Eye of the Monster

"Miss me that badly?" A tightening of her arms was the elf's response. "You weren't gone even half an hour."

"You should have come with us!" Alenia complained. Rierra, Jastira, Nyana and Shelara filed in through the doorway, each stopping to stand on their toes and kiss Dawson on the chin or mouth. Shelara lingered, licking her lips. Her mouth tasted of licorice and raisins but she wasn't so distracted by synthetic sugar to keep from noticing the strange taste in Dawson's mouth.

"Is someone..." was as far as Shelara got before Rierra emitted a noise of delight from the living room.

"Hi, Instinct! What are--ooh, hello! Are we gonnammmnn..." The sounds that followed were wet and intimate, implying the exchange of the taste of cherry and vanilla.

Avalanche came in last, carrying a thin paper tray with three cups in it. As Dawson shut the door behind her the troll bent forward slightly to plant a noisy expression of her affection on her preferred target, that being Dawson's left temple.

"Why'd you ask for two?" the troll wondered. "Takes you forever to eat just one."

"I was expecting company," Dawson explained.

From the end of the hallway Instinct added, "And I like mint chocolate chip too."

Avalanche straightened up as Instinct came close to her, the girls having gone to recline on and around the couch in something like a pile of elves. The fomori placed one hand on Instinct's shoulder and gasped as the friendly gesture was returned between her legs. Instinct didn't beat around the bush.

"And the best things always come in pairs, right?" She shot a glance to Impulse, who rolled her eyes.

Alenia said, "Crush my face between your abs please."

"We were just working on getting closer," Instinct revealed. "If you'd taken a few more minutes in getting back I'd have gotten through to her." She lifted two fingers to her face and framed them around her mouth. "Between the thighs."

Both Avalanche and Alenia looked thrilled, speaking the same word at the same time. "Really?!"

"You don't have to tell them all our innermost feelings," Dawson suggested.

"You're grateful someone can finally speak your mind," Instinct replied with raised brows. "Since the first time you had to herd these street goblins you've wished for a little help. If only to make it easier to get them into the shower."

That was true. "What dark deity sent you to aid me?" Dawson asked, "And what will it want for its aid?"

As Avalanche leaned down to plant another kiss on another Dawson's left temple, Instinct smiled wryly. "I'm not on anyone's payroll anymore. Except yours, maybe. You can compensate me with a diet of what's between your legs."

"You are so fucking cool," Avalanche mumbled. Further words were lost in a lustful grunt when Instinct lifted her hand against the troll's groin once more.

= = =

Goro's soul sought balance. There was nothing balanced about this old recreational center he had made his lair in San Francisco. Its ancient fluorescent lights had not seen electricity since the time before the occupation, and so far as he was able to ascertain it was not even connected to the city's modern grid. The only illumination came from the single circular device he'd placed on the wall beside the doorway, three light-emitting diodes all that separated Ishikawa from total darkness.

Old weights and exercise devices that had not been touched in decades cast long, odd shadows across the locker room, Goro's only companions aside from the silence. It was in this tranquility that his legs and back had finished healing after the fall from the Orchard's upper floor.

He'd come so close to his goal. Struck at Dawson and at Gaines both. He'd thought it fortunate that both had been in the same place at the same moment, but in the weeks since he'd realized it had been the opposite. Impulse drew strength from protecting others and a man like Gaines could not have achieved his high station without a measure of craftiness and formidability.

In the last few days he'd come to accept that he would have to be patient and attack when the time was right. Punishment could still be meted out... For the life that was ruined by shame. For the older brother implicated and imprisoned. For the younger sister driven to suicide. For the mother who drowned her sorrows in the river beside their home. People of whom the memories were so tarnished that Goro could barely imagine they ever gleamed.

They'd had a chance to prevent it. To end his father before he'd returned to Japan in disgrace. But they thought themselves civilized, and treated him fairly. Shown him mercy, where he'd shown his victims none. Where he'd shown his family none when he did not do the honorable thing and fall on his sword before being brought before the Emperor. Unrepentant to the end.

