AN: Again, first thing's first – those of you who got that little bit are good. Those who didn't, well, that mountain range where Ebony Diamonds are supposedly mined from is an anagram of the scientific name of tree that's used for Ebony. Stupid reference, really…

Interstate 15 N, Mojave Desert, En Route to NAFR
2321 Hours, Pacific Time, January 3, 1980

On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my hair
Warm smell of colitas, rising up through the air

Damned right it's dark, Silver grumbled. The radio continued its quest to play some music in order that the respective station would get better ratings or something. Lieutenant John Silver didn't care. As long as it played his song, it was fine by him. The fog was brewing, which made things even worse. He'd seen fog so thick you couldn't see three feet in front of what you were driving. Although mostly for him, the fog was usually enough so that you could see all the way to the edge of the roadside, but that was it. That allowed him to see one, maybe two vehicles ahead if he was lucky. The night was lucky as well – the only 'traffic' there was around the place was the transport vessel that he was driving. Tonight, he was king of the road.

Up ahead in the distance, I saw a shimmering light
My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim
I had to stop for the night

"Why do we have to listen to this shit, sir?" First Sergeant Cox complained from the passenger seat. "I mean, come on! That song's almost five years old!" The two were half of the transport detail. Staff Sergeant Anderson and Senior Airman Dease – the only soldier below NCO ranking to ever get into HAM – were in the back, guarding the precious cargo. What exactly were they transporting? Not much was to be said by the higher-ups, really. Colonel Fiddles didn't say so much as jack on the issue. Cox had no doubt that it was some sort of extremely dangerous artifact, since they were bringing it to the highly classified, and not to mention secured, Area 62.

Some moron slipped his tongue on the farm a few decades back, and now the whole world was chock full of rumors on what was being done at Area 51. Had to haul all of our ops out of there and put 'em somewhere a little more… unattractive... Area 51, however, was no longer the actual place where they did all the stuff that they were accused of in conspiracy theory. Ever since those things popped up, operations had been moved and distributed all over the country. Things involving the paranormal, however, remained in the Nellis Air Force Range, where Area 51 was in fact located, although under a different sector of NAFR, more specifically, within the bounds of the Nevada Test Site, adjacent to Dreamland itself. After all, what harm was there in continuing operations if the public looked the other way?

There she stood in the doorway
I heard the mission bell
And I was thinking to myself
"This could be heaven or this could be hell"

"That's why they're called 'classics', Sergeant," Silver answered in a quiet irritation. He cursed The Man, that mysterious force behind this whole gig, for scheduling such an inconvenient departure time. There were many rumors as to The Man's identity. Some said he was the Secretary of Defense or Secretary of State, others said he was Jimmy Carter himself. Silver doubted that. He was evidently military, probably one of the four-star pencil-pushers back at the Pentagon; hell, maybe even the Air Force Chief of Staff. Of course, that could also be used to disorient the general members of HAM from his true self, which had yet to become clear to anybody. Not even Colonel Fiddles knew, and he was the only person so far who'd ever 'seen' The Man.

They passed the little-known Call Box No. 15-238, indicating that they were about to enter a shallow valley oriented NE. The freeway had narrowed down to but a few lanes at this point, and that was usually a bad thing, especially in a valley. You were susceptible to ambushes, and in general, ambushes were bad. Not that such a thing was possible at the time with all the heightened security on both coasts, though one could never know, as more likely than not, the KGB was all over the place. And HAM was not exempt from infiltration. Those Russians were sneaky, and managed to steal one or two trinkets of minor consequence in the past. Fortunately enough, the mole was found, tried, convicted, and executed - all at a secure location, of course.

Then she lit up a candle
And she showed me the way
There were voices down the corridor
I thought I heard them say…

The Lieutenant had just activated the de-fogger when a disturbing image came into view. He floored the breaks, and the truck screeched to a halt. There was an 18-wheeler sitting across the road, turned over to its right side, underbelly flamboyantly exposed - apparently the result of some sort of accident. Standing in the middle of the highway in front of the semi-wreckage and waving his arms was no doubt the driver, in the typical checked red shirt. Probably drunk too, he thought, noting how the man appeared to be somewhat tipsy.

Welcome to the Hotel California
Such a lovely place
Such a lovely face
Plenty of room at the Hotel California
Any time of year
You can find it here

"Stay in the truck, Sarge," Silver unbuckled and proceeded to open the door. Tonight was very irritating indeed. "And keep your guard up. We're already behind schedule as it is, and I don't want some commie nut job sneaking an ambush on us." The officer muttered curses as he cocked his Beretta 92, practically kicking the door open. Cox only shook his head as he followed orders and began watch.

Her mind was Tiffany twisted
She got the Mercedes Benz
She got a lot of pretty, pretty boys
That she calls friends

The Air Force Lieutenant marched over to the driver, getting his attention. The man's expression lightened up as the soldier confronted him. "Oh, thank God! I've been stranded here for hours now! I swear, sometimes those brakes just go-"

"We're making a highly important delivery to Nellis, sir. For the best interests of the United States Government, it is imperative that you move your vehicle out of the way that we may carry on." The driver was dumbfounded. Was the guy blind? It was a fucking 18-wheeler, not a bike. Hell ain't no way he was gonna be able to move it out of the way by himself. He squinted at the soldier's get-up. He was Air Force, no doubt, what with the bluish theme of his uniform, though the lack of any patches that denoted his name or division was quite odd indeed. Well, at least he had ranking pips on his collar. First lieutenant.

How they dance in the courtyard
Sweet summer sweat
Some dance to remember
Some dance to forget

"Look here, uh… Lieutenant," The driver began to fidget. "In case you haven't noticed, that's an 18-wheeler I have there. Not something I can easily get out of the way by myself." Radio was busted too, so no calling in for a tow-truck. He hadn't bothered to use the Call Box either, for reasons like total laziness, maybe?

So I called up the captain
"Please bring me my wine."
He said, "We haven't had the spirit here since 1969."
And still those voices are calling from far away
Wake you up in the middle of the night
Just to hear them say…

Silver thought it over. Perhaps he wasn't thinking straight. The man was right, after all. There was no way he was going to be able to push it out of the way by himself. "You have a point there." He whistled at the NCO in the passenger seat. "Cox! Get your ass over here! We're gonna be doing a lot of-" He was interrupted, as a tenth of a second later, his heart and chest cavity in general had disappeared in a sickening explosion of flesh, blood, and bone. This was accompanied by a loud screech that only a supersonic jet could possibly make. The driver smirked in satisfaction as the lieutenant's body dropped to the ground.

"Jesus!" Instinct kicked in, and Cox reached for the handle – half a second too late. The next screech was heard. With it, the glass window of the driver's seat shattered, and his head exploded, blood, fragmented skull, and brain matter splattering all over the inside of the truck.

In back, Staff Sergeant Mike Anderson locked his M-16. Those noises, he didn't like, and more likely than not, their little known transport detail had somehow fallen prey to what was most likely a commie ambush. He wasn't letting some Ruskie jeopardize their mission. No suh-ree.Not on my watch… "Guard the cargo, Dease. I'm gonna see just what the hell is going on outside."

"But sir-" the SrA was interrupted with the usual "No buts, that's an order" crap that superiors used to justify their arrogance so much. Anderson was about to bring up the rear door, when the third screech came into earshot, and something broke through the truck's titanium frame and impacted with his right shoulder, blowing his arm and a significant part of his right side off. He flew off to his left, skull breaking as he hit the other side of the truck interior with sufficient force.

Welcome to the Hotel California
Such a lovely place
Such a lovely face
They're living it up at the Hotel California
What a nice surprise
Bring your alibis

"I was about to tell you that you weren't gonna make it out of this alive." Dease shook his head in pity. More soldiers died that way. Not that he liked it, but that was life. Besides, he thought, Theseare NOT my kind of soldiers. He relaxed in complacency and waited. They'd arrive soon enough.

That's not right, Schrödingberg thought, peering through his thermal scope. There should have been four of them! He cursed the flawed intel. Well, that's how it was when you didn't know any better. He chambered another round into his rifle's barrel, a design unique to those who used it. After all, who ever heard of the G&B C-88 Coil Rifle? Nobody outside us, of course. Named G&B after the man who wrote down the theory, Professor Gauss, and the man who patented the first ever Gauss Rifle, Professor Berkeland, the self explanatory weapon used electromagnetic coils to propel bullets well past Mach 12, boasting to send them off at over 4km/s. The 80th model was the first ever to be free of any discrepancy whatsoever, the flaws of Berkeland's original coilgun long forgotten in light of the efficiency of this modern day weapon. Using electromagnets to fire 11mm rifle slugs at hypersonic speeds, it rendered even the toughest existing armor useless.

The SS rifleman didn't know all of the mathematics, though he'd heard about how microscopic meteors traveling at similar velocities dealt quite a bit of damage to NASA's 'Space Shuttle', as it had been called. Initial testing brought about lots of little nicks and dents in its plating, although this seemed to worry them only a little. As far as they were concerned, the Enterprise was a successful prototype. Their newest shuttle, Columbia, would be the first of the real thing. He would love to see some accidents hurt their pride. Ignore the tiger on the hunt, and you will regret it…

The Haupsturmführer switched to secure frequency and contacted the man at the truck. "Ren, something is wrong. I only see three HAM agents on my scope."

Mirrors on the ceiling,
The pink champagne on ice
And she said
'We are all just prisoners here, of our own device'

The man in question, Rottenführer Ren Georg, raised his eyebrow in surprise. "That cannot be, Herr Haupsturmführer. There are supposed to be four of them!"

Schrödingberg thought, scope never leaving the rear of the truck. He'd heard rumors of HAM developing all sorts of quirky toys – anti-thermal imaging devices that kept its user at room temperature, powered suits that, although a few decades behind their own, were still something to be reckoned with, and the most ridiculous of them all, a fighting robot, of all things. One of these rumored weapons could easily be under testing right now, lurking inside that truck and ready to strike. "Well that is all I see. I assume either the report from IEE was flawed, or they have something up their sleeve in there."

"Ach…" Georg reached into the compartment at the bottom of his overturned truck to procure a curious bullpup design weapon, officially named the 'G&B CSG-1'. A more recent development, this little monster wasn't called Kleines Ungeheuer, which literally meant 'little monster', for nothing. Being a submachine gun, its focus was more on firing rate than anything else, which explained the 1200 rpm (rounds per minute) that it boasted on full auto. Loaded with caseless ammunition, it hence, could hold up to twice as many bullets as the venerable H&K MP5 SMG without making it any heavier than it already was. It was also a coilgun, electromagnetically propelling its 4.73mm bullets to hypersonic easily.

He cocked it and carefully maneuvered through the thick fog, coming around to approach the truck from behind. The Rottenführer looked in his superior's general direction and hoping that his nod of being in position was seen. His radio crackled a second later, indicating that he was indeed spotted. Of course, who couldn't spot a bright conglomerate of red and orange hues against a cold blue background? "Ausgezeichnet, Ren. Now open the door on my mark. Don't worry. I have you covered."

Ren took a deep breath as he unlatched the handle and shoved it all the way upward, CSG with laser sight on the ready. The lights were still on, and revealed what had been expected – the cargo, in a black metal box, and the confirmed kill from earlier, an unfortunate HAM soldier whose right arm, hand still grasping his rifle, on the side of the truck opposite from where the rest of his body was, blood streaming profusely from a rather large head wound. He was most certainly dead.

Georg wasn't thinking about this, though, as he had just pulled the trigger, sending some 10 4.73 rounds at the remaining soldier, who didn't seem alerted at the sudden opening. He must have been sulking…der narr. Neither of the two had a chance to see the bullets fly through the air due to their hypersonic nature, though the SS operative was quite shocked to see that they merely ricocheted off an invisible wall that stood a few inches from him. Was this one of HAM's toys?

