Without further adieu, DH2032. Not in its complete form,
mind you.  It should be finished by next Friday...
(Hopefully.)

                        DIE HARD 2032


              A hack crossover by Sean Hayden.


     An actinic flare lit the night sky in the city of
MegaTokyo.  The explosion rocked a super skyscraper built to
withstand earthquakes that registered eight on the Richter
scale.
     In the resulting chaos around the street, hundreds of
windows shattered and rained razor death at the speed of
sound.
     A lone man stood atop the Quincy building and smiled.


PACIFIC OCEAN, NEAR JAPAN
New Years Eve
1989

     John McClain looked out of the window of the DC-10
making its way to Tokyo, a mix of boredom and apprehension
on his face.  He still hated flying, but forced himself to
endure it.  Holly had gotten a job working for a new company
called Bradley Inc.  They were flying her out to the Tokyo
branch so she could make several business presentations to
the board on New Years day.
     True to Japanese logic, the best time to propose
something new and earth-shattering would be on the dawn of a
new decade;  a decade that would also see the completion of
the world's largest skyscraper that was said to be fortified
sufficiently to withstand even the great Canto earthquake.
     He had flown to Tokyo on his wife's insistence that he
share New Year's eve with her.  Since she wasn't home for
Christmas, he had conceded.  `Besides,' he told himself.
`Bradley was paying for everything.'  It was an all expenses
paid vacation for two for a week in the finest of hotels in
Japan.  It would be nice to relax, he guessed.  Getting
drowsy, and knowing he had a long flight still ahead of him,
John closed his eyes and fell asleep.
     They snapped open moments later, or so he thought, when
a voice blared out through the confines of the cabin and
roused him from his slumber.  "Good morning ladies and
gentlemen," a cultured voice said through the intercom.
"This is Captain St. Clair.  On behalf of TWA International,
I'd like to welcome you to Tokyo, Japan.  We hope you've had
a pleasant flight and that you'll choose to fly with us
again.  The weather is a brisk zero degrees celsius at Tokyo
International, and there is a slight chance of snow this
afternoon..."
     The speech already boring him, McClain tuned it out and
looked over his shoulder out the window.  A gargantuan
skyscraper, currently under construction, caught his
attention.  From up in the plane, he guessed the base of the
behemoth was at least four city blocks.
     "That's the Sumotori Building," a cultured gray haired
Japanese executive said from his right.  "A new company in
Japan is building it to be their headquarters."
     "Jesus Christ." McClain said simply.
     "No, but I guess it helps if you ever wanted to knock
it down," the smiling businessman returned.
     "What?"
     "I mean that building down there.  Every one of the
main supports are designed to take about sustained shocks of
7.8 on the Richter scale.  When it's finished, the building
will be able to create a sort of negative harmonic wave,
canceling out any shockwaves generated by even the severest
of tectonic actions beneath it.  Engineers say that it's
supposed to take about 8.9, once the building's done.  But I
personally think that it will take a 9 without budging."
     "Holy Shit," McClain said lowly, raising a respectful
eyebrow.  "That's pretty fucking impressive!"
     "Thank you," the aged Asian executive returned.  "I
designed it."  He laughed at John's open look of surprise,
and extended his hand outward.  "I'm sorry," the gray haired
man said.  "I haven't properly introduced myself.  I'm
Doctor Tanaka."
     "John McClain," he returned, warmly shaking the offered
hand.
     "Are you also an architect?" Tanaka inquired.
     "No, I'm a cop."


                             ***


MEGA-TOKYO, JAPAN
New Years Eve
2032


     "We need the interlock code.  The supports could stand
up to a nuclear blast, and you saw what twenty pounds of C-
13 did to it.  Or, rather, didn't do to it."
     A phone rang in the darkness as police lights flashed
thirty stories below in futility.
     "No, it was not successful.  We believe the vault was
designed to withstand a nuclear blast in mind. The interlock
code is a twenty kilobyte key.  There is no known way to
crack such a key.  If we had the inventor, it could probably
be done.  Yes.  Yes, I understand.  This is a contingency we
have planned upon.  Yes, sir."
     Mason hung up the phone.  "Get the accelerator ready.
We're going to get Dr. Tanaka."
     "But Sir, what about the possibility of altering the
timeline?"
     "Great leaders change history to suit their needs. So
shall I."

