Heart of Darkness (Mute)

[Zero]

The truck arrived by daylight - large, black, unmarked, and unremarkable. It rumbled into a row of little-used industrial warehouses on the back streets of Los Santos and backed up to one of several dozen vacant loading docks. Two men wheeled a large, featureless crate, as big as a refrigerator box, off the truck and into the cavernous depths of the warehouse.

Nightfall. Los Santos turned to a smear of muddy, sodium-yellow lights. A teenaged boy powered his bicycle up one of the loading ramps into the warehouse and ground to a halt inside, squinting in the darkness.

"Deke? I... I brought the money!"

The boy carefully lowered his bike to the filthy concrete floor with shaking hands. The darkness seemed to leak out from the place like smoke.

"Back here, Chris. I got the product."

The voice slithered out from the darkness, back behind one of the huge boxes looming around the warehouse. There were just enough abandoned crates to turn the place into a maze. Chris picked his way forward toward the crate and saw a pair of eyes reflecting light back at him, like an animal's eyes at night. Below the eyes was a hand shaking a small plastic bag full of clear fluid.

"And it really works?" Chris asked haltingly.

"Guaranteed from the source," Deke replied. "I even tried out the batch myself."

"And?"

Deke's eyes glinted, a grinning coyote in the light of a campfire. "What do you think?"

Chris swallowed nervously, then dug his hand deep in his jeans pocket to feel for the wad of crumpled bills inside. "Tell me how it works."

"You need to give it some DNA," Deke replied. "Blood works well. Just a drop. If you're normal, the liquid stays clear. If you're a carrier, it goes cloudy. But if you're a mutie, the whole thing goes dark. Just as good as gettin' a gene screen."

Chris stared at the little packet. A storm of conflicting feelings raged inside him and never quite made it out to his face.

"So you buyin' or not?" Deke said. "I'm giving you this shot 'cause you're my friend. I've got other customers to sell to."

Chris took a deep breath and pulled the money out in a tightly clenched fist. Deke grinned and took a step toward him.

There was a sudden hiss of friction and a metallic hum, and both boys jumped back and looked at the large crate beside them to see a long, thin blade had grown out of its side. Then the blade began to glide through the hardened pine planks, which offered about as much resistance as a bowl of gelatin. It carved a neat oval out of the crate's wall, which fell with a crash to the floor. The blade was attached to a handle, which was held tightly by a pair of hands wrapped in a mesh of metal and polymers. A single red eye glowed from the darkness inside the crate, sweeping back and forth between the boys.

Deke screamed and disappeared - literally - into the shadows. Chris, who never got his home-brewed mutancy test, got his answer nonetheless when he started running and found himself three townships away in the space of thirty seconds.

Zero remained more or less motionless until he had completed his internal system checks. He sheathed his sword across his back and stepped out into the warehouse, automatically adjusting his ocular lens for the variable light levels.

*****Downloading mission objectives... ///Download complete.
Accessing...
> Locate Mutant Subject 470113.
> Return Mutant Subject 470113 to home base.
> Return target alive if possible.
> Terminate taget if necessary.

Zero accessed the target's genetic profile from the mission file and studied it, memorizing the entire key sequence in a matter of moments, like a bloodhound memorizing a criminal's scent. He would track the target down. It would only be a matter of time.

The cybernetic assassin shimmered and disappeared, then struck out to prowl the streets of Los Santos.

[Cameron Bell]

The afternoon was rounded off with a glass of pink lemonade. Pink lemonade. Cameron tossed little Jamie an incredulous glance as she handed it to him and gave the cloudy drink an experimental stir with his finger first. Ice cubes tinkled melodically against the glass. He gulped the lot whole-heartedly then went about gathering up the gardening tools he and Ronnie had busied themselves with all day. His knees were caked in soil and Anna was quick to point this out before he traipsed through the kitchen, so he dusted himself down and kicked off his dirty sneakers.

Anna was preparing the dinner, a generous spread of various breads, cured meats, cool dips, and a large healthy salad, Cameron also guessed there would be plenty of pink lemonade involved. Not that it mattered for he had no intention of joining the rest of his genetically disfunctional surrogate family for dinner that night. He informed Anna by way of a note, written using colourful markers and placed lop-sidedly on the fridge using a Piglet magnet, that he was going bowling with friends and would have fast food for dinner courtesy of the generous allowance he was afforded each month from a mystery uncle who he simply described as "European".

So, after a refreshing shower and a quick word with Ronnie, Cameron borrowed his bike and cycled out into the warm glow of the evening sun.

[Mute]

The cheese wire squeaked as it broke his victim's skin. Something resembling a gasp of pain escaped his mouth, promting Mute to pull harder until his hands stung. The man was a burly thing, large veins throbbed under the constriction in his neck and his cleanly shaven head was cut deep from being rammed into a brick wall, he was too dazed to fight back and soon his struggle came to an end with one last drawn gurgling rasp. Mute discarded the body to one side then slumped down next to it, his back pressed against the blood-stained wall, while he caught his breath.

He had encountered the man muscling his way into an apartment in a shoddy low-rise motel. It would be more accurate to say that he had been sat patiently on the bed awaiting the enforcer's arrival so that with a well-timed kick, he would be sent careening over the creaky wooden rail and fall from the gangway. Unfortunately, the fall hadn't killed him and the youngster was forced to get his hands dirty. The execution was quick and simple enough but it wasn't where his work ended.

A butterfly knife was retrieved from the back pocket in his jeans, he flicked the handle and it opened, spun, and clicked fast on the other side, the silver blade revealed. Under the newly lit haolgen lamp, the dead man's face shimmered with sweat and shadows ran where his skin was creased from the exertions of his agonised end. He positioned the knife gingerly over his cheek, the tip punctured his clammy flesh and he carved letters in his face - FU - one on each cheek.

