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[Prologue]





X tightened the last loose screw on the hull of XF-1567, and emerged from underneath the prototype of the new security system, a hulking mammoth of cold metal and circuitry. The team originally tasked to create the system estimated the project would only take a few days to complete, but several unanticipated errors in the design stretched the development of the prototype to several months. He crushed most of them within the span of days, but despite his best efforts, the main control unit refused to cooperate exactly as planned. They integrated common Gaian technology before with Zurg innovations and then with simple weapons appropriated from the recent invaders without a problem, so why couldn’t a fusion of all three occur? Each component of the prototype functioned flawlessly on its own, and a thousand perusals proved the perfection of his code.

So why did the machine disobey him so? Every little bit fell into place exactly as planned, but something prevented the machine from functioning and exactly what continued evading his grasp night after night. It wasn’t logical. It wasn’t fair. He spent five hours working on it this night, and still nothing to show for it. He devoted an entire week to developing a tiny but intricately complex device intended to reduce emissions from the bioelectric units, and once he finally reached the debugging stage, something inside it shorted out and caused a small, internal fire, destroying countless hours of work in less than five minutes.

123 always insinuated in that passive-aggressive way of his that he ought not care so much about something not even sentient, but while 123 understood many subjects and claimed to know much more than he actually knew, he lacked common sense. If a device must be created, then he must create it. If a device refused to work, then he must make it work. If a device broke, he must fix it. And he must do so at all costs, for to allow faults, no matter how great or slight, into the system would allow the possibility of failure.

X did not tolerate failure. Thus, he put all of himself into his machines and systems until there was hardly anything left at all, and woe to anything or anyone that dare harm them. When those children compromised the security systems and murdered the Sealab X, what ought to be his crowning glory, he considered suicide for the first time in twenty years and the only thing capable of bringing him out of it was the thought that if he acted on the urge, then Gambino would win. He couldn’t allow that.

Five hours tonight, much less than yesterday and likely much less than tomorrow, and the machine was no more different today than it had been for the last three weeks. It liked maintaining the status quo. Tomorrow would be the day he conquered it. For now, he needed to assess the progress of the E team and take a much needed rest. As much as he desired to work nonstop, even Labtech X couldn’t ignore the basic needs of humans: water, nourishment, protection from the elements, rest, and occasional social interaction. This island of his readily provided almost everything anyone could ever need, but he always found himself neglecting the last two in favour of hydraulics and genetic mapping.

Labtech X put away his countless wrenches, pliers, and rivet guns, and unplugged the mess of cables connected to the machine like a giant spider web. It seemed so bare and more lifeless than usual without the various cords, but if a storm came and come they did, forgetting to unplug them could destroy what little progress he made, and he would never forgive himself for the oversight. He ran a gloved hand over the sleek casing, caressing it like a parent smoothing his child’s hair. It defied him, but it was still his. X never wanted children of his own, only machines to build to exact specifications and do exactly as he told them. Progeny ex machina.

Tomorrow, then. His other responsibilities needed attending to now. They always seemed to need attending to. Running a corporation wasn’t as interesting a task as Johnny Gambino made it seem. It mostly consisted of a lot of paperwork coupled with an ever present need to somehow find more funding for the latest project without raising the attention and suspicion of the GRS accountants, punctuated by the search for new recruits to the cause, maintenance to the various systems that made life in the compound, if not pleasant, reasonably tolerable and conductive to life, restocking of the stores, and, if he had time left over, work on his own projects separate from the NeXus entity. X rarely scheduled himself free time but ever since the evacuation of the unnecessary labtechs after the security breech, the days and nights seemed endlessly empty.

He peeled off his thick work gloves, briefly revealing a pair of large and calloused hands before covering them back again with the black cloth gloves he always wore nowadays. He’d never dare go among his labtechs sans gloves; it was tantamount to full nudity. Better to cover completely in the hottest of weather than to allow someone to glimpse the barest hint of his skin, that’s what he believed. He replaced his work coat with his usual lab coat, torn and tattered over years of almost constant wear, and withdrew a long portion of cloth from his pocket. The years of constant masking left him with a near instinctual knowledge of the art of knots, and he replaced his natural face with his ideal face in the passing of seconds. X gave a last inspection of his private workshop, and turned off the lights.

Almost suffocating heat bore down on him like a wet blanket as he stepped outside of the only building for miles. The end of autumn drew nearer and nearer, but perpetual summer enveloped his island year-round. His eyes, more used to the glare of computer screens and the gentle glow of G-Virus, burned in the harsh light as searched his pockets for his teleportation key. A small bird with plumage the colour of clay and dichromate landed nearby on a squat and rather globular plant, and immediately starting to preen its long tail feathers. X watched it for a moment and then teleported. The bird preened on, completely unconcerned with the vanishing of the man to which it owed its species’ very existence.

