Legacies Of Winter

by Dex

I've always hated Moscow, even before it was a pile of burning rubble.

First time I ever got shot was here, less then a few months out of training. Special Black Ops extraction deal; drop in, grab your man amidst a hail of rapid fire, high explosive covering fire, get out. One of his bodyguards caught me high on the left shoulder, a modified Glinka .41 Long round punching a flesh wound through the muscle and tearing out the deltoid in the back. I still have the scar, although it's lost amongst the dozens of other bullet and weapon scars on my body from innumerable missions. But, like they say, you always remember your first time, and Moscow was where it happened.

It seems anytime a new despot shows up in this useless Balkanized wasteland which used to be a superpower, he needs to drop something large and lethal on Moscow to prove his power. Not like the city isn't almost destroyed already, or like the Moskva would be a safe water source anytime in the next thousand years, thanks to Boroda Gordeyeva's little experimentation into the world of biological weapons. Still, even without the Kremlin standing and the whole of Red Square taken up by a crater, Moscow was still the heart of Mother Russia. Not something I understand, really. Russians get sentimental like that, unlike us Americans, who if you wanted to blow up DC, would likely find twenty million volunteers to carry the bombs.

However, Moscow had a secret that nearly got me killed five years ago, and it's time it was dealt with and exposed. I don't like secrets, but to be fair, I don't like much of anything. That's what happens when you become near immortal, and than get told you'll spend most of your extended life shooting things at various people who will be shooting things back at you. A fully automatic Catch-22, to be precise. A noise in the edge of my periphery has me spinning armed before a sec clicks past, and an alley cat ambles out onto the frosty cobblestones and past me. I'm tense and I know it....

I really hate Moscow.

March 12, 2000

"So, Midnighter . . . exactly how closely connected to the city is this Hawksmoor guy?" Cole Cash said, while happily urinating against the wall of a building. The man at the other side of the alley grinned back at him.

"Enough to pull your nuts off if he felt like it, Grifter." He adjusted his headpiece and flexed his fingers. His body always began to speed up in the moments before a battle, nerves hot-wiring themselves into overdrive, his tactical headcomp hungry for data.

"That's the problem with you Authority guys. Far too uptight. Reminds me of my days with I/O." Grifter bantered, zipping himself back up and settling his equipment. Both of them were stuck in the glass fine edge of anticipation before a mission; brittle and dangerous. The Midnighter watched the alley mouth, their job to be out of it and across the street in less then a minute weighing on his calculations.

"Try ducking a global police force for a few years." He said dryly. Grifter took it in with an eloquent shrug.

"Try living with the WildCATS for more then ten minutes. If it isn't Voodoo going for some mechanical love, then it's the little runt with some new revelation. Usually about his past thousands of years on as the Lord-High Toadstool." Grifter retorted sourly. Despite his efforts, he had returned to the 'CAT's... for the same reasons he left them in fact.

Zealot.

Cash crushed down the thought harshly, refocusing himself to the mission. The light was fading rapidly, and the streets of the Gar'kovskaya district were nearly deserted. Only the occasional late night shift worker passed their hiding spot on their way home. Grifter bit back a yawn as he waited. The Midnighter suddenly froze and motioned to him. Across the street was a man in a light-coloured rain jacket and holding a steel case locked to his arm. Grifter pointed the directional mike provided by the Engineer, straining to hear the conversation.

"Zdrastvuyte."

"Zdrastvuyte. Razreshite predstavit Ignatova-7."

"Khorosho. Skolko s menya?"

"Ne nado."

"Ya ne ponimayu?" The man in the jacket shook his head slowly in response. The contact looked puzzled but accepted the case. The man nodded once, and walked slowly away from the contact, who watched him go with a look nearing shock. Finally, he turned and entered the building with the case, casting one last wary look about the street. Cash raised the communicator to his lips and softly muttered into it.

"It's time."

March 12, 2005

"It's about fuckin' time!" No one said I was eloquent when I was angry. And I was boiling flippin' mad. What's is it about chicks that they always interpret 10pm sharp as 'eleven-ish, depending on how I look'?

"Shut your noise hole, Cash. I'm hardly soddin' interested into one of your minor wankathons." And Jenny Sparks still had all her old charm to soften it.

"You haven't exactly told me what it is here that you are interested in, Sparks."

"Hmm... no kidding. Fancy a smoke?"

