Jan-Anders regained conciousness painfully, his head was pounding as fast
as one of Olaf's kick drum flams and he felt like hitting something until
it felt as bad as he did. At least someone has done their Florence
Nightingale, he thought, lifting his head slightly from the pillow. He was
lying on the floor of a flat, whose exactly, he knew not. 

	Raising his head groggily in the gloom, his lupine eyes perceived
the lay of the room. On the long sofa opposite Sylia's bed, he made out
the sleeping form of Linna. All that was visible of her, was a shock of
cropped black hair. The blankets gently rose and fell as she slept,
occasionally ruffling as she moved lethargically in some half-remembered
dream. Sylia's bed was empty however, and looked as if it had been all
night. 

	Alarmed, he sat bolt upright in his makeshift bed, then wished he
hadn't as the room lurched and realigned. His hungover brain bravely
fought to sort the information that was being force-fed into it. Flinging
the blankets aside, he stood up carefully, already his inhuman metabolism
was repairing the damage although he wasn't yet aware of it. Shattered
fragments of the previous night's drunken debauchery sliced into his
memory like shards of crystal, refusing to become part of the gestalt. 

	He wracked his brains hard, Sylia had mentioned something about
sleeping in the study. He breathed a sigh of relief, it figured, she
struck him as someone who needed her privacy. But like her brother there
was more to her than the polite exterior, she was driven to extraordinary
lengths by GENOM. He could relate to that. He looked up and glanced at the
computer that stood over the bed, it was reading 10.13 am. Damn good job
the Silky Dol1 doesn't open on Sundays, he thought. 

	He stretched, trying to relax his stiffened muscles, he was still
fully clothed with the notable exception of his vest, which had
disappeared somewhere along the line. He padded his way softly to the
atrium that led to the kitchen. Carefully opening the door, he crept
through into the kitchen proper. 

	He switched the light on without thinking, then winced as the
pounding in his head grew worse. Tight-lipped he hunted for the Med-Pak
that Sylia kept there. After rummaging around for a few minutes he found
the green plastic case under the sink. Moments later, he looked with
slight distaste at the fizzing glass of Resolve in his hand. Looks like
fizzy piss, he thought as he drained it with a gulp, but tatses worse. The
brew effervesced uncomfortably in his stomach, and his head still felt
like it ought to belong to someone else.

	Flushing out a mug, he downed a goodly measure of water before
deciding it would be more beneficial if he just stuck his head underneath
the tap. "Oh fuck it!!" he swore as he shoved his hair under the icy
torrent. 

	He eventually came up, feeling somewhat better than before.
Whether this was due to his supernatural regenerative abilities or the
impromptue cold shower, he didn't really care. It was light outside, and
the early morning sunshine was filtering through the Venetian blinds. By
the looks of things, nobody was going to be around for another hour or two
at the least. Perhaps a brisk run and a bite to eat would clear his head?
Shrugging off his boots and socks he headed for the door. 

    	***********************************************

	Mackie awoke from sleep with a fitful start. Light was beginning
to trickle in through the blinds, and he could feel the change even
through closed eyelids. His face however was uncomfortably warm and
prickled slightly, and his right arm felt dead as though he had been lying
peculiarly. He opened his eyes slowly and looked down with mounting horror
at a tousled mop of red hair that was nuzzling gently into his face and
neck. 

	Pulling away slightly, he saw a contented smile on Nene's elfin
features. At least she knows her booze limits, he thought wryly, unlike
Priss. Looking down her recumbant form, he froze suddenly, her T- shirt
was still in place but somewhere her jeans had been lost and he prayed
that she was decent underneath. The pins and needles in his arm were
easily attributable to her, she was lying on it. Her own limbs were
causing him the most worry though, one arm was wrapped around his neck,
while the other was on the inside of his thigh uncomfortably near groin
level. His right leg was held between her naked thighs, luckily she hadn't
locked it in place. 

	He gave the air and the sheet beneath him a couple of exploratory
sniffs, there was no lingering musk of sweat or anything else that pointed
to late night drunken intimacy. He breathed a deep sigh of relief, despite
the headache he needed to get out of there fast!
		
