Chapter 34 - Whiteout
By FurionTassadar
The gentle snow fell unfeelingly upon the occupants of Actonia Memorial Cemetery. The bitter cold served to further numb those who had already begun to lose feeling both on the outside and the inside. There was something haunting about a snowfall during a funeral service. If the presence of rain during such a ceremony was a sign from the weeping heavens, than the cold snow looked not unlike the frozen ash of those hence gone….
Six open graves sat all in a row, the claw marks of some large beast having dug into the earth. Six accompanying coffins sat alongside their respective graves. Six was but a number, but each integer of this number had a name. Heero and Riza Yuy, Wyatt Matthews, Real Coolman, Norman Burg, and Landon Blaken. All people who had been killed in a senseless war of pride and ideals. Six lights that had winked out, never to be fully known by the people they had left behind in the darkness….
A squeeze of the hand woke Samson Monroe from his reverie. Turning, Samson looked into the deep violet eyes of the woman close beside him.
“Are you okay?” Clarice asked, concern evident in her voice.
Samson gave a weak smile. “Yeah. I just can’t help thinking….”
“Yes?”
“I just can’t help worrying,” Samson amended, staring at the open graves and their brother coffins. “That one of us might end up…like that.”
Clarice followed his gaze. She gave a knowing sigh. “I understand. After all, there’s just as great a concern that one of us might end up…like them.”
Standing near the coffins, were the bereaved. The former comrades. Those who had known the deceased in their all too short life. Over the coffin of Landon Blaken, a stone-faced Straight Cougar laid a comforting arm on the grieving Lucille Compton. Next to the grave of Heero and Riza Yuy, ex-Colonel Roy Mustang held silent vigil. Nearby, was a surprisingly conservatively dressed Angel Sarcasta, and Emeri, who seemed to be struggling to find an appropriate emotion for the occasion, bouncing back and forth between reservation and remorse. Mustang’s aide, Jean Havoc, and Emeri’s personal soul reaper, Izuru Kira, kept a respectful distance. Near Wyatt Matthews and Real Coolman’s graves, members of the Gunsmoke branch of the Syndicate paid solemn tribute. The normally manic Elizabeth Saurie St. Guardsmen stood with a blank face next to Cowboy and April; both held equally somber expressions.
Samson returned Clarice’s squeeze. “Somehow, I’m going to make sure that this is both the first and last funeral of this revolution!” Samson declared quietly.
Clarice didn’t respond to this bold declaration. Instead she just leaned closer, and Samson put a hand around her waist.
“It’s cold.” Clarice stated with a shiver, pulling even closer to his warmth.
Soon, the funeral service was over. The fact of the matter was that they had held a funeral service for all six at a time, rather than individually, to avoid any large fanfare that might attract the attention of Actonia authorities. They hadn’t even asked a priest to the service. Everyone chipped in when it came time to burying the coffins. When the deed was done, the various members of the Syndicate dispersed in all directions, heading for safe houses for the time being, until they were needed.
Samson watched the impressions his feet made in the snow as he and Clarice left the cemetery. Despite Hikki’s bold pronouncement that the Blaken Syndicate would continue even with Landon’s death, Samson couldn’t help feeling a vague sense of melancholy. He had promised Clarice that he would make sure that no one else would die during the revolution, but truth be told, he was wondering if they even had a revolution anymore. They were little more than a ragtag collection of freedom fighters up against the full might of a tyrannical government and it’s full-scale military power. Did they really have any hope of succeeding? They had no base of operations anymore, with Café Argeno all but gutted, a loose chain of command, a group of people with wildly differing talents and temperaments….
“Samson.” Clarice gently shook Samson’s arm, once more taking the young man out of his thoughts.
“Hm?” Samson looked up from the ground and saw that Clarice was staring over at a pair of figures standing somewhat ominously just outside the cemetery. The taller figure was an older-looking gentlemen with long white hair and dressed in priestly vestments. Beside him stood a lithe young woman with red hair.
“Father Sadar.” Samson said with a small smile. He approached the pair, and heard Clarice follow slightly behind him. Samson couldn’t help feeling that something was slightly off about the two of them….
“Samson.” Father Sadar returned the smile. “I would have come to the service, but I’m not sure if it would have been appropriate.”
“It’s bad enough we’re here, period.” The red-haired girl, Kaia Namek, mumbled crossly. She seemed to be avoiding acknowledging Samson and Clarice’s presence. Father Sadar, in turn, seemed to be ignoring her. From the tension in the air between the two of them, Samson got a feeling they had been in some kind of fight….
“I wanted to thank you again for coming our to our aid during the fight against the Cool Mexicanos.” Samson said, also choosing to ignore whatever internal turmoil was plaguing the couple. “More specifically, I wanted to thank you again for saving my skin!” Samson gave a sheepish grin.
“Don’t even mention it.” Sadar said with a warm grin. “It’s the least I could do. In fact, I’m hoping to do more to help, if I can.”
“Here we go….” Kaia grumbled.
This time, Sadar did spare an annoyed glare. It was at that point Samson suddenly realized what was off about the two of them: their glass crosses, usually hung prominently around their necks, were missing.
Samson’s brow furrowed. He knew that meant something significant. “Father Sadar….”
“Oh, so you finally noticed.” Father Sadar commented as he turned his attention back to the young revolutionary, a small, knowing smile on his face. Then, he grew serious. “Samson, the Order of Glass, Actonia branch, has disbanded.”
“What?” A stunned Clarice asked for an equally surprised Samson, who found himself too taken aback to speak.
“As the weeks went on after I left the Syndicate, the guilt over what I had done began to eat me up inside.” Father Sadar explained, staring off into the distance. A cold wind gently blew through all of them, rustling Sadar’s silver white hair as he went on. “It was imperceptible at first, but the feeling of guilt eventually became more apparent as I not only had to rationalize my decision to myself but to others who I realized I cared about.”
There was a disgusted snort from Kaia. Once more, Sadar ignored her and continued on.
“Intel about the Cool Mexicano trap at the manor on 160th street came through our surveillance channels and, well, I guess I finally snapped.” Father Sadar looked down at the bone-white snow, a sad expression clouding his face. “I had abandoned everyone once already and I found that I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if, once more, those who I had once called ‘my friends’ ended up in danger because I hid behind some damn code that supposedly prevented me from forming any kind of meaningful connection with those I cared about outside the Order.”
“Oh, please!” Kaia suddenly exclaimed. “You knew exactly what you were getting into when you joined the Order! A code like ours is set up for a reason, John Sadar, and it’s not something to be broken lightly! For Christ’s sake, Furion, you gave me this exact same speech when you first recruited me!”
“We’re not getting into this again, Kaia.” Father Sadar stated firmly, addressing the angry young women directly for the first time in the conversation. “I’ve made my decision, and the rest of the Order agreed with me.”
Kaia snorted and mumbled something under her breath, but then went back to being silent.
“The rest of the Order agreed with disbanding?” Samson asked, still slightly in shock that the secretive organization that had caused him so much drama in the past was no longer around.
“You have to understand, most of our members were citizens of Actonia as well.” Father Sadar explained. “All of them felt sympathetic toward the Syndicate’s cause. In fact, our goal, the overthrow of Ozzal and the current Actonian government, is exactly the same as yours, and many of our people joined the Order for the same reason citizens joined the Syndicate: anger and resentment at that same said government. The big difference was our methods and organization. While the Syndicate lashed out randomly in the hope of inflicting as much destruction on the current government as possible, the Order planned on working behind the scenes and slowly corrode Ozzal’s rule at the roots.”
“But now,” Father Sadar continued with a deep breath, “we may not have time for a slow, underground war against oppression. Any time now, Comedian troops could come marching over the Actonia border and not only destroy years of Order planning, but plunge this country into an all new despotic rule. The Cool Mexicanos further complicate matters with whatever shadow games they themselves are playing and we’ve already seen they have an apparent dislike for the Syndicate. Worse, by all indications, there is an Actonian branch of the Order of Iron already working behind the scenes as well, hoping to displace Ozzal for their own evil ends. Now is not the time to fight as a house divided. If we have any hope of seeing this country finally free of all malevolent influences, we need to join forces and stand together!”
“So what do you say, Samson?” Father Sadar asked, holding out his hand. “I know that, once I join the Syndicate, my fellow members of the Order will soon join as well. Together, I’m sure we can accomplish what we couldn’t before when we were separate!”
For awhile, Samson could only stand and stare at Father Sadar’s outstretched hand. His words echoed over and over again in Samson’s head. In truth, new members, especially experienced ones from the Order, were exactly what the Syndicate could use right then. Everything that Father Sadar said made a lot of sense, too. Samson knew they stood a better chance of toppling Ozzal if they pooled resources and combined their strengths.
Only….
“Say, Father Sadar,” Samson asked suddenly, “Do you remember when I threw away that glass cross you gave me? Do you still have it?”
It was Father Sadar’s turn to look stunned. “Actually, yes. I think I have it my pocket. I picked it up after you left.” Father Sadar referred to the day Samson had vehemently rejected the priestly man’s offer to join the Order of Glass. “Why do you ask?”
“Could you give it to me?”
A perplexed expression remained on Father Sadar’s face as he reached into his pocket and withdraw the glass cross necklace. He handed it uncertainly to Samson.
Samson quickly held it up in his hands and placed it around Father Sadar’s neck. For his part, Sadar was too stunned to stop him.
“There.” Samson said with a wry grin, as he finished tying the necklace and stepped back. “To tell you the truth, you looked weird without it.”
Father Sadar glanced down at the glass cross as a prisoner might view their shackles. “Samson….”
“You said it yourself.” Samson stated firmly. “The goals of the Syndicate and the goals of the Order aren’t that different. Why do you need to disband at all? Instead, the Syndicate and the Order of Glass can simply join forces, as we should have done all along. We can do things our way and you can do things your way, only this time, we will be working together, as a coordinated effort, to bring Ozzal down!”
“Besides,” Samson continued, “I wouldn’t want you betraying yet another group of friends just to soothe your guilty conscious.” Samson gave a pointed look in Kaia’s direction, who he was surprised to find smiling back.
Father Sadar looked from Samson to Kaia, to even Clarice, gingerly holding his glass cross in the cup of his palm. “Samson, I…I don’t know what to say.”
Kaia, still smiling, punched Sadar lightly in the arm. “You’re not supposed to say anything, you idiot. You accomplished what you came here to do! Now, we just need to get the rest of the Order back together….”
“Yes….” Father Sadar said dazedly. Suddenly he shook his head and chuckled. “Now, if only I had had this conversation with you before I talked with Schwarzwald….”
Ah, yes. The Actonian branch’s crazed, mummified, phallic-headed leader. “I assume he wasn’t thrilled with the idea.” Samson said, putting his cold hands in his pockets.
“That’s an understatement.” Kaia said with a roll of her eyes.
“Why, what happened?” Clarice asked.
“Well, um, when I went to tell him about my intentions,” Father Sadar explained, scratching his head sheepishly, “he was already in an agitated mood. It was as if he already knew what I was coming to say. He kept screaming things like, ‘This was all pre-ordained!’ and ’We’re all living in some twisted community fan-fiction!’ and nonsensical things like that.”
“And then he ran out of Order headquarters and we haven’t seen him since.” Kaia added, looking just as dumbfounded as Sadar about the whole thing.
Samson shook his head in bemusement. “And you people actually listened to that guy?”
“Well, okay, so he wasn’t exactly the fullest of marble bags.” Father Sadar admitted. “But he could be quite brilliant and charismatic when he had to be.”
“You know, now that he’s gone, I guess that makes you the leader, hm?” Kaia pointed out, hooking her arm around Sadar’s in the first display of actual affection Samson had seen between the two of them.
“I guess so.” Father Sadar chuckled, “Although, I suppose I’ve always acted as a sort of de facto leader for the Order anyway, considering how quickly everyone was to agree with my decision to disband.”
“And now we’re going to have to call everyone back again.” Kaia said with a sigh. “Hopefully everyone is still in an agreeable mood.”
“Well,” Samson said after a deep breath, “Now that that’s settled, Clarice and I should get going. You have your house to get in order and I have mine. And I’m worried that mine might actually be harder to get organized….”
“Hold on, Samson.” Father Sadar held up his hand. “I think I might actually be able to help you out with that….” Samson couldn’t help noticing the twinkle in the man’s blue eyes as he said this. Samson stopped in his tracks and waited for Father Sadar to continue.
“You see, back when I was still operating under the assumption that we were going to merge the Syndicate and the Order, I realized that that’s a lot of personnel that would need somewhere to go while preparing for the fight against Ozzal. Safe houses are too scattered and disorganized and, with Café Argeno demolished, the Syndicate lacks a central headquarters from which to plan strategy and give orders. What you need is a base of operations.”
For the second time during their conversation, Samson’s eyes widened in shock. “You didn’t.”
“I did.” Sadar gave a wide grin. “Even as we speak, one of the former members of my Order have gotten in touch with your newly appointed revolutionary leader….”
***
Hikki Follet stared mournfully back across the woods that lay just outside of the capital city of Orly. He knew that the Syndicate funeral service had probably already ended. He felt a renewed surge of remorse for specifically skipping the service, but he knew that he would be feeling even worse right now if he had attended. He was a very emotional man, and particularly prone to sadness. He was quite sure his blubbering would have ruined the service for everyone else.
And besides, he had much more pressing business here. As the unofficial new leader of the Blaken Syndicate, it now fell to him to put personal feelings aside and always put the future of his organization first and foremost in his mind.
And that meant forgiving past grudges….
Hikki pulled his gaze away from the distant city and back toward his three companions. All the way up in front was the young man who had organized this sojourn. Aoi, dressing in a particularly large and warm looking blue coat that obscured most of his features, waved the rest of them onward.
“It’s not much farther!” Aoi encouraged, as he turned and continued walking.
To the left of Hikki was an even younger man, and one whom he had expected to never see again. Raef Compton pulled his brown coat tighter against himself and followed after Aoi, grumbling something under his breath.
Meanwhile, to his right, stood a large and somewhat imposing figure. Bruce Herman rubbed his gloved hands together as he stomped after the two younger men.
Leaving Hikki to stare after the trio in silent contemplation.