And in the master's chambers,
They gathered for the feast
They stab it with their steely knives,
But they just can't kill the beast

The soldier was apparently alerted by that, and looked up at the German. He started to chuckle heartily as he clapped his gloved hands, as though applauding a well-performed opera. "Very nicely done! Unfortunately, that won't work on me." By this time, Schrödingberg had come down to join his companion, rifle also trained on this rather eccentric – or insane - soldier. "Especially you!" he pointed at the rifleman. "I'm quite impressed." His composure changed from one who was alarmed, to one who was casually talking to friends at some sort of social gathering. "You managed to single-handedly take out three of HAM's operatives! You somehow did it despite the fact that HAM is the third most notorious anti-magical movement in existence! I mean, these guys are way up there at the top with Cybertopia and the Tekgnos Federation!"

Most anybody who knew anything about the magical higher-ups knew that they kept a list of the most notorious anti-magical movements in all 17 realms. The definition was quite broad, although 'anti-magical' for them was basically the dislike of magic in general, along with some form of activity or another that enforced this dislike. So far, there were some few dozen, the most major being placed in the top three slots. HAM ranked third, since although they had a lot more bark than they did bite, they had the attitude and devotion to earn their place. Cybertopia – the so-called 'utopia' of sentient machines – was known for slaughtering any magical creatures that entered their 'active territory' with extreme prejudice in accordance with their 'Magic is Our Antithesis' theory, while the Tekgnos Federation was known mostly for imprisoning a lead god within a singularity and hurling it to who knew where. Both only bothered with magic when magic bothered with them, though.

"Who… are you?" Schrödingberg was certain that HAM knew nothing of such affairs, as they were one of the most recent additions and knew nearly nothing about the big picture. As did most of the anti-magic agencies on worlds that were protected by veils similar to this one. How then did this fellow know as much as to mention Cybertopia and the Tekgnos Federation, existences that even the Hyperboreans concealed until they knew that the Führer and his brass could comprehend them properly?

His head titled backward as his chuckle evolved into a blatant, self-mocking laugh. "I'm terribly sorry," he apologized, apparently still trying to get a hold of himself, "I forgot that I was still wearing this goofy human soldier disguise. Let me fix that." A flick of the wrist and a snap of the fingers later, and the bluish unmarked air force uniform erupted in a blaze that stopped just below the neck, later coalescing into a suit of jet black armor, various small-sized skulls and bones decorating places here and there, matching cape billowing despite the absence of wind. A large broadsword found its way to a sheath suspended from his belt. A devious black beard grew on his face to connect with his mustache. "Much better! Ring any bells now?" The two SS operatives stood there dumbfounded, weapons still trained. He eyed them in suspicion; eyebrow raised, and felt something on his head that shouldn't have been there. Realization hit him, and he removed the black beret, tossing it aside. "There we go! Now do you recognize me?"

Schrödingberg smirked knowingly. He should have known. Now he understood why the GMC said that he was going to fail regardless of how much he prepared. No amount of preparation could help him outwit a god. Georg put his gun down as the fact dawned on him as well. Any religious nut job who saw the man now would probably run away screaming, "It's the devil!" or perhaps try to banish him with a crucifix or something. The fools didn't' realize that that crap didn't work on this particular deity. No, it wasn't the devil. Schrödingberg knew exactly who it was. "Hades, der Olympian Gottvon der Unterwelt – I should have known it would be just like you to accompany the Hand of Mygass to ensure its safety." He put his rifle on safe and slung it over his shoulder. "Were you planning to take it back from these HAM pigs yourself, or did you take advantage of some pre-cognized knowledge you had that we were coming?"

Hades chuckled jovially. "Of course I knew you were coming; though I hardly had to consult with an oracle to know that you were up to something as obvious as this. A device as powerful as the Hand of Mygass being excavated by accident at a Los Angeles construction site after centuries of proper concealment was bound to attract big fish like you. I've been keeping tabs on it ever since it left the cement. I even went so much as to 'join' HAM by manipulating its top people to let me in. They never knew."

The Haupsturmführer huffed. "I should have thought you would do something such as this. What now?"

"Oh, yes, of course. You see, here's how it works – as much as I admire your skills and guts to take out three of HAM's boys, I can't give you the Hand of Mygass. An artifact as powerful as this ain't no toy for you little Nazis to play around with – training from the Hyperboreans or not." The lord of the underworld gestured to the sealed box, which, to put it simply, unsealed itself and opened up, a large black hand-like object – an outside observer wouldn't be able to tell if it was a gauntlet or an actual hand – flying out forcibly and landing in Hades' own right.

"And where do you plan to put it?"

"Somewhere you bozos wouldn't dare to steal it from lest you risk exposing yourselves to the rest of this world's veil-blinded society." He grinned, "And we all know how you have to keep yourselves secret from everybody who doesn't know of you," and tucked the hand under his cape. One could only assume that it was taken to this place he spoke of when it vanished just like that. Such was the awesome power of a god.

Last thing I remember,
I wasRunning for the door
I had to find the passage back
To the place I was before

"Well, I'd love to stay and chat some more with you, Mister Hans Schrödingberg, greatest sniper in SS history and holder of the RegensburgHex, but I really must get going." The lord of the underworld put his hands together and stretched. Conversations always made him feel cramped up for some reason or another. This was his usual procedure. Thank Zeus it was finally over. The long hours of having to wait in line with the rest of the candidates. He smirked to himself as he recalled how easily he'd persuaded the HAM CO to choose him above everyone else. The officer saw a glint in his eye that told him that 'Senior Airman Dease' was the right man for the job. Damned right you are, Lieutenant Colonel Fiddles… He made his advent to his intended destination, leaving a wake of dark, unearthly energy.

Georg turned to his superior. "What do we tell der Obergruppenführer?"

"We tell him exactly what happened," Schrödingberg answered. "The man always trusted GCM, I think he expects us to return empty-handed." He procured his secure line transceiver. "This is DunkleFalke. The situation has gone awry, and we were unable to acquire the target." He shook his head in defeat. Several days of planning, gone completely to waste; he hadn't worried about satellites – they made sure that nobody would be spying on them from that place above the clouds. No evidence would be left behind. For HAM, it would just be another mysterious disappearance of some transport detail. They'll probably blame it on the Russens too… he thought with a chuckle, as he planted a rather ornate staff in the ground.

Ren took his position on the side opposite from his superior and the two began to chant – and repeat as a mantra – four lines of an ancient spell. As with any situation such as this, the conveniently placed gem thing atop the staff glowed with the mysterious energies it held within. At the height of it all, the device erupted with a shockwave that blew uncombed hair this way and that, literally erasing every trace of destruction, death, collateral damage, and both trucks, as it engulfed the entire valley. The SS UUE Operatives were the last to vanish care of a transportation spell, taking any remaining evidence with them.

If ever some random person passed by at that moment, he would have heard the eerie echo of the last verse of a song being played on radio as it slowly faded out into the fog that consumed the area. Seeing as there was nothing there, he probably would have run screaming off into the night, as the final words phased into a memory.

"Relax," said the night man,
"We are programmed to receive.
You can check out any time you like,
But you can never leave."

Chapter 2: Dude! Where's My Hand?

SS UUE Headquarters – Sub-level 10 of the Delmont Building, Orchid Bay
0537 Hours, Pacific Time, November 17, 2005

The SWAT officer yelped as the Golem Übersoldat picked him up by the waist. Its weapon having retracted into a short stub and attached to the built-in mini-sheath at its hip, nothing was going to stop it should it begin to crush his torso in whatever way it deemed sensible. "Just who are you, anyway?" Heinrich Himmler III chuckled as he saw the cop's eyes widen in shock from what was revealed by the opening of the faceplate. "No. Way." The MGL was shoved into the head, almost directly in front of the viewer, and a loud bloop! was heard. Something clattered down into the cavity of the body, and a moment later, the image was replaced with static.

"What happened?"

"I made a mistake," the professor responded, switching the view screen off. "I did not think that they would attempt something like attacking its internals." He made a mental note to ensure that the surveillance equipment for all future units was placed under a protective spell – to be implemented immediately. No matter. He brought forth another holographic datasheet. "It will not happen again, Herr Oberführer. I assure you."

"It had better not, Professor." Himmler placed his hands behind him, right resting in the palm of the left. It was a rather interesting mannerism he'd adapted from the gods knew where. "These are critical times we are in right now. Der Führer is counting on all of us. You should know – you've known him for quite some time now."

"Ja." Von Karline turned his attention to the datasheet. "At the moment, Beta 3 is out of commission, albeit the only way to do that would be to disconnect the head from the rest of the Golem Übersoldat's body. Und even with a fully-powered railgun, it would take at least six rounds to knock it off. Und, last time I checked, the American military has yet to circumvent the basic problems." This was of course, in reference to the fact that a single shot would heat the said weapon's rails to the point of erosion, among other things that made them impracticable and nearly impossible. This little branch of the Schutzstaffel, however, had been using them in conjunction with coilguns since before Kennedy was shot.

"Then how was it neutralized?"

"I haven't a clue, Herr Oberführer. According to the readings from the nexus, it was taken out just a few minutes after we lost the surveillance equipment… My only plausible explanation would be that the police somehow figured out that it was not absorbent of kinetic energy and deployed something to decapitate it. What that thing is, I cannot tell. It could be anything with enough force to replicate six consecutive railgun shots."

"Which again, sounds near-impossible." The third Himmler snapped his fingers for no apparent reason – another mannerism of his. "Scratch that idea, Professor. There has to be a better explanation."

And so it was at this point that Fortuna, or Karma, or whichever of those forces that ran everything from behind the scenes, decided to settle with a little plot device to help them along. A Mann rushed in, carrying the morning paper. "Herr Oberführer, your newspaper. The front page depicts a rather curious story."

Himmler snatched the sheets from his subordinate's hand, dismissing him as he scanned the headline. "Interessant..." He showed it to his companion. "What do you make of this, Professor?"

Von Karlinne took some time to examine the article. His eyes widened in realization, leading him to start a self-contained chuckle. How could he have forgotten? Wasn't this the very reason that he had set up the masking spell upon their arrival? To mess with the mystical early warning system that the subject possessed? He noted that this one was a child. So, another generation of Te Xuan Ze has passed? "This man, this… Officer Meyers… knows what he saw. Und now I know how Beta 3 was incapacitated."

"Are you suggesting that this… kulturbote kind… was responsible for Beta 3's neutralization?" He couldn't believe his eyes. A measly child, a culture carrier, nonetheless - one of the most despicable of the sub-human species – single-handedly disabled a Golem Übersoldat when 15 of the best members of the city's police force could not? Unmöglich…

"I am not suggesting it, Herr Oberführer. I am stating, as a matter of fact, that this is so." The professor pointed at the highly accurate (if somebody who knew June were looking at it) artist's rendition, paying special attention to the jeweled bracelet on her left wrist. "This device is a tool used by the Te Xuan Ze – the so-called 'Great Protectors' – to detect disturbances in the balance of magic within their jurisdiction." Further attention to the swatch of pink hair dangling over the left side of her face. "This tinge of pink hair is somewhat of a birthmark. You see somebody with this, there is no mistake about his or her place in the realm of magic."

"So this kulturbote girl is one of these Te Xuan Ze?"

"Apparently so, Herr Oberführer. Seeing as only one Te Xuan Ze is in office for each generation, it is the only sensible conclusion." It was rather odd that his superior knew nothing of the Te Xuan Ze. Well, that will be rectified soon enough.

"How is she capable of doing this?"

"The Te Xuan Ze's physical prowess is magically enhanced to the point that they could easily take down an adult Minotaur with a single, effortless blow," the professor began. "They go through over a decade of training from birth to harness this raw power, making them highly agile and proficient in several systems of close and ranged combat. The use of spells, weapons, and miscellaneous artifacts also does not escape them. They will do whatever is necessary to protect the balance."

"I should have known better than to ask you, Professor," the Oberführer mused. "You give too many details."

"Oh, but I am only giving the very basics, mein Oberführer," Von Karlinne explained rather haughtily. "If you want the details, I could give you the names, personalities, quirks, and other aspects of each member of the Te Xuan Ze bloodline for the past 11 centuries." This was said in a joking manner, although Himmler knew that more likely than not, the professor was capable of giving him those details. He turned his attention to another article; one that he could tell should have been the top headline, had this pint-sized protector not taken the spotlight; one that was extremely important, due to the fact that it had been, and was still, relevant to them. "Herr Oberführer, take a look at this."