In that sense, Goro felt like his father. He'd watched the footage again several times since going into hiding. Dawson seemed so savage... So sincere in her rage. Her cohorts struggled to hold her back.

He wondered again if she would have gone all the way. How much was she to blame?

The commpad on the bench beside where Goro knelt began to emit a signal his cybernetic implant could detect. When he'd first begun accepting cybernetics as gifts from his handler in the Yakuza, the advice not to have a communications module installed directly seemed like the bitter words of one who had grown weary of the world. Now he was grateful for the plausible deniability that his device was not always in reach, and that an installed module would be a distraction in battle. He had an excuse to not respond to calls. But this caller would only keep pursuing him, and it was better to face him and be done with it.

Reaching out, Goro tapped the pad twice with two fingers. After a moment to connect with his sight software, the face of an American man appeared in front of him. His thin hair was long and straight, ending just above the neck while the front of his face was clouded with curly graying hairs shaped into what were called 'chops.' Since coming to California this was the third time Goro had seen this face. Each time proved more unpleasant than the last.

"Mister Ishy-kawa," the simulated man drawled. His smile was oily, and unflattering to the brutish shape of his jaw. "And here I was worried you was gonna give me the cold shoulder! Seems silly now, t'think you'd behave in such a way towards t'man what kept your yellow hide out of Lone Star's lockup!"

Goro had found the authority figures of Japan to be tiring. Those of California's government were downright contemptible. "You acted because your sponsors instructed you to act," he corrected. "Nothing more. You do not need to pretend you have any personal fondness for me, Mister Reymont."

The Councilman ignored Goro's impudence as if he'd simply reciprocated the false manners. "'M always willing to help out a friend of a friend," he rumbled, running fingers through his ugly beard. "Enemy o' my enemy n' all that. You got that saying over where you come from, I reckon."

"I am aware that I have exhausted the last of my favors with the Yakuza," Goro said evenly. "You will not hear from me again."

"Now now," Reymont said indulgently, "Let's not be too hasty. I know why you came to San Francisco, Mister Ishy-kawa. You came here to kill someone."

"My personal matters are of no concern to anyone but me." It came out with more strain than Goro had intended.

"It just so happens that the woman you're here to get your vengeance on? She's the same one what got one of my properties burned down not too long ago... And not one of the insured ones."

"I will shed a tear for your lost real estate," Goro offered, "And I have no wish to share a vendetta." It disgusted him, the notion of his quest for satisfaction being tainted by petty grudges of a material nature.

Reymont's humor vanished all at once. In the Yakuza such disrespect would earn grievous punishment, but here in North America the only thing that would be lost was a fool's temper. "I know a man at the end of his rope when I look at one, jap. I make my livin' off sellin' 'em more rope! And I recognize as well a fellow who has nothin' left in life but to hang the folk who he thinks did him wrong. This is a courtesy call, Ishy-kawa. I got more rope for you."

Goro let out a slow sigh, hoping on the small chance a modicum of deference would dispel this digital devil. "My enemies are my own. I am not for hire."

"If you want her, I can arrange an opportunity. No interference, 'least not from Lone Star. She'll call but no star will come runnin'."

That seemed highly unlikely to Goro. He had heard about Aztechnology's most recent attempt on Dawson's life. They had paid a small fortune to disrupt Knight Errant's patrols around her home but she had been warned--probably by Gaines--and survived the surprise attack, and the corporation's enforcers had come anyway just minutes later. He suspected something similar would happen with Lone Star.

"Even if you could create an opportunity," Goro asked flatly, "What would you demand?"

The American smiled broadly. The graphical fidelity of the communications technology was not flattering to his tobacco-stained teeth. "I'm so glad you asked, mister Ishy-kawa. You watch the news trids, I hope? They got a fellow in Folsom right now by the name of Ivan Ionfist. I trust you've heard of him... Well your friends across the water sure have. They think that rowdy boy could be a might useful again if they break him out and they've asked me to see to it."

In a land of dishonorable scoundrels San Francisco stood out as a particularly dishonorable and villainous place, and Goro imagined there were few if any more treacherous and destructive individuals to be found in the region than the ork Ivan Ionfist, once-warboss of the Bloody Tusks. To loose him on the sixth world once more would be no less than what it deserved.