Aoi had appeared to him only days after Landon had died. The Order hacker had explained that the Actonian branch of the Order of Glass had disbanded and was now seeking to actively help the Syndicate in the fight against Ozzal. Too tired from the events of the previous week- the battle at the mansion on 160th street, and running Syndicate affairs after that –to be skeptical, Hikki had wearily agreed to meet Aoi in the Enbeforlocke Woods on the outskirts of Orly a few days later. After all, Hikki seriously doubted the enigmatic Order would bother setting up something so elaborate just to kill him and doubted even further that someone from Order could be working for Ozzal to achieve the same end. Or maybe he was just too tired to worry about such things.
Either way, Hikki had gotten himself bundled up and headed out to the Woods on the specified day, hoping that Aoi really was genuine in his offer to help out the Syndicate. Arriving at the Woods, he had been surprised to see Bruce and Raef with the Order hacker. However, Hikki hadn’t gotten much of a chance to talk with his fellow Actionian before Aoi had charged off into the woods and insisting that they follow after him.
“Mon dieu.” Hikki said with a sigh, before walking after the trio.
Save for the occasional stir of the wind, the woods were deathly silent. The crunch of the snow beneath their booted feet sounded like distant thunderclaps to Hikki’s ear. In the hurry to get to wherever Aoi was bringing them, no conversation passed between any member of the odd group. Hikki stared around at the skeletal trees reaching up into the sky, looking as though they wanted to tear into whatever was showering them with white fluff. What on Earth was out here that Aoi wanted him to see so darn much?
Hikki didn’t have to wait long for his answer. After the steep incline of a hill, that left Hikki huffing and puffing, Aoi suddenly stopped and stared proudly down at what lay at the bottom of the hill.
Hikki followed his gaze, and…. “Zhis iz what you dragged me all ze way out into zhese godforsaken woodz for?”
A large grey slab rose up out of the valley below, so low to the ground that Hikki had a hard time telling where the snow ended and the grey mass began. It reminded Hikki of a seashell buried halfway in beach sand, and, at the moment, seemed just as trivial to the tired baker-turned-revolutionary.
Aoi must have understood the disappointed tone in Hikki’s voice, for he quickly held up a placating hand and explained: “It’s an old Actonia emergency bunker. It’s a relic from Ozzal’s war with Babblestan. Back during the war, there was intel that Babblestan guerrillas had gotten their hands on some SCUD missiles filled with NBC (author’s note: Nuclear, Biological, Chemical) weapons. You’ll remember that, while then-General Ozzal was off fighting the war, Robert Parsons was the prime minister of Actonia. He had several of these built all over the country, as precautions against WMD (weapons of mass destruction) warfare. They were filled with enough supplies to keep a population the size of Orly’s fairly comfortable for at least a month or two, and even some military hardware, in the unlikely event that the enemy somehow managed to break into them. Ozzal and her army stripped the bunkers of their military assets back during her coup detat, but otherwise, they were left alone and forgotten.”
Hikki stared down at the unimpressive slab of concrete with newfound interest. With Café Argeno destroyed, the Syndicate found itself severely lacking a central point of command. But this bunker had the potential to be even more than just a headquarters. If it could cram the entire population of Orly inside of it, it could easily support the meager Syndicate, with much room to spare! Plus, it was remote and apparently forgotten, which meant that the Syndicate could continue their operation in secret and without fear of another Echelon roundup!
“I checked out the inside, and everything still works perfectly.” Hikki nearly jumped out of his skin when Raef spoke up suddenly from beside him. “As you’d expect of a bunker, it’s still structurally sound enough to survive the impact of nuke or the tremors of an earthquake. It has it’s own plumbing and an ingenious little power source that runs on a small hydroelectric battery powered by an underground river. Of course, it’s filled with dust and cobwebs and probably a million little critters, but some spring cleaning is a small price to pay, considering how well everything else works.”
“So, zhat explains why you’re here.” Hikki said, “Aoi asked you to check you ze building?”
Raef nodded. “I’m still devoted to helping Starry somehow find a way out of her mother’s clutches, but I wouldn’t be much of a son if I didn’t help out my own mom from time-to-time, even if it’s indirectly.” Raef said with a wink. “So, I couldn’t say no when Aoi asked me to come and take a look at the place. Besides, it’s not often that I get to whip put my engineering skills…even if I all had to do is put my hands on my hips and say, ‘Yup, everything looks good to me!’” Raef chuckled slightly.
Hikki gave a polite smile and then turned to the largest of their group. “And you?”
Bruce sighed and leaned against a nearby try. “Technically, I didn’t have to truck all the way out here, today.” The big man sent a glare in Aoi’s direction, who stared back at him impassively, “But according to Aoi, there’s some kind of tunnel under the bunker that leads out into an open field somewhere north of the woods. He seems to think that you guys could make good use of that space and wants my landscaping company to come in and clear away any excess foliage…and whatever else you guys happen to want us to do to the place.”
“And you’re okay with doing work for a bunch of terroriztz?”
“Hey, this is just another job for me and my guys. And like any job, we’re getting paid good money by our client.” Bruce nodded in Aoi’s direction. He then gave a sly smile. “I have to pay for my new house somehow. And it’s not like I have any love for Ozzal, either.”
For awhile, Hikki didn’t know want to say. He even said as much. “I-I don’t know what to say….” He stared down at the ugly grew and white slab below him, possibilities already churning in his mind….
“You don’t really need to say anything.” Aoi suddenly spoke up, a curious expression popping onto his face. “I suggest you talk it out with everyone else at the Syndicate. This bunker will be here if and when you decide to make use of it. In the meantime, I must go. Father Sadar is being particularly impulsive today….” Aoi trailed off at that curious sentiment. With a strangely frustrated shake of his head, he turned and walked back in the same direction they had all come in. Bruce silently followed after him.
Then, it was just Hikki and Raef. Hikki noticed that the young lad was shuffling his feet nervously and staring at Hikki out of the corner of his eye.
“Raef? Iz something wrong?” Hikki asked.
“Hikki…would it be alright to come back with you? I…I’d like to see my mom.”
***
Kazunoto Goda strode purposefully down the halls of the Comdot Estate, a smug grin permanently plastered on his disfigured face. He could hardly believe the good fortune that had fallen into his lap. Landon Blaken was dead. Both the Syndicate and the mysterious Cool Mexicanos had suffered a terrible blow. It was apparent that the Order of Iron’s day in the sun was soon at hand. First, the remaining garbage needed to be swept off the stage and then, and most important of all, Ozzal would need to accept his most generous offer to become their lead puppet in the theatre that was Actonia….
In fact, as smug as he felt at the moment, it suddenly occurred to him that Ozzal’s recent summons might just be another token of his good fortune. Maybe she had given greater consideration to his offer and was actually going to announce her allegiance with the Order that very day. Goda tried to suppress such wonderful thought. After all, he couldn’t be that fortunate in the span of only a few days…could he?
The guards outside of Ozzal’s audience chamber gave him a curt nod and opened the massive, black iron doors for him. As Goda strutted in, he noticed that his old friend Dewey Novak was also in the cavernous room, standing closely to the right of Ozzal’s throne.
Goda walked to the center of the room and then gave a slight bow. “Always at your service, my Lord.” Goda didn’t even bother to hide his dripping sarcasm.
When Goda stood straight again, he noticed something quite alarming and very unfortunate. Ozzal held a gun in her hand and wore a feral grin on her face.
Goda frowned and tried to remain calm. He knew Ozzal was impulsive, but surely even she recognized the sheer stupidity of her threat. She must certainly, or at least distantly, be aware of the ramifications that would occur as a result of his death. Not only would she have declared war against the Order of Iron, but she must have realized that it had only been him that had kept Actonia in order all this time!
“What is this?” Goda demanded with a sneer, mustering more bravado than he felt at the moment.
“I’m simply cleaning house, my dear Kazunoto.” Ozzal stated simply. Goda’s eyes widened when he realized that he did not recognize the deathly calm and intelligent monster that was wearing Ozzal’s skin. “When you see the rest of your little order in Hell, tell them I refused your offer!”
***
The gun in Ozzal’s hand barked once, then twice. The bullets tore threw Goda’s misshapen head like an unripe melon, causing it to explode in vivid scarlet. Goda’s body sank to it’s knees, as if in one final desperate act of penance aimed at Actonia’s ruler, than fell over sideways with a disgusting plop!
Dewey Novak stared down at the body of his former comrade with disinterest. While it may have been true that the two of them had once conspired together to bring order back to Actonia, that had been before Novak’s eyes had been opened to the true power that lived at the heart of Orly. And besides, traitors always deserved their deaths….
Ozzal holstered her smoking pistol at her hip and then stretched out in her throne like a cat might after a delicious midmorning meal. “Well, that’s taken care of. And not a moment too soon.”
“Although I am far from being sad at seeing him go, this is a dangerous path you’re walking, Governor.” Dewey cautioned. “I have no doubt that we could handle such a threat, but doesn’t this make us enemies of the Order of Iron?”
Ozzal waved a hand dismissively. “Already, things are in place to take care of that little problem. Despite what you and Goda once thought, I do keep track of what goes on in my little piece of the world. I know about Landon Blaken’s death and the conflict between the Syndicate and the Cool Mexicanos. I realized that the easiest way to deal with these disparate factions befouling my rule is to turn them against each other.” Ozzal’s feral grin returned in earnest. “ Right now, the Order of Iron headquarters should be experiencing their own little confrontation.”
Dewey’s shook his head and smiled in disbelieving approval. “You really have been thinking ahead this whole time.” Dewey grew serious again. “I may be out of line with this question but I feel it is necessary to ask it anyway: Why?”
Ozzal lazily cocked an eyebrow. “Why what?”
“Why now? You told me you considered the Syndicate and all the other terrorist groups to be nothing more than flies in your eyes. Why are you now taking in interest in their destruction?”
“Dewey!” Ozzal suddenly snapped in a mock admonishing tone, “As I was saying to Goda, Actonia needs a good cleaning. After all, how can you hope to entertain guests if your house is a mess?”
Realization slowly dawned on the white-haired official. “Comedia. It’s finally happening, isn’t it?”
Ozzal’s continued predatory smirk almost sent shivers down Dewey’s spine. “Approval for an invasion under the grounds of a “peacekeeping” mission to stabilize the Actonia region was recently passed in the Comedian Senate. Comedian military forces have stationed themselves just outside the Actonian national border. My friends over in the Senate passed along a little message: I have one month to get my affairs in order before the party comes crashing down.”
“One month?” Dewey echoed, shocked that, not only did they have an actual timetable for the coming assault, but that it was sooner than he thought possible.
“Yes, one month. And, if I had to guess at the unspoken command in my friends’ little message, it that’s the Comedians want this invasion to go as painlessly as possible. No guerrilla’s assaulting their troops in the streets, no Comedian newspapers screeching about the existence of secret factions pulling strings in Actonia, and anything else that would be bad for PR. Which means I have to make sure that the will of the more fiery elements of this country is broken by the time the invasion begins. By playing everyone against each other, we can probably accomplish said goal without getting our hands dirty. And yet, I’m still feeling the need to help things along a little….”
Ozzal hopped up out of her throne and gave another mighty stretch. She then walked down from the throne dais and headed for the door. “Come with me, Dewey.”
Genuinely curious at what Ozzal was going to pull from her sleeves next, Dewey quickly followed after the tyrant. Passing by the still oozing corpse of Goda, another thought suddenly occurred to Dewey…in addition to the one about making sure someone would eventually be along to clean up the mess….
“My Lord, what about Zeus? As you’ll recall, the young man was quite fond of his adoptive father….” Dewey still had trouble actually seeing Goda as any kind of father. However, if the scarred man had done anything halfway decent in his short life, it would probably have been the adoption and rearing of the young Echelon agent. Although, considering how much of a psychopath the boy had turned out to be, that didn’t really say much for Goda’s paternal abilities….
“See, that’s why I like you, Dewey.” Ozzal flashed another evil smile over her shoulder as she continued walking, “You’re loyal and smart. As to your question, I think you’ll find my solution to one problem might very well help out in regards to that matter as well….”
***
“BLOODY HELL!!”
Q found herself suddenly, and unpleasantly, awoken from her short-lived catnap. She groggily tried to piece together both her current situation in real life, as well as the vague flashes she remembered of her brief dream. Something about a gorgeous, red-haired pirate…..
Suddenly, Q was thrown back in her seat with the rapid acceleration of the car she was in. It was at that moment that everything came rushing back to her with the speed of…well, an accelerating car.
“OMGWTFBBQ, Hill!” Q finally croaked. “Where’s the fire?!”
“Hold on!” Hill shouted out, instead of answering her question. He then gave the car wheel a tight 90 degree turn.
Q found herself gripping the dashboard of the car as the vehicle went flying around the street corner. How do I get myself in these kind of situations?! she lamented to herself, as she felt her lunch try to continue foreword as the car turned.
Of course, Q knew exactly how she had ended up in this situation at least. It’s hard to say ‘no’ when a suave British secret agent asks for your help in uncovering a conspiracy that plagues your city. So far, though, there had been no cool gadgets or dry martinis, but a lot of boredom punctuated by brief moments of excitement like this one.
Thing is, Q had never seen the seemingly unflappable Hill looked so freaked out before….
“Hill, what’s going on?” Q tried asking again, as their car continued to speed down Orly’s streets.
Hill glanced over at her as if he suddenly remembered that she existed. “I’m deeply sorry, Q, but I’m afraid I have little time to explain. I’ll try giving you the basics as we drive toward our eventual destination. Obviously, you remember why I’m here in Orly, right?”
Q made a mental note to ask where their eventual destination actually was…assuming they didn’t reach it before then…or crashed…. “You’re an MI-6 agent investigating the Order of Glass.”
Hill nodded, and then made another stomach-churning turn, this time to the left. “I’m afraid that I haven’t been entirely open with you. You see, there’s another organization that the MI-6 is investigating here in Orly.”
“There’s another one?!” Q asked through grit teeth, as she once more clung to the dashboard for dear life.
“It’s an organization in direct opposition to the Order of Glass. It’s called the Order of Iron. Normally, there’s actually very little investigative work going on involving the Order of Iron. We already know how they operate. They infest a host country and attempt to take it over from the inside. Real megalomaniacs. Thus, most of our work generally focuses on deterring their diabolical plans from coming to fruition. The fact that you haven’t even heard of them yet is a sign that our efforts have been working well thus far. It’s only been in recent years that our attention has turned to learning the inner workings of the more enigmatic Order of Glass.”