In the exact instance he returned to his home and laboratory under the sea, Labtech X knew that something was very, very wrong. An alarm not entirely unlike a police siren echoed throughout the labyrinth walls of the main building, rising and falling with a maddened fervor. Every light in the empty workroom was on, shining a stark white, and he could see through the glass doors that the hallway beyond was similarly illuminated. A Class Alpha security breech then. He only witnessed one ever since founding NeXus, an incident at the old base which caused him to discontinue the cadaver-G’hi research to discourage more episodes of a similar nature and to prevent further loss of personnel, but he knew his security protocols by heart.

Every twist and turn of the nest of hallways was more familiar than his own face, and as X navigated the building he knew so intimately, he observed something that interested him. He spied not a single labtech scurrying around in panic nor scared Grunny. Curious, very curious. Only the most vital personnel remained with him in the lonely compound; less than fifty men and women he dare not go without and who dare not go without him. Despite the recent evacuation of all the others and the Class Alpha breech, ought not he see at least one other of his forces? Perhaps they did learn something about order in the face of chaos as a result of the last incident after all.

He passed dormitories and break rooms, laboratories and workshops, and all of them completely abandoned. At length he came across the large and imposing door that led to the observation room, his most usual haunt. He typed in the passcode without a single thought and entered. Ah, and here were his labtechs at last, or at least two of them: 456, head of weapons development, and 012, a skilled engineer. They silently stood in the middle of the room and observed the multitude of screens showing security feeds and news stations with a grim sort of determination.

“I presume you are fully aware of the reasons behind this disturbance,” he said. 456 all but rushed at him with an expression of mingled relief and fear, and her compatriot slowly followed.

“Boss!” she cried, and for a second he was certain that she would embrace him. She gained control of herself and merely saluted him breathlessly. “We’ve been searching for hours, we couldn’t find you, we thought you were…Never mind, have you been anywhere near the tri-city area or Isle de Gam…err, Nativa?”

“I presume you are fully aware of the reasons behind this disturbance.” That was an order, not a question.

“Oh, well…negative, boss. We’d like to send a team out to investigate-”

“That’s not what he asks,” hissed 012. “Sir, at approximately 5:30, Gaia 9 News broadcast an urgent message from Durem regarding a string of unprovoked attacks and homicides. We found the contents of said broadcast troubling, especially when correlated with the Gambino ball our intelligence reported of, and for the sake of safety, we took the liberty of completely locking down the compound.

“No one goes out and nothing gets in. Well, except you.”

“Our esteemed colleague is quite aware of that, Ms 456. All labtechs are accounted for, sir, and awaiting further instruction in the safe room, with two exceptions. 005 returned to the surface three days ago and for the sake of safety, he was put into quarantine. As well, 123 did not report back before the lockdown, and unfortunately he was-”

“Boss, I think that it’d be really prudent if you just took a look at the broadcast,” interrupted 456. Her partner cast her a sideways glare, but remained silent. “Something foul’s afoot and if you ask me, it’s got G-Corp written all over it. It’s none of our stuff.”

“Very well, I shall look into it. I no longer require your presence. You shall disable the siren and return to your fellows at once. The order you appear to have maintained in the face of the unknown is more than acceptable. Await further instruction and in the future, do refrain from further incivility in each other’s presence or the consequences shall be dire.”

“Of…course, sir. I apologize if my behavior has been in any way inconvenient.”

“I hope you can sort this all out, boss.”

The two labtechs saluted and left the room, though not before passing over a disc labeled with the current date . He never understood why they insisted on such ultimately trivial gestures of respect, but as long as they feared, loved, and obeyed him, X tolerated it. Perhaps one day they’d learn how to gain his undying respect through actions, but perhaps not. After all, they weren’t nearly as advanced as he. No one was. He inserted the disc into the player, pressed play, and retreated to the large desk near where his two subordinates had stood.

Thirty Cindy Donovinhs lit up the darkness and sixty pairs of eyes the colour of pine needles greeted him grimly. Ah, Miss Donovinh, no other bringer of bad tidings ever possessed a more radiant visage or a more keen awareness of all the wrongs in Gaia. He chose her as his herald so long ago for a reason. X silently regarded the scene unfolding on the television screens, arms folded across his chest in his usual manner.

Nothing entirely without harm ever came out of Durem; vampires, the Kuro underground, Edmund Wesley. On general principle, he regarded everything that came from the city with a certain degree of mistrust. Miss Donovinh stood at the junction of two roads in the old city, stoically reporting the unexplained, motiveless attacks occurring throughout the day. Coincidence could not possibly explain such a wide distribution of the same event and he doubted coincidence alone accounted for this occurring on the same day as the ball his spy in the Gambino mansion informed him of.