"You should be careful. Those things 'll kill you."

"That'd make one thing then." She gave me that 'kiss me arse' grin of hers as she lit a pair for us. I kept checking the remains of the alley, like it was a setup. In fact, I was sure it was a set up of some kind, but whether it would involve small bits of steel at high velocities was still in question. The cigarette helped.

"Christ, do you buy these based on the flavour nearest to shit?"

"Helps reminds little tossers like you what I'll make them do, shiteyes."

"Look, enough pillow talk. Why are we here?"

"I'm here because there is information I still need in this burnt out hellhole. You're here because it's where your girlfriend got sprayed all over the street." That one stung, and the look in Jenny's eyes was suddenly apologetic. Not common for her. If I didn't want to push her nose out the back of her skull at the moment, I might be proud.

"Christ, look Cole, I'm-"

"Right. So let's fuckin' forget it, yes?"

"Fuck. Look, I think this shit is finally getting to me."

"Like you said, that would be one thing." The look tells me I just scored a hit. Good, fuck her. "So, why don't you let me know what the hell is going on here so I can go home and drink my liver into a coma."

March 12, 2000

The Midnighter was out of the alley and half way across the street before the words cleared Grifter's lips, eyes scanning about. The door where the contact had disappeared had just trundled shut, and the street was empty again. Grifter was only a half step behind his partner. They slid to a halt at the door, Midnighter dropping to one knee at the lock. He grabbed the cylinder barrel between two fingers and twisted sharply, shearing the bolt inside. A quick kick opened the door and they were inside.

At the same time, three other teams would be converging on the same building from different locations, removing any chance of escape by the inhabitants. For the first time, both the Authority and the WildCATS would work together, brought on at the insistence of their respective leaders. And, as Cash himself had to admit, they made one hell of a strike force.

The first of the resistance appeared even before they had cleared the doors. Typical ex-black ops type, maybe even from the famed Black Angels, supported by a few choice mercenaries.

They never stood a chance.

The Midnighter caught the first man as he was bringing his weapon to bear, slamming his fist into the man throat. As he went down in the horrid gurgling of crushed cartilage, and the Midnighter was amongst the rest of them. They were good, some of the best in the world; it didn't help them one bit.

Grifter snapped off a round into the closest one to him, almost lazily in comparison to the black blur who was snapping bones, breaking faces, and punishing flesh in front of him. There was a slight popping noise as he buried his wrist blades into the throat of the man ahead of him. The Midnighter jerked aside suddenly, to allow Grifter to let loose a barrage of explosive rounds into the rest of the men in the hallway. The light was dimmed as a rain of gore coated it in dark crimson and bluish-grey brain matter. The bodies twisted and tore in the rain of fire, and filled the hallways with forms in grotesque wet shapes.

"Nice work, Grifter. Phase Two?"

"Not until the other teams make penetration into the complex."

"Would it be a touch tasteless to stop here for a smoke then?"

March 12, 2005

"We can't be sure exactly what happened at the complex." We were walking down the shattered street, piles of scrap metal that had once been buildings all around us. Sparks was leading the way, some kind of bizarre scanner in her hands. Occasional a green light would blink on it. Big deal...

"We got slaughtered coming in the door, Sparks. Not much to analyze there." I hate this place even more now. At least it used to have some life and vitality to it, even with the prospect of sudden death waiting around every corner. Now, it's just dead and hostile. A beast too injured to really live, too old and nasty to die.

"Cash, think about it. A group with enough combined power to sink a continent went into a minor Russian GKU research facility, and four didn't come out. And, we still don't bloody know what was in there."

"So why go back now? I thought the EM pulse that hit it a month later killed all signal transmissions. Hell, killed every other electronic device in Moscow." That was the start of the end for the remains of Russia. I remember doing a flyby with Lynch's team not long after that. It looked like the whole bloody Ukraine was on fire, micro-armies and high tech madness pounding each other.

"The Engineer picked up a blip a few days ago. Something active 'as appeared in the complex."

"Wonderful. So, how do we get in?"

"We knock, Cash."

"That'll work..."

"... only if you use a big enough soddin' hammer, Cash." Sparks gave me that grin she uses when she knows no one has a clue what the hell she's talking about. Well, this should be lots of fun.