"Hmm?"

The professor pointed out the article that had caught his eye. 'Petrified Hand to be put on Display', a picture of said hand was mounted right beneath the artist's rendition of the Te Xuan Ze, and the most striking thing about it was the ominous insignia on the backhand side. The article noted that some janitor found the hand in an old, unused closet of the Orchid Bay Museum. How it ended up there, perhaps only the gods knew. "I do believe that Herr Hades has underestimated the awesome power of serendipity."

Heinrich Himmler III, Oberführer of the Schutzstaffel's Übersinnliche Untersuchungseinheit, clapped. "So der Gott von der Unterwelt had hidden the Hand of Mygass somewhere he would not think we would go lest we risk exposure, eh? Apparently, he knows not what he is speaking of. I take it you still have some use for it, Professor?"

Von Karlinne nodded. "Several of mein projects based on the utilization of the hand have been put on indefinite hold because of him, und now, I believe, is the time to change that."

"So be it, professor. I shall prepare a taskforce to raid the museum tonight."

"But what of the Te Xuan Ze?" An obvious question that had obviously been answered before even being asked. The professor knew that Himmler would never propose something until he had all – well, most, anyway – of the bugs thought out.

"Oh, I know the right person to deal with our meddling little kulturbote…" a he smiled rather contentedly, holding the sheets in his hand, attention focused entirely on both pictures on the front page. She would be taken care of easily enough. If what the professor was telling him was accurate - and it probably was – then his little errand boy wouldn't have the slightest bit of trouble in handling this so-called 'Great Protector'. He shoved the publication into his trench coat and exited the room, starting down the east hallway to his destination.

Orchid Bay Park
0633 Hours, Pacific Time, November 17, 2005

"Sure, I might not have been able to show it, but I was damned worried about her nonetheless!" Monroe leapt to the left to dodge an incoming skateboarder as he trailed after his former charge. Due to some spell cast some centuries ago, people seeing the curious couple pass by would note him as a very noisy little son of a bitch, apparently barking for no reason whatsoever.

One passerby even went so much as to offer the elderly woman a business card of one vet he knew that dealt with dogs that displayed rather peculiar behavior similar to what the pug was showing at the moment. This of course, Jasmine Lee, the greatest Te Xuan Ze of all time, living legend, and holder of countless other similar titles, politely turned down, saying something on the lines of "He was just born that way".

The jogger nodded and shrugged, continuing his way along the paved pathway and up the hill. "Besides," the magical advisor continued, "She looked fine to me. A li'l rattled is all, probably from the lack of sleep, but fine." He paused to be met with that knowing stare. "Okay, okay, so maybe I was bein' a wee bit of a Willie, but I didn't want t' make her think I was unfamiliar with the situation!"

"Monroe, you are unfamiliar with the situation," Lee answered. "The only account we have so far is the article in the paper…" She thought for a moment. "And June's, when I ask her to tell it as it was." And she thought again. "Of course, retelling something as gruesome as that could be quite traumatic for a child."

"But she looked fine!"

"The key word here being 'looked', my friend," she stopped to watch some punk kid skateboard by. Children, what fashion sense will they get into next? "Remember that Juniper is thus far, the youngest ever to shoulder the duties of the Great Protector," some six years earlier than the previous record holder – Jasmine herself.

"Alright, alright, I'll see what I can do to make her feel better…" he trailed off as he saw what appeared to be some random pale, three-legged thing of sorts put a sheet of 'kick me' on some unknowing skater's back. "Hey Marty! Ye'd better not be doin' what I think you're doin'! Because if it is, I'll personally see to it that June pays ye a visit later!" Marty clearly heard this, tore the paper off, and scampered into some other poor sap. The sap in question was in fact, living sap, more like pus, actually, who threatened to sue the three-legger if he didn't get off him. "That's right! She knows where ye live, ye cowardly sack of beans! Now where was I?"

"You were going to have a heart-to-heart talk with June and apologize for being such a prick," Lee paused, "I'd suggest you left out the 'prick' part, though."

"Aye… agreed." Monroe dodged another inbound skateboarder, and nearly got run-over by the next. "Watch where ye're goin' ye lousy little piece of chicken turd! Can't ye see? We're working here!" More curious human onlookers eyed him suspiciously as their magical counterparts burst into childish fits of laughter. He'd had worse days, just to be sure, but then this was one of the things he hated about the park – that he had to live with. "Now speaking of that article, what the hell are we going to do about it? We can't just let the news spread! And in today's technological status, it'll go ablaze like a wildfire!"

"I wouldn't concern myself too much with that news article if I were you, Monroe," the previous Te Xuan Ze said knowingly. Another jogger overtook them and disappeared around the next curve.

"Oh sure, if it were a tabloid, I wouldn't be too concerned," the pug replied somewhat sarcastically, "But we're talking about the Orchid Bay Times here!" Most of the little 'incidents' that somehow got past the veil were published in tabloids that only conspiracy theorists believed, much like in the Men in Black movie/cartoon series. Sure, there was a corresponding article in the 'hot sheets', as had been coined by Agent K some years before, and it was somehow more detailed than the actual SWAT account, simply because they seemed familiar with everything that was happening. In the event that it was a bunch of magical beings that was running the presses, they were seriously violating the rules by providing information to the human populace, despite the fact that most of those that believed them were seen as nuts by the rest.

"You do realize that the circumstances mentioned make his account very questionable, by your average standards." The article mentioned it as such. First circumstance, it was dark, as the incident occurred far from any street light… aside from those that were involved, that is. Second circumstance, the witness had garnered a concussion. Therefore, he was probably hallucinating. But that didn't explain how the offender ended up getting de-commissioned as it did. That was left as a logic gap. Ah-Mah handed in her own opinion. "Besides, as far as those who know her are concerned, June is quite the normal girl… aside from the fact that they sometimes catch her talking to things they don't see, that is."

"Ooookay…"

"And if that isn't enough, the article mentions one more thing that would destroy any credibility that remains…"

"With that bein'…?"

"Monroe, do you know that show on the Disney Channel?" She smirked at her companion's reaction. His eyebrow had shot up in complete confusion. Clearly, he wasn't prepared for such a question.

"I really have no idea which show ye're referring to, Jasmine," the magical advisor answered defensively. "Ye know how much I try to avoid that channel because of…" He trailed off as he finally began to understand just what in the hell she was talking about. "That show?" Of course, just because he understood what she meant didn't mean that he grasped the whole idea. In this case, it seemed like a random blurb. "What about it?"

"If you were a regular viewer, you wouldn't be so concerned either."

"What the hell does that even mean?"

"Last Thursday night's episode, interestingly enough, mirrors last night's events in a rather eerie fashion... almost as if that episode's writers were experiencing some sort of premonition." It didn't matter that Jake lived on Manhattan. And it didn't matter that the huntsclan used a robot instead of a magical suit of armor to steal some highly valuable artifact from the ABC's 3rd New York branch. What mattered was that the cops somehow got mixed into the situation, and similar, but of course, family-friendly results, were attained. "It's most likely the biggest thorn in his credibility's side. Trust me on this one, Monroe. It will blow over with the weekend… provided nobody sees June in action again." The pair rounded the curve and into the shade. Not that there was much of a difference at this time of year, or the day, for the matter, but still, shade was shade, no matter how you looked at it. "There's one more thing that concerns me."

Monroe's poise became grim. "If ye're concerned about the same thing that I am, then I think we're still on the same channel."

"Try me."

"What little of the article I read included the description of the armor. And I know only one material that could possess such unique properties…"

"Ebony Diamond," It was as though she'd read his mind, but then he was quite used to it. It was only proof that they were in fact, still on the 'same channel.' "I know only a few who have the resources to gain enough of it to craft something like what went on last night's rampage."

"And that limits our search down to how many? Only two, maybe three dozen demons and mages," another bit of sarcasm. "Oh that's just great! Why don't we visit them one by one while we're at it as well?"

"We don't have to search for that many," Lee countered, "Because among these candidates, I only know ten who have the guts to deal in such a blatant violation of what the veil stands for. All I need to do is find out where they are…"

"And we all know how these crafties like to hide from ye."

"When I'm done with my leg of the investigation, we won't need to look for them." That's what it was all about – location, location, location. Intel was also a key element in the whole Great Protector business, which is what the Sensor Device was for. Location, as well as nature, of the situation, was transmitted instantly via the Higher-ups' information network. "After all, he has done us many a favor in the past." But what if the culprit that was being hunted down wasn't responsible, or even relevant, to the current situation? And what if the books had nothing to show? That was where Ah-Mah's special contact came in.

"Jass, he's a paranoid psychopath. It's only a matter of time before he loses it and gives us the wrong info," And this was said despite the current 100 percent accuracy of everything he'd ever told them. This particular paranoid psychopath was a reliable one, it seemed.

"He's not that much of a psychopath; maybe a little eccentric, yes, but definitely not psychotic. And he has yet to tip me the wrong way."

"Look, I'm only concerned for yer well-being. What if it turns out to be different this time?"

Lee retaliated with a look that said, simply enough, "Just trust me."

Monroe sighed in defeat. "Alright, alright, ye win," and nodded. "Of course, my trust in ye on all the other occasions was a rather uneasy one."

She chuckled. "You just make sure to do your part, and I'll make sure to do mine. Comprende?"

"Yes, ma'am!"

And it was that moment that Larry Moe Curly, whose real name was unknown, as the 17-footed Yuchris from the 6th Realm chose to keep it confidential, decided to trip the next skater that passed him by, just for kicks. It just so happened that this skater girl, gray, kangaroo pocket-style hoodie and all, was heading in the odd couple's direction when she was tripped, being launched into the air by her own inertia and slamming into the elderly woman, taking her down. Monroe began swearing all manners of Scottish profanities which, thankfully, were masked by that ever-reliable spell into a series of irate barks that seemed directed at the girl. Well, what kind of dog wouldn't bark in a pissed manner at the person who just knocked down his mistress?

Said girl meekly apologized, in a rather annoying repetitive way, "I'm really sorry, ma'am! Are you hurt?"

Jasmine Lee merely laughed cordially, giving the corresponding response. "It's alright, child. Maybe if you could help me up, I could then show you that I'm perfectly fine." And the girl complied, losing her balance in the process and ending up sitting on the pathway not two seconds later, a dull pain in her rear. The previous Te Xuan Ze's eyes widened at what she saw when skater's hood fell back behind her neck. Impossible! And yet…

"Is something wrong?" clueless skater asked, eyebrows rising in confusion. Larry Moe Curly took advantage of this lack of attention and writhed away into some other part of the park to annoy another group of humans.

Ah-Mah snapped out of her apparent trance and helped the girl up, laughing jovially again. "No, no. Everything's just fine! Now you'd better get back to your skating before you lose interest!" A weak joke. Not that it mattered.

And skater got back in line, "I guess I'll be seeing your around then," smiled, and made the first step, disappearing around the curve in a few moments.

"What was that all about?" Monroe finally ceased his marathon of bad language.

"Well, she tripped into me, helped me up, and-"

"I was talking about yer reaction to when ye saw her face."

Lee merely whispered, "It's nothing."

"It didn't look like nothing, Ah-Mah. From what I could tell, ye looked like ye saw a ghost."

Ah, the nosiness. There was a relatively easy way around the dog's prodding. Sure, he was, the adjective being more or less overused in the past half hour or so, concerned for her, but it was best left unspoken of. "Remember that pact we made some fifty years ago?"

"I remember it as clearly as the day we made it. Why?"

"That pact is the very reason why I maintain that it's nothing."

"Ye got me there." That pact was probably one of the most powerful things she could implement to keep a secret. It was a pact that requited all manner of counter-violation, and was probably taken almost as seriously as that oath she took some half a century ago. Not another word was said until they finished their literal walk in the park, the rest of which was rather uneventful.