If they’re in opposition to the Order of Iron, doesn’t that make the Glass one of the good guys? But Q didn’t ask that one aloud. Instead, she did ask, “So what does that have to do with us racing around the city?”
“I just got an emergency call from the MI-6 operative stationed inside the Order of Iron’s headquarters. Apparently, it’s all gone to hell down there. I couldn’t make out what was going on before the transmission cut out, but I know it’s not good. If you want, I could drop you off somewhere before we reach the Order HQ. I don’t really want you to get involved in whatever…Q are you listening?”
Hill noticed that the female police chief was staring, gape-mouthed out the front window. Perplexed, he turned and leaned foreword to do the same.
He slammed on the break, nearly causing both him and Q to go flying out of the car, seatbelts or not. He too found himself staring, open-mouthed at the incredible and terrifying sight before them.
“My…God….” Q heard someone mutter and realized, distantly, that it was herself.
Hovering over the city of Orly, looking even more surreal in the swirling white snow, was a giant, pale white zeppelin. On the side, one could make out the words: “The Bird of Spamming is my name. Devour my spam to make me sane.” in bold, blood red lettering. The huge airship was framed by a pillar of billowing smoke coming from below it. Hill and Q could only watch in horrified astonishment as a hatch opened on the bottom of the zeppelin and bombs fell unyieldingly out….
***
“The Cool Mexicanos? I see…like you said, playing one group against the other. How did you trick them into attacking the Order of Iron?”
“Actually,” Ozzal said, as they continued into the bowels of the Comdot Estate, “there was no need for deception. Da Sombras, the current leader of the Mexicanos, was once a simple mercenary before he decided to start his own cloak-and-dagger club. He even did some work for me back during my miscellaneous military campaigns, so I knew how to get in contact with him. As I suspected, he views the Syndicate as a common enemy, blaming them for Landon’s death. It was easy to work out a ‘you-scratch-my-back-and-I’ll-scratch-yours’ arrangement. He agreed to attack the Order of Iron if I helped him crush the Syndicate.”
Dewey gave his own icy grin. “Perfect. The Cool Mexicanos will wear themselves out fighting with both the Order of Iron and the Syndicate. It won’t take much to eradicate them after the dust settles.”
“Exactly.” Ozzal nodded with approval. “But, as I said, I’m not going to be sitting idly by while the three duke it out. I want to conserve the Actonia military for sweeping up the remains of the factions once they have wore each other out, so that leaves only one other option, now that the Echelon has been made all but extinct….”
Ozzal pushed open one last door, which led into a small, dimly-lit room at the very back of the estate. Standing in the center of the room were five shadowy figures….
Dewey frowned. “Mercenaries.”
“‘We don’t need their scum’ right?” Ozzal gave Dewey a patronizing leer. “As I recall, you haven’t been entirely loathe to hire freelancers for your own purposes in the past.”
“That’s true.” Dewey admitted. “But they weren’t anything like…these people.”
Standing in the center of the room were five of the most dangerous men in, not only the country, but the whole world. Wanted by pretty much every organization of justice out there for breaking just about every law imaginable, the five were apart of their own elite faction who’s sole goal was aiding in the advancement of the power and prestige of it’s individual members. They were members of the infamous Enigma Eight.
“We’ve come as requested,” the figure in the center said with a sniff, “so you had better make this worth our time.”
Amshel Goldsmith. Once, a leading scientists in a revolutionary field of zoological genetics, the sophisticated-seeming man had disappeared in the previous century under mysterious circumstances, only to reappear in recent, local tabloids that claimed that, not only was he now in the field of creating monsters, but that he himself had turning into something decidedly inhuman….
“As you are probably aware, our organization never lacks for money or power,” the man to the right of Amshel stated coolly, quietly, “and the advancement of our individual members are our chief concern. I certainly hope, for your sake, you have something for all of us interesting enough to justify our involvement in your petty conflict.”
Itachi Uchiha. A ninja among ninjas. There were rumors abound that said Itachi had killed his entire ninja clan in a single night just to see if he could. He seemed obsessed with pushing the limit of his power, and so far, very little had proved to be much of a test for him. The surprisingly young man glared over the cowl of his heavy black coat with disconcertingly piercing scarlet eyes.
The other members of group chose to remain quiet and in the shadows. To Itachi’s own right stood the long-haired Byakuya Kuchiki, an oddity among the criminal organization. Byakuya was said to have been the strictest and most law abiding soul reaper captain of the elite Thirteen Court Guard Squads from the Land of the Rising Dot. Dewey imagined that perhaps Byakuya had taken his own self-righteous sense of ‘justice’ a little too far in the past, earning him an expulsion from the ranks of the soul reapers and eventually leading him to join the only association that would equally recognize both his talents and his ‘vindicated’ goals.
To Amshell’s immediate left, Dewey recognized the infamous swordsman, Dracule “Hawkeyes” Mihawk. It was hard not to recognize the grim-faced man, with his signature, massive cross-shaped sword slung over his back. Dewey knew that Mihawk’s sole goal was to find another swordsman worthy of his skills to face in combat. It was said that Mihawk had traveled across every ocean in the world in search of such in an opponent.
Next to Mihawk, was a swordsmen of equal renown. Kagetoki Kariya was said to be the Land of the Rising Dot’s greatest assassin, often taking care of rogue samurai and other dangerous elements that normal government agents would be no match for. Dewey was somewhat surprised to see the samurai-assassin among the Enigma Eight’s ranks. If anything Dewey would have expected him to be one of the people hunting the members of the E8. But then, while Kariya was known for his contracts with the government of the Rising Dot, perhaps the man had personal interests that only the aid of the E8 could help fulfill….
This were dangerous men, to be sure. Dangerous to have both on your side and as enemies. Dewey couldn’t help but wonder about Ozzal’s sanity once more. Really, what did she have to offer these powerful men?
Suddenly, the door behind them burst open and there was a familiar sounding chuckle.
“Well, whadya know! It’s the Flying :|s!”
Dewey spun and faced one of the last surviving Echelon agents: ‘Angry God’ Zeus. “The Flying what?”
“The Flying :|s” Zeus repeated with a shrug. “I’m not surprised you don’t know the name. Most people only know them through their tabloid name. That Enigma Eight bullshit. However, those of us who have dabbled in the criminal underworld know them by a completely different name, on account of their rather fixed expression.” Zeus pointed at the five criminals behind Dewey.
Dewey turned to look back at their guests and, sure enough, all five were glaring up at Zeus in a similar, :| expression.
“I am not :|.” Mihawk objected with a scowl.
“Yeah, you’re really more of a :robotindifferent:.” Zeus amended, as he stuck his tongue out at the swordsman.
Mihawk’s hand went to the large gold cross around his neck….
“Alright, that’s enough out of you.” Ozzal declared, giving Zeus a reproachful glower. Dewey was surprised when Zeus actually seemed to serious up. Perhaps even he knew it wasn’t wise to make Ozzal overtly angry…. “Is Kay El with you?”
“Yeah, and he brought those files you were asking for.” Zeus jerked a thumb behind him and the tall, tan-skinned young man came walking through the door, a bundle of files in his arms. Without a word, he walked over and handed the files to Ozzal. While she leafed through them, Kay El gave the assembled members of the E8 a hard look.
“Good, no gunman.” Kay El nodded with approval and then walked back and stood beside Zeus.
Meanwhile, Ozzal walked over to her guests and began handing out manila folders. She talked as she gave them away. The first file went to Amshell; as he opened it, Ozzal said: “Solomon Goldsmith. I’m sure you don’t need an introduction. Last seen, with his wife, as a member of the Order of Glass, here in Actonia.”
Amshel smirked as he looked down at the file. “So, Solomon, this is where you’ve been hiding….”
Ozzal handed the next file to Mihawk, saying, “Father John ‘Furion’ Sadar. Second-in-command of the Order of Glass. Supposedly an accomplished swordsman. And, there’s always Emiri,” Ozzal handed him another file, “a former agent of mine. She’s been known to dabble in the use of bladed weapons.”
“Hey, hey!” Zeus suddenly spoke up. “I don’t care about Father John ‘I’m-an-insufferably-self-righteous-bastard’ Sadar, but that Emiri bitch is mine.” Zeus scowled over at both Ozzal and Mihawk for emphasis.
Ozzal sighed and rolled her eyes. “Fine, just the Order of Glass priest, then.”
Mihawk looked down at the file of Father Sadar with his namesake slit-pupiled eyes. “I sincerely doubt he’s of my caliber but,” Mihawk closed the file, “I suppose he shall have to do.”
Ozzal next handed a large folder to Byakuya. “We actually have quite a few rogue soul reapers operating in this area. Emiri herself has a former soul reaper lieutenant named Izuru Kira working as her personal retainer. Then, there is former captain Shunsui Kyouraku and his lieutenant, Nanao Ise. Both have been spotted in the suburbs of the Actonia residential area. Plus, there’s always….”
“You need not continue.” Byakuya’s calm, cultured voice cut her off. The former soul reaper captain almost seemed bored of the whole proceeding. He stood lackadaisically to one side, almost as if he was leaning against an invisible wall, and after glancing through the folder Ozzal had handed to him, Byakuya had shut his eyes. “I have more than enough incentive to aid you, at this point. Soon, the rule of law shall be restored and order will be brought back to this country.”
“Well said.” Kariya spoke up with a nod. “I agree with him. I do not need any special incentive to restore order amidst chaos.” Dewey couldn’t help noticing that Kariya stood in a similar manner to Byakuya: off to one side and with his eyes closed.
Ozzal gave a Cheshire-cat grin. “Excellent. I suppose that just leaves you.” Ozzal said, turning toward Itachi. “You all might be interested in this one, actually. His name is Jean Pierrot and according to what little we know about him, he’s not only a capable and unique fighter, but possesses an immense power of unknown origin.” Ozzal handed the folder over to Itachi, but all five of the criminals read over the ninja’s shoulder.
“Unknown origin, eh?” Amshel remarked, rubbing his wide chin thoughtfully, “I’d very much like to know how he got such power.” Dewey imagined that Amshel was taking particular note of a certain reconnaissance photo that had been taken after Pierrot’s little “transformation”….
“He’s a kusarigama user.” Mihawk noted with interest. “That’s quite a rarity.”
Itachi snapped the folder shut. “You both have your own marks already. This one’s mine. Inhuman power or not, I’d be very interested in seeing how he fares against the full might of the Sharingan….” Itachi’s scarlet eyes flashed for emphasis.
“So, I trust all this will suffice as ‘payment‘?” Ozzal asked.
“Indeed.” Amshel said, speaking for the whole group. “In return for providing us aid and information concerning our marks of payment, we shall aid you in whatever you ask of us. Is that satisfactory to you as well?”
“One more proviso,” Ozzal said, “I’d like you to take two of my own men with you-”
“Wow, wow, wow.” Zeus waved his hands in the air. “You’re not thinking about sending me and Kay El with these posers, are you?” Obviously, Ozzal hadn’t sent for the two last remaining members of the Echelon just to bring her some files.
The Enigma Eight were less then thrilled with the idea as well. “We don’t need escorts. They’d only be in our way.” Itachi stated crossly.
Ozzal held up her hands in placation, an annoyed expression on her face. “Cool it, both of you.” Ozzal turned to the E8. “Look, don’t think of them as escorts. You’ll probably be surprised at how capable they are in a fight. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’d like to be able to keep track of your progress and to do that with any degree of accuracy, I’m going to need an open line to you. Zeus and Kay El are that open line. And you,” Ozzal turned and gave Zeus another domineering glare, “I thought you would jump at the chance to get back out there and start killing again. You’re not going to find that ‘Emiri bitch’ by staying here, after all.”
Both Zeus and the members of the E8 considered Ozzal’s words carefully. Kay El apparently choose to remain silent, more than likely willing to go with whatever Zeus decided.
Zeus finally let out a tremendous sigh. “Fine. I’ll go with them. But I won’t like it….”
Ozzal gave a small but triumphant grin. “I’m not asking you to like it. I’m asking you to do it.”
“I guess it’s alright with us if they come along. However,” Itachi glared over at Zeus and Kay El. “get in our way and you’ll most certainly die.”
Zeus smiled back. “That goes double for you.”
Amshel spared Zeus an icy grin of his own. “So long as we understand each other.”
***
“That was handled quite diplomatically.” Dewey complimented after the members of the Enigma Eight (plus two) had left, now off on a scouting mission to get the lay of the land.
“Contrary to my negative press, I can be quite ‘charismatic’ when I have to be.” Ozzal replied wryly.
“Just out of curiosity, do you know who the other members of the Enigma Eight are? I’ve only ever heard of the five.”
Ozzal shrugged. “No idea. I’m positive just those five will be enough at any rate. More than enough, in fact.”
Dewey stared at the floor, thoughts churning. “Everything is coming together quite brilliantly.” Dewey thought aloud. “Right now, the Cool Mexicanos have engaged in a fight that will deplete both their number and that of the Order of Iron. The Enigma Eight will assault the Syndicate at our direction and, almost as an added bonus, their payment involves the deaths of key members of the Syndicate, the Order of Glass, and even some of the more troublesome freelance citizens! And, once the smoke clears, we shall swoop in and clean up the mess. Nice and tidy, just the way the Comedians want it. Brilliant.”
“Do you know what that means?” Ozzal asked quietly.
Dewey looked up sharply. Ozzal’s back was to him, so he couldn’t read her expression. “No, what does that mean?” He asked carefully.
Ozzal turned and gave Dewey a wolfish smile. “It means that it wouldn’t be premature to throw an early celebration.”
Dewey didn’t necessary like where this was headed. He gulped and asked, “Er, what kind of celebration…?”
“Why…AN ALL-NIGHT HOT POCKET PAJAMA PARTY OF COURSE! HELL YEAH!” Ozzal screamed. She then tore out of the room at a high rate of speed. Dewey could still hear her screeching in the distance, demanding that Professor Matrix pop in some Hot Pockets and change into his pajamas.
After a moment, Dewey realized that he was standing there with his mouth open. He laughed and shook his head. The mask had returned. Or was it a mask at all? More and more, Dewey had begun to realize that Ozzal was one of the most complicated individuals he had ever met. After all, even a ruthless, bloodthirsty dictator needed to have some fun once and awhile…right?