                             ***

     Nene Romanova, computer hacker extraordinaire and
covert Knight Sabre, was working furiously at her desk.  She
had thousands of reports on her desk that she had to file,
and it was New Year's eve, for crissakes!  "I can't believe
the nerve of the chief, making us work like this!"  She blew
her breath out disgustedly, resigning herself to the
awaiting slave labor.  "Well, they say the AD Police never
rests.  Always vigilant!" she told herself.
     Leon McNichol sauntered over to her desk with an evil
grin on his face.  The rubber band fight in the inspector's
offices earlier had gone in his favor, owing to his
"automatic" rubber band gun.  The Chief put a quick stop to
it, however, when Leon had autofired thirty into the back of
the old man's bald pate.
     "What are you doing for New Year's eve?" he asked
brightly.
     "Like hell I'm going anywhere with that creep," Nene
thought.  "Sorry, I have to give my cat a bath," she replied
tartly.
     "Oh really?  That's too bad.  I thought you might want
to go to the New Year's eve party at Hot Legs to see the
Replicants in concert.  Of course, you would never be
interested in front row seats, you being so busy."
     "FRONT ROW SEATS?!" Nene shouted, causing all the heads
in the quiet office to turn in her direction.  "Really?" she
added in a conspiritorial whisper.  "Pick me up at eight."
     "Well, if you don't want too ... What?  You'll go with
me?" Leon said in shock.
     "Of course I will, dummy!" she retorted, clouting him
lightly on the arm.  "Where'd you get those tickets, by the
way?  They were sold out two months ago."
     "Trade secret, Nene-chan.  I'll see you at eight!"

                             ***

     John met his wife with Dr. Tanaka in tow.  "Pleased to
meet you," Dr. Tanaka said to Holly.  She smiled to him and
bowed formally, and he returned the gesture in kind.  John,
meanwhile, was already sick of this shit.  He wanted a beer
and a place to crash after his plane ride;  his nerves were
shot after the long plane ride.  Plus, he had hit his head
twice on a doorjamb and was in serious need of a bottle of
aspirin.  He accompanied his wife through the door to check
into the building's hotel.  It was about four in the
afternoon, Tokyo time, and he figured he could get a nap and
a beer in before the parties started.

                             ***

     A cop lurked in the shadows, sipping his coffee as he
watched the traffic drive past.  A red streak of bike and
woman flew past him, the wind buffeting his car.  He
hurriedly threw his coffee out of the window when he saw her
speed flash dimly in red LED's of the radar's readout
screen.  He shot out of the concealed driveway he was in and
gave chase to the sexy woman riding the high-speed crotch
rocket.
     Priss saw the blue and red lights flashing behind her
and grinned hugely.  She was hoping to try out her new bike,
and now seemed to be the perfect opportunity.  Playfully,
she gave the cop the bird, and downshifted.  Her bike
quickly began walking away from the 'five-o'.  The cop
didn't seem to have a chance of catching her.  As far as she
could tell, his car was already maxed out, and her speed was
still climbing.  She loved it.

                             ***

     Through a monitor, Mason watched the accelerator start
with a hiss of supercooled oxygen spilling over the
parachronic modulator.  He thought it looked like a
grotesque image of a spider.  It was a marvelous piece of
engineering, but, unfortunately, it could only be used once.
The components were comprised of millions of 'nanobots',
which would disintegrate in about thirty minutes because of
the planet's gravity.  Another device would never be built
because it's inventor had died in an, 'unfortunate',
accident.  A technician gave Mason the thumbs up.  "Begin
the process," was all he said.
     Electricity began to arc across the legs.  The level of
static electricity it was generating was enough to short out
the better part of the Mega-Tokyo primary grid.  In the
center of the device, the 'landing zone', a tiny black dot
appeared.  It hung in space amidst the swirling fog and
electricity like a black pearl.  For the space of an
eternity it seemed as though nothing were happening.  The
techs muttered back and forth between themselves amidst the
eerie sight.
     "Roger.  The gate is holding and is at point zero zero
five percent.  Critical mass for the gate in one minute."
     "Roger, lock-on is at thirty-eight percent."
     "Lock-on in one mike thirty seconds, mark."
     The countdown continued until ten seconds remained.

                             ***

     Dr. Tanaka gave a tenative knock at the hotel door.
John McClain had left his cigarette lighter in the plane
seat where it had fallen out of his pocket, and he wished to
return it to the New York cop.  Someone inside the room
grunted, snored and coughed all at the same time.  Not
wanting to disturb the sleeper, he turned to walk away when
the door opened.

                             ***

     Five ... four ... three ... two ... one!  Lock-on and
retrieval is at 98 percent.  Initiating retrieval process.
     The black pearl in the center suddenly expanded with
frightening speed until it was bulging at the edge of its
supports.  A haze surrounded the globe of darkness, and
Mason could see odd figures like light through a prism.
Blue sparks flew across the surface of nothingness, as the
process continued.