March 12, 2000

"They're in." Cash whispered to the Midnighter, and they turned deeper into the complex. A few doors ahead of them crumpled under the Midnighter's boot, and they left the tight hallways of the front behind them. Ahead where long alleys of brushed metal and venting, the real complex which they had targeted. The Russians had been working on a version of Stormwatch for years, manmade instead of cobbled together cyborgs, mutants, and alien half-breeds which where the North American style teams. After the final collapse of the Russian government, following the devastation of half of Moscow, it had fallen into the hands of the Russian mafia.

The Authority was not about to let a major criminal organization hold onto the secrets of superhuman creation for their own ends. Sparks and Marlowe had made a deal to work together and neutralize the complex. But Grifter was antsy.

What was Ignatova-7, and why was it just given to the mafia for free? Something about this whole mission was preying on his sixth sense.

"Midnighter, do we have a map of this area?"

"Negative. We're on unknown ground here."

"I don't like just charging down hallways. Maybe we can find a way to finesse our way to the centre."

"We're on a deadline, Grifter. No deal." Cash had already levered up one of the floor panels and was looking at the access way beneath. He eyeballed the size and was ready to argue with his partner when all hell broke loose. The defenders of the complex boiled out to meet the intruders, and people began to die.

March 12, 2005

"Nice hammer." The package Sparks was holding in her hand was one of those new nanotech armor breakers. Slap it onto a bulkhead or steel wall, and billions of the tiny bastards start eating through it like it was paper. Some of the brains in the new I/O where trying to make some sort of projectile version of the thing as the ultimate armor-piercers, but most didn't put much stock in their chances.

We shared another smoke as the sealed door began to bubble and disappear.

"You look like shit, Sparks." And I wasn't just being glib this time. She had lines around her eyes that were never there before, and her face was gaunter than normal. Sick, or just letting the job get to her?

"We all get old, Cash."

"What?"

"I'm aging again." Fucking hell.

"Are you sure?"

"Cash, even I can tell when me tits start ta sag for the first time. Looks like that bollocks about being the spirit of the twentieth century might 'ave some truth innit."

"But... fuck."

"You're telling me, mate." Sparks smiled wanly, looking even older. "Still, I've got a fiver that says that somewhere there's a little five year old bastard leaking nano-techs from 'is eyes or summit."

"So you first noticed all this when?"

"Couple of years ago. Kept feeling run down after a workout, and noticed a couple of winkles. The Doctor did the analysis and discovered that the years were catching up. I'm bloody aging at three times the normal rate of a human." Jenny crushed her cigarette under her heel and lit up another. "Do you dare give me tha' look, Cash! I'm up to the bloody tats in 'that' look. Fine, I'm aging like the rest of you sods. Get over it!"

"Geez, relax. Just trying to show a little compassion here."

"It's like sex, Cole. The last thing I want is compassion. I want results!"

"Christ-" I've seen Jenny cold, but this is a new level for me. Nearly psychopathic is not what I was expecting. Just then the door buckled and collapsed inward from the damaged wrought by the nanities. Sometimes, there are places even the universe doesn't want you to go.

"Well, Sparks, the door is open. Care to show me where the hell we're going?"

"Hell is an apt term for it, Cash. Follow me."

March 12, 2000

The defenders were impossibly fast, moving like greased lightning, even in comparison to Grifter and the Midnighter. Four of them were on the black clad hero instantly, wicked blades in their hands. Grifter ducked his head behind the panel he'd pulled up just ahead of hundreds of rounds suddenly turned his way. Two more of the things had come about the corner, modified AK-47's chattering 5.45mm slugs in a lethal cloud down the hallway. The panel was studded in a dozen places from the intense fire, but held.

The Midnighter had snapped the neck of one, but had already been wounded several times by the flashing blades of his adversaries. They were vaguely snake-like in movement, every move done with the same fluid grace and speed. The Midnighter's tactical computer was simply overloading with the amount of data it was trying to process to match the speed of his opponents. He pivoted neatly and planted a kick into the sternum of one, felt the ribs give under his foot. But the other one scored a shallow but wicked slash across his shoulder and back. He blocked the reverse swing which would have disemboweled him, but was opened to a sledgehammer kick which landed on his kidneys. Gasping for air, he locked the fingers of his right hand and drove a vicious liver kite into the me before him, following it with a headbutt to break its nose.

