Chapter 13 - We Didn't Start the Fire
By pierrot-le-fou
The sky was normally very plain and ordinary to Emiri. It was always blue to her, always too familiar to bother gazing at. But as she soared through the air, she couldn’t help but look up at the morning sky. The feel of the wind rushing past her body as she rocketed towards Comdot Estate was indescribable. Everything about being blasted by that priestess was fun… except for Jake, who was screaming the whole time. Regretfully the ride ended as she skidded across the concrete courtyard of Comdot Estate on her feet. Jake’s landing wasn’t as graceful, making a crater in the middle of the courtyard and bouncing into a flagpole.
“Tch, hopeless.” Emiri sneered as she grabbed Jake by the throat and dragged him into the tower.
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As Emiri marched up the stairs of the tower, she saw Samson still bound to the wall. Kira had been watching him the entire time, making sure he didn’t get away.
“Shall I execute this man?” Kira asked Emiri.
“Why do that? It would be a waste! Think of all the fun things we could do with him.” Emiri said cheerfully as she stopped in front of Samson. Samson was alarmed at the look she gave him when she said the word “fun”.
“What should I do with you first?” she pondered, strumming the shoulders of his black trench coat with her fingers.
“Hmm… lets see what you look like under this thing.” She said as she slid her hands gently underneath his coat and slipped it off of him.
“Oooh! Isn’t he a cute one, Kira!” She exclaimed as he rolled his eyes and walked back up to the room.
“What a spoil sport…” she said as she explored Samson’s shoulders and chest with her fingers. “As tasty as you look, you’re nothing compared to that priest.” She whispered into his ear.
Samson tensed up in anger as she mentioned Father Sadar, “If you killed him, I’ll!”
“You’ll what?” She interrupted him, thumbing his collar bone. “If I apply the slightest bit of pressure, this snaps. If I wanted to, I could easily rip that knife through your arm and into your neck. What can you do? You have a free arm, yet you’re still here, in my grasp.”
She licked her lips as she moved her hand down towards his stomach, “Cry for me.” She commanded. “Cry for me, and I won’t twist your gust in a knot.” She said as she slowly gripped his stomach, her fingernails digging into his flesh.
The pain was excruciating to Samson, but he just gritted his teeth in silence, until she began twisting her hand. Samson began gasping for air as his stomach felt like it was on fire. Her eyes had lit up like bright red rubies, enjoying every moment of his torture. He grabbed her arm, trying to force her away, but she was much too strong and eventually let go of his stomach. Samson almost collapsed from the pain, but he managed to stand, if he fell to the ground his arm would be further mangled by the knife binding him to the walls of the tower.
He was so weak and out of breath, he didn’t even expect what came next. Emiri knelt down and helped him up, let him lean on her, and she began kissing his neck passionately.
“You handled that well… but this is a give and take game and I still want you to cry for me…” She looked almost sad that she didn’t break him on the first try, “Just a teardrop, give me that much then.” She said softly, stroking his hair with her bloody fingers.
This change in character was so different; it was almost like he was seeing her for the first time. Samson wouldn’t give in to her games though. He gathered his strength and stood on his own, “Sorry…” he gasped, “But I’m kind of taking a grim satisfaction in not giving you what you want.”
Emiri bit her lip in displeasure. Not saying a word, Emiri followed Kira up to her room, leaving Samson alone. She turned back and looked at Samson blankly, “That priest is alive. He’s in some church, far away from any kind of harm.” She paused, “When I finish my lunch, if I ever see you again, I’ll kill you without question.” She said, closing the door to her room.
Samson was in shock, he had thought for certain that he was going to die. Now that he was alone, bleeding, and in pain; bound to a wall with a jagged knife that he couldn’t pull out, he had no idea what to do.
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Emiri always ate a freshly baked muffin right out of the oven that was coated with melting butter and a cup of hot tea for lunch. She never really cared for the tea, but she humored Kira as he loved it and thought she did as well. Today’s lunch was different from the others though, today Emiri was quiet, almost melancholy.
“What’s wrong?” Kira asked.
“Nothing…” she said tossing a piece of her muffin in her mouth. “As weak and as helpless as that last man was, his determination defeated my own. I got my rocks off just by torturing him… but it ended there for me. He was too resolute.”
“So… ?”
“So, what does that mean? Am I getting soft?”
“No.” Kira said sipping his tea, “It’s just a sign of maturity… if you ask me, it’s about **bleep** time. Your too old to be so hateful and vicious. You’re not a teenager anymore.”
Emiri let that soak in and sipped some of her tea… it tasted better than it usually did for some strange reason.
***
The sugarcane and dark molasses Captain Yemman put into his rum always seemed to hold a bit of extra flavor. But his way of fermenting the rum was always chaotic. He never knew if he was going to dilute it too much, or if he was going to get knocked on his **bleep** with a single shot. Tonight he had drank a whole bottle of rum, not even feeling the slightest bit of an alcoholic high.
“Gar, me hardies! Da Cap’n needs to find him some better rum!” He said wandering away from the other guys in the Gunsmoke Inc. bar.
His mind had been racing all day, as if trying to recover something that it had forgotten a long time ago. Even when his group found Samson earlier that day, it was like he couldn’t concentrate on anything. He figured a night of drinking would be just the thing he needed to burry these fever dreams. Suddenly he felt off balance as he was wandering around in the back of his fermenting cellar. He slammed his hands against the wall for balance.
As he touched the wall, the memories flooded back into his mind as if they’d happened just yesterday. He could recall all the feelings of being drowned, stretched, electrified, and beaten so vividly; as if it was all happening to him again. Crumpling to the ground, Captain Yemman screamed in pain… alarming the other syndicate members drinking in the bar.
Hearing the screams, Wyatt and Kirara ran to help Yemman, thinking he’d been attacked by someone. As they tore past his cellar doors, they found him sprawled on the ground, curling himself up in a ball. Kirara and Wyatt tried to help him up from the floor, with a growing crowd of concerned blacken syndicate members growing behind them.
As Yemman got to his feet, he stared at Wyatt, remembering back into his past. In his mind he heard Wyatt’s voice, it was an apology…
“Get the hell away from me, yah bloody wanker!” He yelled, decking Wyatt with a left hook.
The crowd ran to Wyatt’s aide, restraining Yemman as he kicked Wyatt two more times while he was on the ground.
“Let go of me yah bastards!” Yemman yelled, ripping free of his dark red pirate coat.
“Gar!” he pointed, “All of yah are to blame!” he said accusingly. “Especially you!” he said looking down at Wyatt. He saw a rage in Yemman’s eyes Wyatt had never seen before.
Yemman spit on the ground and stormed out of the bar. Wyatt was helped up by the confused crowd. But he brushed them off and followed Yemman. Most of the other members had forgotten what Yemman had been like before his mental breakdown, for just a second the man he was before flashed before his eyes when Yemman decked him. Wyatt was concerned, concerned for the man he had sold out before, in order to preserve a dying government that gave way to Ozzal’s tyranny.
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Wyatt didn’t want to alarm Yemman, who was wandering around the streets like he was looking for something. Following him from a safe distance, he assumed Yemman finally found what he was looking for as he opened a hatch leading to an underground tunnel. Wyatt didn’t know if he should follow Yemman down, but he remembered the last time Yemman did something like this. He couldn’t let Yemman try what he was going to do again… especially since the last time would have killed nearly a thousand people. Making his way to the back of a storage facility, he turned the corner in shock of what he saw.