                             ***

     "What?" John answered gruffly, standing in the doorway
of his hotel room in a pair of sweat pants and a 'wife-
beater' shirt.
     "Mr. McClain, I thought I would return your lighter.
You dropped it on the airplane," Dr. Tanaka said politely,
indicating the silver-plated Zippo lighter with his hand.
     "Oh, thanks," John said as he reached for the lighter.
As his fingers made contact with it, blue sparks arced to
his hand.  "What the hell?!" he shouted in shock
     Then there was only the void.

                             ***

     Something was horribly wrong with the device.  The
surface of the void bubble was beginning to ripple.  Blue
sparks flashed around the supports, and one suddenly
grounded itself to the steel supports crowding the room.
Serpentine arcs of electricity danced around the room
showering equipment with flares of sparks.
     The bubble seemed to burst like a baloon.  It suddenly
exploded out violently in the form of a blue fireball that
erupted from the side of the building.  It belched a ring of
flame that lit up the night sky of the metropolitan section
of MegaTokyo.  The lights in the observing room and over the
hotel simultaneously blew out, scattering sparks and hot
glass over the room.  As the lights went, Mason felt his
face cut by the flying glass shrapnel.

                             ***

     "Hey, Mr. Smith!"
     "Yes, what is it?"
     "Take a look at this!  We just had a brownout over the
MegaTokyo grid."
     He looked at the numbers in absolute disbelief.
Something had drawn enough power in three seconds to keep
MegaTokyo lit for over a month!  Power shunts all over the
city were blown out just trying to handle the massive load.
Whatever it was had also drawn additional electricity from
other grids to supplement the monster  requirement.  "Can
you trace the source of that load request?"
     "Yes sir, it came from the Sumotori building."
     "Notify the police and the emergency squads
immediately!  People may be hurt over there."

                             ***

     John groggily got to his feet and shook his head.  Dr.
Tanaka was nowhere to be found.  And even though he seemed
to be in the same hallway, it felt oddly different.
Something was wrong, but he couldn't quite put his finger on
it.  "That guy must've had one hell of a taser," he thought
groggily.  He looked down at his hand, remembering the
lighter Tanaka was trying to return to him.
     John flicked it open and thought he saw a blue spark
flash.  He wasn't sure, though, and figured it was just his
imagination.  He lit it, the yellow light giving him
something to steady himself with.  The hallway was lit by
the dull glow of red emergency lights.  "Maybe the guy
didn't have a taser, after all.  I guess I could've stepped
on a wire or something, and the old guy went for help," John
mused. He recalled seeing a security station when walking up
to his room, so he figured he'd call the desk from there.
     "God dammit!" he swore explosively.  Propping himself
up on the wall with one of his hands, he bent down and
inspected his feet.  Disgusted, he saw that he had stepped
in some broken glass from the wall-mounted light covers.  He
turned around to go in his room and get the wounds cleaned
up.  He pushed the door to his hotel room open and hopped
his way in the darkness to the bathroom.  He tried to turn
the lights on, and found that they too were out.

                             ***

     "Sir, there is an eighty-nine percent probability that
the target did land in the building."
     "Excellent.  Find him immediately."

                             ***

     Much to Priss' dismay, the cop had in fact caught her.
He was now writing a ticket that made her blush with
embarrassment.
     The night sky was suddenly lit as though a nuclear
explosive had gone off.  A crack of rolling thunder blew out
nearby windows and showered the two with glass.  Priss
immediately thought of the Orbital Lasers, but wondered who
would use them in the middle of downtown MegaTokyo.
     The cop's radio crackled to life, and he ran over to
his patrol car.  Priss always kept an ear open to cop stuff.
It usually turned up some pretty good fights.  She could
only make out the occasional word or phrase, but she did
manage to make out 'Sumotori'.  She figured somebody had
bombed the place.  There was supposed to be a vault or
something in it.
     The cop all but ignored her, and screamed off to answer
his call.  Priss waited awhile, then followed the
unsuspecting cop to the building.
     "Sylia! Did you see that?" Priss yelled over her bike's
radio.
     "Yes, we'll meet near the downtown building on second
street," came the crisp reply.
     "I'm already there, I'm going to check it out!"  Priss
could feel the thrill of combat running through her.
     "Remember, Priss.  No solo actions!" Sylia admonished,
before breaking the link.

                             ***

     "God damn it!  You get your ass in there if you value
your sorry career!  I don't care! ...  You find a way in, or
don't bother coming into work tomorrow!"
     John Welter was perfect anchorman material.  He had the
looks, the voice, and the magnetism to keep his viewers
glued to their seats, and he knew it.  It had gotten him far
in the biz.  Not with friends though...  His associates
referred to him several times as 'that pencil necked geek'
and other various and sundry names that all added up to
'pompous ass.'  He was good though, and he could dig a juicy
story out of anywhere.  The heft of the century brought live
to your living room through the eyes of John Welter, ace
reporter, would be what put the bacon on the table.
     The only problem was how to get to the action.  It
wouldn't be the first time.