        Reaching down slowly, he gently parted Nene's legs far enough so
he could extract his without disturbing her too much. Her arms however
were a bit more of a struggle. Lifting his head he tried to remove the one
around his neck. Not the easiest of tasks, he thought grimly. A faint
murmur of protest showed that his efforts were being noted and objected
to. A pair of sleepy green eyes gazed into his, from within a cloud of red
hair. 

	"Oh....hi there!" Nene breathed dreamily with a faint smile, not
quite aware of the situation. 

	The hand that Mackie had clasped around hers to remove it, was
suddenly squeezed, while the other began to rub gently. Nuzzling into him
further, his right leg was once again trapped but this time held fast,
while a pair of soft, full lips brushed his for an instant. 

	Mackie squeezed his eyes shut, trying in vain to order the tumult
of emotions that washed over him. Nene was a friend, nothing more, or was
she? Fragments of the previous evening came back to him, she had been
overjoyed to see him back but the rest of the party was lost in a blur of
warmth and drink. 

	Nene in the fuzziness of half-sleep sighed happily, she had always
felt affection for Mackie, even in the earliest days of the Knight Sabers.
He had always been fun to be around, and he certainly seemed to be more at
ease around her than the others. She had lost count of the number of times
she had fallen asleep on him during late night coding sessions. The warmth
of his presence, so close to her and yet so far. This shocked her out of
her reverie, she'd been cuddling up with him all night! 

	Her eyes shooting open in realisation if not in embarassment, Nene
pulled away from Mackie; face turning as red as her hair. 

	"Omigod!....I....I... never told you!" she stammered, hugging her
knees, "Sylia needed help with the technical side of things so I kinda
took over yer room I'm so s..s..sorry!!" 

	Mackie looked about him quickly, realisation dawning, discarded
computer magazines lay scattered across the floor as did a lot of
printout. The thing that did strike his attention was the amount of Rik
Dangerfield merchandise there was in the room: posters, CD's interview
clippings from magazines and newspapers. He didn't have the heart to tell
her what an asshole he really was.
		
        "I shoulda got tidied up before..." Nene blurted out guiltily. 

	"Hey don't worry about it!" he replied giving her hair an
affectionate ruffle, trying to ride the churning backwash of feelings, "I
guess I came up here after you'd already gone to bed. We both didn't
realise, that's all!" 

	"Yeah I guess so! Mind if I use yer shower big guy?" Nene's usual
chirpiness returned. 

	"Sure, you know where it is." 

	Nene slipped off the bed and picked her way through the chaotic
mess that constituted the floor. Finally locating her discarded jeans
amongst the jumble, without thinking she bent over to retrieve them,
revealing to Mackie's utter relief that she was indeed clad underneath the
T-shirt. He drew breath reflexively. 

	"Hurumph! Men!" Nene pouted with mock offence, when she realised
what he was staring at, "You're all the same!" 

	"What's the matter? You look great!" 

	Gathering a smal1 pile of fresh garments she headed towards the
small shower room installed on the upper floor of the flat. Pausing
momentarily in the doorway, she turned, winked and blew a kiss to the
flustered Mackie. 

    	************************************************

	The white coated technician hammered away at the keyboard like a
demented pianist, behind him a shadowy figure sat hunched over a table,
breathing heavily and chuckling from time to time. 

	"You shouldn't be doing that stuff in here," the technician
scolded, "MAPA can only cover you so far. If you OD'ed, five years of
research would go up the spout!" 

	"Oh shut the fuck up 'n do yer job!" the other slurred, "How much
longer before we c'n test it?" 

	"It should be ready to roll in a few hours. Some of these
subliminal algorithms are bitches to code. You try getting that many
messages out over a standard PA!" 

	"Listen, we spent three years g'ttin' the prime'ry implant on the
friggin' disks, it's about time I got some results!" 

	"You're the boss Rik! We'll be ready for a test run by Wedenesday,
can you get something arranged at short notice?" 

	"Wot ? S'rprise club gig or s'mt hin', no problem!" 

	"Advance bookin g only, by Smart or Credit card." 

	"Hey I'm the star r'member! Get one o' th' tech rats t'sort it
out!" 

	The room in MAPA fell silent, punctuated only by the rattle of the
keyboard and the muted hum of the optical drive. Rik pondered his
situation, his narcotic addled brain leaping from one delusion to the
next. He would show them all: his family; teachers; all those who never
believed. He was the greatest. 

