Silent as a shadow
And wild as a storm
A tale of a girl with
The eyes of a snake

IS / Gaiden

July 25th

The golden-blonde schoolgirl ahead hadn't noticed him yet.

That's good, Roland Cousseran smiled quietly as tailed his target at a distance. It's all going to plan.

The target he stalked was the daughter of his boss and uncle. The Company's owner was a man of power and influence whom Roland wished to curry favour with. That girl of blonde locks and elegant bearing had disobeyed her father's command, revealing a secret the company would have rather kept silent.

She happened to also be an exceptionally talented pilot of the Infinite Stratos exoskeleton system, the reason she was here in this foreign land.

But still just a fifteen-year old girl.

It was simple, really. All he had to do was to walk up to the girl and confront her with news of her father's orders. Roland knew she was an obedient child-despite her wilfulness, she would not resist her family after all.

There were other complications that Cousseran did not care about. He'd heard family talk of 'solving the matter quietly', and did not think things through. If he brought this girl back, under the noses of the authorities of this east asian country, he would be highly regarded in the corporation. Regarded as a problem-solver by the rest of the family.

All he needed was to bring the girl home.

Easy enough task, he mused. The timing was perfect, and the opportunity was there.

That is, until he heard the ringing of his mobile phone.

What the hell? He stopped a second and opened up the device cautiously. "Oui?"

"Did you really think you could pick her off the street just like that, Messr. Roland Cousseran?" the firm voice of a woman spoke to him-in fluent French.

"Who is this?" Cousseran was flustered, but hid it well as he continued to stalk his quarry. The flow of people was steady, and he could still see the blonde girl ahead.

"Stop at that tree before you regret it."

Roland then froze. Yes, he was right next to a tree-the only tree on the pedestrian walk for yards.

How did she get this number? How does she know me? The girl he had been tailing was now almost out of sight. "What do you want?"

"Abducting an Infinite Stratos (IS) Academy student, and a country representative at that? It'll cause an even bigger incident than the one you're desperately trying to hush up." The voice almost seemed to chuckle. "Rather sloppy work, I might add."

He spun his head around, scanning for the source. There were not many passers-by, and not any of them were on a mobile phone. They were also all Japanese, and Cousseran doubted any of them could speak English, much less his native French.

"Tell Dunois Industry to give it up, Messr. Roland."

He tried bluffing. "How do you know I work for the company and not the French Government, little lady?"

Something like a wasp buzzed past Roland's ear and landed with a soft THUNK into the tree behind him.

"Because I'd like to assume the French Direction Générale de la Sécurité Extérieure isn't as stupid as you seem to imply."

Roland then realized the hot flush across his earlobe was from a razor-thin cut. Barely visible was the small throwing knife embedded into the tree's trunk. And still none of the passers-by seemed to even notice.

How the hell-? there were a few on their mobile phones walking to and fro, but none seemed to be the person he was speaking to. Much less the person who threw a knife at him just then.

"Seriously, Messr. Roland. You don't want to die here."

Roland grits his teeth, then caught sight of a woman on the walking bridge he had just passed half a minute before. She looked tall for a Japanese woman, wearing sharp business clothes and glasses. Even at this distance, Roland could feel her imperious glare as she spoke into the mobile phone she held.

"You wouldn't dare," he hissed, defiant despite the trembling fear building in him. How can she have thrown that tiny blade from that distance?

"This isn't France, Messr. Roland." The woman continued to speak on her end. "And while the Academy itself does not belong to any one nation, the surrounding area is Japanese territory and responsibility. You're already violating a few local laws just by being here."

"And what could a civil servant from a nation of pacifists do to me?" Roland sneered, trying to hide the anxiety from his voice. "If you're a police officer, all you can do is arrest me."

"Oho. Whoever said I was with the police?" The woman gave a most wicked grin as she reached into her shirt pocket.

That broke the man's nerve.

"I'll leave," Cousseran bit back the profanity and bile as he retreated from her sight. But don't think this is the last you've heard from me.

Oh lord, that was totally not my character at all.

Haruko finally relaxes as the man she'd been talking to on the phone had disappeared from sight. Removing her glasses, she bent forward, catching her breath-she'd been holding it all this time as she put up the act. Now, it was all she could do from letting her knees buckle.

"I am SO not a field operative."

"You could have had him talking for longer. I wanted to see him wet his pants."

A slender young girl with a baseball cap, jacket and pants approached her. At first glance, most wouldn't pick her as any more extraordinary than any other fifteen-year old girl. Her face was softly shaped, the youthful cheeks a direct contrast to the cold crease of her lips. Gloved hands toyed with a little throwing knife that she just as quickly hid with a flick of her wrist.

"Dammit, [Ren]!" Haruko gave her exasperated answer. "Next time, do this yourself! I can't take it!"

"I can't speak French. Also," [Ren] lifted the cap from her head and fanned herself with it. Black hair fell to her shoulders, framing a pretty face and a cool smile. "How many people ever take an innocent young girl seriously?"

Haruko sighed with defeat. The shock passed quickly as she stood.

Innocent? You? Behind that pretty baby face was one of the most wicked people she'd ever met. "Why did you use one of your knives on him, anyway? It was hard pretending that I planned that!"

"Knives are silent. No gunpowder residue. Retrievable." [Ren] turned to prop her back against the bridge railing. "Unless you've forgotten that Japan is still a gunless society, Miss intelligence expert."

"That's not what I meant!" Haruko shook her head and gave another exaggerated sigh. "I wish you wouldn't speak or act so bluntly. You didn't reallyhave to throw a knife at him, did you?"

"Nope." [Ren] just shrugs.

I can't deal with you, Haruko mentally gave up on the matter-for better or worse, their working relationship was like that. To ease her stress, she reached into her bag. The can of Blue Mountain coffee she had been reserving all day felt like a welcome treat at the end of such a tough job.

"You drink too much coffee," [Ren] quipped.

"Shut up. I thought our main mission was to watch Orimura?" Haruko pulled the can ring open and savoured the roast coffee scent. "Whether Dunois Industries tries to get their daughter back is none of our business."

"Dunois is part of Orimura's inner circle of friends," was [Ren]'s nonchalant reply. "For her to disappear suddenly would cause Orimura to overreact badly."

"Overreact? In what way?"

"That blockheaded idiot would break a large number of international laws to protect any one of those girls he knows." There was the hint of a pout on [Ren]'s lips as she said that. "Really, acting like a white knight in this day and age. It's not like they need his protection."

"[Ren]-san? You almost sound jealous."

"I've told you before, I don't like those girls." [Ren] leaned further back against the rail, watching the blue of the early summer sky. "It's nothing personal."

Oh boy, here we go again. Haruko felt like sinking. Once again, she'd opened up an opportunity for [Ren] to complain.

"Houki Shinonono has serious anger management issues. She's halfway near killed Orimura already on more than one occasion for little things as simple as a joke." [Ren] replaced the cap on her head. "Cecilia Alcott would be a lot more effective if you let most of the air out of that empty head of hers."

Your way of speaking is WAY too blunt, A grimacing Haruko keeps the thought to herself, but lets her partner continue.

"Laura Bodewig's exceptional skills in piloting an Infinite Stratos pale in comparison to her complete lack of common sense." [Ren] scoffed without taking her eyes off the opposite horizon. "And Fan Lin Yin? No chest. No self-control. No sex appeal. No chance in hell. Just my professional opinion."

That's plain old backbiting, and you know it! The grimace grew even wider as Haruko's face turned purple. "What about Charlotte Dunois?"

[Ren]'s lips disappear to a crease on her face.

"I had no idea she was female when she first transferred in."

"They sacked the entire French desk at Johohonbu because of that lapse in intel." Haruko took another swig of her canned coffee. She had been an analyst with the European desk of the Johohonbu-Japan's Defence Intelligence Headquarters-prior to her transfer to this assignment.

"Right. She even had me fooled. It didn't help that Orimura helped her cover it up for awhile as well," [Ren] massaged her forehead, as if feeling a headache. "Really, the government should have just locked that idiot up in a concrete box somewhere and thrown away the key. Save us all this trouble and serve that moron right."

That was so blunt you could beat someone to death with it! Haruko felt like collapsing. "Aren't you being just a little too harsh?"

"Orimura's surrounded by all kinds of troublesome people." [Ren] almost spat. "Monitoring him means keeping an eye over the rest of his group. If it means we meddle in Dunois Industries' affairs, then we might as well."

"But I'll admit, it would have been nice if that Dunois really was a boy," there was an almost wistful, dreamy look on Haruko's face-thoroughly out of place with her businesslike attire. "He would be the most adorable boy a girl would love to take home with her."