Grifter was taking potshots from his cover, but could not get clear to help the Midnighter, or to remove the two machine-gunners. He snapped off a quick shot, pegging one of his partner's opponents through the elbow, when the grenade went sailed over his head and landed with a clatter behind him. Grifter reacted instantly, rolling into the access-way and slamming down the panel before it went off, coating the hallway in liquid flame.

The Midnighter felt the heat on his back but ignored it, shoving his thumb through the eye of the thing near him and hooking the skull from inside, tearing its face away. A sharp kick that the Midnighter recognized distantly as a yup-chagi strike fell across the backs of his knees, and he went over backwards. A forearm like an iron bar clamped down on his throat, choking off his breath. The creature on top of him smiled, and raised up a hand with its fingers curled in the fong ngan strike. The strike struck home at the base of his ribs, and the Midnighter gasped as the hand sheared through his reinforced bones, skin and into the hot cavity of his gut. Grabbing and wrenching, the thing began to yank out long hot coils of intestine and organs even as the Midnighter watched. His tactical computer went offline for the first time ever, and he was left only the perception of his pain riddled mind to observe his grotesque end.

March 12, 2005

Nothing like an abandoned secret complex to give you the shivers. Especially one that looks like both Escher, Geiger and a lot of pure heroin were involved in the design of. At some point, an experimental plasma generator must have gone off, which would explain the flash scorching on the walls and heat warping of triple pressed titanium alloy. Hell of a barbeque. Sparks was strolling along like she's been here a hundred times, skirting the occasional patch of treacherous looking flooring. I'm happier slouching along behind. I never made it this far into the complex, but some of the other teams did before we pulled out and ran.

In fact, somewhere around here is where they pulled down Zealot.

The realization hits me like a punch to the gut, and I need a minute to collect my thoughts. Near to me, in some carbon coated bubbling patch of steel is where the bastards killed the only woman I've ever admitted to loving. I really don't want to be here.

"Found it."

"Found what?"

"The entrance to Wonderland, Cash."

"Well, curiouser and fucking curiouser, Sparks. Care to knock again?" We're fetched up against one of the largest steel doors I've ever seen. Paranoid style security locks on it that would make I/O HQ look slack in defense. The EM burst that leveled Moscow was enough to fry even the most heavily protected electrical systems, so I didn't hold much hope in the computer still working. Sparks stood with her hands braced against the door for a while, head cocked as if she were listening to a whisper. Then, she straightened up and gave me that triumphant look of hers.

"Manual release is this way."

"How do you know?" I really hate this sort of 'mystery technique kink' of hers that's sprung up.

"Basically using tiny jolts of current as a radar ta map the systems of the bloody door. Who says old Brits can't learn new tricks?"

"A lot of former colonials."

"Shut your gob and get ta work, Cash."

It takes us about half an hour and a shaped charge to get to the hydraulics of the door and pump the sucker into the open position. I'm more then a little nervous when I get to see that the door needs enough pressure to open as the jet elevator on an aircraft carrier. However, we're through and the door is wanting for us when we get back, gaping open like a crack addict on a fresh rush. Of course it's as black as the heart of a lawyer and colder then a 40 year old marriage bed. Have I mentioned that I really hate this?

March 12, 2000

Grifter scurried along the corridor on his hands and knees, cutting down side tubes and backtracking to try and make any pursuit as difficult as possible. A few hastily rigged explosives would eventually warn him if someone was on his tail. He edged along, knowing that the Midnighter had bought it. From the screams he was getting over the radio, so had a few others. The mission had completely gone to pot in less time then it takes to make a coffee, and no apparent answers as to why were forthcoming.

Grifter kicked out the grill in front of him and eased down into the hallway, senses alert. He catfooted his way along it, peering around the corner with exaggerated caution. A large plate glass window was situated at the end of the hall, and Grifter crept to it. Through the clear glass, he could see dozens of the creatures he'd fought, locked into combat with the strike forces he'd come with. The huge arcade style control room was in ruins, with bullets, energy blasts and body parts flying every which way. He could see Sparks yell something and disengage, opening up one of those 'door' things and the forces dive through it.

They must have made the call to retreat! Cash turned and began to run down the corridor. His ride was leaving without him if he wasn't careful. He snapped on his emergency locator, and continued his frantic search for an exit of his own.

