off the alarm - and the chainsaw that had sprouted at the end of his right arm in place of a hand shredded the clock-radio to bits.

Marshall eyed the chainsaw. "Bitchin'!"

Jeff rolled his eyes. "That's the fourth appliance you've destroyed this week."

The spinning, hot .45 slug exploded from the back of the skull, raining blood and brains along the damp, wooden planks of the deck. The twitching body slumped with a heavy thud to the side, revealing a smoking, silver barrel still leved in trajectory. A moment passed, as the echo of the gunshot faded into the creaking sway of sea-worthy timber. Then, spinning the silver Baller in a suitable western panache, the bearer of the execution brought the warm piece back snug into his hip holster.

"Now...anyone else want to voice their concerns?", his voice stated with a calm intimidation, breaking the terrible silence, "Now's the time."

Sharp green eyes turned to and fro, scanning the hard men before him, searching for any volunteers. Another moment of silence to assure that no tongues wished to wag, and he nodded.

"Starboard..." he commented, giving a quick glance to the crumpled body. The stout first mate gave a silent agreement, he and two others dragging and tossing the corpse into the frothing sea.

The Captain turned on his booted heel, marching towards the bow of the ship. The tassels of the ornate scabbard on his back, housing a broad scimitar, flittered with the haphazard gusts of salty air. Climbing the half-deck of stairs, he came around and stood before the banister. The hazy gray of the clouds behind him merely complimented his pale features. Shoulder-length, sandy-blonde hair twisted with the wind, the random strands braided in meticulous fashion framing his hard jaw.

"When each of you....each and every one of you...asked to join me on my conquests, I told you of the dangers." he addressed them, the regal tint of his words clashing with the bohemian squalor of his appearance. "I warned you. While normal scavengers are satiated with the bounty of riches...feeding off the fat and happy wealth of nations...this ship carries no such purpose. We are different. We strive for better."

The ragtag ensemble of the crew stared back at their leader, enchanted by the richness of his words. Tempted by the allure of his courage and daring pride.

"Others such as us...they wish for gold, and jewels..." he continued, the passion rising in his voice. "...but, I tell you now...LET the dogs have their trinkets! Let them have their simple desires! We have no need of such things! This is the Argolas! We are the nail in the heart of history! The hunters of time! We are LEGEND!!"

The crew immediately roared to life, cheering with bravado. Captain Norrin Frasier, leaned into his palms, gripping the bannister in front of him. He surveyed his bellowing crew before him with squinting pride, and confidence.

"Gentlemen...", he finally stated, his words cutting through the cheering below, "...we sail once more into history..."

And with that, his first mate began barking orders, the crew instantly and efficiently swarming across the wide deck of the enormous sailing ship.

"Raise anchor!! Stand by the braces!!" he shouted, the oft-repeated "Aye!" replying in the distance. As the crew continued its preparation, he turned to his captain...

"What heading, sir?"

Captain Frasier was now looking ahead, pacing towards the tip-end bow of the ship. His eyes gazed out over the endless horizon of ocean, sawing his teeth back and forth in contemplation. After a moment, he dug into his interior vest pocket. His fingers pulled free what appeared to be a small, compact device that resembled a Blackberry. A few buttons pushed, and few chirps following, he finally looked back up at the ocean.

"Hmmm....I've always wanted to plunder the earlier 21st century..." he replied. He glanced over at his officer. "What say you?"

The mate shrugged, his demeanor softening to a more casual air. "I don't know...do these kom-poo-ters get any better?"

"Oh yes!" Norrin assured him with a hint of excitement. "We get so much more advanced by then. Not just with these electrical machines, but....with human beings, too..."

The first mate looked briefly aghast.

"They...they make human beings? In shops?"

"Like an ironsmith would craft a blade, Micah." he nodded. "They make us...humans...into weapons!"

Micah quickly crossed himself, kissing the cross necklace around his neck. "Saints preserve us, Captain! Sounds like the end-times!"

"Ha!" Norrin laughed. "Mayhaps for the few sea-worthy warriors we find. Fear not....I do not plan on us staying there long. Just enough to graft a few more of these tools."

He looked back out over the ocean again, his eyes full of wonder.

"I tell you Micah...after the many centuries we've seen...it still amazes me to find that man pursues the need to arm himself more and more. It's not enough they have weapons to rend the clouds themselves. But...to form a human as a weapon itself!"

He pause, the meaning of the words heavy on his brow.

"It makes one wonder where the end of it all shall come to..."

Micah stared at the side of the captain's head for a moment, pondering the subject.

"And to where our end shall come, as well?"

Norrin cocked an eye at his mate. "Tell me the mutinous fear that Barkley spewed has not infected your spine, my friend..."

"No." Micah answered. "He was a spineless coward that could not see beyond his own crooked nose. He deserved your wrath."

"Good."

"Yet....Captain...there is some truth to it all..."

Frasier stood fully up now, turning to face the man.

"I, too, have wondered....where it shall all end?" Micah continued in earnest.

"Micah..."

"Sir, we have done so much, now! We have pillaged entire future times,and have armed ourselves so completely! No nation of this year could withstand our might, if we so wished to sieze it!"

"We have seen the history of our brethren, Micah." Norrin stated in crisp tones. "No nation shall fall under our heel. It has been written! It never happens.We cannot change that which is already made."

"Then...why do we continue on?" the mate pushed. "What purpose do we serve in this continuous gamble, invading the realm of time itself?"

Norrin squinted at the man, a small smile creasing his lips.

"What else, my friend?" he asked, clutching his shoulder. "The adventure! We see things no man shall ever see! We go where none may follow! Is not that enough?"

The two men stared at each other for a moment, the chattering of the working crew behind them. Finally, a smile came to Micah as well.

"You are either the bravest man I have ever met....or the greates fool I have ever known..."

"Well....tell me when you figure it out, so that I might know myself.."

"And catch wind of your thunderous silver?" Micah replied with a grin, nodding towards the Baller .45 on Norrin's hip. "I think not."

Frasier laughed with a nod.

"Make sail, my friend."

Micah came to attention, and with a swift turn barked, "Raise the sails!!"

Large, billowing ivory rose in unison up the towering mast of the ship, the sea gripping the ship in its torrential breath.

Captain Frasier walked up to the bow edge, and leaned over to press a hidden button. A control panel flipped open, revealing a keyboard and screen. Micah typed in a few keys, stepping back to allow his Captain access to the panel.

Frasier pulled his leather glove from his left hand, a single ruby ring trapped by a silver band. He turned his hand, placing the ruby down into a slot next to the screen. Immediately, a hum vibrated along the decks.

The bow-spear, stretching out over the ocean in front, crackled with whisps of multi-colored light. A glow appeared at the tip-end of the spear, getting brighter, and brighter.

Even as the breeze pushed the enormous sailing ship forth, the spear crackled with an unearthly energy. Suddenly, the spear collided with an invisible force, puncturing the very air before them.

And, with that, the pirate ship Argolas rended the folds of time itself, vanishing...literally...into history...

The area surrounding Dawson City was covered in trees. The Yukon city was the last Canadian city on the Alaska Highway before entering the Frontier State.

And in the dense woods of pine and spruce, a silver metallic object was flying low. It dodged the massive tree trunks, but didn't seem to care when it slammed into the underbrush.

The object finally slowed down and stopped in a clearing. It looked like a giant metal vulture, with a curved silver beak and steel talons with hooked claws at the end. It was only at a second glance anyone would realize the first impression was deceptive -- it was not a metal bird, but armor made to look like one. And underneath all that armor, there was a hint of something human -- a lower jaw underneath the skull-like helmet.

"'Bellatrix' calling 'Orion'. Can you hear me?"

The iron harpy waiting for a reply. A froggy voice cracked through the interference. "Where are you?"

"Two hours away from target."

"Very good. Maintain radio silence. Good hunting, 'Bellatrix'."

Silent save for a metallic hum from the engine on her back, Bellatrix flew on.

As he stepped into the mechanical sphere, the athletic, clean cut man in the NASA suit adjusted his helmet over his head. Had he watched the latest Star Wars movie, he couldn't have helped feeling a little like Darth Vader when the upper part of the open sphere began descending on the seat he now occupied. But no, this man wouldn't be able to tell Darth Vader from Barney the dinosaur. He had no time for silly diversions of any kind.

A group of bald and balding men in lab coats, most of them wearing glasses and a few using tags including the name "Harold", watched the man through a thick layer of unbreakable glass, as they crowded in front of a control panel full of so many buttons and switches I wouldn't know where to start describing them.

"Now, remember John," the scientiest of all the scientists spoke into a microphone that came out of the control panel like a silver phallus, "you'll only be over there for a couple of minutes, but there's a chance that when you come back several years will have passed over here. Don't worry: even if there's a nuclear catastrophe, this place will still be here to put your atoms back together. Ah, and don't be surprised if you don't recognize any of the faces staring at you from up here... There's a chance that all of us will be long dead by the time you return."

"What, you think it may take as long as two weeks?" John would have said if he had a sense of humour, but he didn't, so he didn't. He didn't even joke about having been told the same thing dozens of times since he was assigned to this mission. He simply nodded in acknowledgement and let out a dull "Understood."

"Ready to meet Mars, John?"

"I suppose," John replied, and afterwards he didn't even wish he had thought of something like 'I was born ready'. He simply didn't know any better.

Buttons were pushed, levers pulled, countdowns started and finished... long story short, the mechanical sphere began humming and vibrating, and after a short show of lights... Major John R. Blank was gone. The sound and the vibrations slowly died down.

"And now, gentlemen..." the scientist said as he sat back with satisfaction, "we wait."

"The best we can hope for, for now, is receiving any signals from him in a couple of hours," one of the Harolds added, as the bald crowd started dispersing. The show was over, now they had to go back to their respective labs and offices to resume watching Grey's Anathomy.

"WAIT!" Bill, the shortest of the scientists, yelled as he dramatically pointed at the mechanical sphere behind the glass. It was starting to move again.

"This is most peculiar..." our main scientist worriedly commented. "Our best hope was that he would return within a week... but the chances of that were incredibly slim!"

"Do you think something went wrong?"

"We'll find out soon enough..."

The humming and vibrating returned, harder than before. The scientists held on to the nearest solid object as the floor below them started moving.

"The machine isn't prepared for so much uninterrupted activity!" Harold 2 yelled above the growing sound of clanking metal. "We always assumed we would have time to adjust it before the second trip!"

Like your mother always said, 'once smoke starts coming out of it, you should start worrying'. Since the scientists were already worried, the smoke that quickly clouded their vision of the sphere freaked them out instead.

And then it stopped. The general consensus in the room was that they weren't sure if they should be relieved that the sphere wasn't destroyed in the process, or even more freaked out about what would happen when it opened.

The smoke hadn't completely cleared when the upper part of the sphere began ascending, releasing darker, thicker clouds of smoke from inside.

"John? Are you there?" The scientist paused. "Is... anyone there?"

Something stood inside the sphere. The observers quickly recognized the shape of a male human being, which relieved most of them. The rest of the scientists, however, became even more worried... noticing that the person inside the sphere was clearly not wearing an astronaut suit.

"John?" the scientist asked.

Everyone watched with suspense as a black iron boot stepped out of the sphere. The legs that came out of the smoke, covered by a half torn gray latex body suit, were followed by a patched belt full of little metallic compartments, hanging on the right because of the weight of what looked like a gun Flash Gordon would use. As the body became visible, the combination of clothes and gadgets became even more unlikely with the addition of a stitched, faded black leather-like jacket over a continuation of the torn gray body suit. The scientists were finally able to see the man's face, only to find it covered by messy long hair and a beard that would take at least a year to grow.

"JOHN!" the scientist exclaimed, recognizing the face under all the hair and a couple of scars.

"The name's JOHNNY FUCK..." he replied in a raspy voice, reaching for his back and grabbing the katana hidden in his jacket "...and you, my friends, have just doomed this planet."

Bellatrix had seen the satillite photos of the lab. Since the bulk of the building was dug into the rock, getting into the lab would be tough.

However, there was a weak spot. A small loading bay also served as a garage. And since they were moving the heavy equipment first, trucks were going in and out of the base frequently.

Bellatrix was flying low near one of the main roads leading to the base. On the road was a single truck, heading to the lab to get cargo.

After checking to make sure the driver wasn't paying attention to the right side of the trailer, Bellatrix flew out of the underbrush and snow and settled right behind the trailer. Her chin was just a few inches above the concrete. At seventy miles per hour, the wrong angle could have torn the flesh from her bones.

Now it was a simple matter of getting under the truck. Bellatrix sped up until she was beneth the undercarriage. She had rehersed the next stunt several times earlier. In one graceful, fluid move, the metal wings tucked until her back, and she spun around to grab the truck with her clawed hands and her metal feet. There was no reaction from the driver. Too busy with an Alan Jackson CD.

Bellatrix remained motionless during the entire ride. She went over and over the plan in her head. The mission was to retrieve a portable drive from Dr. Faber's office, located all the way in the back of the building.

If all goes according to plan, I wont have to deal with a single scientist or soldier. She felt a shudder from the metal and wire that had replaced her spinal cord. Pity the fool that threatens Bellatrix.

***

Such a contrast between Bellatrix's HARPY and Faber's Legionaire. The Legionaire was a very complex piece of machinery -- from what Bellatrix read on the files, a sort of supersolider. The HARPY Armor had been designed a few years earlier by a herpologist, of all people. His study of reptilian brain allowed him to develop a machine that wasn't as intellegent as the Legionaire, but there was something brutal about it's simplicity.

The herpologist reasoned that human-like computers and machines thinked too much, while an animal-like machine only reacts. And so, three years ago, when they bound the HARPY Armor to the body of a dying mercenary, Bellatrix was born. The metal and the flesh has merged together creating not a cyborg, but a true mechaniod, a perfect harmonic blend of human and machine.

But there was no harmony in the mind. Harpy was quick to attack any threat, and the human mind had long ago given up any hope of controlling her metal exoskelaton while in berserk mode. Bellatrix was a rational being...until she was in danger. Then, she was unstopable.

***

The truck's engine went off and Bellatrix realized she was in the garage. She dropped down quietly and waited to figure out when the workers were in the garage or too busy loading the truck. She spied a vent shaft and ducked into it while the boys were loading cargo.

The shaft was narrow, so Bellatrix concentrated and pulled as much of her exoskelaton back into her body. The alloy used on the HARPY Armor was meant to collapse on itself, so that user could blend in with a crowd as a normal human. However, due to the complexity of the arms and hands, the limbs couldn't collapse, so Bellatrix was stuck with two super-strong metal arms with talons. Lucky for her, a pair of gloves and a jacket usually compensated for that.

She tapped her wrist, and a light turned on. Using her other hand, she pulled out a paper with the schematics of the building.

"All too easy."

"Arai Katsu, here as requested." The speaker was covered entirely in a black, form-fitting outfit with strange, faint symbols all over it. They seemed to appear and disappear as the light hit them. He had a sword hung over his back along with a small pack and a shorter sword at his waist.

A woman in traditional Japanese clothing was in the room as well, there were symbols similar to the ones on Katsu's outfit on the floor, only larger. "Hello, Arai-san. I am Sato Izumi. The experiment is ready. You understand what is to take place?"

"It has been explained. You have discovered a way to bridge into an alternate reality. I am to enter this reality and learn what I can in 3 days time. I will then return to the place where I entered the other reality where a door back will be opened for me."

"Very good. I will open the gateway." The woman traced one of the3 symbols on the floor and it started to glow, setting off a chain reaction as all the complex, interlocked symbols lit up as well. The symbols covered the floor and one of the walls, forming an arch. Once the last symbol was lit, the area within the arch glowed.

Katsu reached toward the arch slowly. "Do I just step through, Sato-san?"

"Yes, that is all there is to it."

"Then I am ready."

Katsu stepped through the arch and found himself in an unlit hallway. It looked abandoned. The only illumination came from a window at the end of the hallway and from rooms evenly spaced down its length. The rooms look as though they once had doors, but they'd been removed. He checked the rooms, and found them to be emptied of any furniture. He seemed to be in an empty hotel. He could hear a distant, amplified voice but could not understand what he was saying. He traced a symbol on the cloth that covered his ear and the words were translated for him.