"Shut up. Act your age. She's not a pet dog."

"Eh? That's it? You really have nothing bad to say about Dunois, do you?" Haruko notes, then snickers mischievously. "O-ho-ho. Could it be that you alsofound her cute as a guy? Was there some attraction? Did you even have fantasies about 'him' when-?"

SNIK.

The bottom of the can of coffee spilled out, neatly cut open by a knife too fast to see.

Haruko let out a shrill wail.

"-My three hundred and twenty-nine yen Blue Mountain blend coffee!"

"Anger Management calls this 'a healthy venting of frustration'." [Ren] just walked off, an arrogant satisfied smirk on her face. "You drink too much coffee anyway. 'Ta."

Still holding the empty can, Haruko found herself staring at [Ren]'s back as she walked off.

God, why do I have to partner with such a difficult person?

July 1st

From today, I'm partnering with an awesome person.

Kokuto Haruko of the Johohonbu (Japan Defence Intelligence Headquarters) stood silently, in front of n apartment door unremarkable in the afternoon light. Her first true field assignment. The thought gave her chills, the realization of dreams and fantasies she'd had since high school.

An assignment that was critical not only to her home country, but the world as she knew it.

Infinite Stratos Academy. An educational organization dedicated to the training and development of pilots for the Infinite Stratos, or IS. The IS was the most sophisticated type of technology in the world, originally developed for space exploration but now used for both military and sporting purposes.

In a nutshell, it was probably the most important responsibility for Japan as a whole.

While the school itself was not privy to any one nation, it was located on Japanese soil. Thus, it was the Japanese government's duty to provide protection for all those enrolled there.

She calmed herself, then prepared to knock.

"Door's unlocked."

How did she-? Haruko blinked at the female voice from inside, and how she knew someone was there. That voice sounded a lot younger than I expected.

Slowly, she turned the knob. Opening the door, she cautiously peered inside. Making her first steps into the apartment, she noticed the room was barren of furniture or decoration, save a chair and table to which a computer was affixed. The computer was being used by a girl much younger than Haruko was, almost ignorant of her entry. Aside from the table and chair a plain bed sat, markedly unused in the far corner.

"I'm the replacement analyst sent by the Johohonbu (Defence Intelligence Headquarters), Kokuto Haruko reporting." A pause as she took in the details of the room and its sole inhabitant. "You're [Ren]?"

"You were expecting someone older." A cold fact, not a question.

That's an understatement. The girl before her did not turn to face her. She looked no older than fifteen at least-almost half Kokuto's age. Absolutely nothing like what was in her file, at first glance.

What Haruko had read of [Ren] seemed straight out of a mystery adventure novel. That [Ren] was a deep-cover investigative agent, with a talent for solving problems that other, older members of the Johohonbu were unable to make heads or tails of. That [Ren] had a strange knack for finding what couldn't be found. That [Ren], aggressive as she was, could make the impossible possible. That [Ren] was one of the legendary Koga or Iga ninja clans.

At the moment, Kokuto couldn't reconcile those stories with the baby-faced teenager in front of her.

"Uhm, can I ask a question?"

"Act your age. You're an adult, stop asking for permission to look stupid."

That was blunt! Haruko visibly recoiled at the words.

"Well?"

"Why am I here? Assigned to you, that is?"

"We have only two missions. First is to monitor Orimura Ichika and ensure nobody tries to kidnap or assassinate him." [Ren] almost seemed to recite this from memory-the boredom in her voice was striking. "Second is to uncover Shinonono Tabane's whereabouts and secure her if possible."

"No, that's not it. I know what our mission is," Haruko started to worry even more. "I mean: Why am I replacing the previous analyst assigned to you?"

"He was a pain." Not explaining anything, the girl was still focused on the monitor screen. Even as she cautiously stepped closer, the screen contents were still not visible to Kokuto's eyes. "You've read the dossiers?"

"Yes I have," Haruko coughed, fighting the temptation to ask about her predecessor further. "Orimura Ichika. 15 years-"

"Toss them. The information on those documents is static. Put together by some stupid cranky old mailroom clerk from Australia."

Only then did [Ren] look away from the screen, and Haruko shuddered when the girl's eyes met hers. It was like matching stares with a snake-it seemed that her eyes glowed, but Kokuto dismissed the thought as mere fearful imagination. Still, it was a look that was disturbing enough that Haruko made note not to look the girl directly in the eye when they spoke.

"I need your opinion. What are your thoughts on Orimura Ichika?"

"Ah?" Haruko, still avoiding [Ren]'s direct gaze, registered the question and answered. "He's cute."

[Ren]'s stone face raised one eyebrow.

"I mean, he is. Physically. And his behaviour is just so representative of old-fashioned chivalry. Like a white knight in shining armour-"

"STOP right there. That'll do." [Ren] looked back at the screen, wore a shrug, and then stood up. "Now that we're acquainted, I need to go."

"EHH? But I just got here!"

"Shut up. You're an analyst." [Ren] turned the chair around, and shoved it into Kokuto's floundering arms. "So, analyse."

"Do you have to be so blunt?" Haruko complained in a near-whine as she rescued the tossed chair.

"My job is to stop problems before they start. Patience is no virtue to me." [Ren] pulled a jacket off the floor, followed by a baseball cap. She donned both with casual efficiency. "Do your job and I'll do mine."

She's not an analyst or a hacker. Haruko swallowed, realizing the implications. [Ren] is a field operative.Aloud: "Why is someone as young as you involved?"

"It should be obvious. When tailing the target, someone of their age group is far less suspicious than an adult." [Ren] replies without truly answering the question. "There was even a plan to have me transfer into IS Academy at one point."

That makes sense." Why didn't they go ahead with that?"

"Simple," For the first time, she saw a bitter grin on [Ren]'s face. "I can't move an IS. At all."

July 25th

Damn that woman. Damn her.

Cousseran swore under his breath within the safety of his hotel room. There was a small bandage over the cut on his ear, an indignity that Roland had to bear with as he looked in the bathroom mirror.

A trick. It has to be.

Though he was shaken by the abruptness of the woman's interference, that fear was now subsiding. Roland was now rethinking his options, his chances of success. The expenses he'd taken just to fly into this country were bad enough. The amounts he'd invested to bribe local officials the other way were astronomical. There was no way he was leaving without Charlotte-either in tow or in the luggage if he had to.

It was his one shot at success in the company. The one chance at greatness that he was simply unable to turn down.

A moment passed as he considered his options, and with a wry smile he decided to go with the one that was most rash.

I'll need some backup.

He needed to make a few calls.

July 26th

The apartment had changed slightly in the days since they first met. Haruko insisted on something more human than a bed and a table. The bed was replaced with a bunk, and a reading table was added. The room still lacked the colour to be called a home, but it was definitely more than what it had.

Since the month's beginnings, Haruko had been working to keep her partner informed an occupied. While local police and the Academy's own teachers were primarily responsible for the visible security of the area, she and [Ren] were in charge of the behind-the-scenes work. It was quiet for the most part, but there were moments of sheer terror in between, such as a botched kidnapping attempt on Cecilia Alcott and sightings of Shinonono Tabane in the immediate area of IS Academy.

And now, this affair with Roland Cousseran.

"You think he'll try again?" [Ren] asked, even as she toyed with the paper-thin blade she was currently studying.

"Absolutely." Haruko nodded. "Roland Cousseran hasn't made any changes to his schedule here in Japan. And he's made a few encoded calls back to France. Johohonbu HQ is decrypting it right now, but I don't think he called to throw in the towel."

"So Messr Cousseran is too stupid to know when to quit?"

"More like far too greedy." Kokuto stretched backward in her chair-another improvement as she made a request for a proper ergonomic one to use. "He thinks that by taking back Charlotte Dunois he can help the company save face and get promoted."

"The revelation that Charlotte Dunois is female already blew up in Dunois Industries' face." [Ren] deftly flicked a wrist, and the paper-thin blade disappeared, hidden in one jacket sleeve. "Why the hell do they think they can cover it up now?"

"My guess? They want to use her as a scapegoat."

[Ren] was indifferent. "Explain."

Saying 'please' every once in a while won't kill you, you know! Haruko wore a look of distaste. "Nepotism. Dunois Industries is a family-owned company. No shareholders to influence company decisions or to threaten funding. Not unlike some asian corporate dynasties, actually. They tend to promote family members over more qualified outsiders. It also means non-family executives get axed first. That also means a lot of backstabbing involved. Keeping it all in the family."

A flick, three knives identical in shape, appeared in [Ren]'s hands.
"...and since Charlotte Dunois is an illegitimate daughter?"