It was a three year old Class “A” Police Unit Mobile Armor, fully equipped with extra hull armoring, a machine gun with optional grenade attachments and two missile launchers. It was a marvel of weaponry, something only high Echelon members were allowed to pilot. It was a vehicle made simply for war, which only begged the question of how Yemman got a hold of something like this. The machine stunned Wyatt so much that he didn’t even see Yemman’s right fist coming until it looped in front of his face.
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“You awake?” Yemman asked. “Yeah, you’re awake.”
Wyatt stood up holding his face, “How long was I out?”
“Just a little while, no more than a few minutes… So why’d yah come? Just wanted to see me off? Or did yah have another plan?” Yemman wondered aloud, almost to himself.
“I was concerned for you.”
“CONCERNED! Concerned! You’re the last person I need concerned for me, matie. The last time you were concerned for me, I wound up with electrodes strapped to me balls.”
“It wasn’t meant to be that way…” Wyatt said quietly.
“Oh and how did you mean it then!?” Yemman stared angrily at him, then suddenly jerked up, standing straight holding his head in pain. “This flood of memories… it’s hard to keep up with… It involved a bomb, didn’t it? I was going to blow up some building… something that would’ve inspired a nation to come together…” He said, seemingly forgetting about Wyatt as he was lost in thought.
“You would’ve killed thousands of innocent people!” Wyatt shouted at him.
“And that absolves you?” Yemman chuckled, trailing off in thought, pacing across the storage facility. Looking up at the Mobile Armor, Yemman remembered what it was he wanted to do. “Wyatt?” he asked.
“Yeah?”
“You may be right. Before I was going to do something that would, at the very least, have been questionable… But when I pull this off, the revolution WILL begin.” Yemman said walking towards the armor.
“What exactly are you going to do?” Wyatt asked.
“The patty men are just the tools of this government… I understand that much. But as tools they serve as a face to the problem. I’m going to attack that problem head on, by taking on the patty men with their own weapons!” Yemman said, climbing into the armor. “Oh and one more thing, Wyatt. I may have deserved to be stopped, but I don’t think I can ever forgive something as atrocious as the memories I have now. Especially knowing your hand… for that you must pay.”
BLAM!
Wyatt flew backwards, peppered with a blast from a sawed off shotgun.
“Farewell and Adieu to you fair Spanish ladies… Farewell and Adieu yah fair ladies of Spain…” Yemman sang as he tossed his firearm to the ground and began starting up the mechanism on the Mobile Armor.
Pulling off his red and black bandana, Yemman wrapped it in a square, “Sorry Cap’n, the pirate ain’t gonna be goin on this voyage.” He said, tossing the silk square on Wyatt’s body as he struggled for air, coughing up blood.
***
Bruce Herman had always enjoyed the slightly warm summer nights in Actonia. They seemed to be the perfect temperature to enjoy a cold one after a hard day at work in the sunny summer heat. He had lived in the area all his life and grown accustom to the intoxicating summer scents of bbq, pollen and the occasional hookah essences. As long as the humidity wasn’t making him crank a sweat, Bruce had nothing to complain about, ‘cause it was summer time and the livin’s easy.
Bruce had specially constructed his backyard deck for the summer living. Personally installing a large wrap around bar with a specialized grilling unit, a pool with a connecting jacuzzi, and also a lot of deck space for when he had visitors over. Bruce had also splurged on an outside speaker system to play some of his jams while he was outside. His girlfriend also liked it because it stayed quiet in the house, allowing her to read her books in peace.
It had taken a lot of hard work and effort, but he wanted to be confident and happy with what he had. Besides, if Bruce couldn’t drink and listen to something simultaneously while relaxing in the jacuzzi, he figured why even have a home.
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It was a late Friday afternoon in Bruce’s neighborhood in lower Actonia. The sun washed over his block with a gentle deep orange glow as it descended into the distance. It was relatively quiet and peaceful for the afternoon as there wasn’t much hustle and bustle on the street. The calm appearance was deceiving though, as lower Actonia had been hit two days earlier with what had been declared a “crime wave of civil disobedience” by the Chief of the National Police. To remedy the situation, Police Chief Nayru was ordered by the Governor to dispatch the full police force to make the streets of lower Actonia “safer”.
Despite the police presence, it was a beautiful evening, the perfect evening to pass around a hookah among friends while enjoying some grilled bratwursts on French rolls being prepared by Bruce’s good friend and miracle cook, Surool.
Passing the hookah back and forth in a healthy rotation, Trunks took a long drag on the hose. He had been an old friend of Bruce’s since High School and had regularly visited on late afternoons like this, even after becoming the DDR champion of the world. He had come on this night because of Heero and Riza’s funeral planning. It was all too morbid for him to deal with. These visits had been increasing since the destruction of his Pub and his DDR machine… each night without it he seemed to fade deeper and deeper into a drunken mess, especially now after the recent discovery of Ozzal’s ambition to take over Comedia as well. How he missed his DDR.
Trunks had brought Samson and Shatter along with him, as Samson was still in pain from his ordeal with Emiri, and Shatter just wanted something to do. Samson was almost ashamed at how reckless he had been. Not even bothering to pull the knife out that had pinned him to the wall, Samson wrenched his arm free, tarring away half of his right forearm. He had been so desperate to escape as quickly as possible that he had thrown away any kind of sense and leapt out of the hole in the tower wall.
Samson managed to grab the chain Father Sadar had wrapped around a flagpole, but it unraveled and only managed to break a bit of Samson’s fall. Samson’s back had been cracked on impact with the hard concrete. Luckily nothing had been broken and he managed to limp out of Comdot Estate before the Echelon forces knew what had happened. Kirara Amour had found him passed out and in horrible shape in forest grounds just outside of Comdot Estate; he was still clutching the folders of information hidden inside his trench coat.
Staring down at the cast on his arm and the wrapping around his ribs and back, Samson was happy to be back in the comfort amongst friends. He was glad Trunks had brought him, because Samson was about to attack Hikki with a cookie cutter after kissing him the way he did. It was Samson’s first time smoking a hookah, so he had to be lectured on the proper etiquette: two puffs and pass it or Herm farts in your face.
Next in the circle was one of Bruce’s teenage employees, Grant Orochi. Grant was dragging hard on the hookah as he hated cops, especially since Falchi mouthed off to that one Detective. Grant hated how the cop would give him an empty smile and tell him he’d need some more information about the street, from time to time. As if it wasn’t obvious enough. Everybody in the hood had had it with the cops. It was getting harder and harder each and every year without these **bleep** watching lower Actonia’s every move for that betch Ozzal. Grant was pissed, and he blew the smoke out of his nose like a bull with each hit because of his current mood.
The last person in rotation was a very calm and quiet guy named Jean Pierrot. He didn’t really say much other then when he was introduced by Bruce. He didn’t look like the quiet type though, as he was wearing baggy jeans and a black jacket with a lot of colorful golden embroidery. That Jacket didn’t even begin to cover the tattoos peaking out around his collar and sleeves. Jean mostly kept to himself though, blowing perfectly shaped O’s all night.
There was also a small party in the Jacuzzi as this really hairy guy named Shunsui was being drowned by his female partner. Apparently he tried to pass her a drink but spilled it on the book she was reading… Bruce was glad to have a healthy variety of friends like them.
***
“What!?!” Keith hollered into his cell phone, spewing up his coffee all over his station desk.
Over the small ivory colored piece of virgin mobile crap in his hand, he’d just received the most important news of his life.
“You gotta hurry man!” Wyatt’s voice crackled over his poor reception. “I’m freakin dying! You gotta get me a **bleep** ambulance!” Wyatt yelled at him.