F.U., or Freak's United, is an entirely fictional band of mutants imagined by Mute and his partner, and designed to provoke the hatred and retaliation of mundane gangs and criminal organisations in Los Santos. Thus far their plan was working a treat, Freak's United had become notorious in the local media and, sooner or later, someone's hand will be forced. His work finished, he gave one cautionary glance across the vacant parking lot and departed for the neighbouring tree line.

[Zero]

The search was four days old. Zero had canvassed several nests of mutant activity across Los Santos, including Redencion House, where his surveillance turned up a few promising leads.

There were also the police blotter reports of escalating mutant gang violence in the borough. Zero had been recording those and transmitting them back to base for analysis. He had been told that they were at once too foolhardy to be organized and too professional to be random, which meant that the killings were not the end in themselves. This made little difference to Zero. For him, the mission was always the end.

However, learning to think like the enemy made it that much easier to predict his moves. So when Zero intercepted a cell phone call from one Tres Once to another indicating that the mystery killer was hiding on the second floor of the Parkside Motel, he interpreted it not as a mistake but as bait.

Shrounded in optic camouflage, he sat in the darkness of the abandoned, trash-filled park and listened to the distant scuffle. Beside him lay a heavily used mountain bike.

Zero drew three tranq-tipped senbon and waited for his target to appear.

[Mute]

Beyond the distant trees the sky was coloured purple and below them the park had sunk into darkness. Mute stepped out into a clearing where at the centre of which was a playground, there were swings and a roundabout, a couple of see-saws and a climbing frame, all sat on a bed of wood chips and surrounded by a waist-high iron fence. The only sounds to be heard were the crunching of grass under his feet and the distant roar of the freeway.

Mute sprung over the fence and approached Ronnie's bike, he hefted it upright and cocked his leg over the seat. A shimmer in the air and he ducked, gasping with fright. There was the faint whistle of something small sailing past his ear, and as he righted himself he felt a sharp pinch somewhere between his shoulder and neck. It felt icy cold beneath his skin. There was another shimmer of movement and he dived, crashing on top of his bike, the spinning wheel threw up wood chip and it struck something solid. And invisible.

Frantically, he pulled at the thing embedded in his shoulder, it was a needle of some sort and it glimmered in the dark. And with dawning shock, Mute understood, and clawed and crawled across the floor as the world started to turn.

[Zero]

Mute felt a knee crash solidly into the center of his back, pressing him down against the ground, and a hand with an iron grip closed around the back of his neck.

Zero dropped his camouflage and shimmered into sight, a gunmetal gray suit of armor with one crimson, glowing, cyclopean eye, neither fully machine nor fully alive. He shifted his grip and turned Mute's head so he could get a look at his face.

**** Target confirmed. *****

Holding his last senbon between thumb and forefinger, Zero prepared to drop it straight into Mute's carotid artery.

[Mute]

Something malignant was coursing through his veins, affecting his every sense, the pain in his back faded and a dreamy haze closed in around his field of vision. And through that haze he caught a glimpse of his attacker, nothing more than an onimous shape and an angry red glow. In its hand he made out a glistening sliver of light, another poisoned needle, and knew that it was over. The death he'd escaped had finally caught up with him and it was time to join his sister, the sister he'd been helpless to protect. Helpless.

No! He didn't want to die. He wasn't ready to die. The senbon whistled through the air - he wasn't going to die - and snapped against his skin. His roar was silent but the effect was all the same, he struck the ground beneath him with his open hands and both he and his attacker were sent up into the air amongst a shower of wood chips. He hit the ground with a heavy thud, the air rushed ouf of his lungs and he choked desperately, scrambling across the floor in the knowledge that he was free of it, if only for a moment. He reached the fence and pulled himself up onto his knees, his heart beating wildly to chase away the drowsiness plagueing his heavy limbs.

[Zero]

Zero was not prepared - either for the failure of his senbon or the massive burst of strength from his quarry. The parameters for Mute's mutation had not been specifically described to him. He decided, in mid-air, that he would have to update them as the mission progressed.

The cyborg twisted around so he landed on hands and feet like a cat. Then he charged at the boy with a feint and then a flurry of savage strikes, intent on overwhelming his foe before the sedative wore off completely.

[Mute]

It was like a wall of fists, fists made of steel, each one being driven into his body with the force of a charging bull. He'd staggered to his feet, barely, and had raised his arms in a vain attempt to defend his head but it was like a machine; relentless and powerful with punches like pistons. And buried beneath that groggy stupor, Mute saw himself being pummelled and it felt like drowning, and he feared for his life. In his fear, he found himself.

One of the unmerciful blows sailed past him as he bobbed out of its crushing path, the following punch was parried clumsily and glanced off his jaw, he staggered against the fence like a beaten boxer slumps against the ropes. This time, however, he saw the attack coming, and everything slowed down. The figure had raised itself up to deliver a fierce backhand to his head, Mute surged forward and ducked to put all of his upward force into an uppercut which, if it connected, could give him a valuable window of opportunity. He clenched his fist, and clung onto his life with it.

[Zero]

The cyborg saw the boy's muscles bunching up for the assault and turned his head so the attack glanced across his cheek instead catching him squarely in the jaw; even so, the force of the blow staggered him and gave Mute momentum. Zero warded off another pair of blows, each one stronger than the last, far stronger than a nineteen-year-old boy should have been able to muster. But there was little guile, little planning. His opponent was fighting out of desperation and instinct, fighting like a cornered animal.

Zero gave him the opening he was after - a slight dip of the elbow, just enough to give the illusion that he was tiring. And when Mute struck, Zero seized his arm, spun around, and flipped the boy over his back, slamming him bodily into the chain-link fence.