Cash went barreling around a corner and skidded to a halt as three of the things turned to face him. Cash's weapons went up at them same time theirs did, and the hallways was suddenly filled with the chatter of automatic weapons fire. Grifter caught one under the chin, the bullet tearing away the back of it's head and spine. The other two had made their fire brutality accurate. One slug entered Grifter's hand between the knuckles of his ring and forefinger, and blasted its way down his arm to exit out his elbow with a fleshy pop. Another slug went through high on his left lung, punching through the scapula and shattering a few ribs on its exit. The others stitched themselves around him, outlining him for the second and deadly burst. Grifter was reeling backwards from the damage when the sound of an energy discharge exploded next to his head, and strong arms grabbed him and pulled. The slight flutter of temporal dislocation rushed through his body, and he found himself staring up at the ceiling of the Carrier's transit station, joking referred to earlier by Cash as 'Grand Central'. He tried to sit up but collapsed with a gasp as his lung began to fill with his own blood. Figures came into his field of view, but Cash was being pulled down into a black abyss, and lost their features as he lost consciousness.

March 12, 2005

"Unbelievable." And it was. A cylindrical chamber, the size of a nuclear reactor, was the central lab facility. More then five stories, it existed in techno-obsessive glory under the decaying rubble of Moscow. Huge pipes the size of eight of me ran up and down the walls, connecting god knows what together. Sparks placed her hands against the wall for a minute and stepped back as lights flickered on.

"Nice trick."

"Jus' gave the backup generator a bit of a boost. I'm not trying to scout this facility by match light."

"Good idea." We were just above what had to be the central lab area, still littered with papers and bodies. Based on the bodies, it looked like the EM pulse had knocked out both the doors and the air cycling systems. These poor bastards suffocated to death because of their own security procedures.

Good.

"Cash, give me a hand. What we're looking for is down there." Sure, not like I know exactly what it is we're looking for. Sparks leads me down a set of staircases and we're on the lab floor. Between the near mummified bodies of the scientists, are other bodies which look extremely wrong. Inhuman in some way or another. Well, when at doubt poke at it with the tip of your gun, as mom always said.

"The creatures that you fought before."

"What the hell happened to them?"

"Let's get to the Vault first."

"Wait a minute." I grab Jenny and have a gun under her chin before so can blink, or worse, pump enough juice into me to light up Pittsburgh. "The Vault. What we are looking for. Sparks, you have a map of this place, and you know what we're going to find, don't you?" The look in her eyes tells me what I need to know. "What the hell are you playing at, then?"

"Cash, you have ta trust me."

"Like hell, Jenny."

"Fine. Then pull that trigger. Bollocks another part of your soddin' life up, Cole."

"What's in that Vault?"

"You'll have to follow me ta find out." I very nearly pull that trigger, just to remove the smug look from her face. That doesn't change the fact that she's right. I holster the gun, and she lets out a long sigh. I guess old Sparks didn't quite know whether I would kill her or not.

She leads me through the abandoned rows of terminals and computers, to the very depths of this place. Another door, as big as the first monster is sitting waiting for us, every bio-hazard symbol known to man crisscrossing it. Sparks lays her hand on it and the thing begins to light up and hum like a ride at Coney Island. It gaps forward, and we walk in.

First thing that hits me is the cold, slicing like a knife through my trenchcoat. Great sheets of frost covered the walls and displays in this freezer, almost obscuring the great glass coffins. Jenny gives me this unreadable look, and points to one of the coffins. It takes only a few minutes to scrape away enough ice to see what's inside.

Zealot.

March 12, 2000

Grifter sat, blinking as they told him what had happened. The Midnighter, Zealot, Hawksmoor and Spartan, all dead. The latter more so as an electronic spike was rammed into his brain before he could download his consciousness into another body. It was like none of it was registering. Three days later, he disappeared.

It was only the start. WildCATS folded like a busted flush within weeks. Marlowe lacked the charisma to keep his shattered team together, eventually throwing his resources in with Spark's Authority. Then, when Ivana grabbed I/O's resources for her own, the great superhero hunt began. More then a hundred people with extraordinary abilities where hunted down and gutted. The children of the Gen12 experiment where nearly wiped out to the man, the only two survivors also finding homes in the Carrier. As the world got darker, Spark's team grew and grew.

