Yeah, I'm still alive.  Reactions have been mixed so far.

Anyway, any criticism would be welcome.

-- Nick

***

Nightelf presents...

End of the Tunnel

A Bubblegum Crisis work of anime fanfiction.

Bubblegum Crisis characters created by Kenichi Sonoda; American 
distribution rights owned by AnimEigo.  Buy their stuff if you haven't 
already; the original BGC series rocks.  I ask that you not post this 
fanfic without permission.

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

Something wasn't right.

Priss stared up at the ceiling of her trailer.  It had been a late 
night the previous night, as usual, and she hadn't made it home until 
nearly dawn.  She'd barely had enough energy to slip on her favorite 
sweatshirt and crawl onto her futon.

A traitorous eye scanned over to the window.  She didn't know what time 
it was, but it had to be sometime after noon, judging by the light.  
There was a part of her that really didn't want to get out of bed.  In 
fact, staying where she was sounded like a great idea.  She gave a 
silent curse to the stray bits of sunlight coming through, showed her 
disgust by turning over on her side, and went back to sleep.

She tried to, anyway.  Sleep wasn't coming.  For the time being, she 
contented herself with just keeping her eyes closed and making her mind 
not do anything.  She wasn't sure why, but she just needed the extra 
time.

Eventually, she opened her eyes.  This time, a red cylinder took up 
most of her vision.  Caffeine would probably be good, she mused.  The 
alarm she had just in case hadn't gone off yet, but she suspected it 
would soon.  Besides, she had practice to go to, and it wouldn't do to 
come in like something the cat dragged in.

Sighing, she put her hands on the floor and pushed herself up.  It was 
time.  Never mind everything telling her it wasn't worth it, everything 
telling her to just hide in her bed and forget everything outside.  She 
had stuff she needed to do.

Everything, it seemed, took a little longer.  Shucking her nightclothes 
and putting fresh clothes on seemed to take more effort.  Her arm felt 
heavier with each brush stroke as she tamed her hair for the day's 
events.  The coffee she drank, with its soft touch of warmth, only 
served to recommend further time in bed.

She looked over at the clock.  Not much time.  She pulled on her 
jacket, pulled her hair out of the back, and grabbed her helmet.  It 
was time to go.

***

"We're all just lonely hearts in the big city,
everyone a child lost in love.
Day by day in the big city,
tears only aggravate thoughts that won't rest."

Priss wasn't thinking anymore.  She was a child lost in one of her most 
important loves, one that would forgive her anger and her temper 
tantrums.  This time, she sang the words with venom; she was in a 
particularly unforgiving mood toward the world, anyway.

The song ended all too soon, and she took a deep breath.   If a song 
was worth singing, she always got lost in it.  Coming back from a song 
always felt a touch disappointing - unless there was a crowd there to 
share in it.

She felt a hand on her shoulder.  "Priss, are you okay?"  Sean, the 
band's guitarist, stared at her, eyes full of concern.

She frowned.  This was a question she'd heard before.  "Was it that 
bad?"

"Nah, not too bad, anyway," Sean replied as he ran fingers through his 
long, dark hair.  "But it was a bit overboard.  Not enough fun, too 
much venom."

"Story of my life," Priss sighed.

Sean took a deep breath.   "Is this going to be one of those nights 
where we focus on the bad songs?"

Priss chuckled.  One thing about Sean; he knew how to make her laugh.  
"Okay."  She twisted her lips in mischief.  "Hmmm.  You want me to minx 
them up with Mad Machine?"

Sean nodded.  "Well, it does tend to put you in a better mood... 
nothing like acting like a slut to the crowd to get you smiling again."

"Well, you don't know how good in bed some of the guys out there are," 
Priss countered.  Her eyes twinkled.  "Then again, maybe you do."

Sean snorted.  "Good.  You're smiling.  That's a start.  This ain't no 
goth club; nobody's interested in hearing you whine."

Priss blinked in surprise.  "Damn.  That bad?"

"Well, it's not Gallo 'cause you like screaming too much, but yeah... 
it's getting close to the whine phase."  He plucked a few notes on his 
guitar, "Mad Machine?"

Priss nodded.  "Mad Machine.  Joey, Darryl, you guys ready?"

A twirl of drumsticks and a low chord were the only answers she needed. 
  She nodded slowly, forcing herself into a different sort of mood.  The 
differences weren't that great, to be honest.  It was all smoke; it's 
just that Mad Machine was a different sort of smoke than what she'd 
been giving.

Joey started on the drum beat, and she smiled lazily.  Time to really 
get steaming.

***

Life was best at a hundred and fifty.

Speed was life, and Priss wanted to grab as much of it as possible.  
She gunned the engine, letting asphalt and steel disappear behind her, 
letting patches of green replace the trappings of civilization.  She 
let her mind focus on the gray ribbon, and put any worries of her life 
behind her.

God, she needed this.  This had been a bad day all around.  She'd woken 
up later than she'd wanted, and hadn't felt like waking up at all. The 
rehearsal was messy; the songs all seemed to come out all wrong.  She 
still had a few hours before she was needed at Hot Legs, so she decided 
to shake the lead out in her own inimicable way.  The road called, and 
she responded.  MegaTokyo had left her vision a half-hour ago, and the 
drive was just starting to get good.