“It is our duty at Gaia Action 9 to inform you…” He couldn’t deny the existence of a connection. Trouble and Gambinos always walked hand in hand. He knew that intimately, and more so than anyone else that ever walked under the sky.

“…we urge you to stay inside and…” But how did these two events intertwine? Correlation does not necessarily equal causation, but X believed nevertheless that it usually indicated the cause more than adequately.

“…report suspicious activity…” He made an error in judgment when choosing his spies for G-Corp. Gambino eliminated all of them over the years and he found it difficult to replace their positions with a person of sufficiently advanced knowledge and technical skill without raising alarms. After the incident in 2004, Johnny restricted his participation in most of the top-secret projects and made sure his clone turned protégé remained busy and out of sight with desk work.

“…we value your safety…” But why? He only acted in his father’s best interest at that point of time: despite a few minor transgressions, he remained mostly loyal. And really, what did Gambino really need that money he originally siphoned away for when he had so much already? Back then, X cared much for frivolities and novelty and oh, how he was punished for it. He licked his wounds and learned subtlety afterwards.

“..and so we ask…” So long ago, all he lived for was to protect and eventually become his father, and all his good deeds were repaid with naught but harsh words and suspicious eyes. He only wanted to help and he had. Who knew how many people would have died in 2004 without his vials?

“Cindy, watch out!” Of course, being stuck as nothing more than a glorified manager did have perks. X lacked further access to many of the projects he personally worked on, but he still could retrieve records. Plus, managing Gambino’s other companies and their finances led to a great deal of creative accounting that went unnoticed. He learned much from his disastrous first attempt at pocketing Gambino money for himself.

“Viewers, we apologize for the interruption.” X’s attention turned abruptly to the screens again as a flash of movement caught his eye. He rewound the recording and then rewound it a second time. In one second, Cindy reported the news in her steadfast and professional manner and in another, a bystander in the background with eyes almost as white as a new lab coat leapt into motion and attacked the camera man as the reporter carried on to the best of her abilities. X frowned, checked the NeXus security feeds again, and reached for his communicator.

“Labtechs, an incident has recently occurred that troubles me greatly and by proxy, troubles you. I request four able-bodied volunteers willing to acquire a specimen for testing. Report in room 154, sector 0 for further details.”



X kept a wary eye on the security feeds for any suspicious behavior. He trusted that 012 and 456 made their best efforts to contain any possible infectee and that the other labtechs still shook at the mere thought of what would happen to them if he ever caught word of them lying about their previous whereabouts if queried. X trusted his labtechs. After all, who understood them better than he?

Every medical file, every memo ever sent, every G-Corp record, every keystroke of their personal computers, and so much more could be summoned for an examination in less than a minute. Perhaps some would say it was unethical, but X didn’t agree with that assessment. Above all things, he needed complete and unquestioned control over all he governed and in order to successfully maintain that power, he needed to delve the subconscious depths of their psyches to understand every personality facet and motive.

123 always complained of his level of security, saying it veered dangerously close to voyeurism and at very least breached the right to privacy in an enormous way, but a voyeur received sexual satisfaction from such an act. He merely wanted to micromanage every aspect of the lives of those around him and slowly reformat them into better tools for his inevitable conquest of Gaian society.

No, he feared nothing from his labtechs. Only the virus itself concerned him. From viewing the behavior evident in the recorded footage, he hypothesized that the G-Virus was involved in someway with the current outbreak. Johnny Gambino never made the same mistake just once. However, certain physical aspects of the diseased individual seemed markedly different than those of the 2004 labtechs. They moved sluggishly and in reasonably large groups, and this one, though seemingly disorientated, operated alone and sprung swifter than most humans. Furthermore, the size and shape of the large canine teeth suggested a lycanthropic tie, but he doubted that even Gambino could be able to acquire a DNA sample from the critically endangered and fiercely guarded werewolf. Nevertheless, he couldn’t eliminate all possibilities yet, and especially not when Gambino’s ties ran all over the continent.

Moving along, the individual’s constricted, catlike pupils suggested photosensitivity, but he couldn’t tell if that resulted from the current virus, if a virus did plague the populace, or if the individual had previously been a vampire before whatever befell her. It wouldn’t surprise him to hear of Gambino experimenting on vampires. X remembered him complaining endlessly about the race back when he was still a child, as much as he ever could have been considered a child anyway, and before his affair with the wife of Vladimir Von Helson resulted in marriage. He felt very sorry to hear of her passing.

Without a DNA sample, he could only guess about the true nature of the malady, and he’d remedy that soon enough when the team returned with a specimen. Perhaps he’d find the cure in a manner of days, especially if it indeed proved to be related to the G-Virus. He still kept a batch of the original cure around in case of an emergency and could quickly and cheaply produce more. Furthermore, his second-in-command happened to be the foremost expert on the virus.

