[center]Chapter 7: Fatalize[/center][/b]

[i]Minutes after the capture of Adán
Rooftops[/i]

Abigail rolled to a stop on the next rooftop, stopping in a crouch on one knee before standing up again as Malik landed beside her. She was twenty now. Maybe even twenty-one. Hard to tell with the constant night.

He, on the other hand, was thirty-five. By his standards, those of the late twelfth century of the common era of his universe, that was above the average. Not quite the age of Al Mualim before the Retaking of Masyaf, in his fifties, but relatively old nonetheless. Perhaps even Altaïr would have been still fighting at this age. Difficult to tell, and it was no time to dwell on the past any longer.

The message came up on Abigail's visor of her headset, all text in a hologram format. [u]Alert! Strongarm has been captured, current location unknown. Requesting assistance of Headshot.[/u]

There was a familiar signature on the bottom, a marking in blue. The insignia was a blue circle with an inner hexagon. Just outside of the lower three arms of the hexagon, small bars of the same length were present, two more half-length arms sticking out of the corners on the left and right side of the same inner shape. Overlayed was a combination of three horizontal, parallel line segments, one on top of the other. The top one had its left side missing, the middle its right. A vaguely V-shaped, sideways corner similar to the ones of the hexagon itself connected the two line segments and the bottom one, touching the incomplete portions of both the top two and approximately a third of the way away from the right side.

Simon had been adding quite a few functions to that hunk of metal and wires he called a friend, that robot. While it was nice that others could now understand what it was saying without having to know its binary code as the mechanic did, these text-based messages still could be irritating.

[i]Stupid lightbulb.[/i] She did not care, turning off the message with a purposeful twitch. Did not need to know about Adán. When he joined, she had forced him to promise that he would listen to orders. He could knock people out, couldn't he? He was the "oh-so-powerful" fighter of their squad, the guy who would protect their escapes. Why [i]wouldn't[/i] he be able to do everything and anything?

[i]"You have to help,"[/i] Kira said to her, an order. She was kind, but stern about this infighting at times. She sighed, calming down a bit. [i]"Go and find him, Headshot. I can give you his visor's last signal, draw you a probable path for you to take to get there, to find out what is going on. At least to get back the Mongoose."[/i] The map came up in front of the Runner's eye, a blinking dot near the location of one of the churches.

Vism 'Fal's message was to them both. [i]"There appears to be some work with the Church itself. Brier may have had his men take Strongarm in."[/i]

Malik seemed to noticeably tense as the Church was mentioned. They all knew about the Pieces of Eden that were used inside to keep the followers loyal, to keep prayers coming.

"The answer is no." She then reached to her headset, turning it off. The data management system shut down completely, leaving only the sky, the city above and below her, the one where she found her place, so similar to before. Even here, still on the edge of the city. Only now there wasn't any gloss between the people and reality, aside from the higher officers and possibly the soldiers in general. More grime, really. In a manner of speaking, she equated him with that grime. He had touched that glove, had touched the one thing she had left of that friend, of... No. No crying now, not in front of Malik. She looked to the next area of her jump, her vision again going red where she needed to go.

Malik looked to her briefly. "You are right. I can see that. He needs to know how to be subtle, quiet."

With a nod, she stepped back. Once, twice, three times, preparing for the next jump.

"He deserves all of the pain he would be given for declining to be unseen, to remain secretive."

Suddenly, she stopped preparing, her glare fixed on the next rooftop. The Assassin could see her hand twitch.

"In my Creed, we learned to never compromise the Brotherhood. No matter what the circumstances." He looked out as well, away from her. "Perhaps his sacrifice is necessary to keep our secrecy, if he is strong against the work of others as he claims to be. Or he may tell nothing. There are many options open."

Headshot looked to Pax. That gaze could bore through solid steel. "I hate you [i]so much[/i]. You know that, don't you?"

No response. Just the slightest grin. Almost not even there.

She scowled, turning back on her headset.

[i]"You cha--"[/i]

"Not a [i]word[/i], Indra. Not even one." Off she sprinted and jump, heading to a low rooftop in the correct direction, keeping an eye on the silver crescent moon that topped the religious site in the distance.

The Assassin of the group kept smiling. She would do as was necesssary. A sister in his new brotherhood since Masyaf, though possibly not entirely to the core. He would have to teach her the skill that Altaïr had him. How to pierce the illusion.