“Who the hell is Captain Yemen anyway?”
“Dude, dumb question! I’m freakin dying! Worry about him after you’ve helped me!” Wyatt screamed into the phone.
Keith hung up on Wyatt and looked over at Allen Black. Al had a blank but concerned expression, wondering what the hell had made Keith look as if his family had just been killed.
“Call 911 and tell them to send an ambulance to the triangulation of this cell phone number.” Keith said gravely as he handed Al the number. “We’re going to need the riot squads in lower Actonia ASAP as well…”
Al dialed 911 while Keith ran into Captain Q’s office.
“Captain!” Keith barged in breaking the calm soothing peace of the jazz filled room, catching her attention. “We’ve got a situation!”
Police Captain Q looked at him lackadaisically… “What now, Douglas?” she asked.
“Captain, we’re going to have a bunch of dead cops on our hands and a pissed off city that has been politically and socially repressed for the last 3 days descending upon us with the full intent to contribute to the madness if you don’t send all of our police force to lower Aconia, right now!” Keith said as seriously as possible.
Q straightened up in her seat and blinked. “Sounds urgent.” She mused.
“It is, ma’am.” Keith nodded.
“Very well then.”
***
Captain Yemman felt at ease, finally out and about after all this time locked up in his own mind. He knew what he was doing was right. That with his actions the revolution would happen. That he could avenge all those months of torture, that they would finally mean something if he could pull this off. If he could destroy a single police patrol, it would be a victory.
“Wait a minute, nammeY…” A voice called out from inside Yemman’s mind. “You mean to tell me you don’t remember? I went through this with you last time you idiot!”
“Whose there!” Yemman swiveled his head in the cockpit, looking for some kind of speaker.
“I’m HERE!!!!” the inner voice was deafening to Yemman as he began moving the gigantic Mobile Armor in a slant.
“What the hell are you?”
“I’m you… and then again, I’m not you. I could never be as blind and weak as you. nammeY, you pitiful little bed **bleep**. Squealing and squirming… if it wasn’t for me, you’d never had made it this far!”
“I don’t believe this… I’m not crazy! Lalalalaa! There is nobody talking to me! Lalalala!”
“Oh you keep telling yourself that, nammeY. But you best start believing in me. Or you’re going to make the same mistake in planning as you did last time.”
“… What mistake?” Yemman had a serious look on his face.
“Oh you don’t remember, do you? Allow me to refresh your memory… THAT BUILDING WAS MY PICK! Not yours! You wanted to blow up some dumb statue, but what point would that have made! The only way to start a revolution is by taking lives! And the only way to improve ones own stead is to fight and kill for ones place and cement your ties through blood!”
“What the hell are you talking about? This is craziness!” Yemman said… still creeped out to why he was talking to himself.
“No, nammeY…my knowledge is simple enough. Attacking the police is what you want the people to do. I didn’t get this Mobile Armor to attack the police. I got it to attack the people…”
“WTF?”
“Yes… you’re absolutely clueless like I thought you’d be, nammeY… Let me ask you something. What is the best way to pick a fight?”
“I don’t know…”
“I’ve found that the best way to provoke someone is under the guise of a mask. In this instance, this National Police Mobile Armor is the mask, and it has the ability to pick a hell of a fight.” The inner voice chuckled evilly.
“You want me, to attack the people?”
“Of course! What other option is there? Think about it… If you attack the police, some of these people may become sympathetic to them. But if you attack the people with this, it only confirms what they already believe to be true about those **bleep** patty men.nammeY, you must decide now. Do you want to succeed? Or do you want to fail again!”
“I want to succeed!” He shouted into the screen of the cockpit.
“Good.”
***
“So dawg… we’re here. What’s the move now?” Allen Black asked Keith as they pulled up on a block in lower Actonia.
“We’ve pulled all the lower Actonia police into fortified positions surveillancing the periodic police checkpoints?”
“Check.” Al said.
“How about the riot units? Are they in place?” Keith asked.
“Check” Al said again.
“What about Wyatt?” Keith asked.
“He was DOA.” Al said scrolling through his laptop. “Apparently he was almost sawed in half by a shotgun blast.” Al noted.
“Wasn’t a shotgun used by one of the attackers on those two Echelon members the other day?” Keith asked.
“Yes. That’s why I mentioned it.”
Keith sighed, “How we lookin’ out there gentlemen?” Keith asked over the radio.
The radio crackled as the units at the checkpoint responded, “We’re doing fine out here detective… but we do have some concerns about our safety being sitting ducks and all.”
“Everything is perfectly fine. The moment that **bleep** makes a move at you guys, we’re going to plug the son of a **bleep**.” Keith said angrily.
***
Bruce was starting to get worried about his girlfriend. It was already 10 at night and he had been hearing multiple sirens for the last 5 minutes. “I hope nothing happened to her.” Bruce said aloud.
“Happened to who?” Jean asked… it was one of the few things he’d said all night.
“Sarah… she was supposed to get off work at the art store at 9 o’clock.” Bruce paced.
“I’m sure she’s fine, bro. She’s probably just stuck at one of those police checkpoints.” Trunks said as he scratched at the stubble on his face, grooving to the ambience music over Herm’s awesome new outside speaker system.
“Yeah, it took me two hours to get here cause of those jerks.” Surool added.
“Lemme try her cell…” Bruce said dialing her number. “… Dammit, no connection.”
“What about the art shop? I’m sure Istari’s still there.” Surool suggested.
“Nah, Istari’s phones are screwed up…” Bruce said, frustrated with his cell’s poor reception.
As Samson reached into his pocket to give Bruce his cell… several explosions went off a couple blocks away, rocking the foundation of Bruce’s home.
The explosions were powerful, shaking the ground with incredible force and creating gigantic pillars of fire and smoke. Suddenly they heard gunfire in response, then another tremendous explosion, followed by more prevalent machine-gunfire.
Everyone on the deck was standing, watching the flames illuminate the night sky as they danced in the distance… they were still listening to the explosions. Suddenly, they heard screams…
“**bleep**…” Bruce whispered as he ran to his front yard, closely followed by everyone except Jean.
Jean was still transfixed on the flames, watching them spiraling in the air. “They’re up to no good again.” He muttered as he grabbed a box of wheat thins and followed after the rest of the guys.
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Outside in the front yard, Bruce met up with his neighbors who were all actively wandering out of there homes to see the explosions.
“What the hell is going on?” Bruce asked as another explosion rocked the ground.
They just shrugged as the neighborhood watched in amazement at the flames.
“Bruce!”
Herm whipped around and saw Jean standing on the lawn in the front yard munching on chips, “You got any guns?” He asked.
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Wandering the streets on foot, Bruce led his friends up to the next block armed with anything Bruce had in his house. He had asked Shunsui and his lady friend to stay behind and watch the house while he was gone.
Charging up the block like a gang of thugs, Orochi stopped in front of a liquor store. “Hey yo! Hold up!”
The group stopped charging ahead and wandered back, “What?”
Orochi picked up a brick and flipped it in his hands, “I’m finally gonna get all that alcohol I can’t afford.” He said, throwing the brick through the store window.
“WTF are you doing!” Bruce yelled at him. “You’re not even old enough to legally drink!”
Shatter jumped into the store through the broken window following Orochi. “This is a good idea, Bruce. The owner might have some guns or something in here.” He said, rummaging behind the clerks desk. “Bingo.” He said, pulling out a 9mm. “Wait a tick… oh!!!” He shouted, pulling out a scythe from behind the counter.
