SHADES OF GRAY

Limited Edition 5000 Copies

BOOK ONE

NOIR, CITY SHROUDED BY DARKNESS

Prologue

On a parallel Earth, thick puffy barriercumulus also known as Dry Clouds covered the sky, preventing the glimmer of twilight to shine on the city of Noir. For three decades these polluted, high-troposphere looming clouds covered half the planet, leaving part of the world to live in endless night. These mile thick clouds yielded petroleum based contaminated water dubbed Tainted Rain and polluted the air. Therefore their name Dry Clouds for leaving half the planet without drinkable water. At first scientists believed pollution caused the great cloud barrier, but that theory proved false. What caused the Dry Clouds to form baffled scientists and how to reverse them eluded reason. Only technology's constant battle with nature has kept the dark city alive.

Man's need for conquest expanded Noir to cover more than half a continent of what would have been called the United States. Noir stretched itself into a Mega-city, the only one in the world. Over the last twenty years the technology of Transgenics (genetically modified organisms with an extra-genome, mostly plants produced to survive without the sun) and bio-mechas (robots resembling living things) evolved at a breakneck pace.

On this world corporations, not governments, ruled the people, creating a society where profit set policy and dictated life. Those who resided in Noir were touched by darkness and the light of goodness seemed a forgotten memory. They . . . they lived in the gray -Shades of Gray.

Chapter One

The Pandora Project

Isaiah 5:30b

If one looks to the land, behold, darkness and sorrow, even the light will be darkened by the clouds.

The year 31 A.D.C. (After Dry Clouds)

October 22 . . .

Thursday, early morning . . .

"Initiate the Pandora Project," a deep male voice ordered.

"Pandora has been awakened," a female voice replied.

"Good . . . Good . . ." the deep voice said.

"Are you sure the Project is ready?" a second male voice inquired. "Maybe we should give it a few more weeks of conditioning."

"No. Launch Pandora," the deep voice ordered. "Let us see what it can do on its own."

"Releasing the Project now," the female said, paused, and added, "As predicted Pandora is running."

"Good . . . Good . . . Let us begin the tests." Thursday, early evening . . .

Scattered streetlights partially lit an abandoned industrial district. The wind howled, blowing through over grown weeds, chilling the air of the blue gray night. A few trees and plants adapted to the limited artificial light, along with a large variety of weeds. Nocturnal creatures: rats, mice, owls, and cats ruled the alleys and parks of Noir.

A black sedan rolled slowly down the street, its headlights lighting up the dark road. The vehicle stopped, parking at the curb a few hundred yards away from Etna Toys Plant and Warehouse. The four doors of the vehicle opened. Five men in brown suits exited the car, their dark shades hid more than their eyes. Four carried a silver Beretta each, which they removed from their shoulder holster. The fifth wore a Coffin Handled Bowie tucked, sheathed in a belt. The man tapped the hilt eager to draw the knife. Eerily, in one accord, they turned their heads, staring through their black tinted glasses at the rusted toy building, awaiting orders. A parking lot stood between them and their target.

In another part of the city, in a secret place known as the Sanctum, about fifty large, flat screen monitors covered three walls and lit up a dark chamber. Data filled the screens. Two dozen analysts scrutinized the influx of information coming across the monitors as they typed on keyboards at their workstations. The men and women toiled, compiling a range of intelligence from several projects and experiments.

"All right people, let's stay focused," a male supervisor shouted as he and a female supervisor walked up and down the line of workstations. They received updated reports from the twenty-four analysts and kept their employers current in the projects and experiments. "This is the day we've been waiting for!"

Each of the analysts wore an indigo jumpsuit with white stripes on the sides. The supervisors wore crimson jumpsuits also with white stripes. All of the employees wore an earpiece to communicate with operatives in the field. The hum of equipment and the chatter of people filled the area.

In the center of the room, two men and a woman dressed in black business suits, sat at a long table. Each had a laptop in front of them. Shadows concealed their eyes, leaving only their mouths visible in the computer-blue illumination. The Three, known as the Council, read reports as they were delivered to them by supervisors on Hand Held Computers or H.H.Cs.

"Has the Project been located?" Mr. Morta asked in a deep voice as he twirled a gold ring on his dark brown finger. He sat at the end of the table with the woman to his right and the other man to his left.

"Yes. One of our best operatives, Argus, is watching Pandora," Mr. Decuma, the smaller of the two men, answered as he smoothed his hand down his bright orange tie.

"Good . . . Good . . ." Mr. Morta leaned back in his chair. "What does the Operative have to report?"

Outside of Etna Toys, a man with shoulder length blond hair, wearing a black trench coat, peered through binoculars. Argus positioned himself in an alley a block from the abandoned toy warehouse to watch the building. He noted the sedan across the street, the five men, and reported them over an earpiece.

Within the Sanctum, the male supervisor handed an H.H.C. to the third member of the Council.

Ms. Nona frowned, thinning her cherry-red lips which contrasted her powdery white skin. "We have received a second report from our Operative." Disconcerted, she scanned the report a second time. "He has spotted five bio-mechas. They are a new model called Un-Men."

"Un-Men." Mr. Morta rubbed his chin, not as surprised as his female counterpart. "Only one department is developing this line of bio-mechas, the Factory." Disappointed, he exhaled loudly. "So the Factory has started their tests. I hoped they would have waited."

"You knew this might happen?" Mr. Decuma questioned as he rubbed his thumb over a silver tie pin of the word Fate.

Mr. Morta nodded. "Yes, it was only a matter of time, but that means . . ."

"That means," Ms. Nona interrupted. "The Factory has decided to go against the wishes of this Council." She bit her lip.

"How dare they!" Mr. Decuma slammed his palms on the table. "We must do something."

"But what?" Ms. Nona asked.

"More importantly," Mr. Morta started. "What are their plans for it, for the Project?"

Back at Etna Toys . . .

The wind kicked up sand and debris as the five men, the Un-Men, stood by the sedan. Their Internal Link or I-Link not only connected them to the Factory, but to each other. With the I-Link they could think and move as one. They shut the sedan's doors and in one accord walked toward the warehouse across the parking lot. The one with the knife paused and turned to see the man in the black trench coat watching them from across the street. A blazing-orange dot-light appeared behind the right lens of the Un-Man's dark shades. Fearful, Argus moved his hand to the M4 strapped over his shoulder. The Operative tensed, not knowing what the bio-mecha with the bowie would do. The Un-Man smiled, then continued, joining its brethren. Argus breathed relieved, dropping his hand from the assault rifle and moved across the street to continue the surveillance of the Project.