"8, 7, 6..."

Katsu understood at once. "Shit."

He ran out onto the balcony of one of the rooms and launched himself over the railing.

"3, 2, 1." There were explosions from the building and it started to collapse, but he'd gotten out on time. Unfortunately, "out" was ten floors up.

"Shit." He traced a symbol at one of his shoulders and glider wings extended from the outfit. A wave of dust hit him from behind, knocking hit off course. "Shit."

He managed a safe, if not graceful landing and retracted the wings by tracing the symbol on his shoulder backwards, and found himself near a crowd of people. "Shit" He traced another symbol on his outfit and turned invisible.

He carefully avoided touching anyone as he looked back the way he came from, where his only way home would appear ten floors up in the air in three days. "Shit."

Emmanuel Nwanjoku rose above the sensor deprivation tank, above the scientists looking at him with wide open eyes, levitating over the operation theatre.

Much to the dismay of the lab personnel, the naked form of the African boy fled up to the ceiling, and even then didn’t stopped, crashing into it and opening a large hole toward the upper level.

A rain of dirt and debris fell over the screaming lab guys. The General and Doctor Shoemaker ran to the elevator, but when they were able to get to the upper floor, the only thing they found was another large opening in the above ceiling, and another in the upper one, up and up to the last one, so that a small piece of the pale blue sky was visible at the end.

“Fuck! What have you done, Shoemaker?” screamed the General, looking enraged at the scientist with fiery eyes.

“It was YOUR idea!” replied the German, running to the elevator.

When the two men were finally able to exit on the flat roof of the building, Emmanuel Nwanjoku was there, floating ten metres above them, rotating slowly, his pupilless eyes trying to embrace the vastness of downtown Los Angeles.

An expression of disgust was bending the corner of his mouth.

He had rose to see the greatness of Creation, to sing the glory of his Lord.

But what he saw was different. He saw evil. Pornographers. Prostitutes. Drug dealers. Car burglars. Thieves. Killers. Homosexuals!

The City was crying revenge to the eyes of God.

“Order him to land here. NOW!” shouted the General at Shoemaker.

The German put a strange helmet over his head, and frowned in concentration. A few second later, a puff of smoke was released by the device.

“Should I assume it’s not working, Otto?” said sarcastically the General.

But the scientist did not respond, as his eyes were fixed over the face of the young African, who had just turned toward him.

“Then the LORD rained upon Sodom and upon Gomorrah brimstone
and fire from the LORD out of heaven.” whispered Emmanuel Nwanjoku, tears running down across his face.

The General, Doctor Shoemaker, and the whole metropolis of Los Angeles were set on fire.

Barrows lifted the bags and set them in the back seat of the Humvee. Faber stood zipped up in his coat talking to his old friend and colleague for several years, Dr. Hank Little. "Are you sure you don't want to go, Hank?"

"I'll be fine here," Hank responded. "I've got a little cleaning up to do in the office, getting files and schematics in order, that sort of thing." An awkward silence hung over them for a moment. "What are we going to do now, Lewis?"

Faber shook his head. "I don't know. I'm forty-eight years old. What can a guy like me do starting from scratch this late in the game? Go to Japan and build toy dog robots?"

"With the experiences of actual dogs?" Little laughed.

A laugh slipped from Faber. "It'll wake you up every night howling and tear up the furniture."

The walkie talkie on Barrows's belt chirped to life with staticy chatter. "Roger that," the private called back into it. He turned his attention to the two scientists. "They've almost finished loading the plane, sir. You should get down there before they take off without you."

"I'm coming." Lewis Faber shook his friend's hands. "I'll see you back in California."

"I'll get to work designing that schnauzer," Hank quipped.

Faber climbed into the Humvee. Barrows sat behind the steering wheel and turned the ignition. The large truck bounced down the road to the airfield below. They finally pulled up next to an Embraer 120 Brasilia twin prop plane. Due to the terrain, smaller aircraft had to be used to bring in and take out personnell, materials, and supplies. The Legionaire prototype and all the equipment used to create and maintain it will be flown to Anchorage, where it will be collected and moved all at once to a large cargo plane and flown back to a storage facility somewhere in Arizona or New Mexico.

The sky was growing grey and dark as Faber said goodbye to his assistant for the past six months and climbed into the plane. "It's going to alright to fly, isn't it?" he asked the pilots as they finished their pre-flight inspections.

"Don't worry," the first said to him. "We'll keep ahead of the storm the whole way."

The co-pilot chimed in, "Besides, if things get too rough, we'll divert to Fairbanks."

The twin engines popped to life, and the plane began its thumping journey down the runway. It bounced into the air; and, in seconds, they were pierceing the tree tops and sailing over the Alaskan wilds. As they flew on, the sky grew darker and darker around them. The wind became fierce and pounded the side of the plane. "We're going to redirect to Fairbanks," the pilot said, leaning his head back to look at Faber. "We'll settle in at Ft.Wainwright until this blows over." He turned back around as the co-pilot handed him a clipboard. He read it, handed back to the co-pilot, and then began to slowly direct the plane to the right.

The co-pilot unbuckled his seat belt so that he could turn around and face Faber. "Don't let this worry you, doc. The system just moved in a little faster than expected. We've flown in worse weather, so you shouldn't get too nervous over this."

As though on cue, a bolt of lightening arced across the sky and blasted into the right engine. "Holy fuck!" the pilot shouted. With the momentum already moving in that direction, the plane began to sink fast to the right. The propeller broke free and spun into the cockpit, tearing into the hull and the pilot. The co-pilot was flung out of his seat and across and over. He missed the blades, but landed on his head against the side. His eye almost drooped out of socket as he couldn't quite get his senses back. The sound of metal being rended in twain vibrated through the plane's hull. Once again the plane tilted. The co-pilot slid across the floor before momentarily being bounced up into the air. He landed on the crates. His hands instinctively clasped onto the netting that help the boxes in place.

Faber worked up enough courage to try and see what was happening through the cockpit window. He tried not to acknowledge the torn corpse of the pilot before him. As another bolt light up the sky, Faber saw that they had sunk below the treeline. Crashing into age old trees, the plane bucked and cracked. The saftey lines on the cargo broke under the pressure. The plane gave a huge buck and sent the co-pilot and crates smashing into the roof. They all came down with a crash, except for the co-pilot. His body fell limp to the ground. Faber's head smacked against the hull behind him.

When he came to, Faber sat still strapped into his chair. His entire body ached. The plane was still. As he reached to unfasten his saftey harness, a sharp pain set his body on fire. It was probably a broken rib. Faber then noticed the wet sensation down his left side. He looked at his hand. It was engulfed in red. Through the pain he slid the harness off and stood. His body did not have the strength to keep him up, and he collapsed to the floor. The plane shimmied a bit. It hadn't landed on even ground yet. He could still be in a tree or on the side of a cliff. He couldn't know for certain. On top of that, he's obviously lost a great deal of blood. There's no telling how much internal damage he'd sustained either.

In the soft glow of the cabin lights that only know Faber could recognize were blinking eratically, he saw the metal surface of the Legionaire prototype. Painfully, he pulled himself across the floor. Using up all the engery he could, he cleared the surfact of the prototype to reveal its maintainence hatch. He opened it and began the boot up procedure as the wind howled outside and the plane began to teeter back and forth. Doctor Faber, frantic now as his life seems to be quickly approaching its end, typed in a code and with a raspy voice commanded, "Override priority protocols. Access Faber, Lewis C."

The next morning

The general saluted the officer who briskly walked into his office. "Sir," the younger man said, "the missing plane has been found. There were no survivors."

"Damn shame," the general muttered.

"Sir, the Legionaire unit was activated."

"What condition is it in?"

"Unsure, sir. It's missing."

The robot had run away from it's homeworld. It was sentient. It's creator had given it a conscience, and the ability to chose what it wanted. This was in defiance of what the military had ordered. It was to have no circuits for independant thought. No higher logic. No conscience.

It was simply to be the prototype of an army of killer robots, to be used against the religious extremists on the planet Zi - Alor who wanted to take over the entire world and force everyone to be linked to their computer,
which controlled their thoughts and took away their individuality.

The robot, whose name is Darmo, as his creator had called him, did not wish to have his life mapped out and preplanned for him as a simple killing machine. He rejected the programming that had been fed to him by his government. He had decided that all the sentient creatures who inhabited the planet of Zi - Alor were insane. They seemed to think in only one of two directions : Kill or be killed.

Darmo had rocket capacity. His feet had jets built into them. He had an element similar to Earth Uranium which powered his reactor core. It gave him the ability to fly at light speeds. He had taken off at about sunrise that day, and by Darmo's reckoning, it was now night time on his homeworld.

He had traveled a distance of about 2,000 light years already. He was far away from his home star. His online celestial map was activated. He had already chosen his destination. It was a yellow "G" type dwarf star with several planets that orbitted it.

This voyage was taking a tremendous amount of power, but it was okay. Darmo had the ability to replenish his power. He would just need time to rest. The amount of rest time he required was in direct proportion to the amount of energy he used.

He had thought up a plan. He had the ability to mimic or look like anyone he chose. He would simply imitate the appearance of an Earth male, and blend in. That was the easy part. Getting established on Earth was another matter, but Darmo would think of something. His creator, Professor Zum, had given him an IQ of about 200. This would help him in almost any situation he encountered, and so would the advanced weaponry that he possessed.

He could fire power rays from his fingers. He had built in radar, super hearing, and X ray vision. He could cast search beams from his eyes. He also had an electromagnetic ray weapon in each palm.

Darmo stood at 6'3". His "skin" was shiny silver. He had rectangular slits for his two eyes that had a red glow in them, a rudementary nose, a mouth that did not move but was where his voice came from, and round units on either side of his head where ears were located on a human. Darmo had a six inch antenna which extended straqight up from both units.

He had strong arms which had what appeared to be gloves on each hand, a square box on the center of his chest that stuck out an inch and was about 5 inches which housed his power core, and boots on both feet. He appeared to have shoulder pads like a human football player on his shoulders, and trunks at the bottom of his muscular torso.

He thought about a lot of things on his journey. He wondered if his people would be able to locate and find him. If so, would they try to take him back to Zi - Alor, or destroy him for being a deserter?

He did not want to think about that right now. He needed to drop out of lightspeed and slow down for entry into the atmosphere of the planet which was now only 100,000 miles directly ahead of him.

The planet known as Earth....

Bellatrix was getting worried. She had about six hours before her battery wore out. Six hours...to get the drive, fly out, get to the pick up point, and get plugged in to a charger. And that was assuming she wouldn't have to fight her way out. A fight and a chase to follow the fight...that might mean two hours.

***

'Orion', her employer, was a clever bastard. Neither the human nor the machine side of Bellatrix were capable of loyalty to him. The armor was too concerned about preserving it's own existance, and the mercenary...well...

Orion didn't know the mercenary's name before she joined him. Intellegence told him she had been hired to steal the HARPY Armor by a rival group. She was good -- for someone limited by human anatomy -- but Orion caught her and shot her three times in the chest.

The mercenary dropped like a rock, sputtering blood and going into shock. That's when it hit Orion -- no one would miss this bloody heap of organic tissue, and since he had failed to legally aquire a suitable host for the HARPYT Armor, this dying human might serve as an illegal host.

And to make sure he wouldn't be stabbed in the back by his own creation, Orion installed a fail-safe. The human heart was too badly damaged to be used again. So an artificial heart was inserted into Bellatrix. It powered both the metal and the machine, a life support system that took two very different weapons and made them into one.

The battery that charged the Bellatrix was operated only by Orion. It needed his voice and activation codes to turn on, which meant that he held power over Bellatrix. Bellatrix could go eight hours on her battery, twelve if she wasn't exerting herself. But once the battery died, the heart would stop beating, and Bellatrix would deactivate.

***

A stroke of luck. Dr. Little had been going in and out of Faber's office, taking items with him for more delicate storage. But the particular drive Bellatrix was looking for was undisturbed. She could hear Little talking to a guard in the hallway outside. Since he was preoccupied, she used this moment to strike.

The vent grill dropped on the ground, and Bellatrix found herself in a bare office. Faber's personal affects were already packed away.

The drive was located just where Orion said it would be -- a special drawer in the desk, hidden from view. Bellatrix plugged the drive in to a USB port in her hand. "This is the right file. Plenty of battery power to get back --"

Bellatrix was interrupted by the door flinging open. Dr. Little was standing in front of a marine. The marine grabbed the doctor and pulled him out of harms way, using his own body to shield Little.

Which was exactly the wrong thing to do. The HARPY was harmless in front of a harmless civillian, but the marine was different. He had a gun. And he was pulling it out, aiming at Bellatrix.

Engaging in self-defense mode.

At the heart of the mettalic core, HARPY was a bit of a coward. The bullets began firing. Bellatrix used her wings as a shield, and then went on the counterattack. There was nothing fancy about it. She grabbed the marine and snapped his neck like a twig. The soldier dropped to the ground.

Dr. Little looked up at the machine. "Are...are you going to kill me?"

Bellatrix loaded the drive into a storage spot in her upper arm. "Don't sound an alarm. I'll be forced to terminate anyone that responds to the call."

Vancouver, Canada

He checked the read-out again, just to make double sure. Then he swore, as loudly as he could. Given that the nearest people were roughly a dozen floors below him, that was pretty damn loud.

He hadn't counted on Frasier arriving that soon. Alright, so Mimir had warned him about the uncertainty of tracking him, given what little data hed been able to gather, but even so, he'd expected a few more months before the next phase of the plan. Never mind. he'd just have to re-adjust. After all, what was the point of all his equipment if he couldn't adjust to a change in the data.

He re-calibrated the meta-scan and set out another sweep, this time along the west coast of the USA. Hopefully this time he'd pick something up, he'd need help if Frasier was as big as the legends said he was. Not that he'd ever put much faith in legends, but it paid to be cautious, especially in this case.

As the scan continued he checked his equipment. The plane was ready to fly (In theory, he could teleport as far as Las Vegas if it did pick anything up, but he'd need his strength, and anyway the accuracy was lousy), and the armoury was at full strength. His scanner droids were working as well as they could, except for his ultra-violent droid, but that was still a work in progress, and not all that necessary in a combat situation.

The scan's loud bleeping caused him to turn around, and he promptly uttered another loud swearword. LA was lit up like a burning building (later he'd look back and reflect on just how appropriate that was). Grabbing his jacket he headed for the aeroplane. Tom Sawyer was on the move...

Darmo slowed himself down with skillfull areobraking maneuvers as he entered Earth's atmosphere. He slowly ascended back up, and then gracefully down again, repeating the process many times so as to avoid burning up in Earth's atmosphere. He was not completely invulnerable, just hard to destroy by conventional means.

On the way down, as he hurtled towards the ground at 200 miles per hour, Darmo absorbed most of the heat energy into his power cells. Although he was atomic powered, he could only use so much of that energy source at one time, and had power cells that ran down and needed recharging. Many things could charge him : Heat, electricity, radiation, etc.

He landed safely in a woods near the town of Lincoln, Illinois, population 17,000. It was more like 10,000, as it was a dead, nowhere town that time had seemed to have forgotten. It was a redneck town with a lot of backwards small town attitudes and prejudices.

There was a large cornfield of about 80 acres just beyond the woods that Darmo had landed in. The corn stalks were dry and getting harvested that very day. Darmo used his long range scanners to observe the man in the harvester as the huge machine he drove took the corn, plants and all, and put it all in a huge bin.

Darmo copied the man's shape and form, and altered the appearance somewhat. He did not want to be mistaken for the man, just be able to pass as human. He did not copy the man's overalls, but rather created a black suit jacket, white shirt, red tie, black dress shoes and black dress pants for himself.

He looked at the fuel gage in the watch he wore on his wrist.

He was down to 11 % of a full charge, but had enough to maintain a human form for a while, until he could find an electrical outlet and about an hour's privacy.

This was assuming he did not have to fly or use any of his built in weaponry.

It was about 8 am, Earth local time in the midwest when Darmo walked out of the cornfield. He walk for about 2 miles. He came to where the town was more heavily populated.