[i]"Keep your tracker on your headset,"[/i] came the message from Vism 'Fal to the both of them. [i]"We cannot allow either of you to fall to these priests without knowing where you will be going. Our brother Adán was careless in that regard."[/i]

"Understood," Malik said, not listening to Walters' presumed grudging agreement, but annoyance with the mention of Adán as a "brother". The Elite tended to do that with the members of AEK, treat them as if they were a true family of brothers and sisters. With that, he looked around, down into the alleys below. A cardboard box? Perhaps that would work, at least to change. The man stepped off of the roof, allowing himself to fall and land in a crouch two stories below, dust shifting as he landed with his hand flattened to the ground. Though he did not have the same physics as he would have had in his universe, the Assassin resistance to damage remained intact. And with it, all of his bones.

He reached back into the pouch that Kira had given him, the only one they had. It was a small pouch, but could somehow fit an entire set of clothing in case of a need for stealth.

Taking cover behind the upside-down box, away from the street, he prepared. Abigail had her ways, yes. But an Assassin would need more that just parkour and sharpshooting to survive in this universe.

He had another plan.

=====

[i]One and a half years after the fall of the [/i]Archangel
[i]Throne Room, Sessrumnir Tower, Folkvangr[/i]

A single man walked through the hallway, ignoring the decorations that marked it as the religious and political center of Folkvangr as much as he had the multitude of trophies in the room behind him. He wore a strange, futuristic set of armor.

The helmet featured seven angular spikes, one to each side, and a face plate fused into a single piece and contour. The top rear guard of the helmet was pointed, revealing a protruding spike. The bottom rear, around the neck, formed a neck guard, like that of a samurai helmet. The seven spikes were all silvery-white, a contrast from the rest of the armor's blood red. Clips were visible on the sides of the helmet. A very thin golden line marked the sights through which the man would see the world, mirrored on the outside to hide any facial emotion, not that there generally was any regardless. Its shoulders, rather than sporting pauldrons, were instead protected by three metal plates arranged in an overlapping fashion similar to the armor of a Japanese samurai, an organization known as the "sode". The chest armor featured a thick, round collar piece protecting the neck, as well as an angular strip of armor that was strapped over the chest, featuring a small black Ω in the center, another contrast from the rest of the blood red nature. The boots were metallic and fit cleanly to the rest of the suit.

The entire thing weighed more than he likely could move on his own, but that was no matter. Neural interfaces implanted long ago into various part of his body, from his torso to his legs, arms, and even the back of his head allowed him to control the armor's movement with thought alone, allowing him to move with it or without it. This Hayabusa Powered Assault Armor, as it was known, was a relatively recent addition to his arsenal, and the source of the alias he had taken since his nominal change in alliances. Hayabusa had plenty of time, but did not like to give the news that he had presently.

Close to the door, he caught a glimpse of a shadow to his right, two beady red eyes clearly visible within. He knew the creature for what it was before it even hopped out to see him more clearly. The creature was small, and for all of its creepy nature, did not appear threatening. It was black furred and bipedal, with two arms and legs. Large puffs of blood red wool surrounded its torso as well as in the back on a very large puffy tail. Two more red puffs were visible along antennae that came out from the top of its head, fanning out to the long, leaf-like ears protruded from its head, akin to the being it was most similar to. The being stared at him, scowling, but he just waved it off, nonplussed. Then came the teeth, enormous and bloody. Too sharp, large and plentiful to actually fit into that mouth in most situations, but a video game universe followed its own physics, each to its own. Dira the Dreamhare, one of the pets of the empress, and a guard.

He did not even look at Dira again, seeing her only as a sign of what the person he had come to see would be wearing. He stepped inside, again ignoring anything around the chamber, and dropped to his right knee, bowing his head to the empty throne as he waited. He did not even look twice at the long golden object resting against the side of the throne, the staff with its point toward the back end along with three horizontal bars of golden metal in the same area, progressively shorter toward the tip at that back, with a point at the bottom just below a small circular chamber of some sort meant to hold a ball. Another point was at the forefront, away from the larger amount of smithing noted.

"The first phase is doing well..." A woman walked around the back of the throne, holding a metal panel with a holographic interface. Likely from one of the Milky Way teams, more likely the ex-Blue Suns or Eclipse than the Blood Pack. It turned off as she looked his way, a small smirk on her face as she looked at him kneeling there.

Diana wore the Trainer Dressphere, rather than her Berserker one or her normal clothing. More than anything, this was likely nothing more than preference. Her clothing on her torso was the same as normal, as were her shoes. A short, red tank top with a red and black, decorative vest over it, and black combat boots. Her bottom half was covered in a flowing gown of a deep red, as with her eyes.