But speaking of 123, where was he? X checked the camera in the safe room, frowning slightly under the mask as he realized that he didn’t appear in the group. Interesting. Having previously checked both the quarantine and test subject housing areas himself, he knew 123 wasn’t contained in either. Then wherever could that labtech be? His shift at the Aqueducts ended thirty minutes ago, and 123 always performed with utmost punctuality.

He glanced at the screen again, and then suddenly remembered 012’s comments. Two exceptions, not merely one, and the second happened to be 123...which meant that his second-in-command was very likely trapped in an already hostile environment with a new, almost completely unknown enemy whose numbers he could not even estimate at this point, and with very little to defend himself except for a pocketful of rings, the use of which he was hardly proficient in.

X rose, briefly considered terminating or maybe just firing 012 for not properly relaying the direness of the situation before quickly deciding that it was illogical, and shut off all screens but the security feed on the safe room. The room seemed endlessly empty without the light of all the televisions, almost like a crypt. It wasn’t as if no one ever died before in the observation room, though most of the people living in the undersea compound prefer not to speak much of that incident. He entered 123’s number into his communicator and was instantly hit with the crackling of static and a sort of crystalline humming.

“123, report your status,” he said. Through the mask of static, he heard the sound of shallow, ragged breathing. That didn’t bode well. “123, if you are there, report.”

The silence dragged on, punctuated only by the hiss of static and the slightest hint of breath. Was he injured then? 123 usually stayed far out of any form of danger, preferring to let others do his hazardous work for him, so X wasn’t intimately familiar with dealing with an injured 123. The only time he was ever aware of the fellow labtech shedding blood was after the incident with the Grunnies in 2005. To the present day, the wound still hadn’t fully healed. He was the only medical doctor left in the NeXus compound, and X couldn’t afford to lose him.

“Report your status.”

“…I‘m alive,” came an exhausted and utterly defeated voice on the other end. “Although battered. Quite. I…I would appreciate it immensely if you could please reopen the teleportation lines, if you don’t mind. I’m very tired.”

“How serious are the injuries you’ve sustained, and what is the cause?”

“Superficial abrasions and very minor puncture wounds. I am very tired.”

“What is the cause, 123?”

“I fell and accidentally triggered the aggressive behavior of what‘s commonly known as the Tiny Terrors. Please open the teleportation lines, boss. My only wish is to go to bed. I’m tired…”

“What is the cause, 123?” X asked again. His subordinate fell silent for a minute, two minutes, three, and then answered in the most plaintive and desperate tone he ever heard from any of his labtechs.

“Please let me go home, boss, I only want to go home and go to sleep. If I leave this chamber, they’ll kill me. They already killed my…they killed Agent Caruthers of the GIB, just like that. I don’t think they even understood. I don’t, I don’t want to…please, boss, I just want to go home! I want to go home. I want…” Barely held-back sobs, almost like the cries of a wounded animal, emitted from the communicator, and for the first time in a long while, he was utterly at a loss for what to do. 123 never cried. He occasionally caused it amongst the other labtechs with a well-placed acerbic comment, true, but never succumbed to it himself. The mere idea felt horribly alien. “Please.”

“You are distressed. That’s understandable,” X began. “Are you in any immediate physical danger?”

“I…no, not now,” said 123, but he didn’t sound very certain of it. Where was he, and why was the reception so horrible?

“Are you aware of your location?”

“The Null Chamber. I think it‘s safe.” Ah, that explained the static then. He ought to be safe for the time being, but a series of spatial anomalies governed the strange chamber; the creatures could find him were he to remain amongst the crystals for a few hours. “I attempted escape a few minutes ago, but…I failed to achieve success.”

“Would you find it triggering if I asked you to describe the details of your attempted escape?”

“I attempted to go to Barton, and…it was worse,” 123 said, “It was worse. I don‘t know how I managed to-”

“It was worse?” So then the zombies, if they were zombies, appeared in other locations than Durem. The question of where exactly they originated from remained, though X suspected he knew very well. He made a mental note to generate a more scientific name for the creatures, especially considering the likelihood that he’d spend the next few weeks or so studying them.

“They were everywhere. Hundreds,” said 123. “Boss, the outbreak in 2004 only consisted of a few hundred hosts, and that was confined to a small, central location. How-”

“123, we shall elaborate on that train of thought at a later point. Do you believe that the possibility exists that you have been unknowingly infected?”

“We can’t contain something of this magnitude!” 123 cried, his voice sharp with fear and anger. “We can’t possibly…we lack the weapons, the resources, the personnel, and furthermore, the situation in Aekea would effectively prevent any effort of eradication in that area. This isn’t like 2004. It’s worse. They killed Caruthers! Do you…can you even imagine…Oh, never mind, it’s not something you’d understand.”