	"Soon MegaTokyo," he giggled at his pun, "yer'll all dance to my
tune!!" 

    	************************************************

	The traffic had settled into its early afternoon crawl when
Jan-Anders returned to the Ladles 633 building. He had called via
Lycanthrope Records to check how the rest of the pack were faring and to
explain his abscence. By the time had ascended in the private elevator, he
was leaving bloody smears on the floor. He paused by the video-intercom,
hoping that everyone was either up or at least in a fit state to function.
He pressed the call button with slight trepidation. After a few moments,
the screen flickered into life resolving itself into a bleary-eyed Priss. 

	"Huh! Who is it?" she slurred unsteadily, "...Yeah c'mon in!" 

	The door clicked open, and he stepped through. Priss stood in the
entrance hall to the flat still in her underwear (and his vest) swaying
slightly and looking more than a little worse for wear. 

	"I'm gonna haveta quit gettin' smashed with ya," she groaned, "I
don't think m'liver can take much more at this rate! Where's the goddamn
sink!" 

	She lurched towards the kitchen, supported by what Jan-Anders
thought was sheer bloody-mindedness. Her legs finally gave way over the
kitchen sink; putting one arm quickly around her waist to steady her, he
brought her back to her feet. 

	"Leggo me yer big dipshit!!" she cursed. 

	"Not until you're OK!" he replied, removing anything from the sink
that was within spewing range, "Are you gonna hurl or not!?" 

	"No fucking way!" she gritted, taking deep breaths, eyes screwed
shut. 

	"Good! The last I need right now is trying to swill cold vom down
the sink!!" 

	"Gee Jan yer all heart!" Priss said sarcastically as he helped her
to a chair. 

	"How yer feeling," he asked, reaching for the Resolve once more,
"on the 'Feel Like I Wanna Die' scale?" 

	"About six, I've been worse." she replied gulping the brew down,
"What the fuck were we drinking last night?!" 

	"Put it this way, if Customs and Excise get wind of it, I'm in deep
shit!" 

	"Guh-reat! Swedish moonshine, on top of all that beer!" Priss
looked down and shook her head, partly from disbelief, partly at her own
folly. 

	"Get yerself showered and dressed? you'll feel a lot....." 

	"Uh Jan, " Priss interrupted, "I think yer'd better take a look at
yer feet!" 

	"What? Oh yeah I tend to tear 'em up if I go out fer a run.'! he
said matter-of-factly. 

	"Whoah there! I saw yer boots m the hall, so yer were runnin'
barefoot?!" 

	"Yeah. " 

	"Fer how long?!" 

	"Oh not that long," he replied distractedly, lifting a leg to
examine his shredded soles, "hour and a half, two hours tops." 

	"Jan, you are seriously fuckin' disturbed!''

	"Thankyou, yer not too bad yerself!" his face creased into a
deranged grin. 

	Priss scowled? "I give up!" she sighed despairingly. 

	"OK. If it makes you feel any happier, I'll patch my feet up." he
looked at the trail of bloody footprints with a chortle, "Hope the
carpet's stainproof!" 

	Priss' reply was cut-off by Nene's arrival from upstairs. Gawping
she followed the trail into the kitchen. 

	"Jan! What have you been doing to yourself!" she exclaimed with
concern. Priss winced at the noise. 

	"Oh I'd thought I'd try a Bavarian slap-dance on razor blades." he
replied deadpan. 

	"You should take better care of yourself!" she chastised, hands on
hips. 

	"Yes Auntie Nene!" he replied mockingly, spraying his feet with a
fast acting coagulent and antiseptic, "That better?" 

	"Uh-huh. I don't like seeing you hurting yourself." 

	"Nene, if you could tell me where the cleaning stuff is in here,
I'll sponge the mess out OK?" 

	If any of his pack had been around five mlnutes later, they would
have been treated to the strange sight of a Get of Fenris on his hands and
knees, sponging blood out of the carpet. 

	"Just where I like to have men, at my feet!" Priss quipped with a
malicious smile, over a large coffee. 

	Jan-Anders ignored that comment, "What I want to knew is how the
hell yer got wearing my vest?!" 

	"Fucked if I know!" 

	Nene watched the interchange with amusement in her eyes, "Well I
wouldn't get as drunk next time!" she teased as she took a seat at the
breakfast bar. 