He walked past the town grammar school, where he observed several boys in the yard leading to the building who were about 10 or 11 Earth years of age, confronting a lone boy who was about the same age, only shorter and a lot thinner.

"Give us your lunch money, faggot, and we might not beat you up!" One boy said to him. The boy was a bit overweight, and more than a head taller than the thin boy.

"No!" shouted the thin boy, defiantly. He was afraid of being beaten up by bullies, but even more afraid of his father hearing that he had had his lunch money stolen again. He had been warned not to let it happen again, or he would think that whatever the bullies had done to him was a picnic compared to the beating his father would give him.

"Okay, now we're going to have to do this the hard way!" threatened the larger boy.

He was about to hit the boy when Darmo reached over and stopped him by grabbing his arm.

"Oww, let go of my arm, you're hurting me!"

" That would not be acceptable. Apologize to the boy, and tell him you will not bother him again. The strong should not victimize the weak." Darmo warned him.

"Okay okay! I...apologize! I won't ever bother you again!" the big boy said to the smaller boy, hoping the man would just let go of him.

The boy's would - be buddies just stood there and laughed at him while Darmo released the boy.

" You remember your promise.. I would not want to have to make a habit of this." Darmo glared at the boy as he spoke.

The boys all ran into the school after that, convinced that they had just met the Terminator.

" Thank you." said the thin boy, as he, too, ran frightened into the school.

Darmo made a note to stay out of the affairs of Earth children, as his presence only seemed to frighten them.

"Hold it a minute there, Pally!" said an angry, deep male voice behind Darmo.

It was a burly, large man in his early 30's. Darmo scanned his memory banks and identified the man as a law enforcement officer....a Sheriff.

" I saw what you did there, Mister. You can't just go around picking on little kids. Let's see some Id."

Darmo smiled, concentrated for a second, and produced an Id....It identified him as Agent Darmo, of the FBI.

"Oh, okay, sorry, Mr. Darmo, um, you can go about your business!" The sherrif smiled weakly and handed Darmo back his id.

He read the Sherrif's name tag.

"Have a nice day, Sherrif Tyler."

The sherrif got into his car and drove away, hoping he would not hear about this incident from the Mayor.

Darmo was home free..or, rather, he would have been, had he not spotted a blue convertible 1974 Caprice Classic about to run down a woman who was crossing the busy intersection and not watching traffic, as she was preoccupied.

This was at the block known as the center of town. It was home to the hardware store, bank, post office, a Rite Aid, and a McDonald's. The woman had just exited from the bank.

Darmo quickly changed back into his robotic form, and flew into traffic. He grabbed the woman before the car could run over her, and placed her gently back onto the sidewalk.

The woman was a scientist, and by a fortunate coincidence for Darmo, her field was robotics. She lived in Chicago but was in Lincoln visiting her mother. She reached into her purse and gave Darmo her card with her work, home and cell number on it.

"Quick, fly away! Go change yourself again, and contact me. Quickly!" She told him. The woman was about 5'6", thin and beautiful with blue eyes, long blonde hair, and wearing a white blouse with a light grey medium skirt. She wore a pair of black high heels. She had just turned 29.

Darmo flew upwards towards the sky, in full view of the townspeople and the sherrif, and quickly disappeared from view.

He landed in the woods again, and this time changed his appearance to that of a woman who was 5'4" average build with long black hair, green eyes, and a light green blouse and blue jeans and short black boots. The age looked to be about 30.

Darmo used his own communication circuits to call the woman he had rescued. Her name was Carol.

" May I speak to Carol?" He asked when he heard a woman's voice answer the phone.

" Speaking - who is this?" Carol asked.

"It is I..the one who assisted you at the intersection earlier today."

"Can you meet me at McDonald's in one hour?" She asked Darmo.

" That would be acceptable." Darmo said, as he became aware of his vision blurring. His heroics earlier had used up nearly all the power he had absorbed on re-entry. He needed a recharge, and quickly.

Rays of sunlight beat down through the tree limbs. With loud, heavy footsteps, the Legionaire robot sprinted across the rough terrain. It was fairly large and amazingly fast for its size. The machine had been running all night and through the day. A satellite linked GPS system kept it on track as it trekked across the wilderness. The design was very rudimentary at this stage. The goal at this stage of the project was simply to make a machine that worked under the principles set by the military. Once it was proven that it could work, that was when you began to scrutinize and rearrange the design. Miniaturization of key components would make the final model smaller, sleeker, and more efficient. As it stood now, the Legionaire stood over six and a half feet tall, looked like a professional football linebacker, and was coated in a pattern of earth tone green and browns to serve as psuedo camouflage according to the Army think tank. The optic system, though advanced in utility, stood out from the head due to its blocky design as it was merely meant to work at this stage. What made it stand out more was the fact that, though human like in basic form, the head lacked any other defining features. Audio receiving was done through sensors place all around the body, and audio communication to transmit calls for surrender and the like in the battlefield was to be incorporated in the next phase. Essentially, the head was this ovalish metal expressionless shell with two blue glowing lights set inside circular metal protrusions.

Metal scrapped against rock and earth as the machine slid down the side of a large hill. It was currently twenty miles from the crash site. Considering the terrain, that was an accomplishment to the design of the Legionaire. Especially when it is but the first prototype. There was a small village about thirty more miles away, just past the next mountain. It could be there after nightfall.

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

Alaskan Command - Anchorage

"A ten mile perimeter sweep has uncovered nothing, sir," the veteran officer reported to the general. "None of our systems are receiving any signals on the frequencies you provided."

"Little was afraid of that," the general said as he reviewed the report folder opened in front of him. "The Sentry program designed to maintain control could have been overriden or deleted. Speaking of Dr. Little, what information do we have on the base infiltration?" he asked the other officer sitting at the table.

"Nothing new, general," the man answered. "We're using the information that Dr. Little provided us about the attack to trace down any comparible specimens or projects on file. Thankfully, due to his expertise in robotics, he was able to give a very detailed description of the intruder. Unfortunetly, we're running into the usual static from the Pentagon and CIA."

"Damnit! You call them back and tell them I want answers ASAP. Tell them I won't have a problem making their lives a living hell if I don't get my answers." The general knew that he was a powerful player in the political scene both in and out of the military. The Alaskan Command was a first defense against Asian aggression to the US or North America in general. That kind of reponsibility was only given to someone with a great deal of clout, and he was willing to use that fact to his advantage whenever possible.

"I'll attend to it immediately, sir."

"Gentlemen," the general continued with a gruff expression on his face. "Considering recent events, we will have to assume the worse. It is more than likely that the incident at the facility and the downing of our plane are linked occurences with each being perpetrated by the same individual or group. We must also assume that they have either acquired or set loose the Legionaire unit. Either way, the machine has been compromised. We suspect it to be outside of the ten mile search radius around the crash site. With a southern or westernly heading, it would eventually encounter the civilian population. There could be grave repercussions if that happens. After measuring the fact that all important and necessary data relevant to the project is still accessible, and the consequences of inactivity on our part in this matter, I am hereby authorizing the use of 'lethal' force to neutralize the Legionaire unit. You have your orders, gentlemen. Dismissed."

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

It was the first of very few signs of civilization. The robot noticed the roof peeking out from under the trees just slightly. A bit further off a few more building could be seen grouped together. By tracking heat patterns, it became apparent that most of the residents of this community were scattered further out. Under the cover of darkness, the machine moved out of the woods and into the village. There was very little activity as the machine found and forced its way into the general store. Once inside, it located the tools and collected several. It also seized sevarl radios and the CB placed behind the counter apparently for official use. With the stolen items in tow, the Legionaire robot raced back out into the wilderness.

Sirens wailed throughout the corridors of the Ronald Reagan, a squad of Marines charging up the metal stairwell. They swarmed out onto the deck, the din of chaos and battle rising in thunderous tempo. Dozens of armed soldiers were barking orders, weapons blazing at their attackers. A twin crack of thunder and force roared with the heaving of the deck, a few of the men struggling to find their footing. Through the thick, columnous billows of black smoke pouring up from the sides of the ship, the tip-end of ivory masts could be seen sticking up. More of the soldiers ran over to the edge of the portside, opening fire. There, down below, the Argolas remained steady in its matching speeds with the Nimitz-class vessel.

Easily dwarfed by the massive size of the supercarrier, the frigate nevertheless seemed undaunted by its prey's might. Cannons once again thundered towards the carrier. And, much to the continued shock of the naval personnel, the cannonballs tore straight through the hull. Sparkles of light glittered and danced in an aura around the Argolas, the Reagan's 20 mm Phalanx gun mounts having no seeming effect on the smaller vessel.

For the Argolas was no ordinary frigate. Having traversed the oceans of time on many occassions, the daring, cutthroat crew had returned to the safe harbors of the 16th century with a wonderous bounty. Translucent domes of light that would deflect the mightiest of guns kept their ship safe from aggressors. Weapons that fired cannonballs capable of piercing the hardest of metals meant that every battle was to their advantage. Guns that rarely needed loading, that fired farther, faster, and much more accurate than anything they had ever held in their hands. Blades made of fire and light. And, of course, the small talismans each wore about his neck. Like their ship, each crew member was protected should any would-be attacker aim their fire personally towards them.

They were unstoppable. And this made them proud. The proudest of them all, however, was their own Captain Norrin Frasier. A man of passion and intellect who lead a life of piracy and adventure. None had ever been told the tale of his origins, or, even how he came to call any ship his own....much less one as special as the Argolas. For, he was a young man, barely in his thirties (or so they guessed). A forminable fighter with the blade, as well as the firearm, Norrin Frasier was at his best, however, when faced with impossible tasks and unbeatable foes. It was his cleverness and guile that seperated him from those of his ilk. Where they were nominally driven by personal vendettas, and greed, Frasier was driven by a desire unknown. He was a man searching. For what, no one knew. And, perhaps, not even he could say.

Still, on this bright, terrible morning, he was searching for something specific: Knowledge.

"I will ask you once more...", his words rasped through clenched teeth, "...what of this powers your ship?"

A small trickle of blood lined the engineer's temple, the other half of his face held tightly against the cold, hard metal wall.

"ALL OF IT!!" the furious man yelled. "THIS IS THE ENTIRE ENGINE!!"

Frasier cocked an eye, his mouth wrinkling in a growing unease. He continued to hold the engineer hostage, his .45 nestled tightly against the back of the man's skull. His other hand held the man's head still against the iron frame. Glancing behind him, Micah was observing the enormous, loud machinery that rose two-decks high. The loud hiss and whine of the nuclear-powered engines drowned out most of the battle far above, the vibration of cannon fire their only reminder.

"I...I think he speaks the truth, Captain..." Micah said, staring out over the impossibly complex engine before them.

Frasier sawed his teeth back and forth in irritation. Finally, acknowledging their miscalculation, he quickly rammed the engineer's skull with the butt of his pistol, the man crumpling to the floor.

"Damnation..." Norrin hissed, looking out over the engine room. "...I dare say there's no way we're getting this beast onto our ship..."

"We should go...now..." Micah nodded.

"Yes, old friend...." Frasier admitted. "...I think you're right..."

The two turned to make their escape, Micah following his Captain.

"This was a fool's errand..." Micah said very plainly.

"Do not start with me, Micah." Norrin replied over his shoulder, as they neared the hatch.

Suddenly, Micah reached out, yanking the small chain around Norrin's neck. The talisman broke off, clattering to the floor. There was a brief sparkle, as Frasier's protective force shield disappeared, even as he spun around.

"Micah! What are y--"

His words were cut off by a crack of gunfire. Norrin was thrown to the hard, metal plating of the floor, the impact of the gunshot to his chest forcing the breath from his lungs.

"...we've had enough..." Micah replied coldly.

Norrin fumbled for his .45, even as his first mate kicked it across the floor. Spurts of blood coughed from his mouth, as Frasier tried valiantly to make sense of the moment.

"You take us into the heart of these dark days..." Micah continued, reaching down and yanking off Norrin's left glove. "...you risk all of our lives in the yawning chasm of hell itself..."

He pulled the ruby ring off the captain's finger.

"...and for WHAT?!!" Micah suddenly yelled, staring down at the man with disgust. "To 'better ourselves'? To learn?!"

He placed the ring on his own hand, staring at it for a moment.

"You may think you're better than the rest of us, Norrin." the man spat with contempt. "But, you're not. Our greed may be for worldly pleasures. But yours...yours is a selfish greed. Under your command, we lived to serve your whims, with you telling us that this dangerous life is our reward. But...with me in charge....I shall reward them with all the treasures you denied us."

He stepped over the dazed, coughing man, opening the hatch door.

"These men have followed you....I have followed you...for the last time." he said, stepping through. "We shall ride into infamous legends. And you.....you shall die here...alone..."

The hatch slammed closed, leaving Norrin with nothing but the echo.

Twenty-minutes later, Micah ordered a retreat, informing the crew of their Captain's 'unfortunate' demise. And using the ruby ring, the ship disappeared into the mists of time.

An hour later, Norrin was found by security personnel, who determined the kevlar vest under his tunic had saved him from what appeared to be a gunshot to the chest...

An undisclosed location...

"You called?"

The crisp British accent cut solidly through the crowded room. Lucius Griffin turned to take in its source. The man before him was well-dressed, as was his custom, in a designer black suit, sans tie, accented with a charcoal grey shirt that brought out his eyes. His short white hair stood styled straight up.

He was young, certainly, but his youth was deceptive. Griffin had relied on this man many times before and each time the results far exceeded his own expectations.

Griffin smiled and extended his hand. "Dr. Carmichael. Thank you for coming so soon."

"Call me 'Seven,'" Carmichael said humorlessly, ignoring Griffin's hand. "What's the problem?"

"We've got a red light," Griffin said, wondering why he even bothered with pleasantries were Seven was concerned.

"Then why call me in?" Seven responded. "You have agents for that kind of thing, yes?"

"Did I say 'a' red light?" Griffin said, gesturing toward an enlarged display of the globe that filled an eighteen-foot high wall on the far side of the headquarters. In every major city in the world - and a few not-so-major ones were 'events' were known to crop up - there was a small light bulb. As Seven looked at the board, his eyebrow raised - his only sign of emotion.

"I must have been mistaken, then," Griffin said, "because I meant to say seventy-seven..."

"Odd," Seven replied, his eyebrow still raised.

"Which is why we called you," Griffin said. "Compounded by the fact that most of these have cropped up within the last ten hours."

"Brief me," Seven said curtly. "As quickly as possible."

"The States seem to be the key source of all these happenings, truth be told." Griffin picked up a large stack of printed read-out, handing them to Seven, who casually flipped through, his gaze flitting periodically from the files, to the board, to Griffin. "Chaos recently erupted in Los Angeles resulting from chaos in a laboratory. The US Military has just reported the disappearance of a highly experimental android weapon, according to our sources. Still no word on the Mars expedition out at NASA. Traces of an extradimensional gateway flickered across our monitors little more than four hours ago. Too brief to put a trace on it, but long enough for something to slip through, obviously. Our satellites picked up an unidentified flying object entering Earth's atmosphere somewhere in upstate Illinois. A crack in space-time appeared and reappeared moments ago along the eastern seaboard. And, lastly, there are reports of activity in the Adirondacks."

Seven turned his head sharply toward Griffin, his angular features directed toward the man. "You mean to tell me that they might be --"

"I understand your concern, Doctor, especially after the last time. Still, under the circumstances, we feel that the happenings out there are secondary to some of these other potential threats."

"Secondary?" Seven retorted, his nostrils flaring. "After what I saw, you have the audacity to tell me that something like this is secondary when you, of all people, know full well what I saw?"

"Dr. Carmichael... Seven, this is the Prometheus Initiative. We are, of course, looking into the goings-on in the Adirondacks, but you are the best agent we have and, given the nature of the incident in Los Angeles, your skills and expertise will do more good to more people there."

Seven paused, rubbing his forehead. Looking back up at the map wall, then back at his files, he raised his head. "Who did you send?"

"Beg pardon?"

"To the Adirondacks. Who did you send?"

"Agents Arcola and Ramierez," Griffin replied. "We're expecting their report within the hour."

"Very well," Seven said. "If I am to go to Los Angeles, I expect to be notified as soon as they check in."