[Mute]

The fence rattled from the collision and Mute was to bounce from it and crumple to the floor like a ragdoll. Except he didn't. His fingers slipped through the holes and hooked around the mesh, the momentum from the collision still thrust his body away from the fence but he used this to his advantage. His feet found his attackers neck and coiled around it, and with a sudden twist of the hips, he expected to hear a satisfying and conclusive snap...

[Zero]

If it was possible to surprise Zero, Mute may have just done it - but the cords of artificial muscle surrounding the cyborg's neck were strong enough to keep his spine from snapping under the strain. Mute's weight still bore him down to the ground with a crash, and they fell in a heap, Mute on top.

[Mute]

If it wasn't for the adrenaline overdose keeping him on the move, Mute would've froze, he got his first good look at his attacker and they were a mere breath away from each other. There was no face. No eyes. Just a stark red glare. He was on his feet again and fought off a rush of diziness as he ran away. If he could just get to his bike. He didn't dare look back.

[Zero]

In one fluid motion Zero pushed off the ground and swung up onto his feet. His target was already running, and Zero gave chase, feet pounding, servos hissing - he made up ground like a cheetah on a gazelle. But Mute caught the handlebars as he passed and didn't even break stride to find his seat; a few strong pumps of the pedals, and he was pulling away from his pursuer into the darkening street.

Zero slowed down from his sprint, tracked Mute's motion down the street, and then broke off toward the motel parking lot. He knew a fellow who would not be needing his vehicle now, or ever again.

[Mute]

The bike tore off down the street, rocking frantically from left to right under the shifting weight of its occupant. His chest heaved and his thighs burned but his pace never faltered. The wheels juddered as he turned off the sidewalk and swerved out into the road, there were few cars but he kept close to the edge in case he needed to take a sudden detour. His mind was fixed on getting back to Redención House and as quickly as possible. It had been so close.

The night air lapped at his hot face but it brought him little solace, questions raced through his head and he wondered if Spectre...

A thunderous roar and an angry gnashing of metal sounded as a pair of glaring headlights broke through hedgerow beside him, Mute gasped. Behind the steering wheel hovered an ominous red eye. His efforts redoubled and he rose out of his seat and pounded at the pedals as the car swung out into the road and turned in pursuit.

[Zero]

In Zero's hands, the car was merely another weapon. The tires screeched as he swung it wide into the far lane and straightened, lining up the center ridge of the hood on Mute's rear reflector.

They were on a residential street with a significant downhill grade. To the right side was a long row of parked cars, a narrow sidewalk, and closely packed, dilapidated town homes with a continuous wall of iron fences and gates. To the left was an old church, a cemetery, and further down, a large schoolyard - few places for Mute to escape to. Zero pressed down on the gas pedal, fully intending to send Mute flying up over the hood and into the street behind him.

[Mute]

The sound of the revving engine struck his heart like an icepick and he wrestled with the handlebars, sending the bike veering off to the right, it hopped up onto the sidewalk and disappeared behind the long line of parked cars. Again he pumped furiously at the pedals, up ahead he saw a break in the pavement where a narrow alley seperated two of the tall town houses and, given a small glimmer of hope, he switched gears with the flick of a thumb.

There was a rattling clang and the pedals spun out of control, offering no resistance to his cycling, he looked down and found to his horror that the drive chain had come loose during the gear change. All he had left to lend him speed was the streets naturally steep decline. His clammy fingers hovered eagerly over the brake handle as the alley, and escape, rapidly approached.

[Zero]

Zero marked Mute's trajectory and speed and the distance to the alley. He gave the car a little more gas, pulling ahead of the crippled bicycle.

As he approached the alley, he jammed the parking brake and twisted the steering wheel savagely to the right. The car skidded around the last of the parked vehicles, spun ninety degrees, and planted its front bumper into the edge of the fence, blocking off Mute's escape into the alley.

[Mute]

In the split-second Mute had to react to his pursuer's latest move, he realised braking was out of the question, and crashed full speed into the side of the car. Launched out of his seat, he rolled forward and as he soared over the hood, planted his hands down firmly and performed a picture perfect front handspring. On the other side of the car, he hit the ground running, and was relieved to find the tranquilizer's effects had fully subsided. Behind him, he heard the vehicle reverse and struck one of the parked cars with a heavy crunch, the wheels gave a hungry screech and it was on the hunt once more.

It was impossible to outrun a speeding muscle car, Mute knew this and he leapt, sliding across the hood of another parked car and out into the road. His feet carried him quickly over to the other side, his eyes darting about for an escape route; his best option was the graveyard and it was close. And so was the savage growl of a V8 engine.

[Zero]

Zero saw the opening as soon as Mute did, and, for all the advantages he held, a human-sized body could change direction much more quickly than a large car. Just before Mute made his break, Zero swerved into the oncoming lane to cut him off, striking him with his right fender.

[Mute]

The bump knocked his legs from under him and he was sent tumbling across the hood of the speeding car. Its driver accelerated and corrected his course to prevent the newly acquired passenger from falling off the other side. Beneath him, Mute felt the metal trembling with the force of the engine it housed, and he struggled to get a hold on something. The driver, on the other hand, had no such difficulty.

A fist exploded through the windshield, showering him with glass, and that awful iron grip closed around his arm. Mute writhed with pain, and wriggled to rid himself of his tormentor but it came to nothing. He looked up and stared into that featureless alien visage, it handled the steering wheel with one hand and him with the other, the empty face betraying no sense of struggle of fatigue. And yet, despite all its efforts to capture him, it was something else that held its attention.