	"That's rich coming from you!" Priss retorted, then returning to
the Garou, "Nice collection of scars there!" 

	"Yeah! Most of 'em are from fights, bike accidents, the usual." he
replied, it was a half-truth, Priss wouldn't have understood what a Black
Spiral Dancer was, "The raised ones are colours from the gang I was in as
a kid." 

	"They did that!? I'm glad I didn't meet your lot in a fight!" Priss
snorted. 

	"They were actually kinda cool, they were sort of a vigilante
bunch, you would've liked 'em!" 

	Jan-Anders continued to methodically sponge the brown stains. He
had almost finished his task when Sylia put in an appearance, as cool and
poised as ever. Looking at the remaining trail of bloody footprints, then
to Jan-Anders's torn soles, it didn't take her long to work out what had
happened. 

	"Put your foot in it again?" she asked wryly, a ghost of a smile
playing at her lips. 

	"You could say that, too much broken glass here fer my liking." he
replied, finishing the last stain. 

	Nene put her empty cup aside and got to her feet, "I'm going to
check on Linna." she said with a hint of concern, "She still isn't that
used to heavy duty partying." 

	"Yeah good idea." Priss admitted, "She's gonna be feelin' really
shitty." 

	The two of them left the kitchen to cheek on their comatosed
friend who was still in the living room area. Jan-Anders straightened,
wrung the sponge out and stowed everything back under the sink. 

	"You're going to have to tell the truth to the others before long."
Sylia said, pouring herself a coffee. 

	"Yeah, but the problem is proving it without them going under." 

	"This can't be the easiest of things for you," she sighed, "I tend
to forget that I'm the exception rather than the norm. I'm sorry." After
the others had retired from the party, the pair of them had talked until
six in the morning. He had explained everything to her, why he was in
MegaTokyo, even dredging into his past, she had done likewise. Sylia found
herself sympathising with him, she could understand the loss of family and
the almost fanatical extremes to which he pushed himself. After all, she
had ditched her own life to persue a crusade against everything GENOM
stood for. Finding out that it was a manifestation of a greater cosmic
evil, was of very little surprise to her. 

	"I don't like lying in front of your friends," he admitted openly,
"but fer now it's the only thing I can do." 

	Sylia looked at him intently, "About last night, outside the club,
I didn't get chance to say thanks, not to mention Chromium Heaven. If you
hadn't have intervened things could've turned out much different." 

	His face lightened, "Look, it was the least I could do under the
circumstances. You needed......" he broke off as Nene reappeared around
the door.
			
        "Linna's okay, but she’s going to be like a bear with a sore head
for a while. 

        "Thanks Nene, have you seen Mackie by the way?" Sylia said. 

	"Oh yes!" Nene replied, a wistful look in her eyes, "I'll go see
how he's doing." She was out of the door and heading for his room before
anyone could reply. 

	"I think she's gone for your brother in a major way." Jan-Anders
said quietly, watching her mount the stairs, a roguish grin alighting on
his features for a moment. He had got to know Nene, when she and Linna had
accompanied both himself and Priss on their numerous drinking sprees.
Although he hated to admit it, he had already developed a soft spot for
the vivacious redhead and felt more than slightly guilty about scaring
herthat night. Despite her talent for hacking, her cute looks and innocent
charm set off an almost primal instinct in him to protect her. In his
eyes, she was a cub. 

	"I know." Sylia replied, "She hardly left his side all night, now I
recall she hardly left his lap all night." 

	Jan-Anders looked at the elegant young woman standing in front of
him, she seemed visibly more at ease than the previous evening. Even
though she was dressed casually in a sky blue sweater and miniskirt, she
still radiated an aura of calm confidence. He looked down at himself,
suddenly realising how incongruous he looked in just his sweat soaked
jeans. 

	"Look, I'm going to head to my place and get changed 'cos I feel
really antisocial like this!" 

	"Well, at least you're not wandering around as a three and a half
metre tall killing machine." Sylia replied wryly, sipping at her coffee. 

	"Yeah, Crinos ain't that suited to social nicities!" he said,
gathering what was left of his clothing into a bundle, "Thanks for putting
up with me, I'm not the easiest of guests I know." 

	"No problem, you re not fussy about where you sleep though, I came
through for a drink and found you asleep on the floor. I think you'd given
your blanket to Linna, so I had to make you comfortable as best I could!" 