"I don't owe you anything, Doctor," Griffin said, setting his jaw.

"That may be," Seven said, "but if something does come of this, I may be the only one who can save this wretched planet."

The thin Brit sighed, pulling a pack of cigarettes from the interior pocket of his jacket. Pounding one out into his hand, he quipped, "I had a feeling about today... should do well not to ignore those."

"You can't smoke in here!" Griffin said indignantly.

"Tell me about it," Seven said, striking a match and raising it to his lips.

Griffin closed his eyes and breathed deeply. "I'll have Li brief you more specifically en route to L.A.," he said. "You are dismissed, Doctor."

Seven merely nodded. "Cheers," he said, turning and exiting the headquarters of the Prometheus Initiative without looking back.

The propeller blades of the helicopter whirred noisily as the small craft made its way toward Los Angeles, California. It bore no markings of any kind, nothing to identify it as belonging to anyone or affiliating it with any particular branch of global military service. It was simply a helicopter.

Inside, Bai Li sat with her legs crossed, her usually flowing black hair pulled into a tight bun. She wore a smart business suit and drummed her mechanical pencil against the clipboard in her hand.

Across from her, still dressed in his designer duds, sat 'Seven' Carmichael. The good doctor was reclined, blowing smoke rings as best he could in the high altitude, with all the wind.

"Must you smoke in here, Dr. Carmichael?" Li asked, her eyes narrowing.

"Bai... baby... how many times do I have to tell you that I'm much more comfortable with you calling me 'Seven'?"

"Probably just as many times as I am required to inform you that I am much more comfortable with you calling me 'Li'..." she said, cocking her head to the side.

"Ah, so we are at an impasse!" Seven said, tossing his cigarette to the ground and crushing it under the heel of his polished leather shoes. "Now... about this briefing you were supposed to be giving me...?"

"Yes," Li said, relieved that Carmichael was finally ready to get down to business. "We have obtained pictures of the goings-on both through satellite footage and on-site agents." She handed him the dossier fastened to her clipboard.

When Seven opened the file, he was confronted with a barrage of images. Children set ablaze. Buildings toppling to the ground. Charred remains of people.

And, above it all, a small young man, arms outstretched, raining fire from heaven.

"Interesting..." Seven said, tapping the picture pensively. "African, by the look of him. Possibly an instrument of the divine?" His concentration broke momentarily. "What's your analysis, Bai?"

"He's a complete mystery," Li said, furrowing her brow. "Like you, we surmised he's likely African, but we can't really pinpoint whether or not he's a living weapon, an instrument of the divine, a demonic golem, or something else entirely. What we do know, however, is th_{at unless we are able to put a stop to this someti--"}

Darkness engulfed Seven's sight. Agent Li, her briefing, her amazing legs, and her attitude all faded from sight and mind.

A flash of light.

After the light had faded, Seven looked up to behold a sterling city. Heaven? he thought as he saw angels flying here and there across golden skyways. A majestic aura beamed from the City and, in spite of himself, Seven could not help but smile.

His happiness was shortlived, however. A bellowing, grating laughter erupted from the heart of the City. Angels scattered at it sound. Squinting, he began to make out the rising form of another angel, rising to a point directly above the City.

He was a dark angel, an avenging spirit. There was no mercy, no pity, no peace in his eyes. He was driven by vengeance, by retribution... by his own twisted view of justice. Raising his flaming sword into the air, balls of burning sulfur began to rain from the heavens, hitting buildings, other angels... completely decimating the once lovely City...

VENGEANCE IS MINE! the dark angel cried, reaching every ear in the City. NO LONGER WILL THE LORD OF HOSTS TOLERATE YOUR WICKEDNESS! YOUR JUDGEMENT HAS COME!"

Seven started, cold sweat dampening his body. He looked down to see Li's hand on his shoulder. Looking to her face, he saw the fear in her eyes.

"Are you alright?"

"Fine," Seven said, shaking his head to regain his composure. "Just... y'know... another of my visions..."

"And...?"

"He's an avenging spirit," Seven said, rising from his seat and walking over to the helicopter door. "You say he originated in a laboratory?"

"Yes," Li said. "The lab of Doctor... Otto Shoemaker, a geneticist."

"Genetics, eh?" Seven said, shaking his head. "I hate the stuff."

Reaching beside the door, he pulled a carabineer, a belt, and a rappel line from the wall.

"Li, I need you to find and detain Shoemaker, assuming he's still alive. Barring that, get ahold of his research. I need to know what caused this. I've never known a geneticist to tap into the interworkings of the divine. I sense something bigger's at play here."

"You... sense?" Li asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I've learned not to question my hunches," Seven said, opening the helicopter door. The wind howled faster and harder, almost pulling Seven from the vehicle. Below, the city of Los Angeles burned, lighting up the night. "It's why I'm still alive!" he yelled.

"How do you expect to make it down alive?" Li yelled.

Seven responded with a wink and a lopsided grin. "Trust me!" he yelled, jumping out of the 'copter, his rappel line the only thing connecting him to comparative safety.

Katsu decided to spend some time gathering information about the world he found himself in. There were back up plans in case he wasn't able to get home on his own, he was sure.

It would be easier to gather information if he could blend in with the crowd instead of being invisible, so he observed the people around him. He spotted a group of well-dressed Japanese tourists and focused in on one of them as he traced a symbol under his eye on his mask. He proceeded carefully so that no one would find themselves bumped into by someone they couldn't see and found an empty public restroom. He locked himself in one of the stalls and traced the invisibility symbol backwards, making himself visible once more. He removed his pack and blades and stuck the blades, inside their scabbards, into the top of the pack. He then traced another symbol on his suit and his suit changed shape, color and appearance. Almost seeming to flow like a liquid, it changes into a dark grey suit with a white shirt and a red tie. Without being covered up, his hair was dark and pulled back. His eyes were covered by sunglasses. he then traced a symbol on his pack and it changed shape as well, taking on the appearance of a messenger-type bag for a laptop computer. Both the suit and the bag were identical to what the man he had looked at earlier had been wearing. He then left the restroom and set off in search of a place where he could access information.

Thanks to his suit, he could now speak and understand English, but he saw a Japanese man as he stepped outside. "Pardon me. Would you know where I could find a library?"

The man laughed at the question. "Who would come to Las Vegas and look for a library?"

"I am sorry if my request is strange. I must conduct important research for business."

"Oh, I see. It's a shame to have to do business in a place like this. I'll help you get there right away so you can get back to having fun."

Katsu smile back at the tourist. "Thank you, that would be nice."

The tourist extended his hand. "I'm Watanabe Shinichi. Do you like anime?"

Katsu took his hand but was a little puzzled by the question. "I'm not sure."

"Oh well, I have the same name as an anime director. People call me Nabeshin because that's the director's nickname."

"I am Arai Katsu." Katsu hoped his name wouldn't sound too odd, but figured he'd be OK since Watanabe was a common name in his own reality.

"It's good to meet you." They headed toward a phone booth to check the directory. "That's an unusual accent you have, if you don't mind me saying. Where are you from?"

Katsu tried to think of the best way to answer this. "oh, you've never heard of it. It's out east."

Nabeshin seemed to think this was strange, but let it go. "Ah, here we go. I can get you there in my rental car."

"I don't want to impose on you any more than I already have."

"It's no problem. I've been unlucky. I could use a little break from losing money."

"Losing money?"

"Very funny, Katsu-san. Your research project aside, most people still come to Las Vegas to gamble."

Battery power low. Left arm non functional. Battery power--

"Reroute all remaining power to life support and engine."

Weapons off-line.

Getting out of the base hadn't been as easy as getting in. Bellatrix flew out of the hallway with the dead marine, but a few other soliders outside stood between her and freedom. She engaged them because they were shooting at her, but after several minutes of intense fighting the battery was almost depleated. Defeating a few soliders wouldn't matter much if the battery failed, so Bellatrix bolted. She was badly damaged from the fight, her left arm dangling by a few wires.

I must get to Orion...quickly...battery wont last long at the speed I'm flying.

There was the sound of an engine shutting off, and Bellatrix cried out in terror. The battery was lower than it had ever reached before -- low enough to initiate an emergency hibernation mode. She dropped to the ground, crashed into the snow, and rolled for about sixty feet before hitting ice over a frozen lake. Everything had shut down. There was only silence...save for an electic current running deep in her chest.

***

Bellatrix awoke and saw something she both loved and hated to see. A thick cord ran into her chest and was powering her heart once more. The cord kept her alive -- and it kept her enslaved.

"We've never had to use the hibernation mode before. I'm pleased to see you came out of it. The helicopter picked you up about seven hours ago."

She was in Orion's headquarters. He looked like any man entering his 60s -- well groomed, dressed for Wall Street, bifocals with 10 karat gold trim. He wasn't a great scientist, or soldier, or writer -- but he had a knack for enlisting the help of men smarter in those fields, and then leading them as they pursued their dreams. Everyone loved and hated Orion. Love him for the encouragement and the funds he offered, and hated him for putting them in his debt. He would have been the perfect leader, except everyone under him worked to free themselves of him. But only Bellatrix was bound by her life to serve him.

Bellatrix turned and looked at her left hand. It had been repaired, and the only hint of previous damaged was the metal was still slightly warm from the new welding. "Thank you."

"Nothing but the best for my favorite 'go-for'."

Bellatrix unplugged the power cord and concentrated. The helmet, the wings, the breastplate -- they all crumpled upon themselves and pulled back into the pre-cut cavities in Bellatrix's flesh. Standing their was a woman in her late 20s, with dark blonde hair and dark green eyes. She was wearing little more than a black jumpsuit.

Orion handed her the clothing she often wore in public -- a plain trenchcoat, leather boots, and freshly ironed gloves. "There's someone I want you to meet."

Bellatrix dressed herself and followed Orion to the meeting room. An older gentleman was smoking a cigar with one hand and tossing and catching the disk drive she had stolen in the other hand. "So you're Orion's little star, aren't you?"

"Belle, this is Mr. Henry Sampson, the man who hired you for your last job."

Sampson offered his hand. Bellatrix declined and instead crossed herself. Sampson awkwardly lowered his hand. "I hope you found everything to your satisfaction."

Orion chuckled. "You'll have to forgive her. She doesn't like to shake hands."

"Er. yes." Sampson seemed nervous talking to someone that had taken out a fully-armed marine a few hours ago. "I represent some investors that put a lot of money into a rival of the Legionaire -- the Shoemaker lab." Bellatrix seemed bored. "Well, I'm quite pleased with your performance, and we'd like to hire you for a second job."

Orion was annoyed. He did not like discussing business in front of his charges. "I didn't say we'd take on this second job."

Sampson tossed the cigar. "You don't think your little mechanical bird can't handle it? Why don't we ask her?" He turned back to Bellatrix. "Our own rival with Legionaire -- a genetic variation of his experiment -- has gone and escaped. We would like you to track him down."

"I am not an assassin."

Sampson chuckled. "Didn't think you were. Capture Emmanuel Nwanjoku however you like."

Sampson handed Bellatrix another portable drive. She inserted it into her arm and read the file. "This 'Nwanjoku' boy has just incenerated a major US city. How, pray, should I disable him?"

"He was nothing a day ago. Make him nothing again. This will pay much more than a simple robbery job."

Bellatrix still wasn't impressed. "Money has no value to me. Please talk to my handler for that."

"I hate it when you call me that," said Orion. He looked at his own copy of the Nwanjoku file, then at Sampson, then at Bellatrix. "Let's work out a compromise. We'll send Bellatrix to survery this boy -- she will not engage unless she and I agree she can come out alive of the engagement. Pay half now, pay the rest when we 'disable' this boy."

Sampson got on the phone with the other investors. There was much shouting on both sides, but finally, Sampson turned back to Orion and Bellatrix. "I'm authorizing the payment. Good hunting, Bellatrix."

Sheriff Dobbs held his hand over his hat to keep it from blowing away. Dirt and debris spun around and into the air as the Black Hawk helicopter set down in the road in the center of the village. "What the hell is this about?" he muttered to himself since no one would hear him anyway over the noise being created by a helicopter landing in the middle of town cause. A man in a camouflage uniform exited the copter and jogged over with his head slightly down. Two other men in uniform also got out and followed him over.

"Good morning, Sheriff," the soldier greeted Dobbs over the heavy fluttering of the roters.

Dobbs nodded and returned the greeting. "Captain."

"Lieutenant Colonel," the soldier corrected.

"Alright then," Dobbs nodded yet again. He then pointed to the Black Hawk. "Could you shut that thing off for a minute?"

"I'm sorry, but no. I don't plan on being here long."

"Well, that brings up a good point. Why are you here?"

The Lt. Col. paused for a bit. "We monitored some of you radio chatter while in the area. I understand that there's a situation here that I feel I need to look into."

"You're saying that you set down a helicopter in the middle of my village because you heard us talking about a burglary on the CB?"

"Is this the building?" the Lt. Col. asked, even though he could guess and didn't really wait for an answer. He and his two men stepped past the sheriff and into the general store.

"Goddamn Army," Dobbs shook his head before following them in. He closed the door behind him to cut out the sound of the Black Hawk outside. The interior of the store was a bit messy. Displays had been knocked over and a few items lay on the floor. But it wasn't a sign of vandalism. It looked more like things had just been in the way of whatever had come through here.

The Lt. Col. examined the scene. "What's missing?"

"Excuse me?" Dobbs asked in a mildly pissed off tone.

Looking out the back door, the Lt. Col. noticed the impressions in the ground outside. Considering the freezing conditions at night, he knew it would have taken a great deal of weight to create them. "You said it was a burglary. What was stolen?"

"Now wait just a damn minute here," Dobbs had had enough. "I'm the law around here. You can just climb back into your Whirlybird or Huey or whatever the hell you're calling a damn helicopter these days and fly you and your men's sorry asses out of my investigation. Honestly, what could the Army give a damn about a simple theft?"

Still calm and collected, the Lt. Col. turned to fact the sheriff. "First off, the UH 60 has been designated the Black Hawk by the U.S. Army. There's this whole movie that centers around one. I suggest you watch it. It is quite good. Secondly, unless you want me to land three more Black Hawks in your street and surround the village with about eight tanks all before sundown, you'd better find contentment with the answer of 'national security'." He looked at his watch. "Lastly, Second Lieutenants Simmons and Walters here will stay behind. When you have a complete list of the missing items, you give it to them. Transportation should come for them in no less than two and one half hours. In that time they are your guests. I expect you to treat them with the utmost respect and hospitality. If I find out that for any reason you have not extended them every possible courtesy, I will personally return to your tranquil little village, tie your balls to the highest branch of the tallest tree, and watch you bounce up and down like a fucking yo-yo underneath it. Is that clear?"

"Crystal," Dobbs said in a mousey voice.

"Good." The Lt. Col. turned to his two men and nodded. They nodded in appliance, and he began back towards the front door. Shaking a little, Dobbs opened up the door before he got there. "Thank you," he said with a smile as he exited.

Once back into the helicopter, he began to bark orders. "Hand me the map." A young man quickly reached for a small booklet. "Get me Col. Myers," he commanded another. He took the booklet and opened it up. He traced his finger from the crash site to the village he was now in. With only a short pause, his finger continued to glide across the map in the same direction. "Sweep the quandrants southwest of here," called out to the pilot. The Black Hawk lifted off the ground and spun to face its new direction.

"Col. Myers, sir."

"Patch him through..... Col., this is Lt. Col. Holmes. I have some news. Looks like our lost dog is coming home."

Carol sat in her office, typing up a report. This was not her office, it belonged to a friend of her mother, so that Carol could continue her work. She would soon have a chance to speak with her mysterious rescuer. She had many questions for him. Little did she suspect that, soon, she would have a lot more answers than she would have wanted.

The radio was tuned to a soft rock station. Carol did not like rap, or heavy metal. She'd have preferred a clasical music station, but they had no such thing like that in Lincoln.

Suddenly, the announcer interrupted the song that was playing. The man on the radio was quite upset. Carol reached over on her desk and turned up the volume.

" And many lives..many countless lives were lost today in the now totally devastated city of Los Angeles."