He glanced over his shoulder with the howl of the monsterous engine deep in his ear and saw, to his disbelief, that the road was coming to a dead end. And, showing no sign of slowing down, it seemed the thing that has been hunting him, this red-eyed machine, had every intention of taking them beyond the percipice and into the darkness below. Shaking off his panic, Mute used his free hand to retrieve the butterfly knife from his jeans, it danced in his hands and opened, the silver blade sung in the wind and was buried into the machine's wrist. He hacked violently at his silent nemesis, for if it was to be his end, he would at least have a souvenier to take with him.

[Zero]

The hand flinched at the injuries but only gripped Mute tighter. Damage could be repaired. Muscles and tendons replaced. Idly Zero calculated the odds of his target surviving the impact.

Insufficient data. This, then, would be an experiment.

The muscle car jolted over a concrete sidewall, crashed cleanly through the guardrail, and demolished a chainlink fence that stood just before the precipice. Then it launched itself over the edge, hanging in the air like a satellite, engine screaming with no more friction under the drive wheels. The car tipped backward delicately in mid-air and began chopping off treetops on its rear bumper.

Zero lunged out of his seat, crashing through the windshield entirely and leaving the car behind, and wrapped Mute in a steely embrace to ensure that, even after impact, his prize wasn't going anywhere.

[Mute]

They twisted slowly on the night breeze as somewhere below them the screeching car trailed away and plunged into the trees. There was silence, a thunderous clunking crash, then there was nothing but the sound of rushing air and the fall. They were suddenly plummeting at great speed, Mute was paralysed with fright, not knowing which way was up or down, and braced himself in the knowledge that escape was impossible and that the impact was very...

The fall was broken. Something hard struck his back, his chest heaved, constricted, and he found himself launched up again, tumbling wildly across a dusty floor while his free arm lashed out in a desperate attempt to grab something. The bare skin on his arms and face was scatched, scraped and lacerated by a rolling blur of murky colours. They struck something, and came to a sudden halt. In the briefest moment of silence that followed, he stared up at the winking stars strung across the open sky and knew he'd survived and that he was about to fight for his life.

[Zero]

The impact broke Zero's hold on Mute. He rolled with his momentum and then stuck out one rubber-soled foot; it scraped like a skidding car tire on asphalt as he skidded across the ground, sending up a thick cloud of yellow dust.

They had landed on the inside of a tall fence topped with barbed wire, and all around them were towering metal pillars in concrete pilings. Above them, lit haphazardly by mounted sodium worklights, was a jungle of rails, cages, cables, and wire, all of it buzzing like millions of angry wasps. It was the sound of electricity running in lethal voltages all around them.

Staring at his opponent some ten yards away, Zero rose to his feet. His armor was covered in scratches and filth, and blood and clear blue fluid leaked from the wound in his wrist where Mute had stabbed him. He reached with his uninjured hand over his shoulder to grasp the hilt of his ninjato. It slid out of its sheath with a palpable hum.

Then Zero spun the blade downward in a brilliant crescent, sending up a sudden spray of sparks. His glowing red ocular never left Mute.

Beside him, a thick metal post shuddered, groaned, and began to fall. Somewhere above them, a wire snapped and whipped snake-like through the air, and the post came hurtling downward toward Mute on the ground, pulling with it a bird's nest of live electrical equipment.

[Mute]

Slow at first, the tower tilted, gleaming like a blade in the moonlight, and swung downwards with a stiff metal moan. He rolled away and was on his feet, turning in time to see it crash with an eruption of golden sparks. The light floated to earth and diminished, and Mute looked beyond at his enemy standing coolly across from him, waiting. The corners of his lips curled: death, it was, then.

And his fear was gone (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D9ek7nnNJ48). It had been consumed, eaten, by something dark and terrible. It grew in his belly, twisting and writhing like a demonic unborn, and the red light of hellfire was reflected in the boys eyes as it clawed its way to the surface, hungry. And as the distance between them was closed in a single feral pounce, he saw the weapon in the hands of his nemesis and realised, he was the weapon.

[Zero]

Something had changed. Zero could sense that even as Mute closed the gap between them. He was beginning to understand why he had been given no parameters for this target's abilities: there were no parameters for them. Probably Mute himself had no idea where his own limits lay.

*****Threat level revised: Threat level is variable. Increases as the engagement progresses. Recommendation: end engagement immediately, by any means possible.*****

Zero raised his swordpoint, fully intent on riving Mute through the heart -

The boy slapped the weapon aside by the flat as he came, with reflexes far outside human norms. Then Zero took a blow straight to the chest with force that would have shattered an ordinary sternum. It lifted him into the air and sent him sprawling backwards through a forest of utility poles.

The cyborg crashed from one pole to the next, and his sword severed another bundle of cables, showering him with sparks. Damage readings flooded his optic field, but he dismissed them, leapt to his feet, and searched the debris for his enemy.

[Mute]

There was a whisper of movement. Somewhere above the machine Mute was perched upon one of the damaged utility poles, in his hand he weilded a narrow length of metal which had seen the edge of Zero's blade and in turn it had been given its own lethal edge. He hurled the spear down at his enemy and quickly followed it. Pearly light glistened against his wet teeth as his shadow filled the night sky like some great bird of prey, hungering for its first taste of flesh.

[Zero]

There was no time for anything but escape. Zero leapt backwards, twisting in mid-air as the sharpened edge of painted steel passed within centimeters of his thigh. He landed on his hands like a gymnast and spun to his feet.

He'd earned a moment's reprieve as Mute landed by the spear. Zero reached into his belt, drew three more senbon, and gripped them firmly between the knuckles of his left hand, then shifted his sword grip all the way to the tsuba so he could wield the blade in short, rapid strokes.

Now Mute faced a tiger with claws as well as teeth.