                             ***

     After cleaning out the cuts on his feet, John looked
around his room and tried to find his clothes.  The room was
neatly made and showed no sign that he had turned it into a
pigsty.  "That shock must've hit me harder than I thought.
Could've sworn that I went into my room," he thought.  He
shrugged and walked out.  He was hit with a mixture of shock
and disbelief.  52201.  That was his room number, alright.
He looked in to make sure he had come out of the right room.
He walked in, and it was a different room.  It had changed.
     "Geez, I need a fucking light!" he shouted to the world
at large.  There was a beep after he said the word `light',
causing him to jump when the lights turned on.  "What the
hell was that?"  He had no idea that the Japanese were this
good with electronics!  He wondered how much that little
trick had cost.  "Probably a pretty penny."  He whistled,
impressed.  The impressive gadgetry still didn't explain why
his stuff was gone, though.  Nor did it help him to
understand why the hallways were deserted.  He looked at his
watch.
     "Great!  Just great!"  It had stopped some time during
his ordeal, so he had no idea how long he had been out.
"This trip has gone from boring to being a pain in the ass,'
he grumbled.  John wondered where his wife was.  Holly
hadn't called him in a while.  He stumbled over to the phone
and noticed that it had a TV screen attached to it.
     Now he was really dazed.  This made no sense at all.
First there was the Clapper 2000 for a light switch, and now
a damned TV phone!
     He spent a few seconds fiddling around with the
controls for the phone, and finally got it to call the front
desk.

                             ***

     A red light flashed on a nearby console.  One of
Mason's goons looked up at a security camera.  "Sir, there's
somebody in this building."
     "Answer it," Mason replied simply.
     "Front desk," The Genom operative said, addressing the
picture of a disgruntled John McClain.
     "Yeah, what the hell is going on with the power?  And
what happened to my room?  I was out for awhile and somebody
took all my fucking stuff."
     "My apologies, sir.  We're experiencing some problems
with the local power grid.  What is your room number and we
will send someone up to check out the problems with your
room."
     "Uhhh.  It's fifty-two, two-oh-one."
     "Very well, sir.  I'm sorry for the inconvenience.
Someone will be up to take care of you shortly."  The goon
grinned when he hung up the phone.
     "Take care of that as well."
     "Sir," one of the techs said, "the Doctor may be nearby
to him."
     "Good."

                             ***

     John waited for awhile and switched on the TV.  The
local news came on, and while he couldn't speak Japanese, he
figured it was better than nothing.  To his great surprise,
the news anchor was speaking English, and had an
unmistakable American accent.

     "Today, New Year's Eve, 2032, in Mega Tokyo ... "
     "Mega Tokyo?" he mouthed silently, his eyes glued to
the screen.
     "... riots continued unabated as labor unions protested
the opening of a new construction site crewed only by
boomers."
     "Boomers?"
     "And on a happier note, tonight's New Year's eve
festivals will be kicking off with a bang featuring groups
from all over MegaTokyo playing at the Tokyo Square.  The
concert has been sold out since early October, and
businesses are happy for the extra commerce flooding into
the area.  This will be the first New Year's eve since
twenty-fourteen that has gathered a crowd as large as
officials are estimating. They estimate between eighty to
one hundred thousand..."
     "Hold on just a minute.   We have this special repost
just in.  An explosion occurred just minutes ago at the
summit of the legendary quakeproof Sumotori building.
Reporters are now live on the scene ..."
     "... It's mass chaos here.  Just minutes ago, the
fiftieth story of the Sumotori building erupted into a ball
of flame and shrapnel.  Emergency teams were on the scene
just minutes before the explosion took place.  It is not
known how many people were in the Sumotori building, and all
communications with the building appear to be cut off,
meaning that we may never know how many are in there.
Rescue teams are just now advancing towards the front door
... Oh my god!  Someone's shooting!"
     McClain watched as police cars and firetrucks alike
were hit by a lancing beam that torched them, causing them
to explode like thermite gascans.
     John turned off the TV.  He was in shock, and now
hoping that someone was playing a gag on him.  No, what he'd
just witnessed was absolutely impossible!  This was crap
right out of Science Fiction Theater.  There was no way he
was going to buy taht he'd been out of it for almost forty-
three years, and hadn't aged a day.  It just wasn't
possible!  He got sick of waiting on room service, and
besides he was feeling restless.  "I need a cigarette," he
groused, heading for the door to the hallway.