Suddenly, the door to the room banged open. Ozzal was back. “DEWEY! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING, STANDING THERE WITH YOUR MOUTH HANGING OPEN?? GET THE HELL OUT OF THAT UNIFORM AND INTO YOUR PAJAMAS!”
Dewey sighed and followed Ozzal out of the room. This was the price he paid to live in the company of the dragon….
“Excellent!” Ozzal exclaimed once more with a giggle. “This is gonna be so much fun! We can tell ghost stories, and stay up until morning, and….”
***
Kamina kicked opened the door to the GAR Street Bar, nearly knocking it off it’s hinges. As he strode confidently inside, he could see that many of the bar’s patrons had reached for their weapons (or whatever was on hand) as was the usual reaction to anyone coming into the bar, especially with such gusto. As the people inside realized who was at the door and went back to what they were doing, Kamina nodded to the bartender (Watari was working tonight) who tossed him a bottle of the usual. Kamina deftly caught it with one hand and then walked over to his usual spot in the center of the establishment.
The GAR Street Bar was the biggest, baddest center of utter manliness one could possibly hope to find in the rundown country of Actonia. The bar was stocked to the brim with every alcoholic beverage ever known to man, including a few illegal, homebrew concoctions. Every square inch of the walls were covered in posters and pin-ups of all the hottest babes and female models from all over the world; clothing and even bikinis optional, but generally not recommended. And, on any wall that was poster-free, chances were there was some kind of bladed instrument or projectile weapon on display and ready for use at any time. The air was think with the smell of sweat, smoke, and blood, to the point that it would have gagged anyone who wasn’t a regular patron. In the corner, a fight had already broken out between two “gentlemen” over who could beat the other at arm wrestling. Instead of actually arm wrestling to settle the dispute, the two had decided to settle their differences with a no-holds barred fight to the death, and nearby patrons were cheering them on.
Kamina sat down and kicked his legs up onto the table. He couldn’t help the wide grin spreading across his face. He loved this place.
He noted, quite happily, that the place was especially packed tonight. Both new faces and old veterans. Among the veterans, Kamina caught the eye of Kenpachi Zaraki, who hefted his glass of booze in Kamina’s direction in mock salute. Kamina also saw Mugen and Sam Champlan hanging out together as usual, discussing a scheme to train warrior beetles for some kind of upcoming tournament in the Land of the Rising Dot. Roronoa Zoro had already propped his chair up against the wall and, after a significant amount of sake, was halfway to dreamland. Charles Beams sat at a table close to Kamina and was trying to convince his grey-haired friend (and one of the newcomers to the bar) to try a toxic concoction that the mercenary’s wife had actually created. Kamina knew that Charles “friend” was actually Holland Novak, brother to the infamous Dewey Novak and a recent discharge from the Actonia military.
Also among the newcomers to the bar, Kamina recognized Goose Maverick, a recent and curious addition to the GAR Street Bar. Rumor had it that Kenpachi’s lieutenant, little Yachiru, was the one that found Goose wandering the streets of Actonia. She had invited the vagrant to stay with her and ‘Kenny‘, since the unusual man had apparently forgotten everything about himself but his name. Kamina shook his head mournfully. Amnesia was a bitch. At any rate, Goose turned out to be quite the amicable guy and was quickly accepted by everyone else at the bar.
Other than that, Kamina saw only two other new faces that he didn’t recognize. One was, strangely enough, a young boy wearing a light brown trench coat. He sat at a table next to a small motorcycle, which he actually seemed to be talking to. The GAR Street Bar didn’t really have any kind of age limit or anything like the other, boring bars might have, but Kamina was still surprised that Watari let him in…maybe there was more to this kid then met the eye. Finally, sitting at the bar itself, was a grim-faced man in a faded military outfit. He had quite the stack of glasses near him –Kamina watched as he tossed yet another one back- but seemed almost unaffected by the alcohol that was most likely raging through his system. “Another.” The man commanded of Watari. While the older bartender went to get another bottle, the man sat at the bar and chewed his thumb….
Kamina turned his attention back to the rest of the bar. With the exception of the fight still brewing in the corner, things were actually relatively quite in the bar. And, even rarer, pretty much every one of the regular patrons was there. Kamina couldn’t have picked a better time. He decided to make his move….
Kamina hefted the bottle of booze he had been nursing…and smashed it on the center support beam of the bar, next to him. A collective hush suddenly went through the bar, as all eyes were suddenly on Kamina. Even the two fighting patrons had ceased their scuffle, both paushing in mid-swing. It was one thing for bottles to get smashed and liquor to be wasted during a fight, but wasting a precious bottle of booze just to get people’s attention…that was just sick. Even now, many of the patrons had begun to glare at Kamina and slowly reach for their weapons (or, again, whatever was on hand, from chair stools to other bottles of precious alcohol.)
Kamina knew he had to be quick. He leapt up onto his table and yelled out in a booming voice, “GENTLEMEN! …and Ladies.” Kamina winked at Hot Ice Hilda, sitting at a nearby table. Kamina accepted Hilda’s glower with grin and then continued, “As I was saying, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, SHUT YOUR TRAPS, ORDER ANOTHER ROUND OF BOOZE, AND LISTEN UP FOR A MINUTE! I’VE GOT SOME THINGS TO SAY AND I AIN’T GONNA BE STOPPED UNTIL I SAY THEM! ANY QUESTIONS?”
A foolish (and totally smashed) regular shakily raised their hand. Soon after, Kamina’s chair went sailing through the air and nailed the nameless patron in the head.
“PLEASE SAVE ALL QUESTIONS UNTIL THE END OF THE DRAMATIC SPEECH! NOW!” Kamina lowered his voice slightly, but still made sure he could be heard through the whole bar. “Let us discuss the sorry state of this country. I really don’t want to bore you with the knitty gritty details, but it’s time to face facts boys and girls: this place has gone to the crapper, and it’s only gonna get worse.” Kamina dug into his pant’s pocket. He pulled out a photo and held it up. “Look at this!”
Everyone in the bar gave him a blank expression. For awhile, Kamina didn’t understand why no one was reacting to his shocking photograph when Kenpachi muttered, “You idiot, do you honestly think any of us can see what’s on that tiny little picture in this light?”
Kamina briefly glanced at the photo with a quizzical expression, before crushing it in his hand. “Ah, the picture itself isn’t important anyway. What is important is what’s on it!”
“I think I already know what’s on it.” Holland suddenly spoke up. He stared at the floor of the bar with a cheerless expression. “It’s a picture of the Comedian forces assembled just outside the Actonia border. And, to make matters worse,” Holland continue grimly, “they’re there at Ozzal’s request. Anyone who attempts to interfere with the Comedian force will have to face the Actonia military as well.”
Instantly, there were excited murmurs throughout the bar. “Is there going to be an invasion?” “Heh, sounds fun.” “Ozzal is gone completely off her rocker this time….” “Big deal.” and “But why is the rum gone?” were all things Kamina managed to make out in the muttering. He realized he needed to get attention back on him, so decided to toss another chair. In a strange twist of fate, it ended up hitting Holland in the forehead this time.
“HEY! WATCH WHERE THE HELL YOU’RE THROWING THOSE THINGS!!” Holland screamed up at him, clutching his now bruised head. Meanwhile, Charles was doubled-over with laughter nearby.
“THAT’S WHAT YOU GET FOR ACTING ALL EMO ABOUT THIS COMEDIAN INVASION THING! THIS IS THE GAR STREET BAR, FOR PETE’S SAKE!” Kamina screamed back.
“Hey, listen, Kamina.” Kenpachi interjected. He took a swig from his glass before he continued. “I’m sure you have a good reason for bringing this to our attention, but frankly, I’m having a hard time seeing it. So what if Comedia swoops in and takes over? One corrupt government is no different from any other. So long as the booze keeps flowing and we can still find ourselves a decent fight every once and awhile, what does it matter? Am I right?” Kenpachi asked while raising his now empty glass.
“I’ll drink to that!” Mugen exclaimed from the table behind Kenpachi’s own, raising his own glass.
“Good booze, good fights, and good women!” Sam added, clinking his glass against Mugen’s.
“Ah, but you see, that’s exactly why I’ve brought this to everyone’s attention!” Kamina explained, a demented twinkle in his blue eyes. “We might potentially have…THE BIGGEST FIGHT EVER ON OUR HANDS!!!”
It grew silent in the bar again. That had gotten everyone’s attention! Even Kenpachi had leaned foreword in interest.
“Think about it! We’ve never had any real reason to oppose Ozzal in the past; like you said, one shitty government is the same as another. Hell, outside of what we do as members of the GAR Street Bar, most of us even try to live pretty normal, stand-up lives in this country. But this could be our big chance to experience something we’ve all be yearning for since we first set foot in this bar: A fight to end all fights! I’M TALKIN’ ABOUT TAKING ON THE WHOLE FREAKIN’ MIGHT OF ACTONIA AND THE COMEDIAN INVASION FORCE!!”
He really had their attention now. Pretty much everyone in the bar was on the edge of their seat, staring at Kamina with wide-eyes. Once more, Kenpachi was the first to speak.
“Not one, but two whole armies?” Kenpachi gave a wide, predatory grin. “I like it.”
“Hell yeah!” Mugen called out. “Let’s hope they’ve got some badasses leading their armies!”
Charles was still chuckling, but now more from excitement than his continued amusement at Holland’s pain. Although, he did now have a protesting Holland in a headlock. “What the hell!” He exclaimed. “Let’s kick all of them out of our country!”
Goose Maverick glanced around uncertainly. “Um…could I use my tentacrotch?”
“I’m not sure what that means, but when the time comes, feel free!” Kenpachi replied with his own chuckle.
“What the hell is with all the noise?!” Zoro complained groggily, having finally been awoken by all the racket.
And so it went on from there. Kamina watched proudly as everyone in the establishment began talking excitedly about the upcoming fight. Some were already pulling out their weapons to clean them. Towards the back of the bar, a few patrons had even gotten a chant going: “FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!”
“You’re a bigger bunch of fools than I thought.” A dark voice cut through the cheer. Kamina glanced behind him and saw that it was the stranger sitting at the bar. The stack of glasses around him had grown since Kamina’s SPEECH! had begun.
“You honestly think that such a motley collection of losers could honestly take on a whole army of disciplined soldiers, backed by a full contingent of support vehicles?” The man continued.
“Hey, pal, them’s fightin’ words.” Mugen snarled dangerously, reaching for his sword.
“I’m not finished.” The man said, staring over at Mugen with cold indifference. “Do you even realize who you’re going up against? This is Ozzal and Comedia we’re talking about. They’re not just going to have normal soldiers filling their ranks. Their’s a whole world of horrors that you couldn’t even begin to imagine waiting for you if you decide to fight them.”
“To tell you the truth,” Kenpachi said with a leer, “all this is just making me even more interested.” He licked his lips in anticipation.
The man gave a disgusted sigh before turning back to his growing collection of shot glasses. “Why did I even bother…?”
Kamina stroked his chin thoughtfully. “You know,” he said at last, “it’s not like I don’t think we couldn’t handle whatever was thrown at us, but I think we could actually make things more interesting by teaming up with some of our fellow fighters out there in the country….”
“What, you mean like the Syndicate?” Sam asked.
“Yeah,” Kamina nodded. “After I got the idea about taking on both Actonia and Comedia, I was mulling over the idea of whether or not we should strike out on our own or join up with those who have a similar cause.”
“Hmph.” Kenpachi snorted. “I say we handle things on our own. If the Syndicate can’t handle fighting just Ozzal by themselves, then they will certainly be useless in a fight against her and Comedia.”
“Ah, but that would be part of the fun!” Kamina shot back reproachfully, “Think about it! Helping out the underdog in the face of overwhelming evil…IT’S WHAT THE TALES OF HEROIC MANLINESS ARE MADE OF!!!”
“How about this,” Charles suggested, “Let’s go pay the Syndicate a little visit. How they react to the news about the Comedian Invasion will decided whether or not we join forces. How does that sound?”
“An excellent suggestion!” Kamina exclaimed. “Let’s go now!! Any objections?!”
Since everyone had pretty much finished their latest round of booze and were feeling pretty fired up, there were none. The various patrons began to stand up and collect their things as the headed for the door.
“Excellent! GAR Squad, let’s roll out!” Kamina reached into his other pants pocket, withdrew, and then flipped on his signature purple shades. “WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK WE ARE?!?!”
To Be Continued….
Recurring Characters (in order of appearance)
Board Members
Samson Monroe – Master Samson
Clarice Rowe – Queen of the Dorks
Lucille Compton – Cille
Angel Sarcasta – mgangel
Emiri – Boxers
Elizabeth Saurie St. Guardsmen – EdspikeSesshyGrl
Cowboy – CowboyCadenza
April – Lirpa
Father John Sadar – FurionTassadar
Kaia Namek – namek_kaia
Hikki Follet – Kohikki
Raef Compton – Maenos
Bruce Herman – bherm
Michelle Ozzal – Mike Lazzo
Q – Q_chan
Hill – fool_on_the_hill
Zeus – Shuya_Nanahara
Kay El – Kagomes_Luver
Professor Matrix – matrixman
Goose Maverick – Top_Gun
Tom Taredan (If you hadn’t figured it out, that was the grumpy soldier guy at the GAR Street Bar) – Metatronda
Anime Characters
Straight Cougar – sCRYed
Roy Mustang – Fullmetal Alchemist
Izuru Kira – Bleach
Jean Havoc – Fullmetal Alchemist
Aoi – Ghost in the Shell
Kazunoto Goda – Ghost in the Shell
Dewey Novak – Eureka 7
Kamina – Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann
New Characters
Board members
Sam Champlan – SamuraiChamplooFan
Anime Characters
Amsel Goldsmith – Blood+
Itachi Uchiha – Naruto
Dracul Mihawk – One Piece
Byakuya Kuchiki – Bleach
Kagetoki Kariya – Samurai Champloo
Watari – Death Note
Kenpachi Zaraki – Bleach
Mugen – Samurai Champloo
Charles Beams – Eureka 7
Holland Novak – Eureka 7
Roronoa Zoro – One Piece
Kino (strange little “boy” talking to the motocycle) – Kino’s Journey
Hot Ice Hilda – Outlaw Star
The gentle snow fell unfeelingly upon the occupants of Actonia Memorial Cemetery. The bitter cold served to further numb those who had already begun to lose feeling both on the outside and the inside. There was something haunting about a snowfall during a funeral service. If the presence of rain during such a ceremony was a sign from the weeping heavens, than the cold snow looked not unlike the frozen ash of those hence gone….