After awhile, she needed a break.  She'd been driving for the past two 
hours, and it was a good place for her to stop.  Also, there was a 
small overlook nearby, one where she could take a few minutes to enjoy 
the view of the ocean.  She slowed down, pulled onto the overlook, and 
eased herself off of her bike.

This was well worth the trip.  She took off the helmet, letting herself 
breathe in the sea spray.  She rubbed the muscles of her arms through 
the jacket as she felt the breeze tickle her face.

There was no Genom out there.  Oh, sure, there were likely some 
Genom-manufactured boats on the water, or maybe some underwater 
facility she didn't know about.  MegaTokyo was the world's largest 
company town.  There was no company here.  Here was one place she could 
escape.  Here she could be free.

"I.  Am.  Free."

The words came to Priss' mind unbidden, and instantly spiked into her 
heart.  Sylvie had said those words two years ago, at this very spot, a 
celebration of survival.  Unfortunately, it wasn't enough.  Survival 
had come with a cost, and the debts her life had accumulated came due 
inside a nasty battlemover.

It was times like this that she really missed Sylvie.  Sylvie had 
cherished the life she'd had, even as she struggled through the 
vampire's existence.  To Sylvie, everything was new; to her, even the 
shithole that was MegaTokyo was heaven.  Of course, considering 
Genaros, maybe it was.

But it was more than that.  To Sylvie, what didn't matter didn't 
matter.  She was a lot like Sylia in that way, only Sylvie tended to 
smile more.  There was no rage against the machine that had tortured 
her.  Her concern was survival and freedom - living the life she'd 
always wanted.  Everything else, the moments she had on this earth, 
were treasures to be cherished.

Her self, on the other hand... she felt trapped.  This was only a 
momentary respite; in a few minutes, she would start up the motorcycle 
and head back into the maelstrom.  She wasn't free, and she was 
beginning to suspect she never would be.

Sighing, Priss took one last breath of sea spray, and put her helmet 
back on.  Her time in Eden had run out, and she had a show to do that 
night.

***

Hot water ran down from Priss' face, cascading down her body to the 
drain below.  She rubbed the sponge against her left arm, letting the 
lather wipe away the dirt of the day, then moved the sponge toward her 
shoulder.  She exhaled through the water; the impromptu massage the 
water and sponge gave was a perfect remedy for her sore muscles.

Through the curtain of water, Priss idly watched her fingers as she 
rubbed them together.  If the grime, dirt, and sweat on her was thick 
enough to feel, then she desperately needed this.  She squeezed the 
sponge between her hands, enjoying the citrus scent of the soap she 
used.

God, she was tired.  Two hours rehearsing, four hours riding, then two 
more hours performing.  Later, an hour or two in the hardsuit.  Her 
arms and legs were sore; it took a great deal of effort just to stay on 
her feet.  Her mind was a fog; she'd spent too much of herself, and she 
desperately needed rest.

No.  Not rest.  Rest was needed, but she needed more than that.  She'd 
taken rest before, and it didn't do much.  The ache was still there, 
and it was something no rest could take care of.

She carefully slipped to her knees.  This was just another day for her, 
any ordinary day.  But the energy just wasn't there.  She adjusted to a 
sitting position, and hugged her knees to her chest.

Maybe she could just stay here for awhile.  Just enjoy the water, let 
it run over her skin, let it shield her from the world for a little 
while.  She resumed her washing, letting the sponge gently glide over 
her skin.  After a few minutes, she'd completed any washing she needed 
to do, and just stared up at the shower.

She'd be needed soon.  Sylia was supposed to have a job for them later 
that night.  She needed to dry her hair before then.  Still, she could 
spare a few more minutes in here.

The breaths came evenly from her as she sat beneath the water.  She 
could do this; it was something she'd done a dozen times before.  In 
her mind, she could feel the suit around her, the snug, confining metal 
and ceramic around her, the microfine delay in time between muscle 
impulse and hardsuit movement, the glow of the tactical display.  She 
could do this - like she'd done a hundred times before.

Sighing, she pulled herself up from the floor of the shower.  She had 
promises to keep.

***

The boomer punched for her head.  Years of training caused Priss to 
duck; even as she did so, she leapt up and grabbed the boomer's arm.  
She kicked for its head, igniting the charges upon impact.  She snarled 
as the boomer's head exploded.

All a part of the dance.  A blip on her hardsuit informed her of the 
boomer behind her.  She swung around as the first boomer collapsed, and 
took a moment to size up the second boomer before attacking.

Mouth cannon.  How rude.  Still, nothing she hadn't handled before.  
The hardsuit calculated potential trajectories and blast radii the 
instant it began to charge; she ran to make sure to move out of any 
potential blast, then made sure whichever direction the mouth cannon 
was pointing, she wasn't there.

Whoops.  Almost missed the arm laser.  She should be better than this; 
things she would normally pick up in a heartbeat were escaping her.  
She flipped out of the way of the arm laser, then charged in with her 
own.  Three well-placed blasts, and another boomer was down for the 
count.