How would he manage to contain the spread of this malady, anyway? X lacked the answers, but he’d discover a way. In the meantime, he’d wait and see if the matter at hand resolved itself on its own, as was often the case nowadays. If it all fell to pieces, the he’d secure the NeXus defenses and wait it out until he could procure an antidote.

“Now is not the proper time for this discussion. I will reconfigure the access points if and only if you answer a few simple questions without interruption.”

“…Very well then. Thank you, boss.”

“Did any of the…let’s call them ‘zombies’ for the sake of simplicity, make physical contact with you at any point?”

“No, I ran…I ran. How could I not even-”

“123, calm yourself. Do you believe that you may have been unknowingly contaminated by this disease?” He did not answer immediately, but spoke reluctantly at last.

“…When I sent a distress call to 012, she opened up the possibility of an airborne transmission. Personally, I have evidence that suggests a biological vector, but if she should prove correct in her hypothesis, then…my very presence threatens all of us.”

“012 is an engineer, knowledgeable about one specific field of study, but quite inexperienced when it comes to matters of a more biological nature. I agree with your train of thought, and if you do indeed lack any physical wounds caused by the unfortunate individuals that you encountered, then I truthfully see no good reason to deny you access.”

“You see no good reason to deny me access?” 123 didn’t speak so much as laugh incredulously. “You have no idea how this is spread, you can’t possibly know if I’m contagious or not, and you’re willing to risk the very lives of everyone that I work with on the slight chance that my theory is correct? I don’t intend to question your authority, but this isn’t a game! Caruthers is dead. I've little doubt that scores more may be! I’ll admit that I have not been-”

“123,” X began, his voice as composed as a requiem. “Do you want to return to the compound or not?”

“Well…yes, but-”

“Fear not! Do you think that I have not planned for events such as these years beforehand? You are an indispensable part of the workforce and furthermore, you are my assistant. I shall open the teleportation lines shortly. In the meantime, remain where you are and do not panic. This situation is under control. You‘re safe now.”

As a matter of fact, X’s plans for this type of situation were rudimentary at best. He never expected that he’d ever find himself in a situation in which he could not n** a major G-Corp problem in the bud, and thus, he devoted the time that would otherwise be spent on those particular contingency plans on other projects. In short, X’s pride won out over common sense, as it often did.

X preferred to launch himself into dangerous situations headfirst and work out the consequences when he felt like it. Perhaps he’d damn all the labtechs by allowing 123 in the base. Perhaps not. He doubted that would prove to be the case if his theory of a G-Virus variant held true…and if it did, well, he created the Silent Flash procedure. The loss of employees would be unfortunate, but anyone could walk into Barton and recruit five astrophysicists for a handful of gold and a place to sleep. He’d mourn 123’s loss dearly.

The teleportation hub of NeXus was not a busy hub full of sleek machinery and gently humming tubes, but was most certainly a cave of a room without any sense of welcoming. X couldn’t deny that he cared greatly about aesthetics, especially when combined with function. He designed the medical bay with organic shapes, soothing colours, and plenty of light to promote healing. He designed the teleportation hub to instill the fear of him into all who entered. Perhaps it wasn’t the best of rooms to bring in an injured and frightened man, but it was the only room he could transport to while miles away. X reconfigured the access points in a matter of seconds.

“You may return now.”

A minute or two passed. At last, the machine itself, easily one of the most necessary and complicated devices in the compound, rattled and gave a tremendous hiss. It fizzled, became concave and then convex, sparked, and a man suddenly stood where only air had been before.

To be perfectly frank, 123 looked like he walked through hell and lived to tell the tale. Angry red abrasions covered half of his face, and he lost his bandage somewhere along the lines, revealing the old bite mark it normally concealed. His hair was mussed, his eyes bloodshot, clothes spotted with blood, and if X held any doubt that 123 ever cried, his appearance dispelled them. If he wasn’t sure that his subordinate would detect it, X would allow himself to frown. 123 never shed a tear over his coworkers in 2004, even as he watched the chaos from the safety of their old base. Then again, he never particularly liked any of them in the first place, except 101.

“You’re distressed. Is this over the situation outside?”

123 pulled himself to his full height, every bit of him tense, and gingerly wiped a spot of blood off his cheek. He pushed his now broken glasses back up and said, “Yes, boss. Yes, it is.”

“Would you like to talk about it? I’ll assist you to the medical bay. You look dreadful.”

But 123 limped out of the room before X could even finish a sentence. He caught up to the other man quickly, following him all the way to his room. 123 didn’t want to talk about it evidently, but something occurred beyond mere zombies or surely there wouldn’t be those bothersome tears. That man always kept his true self carefully guarded under a whole Mardi Gras’ worth of masks. What could possibly chip a hole in the façade?



It was funny how in all the years now he’d been gone from his old home, the island never really changed. Oh true, the grass grew back from where the rubble from the tower rested so long ago and Ruby finally remodeled her shop, but the sun shone as bright as a thousand fireflies and he still couldn’t take a step outside without his hair starting to frizz. And yes, a few of the Animated tried to attack him as he walked, but the little Fluffs looked downright cute compared to the robots raging in Aekea.

