He expected to find his home warm and lively, with his girlfriend watching TV, reading, taking a bath or doing something else.  The lights were supposed to be on and there was supposed to be sound coming from somewhere, be it the TV, or pages turning, or water splashing; anything at all.

But, it was empty.  The feeling hadn't sunk in until that precise moment when he entered a completely dark condo, just the way he had left it.  Without really realizing the futility of his effort, he began searching around, slowly, expecting to find her in the tiniest corner of his home, alive and well as if nothing had happened.

In the meantime, Fred had opened a bottle of Raw-10 and split the drink into two glasses, dry.  When Kod came into his range, he shoved one of the glasses in his hand.

"Kod, have a cold one.  To Yowa.  She was a sweet girl and she loved life from beginning to end.  She hasn't died in vain, 'cause she did her job well, and we'll kick the ass of the motherfuckers who did this to her.  Bottoms up!"

The drink left the two with a slight euphoria.  Raw-10 was a strong and robust drink, Iist to the bone in its origins and taste.  This didn't make the experience any more enjoyable, but at least he cared a bit less.  As the alcohol entered their bloodstream, Fred began telling about how the old days were, and how they'd have fun between exercises at training camp, and the friendship they had cultivated over the years to lead to this solid and unbreakable union.  In the meantime, Kod grew quiet and reserved, the drink always making him feel like he has some rage to let out - a few times too many, he had before in his life told sentences that began with "There's something I've been meanin' to tell ya for a long time..."

Fred tried to distract him as much as he could but pouring the drink had been a mistake.  He didn't even realize it, and as he reached into the fridge, poured himself another glass and drank, he became louder and more talkative, and began remembering funny moment after funny moment, often bursting into laughter at the slightest hint of a strange or unusual situation.  Many times, he invited Kod to join him for dinner and a little more drinking 'cause it never hurt anybody, and Kod declined just as many times, partly because he didn't feel like going anywhere, and mostly because he would have been forced to endure Fred's giddy drivel until he sobered up or, more likely, until the end of dinner...

Eventually, there was no more to say.  Fred made a slow exit, still heavily under the influence of the drink, always trying to squeeze a little more talk.  In the end, the two said goodbye and see you tomorrow, and it was over.  As soon as Kod had closed the door, he had forgotten everything Fred had told him for the past hour.

He took a shower and changed clothes.  He didn't want to cook anything nor didn't he want to move and get out and go to a restaurant.  He looked for a box of canned soup and put that in the microwave.

Hopefully, he could find himself some distraction to waste the evening away.  He hoped he'd feel better tomorrow, that his blues would be gone and that he'd have the head to tackle the day head on and face the task he had at hand, and ponder whether he really wanted to go at it or not.  He vaguely remembered forging a resolve earlier today but the drink felt more potent than usual...  He just wanted to lay down somewhere and sleep for a million years, forget everything that had happened and wake up in a world where he wouldn't be surrounded by corruption and blackmailing!  Why was it so hard...  Where were the fruits of his hard work?  Where had his money gone?...  In the end, the stack of promotions felt more like a burden than anything else.  The only worry of a simple Unionized Mercenary was to follow instructions from his superiors.  In the meantime, the Division and Section Leads were supposed to go through piles and piles of applications, documents, projects, complaints, always having to review things the secretaries and the people downstairs weren't sure about.  Mercenaries got cuts and bruises while the Leads took care of the headaches.  Doing the former became a luxury for the latter.  Mercenaries became leader given permission.  Leads played the simple Mercenary given time.  No, wait, not time...  More like the willingness to go ahead and sign up on a job.  He realized he had spent increasingly shorter days at his office.  He was getting better at analyzing and making decisions, but whether the work took him just a morning or an entire day, he felt the same tiredness  the moment he left the building.

He blamed his rambling thoughts on the drink.  Again, he needed some distraction to waste the evening away.  His objective was to stop thinking.

He turned the TV on.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.  A frenzied android has caused the death of three technicians tonight at the New Colombus Third Engineering Office.  The three men were working on a heavily damaged android when, as a witness in another room reported, the android suddenly woke up and charged at the three men, slashing them with any object she came across until they were dead.  The witness is currently at the hospital for trauma treatment and is expected to make an official deposition at the police office tomorrow morning.

"Now, Cari, what else can you tell us about that scene, please?"

"Well, Garcis, the inside of the shop is in a mess right now, police investigating what they believe so far as to be a triple homicide without premeditation.  The technicians had not yet begun their analysis of the android, or at least hadn't gone far, since the report sheet the police found was blank and only contained the name of said technicians."

"What can you tell us about the android in question?"

"From security camera feeds, the police estimates the android to be about seven feet in height, with black simu-skin on the face, collarbone and back, with green arms and legs with silver trim.  She also has a green fan-shaped symbol on her back.  Anybody who may have information about the suspect is encouraged to call the number below.  Information that leads to the arrest of the suspect may be rewarded with up to one thousand Sterlings, and all calls are guaranteed to be confidential.  Back to you, Garcis."

"Thank you Cari.  Now, in Elenbakk, the Unionized Mercenaries Section Lead has issued a public statement encouraging the signing up of members to..."

He turned the TV off.  He really didn't feel all that well...

He realized the microwave had been beeping for the past few minutes.  He ate his soup in silence, watching outside, looking at the cars passing by below.