Six open graves sat all in a row, the claw marks of some large beast having dug into the earth. Six accompanying coffins sat alongside their respective graves. Six was but a number, but each integer of this number had a name. Heero and Riza Yuy, Wyatt Matthews, Real Coolman, Norman Burg, and Landon Blaken. All people who had been killed in a senseless war of pride and ideals. Six lights that had winked out, never to be fully known by the people they had left behind in the darkness….
A squeeze of the hand woke Samson Monroe from his reverie. Turning, Samson looked into the deep violet eyes of the woman close beside him.
“Are you okay?” Clarice asked, concern evident in her voice.
Samson gave a weak smile. “Yeah. I just can’t help thinking….”
“Yes?”
“I just can’t help worrying,” Samson amended, staring at the open graves and their brother coffins. “That one of us might end up…like that.”
Clarice followed his gaze. She gave a knowing sigh. “I understand. After all, there’s just as great a concern that one of us might end up…like them.”
Standing near the coffins, were the bereaved. The former comrades. Those who had known the deceased in their all too short life. Over the coffin of Landon Blaken, a stone-faced Straight Cougar laid a comforting arm on the grieving Lucille Compton. Next to the grave of Heero and Riza Yuy, ex-Colonel Roy Mustang held silent vigil. Nearby, was a surprisingly conservatively dressed Angel Sarcasta, and Emeri, who seemed to be struggling to find an appropriate emotion for the occasion, bouncing back and forth between reservation and remorse. Mustang’s aide, Jean Havoc, and Emeri’s personal soul reaper, Izuru Kira, kept a respectful distance. Near Wyatt Matthews and Real Coolman’s graves, members of the Gunsmoke branch of the Syndicate paid solemn tribute. The normally manic Elizabeth Saurie St. Guardsmen stood with a blank face next to Cowboy and April; both held equally somber expressions.
Samson returned Clarice’s squeeze. “Somehow, I’m going to make sure that this is both the first and last funeral of this revolution!” Samson declared quietly.
Clarice didn’t respond to this bold declaration. Instead she just leaned closer, and Samson put a hand around her waist.
“It’s cold.” Clarice stated with a shiver, pulling even closer to his warmth.
Soon, the funeral service was over. The fact of the matter was that they had held a funeral service for all six at a time, rather than individually, to avoid any large fanfare that might attract the attention of Actonia authorities. They hadn’t even asked a priest to the service. Everyone chipped in when it came time to burying the coffins. When the deed was done, the various members of the Syndicate dispersed in all directions, heading for safe houses for the time being, until they were needed.
Samson watched the impressions his feet made in the snow as he and Clarice left the cemetery. Despite Hikki’s bold pronouncement that the Blaken Syndicate would continue even with Landon’s death, Samson couldn’t help feeling a vague sense of melancholy. He had promised Clarice that he would make sure that no one else would die during the revolution, but truth be told, he was wondering if they even had a revolution anymore. They were little more than a ragtag collection of freedom fighters up against the full might of a tyrannical government and it’s full-scale military power. Did they really have any hope of succeeding? They had no base of operations anymore, with Café Argeno all but gutted, a loose chain of command, a group of people with wildly differing talents and temperaments….
“Samson.” Clarice gently shook Samson’s arm, once more taking the young man out of his thoughts.
“Hm?” Samson looked up from the ground and saw that Clarice was staring over at a pair of figures standing somewhat ominously just outside the cemetery. The taller figure was an older-looking gentlemen with long white hair and dressed in priestly vestments. Beside him stood a lithe young woman with red hair.
“Father Sadar.” Samson said with a small smile. He approached the pair, and heard Clarice follow slightly behind him. Samson couldn’t help feeling that something was slightly off about the two of them….
“Samson.” Father Sadar returned the smile. “I would have come to the service, but I’m not sure if it would have been appropriate.”
“It’s bad enough we’re here, period.” The red-haired girl, Kaia Namek, mumbled crossly. She seemed to be avoiding acknowledging Samson and Clarice’s presence. Father Sadar, in turn, seemed to be ignoring her. From the tension in the air between the two of them, Samson got a feeling they had been in some kind of fight….
“I wanted to thank you again for coming our to our aid during the fight against the Cool Mexicanos.” Samson said, also choosing to ignore whatever internal turmoil was plaguing the couple. “More specifically, I wanted to thank you again for saving my skin!” Samson gave a sheepish grin.
“Don’t even mention it.” Sadar said with a warm grin. “It’s the least I could do. In fact, I’m hoping to do more to help, if I can.”
“Here we go….” Kaia grumbled.
This time, Sadar did spare an annoyed glare. It was at that point Samson suddenly realized what was off about the two of them: their glass crosses, usually hung prominently around their necks, were missing.
Samson’s brow furrowed. He knew that meant something significant. “Father Sadar….”
“Oh, so you finally noticed.” Father Sadar commented as he turned his attention back to the young revolutionary, a small, knowing smile on his face. Then, he grew serious. “Samson, the Order of Glass, Actonia branch, has disbanded.”
“What?” A stunned Clarice asked for an equally surprised Samson, who found himself too taken aback to speak.
“As the weeks went on after I left the Syndicate, the guilt over what I had done began to eat me up inside.” Father Sadar explained, staring off into the distance. A cold wind gently blew through all of them, rustling Sadar’s silver white hair as he went on. “It was imperceptible at first, but the feeling of guilt eventually became more apparent as I not only had to rationalize my decision to myself but to others who I realized I cared about.”
There was a disgusted snort from Kaia. Once more, Sadar ignored her and continued on.
“Intel about the Cool Mexicano trap at the manor on 160th street came through our surveillance channels and, well, I guess I finally snapped.” Father Sadar looked down at the bone-white snow, a sad expression clouding his face. “I had abandoned everyone once already and I found that I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if, once more, those who I had once called ‘my friends’ ended up in danger because I hid behind some damn code that supposedly prevented me from forming any kind of meaningful connection with those I cared about outside the Order.”
“Oh, please!” Kaia suddenly exclaimed. “You knew exactly what you were getting into when you joined the Order! A code like ours is set up for a reason, John Sadar, and it’s not something to be broken lightly! For Christ’s sake, Furion, you gave me this exact same speech when you first recruited me!”
“We’re not getting into this again, Kaia.” Father Sadar stated firmly, addressing the angry young women directly for the first time in the conversation. “I’ve made my decision, and the rest of the Order agreed with me.”
Kaia snorted and mumbled something under her breath, but then went back to being silent.
“The rest of the Order agreed with disbanding?” Samson asked, still slightly in shock that the secretive organization that had caused him so much drama in the past was no longer around.
“You have to understand, most of our members were citizens of Actonia as well.” Father Sadar explained. “All of them felt sympathetic toward the Syndicate’s cause. In fact, our goal, the overthrow of Ozzal and the current Actonian government, is exactly the same as yours, and many of our people joined the Order for the same reason citizens joined the Syndicate: anger and resentment at that same said government. The big difference was our methods and organization. While the Syndicate lashed out randomly in the hope of inflicting as much destruction on the current government as possible, the Order planned on working behind the scenes and slowly corrode Ozzal’s rule at the roots.”
“But now,” Father Sadar continued with a deep breath, “we may not have time for a slow, underground war against oppression. Any time now, Comedian troops could come marching over the Actonia border and not only destroy years of Order planning, but plunge this country into an all new despotic rule. The Cool Mexicanos further complicate matters with whatever shadow games they themselves are playing and we’ve already seen they have an apparent dislike for the Syndicate. Worse, by all indications, there is an Actonian branch of the Order of Iron already working behind the scenes as well, hoping to displace Ozzal for their own evil ends. Now is not the time to fight as a house divided. If we have any hope of seeing this country finally free of all malevolent influences, we need to join forces and stand together!”
“So what do you say, Samson?” Father Sadar asked, holding out his hand. “I know that, once I join the Syndicate, my fellow members of the Order will soon join as well. Together, I’m sure we can accomplish what we couldn’t before when we were separate!”
For awhile, Samson could only stand and stare at Father Sadar’s outstretched hand. His words echoed over and over again in Samson’s head. In truth, new members, especially experienced ones from the Order, were exactly what the Syndicate could use right then. Everything that Father Sadar said made a lot of sense, too. Samson knew they stood a better chance of toppling Ozzal if they pooled resources and combined their strengths.
Only….
“Say, Father Sadar,” Samson asked suddenly, “Do you remember when I threw away that glass cross you gave me? Do you still have it?”
It was Father Sadar’s turn to look stunned. “Actually, yes. I think I have it my pocket. I picked it up after you left.” Father Sadar referred to the day Samson had vehemently rejected the priestly man’s offer to join the Order of Glass. “Why do you ask?”
“Could you give it to me?”
A perplexed expression remained on Father Sadar’s face as he reached into his pocket and withdraw the glass cross necklace. He handed it uncertainly to Samson.
Samson quickly held it up in his hands and placed it around Father Sadar’s neck. For his part, Sadar was too stunned to stop him.
“There.” Samson said with a wry grin, as he finished tying the necklace and stepped back. “To tell you the truth, you looked weird without it.”
Father Sadar glanced down at the glass cross as a prisoner might view their shackles. “Samson….”
“You said it yourself.” Samson stated firmly. “The goals of the Syndicate and the goals of the Order aren’t that different. Why do you need to disband at all? Instead, the Syndicate and the Order of Glass can simply join forces, as we should have done all along. We can do things our way and you can do things your way, only this time, we will be working together, as a coordinated effort, to bring Ozzal down!”
“Besides,” Samson continued, “I wouldn’t want you betraying yet another group of friends just to soothe your guilty conscious.” Samson gave a pointed look in Kaia’s direction, who he was surprised to find smiling back.
Father Sadar looked from Samson to Kaia, to even Clarice, gingerly holding his glass cross in the cup of his palm. “Samson, I…I don’t know what to say.”
Kaia, still smiling, punched Sadar lightly in the arm. “You’re not supposed to say anything, you idiot. You accomplished what you came here to do! Now, we just need to get the rest of the Order back together….”
“Yes….” Father Sadar said dazedly. Suddenly he shook his head and chuckled. “Now, if only I had had this conversation with you before I talked with Schwarzwald….”
Ah, yes. The Actonian branch’s crazed, mummified, phallic-headed leader. “I assume he wasn’t thrilled with the idea.” Samson said, putting his cold hands in his pockets.
“That’s an understatement.” Kaia said with a roll of her eyes.
“Why, what happened?” Clarice asked.
“Well, um, when I went to tell him about my intentions,” Father Sadar explained, scratching his head sheepishly, “he was already in an agitated mood. It was as if he already knew what I was coming to say. He kept screaming things like, ‘This was all pre-ordained!’ and ’We’re all living in some twisted community fan-fiction!’ and nonsensical things like that.”
“And then he ran out of Order headquarters and we haven’t seen him since.” Kaia added, looking just as dumbfounded as Sadar about the whole thing.
Samson shook his head in bemusement. “And you people actually listened to that guy?”
“Well, okay, so he wasn’t exactly the fullest of marble bags.” Father Sadar admitted. “But he could be quite brilliant and charismatic when he had to be.”
“You know, now that he’s gone, I guess that makes you the leader, hm?” Kaia pointed out, hooking her arm around Sadar’s in the first display of actual affection Samson had seen between the two of them.
“I guess so.” Father Sadar chuckled, “Although, I suppose I’ve always acted as a sort of de facto leader for the Order anyway, considering how quickly everyone was to agree with my decision to disband.”
“And now we’re going to have to call everyone back again.” Kaia said with a sigh. “Hopefully everyone is still in an agreeable mood.”
“Well,” Samson said after a deep breath, “Now that that’s settled, Clarice and I should get going. You have your house to get in order and I have mine. And I’m worried that mine might actually be harder to get organized….”
“Hold on, Samson.” Father Sadar held up his hand. “I think I might actually be able to help you out with that….” Samson couldn’t help noticing the twinkle in the man’s blue eyes as he said this. Samson stopped in his tracks and waited for Father Sadar to continue.
“You see, back when I was still operating under the assumption that we were going to merge the Syndicate and the Order, I realized that that’s a lot of personnel that would need somewhere to go while preparing for the fight against Ozzal. Safe houses are too scattered and disorganized and, with Café Argeno demolished, the Syndicate lacks a central headquarters from which to plan strategy and give orders. What you need is a base of operations.”
For the second time during their conversation, Samson’s eyes widened in shock. “You didn’t.”
“I did.” Sadar gave a wide grin. “Even as we speak, one of the former members of my Order have gotten in touch with your newly appointed revolutionary leader….”
***
Hikki Follet stared mournfully back across the woods that lay just outside of the capital city of Orly. He knew that the Syndicate funeral service had probably already ended. He felt a renewed surge of remorse for specifically skipping the service, but he knew that he would be feeling even worse right now if he had attended. He was a very emotional man, and particularly prone to sadness. He was quite sure his blubbering would have ruined the service for everyone else.
And besides, he had much more pressing business here. As the unofficial new leader of the Blaken Syndicate, it now fell to him to put personal feelings aside and always put the future of his organization first and foremost in his mind.
And that meant forgiving past grudges….
Hikki pulled his gaze away from the distant city and back toward his three companions. All the way up in front was the young man who had organized this sojourn. Aoi, dressing in a particularly large and warm looking blue coat that obscured most of his features, waved the rest of them onward.
“It’s not much farther!” Aoi encouraged, as he turned and continued walking.
To the left of Hikki was an even younger man, and one whom he had expected to never see again. Raef Compton pulled his brown coat tighter against himself and followed after Aoi, grumbling something under his breath.
Meanwhile, to his right, stood a large and somewhat imposing figure. Bruce Herman rubbed his gloved hands together as he stomped after the two younger men.
Leaving Hikki to stare after the trio in silent contemplation.