Oh my God! Carol thought to herself. All those people! Then she remembered... her brother Ray lives there! Or lived there. Was he okay? Was he alive? He did not live in the city per se; rather, on the very outskirts. She reached for her cell to call him.

That was when her cell phone rang. It startled her so that she jumped.

" Hello?" she answered, very distracted now.

"Carol, dear, it's Mom! I saw something terrible on tv....."

" I know, Mom! I just heard it on the radio a moment or so ago, myself!"

" You haven't heard from your brother yet? I tried to call him."

" I was about to call him when the phone rang. But, Mom, that doesn't mean anything. Most likely, phone service is gone there. He has a cell phone, if it's at all possible, he'll call." Carol tried to reassure her mother. She had to fight to keep the tears back. Her older sister, Sue, had just died only 6 months ago..and now this.

Carol and her mother talked for many minutes, then agreed to keep their lines clear in case Ray was trying to call.

Carol was about to head home for the day when she looked at the clock. It was almost time to meet the man....
or, rather, the robot who had saved her life about an hour ago.

She quickly pressed the save file button on the computer
and watched as her work was being printed up.

It seemed as though it took forever!

Finally, it was done. She turned everything off, put the papers into her briefcase, and headed out the door.

People were visibly upset. Apparently, they, too, had all heard the news. It was a small town. Bad news and gossip spread fast there.

It only took her five minutes to walk to McDonalds from the office building. That was the only thing she liked about this small town... how quickly one could get from point A to point B.

She thought about her 10 year old nephew, Greg. He was her sister's only child. The poor boy! First, his father died 2 years ago....and then, his mother..her sister, Sue, died just last spring.

Now, the boy was living with the mean asshole of a man whom Sue had married in great haste less than 3 months after her husband, Gary had died of cancer. Sue had been coming home from work one evening when a Greyhound bus had lost control and T boned her car, killing her instantly. Greg, her son was walking down the street and saw it happen. Carol wanted to take Greg away from his stepfather, Russ.. who beat the boy often...but Russ threatened to kill her if she tried it.

She pushed her long, beautiful blonde hair away from her eyes, and saw a girl with dark hair staggering towards
her.

" I require your immediate assistance.. I am almost out of power, Carol!" the girl told her in an urgent tone.

Right away, Carol knew it was Darmo, and that he was in trouble!

Carol helped Darmo by putting her arm around him and encouraging Darmo to lean on her for support. This did not work out so well, as Carol forgot that, although Darmo had the appearance of a human female, he was still a robot with the same mass and weight, which was just over 300 pounds.

Somehow, the two were able to make it back into the office building where Carol had just come from.

The gaurd inside the reception area did a double take when he saw the two.

" Can I help you? Is there a problem?" He asked, recognizing Carol instantly, but not the stranger with her who seemed to be ill.

" No, Leron, it's okay, my friend just has.. cramps, I just need to take her to the office I'm using and get her a ... midol." Carol smiled as she said this. She hoped Leron would not question her further.

"Okay, I hope you feel better, young lady."

" Thank you, sir." Darmo said; however, he was so low on power that his speech circuits were failing. He'd spoken in his own deep, robotic voice, instead of that of an Earth woman.

" Huh????" asked Leron, a puzzled look on the big black man's face.

" She has a bad cold too!" Carol added.

Darmo coughed a couple times for emphasis. Carol just rolled her eyes.

She pressed the elevator button. Fortunately, the wait was quite short, as the doors opened. Three secretaries walked out, joking and laughing, on their way to lunch.

A man got in with Carol and Darmo. He stood in front of them, glancing back at the two every few seconds.

" Are you alright, Miss? " he asked upon seeing Darmo and how ill he looked in his female guise.

" I just need a Midol." Darmo told him, in a voice that was partly female, and partly male.

The elevator stopped and the man left, a puzzled look on his face.

The next floor was Carol's stop. She was barely able to get Darmo out of the elevator.

" Come on, you can do it! Just another 30 feet or so more to go." she said to the ailing robot in an encouraging tone.

Every step became more difficult for Darmo as he tread on the sterile white, waxed floor in the off white, long, narrow corridor, with doors on both sides with numbers.

Finally, when he felt he was about to collapse, they reached a door with the number 346 on it. Carol used her key to gain entry.

She turned on a light and sat Darmo down in the chair.

"How do you recharge?" she asked him, her voice full of concern.

Darmo could no longer hold the female form, and instantly reverted back into his silver, robotic self. His hand shook as he pulled an electric cord from a compartment on his belt. Carol took it and plugged it into an outlet under the desk, banging her head on the underside of the desk as she stood up again.

" How long will it take?" she asked the robot, rubbing her head.

" Approximately one Earth hour for a full charge."

" How long will that last?"

" It all depends on how much energy I expend, and I am sorry that you injured your head."

" I'll live. Listen, we need to talk..."

And Carol told Darmo about what she had heard on the radio, and about her brother, and her nephew, too. Darmo told Carol who he was and where he'd come from, and why. The two spoke of a lot of things until Darmo finally announced that the charging cycle was complete. He unplugged himself from the wall outlet.

" Great! Let's go to my Mom's place and decide what our next move will be. Better change back into the girl, okay?"

Darmo did as Carol suggested, and the two left the office.

Downstairs, Leron the guard saw them and said " All better now?"

" Yes! Midol is great!" Darmo said, smiling and wondering just what Midol was, anyway.

They walked a few blocks through the small town. Carol saw her mother's home. She told Darmo that they had arrived. She told Darmo she would call him " Jane ", and that they were friends in college, which is how they were to have met.

Carol rang the doorbell, and in a minute or two, her mother, a thin, tall, beautiful woman of 63 opened the door. Her hair was short, dyed blonde, and worn in an attractive style. She had a very real, very pleasant smile.

Her small home was simple, and furnished pleasantly in a non - pretentious, country style.

" Hi Carol," she said as she hugged her youngest child.

" I'm glad you could come home. Who is your friend?

" I am called Jane, and I am a college friend of Carol's."

Carol's mother shook Darmo's hand.

" Any friend of Carol's is a friend of mine. Just call me Barbra. Won't you two have lunch with me? I have some leftover tuna salad, enough for all of us."

Barbra's husband, Jim, was still at work. He was the president of the Bank of Lincoln.

Carol accepted, wondering what Darmo did about eating food. She would learn later that Darmo was programmed to simulate chewing and swallowing, and had a special disposal bag in his chest area, to easily remove and throw out whatever it was that he had consumed. This was to make him look totally believable when disguised as a human. He also simulated breathing, perspiring, and could mimic heart and other body sound functions.. including burping and flatulence.

The three woman ate their meal. Carol's mother talked
of Carol's brother, Ray. She was very worried.

" Perhaps Dar.., uh, I mean Jane and I can fly out there and look for Ray?" Carol said, wincing at how she almost
loused up Darmo's cover.

" How? I heard that all flights to LA, or even to that area are cancelled. "

Carol looked glum. She looked down.

" How's Greg?" she asked her mother.

" Not good. There was a bit of excitement at school today, and he got called into the Principals' office. Something about a strange man stopping a fight
between he and some bullies.." Barbra's voiced trailed off. There was too much on her mind at the moment, and she felt helpless to change anything for the better.

Darmo looked on the fireplace mantle, and saw several photos of children, most of them being of Carol and her siblings as young children. One of them was a photo of the boy he had defended at the school only a few hours earlier. He had already extrapolated that this was the same boy he had helped this morning, based on Barbra's comments.

At that moment, the doorbell rang. Barbra opened it to find Russ, Greg's stepfather, looking angry. He barged right into the house.

" Where is he? Is that good for nothing grandson of yours here?" Russ was glaring at Barbra as he shouted.

" No, he isn't, why, is he missing?" Barbra asked in a stern voice. She was a strong woman, and did not frighten easily.

'' Yeah? Well look at this!" Russ said, sarcastically, as he shoved a note into her face.

She read it, glaring at Russ as though he were a naughty child.

" To whom it may concern: I am leaving to go live with my Uncle Ray in Los Angeles. Russ is a dick, and he hits me.

Greg. PS - please feed my hamster."

" Oh, no!" Barbra exclaimed. She handed the note to Carol, who gasped, and then let Darmo read it.

That was when Darmo looked up at the ceiling and shouted in his own voice, " Danger! Enemy attack is imminent !"

He transformed back into his true form, and two seconds later, another robot came flying through the ceiling.

" Darmo unit, I am R- Tran. You will surrender and come back to Zi - Alor with me immediately, or be destroyed."

This robot appeared to be bigger and more powerful than Darmo. It was tall and green. It's design was of a weapon for war, with guns on both of it's shoulders.

Darmo looked the intruder in the eye.

" I am not going anywhere with you." He said, beckoning the others to exit through the back door.

" Have it your way, foolish machine. I destroy!"

R - Tran raised his hand, which instantly changed into a fierce, deadly looking ray weapon.

R - Tran took aim......

Emmanuel looked around, hovering half a mile above the City of Los Angeles. As far as the eyes could see, everything was engulfed by flame. The otherworldly rain of fire set over the gas ducts, over the wood and the plastic, melted the metal and pulverized brick and mortar.

Giant mushroom clouds of black smoke were towering above the valley, as the air full of pollutants mortally invaded the lungs of Californian people with its oily consistence.

Deafening whistles of sirens from firemen cars, and police, and ambulances were piercing the artificial night, passing across crowds of people screaming in pain and terror.

The nation was reacting to what seemed inevitably only the last attack to the heart of America.
Army troops were surrounding the outskirts of the crisis zone, helicopters in formation patrolled the sky keeping far from the clouds of high temperature smoke, cruisers converged to the coast, pointing nuclear heads toward an unknown enemy.

It was like Hell had stepped over Earth, and many were expecting to see actual demons come to reclaim the souls of the living. The idea was unbearable, and many looked for finding death throwing themselves from the top of towers of down the highways.

Emmanuel looked around. What he was saying was not pleasing him, yet he knew it was the right thing to do. Emmanuel lowered himself back down on the roof of the lab, that by now was engulfed in flames. The burned figures of the General and of Otto Shoemaker were lying on the concrete slab.

Emmanuel looked at them, pity in his eyes.

It was then that the apparent dead form of Otto managed to raise the carbonized skinned face, whispering, in a desperate attempt: “Wh...why?”

“He that sacrificeth unto any god, save unto the LORD only, he shall be utterly destroyed said Nwanjoku, diverting his eyes from the exhausted eyes of the scientist.

Pushing over his right shoulder, Shoemaker raised his face a little more, looking for the eyes of the African boy. “What do you mean...”

“If a man also lie with mankind, as e lieth with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination: they shall surely be put to death; their blood shall be upon them” responded gravely the boy.

The remnants of a man that once was Otto Shoemaker shook his head. “Not all of them were... guilty...”

“Go to now, ye rich men, weep and howl for your miseries that shall come upon you. Ye have lived in pleasure on the earth and be wanton; ye have nourished your heart, as in a day of slaughter. Ye have condemned and killed the just; and he doth no resist you” answered Nwanjoku, but Otto shoemaker did not heard the words, as his life had just left him.

The helicopter skirted the tree tops as it bobbed up and down, left and right. "Movement at one o'clock," the pilot called out to Lt. Col. Holmes. The officer looked out the right side window. There was indeed a very large object moving on the ground below. Holmes signaled for the pilot to move closer. With a slight pull on the control stick, the Black Hawk leaned over towards the object.

"Get me Col. Myers again," he ordered. The pilot matched speed with the object and flew just a few yards behind it. "Col. Myers, sir," Holmes said into his headset. "We have visual contact approximately five klicks northeast. Yes, sir, I am sure it's the Legionaire. If it isn't, we're following the world's most technologically advanced grizzly bear. At current speed, it should round the mountain range in about ten minutes. I'm sorry, sir. Could you repeat that? I'm getting static on the line."

The General walked into the control room. "What's the situation?"

Col. Myers turned with a headset pressed against his ear. He dropped the microphone away from his mouth. "It's coming in from the northeast along the mountains. It also seems as though another signal is bleeding into our communications network. Unintelligible gibberish is clogging up all frequencies."

"Don't tell me this damn thing is trying to jam our radios!" The General's face became flushed. "I've got over three thousand family members on this base. Wives, husbands, children. That's not including civilan employees." He sighed heavily as he placed his hands on his sides. After a moment he looked at Col. Myers. "Get me two Apaches in the air. Tell them that once a fireing solution is confirmed to blow that thing to Hell. I don't want it encroaching any further on my base."

As the circled around the mountain, Lt. Col. Holmes noticed two black figures crossing the skyline, coming for them. As they approached he could tell they were the new Longbow Apache helicopters. "Peel off!" he ordered the pilot, who pulled back on the control stick and moved away from the robot.

"Target acquired," the gunner of the lead helicopter called out.

"Light it up," the pilot replied. Both helicopters let loose a barrage of 30mm gun fire and Hydra rockets. Trails of grey smoke turned into plumes of black clouds along the moutain side. Each helicopter unloaded their entire arsenal into the mountain side. As the roar of the machine gun fire and rockets exploding turned from the overwhelming din to the rolling rumbling echo, the heat from the explosions mixed with the cold, damp air to create a thick fog that blanketed the area.

"Radio interferance has ceased," a major informed the General and Colonel.

The General called back to the radio operator, "Radio the Apaches. I want confirmation on the kill."

"Sir," the Col. called out as he looked over a piece of paper that had just been handed to him. "I think you want to take a look at this. We're getting reports coming in from off-duty personnel about the radio interference. Apparently, it was more pronounced on civilian radio frequencies."

"Negative confirmation on the kill, sir!" the Major called out from his station. "Current conditions are not favorable for use of thermal...." The General waved him off as he took the paper from the Col.

He read over the numerous calls that had come in about a voice on the radio and what it was saying. "I'll be goddamned."

Hell on earth.

Dr. 'Seven' Carmichael had only seen it once before... and, oddly enough, it looked nothing like this.

Still, if his experiences as an agent of the Prometheus Initiative had taught him anything, it was that a cool head in a hot situation was a lifesaver. And so, knowing this, he keeps running.

In his pocket, his cellphone chirps. Pulling out his Bluetooth earpiece, he shoves it into his ear. "Talk to me."

"Carmichael, it's Li."

"What's the good word, Bai-baby?"

The voice on the other end sighs heavily but, knowing the severity of the situation, doesn't press the matter. "Scooter has managed to hack into the Shoemaker database. This 'divine' we're hunting is a boy named Emmanuel Nwanjoku."

Seven sniggers. "'God with us,'" he says. "How apropos..."

"Beg your pardon?"

"Emmanuel - it means 'God with us'. C'mon, Bai, where were you during Religion 101?"

"Apparently sleeping," Bai snaps back. "At any rate, we've got a whole file on him here..."

"Key words, baby," Seven says, fighting against a mass of people on fire. "Just the basics."

"Alright..." She inhales deeply on the other line and Seven knows she's biting her lower lip in that sexy way she does when she's studying something intently. "Nineteen years of age. Nigerian. Illegal immigrant into Italy rerouted to an acceptance camp on Lampedusa."

"Yeah, 'acceptance,' my ass..."

"...nothing but a Bible to his name. Oh, here's something... three days after admittance into the camp, he was extradited to the States upon the discovery of a rare genetic disorder..."

"They got a name for it?"

"None that I can see..."

"Fair enough," Seven says. "Where was he sent?"

"I'll give you two guesses, but you'll only need one..."

"Shoemaker..."

"Bingo."

"Any word on that front yet?"

"We've located his laboratory, but..."

"But what, Li? C'mon, baby, don't fail me now!"

"...it's exactly one-half mile below the epi-center."

"Which means to get to Shoemaker, I have to go through 'God with us'..."

"It would appear so."

"What's my ETA on foot?" Seven says, looking around at the cityscape around him. In all honesty, he could've been traveling around in circles for the past half-hour. All these burning buildings look the same...

"Bouncing a signal off your GPS," Li says, "under normal conditions, it'd be about twenty minutes east-by-northeast."

"Normal conditions," Seven says, rolling his eyes. "Hell, I'd take LA traffic over this anyday..."

"No joke."