Several times, he went to the telephone with the intention of calling Nolla, or Reez, or Armi, or even that idiot Drekan...  But all four were still on jobs.  They weren't supposed to be back until tomorrow morning at least.

By the time he finished, the soup was cold.  He lingered at the window until the cars just made him think of Yowa's death again.  Everything around him reminded him of her death.  He wanted to watch TV, she liked to watch TV too.  He wanted to go to bed and she liked to cuddle him when they slept together.  He wanted to look for something else to eat and she liked to cook and help prepare the meal.  He had been with her for too long not to feel her absence.  Unlike most others at the Unionized Mercenaries, he had gotten used to her presence, to the point where he had become dependant...  And he thought he had trained himself not to get so involved, knowing it would hinder him in his profession.  It was common knowledge that loved pushed people to mistakes, so why had he done it?...

Love is love...  Nothing to understand.  And he didn't like things he didn't understand.  He hated to run around blindly without any proper objectives or goal to follow.  What good was love when it took work and dedication, and left him with less than he had before at the end?...

The phone rang.

"Hello..."

"Good evening; Mr. Kod Regoär Naïnsev?"

"Speaking..."

"This is Governor Carlest Taylor.  I am calling in reference to an android you own, serial number SHK9394-070."

"Sorry Governor, I don't own any android."

"Oh, but the file I'm looking at right now says otherwise.  Have you ever owned one?"

Kod scratched his head.  "I remember setting up a prank, back at college.  Dumb android was supposed to freak people out and then die by itself after a day or something..."

"And what happened to that android, Mr. Naïnsev?"

"Went haywire and ran off somewhere.  No idea where she ended up.  I didn't program her too fancily, I guess she ended up breaking herself apart on a lamp post.  Wasn't supposed to be autonomous..."

"Well, that doesn't matter anyway.  Your story matches the files I have, and in all legal terms, you still own this android."

"No kidding.  And what's your point?"

"Mr. Naïnsev, you know that as legal owner of the android, you haven't signed a release form to free her and thus still have her under your responsibility.  We have reason to believe that this same android is now looking to be a threat to my personal safety."

A long pause...

"Say what?!"

"The android you programmed during your college days has survived and became a suspected member of the Chips black market traders group.  The police has no concrete evidence yet but they're just waiting to get some.  And just tonight, she happened to have killed three men, unprovoked.  My informants tell me that I am her next target."

"That's bullshit, why would an android who hasn't heard your name except on TV have something against you?!"

"That's not up to me to know...  At any rate, since she isn't classed independent, responsibility falls on you."

"So that means when you guys fry her head, I get to pay the damages?"

"That's pretty much it, yes."

Kod leaned forward and scribbled a few notes.

"Okay, so let me get this straight.  I've had an impeccable track record with the Unionized Mercenaries since I signed up with them.  I served more than my share of work at the front fighting the Reli monsters.  I was a key operative in liberating Bunker Criss-Cross.  I went down headfirst and brought the army reports on how to tackle the area.  I gave you my tips, my opinions, my strategies, and what you guys do in return is shit in my hands and threaten to end my career because of a fuckin' piece of junk I bought before I even graduated from school?!"

"I find it wise to do that."  Carlest Taylor told bluntly.  "You've held up your reputation as a troublemaker and caused dissention at the board of advisors."

"So what if I want to bring about some change for once?  Maybe I feel like improving things a little?  Maybe I'd like to have a wife and kids, you know?  But I've been so busy with the UM sending my ass everywhere that I don't think I've even had the time to kiss anyone yet!  You think I wanna live my life forever like this?  As a little soldier on the map who does everyone else's bidding?!  I'm finally getting some rest here and the next thing I know, I'm supposed to start all over again, tell me what's wrong with this picture."

"What's wrong is that you have a problem to right up.  Failure to do so will result in demotion from your position and eviction from the United Mercenaries, which, I will recall, is under national jurisdiction.  Now go do your job."

Kod hung up before the Governor did.  In his rage, he had forgotten all about Yowa.  He'd vent himself on this forced job and prove to the board once and for all that he was untouchable.

He picked up his uniform and immediately drove back for the UM headquarters.

That pressure would be his adrenalin.  It was the feeling he was missing from his beginning as a Mercenary.  It was like being stuck in a pillbox bunker with the mission to hold on and wait for support to arrive in three, four, five, maybe ten or fifteen minutes.  Someone had to provoke him.  Someone had to get him on the defensive to prevent him from being too offensive.  The only way to keep him from going too far ahead was to forcibly hold him back.

Nothing could penetrate a well defended bunker.  Nothing could go through a barrage of shields and bolts.  As long as one was well prepared, all he had to do was look at where the enemy was and react accordingly.  He had moved too far this time, the enemy had sprung its trap all right.  But now that the enemy was pushing ahead, he was back in his comfort zone of sweeping away anything anybody might throw at him.  This time, he'd be the one laying the traps.  All he'd have to do would be to keep watch on what would be going on around him, at the comments and the impressions he would leave as he completed this job.  All he had to do was shut the trap of the Governor in person.  He was ready to do just that.

He was untouchable.

This new, important job would, as known by now, be the last he would ever do.

For the Department had planned its move well...

And the android in question turned out to be the more untouchable Project Syndrome: Shrike "The Shurikane" Naïnsev.