Her breathing heavy, she looked around.  Nene wasn't totally helpless 
when it came to combat... just almost helpless.  Nene's maneuvers were 
mainly defensive, enough to keep from getting hurt, but not enough to 
do anything to the boomer.

Well, she could fix that.  She ran toward Nene's boomer, expecting to 
get a free shot from behind...

"Shit!" The boomer's sensors were better than she thought.  Without 
even turning around, the boomer had aimed an arm laser at her; if she 
had been a split-second slower, it would have hit her in the chest.  As 
it was, it clipped her arm; she grimaced at the heat and pain, then 
growled.  This thing was going down.

The boomer started to turn toward her - a fatal mistake, as it turned 
out.  The boomer no longer considered Nene a primary threat, and turned 
away from her.  Priss grinned ferally as Nene clipped its neck with her 
laser.

Priss noticed the effect on her prey.  Instantly, power toward its 
right arm ceased, and its movements became erratic.   Priss dodged its 
left arm, moved toward the neck, inserted her arm cannon into the cut, 
open area of its neck, and fired.  The boomer's insides disintegrated, 
demolished by heat and the explosion of armaments and components.

She sighed.  Another job done.  No more boomers left; they could finish 
the job and be out of here.

"Thanks, Priss," she heard over the radio.

"No problem," Priss replied.  She looked over to the computer console, 
where Sylia was already working with a portable device.  Someone had 
asked them to perform a little Genom corporate espionage, or something; 
they wanted this information, and were willing to contract with the 
Knight Sabers to get it.

Within a minute, Sylia disconnected from the computer.  As she did, the 
computer itself began to smoke.  "Mission accomplished.  Let's go."

The exit from the lab was far less eventful than the entrance, as most 
of the resistance had already been destroyed.  Within a minute, the 
team was safely on board the jet, cruising toward home.

Priss pulled off her helmet, and began to look at her arm.  The armor 
had taken most of it; however, she could tell that she needed some 
minor medical help.

Sylia, of course, was already looking at it.  "Priss, get the hardsuit 
off.  It looks like you've got a cut, there."

Priss raised an eyebrow.  "Really?  I never would've guessed."  She 
pulled her hardsuit back into its case, and pulled herself out of it.

One look at the arm, and she winced.  Yeah, that was going to leave a 
mark.  Maybe she could cover it up with a bandanna or some leather, at 
least until it healed...

"Here.  Lie down," Sylia commanded.

"Damn, this hurts," Priss hissed as Sylia sprayed a disinfectant foam 
on the wound.

Sylia raised an eyebrow.  "Normally, you're faster than that.  What 
distracted you?"

"Wasn't expecting it, I guess," Priss replied.  "Boomer made a blind 
shot."

Sylia sighed.  "Well, be more careful in the future, ne?"

Priss nodded halfheartedly.  "Yeah.  Okay."

***

Priss gingerly pulled off her shirt, careful not to aggravate her 
injuries.  Almost reverently, she touched the bandages, curious as to 
how bad the wound beneath really was.  After a moment, she picked up 
her nightshirt and slipped it on.

She needed something to drink.  Alcohol was tempting, but tea was 
needed.  Her throat still felt a little raw after the concert, so some 
tea would be ideal.  Besides... if she had a drink tonight, she didn't 
know if she'd want to come back from it.

A few minutes later, she sat on her futon, a mug next to her.  She 
should probably go to bed, but she didn't feel like sleep, not yet.

Tonight was too close.  Tonight was only a flesh wound, but it could 
have easily been a lot more.  It wasn't the first injury, either.  If 
it wasn't for grafts, she'd probably be riddled with scars.  She was 
starting to wonder just how much flesh she had left to wound.

Which, she realized, was the problem.

There were only three ways her time with the Knight Sabers could end.  
She could walk away, ask Sylia if she could retire.  By some miracle, 
Genom could collapse in on itself and go into history.  Or - and this 
was the option that seemed most likely - that boomer could be a 
fraction of a second faster.

And, more and more, it was looking like she needed to walk away.  This 
was her sixth year in the maelstrom.  Leon had faced this, she knew; 
she'd been there while he pondered his future in ADPolice.  He'd known 
that he had to get out, but didn't really know how.

God, she missed Leon.

She didn't know how to get out, either.  Priscilla Asagiri was Priss 
was Saber Blue.  Was there a life for her beyond the Knight Sabers?  
She couldn't even imagine one anymore.  What else was she going to do - 
beat up on Genom stiffs for fun?

But she had to find a way out.  Ignoring what she was feeling was slow 
suicide - or, at the very least, going out with a bang.

She took a sip of her tea, and grimaced.  It was already getting cold.

Live or die.  Leon couldn't make it out.  And she didn't know if she 
could, either.  All she knew was that something - anything - had to 
change, or she wouldn't last much longer.

She set the remaining tea to the side, laid down on her futon, and 
stared up at the ceiling.  It was a long time before sleep came to her.

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

fin.

February 8, 2007


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