A nod from Kokuto. "They can deny responsibility for the deception. If they physically bring Charlotte back, they can basically shift the blame to certain non-family individuals in the company-or at least family members they can afford to axe. Don't you think it was strange that according to record, the chairman of Dunois industries only met his daughter Charlotte twice?"

"He can categorically deny any involvement or knowledge." [Ren] hid the blades once again, making a white-knuckled fist. "It saves the main company and its CEO."

"While effectively cutting loose minor company executives." Haruko scratched the nape of her neck with a pen. "Cousseran isn't well liked by most of the Dunois clan, either. If he can bring his cousin back, he's practically guaranteed a promotion. They'd promote him just to shut him up."

"Cousseran is what? Second cousin, once removed, from Charlotte Dunois?"

"Third cousin, actually." Kokuto drew a yawn as she read the onscreen file in front of her. "A middle-manager in the company's arms and security division. Essentially the head of Dunois' security forces."

The cackle from [Ren] froze Haruko's blood cold.

"That idiot, in charge of Dunois Industries security? I'm surprised the company hasn't gone under already." A flick of [Ren]'s left hand opened up with a fan made of throwing darts. Her face turned instantly serious. "He can't even tell when someone with a knife is standing right next to him. How the hell can he be in charge of securing ANYTHING?"

"Blood is thicker than water." Haruko finally got over the chilling laugh. "It's a family thing, but I don't think storge love has anything to do with it."

"-Storge?"

"Obligatory love." Kokuto sighed. As if you'd understand the concept of love! "The kind of love associated between family members."

"Stop trying to make yourself sound smart."

No, I won't. I will not make fun of someone who can turn me into a pincushion. Haruko threw up her hands, giving up visibly. "You know, [Ren]? You and Charlotte Dunois are polar opposites. She's an absolute angel."

"And I'm the devil, right?" The wicked gleam in [Ren]'s eye gave Haruko a fiery cold chill. "I don't mind the comparison. It's not like I have any competition in that race."

"-are you actually taking that as a compliment?"

"Shut up."

July 28th

The whine of engines was muffled now, as the private Dunois Industries executive jet slowed to a crawl into the company's hangar at Tokyo International airport. The plane had just completed its third cross-country hop, officially stopping only to rest and refuel. The local airport's security and customs official was not easily bribed, but an amount in excess of seven digits could make most men bend.

It took five million Euros to make a man go on break for thirty minutes, Roland hissed. He hoped that the investment was worth it-it was hard enough shipping in 24 of his most trusted security personnel into the country. Harder still for said security to fly in with their personalized weaponry.

The jet opened up, and from it the faces of tall, hard-bitten men strode outward. Each one carried large duffel bags, a mixed crew of individuals. Some were clean-shaven and garbed in pragmatic polo shirts. Others were less presentable with tattoos and bare meaty shoulders. Still others looked like former soldiers, or like stereotypical Hollywood-movie mercenaries.

None of them looked even remotely French.

Two dozen of Dunois Industries' toughest security agents filed in to report to their boss.

"Sir." The largest of them looked as if he was freshly chiselled from stone.

Cousseran nodded, and gestured to his lackeys harshly. They were officially never here, the paperwork he'd filed indicated the security contingent was 'on a training exercise' twenty kilometres closer to the equator. Nowhere near Japan, much less IS Academy.

The squad filed quietly into the hangar and received their passports and orders. Slowly, they broke up into smaller groups, entering the airport separately as tourists, businessmen, and mere passers-by. To the crowds of the airport, they stirred no attention, just another large group of men passing through. In this day and age of women being superior to men, the mixed group from Dunois were ignored. Some casually, others intentionally.

All in all they flowed through unnoticed in crowds.

Little did they know their every move was watched.

Looking through the Johohonbu's secret feed-in from the airport's security cameras, Haruko sighed.

"-Where did these idiots learn about covert operations, an Arnold Schwarznegger movie?"

[Ren] was silent. Blank white screen.

It was so white it was black, in her mind. There was no colour.

Like the very first old movies, complete with the hiss and crackle of a projector spinning old film. Not even music, except for the sound of her voice in her own head.

She stared at a distant pair, a dark-haired girl with a ponytail walking to school with a boy her age. Her blood boiled.
"Why is he with you?"

"[Ren]?"

Another sight. The same boy, happily talking to another girl with long light-blonde hair and elegant demeanour.
"I met him first."

"[Ren]?"

The boy again, this time in argument with a girl shorter than he. The silver-grey hair swayed, but not in anger. Rather, the girl was amused.
"I saw him first."

"[Ren]?"

Again, the boy. Silently carrying a smaller, twin-ponytailed girl on his back with the greatest of care.
"He cared about me first."

"[Ren]?"

Finally, a sight of that boy walking away, with the hand of another girl in his. The girl, her warm smile making her golden blonde locks glow. That warmth only made [Ren] feel colder.
"If none of you existed, I would have a chance."

"[Ren]?"

"He should have fallen for me first."

Then she was alone. In a field of long, bladelike grass. The purple-red skies moaned overhead. The silence, the colours, and the field seemed as if she were all alone in world made up of swords.

A bite of pain, like a thousand needles into her right arm. She looked at six lines drawn in blood on her arm's skin. An inescapable reminder of who she was.
"It's just not fair."

"[Ren]? [Ren]?"

July 29th

[Ren] woke up, eyes opening to the sight of her right arm raised. She never even realized that she had been asleep, much less dreaming.

"Are you awake yet?"

"Shut up, Haruko." [Ren] ran a palm through her scalp, slowly shaking sleep from her eyes. The dream was not new. Garbled, but not new. The memories of a past, re-filmed for her now older-mind to process.

For a long while [Ren] observed the tattoo on her arm, marking the lineage of her family. A red mark, Six lines. Three straight and three broken. The symbol for both 'water' and 'fire', representing the 63rd hexagram of the I-Ching. An unwritten word that meant two opposite yet identical ideals working in perfect harmony.

The mark of her family.

"I swear, you looked dead. You don't move at all when you sleep." There was a look of restrained mockery on Haruko's face. "Don't you ever dream?"

"Shut up."

[Ren] rose to a sitting position. One of the many reasons she wore a jacket was to hide that symbol. It was not something that meant anything to ordinary people, but still was a mark [Ren] did not wish to advertise.

"Cousseran looks like he's about to make his move." Kokuto turned the computer monitor so that [Ren] could see. Onscreen a couple of video feeds were seen. Inside a warehouse of sorts, an old machine factory now populated with terrible, threatening men with weapons. "He's actually going to try and take Charlotte Dunois from IS Academy by force."

"As expected of a complete idiot and his stooges."

Can you not sound so confident? They have GUNS! Haruko involuntarily started knocking her head in vexation. "I'll call Johohonbu HQ to action this."

"They won't make it in time. Too much bureaucracy."

"Look, conventional weaponry can't even deal with a first-generation IS unless it's an all-out war of attrition. Fighting mercenaries is not our job." Haruko obliged her partner. "Our job is covert counter-intelligence and protecting Orimura. Leave the slugfests to the actual fighters."

"Remember what I said about Orimura being an idiot?" [Ren] began, and did not stop to let it sink in. "With or without his IS, he'll try to interfere. And even if successful, it's going to be a mess dealing with two dozen armed and trained security personnel. There's more students in that school without access to an IS exoskeleton than with."

Haruko did not like where this was heading. "True, but-"

"And if one of Dunois armed security even sets foot inside the Academy itself, it'll be a public relations nightmare for Japan as well, right? We'll be criticized for not ensuring the safety of students in the academy-foreign national representatives at that. I don't think even the Prime Minister would appreciate that."

The analyst stopped dead silent.

"All we need to do is stop them from setting foot in IS Academy," [Ren] stood up, picking her jacket off the floor. There was a tinkling of metal heard as she put it on. "It's something I can do easily."

"Don't be so arrogant." A genuine look of worry spread across Haruko's face. "You've never had to fight that many armed men before."

"You mean you haven't seen me fight that many armed men before."

Times like this, I don't know if you're just that confident or utterly insane. Yes, I'll go with insane. Haruko rolled her eyes. "Next you'll be telling me that you're a one-woman army."

"A man with a knife can beat an army with guns given the right environment and situation." Jacket on, [Ren] then wore her trademark baseball cap. "The situation and place are ideal."

"Hold on. You're not going to just walk in on that factory shed IN BROAD DAYLIGHT and confront them?"

"No. I'll wait 'til night falls."

"Eh." Kokuto debated reasoning with [Ren]. Not like the younger girl ever listened.