In the Sanctum, Ms. Nona rapped her cherry-red nails on the table. "The matter is confirmed. The Factory," she emphasized the next word, "has gone against our wishes." Ms. Nona looked to the larger of the two men. "What is our next move?"

"Analyze and record," Mr. Morta answered. "Our agenda has not changed. The Un-Men will test the Project for us."

Within the dark Etna Toys Plant and Warehouse, among boxes of discarded toys and debris, sat a cot with a single lamp beside it. In the light's dim glow a woman in her early thirties with a shaved head slept. A gash on her forehead bled, sending a trickle of blood to her brow, then down the side of her face, and dripped to the pillow. She wore a white V neck T-shirt, gray-black pants, and black hiking shoes. Her eyes moved rapidly underneath her closed eyelids, and as the dream progressed, her lips moved, speaking, but there was no sound. The woman's inaudible narration continued, until she spoke out loud, "A love that will not die."

Her breathing increased, her arms and legs jerked in mock movement as she envisioned herself running. Three shots rang out in her mind, and her eyes flew open, focusing on an old empty building. She sat up, scanning the room as the dream faded, only the feelings of fear and anxiety remained, and the memory of the three shots echoed in her mind. "Was I pursuing someone or was someone chasing me?" she wondered. "Am I the predator or the prey?"

Her head hurt so she touched her temple and examined her bloody fingers. Her voice was calm, almost emotionless. "What happened to me?" She looked around the building. "There is something I should remember. More than faces and names, something happened. Something terrible." She looked back to her bloodied fingers, and her brow wrinkled in thought. "Is this why I can't remember?" She sat at the edge of the cot, noticing a table with a few items on it, and picked up a business card with an image of a flaming bird. "A Phoenix." She set down the card, picked up a note, and read it aloud.

"Katharine . . ." She stared at the name. "Is that me?" She thought about it. "It doesn't sound familiar." She continued reading. "Katharine, you must not fail. This is your last chance to redeem yourself. I know you can complete your mission, my dearest Kat. I am counting on you." The Note was signed, "R.G." She folded the paper, then along with the card, put them in her pant's back pocket. A small case sat on the table, she moved her hand to open it, but stopped a little afraid of the container. "What do I fear?" She noticed the last object on the table. A small silver box shaped like a treasure chest two inches and a half long, an inch and a half high, and an inch and a half wide. The chest had a small raised star the size of a dime on its lid. Kat examined it then carefully opened the metal container. Ginn L. Irynkissgthie's Unfinished Melody played, intriguing her. The tune rang sweetly in her ears.

doo-Doo-doo-

"I can't remember my name. But this tune . . . I know its title and who composed it. Why?" She stared at the small music box, hearing nothing but the haunting melody.

doo-Doo-doo-

Her fear and anxiety vanished as the tune lulled her into a trance and her body relaxed. She entered the Drifting Time.

doo-Doo-doo-

Kat's eyes slowly closed, she grinned filled with peace as outside sounds became clearer. The wind howled, rustling the leaves of trees and overgrown bushes. A moth repeatedly tapped the glass of a street light drawn to the artificial flame, four car doors slammed, a cricket chirped, and an owl swooped, landing on a mouse.

lub-DUB . . . lub-DUB . . .

Kat's hazel eyes widened as her heart thumped so loud she heard it. She put her hand to her chest, not in pain, but in fear. "Something's wrong." She closed the music box, placed it in the left thigh pocket, and looked around the room. Her voice remained calm. "I'm in danger, I must flee." Hesitant, she looked to the case sitting on the table, wondered again why she was afraid of it, and turned her attention back to her pounding heart. "I have to get out of here."

Kat stood to flee and heard two shots. A bullet shattered the ceramic lamp, plunging the surrounding area into darkness. She screamed and dove to the floor as more bullets whizzed overhead. Kat turned the table over for cover and the case fell, knocking itself open. A metal object clanged to the floor.

Far from the cot, light from the street glowed dimly through Etna's dusty windows. The light provided limited illumination within the building. In the dull glow she saw a black gun. Kat gasped, staring at the instrument of death. She looked over the cot, spotting two large men in brown suits wearing dark shades. Kat didn't know they were Un-Men. As far as she knew, they were just men, men trying to kill her. The bio-mechas readied to fire again and her heart pounded harder.

lub-DUB . . . lub-DUB . . .

The muscle coursed adrenaline through her blood. This hormone reacted with her body, increasing her heart rate, dilated her pupils, and elevated her blood sugar. The adrenaline super charged her body. She put her hand to her chest again. "This is not natural."

The two Un-Men moved toward her position, calculating the best way to kill the Project. The blazing-orange dot-light glowed bright behind the right lens of their dark shades. One of them stated in a monotone voice, "Target acquired. Moving forward with termination."

Chapter Two

The Rogue

Thursday evening . . .

Within the Sanctum, the Council continued monitoring the Project. The computer-blue glow of the fifty flat screen monitors lit up the faces of the analysts and the supervisors as they observed Pandora with interest. This Project was very important to the Three, so very important to them. Excitement and wonder stimulated the atmosphere, electrified their bodies and minds.

"Lower the center screen," Mr. Morta commanded in a deep voice.

A rectangular monitor, four by eight feet, lowered long ways from the ceiling. It positioned above them in the center of the table. The display showed an outline of a female body. Each of the major organs had bio-data streaming beside them.

An alarm sounded and stopped. In bold red letters at the top of the screen First Evolvement Achieved blinked. Chatter between the analysts increased as charged enthusiasm filled the Sanctum.

"The Alpha Phase, the First Evolvement has been reached. The Project sensed the presence of the bio-mechas," Mr. Morta said, examining the bio-data on the center screen. "Pandora's body is preparing itself to combat the Un-Men. Look at the subject's bio-electricity. The levels are high enough to trigger the Second Evolvement, the Beta Phase."

"Yes." Ms. Nona smiled. "The Ultra-Epi, the genetically altered epinephrine hormone we created for the Project acts as a souped up neurotransmitter. Pandora should reach the Second Evolvement with no difficulty."

Mr. Decuma tapped across an H.H.C. touch screen with a pen stylus, pulling up reports from their Operative. "Maybe not." He read over them. "Argus details Pandora has not responded to the Un-Men's presence." Mr. Decuma turned to his laptop. "Can the Project achieve the Beta Phase?" He typed on the keyboard, pulling up more reports on his computer. "Pandora seems to be withstanding the conditioning." Mr. Decuma frowned and stated with concern, "If the Project does not react soon, the subject will die, and the Pandora Project will end."