This place held a lot of memories. Most of them…well, most of them were bad. Horrible, even. He couldn’t forget that, though not for lack of trying. But not all pained him. He cherished some like a bowl of ice cream on a hot summer’s day, those refreshingly sweet memories that he never wanted to end. Anyway, good or bad, he grew up here and despite a couple years in Aekea, Gino would always call Isle de Gambino his home.

He stopped for a minute to buy a bag of sugared pecans from a street vendor, one of the few businesses left on the island not owned by his family. Father liked them, didn’t he? Probably, he wouldn’t let them operate on the island otherwise. He popped one into his mouth as he walked up the stairs to the mansion, the sugar dissolving on his tongue just as quickly as his previous apprehension about today did after one glimpse if the island. One of the maids greeted him at the door and let him in. His father’s habit of surrounding himself with pretty girls was understandable, Gino thought, but the fact that they all slightly looked like the picture of his dead mother in Father’s study creeped him out just a little.

“Father, I’m home! Are you here?” Gino said, his voice echoing throughout the vast halls. He received no reply, but somehow he expected as much. His father was a busy man after all, and probably busy with G-Corp, the energy drink business, or the other myriad projects he constantly worked on, and thus was probably not even in the mansion. Smiling faintly, he wandered for what seemed like a mile until he entered his old room. He sat his bags down and not so much sat as flopped onto the bed, suddenly realizing that the last time he slept here was in 2007.

As he left Aekea, a rogue factory bot formerly used for manufacturing cars swung at the train and came a hair’s length close to crushing his car. Going to the grocery store some days was like walking through a minefield, except the mines walked around, talked, and occasionally chased him with their little rockets, and the field was the potholed road between Liam‘s apartment and the grocers. In fact, it was nothing like a minefield at all, but Gino didn’t particularly care for either. Here though, everyone frolicked on the beach in tiny bikinis with carefree abandon and those almost florescent drinks with the salt around the rim and the happy little umbrellas. The only big dangers were the Animated, G-Corp, and his own father. He meant well enough nowadays, but Gino still dreamt of huddling under this very bed to hide from rampaging zombies.

“You look like a hippie, kid,” said Johnny K Gambino, leaning against the doorframe. Some voices have the remarkable capacity for booming loudly even when quiet. “Don’t they have barbers in Barton?”

“Dad!” Gino exclaimed. He scrambled to his feet and nearly tripped himself in the process. His face burned; after all these years, blundering in front of his father sent needles of shame stabbing into his heart. “When did you get here?”

“I think the more important question is when did you get here. How’ve you been, son?”

“I guess good.” Well, good in comparison to normal, but that didn’t amount to much. Now that he saw his father after such a long time apart, a thousand questions swam around in his brain. Why did he lie for years about his mother? Why didn’t he ever tell him Ian was his brother? And was it really true what they said about the man called Labtech X? Why did no one ever tell him these things until something particularly traumatic happened, and how the hell could he find the courage to ask all this? “Um, I got a job.”

His father grinned that manic grin that either meant that something pleased him or someone was about to lose a head.

“Ha! Making it on your own, working hard; there’s a reason you’re a Gambino. I’ll bet you G-Corp that you’re a manager, am I right or am I right? That’s a good position, teaches you how to handle people. You‘re going to need that when you‘re running this whole shebang.”

He was about to reply that no, he was a stocker working on minimum wage at the cheapest grocery store in Aekea and anyway, he planned on being a painter, but then thought better and said, “Yeah, I’m a manager at a, um, bookstore. It sells books. Scientific books. Molecular biology and quantum robotics and that stuff.”

“Splendid, splendid! I know you, kid, and even if managers are slippery snakes, you’re the best there is. I‘ll be in Barton in a few days.” He didn’t speak so much as resonate, even when talking about the most mundane of subjects. His grin faded. “There’s…unfinished business there. I’m going to tell you something and I’m only going to tell you this once, Gino. There’s no excuse for you not to become ten times the man I am and if you don’t, I’m going to string you up by the ankles.”

“I know,” he said with a small smile. Gino heard that phrase more times growing up than he cared to count, and late at night, when he couldn’t sleep because of the endless clanging outside and couldn’t arise for fear of waking Liam, the words repeated themselves endlessly in his mind, challenging him, mocking him, promising him.

“You better,” his father said with a bark of a laugh that wasn’t exactly cheerful. “You don’t know how easy you’ve had it growing up, kid. Don’t look at me that way, at least I made sure you were fed. When I was a boy, I begged on the streets of Barton Town and worked my tail off until I am what I am today, and that‘s something I made sure you didn‘t need to do.”