	"Well she had need of it more than me." Jan-Anders replied bluntly,
putting his boots on. 

	"Who says chivalry is dead?!" Sylia riposted

	"I had it drilled into me since I was a cub. I've got one hell of a
rep to live up to!" 

	"In that case Sir Knight," joked Sylia gently, "does your code of
honour allow a Lady to show her gratitude by buying you dinner sometime?" 

	By now, Jan-Anders was framed in the doorway, turning to Sylia he
grinned a broad feral smile, "Madam it would indeed be an honour!" he
replied as a parting shot, before closing the door behind him. 

	If he had stayed a few seconds longer he would've seen a rare
occurrence, Sylia's reserved expression melting into a gentle, open smile. 

    	***********************************************

	Rik Dangerfield paced the floor neurotically, cigarette in hand,
while his private technician worked the keyboard. 

	"The final list should be commg up now Rik, everyone whots booked,
photos, full history, the works. Well what shall we start with?" 

	Rik grinned, "Okay Sammy start simple, how about picking the ten
best looking bimbettes, an' tellin' 'em to meet me backstage?" 

	"That's all?" 

	"Okay, how about fulfilling my every whim?" he laughed nervously. 

	"No problemo," the tech rat hammered away at the keyboard with a
lecherous grin, "with this in place, it'll be, 'Stand back and watch the
panties fly!'" 

	"I was only joking, it isn't that good, is it?" 

	"You better believe it Rik!" 

	"Fuckin' excellent! Let's have a look at who we've got comin'! Oh
yeah 'n call Green, I need the usual hits o' SynthiKrak 'n Dust." 

    	************************************************

	Mackie slumped in a chair in Jan-Anders' flat looking perplexed,
for the past three days he had been interviewed along with the rest of the
band by several underground music magazines. What reviews they had had of
the gig and the EP were favourable, in the "free" press at least. The
GENOM controlled magazines tended to dismiss them with comments like,
"Pretentious art-rock" and "The kind of CD that teenagers buy to impress
their friends with." Mackie had expected as much, and was not too
disheartened. Outside dusk was beginning to fall, buildings becoming dark
monoliths to consumerism. Neon lights shone brightly, stars in a digital
firmament. 

	"What's on yer mind kid?!" came the Garou's gravelly voice. 

	"Nene is." Mackie replied, "Something's bugging me." 

	Jan-Anders vaulted into a free armchair and tossed Mackie a beer.
After looking in vain for a bottle opener, he wrenched the top off in his
hand. Mackie grinned and pulled out a bottle opener from his pocket to
open his. 

	"Okay, shoot." 

	"It's this Dick Dangertwat concert tonight, you know the 'surprise
gig', Nene heard it on the radio, and had bought her ticket about two
minutes afterwards." 

	"Yeah so? She seems a passionate kinda girl, so if she's a fan of
his, yer'd expect that right?" 

	"Have you seen my room though, she's got EVERYTHING, all the albums
on all formats, t-shirts, the fucking works! That ain't healthy!" 

	Jan-Anders' snarling laughter rang out, "What you tryin' to say?
He's put some hidden message on his shit saying 'Buy all my products'!" 

	"Yeah! I suppose it sounds kinda...." Mackie chortled, then a
horrible thought crept into mind. 

	The two of them suddenly stopped joking, as an ugly truth suddenly
hit them simultaneously. Mackie's expression became icy, getting up from
the sofa he finished his beer and threw the bottle in the nearest bin. 

	"Come on Jan, we're going to rifle Nene's music collection. Would
yer get in touch with the others and ask them to have an editing studio
prepped in about half an hour." 

	"Gotcha!" the other replied heading for the vid-phone. 

    	***********************************************

	Nene stood glassy-eyed with a huddled knot of fans, and flicked
her damp hair away from her eyes with a trembling hand. She had spent the
past two hours screaming herself hoarse in one of MAPA's main concert
halls, along with fourteen hundred other fans (mostly female), as Rik
Dangerfield pranced and posed his way through an exhaustive as well as
exhausting set. I'm never going to catch his eye like this, she mused
distractedly whilst heading for the ladies room. After fixing her makeup
(and getting her mane of red hair into some sort of shape) she emerged,
slinging her jacket over one shoulder. The white crop top she had been
wearing now clung to her enticingly like a second skin with sweat, her
arousal leading to several cat-calls from lecherous onlookers. 