“Gimme that!” Jean said, pulling the weapon out of Shatter’s had. “How cool is this **bleep**! A kusarigama!” Jean laughed, licking his lips as he twirled the scythe in his hand. He noted that the chain of this kusarigama was located in the shaft. Testing the sickle, he launched the wicked blade at a telephone pole, slicing cleanly through the hard concrete. The chain then began to retract, ostensibly through some sort of helix mechanism inside the shaft.
“You’re way to freakin’ good at usin’ that thing…” Shatter said watching him carefully.
Grant came out the front door pushing a cart loaded with Kahlua, Bacardi, and numerous brands of Tequila; he also had some vodka bottles wrapped up with cloth.
“What’s that cloth for?” Shatter asked.
“Fire bombs.” Orochi replied.
Bruce shook his head as they starting pressing up the block again.
Turning the corner, they could see the fires much easier, but it was a little difficult to make out if there was something in the flames.
People had flooded the streets. A few of them had the same idea Grant had, but most were banding together with weapons to go towards the source of all the explosions.
“Hey!” Bruce yelled at the nearest cluster of people walking up the street. “You know what’s happening?!” He yelled over the roar of another explosion.
“We were hoping you guys would know!” they yelled as they continued pressing forward.
Bruce led the growing party of people up the next block, getting closer and closer to the explosions. They didn’t hear screaming anymore, but the explosions and gunfire hadn’t stopped. Up ahead though, they heard police sirens and saw the flaring blue and red lights of the police.
Coming out onto the main boulevard, the massive group of hundreds of people screeched to a halt out of shock.
***
Fiery embers hung in the smoke filled air around Keith Douglas as he watched the raging fires from a short distance. He was in crisis mode.
Ten minutes ago as he ate a ham sandwich and waited for their mystery guest, he was treated to the rude awakening that one of the Police Mobile Armor Units had decided to attack a movie theatre full of people.
“Wyatt was wrong.” He grimaced, as he handed over strike forces to Detective Kusanagi and the rest of Section 9 who had come to clean up his uncalculated mistake.
“It’s ok.” Motoko said, “There are rarely many occasions when you can completely stop somebody like this… especially when you think they’re going to do something completely different.”
As Motoko gave Saito the order to shoot the Mobile Armor, Keith heard the sound of marching. It was a curious sound, but he paid it no mind as he watched Saito’s excellent marksmanship on a monitor. The slug blasted straight through the Mobile Armor’s weakened hull and made a direct hit with the pilot. In turn the Mobile Armor gave a metallic screech as it began falling over.
Keith could hear the footsteps more clearly… or was it that he felt them in the ground. Turning around he was astonished by the sheer amount of people that were walking towards their position. “Hey Al, get some uniforms and go tape this area off. Those people can’t come up here.” Suddenly, Keith noticed the weapons… pipes, knives, baseball bats, guns…
“Hold up on that Al.” Keith grabbed his partners shoulder. “Get a bunch of squad cars together instead. Simply taping the area off won’t do.”
***
“What the hell is going on?” Bruce wondered, watching as a Police Mobile Armor collapsed on its side in a hideous wreck. What the hell was that huge thing? Was it the cause of all this destruction? Why is a police task force here? So many questions began racing through Bruce Herman’s mind, but they all didn’t matter to him.
Bruce began running, running straight towards the art shop not a few blocks away. He had to go see Istari, possibly Sarah was just working late and was still at the shop with her. Bruce had to find her and make sure she was alright.
“Finally.” Jean said as Bruce ran off.
“Shouldn’t we go after him?” Surool asked.
“You can go if you want. Bruce is a big guy and he can take care of himself… all I need from you guys is one of those fire bombs.” Jean said menacingly as he grabbed one of the vodka bottles and pulled out a lighter.
“What are you doing?” Samson asked, a little alarmed.
“I’m gonna have some fun.” Jean smiled as he lit up the cloth and lobbed the firebomb directly into a huddled group of policemen.
Samson shouted in horror as the bottle landed right at there feet, enveloping the policemen in flames. “He is just like that woman!” Samson thought, “He thinks this is all a game. He’s just as insane and as crazy as that **bleep** woman was.” Samson slinked off after Bruce with Surool and Trunks, he didn’t need to be around this vicious blood thirsty crowd who cheered as those helpless policemen were burned to death. Samson didn’t look back at them, he was fully disgusted that he had ever met anyone who could have such little disregard for other people.
“Look at these **bleep** streets, these **bleep**ed up conditions and these **bleep**ed up police! Tonight is the night we rise up, Stay the **bleep** on top, and scream 1-8-7 on a mother**bleep**in’ cop!!!” Orochi yelled, getting the angry mob of people riled up.
Jean broke away from mob, leading them into a crazed charge directly at the police. Swinging his kusarigama, the police’ riot squads were decimated in a matter of seconds by the violent rioters and Jean Pierrot.
***
In the cockpit of the downed Mobile Armor, Captain Yemman lay dying. He had been caught in the gut with a powerful round that had put a huge hole in his abdomen and kept going straight through his seat.
In the distance he heard a whisper of violence and rage. He struggled closer to the window of his cockpit, but could barely hear anything at all anymore… death was plugging his ears up with silence. Yemman tried to open his eyes and see what was going on, but his vision was failing. He tried to breathe, hoping to get some air in his lungs, hoping to live just a little longer to see what he had done.
“It was never meant to be, nammeY.” His inner voice said, quietly, almost comforting. “It’s time to rest.”
***
Bruce Herman struggled through the flood of angry people as they tossed over cars and began trashing the streets and buildings.
The rioting had spread quickly through the city, and as Bruce looked back, seemed to be spilling over onto the police as they tried to gather themselves against the oncoming onslaught.
“Hold up!” Trunks yelled at Bruce.
“You’re all that came?” Bruce said, “What happened to Jean and Grant?” he asked.
“They’re back there fighting with the cops.” Surool said.
“**bleep** **bleep**!” Bruce yelled… “That has to wait, we’re really close to Istari’s art shop. C’mon guys… with any luck, Jean’ll get bored and wander off.”
-------------
Istari had asked Sarah to stay at the store for some overtime, but she had never thought in her wildest dreams that they’d spend the rest of the night trying to protect the store from crazed rioters with bricks.
“How absolutely useless.” Istari said, shaking her head as she watched the angry people rampage through the streets. “What the hell is the point in trashing your own- what the? … Bruce!” She yelped, surprising Sarah.
Istari ran to the door and opened it up so Bruce and the others could come inside and away from the rioters.
“What the hell are you guys doing here?” Sarah yelled at Bruce.
“I didn’t know what happened to you, babe!” He said hugging Sarah. “The phones wouldn’t work over here, so I had Shunsui watch the place while I went out to look for you.”
“Well that was nice of you… But what now?” Istari said looking outside at the flood of violence and anger that had consumed the streets.
“I say we sleep over.” Trunks said drinking a bottle of Kahlua.
“Where did you get that?” Surool asked.
“Off of Grant before we split… I hope Shatter’s alright.” Trunks thought as he took another swig.
“The riot is just getting started…” Samson said, “We’ll most definitely be here all night.”
“At least you’re all right.” Bruce said to Sarah.
“I was, before you stepped on my toes you big oaf!” She said as she hit him in the chest and giggled.
Bruce sighed a bit in relief as he had found Sarah, hugging her tightly. Looking back out at the smoke filled air and listening to the dull roar of the mob, Bruce was glad he had come looking for her. But as he looked back out into the violence, Bruce couldn’t help but wonder about his other friends who hadn’t come the whole way with him.