"His execution is fast approaching," Reymont continued. "All you need to do is on the night of, make sure a nice little line of doors doesn't have the minding they're supposed to. You do that... And I'll give you detective bitch on a silver platter."

Goro was out of funds, and his pull with the Yakuza was all but exhausted. Though he was loathe to admit it, this could be his only path forward.

"What will need to be done with the ork after he escapes?" he asked.

"Don't you worry none about that," Reymont chuckled. "We got plans for that fella, yes we do."

= = =

Corrections officer Harpsburl liked to watch the news trids. When the year had started and the warden's assistant had said that they couldn't afford to give him the contractually obligated raise he was owed, they asked him if he'd take something else. Teddy was a dwarf who liked to stay informed, so he said he wanted a display screen for his security station.

He was watching it now. That lieutenant fellow who had been in here the week past was on, though a woman's voice was talking over him.

"...with the scheduled date for the execution fast approaching, analysts predict that Lone Star's stock value will rise at least four percent following the successful carrying out of the sentence of Ivan Ionfist."

The screen switched from showing the well-dressed ork officer to the mugshot of a hulking maniac. Beside him scrolled a long list of his terrible crimes.

"The former warboss of the go-gang known as the Bloody Tusks, Ionfist was captured after a weeks-long manhunt that finally stopped his rampage that began with an attack on a facility operated by the California Rangers. While experts say that the full cost of Ionfist's crimes will never truly be known, they are estimated to be in the tens of billions of nuyen, as well as thousands of metahuman lives... A grisly bill which has earned him the death penalty, expedited due to the unanimous decision of California's corporate court representatives."

Teddy tapped his fingers against his desk, sparing a glance towards the first of the three doors leading to the cell holding Ivan Ionfist. Even though he had a pistol on his hip, and a shotgun in a cabinet right behind him, he felt nervous for having so dangerous a fellow so close to hand. Seemed like to him they should have done it out on the street when they first got him instead of bringing him in here where he could maybe get out again. But he supposed if there weren't any prisons, people might not be afraid to get sent to them. Maybe there would be more Ivans out there. His attention was drawn back to the display screen as it switched to show footage of a city Teddy had never been to but had heard a lot about, none of which had made him want to visit.

"Combat continues to escalate in Denver, Colorado as military contractors from all over North America respond to the call by Ares Macrotechnology CEO Damien Knight. Despite weeks of fighting, attacks by insect spirits continue to increase in both frequency and intensity. Tensions are on the rise, particularly in the UCAS as regional leaders fear that insect attacks could spread to areas east of Denver."

Teddy started slightly as the buzzer from inside Ionfist's cell went off. In the excitement of the news he'd forgotten entirely that they'd let the old priest in almost an hour ago. It was a terrible habit for a corrections officer to forget that a dangerous prisoner had a visitor but Harpsburl was confident he couldn't be blamed for being distracted by the news. It was interesting when people died.

He pressed the buttons and watched on the security feed as the short, stocky fellow in the black robe moved through the series of doors leading out to the maximum security square where Teddy was seated. Only one door could be open at a time and anyway the half of the room where the prisoner sat was behind bars thicker than a troll's arms so there was no real chance of anyone getting out. At least not until it was time for the appointment.

When the priest stepped through the final doorway, Teddy sat up in his chair. "How'd it go?" he asked. "Did he repent?"

The fellow waited for a moment before responding, and when he did so it was in a heavy Mexican accent. "No. No, if ever the fellow behind those bars was a child of God, now he walks only with the Adversary."

Teddy sat back in his chair and shook his head. "Can't save 'em all, Padre."

The priest looked up and Teddy could make out the wetness on his cheeks. "Si, mi hijo. This is true. And it will always be my greatest failing."

Pressing the button to let the priest into the corridor that would communicate him back to the main cell block, Teddy thought of how unfair it was for a saintly fellow like that to blame himself for the ways of a bastard like Ivan Ionfist. Seemed to Teddy that if the ork wanted to hold hands with the devil he had picked the right path. Another few days and he'd be riding the lightning all the way to hell. Better there than bringing it to Earth, thought Teddy.