[Mute]

The boy sprung from the ground, ripping the embedded metal shaft out of the floor with a crunch of concrete. He kept low, sprinting at his opponent with a wild look in his eyes, his face a picture of savage joy. The weapon spun nimbly in his fingers then once he was within range, its pointed tip leapt out at the single red eye on the machine's face, Zero responded but the spear was retracted out of range with perfect timing. Mute weaved and spun with relentless speed, his attacks flowed into each other forcing his opponent to react until at last he saw an opening on the outside of his sword arm. The boy lunged for Zero's neck with a thrust of such unbridled force it would surely skewer the machine like a stuck pig.

[Zero]

Zero saw the threat developing and had calculated a trajectory of escape, but he was off-balance, outmaneuvered. He stumbled and fell on the concrete and only just managed to raise his sword, edge-on, against the spear.

Adamantium met steel, but instead of turning aside, Mute's shank of metal split down the middle and curled away on either side of the ninjato blade like wax around a wire until the two weapons were stuck fast together.

[Mute]

Not missing a beat, Mute twisted what was left of his weapon and turned Zero's blade anti-clockwise until its tip struck the floor. Beneath it, he had temporarily trapped his left arm and consequently, the fist full of senbon. Taking full advantage of the opening he had created for himself, Mute raised his right foot until his leg ran almost vertical with his torso then snapped it downwards, the heel of his foot plummeting towards the machine's singular red eye.

[Zero]

CRACK!

Zero jerked away, but not in time to avoid the crushing blow. His optical sensor went dark, then flickered feebly back to life. Static ate at the edges of his perception, and the red optical lens was cracked.

*****ENGAGE OPTIC CAMOUFLAGE.

WARNING: Photosensory network compromised. Adaptive skin cells operating at 68%. Effectiveness of Optic Camouflage may be limited. Proceed?

YES!*****

Zero rose to his feet and shimmered, as if a stream of water were passing between him and Mute. His head, chest, and limbs ghosted in and out of sight, flickering like a faulty television signal - not enough to render him invisible, but enough to break up his silhouette and obscure sudden movements.

He didn't give Mute time to process what he was seeing. The cyborg lunged forward and landed a series of savage blows on the boy, his suit flashing into being with every impact.

[Mute]

The first blow was Mute's fault. His enemy became a warped part of his surroundings; colour and shape became his tools, the element of surprise his weapon. Mute sprung forth, ready to strike, when an anvil fist broke his nose. Through his shimmering vision he saw the arm disappear. Anger, his insides burnt like a raging furnace. Another slither of electrical light. He dodged.

Air raced from his lungs, his body curled, and he stumbled feebly in retreat. His instincts had failed him and the onslaught of violence resumed, beating the strength from his body. The hiss of mechanical pistons, the crunch of flesh and bone under metal, the cracks of scintillating white and blue, bewildered by the melee, Mute's power diminished.

Fear pressed in, forcing him to one knee, and in that moment he knew no amount of willpower, no desire to live and see another day, would save him from death. He had reached his limit. It was the end.

Weak...

[Zero]

A man might have stopped then. He might have seen the light of defiance go out of Mute's eyes and shown mercy, or towered over his fallen foe, gloating in triumph. Zero did none of these things.

Zero seized Mute under the arms in a body hold and forced the boy to his feet. Then the cyborg ran, driving Mute forward before him and straight into an upright steel girder at the base of a huge transformer. He pulled Mute away from the pillar, leaving a stain of blood where his face had struck. Then he slammed Mute into the girder again with a sickening crunch of bone and cartilage.

He would bring in the boy's broken, vegetative husk if he had to. Zero was incarnate proof of what Vanguard would do to reclaim its resources.

[Mute]

The limp ragdoll body suddenly jerked. And again. And again, until it was positively shuddering in Zero's arms. A low rumble, a string of breathy snorts and then, laughter. And from bloody lips curled with wicked glee, rasping and cold, there came a voice.

"So... weak!"

A screech of maniacal laughter, fingers snapped around the machine's wrists and he kicked off from the ground, launching them skywards. When they reached the apex of their ascent, the boy tore free of his attacker and twisted in the air, thrilling at the rush of wind against his face. That laughter again, demented and shrill, it rung into the night as his hands joined in happy union, poised like a mighty hammer over his head. He swung, grunting like a beast, and struck a blow to his enemy's heart.

[Zero]

Zero's vision filled with static. The floodlights around the transformer station were an indistinct wash of light surrounded by pixelated speculars; they winked out entirely every time Zero struck a pylon or a support cable as he tumbled violently back to the concrete earth. A digital artifact roughly in the shape of a human landed some distance away on the other side of a bank of gigantic capacitors.

*****DAMA
*****DAMAGE RE
*****DAMAGE REPORT INCOMING_
*****Visual sensors compromised.
*****Power supply running at critical levels.
*****Numerous leaks in servo motors.
*****Right femur fractured.
*****ComComComComputer mainframe damaged. Building alternate pathways.

Zero writhed, like an insect with one foot in a glue trap, finding his right leg completely unresponsive. Stimuli he recognized as pain filled his sensors as his suit compressed and drew rigid around his broken thigh bone. Now the exoskeleton would support his weight, trading agility for stability.

*****WARNING: Enemy still active. Probability of surviving continued engagement is unpredictable. No parameters exist for enemy's combat abilities.

How do I beat him?

*****Insufficient data. Still reconstructing computational mainframe.

Slowly, agonizingly, Zero pulled himself to his feet and slunk back into the forest of steel beams and draping cables, shrouding himself in shadow. He could not fight in this state, and his optic camouflage would not give himself enough cover to escape.

*****ANOMALY DETECTED IN NEURAL PATHWAYS

Zero flinched. Explain.