Lee Residence, Orchid Bay
0828 Hours, Pacific Time, November 17, 2005

"Having problems with your Dungeon-O's, June?" Dennis Lee mocked as he scooped his own batch of the aforementioned cereal into his waiting mouth. Breakfast was, to say the least, okay. At least two brands of cereal were present, with some toast, eggs, bacon, and hashes on the side. Or was it the cereal and hash that was on the side? Didn't matter. The point was simple: the eldest Lee was having a bowl of Dungeon-O's. No prize inside, but it nonetheless had something of value. Can anybody say 'latest issue of Guide to Avalos'?

June, on the other hand, tiredly sloshed her own cereal around the inside of the bowl. It was safe to say that aside from getting back at around midnight and being awoken abruptly before the crack of dawn, she was having other sleeping problems. Sure, she'd had her several hours or so of retirement to bed, but then again, there was a big difference between sleep and rest. This particular night didn't have much of the latter. After the original adrenaline rush had died down, things happened in that well known phase of sleeping – REM – that ensured that she would get little to no rest at all.

SWAT came. SWAT got gutted. Again. Again. Again, and again. Blood, entrails, and other manner of human internals spilled all over the four corners of Juniper Lee's mind. To say the utmost least, it was disturbing. The details were as vivid as if that short panorama of violence had been permanently etched into a dark niche of her brain. She had to use all of her self control not to vomit. And then it came for her. And almost chopped her head off. And almost did several other unspeakable things too. But they never happened. Because she woke up every time, sweating profusely in each experience. And she would cry herself back to sleep.

That didn't stop her from making cranky, sleep-deprived counter-statements, however. Stated, after some half a minute of trying to ponder and comprehend what he'd said, since it originally sounded like a disjoint and incoherent form of the Baracci language. "Two things, Dennis: One, I don't have any problem with my cereal. Two, I don't eat Dungeon-O's like some dorks I know…" A roll of the eyes complemented this quite well.

The LARPer shrugged in nonchalance and returned to his hunt for the guidebook. It must have been those damned stomachaches she'd been complaining of before she skipped out on dinner the previous night. Notably ironic was that she called him to dinner, and then got an excuse to leave it herself. After that, the good game continued, and Grovan got his ass kicked with extreme prejudice. Banthar had gained 782 EXP, albeit with a deduction of ten percent due to the lack of blue card flashing prior to going OOC. The funny thing was, June really was having a bowl of Dungeon-O's, apparently having mistaken them for Coco Puffs out of her tiredness. The stomachaches were probably that bad. Ray-Ray was busy chowing down on his seventh bowl of Coco Puffs, in the meantime. At least the kid knew the difference between those and Dungeon-O's. Well of course, he didn't have any sort of stomachache of any kind, so he probably had a good night's rest. The question at hand was, why didn't she go for some of those good old antacids that were stuck up in the medicine locker? She's in fifth grade, you peon. She wouldn't know which was which.

"Hey June," the youngest Lee looked up from his Coco Puffs, "Could you pass me the- HOLY CRAP! YOU'RE EATING DUNGEON-O'S!" This had only two possible explanations – either she had somehow been brainwashed in her sleep, OR, his sister had been replaced with a dimwitted, less-than-a-quarter-as-effective doppelganger. Whichever it was, that was bad. He opted for the more severe scenario. And Monroe still ain't back! Argh! What was a sibling sidekick to do? He excused himself and made a dash for the phone. Some several rings later, it had become obvious that nobody was there yet. Whattodowhattodowhattodo… Ray-Ray banked for June's room. "There has got to be some junk here that can help!" And he spent the next several minutes digging through the pile of random knickknacks that were scattered and hidden in plain sight.

Juniper Lee, the latest of the Te Xuan Ze didn't hear that. Why? Because her face was swimming the very bowl of milk and Dungeon-O's that she had been accused of eating. The earlier plea of innocence was invalid, as the evidence was right there. When her head finally emerged from the heterogeneous mix of dairy fluid and artificially-flavored grain, her face was covered in rings that might, at some point, have been sent with Halflings on quests demanding the former's destruction. She licked some off her lips, and when it finally registered that she was indeed having Dungeon-O's, she didn't seem to even care. "Dad, may I be excused?"

The inquiry was rather sensible. "June, are you alright? You seem to lack your usual drive today."

"Completely fine," she answered, eyelids threatening to shut on their respective orbs. "Just had trouble sleeping… is… all…" The second Lee drifted off as her head nestled in the cradle her arms had formed on the table.

Mr. Lee shook his head in pity, and helped his daughter back up to her room. Whatever her problem was, it was quite evident that it could only be solved by a little more sleep. If it got any worse, he was going to call the family physician. At the moment, however, the bed would have to do. He exhaled in apparent success as he observed his recent handiwork of tucking her in. "No sense worrying the missus. I'll just tell her about it later." Coming back to the dining area, he sat on his chair, and reached for the nonexistent sheets that were usually piled up just beside him. That was odd. "Anybody see the morning paper?" All parties present at the table pleaded ignorance. Father Lee left it at that.

Nobody that morning noticed the sugar-high Ray-Ray standing outside his sister's room as if on sentry duty, peeking in rather distrustfully every few minutes or so. He'd wait for his chance to strike. He'd wait for his chance to prove the factuality of his suspicions. And when that smart-aleck-evil-twin-clone-doppelganger-copycat-identity-thief-June-wannabe-negative-self was on the verge of revealing her true colors, he'd intercept her with enough fury to impress even the real Te Xuan Ze. Just you wait you… Ray-Ray Lee's gonna show you who's boss!

Commissioner's Office, OBPD Central, Orchid Bay
1011 Hours, Pacific Time, November 17, 2005

Commissioner Bradbury had just about enough pointless crap for the day. He'd been awoken by Captain McMillan at around midnight with a story that he'd first called bullshit. The live news coverage compelled him to make a 180. And now, the allegedly haunted suit of armor that had so effortlessly slaughtered some almost three SWAT Teams was locked up in the most heavily guarded evidence room around.

That thing was quite the hellish monstrosity, and merely being in the same building as it sent unnatural chills up his spine – chills that were augmented by his traumatic childhood experiences with Z-grade horror movies. "The Thing That Thinged Everything", and "Darkness in the Blackness in the Emptiness of the Night", were two particular cine-monsters that managed to stick. This 'suspect' from the previous night was an amalgamation of The Thing's near-invincibility, and the ultra-mercilessness and ultra-violence of The Darkness.

What was he to do with it? Probably turn it in to the DoJ to see what they could make of it. Bradbury sighed as his intercom beeped. "Commissioner, there's someone here to see you."

"Tell them I'm busy. And cancel all of my appointments for the day."

"Sir, he claims to be Air Force, and I think he means business."

Air Force?That's somebody you don't get everyday… The link was immediately established. The military had seen it on the news or one of their thousands of satellites, and was now coming to get it. Well, now he knew what there was to do to it. Turn it over to the Air Force. "On second thought, send him in."

"Yes sir."

The door opened, and in stepped a rather tall officer. Standard Air Force uniform, complete with service cap, in AF Blue – that was the man's appearance. His smug air of confidence was rather irking, but what could you expect? These flyboys had some sort of superiority complex that nobody but their fellowmen could understand. "Lieutenant Colonel Rodney Michaels," the man tipped his cap off and placed it between his torso and left arm, hand grasping it tightly. His voice was rather smooth with a bit of snootiness, much like that of Metal Gear's McDonnell Miller. "I'm with Nellis."

"Nellis? Isn't that supposed to be the place where you can find Area-"

"That's classified information, Commissioner," was the cryptic reply. "All you have to know is that I'm here for the armor," Michaels motioned towards the large armored military truck that stood out in the parking lot, amongst the many police vehicles. "As I'm sure you have no intention of allowing this… thing… to somehow escape and become a threat to national security. Am I right, Commissioner?"

"Well, I was considering on turning it in to the DoJ," Bradbury mused, "But now that you got dibbs on it…" He switched the intercom. "Bessy, set up a custody transfer form for the armor and send it down to evidence. I want that thing out of here ASAP."

"Yes sir."

Michaels nodded. "Thank you for your cooperation, Commissioner. I assure you that we'll take care of the rest from hereon out."

"Yeah… no problem…"

"By the way… I hear Al's survived with a rather… odd… concussion."

"You know Meyers?" The commissioner's eyebrow shot up.

"That, I do. Used to be from around his neighborhood, you see."

"Ah. Well, he's been watching too much of the Disney Channel, it seems."

"Well just tell 'im that Roddy's sending his regards. Thank you for your time." Michaels stepped out of the office and headed for the evidence room. Some half an hour's worth of dealing with the paperwork later, and the armor was collected, and loaded onto the truck. The half bird walked up to the enlisted soldier in the driver's seat. "Let's head on out of here, Airman. I'll give the subject some more observation in the back."

"Roger that, Colonel."

Once his superior had shut the rear door, Airman Edwards started the engine and moved.

Michaels, on the other hand, had flipped the lights on, and was examining the suit for whatever could clue him in. The rumors in the paper of a 'supergirl', with a description matching the latest – and notably most amateur – Te Xuan Ze in the line provided a good guess of where to start, though he remained skeptical. The article's points concerning the lack of such likelihood were quite valid; Alfred might have just seen her on the street sometime, attributing her Chinese-American heritage to the job of the mentioned cartoon character, who, ironically enough, had the same initials as she did.

He reached the top of the torso, where the head had been separated from the collar in a very crude manner. Notable were the dents on both sides of the detached extremity, roughly around the cheek area. Somebody with A) Really tough boots/gauntlets and B) A really strong physique, was probably, with the biggest possible number of odds against, capable of this. Theory one gets an extremely improbable 'maybe'. A Te Xuan Ze, albeit young and green, especially the type that preferred using brute force and didn't know any better, had much better chances of doing something like this. "Hmm…"

The half bird noted how the right part of the collar's stump was slightly twisted upward-inward, while the left part was twisted downward-outward. This meant that the finishing blow had been to the right side of the face. Had whoever had decapitated it been facing this thing head on, then that would've meant, most logically, a kick or a hook with the left… whichever could've been used. The manner in which the suit was found, holding its spear in reverse, as well as the damage to the office building, combined with the angle and such, all pointed toward the spear flying in its owner's direction from the damaged window of the office. This indicated that whatever took it out – he was starting to suspect a certain fifth-grader – had taken possession of, and used its own weapon against it. But how?

That was all interesting, and had to be factored in later when more evidence was discovered. He went back down to its closed fists and drew a heavy retractor to part the fingers. Careful examination with a portable microscope brought forth just what he wanted. "Hello? What do we have here?" Amongst the dried blood, bits of skull, and coagulated brain matter that littered the right palm lay what appeared to be a couple of strands of pink hair. Tweezers were deployed, and the follicles were deposited in a secure and sanitized container a few seconds later.

His comm. beeped. From the unique signature tone, he could just as easily tell who it was. "Yes sir, we have the subject. As of now, we're on Interstate 80, ETA to Nellis if this traffic keeps up, 16 hours. No sir, we didn't have any problems with the locals. Apparently, they were more than happy to get something as taxing as this thing off their shoulders. Of course I went through all of their trivial protocols, sir. Have to keep a good image for the Air Force, you know. Unfortunately sir, no. At this point, I have no idea who or what sent the subject, or their motives. The craftsmanship is quite superior, though. If I didn't know any better, I'd say a Craftion did the smithing on this, however, it lacks any of the known signatures that the Craftions leave on their works. Yes sir, that's right. Apparently, it's made of pure Ebony Diamond. That's right – no alloys. Obviously, whoever made it has the money to back himself up. I'm guessing it weighs at least a ton. Anything else, sir? Yes sir. Current evidence supports the eye witness' report. I have what appears to be a hair sample from the culprit. It looks like our little harpy's been hard at work last night, sir. Personal opinion, sir? No, I doubt she'd stand a chance if we hit her with what we've got. The eye witness description says although it was very powerful, it was quite slow. Ours has power and speed. What about this? Well sir, I think we can manage to make it useful for ourselves. Yes sir. It won't take long. I just need time to study it properly. As for performance against ours, well, we'll just have to see, sir. Michaels out."