“I won’t ever forget that and…thank you, I guess.” He heard the story a thousand times, and he doubted its truth sometimes.

“Good!” His expression softened somewhat, the usual manic look in his eyes replaced by something almost defeated. Gino didn’t know and never would, but Johnny agonized over this moment for months, wondering with each undying second how he ever could apologize and attempt to explain to Gino everything. He usually kept his guilt and regret under a steel door of denial, but sometimes it slithered past the gates and attacked him when he least expected it. X triggered it this time. He thought the unstable clone drowned years ago, but every time he looked outside his window and saw another Waterspout, he couldn’t help but wish he just died instead of twisting into such a warped individual that he would declare war on the entire world just because he thought his creator abandoned him. “Err…look, I don’t like to admit it, but I regret many of my actions, and…you’re my heir because I know that you know better. You know that, right?”

As a child, his father always loomed larger than life over everyone else, a blazing bright sun in a universe of distant stars. Everyone turned their eyes to him automatically when he walked into a room and discussed him in hushed whispers when he left, and with good reason. Johnny K Gambino seemed flamboyantly invincible, and he rarely let on otherwise.

Thus, Gino rarely ever saw his father vulnerable. He found it hard to believe that a man that died and came back to tell the tale could possibly be hurt by anything at all, yet the look on his father’s face spoke of soul chilling fear. Fear of what though, or rather, who?

“Yeah, I guess I do.” And to be honest, he suddenly realized he did. Despite all his doubts over whether or not he could possibly be worthy enough to follow in his father’s name, at least he knew that his ethics would always prevent the dangerous experiments that caused so much damage and public relations nightmares. His father was both an example of what to do and an even better example of what not to do, but he loved him all the same. “Um, I missed you, Dad.”

“Me too. It’s been boring without you.”

They stood in awkward silence for a few seconds, both of them unsure what to say next that wasn’t horribly maudlin. Gino wasn’t sure if he ought to hug him or shake his hand. He looked down, examined his fingers very closely, tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t completely embarrass him, and then looked up, only to discover that his father had been doing the exact same thing.

“So anyway, a masquerade, huh?” He said suddenly, desperate to break the awkward silence. “That’s great! What‘s the occasion? I mean, Halloween was awhile ago.”

“Bwahaha, you’ll see soon enough!” His normal brim and vigor returned in an instant. “Come on, dinner’s waiting. You need some meat on your bones. I never thought I'd have a stick for a son.”



Labtech X learned long ago that the only way he could function socially around other people on a basic level was if he suppressed all the emotions that threatened to dominate him and let logic take the reigns, but he felt certain that 123 needed the emotional support now that he was too crippled to provide. He detected the textbook triteness in his words. X could manipulate, suborn, and mesmerize the labtechs into doing whatever he wanted, but when it came to personal conversations, he found himself quite out of his league. How was he to comfort him when he barely knew what was going on? 123 evaded the question whenever he asked too much about the details of the attack he witnessed, though X supposed that was only natural, especially so shortly after the death of his…well, he wasn‘t quite sure what this Caruthers was to 123, only that any member of the GIB ought to be an enemy.

What concerned him foremost was that 123 refused to get out of the bathtub, though he had been soaking for well over an hour. He needed medical attention, but all attempts to persuade him out were unsuccessful and forcible removal ran a risk of damaging his psyche even further and an even greater risk of getting hit in the face. Some of the wounds on his back still bled a little, though most half-healed when a labtech fired an experimental medical ring at him as he stumbled down the main hall. A droplet of blood seeped out from where a spear grazed him, sluggishly passed multicolored bruises and new scars, and finally tinged the water.

“Surely you must hunger now, isn‘t that so? I’ll gladly procure something for you,” said X, awkwardly perched on the edge of the sink. Now, how should he address the man this time? He usually designated him as 123, but perhaps he would perceive that as being too detached. Conversely, Frank was more personal, but he rarely addressed him as such, and perhaps he would then perceive it as nothing but a cheap attempt at appearing sympathetic. Mr. Anderson was entirely too formal for the situation. Franklin might work. It was, after all his name, though he usually went by the shortened version. The thought that he might be over thinking something that most people never even thought about never occurred to X.

“No, thank you. I’m fine. Please fetch something for yourself if you’re hungry, boss,” 123 said. The perfect calmness in his voice was a sharp contrast to his usual vocal embellishments and crescendos.

“It bothers me not to go and make a sandwich. I do know how. It will make you feel better,” And now was the moment of truth. Would he respond positively to the name? “Franklin.”

“Thank you, but the water will make the bread soggy.”

“That wouldn’t be a problem in the mess hall. You‘re light enough to carry if you cannot walk.”

“Thank you for the offer, sir, but I’m quite fine.” Sir? Never had he ever been called sir by 123, of all people. Boss, often, boss man when he was in a good mood, and X whenever else, but never sir.

