Flight of the Exile

[JakDos]

The flap set into his door flew open, a high pitched chittering sounding from the brass ball that had displaced the worn leather. Jak looked up from his near completed project, and neatly caught AIVEN as it leapt towards his chest, buzzing and squeaking. As he listened, the slim man turned pale, and whispered, "Oh.....fuck."

-CRASH- 
-THUMP- -BANG BANG BANG- 
-BEEP-
-WHEEDLE-

Jak ran frantically around the room, throwing shit into a medium sized hand case, and stuffing whatever he could into his pockets and heavy leather welders apron. The oddments attached to the faded black helmet he always wore up on his head tinkled as he flew around his former workshop. After a minute, he'd strapped a bag to his back, and picked up his case, weighted down with his most essential items. Now he looked like a junk peddler, instead of the skinny tinkerer that hid under the layers of technology and brass. Giving a look at the giant piles of rusted metal, gears, clocks, and other assorted oddments, he let out a panicked gasp, running over to his front door and crouching near the threshold for a few seconds. 

At his back door, he turned and said goodbye to his shop and home for the past several months, although inwardly he cursed himself for becoming so sedentary. His worst fears had happened. They'd finally found him. It was his fault really. He thought that a Server Island on the reaches of System Territory was safe enough to settle down on for a good long while, but not even a master gadgeteer could escape the System for long. Now, his only choices were to flee into the unreal estate that made up the outlands, which was not even an option without some sort of ship, or to disappear into the mechanical sprawl that made up the innards of Systopia and the Complexes. That's what he'd have to do if he wanted to escape. 

AIVEN had warned him of the glossy black uniforms of SYS7 patrolling the marketplace, kicking in random doors and questioning the dirty locals, most of whom answered with blank stares until they'd reached a certain unscrupulous customer of his. Curse that Captain Malcolm. Jak had known dealing with him would bite him in the ass, but he had needed the creds. Now he had been forced to leave behind most of his materials and wordly possessions, although he could recreate most of it. The enigmatic Mr. Jak Dos had all of his blueprints safely locked away in his head, like some sort of post apocalyptic Johnny Mnemonic. He knew, too. SYS7 being here meant that it was on the way as well. If it had been SYS6 doing the questioning, then Jak would have locked his door and enjoyed a cool Fin Gizz cocktail while they blundered about. But the private army of Friend Computer was not dispatched for trifles, Jak knew firsthand. If they were here, then.....then.....then Azrael was not far behind.

Jak had only heard rumors of the shadowy Controller known as Azrael, enough to know that he never, ever wanted to meet him or her. Or it, for that matter. On the run now, Jak shut his eyes for a minute, and quietly stepped out the back door, the only motion in the room an odd glint in the air near the base of the unlocked front door, and faint red blips of light coming from the piles of junk.

[Morigann Issa Helhest]

An unmarked black carriage raced over the concrete and cobblestones of the rambling narrow streets, the SYS7 driver indifferent to everything in the steel-shod vehicle’s path as he plunged on, scattering citizens and clockwork mechanoids alike.
 
The carriage’s single occupant calmly observed the scenery as it flashed by, hidden from view by windows of darkly tinted mirrored glass. Silver glinted in the dimness, slender and lethally menacing, twirled deftly between long fingers protected by black gloves of the finest ebony leather. A casual twitch and the scalpel bit deep into the wall opposite and remained there, quivering.
 
Morigann Issa Helhest, alias Azrael, gracefully leaned back into the overstuffed purple velvet seat cushions, her soft, pleased sigh muffled and made slightly metallic by the smooth metal mask she wore. The carriage was a bit ostentatiously opulent for her tastes, but in order to maintain some anonymity the unmarked conveyance of a high official certainly suited her purposes.
 
In records from the days Before, she had discovered a text wherein the author had stated, “You have to be a deviant or exist in extreme boredom...make no mistake all intellectuals are deviants.” A smile twitched at the corners of Azrael’s mouth, giving an unpleasant twist to her thin lips as they parted cleanly—horribly—like skin beneath a blade. Deviant she was, feared and yet needed: her particular area of expertise made her indispensible. On the record, she did it for the protection of Friend Computer and The System. Off the record, it was purely for pleasure. Any fool could contrive to have their hands slick with blood by daycycle’s end—but she wanted, no, craved, something more challenging. Hunting down the worst and most wanted of illegal entities cleaned up hazardous debacles for Friend Computer, and on occasion provided her with a rushing thrill that had yet to be equaled.
 
Per her usual method of operation, she had memorized all information relevant to the operation. Recently the target “Jak Dos,” formerly a member of SYS7 Assault Force Mechanus, had become sloppy; he had stayed on this Server Island too long and made unwise deals with unsavory citizens, including one Captain Malcolm who with little to no questioning by SYS7 enforcers had provided Jak’s address in return for a reward. It would be quite the disappointment (and very fatal for Captain Malcolm) if Azrael’s time was being wasted; then again, the fugitive had demonstrated remarkable ingenuity at avoiding capture and termination in the past, so there was still hope that the journey to the edge of System Territory would not be for naught. 
 
There was a slight lurch as the carriage ground to a halt. A SYS7 enforcer efficiently snapped open the carriage door and stood at attention, his black glossy armor shining smartly. Azrael’s gaze flicked over him, noting the enforcer had strategically angled his body to be slightly behind the door and out of convenient striking range. Smart man, he had the potential to go far…then again, if he demonstrated too much ambition she would simply have him terminated; he was utterly beneath her preferred methods of execution.
 