He watched her as she stepped in front of him, crouching down in front of his kneeling form. With the index finger of her left hand alone, she effortlessly pushed his chin up, making him face her. Then, using her right hand and unnatural strength, she pulled the samurai helmet cleanly off of him, showing his emotionless face.

Underneath, his eyes were sky blue but internally dead, His hair was black and unkempt, his multiple scars on his face and neck due to both the empress's "treatment" and his own battles, both on her behalf and before. His chin and the sides of his face had the makings of a small, similarly unkempt beard, more from not caring to shave often enough than from any kind of preference.

The woman leaned in toward his emotionless face, keeping her hand on his chin. A soft touch, tender even. Her voice was very soft, soothing as the touch of her fingers as she stared into his eyes from inches away. "Is there anything you wish to offer me, Greg?"

The man once known as Captain Gregory "Kaith" Zivaku was merely silent in response, though her demeanor nearly melted him. He had always loved the empress, even during the five year absence he was constantly reminded of and those years before. She could make him jump with the crook of a finger, didn't need telepathy or mind control to know what he was thinking, even if the forces of Reaper had not won the war, and they both knew it. It seemed as though she truly cared for him. Perhaps there was still that tiny piece of her true self hidden beneath the many layers of Dark Will corruption?

A dark chuckle under her breath showed her true feelings about the situation, evidently at the slightest hint of a reaction that his eyes had betrayed, in her amusement with her ruse. The old her was too far gone to make any real difference, the massive amounts of Dark Will that had been added to her time and again solidifying both her allegiance and her romantic partner in one move. She placed a hand on his head as she stood, waving her other hand in front of his eyes. In addition to the other rings on her finger, she had one more, one he knew well enough. Another way to taunt him. When he kissed the hand briefly, both in his respect deep down and to get her to pull it away, she complied, satisfied. "Now, then," she stated. "Tell me what has happened with Mini-Ron. Any new subjects for [i]Haven[/i]?" The word was filled with distaste not for the project itself. She knew she could have come up with a way to use the same resources given a day more than had been given to the original proposer. It was the identity of the proposer that she hated. Both of the Jessicas Mireu were distasteful to her, but Elena most of all for her...habits in regard to the empress herself and her husband.

He did not even show his physical reaction to her ridicule of his lingering affection. He knew that this was not why she had asked him to come There was some other reason she wanted to hurt him as well, aside from the physical pain. To her slight nod for him to reply, he spoke. "Your Imperial Majesty," he said calmly, keeping his voice completely level with a degree of difficulty. Generally, he did not feel too much. But this one had hurt him to the core. "The Princess of Heart of Radiant Garden, Kairi of this time, is dead. No further recruits on this mission."

The empress frowned. That was all. Not a tear, not a shout for joy, nothing. "Not surprising. I assume you did your part, then?" He had been sent for two reasons. One was for psychological torture, given that she was one of his closest friends in another time. The other was related to another individual. To his nod, she looked out to the doors. "She likely would not be persuaded by Eden in any case, or at least not easily. The 'incorruptible Princess of Heart.' Would have been nice to have her here, though. Eventually she would have listened to me, even if I had to go for a drink."

"Not for the difficulty in securing her," he said, a forced calm. "She was subdued with the fall of her allies. I did so to keep the younger Ron--"

She silenced him with a waved of her hand, speaking nonchalantly. "And her Keyblades? Did you managed to gather those?"

It was depressing, disturbing, and disgusting. Kairi had once been her closest female friend, someone she cried with, laughed with and joked at. A young woman who had supported her through his absence. Now she was just considered another pawn, another soul to manipulate, a being to control. All because of the manipulation of the new emperor, Isaac Koniro "Reaper" Zivaku. Not that most knew his true, full name. Or that even close to the same amount knew the soldier's own.

"No," he said after several seconds. "She dismissed what she had when she gave in. But we know of--"

"We can find another," she said, sighing at the loss of a weapon. "A pity, really." Such potential to aid them, gone. And she knew why. The woman walked back to the throne, sitting upon it. She seemed every bit as regal as she had made so. Not that the perspective was unbiased by any extent of the imagination.

She placed something on her lap. "We have all of the technology we need out of this," she stated, holding a forest green helmet fit for a human. The visor, covering the majority of the upper half of the face down to about just under the nose, was golden and reflective, shattered in its center to reveal a dark interior. The woman just held it in one hand, tossing it in front of the man. "Take it to the trophy room."

The helmet stopped in midair, held telekinetically. The man knew that the command was not given out of laziness, though she could easily go and put it away herself. She had been on many missions to conquer territories herself, proved her combat prowess. No, this was out of sheer cruelty. She knew what this helmet meant to him. Possibly also because she was busy, but that was a major reason behind it, as far as he was concerned.