                             ***

     Two sets of red eyes glowed dully in the darkness like
lost souls bent on evil.  The two Bu-12b's were whisper
quiet as they walked towards room 52201.  Wicked claws
leaped from their forearms with an ominous `schick' in the
silence.  They attacked the door and beat it down to
matchwood, then calmly walked through looking for their
"guest."
     John was walking around the corridor when he saw the
two boomers.  "Jesus!" he shouted as he turned around ran
for cover.  His first thought was to reach for his gun.  He
didn't know if it would be effective but he didn't care.
John knew that he needed something or he'd be dead meat,
soon.  He ran for the security station and found something
he did not want to see.  Two guards were there.  Each was
very dead and very headless.
     "Oh Fuck!"  John whispered the searing oath.  He had
seen accidents like this before, but knew that this was no
accident.  He fished through the guards pockets and found a
handgun he was unfamiliar with, a few clips, and a pack of
cigarettes.
     The handgun was different from anything he had ever
seen.  In fact, he didn't recognize anything.  The ammo was
cased in plastic and used some sort of liquid round.  He
hefted it and grabbed a satchel the guard was using, and
stuffed it full of the useful items.  The grenades, that's
what he guessed they were, made him wonder exactly what
hotel security needed them for.
     He needed to find a place to hide, catch his breath,
and try and to call the cops.  He grabbed a radio and took
off in the opposite direction from the impending doom of the
armed mechanoids.

                             ***
     "Report."
     "The subject was not located."
     "Continue searching."
     "Affirmative."

                             ***

     Somehow John figured that using the elevators would be
dangerous.  So would the stairs, for that matter.  He would
have to do something those things wouldn't expect.  He took
what he figured to be a grenade and taped it to a rail.
With bootlaces that he took from the guards, he rigged a
trip wire to pull the pin as soon as they walked down the
stairs after him.  After John was finished he went a few
levels down and well out of the way of the blast. He lit a
cigarette and waited in the corner of a stair well.
     He looked at the cigarette with disgust.  "Ahhhgh!
Fuckin' foreign cigarettes.  Thing tastes like shit!" he
grumbled, crushing the cigarette underfoot.
     In that moment he heard the stair door open and heavy
booted feet walking on concrete.  He plugged his ears with
his fingers, opened his mouth, and squeezed his eyes shut.
     The explosion bowled him back like a toy.  He shook his
head to clear the ringing, and grabbed his gun, not knowing
what to expect.  He heard several metallic clanks as he
advanced carefully up the stairs with his gun drawn.
Standing on what was left of the stairway was one of the
boomers.  Its skin had been burned off, and it was a hideous
parody of the human form it was meant to mimick.  John's
eyes opened wildly, his composure temporarily being shaken.
It snarled at him, the fucking thing SNARLED at him!  For
the first time in his life he felt terror.  A terror that
threatened to overwhelm him.  His heart seemed to drop in
his gut and flopped around like an air-starved fish.
     He shook his head.  It opened it's mouth and John could
see its huge fangs.  Squinting, he thought he could see
something else;  it looked like a lens of some kind.  He
said a prayer internally as he heard a buzzing sound, then
aimed for the head of the mad machine, and fired.
     For a split second, nothing happened.  Then the
boomer's head exploded like a ripe melon.  It fell down on
its knees and slumped forward, gushing orange nutrient fluid
onto the stairs.
     "Yippy-ky-ay, motherfucker." John said and wiped the
sweat from his face.  He was breathing hard.  Adrenaline, he
figured.  `I should be used to this kind of thing by now.
What's Christmas without a little violence?' he scoffed
internally.
     "We're not in Kansas anymore, Toto."
     What was left of the other boomer wasn't even worth
mentioning, so he didn't bother wasting time with it.  He
climbed through the debris and went to a nearby window.  The
city stretched into the distance for miles, and he was a
good fifty two stories off the ground.  With a sinking
feeling, he was starting to get a feel for just how big this
damn thing was, and he wasn't even a quarter of the way up.
There was no way he would be able to get down now.  The only
way for him was up.  He crawled into an elevator shaft and
started to climb the access ladder.

                             ***

     "Sir, we just lost 3056 and 2012."
     This was puzzling news for Mason.  Certainly the
disheveled man on the screen hadn't been able to defeat two
Bu-12b's.  But, he couldn't put it down to mechanical
failure either.  Two Boomers just don't suddenly go on the
blink like that.
     "Send unit four up there to investigate."
     "Yes sir."

