When Naoko and Smith stepped out onto the dingy city streets, they were immediately pelted with rain.

It was not the drizzly, polite, almost evanescent rain of Yamatai; instead, it was a generally confused downpour that bounced off of buildings, traveled through gutters, trapesed off of oddly-angled ceilings and some forgotten clothing lines, and then sort of coalesced into a generally down direction somewhere near the bottom when there was nothing more to interrupt it. The streets themselves were empty, populated at this hour of the night only by the homeless and the unlucky. They had the night to themselves.

Naoko, undaunted by the filthy deluge, pressed onward and Smith soon had trouble keeping up with the small woman. She ducked into alleyways and narrow lanes between buildings, only to come out into the wide streets, choose another direction in a seemingly random pattern just to duck into another blind alleyway. It was difficult to determine a pattern in the madness, but eventually Smith noticed the girl glancing up each and every single time. She was looking for traffic cameras. They were apparently mostly avoiding them.

Just as the rain was becomming intolerable and Smith was about to ask just where they were going, they were there. Naoko stopped abruptly in the shadow of a building and glared. Smith followed her attention, wiping water from his glasses.

'There' was the 47th Police Precinct Offices, on the corner of a busy intersection that was no longer quite so busy. There was a large glass window on the side, probably from some sort of bulletproof substance, where the officers of the law could peer out into traffic. The lights were on, the guards were there, but they did not appear to be paying much attention. At some point it had probably boasted a very offical-looking entry with several steps, in the old stone style, and a shield above the door, but it had been recently replaced with some sliding doors, a camera, and what looked like a metal dectector, which was not manned. It gave the old building a relatively patchwork look; the masonry around the new entryway was fresh and clean. The rest of the building, which was four stories, looked like it had been through too much acidic rain. Or possibly some sort of mad painter, drunk with insanity, had simply thrown a couple of barf-colored buckets at it in a fit of inebriated revelry. Or someone had pissed on it. Whatever.

Smith looked for a few seconds only; then he realized the small nekovalkyrja was watching him, her brown eyes calm but her raised eyebrows skeptical.

"It's time I told you what we were doing," she said in his mind, using his implants to bypass the sound of the rain. "We are about to raid a police station, break into a witness protection file using medical security codes, and then we will escape with what we find. I need you to be my initial distraction. The rest of it I can take care of, on my own, but I need time."

The wet hair clung to the woman's form; the slick bodysuit, the short wakizashi - probably zesu, recently acquired - belted behind her back, the submachine gun hugging tight in a sling over her chest. But for all that, for once Naoko was looking like a wet animal. Instead of contempt, Smith found only worry in her expression; at any point, now, he could sell her out. Naoko knew it. Her expression was hard but her eyes gave her away.

All it would take would be one single word to the police, and he could be rid of her completely.

"Can you buy me that time?"

The suit that Smith wore pushed down upon him like a great weight; the rain had at first merely skittered off it's surface, but had eventually penetrated the fibers and soaked the clothing. And it sucked up the rain like a sponge, adding pounds onto his pinstriped form. But, that wasn't the heaviest thing that was upon his shoulders at this moment. Fate. Her very fate was in his hands at this very moment! The object that saw fit to have past fears and terrors return to him; he could have it removed forever. Gone. And he'd be able to continue to send his earnings from the Phoenix back to his family in peace!

A nagging little voice at the edge of his consciousness pointed something out however. What would they think of him if they found out? They'd obviously despise him. And Screw the 'as long as they don't find out it's fine' bullshit! Smith had seen so many complete dumbasses quote this line before f*cking up for the last time that it was complete idiocy to do so. The voice, be it his conscience or logic...he hated, hated, hated, hated it at this moment.

There was only one thing to do.

Smith scowled as he looked upon the soggy, drenched Neko as a cold and clammy hand reached into his suit to draw out something with menace; the jar of hemosynth based facial cream. If it could even be called a 'cream'. Stepping out of sight of the police station, Smith removed his glasses and hat before applying the creamy yet elastic substance. He smeared it on at first, soon stretching it over his face as it solidified. By the time he was done, Smith's face had a hard, square look to it. Still scowling, he replaced his hat and now outwardly black tinted glasses before replying in a thick Abwehran accent.

"Affirmative."

"Affirmative."

That brought the briefest of smiles out of Naoko.

