20002112112211

Wes blinked as the data rushed across his mind's eye. As he opened his eyes, and scanned across the plaza, something seemed out of place. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but....

Computer: recall last VR Graphic; time 10223

Retrieval: confirmed

Display and compare: current VRG to recall VRG.

As the computer carried out Wes' command, it seemed as if a ghostly scene descended from the sky to overlap the current view. Wes' computer melded the two scenes, and began to compare differences. As the disparities began to glow red, the computer signaled Wes that a message was coming through.

Receive message.

Wes, how's it going in there?

Just fine, Doc. I'm running a little test of my VR. I had another data surge, and I think it affected my link to the net.

have you felt any ill effects since you dropped?

No..why?

Wes, you've been hooked up for four and a half hours.

What?!

Your vital signs went to an almost critical low. What time did you have the data surge?

I'm not sure...Computer: time index search: drop time?

Time index: 10114

I'd say about 10243.

That almost exactly corresponds to when your vitals took a nose dive. Wes, I want you out of there, ASAP.

Gotcha Doc. I'll finish up the comparison, and surface.

Acknowledged. Out.

Wes turned his attention back to the rapidly finishing comparison graphic. There were red markers everywhere. Most of the differences came from icons being in other places, or bulidings being opened or closed, but some of them were altered shapes and colors, the like of which Wes had never seen in his VR. Computer: eliminate all state changes on Icons: Remark remaining changes as blue.

Redrawing

There. There it was. Wes' own account building had most of the changes attached to itself. He walked over and examined the marked areas more closely. The orderly geometrical design had been altered, skewed. It now was a squiggly mess of lines and dots. It gave him a headache just looking at it. But as he stared, he slowly realized that it looked familiar. Where had he seen this pattern before? Computer: analysis: geometric pattern designated Iota 3.

???: unable to comply. Matches no known VR structure.

Wes stepped back and looked again at his account. The changes seemed to be emanating from his building. Perhaps a virus of some kind? But the scans would have picked that up. Wes entered the building and looked about. Things were changed in here. Nothing major. The furniture wasn't glued to the ceiling or anything, but there were a myriad of subtle changes all over the place. Wes sat down in one of the chairs in the corner and thought for a minute. The computer isn't picking up anything on a normal search. But it has to be somewhere in the directory structure, right? So go and look for it!

Wes stood and extended his right arm towards the far wall. The file wall disappeared, and Wes strode into the maze of his directories. He quickly eliminated his old stuff as the possible causes. His operating systems were fine. It was something that was producing random pieces of data, and it was changing the VR. Wes turned a corner and put his foot down in a puddle of goop. Wes stepped back, startled. This was never part of his VR! He knelt and examined the stuff closely. Computer: Enhance: Projection mode.

Acknowledged: Redrawing

An expanded picture of the liquid appeared in the air before Wes. The same patterns as the buliding changes. What is causing this? Wes got up, and moved on. As we walked further, he saw more and more of the viscous liquid on the floor and the walls. The tunnel (when had it become a tunnel? It was a wood paneled corridor a second ago!) made a sharp turn, and ended in a metal door. The door was cracked open, and the trail of goo ended here.

Computer: Location.

Directory /home/trans/Colony/Shiva

The trinary code? That's not possible! thought Wes. But there it was and as Wes thought about it, things began to click into place. The data was trinary in nature. The patterns in the goo and on the walls were the same nausea inducing icon patterns he had seen in his trip into Shiva's computer. It all added up. Computer: isolate data: protocol Hickman alpha 23q.

???: unable to comply.

What the hell?

As Wes tried to puzzle out this latest glitch, a horrendous banging was heard from inside the room. Computer: access: Override file lockout/ access: weaponry files: g3, g4, s2. Enable.

Acknowledged.

Twin guns sprang into being on Wes' arms, as well as his glowing shield. The door slid open and Wes did a low roll into the room...

And fetched up against an ugly monstrosity. It stared down at him and snarled, it lips pulling back from exceptionally long and pointy teeth. Wes groaned. Why did I have to watch Aliens last night? Computer: Disengage: Surface NOW!!

The lights went out, and Wes knew no more.

"SHIT!!"

Deb whirled in time to see the limp body of Wes Hickman slither out of his seat. The monitors were reading no respiration and no heartbeat. There was still some brainwave activity, but... "Code Blue! Medical team to Sublevel Five! Dr. Riley to the Grotto, immediately!"