                             ***

     The snow was thick and heavy, and it obscured the
confusion below in gauze-like silence.  Sometimes, when it
was like this, Sylia felt without a care in the world.  It
was silent and peaceful in her sound proofed suit, and just
for a moment she was free as a bird.  A distant thump of
explosives shook her from her reverie.  Her gaze hardened
and she power dove at the Sumotori building, with Nene and
Linna at her side.  Priss' voice came through the comm
circuit.  She quickly told them that she was already suiting
up, and would join them on the roof momentarily.

                             ***

     Priss felt her heart pounding like a mad drummer.  It
was always like this just before a fight.  Adrenaline
coursed through her veins, giving her strength and courage.
She expertly stepped into her suit, found the hip handles on
either side, and drew the suit to her.  She loved her armor,
and cold rage that would fuse polymylars and alloys into a
ruthless slaughterhouse.  She almost lost herself in the
near-orgasmic experience.  It was like that every time.
     Green HUDWAC displays lit her face like a demon.
Numbers rose in value, and the suit's jumpjets caught,
rocketing her to the peak of the tower where she would vent
all her hatred on whatever happened to be foolish enough to
cross her path.

                             ***

     Someone else had listened to McClain's last call to the
"front desk."  The face was a bitter one, worn by years of
corporate politics, deals and backstabbing.  Her roots in
the company were deep and farspread.  She had known the
game, played the game they way a maestro conducts a
symphony.  That was nothing to her right now.  All this, her
rise from a secretary working for Gulf and Bradley, to a low
level exec in Genom after being wooed by them, to becoming
the driving force behind a plan to take a visionary
scientist's dream of world peace into the perverted machine
Genom had warped it into.  It was nothing.
     She had been used by those above her.  And she had used
these years to cover up her bitterness.  In forty-three
years, there had been the loss of only one thing that had
never healed.  The loss of her husband.
     "John?!"

                             ***

     Rivulets of sweat coursed down his aching back as he
climbed hand over hand to his objective.  He stopped at a
level to rest and scrounge around for more items.  He sat
down on the floor and lit his last shitty cigarette.  He
scrounged around his knapsack for the radio.
     "This is an emergency call, anyone who is listening
please respond."  He repeated his message three more times
and gave up in disgust.  He dropped the radio and tried to
think.
     The radio crackled to life with a cultured female
voice.  "Person calling, this is the AD Police. Please
identify yourself."
     "AD what?  Forget that shit, lady and listen to me!
I'm in the Sumotori building.  I can't tell you where I am,
they're monitoring this frequency.  I don't know how many of
them there are, but I took out two of those fucking things.
Whadd'ya call 'em... Boomers or something?  Listen, all I
know is I get knocked out.  When I come to, I called down to
the front desk.  Then I get these two fucking tin cans
turning my door into firewood!  I find two guards made into
sushi pate', and now I'm stuck in this hole waiting for the
cavalry to arrive."
     "I can understand your situation, Sir, but you'll have
to give us some information so we can help you.  Could you
please identify yourself."
     John groaned.  Bureaucracy didn't change, no matter
where he was.  "Hey lady, you can call me `shit for brains'
for all I care.  Just get me out of this Goddamned rat
trap!"

                             ***

     High above, the leader of the Knight Sabers frowned.
The Sumotori building was supposed to be deserted.  Now,
apparently, there were innocent people still in there.
Though, Sylia mused, this 'Shit for Brains' was not all that
innocent.  Not if what he claimed was true.
     "God damned American cowboy," Sylia heard Priss mutter.
She almost thought she heard a little admiration in Priss'
voice as she spoke.
     "Nene, find the source of that transmission."
     "Already done.  He's somewhere between the sixtieth and
sixty-third floor."

                             ***

     "Sir," the monitor spoke to him.  "We have located the
subject.  Sixty second floor, third quadrant, sector
thirteen."
     "Excellent. Send a hunter."
     "Yes sir."
     "Tell it to leave something.  We need to be able to
trace Dr. Tanaka."
     "Yes sir."

                             ***

     In darkness two feral eyes shone.  Dull steel glinted
palely in monitor light.  The eyes gleamed brighter with
understanding and a foul hunger.

                             ***

     The Knight Sabers raced down the elevator shaft at
breakneck speed.  Floors flew past at a blinding speed until
they began to slow to distinct floors.  At sixty-three Sylia
stopped.
     "Linna, come with me, Priss and Nene, you search the
sixty-second floor."

                             ***

     Something startled McClain.  Someone, or something was
there.  Somehow he knew eyes were watching him.