"Alright, Bai-baby," Seven says, adjusting his earpiece, "here's the plan. Tell Scooter to keep pulling up whatever he can find on what Shoemaker was doing. Have him relay anything pertinent directly to me. As for you... put down where you can and approach with extreme caution. I know you're field trained and I have a feeling I'll need back-up on this one."

"But..."

"No 'buts,' baby," he says, pausing briefly to run a hand through his ash-filled hair. "I'll need all the manpower I can get."

"Understood." He can tell by her voice that she's not happy... but he really can't care less. "Li out."

"And now," Seven mutters to himself, "the game begins..."

A tension almost crushed all those sitting in the room. This was a dire world that was down on them. In just a few short hours, everything seemed to nose dive out of control and into anarchy and chaos. "Still no sign of the Legionaire robot," Col. Myers said with an exhausted frown across his face. The only wreckage we've found is that of our own rockets."

"What information are we getting from the field?" the General asked.

"Little. Lt. Col. Holmes is certain that any wreckage might have been forced down the mountain and into the inlet. As for the break-in last night, the store owner lists a CB radio, a few FM radios, screwdriver, soldering iron, and some solder as missing from his store. The volunteer for the program was Lt. Col. Davis. He is a Ranger with high marks in battlefield tactics, markmanship, first aid, and radio operations and maintenance. He's also performed many rescue missions in addition to his combat record."

Sitting back in his seat, the General stroked the tip of his nose in thought. "This coincides with the robot's actions since the crash. It's stayed out of site and attempted radio contact. Dr. Little's professional opinion is that there wasn't enough time to reprogram the machine's software for use against us. There is also the fact that, had it been armed by those who infiltrated the research facility up north, it would have fired at least in self defense against the Apaches. Where's Lt. Col. Davis now?"

"Redeployed to the Middle East," Col. Myers answered. "As soon as the project was shut down, he was assigned back to his unit and joined them in the field."

"Get him on SATCOM if we have to. If this thing thinks like him, I want to know what it might do next. I've now got to explain spending half a million dollars to try and blow up a $4 billion project. Also, seems as though there is an ongoing terrorist attack in LA. Be ready. The Pentagon will probably want us to deploy some of our National Guard units for clean up and law enforcement. Make everything ready, and I want boats out on that river. Get to it, gentlemen."

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

The icy cold water stirred as a dented and scorched robot limped across the bottom of the river.

R - Tran fired a high intensity heat ray from his left hand. Darmo countered it instantly with a freeze ray. The two beams met in mid air. Molecules nearest Darmo's beam froze up and fell to the carpet in a beautiful, tiny snow, while the very air nearest R - Tran's beam fried and carbonized and fell to the carpet, making it dirty.

For long moments, neither beam moved.... then, Darmo's beam began to move slowly toward R - Tran.. until finally, R - Tran was completely encased in a block of ice.

None of those in the room had yet taken the opportunity to leave. They had just stood there, dumbstruck, like deer
caught in the headlights of an oncoming car on a country road late at night.

Russ was the first to move. He ran to Barbra's shed and grabbed an axe.

" I'll teach that son of a bitch who's the boss around here!" he shouted, as R - Tran used his warming circuits to melt the ice coating that Darmo had surrounded him with.

" NO! You, Carol and her mother must leave immediately!", Darmo implored of the angry human.

" Up yours, robot! I take orders from no one, expecially not from a walking, talking erector set!"

Darmo started to walk towards Russ, to get him out of harm's way. Darmo knew the man was bad as far as humans go; however, his programming told him all life was precious.

Before he could grab Russ, R - Tran had finally freed himself, and pointed his right hand towards the angry human with the axe in his hand.... and disintegrated him instantly. The axe was all that remained. It fell to the floor with a clanging sound.

The two women gasped. They just stood there, paralyzed
with fear.. until Carol regained her composure and started
pushing her mother, Barbra towards the door.

Darmo kept himself between the women and R - Tran, until they were both safely out of the house.

" If you want me, you must catch me, first!" Darmo shouted, as he flew at high velocity right through the hole that R - Tran had created in the roof of the house when he'd entered.

" Coward! Running will not help you!" R - Tran shouted, as he flew quickly through the hole in the roof in pursuit of the runaway robot.

Darmo was not afraid. Fear was not an emotion that he possessed. He was interested in taking R - Tran as far away from the humans as possible. He did not want to see more humans hurt or killed because of his flight to Earth.

Darmo flew at about 150 mph, skillfully dodging R - Tran's heat blasts. He led the murderous robot back to the empty cornfield. The two automatons flew high across the twilight skies. A casual observer would have thought they were a pair of shooting stars.

Not far away, Carol, had taken her mother, Barbra, back to the office building where she had been using the office.

She asked the man at the desk, Leron, to allow her mother to stay there with him. Carol had urged her mother NOT to call the police on this matter - she knew they could not help, and would most likely only would have served as target practice for R - Tran, anyway. She seriously doubted that the army could stop him, either. If Darmo could not stop R - Tran, what chance would humans with guns have?

Darmo landed in the huge, darkened cornfield. There was no light from the moon out tonight as it was past the final quarter of it's monthly cycle. It was very dark. Above the two combatants was a star filled sky.. a star gazer's dream come true. Darmo's infrared vision enabled him to see almost as well as if it had been noon on a sunny day. R- Tran, too, had this ability.

R - Tran did not speak, but merely fired his disintegrator beam at the silver robot, who put up a force field. This would eat up Darmo's energy quicker than anything else he could do, but he had no choice. That was when he allowed a small hole in it to be able to launch a missle from his chest at R - Tran, who fired his beam at it and destroyed it before it could hit him. This was what Darmo had wanted, for the missle had sharp, diamond hard slivers in it which penetrated R - Tran's thick green metal skin like heated knives thrown at a large stick of butter. It hurt the fierce robot.

" That.. was a mistake! "R - Tran shouted as he raised both hands and fired twin disintegrator beams at Darmo.

They struck his force field, which held, but would not stay intact for more than a few more minutes. Darmo expanded it so that it pushed the killer robot slowly back.

This was when Darmo noticed the headlights of a car approaching. His telescopic vision revealed it to be Carol. He did not want her here. He cared about her, and did not wish her to be harmed. He knew he would have to finish this fight quickly.

He battered the robot with his force field, which he now used as a powerful battering ram. R - Tran showed visible damage... if only he could destroy his motivator unit, located on his chest, that would be the end of R - Tran.

That was when R - Tran took a diamond hard buzz saw from his shoulder compartment and threw it at Darmo.

It had quickly expanded to the size and shape of a frisbee, and was green like R - Tran. It moved almost faster than the eye could see, and it cut Darmo's right arm off just below the elbow. The arm fell to the ground. Sparks flew out of where it had been cut off. The fingers twitched for a few moments, then were still.

Darmo was equipped with pain circuits. This was to let him know when he was injured, and to be able to respond accordingly. He grunted in pain, and responded with a deadly silver frisbee of his own. It stuck R - Tran in the chest, right in his chest plate, but stopped just a half inch short of destroying him.

" You fool! You missed my motivator unit.. but my next shot won't miss yours!"

R - Tran raised his right hand, which formed a cannon, and hit Darmo square in the chest.

Darmo reeled in apparent agony, and then, in a rather intense show of fireworks, exploded into hundreds of pieces.

Carol had run out of her car through the darkened cornfield, almost tripping over the freshly plowed renmnants of six foot tall corn stalks and was close enough to watch Darmo die.

" Darmo!!! Nooooooooo!!!!" She screamed, not really caring if R - Tran killed her next.

R - Tran ignored the frantic woman running towards her.

His mission accomplished, he turned around and prepared to contact his superiors and inform them that he had succeeded in destroying Darmo.

Seven grabbed another cigarette. There was a piece of burning rubble just at his chin's height, so he used the small fire to light the cigarette. Not the most classy move, but then again, the situation was a little draining on the nerves.

Above him, he could hear the hum of an engine. "This isn't a good spot to drop down, Li --"

But it wasn't Li's helicopter. It was a giant silver bird -- no, a woman in bird-like armor. "Li? Li? Can you still read me?"

"We're about a half-mile from your signal. Did you just see something in the air?"

"Yeah -- what the hell is wrong with this town? Every freak is starting to show up."

***

Bellatrix spotted her quarry two miles ahead of her. Her vision wasn't much better than the average human, but Orion had installed some wiring that coordinated with the optic nerves. It gave Bellatrix a HUD-like screen in her own vision, feeling her tracking information.

Los Angeles was still burning underneath her wings. I'm suppose to disable him? Both the HARPY Armor and Bellatrix's own common sense were in perfect agreement. She was weary of fighting someone that could overtake her so quickly. There was simply no way of beating this child in combat. Other methods would have to be used.

Vultures don't kill their own prey. They wait for another animal to kill the prey for them. It's never about strength for the vulture -- it's all abot patience. And Bellatrix could be patient. Give her a full battery, and she could be very patient. And why risk her own hide and hull when others were eager to engage?

Emmanuel was still surverying his own destruction. He didn't seem to notice Bellatrix heading towards him. Which was fine by her. His back still turned to her, Bellatrix flew atop one of the ruined skyscrapers. The windows had been shattered in the explosions, and there were charred bodies still sitting in office chairs. She landed on a stone roof amoung the gargoyles and perched. There was no movement from her, save the darting of her eyes. Below her, Li and Seven met up and began to do some thinking of their own.

"Glad you could make it..."

Bai Li brushed her hair behind her ear and glowered at 'Seven' for a moment.

"What's the plan?" she asked.

"Can't say as I have one at present," Seven said, taking a drag off his smoke.

"...excuse me?" Li asked. "You're supposed to be the best field agent we have, the one who thinks so fast on his feet! And you have no idea where to go from here?"

"Thinking on your feet, by definition, means going in without a plan." Seven attempted to blow a smoke ring above his head, failed, shrugged, and took another drag. "However, you are the analyst. I'm supremely confident in your ability to work something out."

"Exactly, Carmichael," Li said. "I'm an analyst. I do research. I may be field rated, but I don't go out into the field!"

"You used to," Seven said dryly.

"Yeah, well," Li's voice quieted, "I don't anymore..."

"As touching as this 'Very Special Seventh Heaven' is getting," Seven said, smashing his cigarette beneath his heel, "we've got work to do. You're an analyst... and not to mention the best hand-to-hand combatant I've ever seen. Analyze the situation... figure something out. I need to get on the horn with Scooter before we make our entry."

Li rolled her eyes and exhaled an aggrivated breath, skulking away to survey her surroundings. Meanwhile, Seven's Bluetooth found its way back into his ear.

"Call Scooter," he said into the earpiece.

Within moments, the sound of ringing filled his headset, followed by the nasally voice of Atticus Scottsdale, the resident computer expert of the Prometheus Initiative.

"This is Scooter. What can I do ya?"

"Scooter, Seven."

"Howdy-hey, Sev!" the cheerful voice of the young man echoed through his earpiece. "Did you get that intel on Nwanjoku I sent to Li?"

"I did, Scoots," Seven said. "Thanks for that. Was wondering if you had learned anything else from Shoemaker's files."

"Funny you should mention that. Just pulled an interesting little tidbit regarding Otto's business arrangements...."

"Continue..."

"Turns out Shoemaker and his associates were working under government grant - military, specifically - in an attempt to build a human weapon. Shoemaker called it the 'superslave'."

"Oh, bloody hell..." Seven said, rolling his eyes. "Figures. Another Aryan wanting to secure his place in the food chain..."

"We have no records after today, but Shoemaker said that the experiment was supposed to go down... just before this whole thing started."

"So, the experiment led to this," Seven said, gesturing at the devastation around him to no one in particular. "Still, it begs the question: how did a genetic experiment lead to the manifestation of a divine presence in the middle of Los Angeles?"

"Well, we do know that Shoemaker specialized in a rather obscure branch of genetics referred to as 'esogenetics' - which, broken down, is 'genetics within'."

"Basically, enhancing what's already there, yes?"

"More or less," Scooter replied.

"So, theoretically, the experiment should've done nothing more than enhance physical and mental faculties," Seven says. "That still doesn't explain how..."

"See, I get that... but I've been working on a theory. Our records indicate that Nwanjoku had only a Bible to his name on the transport from Nigeria, right? So... what if, when the experiments sought out to enhance his internal genetics... they enhanced something else instead?"

"Namely, his faith," Seven said.

"Exactly!"

Silence.

"Uh... Sev?"

"Scooter, that's gotta be the dumbest thing I've ever heard, mate..."

"Well, uh... like I said, Sev... just a theory... a, uh... a work in progress..."

"Well, keep progressing it until you find something halfway rational. I'll pass on this new stuff to Bai."

"Alright, Sev," Scooter said. "Be careful out there."

"Always," Seven said, pulling his headset from his ear.

"Hey, Bai-baby!" Seven said, jogging in the direction Bai had been going when he'd first gotten on the phone. "You have anything yet?"

Turning the corner, Seven caught sight of Li, crouched on the ground, surveying her whereabouts. A small tear trickled down her face.

"Bai?" Seven asked, approaching slowly. "What's wrong, baby?"

"All these people..." she whispered. "All these innocent lives..."

"Yeah, I know..." Seven said. "It's horrible... but it's not our mandate."

"How can you say that?" she looked up at him. "If we're not helping people, what good are we?"

"Too small a scale, love," Seven said, pulling her to her feet. "We get the bastard responsible for this... we avenge them. Then, we learn. We adapt. And we stop something like this from happening again."

"But, we're..."

"We're not the government, baby," he said, brushing her hair out of her face. "Let them handle that. Let us just do what we came to."

"Alright," she said, nodding as she turned her attention away from the wreckage around her.

"Now," Seven said, "y'got anything?"

"Depends," Li said, instantly regaining composure and hardening back into her cold self. "What'd you get from Scooter?"

"Military contract," Seven answered. "'Build-a-soldier' with esogenetics."

"That doesn't make sense, though," Li answered. "There's no way that those genetics could bring out..."

"Scoots has a theory," Seven said. "I'm loathe to even bring it up, but so far, I have nothing better. He thinks that Shoemaker, in addition to enhancing the genetics already in place, brought out something stronger - his faith. And that the... thing currently doing all this is a physical manifestation of Nwanjoku's faith."

Li furrowed her brow and bit her lip. Seven had to fight back everything in his being to keep from kissing her right there.

"Actually," Li said, looking toward the Shoemaker lab, "while it may be scientifically implausible... it's likely the best lead we have."

"So... what now?"

"We get to the lab and get Shoemaker," Li said. "He's still our best shot at figuring out for sure what went wrong."

"And if we run into 'God with us'?"

"Where were you during Religion 101, Carmichael?" Li smiled. "When in doubt, pray..."

R -Tran stood motionless while his sub space communication circuits relayed the message of Darmo's destruction at his hands. It would be at least a half or so before he would receive a reply. This was due to the great distance between Earth and R - Tran's homeworld of Zi - Alor.

Carol strode fearlessly towards R - Tran and certain death. She knew this and was too angry and sad to care at the moment. She was still a good 100 yards or so away from him when she thought she saw something moving in the pile of debris that had only moments ago been Darmo.

It was Darmo's forearm, the one which R - Tran had severed with that frisbee - like disc of his.

The arm creeped towards R - Tran from behind, while the enemy robot was busy transmitting his message of victory. The arm was able to move by use of the fingers, which dug into the ground and slowly pulled the arm forward.

Finally, as Carol was now close enough to pose a threat to R - Tran, he turned around.

" I will give you three seconds to leave this place.. Then, I shall vaporize you...slowly. "

" Go to hell!" Carol shouted, tears in her eyes.

" No.... I believe it is you who are going to "Hell."

With that, R - Tran raised his left arm and pointed his hand at Carol. The hand began to glow.

At that same moment, Darmo's hand stopped crawling and was now close enough. It raised it's middle finger and out of the tip came a white ray. It struck R - Tran in the spot in his chest where Darmo's blade had stopped short of destroying his motivator unit. It was a power ray, and pushed the blade far enough in the penetrate and disable R - Tran's power.

R - Tran fell face down onto the ground. He was now as lifeless as an statue.

Darmo's hand made the "ok" sign at Carol by putting it's thumb and second finger together and forming a circle. After that, the fingers fell back into a lifeless position.