"Go ahead." [Ren] almost seemed to goad her. "Tell me it's suicidal."

"-It's suicidal."

"Shut up."

WHY DO YOU EVEN ASK ME THAT, THEN? The stress was just about to kill Haruko on the spot. If you go get killed, I swear it's not my fault. I'll send that declaration in writing to HQ.

"Tell me what the opposition's like."

"What's to tell?" Kokuto swore her hair was turning grey every time she spoke to [Ren]. "Cousseran's security forces are all hired from different sources. Some are mercenaries, some ex-soldiers, even some ex-convicts. All of them proficient with firearms and-"

"Easy pickings."

Are you some kind of overpowered videogame hacked character?

"Stop that. That exasperated face makes you look even more stupid." [Ren] checked the weight of her jacket. A gentle twist of her wrist allowed the edge of a long japanese blade to slide out. "If they were actually capable soldiers, they would be generals by now. Not mercenaries."

I don't know where your logic comes from, but I don't think that's quite right."You're absolutely certain you can handle this?"

Another twist, and the blade hid itself once more. "Easily."

[Ren] turned, about to walk out.

"[Ren]? Before you go."

She turned to see Haruko toss a tied object, one she caught easily in her hand.

"Compliments of the Johohonbu."

[Ren] frowned, looking at the tiny earpiece and microphone. The little mike was designed like a ribbon, making it appear like a fashion accessory rather than a device. "And what this is?"

"I made a request for an auto-translator. It's basically a miniaturized version of the type used on the IS. This way your speech is immediately translated to anyone with an IS or wearing a similar translator."

"And why would I need that?" [Ren] suddenly fixed her gaze on Kokuto, making the latter cringe. "Ah, I get it. You were too scared to try speaking to Cousseran again."

You bet I don't want to have a target painted on my head while you sneak around causing havoc! Haruko was livid, trembling with equal amounts dread and rage. "Do what you want!"

"I will. Thanks for the gift."

[Ren] put the earpiece in one ear. She then bound the ribbon like microphone around her throat, marvelling at how light it was. As the door closed, Haruko swore that [Ren] was giggling. A terrible, bone-chilling little laugh.

In spite of the summer weather, the old factory felt cold. The men within wore grim looks, hinting at the violence they could unleash if asked. A day's rest was all they needed, not one of them was weary any longer from the long flight across the world.

The men silently checked their weaponry-all imported, as Japan restricted the import of firearms. Each weapon was chosen more for their appearance rather than their utility. The mission, if done right, would involve not a shot fired.

Cousseran smiled as he reviewed the floor plans on his notepad. The tiny digital assistant projected a skeleton image of IS Academy into the dark, dank air for the assembled team of men to see. The information was, to Roland's knowledge, accurate. He'd already gone through the plan repeatedly, drilled it into the silent heads of his 24 men. Speed, shock and awe were his allies in this operation.

Roland was no idiot. If any of the teachers or students managed to get hold of an IS, his men were done for. This plan all hinged on getting to Charlotte Dunois first, and basically getting her to come with them willingly.

She would never refuse, he smiled. The plot was audacious, but would work. In the period of time he waited for his men to fly in, three separate times he'd verified which dorm room his target would be. She was alone, as the revelation of her true gender caused her to be moved to a room separate to Orimura Ichika. In a few days, she would be paired with another roommate-a complication Roland did not want or need. Then, the time is now.

"Have you all reviewed the plan?"

"This is a lot of firepower for one little girl, sir." The stone-chiselled face of the team's leader spoke in the thick, blunt accent of the germans.

The scoffs and laughter from the others were clear and crisp.

"Erich, always a joker." Roland did not seem offended by the laughter in the least. "Don't forget that IS Academy has a large concentration of pilots for the IS system. The teachers are highly trained and proficient in IS combat tactics."

"IS combat tactics." The harsh voice of another, punctuated by a Russian accent. "Not close quarters urban combat."

"Correct, Mischa." Cousseran then regarded the russian security man. "We move into their weak spot. If we catch them with their panties down, be in there and out, there should be no problems."

"Any more questions?"

"Ayuh." The speaker had a slow country american accent, made all the more striking for his unkempt beard and Harley-Davidson tattoos. Clearly much older than the rest of the team, he had a self-satisfied smirk across his large face. "Can we take a couple of the other girls home?"

Laughter erupted.

A middle-eastern looking man then spoke up louder than the rest. "Only if you have extra space in your gun case, Bubba my friend!" Even more laughter.

"Go frag yourself, Malaak. I'll cut her arms and legs off. I don't want them to struggle much when I take them to bed." The man nicknamed Bubba drew out a wicked-looking bowie knife, and casually scratched his chin with it. "Damn this day and age. Women don't know their place anymore!"

The other team members nodded.

"One of the times I actually agree with our stateside friend," said another with a british cockney accent. "Reason for my bloody divorce, it was."

"Screw divorce, Neville!" A spanish man in the far end, youngest of the group. "It's everywhere. Everything. All of a sudden we men don't get no respect anymore. I say: Screw the IS. Screw the Academy. Let's just take whatever we want in that place and go!"

"Bubba. Malaak. Fernando. No." Cousseran shook his head. "If we take anyone other than our target, every nation in the world will hunt us down all the way back to France. "

"Yes sir," chastised, Malaak apologised profusely. "We were just speaking our mind."

Bubba simply crossed his arms and spat.

"Yah. I get it. I get it." Fernando sat down in the back. He made a small sneezing noise, then remained silent.

The team was silent. Not in shock, but the truth that they were all thinking this same thought. They were old-school men, who prided themselves on being men in professions of violence. In olden times, they would be feared, valued, respected. In times even older than that, they could live like kings.

It was the Infinite Stratos exoskeleton, and only the existence of it, that made them a dying breed. Ever since the introduction of the women-only IS, their status had been reduced. A young woman in an armoured suit could do what took whole armies to accomplish. There simply was little need for male brute force and muscle.

None of them took this well.

Certainly, IS pilots were highly trained and physically adept. But without the IS itself, most of the pilots couldn't hold a candle to Roland's mercenaries in sheer strength and combat proficiency. All that strength, prowess, and firepower was solely due to the IS technology.

Men still made up the bulk of armies, but it was the women who led, and fought. All other things being fair, the men were still better than women in combat. If not for the existence of IS.

The mission was all business, but the act of invading such a stronghold was personal.

"We stick with our plan. This is far too risky an operation for us to take it casually like Bosnia and Somalia." Cousseran fixed a glare at his men. "At the very least, take pride in knowing: you invaded IS Academy and left scot-free. That should something worth bragging about."

"It'll do for now," Neville the english shrugged.

"Good." Roland folded his laptop closed. "Are we ready to move?"

All twenty-three men nodded in unison.

Wait. Cousseran frowned. Twenty-three?

"Where'd Fernando go off to?"

[Ren] quietly shut the lid on the large oil drum. In almost every group, there would be a straggler. One so far from the main team that he was easily dealt with without the rest of that group being alerted. Usually less disciplined and alert than the rest. The hot-headed spanish man had been her first target, and [Ren] had no trouble knocking him unconscious and dragging the body away.

A voice from inside the building seemed to call the missing man's name. [Ren] smiled. They were at least more alert than most opponents she had faced. A challenge, for once.

Doing the math in her head, [Ren] figured he would have to cut the numbers down a bit before confronting them openly. IF she whittled them down to six, there would be no trouble.

Melting away from the drum, she snuck back inside. A girl with a slim body had no trouble moving through gaps that grown men would not imagine passing. There was a mild tinkle of metal on metal as the jacket brushed against the edges of the wall, but [Ren] was unconcerned. The noise of all the security men stomping about easily masked the sounds of her passing.

Though it would have been easier had she not been wearing he jacket, her chosen clothing had more merits than faults. One of them being the main reason she wore jackets.

Lots of comfortable places to carry blades in.

Their guns were drawn, fully-customized assault rifles and submachine guns in hand.

Pistol in hand, Cousseran stood in the centre of a wall made up of his best men. Fernando's gear and weapons were untouched where he sat down, but the outspoken spaniard was nowhere to be found.

It couldn't be that woman, could it? Roland grit his teeth in denial. And yet his spine tensed, hairs on the back of his neck standing on end in white-hot fear. Yet it could not be the police-Japanese cops were ridiculously unarmed and sticklers for procedure. There was no way the local or even national police could simply creep up on them unnoticed. Still, it can't possibly be.

For three agonizing minutes, the only movement and sound was of the troops warily looking for targets.

"Maybe it was nothing?" Mischa was the first to speak.