The man took the helmet with one hand from the air, releasing the hold, and stood, slowly so as to avoid showing too much emotion or invoking any need to have any more conversation with her than absolutely necessary. However, the grabbing maneuver did reveal his distress with having to put it away. The wearer had been a friend, in another time stream now lost to the winds of chance. The death had been by his own hand and gun, dooming that universe forever.

He knew the pleasure she felt in her smile to him, though it was a cruel joy indeed as she placed the helmet back upon his head in a most regal fashion, a ruler to her subject. She patted him on the top of his helmet, turning around without another glance. "You are dismissed," she said flatly, evidently having other things to do than torment him for the time being.

Not daring to show any emotion for sake of wanting to avoid her ridicule for the time being, the former Captain Kaith stood up, bowing once before walking out. "As you wish...Kynthia." He was gone before she could call him out on the use of her true name.


The man walked through the room beyond the hallway, one protected by a wide range of plasma and other kinds of barriers. The trophies scattered here varied greatly, all from the victories of the Omega Empire in such a brief time. Some were grouped according to weapon type, others according to world, in accordance with how memorable the victory had been for Diana herself, whether she was personally present or not. Hayabusa remembered them by their type, preferring to avoid thinking about their users. He knew that his "employers" could not be overthrown by the dead, after all.

A katana with a dark silver blade, an ordinary cross-guard, and a black hilt wrapped with a great many red lines in descending circles. The katana of a samurai recently dead. A blade with a name, albeit one that would be likely lost to time except in cases of evil, as they had in a time few remembered even now. A one-handed, small scythe, with a black handle and red blade. This had been used by another champion for good, a posthuman who had fallen victim to dirty tricks. A black pipe with a rounded black handguard, two barbell-esque attachments on the end across from the handle. A device usable as both a weapon and a repair tool. A simple, blood-stained wrench. The weapon-of-choice of a man from the mid-twentieth century. A similarly simple crowbar, with a red handle and gray arch. Weapon of a scientist. A massive broadsword, with a large silver blade curved on the sharpened edge, many ornate silver markings just below the blade, and a tightly-wrapped hilt covered in leather. A blade not meant to be touched by human hands, a blade that was dying from its captivity here. A blade forgotten. A sword of a goddess, with a red-orange blade leading down to a yellow hilt, the bottom akin to a sunburst with a blue cloud at the hilt's center. A blade charged with the power of the sky, once used to vanquish evil with the electricity that crackled along its length when it was moved. No longer, recent events beginning to darken that lightning. A sword with curved edges on both sides of the same blade, two holes in the blade near the bottom and a simple gray hilt with an oddly curled back end to it. This blade, larger than the katana from before, had once been wielded by a being known as the "Rending God," though often known by another name. An enormous blue sword, many spiked rocks making up the cross-guard, a thinner hilt also present. A blue aura glowed faintly from it's blade and slightly from the hilt, despite the power sapped out all.

Shields were present. A circular red one with archaic symbols in relief-form on its face and a pink underside, a red flame coming up from it only when it was moved. The bright red flames had darkened with time, a corruption overtaking the weapon due to its new user's own corruption. The old user had been the same as that of the electric blade. A silver, oval shield with indentations on the sides, the face of a man with short hair in relief on the shield face in gold. A defense taken from the corpse of an Olympian, a solar deity. The sun would shine no more in his domain. These were not the only shields, not by far. But many more deserve their own mentions.

A plucked string instrument designed to resemble one large Nobody logo, the headstock consisting of three large, light blue spikes with blue bases. The neck was blue with light blue, concave edges, and three yellow, pointed machine heads visible on the left side. Several yellow frets lined the fretboard, with the body connected to the neck by a dull blue spike shaped like those on the Nobody logo, and the body itself shaped like the lower half of the symbol. The shape of the symbol, particularly the circular indentations on the bottom of the instrument, was distinguished from the rest of it by a light blue border, saddle yellow and its three strings a very pale blue. Wielded by a skilled musician, this weapon had been used alongside heroes and against them. Two chakrams, each identical to one another. Each disc had a circular main wheel with a black, cross-shaped handle. The edge of the main wheel included four spikes shaped like the spikes of the Nobody sigil, a small ring bisected by the main wheel. Another spike identical to the other four was attached to each of these rings for a total of eight spikes. The interior of the main wheel and the outer edge of the half of each of the four rings that were on the interior of the wheel were red as well as the inner edges of the other halves of the rings, with the rest of the chakram being silver. These had been used by a pyrokinetic before his demise.