Riley's voice came over the intercom. "What's happening, Dr. Cowan?"

"Hickman's had some sort of seizure. I'm reading almost no vitals. I'm disconnecting him from the computer so I can.."

"Wait!! He was interfaced when he went under?"

"Yes. I'm removing him now."

Riley yelled into the intercom. "NO! If you disconnect him, we don't knmow what will happen to him! Leave him hooked up. I'm almost there."

Cowan bit her lower lip as she worked Wes' shirt off of him, baring his chest. "Where's that adrenalin hypo?"

One of the med team turned with it, filled and ready. "Here, doctor."

Deb plunged the needle through the breastbone and into the heart, and depressed the plunger. She glanced over at the monitoring tech.

He looked at her. "I got a blip. Nothing more."

Deb looked back down at Wes. "Damnit, hold on! Stevens, grab the defibrillator. Gimme 100 volts." Stevens handed her the pads, and she started to rub them together. As she brought them down to Wes' chest, Riley burst in.

"What are you doing?"

"Electric stimulation of the heart. We have to get it pumping, and the adrenalin isn't working."

"We can't use that! Electroshock could wipe parts of Wes' mind. His Omega makes him exceptionally vulnerable to things like this."

"So what do we do? We can't just let him die!"

At that moment, Susan Lee, aka Hyper, ran into the room. "I got here as soon as I could," she panted. "Am I too late?"

Don made room for Sue to get close to Wes. As she laid her hands on him, her eyes closed. "There's still something there... I think I can boost it, and get him started again..."

"Then for God's sake, DO IT!!" Deb cried.

Sue's back arched as she fed the power of her Omega into the unbreathing body of Wes Hickman. Don, standing nearby, felt the tremendous amount of power Sue was pouring into the effort. He watched carefully, knowing that Sue's reserves were not infinite. If she went too far, she could die herself. As for Sue, the world had receded to a faint blur. She could see the faint tendrils of Wes' lifeforce, she could see them growing wispier. And she could see the silvery bright thread of his Omega energy, extending off into the distance somewhere. As she sent energy coursing into the streamers of Wes' life energy, the colors grew more vivid, and the streamers grew longer. The tendril of Omega power snapped back, and as it did she felt the world move around her, felt things begin to shift and move of their own volition, and she knew that she had succeeded. As Wes began to come to, his eyelids fluttering weakly, Sue stepped back and collapsed into Deb's arms. "I did good, eh?" she said with a smile.

"You did just fine kiddo." Deb replied. "Stevens, McRainey, get her on a glucose feed, stat."

"Yes, Doctor."

Don sat down next to Wes, who was trying to sit up. He pushed him back down onto the bed. "Just relax for a minute, Wes. You gave us quite a scare, there, buddy. What happened?"

Wes groaned. "I don't know. I was tracing the problem I've been having with my cybernetics. As I was linked, apparently I got a data surge and I blacked out for a while. When I came to, I ran comparisons on my VR's. I found the same alien work here that I found in Shiva's machines. I went to check on the code. Don...I think I must have downloaded some sort of AI thing. The damned thing saw me and it attacked. I couldn't stop it at all. It just ran me right over."

Don gave Wes a puzzled look. "What do you mean, you couldn't stop it? It was a computer program! Your Omega.."

"Yeah, I know. But this thing...it's like I can't even get a grip on it! It's a different system than my Omega can interpret. It's sort of like you trying to read Russian."

Don gave a grin. "Wes, I CAN read Russian."

Wes grimaced. "Ok fine...anyway, you get my point. I don't know if my Omega will adapt to this stuff, and I don't know how I'm going to stop it. Because I haven't told you the worst part yet."

Don raised an eyebrow. "It gets worse?"

Wes nodded. "When I went in there, I removed all of the safety locks and file protects. ALL of them. The thing is loose in there now, Don. And I don't know what it's going to do next."

Don pushed open the door to Brenda Washington's office. She had called him here just after Wes' seizure. He assumed it would be about the upcoming op involving the Benson/Hauptmann case. The op was scheduled for tomorrow night, with him as team leader. The data they got here would more than likely be enough to put Owen away for good.

Brenda gave him a smile and motioned to the chair in front of her desk. "Don, good to see you. Please, sit down."

Don sat and folded his hands together. "What's up, sir?"

Opening a desk drawer, Brenda pulled out a blue folder. The lettering on the front proclaimed that the document inside was Top Secret. "Don, I have orders here for you to be temporarily transferred."