Carol just stood and stared at it. That was when she thought she heard a noise above her. It was a loud hum. She looked up and could see nothing.. except for a bit of a visible distortion in the night sky.

The hum grew louder until Carol had to cover her ears with her hands.

Finally, the hum stopped. The visual distortion effect was now about 50 feet directly ahead of her. She just stood and watched as a sleek, silver ship appeared before her eyes.

It was about 75 feet long. It had two wings which protruded from the sides, about three fourths of the way down. It also had a fin on the top, also located closer to the end of it.

There was a small cockpit located only about 10 feet ahead of the wings.

It stood about 12 feet high; three landing legs supported it. One of the legs had metal steps that ran down the length of it.

Carol stood motionless and watched as a humanoid form wearing a purple formal looking outfit walked slowly down the steps. Her eyes had grown accustomed to the dark enough for her to see rather well.

The man approached her. He was about 5'4", with a grey goatee and a shaved head.

And he had blue skin.

" Hello, Carol. I am Professor Zum. Darmo has told me about you. " The Professor's english was flawless, with only a trace of an accent.

" Hello... " Carol started, and then she just pointed to the ground where Darmo's remains were. The sad look on her face told the Professor that Carol had grown quite fond of Darmo. Imagine that, the elderly blue alien thought to himself. My creation engendered the emotion of concern for his well being.

" I know... stand back."

Carol backed up several steps.

The Professor put an aged hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, tv remote sized black object.

" Darmo, I know you can hear me.... activate restoration program Zum 1."

The man pointed the remote at Darmo's parts. A yellow ray shone down on them. This was a power ray. It's purpose was to give Darmo enough power to reintegrate himself.

At first, nothing happened. Then, the individual fragments
of Darmo began to stir. They pulled towards each other, slowly at first, then faster.

Within five minutes, a completely restored Darmo was standing before Carol and Professor Zum.

" Darmo! Good to see you again, my boy." said the Professor.

" It is good to see you, too, sir. And you, as well, Carol."

Even as Darmo spoke, the cracks and seams where he'd been blown apart began to heal. Finally, one could not tell where the cracks had been.

" How do you feel, Darmo? " Carol asked.

" A bit weak... that battle took a lot out of me. I am down to 31% power. I could use a recharge."

" We'll charge you up in a minute, son. First, I've one little task to take care of."

Professor Zum took out another device. This one was a 4 inch black cylinder. He pointed it at the now deactivated
R - Tran. R - Tran's form shimmered, then faded away. There was only the imprint where his body had been on the ground left behind.

" Come, my boy. Let's power you up."

" Professor, why do you keep calling Darmo " My son" and " My boy?" asked Carol.

'' Because, young lady. My own son died in an accident many years ago. I was waiting for the opportunity to electronically implant his memory ingrams into an acceptable robotic body... and Darmo is the one I chose to transfer my son's personality into. " The old man wiped a tear from his eye as he spoke.

" In all the ways that count... Darmo is indeed my son."

With that, the three of them walked up the metal ladder into the Professor's ship.

After an hour, when Darmo was fully charged, and the three had talked some, Darmo stepped out of the ship.

He activated his online map. He located Los Angeles on it, used the jets on the soles of his feet to launch himself high into the air towards where LA used to be.

A few seconds later, the sleek silver ship from Zi - Alor took off after him, and also headed west.

Professor Zum and Carol were on board.

Carol prayed for her brother to be okay.

As the day drew to a close, the sun sunk down deep into the west past the mountains and forest. Shortly after its descent over the horizon, from the icy waters surrounding Anchorage a metal form emerged. Its marred frame limped up onto the shore. It was at an air harbor on the edge of the city. Most of the airplanes had been pulled from the water and lined up next to the main building that appeared to be a repair hangar. The robot moved slowly as the joints of the left leg ground together.

It pushed it's way through a side door and into the hangar. Once inside, the Legionnaire went to work. A crowbar helped separate the scraping metal in its leg. Then, it sandwiched the leg between two metal bars before wrapping it with strong, steel cable that it welded into place. Next, it reached into the plane and began to dismantle the radios, picking pieces and wires at will. When it had collected all it wanted, it laid out the pieces in an orderly fashion on a work table. With much difficulty, it removed a small plate close to the right shoulder blade. Many wires hung loosely from an apparent reworking earlier.

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

"What is it, Major?" the General asked as he prepared to leave his office for the night. He had just put on his coat and was picking up his brief case and hat when the officer had come in.

"We're picking up the signal again, sir. It's not as strong as before, but we're triangulating it currently."

"Good," the General. "Get Myers and in here, and have Holmes prep a team for an immediate recovery mission."

"Yes, sir," the Major saluted before walking back out.

The General laid his hat and case back down and removed his coat.

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

Three Black Hawks cut through the sky just feet above the water. "Alright, listen up!" Lt. Col. Holmes ordered. "I'm only going to say this once. No firing unless I give the order. Copy?"

"Sir, yes, sir!" the group of men sitting around him yelled in unison.

"Copy that," a voice informed him over his radio.

"This thing is huge; and, since it withstood a full payload from two Apache Longbows, I very seriously doubt your M-16's are going to have much effect on it. We will go in. I will deactivate it with the secondary command. We will load it up on the copter and return to base. Civilians have been removed from the area by the local authorities, but I don't want to take any chances. Keep your distance, and don't do anything unless I tell you to."

The helicopters stopped and hovered as they approached the air harbor. The soldiers of two Black Hawks repelled to the ground and met to create one team. The drop point was several yards from the hangar in an attempt to keep the robot off guard, if at all possible. They quietly approached the hangar and circled around until they found the crashed through door. Holmes entered first, closely followed by his men. As soon as he entered the robot stopped whatever it was doing and looked right at him.

Holmes lowered his gun and slid it to hang on his back from the shoulder. He raised both hands and moved towards the machine slowly. "Initiate emergency shut down protocol. Authorization code Foxtrot-Charlie-Zero-Seven-Two-Delta. Confirm." At that point, there should have been a series of flashes from a set of small spot lights lining the frame just before the robot puttered to stillness. Instead, the machine returned to the mess of tangled wires and radio parts. "Legionnaire, confirm," Holmes repeated. Still, nothing happened. "Well, that's disconcerting."

A hiss of static erupted from the speaker on the work table. In a voice reminiscent of a Speak-n-Spell, a voice crackled from the speaker. "... not Legi...aire." The machine continued to adjust its handiwork.

"Okay," Holmes said as he looked back to see if his men were as freaked out as he was. Indeed, they were. "Let me Star Trek this one," he mumbled before turning back to the machine. "Lt. Col. Davis, I am under orders to return you to..."

"I a. not Le..........olone..... Da..s," the robot continued to make adjustments as it spoke. "I ... D....r ...is Faber."

Darmo got to LA within seconds. He was far more maneuverable at sub - light speeds than any space ship, and faster, too. This is why he took off seperately.

He flew at a height of about 2,000 feet above what used to be the sprawling metropolis of Los Angeles. What had once been a hive of activity, culture, and diversity, was now a surreal picture of death and destruction.

Buildings were smashed and in ruins. Streets were no longer recognizable. Badly burnt bodies were lying all over. Everything was still smoking.

Darmo saw all this and would have wept, had he had tear ducts.

He knew what Carol's brother, Ray, looked like. He had scanned all the photos of him that he had seen in Carol's mother's home.

Darmo flew towards the northwestern part of LA. There was an in between zone where the damage just sort of ended gradually. After that, things were relatively okay.. if you can get past the natural gas fires, flooding from broken water mains, and debris.

He located Ray's house. It was not badly damaged, just a little singed on the side that faced towards the destruction.

He landed, and as he did so, he noticed the sleek, silver ship of Professor Zum approaching. It had just decloaked. Darmo landed, and just stood there and watched the ship land in the back yard of Ray's home.

Professor Zum and Carol emerged from the ship. Carol ran towards Darmo.

" Is he in there?"

" I will now scan for life signs."

Darmo turned on his x ray vision. He scanned the first and then the second floor. Nothing. Then he remembered that human dwellings often had basements.

He scanned the basement and saw a lone human form, male. It appeared to be unconscious.

" Wait here." Darmo gestured to Carol to stay put, but she did not and instead followed Darmo. Carol was in turn followed by the Professor.

The house was decorated in a rather tasteful style. Not too shabby for a single heterosexual man who lived alone. It was rather neat, but with a pair of New Balance shoes on the floor in front of the recliner, and a few nudie magazines on the living room coffee table.

Darmo found the door to the basement locked. This was no obstacle to a robot who could left a ten ton truck. He applied a little pressure to the basement door. The knob crumbled as though it were a potato chip.

He called to Ray by name. Carol called to Ray, also. There was no reply. The tall, silver robot walked down the stairs which creaked under his weight, with a worried Carol right behind him. The Professor walked cautiously down the stairs, his age showing as he did so.

Darmo opened a door to the laundry room. A large pile of unwashed laundry was on top of the dryer. There was another pile on the floor, and a pair of feet sticking out from beneath it. Darmo carefully picked up the laundry a
little at a time, until an unconscious human form appeared.

It was Ray.

" Darmo, is he alive? Is he injured? " she asked of the robot.

" He is functioning with normal parameters for a human."

Carol knelt down and shook her brother's right arm. She began to coax him back to the land of the conscious.

Ray made a sound, and sat slowly up.

" Sis..how did you get here? What's going on? The last thing I remember was..'' His voice trailed off as he became aware of the old blue skinned man behind his sister. Both Ray and Professor Zum just stared at the other in disbelief.

" My son... you are my son.. but.. that's impossible! You died.. I saw your body." the aged Professor said, his voice very emotional now.

Ray just stared in disbelief at the blue man. He was equally shocked by what Zum had said.

" Son??? I am not your son! No way! And what planet are you from?"

" He is from the planet Zi - Alor, as am I." Darmo had been standing behind Ray.

Ray turned around in surprise at the sound of the strange, mechanical voice. His eyes widened. He backed slowly away, then grabbed a baseball bat that had been in the wash room, next to the door.

" I don't know what you are.. or who either of you are.. but both of you, keep away from me!" he shouted.

" Ray! Put that thing down. This is Darmo. He saved my life twice in one day. He's here to help, as is Professor Zum."

Carol put her hand on the baseball bat, and gently pushed it down. Ray let it drop to the floor, where it made a loud klonking noise.

" Professor..what did you mean by " You're my son"? I was born here on Earth, not on some planet called Zee Altor."

" That's Zi - Alor." Darmo corrected.

" I suggest we go upstairs to your living room."

The three humans walked up the stairs, with Darmo providing illumination by projecting beams of light from his eyes. Ray took a few minutes to get his emergency generator going, and the lights came back on.

" You can turn off the headlights, now, Darmo." He told the tall, silver robot, who did so immediately. Ray made his usual smart ass jokes, but Carol could see that he was actually quite agitated.

" Must be a power failure here. I'll call the LA power company and ask when they'll have the electricity back on. " Ray took his cell phone from his pocket. He could not dial the call. The readout simply said, " No signal."

" Hey, what's going on?" he asked.

" Um, Ray, let's deal with that later. I think the Professor has a few things he needs to discuss with you, now." Carol told her brother. It was still night. Ray could not see the devastation outside. There were other issues to deal with first.

The four settled into the now lit living room. Ray took a beer out of the fridge and offered one to Carol and the Professor, who both accepted.

Carol and Zum sat on the couch, Darmo just stood, and Ray sat in his recliner.

" Okay, Prof, start from the beginning, please." Ray was very calm considering what he had just heard and saw. He had always been mature as a child; now, at 25, he was more mature than most men his age.

" Thank you, son... I mean, Ray. Well, about 25 years ago, my son, Darmo, had discovered a plot by the government to take away my robotics corporation away from me. This was due to their war with another country. We had exhausted our resources... too many young men had died in the decades long war, so, they started using robots to wage their senseless war, which was over mining rights to the precious power jewels which provide energy for our entire planet."

The professor took a drink from his beer.

" Very good, this Earth beer. Anyway, my son was seen over hearing the plan to take my company away.. he was shot getting away from the men who'd planned on taking my life's work away from me.... " A tear welled up in Zum's eye.

" He took his air car and managed to get to my office and tell me of all this just before he died. I... electronically transferred his memories and thoughts into my finest creation, a battle robot with a conscience, and named him after my poor son. "

" But, there are gaps in my own memory.. who or what could have caused that?" The Professor grew silent. His facial expression was indicative of deep thought.

Carol sat there in confusion. She looked up at Ray, who also had a rather confused look about him.

She gestured towards the Playboy and Penthouse magazines on his coffee table. Ray blushed and put them under the recliner.

The Professor took another small device out from his jacket pocket. He made an adjustment on it, then turned it on himself. It bathed his head in a greenish glow. After about a minute of this, he put the little gadget away, a stunned look on his face now.

" I remember! I know the whole truth."

" Well?" said Ray and Carol in unison. Darmo, too, wished to know everything.

My son was not dead when I made the transfer to Darmo's electronic brain. I thought he was... but, rather than let him live with no memory of who he was or what he was.. I used my machines to turn him into a day old infant. I decided to hide him on Earth, where he would be safe from my government. I turned him caucasian, so that he would be accepted as human. "

" It's too far fetched." Ray stood up. " It's bullshit."

" I understand your scepticism. I can prove it."

With that statement, the Professor pulled out another small device.

" Hold still... this won't hurt a bit."

" Hey! Wait a minute! I ..."

But it was too late. Zum pressed a small button on the device, which shone a blue light onto Ray.

" Oh my God!" Carol shouted.

" What?? What?" Ray said, after the device was turned off.

" The mirror, boy.... go to the mirror."

Ray did as the Professor had asked.

He walked over to the mirror in the bathroom, turned on the light and gasped in disbelief.

He was now blue, just like the professor. All of him.

He strode angrily out of the bathroom back to Carol and Zum.

" Okay! You've had your fun! Turn me back. Now!"

" I can do that, Ray... but you would still be my son, you would still be a native of Zi Alor, and you would still be missing your memories of who you really are."

" Mom adopted you, Ray... she never wanted you to know
that, either.. because I remember a strange man coming to the house late one night... he looked a lot like Professor Zum, only a bit younger..she made me promise... not to tell.." Carol stopped when she saw the hurt, angry look on her younger brother's face.

" Okay, let me get this straight.. I'm an alien guy from Zi -Altor..."

" Zi - Alor." Darmo interjected.

Excuse me, Zi - Alor. Okay, I'm adopted on top of that. Is there anything else I ought to know? Am I supposed to fight the Empire and kill the Evil Sith Lord, too?"

" You don't realize just how close to the truth you are right now, Darmo."

The Professor sat down, He was tired from both the trip to Earth, and from the events of his time here.

" You have to get your memories back. And there's only one way to achieve this."

" What's that?" asked Ray.

" I must merge you and the robot, Darmo, into one physical being."

" I'll do no such thing!" Ray told Professor Zum.

" Alright... then would you at least think about simply allowing me to transfer Darmo the robot's memories into your mind? Tell me now.. haven't you felt as though something was missing in you... that you have a feeling of being incomplete?"

" I.... do feel like there's something that ought to be there... yes.. but, if I submitted to such a procedure, what would happen to me? I don't want to stop being me."

Ray was worried.

Carol was concerned, too.

Darmo finally spoke.

" Sir," he began, turning to Zum. " What would happen to me?"

" Who and what you are.... would merge with Dar.. Ray.. and you two would be as one."

" Is that not death, Sir?"

" No. You would still be you. Ray would still be Ray. The two parts of you which are incomplete would become whole."

" Then.. I would not cease to exist?"

" No, Darmo... you would not cease to be." The Professor smiled sadly at his creation.

" What is it, Professor? I sense there is more to this than you're letting on." Carol had very good intuition.

" I fear that, not having heard more from R - Tran.. that my world will simply keep sending more and more robot assassins.. until Darmo is finally destroyed. Each one will be more powerful than the last."

Ray looked at Darmo, then at Carol.

" You said he... Darmo saved your life twice?"

" Yes, Ray... he did.. and my mother's life, too.. R Tran killed Russ, though.. and Greg is missing now!"