The sky was normally very plain and ordinary to Emiri. It was always blue to her, always too familiar to bother gazing at. But as she soared through the air, she couldn’t help but look up at the morning sky. The feel of the wind rushing past her body as she rocketed towards Comdot Estate was indescribable. Everything about being blasted by that priestess was fun… except for Jake, who was screaming the whole time. Regretfully the ride ended as she skidded across the concrete courtyard of Comdot Estate on her feet. Jake’s landing wasn’t as graceful, making a crater in the middle of the courtyard and bouncing into a flagpole.
“Tch, hopeless.” Emiri sneered as she grabbed Jake by the throat and dragged him into the tower.
------------
As Emiri marched up the stairs of the tower, she saw Samson still bound to the wall. Kira had been watching him the entire time, making sure he didn’t get away.
“Shall I execute this man?” Kira asked Emiri.
“Why do that? It would be a waste! Think of all the fun things we could do with him.” Emiri said cheerfully as she stopped in front of Samson. Samson was alarmed at the look she gave him when she said the word “fun”.
“What should I do with you first?” she pondered, strumming the shoulders of his black trench coat with her fingers.
“Hmm… lets see what you look like under this thing.” She said as she slid her hands gently underneath his coat and slipped it off of him.
“Oooh! Isn’t he a cute one, Kira!” She exclaimed as he rolled his eyes and walked back up to the room.
“What a spoil sport…” she said as she explored Samson’s shoulders and chest with her fingers. “As tasty as you look, you’re nothing compared to that priest.” She whispered into his ear.
Samson tensed up in anger as she mentioned Father Sadar, “If you killed him, I’ll!”
“You’ll what?” She interrupted him, thumbing his collar bone. “If I apply the slightest bit of pressure, this snaps. If I wanted to, I could easily rip that knife through your arm and into your neck. What can you do? You have a free arm, yet you’re still here, in my grasp.”
She licked her lips as she moved her hand down towards his stomach, “Cry for me.” She commanded. “Cry for me, and I won’t twist your gust in a knot.” She said as she slowly gripped his stomach, her fingernails digging into his flesh.
The pain was excruciating to Samson, but he just gritted his teeth in silence, until she began twisting her hand. Samson began gasping for air as his stomach felt like it was on fire. Her eyes had lit up like bright red rubies, enjoying every moment of his torture. He grabbed her arm, trying to force her away, but she was much too strong and eventually let go of his stomach. Samson almost collapsed from the pain, but he managed to stand, if he fell to the ground his arm would be further mangled by the knife binding him to the walls of the tower.
He was so weak and out of breath, he didn’t even expect what came next. Emiri knelt down and helped him up, let him lean on her, and she began kissing his neck passionately.
“You handled that well… but this is a give and take game and I still want you to cry for me…” She looked almost sad that she didn’t break him on the first try, “Just a teardrop, give me that much then.” She said softly, stroking his hair with her bloody fingers.
This change in character was so different; it was almost like he was seeing her for the first time. Samson wouldn’t give in to her games though. He gathered his strength and stood on his own, “Sorry…” he gasped, “But I’m kind of taking a grim satisfaction in not giving you what you want.”
Emiri bit her lip in displeasure. Not saying a word, Emiri followed Kira up to her room, leaving Samson alone. She turned back and looked at Samson blankly, “That priest is alive. He’s in some church, far away from any kind of harm.” She paused, “When I finish my lunch, if I ever see you again, I’ll kill you without question.” She said, closing the door to her room.
Samson was in shock, he had thought for certain that he was going to die. Now that he was alone, bleeding, and in pain; bound to a wall with a jagged knife that he couldn’t pull out, he had no idea what to do.
-----------
Emiri always ate a freshly baked muffin right out of the oven that was coated with melting butter and a cup of hot tea for lunch. She never really cared for the tea, but she humored Kira as he loved it and thought she did as well. Today’s lunch was different from the others though, today Emiri was quiet, almost melancholy.
“What’s wrong?” Kira asked.
“Nothing…” she said tossing a piece of her muffin in her mouth. “As weak and as helpless as that last man was, his determination defeated my own. I got my rocks off just by torturing him… but it ended there for me. He was too resolute.”
“So… ?”
“So, what does that mean? Am I getting soft?”
“No.” Kira said sipping his tea, “It’s just a sign of maturity… if you ask me, it’s about **bleep** time. Your too old to be so hateful and vicious. You’re not a teenager anymore.”
Emiri let that soak in and sipped some of her tea… it tasted better than it usually did for some strange reason.
***
The sugarcane and dark molasses Captain Yemman put into his rum always seemed to hold a bit of extra flavor. But his way of fermenting the rum was always chaotic. He never knew if he was going to dilute it too much, or if he was going to get knocked on his **bleep** with a single shot. Tonight he had drank a whole bottle of rum, not even feeling the slightest bit of an alcoholic high.
“Gar, me hardies! Da Cap’n needs to find him some better rum!” He said wandering away from the other guys in the Gunsmoke Inc. bar.
His mind had been racing all day, as if trying to recover something that it had forgotten a long time ago. Even when his group found Samson earlier that day, it was like he couldn’t concentrate on anything. He figured a night of drinking would be just the thing he needed to burry these fever dreams. Suddenly he felt off balance as he was wandering around in the back of his fermenting cellar. He slammed his hands against the wall for balance.
As he touched the wall, the memories flooded back into his mind as if they’d happened just yesterday. He could recall all the feelings of being drowned, stretched, electrified, and beaten so vividly; as if it was all happening to him again. Crumpling to the ground, Captain Yemman screamed in pain… alarming the other syndicate members drinking in the bar.
Hearing the screams, Wyatt and Kirara ran to help Yemman, thinking he’d been attacked by someone. As they tore past his cellar doors, they found him sprawled on the ground, curling himself up in a ball. Kirara and Wyatt tried to help him up from the floor, with a growing crowd of concerned blacken syndicate members growing behind them.
As Yemman got to his feet, he stared at Wyatt, remembering back into his past. In his mind he heard Wyatt’s voice, it was an apology…
“Get the hell away from me, yah bloody wanker!” He yelled, decking Wyatt with a left hook.
The crowd ran to Wyatt’s aide, restraining Yemman as he kicked Wyatt two more times while he was on the ground.
“Let go of me yah bastards!” Yemman yelled, ripping free of his dark red pirate coat.
“Gar!” he pointed, “All of yah are to blame!” he said accusingly. “Especially you!” he said looking down at Wyatt. He saw a rage in Yemman’s eyes Wyatt had never seen before.
Yemman spit on the ground and stormed out of the bar. Wyatt was helped up by the confused crowd. But he brushed them off and followed Yemman. Most of the other members had forgotten what Yemman had been like before his mental breakdown, for just a second the man he was before flashed before his eyes when Yemman decked him. Wyatt was concerned, concerned for the man he had sold out before, in order to preserve a dying government that gave way to Ozzal’s tyranny.
------------
Wyatt didn’t want to alarm Yemman, who was wandering around the streets like he was looking for something. Following him from a safe distance, he assumed Yemman finally found what he was looking for as he opened a hatch leading to an underground tunnel. Wyatt didn’t know if he should follow Yemman down, but he remembered the last time Yemman did something like this. He couldn’t let Yemman try what he was going to do again… especially since the last time would have killed nearly a thousand people. Making his way to the back of a storage facility, he turned the corner in shock of what he saw.