Don half rose out of his seat. "What?!"

"Settle down. Like I said, this is only a temporary thing. Another agency has requested that you be assigned to them for a matter regarding Omega research. According to what they gave me, they have a high powered Omega whose power is releasing spontaneously. They want you to go there and help to design a containment unit for her."

"What agency?"

"The NSA. They want some SIRECOM input, as this isn't realy their field of expertise."

Don steepled his hands in front of his face, and said, "What about a standard Dynamax Containment system? That should hold any Omega." Except maybe Tempest, he thought.

Brenda shook her head. "Apparently, the power is magnetic in nature. It's disrupting the electrical systems of the suppressor before they can get it near her."

"I suppose I don't have much of a choice, do I."

Brenda gave a small smile. "No. No you don't. You leave in four hours. I'll have your gear shipped to you." She stood and extended her hand. "Good luck Don. Hope to see you again soon."

Don also rose, and clasped Brenda's hand in his own. "Thanks boss. See you in a couple of weeks."

As Don walked to the door, he heard Brenda say over his shoulder, "And don't worry about the Benson case. I'm assigning Sonic as Team leader." Don nodded and walked out the door. Brenda picked up the folder and walked over to the shredder. The machine quickly reduced the documents to paper pasta. She sat down once more, and started thinking about all the changes that would be made once her Seekers had gotten the goods on Owen. An ugly smile creased her face as she sat back and contemplated the future.

Ramon walked down the trail leading from his village to the stream. His simple homespun garments fluttering in the light warm breeze, he walked with the air of a young man who knew his place in the world and knew that there were no surprises for him in this jungle.

Ramon was wrong. Very wrong.

He arrived at the stream, and knelt at the bank. After taking a long drink, he looked about on the ground for tracks leading away from the water. There was a set of jaguar tracks..best to avoid that! Ramon was brave, but he was no fool. A few bird tracks; nothing worth hunting there. Seeing nothing else, Ramon splashed his way to the other side of the stream. There were no tracks here...wait, no. Strange tracks. Twin lines, with odd markings... the norteamericanos. One of their machines. That was why there was no game here. It had all been frightened away by the noisy machines of the blancos.

Ramon thought back to the time, when he had been a young boy, and the norteamericanos had come to the village. They had come, they said, to heal the sick. Ramon had thought this to be a wonderful thing. The village shaman, however, had different thoughts. He had said for the blancos to leave, that they had no need of their medicines. Ramon had waited until the shaman had returned to his home, and then shyly approached the men. He said to them that he wanted to see their powers, and that he would like to learn of them. One of them turned to another, and spoke rapidly to him a language that Ramon had never heard before. The men sat down on the ground, and motioned for Ramon to sit next to him. One of the others handed the man a shiny rod with a glass tube on the end of it. The man had said, "This will sting for a moment, but then you will no longer catch the sicknesses of this village. You will be healthy and strong." The man pushed on the back of the tube, and fire shot into Ramon's arm.

The next thing he knew, the shaman was standing over him chanting and waving his staff. Ramon coughed and sat up. His arm still burned with an inner fire. He looked up and glared at the confused and upset norteamericanos, the men who had tried to kill him. "You lied to me." he said, and with that walked away. The blancos had not come back to the village since, and Ramon now distrusted all things associated with them. Especially their machines.

Disgusted with his bad luck, Ramon moved farther into the jungle. He walked for a time, checking along his path for tracks. As the sun crested in the sky, the day reached it's hottest point. Ramon stopped, and sat down in the shade of one of the gigantic trees along his path. He pulled a piece of dried meat from his pack and washed it down with water from his skin. It was time to rest now. He would hunt for a few hours after his siesta, and then return to the village. After all, it was a bad idea to be caught out in the jungle at night. Every child knew that. Ramon put his hands behind his head, and quickly fell asleep.

A scant three miles away from where Ramon lay sleeping, an alien computer finished running it's diagnostic checks and startup subroutines. The tachyon beam from it's creators had awakened it, and it was preparing for their return.

It had watched and analyzed the news broadcasts. It knew of the Omegas, and it knew that these were the fruit of what it's masters had sown. It would carry out it's standby directive. It would find a human, preferably an Omega, and it would see how the masters' experiment was progressing.

The alien machine could wait. After all, what was a couple of months, compared to the million or so years it had been here?