An oversized throwing star that worked as a boomerang, resembling a cross that looked like four equidistant, perpendicular points of silver, a brown metal composing the connection points. This had been used by a heroine, an incredibly skilled ninja. A longsword with a hilt akin to a revolver grip, capable of close combat strikes or the firing of fireballs from the revolver itself, possessing a silver chain on the hilt/grip that had a silver keychain of unknown significance to it. Once for a hero who, like the ninja, had lost his world to darkness twice, and paid the price for fighting against this rising regime. A short, ornate staff in a fashion akin to the Kingdom Hearts universe, with a keychain of a book off of the back. A longer one, in a style more like the later Final Fantasy games, was beside it. Two reality-warping weapons. Their users, entirely different Interferences the likes of which have never been seen before or since, had been killed accidentally in the attempt to extract the necessary information to leave these games. They had denied knowledge, but it was difficult to say anything anymore. A hero or heroine could easily lie.

Several guns as well. A small cannon that could fit onto one's arm, about half of a three-dimensional oval that was mostly black, the firing end orange with a silver interior. This came from a villain-turned-hero, one who had learned more than he should have normally, and had been destroyed. Another cylindrical cannon, this one green, with some very thin orange lines along its length. Taken from a bounty hunter, a fighter for peace in a galaxy that needed it. A collection of blue teardrops with lighter blue ones around them, an archaic light blue symbol in the center of each one. Charged with the power of the tundra, these served the same individual as the blade of lightning and shield of fire. A very large white longbow, small flames on each of the edges and lightning crackling along the arrows in the quiver, striped pink and yellow each. Golden ichor was splattered on the bow itself, the death of this "God of the Onslaught" far more brutal than many of the others'. A large gun, too large to be used one-handed. A small handgun, with some gray sections on the top, black along its length and at the nozzle at the front, along with an orange grip and silver bottom. This had been used by the same bounty hunter, serving her as she worked armorless in a blue, tight bodysuit that had also been taken into custody, though instead by the Hecate Corps for research purposes.

Several helmets were in another section, their armor types all researched a replicated for different individuals in varying degrees. One, of the same bounty hunter, was rounded and red, with a green, triangular visor where the face would be with a small, spidering crack in the center. The alien technology was very useful in later mech models. A simple brown cap, once used by a strange species. A friend, to be sure, of the round, silver head with a black antenna coming up from the top, two non-functional green eyeball-lights and a primitive mechanical mouth. A black one with a purple star shape on the forehead, two high-rising ridges, one on each side with orange undersides, the owner of the black cannon. His rival's was also there, a purely rounded blue helmet with a lighter blue ridge over the top of it, another light blue square on the forehead where the other's purple star was. A silver, Illyrian-style Greek helmet with sides that reached out to protect the cheeks, a red plume arching from one side to the other on the back with a darker arch of metal holding it in place. The helm of a demigod, son of a ruler of gods. A golden circlet marked with a golden wing on each side of the head. A helm of unknown metal that perpetually glowed orange, a grate of five vertical lines of metal protecting the face, with two bull-like horns reaching to either side of the helmet. The caps of two Olympians. The Fates would still need work to visit and depose. A gray metal chestplate of a human's armor, the white symbols "N7"; upon the left pectoral followed by two red lines parallel with the longer portion of the seven.

A great many more trophies existed, including a vast amount of pieces of Eden. However, many were being researched to replicate their effects, whether through synthetic means or similar scenarios, if not just having their powers sapped out to be used in another way, or used as a power source in one place or another. Many did not have much need to be described, as this room was a picture of decadence. A picture to imply weakness and vanity of the conqueror, to be sure. A clever ruse, but a ruse nonetheless. Mostly.

The man walked past other weapons, ignoring voices and emotions that occasionally came through his head. He looked to the helmet area, and put in his code, one that also was tuned to his armor's print itself and a genetic scan through his suit. He picked up the shroud that was on one of the areas. It would be useful soon for the twins, or some other reason.

Before he put it down, Hayabusa ran a single finger over the shattered glass, over each jagged edge. He had killed him. In another time, he had been a friend, a fellow soldier. A captain in name, though not necessarily in practice. Now just another death, another victim with his universe to the ever-increasing grasp of Omega.

It was placed gently down beside the red and green helmet, and he gave a sharp salute. To this one man and to many others. Faintly, the man could hear voices, deep within his mind. It was not because of the alliances with the EarthGov projects. Not entirely. No, this came from the cloth in his hand, gratefully protected from him by his armored hands. He ignored it, walking off.