"Maybe Fernando's just being quiet?" Malaak responded.

"Really. Fernando and quiet?" Bubba responded. "Heads on a swivel."

-CLINK

Every weapon swivelled to aim at the sound, but did not fire.

"Hmmm." [Ren] whispered to herself. The security men were more disciplined than she had initially thought. She was gambling on the troops firing at the metal screw she'd thrown to buy her time to attack, but it was bait they did not fall for.

Still, it was entirely within line of her expectations.

Slowly, she slid between the rust-darkened walls and cabinets littering the building. She could not make any overt move just yet, as the sheer firepower at this point would stop her. Had they been unarmed, [Ren] would have been confident in taking them all on at once.

The security men were open, direct combatants, much like Samurai. Highly trained, exceptionally gifted, and utterly incapable of adapting to the changing battlefield when their rules of engagement fail.

"I should turn up the pressure, then."

Haruko had been silent since [Ren] left the apartment. At first it was due to the cold terror of the girl's laugh. Now, it was due to deep thought. Despite the sarcastic banter between them, she had grown attached to the abrasive [Ren].

Concerned? Inwardly, she scoffed at the thought. For such an unlikable girl?

It was a lie, as she knew.

Her true mission aside from supporting [Ren] in her duties, was more subtle. Though she approached it with all the guile of an ingénue, Haruko was far from the quirky innocent facade she put up. Despite the questions, she knew quite well what happened to her predecessor-a man who didn't know when to shut up.

She was both analyst and observer. Not only of computer data, but of people she worked with. It was far from a talent, but enough for her to subtly try to deduce the inner workings of other peoples' minds. Most people were easy; the harder they tried to hide their true selves, the more it stood out. Men were a lot easier to read than women in this respect. Those who had worked in an intelligence agency were more practiced at it.

[Ren], though, Haruko found quite difficult. On the one hand the girl presented herself as a complete sociopath. But on the other hand, there was much more hidden. As if the surface personality were just snakeskin, shed for the serpent's survival and benefit. Haruko still did not know [Ren] as well as she thought, figuring she would slowly peel away the layers of that blunt personality.

After Kokuto found out [Ren]'s true name, she became ever more convinced the sociopathic side was just a horribly well-preserved act.

In a way, this supports her. More than she'll know.

Her phone rang. With casual efficiency that she would never show her current partner, Haruko answered the phone in a voice as cold as the one she'd projected to Roland Cousseran not a few days back.

"It's Kokuto. She's taken action, sir."

The whispered, garbled voice on the line was a scrambled and inhuman mix. Kokuto knew that no one on the other end truly spoke-the synthesized voice was the result of a typed response to her reports. A speech machine basically read the sent message with emotionless precision. By this, her bosses would face little risk in being identified by their voices.

"Yes sir. I disagree with the method, but not the principle."

More electronic speech. It was hard to discern what her superiors were thinking, as the machine voice had only a flat monotone. Without the subtle pauses and emotional cues of true human conversation, Kokuto could only guess at the plans Johohonbu HQ were working through.

"-clean up afterwards? No sir, it's not a problem."

Taking a breath, Haruko listened to the spiel. In her mind, she wanted to picture her bosses' face, but could not. Never once in her career had she met the superior who now wrote her orders.

A blink, at the oddest question she'd been asked. "I didn't make an order for five morphine styrettes, no sir."

Silence for a time. Then one last firm command.

"I understand, sir." In truth, she didn't.

Acknowledgement, and the line went dead.

Putting down her phone, Haruko knocked back in the chair. Twilight was now approaching, and knowing [Ren], she figured the girl was either starting her game with the security men or already in full swing.

The chair fell back on the floor with a thud, Haruko with it. But she did not complain or whine, unlike how she would if [Ren] were around.

Staring up at the ceiling. Thinking about her life, her orders, and working with a most strange, frightening, and yet twistedly admirable young girl. Kokuto decided to just lie there and sleep.

I probably should have been a teacher. Normal teenage kids don't go around throwing knives and swords at people.

"Over there." Neville whispered harshly as he pointed his rifle toward the source. For the briefest of moments, he would have sworn he'd heard the tittering whisper of a young girl.

"Don't spread too far," Roland warned. "They might be trying to split us up or spring a trap."

The Englishman nodded, and three others from the group joined him in a boxed-in formation. Each man held their weapon at a different angle, Neville in front, one man at each side, and the fourth man behind covering their back.

The main group held their ground, a porcupine with spikes raised against all attack. Caution turned the air heavy with breath. All eyes were on Neville's party as it drew closer to the corner.

In one swift movement, the team of four rounded the corner.

"Nothing, blast it." The Englishman's voice was terse with built-up stress. There was relief in the other mens' voices, but no joy.

"Nev, this is ree-dock-you-lous." One team member in an exaggerated accent. "We're just paranoid, and Fernando's probably taking a poop somewhere."

Neville did not respond, as his nerves were still on edge.

His three teammates were now visibly relaxing, as the beep of his radio earpiece called his attention.

"Neville here." Turning away from his three teammates, Neville made sure his gun was always pointed in the same direction of his sight. "No sign of anything."

"Hyuu huu huu huu huu~~"

"Stop being a retarded dolt." Angrily, the Englishman turned to confront his one remaining teammate. "What if-"

One.

The chills along Neville's back worsened, as he noticed the remaining man giggling uncontrollably. On the other man's face was the biggest, stupidest drooling grin ever seen. The blubbering smile could only mutter one word.

"Heh. Heheh. Rhee-dhock-you-loous."

Punctuated by the dull THUD of a straight body hitting the floor.

"Morphine styrette." Neville managed to blurt out as he saw the small needlepoint sticking out of the man's neck. He'd seen American Special Forces use the things-normally reserved as fast-acting tranquilizers for heavily injured troops, the styrettes were a favourite of those who needed to knock out a victim quickly and quietly without having to resort to outright violence.

They were also drugs, highly restricted items that no japanese citizen or even the police force would have access to. It was strictly military or intelligence services use.

AT the very least, the man in front of him would be out for four hours. Of the two others he could see no trace.

"Mister Cousseran, we have a problem." Neville brought his rifle up from the hip to his face, ensuring everything he looked at was through the sights of his weapon. "Cousseran?"

He then stopped once more, as he realised there was no static in his headset. As if his radio was dead. Looking down, the first thing he saw was the connecting wire to his radio-Cleanly cut by a blade.

The next thing he saw was his rifle's ammo magazine was missing.

Before Neville's brain could absorb all that was happening, he felt a solid blow to his stomach-forcing him to lose any breath he could use to scream. Then his nose was broken. And after that, his jaw. He couldn't see his attacker, a small form too fast for him to catch up to. The close quarters were in the attacker's favour, as it was less of strength and more the angles which gave the blows their devastating effect.

As his body was peppered by rapid-fire pain, Neville's brain had its own funny thought. Why didn't they use the morphine? It'd make this experience a tad more pleasant-

Everything went black long before the englishman's arm was snapped at the elbow.

"What the hell is taking him so long?"

Cousseran was already wiping the cold sweat from his forehead. There was no gunfire, no sounds of scuffle. And yet Neville and his team rounded the corner ahead and didn't come back.

"You don't think it could be an IS, could it?" Mischa offered, almost meekly.

The IS Exoframe was indeed capable of limited stealth.

"The factory is too small," replied Erich. "No way something like an IS could move around and not make noise."

"Okay." Bubba grunted. "So what the hell do we do now?"

A sudden clatter of plastic and electronics on the floor grabbed their attention. Guns pointed at the source.

On the floor was Neville's radio, impaled by a small pocket-knife.

Erich, his chiselled face looking more gaunt as he looked at the radio-sans Neville and the other three. "Spread out."

"Are you insane?" Cousseran moved to veto his second in command. "We still have an operation to fulfil."

"Whoever it is has no plans of letting us go."

[Ren] finally finished chaining up the three thoroughly stoned on morphine security troops, all of them stupidly happy in their sleep. They were the weakest links, not important outside of the numbers they possessed. Of the group, [Ren] needed only focus on the intelligent, dangerous ones.

Such as the bloodied and broken brit all over the floor. [Ren] could not risk the man recovering anytime soon, and fracturing his limbs was the fastest way to do so. Neville was still breathing, if shallowly. Both his elbows and wrists were broken, knees shattered. One shinbone was jutting out of his pants leg. It was a sight that would make most other girls [Ren]'s age go sick with shock.

She thought no more of him, making a mental note that such force was sufficient to shatter a fully-grown man without killing him.