It was a three year old Class “A” Police Unit Mobile Armor, fully equipped with extra hull armoring, a machine gun with optional grenade attachments and two missile launchers. It was a marvel of weaponry, something only high Echelon members were allowed to pilot. It was a vehicle made simply for war, which only begged the question of how Yemman got a hold of something like this. The machine stunned Wyatt so much that he didn’t even see Yemman’s right fist coming until it looped in front of his face.
------------
“You awake?” Yemman asked. “Yeah, you’re awake.”
Wyatt stood up holding his face, “How long was I out?”
“Just a little while, no more than a few minutes… So why’d yah come? Just wanted to see me off? Or did yah have another plan?” Yemman wondered aloud, almost to himself.
“I was concerned for you.”
“CONCERNED! Concerned! You’re the last person I need concerned for me, matie. The last time you were concerned for me, I wound up with electrodes strapped to me balls.”
“It wasn’t meant to be that way…” Wyatt said quietly.
“Oh and how did you mean it then!?” Yemman stared angrily at him, then suddenly jerked up, standing straight holding his head in pain. “This flood of memories… it’s hard to keep up with… It involved a bomb, didn’t it? I was going to blow up some building… something that would’ve inspired a nation to come together…” He said, seemingly forgetting about Wyatt as he was lost in thought.
“You would’ve killed thousands of innocent people!” Wyatt shouted at him.
“And that absolves you?” Yemman chuckled, trailing off in thought, pacing across the storage facility. Looking up at the Mobile Armor, Yemman remembered what it was he wanted to do. “Wyatt?” he asked.
“Yeah?”
“You may be right. Before I was going to do something that would, at the very least, have been questionable… But when I pull this off, the revolution WILL begin.” Yemman said walking towards the armor.
“What exactly are you going to do?” Wyatt asked.
“The patty men are just the tools of this government… I understand that much. But as tools they serve as a face to the problem. I’m going to attack that problem head on, by taking on the patty men with their own weapons!” Yemman said, climbing into the armor. “Oh and one more thing, Wyatt. I may have deserved to be stopped, but I don’t think I can ever forgive something as atrocious as the memories I have now. Especially knowing your hand… for that you must pay.”
BLAM!
Wyatt flew backwards, peppered with a blast from a sawed off shotgun.
“Farewell and Adieu to you fair Spanish ladies… Farewell and Adieu yah fair ladies of Spain…” Yemman sang as he tossed his firearm to the ground and began starting up the mechanism on the Mobile Armor.
Pulling off his red and black bandana, Yemman wrapped it in a square, “Sorry Cap’n, the pirate ain’t gonna be goin on this voyage.” He said, tossing the silk square on Wyatt’s body as he struggled for air, coughing up blood.
***
Bruce Herman had always enjoyed the slightly warm summer nights in Actonia. They seemed to be the perfect temperature to enjoy a cold one after a hard day at work in the sunny summer heat. He had lived in the area all his life and grown accustom to the intoxicating summer scents of bbq, pollen and the occasional hookah essences. As long as the humidity wasn’t making him crank a sweat, Bruce had nothing to complain about, ‘cause it was summer time and the livin’s easy.
Bruce had specially constructed his backyard deck for the summer living. Personally installing a large wrap around bar with a specialized grilling unit, a pool with a connecting jacuzzi, and also a lot of deck space for when he had visitors over. Bruce had also splurged on an outside speaker system to play some of his jams while he was outside. His girlfriend also liked it because it stayed quiet in the house, allowing her to read her books in peace.
It had taken a lot of hard work and effort, but he wanted to be confident and happy with what he had. Besides, if Bruce couldn’t drink and listen to something simultaneously while relaxing in the jacuzzi, he figured why even have a home.
-------------
It was a late Friday afternoon in Bruce’s neighborhood in lower Actonia. The sun washed over his block with a gentle deep orange glow as it descended into the distance. It was relatively quiet and peaceful for the afternoon as there wasn’t much hustle and bustle on the street. The calm appearance was deceiving though, as lower Actonia had been hit two days earlier with what had been declared a “crime wave of civil disobedience” by the Chief of the National Police. To remedy the situation, Police Chief Nayru was ordered by the Governor to dispatch the full police force to make the streets of lower Actonia “safer”.
Despite the police presence, it was a beautiful evening, the perfect evening to pass around a hookah among friends while enjoying some grilled bratwursts on French rolls being prepared by Bruce’s good friend and miracle cook, Surool.
Passing the hookah back and forth in a healthy rotation, Trunks took a long drag on the hose. He had been an old friend of Bruce’s since High School and had regularly visited on late afternoons like this, even after becoming the DDR champion of the world. He had come on this night because of Heero and Riza’s funeral planning. It was all too morbid for him to deal with. These visits had been increasing since the destruction of his Pub and his DDR machine… each night without it he seemed to fade deeper and deeper into a drunken mess, especially now after the recent discovery of Ozzal’s ambition to take over Comedia as well. How he missed his DDR.
Trunks had brought Samson and Shatter along with him, as Samson was still in pain from his ordeal with Emiri, and Shatter just wanted something to do. Samson was almost ashamed at how reckless he had been. Not even bothering to pull the knife out that had pinned him to the wall, Samson wrenched his arm free, tarring away half of his right forearm. He had been so desperate to escape as quickly as possible that he had thrown away any kind of sense and leapt out of the hole in the tower wall.
Samson managed to grab the chain Father Sadar had wrapped around a flagpole, but it unraveled and only managed to break a bit of Samson’s fall. Samson’s back had been cracked on impact with the hard concrete. Luckily nothing had been broken and he managed to limp out of Comdot Estate before the Echelon forces knew what had happened. Kirara Amour had found him passed out and in horrible shape in forest grounds just outside of Comdot Estate; he was still clutching the folders of information hidden inside his trench coat.
Staring down at the cast on his arm and the wrapping around his ribs and back, Samson was happy to be back in the comfort amongst friends. He was glad Trunks had brought him, because Samson was about to attack Hikki with a cookie cutter after kissing him the way he did. It was Samson’s first time smoking a hookah, so he had to be lectured on the proper etiquette: two puffs and pass it or Herm farts in your face.
Next in the circle was one of Bruce’s teenage employees, Grant Orochi. Grant was dragging hard on the hookah as he hated cops, especially since Falchi mouthed off to that one Detective. Grant hated how the cop would give him an empty smile and tell him he’d need some more information about the street, from time to time. As if it wasn’t obvious enough. Everybody in the hood had had it with the cops. It was getting harder and harder each and every year without these **bleep** watching lower Actonia’s every move for that betch Ozzal. Grant was pissed, and he blew the smoke out of his nose like a bull with each hit because of his current mood.
The last person in rotation was a very calm and quiet guy named Jean Pierrot. He didn’t really say much other then when he was introduced by Bruce. He didn’t look like the quiet type though, as he was wearing baggy jeans and a black jacket with a lot of colorful golden embroidery. That Jacket didn’t even begin to cover the tattoos peaking out around his collar and sleeves. Jean mostly kept to himself though, blowing perfectly shaped O’s all night.
There was also a small party in the Jacuzzi as this really hairy guy named Shunsui was being drowned by his female partner. Apparently he tried to pass her a drink but spilled it on the book she was reading… Bruce was glad to have a healthy variety of friends like them.
***
“What!?!” Keith hollered into his cell phone, spewing up his coffee all over his station desk.
Over the small ivory colored piece of virgin mobile crap in his hand, he’d just received the most important news of his life.
“You gotta hurry man!” Wyatt’s voice crackled over his poor reception. “I’m freakin dying! You gotta get me a **bleep** ambulance!” Wyatt yelled at him.