"I was going to rough you up to make it convincing," she said audibly, her soft voice nearly drowned by the rain, "But I see you have some other idea. Very well, then. Simply take their eyes off of the cameras, and I should be able to get in from the roof."

She stepped further into the darkness of the alleyway, crouched down as if she were stretching, and then vaulted halfway up onto an awning, disturbing the rainwater that had pooled there. From the awning, she lept to a windowsill, and without stopping or making a sound, she was suddenly gone into the confused jumble of stories upon stories that comprised the heart of Nepleslian civilization. The fact that a body - an outdated body, Smith would note - could move with such precision and grace, avoiding detection in the heart of a Nepleslian capital city without any apparent forethought or planning was food for consideration. If she could do such a thing, what could a focused group of them do? An army?

Silly thoughts; all you would have to do would be watch a documentary. There was no lack of them.

The NH-1 is a breakthrough in technology, a perfect gynoid...

The physical embodiment of Nepleslian law and order loomed before Smith like the yawning gates of some sort of Funky hell. The rain pattered on, drowning out the sounds of the city, blanketing everything in loud silence. Somewhere up above, Naoko was watching. Or was she already on the roof? There was no way to tell.

Water beaded off of his jacket.

Plit, plit.

And, out of the blue, she smiled at him. A genuine smile?

'This is going to be a long night.' Smith thought to himself. He quickly messaged her.


As the Neko vanished with undying grace, the former dealer reached out and felt for some info. It was practically free. After all, who really wanted the layout of a police station, let alone a NEPLESLIAN police station? Obviously someone who planned to gank the place, but considering the nature of the local in the first place, nobody expected a profit to be made, so said plans sold low originally. Add in digital piracy with an anonymous peer to peer file sharing protocol where torrents of information was exchanged per nano-second....well, bottom line, Smith got what he wanted.

A street camera observed a square looking, pinstriped fellow flagging down the black tinted car of a well known yet so far uncaught kaserine dealer. As usual, the window rolled down, and the customer quickly leaned in a little and seemed to talk to the person inside before receiving a small package.

As the window rolled down to reveal the 'woman' inside, Smith cold-cocked the illegal drug dealer and in a single smooth motion, made it look like he was actually leaning an elbow onto the door, hand reaching inside for something. With a grin with no heart in it to keep up the act, he reached inside 'her' shirt and pulled out a small package before pocketing it to keep up the masquerade. A few more 'exchanged words' and Smith climbed into the back of the car.

The same street camera watched as the car lifted off and away, while another saw the same car touch down not too far away and into a back alley, the bumper just barely in view. It bounced and shook.

Smith struggled to dump the unconscious 'woman' into a dumpster; with kaserine dealers, it was incredibly difficult to tell really. The kilogram packets of the loose powder chemical went into the front of the vehicle, jammed into the bumper and under the hood. As for the money, he pocketed that. He wanted to pipe it away towards the others back home, but with the risks getting higher, he needed better gear. He then climbed into the Origin made car and tinkered with it's systems before climbing out.

With an unblinking eye, the camera watched as the car sped off, 'business' concluded, the well dressed figure now left walking down the streets...

*****

A well dressed man of moderate height, square jaw and stoic expression came into the east entrance of the police station and walked up to the receptionist up front. "Hello. I'd like to report a kaserine dealing that occurred a short walk from here?" he asked the person up front.

"Name?" The woman asked him.

"Arndt Schwarzkopf, tourist." the thickly Abwehran accented man answered. Before either could go on though, a blaring horn followed by the entire station shaking with what sounded like a train wreak shattered the calm. A hovercar on autopilot going easily over 100 mph ramming into the southern entrance of a police station tended to do that. "I'll be ba-" Arndt was quickly cut off as another man came bursting through the doors leading to the southern entrance.

"Kaserine attack!" the man screamed in a womanly voice, a fine, misty dust following him in. Needless to say, everyone completely lost their shit and started running every which way; it was an attack on one's own manhood or womanhood. Who wouldn't fear such a thing?! Arndt seemingly panicked with the rest of the crowd, and ran deeper into the station.

In actuality, Smith was following the HUD his glasses provided, leading him straight for the camera room. Anyone who tried to stop him or ask what was going on, he'd scream in his loud and commanding pretend voice "Kaserine Attack!" Soon enough, he reached the room, and making sure nobody was around, dashed into the room and assaulted the surprised officer, slapping both his cupped hands over the ears before grabbing the stunner at the belt and shocking him into submission.