On his way, the armored man passed two more people. He knew them both.

General Carter Barkley, the son of the presumed-late Lawrence Barkley and recovering Splicer of Rapture, had short, blonde hair and red eyes, his teeth all sharp fangs. His head was elongated vertically due to his time as a Spider, but not very much, making him seem a bit unnerving, but not overly strange. He wore a suit consisting of a dark gray shirt and black pants with a black jacket over the shirt, the Omega symbol in red on the chest of the jacket, a very flexible uniform to accommodate for his own bizarre joints. As Hayabusa knew, he had a certain slug in his abdomen, giving him healing properties. That wasn't to say that he could mend his bones (at least not easily), but he could heal.

The other individual who he was shouting at remained silent. He wore very dark silver armor with a maroon layer under the silver, a helmet reminiscent of the Greek Corinthian style atop his head. A cape ran down his back from his shoulders to his knees, blood red with the shape of a black, translucent wolf on it. Two eyes of a most sinister red blazed in the sockets, all else bathed in shadows.

The general's voice was sinister, almost demonic. "You better do it right this time! Never gonna listen to them, are ya? I'll tear you to shreds myself!" Silence, not even a response, and that angered him more. "Oh, think you're all superior? Well heads up, buddy! [i]You work for [b]us[/b] now![/i]"

All things considered, Hayabusa did not think that Barkley's meaningless bullying was a good idea in the long run. Not that he would tell him outright, when he could just see the consequences instead. Briefly, he considered helping. He could use an ally in this place, someone who truly trusted him.

A shake of his head. It was not time yet, with the wheel so far in motion. Would it ever be?

Without a word, the later bodyguard of Nyx and Letum Zivaku, as well at that of the entire imperial family, continued, not even sparing another glance.

=====

[i]Rooftop in sight of the Church where Adán was captured[/i]

Finally, Abigail stopped, rolling to a halt on the right rooftop and flattening to it in a prone position. She looked around the area, down below mostly. There was no Mongoose any longer, likely taken by one of their cleanup crews to see what they could get. Not that there was any information in there, nor was it augmented in any way. Just meant that he was missing, as stated. The religious site, though mostly ignored, towered in this small area, with its imposing architecture of black, silver, and red clearly marked out with its rising spire, the crescent insignia at the top. There was probably a statue of their goddess, but she did not truly care at the moment, having seen color versions of the same figure that marked them.

Her eyes scanned her surroundings as she took the tranquilizer from her waistband. It had a silver top and grip, along with gunmetal blue sides and a circular wheel on the side to control the amount of the drug administered. The gray dart had been loaded in from the back, and could be released for several disorienting doses to put the target to sleep or a total, lethal discharge of the drug reservoir of four doses at once at close range. To get a better look, she aimed down the scope that she had added to it.

It was almost two minutes before she felt the sharp pain in her right leg, heard the sound of the sound suppressed bullets from above hitting the ground, two of the three missing. A swear was blurted from her lips, and she instinctively rolled on to her back, ignoring the blood coming from her left thigh as she aimed up at the imposing assailant on the nearby rooftop, the one who had found her.

The figure was in a kind of futuristic samurai armor, a black capital Omega clearly marked on the chest while the majority was red. He held two sheaths crossed on his back, both with white hilts coming forth over his shoulders. He held a black burst-fire marksman rifle, the human-made Haloverse BR55HB SR "Battle Rifle" held low in both hands.

Aiming, she fired two doses of the sedative shots, aiming for the thin, mirrored, golden space that was likely for the person's eyes. Both of them hit the face...and disintegrated in golden sparks, similar to the blue sparking that appeared when colliding with some kind of plasma barrier. The armor was shielded, it seemed. Perfect.

Not wasting a moment, Abigail jumped up to her feet as the samurai drew two weapons, placing the Battle Rifle against his back, where it was held by a presumable magnetic hold.

His right hand took a polished metal hilt from his waist, his left reaching to his back, where he drew one of those swords smoothly and near-silently. It was as if he had always had them. The hilt was white, but the blade golden. Two rapiers, it seemed. The other hilt ignited, a silvery-blue one of plasma. Abigail had heard of this weapon type. A "lightsaber," it was called. If the other hilt at his waist was any indication, he had two of them. She hadn't heard of many colors, but that one seemed strange. Perhaps he had it custom built, or modified one? Given the nature of Omega, she wouldn't put it past him to have murdered the previous owner and changing it to his own specifications.

He just stood there, watching her. Was he actually planning to do anything? Then they came.