“Who the hell is Captain Yemen anyway?”
“Dude, dumb question! I’m freakin dying! Worry about him after you’ve helped me!” Wyatt screamed into the phone.
Keith hung up on Wyatt and looked over at Allen Black. Al had a blank but concerned expression, wondering what the hell had made Keith look as if his family had just been killed.
“Call 911 and tell them to send an ambulance to the triangulation of this cell phone number.” Keith said gravely as he handed Al the number. “We’re going to need the riot squads in lower Actonia ASAP as well…”
Al dialed 911 while Keith ran into Captain Q’s office.
“Captain!” Keith barged in breaking the calm soothing peace of the jazz filled room, catching her attention. “We’ve got a situation!”
Police Captain Q looked at him lackadaisically… “What now, Douglas?” she asked.
“Captain, we’re going to have a bunch of dead cops on our hands and a pissed off city that has been politically and socially repressed for the last 3 days descending upon us with the full intent to contribute to the madness if you don’t send all of our police force to lower Aconia, right now!” Keith said as seriously as possible.
Q straightened up in her seat and blinked. “Sounds urgent.” She mused.
“It is, ma’am.” Keith nodded.
“Very well then.”
***
Captain Yemman felt at ease, finally out and about after all this time locked up in his own mind. He knew what he was doing was right. That with his actions the revolution would happen. That he could avenge all those months of torture, that they would finally mean something if he could pull this off. If he could destroy a single police patrol, it would be a victory.
“Wait a minute, nammeY…” A voice called out from inside Yemman’s mind. “You mean to tell me you don’t remember? I went through this with you last time you idiot!”
“Whose there!” Yemman swiveled his head in the cockpit, looking for some kind of speaker.
“I’m HERE!!!!” the inner voice was deafening to Yemman as he began moving the gigantic Mobile Armor in a slant.
“What the hell are you?”
“I’m you… and then again, I’m not you. I could never be as blind and weak as you. nammeY, you pitiful little bed **bleep**. Squealing and squirming… if it wasn’t for me, you’d never had made it this far!”
“I don’t believe this… I’m not crazy! Lalalalaa! There is nobody talking to me! Lalalala!”
“Oh you keep telling yourself that, nammeY. But you best start believing in me. Or you’re going to make the same mistake in planning as you did last time.”
“… What mistake?” Yemman had a serious look on his face.
“Oh you don’t remember, do you? Allow me to refresh your memory… THAT BUILDING WAS MY PICK! Not yours! You wanted to blow up some dumb statue, but what point would that have made! The only way to start a revolution is by taking lives! And the only way to improve ones own stead is to fight and kill for ones place and cement your ties through blood!”
“What the hell are you talking about? This is craziness!” Yemman said… still creeped out to why he was talking to himself.
“No, nammeY…my knowledge is simple enough. Attacking the police is what you want the people to do. I didn’t get this Mobile Armor to attack the police. I got it to attack the people…”
“WTF?”
“Yes… you’re absolutely clueless like I thought you’d be, nammeY… Let me ask you something. What is the best way to pick a fight?”
“I don’t know…”
“I’ve found that the best way to provoke someone is under the guise of a mask. In this instance, this National Police Mobile Armor is the mask, and it has the ability to pick a hell of a fight.” The inner voice chuckled evilly.
“You want me, to attack the people?”
“Of course! What other option is there? Think about it… If you attack the police, some of these people may become sympathetic to them. But if you attack the people with this, it only confirms what they already believe to be true about those **bleep** patty men.nammeY, you must decide now. Do you want to succeed? Or do you want to fail again!”
“I want to succeed!” He shouted into the screen of the cockpit.
“Good.”
***
“So dawg… we’re here. What’s the move now?” Allen Black asked Keith as they pulled up on a block in lower Actonia.
“We’ve pulled all the lower Actonia police into fortified positions surveillancing the periodic police checkpoints?”
“Check.” Al said.
“How about the riot units? Are they in place?” Keith asked.
“Check” Al said again.
“What about Wyatt?” Keith asked.
“He was DOA.” Al said scrolling through his laptop. “Apparently he was almost sawed in half by a shotgun blast.” Al noted.
“Wasn’t a shotgun used by one of the attackers on those two Echelon members the other day?” Keith asked.
“Yes. That’s why I mentioned it.”
Keith sighed, “How we lookin’ out there gentlemen?” Keith asked over the radio.
The radio crackled as the units at the checkpoint responded, “We’re doing fine out here detective… but we do have some concerns about our safety being sitting ducks and all.”
“Everything is perfectly fine. The moment that **bleep** makes a move at you guys, we’re going to plug the son of a **bleep**.” Keith said angrily.
***
Bruce was starting to get worried about his girlfriend. It was already 10 at night and he had been hearing multiple sirens for the last 5 minutes. “I hope nothing happened to her.” Bruce said aloud.
“Happened to who?” Jean asked… it was one of the few things he’d said all night.
“Sarah… she was supposed to get off work at the art store at 9 o’clock.” Bruce paced.
“I’m sure she’s fine, bro. She’s probably just stuck at one of those police checkpoints.” Trunks said as he scratched at the stubble on his face, grooving to the ambience music over Herm’s awesome new outside speaker system.
“Yeah, it took me two hours to get here cause of those jerks.” Surool added.
“Lemme try her cell…” Bruce said dialing her number. “… Dammit, no connection.”
“What about the art shop? I’m sure Istari’s still there.” Surool suggested.
“Nah, Istari’s phones are screwed up…” Bruce said, frustrated with his cell’s poor reception.
As Samson reached into his pocket to give Bruce his cell… several explosions went off a couple blocks away, rocking the foundation of Bruce’s home.
The explosions were powerful, shaking the ground with incredible force and creating gigantic pillars of fire and smoke. Suddenly they heard gunfire in response, then another tremendous explosion, followed by more prevalent machine-gunfire.
Everyone on the deck was standing, watching the flames illuminate the night sky as they danced in the distance… they were still listening to the explosions. Suddenly, they heard screams…
“**bleep**…” Bruce whispered as he ran to his front yard, closely followed by everyone except Jean.
Jean was still transfixed on the flames, watching them spiraling in the air. “They’re up to no good again.” He muttered as he grabbed a box of wheat thins and followed after the rest of the guys.
------------
Outside in the front yard, Bruce met up with his neighbors who were all actively wandering out of there homes to see the explosions.
“What the hell is going on?” Bruce asked as another explosion rocked the ground.
They just shrugged as the neighborhood watched in amazement at the flames.
“Bruce!”
Herm whipped around and saw Jean standing on the lawn in the front yard munching on chips, “You got any guns?” He asked.
------------
Wandering the streets on foot, Bruce led his friends up to the next block armed with anything Bruce had in his house. He had asked Shunsui and his lady friend to stay behind and watch the house while he was gone.
Charging up the block like a gang of thugs, Orochi stopped in front of a liquor store. “Hey yo! Hold up!”
The group stopped charging ahead and wandered back, “What?”
Orochi picked up a brick and flipped it in his hands, “I’m finally gonna get all that alcohol I can’t afford.” He said, throwing the brick through the store window.
“WTF are you doing!” Bruce yelled at him. “You’re not even old enough to legally drink!”
Shatter jumped into the store through the broken window following Orochi. “This is a good idea, Bruce. The owner might have some guns or something in here.” He said, rummaging behind the clerks desk. “Bingo.” He said, pulling out a 9mm. “Wait a tick… oh!!!” He shouted, pulling out a scythe from behind the counter.