“I don’t believe that. You are, without a shadow of a doubt, not,” X said, crossing his arms. How could he? If 123 were as fine as he insisted, he wouldn’t be languishing in a bathtub all cut to ribbons. 123 muttered something dark under his breath, and cut jagged lines into the soft bar of soap with his fingernails, not looking him in the face.

“I’m afraid that I didn’t catch that. Would you repeat that please, Franklin?” said X. 123 turned ever so slightly, and X recoiled just a bit at the sheer wrath in his glower and even more so in his voice.

“How would you, out of all people, know what fine is?”

“I…what?” 123 didn’t speak to him like that. No one ever spoke to him like that in his entire life. He opened his mouth, but his reply died in his throat. He knew what fine wasn’t intimately.

“You don’t, do you? You’ve no right…X, I’m just…Damn it, you have no right to tell me if I’m fine or not! If you were me, why, you‘d…you‘d probably, I don‘t know, I’m sure that you‘d do something tremendously dangerous and with, and with lasers, and…I‘m perfectly fine.” The mask of eerie calmness fell in an instant, and X saw the real 123 for once: hurt, terrified, and clawing at everything around him like an injured cat. After a long pause in which X collected himself and Frank seethed and pretended that hot tears weren‘t coursing down his face, he spoke.

“You’re correct, Franklin. I rarely am ‘fine,’ but I just wish to console you. I’m afraid that I don’t know how. Perhaps my approach is incorrect. Is it? I merely want you to be happy, though I understand the impossibility of that occurring right now. I’ve grown rather attached to you. Are you displeased with me personally or something else entirely?” Frank wiped a tear away roughly, and the scowl turned into a mere frown.

“I utterly despise that name. I prefer Frank, boss, if you don‘t mind. ” he said quietly, wrapping one arm around his knees.

“I prefer X. Tell me all that happened.” For a minute, X was convinced that he had misjudged 123’s emotional state and that all the prodding and subtle and not so subtle attempts over the last hour to force him to speak had all been for naught.

“Boss…X, what more do you want out of me? I’ve said everything that needs saying. I was studying the life forms, he was studying the life forms, and then they came out from the trees and that was that. Either they killed him or he’s one of them. Will you please go now?”

“There is,” X began. “absolutely nothing else that happened today?”

“X, I really don’t-”

“A simple yes or no will suffice.”

“…Yes, but only incidental, personal things. I don’t want to be rude, err, well, ruder, but it’s absolutely none of your concern and I wish that you’d stop badgering me about that and, well, everything. Caruthers is dead, do you understand that?”

“I understand, Frank.”

“No,” he said stonily, placing the carved soap back on its tray. He wiped his damp fringe out of his eyes, all puffed and red from crying. “You really don’t understand this. You can’t.”

“That’s not precisely so. My father-”

“Does not count! He’s still alive… and anyway he‘s your father, creator, whatever, and you despise him. Do you think that is in anyway the same? Ha! I’d hope not.” The same as what, though? Maybe it didn’t matter. Whoever this Caruthers was to 123, he wasn’t anymore. Frank soaked in the tepid water while X kept vigil over his usually composed assistant and the closest thing to a friend he had. His labtechs could fend for themselves for a few hours, but not this one.

“123, Frank,” said X. What could he say? X never attempted to comfort anyone before, and no one ever attempted to comfort him before either. “I’m sure that tomorrow will be better.”

“No, it’ll be worse, boss. Trust me.”



A masquerade, eh? That almost sounded lovely, but alas, Louie figured that trying to mend his relationship with the twins was far more important right now and besides, he couldn’t get anywhere at all without a car. His youngest two sisters weren’t all that bad when you really got down to it, or at least when you ignored how petty and vicious they were a great deal of the time. They treated him much better now that Zhivago wasn’t constantly draped around their waists all the time like an ill-tempered belt. Ugh. He preferred to just not think about that man if he could help it.

Of course, he wouldn’t go to anything hosted by Gambino unless Moira dragged him to it. That man couldn’t stay in the same room as him without sending a withering glare his way. Louie just didn’t understand him at all. Gambino hated Vladimir, so why did he feel the need to extend that dislike to him and Ian? He wasn’t his father. He damn well made sure of it. After the death, he agonized endlessly over whether turning into a tyrant was inevitably considering his upbringing, but once Edmund found out about that, he gave him a stern talking to about wallowing in self pity and a promise that he would always be a better man.

Well, it’d probably be a terrible masquerade anyway. All the parties hosted by Johnny K Gambino always seemed to end with the mansion in shambles and some new horror unleashed on the world. Marie slinked into the room, for the twins never seemed to learn how to just simply walk, and Louie immediately remembered that even if they weren’t as bad as they used to be, his sisters still annoyed the hell out of him. How was he going to survive this week without going utterly mad?