Four phantom blades, swords made from wisps and smoke, possibly of the netherworlds themselves, rose up from the space on her roof between herself and him, ready to attack. They started slashing wildly, aiming for her, and she panicked.

"Crap, crap, crap!" Two shots were fired into one of the swords as it came near, forcing it back as another slashed her across the cheek, drawing blood. This was no illusion. She turned to it and fired three more times, forcing it to dissipate before aiming for the first one again and firing a third dose. With the impact, though not the drug, the swords dissipated as if it had never been. She started backing up, inadvertently toward her opponent, and fired for a third swords...

[i]Click.[/i]

She only had eight shots. No room to bring additional ammunition if she wanted to run properly. And she had used them trying to fight these...things. She looked around, trying to find something, anything that could help her, her wound bleeding as she searched...

And they were gone. The two just ceased to exist, dispersing into the ether once more. Good riddance, but what did that mean for the samurai?

The Runner could feel something move through her from the back to her front, though it failed to actually do any damage, just causing her confusion and further shock. "What the he--" And she saw him.

The samurai came into view, phasing back into sight from a momentary blur as he turned around to face her, landing quickly. From his back, two ethereal wings of multicolored energy had emerged, as if he were some kind of...

Wait, was this the angel? The even-more insane angel who was mentioned in those books? Was that why he was attacking her?

In her shock, Abigail did not have time to react to his next maneuver. The lightsaber flashed as it was swung, cleanly cleaving the tranquilizer in two. The gun piece that remained was two hot for her to hold, smoldering as she instinctively swore and red-hot where the plasma had burned it. Before she could react, he grabbed her one-handed by her shirt, lifting her into the air. Perhaps he had some abilities related to those wings. Or maybe it was just that he was enhanced by that armor? It looked like it weighed a literal ton.

Unable to articulate this or even think it, Headshot was thrown to the ground hard on her back, the breath knocked from her lungs in the impact even after he firmly placed his right foot on her chest to keep her down. She gasped curses under her breath, and he lowered the rapier to her neck to silence her for the time being. It worked, though mostly because she needed to get her breath back.

Struggling against his one-foot hold as he calmly put away his lightsaber, she saw a glint of light on a nearby roof that he had come from. On it was a gun. It seemed to be a grenade launcher of some sort, if the shape of the barrel meant anything in this light, and the curved blade that ran under it identified its make. The Type-25 Grenade Launcher, also known as the "Brute Shot," was likely one of this samurai's weapons. Catching and firing such a weapon at this angle and close range was likely very dangerous for her, but she did not have any other real options, given her current weaponlessness aside from her plasmid's EVE.

Her hand twitched as she tried to call it to her. The launcher moved, flew off of the rooftop, heading for her hand. Maybe she could even decapitate him with the blade as it came near.

His free hand reached out as the weapon came by him, grabbing it one-handedly as he looked. How was she to know that he could see her motion? As she thought this, he lowered it, aiming directly at her head as the blade of it was held in an underhand fashion.

If his next move meant anything, he was not amused by her attempt to turn the tide. He sheathed his rapier at his waist, and looked to the halves of her tranquilizer. A crystal of ice fired from his open palm, hitting one of the halves. In less than a second, the two of them were frozen solid, leaving her somewhat shocked when a hard stomp with one foot shattered what remained.

As she returned to full attention on her situation, the sharpshooter of Alpha Epsilon Kappa saw a group of figures behind the man who had her pinned, only silhouettes marked out by the red light of the moon and the lights of buildings around them. They each were on different rooftops around the area, some higher up than others, all taking different vantage points. If she looked hard, she could see hints of color. The watchers were all women, approximately her age, it seemed. They each wore a form-fitted, silvery-gray diver's suit with a round orb as the helmet, said helmet including two portholes. An ominous yellow light shone from said portholes, though the main ones, in the front where their faces would have been, were watching her. Two spear-like weapons seemed to be attached to their arms. A harpoon of some sort on the right, and some larger kind of weapon on the left.

She simply glared at the observers, the women who silently would stand by her execution. "Just do it. Get it over with, you son of a--"

She did not have time to finish her swear, as the side of the bladed grenade launcher, held carefully by the armored warrior, smashed into the side of her head. She blacked out before she could even finish the thought.

And yet, the tracker on her headset remained intact, active.

-----

Hayabusa kept the Brute Shot in his left hand, loose, yet easy enough for him to aim with moderate accuracy. He could still carry a sizable amount with his other arm regardless, and could put this in his "etherspace"; pouch, as he so called it. Speaking to someone among the women above, he was cold, nearly emotionless in his speech. Even with nobody around to know him any longer, he still kept a voice synthesizer on to disguise his voice well enough. "Why take this many out of the Haven Project? Aren't these your best?"