[20011wh11122ena200111exak1222100]

Wes watched as another data surge streamed across his mind. The things were coming with far greater frequency now, and his Omega was beginning to translate them. Either that, or the alien AI code was beginning to learn to translate itself to English. The translation was lessening the effect on his consciousness, so he wasn't blacking out anymore. That was the good news.

The bad news was that he was beginning to have more problems with his cybernetics. His arms were beginning to malfunction. Just a short time ago, he had been in the gym, lifting weights. He had been pressing eight tons, when his right arm had spasmed, and dropped limply to his side. The bar had come sliding down, too much for his lone arm to handle. Fortunately Michelle had been working out at the time, and had rescued him. And it wasn't only his physical systems that were being affected. He was having more and more trouble communicating with his own internal computer, and he kept getting stronger interference on links to external computers.

[20102200tachyon2210010south002]

More data. Wes tried his own link again. Computer: analyze: data stream, ASCII translation?

???:unable to comply. Data is unknown.

No luck. This came as no surprise to Wes. This whole situation had him pissed off. He was useless without his computer skills. He had already been removed from the Benson/Hauptmann op. There were about twelve other ops that needed to be run, hell, that took priority over the B/H case! Like those two Omegas running amok in Crystal City. That needed to be checked out. Tempest's return needed attention too, although Wes knew there wasn't a damn thing him and his team could do about that. There was also that vigilante Omega he had heard rumors about in Cincinnati. And here he was, out of the action.

[2201000south0020wre00122]

Ramon woke with a start and looked up at a rapidly dimming sky. He had slept for far too long, and it was nearing nightfall. He looked up at the sun again. If he was fast, he might be able back before dark. He stood and stretched. As he turned to retrace his steps, however, a metallic glint caught his eye. He turned back to find the source of the flash of light.

Walking a couple of yards to his right, he stopped and stared. With a trembling hand, he reached out, and quickly tore the underbrush away from the metal pole that had attracted his notice. He looked it up and down, noting the strange designs on it, similar to his own peoples' totem markings and religious symbols. He reached out and brushed the pole's surface. He felt cool metal, slightly rough, under his fingertips. Ramon had never seen anything like this! He would go back and tell the shaman. Perhaps the wise man would know what it was.

As he turned once more to leave, Ramon saw tracks. Boar tracks. A yearling, by the size of them. His eyes lit up. The tracks were very fresh, almost as if they had just been made seconds before! Ramon fairly glowed with excitement. Perhaps this day would not be a total waste after all.

Glancing once more at the sky, he turned and followed the trail into the underbrush. He would be home in plenty of time.

The lens atop the pole swung to view the retreating form of the human. FTL links to the massive computers under the alien complex analyzed the minute sample of skin left on the surface of the outpost scanner. DNA analysis was carried out in seconds.

[Hominid identified: Human/Genetic Imprint confirmed. Collect and examine.]

The mouth of the cave loomed before Ramon. Never in his eighteen years in his village had he come this way and seen this place. The trail of the boar led into the cave. Perhaps that is where it rests, thought Ramon. Glancing over his shoulder at the rapidly descending sun, Ramon entered the cave, bola and spear at the ready. He would bring home this trophy.

As he penetrated further into the depths of the cavern, he began to hear a low whuffling sound. A smile crossed his lips. His quarry was just ahead. Slowly he began to swing his bola back and forth in a gentle arc, ready to cast it at the yearling. Carefully, quietly, he advanced...a flash of movement to his left. Twisting and dropping low, he cast the bola with an expert flick of his wrist. The wooden balls twirled about the ends of their rope tethers, and wrapped about their target.

Which by no stretch of the imagination was a boar.

Ramon stood stock still, frozen by what seemed to be his worst nightmare come to life. A machine, bearing all sorts of claws and blades and arms came whuffling out of the darkness. As it moved forward, it wiped out the false trail it had laid to lure Ramon into it's lair. The machine reached out and grabbed at the young man, who turned and started to run. He dodged, and had almost reached the cavern entrance, when a sharp pain stung his left shoulder. The machine triggered it's taser assembly, and Ramon fell to the earth, twitching and shuddering from the huge jolt of electricity he had just received.

The machine rolled forward and picked up the limp form. It rolled back into the cavern and into an elevator, which whisked it down to the alien complex, buried deeply beneath the earth. Ramon's unconscious body was loaded into a tubelike car, and shot down to the central building, which housed the main computer banks for the entire base.