*****Unknown programming detected in primary wetware. Origin unknown. Intelligence algorithms. Memory patterns. Incompatible with current software.

The cyborg spotted something protruding from the ground twenty meters away - his sword, its tip buried several inches into the concrete. Slowly he pulled himself toward it.

Access unknown intelligence. Perhaps it can help.

*****Processing. Directive: Survive. Protect. Return home. There are children in here.

Zero limped forward through the electrical morass toward his sword. What was that?

*****There are children in here.
*****ANALYSIS: background noise. Inconsequential.

Zero stopped in his tracks. For the first time in his memory, he was conflicted. But he forced himself to stagger on, beneath a low-slung support, out onto the open concrete and toward his sword, focused on it as if it were a lighthouse and he were a pilot navigating stormy waters.

Analyze. Analayze again.

*****ERROR: Insufficient data. OVERRIDE: Enemy detected. ALERT!

The cyborg lunged for his sword, caught its handle, and swept out of the concrete as a digital blur barreled toward him at the edges of his vision.

[Mute]

"What do you expect to do with that thing, Tinman? PICK MY TEETH!? AH-HAHAHA!"

Zero lunged. The blade parted the boy's hair with a breath of wind, its gleaming tip brushed his nose, caressed his chin and traced a line dangerously down the centre of his torso, scraping against his clothes. He arched backwards like a horse shoe, his feet lifted and the katana passed between his legs. He sprung from the gravel on his hands and flipped, carried ever forward by his own momentum, lifting dust and spattering blood from open wounds.

There was a ping and the katana drooped. Mute launched himself from the blade's edge and his foot connected with the machine's jaw. Again, that shrieking laughter. He spun in the air and landed a few feet from his enemy. Large white teeth shone through a black face of glistening blood.

"Oh, what a fight! THIS FEELS GREAT! I-"

Something was stuck in his neck.

[Zero]

There were two more senbon in Zero's hand. In the moment that Mute hesitated, Zero hurled both of them. One struck his target in the chest, the other in the thigh. But he wasn't certain even that would be enough with Mute in this state.

Zero lifted his sword and charged at the boy as fast as his injured leg would allow, preparing for the clash that would either end him or end his enemy.

[Mute]

He pulled the senbon from his neck and found himself transfixed, oblivious to the pinch in his chest and leg. There was something distantly familiar about the weapon, he turned it between his thumb and forefinger, inspecting it closely. He moved.

There was a wet sliding squeak and Zero came to a sudden halt. The boy's fingers clamped around the blade like a vice and held it fast, his hand was halfway to the tsuba, and the top end of the blade was slick with crimson. He smiled at the faceless monster before him.

"You've tasted blood... now DIE!!"

He raised his foot, buried it in Zero's gut, and watched him fly.

[Zero]

The cyborg rocketed backwards and ragdolled through the chainlink fence into the forest of massive, coiled capacitors. The force of the blow carried him straight into a bank of high-power lines piping electricity to the entire western half of Los Santos.

Spreadeagled, Zero struck two high-tension wires at once. Industrial voltages knifed through his cybernetic armor, filling the air with white sparks and the smell of burning plastic.

The air is full of dust, spinning on the broken shafts of sunlight that beat through the windows. A flashlight beam searches the room, illuminating a dozen bright-eyed, tear-streaked faces.

"Hold your fire! There are children in here!"

One of them stands, a slender, olive face framed by long, black hair. A hand - your hand - reaches toward her. And then her eyes fill your eyes, and there is nothing but pain, mind-splitting, soul-searing agony, her eyes are hot coals and the universe is aflame...


*********************
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.................................................. ..............


There was a cybernetic scream, a commiseration of mechanical destruction and human suffering. And then the power broke, throwing half of Los Santos into darkness, and Zero fell from the wires and crashed to the gravel beneath them, silent and unmoving.

[Mute]

Sparks leapt like flares and in the stark brilliance stretched shadows in every direction. The boy raised his hand in caution and watched his enemy's demise with morbid relish, daring to step closer. All around, the air cracked and throbbed, and electrical arcs leapt from machine to machine, hissing hungrily. A scream, it struck out at the night like a curse; unearthly, unnatural, and rung in the boy's heart long after the station was plunged into darkness and silence. He was frozen.

"Are you... alive?"

The machine was still. He frowned. No. It was a trick. It's a robot. A thing. He pulled the remaining senbon from his body and slid the katana out of his damaged hand. He would remove its head like Perseus. He was smiling again and closed in with a sluggish shuffle. His legs were heavy. It was difficult to hold the sword upright. Faster. Faster!

Finally, he reached the smoking husk of his enemy, barely making out its shape in the gloom. And with both hands, he lifted the sword over its head, like a guillotine it climbed, and with his last ounce of strength... he collapsed.

[Zero]

I couldn't see.

My arms and legs felt heavy, as if they were cased in steel. Disoriented, I clawed at the ground beneath me, just to anchor myself, to feel out my surroundings, and I felt something loose and granular between my fingers. But it wasn't my fingers doing the feeling. They were wrapped in some sort of mesh, impermeable, so tight it felt like it was grafted onto my skin.

There was a ringing in my ears. No, not a ringing - an electronic drone, like a data stream squealing over a phone line. Shaking, I lifted my hands to my head, hoping to find the source of the noise, shut it down, throw it away -

My mesh gloves encountered a helmet of some sort, solid, hard, smooth, like a polymer cast of a human skull. I searched for the edge, for a clasp, for a seam. There was none.

It covered my face, smooth and featureless, all except a flattened disc set in the center between my eyes -

I touched it, and light flooded my brain, sending spears of pain rebounding through my head. I cried out - there was something wrong with my voice, but I couldn't figure out what it was - and then the light settled, and I could see, indistinct shapes and shadows, and gradually the images resolved. But it was all wrong, colors shifted, like staring through night-vision goggles, or an old 3D movie without the glasses, like I was viewing the same image stacked on top of itself over and over.