Aoi had appeared to him only days after Landon had died. The Order hacker had explained that the Actonian branch of the Order of Glass had disbanded and was now seeking to actively help the Syndicate in the fight against Ozzal. Too tired from the events of the previous week- the battle at the mansion on 160th street, and running Syndicate affairs after that –to be skeptical, Hikki had wearily agreed to meet Aoi in the Enbeforlocke Woods on the outskirts of Orly a few days later. After all, Hikki seriously doubted the enigmatic Order would bother setting up something so elaborate just to kill him and doubted even further that someone from Order could be working for Ozzal to achieve the same end. Or maybe he was just too tired to worry about such things.
Either way, Hikki had gotten himself bundled up and headed out to the Woods on the specified day, hoping that Aoi really was genuine in his offer to help out the Syndicate. Arriving at the Woods, he had been surprised to see Bruce and Raef with the Order hacker. However, Hikki hadn’t gotten much of a chance to talk with his fellow Actionian before Aoi had charged off into the woods and insisting that they follow after him.
“Mon dieu.” Hikki said with a sigh, before walking after the trio.
Save for the occasional stir of the wind, the woods were deathly silent. The crunch of the snow beneath their booted feet sounded like distant thunderclaps to Hikki’s ear. In the hurry to get to wherever Aoi was bringing them, no conversation passed between any member of the odd group. Hikki stared around at the skeletal trees reaching up into the sky, looking as though they wanted to tear into whatever was showering them with white fluff. What on Earth was out here that Aoi wanted him to see so darn much?
Hikki didn’t have to wait long for his answer. After the steep incline of a hill, that left Hikki huffing and puffing, Aoi suddenly stopped and stared proudly down at what lay at the bottom of the hill.
Hikki followed his gaze, and…. “Zhis iz what you dragged me all ze way out into zhese godforsaken woodz for?”
A large grey slab rose up out of the valley below, so low to the ground that Hikki had a hard time telling where the snow ended and the grey mass began. It reminded Hikki of a seashell buried halfway in beach sand, and, at the moment, seemed just as trivial to the tired baker-turned-revolutionary.
Aoi must have understood the disappointed tone in Hikki’s voice, for he quickly held up a placating hand and explained: “It’s an old Actonia emergency bunker. It’s a relic from Ozzal’s war with Babblestan. Back during the war, there was intel that Babblestan guerrillas had gotten their hands on some SCUD missiles filled with NBC (author’s note: Nuclear, Biological, Chemical) weapons. You’ll remember that, while then-General Ozzal was off fighting the war, Robert Parsons was the prime minister of Actonia. He had several of these built all over the country, as precautions against WMD (weapons of mass destruction) warfare. They were filled with enough supplies to keep a population the size of Orly’s fairly comfortable for at least a month or two, and even some military hardware, in the unlikely event that the enemy somehow managed to break into them. Ozzal and her army stripped the bunkers of their military assets back during her coup detat, but otherwise, they were left alone and forgotten.”
Hikki stared down at the unimpressive slab of concrete with newfound interest. With Café Argeno destroyed, the Syndicate found itself severely lacking a central point of command. But this bunker had the potential to be even more than just a headquarters. If it could cram the entire population of Orly inside of it, it could easily support the meager Syndicate, with much room to spare! Plus, it was remote and apparently forgotten, which meant that the Syndicate could continue their operation in secret and without fear of another Echelon roundup!
“I checked out the inside, and everything still works perfectly.” Hikki nearly jumped out of his skin when Raef spoke up suddenly from beside him. “As you’d expect of a bunker, it’s still structurally sound enough to survive the impact of nuke or the tremors of an earthquake. It has it’s own plumbing and an ingenious little power source that runs on a small hydroelectric battery powered by an underground river. Of course, it’s filled with dust and cobwebs and probably a million little critters, but some spring cleaning is a small price to pay, considering how well everything else works.”
“So, zhat explains why you’re here.” Hikki said, “Aoi asked you to check you ze building?”
Raef nodded. “I’m still devoted to helping Starry somehow find a way out of her mother’s clutches, but I wouldn’t be much of a son if I didn’t help out my own mom from time-to-time, even if it’s indirectly.” Raef said with a wink. “So, I couldn’t say no when Aoi asked me to come and take a look at the place. Besides, it’s not often that I get to whip put my engineering skills…even if I all had to do is put my hands on my hips and say, ‘Yup, everything looks good to me!’” Raef chuckled slightly.
Hikki gave a polite smile and then turned to the largest of their group. “And you?”
Bruce sighed and leaned against a nearby try. “Technically, I didn’t have to truck all the way out here, today.” The big man sent a glare in Aoi’s direction, who stared back at him impassively, “But according to Aoi, there’s some kind of tunnel under the bunker that leads out into an open field somewhere north of the woods. He seems to think that you guys could make good use of that space and wants my landscaping company to come in and clear away any excess foliage…and whatever else you guys happen to want us to do to the place.”
“And you’re okay with doing work for a bunch of terroriztz?”
“Hey, this is just another job for me and my guys. And like any job, we’re getting paid good money by our client.” Bruce nodded in Aoi’s direction. He then gave a sly smile. “I have to pay for my new house somehow. And it’s not like I have any love for Ozzal, either.”
For awhile, Hikki didn’t know want to say. He even said as much. “I-I don’t know what to say….” He stared down at the ugly grew and white slab below him, possibilities already churning in his mind….
“You don’t really need to say anything.” Aoi suddenly spoke up, a curious expression popping onto his face. “I suggest you talk it out with everyone else at the Syndicate. This bunker will be here if and when you decide to make use of it. In the meantime, I must go. Father Sadar is being particularly impulsive today….” Aoi trailed off at that curious sentiment. With a strangely frustrated shake of his head, he turned and walked back in the same direction they had all come in. Bruce silently followed after him.
Then, it was just Hikki and Raef. Hikki noticed that the young lad was shuffling his feet nervously and staring at Hikki out of the corner of his eye.
“Raef? Iz something wrong?” Hikki asked.
“Hikki…would it be alright to come back with you? I…I’d like to see my mom.”
***
Kazunoto Goda strode purposefully down the halls of the Comdot Estate, a smug grin permanently plastered on his disfigured face. He could hardly believe the good fortune that had fallen into his lap. Landon Blaken was dead. Both the Syndicate and the mysterious Cool Mexicanos had suffered a terrible blow. It was apparent that the Order of Iron’s day in the sun was soon at hand. First, the remaining garbage needed to be swept off the stage and then, and most important of all, Ozzal would need to accept his most generous offer to become their lead puppet in the theatre that was Actonia….
In fact, as smug as he felt at the moment, it suddenly occurred to him that Ozzal’s recent summons might just be another token of his good fortune. Maybe she had given greater consideration to his offer and was actually going to announce her allegiance with the Order that very day. Goda tried to suppress such wonderful thought. After all, he couldn’t be that fortunate in the span of only a few days…could he?
The guards outside of Ozzal’s audience chamber gave him a curt nod and opened the massive, black iron doors for him. As Goda strutted in, he noticed that his old friend Dewey Novak was also in the cavernous room, standing closely to the right of Ozzal’s throne.
Goda walked to the center of the room and then gave a slight bow. “Always at your service, my Lord.” Goda didn’t even bother to hide his dripping sarcasm.
When Goda stood straight again, he noticed something quite alarming and very unfortunate. Ozzal held a gun in her hand and wore a feral grin on her face.
Goda frowned and tried to remain calm. He knew Ozzal was impulsive, but surely even she recognized the sheer stupidity of her threat. She must certainly, or at least distantly, be aware of the ramifications that would occur as a result of his death. Not only would she have declared war against the Order of Iron, but she must have realized that it had only been him that had kept Actonia in order all this time!
“What is this?” Goda demanded with a sneer, mustering more bravado than he felt at the moment.
“I’m simply cleaning house, my dear Kazunoto.” Ozzal stated simply. Goda’s eyes widened when he realized that he did not recognize the deathly calm and intelligent monster that was wearing Ozzal’s skin. “When you see the rest of your little order in Hell, tell them I refused your offer!”
***
The gun in Ozzal’s hand barked once, then twice. The bullets tore threw Goda’s misshapen head like an unripe melon, causing it to explode in vivid scarlet. Goda’s body sank to it’s knees, as if in one final desperate act of penance aimed at Actonia’s ruler, than fell over sideways with a disgusting plop!
Dewey Novak stared down at the body of his former comrade with disinterest. While it may have been true that the two of them had once conspired together to bring order back to Actonia, that had been before Novak’s eyes had been opened to the true power that lived at the heart of Orly. And besides, traitors always deserved their deaths….
Ozzal holstered her smoking pistol at her hip and then stretched out in her throne like a cat might after a delicious midmorning meal. “Well, that’s taken care of. And not a moment too soon.”
“Although I am far from being sad at seeing him go, this is a dangerous path you’re walking, Governor.” Dewey cautioned. “I have no doubt that we could handle such a threat, but doesn’t this make us enemies of the Order of Iron?”
Ozzal waved a hand dismissively. “Already, things are in place to take care of that little problem. Despite what you and Goda once thought, I do keep track of what goes on in my little piece of the world. I know about Landon Blaken’s death and the conflict between the Syndicate and the Cool Mexicanos. I realized that the easiest way to deal with these disparate factions befouling my rule is to turn them against each other.” Ozzal’s feral grin returned in earnest. “ Right now, the Order of Iron headquarters should be experiencing their own little confrontation.”
Dewey’s shook his head and smiled in disbelieving approval. “You really have been thinking ahead this whole time.” Dewey grew serious again. “I may be out of line with this question but I feel it is necessary to ask it anyway: Why?”
Ozzal lazily cocked an eyebrow. “Why what?”
“Why now? You told me you considered the Syndicate and all the other terrorist groups to be nothing more than flies in your eyes. Why are you now taking in interest in their destruction?”
“Dewey!” Ozzal suddenly snapped in a mock admonishing tone, “As I was saying to Goda, Actonia needs a good cleaning. After all, how can you hope to entertain guests if your house is a mess?”
Realization slowly dawned on the white-haired official. “Comedia. It’s finally happening, isn’t it?”
Ozzal’s continued predatory smirk almost sent shivers down Dewey’s spine. “Approval for an invasion under the grounds of a “peacekeeping” mission to stabilize the Actonia region was recently passed in the Comedian Senate. Comedian military forces have stationed themselves just outside the Actonian national border. My friends over in the Senate passed along a little message: I have one month to get my affairs in order before the party comes crashing down.”
“One month?” Dewey echoed, shocked that, not only did they have an actual timetable for the coming assault, but that it was sooner than he thought possible.
“Yes, one month. And, if I had to guess at the unspoken command in my friends’ little message, it that’s the Comedians want this invasion to go as painlessly as possible. No guerrilla’s assaulting their troops in the streets, no Comedian newspapers screeching about the existence of secret factions pulling strings in Actonia, and anything else that would be bad for PR. Which means I have to make sure that the will of the more fiery elements of this country is broken by the time the invasion begins. By playing everyone against each other, we can probably accomplish said goal without getting our hands dirty. And yet, I’m still feeling the need to help things along a little….”
Ozzal hopped up out of her throne and gave another mighty stretch. She then walked down from the throne dais and headed for the door. “Come with me, Dewey.”
Genuinely curious at what Ozzal was going to pull from her sleeves next, Dewey quickly followed after the tyrant. Passing by the still oozing corpse of Goda, another thought suddenly occurred to Dewey…in addition to the one about making sure someone would eventually be along to clean up the mess….
“My Lord, what about Zeus? As you’ll recall, the young man was quite fond of his adoptive father….” Dewey still had trouble actually seeing Goda as any kind of father. However, if the scarred man had done anything halfway decent in his short life, it would probably have been the adoption and rearing of the young Echelon agent. Although, considering how much of a psychopath the boy had turned out to be, that didn’t really say much for Goda’s paternal abilities….
“See, that’s why I like you, Dewey.” Ozzal flashed another evil smile over her shoulder as she continued walking, “You’re loyal and smart. As to your question, I think you’ll find my solution to one problem might very well help out in regards to that matter as well….”
***
“BLOODY HELL!!”
Q found herself suddenly, and unpleasantly, awoken from her short-lived catnap. She groggily tried to piece together both her current situation in real life, as well as the vague flashes she remembered of her brief dream. Something about a gorgeous, red-haired pirate…..
Suddenly, Q was thrown back in her seat with the rapid acceleration of the car she was in. It was at that moment that everything came rushing back to her with the speed of…well, an accelerating car.
“OMGWTFBBQ, Hill!” Q finally croaked. “Where’s the fire?!”
“Hold on!” Hill shouted out, instead of answering her question. He then gave the car wheel a tight 90 degree turn.
Q found herself gripping the dashboard of the car as the vehicle went flying around the street corner. How do I get myself in these kind of situations?! she lamented to herself, as she felt her lunch try to continue foreword as the car turned.
Of course, Q knew exactly how she had ended up in this situation at least. It’s hard to say ‘no’ when a suave British secret agent asks for your help in uncovering a conspiracy that plagues your city. So far, though, there had been no cool gadgets or dry martinis, but a lot of boredom punctuated by brief moments of excitement like this one.
Thing is, Q had never seen the seemingly unflappable Hill looked so freaked out before….
“Hill, what’s going on?” Q tried asking again, as their car continued to speed down Orly’s streets.
Hill glanced over at her as if he suddenly remembered that she existed. “I’m deeply sorry, Q, but I’m afraid I have little time to explain. I’ll try giving you the basics as we drive toward our eventual destination. Obviously, you remember why I’m here in Orly, right?”
Q made a mental note to ask where their eventual destination actually was…assuming they didn’t reach it before then…or crashed…. “You’re an MI-6 agent investigating the Order of Glass.”
Hill nodded, and then made another stomach-churning turn, this time to the left. “I’m afraid that I haven’t been entirely open with you. You see, there’s another organization that the MI-6 is investigating here in Orly.”
“There’s another one?!” Q asked through grit teeth, as she once more clung to the dashboard for dear life.
“It’s an organization in direct opposition to the Order of Glass. It’s called the Order of Iron. Normally, there’s actually very little investigative work going on involving the Order of Iron. We already know how they operate. They infest a host country and attempt to take it over from the inside. Real megalomaniacs. Thus, most of our work generally focuses on deterring their diabolical plans from coming to fruition. The fact that you haven’t even heard of them yet is a sign that our efforts have been working well thus far. It’s only been in recent years that our attention has turned to learning the inner workings of the more enigmatic Order of Glass.”