An array of armatures and waldoes came out of the walls of the tube station, and carried Ramon to the main lab. Here, banks of scanners, along with various dissection instruments awaited the unfortunate lad.

[Begin data collection: vivisection/lobotomy: check for Triggered genes.]

The blades on the primary armature began to whine as they spun closer and closer to Ramon's chest. As the first incision was made, Ramon's eyes snapped open and a scream of agony ripped out of his lungs.

[Data: Triggered genes evident]

[Data: incision alpha: healing rate at 37 times normal humanoid rate. Increase operation speed to compensate for accelerated healing]

The pace of the armatures sped up, and blood began to spray up from multiple cuts. Ramon's tortured body tried to keep up with the wounds being inflicted on it. Cuts opened and were closed, organs labored to keep the body running, the heart pumped blood in a vain effort to keep the brain alive.

Ramon was awake through all of it.

As the blades made their way to the skull and made the first cut throught the cranial plate, something in Ramon's mind snapped. He felt his awareness expand out to encompass the whole of this alien city, this embodiment of his darkest fears. His mind filtered into every system, every circuit, every servo. The blades mutilating his already dead body stopped as if someone had pulled their plugs. And in effect someone had. Ramon's mind commanded that the body be left alone. A plastic cover slid out and covered the corpse, protecting it from the outside world.

Ramon felt a whisper at the edges of his mind. He listened carefully as the voice talked to him, growing steadily louder, merging with his consciousness, telling him what he could do.

[New input: Removal of targets/subgroup designate: norteamericanos/ priority one.]

[Can we do this thing?]

[Probability of success: 87%]

[How do we start to rid ourself of them?]

[Attack plan formulated: utilize flyer attacks: coastal city: designate: Sao Paolo]

[Attack. We will rid ourself of the taint of the blancos machines!]

[Attack commencing]

Engines whirred to life, and control panels lit up. A squadron of five flyers, each carrying enough armament to wipe out a square kilometer. The flight lifted out of a hangar raised to the surface, and shot into the night sky. Their destination and orders were clear. Destroy Sao Paolo. Leave no building standing. Let nothing stand in the way.

The flyers set off radars as they broke the seventy mile radius to the coastal city. Brazilian air force jet fighters scrambled to meet the threat. Three squadrons of American built F-16's flew in, a complement of twleve planes, armed to the teeth with state-of-the-art air-to-air weaponry.

The skimmers finished them in under fifteen seconds.

Dodging surface-to-air missiles, breaking radar locks, and evading pursuit, the flight relentlessly closed on it's defenseless target. And as the flyers began their first bombing run, they broadcast a wide band message over the radio.

"Blancos, we are Metro. We are the future. You will be destroyed, as all those who use the tools of the norteamericanos will be destroyed. We are the harbinger of peace and harmony with our mother. We are the harbinger of the masters. You will not resist. Surrender."

A swath of destruction followed in the wake of the flight. Sao Paolo burned well into the coming dawn.

Wes came awake with a start. The data surges had been pretty much continuous and he had been pretty much tuning them out, focussing on his rapidly diminshing computer systems, searching for a way to contain the trinary code. But just now he had gotten an English surge.

[southWrexaktmetroattackgo]

What in the hell was that?

Wes let his Omega extend to it's full power. He only did this when he was in his full creative mode, but now he needed it's full capability to make sense of what the new AI was feeding him. He sat back and closed his eyes, seeing the lines of code race across his mind's eye. The code began to resolve itself into semi coherent forms. The words Wrexakt, south, and Metro seemed to be the most common words being sent. The rest were meaningless babble.

The commpanel tone jolted Wes from his semi-trance. Brenda's face appeared in the monitor. "Wes we have a class one emergency in Brazil."

"What's the situation, boss?"

"The city of Sao Paolo, Brazil was attacked by unidentified aircraft." As she spoke, a graphic of the burning city appeared on screen, followed by a graphic displaying a possible flight path of the attackers. "The city was completely burned to the foundations."

Wes stared at the destruction. There was almost nothing left of the once thriving city. "Boss, what does this have to do with us?"

"We have a radio transmission from someone calling himself Metro. He's taking credit for the whole thing. The tech on those planes is something that we have never seen. We think we have some sort of high power Omega working down there, and we want the Seekers to investigate."

Metro. That name..