"Patience." Mr. Morta twirled the gold ring on his dark brown finger. "We did not blindly pick the subject. Wait."

Back in Etna Toys . . .

Kat hid behind the over turned cot and wondered, "Why are these men trying to kill me? Why? Did I do something to them?" She looked to the black Beretta lying on the floor not too far from her. Its case laid open beside the weapon. "Or maybe I'm a wanted person? Maybe I committed a crime?"

The Un-Men fired again and one of the bullets grazed her left shoulder. The pain triggered a latent instinct. She scurried to the gun, grabbed a clip sitting in the case, and inserted it. Kat pulled the sliding block to load the gun and it made a metal clicking sound chick-chick. She wildly fired six shots over the cot. They missed.

She froze, hearing the men's guns cocking, then something inside her clicked like a switch. The electrical field, the e-field of her body changed. The impulses that normally traveled down the optic nerve surged, causing a split feed. Part of this electricity rushed across her irises, giving her eyes a blue-electrical glow.

Kat fired four shots with mechanical accuracy, hitting one man in the forehead and mid-chest and the other in the heart and lung. The one she shot in the head collapsed to his knees and fell back as the other fired at her.

"He must be wearing a vest," Kat thought, ducking behind the overturned table, took a deep breath, and rose, returning fire. The bullet hit the second in the head. He also fell to the floor as gunfire echoed across the old building. Silence followed, a maddening silence. One that cleared her head, let her think, let her realize. Fear turned to uncertainty and uncertainty to self loathing. She sat, leaning against the cot, and breathed hard. In disbelief, Kat stared at the gun she rested on her lap. "How is it, I am good at killing?" Her next thought frightened her, made her sick. "That I feel nothing for these men I've murdered." Kat felt as if she would throw up. "Is this the kind of person I am? A murderer? An emotionless killer?"

Within the Sanctum . . .

Mr. Morta cheered. "There."

Analysts and supervisors high-fived each other in celebration.

Mr. Morta looked to the center monitor as Second Evolvement Achieved in bold red letters blinked. "The Beta Phase has successfully been reached." Mr. Morta reviewed a report from Argus on an H.H.C. "Our Operative has seen Pandora's extraordinary shooting ability. He believes the Project when it is in the Second Evolvement cannot miss. This far exceeds our expectations for the Beta Phase. We believed the Project would have an aptness for terminating bio-mechas, but this . . ."

"Yes," Ms. Nona agreed. "This will be a useful skill, if it is true." Excited, the Council woman grinned as she bit her cherry-red lower lip then asked, "Do you think the Project could reach the Gamma Phase today?"

"I believe we are jumping ahead." Mr. Morta leaned back, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair. "There are still three Un-Men remaining."

"Yes and does Pandora have skill or is it merely luck?" Mr. Decuma questioned. "More than half of the bio-mechas remain. Can the Project defeat them as easily as the first two?"

At Etna Toys . . .

The wind wailed outside, blowing debris in through the open front door. Kat stood, queasy, and made her way to the men she gunned down. Her eyes crackled with blue electricity in the darkness of the warehouse. She reached the men's side. A black oil like liquid oozed from the hole in their heads.

"They're not human, they're . . ." She removed the tinted glasses of one, revealing not fleshy eyes, but glass robotic ones. The colored orbs shuddered as power surged through their bodies. They bugged out and the bio-mechas' hands gnarled with the mechanical pangs of death. Kat stared at their eyes, at the red rings with black centers that showed no spark of life, merely windows to the soulless.

"They're not human," Kat repeated, feeling a little better. "I didn't kill anyone. I'm not a murderer." The queasiness eased up, but her confusion remained as she realized, "They're bio-mechas, model Un-Men." Kat frowned, frustrated. "Why do I know this when I can't remember the simplest thing like my name?" She searched them, taking a spare clip from each. "I have a feeling I'll need these." She placed them in her right thigh pocket.

lub-DUB . . . lub-DUB . . .

Kat sensed the bio-mechas again, but this time she knew more than they were near, she perceived their location. Three walked the grounds just outside. She franticly searched the plant for a way out as the Un-Men split up. One of them walked through a side entrance. The bio-mecha fired at her. Kat ran, taking cover behind some machinery. Sparks flew as bullets ricocheted off metal and she covered her head in fear. "Why do they keep coming after me?"

Terrified, Kat lost her concentration and position of the other two. She dashed for the front door, her eyes wide with terror. More bullets whizzed by, she returned fire, and hit her mark. Kat continued running for the door, glancing at the third bio-mecha as it lay in a pool of black ooze. The last two Un-Men appeared suddenly in the doorway. She ran into one and fell backward. With uncanny speed, Kat fired twice as she fell and landed on her back hard, knocking the wind from her. One shot hit the Un-Man with the gun. The bio-mecha with the knife side stepped the second shot with electrical speed as if the Un-Man perceived her actions before she took them. Kat inhaled, holding her hurt chest, sucking in needed air.

The bio-mecha drew its Coffin Handled Bowie and stared at her curiously. None of the others had done this. The blazing-orange dot-light of its right lens glowed bright then brighter as if half its face burned. "The Pandora Project. . ." the Un-Man said, but not in a monotone as she had heard its brethren. The blazing-orange dot changed to deep red, blood-red and the bio-mecha gazed at her as if looking into her soul. "Pandora . . ." The Un-Man's voice was sadistically mellow and toyed with her, made her feel violated. "Pandora, I have found you." The bio-mecha grinned, smiled as if it took pleasure in the hunt. "Target acquired." The Un-Man took a step as the Project scurried backward on her hands and feet. "Moving forward with termination." The bio-mecha lunged for her with the knife.

Kat rolled and the blade struck concrete. She rose to one knee and aimed, pulling the trigger. Click. The gun was empty. Click. Click. She pulled the trigger again, still nothing. The Un-Man slowly stood from its kneeling position, took two quick steps, and kicked her in the ribs. She grabbed her side, rolling to her feet as the bio-mecha slashed toward her. Kat leaped back, lifting her hands defensively, and the blade cut across her left forearm. She cried out in pain as blood spilt to the gray floor.

The Un-Man wiped the red plasma from the bowie on its fingers. The bio-mecha's face beamed, relishing in the combat. "The Pandora Project," it whispered, fooling with her. "Pandora . . ." The bio-mecha attacked with the blade. Swish. Swish. The air screamed with each slash.