                             ***

     Priss rocketed down the shaft with Nene in tow.  A
crack of gunfire drew their attention to the left, and they
shot down that direction.
     In the space of a heartbeat, it was on him.  A flash of
murderous steel and eyes greeted the New York City cop.
John fought for his life, desperately,. somehow knowing that
he was surely going to die.
     He felt, rather than heard, the air whistle and then he
felt pain.  Hot, bloody pain, as razor serrated claws gashed
his shoulder.  He gasped in pain and struggled to stay
conscious.  He stared dully at the boomer, finally knowing
with dread certainty that he was going to die.
     "Nice doggie," he quipped weakly.
     A thundering crack brought him out of his stupor.  He
thought he perceived a knight in blue and red armor.  He
wasn't sure, though.  He was going into shock, and had lost
a lot of blood.
     Vortices of fire, left in the afterwash of Priss'
jumpjets, swirled around her legs as she faced the boomer
hell-hound.  It snarled and lunged for Priss' throat as she
slapped it away with a shaped charge.
     The boomer flew across the wall and, with a metallic
thud, slammed to the ground.  Orange drips of `blood'
spattered the floor from it's ruined face.  It's jaw hung
uselessly in a snarling parody of what it had been.  In a
fit of primitive fury it snarled and leaped upon Priss with
its claws extended.
     "Priss!" Nene screamed.
     Priss turned just in time to see the hellishly fast
boomer slam into her and throw her into a full body slam.
Wind knocked out of her, she flew into an armored glass
window.  She felt the sickening impact and heard rather than
felt the sound of her bones cracking.
     "God damn it!" Priss screamed.  Her pure hatred of the
thing drove through her miasma of pain to throw a
devastating uppercut at the boomer's ruined jaw.  The impact
drove her mailed fist into its cranium. It twitched feebly.
     With her suited hand caught midway in the steel skull,
she armed her railgun and fired.
     "Fuck you!" she screamed, and blew it's semi-organic
brain out messily.
     Priss slumped down as red waves of pain and nausea
threatened to overwhelm her.  She looked at her torso and
saw the metal, twisted and ripped open where, in a desperate
attempt, the boomer had tried to claw its way through to
her.  A trickle of blood showed on her suit, and she knew
that she was in bad.  She disentangled herself from the
corpse of the boomer to stand shakily, beaten but
triumphant.  Her triumph was short lived as she stared at
three B-33Cs leering hungrily at her.
     They cackled mindlessly, and it was Priss' turn to know
she was going to die.
     "Like hell!" she yelled as she charged the boomers
suicidally.
     She brought her fist up to slam a knuckle bomb into the
leering face of one when she was stopped short by a roar of
gunfire.  The boomer's head was obliterated in a mist of
orange shrapnel.
     "Let's get ready to rumble, motherfuckers!" came the
uniquely American battlecry.
     She saw the man, who had previously been unconscious on
the floor, now sitting up in a crouch and dispatching the
two boomers.  His aim shifted uncomfortably on her.
     "Get down!" he yelled.  She heard two shots whistle
past her head and impact into the boomer behind her.  The
two shots did an impressive amount of damage to the boomer's
chest.
     As it extended its wicked claws and he was about to be
vivisected, John wondered in the back of his mind why he had
pissed it off in the first place.  The boomer brought it's
arm up to deliver a blow that would have turned John into
hamburger meat.
     John didn't see it that way.
     "Go fuck a toaster, asshole!" he yelled as he pulled
the trigger.  The boomer obliged him by falling forward,
minus its head.
     Meanwhile Priss fought valiantly against the remaining
boomer.  She sidestepped a swipe, barely.  There was a
deafening screech of metal as monowire claws met with super-
alloy steel, meat and bone.  A gory red spray hit the white
wall behind her.  Screaming in pain and rage, Priss attacked
the boomer with berserker's fury.  Seconds later the dented
heap dropped to the ground, beaten to a metallic pulp.  As
it crashed to the floor Priss grinned and lost
consciousness.
     "Shee-it!" John said appreciatively, as he followed
Priss's armor-clad form into the darkness.

                             ***

     "Sir, we've lost the hunter and three B-33Cs.  Tactical
data seems to indicate that the Knight Sabers are involved.
     Mason shook in cold fury.  What right did those
meddling fools have to interfere with his plans?
     "Lock down the building," he ordered with barely
contained fury.  He would have the key to immortality, even
if it meant turning this insignificant building into scrap.
He would not be stopped by such pathetic fools.
     Outside the building steel shutters dropped over every
window and entrance.