	Picking her way through the group, she made her way to the
backstage entrance, she just HAD to see him. Barring the way were, two
black T-shirted figures, earpieces in place whom by their demeanour and
stance were most definately C-class Boomers. As she approached they
appeared to notice her. 

	"You wanting backstage Miss?" 

	"Uh yes #giggle#." 

	"Are you on the guest-list?" 

	"Yes I am!" Nene lied, it was worth a try just to see if their AI's
were stupid enough to believe her. 

        "Could I have your name, please?" the other asked, clipboard in
hand. 

	Dammit, Nene thought, I'm never going to get to meet him, but
might as well attempt to get in. Out loud she told him. One of them turned
away from her and appeared to be communicating with security elsewhere.
After a few seconds he turned back to her. 

	"Okay Miss Romanova, go on." he said, opening the door and ushering
her through it. "The dressing room's at the opposite end of the area, you
can't miss it." 

	Nene could hardly believe her good fortune but gave it no more
thought, darting around flighteases and Boomer roadies, following the
directions given to her by security. She was irresistably drawn to the
star-marked door as though she'd spent all her life preparing for that
moment. As the door opened, she suddenly found herself face-to-face with
her idol

	"Hi! You must be Nene right?" Dangerfield said, an easy smile on
his lips. 

	Nene to her credit found the courage to speak, "Y....yes." she
stammered demurely, flushing, though more from passion than embarrassment.
"H....how did you know my name?" 

	"Every concert I invite ten ticket holders or so backstage, and you
were one of them." he said, "You just decided to try and find me, before
we could find you!" 

	"Th....this is incredible! I had no idea you would invite little
'ole me!!" Nene sighed, looking up at him with liquid green eyes, and
quivering like a trapped fawn. 

	"C'mon in, the party's just about to start." Dangerfield said
ushering Nene in, "The other guests are here."
		
        "Party?! Why thank you!"
		
        "The pleasure's all mine!" 


    	************************************************

	In one of the Lycanthrope Records editing suites a silent group
gathered. Mackie and the other Garou sat clustered around a terminal
monitor, Mackie himself had the keyboard and mouse and was currently
engaged in dissecting Rik Dangerfield's latest album. Finally after a good
two hours he sat back in his chair, a grim smile on his face. 

	"Bingo, T've just hit paydirt" he said, "I knew those signal
anomalies were something more than that!" 

	"Well whaddya got then!" Vicky said impatiently. 

	"Do you really wanna hear?" 

	The general expression on the faces of the others convinced him,
that it was probably a good idea if he did put them in the picture. 

	"The anomaly in question is a ghost signal that is almost
inaudible. I overlooked it a good few times thinking it was just feedback.
It's also masked into the music." 

	He moved the curser to a window, that was headed "Isolate" and
systematically began to remove all the other signals from the recording.
When he was finished, he moved to another icon and increased the volume to
an audible level. 

	"Ready guys, well here goes nothing!" Mackie clicked on "Execute". 

	The suite was filled with a hypnotic digital pulse. Mackie
recognised it instantly, it was the type used by MAPA to initiate deep
psyche implants in teaching. The worst part was the voice, a monotone
endlessly repeating, "You love Rik Dangerfield. You will obey this voice." 

	Mackie cut the voice off, "I think we've heard enough." he choked. 

	Jan-Anders' growl cut the silence, "Well, at least we know what
this 'special PA equipment! is for, handing out 'messages' to the masses." 

	"Yeah and Nene's one of 'em!" Mackie snarled. 

	"Easy Mackie," came Vicky's husky voice, "if anyone can find a way
of breaking the programming it'll be the Glass Walkers. You just
concentrate on keeping Nene's mind off that GENOM clusterfuck." 

	"Yeah how?" 

	"I don't know improvise, a good musician should always be able to
play be ear!" she joked, trying to lighten his mood. "Once we find out a
way of freeing Nene, Dangerfield has a slight Boomer related accident."
That raised a chuckle. 

	"Why do I get the feeling that Dangerfield has decided to fuck with
the wrong people?" Mackie looked up at the grinning pack and saw death
behind their smiles. 


        **************************************************************