Kat evaded the attacks, then ran, rushing deeper into the dark building. "Why does it call me the Pandora Project? I thought my name was Kat." She ejected the empty clip from the Beretta, dropped it to the floor with a clang, and pulled one from her thigh pocket. "Why can't I hit it?" She pulled the sliding block, chick-chick, loading the gun, and fired twice behind. The bio-mecha continued after her, ducking the shots. "Is this what I was dreaming of?" Kat wondered, fleeing outside. "I wasn't the predator, but the prey."

Within the Sanctum, Mr. Morta smiled. "Not bad for the opening test. The Project achieved the first two Evolvements. Pandora delivered uncanny accuracy with the weapon we provided and successfully sensed the bio-mechas. Once it has achieved all the Phases, Pandora will be the perfect weapon." He tapped his fingers together. "Set up another test, so we may analyze the range of the Project's gifts and set Pandora down the path to perfection."

Mr. Decuma nodded and typed up the documentation for the next test. He asked the female supervisor standing next to him, "Are the new reports on the Project ready?"

"They'll be right over," she answered.

Within a minute, the male supervisor approached. "Here are the reports you requested on her, Mr. Decuma."

"Her?" the Council said in unison.

"Yes, her," the supervisor answered, taken aback. "The Project."

"We do not refer to Pandora as she or her," Mr. Decuma said in reprimand. "It is an experiment and is to be referred to as such." In disdain he added, "To say she or her in reference implies the Project has rights." Mr. Decuma made it quite clear. "Pandora has none."

"Of course, Mr. Decuma." The male supervisor handed him the H.H.C. "My error. It will not happen again." The supervisor returned to monitoring the analysts.

Ms. Nona scanned the bio-data on the center monitor and the same data on her laptop. "There seems to be no adverse reaction to the Ultra-Epi. Though complications could arise in the future. Also the Project's body is not rejecting the adrenal gland we genetically altered to create the souped up epinephrine." Ms. Nona made a few notes. "We will have to monitor for any palpitations, tachycardia, anxiety, headaches, tremors, acute pulmonary edema, and hypertension."

"Yes, some of those could be a problem." Mr. Morta nodded. "We will see if it was wise to alter the gland instead of administering injections."

Mr. Decuma finished setting up the next test. "The Factory will be more than happy to assist us as one of our sister departments in the Sphinx Corporation."

"That and the fact they are developing the Un-Men as their new line of bio-mecha assassins," Ms. Nona added.

"Yes, the Factory's line of bodyguards was very profitable for the Sphinx Corporation." Mr. Morta leaned back in his chair. "Now the Factory hopes to improve their power and standing by releasing an unmatched line of bio-mecha assassins. The Pandora Project is an ideal forum to refine the Un-Men's programing. The Factory will be able to create the perfect killing machine."

The female supervisor handed Ms. Nona a report. "There seems to be a problem." The Council woman read over the H.H.C. "The Project has been unable to disable one of the Un-Men." Ms. Nona checked her reports. "It is a Type Four model."

"Terminate the test," Mr. Morta ordered, sitting upright. "Request that the Factory recall its bio-mechas. Killing four of the five Un-Men is not a failure."

"The Factory reports a problem. The Un-Man has ignored its recall," Mr. Decuma relayed. "It seems they have a rogue on their hands."

"A rogue, you say?" Mr. Morta said and thought, "This Un-Man must be exceptional to survive so long against Pandora. This is most interesting."

"Yes, a rogue," Mr. Decuma answered and asked, "Shall I have Argus assist the Project?"

"No, not at this time." Calmly, Mr. Morta folded his hands and leaned back in the chair. "Pandora must learn to survive on its own." He thought, "Anyway, we not only need to develop the Project's body, but its character. And what better way than adversity, a foe with a face." Mr. Morta looked to the screen. "In the past great warriors went up against other great warriors to see who was better, to test their mettle. Strength and endurance grows through conflict just as steel sharpens steel. The Rogue will be Pandora's adversary."

Chapter Three

Kimberly Griffin

One year later . . .

32 A.D.C. . . .

October 12 . . .

Tuesday, early evening . . .

The Sphinx Corporation Third Branch Office towered over the streets of the Hellenistic Sector, Business Vicinage. A hundred years ago when the city was created, the Corporate Senate (the world's ruling body based in the city) divided Noir into hundreds of Sectors, each one owned and governed by a corporation. The areas were then divided by each corporation into smaller areas called Vicinages, little cities within a colossal city. Sphinx owned and ruled the Hellenistic Sector.

Each corporation policed its Sectors with its own corporate military. The world had its own civil police force which dealt in non-corporate issues like assaults, murders by non-Closers, and anything else the corporate military kicked to them. Authority always belonged to the corporations.

The Sphinx Corporation Third Branch Office was one of many massive buildings in Noir. A mile high and half mile across and back this behemoth stood as a giant in the city, dominated as a Titan.

Kimberly Griffin, a woman in her late thirties, sat alone within one of many waiting rooms. In her left hand she held a key chain of a pink bunny rabbit. Distraught, she rubbed her thumb over the rabbit's smiling face. Physically and mentally tired, she looked at a man's picture on the cover of the Conglomerate World Magazine lying on a coffee table. She raked her long, blonde hair behind her ear and rubbed her eye. The headline read Topa, Climbing the Ladder of Success?

She shifted position on the light brown couch and glanced at the secretary. The older woman spoke on the phone. Kim sighed, impatient, and turned her gaze to a few landscape paintings decorating the open room's white walls. Their purpose was to soothe those who waited, to take one's mind away from the distresses of the day, even for just a few seconds. Kim frowned, the paintings incited no such solace. She stared at her fisted right hand, and slowly opened it, revealing a star the size of a dime burned in her palm. She sighed again and turned to the secretary as the woman answered a second phone on her desk.

The secretary hung up and cleared her throat. "Ms. Griffin your father . . ." Cathy started and caught herself. "I'm sorry, I mean the Chairman will see you now."

Kim nodded, too tired to be irritated, straightened her aqua pants suit, and headed for the huge corner office. The Chairman's position ranked third under the President and Vice President. Since Sphinx was one of the more powerful Corporations in the world, that made her father a very influential man with vast resources and global connections. Kim paused outside his office, vexed to have been called in. She took a deep breath, silencing her anger, opened the door, and walked in.

Two of the walls consisted of ten foot windows. The office's bright lights reflected off the windows like mirrors. The Chairman's desk sat off from the corner, giving him even more presence of authority like a king on a throne. Kim closed the door and walked passed a dark brown leather couch against a white wall.