                             ***

     Nene looked at the two sprawled combatants.  "Now what
do I do?" she said in a little girl's voice.
     John was just coming to when he saw the armored shutter
drop over window.  "Oh, that's just fucking wonderful!" he
exclaimed.  He looked over to his savior as he clamped a
hand to his own arm to staunch his bleeding.
     He wasn't even sure if she was alive.  He figured there
was someone in there, anyways.  Robots don't usually need
breast cups.  BIG breast cups.
     He knelt beside the suited woman.  "Hey, lady."
     "Whrr?"
     Well, that was a good sign at least.  "Now, how do I
get this fucking tin-can off of you before you bleed to
death?" he queried to himself.  John looked at the helmet
and felt under the rim and found the latches that released
the seal.  As he removed the helmet, he found himself
looking at an unconscious but very beautiful woman lying in
front of him.  He wasn't here for that, though, and shoved
that way down.
     "Hey, lady, can you hear me?"
     Priss' eyes flew open, and her suited hand shot up to
John's throat.  He just as quickly drew his gun on her.
"Jesus, lady!  I'm trying to help before you bleed to
death!"  Her hand dropped away lifelessly, and he likewise
put away his gun.  "Now, how the fuck do I get this tin-can
off of you?"
     John hadn't noticed her standing there in the corner,
and he started when he heard the filtered voice speak.
     "Are you a medic?" Nene said.
     "Jesus!  Another one?  This place is fucking nuts!"  He
caught his breath and calmed his pounding heart.  "No, I'm
not a medic, lady.  I'm a cop."
     The filtered voice started to sob.  It sounded eerie
when it went through the voice filter.
     "Is Priss going to be all right?" she asked hesitantly.
     "I don't know until I can get this thing off of her.
She's losing a lot of blood."
     "Here," Nene said, as she leaned down and expertly
removed the top of the suit.
     John whistled at the damage.  He was amazed that she
could talk, much less fight like she did.  He had seen cases
like it before, but they usually involved heavy doses of
acid and or crack.  She was cold and shivering, and he knew
she didn't have much time before she would be one of the
past professionals.  He did his best to patch her up and
stop the bleeding.
     "Where are your friends?" John asked the remaining hard-
suited woman.
     "How did you know?" Nene said incredulously.
     "Lucky guess," John said, smiling.  "Well, they better
get here pretty fucking quick, or your friend is going to go
to the happy hunting grounds."
     "What about you?"
     "I'm fine." He said looking at his blood-caked arm.
     "I guess you do this for a living?"
     "Heh.  Happens every fucking year," he said
caustically.
     Nene's suit radio crackled to life.  Sylia came
through, though the signal was broken up.
     "Nene, where ... you? Is Priss ..."
     "Sylia!  Priss is down, she needs help bad!"
     "... repeat ... can't ... steel walls ... try and ...
through."
     John looked around for a blanket or something to cover
Priss with.  He tore down a curtain that had survived
relatively intact and folded it in-half, and draping it over
the severely wounded Knight Saber.
     He checked the rounds in his gun.  Two left in the
clip, one in the chamber.  Shit.  He dug through his satchel
and found what looked like a roll of double sided tape.
Nene happened to scan the canister and found about two
ounces of C-13.
     "That's plastique!" she fairly shrieked.
     John looked at the canister, startled.  On closer
examination, there was a twist off cap, like a detonator.
He pulled a little on the tab and found a spongy elastic
substance with an adhesive backing.  He wondered how to set
the detonator.
     "How do you set the detonator?"
     "I thought you were a cop!"
     "I am.  We don't have this kind of shit back home."
     "Here," she said, taking the detonator from him.  "How
long do you want it set for?"
     "A minute."
     Nene tinkered with it and handed it back to him.  "All
you have to do is stick it into the plastique to arm it."
     John heard a distant banging on the door.  "I guess
that one will do as good as any.  Try and warn your friends
that we're going to blow through."
     "Ok," she said a minute later after John had taped a
rough rectangle into the steel plating.  "I think they got
the message."
     "The second I plant this, give 'em the one minute mark.
You ready?"  Nene nodded.  They had carefully moved Priss to
a corner beside the steel door, where they also planned to
take cover.
     He planted the timer and walked over to the corner.
"Gimme a countdown starting at thirty."
     "Thirty ... twenty-nine ... fifteen ... five ... four
... three ... two ..."
     The explosion cut her off in mid syllable as the
plastique tore a hole in the door.  After the smoke and
rubble cleared, Nene got up and kicked the steel.  It didn't
even budge.  John looked at the door.  He could see a gouge
about a half an inch deep.  `But without any more plastique
or a detonator ...'  He let the thought trail off.
     "Do you have anything to cut that?"
     "It's not fast enough!"
     "Well you'd better fucking try, or your friend will
need a meat wagon instead of an ambulance!" he shouted.
     A small circular saw leaped from Nene's forearm.  It
was something she would normally use to cut through a panel,
not a solid steel door.  Just as she was about to try and
cut her commlink crackled again.
     "Nene! Stand ... Repeat, stand back!"
     Nene scrabbled out of the way of the door, yanking John
with her just as a B-33C crashed through the weakened door.

[to be continued...]