If they’re in opposition to the Order of Iron, doesn’t that make the Glass one of the good guys? But Q didn’t ask that one aloud. Instead, she did ask, “So what does that have to do with us racing around the city?”
“I just got an emergency call from the MI-6 operative stationed inside the Order of Iron’s headquarters. Apparently, it’s all gone to hell down there. I couldn’t make out what was going on before the transmission cut out, but I know it’s not good. If you want, I could drop you off somewhere before we reach the Order HQ. I don’t really want you to get involved in whatever…Q are you listening?”
Hill noticed that the female police chief was staring, gape-mouthed out the front window. Perplexed, he turned and leaned foreword to do the same.
He slammed on the break, nearly causing both him and Q to go flying out of the car, seatbelts or not. He too found himself staring, open-mouthed at the incredible and terrifying sight before them.
“My…God….” Q heard someone mutter and realized, distantly, that it was herself.
Hovering over the city of Orly, looking even more surreal in the swirling white snow, was a giant, pale white zeppelin. On the side, one could make out the words: “The Bird of Spamming is my name. Devour my spam to make me sane.” in bold, blood red lettering. The huge airship was framed by a pillar of billowing smoke coming from below it. Hill and Q could only watch in horrified astonishment as a hatch opened on the bottom of the zeppelin and bombs fell unyieldingly out….
***
“The Cool Mexicanos? I see…like you said, playing one group against the other. How did you trick them into attacking the Order of Iron?”
“Actually,” Ozzal said, as they continued into the bowels of the Comdot Estate, “there was no need for deception. Da Sombras, the current leader of the Mexicanos, was once a simple mercenary before he decided to start his own cloak-and-dagger club. He even did some work for me back during my miscellaneous military campaigns, so I knew how to get in contact with him. As I suspected, he views the Syndicate as a common enemy, blaming them for Landon’s death. It was easy to work out a ‘you-scratch-my-back-and-I’ll-scratch-yours’ arrangement. He agreed to attack the Order of Iron if I helped him crush the Syndicate.”
Dewey gave his own icy grin. “Perfect. The Cool Mexicanos will wear themselves out fighting with both the Order of Iron and the Syndicate. It won’t take much to eradicate them after the dust settles.”
“Exactly.” Ozzal nodded with approval. “But, as I said, I’m not going to be sitting idly by while the three duke it out. I want to conserve the Actonia military for sweeping up the remains of the factions once they have wore each other out, so that leaves only one other option, now that the Echelon has been made all but extinct….”
Ozzal pushed open one last door, which led into a small, dimly-lit room at the very back of the estate. Standing in the center of the room were five shadowy figures….
Dewey frowned. “Mercenaries.”
“‘We don’t need their scum’ right?” Ozzal gave Dewey a patronizing leer. “As I recall, you haven’t been entirely loathe to hire freelancers for your own purposes in the past.”
“That’s true.” Dewey admitted. “But they weren’t anything like…these people.”
Standing in the center of the room were five of the most dangerous men in, not only the country, but the whole world. Wanted by pretty much every organization of justice out there for breaking just about every law imaginable, the five were apart of their own elite faction who’s sole goal was aiding in the advancement of the power and prestige of it’s individual members. They were members of the infamous Enigma Eight.
“We’ve come as requested,” the figure in the center said with a sniff, “so you had better make this worth our time.”
Amshel Goldsmith. Once, a leading scientists in a revolutionary field of zoological genetics, the sophisticated-seeming man had disappeared in the previous century under mysterious circumstances, only to reappear in recent, local tabloids that claimed that, not only was he now in the field of creating monsters, but that he himself had turning into something decidedly inhuman….
“As you are probably aware, our organization never lacks for money or power,” the man to the right of Amshel stated coolly, quietly, “and the advancement of our individual members are our chief concern. I certainly hope, for your sake, you have something for all of us interesting enough to justify our involvement in your petty conflict.”
Itachi Uchiha. A ninja among ninjas. There were rumors abound that said Itachi had killed his entire ninja clan in a single night just to see if he could. He seemed obsessed with pushing the limit of his power, and so far, very little had proved to be much of a test for him. The surprisingly young man glared over the cowl of his heavy black coat with disconcertingly piercing scarlet eyes.
The other members of group chose to remain quiet and in the shadows. To Itachi’s own right stood the long-haired Byakuya Kuchiki, an oddity among the criminal organization. Byakuya was said to have been the strictest and most law abiding soul reaper captain of the elite Thirteen Court Guard Squads from the Land of the Rising Dot. Dewey imagined that perhaps Byakuya had taken his own self-righteous sense of ‘justice’ a little too far in the past, earning him an expulsion from the ranks of the soul reapers and eventually leading him to join the only association that would equally recognize both his talents and his ‘vindicated’ goals.
To Amshell’s immediate left, Dewey recognized the infamous swordsman, Dracule “Hawkeyes” Mihawk. It was hard not to recognize the grim-faced man, with his signature, massive cross-shaped sword slung over his back. Dewey knew that Mihawk’s sole goal was to find another swordsman worthy of his skills to face in combat. It was said that Mihawk had traveled across every ocean in the world in search of such in an opponent.
Next to Mihawk, was a swordsmen of equal renown. Kagetoki Kariya was said to be the Land of the Rising Dot’s greatest assassin, often taking care of rogue samurai and other dangerous elements that normal government agents would be no match for. Dewey was somewhat surprised to see the samurai-assassin among the Enigma Eight’s ranks. If anything Dewey would have expected him to be one of the people hunting the members of the E8. But then, while Kariya was known for his contracts with the government of the Rising Dot, perhaps the man had personal interests that only the aid of the E8 could help fulfill….
This were dangerous men, to be sure. Dangerous to have both on your side and as enemies. Dewey couldn’t help but wonder about Ozzal’s sanity once more. Really, what did she have to offer these powerful men?
Suddenly, the door behind them burst open and there was a familiar sounding chuckle.
“Well, whadya know! It’s the Flying :|s!”
Dewey spun and faced one of the last surviving Echelon agents: ‘Angry God’ Zeus. “The Flying what?”
“The Flying :|s” Zeus repeated with a shrug. “I’m not surprised you don’t know the name. Most people only know them through their tabloid name. That Enigma Eight bullshit. However, those of us who have dabbled in the criminal underworld know them by a completely different name, on account of their rather fixed expression.” Zeus pointed at the five criminals behind Dewey.
Dewey turned to look back at their guests and, sure enough, all five were glaring up at Zeus in a similar, :| expression.
“I am not :|.” Mihawk objected with a scowl.
“Yeah, you’re really more of a :robotindifferent:.” Zeus amended, as he stuck his tongue out at the swordsman.
Mihawk’s hand went to the large gold cross around his neck….
“Alright, that’s enough out of you.” Ozzal declared, giving Zeus a reproachful glower. Dewey was surprised when Zeus actually seemed to serious up. Perhaps even he knew it wasn’t wise to make Ozzal overtly angry…. “Is Kay El with you?”
“Yeah, and he brought those files you were asking for.” Zeus jerked a thumb behind him and the tall, tan-skinned young man came walking through the door, a bundle of files in his arms. Without a word, he walked over and handed the files to Ozzal. While she leafed through them, Kay El gave the assembled members of the E8 a hard look.
“Good, no gunman.” Kay El nodded with approval and then walked back and stood beside Zeus.
Meanwhile, Ozzal walked over to her guests and began handing out manila folders. She talked as she gave them away. The first file went to Amshell; as he opened it, Ozzal said: “Solomon Goldsmith. I’m sure you don’t need an introduction. Last seen, with his wife, as a member of the Order of Glass, here in Actonia.”
Amshel smirked as he looked down at the file. “So, Solomon, this is where you’ve been hiding….”
Ozzal handed the next file to Mihawk, saying, “Father John ‘Furion’ Sadar. Second-in-command of the Order of Glass. Supposedly an accomplished swordsman. And, there’s always Emiri,” Ozzal handed him another file, “a former agent of mine. She’s been known to dabble in the use of bladed weapons.”
“Hey, hey!” Zeus suddenly spoke up. “I don’t care about Father John ‘I’m-an-insufferably-self-righteous-bastard’ Sadar, but that Emiri bitch is mine.” Zeus scowled over at both Ozzal and Mihawk for emphasis.
Ozzal sighed and rolled her eyes. “Fine, just the Order of Glass priest, then.”
Mihawk looked down at the file of Father Sadar with his namesake slit-pupiled eyes. “I sincerely doubt he’s of my caliber but,” Mihawk closed the file, “I suppose he shall have to do.”
Ozzal next handed a large folder to Byakuya. “We actually have quite a few rogue soul reapers operating in this area. Emiri herself has a former soul reaper lieutenant named Izuru Kira working as her personal retainer. Then, there is former captain Shunsui Kyouraku and his lieutenant, Nanao Ise. Both have been spotted in the suburbs of the Actonia residential area. Plus, there’s always….”
“You need not continue.” Byakuya’s calm, cultured voice cut her off. The former soul reaper captain almost seemed bored of the whole proceeding. He stood lackadaisically to one side, almost as if he was leaning against an invisible wall, and after glancing through the folder Ozzal had handed to him, Byakuya had shut his eyes. “I have more than enough incentive to aid you, at this point. Soon, the rule of law shall be restored and order will be brought back to this country.”
“Well said.” Kariya spoke up with a nod. “I agree with him. I do not need any special incentive to restore order amidst chaos.” Dewey couldn’t help noticing that Kariya stood in a similar manner to Byakuya: off to one side and with his eyes closed.
Ozzal gave a Cheshire-cat grin. “Excellent. I suppose that just leaves you.” Ozzal said, turning toward Itachi. “You all might be interested in this one, actually. His name is Jean Pierrot and according to what little we know about him, he’s not only a capable and unique fighter, but possesses an immense power of unknown origin.” Ozzal handed the folder over to Itachi, but all five of the criminals read over the ninja’s shoulder.
“Unknown origin, eh?” Amshel remarked, rubbing his wide chin thoughtfully, “I’d very much like to know how he got such power.” Dewey imagined that Amshel was taking particular note of a certain reconnaissance photo that had been taken after Pierrot’s little “transformation”….
“He’s a kusarigama user.” Mihawk noted with interest. “That’s quite a rarity.”
Itachi snapped the folder shut. “You both have your own marks already. This one’s mine. Inhuman power or not, I’d be very interested in seeing how he fares against the full might of the Sharingan….” Itachi’s scarlet eyes flashed for emphasis.
“So, I trust all this will suffice as ‘payment‘?” Ozzal asked.
“Indeed.” Amshel said, speaking for the whole group. “In return for providing us aid and information concerning our marks of payment, we shall aid you in whatever you ask of us. Is that satisfactory to you as well?”
“One more proviso,” Ozzal said, “I’d like you to take two of my own men with you-”
“Wow, wow, wow.” Zeus waved his hands in the air. “You’re not thinking about sending me and Kay El with these posers, are you?” Obviously, Ozzal hadn’t sent for the two last remaining members of the Echelon just to bring her some files.
The Enigma Eight were less then thrilled with the idea as well. “We don’t need escorts. They’d only be in our way.” Itachi stated crossly.
Ozzal held up her hands in placation, an annoyed expression on her face. “Cool it, both of you.” Ozzal turned to the E8. “Look, don’t think of them as escorts. You’ll probably be surprised at how capable they are in a fight. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’d like to be able to keep track of your progress and to do that with any degree of accuracy, I’m going to need an open line to you. Zeus and Kay El are that open line. And you,” Ozzal turned and gave Zeus another domineering glare, “I thought you would jump at the chance to get back out there and start killing again. You’re not going to find that ‘Emiri bitch’ by staying here, after all.”
Both Zeus and the members of the E8 considered Ozzal’s words carefully. Kay El apparently choose to remain silent, more than likely willing to go with whatever Zeus decided.
Zeus finally let out a tremendous sigh. “Fine. I’ll go with them. But I won’t like it….”
Ozzal gave a small but triumphant grin. “I’m not asking you to like it. I’m asking you to do it.”
“I guess it’s alright with us if they come along. However,” Itachi glared over at Zeus and Kay El. “get in our way and you’ll most certainly die.”
Zeus smiled back. “That goes double for you.”
Amshel spared Zeus an icy grin of his own. “So long as we understand each other.”
***
“That was handled quite diplomatically.” Dewey complimented after the members of the Enigma Eight (plus two) had left, now off on a scouting mission to get the lay of the land.
“Contrary to my negative press, I can be quite ‘charismatic’ when I have to be.” Ozzal replied wryly.
“Just out of curiosity, do you know who the other members of the Enigma Eight are? I’ve only ever heard of the five.”
Ozzal shrugged. “No idea. I’m positive just those five will be enough at any rate. More than enough, in fact.”
Dewey stared at the floor, thoughts churning. “Everything is coming together quite brilliantly.” Dewey thought aloud. “Right now, the Cool Mexicanos have engaged in a fight that will deplete both their number and that of the Order of Iron. The Enigma Eight will assault the Syndicate at our direction and, almost as an added bonus, their payment involves the deaths of key members of the Syndicate, the Order of Glass, and even some of the more troublesome freelance citizens! And, once the smoke clears, we shall swoop in and clean up the mess. Nice and tidy, just the way the Comedians want it. Brilliant.”
“Do you know what that means?” Ozzal asked quietly.
Dewey looked up sharply. Ozzal’s back was to him, so he couldn’t read her expression. “No, what does that mean?” He asked carefully.
Ozzal turned and gave Dewey a wolfish smile. “It means that it wouldn’t be premature to throw an early celebration.”
Dewey didn’t necessary like where this was headed. He gulped and asked, “Er, what kind of celebration…?”
“Why…AN ALL-NIGHT HOT POCKET PAJAMA PARTY OF COURSE! HELL YEAH!” Ozzal screamed. She then tore out of the room at a high rate of speed. Dewey could still hear her screeching in the distance, demanding that Professor Matrix pop in some Hot Pockets and change into his pajamas.
After a moment, Dewey realized that he was standing there with his mouth open. He laughed and shook his head. The mask had returned. Or was it a mask at all? More and more, Dewey had begun to realize that Ozzal was one of the most complicated individuals he had ever met. After all, even a ruthless, bloodthirsty dictator needed to have some fun once and awhile…right?