A man walked into view from a building among the women. He was slightly shorter than Phantom, but looked very similar in many ways. They had the same red eyes, the same hairstyle and color. He wore a near-black blue business suit with golden shoulder tassles, decorated with several badges as reminders of his position within the Omega leadership. In the back of his suit, two holes are visible, allowing his golden wings freedom. His left arm, like that of Phantom's, was in the form of a yellow-eyed, red, living dragon's head and neck. These things showed power, and Ronald Rivers, Chairman of the Phantom Corporation and time-twin to Phantom, was unafraid to flaunt it. "I want for them to know the rebels they face, and to find many angles on helmet feeds to show their sisters." Hayabusa knew another reason. He just wanted to show his power over them to the soldier. Wanted to make him feel the guilt and pain of how he had failed to protect so many. "I will take her to a cell. We will see how much she will te--"

"No thank you," Hayabusa said calmly. "I know your reputation. I'd rather if someone else took her." His tone became cold. "After all, the lieutenant commander would not be pleased if you had gone back to your old ways. No, she wouldn't be at all." Sure, he was bluffing. But it still caused annoyance, if the other man's frown meant anything. "I can send her over to her myself. She would give proper care." However that care was, it would likely be better than this monster. He received the intended effect, as the "Haven products" looked straight to Ronald.

A bladed boomerang spun around one of the women, a swirl of wind carrying it around her until she caught it with one hand, the miniature display of power ending. As she spoke, her voice seemed to have a strange overlay as if it way not her own, very strange. [color=blue]"Aunt Jessica would not appreciate such behavior, I don't think. Best if you do not do anything to hurt her."[/color] The words were easy to perceive as a threat, but her tone was calm, her mind at ease.

One had a bladed, black disc in her left hand, a very dark gray ball of some sort in her right, being tossed up repeatedly. She caught it as the aeromancer spoke, adding her own two cents in a more vexed and angry tone. [color=blue]"Yeah. You can't just go around like that. Not right to her."[/color]

Another had a spear in one hand, a small flame dancing from one hand to the other again and again, as if she was having fun with it, trying to keep occupied. As they spoke, she rubbed her helmet with her harpoon arm, confused. [color=blue]"Um...I don't get it. Could someone tell me what's going on?"[/color]

One with a katana at her waist, her arms crossed, spoke next, over his objections, ignoring the pyrokinetic. [color=blue]"Can't just let that slide, like Audrey says. Grace won't like it. Our Lamia or lupine sister should also know if you--"[/color]

"Silence!" The shout from Ron seemed to show his rage, his irritation. "If you all do not stop, you will be punished! All of you!"

At that threat, the women all complied, not saying another word. One had said not a word. She remained standing there, uncomfortable with the presence of so many others. Her hands gave off a cool mist as she occupied herself with making sure her oversized Gatherer extraction needle was firmly held in place on her right arm, with the ADAM container higher up her arm. Half-formed claws of ice were visible on her knuckles, primarily from the stress of Ron's command as she stood at attention.

Even with that obedience, the younger Rivers could feel the small smirk behind the older man's helmet, even as the man in Hayabusa UNSC armor turned away, picking up the rebel in a fireman's carry. He scowled, looking to the women among them. "Go back to your mother for your assignments," he spat, keeping as calm as he could at the moment. "I will see you all later with ones of my own." So that caged angel thought he could rile him? He would show how he could control these products of the Mireus' program. Whether it was assassination, psychological manipulation, or whatever else he had in store.

One by one, each of them disappeared in a flash of light, each accompanied by a strange sucking noise of some sort. "Audrey" was gone in silvery-navy, the others exactly as she left. The pyrokinetic spear-wielder was gone in orange. The chakram user disappeared in a dark gray flare. The ophidian in a greenish-brown flash. The one with the katana in a red tinged with hints of yellow.

Ronald looked to give the least-powerful Zivaku in their organization an order for him as well. He wasn't above abuse of his position in such a way, to step into the sphere of influence of Reaper and his wife. Especially not after the incident with Sora's girl. He opened his mouth, ready to speak...

...but the flash of gold was already dissipating, the angel himself gone along with that telekinetic.

Irritated with the behavior of the women and the ex-hero, the young man turned, walking off. A ripple appeared in the air before him as he walked toward it, a small flame hovering at the center of a spatial disturbance. Ronald Cain Rivers walked toward it, walked into it...and was gone, the ripple in space with him. The chairman had better things to do than worry about something as trivial as the words of a tamed lion.