"The hell..."

My voice sounded foreign to me. Hollow. Mechanical. I... or that camera thing attached to my brain... looked down to where my body ought to be.

"No."

Armor and mesh. Molded polymers and flexible, overlapping joints. Exomuscular attachments made of bundled nanofiber. It moved when I moved, and I felt it when I pressed on it, when I tried to dig my fingers into the joints, tried to tear the machine off my body. But I couldn't find where it ended and I began.

"No, no, no!"

Something boiled up inside me, a volcano of horror and rage and insanity from the molten core of whatever was left of my humanity. The sound I made was pure, primal emotion, defiant against the universe, borne from the desperation to prove I still existed.

Afterward I listened to the echoes fade from the distant hills and realized there was still enough of my throat left to hurt from the exertion. But there were other sounds on the hilltops - sirens. I saw the treetops light up in flashing blue and red.

Something inside me - animal instinct or mechanical programming, I couldn't tell - filled me with the urge to hide myself. There was destruction all around me, and my skin, or my armor, anyway, looked like I had been through a war. My hand found the hilt of a sword that was lying on the ground, and I surprised myself by slipping it securely into a groove that ran across my back. And then I saw the boy.

He was lying prone and twisted, clothes torn and face and hands bloodied. He had to be dead, but somehow I knew he wasn't. Something echoed in the distant corners of my mind:

There are children in here.

He was the key. He had to be. He could explain all this - what happened here, how we got here, how I turned into this... this thing. Didn't matter that I had no proof we were even connected. My mind was in splinters, and it had to find something to stick in.

I rose to my feet, shutting out the stabbing pain in my right leg, scooped up the boy in my arms, and staggered out of the power station before the first responders arrived. Somehow, it was all going to make sense eventually.

[Mute]

Mute stirred. It was a long and tedious process of slipping in and out of consciousness; he saw himself floating, then buried under rocks, he felt like he was falling and then feared for the life of a person he'd never met, and finally, with a groggy sense of urgency he woke. His heart pounded against the floor and his cheek was cold from the touch of rough concrete, his fingers scratched at a fine layer of something like dust, and he tasted blood on his parched lips. He coughed and it echoed all around, he opened his eyes, in the dark.

A large room stretched out all around him, its walls were made from great sheets of crimped tin which rattled in the wind, and tall columns of shelving lined the walls and ran in rows down the length of the room. It was a warehouse. He struggled upright under the strain of many injuries and rubbed his aching head. His mind drifted and cast its nets into the murky waters of memory but he could dredge up no explanation for his current predicament. Then his weary gaze fell upon the figure of a man sat silently in the corner illuminated by the dim glow of its red watchful eye.

Mute started, and scrambled away on his hands until he backed into a forklift truck with a dull clang. The fog lifted and visions of his violent struggle for survival surfaced with horrifying clarity.

[Zero]

He was afraid of me. That made two of us.

I was crouched on the balls of my feet with my elbows resting on my knees. I felt like I could weather hurricanes in this position. I opened one hand in an unthreatening wave and tried to keep the metallic distortion that was my voice as soft as possible.

"Hi."

[Mute]

That voice sent such a chill through him that he was convinced his spine had turned to ice; he was frozen to the spot. His back pressed harder against the truck as if it would gain him some distance, instead he slid slowly upwards until he was poised stiffly like a cat, watching with wide apprehensive eyes. It was a trick, he knew it, and prepared himself for the machine's next move.

[Zero]

I had the feeling if I moved too quickly, he'd bolt into the night, and I'd never catch him in this condition. I'd figured out I had a broken leg, and even though the suit seemed to be binding it together, I didn't want to test it at a full sprint.

"You look like hell, you know that?"

He didn't respond. I figured I could carry the conversation a little longer. "I guess I don't look much better. Look. Something happened to both of us. I'm trying to figure out what it was."

I thought I saw something change in the boy's face then, but he didn't say a word. "You don't talk much, do you?"

[Mute]

There was something quite obscene and repulsive about what was unfolding before him. While distorted by some sort of mechanical static, the machine's voice seemed so... human. It talked like a man. Mute was trying to think logically: it was wholly possible that, when damaged, it had been programmed to use a subtle, more manipulative, approach to catch its prey. His guard was up but curiosity was a wily thing...

He shook his head with uncertainty and then pressed a finger to the floor. All the while he kept his keen eyes locked on the machine. Slowly, and with unsteady motions, he traced a word into the dirt on the floor: mute.

[Zero]

I looked at the word scratched in the dirt and felt the volcano rumbling inside. All I wanted was answers, and I wanted them the way a starving animal wants meat, the way a drowning man wants just one last gasp of air. I was so desperate I wanted to wring information out of the first person I saw, any information, anything to calm this rage smoldering at the base of my skull. My hand itched for the sword strapped across my back, and it took a dedicated effort to stop it from drawing.

"Okay. If you can't talk, you're going to listen. Something happened to me back there. This suit. This weapon. This damned machine in my head. I don't know where it came from. I don't know what I'm doing here. I don't even know whether I'm a patient man or the kind that kills when he doesn't get what he wants."

There was no hiding the manic edge in my voice, as if the metallic growl wasn't bad enough. But I didn't care.

"I'm going to try to keep this simple. Do you know who I am? Do you have anything to do with me?"

[Mute]

A machine infused with personality was decidely far more unnerving than one without. Except it wasn't a machine. It was a concept Mute was trying to wrap his head around but part of him refused to believe it- didn't want to believe it. The smooth face bobbed as it spoke, a gesture of the hand, a nod; was there really something human behind there? Did he remember nothing?