Suddenly, the door to the room banged open. Ozzal was back. “DEWEY! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING, STANDING THERE WITH YOUR MOUTH HANGING OPEN?? GET THE HELL OUT OF THAT UNIFORM AND INTO YOUR PAJAMAS!”
Dewey sighed and followed Ozzal out of the room. This was the price he paid to live in the company of the dragon….
“Excellent!” Ozzal exclaimed once more with a giggle. “This is gonna be so much fun! We can tell ghost stories, and stay up until morning, and….”
***
Kamina kicked opened the door to the GAR Street Bar, nearly knocking it off it’s hinges. As he strode confidently inside, he could see that many of the bar’s patrons had reached for their weapons (or whatever was on hand) as was the usual reaction to anyone coming into the bar, especially with such gusto. As the people inside realized who was at the door and went back to what they were doing, Kamina nodded to the bartender (Watari was working tonight) who tossed him a bottle of the usual. Kamina deftly caught it with one hand and then walked over to his usual spot in the center of the establishment.
The GAR Street Bar was the biggest, baddest center of utter manliness one could possibly hope to find in the rundown country of Actonia. The bar was stocked to the brim with every alcoholic beverage ever known to man, including a few illegal, homebrew concoctions. Every square inch of the walls were covered in posters and pin-ups of all the hottest babes and female models from all over the world; clothing and even bikinis optional, but generally not recommended. And, on any wall that was poster-free, chances were there was some kind of bladed instrument or projectile weapon on display and ready for use at any time. The air was think with the smell of sweat, smoke, and blood, to the point that it would have gagged anyone who wasn’t a regular patron. In the corner, a fight had already broken out between two “gentlemen” over who could beat the other at arm wrestling. Instead of actually arm wrestling to settle the dispute, the two had decided to settle their differences with a no-holds barred fight to the death, and nearby patrons were cheering them on.
Kamina sat down and kicked his legs up onto the table. He couldn’t help the wide grin spreading across his face. He loved this place.
He noted, quite happily, that the place was especially packed tonight. Both new faces and old veterans. Among the veterans, Kamina caught the eye of Kenpachi Zaraki, who hefted his glass of booze in Kamina’s direction in mock salute. Kamina also saw Mugen and Sam Champlan hanging out together as usual, discussing a scheme to train warrior beetles for some kind of upcoming tournament in the Land of the Rising Dot. Roronoa Zoro had already propped his chair up against the wall and, after a significant amount of sake, was halfway to dreamland. Charles Beams sat at a table close to Kamina and was trying to convince his grey-haired friend (and one of the newcomers to the bar) to try a toxic concoction that the mercenary’s wife had actually created. Kamina knew that Charles “friend” was actually Holland Novak, brother to the infamous Dewey Novak and a recent discharge from the Actonia military.
Also among the newcomers to the bar, Kamina recognized Goose Maverick, a recent and curious addition to the GAR Street Bar. Rumor had it that Kenpachi’s lieutenant, little Yachiru, was the one that found Goose wandering the streets of Actonia. She had invited the vagrant to stay with her and ‘Kenny‘, since the unusual man had apparently forgotten everything about himself but his name. Kamina shook his head mournfully. Amnesia was a bitch. At any rate, Goose turned out to be quite the amicable guy and was quickly accepted by everyone else at the bar.
Other than that, Kamina saw only two other new faces that he didn’t recognize. One was, strangely enough, a young boy wearing a light brown trench coat. He sat at a table next to a small motorcycle, which he actually seemed to be talking to. The GAR Street Bar didn’t really have any kind of age limit or anything like the other, boring bars might have, but Kamina was still surprised that Watari let him in…maybe there was more to this kid then met the eye. Finally, sitting at the bar itself, was a grim-faced man in a faded military outfit. He had quite the stack of glasses near him –Kamina watched as he tossed yet another one back- but seemed almost unaffected by the alcohol that was most likely raging through his system. “Another.” The man commanded of Watari. While the older bartender went to get another bottle, the man sat at the bar and chewed his thumb….
Kamina turned his attention back to the rest of the bar. With the exception of the fight still brewing in the corner, things were actually relatively quite in the bar. And, even rarer, pretty much every one of the regular patrons was there. Kamina couldn’t have picked a better time. He decided to make his move….
Kamina hefted the bottle of booze he had been nursing…and smashed it on the center support beam of the bar, next to him. A collective hush suddenly went through the bar, as all eyes were suddenly on Kamina. Even the two fighting patrons had ceased their scuffle, both paushing in mid-swing. It was one thing for bottles to get smashed and liquor to be wasted during a fight, but wasting a precious bottle of booze just to get people’s attention…that was just sick. Even now, many of the patrons had begun to glare at Kamina and slowly reach for their weapons (or, again, whatever was on hand, from chair stools to other bottles of precious alcohol.)
Kamina knew he had to be quick. He leapt up onto his table and yelled out in a booming voice, “GENTLEMEN! …and Ladies.” Kamina winked at Hot Ice Hilda, sitting at a nearby table. Kamina accepted Hilda’s glower with grin and then continued, “As I was saying, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, SHUT YOUR TRAPS, ORDER ANOTHER ROUND OF BOOZE, AND LISTEN UP FOR A MINUTE! I’VE GOT SOME THINGS TO SAY AND I AIN’T GONNA BE STOPPED UNTIL I SAY THEM! ANY QUESTIONS?”
A foolish (and totally smashed) regular shakily raised their hand. Soon after, Kamina’s chair went sailing through the air and nailed the nameless patron in the head.
“PLEASE SAVE ALL QUESTIONS UNTIL THE END OF THE DRAMATIC SPEECH! NOW!” Kamina lowered his voice slightly, but still made sure he could be heard through the whole bar. “Let us discuss the sorry state of this country. I really don’t want to bore you with the knitty gritty details, but it’s time to face facts boys and girls: this place has gone to the crapper, and it’s only gonna get worse.” Kamina dug into his pant’s pocket. He pulled out a photo and held it up. “Look at this!”
Everyone in the bar gave him a blank expression. For awhile, Kamina didn’t understand why no one was reacting to his shocking photograph when Kenpachi muttered, “You idiot, do you honestly think any of us can see what’s on that tiny little picture in this light?”
Kamina briefly glanced at the photo with a quizzical expression, before crushing it in his hand. “Ah, the picture itself isn’t important anyway. What is important is what’s on it!”
“I think I already know what’s on it.” Holland suddenly spoke up. He stared at the floor of the bar with a cheerless expression. “It’s a picture of the Comedian forces assembled just outside the Actonia border. And, to make matters worse,” Holland continue grimly, “they’re there at Ozzal’s request. Anyone who attempts to interfere with the Comedian force will have to face the Actonia military as well.”
Instantly, there were excited murmurs throughout the bar. “Is there going to be an invasion?” “Heh, sounds fun.” “Ozzal is gone completely off her rocker this time….” “Big deal.” and “But why is the rum gone?” were all things Kamina managed to make out in the muttering. He realized he needed to get attention back on him, so decided to toss another chair. In a strange twist of fate, it ended up hitting Holland in the forehead this time.
“HEY! WATCH WHERE THE HELL YOU’RE THROWING THOSE THINGS!!” Holland screamed up at him, clutching his now bruised head. Meanwhile, Charles was doubled-over with laughter nearby.
“THAT’S WHAT YOU GET FOR ACTING ALL EMO ABOUT THIS COMEDIAN INVASION THING! THIS IS THE GAR STREET BAR, FOR PETE’S SAKE!” Kamina screamed back.
“Hey, listen, Kamina.” Kenpachi interjected. He took a swig from his glass before he continued. “I’m sure you have a good reason for bringing this to our attention, but frankly, I’m having a hard time seeing it. So what if Comedia swoops in and takes over? One corrupt government is no different from any other. So long as the booze keeps flowing and we can still find ourselves a decent fight every once and awhile, what does it matter? Am I right?” Kenpachi asked while raising his now empty glass.
“I’ll drink to that!” Mugen exclaimed from the table behind Kenpachi’s own, raising his own glass.
“Good booze, good fights, and good women!” Sam added, clinking his glass against Mugen’s.
“Ah, but you see, that’s exactly why I’ve brought this to everyone’s attention!” Kamina explained, a demented twinkle in his blue eyes. “We might potentially have…THE BIGGEST FIGHT EVER ON OUR HANDS!!!”
It grew silent in the bar again. That had gotten everyone’s attention! Even Kenpachi had leaned foreword in interest.
“Think about it! We’ve never had any real reason to oppose Ozzal in the past; like you said, one shitty government is the same as another. Hell, outside of what we do as members of the GAR Street Bar, most of us even try to live pretty normal, stand-up lives in this country. But this could be our big chance to experience something we’ve all be yearning for since we first set foot in this bar: A fight to end all fights! I’M TALKIN’ ABOUT TAKING ON THE WHOLE FREAKIN’ MIGHT OF ACTONIA AND THE COMEDIAN INVASION FORCE!!”
He really had their attention now. Pretty much everyone in the bar was on the edge of their seat, staring at Kamina with wide-eyes. Once more, Kenpachi was the first to speak.
“Not one, but two whole armies?” Kenpachi gave a wide, predatory grin. “I like it.”
“Hell yeah!” Mugen called out. “Let’s hope they’ve got some badasses leading their armies!”
Charles was still chuckling, but now more from excitement than his continued amusement at Holland’s pain. Although, he did now have a protesting Holland in a headlock. “What the hell!” He exclaimed. “Let’s kick all of them out of our country!”
Goose Maverick glanced around uncertainly. “Um…could I use my tentacrotch?”
“I’m not sure what that means, but when the time comes, feel free!” Kenpachi replied with his own chuckle.
“What the hell is with all the noise?!” Zoro complained groggily, having finally been awoken by all the racket.
And so it went on from there. Kamina watched proudly as everyone in the establishment began talking excitedly about the upcoming fight. Some were already pulling out their weapons to clean them. Towards the back of the bar, a few patrons had even gotten a chant going: “FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!”
“You’re a bigger bunch of fools than I thought.” A dark voice cut through the cheer. Kamina glanced behind him and saw that it was the stranger sitting at the bar. The stack of glasses around him had grown since Kamina’s SPEECH! had begun.
“You honestly think that such a motley collection of losers could honestly take on a whole army of disciplined soldiers, backed by a full contingent of support vehicles?” The man continued.
“Hey, pal, them’s fightin’ words.” Mugen snarled dangerously, reaching for his sword.
“I’m not finished.” The man said, staring over at Mugen with cold indifference. “Do you even realize who you’re going up against? This is Ozzal and Comedia we’re talking about. They’re not just going to have normal soldiers filling their ranks. Their’s a whole world of horrors that you couldn’t even begin to imagine waiting for you if you decide to fight them.”
“To tell you the truth,” Kenpachi said with a leer, “all this is just making me even more interested.” He licked his lips in anticipation.
The man gave a disgusted sigh before turning back to his growing collection of shot glasses. “Why did I even bother…?”
Kamina stroked his chin thoughtfully. “You know,” he said at last, “it’s not like I don’t think we couldn’t handle whatever was thrown at us, but I think we could actually make things more interesting by teaming up with some of our fellow fighters out there in the country….”
“What, you mean like the Syndicate?” Sam asked.
“Yeah,” Kamina nodded. “After I got the idea about taking on both Actonia and Comedia, I was mulling over the idea of whether or not we should strike out on our own or join up with those who have a similar cause.”
“Hmph.” Kenpachi snorted. “I say we handle things on our own. If the Syndicate can’t handle fighting just Ozzal by themselves, then they will certainly be useless in a fight against her and Comedia.”
“Ah, but that would be part of the fun!” Kamina shot back reproachfully, “Think about it! Helping out the underdog in the face of overwhelming evil…IT’S WHAT THE TALES OF HEROIC MANLINESS ARE MADE OF!!!”
“How about this,” Charles suggested, “Let’s go pay the Syndicate a little visit. How they react to the news about the Comedian Invasion will decided whether or not we join forces. How does that sound?”
“An excellent suggestion!” Kamina exclaimed. “Let’s go now!! Any objections?!”
Since everyone had pretty much finished their latest round of booze and were feeling pretty fired up, there were none. The various patrons began to stand up and collect their things as the headed for the door.
“Excellent! GAR Squad, let’s roll out!” Kamina reached into his other pants pocket, withdrew, and then flipped on his signature purple shades. “WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK WE ARE?!?!”
To Be Continued….
Recurring Characters (in order of appearance)
Board Members
Samson Monroe – Master Samson
Clarice Rowe – Queen of the Dorks
Lucille Compton – Cille
Angel Sarcasta – mgangel
Emiri – Boxers
Elizabeth Saurie St. Guardsmen – EdspikeSesshyGrl
Cowboy – CowboyCadenza
April – Lirpa
Father John Sadar – FurionTassadar
Kaia Namek – namek_kaia
Hikki Follet – Kohikki
Raef Compton – Maenos
Bruce Herman – bherm
Michelle Ozzal – Mike Lazzo
Q – Q_chan
Hill – fool_on_the_hill
Zeus – Shuya_Nanahara
Kay El – Kagomes_Luver
Professor Matrix – matrixman
Goose Maverick – Top_Gun
Tom Taredan (If you hadn’t figured it out, that was the grumpy soldier guy at the GAR Street Bar) – Metatronda
Anime Characters
Straight Cougar – sCRYed
Roy Mustang – Fullmetal Alchemist
Izuru Kira – Bleach
Jean Havoc – Fullmetal Alchemist
Aoi – Ghost in the Shell
Kazunoto Goda – Ghost in the Shell
Dewey Novak – Eureka 7
Kamina – Tengen Toppa Gurren Lagann
New Characters
Board members
Sam Champlan – SamuraiChamplooFan
Anime Characters
Amsel Goldsmith – Blood+
Itachi Uchiha – Naruto
Dracul Mihawk – One Piece
Byakuya Kuchiki – Bleach
Kagetoki Kariya – Samurai Champloo
Watari – Death Note
Kenpachi Zaraki – Bleach
Mugen – Samurai Champloo
Charles Beams – Eureka 7
Holland Novak – Eureka 7
Roronoa Zoro – One Piece
Kino (strange little “boy” talking to the motocycle) – Kino’s Journey
Hot Ice Hilda – Outlaw Star