“Gimme that!” Jean said, pulling the weapon out of Shatter’s had. “How cool is this **bleep**! A kusarigama!” Jean laughed, licking his lips as he twirled the scythe in his hand. He noted that the chain of this kusarigama was located in the shaft. Testing the sickle, he launched the wicked blade at a telephone pole, slicing cleanly through the hard concrete. The chain then began to retract, ostensibly through some sort of helix mechanism inside the shaft.
“You’re way to freakin’ good at usin’ that thing…” Shatter said watching him carefully.
Grant came out the front door pushing a cart loaded with Kahlua, Bacardi, and numerous brands of Tequila; he also had some vodka bottles wrapped up with cloth.
“What’s that cloth for?” Shatter asked.
“Fire bombs.” Orochi replied.
Bruce shook his head as they starting pressing up the block again.
Turning the corner, they could see the fires much easier, but it was a little difficult to make out if there was something in the flames.
People had flooded the streets. A few of them had the same idea Grant had, but most were banding together with weapons to go towards the source of all the explosions.
“Hey!” Bruce yelled at the nearest cluster of people walking up the street. “You know what’s happening?!” He yelled over the roar of another explosion.
“We were hoping you guys would know!” they yelled as they continued pressing forward.
Bruce led the growing party of people up the next block, getting closer and closer to the explosions. They didn’t hear screaming anymore, but the explosions and gunfire hadn’t stopped. Up ahead though, they heard police sirens and saw the flaring blue and red lights of the police.
Coming out onto the main boulevard, the massive group of hundreds of people screeched to a halt out of shock.
***
Fiery embers hung in the smoke filled air around Keith Douglas as he watched the raging fires from a short distance. He was in crisis mode.
Ten minutes ago as he ate a ham sandwich and waited for their mystery guest, he was treated to the rude awakening that one of the Police Mobile Armor Units had decided to attack a movie theatre full of people.
“Wyatt was wrong.” He grimaced, as he handed over strike forces to Detective Kusanagi and the rest of Section 9 who had come to clean up his uncalculated mistake.
“It’s ok.” Motoko said, “There are rarely many occasions when you can completely stop somebody like this… especially when you think they’re going to do something completely different.”
As Motoko gave Saito the order to shoot the Mobile Armor, Keith heard the sound of marching. It was a curious sound, but he paid it no mind as he watched Saito’s excellent marksmanship on a monitor. The slug blasted straight through the Mobile Armor’s weakened hull and made a direct hit with the pilot. In turn the Mobile Armor gave a metallic screech as it began falling over.
Keith could hear the footsteps more clearly… or was it that he felt them in the ground. Turning around he was astonished by the sheer amount of people that were walking towards their position. “Hey Al, get some uniforms and go tape this area off. Those people can’t come up here.” Suddenly, Keith noticed the weapons… pipes, knives, baseball bats, guns…
“Hold up on that Al.” Keith grabbed his partners shoulder. “Get a bunch of squad cars together instead. Simply taping the area off won’t do.”
***
“What the hell is going on?” Bruce wondered, watching as a Police Mobile Armor collapsed on its side in a hideous wreck. What the hell was that huge thing? Was it the cause of all this destruction? Why is a police task force here? So many questions began racing through Bruce Herman’s mind, but they all didn’t matter to him.
Bruce began running, running straight towards the art shop not a few blocks away. He had to go see Istari, possibly Sarah was just working late and was still at the shop with her. Bruce had to find her and make sure she was alright.
“Finally.” Jean said as Bruce ran off.
“Shouldn’t we go after him?” Surool asked.
“You can go if you want. Bruce is a big guy and he can take care of himself… all I need from you guys is one of those fire bombs.” Jean said menacingly as he grabbed one of the vodka bottles and pulled out a lighter.
“What are you doing?” Samson asked, a little alarmed.
“I’m gonna have some fun.” Jean smiled as he lit up the cloth and lobbed the firebomb directly into a huddled group of policemen.
Samson shouted in horror as the bottle landed right at there feet, enveloping the policemen in flames. “He is just like that woman!” Samson thought, “He thinks this is all a game. He’s just as insane and as crazy as that **bleep** woman was.” Samson slinked off after Bruce with Surool and Trunks, he didn’t need to be around this vicious blood thirsty crowd who cheered as those helpless policemen were burned to death. Samson didn’t look back at them, he was fully disgusted that he had ever met anyone who could have such little disregard for other people.
“Look at these **bleep** streets, these **bleep**ed up conditions and these **bleep**ed up police! Tonight is the night we rise up, Stay the **bleep** on top, and scream 1-8-7 on a mother**bleep**in’ cop!!!” Orochi yelled, getting the angry mob of people riled up.
Jean broke away from mob, leading them into a crazed charge directly at the police. Swinging his kusarigama, the police’ riot squads were decimated in a matter of seconds by the violent rioters and Jean Pierrot.
***
In the cockpit of the downed Mobile Armor, Captain Yemman lay dying. He had been caught in the gut with a powerful round that had put a huge hole in his abdomen and kept going straight through his seat.
In the distance he heard a whisper of violence and rage. He struggled closer to the window of his cockpit, but could barely hear anything at all anymore… death was plugging his ears up with silence. Yemman tried to open his eyes and see what was going on, but his vision was failing. He tried to breathe, hoping to get some air in his lungs, hoping to live just a little longer to see what he had done.
“It was never meant to be, nammeY.” His inner voice said, quietly, almost comforting. “It’s time to rest.”
***
Bruce Herman struggled through the flood of angry people as they tossed over cars and began trashing the streets and buildings.
The rioting had spread quickly through the city, and as Bruce looked back, seemed to be spilling over onto the police as they tried to gather themselves against the oncoming onslaught.
“Hold up!” Trunks yelled at Bruce.
“You’re all that came?” Bruce said, “What happened to Jean and Grant?” he asked.
“They’re back there fighting with the cops.” Surool said.
“**bleep** **bleep**!” Bruce yelled… “That has to wait, we’re really close to Istari’s art shop. C’mon guys… with any luck, Jean’ll get bored and wander off.”
-------------
Istari had asked Sarah to stay at the store for some overtime, but she had never thought in her wildest dreams that they’d spend the rest of the night trying to protect the store from crazed rioters with bricks.
“How absolutely useless.” Istari said, shaking her head as she watched the angry people rampage through the streets. “What the hell is the point in trashing your own- what the? … Bruce!” She yelped, surprising Sarah.
Istari ran to the door and opened it up so Bruce and the others could come inside and away from the rioters.
“What the hell are you guys doing here?” Sarah yelled at Bruce.
“I didn’t know what happened to you, babe!” He said hugging Sarah. “The phones wouldn’t work over here, so I had Shunsui watch the place while I went out to look for you.”
“Well that was nice of you… But what now?” Istari said looking outside at the flood of violence and anger that had consumed the streets.
“I say we sleep over.” Trunks said drinking a bottle of Kahlua.
“Where did you get that?” Surool asked.
“Off of Grant before we split… I hope Shatter’s alright.” Trunks thought as he took another swig.
“The riot is just getting started…” Samson said, “We’ll most definitely be here all night.”
“At least you’re all right.” Bruce said to Sarah.
“I was, before you stepped on my toes you big oaf!” She said as she hit him in the chest and giggled.
Bruce sighed a bit in relief as he had found Sarah, hugging her tightly. Looking back out at the smoke filled air and listening to the dull roar of the mob, Bruce was glad he had come looking for her. But as he looked back out into the violence, Bruce couldn’t help but wonder about his other friends who hadn’t come the whole way with him.