The stench of gasoline clung to the air, it was nauseating. Mute's eyes stung. He wondered if he'd get away in time if the thing sat opposite made a move. If it lost its temper. He was exhausted and wearily shook his head in response to the question asked.

Then his eyes turned hateful as he simply pointed an accusing finger at the machine, slapped a clenched fist into his open palm, and jerked a thumb at himself. The message was clear enough.

[Zero]

The funny thing was I didn't feel the least bit of remorse for beating on some kid. I spread my arms and looked down at myself - a collection of scars, torn edges, and electrical burns decorated my armor.

"Looks like you gave as good as you got. You're some freak, kid. Not just a poor mute..."

Something snapped in my head - a searing rush of information, too fast for me to process. I could hear the machine roaring in my ears.

"Mute... mutant. Subject 470113."

I flinched, and the warehouse swam before me...

Their faces shine in the flashlight beam, bright and full of fear. "Hold your fire! There are children in here!"

A girl rises to her bare feet. She looks no older than ten, but she's so tiny you can't tell - her eyes are sunken, haunting. You lower your weapon and step toward her, cautiously, as if approaching an injured dog in the street.

You reach out your hand.

"Gaah!"

I pitched forward to the floor, shaking. A seizure, or a software glitch. It couldn't have lasted more than a moment. But it was an epiphany.

"Mutants," I rasped, steel on steel. "Mutants did this to me!" My head snapped up to face the boy, my ocular lens blazing red.

[Mute]

The sudden outburst had Mute standing upright, every muscle and bone cried out in objection but he fought against it, and shuffled backwards. The machine was curled like a newborn in gray light and unleashed a savage howl of pain. First fear, the boy retreated until his back ran flush with a shaft of steel, and then as Zero's crimson glare fell upon him, there was resolve.

In an instant, his mangled hands gripped the metal and pulled. There was a mournful groan of steel and wood as the bracket came loose, sending the towering shelves, and their contents, toppling on top of him. Mute quickly hobbled away.

[Zero]

Damn it!

I dove as far as my injured leg would allow, but several crates struck my armored back and vomited their contents over the floor, nearly burying me. I ignored the throbbing protests from my leg and clawed my way out of the rubble as the last echoes of the boy's footsteps faded.

"Wait! I just..."

I didn't know how I was going to end that sentence. I didn't blame him for running. For all I knew, if he'd stuck around, I'd have killed him eventually anyway.

I staggered to my feet, lost and disoriented. What now? I couldn't be seen like this in daylight. Did this warehouse count as shelter? Did I need to eat? Sleep? Was someone going to come looking for me?

The machine still screamed in my ear. Most of it was digital gibberish, but I could hear two messages stridently and repeatedly:

Critical Processing error. Return to base for repairs.

"Return to base. Where the hell is..."

Groggily, I looked at the warehouse around me and found myself drawn around the corner. Tucked back against a concrete barrier between two rows of shelves was something that looked like a refrigerator crate with one panel torn to pieces, broken from the inside. As I drew nearer, I saw there was something big, cylindrical, and metallic inside coiled with hoses and machinery, like a hot water tank coupled with a diesel engine.

In hindsight, I should have been startled when a seam appeared in the center of the machine's side and opened up, revealing a padded recess in the shape of a man. I never doubted what it was for.

Interface. Shut down. Begin automated repair sequence. Signal base for emergency evacuation and maintenance.

The machine grew louder in my head as I approached, and the noise made it hard to think of anything but the instructions it was pounding into my brain. That was it. Stop thinking. Don't even try. There will be a time of blissful surrender, and then everything will make sense again.

A technical overlay appeared in my vision, labeling the components of what I now knew as my regeneration pod. Data and energy ports. Nutrient tubes. Independent microfission power supply. And there, at the top of the pod, was an ocular lens, and behind it, an artificial intelligence cortex connected to a microwave transmitter - my contact with home base, the source of the machine's instructions.

Human instinct is a funny thing. Sometimes it takes the path of least resistance. Other times, it resists just because it can. If I'd given it any thought at all, I don't know if I'd have been able to do it.

I took two steps forward, freed my sword from its sheath, and drove it upward through that ocular lens, through the computer brain, and through the microwave antenna that linked it all to some unseen authority.

The machine hit a fever pitch. CRITICAL ERROR: Primary contact lost. Alternate contact not found. No signal in range. No instructions found. Processing alternatives. Processing Alternatives. Processing...

"Shut up," I growled. "There are no alternatives. It's just you and me now."

ERROR. Invalid directive. This unit cannot operate without mission parameters.

"Fine. Here they are. We're going to lie low. I need to rest up, recharge, whatever the hell it is I do. Then I need to find some answers. And you're going to help me. We don't trust anyone, understood? Everyone's the enemy until I find out what those mutant bastards did to me."

Processing........................................ ..........
New mission parameters accepted. Now awaiting new directives.

"Good." If I had to have a voice in my head, I was going to make it work for me. I gripped the interior edge of the pod and leaned in to get a better look at its interior workings. "Can this thing still work without contact to home base?"

Affirmative. Power cells sufficient for three months' independent operation.

"All right then." Maybe it was foolhardy. But something like hunger told me my own power cells were running on empty, and even if my mechanical components didn't need to sleep, I was pretty sure my mind still did. I was on the doorstep to insanity. I needed to scrap for anything that could give me a connection with a normal life.

I climbed into the pod, which fit me like a glove, and instinctively hooked a bank of conduits and nutrient tubes into their ports on my arms and legs. "Wake me in eight hours, or if anyone disturbs the pod."

Affirmative.

The pod's hatch slid shut with barely a sound, and my ocular lens winked out, leaving me in darkness and silence.