============================================================
Bubble Gum Crisis is copyrighted Artmic Inc. and Youmex, Inc. I am
just borrowing the characters for a little while, and promise not to
bend, fold, or staple them - unless I can come up with a good reason
to do so. I can be contacted at the Email address above. C&C will be
accepted, out and out flames will result in a Boomer or two being sent
after you.

Please, enjoy my take on the Bubble Gum Crisis universe.....
============================================================
Chapter 7

Sato's home
District 4
Febuary 10, 2036
7:38pm

     The young man knocked softly on the door of Sato's office.
He waited until he heard a comand to enter, and he do so. He
strode over to the front of the desk, and bowed. "The men you
have requested have arrived, Sir."

     Sato looked up slowly from his computer monitor and nodded.
"Very well, Honjuji. I will be with them shortly. Has there been
any other reports of Nemesis?"

     "No sir. But it is a good bet he will strike tonight. And he
will probably attack several sites in rapid sucession, as it is
his custom to do."

     Sato nodded. "How are the Jager battlesuits orginized to
handle Nemesis?"

     "The Jagers are grouped into four three-men units," replied
Honjuji briskly. "They're postioned in the north, south, east and
west sectors of the city." 

     "Why not leave them in a centeral location until our enemy
shows up, and attack him in strenght?"

     "This way, at least one of our battlesuit units can reach
Nemesis's location within five minutes of being alerted. It will
be the responsability of the first unit on the scene to track and
harrass our enemy. As more of our units gather, we can then
concentrate on the elimanatation of Nemesis."

     "And our security of our businesses?"

     "Every business has at least two extra men on guard. Our
more important business have double the normal amount of guards.
All the men are armed with machine guns or shotguns, with
antiboomer rounds. Also, every location has a grenade launcher
with antiboomer rounds." 

     Sato nodded. "Excellent. I am pleased with your work in this
matter."

     Honjuji couldn't quite keep the disaproval he felt out of
his voice as he continued. "We could have incresed the security
at each location had we closed down several of our smaller
operations, and used the manpower to beef up our larger, and more
profitable, operations."

     "No."

     "Why not, sir? Right now, we are streched thin guarding
possible targets that Nemesis will not bother to attack."

     Sato looked up at his senior field boss. "To close any of
our locations would send the wrong signals to the others. We must
show that this Nemesis is nothing more then a minor annoyance, an
irritant that doesn't effect our businesses." 

     He leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving
Honjuji's. "To do anything else would give the impression that
the Sleeping Dragon is weak, and unable to hold on to everything
it now controls. Under those conditions, even after we have
killed this irritant, we would have the others circling around us
like vultures. And soon, we would have to fight to hold onto our
rightful territory. We would win, in the long run, but it will
cost us time and lives."

     Honjuji nodded. "I understand, sir. In that case, might I
recomend that we use the gangs under our guidence to act as a
roving security in several of the more isolated areas we control?
Granted, it would not be the same as having our own men there,
but it would be better then nothing."

     "I agree. Tell the leaders I expect every single member of
their gangs to be out on the street tonight, no execeptions."

     "Yes sir. Anything else?"

     Sato shook his head. "I will be at the meeting in five
minutes. You may go."

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

OKA garment factory.
District 7
Febuary 10, 2036
9:37pm

     The factory was actually a series of run down brick
buildings in a quiet industral sector south of the city's center.
During the day, it employed three hundred people to produce a
cheap line of clothes. At night, one of the largest illegal
gambling houses in the district operated in the basement of the
main building, generating a sizable amount of income for the
Sleeping Dragon Yakuza.

     In the shadow of one of the loading docks, fifty meters away
from the Main building, the armored figure of Nemesis scanned the
scene before him through the infra-red viewer built into his
helmet. There were maybe three dozen cars parked in the adjoining
lot, mostly upscale models, which told him that the casino was
open and running as usual.

     Close to the parking lot, a set of stairs led down to a
steel door. Behind that, a narrow hallway ran to another steel
door, and the gambling establishment itself. Acording to the
intel Maria had gathered, the usual hardman force was about a
dozen, evenly split between the inside and outside, armed with
pistols. There was a small armory inside the casino, in case of
trouble, but he figured that Sato would issue the orders, and the
guards would be expecting trouble.