The Chairman looked up from a computer and looked at her with his light blue eyes as she entered. He wore a dark gray suit. "Kimberly, good to see you." He stood, walked to her, and kissed her on the cheek. She didn't return his affection, almost turned from him repulsed. The Chairman frowned, then motioned to one of the chairs in front of his desk, and she sat as he returned to his seat. "Are you still living in the apartment off of West 1000 Avenue?"

Kim felt uneasy being in his office, but bore the discomfort. She noticed his graying black hair. "Yes."

The Chairman waited a moment before continuing, hoping she would say something. "Are you seeing anyone?"

She didn't answer, just looked at him with her blue-green eyes, thinking, "As if I had time for a boyfriend, but that's none of his business."

He quickly moved to the next question, feeling awkward in front of his daughter. "How's work?"

Still showing a bit of fatigue, she answered, "Fine. I finished a Closing in Moscow three days ago." Kim frowned and her face softened as she stared at the key chain of the pink bunny rabbit.

The Chairman thought he saw a glimmer of sadness. "Are you all . . ."

Kim glared at him, stifling his question as her irritation returned. She glanced at a picture frame sitting on his desk with its back to her and looked to him. "You didn't call me in here because you suddenly have an interest in my life."

The Chairman sighed. "Right. To business then." He handed her an envelope with a small key inside. "It's to your mother's hope chest." He picked up the picture frame, smiling. "How you look like her." The Chairman set it back down as happy memories flooded his mind. "I know she would want you to have the chest. I've set up delivery."

Kim opened the envelope and stared at the brass key. "Have you given me this because it is the anniversary of when mom left?"

"No."

"Then why now?"

Not sure of her meaning, he questioned, "Why now?"

"All these years since mom . . ." She paused, trying not to cry. "Mom abandoned us, you never wanted to talk about her, her name became taboo around you. So, why now after two decades? Why give me her hope chest? What has changed?" Her eyes narrowed, suspicious of his actions. "I know it isn't our relationship. So, what is it? Are you going to talk about why she left us?"

"I was wrong." He bowed his head. "Her leaving us hurt me so much, I wanted to forget. I never thought how it might affect you, or that you needed me, and for that, I'm sorry."

"Sorry." She laughed. "Perfect, now everything's fine." Kim stood and added sarcastically, "I'm glad I came." She started for the door.

"Do you have to leave? I thought we might have an early dinner and talk."

Half way to the door she turned. "I can't. I have a Closing tomorrow and need to get some rest."

"A Closing? Who?"

"Topa."

The Chairman frowned. "Yes, I know him."

"Thought you did." She started to turn toward the door and paused. "It's kind of sad."

He tilted his head. "What is?"

"Our relationship, my life, you name it, but most of all that you were the one who got me into . . ." The words slithered from her mouth, "My profession." Kim fisted her hands. "What kind of father has his daughter . . ." She looked at him angrily.

This time he had nothing to say.

Kim continued to the door.

The Chairman stood. "You should take some time off. You're looking a little tired. Maybe buy yourself a pet to keep you company. You can't be happy living all alone."

"So you have been spying on me!" Kim paused at the door as if to say something more, shook her head, and left.

The Chairman sighed, sitting down, and stared at the picture. "How you look like your mother." He pushed his chair back and commanded, "Lights dim." The room darkened and the Chairman turned in his seat, looking out a window at Noir's skyline. He stared at the Dry Clouds as they loomed over the dark city. "I wish you were here, Theresa. Our daughter needs you."

* * * * * * *

"Sometimes . . ."

A red VX Corvette drove into the parking garage of the Nexus Apartments. The small building, only forty stories high, sat on the corner of West 1000 Avenue and Knot Street in the Hellenistic Sector, Residential Vicinage. Kim exited the vehicle and grabbed a bag of groceries from her trunk. She took an empty elevator to the thirty-first floor and walked down a deserted hall to Apartment H.

"Sometimes I . . ." Kim thought and commanded, "Door, unlock."

"Voice recognized as Kimberly Griffin," the Apartment Computer System stated. "Opening door."

The apartment door slid sideways, Kim walked in the small entry, and commanded, "Door lock." The door slid shut and locked as she went into the kitchen on the north side. The lights automatically flickered on in each room she entered as the Apartment Computer System or A.C.S. detected her presence.

"Welcome back Ms. Griffin," A.C.S. stated in its female computer voice. "The apartment temperature is set at seventy-eight degrees Fahrenheit. Lights are set at eighty-five percent brightness. Would you like to make any adjustments at this time?"

"Yes, A.C.S. It's a bit warm. Drop the temperature to seventy-six. And I could use more lighting, so change the brightness to ninety-five percent."

"Making changes now."

The air conditioner kicked on and the lights brightened. Kim set the bag down, laid the bunny rabbit key chain beside it, and stared at the black marble counter. She put both hands on the inky-black surface, leaned against it, and bowed her head. "Sometimes I wish . . ." Her blonde hair fell forward, covering the side of her face as she stared at her reflection in the marble.

"For Ares' sake! My life's so tedious." Kim leaned back. "All I have is routine." She sighed, started to unpack the bag, and glanced around the dark lifeless room. It was quiet, in a gloomy way. She looked to one of three windows in the apartment, all overlooked West 1000 Avenue. Kim noticed a dead Transgenic Vine sitting on the kitchen window sill and frowned.

"Great, just great! Forgot to ask the manager to water it while I was gone. Too bad A.C.S. doesn't have a water system for plants." She walked over to the plant, picked up the pot, and several brown leaves fell to the floor. Kim shook her head, moved to the trash can, and pressed the step, which flipped up the stainless steel lid. The brittle brown plant fell out of its container as Kim dropped the pot in the waste. Dirt spilled, exposing the vine's roots. She stared at the dead plant. "Can't I keep one thing alive?" Kim released the lid and walked away from the trash. "Or are Closings all I'm good at?"

She returned to her groceries, putting them away, then placed a stainless steel kettle full of water on the burner, and turned it on high. Kim put the eggs and milk in the refrigerator and put the dry goods in the pantry. She reached up into the cupboard, removed a white cup and saucer, and placed them on the counter. She walked to a drawer, opened it, and grabbed a spoon. "Is this really my life?" Kim noticed her reflection in the spoon's curved surface. "It's so mundane. Lonely. Sometimes I wish . . ."

Kim placed a single tea bag in the solitary cup and a slice of lemon on the saucer. "Sometimes I wish . . ." She glanced at the answering machine as the water started to boil. Messages read zero, the number of friends, of acquaintances. The kettle whistled, she removed it from the burner, poured hot water into the cup, and steam rolled up from the liquid. "Shouldn't my life be different? Wasn't I meant for more than this . . . this wretched life as a Closer? I wish . . ." Kim dared not think it. Dared not hope.