SS UUE Headquarters – Sub-level 10 of the Delmont Building, Orchid Bay
1132 Hours, Pacific Time, November 17, 2005

The army of cardboard gargoyles went down as soon as they came up, accompanied to their demise by a high-pitched wail of some sort, not too different from those at your average opera house. The same fate awaited the approaching group of paper Yorgon Dragons and Live-wires. In the middle of it all was your archetype stereotypical SS Officer – blonde, white, and blue-eyed, dressed in a trench coat that protected some highly-decorated uniform. A Gun Kata-style reload later, and he was back to gunning down fake monsters and dodging real fire/lightning/whatever else was coming at him.

At the end of an arduous two minutes, klaxons blared, and everything stopped, signaling the end of the current session. "467 kills in three minutes – you've broken another one of your own records," Heinrich Himmler III said from the railings. "I thought you'd be here again," he added with thought.

"Was now, Herr Oberführer?" the teenager answered, somewhat irritated. "I already gave you my operational proposal. Der Hand of Mygass will be taken care of. Und I will make sure that no magically-enhanced kulturbote weibchen gets in the way."

"I've reviewed your operational proposal, and I think I've found it rather… risky, to say the least."

"You told me that der Professor wanted the Hand of Mygass. You also told me that you wanted me to make sure that der GroßerBeschützer would not survive if she interfered."

"Ja…"

"Well, guess what. This operational proposal covers both of the conditions you asked for. I don't see what the risk is."

"You intend on demolishing the museum, Herr Scharfrichter. I believe that's a little too much on your part, nein?"

"Unsin, Herr Oberführer. Demolition is an exaggeration on your part. If my guess is right, she will prioritize the safety of the locals over something like the Hand." The Scharfrichter procured an intriguing device of apparently ancient design from one of his coat pockets. "I wonder how she would react if she knew that this was a Stornsug Detonator…"

"If she knew that you were planning to use a Stornsug Detonator, junge, then she would not hesitate to kill you." Himmler took hold of the weapon and examined it. Covered in archaic symbols, one could only guess what one of these things could do. It was a rather random weapon after all, modeled to cause unpredictable chaos – the explosion could be from one of the six semi-established elements, from Earth to Darkness, from Wind to Light. The resulting blast was not only always of a different element, but also of a different order of several things including magnitude, area of effect, mass produced, and amount of debris, among other things. It had been known to cause earthquakes that easily surpassed 10 on the Richter scale, floods that would probably make Noah go for a second ark, and fireballs that would provoke the invocation of the well known 'great balls of fire' interjection, as well as breezes that were near-unnoticeable, sparks that would make a fire-elemental mock the user, and flashes that could easily be overpowered by a weakened light bulb. "It's somewhat redder than usual…"

"The color of the metal used to coat it affects the probability of it detonating a specific element. Obviously, red alludes to fire."

"Mind you, junge, a higher probability does not ensure it."

"True… but does that matter? Any one of the six elements is bound to be destructive," The Scharfrichter retrieved his little toy. "Besides, I only need this as a diversion. Any element will do, it's just that I prefer fire." The two had moved up to the gun rack, where he stripped his pair of pistols. "Elise always told me she liked how candle flames would stand again no matter how much you disturbed them." He sighed in an apparent bout of nostalgia.

"She would also be telling you to forget about her," Himmler mumbled to himself. "Well, I'll give your operational proposal a little more thought. You should have your answer in a few hours." He turned to leave. "Und junge…"

"Ja?"

"Don't get yourself killed."

"You know I know better than that, Herr Oberführer," the Scharfrichter answered, "But danke, anyway"

Lee Residence, Orchid Bay
1249 Hours, Pacific Time, November 17, 2005

Juniper Lee was feeling slightly better. Slightly in the sense that only three out of her four-hour sleep period were infested with evil cop-killing armor dream sequences. Not that the one hour made much of a difference. She was still quite the drowsy one, though her reaction time had improved by quite a degree.

One could imagine her surprise when, upon lifting the toilet lid to prepare for self-relief, Ray-Ray barged in, dressed in his superhero wannabe costume, cape and all, and pointed at her in a stance that said 'I challenge you to a duel!' Of course, that wasn't what he said. It was more of: "HAHA! CAUGHT YOU RED-HANDED! YOU WERE GONNA SUMMON YOUR EVIL MASTER FROM THE DEPTHS OF THE UNKNOWN DARKNESS BY OPENING A PORTAL IN THE TOILET, WEREN'T YOU?"

If June's jaw could drop to the floor, it would have. She was just minding her own business, preparing to eliminate the fluids accumulating in her bladder, and suddenly her kid brother drops in, claiming she was planning to do something that was beyond all reason. "Um… Ray-Ray, are you on a sugar high agai-"

"DO NOT THINK YOU CAN CONVINCE ME WITH YOUR FALSE TRUTHS! BECAUSE GUESS WHAT, EVIL FAKE JUNE! I HAVE THE SPECS OF JROTHGARG, WHICH WILL REVEAL YOU FOR WHO YOU TRULY ARE!" The youngest Lee held up what appeared to be a pair of swirl glasses, lenses mostly colored green. Jrothgarg the Paranoid had created these some centuries ago to help him see whether or not his friends have been abducted and replaced by doppelgangers in order that the higher-ups could keep a close watch on him. He never did get to use them, as the Te Xuan Ze of the era had been sent to confiscate all of his gadgets as they were all deemed too dangerous to leave in his hands, with the sorcerer being paranoid and all.

The mechanism was simple – it was mentally activated, and its lenses would change color according to the identity of the subject it was facing. Green was its inactive stance. Blue was good. Blue meant authenticity. Red was bad. Red meant falsehood. How it figured out who was true or false was something that probably only he and the higher-ups understood completely. The method, however, was out of the question. It was the effectiveness. Ray-Ray positioned the device so that the 'evil twin' was clearly visible through the verdant lenses. "SAY GOODBYE TO YOUR SAPPY DISGUISE, FOR IDENTITY IS NEVER ONLY SKIN DEEP!"

And they glowed in his hands. One blinding flash later, and he was viewing 'Evil June' through cool blue tint. That wasn't supposed to happen. Shocked, he quickly went to scrutinize the problem. "Don't summon your boss just yet, okay? Jus' gimme a second here…" he said with a hint of warning. June merely sighed and shut the lid, sitting down as she attempted to hold it in for a little longer. The liquid waste was giving the familiar uncomfortable feeling. How long was there left? Two, maybe three minutes if she could keep her focus and not doze off?

"No scratches…" Ray shook it some. "No loose parts either… Must be broken or something…"

"No, it's fine," June mumbled from her seat at the toilet, "I just had it restored last week at Fred's Shop."

He then eyed his quarry with suspicion. She was starting to go back into that abnormally low-energy state that the real June would never succumb to. A thought then struck him, or at least an incoherent string of such. The specs had left the house last week. The clone had taken June's place for the gods know how long. That led to only one possible conclusion. "OR, YOU HAD IT SABOTAGED LAST WEEK! AFTER ABDUCTING MY REAL SISTER!"

June found the energy to slap her forehead. "No, Ray-Ray, it works just fine. Why don't you try it on yourself?" Pressure was beginning to build up. Hopefully, the situation would be resolved soon, lest she end up wetting herself. And as far as she was concerned, Juniper Kim Lee had outgrown wetting herself… ages ago.

Little brother got to work and tried it on himself. Nice and blue. A reminder that he was still himself. Just because it worked on him, however, didn't mean anything important. This simple notion (which was evidently a fallacy unless one was paranoid), however, was derived from a brain that was swimming in seven Coco Puff bowls' worth of sugar. "HAH! Obviously, you have engineered it so that it works on everybody, except YOU!"

The discomfort had gotten well past her comfort zone. If was going to go, she had to go within the next minute. That part of her brain that controlled priorities overrode the unusually calm reasoning that been taking place – probably because of the sleeping problems – and replaced that with its SOP of loudness and wild abandon. Fire in the hole. "LISTEN, SHORT STUFF! I'M JUST TRYING TO GET BY HERE AND DO SOME VERY IMPORTANT BUSINESS! IF YOU'RE NOT OUT OF THIS ROOM BY THE TIME I COUNT TO THREE, I'M GONNA BEAT YOU UP SO BAD YOU WON'T EVEN FEEL THE PAIN!"

All earlier suspicion evaporated at that moment, self-preservation instincts taking over. "Yep… that's the real June…" was all that was said before the youngest Lee ran out of the water closet, door slamming behind him. Hallway-wise, he tripped on a lump of fuzzy organic stuff and fell face-first onto the floor.

"So what did ye do to piss her off this time?" said the fuzzy organic lump as the 8-year-old recovered from his drop. Said fuzzy organic lump also spoke with a rather Scottish accent, and just so happened to be identifiable as a kind of dog.

"A baaaad case of mistaken identity," Suspicion returned as he noted several 'suspicious' things about the lump. "Saaaaay…. Where've you been all this time?"

"Ah-Mah's place, having tea and biscuits," was the sarcastic reply. "What's it to ye?"

"AHA! SO YOU'RE THE REAL CLONE!" Ray-Ray shouted. "THE REAL MONROE WOULD NEVER BE ABLE TO HAVE TEA AND BISCUITS… BECAUSE HE HAS NO THUMBS!" Apparently, the blatant cynicism hadn't dawned on him, probably due to the high he was in. The Specs were raised again. "Still… despite your being evil and all, I admire your being cunning enough to throw the suspicion off yourself and onto my sister…"

"Oh boy…" Monroe only rolled his beady eyes.

Area 62, Nellis Air Force Range, Nevada
1336 Hours, Pacific Time, November 17, 2005

Lieutenant Colonel Adrian McKite strolled down hallway 3, and found himself fortunate enough to run into the clown of the month. This was going to be sweet. A wry grin found its way to the officer's face as he stretched his arms open in a greeting gesture, accompanied by said greeting. "YO, LEX! Wassup, G?" The response was a barrage of at least four angry 9mm rounds to the spot right in front of his feet. McKite freaked out and stiffened up as the 'clown' stepped in his way.

"Lieutenant Colonel McKite," the second party started. "Lambda Squad Leader, am I right?"

"Uh… yessir…" McKite was visibly starting to tremble as he swallowed a lump that appeared to have formed in his throat.

This was noted down by the second party's prosthetic left eye as he continued. "How many times have I told you not to call me, moreover imply that you intend to call me, by that misnomer? I want a precise answer!"

"Th… th… three times, sir!" His big right toe exploded into a bloody mess, causing the officer to double over, screaming his lungs out.

"You stutter again next time and your toe won't be the only thing I'm popping," Second party said, venom in his voice. "And it's four times, counting this one, Colonel." He sneered as he carried on, ignoring the many fearful stares of all the witnesses. In a few short moments, the medic arrived to take the injured McKite to the infirmary. Some people just never learned. He quickened his pace upon seeing the time on his watch. He was almost late. And "late" was a word that Colonel Jamie "the Kurgan" Hyneman had obliterated from his vocabulary, the same way he'd done to his junior's toe.

Where the Highlander-ish nickname came from was simple. If one took a good look at him, one would see that he was quite the Six Million Dollar Man. Cybernetically enhanced right arm – capable of lifting your average SUV – Cybernetic left eye – capable of three visual modes: optical, night vision, and thermal – and sometime in between, titanium stuffing as an internal splint for several hopelessly fractured bones, were most of his trademarks. How these put him side-by-side with the greatest nemesis of Conor MacLeod was also simple: the man had survived more monster-based injuries and their subsequent surgeries than humanly possible. He was immortal, in a sense, whether jokingly or not.

The good colonel had been with HAM since its very conception, being one of the triad of people who were around long enough to have seen the 'Initial Scourge', as it had been dubbed. It all started back in Area 51 some three decades ago. Experimentation with alien technology was about, and even some engineers working for the Space Shuttle program were there to see just how the unearthly gadgets would work on a human vessel. It screwed up. Big time. The addition of one unnamed alien substance to another caused a violent chain reaction that not only obliterated the testing room, but also somehow managed to permanently shatter the veil within the local area. Hyneman, a mere butterbar back then, was shocked to see the myriad of creatures that were suddenly all around him. Klaxons came to life, and almost immediately, Air Force Combat Control was on the job, doing everything in their power to cleanse the facility of all non-earthly life. However, not before all but three – Jamie counted two – people were slaughtered.