" Is mom okay?? " Ray asked, quite worried now.

" Mom is just fine. I made sure she was safe."

" Thank God for that. I won't miss Russ.. from what you told me, he was a dick. We have to find Greg, though."

" We do, yes.. If only I could call Mom, and let her know that you're fine. She's very worried, Ray."

" But we can contact her... all we need to do is hook up your cellular phone to the booster in my ship." Professor Zum informed Carol and Ray.

" Have you thought more about the memory transfer? " Zum asked.

" I don't know... it sounds pretty scarey to me." Ray told the older man.

Suddenly, Darmo froze up. His eyes began to blink off and on with a bright red light.

" Alert, alert! Another hostile robot has been detected! It has just entered the Earth's atmosphere, and is on an intercept course, headed directly for our current location! Projected time to arrival here... 4 Earth minutes!"

" Oh, crap." was all the professor could say.

Seven exhaled heavily, a plume of smoke rocketing from his slightly parted lips. He now stood mere yards away from the building which had been used by Dr. Otto Shoemaker. His phone vibrated in his pocket, necessitating him activating his headset.

"You in position?" he asked, crushing his cigarette below his heel.

"Ready," came the steady voice of Bai Li.

"You're certain of this?" he asked. He'd probably asked the question at least ten times, but he was living on the hope that the answer might be returned in the negative.

"As sure as I can be," she answered.

Sometimes, it really was worthless to hold out hope for much of anything.

"Besides," the Asian beauty continued, "you may not even need to do this. Your role is largely contingent--"

"On him noticing me at all," Seven finished. "Right, I caught that part."

"Alright, then," Bai said. "Maybe you'll think twice next time before asking me to come up with something..."

"That I might," he responded. "That I might."

"Whenever you're ready, then."

"T-minus five minutes until execution," Seven responded.

"Five minutes?!"

"Just plotting my contingency, love," he answered. "Just plotting my contingency..."

Vatican City

Father Indigo Vespucci was under a great deal of stress. As an official within the Vatican, he had no shortage of responsibilities to attend to and no shortage of people who needed his services. Furthermore, he had just settled down for an audience with His Holiness, the Pope, when his cell phone had begun to ring.

Never mind that he hadn't the time to explain to the Pope why he had to take this call. Never mind that he had to excuse himself with barely so much as a 'by your leave' as an explanation. Never mind those things...

...he knew who was on the other end of that phone.

"This is Vespucci," he answered, his Italian accent tickling each syllable.

"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned," came the clipped British accent on the other end of the phone. "It has been an eternity since my last confession..."

"Aidan," the priest breathed heavily, "if I thought that you were at all serious about that, my interrupted audience with His Holiness would have all been worth it..."

"You left the Pope to come talk to me?" came Seven's astonished voice. "Why, Father, I didn't know you cared!"

"Yes, you did," the priest said softly. "Now, what is so pressing?"

"I'm assuming you can still rattle off any Scripture at the drop of a hat?"

"Well, I have never claimed to be able to do that, but I am knowledgable about the Word, if that is what you mean."

"That's what I needed to hear," Seven responded. "Father, I need your help..."

Los Angeles

Hours ago, the City of Angels. Now, Hell on Earth.

The transformation had been quick and decidedly painful. The Lord's vengeance was being done here and now on earth.

The being who had once been Emmanuel Nwanjoku floated high above the city. Eyes that were both young and timeless gazed out over the ruin. A small grin wormed its way across his dark complexion.

"The first angel sounded, and there followed hail and fire mingled with blood, and they were cast upon the earth."

And he saw all that he had destroyed... and it was good.

There... there, below! A man walking - a sinner! Protected somehow...

Immediately, Nwanjoku knew the only way to halt this one would be to face him directly. He began to descend, quickly at first, slowing slightly as he neared the ground. He touched ground right before an arrogant fool of a man, his jacket thrown nonchalantly over his shoulder and a cigarette dangling from his thin lips.

"Thus saith the Lord God: 'Repent, and turn yourselves from your idols; and turn away your faces from all your abominations.'"

The young man raised his eyebrow a bit and stared Nwanjoku right in the eye. He paused a bit. Waiting for what, Emmanuel didn't know, until...

"My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me?" His tone was one of genuine inquisitiveness. Of earnest yearning.

"'Vengeance is mine; I will repay,' saith the Lord."

Another pause.

"The Lord is... not willing that any should perish, but that all should come to repentance."

"Canst thou by searching find out God? Canst thou find out the Almighty unto perfection?"

"We have known and believed the love that God hath to us. God is love; and he that dwelleth in love dwelleth in God, and God in him."

This... challenge? Was it a challenge? It had taken a turn. A most unexpected one at that. Was this mortal attempting to challenge the sheer force of the vengeance of the Almighty Himself?

"It is written, 'Thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God.'"

"Prove all things; hold fast that which is good."

This... this man, this mortal man... was using the very Scriptures against him! How... how could this be?

"...he is the minister of God to thee for good. But if thou do that which is evil, be afraid; for he beareth not the sword in vain: for he is the minister of God, a revenger to execute wrath upon him that doeth evil."

A pensive look crossed the man's face. Finally, he turned back toward Nwanjoku.

"A new commandment I give unto you: that ye love one another; as I have loved you, that ye also love one another."

And then, before Emmanuel could open his mouth, the man shot back again with: "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends."

* * * * *

"Is this even working, Aidan?" the worried voice of Indigo Vespucci sounded from the other end of the phone. "Clear your throat for 'yes'..."

Seven smiled and cleared his throat. Before him, Emmanuel Nwanjoku's expression was one of clear confusion. He and Indigo had actually managed to stump the divine.

Bai's plan indeed had merit. While Nwanjoku exhibited all the powers of a divine being, on an emotional and subconscious mental level, he was still a human - a mortal. Choosing to fight fire with fire, Seven enlisted his mentor to test 'God with us' using a little Scripture...

...and it had worked.

As Seven pondered this, he noticed the heavenly aura that seemed to surround Nwanjoku's body begin to wane for a moment...

* * * * *

A moment was all she needed. She had been patient, biding her time. After all, it was what she did best. She'd followed around this ridiculous-looking suit in the hopes that he would lead her to a method for weakening her prey...

...and, for a moment, he had succeeded.

Letting loose her battle cry, Bellatrix swooped in for the kill, effortlessly lifting the form of the nineteen-year-old into the air and carrying him off into the sky...

* * * * *

The sheer force of the wind accompanying that... thing's velocity knocked Seven to the ground and sent him sprawling back at least ten feet.

When the air returned to his lungs, he muttered a quick "holy shit" as he stood to dust himself off.

"Aidan!" came the voice of Father Vespucci. "Aidan, are you alright?"

"Fine, Padre," Seven said, slowly rising to his feet. "I'll fill you in on the rest later. Seven out." Tapping the side of his Bluetooth, he switched to his other line. "Bai, Nwanjoku has just been extracted by an unknown third party! Repeat, Nwanjoku has just been extracted!"

"Get a good look at him?"

"Her," Seven corrected, trying to find some outline or silouhette in the night sky. "And... she looked like a... like a bird..."

A pause.

"Yeah, I know it sounds weird, but..."

"Seven," Bai interrupted, her voice suddenly sounding panicked. "Get to the lab... now!"

Emmanuel was too stunned at first to realize he wasn't flying on his own power anymore. The figures of the man and the woman were becomming smaller and smaller. He feet swayed uncontrolably beneath him. A pair of metallic talons dug deep into his shoulders. It was painful to crane his neck upwards, but Emmanuel wanted to see the face of his attacker.

"Agaracha!"

The lady's face was covered with a metallic mask, but the mouth was still exposed. "I'm not too sure what that means, but I advise you not to go any further than name-calling." The voice wasn't mechanical, but it wasn't human either. She sneered and Emmanuel felt one of the talons loosen and caress his neck. "Your handlers want you alive. Still, if I think you're going to be trouble, I'll just have to slice this artery before you put up a struggle. Understand?"

"'Handlers'?"

"Isn't that what you call your masters? It's what I call mine." She made a strange sound, which Emmanuel thought was the closest thing to a laughing sound the creature could make. "I find the irony amusing. Using one powerful freak to capture another."

Emmanuel couldn't believe what he was hearing. "I am not a freak. I am a weapon of the Lord."

Another mechanical laugh. "You think big, for such a little boy. Tell me, why hasn't your God struck me down from his throne? Too busy managing the weather? Playing chess with Moses?"

Emmanuel had lived a sheltered life before he was sent to the lab. Athiests were heard of, but he never conversed with one before. Hearing such casual snide remarks about the Almighty was...disturbing. "You don't believe in God?"

"I believe in me. Only thing worth believing in."

Now it was Emmanuel's turn to laugh. "Seeing as how you have a 'handler' too, Agaracha, believing in you hasn't work either."

The talons dug into his shoulders tighter, and Emmanuel yelped in pain. "You really hurt my feelings with that one. This is going to be an interesting ride."

"Might not be a long ride, Agaracha. God's Vengence might return, and then you'll be no more."

"You might do that. But somehow, I doubt it. I watched your little verbal fight from above. I don't know your weakness yet, but I don't think you're in the right state of mind to becoming powerful again. I think that man back there rattled your cage, and you're still shaking in your boots." Another metallic laugh. "And if I think for a moment you're about to about to turn into an angel, I'll send you to the angels before you can twitch." She strocked the skin above the jugular for a moment, and then clamped back onto the shoulder. "But listen to me. I don't want to kill you. I don't like to kill." There was no humor in her voice, only a sort of saddness. "You behave, and I'll behave, and we'll part ways forever soon."

Emmanuel bit his lip. She was right -- he was having trouble focusing his thoughts after his argument with the man. It was like he had been punched in the face -- his eyesight was fuzzy and everything seemed to be moving slower. He still thought the Agaracha was a pagan that needed to die by his hands, but if she could be patient, so could he. "My name Emmanuel. What's your name?"

"They call me...Bellatrix."

Darmo went into a corner with Professor Zum. ( pronounced "zoom." )

The Professor spoke too softly for Carol and Ray to hear.

Ray was bitching to Carol.

" Oh, come on, look at me! I look like a failed Smurf!"

" You're still my brother, and I love you no matter what, Ray." She tried to reassure her brother, who was now wondering about his law career. Who would want to have a Smurf represent them in court?

Darmo took a small disc out of his head and handed it carefully to the Professor, who put it gingerly into a case and then put it safely into one of his jacket pockets.

" I am going to head off the enemy robot. This is to protect you all."

" Darmo, no! You can't! Please, stay here and ... " Carol started.

" And endanger the three of you? No. I cannot. You saw what happened at your mother's house. I cannot allow a repeat of that. Goodbye, Carol.. Goodbye, father.. goodbye, Ray. You look just fine. Blue is very becoming on you."

" Goodbye, my son.." The Professor said to his robot "son", wiping away a tear.

" Darmo...be careful...and thank you for saving me..twice."

" Good luck, Darmo" Ray told the brave robot.

Darmo went to the door. He opened it, and turned to Professor Zum.

" Father.. thank you for my life."

The old man choked back the tears.

Darmo walked quickly to the back yard of the singed house that had once been part of a beautiful, crazy city.

The three humans walked outside and watched sadly as he took off via his jet boots.

Darmo had had a charge from the generator in Ray's home, and was at full power. He soared rapidly away from the home towards the robot that was sent to destroy him.

On his way up into the ionosphere, Darmo saw something rather disturbing.

He was aware of a strange looking winged creature, flying off with a young man. The potential for pure power emanating from the young man was off the scale.

But Darmo did not have time for a complete analysis. His mission was to encounter and defeat the enemy on his radar screen that was rapidly accelerating towards him.

The winged warrior known as Bellatrix was vaguely aware of Darmo, but he was not part of her mission. She watched him fly off for a moment, and returned her full attention to Emmanuel.

Back on the ground, Professor Zum had taken out the case which held the disc given to him by Darmo and just stared rather intently at it.

" Professor.. what is that disc that Darmo gave to you?" Carol asked, with an idea of what it was.

" This.... is a copy of Darmo's program.. it is him.. his memories... thoughts... feelings.. it is a copy of his soul."

Ray looked at the case, too. He was still considering what
those memories might mean for him.

" Professor....if.. I were to allow you to transfer those memories to my brain.. would I still be me? Still be a lawyer? Still love beer and sports? And girls?"

The Professor looked at Ray with a sad look.

" You would be all that you are now. You would also remember the past life you led with me on Zi - Alor. But .. there could be a side effect."

"What side effect? " Carol asked before Ray could.

" You.. would still be a biological organism...completely. But, something of Darmo's abilities and powers might also transfer from the disc to you.. along with the ability to know how to use them."

" Holy..." Ray started.

" It is something to seriously consider. Your world is in dire need of it's heroes. It is too late for my home of Zi -Alor. It has been for sometime. But it is not too late for Earth."

Ray turned and looked at Carol.

" It's your decision, Ray. You said you became a lawyer to defend the poor because you wanted to make a difference in the world." ,She said to her younger brother.

It was now daylight out.

Ray looked out the window and saw the destruction for the first time.

Carol noticed the look on his face and explained what had happened to him.

He wept for the millions who had died.

The base should have been empty by now; but after the attack and crash, the moving of equipment and personnel was put on hold. Now, maybe it was on hold indefinitely. Men were actually moving some of the equipment back into place. A confused and on edge base was in the process of taking up their old routines with a few exceptions.

"He acted just like he should have," Dr. Little said as he sat uneasily in his chair. "Lewis is a smart man. He would have stayed out of direct contact with the civilian population. He would be fully aware of what kind of panic it would cause were he to be seen by the public."

"And the bit with the radio?" Lt. Col. Holmes asked, sitting across the room. He sat back with one hand laying across the arm of the chair and the other braced thoughtfully against his cheek.

"Lewis is an expert electrical engineer. He did design and build an advanced electric brain, after all. I doubt a radio would be that hard for him.... intellectually. The Legionnaire Mark I body isn't designed to be functional enough for the dexterity necessary for many jobs of that sort, which would explain the poor craftsmanship."

"Dr. Little," Holmes said as he leaned forward, "I have to point out that you are referring to the machine as...."

"Don't," the doctor backed away. His eyes immediately turned away from the officer as he put his hands up. "I don't want to hear what you're about to say. I was told that my best friend was dead first thing this morning. Now, I've spent almost an hour having the same kind of conversation I've had day in and day out with him with the machine that he and I designed and built with over a decade's worth of work. I'm not in the mood for what you've got to say or for what you're trying to get me to say."

"Then tell me how it would be possible."

"I want to talk to the general."

"He's not coming," Holmes matter-of-factly told the scientist. "He'll have to remain on base to fend off any of the rumors and reports coming in about our robot's actions today as well as other developing situations. I'm currently in charge of this facility and this investigation. You will talk to me. According to the official paperwork we have on this project, Lt. Col. Davis was the one who had his brain 'mapped' for the prototype. On top of that, it is only supposed to record and duplicate specific skills and not a person's entire personality. Now, convince me that it really is Dr. Faber in there."

"Ask him."

"I'm asking you."

Little took a deep, calming breath. "The situation as Lewis tells me is that after the plane had crashed, he realized that he was dieing. The Legionnaire was close and partially out of its crate. He opened the main interface and overrode all safety protocols for a quick boot of the main systems. When the robot was still unresponsive, Lewis was able to locate and open the crate with the Neural Mapper and interfaced it directly with the Legionnaire. With safety protocols off line, the barriers set up in the software to prevent a total duplication of the human mind were down, probably even erased."

"So, it's your contention that the software and hardware Faber designed is now working as him?"

"Yes," Dr. Little slowly nodded. "Neither the hardware nor the software were designed for a full mind transference. The act over wrote much of the ancillary systems programing leaving you with a machine incapable of using any weapons systems even if they were armed. The problem is...."

"The problem is that you want me to believe that a man's mind in trapped in a military war machine," Holmes interrupted. "A machine that is no longer capable of doing the job the US Army spent billions of dollars for it to do."

"No! The problem is that there isn't enough memory left. The longer he's operational, the more memory he'll use up until there is no more. Then, most likely, the software will begin over writing old data with new. It will begin to cannibalize his mind."