She grabbed a remote from the counter, aimed the device at the south side wall, clicked on a flat screen TV that hung over a fireplace in the living room and gazed at the picture from the open kitchen. The evening news was on, showing footage of a small office building on fire. Kim moved behind a black leather couch, watching the blaze. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the first door in the hallway, walked to the room, started to command it to unlock, but stopped, afraid. "Sometimes . . ." She pulled on her left earlobe. "I wish . . ."

The spare bedroom remained locked since she first closed it. Kim stored her mother's belongings in it. Down the hall was the Master Bedroom, her room. Kim sighed, returned to the kitchen, grabbed the remote, and looked to the TV. An anchorwoman, Linda Harvey with NBS (Noir Broadcasting Station) read a report.

"The Corporate Senate will be meeting later this week to vote on the proposed bill for a sales tax increase. The quarter cent raise will bring in much needed money for the planet's civil defense and continue funding the Research Project Clean Air. Analysts are predicting the bill will be voted in." Linda Harvey paused. "In other news, Dr. Robert Seeker, the foremost expert in the Dry Cloud problem, will be heading out to the Antarctic . . ."

Kim clicked off the TV, plunging the room back into silence. "Enough with the news. My life is miserable enough without having to hear about someone else's." She picked up the saucer and cup, walked to a small round table, and sat, staring out the window that overlooked West 1000 Avenue. The Dry Clouds entombed the starry sky, leaving the night dismal and bleak just like her life.

Kim picked up a clear plastic container of honey in the shape of a bear that sat on the table, popped open the yellow lid, and squirted a smiley face on the spoon with the golden sugar. She whispered a phrase her mother used to say. "Fly. . . fly away sad, sad, day." Kim stirred the honey in her Orange Pekoe, removed the tea bag, placed it on the saucer, and stared at the now warm brown liquid. "Used to, that phrase would cheer me up, but not anymore." She arched her head back, looking at the ceiling. "Hades . . . What a life I have."

Kim's gaze shifted to the star burned into her right palm. "You've been with me for nearly two decades, but I can't remember where I got you." She made a fist and opened her hand again. "So, will I ever learn of your origin?"

"Look at me!" Frustrated, Kim shook her head. "The only thing I have to look forward to is maybe, someday, discovering where I received this burn." She slammed a fist on the table and the tea cup rattled. "Sometimes I wish . . . I wish I wasn't so alone. That I had more in this life. That there would be someone there for me."

* * * * * * *

October 13 . . .

Wednesday, early morning . . .

Kim's blue-green eyes popped open as the laptop sitting on a desk in her bedroom screeched like a bird, alerting her to an incoming message. "No," she whined, placed a pillow on her face, and rolled over. "It can't be morning."

A screen saver of a flaming bird flew across the laptop's screen. The fiery glow lit up the dark room. After a few minutes, Kim dragged herself out of bed, put on a white housecoat and slippers, fixed a cup of tea, and sat down at the desk. She hit the space bar, waking up the computer and clicked on the message.

It read, "Have you accepted the Closing?" "So Voice, you're up early this morning," Kim thought and took a sip of the hot green tea. "Or maybe you're up late, depending on where in the world you are sending this message from." She typed a reply. "Yes."

"I'll send an encrypted e-mail with directions," Voice typed back. "Topa's estate is heavily guarded. He should be in his office for most of the morning."

"Standard operation?"

"Yes."

"Understood." Kim pushed her chair back, but the computer's beep brought her back to the screen.

"You should take a break after this Closing," Voice wrote. "You have been working rather hard and the Moscow Closing was rather difficult."

"You sound like my father. Are you sure you don't have children?"

"Yes. In our line of business it isn't wise to have them." Voice typed, then a minute passed before writing, "As for your father, you should listen to us, we are your elders."

Kim stared at the screen and tapped her fingers across the keyboard. "Since we're getting a little personal, I was wondering why you're called Voice? All these years I've worked for you, I've never heard you."

"Long before you joined us, I made contact over the phone. Therefore the tag, Voice. But that was ages ago."

"I wonder just how long ago?" Kim thought and typed, "I am also curious as to why you wanted me to join the Assassins League. I do live on the planet's Dark Half. I should be a part of the Assassins Union."

"And let Thanatos have one of the best Closers. I think not. He would only waste your talents. Anyway, those of us on the Light Side still have work that must be done on the Dark Half. You are not the only Closer there that belongs to the League."

"Hmmm . . ." She stretched, yawned, and typed, "Will contact you this evening. Signing off." Kim stood and went into the kitchen. "Maybe I do need a break." She noticed the bunny rabbit key chain on the counter, thought back to the Moscow assignment, and frowned. "The last Closing got to me." Kim grabbed the key chain, walked to the living room, and moved to a bookcase beside the fireplace. She placed the bunny rabbit in a wooden box sitting on a shelf and glanced at a picture frame with a photo of Theresa Griffin. Kim and her mother could have been twins. "Mom, what would you think of me?"

Chapter Four

Topa's Estate

Wednesday, early morning . . .

On the outskirts of Hellenistic Sector, Topa's Estate stood in the midst of an apple orchard. Sunlamps lit up the imported trees as a gentle wind swept through the orchard's green leaves. The lamps were on sixteen hours and off eight hours. Without them the non-Transgenic trees would starve in the endless night.

"You will pay," a solitary figure thought, walking up a winding path from the darkness of the day. "I swear, you will pay!"

The path led to the square mile estate. The past year's nonstop hunts, what the Council called tests, took their toll on Kat, mentally and physically. Her pants and shoes, those she had on when she awoke in Etna Toys Plant and Warehouse, were worn. A gray-black athletic jacket covered her dingy white t-shirt and protected her from the cool breezy air. She removed a single strap backpack, unzipped the jacket, took it off, and put on a black Ravlek Vest. Ravlek was an experimental material like Kevlar, but generations ahead. Months ago, Kat acquired the body armor from an assassin, who died from a fall. She set the gray and black backpack and jacket beside a dead gnarled oak, a remnant from the sun era.

Kat raked her fingers through her lengthening short brown hair. Seven months ago, she decided to let it grow out. Her way of rebelling against the powers who plagued her life, those who called her the Pandora Project. Those who thought they owned her. Those who would try to control her. Her way of saying NO!

