Michael Gets Revenge

By: IMBSA & KAmamma

IMBSA: Me and my mom got this CRAZY idea in our heads and decided to write on it.

Disclaimer: If you claim we own WHR, Bandai/Sunrise takes us to court, and we get the electric chair, I'm hunting you down and haunting you from beyond.

Michael sighed, long and mournfully. The team had been working on a case for two days, and all Michael had been doing was searching the databases for random bits of information. I mean, what did Versace have to do with Hunting a witch? "I'm tired of playing Minesweeper." The hacker muttered. Why can't they get me some decent games, like Neverwinter Nights, or Vampire: the Masquerade: Bloodlines? He thought. Those had both been on his list of games he'd given as a request for "office supplies." His eyes roved the room, not searching for anything in particular. And there he was, giving orders as usual, his tall, black-clad figure facing away from the hacker. Michael's eyes narrowed. Amon, that freakin' Macho black-obsessed poseur, was supposed to buy them three weeks ago, but guess what? He didn't. He's too busy hunting witches and muttering about...mutters. Look at me; I'm still here, at his beck and call because he's the 'best the STN can offer.' His mind began imitating Amon in a very mocking way. Michael, search for this, Michael search for that, Michael, kiss my ass, and ya know what? I do it. And what has he done for me? In fact, what have they done for me? Well, I'm fed up. This hacker has had it up to here with this horseshit. Screw all of 'em!

"Michael." The deep voice of Amon broke into the young man's thoughts.

"Yes?" Michael straightened up, the picture of obedience.

"We're going to check up on some information you gave us. Be ready."

"Yeah, sure." Michael replied with a smile, as Amon walked out in a swish of black cloth. The others (sans Doujima) followed him. No goodbyes, no thank yous, nothing. Michael's face fell as he wistfully turned back to his computer.

"I guess it's just you me now," Doujima said, while perusing through a fashion magazine.

"That's a scary thought." The hacker replied, trying to kill the virtual centipede as it crawled around his spaceship on the screen. He had three more lives, so he wasn't worried. He'd played this game a million times. Hell, he'd beaten it a million times. There was no longer any novelty in such a game. Its program had been so easy to rewrite (although, he did like the option of using an atom bomb on the multi-legged arthropod) that it really didn't mean much to Michael anymore.

"Michael." Amon's voice crackled over said boy's earpiece.

"Yes, Amon, oh Sun God of the West?" Michael asked, wondering just what the man wanted now. He was always interrupting Michael's "Me-time."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, nothing." Michael replied quickly. He was surprised Amon had even noticed.

" I want you to search the databases for........."But Michael had already tuned him out.

Damn, how did I know he was going to say that? He's so predictable with his small, monophrasial vocabulary.

"Did you get that?"

Shit. What did he say again?

"Michael." He repeated, irritatedly (for Amon at least). A sudden idea came to Michael. He cupped his hand around the microphone and his mouth and made his voice sound far away.

"What....that?" He asked, deliberately cutting off his words. "Must...da...static." Michael covered the microphone and started snickering. His mind began thinking evilly. Who's got control now, huh, Amon? Who's the big bad leader now, oh Amon, l337 Master of the Orbo blaster? Who do you depend on now? You're nothing without me! Who's your daddy, bitch?

"Michael." Amon said commandingly. "You're breaking up." He continued.

"Sh...Amon...bad news, (static)" he began making static noises. Finally, he made two words emerge coherently that would be sure to get the man's attention. "Th...(LOTS of static)...found dead."

"Found dead? Michael." Amon and the rest of the group were standing right outside the facility, and, even though Amon wasn't a techie, he knew that there shouldn't have been any static. Suddenly, a new voice chimed over the static in the earpiece.

"Michael, what are you doing?" It was Doujima and though her voice seemed distant, as though she were walking over to Michael, it came in loud and clear.

"Shit." They heard the hacker grumble.

"Michael." Amon said in a forbidding sort of tone. Michael winced in anticipation. Oh, the pain that awaited him.