     There were two men standing at the top of the stairs,
dressed in dark somber suits. Neither man was older then thirty,
but they had the hard look of experenced killers. One had a
machine gun slung over one shoulder, while the other held a
shotgun loosely in his hands. They were smoking and talking to
each other quietly. <They don't really expect trouble. Their
mistake.>

     He opened the communcation channel. "You in place, Sarge?"

     "Ready and waiting, sir. No activity on the Yak's channels."

     "Just make sure they don't get a call for help off before
I'm finished."

     "Don't worry. All they'll get is snow."

     "I know. Nemesis out."

     He continued to scan the area, looking for the other outside
guards. There should be two teams of patroling guards that
regularly switched with the door guards, and if the intel is
good, one pair should appear about....

     Just then, two more hardmen came around a corner of the main
building and walked over to the guards standing at the top of the
basement stairs. They talked for a minute, and exchanged a laugh
that carried in the night air. Then, the first pair shouldered
their weapons and walked away, disappering around a corner of the
building. The new pair relaxed, one of them lighting a cigarette
and taking a puff. <That's four. Where are the other ->

     From behind him, the sound of a gunbolt being pulled back
gave Nemesis just enough warning that he just found the last two
guards - or more accurately, they had found him. <DAMN!>

     He smoothly dropped into a crouch, and turned towards the
sound, his railgun coming up to track and fire. A stream of lead
screamed over his head, missing him by a dozen centimeters. He
heard someone curse, and then he saw them in the infra red. 

     There were three of them, standing at the corner of the
loading dock, twenty meters away from him. One had an old assault
rifle, an M-16 by the look of it, up and pointed at him, smoke
still coming out of the barrel as the mobster tried to adjust to
his target's new position. The other two gunmen was still
recovering from their surprise, and were still bringing up their
guns to fire.

     Nemesis's railgun whispered he as fire several steel needles
in reply. The alert gunman folded over his weapon as the spikes
slammed into him, and he dropped to the ground. The other two,
shocked at the sudden demise of their fellow, hesitated.

     Nemesis's left arm came up, and the grenade launcher
coughed. The night sky lit up as the HE round impacted right
between the two, sending both bodies flying. The grenade continue
to light the area for a scant few seconds before it die out.

     <So much for the quiet approch.> He opened the channel with
Sarge as he turned and ran towards the stairs leading to the
basement door. "Sarge, I've been blown. Start jamming now!" <No
time to waste. The numbers are running.>

     "Jamming now."

     As Nemesis ran towards his target, he saw the pair of guards
who had just started their patrol race around the corner. One of
them pointed at him, and both charge at the armored form, guns
blazing. He felt several of the fusillade of bullets glance off
the armor, but not hard enough to affect his movement.

     <You had your chance. My turn.> He didn't slow down as he
returned their fire. The grenade launcher on his left arm
switched internal magazines and coughed again. The anti-personel
round covered the distance in a eyeblink, and exploded waist-high
just in front of the two mobsters. The explosion sent one hundred
and twenty eight steel balls out in a tight pattren at better
then a hundred meters per second. Unable to react, the two
hardmen were cut apart in a heartbeat. 

     Nemesis activated his thrusters, and launched himself into
the air. At the top of his arc, he cut his thrusters and
performed a forward flip. Below him, the two surviving outside
guards were standing shoulder to shoulder. One of the guards was
screaming into a comm device, while the other were scanning the
darkness around him, uncertain of what had happened to their
fellows. 

     The hardman looked up, and screamed in terror as he saw the
darker shadow against the night sky. The other guard forgot his
comm device, and Nemesis could see the horror mixed with
amazement on the man's face as he looked up. <Surprise.> 

     The vigilante landed less then a meter from the pair. The 
vibrosword popped free, and Nemesis stabed the hardman on his
left. He was rewarded with a scream that quickly became a gurgle,
then the sound of something heavy hitting the ground. 

     He turned slowly, allowing some of the blood still on the
blade to spatter the last guard. The man looked pale and the
expression on his face was pure fear. He dropped the shotgun, and
backed away, his arms up in a pleading gesture.

     "You have one chance," said the vigilante, the voice made
cold and impersonal by the loudspeaker. "Run and live, or stand
and die. Your choice."

     The mobster turned and ran, fear lending him speed. Nemesis
watched him for several seconds until the hardman disapeared into
the night. <Got to move fast now.> 

     A couple of strides took him to the top of the basement
stairs. A trio of HE grenades turned the steel door and most of
the surrounding frame into junk. Before the smoke and dust
cleared, Nemesis launched himself down the stairs. Using his
thrusters to direct his jump, he bounced off the wall oppsite the
doorway, and then through the space where the door use to be.