Focused and determined, Kat continued up the path toward the objective. The constant struggle between her and the Un-Men seemed to persist for ages. Always the prey, always running . . . hiding . . . But not this time. Her foes the Council who sent human assassins and those behind the bio-mechas the Factory remained in the shadows, remained beyond her reach.

"Today is different," Kat thought. "I know one of their names, one of their places of safety." She gripped the Beretta in her right palm, and in her left hand she carried a white bible smeared by blood. "Topa, you will pay!" Rage fueled her exhausted body, revenge fixated her mind, and anguish ripped at her soul. "You will die this day. I swear it." She stared at the bible, her hazel eyes saddening, but not watering, never able to cry. "For Preacher, I will kill you."

Four men armed with hand guns stood beside a brick guardhouse just inside an iron gate, the East of four entrances through the fifteen foot high wall of stone surrounding the estate. Three of them wore a Winnow Mask type B or WM-B that covered their mouth and nose. The air filter permitted those not used to the Dark Half of the planet to work outside in the Dry Clouds' pollution.

One guard pressed a button on the side of his WM-B and shouted through the mask's intercom, "Halt! State your name and business here."

She didn't respond, continuing her march to the gate.

The four men aimed their weapons at her as the one shouted, "She's wearing a vest. Switch to Armor Piercing Rounds, A.P.Rs."

The four men ejected their 9 mm clips, replacing them with the A.P.Rs as the one declared, "We will open fire if you don't state your name and business here!"

"My name?" Kat questioned. "My name? I am Sorrow. I am Emptiness."

"She has a gun!" the one shouted.

The four men shot at her, hitting Kat in the chest. She lurched back with the impacts, cried out in pain, and fell face down to the path. Fireflies danced about her and the surrounding area, paying no heed it was morning. Two of the men stepped out of the gate, scanned the surrounding darkness, and approached the woman. One rolled her over, and Kat moaned. Blood covered her dingy white shirt underneath the vest.

"She's good as gone." The first guard reached down, took her black Beretta, locked the safety, tucked the weapon in the front waistband of his pants, and grabbed the bible. "This book could be valuable." He looked around the area. "See anyone else?"

"No. Take her arms. The orchard could use more fertilizer." The second guard, with the help from the first, dragged the woman inside the gate, and dropped her on the dirt path.

"What's that?" the third man asked. Native of Noir, he wore no Winnow Mask.

The first examined the bible. "A book covered in blood." "A book you say. Is it legal?" the third asked.

The first opened the cover and peered at a paper tucked in a clear plastic pocket. "Yeah, it's legal. Here's its registration." He read the top. "The bible's registered to one Norman Odin."

"A bible?" The third walked over, grabbed the book, and flipped through it. He handed it back to the first and walked over to the woman. "Throw that archaic thing away before you get some disease." The third snarled his nose up at the woman. "She looks like she's from Wayfaring Lane." He spat on her. "Bums, the lot of 'em."

"I thought I might get some money for the book off the black market."

"Not from that thing you won't. It's trash." The third threw his thumb over his shoulder. "Toss it!"

The first nodded and tossed the bible on top of the garbage that sat in a trash can outside the guardhouse.

"Better radio this in." The third guard, the one without the mask, started to bring a radio up to his mouth.

"I wouldn't do that just yet." Kat grabbed a hand full of dirt, stood, and threw it into the face of the third guard.

He cried out, covering his eyes with his hands. "I can't see!"

"How is she standing?" the fourth man shouted, drawing his gun. "The A.P.Rs. should have killed her."

"I thought she was dying." The first aimed his weapon. "She's covered in blood."

Kat held her chest in pain from the four bullet impacts that struck her Ravlek Vest. "It's not my blood." She leaped up, spin kicked the maskless guard in the temple, and yelled, "Why do you think I'm here?"

The second man fell to the ground out cold as the first and fourth shot at Kat. She rolled with uncanny speed, evading their fire, and raced to the fourth guard as he shot again. The bullet nicked her earlobe. Kat grabbed the man's wavy hair, slammed the side of his head into the brick guardhouse, and side kicked the other in the stomach. The guard with the wavy hair slid down the brick wall, landing in a heap. Blood covered his forehead. The first guard bent over in pain as Kat calmly approached him, took the gun from his waistband, pulled his mask down, and punched him in the face.

"I can't see," the maskless guard screamed again. "What's going on?"

Kat marched over to the man, placed the barrel of the gun against his jaw, and took his weapon. "Where's Topa?"

"I won't tell you."

With calm resolve she leaned to him, whispering, "I'm only here to kill him." She put her hand on his back, pulling herself close to his ear. "Tell me and I'll let you live."

Sweat beaded his forehead, and a salty droplet ran down his face, landing on her barrel. He squinted, looking to the fallen guards, but saw only blurred images. "Live like the others?"

She glanced at one as the guard moaned. "They are alive. Now . . . Where's Topa?"

"I won't . . ."

She cocked the gun. "Last chance."

"He's . . . He's in his office. Don't kill me!"

Kat uncocked the gun, then using the man's own weapon struck him in the back of the head, knocking him out. She tossed his gun, searched the other men, took their 9 mm ammo, and what A.P.Rs. they had, put the clips in her right thigh pocket, and tossed their guns and masks into the bushes. Kat walked to the guardhouse. She retrieved the bible from the trash can, brushed debris from its blood dried cover, and held it close to her heart. "Why did they kill you? Was it because of me? Was it another test?" Anguish ripped at her heart, and her lips trembled. "Am I the reason you're dead, Preacher?"

Those thoughts caused her great sorrow, so much so, it was hard to breathe. Kat went this long, grueling year without killing anyone, taking careful steps not to take a life. Finding other ways to defeat the human assassins and bounty hunters the Council sent after her. "Still," she thought. "If I'm the reason Preacher's dead . . ."

Kat shook her head, then breathed as deeply as she could, trying to rid herself of the suffocating feelings. "I can't think about that now." She started down the dirt path that lead to the center of the estate where the main house and Topa's office stood. "I must make him pay." Hatred seeped into her soul, saturating it. "Topa must pay!" Kat rushed to her target, evading the rest of the guards. She wouldn't have much time before the four at the gate were discovered.

Chapter Five

Enter the Life Closer

Wednesday morning . . .

Somewhere in Noir . . .

In the Council's Sanctum . . .

The Three monitored the Pandora Project's bio-data on the center monitor above their table. Shadows covered their eyes, leaving their identities in the darkness. Analysts and supervisors worked around them in the computer-blue glow of the room.

"The Project has entered Topa's Estate," Ms. Nona stated with concern and bit her cherry-red lower lip. "Should we stop Pandora? Topa is not part of this experiment."