They succeeded. Unfortunately enough for "the Kurgan", his first scars would be gained from this experience. His right arm was torn off by a ravenous monster that until recently being identified as a Saptein Beast, was known only as the 'Hynenator'. That nick, of course, came out after some idiot HAM scientist thought that Terminator would make a kickass adaptation, near a decade later. Second Lieutenant Hyneman swore bloody vengeance upon learning that they were everywhere, all hidden by a powerful spell cast by perhaps the gods themselves, and immediately joined as Chief Field Commander when the offer was handed to him.

Countless painstaking hours were devoted to finding a way to remove the rose-tinted glasses that the Powers That Be had blinded humanity with. Until now, no such technology was available, save the OculoEnhancement Gems that were discovered in the 'Roswell Basement' shortly after the first incident. So far, the replications were no where near the quality of the original 200, and were under constant development. Why the gray boys brought so many of these things was quite the mystery. One of the possible reasons that the colonel could think of was that they were coming to reveal the horrid truth to mankind – that monsters walked among them – and aid in their liberation from it.

Eventually, SaberCom, HAM's official weapons contractor, was founded, and given access to all of the alien technology stored up from Roswell. Out of this came the venerable ZOD-4K combat suit, the M6A3 Blast Rifle, and other various devices, all of which have been used heavily ever since their debuts. Hyneman had been in every major operation, commanding all of his assaults from the front line. For him, it wasn't only a sense of duty, but a personal vendetta. His only failure thus far was the botched Operation: ConCrash, which aimed to capture all of the big fish in one swift strike. Most of Hyneman's supporters blamed it on the fact that the only weapon authorized was the practically undesirable L1-37 Incapacitator – the "Glowstick", as some agents nicknamed it – which, although had quite the high degree of incapacitation power, couldn't kill a fly. Had they had access to their "nicer" toys, none of them would have gotten neuralized. Not that it was incurable, but the fact that memory restoration was a very costly process, and HAM was already spending 60 percent of the Black Budget on an annual basis.

Why the people continue to call it the "first three", as opposed to his vivid memories of there being only two, was a complete mystery. Nobody had ever seen The Man anyway. Nobody except Fiddles. And Fiddles, Hyneman was beginning to consider adding to his list of nut jobs. He found his door and placed his palm onto the scanner. "Colonel Hyneman, James Xavier. Access Granted."

The colonel saluted upon entering. "You called, sir?"

"That I did, Colonel," the general sat behind the desk with a boisterous air about him. One could easily tell, from the way he spoke, that he was Texan. Which complicated things even more. "But before that, a more recent matter. I heard what you did to McKite."

"Whiny bastard still went and said it even after I told him not to three times already. Three Goddamn times, sir. And he wouldn't listen. So I put him in his place." The memory was still fresh. He wouldn't be forgetting that satisfaction any time soon.

"Alright, settle down. I'll let you off the hook for the moment, Hyneman. Now down to business – it's your turn for the review." The review being referred to was more of a tamed interrogation. After Squads Alpha and Beta got themselves mind wiped as well as losing over a billion dollars' worth of hardware, things had been quite irritating, to say the least. Epsilon Squad moved in to clean up the mess of 24 apparently vegetated humans and hauled them over to memory restore. Some weeks' of intensive rehabilitation (with the inclusion of any necessary prosthetics installation/replacement) later, and both were back on track. The past one had the members getting reviews from the commandant and other staff to get a general idea of just what in the name of George W. Bush happened to Operation: ConCrash. "You might wanna start from the top."

"We infiltrated the Monster Convention in separate buddy size groups. This was to avoid attention, of course. An empty storage room of some sort was secured soon afterward, where we geared up for the op." Hyneman could recall the mounting hormonal discharge. There was nothing at all like the standard pre-op butterflies. If you weren't experiencing those anymore, you'd soon be dead. Adrenaline kept people alive by keeping them alert. That was the ticket to survival. "Couple of wandering geeks or something found us – serendipity, I suppose – but they were taken care of easily enough. In a few minutes, we had moved into position and were ready to make the raid. And we did, too. Everything went just as according to plan, and, despite heavy resistance on the monsters' part, they were eventually incapacitated. We even managed to detain the incumbent Te Xuan Ze, her brother, and her flea-bitten assistant too. Beta Squad was called in for collection and extraction."

"Other reviews indicate that this was the part where ConCrash went downhill because yesteryears' Tee Chaun Zee barged in and, I quote, 'blew us apart like a mad Chinese tornado at the height of twister season'."

"Whose review was that?" A curious description.

"Lorenzo's - Beta Squad. Good lad. Wanted to be a writer but decided to pursue a military career."

"I see…" the colonel shrugged it off. "That's right. Jasmine Lee came in at that point. All went to hell after that." He looked at his new mechanical arm. "Her granddaughter also broke my arm."

"Kids these days," the general shook his head in disgust. "They sure learned a lot of new manners." It was easily sarcastic. "So tell me, Colonel. How hard can it possibly be to capture an adolescent who shoulders the duties of an adult, her sweet-toothed brother who sounds like those twins from the Rugrats, their grandmother who's older than Big Mama herself, and their dog, who's the most likely inspiration for a Brooklyn comedian wannabe slash magical sidekick from a Disney cartoon?"

"With all due respect, sir, your idea to send us in with nothing more than those little glowsticks and the suits cost us the whole damned op," that being said, the colonel was pretty open. "If you had gone with my suggestion and given us full arms authorization, it could have been much easier."

"You would've slaughtered all those monsters like you always do, Jamie. Much as I would like the same to happen, The Man had a different agenda, which required the live capture of all the big fish at the Convention, such as the Tee Chaun Zee," the superior stated matter-of-factly. "There was no way in hell I could've gotten you to use anything more than the glowsticks."

"You always refer to The Man whenever something big burdens you. Are you sure that he's real? Or is he just some imaginary scapegoat you use to cover your own ass?"

"The Man's as real as you and me, Colonel," Edison Fiddles answered in a deadpan tone. "Where do you think all this money comes from? That 60 percent of the Black Budget we spend every year has to run through several authorized channels before getting to us. The Man is the main artery."

"Then why have I yet to see him?"

"He likes to stay anonymous to everybody except his most highly trusted. Hell, even I've seen only his hand at the most."

"Anonymous? Who does he think he is, Charlie?"

"Well at least he doesn't call us Angels."

"Bah. I would've had the situation under control. Just one Blast Rifle would've made a difference. Besides, if you shoot the Te Xuan Ze with a glowstick, she can recover to fighting condition soon enough to give us an anal. You shoot her with a blaster, she wouldn't be capable of that in quite a while. Any medical attention she needed could have been provided once properly restrained." Hyneman formed his ultimatum at that. "Give me another shot, General. I'll make sure they're brought here alive, albeit with a few injuries, but alive nonetheless."

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Hyneman."

"Why? Because I'm not back in combat shape yet? Or because The Man doesn't want me to after seeing my failure? Let me remind you, sir, that Operation: ConCrash was my first operational flop ever since the conception of this agency! Why now?"

"The Man's disbanding HAM, Colonel," the general started. "And you wanna know why?"

Hyneman adjusted his mechanical arm in response, green cybernetic eye penetrating the cowboy's very person. Much as he didn't like Major General Fiddles, or The Man, whose existence he still doubted, he owed them quite a lot. They rebuilt him after that scratch with the Saptein Beast. They funded his research and provided his troops. And now this was the first thing he was being told after over a month in memory restore? "Why?"

"Because I told 'im that Operation: ConCrash was a complete, slam-bang success! I told 'im that the Tee Chaun Zee-"

"Te Xuan Ze," the Colonel corrected, out of irritation. Fiddles always seemed to pronounce it completely wrong.

"Whatever! And her cohorts, were all here at Area 62, undergoing a comprehensive dissection! I told 'im that I was gonna file in a report on what made them tick on a date I vaguely labeled as 'soon'! But worst of all, I told 'im that America was now completely monster free! That's what I told 'im!"

"You went through a lot to cover for me, sir." Hyneman answered. "Why?"

"I'll be frank, Hyneman. The Man's losin' his faith in this particular dim and, by conventional terms, illegal organization. He's finding it harder and harder to conceal where those annual 60 percent's worth of the Black Budget are going, from the rest of the DoD. They don't trust 'im, Jamie. He's a politician. Soldiers don't trust politicians unless they become such. At which point they cease to trust each other as well." Fiddles sighed and put his cap down. "I covered for yer ass because I still believe in HAM. I did it to serve The Man his dose of restored faith. Right now, he's thinkin' there ain't no more need for us, as supposedly, there ain't no more monsters to hunt. I want 'im proven wrong, Hyneman." He handed the colonel a folder labeled 'CLASSIFIED'. "These are the details on your next assignment. We're gonna engineer us a li'l puppet show, Hyneman. And HAM's gonna take that fake sucker down so hard that The Man will just have to change his mind about disbanding us. Colonel Michaels'll provide the puppet. All you have to do is blow the hell out of it."

The colonel scanned the pages. A very interesting find, to say the least. "Michaels? That lab nut?"

"Yep. The same one."

"Full arsenal capabilities?"

"That's right. Everything from Blast Rifles to SPAM."

"SPAM, eh? We haven't used that in awhile…"

"I know. I just wanted to see how this puppet fares against our boys. If you don't have any other qualms to speak of, you're dismissed."

Orchid Bay High School
1521 Hours, Pacific Time, November 17, 2005

Bill Matthews stumbled into the renovated classroom. Why, you ask? It was for the sole purpose of giving the section some material to work with. "Sorry I'm late, guys! I had to get something really important…" He held up an ornate staff – the kind you'd find at a museum… or a sorcerer's den.

"Hey Matthews! Where'd you get that? Your grandma's basement?" Lloyd Starker adjusted his medieval armor. OBHS quarterback swore he was going to kill the bastard who tipped the polls and cursed the class to doing a fantasy play over the rough-and-tumble shoot 'em up war mockumentary… once he found out who it was, anyway. Objectivity aside, he was willing to bet his bottom dollar that it was one of those LARP freaks from the Lee Crew.

"Actually, yes." Matthews handed the piece over to Lee, who was applying the finishing touches to his revised enchanter costume.

Yes, Zorgon the Terrible didn't sound as catchy as Banthar the Enchanter, but that's what you had to put up with in this kind of activity. Laine Summers had written the script, and it was quite obvious that she knew next to nothing about the subject. In a play with characters like 'Aldyre the Crobbit' and 'Darned Lord Saru', Zorgon the Terrible was the best it got. I mean, flame-casting Phalanges from Soviet Russia? That's like… three completely unrelated subjects rolled into one! "Bill, you've outdone yourself this time! This is just what I was looking for!"

"Couldn't find one in your sister's room?" the other LARPer teased. "I thought you said she had all sorts of weird shit in there."

"June's got a crapload of heirlooms from Ah-Mah stashed in her closet or sumfing. That stash includes at least half a dozen staves… none of which fit my book right now." Dennis examined it. "This, my friend, is what the real Disintegrative Staff of Gyntax should look like! You're grandmother really doesn't mind giving it to me?"

Bill scratched his head. "In all honesty, no. I grabbed it from her basement's POS section. Amazing how she said it wasn't worth jack."

"Value is in the eye of the beholder," Lee answered with his own variation to the popular saying. It had his eyes glued to the beauty that only he and his boys could appreciate. "I'd pay a million for one of these…"

"Well thank Dachmar you're getting it for free, man." He started to don his own costume. Unfortunately enough for Matthews, he ended up as 'Aldyre the Crobbit.' It was a stupid role, to say the least, not to mention uncomfortable, what with the consistent hunch that depicted his 'Halfling' size.

Reggie, on the other hand, was practicing his villainous laugh, as he had been graced with at least the second-best (in Dennis' opinion, anyway) role in "Ford of the Crinkles", namely that of the 'Darned Lord Saru'; second-best, because Lee always had a bias for mage-class characters. And in his book, Zorgon was the best of the worst bunch of 'fantasy' characters ever created. Why Mister Rogers had accepted such a thematically inaccurate script was a mystery, save for the fact that Summers was the class' token 'super genius' student, in every clichéd essence of the word. Even with all her knowledge, though, Laine was a complete brain-dead vegetable when it came to a genre that Dennis Lee was master and commander of.