     The cloud of smoke and dust had thinned out to the point
where he could see the inner steel door, partially open, at the
far end of the corridor. He also saw a pair of surprised hardmen
between him and the inner door. They had been in the corridor
when the door had been destroyed, and were now trying to recover
from the concussion.

     Nemesis didn't give them a chance. The railgun came up and
both mobsters went down for good. Without pausing, the soldier
jump over the two bodies and slammed into the slowly closing
steel door. The hardsuit's weight and strenght forced open the
door, sending the trio of guards who had been attempting to close
the door flying.

     He found himself in a large room, thirty meters by twenty
meters. The room was richly furnished in plush reds, greens and
blacks, a startling contrast to the area outside the building. A
large roulette table occupied the center of the room, while other
tables devoted to blackjack, craps, and other games of chance
lined the walls. A light haze of smoke filled the room from the
cigars and cigarettes of the customers.

     There were maybe a hundred people in the room. Most were
clearly customers, elegently dressed in expensive suits and
dresses, suitably shocked at Nemesis's sudden entrence. A few
others were employees who shared their patron's expression.
Neither group was an immediate threat.

     But the several men in tuxedos holding firearms were.
Nemesis fired his railgun again, his first burst of needles
taking out two of the opposition. He shifted to his right to
avoid several shots and nailed another hardman with a single
needle through the chest.

     At that point, the crowd, suddenly finding themselves in a a
firefight, panicked. Seeing the only exit in the place clear,
they stampeded for it, placing themselves between the soldier and
the surviving Yakuza guards. With neither side able to get a
clean shot at the other, both looked for a way to maneuver free
of the panicked patrons.

     Using the crowd and the gambling tables on the right side of
the room to shield him, Nemesis moved deeper into the room.
Several shots punched into the wall behind him, leaving fist
sized holes in the cinderblock walls. He heard shouts from one of
the hardmen, the team leader probably, to get the grenade
launcher.

     Nemesis dropped behind a blackjack table, and upended it.
Chips, glasses of liquor, and cards went flying as the table fell
on its side. Several more crashes answered his as the surviving
gangsters sought cover for themselves. Nemesis crouched down, and
quickly accessed his position.

     <There can't be more then four Yakuzas left. But they're
between me and the door, and well covered. They're using
antiboomer rounds too. Sato did beef up security and firepower,
but not enough, at least not here.> He checked his ammo level.
<Three more burst with the railgun, and I have one HE, four
antipersonel, and five tear gas rounds left. Enough for the job.>

     He changed magazines on the grenade launcher and lept up,
the grenade launcher spitting out three rounds of antipersonel,
followed by three rounds of tear gas at the crouching Yakuza
members. He dropped behind his makeshift shelter just in time to
avoid several burts of slugs. In seconds, the room began to fill
with tear gas and the sounds of coughing and shouts. He heard the
leader shout at his men to stand firm, and fixed his position in
the fog. <Time to take out the head.>

     He leaned around the right edge of the table, and fired a
burst from his railgun in the direction of the leader's voice.
There was a cry of pain, followed by a scream of agony, then
something heavy dropping onto a table. Someone thrashed for
several seconds, then silence except for the sounds of coughing.

     Nemesis turned on his loudspeaker, and said, "You have ten
seconds to clear out of here. There's no chance of help arriving
in time to save you. This place has already been elimanated from
Sato's list of businesses. Maybe Sato will let you live, but if I
see any of you in the next ten minutes, you will die. Am I
clear?"

     There was nothing for a second, then he heard the sounds of
running footfalls heading for the steel door, mixed with coughing
and screams of someone in pain being dragged along. He waited
several more seconds before he stood and scanned the room
carefully. Only dead bodies were left in the room.

     He nodded in satifaction, and he contacted Sarge. "Objective
secured. Give me two minutes to plant the phosphorus charges,
then meet me at the rendezvous point."

     "Right."

     Nemesis looked around the room, his mind working out the
best positions to plant the half dozen phosphorus charges he
carried in an armored compartment at his waist. <This will hurt
you Sato, but this is only just the beginning.>

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

Sylia's apartment
Febuary 10, 2036
9:45pm

     Sylia walked into the computer room, a cup of tea in one
hand, the data disk Nene had given her in the other. She thought
about the conversation she'd had with Nene earlier. And the
thought gnawed at her. Could the Knight Sabers stay on the
sidelines, should a gang war erupt in MegaTokyo?