Grifter had gone elsewhere, eventually hooking back up with Voodoo to serve as her bodyguard as she returned to the stage. He still had the same vicious streak and abilities, if now somewhat dulled by alcohol. They fell into a steady pattern, Priscilla dancing, and Cash keeping the mob off her back. However, one night Cash was dead drunk, and Pris went to get her fix on her own. The pusher had laced the heroin with a powerful sedative, and when Pris went under, he raped her in every orifice and skipped town. The sedative, derived from powerful endorphin blockers, reacted with her Daemonite half, and burned out the synaptic receivers in her brain. Grifter watched over her for a week before she slipped away, never coming out of the coma, and then he went looking. It took Cash three days to find the dealer, and six for the dealer to die.

There was nothing but the bottle after that until Sparks had contacted him.

March 12, 2005

"Why?" My own voice was hoarse, the shock of seeing her lied open like some goddamn lab frog was too much.

"Because, Cole, it's the thing you bloody needed most; closure."

"What!"

"You've been harbouring the vain hope that she's still alive. That's what's been eating you alive for the past years. That's bloody why you've been throwing yourself down the deepest bottle you can find, you git." Jenny snarled at me, words cutting to the bone.

"Why do you care?"

"Because I'm dying fast, Cash, and you're not. And I need someone to take my place."

"Are you nuts?"

"No." Jenny crouched down, looking tired and wan. "Look, you have the experience and the abilities. You have the respect of the others. But most of all, you'll hate the job with every fiber of your body. You'll curse and swear and damn that horrid bitch Sparks for doing this to you... and you'll do a great job. You won't get it all twisted up in your head with ideals and some glorious mission behind you, like Apollo would. And, you won't try to save the world from itself, like Marlowe. You'll do what needs to be done, Cash. The same thing you've always done."

"Then this was some fucking test for you." I hate being run like a rat in a maze more then anything, and that foul cunt knew it.

"No, Cole. It was a test for you. Whether you'd finally broken yourself or not. I'd have ta say no at this point."

"The sooner you die, the happier I'll be, Sparks."

"That's a lie, being when I die, you take over."

"I haven't said I'd take the job yet."

"You also haven't said no yet either." She had me, and she knew it. The idea of Marlowe with that much raw power at his hands scared even me. Who else? Jenny was right about Apollo and Majestic. Eventually one of them would decide to 'make the earth a better place' and become worse then Hitler achieving it. Lynch could do it, but he'd been broken by the loss of his children. Last I heard, he'd gone hermit in the outbacks of Colorado.

"Fuck you, Jenny."

"Only if you say yes." That did it. In less then I minute I'm on my knees, shaking with laughter. I really do hate that bitch, but she's worth the time.

"So, shall we leave, Cash?"

"Not so fast. What was this Ignatova-7 thing anyway?"

"Found out a little while ago. Ignatova Vorkuta was a genetic fluke, a mutant of sorts, born with an accelerated healing system. She was seven when the Russian Mafia surgically removed her brain and spinal column. You see, the GKU had already developed a type of superhuman hybrid out of a captured Kherbium/human subject. The subject had some sort of hyperspeed power, which is why the bastards were so bloody fast. The trouble for the GKU was that the power was literally blowing out the vat grown nervous systems of the things. Ignatova's healing factor was supposed to have bio-regenerated the damage tissue before it could burn out the subject."

"And we stopped it before they could splice it in?"

"No, that's what we were trying to do. In fact, we needn't have bothered. The advanced healing powers they factored in immediately began to attack the Kherbium cells, and tore the creatures open like nothing else."

"That would explain the looks of the things in there. That what four people died for, Sparks? Stopping something that would have never hurt us in the first place." I guess I sounded a little bitter. Hell, I was a little bitter.

"World's like that, Cash. You win, and you lose, and you bloody well fuck up sometimes. But you do what's right."

"You know, Jenn, if I didn't know you like I do, I'd say you were an optimist."

"I'm not. I just need to hope occasionally." Jenny paused. "And don't call me Jenn. I hate Jenn."

"Why do you think I called you it?"

"Get stuffed, Cash. Door." A rectangle like a bad acid trip appears and Sparks steps through it. Me, I'm a little more hesitant. Do I really want this? Hell no, but I have to do it. One last look at my love, and I'm going through the 'door', a belt full of plasma charges let behind me. I think Zealot needs a legacy in her memory. A burning lab filled with the corpses of her foes would give her a smile. Suddenly, it doesn't feel so hopeless after all. Sparks might be right.

I hate that.

FIN

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