[Ren] then frowned at her situation. She'd already used four of the five styrettes. It was the fastest and quietest method of eliminating the spanish man and the three goons. The original plan was to eliminate the security contingent and stick a styrette into Cousseran. Unconscious, he would have been easy to deliver to HQ if they wanted.

Now, however, the Dunois security team was changing their tactics. They were breaking up into smaller teams-eight two-man teams, and another pair guarding Cousseran himself. [Ren] had to move up her plan a lot faster to keep her lead over the men.

It would have been easier to kill them, but [Ren] loved the challenge.

"Jesus, it's Neville."

The american dropped to one knee, inspecting his fallen comrade. There was a shallow but regular breathing that told him Neville was still alive. If barely.

"What the hell did this to him?"

"Maybe it is an IS." On the radio, Mischa sounded a little more agitated than earlier. "Maybe someone here with a partly-deployed one?"

"It don't make sense. If whoever it is has an IS, they'd have just blown this whole place sky-high." Scratching one beefy arm as he gently pulled Neville off the floor, Bubba and his teammate placed the englishman in a sitting position. "But at least we know they ain't trying to kill us."

"How are you sure?" Cousseran demanded on another link.

"Oh, I'm pretty darn sure." Three utterly stoned men chained together hung from a rafter above. Bubba just couldn't believe it-they were alive and unconscious, and probably having crazy dreams from the look on their faces. But alive. "Why, I don't know."

Leading the way, Bubba motioned for his partner to follow. The man responded with a concerned "urgh", which Bubba did not think much of.

"You guys are real chickens." The american thought aloud. He hadn't taken more than two steps when he saw another figure appear ahead. "Who's there?"

It was a girl who made no threatening moves, dressed in civilian garb and almost casually standing there in wait as Bubba approached for a better look. Her smile was ice cold as she raised her right arm for him to see. Clear as day, the red tattoo rode bare on her skin as she rolled one sleeve up.

"What did you find?" Cousseran's voice through the radio was growing more distraught each second.

"Some girl with a tattoo on her arm." Bubba reported. Japanese, from his best guess. And quite pretty, the type Bubba would love to see in a few years grown up. Then his more sensible mind prevailed, but he still couldn't resolve the damage done to Neville and this little spirit of a girl. But the eyes-something about those eyes were frighteningly cold. "Who the hell are you, missy?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" [Ren] replied.

"I ain't got time for fun and games, little missy." Bubba was starting to feel his trigger finger itch as he cautiously approached her. "If you're the one that did that to Neville-"

"Who else do you think did it?"

"Like hell. Where's your IS?"

[Ren] shrugged. "Don't have one."

"Like I said: LIKE HELL. No way a person can mess up a body that bad without using an exoskeleton. Sure as hell not a little girl like you!" Casting a sideways glance, Bubba realized the man behind him was lying on the floor. Looking back at the girl's cold smile, Bubba started to grow angry-a defence mechanism, as he had been trained to replace fear with anger in combat. "Where's your partner?"

"Just me. No one else."

"LIKE HELL!" Bubba's voice echoed, drawing everyone's attention. Livid with rage, Bubba made the mistake of grabbing the girl's arm.

There was a flash of movement as the arm slipped from his grasp. Bubba's sentence became a gurgle as his voice box was hit by a tiny needle. Coughing, the big american's eyes almost popped out as he realized a morphine styrette was stuck in his neck.

[Ren] smirked. "You're not much of a threat, anyway."

"Where'd you hiiii-" THUD.

There wasn't much time as [Ren] bent down, reaching for the grenades the american security man wore on his vest. All of them were cylindrical-smoke, flashbang, tear gas grenades. One canister grenade in particular labelled 'WP', drew a wicked smile from her as she pocketed it. As well as the large bowie knife strapped to Bubba's belt.

[Ren] then pulled the pin on two of the other grenades, and shoved them under Bubba's body. It would be a nasty surprise to whomever lifted their comrade to look-and since she hadn't tried the trick on the englishman, they would never see it coming.

Quickly, she slipped back into the shadows. It was always constant in her thoughts, the logic of strategy versus the thrill of tactics. Some days she played completely safe and pragmatic in her approach. Other days it was based purely spur of the moment excitement.

To be as unpredictable as possible, that was her strength.

To be unpredictable, that was a woman's divine right.

Unlike the security men and their textbook discipline and tactics.

"Too predictable."

Hearing Bubba's angered roar, Malaak and his teammate were first on the scene. Not long after, other members of the security squad arrived, observing the grisly but still breathing form of the englishman and the oddly uninjured form of the american lying face down on the floor like a wood plank.

"There's more than one." One of the men wiped the cold sweat from his brow. "Definitely more than one."

"Then we might as well cut out losses and leave." Malaak suggested. "This place is a death-trap."

"But nobody's been killed yet."

"You REALLY want to stay and prove it?" Malaak shot back, then allowed himself to relax before reporting to the main group. "Mister Cousseran, I've found our friend Bubba on the floor. To use a Hollywood phrase: I say we nuke the site from orbit."

"Leave the body." Erich's command caused the other men to pause. "Change of plans, stick together and cover all angles-"

"Idiots. IDIOTS." Roland countermanded through the radio. "Stay where you are, we'll join up and take the wounded. Afterwards, we'll just torch the place with our WP grenades."

"Roger." Malaak never really liked the american, with his arrogance and odious hygiene problems. And loud voice. So when nobody was looking, he kicked the body.

Two familiar cylindrical objects rolled out. Malaak recognized the blue stripe of a stun grenade next to the yellow of a smoke grenade.

Immediately, he dove to throw the grenades away, but-

BAKOOOM

"What the hell was THAT?" was Roland's unprofessional exclamation. He was flanked by Erich and Mischa when the shock hit them, knocking themselves to the floor with a deafening echo.

"Using our own plan against us." Erich responded before losing sight of his boss in the smoke. That smoke thickened greatly, like a Hollywood fog obscuring all from view. In the dim corridors of the building it spread quickly, and most of the men started panicking at the obstruction of their sight.

The explosion was in the general direction of where Bubba and Neville had been, and Malaak not a second earlier. Dust kicked up, and everyone in the building was disoriented from the loud explosion and flowing smoke curling all over the area. It was not thick enough to choke, but vision was greatly impaired overall.

The old factory's girders resonated from the stun grenade's explosion, tripling its effect in an enclosed space. The smoke that followed worsened the view-and correctly the german surmised more than one smoke grenade had gone off indoors.

The first sign of trouble was the sudden cut of gunfire, and the sudden yelps of surprise all around.

The group knew that directly assaulting an Academy full of trained IS pilots was suicidal, so they brought all sorts of special grenades to both ward off attack and avoid being chased. The stun grenades had been chosen for their ability to blind and wreak havoc on an IS sensors, while the smoke was both to cover their trail and raise a shield-lasers would lose some of their power firing through opaque smoke, and other IS-technology weaponry would be difficult to aim.

Now, those very same tactics were applied against them,

There were a few confused screams and yelps of surprise. Gunfire also erupted in sporadic, random bursts.

"Stop shooting, you'll hit US!" Shaking his head, Erich was readying the submachine gun in his hands for combat when his kneecaps broke backwards.

The gun was out of his hand and even before he could take breath to scream he felt a solid elbow into his stomach. Vaguely he wondered if this was the same experience Neville went through not much earlier. His back hit the floor, but the right arm was gripped within a small but firm hand.

Erich then remembered Bubba mentioning a girl, and here she was. Her lithe left hand was like a vise over his right wrist, applying ever-growing pressure to that joint. The pain lanced through his arm as pressure was applied to a soft joint in the wrist. As he fought it off, he marvelled at the girl's ability, as she appeared to lack to bulk and muscle but made up for it in speed and technique.

Erich swung his left fist at her, but was rewarded with another lance of pain-a sharp stabbing edge punctured his arm in response. The girl's right hand moved like a flash, not using much strength as she allowed Erich's punching motion to provide the force needed to stab that same arm.

A grimace, as the german security man fought hard not to cry out in his pride.

"You're the first one I've had to draw a blade on today." The young girl's voice made the cold words sound all the more dissonant. "Congratulations."

Still defiant, Erich tried to move in some way to fight off this slip of a girl that had him bowed and humiliated. Yet it was pointless-she held his right arm in a death grip, his left arm had been stabbed in a way that he could not move it, and broken knees kept him from even kicking away.

His eyes then moved from the girl's soft face and snakelike eyes to the mark on her knife arm-the one stabbing his left. Clear on the arm was [Ren]'s red tattoo.

Then, and only then did Erich recognize what he was up against.