"No. We will use him as we have used others who stumbled upon our tests." Mr. Morta folded his large, dark brown hands. "This situation could be the catalyst we have been waiting for to take the Project to the Gamma Phase."

"Pandora has been a disappointment this past year." Mr. Decuma straightened his bright orange tie. "Sure, the Project's skills are incredible, but . . ."

"Yes, but Pandora holds back. It has not taken a life." Mr. Morta leaned forward on his elbows, resting his chin on his hands. "Why, is what we have to discover."

"The conditioning has failed," Ms. Nona answered. "We should be working on the Fifth Evolvement by now, not worrying about the third."

"No, I think it is more than that. Remember even before we took custody of the Project, Pandora was an enigma. There is nothing wrong with the conditioning. I believe it is the Project's emotions."

"The Project's emotions?" Mr. Decuma didn't understand the eldest member's reasoning and wondered, "Why does Mr. Morta hold such high expectations for this experiment? Has he grown attached? This could be a problem. One I must monitor. If Mr. Morta is not careful he will lose his indifference and start calling it, she."

"Yes, Mr. Decuma. Emotions. Rage . . . Love . . . Both are driving forces," Mr. Morta explained as he twisted the gold ring on his dark brown finger. "As any human would know. The Project has not tapped into them, Pandora is holding back, shielding itself."

"That is until Preacher," Ms. Nona added.

Mr. Morta nodded. "Precisely, if we had known how his death affected Pandora, we would have killed him long ago."

A female supervisor handed Ms. Nona a report. "This is not good."

"What is it?" Mr. Decuma asked as he rubbed the silver tie pin of the word Fate.

"It seems one of the Corporations does not like what Topa has been doing lately. A Life Closer has been sent to the Estate."

"By our Corporation?" Mr. Decuma asked.

"I think not," Mr. Morta answered. "But with an organization as vast as ours, who knows for sure."

* * * * * * *

At the northwest corner of Topa's estate, a lone figure threw a small J-shaped grappling hook over the wall. This part of the estate had little light, so the figure easily hid in the darkness of the late morning. Charcoal-gray Dry Clouds rumbled overhead, warning of a possible Tainted Rain storm. A cool breeze filled with the odor of petroleum blew across the imported trees and grass. Kim pulled her knit mask over her face, made sure it was securely in place, and checked over her black outfit. She wore thin gloves, jogging pants, running shoes, a tank top, and a zip up hooded sweatshirt. Kim had no need for a Winnow Mask. A native of the Dark Half of the planet, her lungs were used to the pollutants.

"Must keep one's identity a secret. Wouldn't want to kill anyone not part of the Closing and have to file extra paperwork. Voice hates unnecessary reports as much as me and I wouldn't want to make Voice mad." She thought about Moscow. "Not again."

Kim climbed the cord to the top of the wall, then down the other side, and glanced at her watch once she reached the ground. She would have this Closing done within the hour, if all went well. "Topa will make the front cover again," she thought. "But with the headline Found Dead." She tossed the thin climbing cord, grappling hook, and black knapsack in the corner, then threw a pile of leaves on the items to hide them. Kim checked the Military Defender, a tactical knife, in a sheathe strapped to her right calf. She quietly slipped by the guards, making her way to his office. In the e-mail Voice sent her, the client stated Topa would most likely be there.

The office stood at the end of a long cobblestone path leading from the house, lit by black cast-iron sunlamps. Small pine trees grew along the path and hedges lined the last twenty feet of the walkway and around the office. Kim hid in the bushes underneath a window just left of Topa's desk. She glanced in, seeing her target busy with a calculator at his mahogany table.

"Only one guard inside. Should be easy enough." Kim placed a silencer on the PPK, and stood to make her way in, but the front door opened. She ducked back into the hedge, and the blue-green bushes rustled with her movement. Through the window she watched as a third man walked into the room. He removed his WM-B and adjusted the filter's strap.

Topa sat at his desk, counting bundles of money. He placed the stacks in a suitcase. His bodyguard stood off in the corner.

"This is payment for the Illicit Closer we hired to take out that nuisance on Wayfaring Lane." Topa finished counting. "That cassock won't be hindering our sales of Sunna Snaps."

"Illicit Closer?" Kim thought. "I can't believe he hired an illegal assassin, one that doesn't belong to the Guild. If Voice or Thanatos finds out . . ." She shrugged. "I guess it doesn't matter. Topa's Closing is today. What more can they do to him?"

Back inside the office, Topa closed the suitcase and handed it to the henchman. "Also, tell our contacts at the Valhalla Corporation we'll be doubling our next order now that business will be getting back to normal."

"Understood." The henchman put his Winnow Mask back on, took the suitcase, and left.

Topa turned to his bodyguard. "Ready my car. We're going into the Hellenistic Sector of Noir."

The bodyguard nodded and left by the back door.

Kim glanced in the window. "Bodyguard's gone. This will be easier than I thought." Again she started to leave her hiding place, but the front door opened. She ducked into the bushes and sighed. "What's up with my luck today?"

Kat entered, holding the black Beretta at her side, and found Topa alone. His office smelled of polished wood and had an old feel to it. Black and white photos of distinguished men, who looked related to him, lined the walls.

"Who's this?" Kim wondered, peeking through the window. "A second Closer?" She frowned, a little irritated, and ducked back down. "Voice has never sent in a backup before. I've never needed one." Kim thought about her statement. "Never needed one before Moscow." She eyed the short brown haired woman. "No. The woman doesn't have the look of a Closer. Then who is she?"

Topa looked up as the door opened. "Who are you? How did you get in here?" He pressed a button under his desk, triggering a silent alarm.

Filled with hatred and anguish, Kat raised the gun. "You killed Preacher. Now I'll kill you." She aimed for his forehead. "You must pay for what you did to him!"

* * * * * * *

Within the Sanctum . . .

The Council monitored the Project's bio-data on the center monitor. The screen showed no change.

"Argus is on the Estate and has found the Project in Topa's office," Ms. Nona reported. "Pandora is about to kill Topa."

"Good . . . Good . . . The Gamma Phase will finally be achieved. The Project will take a life, spill human blood." Mr. Morta smiled. "Where is the Closer?"

"Holding outside of the office," Mr. Decuma answered. "The Closer will not move with the unknown woman in the room."

"Finally . . ." Mr. Morta's smile broadened. "I have had such high hopes for this particular project. For one long year we have waited to achieve this pinnacle." With elated breath he added, "Now we will witness Pandora's transformation as the Project completes the Gamma Phase. The Turning Point Phase."

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