Smith then locked the door and briefly stood before the vast displays of live video feeds. With a deft hand, he pried a metal plate out with one of his knives before liberally applying the electric stun rod to the internals.

The cameras died.

For a while there was chaos.

In another part of the building, people missed the tinkle of breaking glass as a second story window imploded, followed by a thin, pinkish smoke. A dark figure stalked down the lit corridor, completely obvious, but observed only by blind cameras. As it walked, it counted doors. One-two. Three-four. It passed into another camera's line of vision unnoted, unchallenged.

Then, it disappeared again.

-*-*-*-*-

The radio on the belt of Smith's felled guard squaked with fervent activity. Somebody, somewhere, was trying to take control of the situation. For a few seconds it was just white noise, then it began to register.

"Man all security stations, man all security stations," was the specific phrase that caught Smith's attention. As the stations responded, one after the other, it became steadily clearer that although they had been taken by surprise, the building had several stories and not all of them had been affected by the panic. Somewhere, a Nepleslian SWAT team was manning up; the place bristled with guns and weaponry.

Gradually the ladylike screaming was making the transformation into ladylike bossing. Someone, somewhere, fired a weapon.

"Security room, respond."

And from here on out, it wasn't his show anymore. It was her's now. Smith didn't want anything to do with this at all from this point on, and even before the communications in the station started to squawk order, Smith started on his exit plan. Reaching into his coat pocket, he pulled out a small plastic wrapped amount of pre-measured kaserine. It was just enough to alter his vocal chords to make it appear as though he was a civilian caught in the attack. Smith snorted the faint smidgen of powder without hesitation. Finally, reached into his breast pocket and pulled out his handkerchief. He made sure to wipe away any of the excess drug, not that there was much at all, and put it to his face to appear as a civilian attempting to flee without inhaling any of the kaserine.

Smith knew that getting in was easy, and that getting out was the hard part from experience, but that didn't stop him from cursing the Neko for forcing him into a position where he had to make a hurriedly improvised plan where he stole a drug packed car from a dealer while making it look like he was likely innocent! And just likely! He didn't even have the time to make it look like he was completely innocent either!

Without wasting a beat, Smith carefully left the room, and after getting some safe distance, started coughing into the kerchief, leaving the way he came in. With luck, if he was confronted, he'd be able to say he got confused and was trying to backtrack through where he had fled.

With a woman's voice.

The firing from elsewhere increased; it sounded like someone had unleashed an automatic weapon, and the beast was running rampant through several rooms, destroying things.

The passageway lights flicked and died. In a second or two, blue flood lights replaced them, bathing the rooms in a visually awkward assortment of colored light and shadow. The inches passed by, one door after the other on the left or the right, just a few more meters closer to Smith's goal of freedom.

Then, a woman in a flak jacket burst out of the door to his left, the smoke from the open window openly competing with the rain pelting the outside - the analytical part of Smith's mind, as it was detached somewhat from the rest of him, dimly noted the fact that the rain would wash the kasarine into a much larger radius than just the police station - and nearly tripped over him.

"Freeze!" she said in a voice that cracked, just slightly. Her uniform didn't fit right. The pants were obviously too tight. The shirt was a bit small.

It registered that perhaps this was due to certain new anatomy additions.

As Smith made his way out, he couldn't help but be incredulous as to the gunfire. 'Why are they shooting!? There shouldn't be any shooting! Unless...unless another group's taken the chance to attack?' He wanted to swear under his breath, but his throat was itching from snorting the pre-measured bit of kaserine, and it'd just make it worse. 'Could it be members of a drug ring that dealer belonged to or something like that?' he wondered. Another burst of gunfire could be heard, too close for comfort. ''This isn't what I planned!'

As a door burst open, a woman's terrified scream could be heard. 'Damn! Would I really sound that...dainty if I were a woman?!' Thinking fast, Smith did the most logical thing. "Please don't hurt me!" he spoke in a particularly girly voice; even with the Abwehran accent, it sounded far too feminine for his taste. 'Please tell me I got the dosage correct.' He inwardly pleaded.

"I'm just trying to get away from the drugs!" he spoke, holding one hand up in the air, the other still keeping the kerchief upon his face. "The stoff came in and blocked the nearest way out!" Smith went on, voice cracking. Just before either of the two could so much as move, another door further back behind Smith burst open; a woman in purple pimp's clothing cuffed to a man in slutty dress came out in a panic.