"I've seen that before." The unbelievably small, terrified voice came out of german giant Erich's mouth. The huge hulk of a man was pale, and not from any blood loss he was suffering from the bleeding arm. "That mark. A red tattoo with six lines, I've seen it before."

"Good boy." [Ren]'s eyes continued to bore down into him. "Do you know what this symbol means? Who you're dealing with?"

Erich nodded frantically. All trace of his efficient chiselled exterior was now but rubble as he cowered under the blade of one teenage girl.

"Good boy. You know what happens next, right?"

Erich the giant finally whimpered. "-we're all going to die!"

"Wrong."

[Ren] slammed a palm into Erich's face, instantly knocking the man unconscious. She decided to leave the knife stuck in the man's arm, as he would risk bleeding to death otherwise from the way she punctured a major artery.

[Ren] was not smiling as she stood, mood changed from gleeful to sullen. Her voice was hollow as she made one last statement to the fallen man.

"I'm not my father. I do things differently."

The other Dunois Security troops were in utter disarray. Those that could still fight, did so ineffectually. Those that could not were either wallowing miserably in pain or blissfully unconscious.

A few throwing knives slipped from her pocket into her hand as [Ren] prepared to take the remaining men head-on.

"Only the dangerous ones are left. And Cousseran."

Mischa was the next to go down, almost in front of Roland's eyes as the smoke crawled in and out of view.

One second, the russian was calling out for Erich. Then as if sucked by some monstrous worm beneath, the russian suddenly dropped from view screaming-before just as suddenly stopping in silence. Roland did not see the person as a whole, but there was a small female figure that flits from wisp to wisp of smoke.

Is that...?

A familiar whizz rang past his ear, landing painfully in the arm of another man behind him. Three more singing blades cut the smoke and air, and that man was silenced.

It's HER! Cousseran leaped behind and cowered underneath a table as he heard the sudden rain of blades cutting through cloth and limb. How the girl could find her targets in this smoke-designed to fool even IS sensors and infrared goggles-escaped Cousseran's terrified mind. Even with that, there was a sound more frightening than the gunfire and screams of fully-armed men going down in pain. How many knives does that witch have?

Every now and then was a girlish giggle of sheer joy.

She's not human, he surmised. There was only one thing he'd ever seen in life that moved with the same sultry grace, snapping at them with lightning speed and efficiency at the very hint of weakness.

Like a venomous snake.

Get a hold of yourself! Cousseran screamed inside, but was frozen under the safety of the table. More screams and gunfire, but each one was growing less and less, replaced with the eerie silence and disappearing smoke. It's just one woman! How dangerous could she possibly be?

But his knees would not move, his legs frozen in fear.

A clatter of a submachine gun falling was the last element of sound heard before deathly silence enveloped the building. The smoke was still thick, but now degrading as a result of the action before. Still, Cousseran did not move.

Not until almost an hour passed, smoke completely gone, did the frenchman finally garner the courage to peek out from under his hiding place. Putting his handgun out first, Cousseran slowly emerged from the table. The pistol, a high-powered magnum semiautomatic, was chosen by him for its looks rather than usage. He'd never fired it, and now dreaded the need to.

All around him were scattered bloodied and bruised bodies, breathing but semi-conscious if not unconscious. From the look of them, most were either beaten into it or succumbed to the injuries slowly bleeding their life out. Many of them had knives of all shapes and sizes stuck into them-Roland saw both of Mischa's legs impaled to the ground by old-styled pike bayonets, which earned his revulsion.

Why didn't she just kill them? Cousseran realised that with half that much effort, his team would have been eliminated sooner, more cleanly. Leaving the troops alive, and going through a lot of trouble to beat them into stupidity or mangle them with knives was impractical.

He shuddered, realizing that their attackers were probably enjoying themselves. All twenty-four of his best men, taken out within an hour.

Roland spun his gun to fire at a shadow standing next to him.

SCH-TCHUNK.

A thick, diamond-shaped blade wedged itself into the pistol's slide mechanism, jamming it. Roland panicked that moment, allowing his attacker ample time to act first.

He screamed like a child as he felt his legs give way from the force of a sweeping kick. Then Roland Cousseran, Operations Manager of Dunois Armaments and Security, landed painfully on his rump. Even after landing, the man did not stop screaming until he saw himself reflected in the blade of a rather large knife.

"Shut up, Cousseran. I haven't broken anything yet."

He stopped, then regained enough presence of mind to focus on his attacker, the teenage girl he'd heard about from Bubba. For a moment, he wondered what was going on-the girl's voice was being auto translated but she was not wearing an IS.

She was not the woman Roland had encountered a few days before.

"Who are you?" Cousseran attempted to exert his authority, but blubbered, backing away clumsily on hands and knees in a sitting position as the girl approached him. In her hands were a series of clawlike blades. Calling up what little courage he had: "You can't arrest me! I'm a foreign national!"

"Arrest?" [Ren] let out the most bone-chilling laugh Cousseran had heard in his lifetime. "Do I look like the police to you?"

Another empty threat: "I have diplomatic immunity!"

"Do I look like I care?" The knives in her hand escaped from sight.

Roland grew frantic. "You can't do this to me! Do you know who you're dealing with? DO YOU-"

"Shut up."

A whizzing sound and thunk of a large bowie knife between his legs made Roland yelp and frantically crawl as far away from the blade as possible.

"Let's talk about Charlotte Dunois, shall we?"

"What?" Roland gasped.

THUNK.

Squealing, Cousseran backed away from it, a punjabi dagger of unknown make. Had he not been terrified out of his mind, he would have marvelled at how this girl acquired it.

"Why did you and your family put her up to this?" [Ren] toyed with another weapon, a filipino butterfly knife. "Wasn't it enough for you to turn her into your personal no-wages IS test pilot?"

Sputtering, Roland tried defiance. "I deny whatever you claim!"

"Let's try this again, shall we?" [Ren] flicked a wrist and the knife was gone. She then pulled out the WP grenade she'd acquired earlier. Roland read the letters WP on the canister and froze.

The WP or White phosphorus grenade was an incendiary weapon, producing a thick cloud of hot smoke that clouded infrared sensors and caused serious burns. The hot phosphorus smoke would also eat up breathable oxygen in a flash as well as irritate lungs-even though the IS exoskeleton was fully protected against most environmental hazards, the pilot still needed to breathe. The Dunois security men only had a couple of them as a last resort, to be used only when all else failed in their escape attempt.

In the cramped quarters of the old factory it would not only cover the area in minutes faster than the normal smoke grenades they'd carried, but instantly set clothing and ammunition on fire. White phosphorus burns were not pretty-even when doused with water something set aflame would still burn. And WP tended to stick to human skin and clothing while burning.

"Wh-what are you going to do with that?"

The cold, chilling giggle made him regret asking as she pulled the pin on the grenade. Calmly, still holding the safety on the weapon she set it down on the floor.

"AAAAAAAARRGH!" Cousseran dove for the weapon the second [Ren] released her grip on it. Both hands desperately closed around it, just in time. Had he been a second too late, the lever would have come off, igniting the potentially lethal weapon.

THUNK. The butterfly knife buried itself about a finger-length away from his hand. In shock, he pulled away from the blade, still maintaining a death grip on the grenade. He backed into a wall, with no other way out.

THUNK. Another knife pinned his left arm to the wall, but Roland kept his grip on the weapon. It barely missed flesh, instead puncturing his watch. The action essentially wedged the WP grenade in place.

"Why did you send Charlotte Dunois to this place?"

Cousseran could have just let go of the grenade. The WP would have ignited, taking him, the troops and the entire building along with this monster of a girl he was trapped with. Thing was, Roland did not want to die.

"Some members of the family-"

"Stop pretending, Messr. Cousseran." Despite her youthful looks, She was a regal monster, commanding with voice as she drew another knife from her jacket. The angular blade of a kukri knife looked hungry for blood as it twirled in her hands. "Dunois the company and Dunois the family are one and the same. You sent that girl here. Why?"

"We needed information on Orimura Ichika, that's all!" Roland gasped, feeling too trapped to keep to the official story. "Charlotte was supposed to masquerade as a boy and steal his data! That's all there is to it!"

THUNK.

"That's not the reason I was looking for."

"What do you mean? WHAT DO YOU MEAN?" Roland was now hanging on to sanity by a thin thread, the bent-edged kukri knife looking wicked as it stopped short of his left ankle.

"Charlotte is the illegitimate daughter of the head of Dunois Industries. That man, who is also the patriarch of the Dunois family, has no sons and no other children, is that correct?"

Cousseran did not understand the question.