How did he know that it was a serious play instead of the generally accepted idea of it being a Parody? He'd read the script. There was no attempt at humor at all. He did find the countless inconsistencies and inaccuracies in it as something to laugh about, though. Dennis could swear that if this crap show was going to be rated on IMDB, it would get the lowest score in history… and stick with it.

"God, this costume sucks ass," Matthews commented.

"Say Bill, you never told me what your granny did."

"Hmm?" He slipped as he tried to put his leg into the pants, tearing the fabric. Laine screamed in frustration. "Shit… she's coming…"

"Bill! I told you to slide them up your legs while sitting, not step into them!" Summers exploded into the high-pitched squealing rant that all known A-girls in history were capable of doing.

Dennis merely sighed in pity as he decided to remind his friend of the question later. Just two more hours, and I can kiss this bitch goodbye… for the next day and a half, anyway.

Orchid Bay Museum
2118 Hours, Pacific Time, November 17, 2005

Locke twirled his revolver around, gunslinger style, and re-holstered it. Patrolling the museum at night was rather exciting, and with Norbert up in the security room watching his every move, his six was covered nice and good. He rounded the corner into the 'Recently Recovered' exhibition area, and shined his flashlight through the place in an arc. Everything was there. King Richard's Breastplate, Ming Dynasty Vase, Khomen-Getit's Sarcophagus - the mummy itself had mysteriously vanished a few months back – that freaky hand the janitor found in the closet, and of course, the token badass Nazi mannequin complete with trench coat doing a Nazi salute.

There was something different about it this time, though. I must be seeing things. It was at least six inches shorter than he remembered, and was wearing, of all things, Ray Ban 'aviator' sunglasses, and a flu mask. It was probably a practical joke on one of the other guards' part, as they loved doing that to him. The mask was understandable – flu season was coming in fast, and some cases have already been reported in. Now the sunglasses… well, he'd have to figure that one out. It was looking a lot more lifelike too. Must've been the night getting to him. It looked as though it were breathing.

"Alright, Norb," he radioed, "Was this your idea?"

"What?"

"You mucked up the Nazi dummy, didn't you?" Locked cocked his head slightly to the right. "You're the only guy I know who owns Top Gun shades, man. Don't deny it."

"The hell you talking about, Jim?"

"Stop playing around and swing the damn camera for the Rec-Rec room over to Herr Hitler over here."

Norbert complied. What he saw was quite the oddity. Locke was completely mistaken in his accusations, though. How did he know? He was wearing his Ray Ban sunglasses. "Jim, I-" He was cut off as a dart pierced the skin on his back. Less than a second later, he was unconscious and was being dragged out of the room by a man dressed in what looked like a corruption of StarCraft's Terran Marine powered suit.

"What'd you say? Norb? Norb?" Static. Something bad was going down. He could feel it in his gut. It only felt worse when he saw the abnormal dummy suddenly jerk to life like the way it happened in cheesy horror flicks. And Locke viewed it as such. He was detached from reality, seeing it through the eyes of a man in a theater. He could see his own back facing the screen, paralyzed in terror as the figurine tore its trench coat open to reveal not only the black SS uniform within, but the armaments that came with it.

Dual pistols were drawn, and with lightning speed, it was behind the frozen security guard. A powerful blow to the back of his head with a gun butt abruptly ended that night's film. Der Sharfrichter grinned behind his surgical mask as he moved the lifeless body over to the center of the room. In a few minutes, four armored men came in and dropped their own load of unconscious security personnel into the pile. This was going to be good. "Nette arbeit, manner," he congratulated. "I'll take it from here."

"SiegHeil, Herr Haupsturmführer," they saluted, "We shall remain at your disposal."

"Nein," he shook his head. "Your assistance is not required. Return to command."

From the tone, they could tell that he was giving a direct order. And when a superior gave a direct order, they had no choice but to obey. With the flick of a wrist, they were gone. Der Sharfrichter proceeded with the second part of his plan, procuring his little toy. A wave of the hand over some aural controls, and all the parameters had been set. The Stornsug Detonator would blow in precisely six minutes after it was positioned. This was done soon enough as the SS officer gently placed the device at the base of one of the supporting columns. The countdown had begun.

Just how good are you, Fräulein Te Xuan Ze? He produced another tool – the clichéd glass cutter that all thieves seemed to have – and went to cut a hole in the glass case that held The Hand. The security room and all the alarms in general had been deactivated by Kenter, so it didn't really matter if he just lifted the case. Of course, he didn't want the theft to stand out, so he followed 'Jewel Thief SOP'. That and he liked taking his time when there was nothing better to do. The Hand went into a sling bag, which ended up zipped within the next three seconds. That's when glass broke, and down through the shattered skylights dropped the kulturbote kind herself.

"Drop The Hand, thief!" what kind of nuttiness could this be now? The culprit's back was turned to her – it could be assumed that he was still trying to get the artifact to fit into whatever bag he was carrying. The thief in question was wearing a rather oddball outfit, from what she could see: black trench coat and some kind of service cap. It reminded her of a character from one of the movies Dennis once saw – Hellboy or something. The big dork was criticizing how some zombie creep in a similar outfit was such a Darth Vader rip-off, right down to the breathing sound.

"It's about time you arrived, Fräulein Te Xuan Ze. I've been looking forward to meeting you." Thief spun around with some sort of Matrix-esque style, revealing that his outfit was much closer to the Vader rip-off than expected earlier. Nazi uniform, apparently, complete with those Iron Cross medal things and a swastika armband. What deviated from the archetypical Nazi soldier was the pair of out of place Top Gun sunglasses and the surgical mask.

June's mood lightened up – lighter compared to earlier that day, anyway. The rest of Saturday was spent on trying to get a grip on just what happened. Monroe had even gone so far as to give a little pep talk; that she should start getting used to see death and similar ideas, as that was unavoidable as the job went on. Didn't help that much. Blood still freaked her out, and the gore that ensued the previous night wasn't helping her disposition. It finally started to work out in the end when Ah-Mah dropped by. More than half needed amount of rest had been recovered, and she woke up (slightly better) in time for dinner. It just so happened that the bracelet went off right before she was about to doze off… again.

"You mind telling me what kind of idiot wears sunglasses in the middle of the night with the lights out?" She mocked, trying to stifle a giggle. "And what are you, some kind of neo-Nazi with your German accent and using of 'Fräulein'?"

"Hmph. This shows just how much you know. I go by many names, but you may know me as der Sharfrichter. In your English, 'The Executioner'," he drew his pistols, hammers down. "Und for you, I will be such!" He engaged in a backflip that led to a springing position on the wall behind him. This was followed-up with an angled leg shove. The SS officer practically flew over the young protector, guns blazing. June rolled over to the left and launched herself up to intercept her target.

The midair collision drove the pair into the pile of other 'no need to properly arrange' exhibitions. Wax, styro, and other construction material scattered as they slammed into it. Having the advantage of being more used to direct combat, June was the first to recover and kicked her adversary off when the impact resulted in a hand-to-hand pin positioning.

The opponent himself was quite agile and landed on his feet, reloading in a flashy Gun Kata manner and continuing the action as he ran around the perimeter of the room, guns blazing. The Te Xuan Ze dodged all that was thrown at her, occasionally taking cover when she couldn't. No way in hell was she going to let some two-bit artifact-stealing neo-Nazi pin her down… or get the better of her, for the matter.

"Is that the best you can do, o Großer Beschützer?" the Executioner taunted between shots. She was much better than he expected. The opening maneuver was meant to take her out in one fell swoop, and yet she dodged those bullets just like that. Nobody he'd faced before in war games had ever done that, with the exception of Herr Schrödingberg, of course. That man was not a man at all. He moved like a wisp; it was almost as if the bullets intentionally missed him.

"What's it to you?" Lee jumped out from behind a column to tackle him. A simple sidestep to dodge sent her on a course for the wall, which she subsequently pushed herself off of and landed on firm floor again… face to face with the barrel of der Sharfrichter's left-hand gun. The protector swatted it away and went for a hard kick to the nards, which hit thin air, as it was but a split second later than him leaping up to the balcony of the second floor.

The SS officer took advantage of his higher ground and rushed around to get her in his sights again. But she didn't turn up in view. Where the- a hard palm strike to his back sent him over the railings and down to the ground floor, reflexes sparing his life as he cat-spun and landed on his boot and knee in a kneel supported by his right arm. He looked up in time to see the sole of a shoe fall to his face in a drop-kick fashion. It sent him reeling into the concrete stump of The Hand's display case, back hitting it hard. The Executioner fixed his now-cracked Ray Ban glasses as he stood up again. Time for Plan B. He brought out the very reason of his wearing eye protection at this hour – a "Stunner", similar to a completely ordinary flashbang, albeit with an effect lasting three times longer – and hurled it at the approaching threat, plugging his ears and shutting his eyes in case the cracks had compromised the effectiveness of his shades.

June never knew what hit her. She was running for her opponent as he threw some sort of sphere in her direction. By the time she made note of it, it was too late. A loud bang resounded throughout the room and her vision apparently 'paused', in the sense that the world around her was a 3D photograph. This was accompanied by the strange feeling that the room was spinning, and she felt herself trip onto the ground and on her back, despite seeing the same image of the incoming baseball. "Wha…" The sound of a cocking pistol spelled bad news. The Te Xuan Ze couldn't do anything, though – she was feeling sensation of being stunned was overpowering. Her view was still locked into that one panorama from ten seconds ago.

"Und so our little game ends here, Fräulein Te Xuan Ze. You were indeed a worthy adversary for a kulturbote, but-" His speech was disturbed by the beeping of his watch. Not a second later, a loud rumbling shook the room's very foundations as the Stornsug Detonator, even with its 'special conditioning', generated a short but powerful earthquake that worsened the damage on the already brittle columns. "Verdammen sie es!" The Executioner secured the bag over his shoulder, taking one last look at the slowly recovering child, "You survived long enough to see the end of my personally set time limit. I am truly impressed. Perhaps I will be able to finish killing you some other time." He chanted a short spell, and disappeared in a pair of transporting energy rings.

June shook her head as the 15-seconds-long scene faded back into normal sight. She could hear it. The entire section was falling apart, and there was a pile of unconscious guards lying in the middle of it all. "Crap…" She got to work. Lifting the heap on her back wasn't the hard part. The problem was keeping them from falling off. Five separate beings with a much greater surface area was a chore, and she had to make sure they didn't wake up any time soon to catch her. A high-powered dash later, and the protector had managed to gently lower the bunch to the floor of the main artery right before the first tons of debris dropped into the Rec-Rec room. There wasn't anything she could do about that. At least nobody died this time around. The thought brought back the disturbing image, which she shook off as hard as she could. They stayed glued to her memory, however.

With that, another fleeting thought crossed over into her mind. Ialmost died tonight… Cerebellum got to work. All she could see then was a picture of an incoming ball. For fifteen seconds. Her ears were slightly ringing, and her sense of balance had evaporated just like that. Lying flat on her back and virtually paralyzed, anything could have happened. In this kind of life, every moment counted. He'd rendered her constant guard useless just like that. Only reason I'm alive right now is luck - pure dumb luck. Apparently, she was due for another dog-to-girl talk.

No sense pondering the 'what could have been' and risking discovery when these guys woke up, though. She'd had enough problems with last night's near-busting. It was time to move on. Five seconds elapsed, and nobody except her most trusted, that neo-Nazi freak, and the higher-ups themselves would even consider the possibility that Juniper Lee had paid a visit to the museum that night.

Orchid Bay Park
2351 Hours, Pacific Time, November 17, 2005

When somebody said "Orchid Bay Park" and just so happened to be a non-magical human, he would have no idea that he was saying something synonymous to "Monster Playground". At this hour, one would only expect muggers and rapists and the other filth of society – maybe a security guard or two for balance – to be around. But magical vision prompted one to take a closer look. That's when the synonym can easily be understood. The same could probably be said for Manhattan's Central Park, or Washington DC's National Mall, but the difference was, nobody was around to police them over there.