= = =

Elazar had found he had a sort of fondness for prison. It helped that no one seemed to understand exactly what he was guilty of. "Terrorist" was a word thrown around pretty casually in the sixth world but "biomagical" was decidedly less common, evidently the sort of thing that instilled apprehension in guards and inmates alike. They weren't able to definitively link him to the disappearances of the people that the blanks had impersonated but they suspected. By corporate court standards suspicion alone proved more than enough. And because Havelock had said nothing in court, they could think of nothing better to do than lock him away and hope more evidence surfaced later.

The authorities were more concerned with the ork kept in maximum security than they were with the washed-up scientist on the other end of the prison, though if they were to issue sentences based on what people intended rather than what they'd accomplished Elazar had no doubt they'd have disposed of the warboss behind the chemical sheds and put Havelock on television instead. But he didn't wish for that; he didn't want anything from this world except to see it end. Until he could bring that about, or something killed him, he preferred to be left alone.

So he was equal parts fatigued and wary when a guard arrived at his cell and said he had a visitor. Before, when the detective had questioned him, he'd been taken to an interrogation chamber with a one-way mirror and recording devices in the ceiling and walls. This time he was taken to a conference room with padded seats, a soykaf machine and a short round table made of exotic stained glass. A window overlooked the courtyard below and the city beyond--the first glimpse of the sunset he'd seen since his lab had been destroyed.

His wrist restraints were removed and he was left alone, so Elazar poured himself a cup of Seattle blend and looked at the sky. As he sipped, he thought of Selena. Of her cinnamon hair, her warm blue eyes. Her smile. The look on her face as she choked. The panic. He thought of how helpless he felt watching her die. He wondered how the sun could rise on a world that would kill someone so pure. Kill her, and leave someone so hollow as him alive.

The door opened and Elazar turned to see a pair of burly bodyguards ducking into the room, one an ork and the other a troll. They were dressed in immaculate white suits; their guns were doubtless in holsters beneath their jackets, rather than worn out in the open in a crass and unsubtle way. Behind them padded in a portly central American man with a fine black silk jacket and pants that matched his slicked-back hair. His face was haggard with age but groomed artfully, and his dull brown eyes took in Havelock with a gleam of satisfaction.

"Hello, Elazar," the man said in a thick accent. "It is a true pleasure to see you, though of course I wish it were under other circumstances."

Havelock set his cup down on the counter beside the machine. "Chairman," he said in terse response. Never in his time working for them had he felt anything but a distant revulsion from interacting with Raphael Gunderrez, the head of Aztechnology's Committee for Innovative Applications. Better known as simply the Chairman. Even though he had been a monster wearing the skin of a man, the Executive at least had made an effort to approximate human emotions and mannerisms. Gunderrez made no such effort.

A few moments later another figure appeared in the doorway, this one an elven man in a cool blue business suit. He took a moment to push his long silver hair out of his face with two fingers and then stepped into the room before one of the bodyguards shut the door, ensuring their privacy.

The Chairman and his cohort, who Havelock did not recognize, seated themselves. The elf said nothing, but Gunderrez had always preferred to do all the talking. "Have a seat, Elazar."

"Prefer to stand," Havelock said flatly. "Don't plan to stay long."

"Do not be unreasonable," Raphael insisted. "You do not even know what it is we intend to ask you."

"I've got a few ideas."

"Once your ideas were valued quite highly," the Chairman recalled. "You commanded a high price and for good reason."

"Money has lost its appeal for me," Havelock stated plainly. "My interest in it died with the person I loved most."

Raphael and his ilk had no understanding of a concept like love and he at least had the dignity not to pretend that he did. "We can get you out of here, Elazar. You belong in a laboratory, making the world a better place."

Havelock's first thought was to ask since when is Aztechnology in the business of making the world a better place? but he knew rhetorical questions would only be met with rhetoric that served no purpose. Once, when he'd known joy, the idea of deceit made Elazar sick. Now he and deceit, together with misery, were the best of friends.

"I've been accused of terrorism," he reminded. "You can't just sweep that under the rug."