"Sending her after Orimura was just a side benefit. Dunois Industries has plenty of other IS test pilots, and any one of them would have volunteered for this operation." [Ren] stood tall, a dark goddess presiding over the judgement of the fallen. "You chose Charlotte because she would be the least missed by the family. The real reason she was sent away was because the rest of the family did not want her to inherit the company."

"You knew..." Roland felt the earth sink underneath. The revelation had truth in it, even though he officially denied such a story. Indeed, that was why he was trying so hard to retrieve Charlotte-to ensure she would just return to France and disappear.

"It made sense. Though her birth was illegitimate, she is potentially a direct heir to the company's CEO. And although Dunois is a corporation and not a monarchy, it follows that family would be chosen." The eyes narrowed, and Roland thought for a moment they were glowing with evil intent. "No wonder she was so hated by you and the rest of the Dunois clan."

With that, she had a most cruel, knowing, and bitter smile.

"No wonder even her father refused to see her."

"Who would have love for a bastard child?" Roland's grip on the WP grenade was tighter than ever, knuckles white with the grip as he began to rage. "It's all that stupid woman's fault. She agreed to have that child aborted. That girl should have just died at birth!"

"Oh?" [Ren] focused her snakelike eyes on Cousseran. "Tell me, then. What should have happened?"

"Charlotte Dunois should never have been born!" Coussseran exploded, not caring anymore who listened to him. "That the bastard child even exists is a shame to the family! She is our ruin! Why? What is that girl to you? Why do you protect her? Why do you even care?"

"Care? CARE for Charlotte Dunois?"

[Ren] laughed at the suggestion. In rippling, fearsome cackles.

Roland could not believe it, but the fear in him grew even greater than before. IT was a maddened, horrifying laugh, one that a young girl should not physically be able to make. The girl laughed that unearthly, fiendish laugh for almost three minutes before she finally composed herself, a new, dreadful fire in her eyes.

"What makes you think I even LIKE Charlotte Dunois, Messr Cousseran?"

THUNK. A small penknife stabbed Roland's collar.

Oh lord! He now began to regret his words, as the girl started to approach him, knives in her hands.

"When you think of it logically, I should actually hate her."

THUNK. A needle file pinned the other half of his watch, fixing the hand to the wall.

"Of those girls surrounding Ichika Orimura, Charlotte is the one who cherishes him the most, did you know?"

THUNK. Three letter openers pinned his other pants leg.

"That feminine sweetness. That childlike honesty. That motherly kindness. It honestly makes me sick to see a girl that angelically perfect."

THUNK. Tiny cross-shaped knives fixed the other arm to the wall.

"But knowing what your family did to her makes my blood boil. That you hate her so much just for being born. That you blame her for your mistakes."

THUNK. Between his right index and ring finger.

"What's wrong with being raised a normal girl? Why do we have to be tools for our families to use? Why do we have to be your scapegoats?"

THUNK. Just grazing his neck.

"Stop. I give up! I surrender!" Cousseran begged frantically. Where does she hide all those damned knives?

THUNK. A flat blade cut his belt at the waist, barely exposing skin.

"Is it because we're expendable? Because even in this society, men still use women and throw them away?" [Ren] sneered. "Because we're both just useless bastard children to our clans?"

THUNK. Half an inch near the same cut across his ear that a previous knife had made.

"That's why I can't bring myself to hate Charlotte Dunois. Even if by all rights I should." [Ren]'s eves came into focus. Cold, reptilian. Indeed like a snake, mesmerizing its prey. "I know how it feels to be made into a tool."

THUNK. Just an inch between his legs.

Cousseran had just wet his pants a third time when he noticed how close the hateful serpent-like eyes were staring into his.

"You should thank Ichika Orimura, you know? If not for him," the grin of a devil was on her face. As if by magic, a wicked-looking barber's razor appeared with a flick of [Ren]'s hand. "Charlotte could have turned out a monster like me."

Roland was trying to scream, but couldn't manage anything louder than a gurgle as eyes flew between the girl's stare and their reflection in the blade's edge.

"And I don't like having competition," [Ren] giggled.

Only then Cousseran did scream loudly, when [Ren] started her work with the razor.

July 30th

"Why do I have to clean up after your mess?"

Haruko was overwhelmed with all the paperwork requesting documentation of the incident. The apartment was cluttered with the forms, statements, and declarations, and she nearly threw a fit trying to sort them all out.

"You injured a couple dozen private security personnel. HIGHLY TRAINED AND EXPERIENCED security personnel. What do you have to say about that?"

A bored [Ren] kept staring out the window, chin on one arm.

"Nobody died."

"That's not the point and you know it!" Kokuto felt like smashing her head against the computer terminal, but stopped short when she realized how much it would take out of her salary. "You didn't have to go all-out on those people!"

"They shot first."

Why do I have SO much trouble believing that? "That's no excuse!"

"I could have easily killed them if I wanted to."

Are you actually implying that killing two dozen foreign nationals on Japanese soil would make this situation BETTER? Haruko was no longer a livid purple. She was practically going through all colours of the spectrum. She tried to say something, but all that came out of her mouth was a pained "Nggggghhh."

"You're stressing because you drink too much coffee."

I'm stressing because I have to ensure you're not committing mass murder! "Do you realize you've caused a member of the Dunois family irreparable damage!"

"Really?" [Ren] smirked her devilish smirk. "I didn't even scratch Roland Cousseran this time."

"YOU SHAVED HIS HEAD BALD, MADE HIM SIT ON A LIVE GRENADE, AND NOW HE'S A QUIVERING WRECK!" Haruko felt like screaming. Roland Cousseran was indeed uninjured except for his soiled pants and lacking both sanity and hair. Headquarters, the Foreign Ministry, and the Regional Police wanted a really good explanation for that.

"It's not as bad as you make it sound. I basically stopped them from invading IS Academy before they tried." [Ren] stretched her arms. "Everything else is just the minor details."

I don't know what part of airlifting 25 injured men from here back to europe is minor! "This is going to look very bad."

"For Dunois Industries, not us. But they'll deal with it. Even though they're under pressure to develop a 3rd-gen machine, too many people rely on the Rafale Revive series IS. Dunois Industry won't fall just yet."

"At risk of hearing something that will freak me out," Haruko then dared to ask: "Was there anything or anyone you DIDN'T try to stick your knives into?"

"You're right. I should have turned that loud ugly american into a pincushion."

"ARRGH!" Haruko pounded her fists on the computer. Taking a breath, she reached for her newest can of Blue Mountain blend.

"Isn't that your seventh can of coffee today?"

"Shut up! I need it to keep from going crazy with you!" A pop of the can, and Haruko took the drink in long, persistent gulps.

"Seriously, it's coffee, not beer." [Ren] then flopped on the bed, not caring of what else her partner might or might not say.

~sigh~ In silence, Haruko just stared at [Ren] lying there, and the red tattoo on the girl's arm.

In the late 20th century there were stories of a clan of shinobi that wore that mark. Stories that were whispered but never quite proven, about ninja and the mythology surrounding them. Silent as a shadow, yet furious as a storm. Kokuto has heard of them, of these so-called ninja who wore crimson-red marks. Even the Johohonbu had stories of them, one of which was that their greatest pupil was a man with the eyes of a snake. The stories were no more than tall tales and urban legends persisting in this modern age of the IS.

But still, the stories persist.

There was no proof of the clan existing, only hearsay and rumour. Tall tales of heroism or infamy to tell to children at night. The great ninja clans disappeared long ago, before the age of technology. No one truly knew what happened to them, though many made claims they were ninja-often disproven as fakes and overconfident showmen. But if the clans still existed, where are they now?

Even now, she wondered if one of the stories she'd heard at the Johohonbu was true. That [Ren] was the illegitimate daughter of the clan's long-lost leader. Truth, lie, or just another tall tale?

Ironically? Those confusing, inconsistent myths were exactly what the ninja wanted people to believe.

"About Charlotte Dunois."

"-Hm?" Haruko was surprised by [Ren]'s sudden change of topic.

"You asked why I have nothing bad to say about her."

"So?" Can of coffee in hand, Haruko half-slid across the room on her chair, fully intent on hearing what her partner had to say next. "So? SO?"

[Ren] had a moment deep in thought before she answered.

"I don't like her."

Haruko almost dropped her coffee. "EH?"

"I don't like her," [Ren] repeated with finality. "But I don't hate her, either. That's all."

Always so blunt!

"It's for the best," came an oddly pensive tone from [Ren], barely audible. She looked outward once more, as if picturing something else in her mind.

"Can Ichika fall in love with a monster?"

"Wha?"

"Shut up."

"Never saw no military solution,
that didn't always end up as something worse."
- Sting, "If I Ever Lose My Faith"