     She had to see the data Nene had collected on Nemesis, and
decide for herself. If this Nemesis was a danger, could the
Knight Sabers stop him? Or help him? There were too many unknowns
to base any decisions on. She sat down and slid the disk into the
waiting drive. She accessed the data and began reading it.

     The first known apperence of Nemesis was about three years
ago, in MegaNew York. There, a particularly vicious drug gang
that had ruled a large portion of the city was wiped out almost
to a man. The police reports quoted the few survivor's stories
about being attacked by someone wearing an advanced hardsuit. 

     Two months later, a gun running operation operation out of
Miami was shut down bruatally by someone wearing a hardsuit. This
time, police put a name to this unknown vigilante: Nemesis. This
was the first case that Nemesis used the special signature that
was his trademark: A capital letter N in a circle inside a
triangle, one point of the triangle always pointing in the
direction of the destruction.

     The next year read like a travel log of raids across North
America. A white slavery ring in San Angles, a organrigging
operation in Dallas, two drug running operations in Chicago, and
a group based in the Northwest US selling illegally modified
combat Boomers to anyone with money were some of the more public
of Nemesis's battles with organized crime. Each time, the unknown
person came out on top, using a combination of technology and
tactics that cracked the opposition with quick and brutal
efficiency. All that was left for the local law enforcement to do
was sweep up the pieces Nemesis left.

     As Sylia read the files, she started to piece together a
possible background on Nemesis. From the way the attacks were
staged, Nemesis had to have a military background, most likely in
Special Forces. His avoidance of targets with a high number of
bystanders told her that this wasn't a madman behind the helmet,
but a carefully calulating personality who kept his war directed
solely at the enemy. He also had access to money and advanced
technology, which possibly meant there was someone assisting him.

     She leaned back in her chair, and sipped her tea. The
hardsuit Nemesis was using was somewhat famillar, possibly a
Stingray-designed suit. From the large assortment of weapons the
hardsuit was reported to have, there had to be a modularity built
into the design. She wondered if Greg Mallory had anything to do
with Nemesis, but after several minutes, decided that the CEO of
MALCORP had too much to handle with the Black Knights to add a
high tech Vigilate to his plate.

     Still, she needed to know from him directly. She glanced up
at the watch. There was a fourteen hour time difference between
MegaToyko and Philadephia, but Greg should be in the office by
now. Moving carefully, she dialed his office number from memory,
and waited for the connection.

     The line was picked up on the third ring, but the vidphone
screen remained dark. /MALCORP. Mr Mallory's office. Can I help
you?/

     "Is Mr Mallory in?"

     /Who's calling, please?/

     "Miss Sylia Stingray."

     /Please hold./ 

     There was silence for five seconds, then she heard Greg's
voice. /Sylia?/ Several seconds later, he appeared on the small
vidphone screen. His mismatched eyes lit up with pleasure.

     "Hello, Greg."

     /What do I owe to this pleasure?/ He looked amused. /Have
you reconsidered my proposal?/

     "I'm still thinking about it," she replied dryly. "But,
that's not what I called to talk to you about."

     /What then?/

     "How secure is this line?"

     /As secure as it can get. What's happening?/

     "How famillar are you with a vigilante who calls himself
Nemesis?"

     /Ah. That explains the pleasure of this call. We heard that
he made a big splash there in the last day or so. You're
wondering if I'm sponsoring him, right?/

     "A good guess."

     /The short answer to your question is no. I have people
keeping track of his movements, and I would be more then happy to
have him as an asset. But it appears that our man is very
independent./

     "He's a mercenary?"

     /I doubt it. I've never heard of him taking on anything but
organized crime groups. He probably uses money he's taken from
the gangs he's fighting to finance his war. If so, he's
compleatly self sufficent./

     "Any idea where his hardsuit came from?"

     Greg shook his head. /No, but if it isn't an offshoot of the
Knight Saber or Black Knight hardsuits, I'm Quincy's new water
boy./

     "Which means that the third copy of the hardsuit data has
turned up."

     /Looks like it./

     "Thanks, Greg."

     /Let me know if you reconsider my proposal./

     "You'll be the first person to know."

     /I should hope so. Good bye, Sylia./

     "Good bye, Greg."

     Sylia broke the connection and leaned back in her chair, her
tea forgotten. She continued to read the data, but her mind was
focused on some unplesent thoughts about a possible clash between
Nemesis and the Knight Sabers.