"She's got a gun Clovis! What are we going to do?" the man started in surprise at seeing the flack jacketed figure.

"I don't know Brandi, I don't know!" the woman replied, fearful.

'Now, I've seen everything.'

The policewoman dithered, gun swiveling between the sudden appearance of not one, but three interesting, potentially criminal bodies. She was obviously frustrated.

But before she could act, several things happened at once.

The first and most immediately noticable change to their new battlefield was the addition of darkness - or rather, the subtraction of light. The trouble lights, which had been going strong a second or so ago, cut out with a series of electrical jolts that blew them out and sprinkled glass onto the ground like confetti. Probably the first thing through Smith's mind would be something like, 'This makes no sense', and that was certainly true - a moment ago the power had been holding just fine.

What also did not make sense was the sudden searchlight which blinded the four of them from somewhere down the hallway, and the soft whirr of energy weapons being charged. There was a blast of angry red light that caught the accedentally transvestite police woman on her shoulder, oblitherating it in a shower of blood that was felt more than seen. Some of it splattered. The woman screamed. The next round of light from the unseen attackers scythed through Smith and the comically dressed gang members, but not aggressively. The demon armors had cracked bright chemical lights and hung them from points on their chest pieces. They did a good job of illuminating Smith's predicament; three of the dark soldiers had rounded the far corner. The policewoman was clutching at her shoulder and sobbing pathetically. The drug dealers were staring in shock.

One of the demon armors stepped forward, crossed almost lethargically to the pair of drug dealers. It knocked them sprawling with the butt of its plasma rifle, and none too pleasantly. No love lost there.

"Don't kill them," came the electronically amplified command from somewhere back, one of the armor's companions, "They're not part of it."

Elsewhere, the fighting was dying down - the percussive rattle of gunfire replaced by the humming of more modern weaponry, some of it directly beside Smith's head as the talking demon approached him.

"Where is he?"

"What the hell are you talking about?" The police woman gasped for air. "Who the fuck!"

Suddenly, the police woman's body jerked, and she gave an inhuman howl of rage. She raised her gun.

The bullet pinged off the side of the Demon's helmet, causing his head to snap to the side. An answering blast of plasma came from the third armor. The police woman stopped struggling - in fact, she stopped existing in solid form. Something began digging its way out of her overheating chest and burst like a bubble, or some sort of oversized puss-filled balloon. The pop was sickening. Whatever it was died immediately.

The Demon in front of him touched the spiderwebbing crack in his helmet, then simply removed it, tossing it to the side.

He wasn't Nepleslian - He was too tall, his features too angular for that. Pale eyes. Scars. Cropped blond hair and a dusting of stubble over a hard set jaw. Then, Smith realized why he was looking so far up at the man.

The demons have wings.

They're Seraphs.

Irony.

"Where is Slavassar?" the Demon demanded again, "I know it has infected the police in this area. I expected the explosion and kasarine was some sort of cover, but it's left too many people alive."

The seraph's eyes were harder than diamonds.

"Now, where is it?"

As the lights went out, Smith automatically thought of one thing; how much he absolutely wanted to strangle the cat right now. Get his hands around her perfect little neck and simply squeeeeze her into silence. Why? Because something, something was not accounted for! She didn't let him account for everything! The half baked plan had worked, but only so far, and now!

He was caught with his pants down. Not literally of course, but it felt like it.

Smith and the pimp+prostitute duo were knocked down by the stun rounds fired into them like ninepins. He looked up just in time to see the unfortunate dirty pair get knocked down and out as they got up; his mind spinning, he didn't even quite register what the police woman was saying. But Smith did quickly sober up as she went berserk before being cooked alive, some sort of disgusting organism trying to emerge from her remains before itself dying. He could hear a woman give a howl of shocked disgust.

And, in typical fashion, realized it was himself, voice addled by kaserine.

As he looked at the mess in a dazed stupor, Smith's mind was in overdrive trying to piece together everything that happened. Gunfire for no good reason. Lights going out. Demon power armors storming the police station. A policewoman...man going insane. Some thing bursting out of the chest. 'damn it. Not again! It's like the Mishhu have a tentacle in ever oriface!' he guessed and lamented. Some things didn't change.

"We're just trying to get aut! Don't shoot!" he pleaded in his Abwehran accent, grouping himself with the two others the Seraphs themselves labeled as innocent.