[MetrometrosouthbaseWrexakt]

Was this thing linked to the code? Whatever it was, it could be the key to the alien program in his mind. "I'll scramble a team immediately."

"Good. Your flight is prepped and ready."

Wes pulled up a menu of available operatives. Trace, Trax, Sonic, Phase, and Flux were all assigned to the Benson/Hauptmann case. Don...what the hell was this? Special assignment, technical consultant? Damn! Wes thought. Just when we could really use his talents... ok so who do we have left? Armor, Counterpart, Ricochet. That isn't enough for a full squad, especially with me not at 100%. Computer: list recruits/Seekers program: top three: nearest graduation/chonological order.

Lee, Susan. Psychokinetic. Ability to affect bodily processes in both herself and individuals at tactile range. Codename: Hyper. Note: Hyper currently on assignment 00213-AA/subdesignate: Benson/Hauptmann

Morgan, Thomas. Telepathic. Ability to exit body completely into mental state and invade other individuals consciousnesses. Can exert telepathic presence varying in strength from simple listening to complete control over host. Range is line of sight. Codename: Avatar

Grogan, Patrick. Psychokinetic, Cryomorph. Ability to affect temperature, lowering it to near absolute zero. Can telekinetically structure resultant ice forms to his own ends. Codename: Arctic

Team of six, eh? That would have to do. Computer, transmit alert status, selected team members. Transmit mission statement and op plans.

Acknowledged

[MetroWrexaktsouthbaseSouth]

Don Riley entered the squat concrete building located out in the Nevada desert. The men who had met him at the airport had brought him here. Seemed like an appropriate place for an uncontrolled Omega. The strange thing was, Don didn't feel any of this power that was supposed to be coming from here. Oh well, perhaps she needs to recharge for a bit.

Riley walked through several dozen checkpoints, and was asked questions by a score of different men, all with the emblem of the National Security Agency on their uniforms. Why NSA was dealing with this and not SIRECOM was something else that bothered Don, but he set that in the back of his mind as well.

A well dressed gentleman came up to greet Don. He was dressed in a dark gray suit that looked like it cost a couple grand to buy. Real slick, this guy. He extended his hand.

"You must be Dr. Riley. My name is Becker. Frederick Becker."

Don shook with the man. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Becker. I hope I can help you with your problem. After all, we can't have high powered untrained Omegas running around, can we."

Becker smiled and said, "No. No we can't. Won't you follow me? I'll take you to our patient."

As the two walked along the corridors deeper into the complex, Don said, "I couldn't help but notice your accent...what part of Germany are you from?"

Becker grinned. "Ah, I thought I had finally gotten rid of that accent..but to answer you, I am from the Rhineland-Pfalz area."

"Ja, das ist eine von meinen Liebersplatze."

"Sprechen Sie Deutsch?" asked Becker surprisedly.

"Nein, nur ein bisschen. I'm afraid my German is very rusty."

"No matter. Ah here we are."

A pair of massive metal doors slid open soundlessly, and Don walked into a state of the art lab facilty that would be the wet dream of any scientist. "This place is fantastic!"

"Only the best for our work. Here, here is the patient. She is in a low power cycle right now."

Don walked over to the casket like metal shell and looked about for a viewing port. "Can I see her?"

Becker touched a few studs on the side of the case, and it split open revealing...nothing.

Don stepped back. "What the...where is she?"

Becker only smiled. He pulled a taser out of his pocket and leveled it at Don. Seekers training took over. Don hyped his reflexes with what little reserve he had left, and dodged for cover. Shots rang out, and Becker was screaming "We need him alive, fools!" Don was planning his next move when Becker threw a switch on the console. A green light played about the room, and suddenly Don's vision went back to normal speed. Shit! Psi Suppressor! Don made one last desperate move for one of the guards, and as he grappled for the gun he felt twin pricks in his back. The electricity coursed through him, and Don fell to the floor, gasping like a landed fish.

One of the guards bent and injected Don witha sedative. "Take him to his quarters." commanded Becker. As the last of the guards left, Becker turned to the video screen mounted in the wall and spoke to the shadowed figure displayed on the monitor.

"Riley has been captured. I am proceeding with Stormkiller phase 1."

"Excellent. Keep us appraised."

Becker nodded. The screen went dark.

Next Issue!
Metro part II!
Glitches are resolved, and Stormkiller takes the next step!
And for more Seekers appearances, check out Legacy 9 and 10!

Back to the top