The presence of the Te Xuan Ze line for the past half millennium or so had tamed all the magical beings around, ensuring that none would be stupid enough to go all-out and thereby invoking the fury of that who was the latest heir to the job. They were mostly calm nowadays, simply because a lot of them were just a bunch of nice guys trying to get by. A hobo and his shopping cart passed a bench. Said bench was sitting under a lit street lamp.

While Mr. Tinkins considered it to be a waste of energy to have a lamp lit over a bench with nobody sitting on it, its veil-concealed occupant was thinking the exact opposite.

These street lamps… they are result of pure genius! Gorsky flipped over to the next page of the OB Times, gobbling every bit of information with near-obsessive enthusiasm. Gorsky was different from other magical creatures. This was in the sense that he was quite the reclusive, even hermitic type, and resorted to 'human' means to scare off all the others. No, he didn't carry any of HAM's equipment. He did, however, dress in the stereotypical KGB agent getup to freak out his neighbors. The gray trench coat and matching fedora, albeit exaggerated to shroud his face in mystery, were a nice touch. Combined with his habit of hanging around on benches reading the paper, one would think that he was waiting for another agent from his non-existent mother agency to pass by and inconspicuously drop some sort of important package in the garbage bin beside the bench.

The magical informant was roughly humanoid in shape, and nobody really knew how he looked like, as the outfit concealed almost all of his features. Even his hands were gloved with leather, five fingers present. All that could be seen of his hidden face was the pair of piercing red eyes that glowed with unintended menace; the only indication of him being other than human.

"Rear Admiral Watson to celebrate his 54th birthday tomorrow, eh?" He chuckled. He could remember the name from somewhere. Possibly one of the earlier news reports about him and- Ah, yes… Henry Watson… the one whose bungled navigation almost sank local cruiser when he was Lieutenant. That was back in '79. The poor soul almost got a court marshal for that. It was amazing that he'd made it this far. Gorsky moved on to the next article. It was about a new application for refried beans. Not much interest to a typical reader, but this particular reader was hardly typical. He began to read.

Just as he was getting into the actual Mexican definition of the word frijoles refritos, a hand snaked up from behind and grasped his right shoulder. Hard. "Gorsky." His natural reaction was to jerk himself free of the hand and the bench, and run around screaming in a circle on the path, arms waving. He still held fast to the publication. This was another one of the reasons why he wanted the others to keep away. He was extremely jumpy. "Gorsky, calm down! You're making a scene!"

The printaholic ran another two circles before realizing who it was. Sure, he hadn't heard that voice in ten years, but he had quite the memory for voices. He stopped in his tracks and rolled up the Times, slowly turning to confirm his thoughts. "Well, if it is not the great Jasmine Lee! How may I be of service?" He returned to his position on the bench, "Please, have a seat!" Lee complied. "Now, down to business… what do you need?"

"Do you still read the paper?" Whether that question was rhetorical or honest, he didn't know. What was her game?

"Da. You know me, Comrade Jasmine. I have been reading papers ever since printing press was invented! Speaking of which, did you know that this year has press' 400th anniversary?"

"I didn't know that," she answered, "Thanks for the bit of trivia. Now, if you have been paying attention to-"

"Of course, you know how business works, eh?" Gorsky interrupted, "I can guarantee that I have something for you, but what can you offer me? Something of particular interest, hmm?" He stopped to think for a moment. "Oh, wait. Never mind that. Two favors, da?" He couldn't remember why, but the reasons for both favors seem to come from delivery from the same antagonist – Hera.

"That's right."

"Okay then. So what can I do for you?"

Jasmine cleared her throat. "If you would please be so kind as to make note of the front page headline." The sheets were unfolded, and flipped over to page one.

"Ah, yes. I figured it would have something to do with this. Let me guess. You want me to help you find quiet and humane way to kill witness so that your granddaughter's secret will remain safe!" He reached into his coat pocket only to be stopped by Lee's hand. "What?" She was wearing that knowing look. "Okay, fine. Let me try again. Hmm…" Gorsky browsed through the article again. In a matter of seconds, another guess had formed in his head. "You want me to help you find way to wipe everybody's minds, and erase all evidence of this issue from existence!"

"The people don't seem to be taking this as seriously as you think, Vladimir." If this meeting were set in an anime universe of some sort, large drops of sweat would probably be streaking down the side of former Te Xuan Ze's head by now.

The informant raised his hands in defense. "Fine, fine. Give me one last chance." Glowing crimson eyes shut themselves, effectively turning his head into a completely unidentifiable black object beneath the shadow of the gray fedora. "Hmm…" He reached out with his consciousness and into the mind of the person sitting next to him. Gorsky's next words were spoken as if he was in a trance. "You wish for me to provide information on which of ten richest and most powerful magical beings who have motive to release last night's enchanted armor, and thereby violate veil law is most likely, da?"

Lee wasn't the least bit impressed. "You read my mind again, didn't you? Don't deny it, Gorsky, I felt something funny in the back of my head."

He tipped his fedora in a mock salute of sorts to her sharp detection skills. Among all of his clients, only Jasmine Lee had been able to sense every single one of his psychic probing of their heads, if they sensed it at all. So far, he could recall nobody else who did so. "Was it that obvious?"

"Yes, it was. For me, anyway," she shrugged. "So do you have what I need?"

"It seems you are not that up to date with the Ebony Diamond Industry."

"Hmm? Why not?"

"Have you not noticed, Comrade Jasmine, the massive decline in Ebony Diamond artifacts in the past ten years?" that was rather disturbing to note. Of course, she probably didn't pay too much heed to that. The use of the material was already quite rare to begin with, and the decline was unnoticeable in the Te Xuan Ze's jurisdiction. Earth wasn't a preferred hang-out for users, anyway. "Access to the mineral has been restricted to almost suffocating levels. It is like stranglehold of capitalism! All horded by the private corporations across the 17 Realms! Of course, in this case, it is more of monopoly than oligopoly."

"And I'm guessing this is going to lead to you saying that the number of viable suspects has gone down from ten?"

"That is correct. Former owners of Ebony Diamond Mines, Blaxtone Corporation, General Mines, and All Your Minerals, have been bought out."

"By who?"

"Nobody knows. Not even myself," that was a very humiliating thing to admit, really. He was the most knowledgeable informant in eight realms, and he was proud of it. Yet even a large corporate scandal that logically should have given out lots of juicy tidbits of information remained shrouded in mystery to even him. "It is baffling, to say the least." Gorsky's eyes shifted left and right, as though he felt somebody was watching them. It was nothing more than a paranoid mannerism that kicked into action every time he was about to give away the sensitive stuff. "There are many rumors, though… One of my sources says it was Cult of Loki that bought it for increased funding. Another source says it was hit terribly by most recent stock market crash and went bankrupt. Most reliable source, however, tells me that it was bought by sect of anonymous human warlocks."

"By anonymous, do you mean unidentifiable, or uncertain?"

"Unidentifiable in terms of registration in Agency for Warlock Membership, but definitely human. How they amassed so much money is also unknown. Sources say counterfeit; others say massive backing from secret alliance between anti-mining companies. Bottom line is, because of this new monopoly brought about by fierce capitalism, Ebony Diamond Market is now overvalued! Prices shoot through roofs!"

"To cut to the chase, Gorsky, how many suspects are left?"

"Three," he answered matter-of-factly, "One of which is not part of list in your head."

"Name them."

"First - Ali Ben Muhatmar. You know him, 13th Level Necromancer, always on 10th Realm's Fortune 50 magazine. ALWAYS. Has obsession of making golems out of anything and sending them after unprovoked targets plainly for personal amusement. Disgusting capitalist pig…"

"Most widely known for unleashing a 50 foot potato golem on the Aztec Empire back in the 1200's."

"Da. You can find him in 125th floor penthouse in New York City at this time of year. Second – Nahk Sakh Nu'un. Richest of five last Craftions. Money comes more from own hard work rather than toying with others' lives in corporation. Highly admirable except for one trait: Obsessed with making perfect weapon and armor combination with most expensive and presumably perfect materials. Known to spend countless hours smithing away at all types of raw materials and field testing them on veil-protected worlds."

"And where can I find him?"

"Most likely place is his forge on Furniax in 9th Realm. Third – anonymous sect that bought out Ebony Diamond conglomerate. Shadowy organizations always have ulterior motive for doing something. Maybe armor from last night is Beta version for their latest product or something. I am only speculating, of course. You can probably find them in gray zone between Seventh and Eighth realms, where Ebony Diamond Mines are located."

"Only speculation, eh?" The presence of humans in the sect, however, meant that they had ties with the Earth. That was one crucial piece of the puzzle. Gorsky's Marxist-based paranoia was actually being helpful for once. "I think I've heard enough."

"Of course you have. Information has been given out, as requested. How about other favor?"

"I'll hold you to it, Vladimir," Lee stood and bowed. "They're quite handy, you know."

"Da."

"And one more thing," she handed him a copy of the Washington Post. "I think you'll like the articles on this one."

A quick skim later, and his eyes showed his evident glee. "Again, Comrade Jasmine, your choice of gifts never lets me down. Вы."

"No, Gorsky, thank you." And with that, Jasmine Lee began her trek down the pathway, getting into and starting up the only car in the parking area. She was off.

Vladimir Gorsky only shrugged and began reading his new sample. If knowledge is power than I am most powerful being in eight realms, he thought jokingly to himself as he started sifting through the economics portion of the sheets. Capitalism… feh…

To Be Continued…

AN: Yeah, sorry for the long wait. Working hard on this and all that stuff. To be completely honest? This is the longest single entry I've ever written. So yeah, I stink at this. Go ahead. Hit me. Oh, and before I forget…

Monroe's beady eyes widened at that. He was familiar with that horrid sound; a sound that brought him back to ages long past and the pains that accompanied them. "I know that laugh…" It all made sense now. How could he have been so stupid? It was completely obvious from the beginning, and yet he missed it!

"Who's that?" Jasmine's eyebrow went up. More likely than not, the source of that maniacal cackling was the one who was responsible for this hell hole they were in at the moment. The Te Xuan Ze summoned her staff. If she was reading the evident shuddering of the dog correctly, she was going to be in for one hell of a fight.

"Jasmine, ye'd better get out of here while you still can. We don't stand a chance against him."

"Over my dead body, Monroe. I'm not leaving without-"

"Don't argue with me, lass! I know what I'm talking about!"

"Well I don't," was the stubborn reply. "Care to clue me in so that my abdication gets justified?"

"Yer father told me to keep this from ye for at least another six months or until ye got better, but I think now would be the proper time."

"I'm listening…"

"Ja, Herr Monroe," a figure stepped out from behind the shadows, "We're all listening." Jasmine gritted her teeth and shifted to a fighting stance. The face of her tormentor was now revealed.

The advisor cringed at this. They'd dallied for too long, and Xiao was most likely going to send him to hell if Jasmine were to get killed. Now was the point of no return. "The past thousand years have been regarded as the most dangerous by the Te Xuan Ze bloodline."

"Why's that?" She kept her eye on this would-be mystery man. He seemed evil-looking enough…

"Because it's only been in this most recent millennium that two generations' worth of protectors were killed in action."

Jasmine's heart skipped a beat. Two generations of Te Xuan Ze? KIA'd? She swallowed a lump that had begun forming in her throat as she asked the inevitable, "By… him?"

"Aye, Jass. Beheaded one, disembowelled the other, without any form of remorse whatsoever – not to mention mauling another four to the point that they had to pass on their torches prematurely…" He was starting to growl now. What was there to be done? "Six separate generations, destroyed just like that. All of which were either in their prime, or just starting to slip from it."

"We're pretty much screwed then, aren't we?" She didn't budge. The adrenaline flowed furiously through her blood. She wanted to fight. "You know the old saying, though; live every day as your last."

"There's nothing I can do to stop ye?"

"Nothing. His intimidating resume doesn't justify leaving him to continue with this atrocity he's doing right in front of us. He's mine."

Coming up Next: Jasmine and the Chimera Factory