Uncoiling from her seat like a venomous snake letting out its coils, Azrael stepped down from the carriage. The street was deserted except for an honor guard of SYS7 enforcers lined up in double ranks to either side. Standing ramrod straight with her hands clasped behind her back, Azrael was every inch the Controller. Not a single enforcer dared to look at her; every face-concealing helmet was tilted upwards and away.
 
Turning her head sharply to one side, a single curt nod to the Captain had him barking orders to the enforcers who hastened to move into position, sealing off access to the shabby building surrounded by piles of heavily rusted machine parts. As unmoving as a statue, Azrael observed their movements and simultaneously kept an eye on the building via the angled mirrors arranged around the eye area inside her mask.
 
Everything was in place. With deadly elegance she strode towards the shop, the only sound in the entire street the whisper of leather as the thick folds of her long coat fell against her slender body and brushed together. The Captain approached her and gave his unnecessary report, “Structure surrounded. Orders on how to proceed?”
 
A line from the file on Jak Dos flitted across her thoughts: Subject is adept at repurposing technology. Weapons systems and assault droid programming and repurposing division…
 
With a sweeping gesture of her arm she indicated the shop’s door, her black metal mask glinting eerily, while behind it a wicked smirk flitted across her face.
 
“After you, Captain…”

 

[JakDos]

Keeping his head down, Jack moved through the cramped streets and dirty junkpiles. His gear made a soft clanking as it bounced off his side, his quickened pace drawing a few stares. He tried to keep his panic down, but a worried frown creased his face. Hopefully the laser turrets and Frank bombs he'd hidden in the piles of junk in his home would buy him some time, although he would be fooling himself if he thought Azrael would be caught in his trap. No, those were mainly to thin the battalion of SYS7 personnel Azrael no doubt had with them.

His going was slow and painstaking, and the loud explosions he was listening for hadn't sounded yet. Coming upon an isolated corner full of sleeping derelicts and powered down drones, he sat with his back against a pitted brick wall, lowering his helmet over his face and trying to blend in.

[Morigann Issa Helhest]

SYS7 enforcers crowded the small area in front of the shop, taking up positions with their weapons trained on the lower windows. Keeping a wary distance, but still close enough to do his duty, the Captain directed five other enforcers to the front door, one easily hefting a massive steel hammer in his brawny hands.
 
Azrael watched them detachedly from her peripheral vision, her gaze riveted on the upper windows. “He is not here,” she stated, speaking her thoughts aloud to no one in particular.
 
Nonplussed, the Captain paused and waited for the order or explanation to follow; it was not his place to know more than was needed.
 
Azrael waved dismissively at the building. “Weapons specialist. In the very least I would expect him to attempt sniping at us; there has been no movement from the windows. The building is empty. Carry on.” With that, she turned sharply on her heel and quickly started back to the carriage, beckoning the Captain to keep pace with her. “Contact the local division of SYS4; they are to coordinate identification efforts by adding Jak Dos to their public broadcast list of Prime Anticitizens. All access points to this Server Island are to be closed. Barring high level citizens, all subject to search, no one gets on or off. Then send for my dire hounds.”
 
The Captain stopped abruptly, her words freezing his veins. “T—the dire hounds?” he stuttered.
 
“Yes. Jak Dos is still close by. I want the net closed, and then tightened,” she said, stepping up into the waiting carriage.
 
“What—” the Captain cleared his throat, “What of my men?”
 
“Send those that remain to rendezvous with the other SYS7 enforcers three streets away on all four sides of this bloc.”
 
“Those that remain?”
 
“Of course. Weapons specialist. You do not honestly think he would leave his home unguarded do you?”
 
CRASH!
 
The hammer-wielding enforcer smashed open the shop door and two lines of SYS7 men poured through the entrance with the swiftness of a river of oil bursting its pipe.
 
BWOOOOHM!
 
Pushed outwards by the shockwave of the explosion, glass rained from the windows in a lethal cascade of crystal, its tinkling accented by screams and indistinct shouting.

Reflected flames danced across the smooth surface of Azrael’s mask. Yes, she thought, smiling slightly, Jak Dos might prove to be worth my time after all…

[JakDos]

Jack stirred as he heard the explosion go off. Well, that was that. He knew there was no way he'd be able to slip quietly off the island, but the thought had been rolling around his head. It was time to fight.

He set the mysterious case of the ground in front of him and flipped it open, revealing a disassembled selection of parts, and began, his fingers deftly picking up the main section of it. A solid cylinder of polished brass was quickly slotted and screwed into a matching pipe, inset in a long wooden stock. Next, he ratcheted a large brass bulb onto the stock, which had a slight depression to neatly fit against his bicep. He opened a hatch on the top of it, and taking a one of four cloth sacks from his apron, poured a sizable amount of coal in it. Leaving the hatch open, he finished by attaching a wide flared nozzle to the barrel, and affixing a carved metal handle to the bottom, along with a steady stick in front, a chunky box magazine about 7 square inches large, and finally, a pop up target sight to the end of the weapon body.

He stood up, hefting the odd looking weapon, and pulled a match from his pocket, lighting it on his apron and dropping it in the open bulb hatch. The coal flared to life and he shut the lid, feeling the pressure begin to build. Jack lowered his helmet over his face and screws one of the dangling gadgets into an inset socket, forming a monocle of sorts.

Taking a deep breath, he started out of the alley, his apron making a soft whooshing noise as it rubbed against his underclothes.

"Hey! I fo-"

Jack pulled the trigger, and the hapless enforcer gave a wet sounding gurgle as a 7 inch red hot railroad spike pinned him to the wall, followed by an earsplitting "TOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT!" like that of a steam engine. Jack ran past the dying man, pulling a shiny red ball from his pocket, and depressing a button as he ran through the winding streets towards the edge of the island.

[Morigann Issa Helhest]

A pack of nightmares prowled the yard behind the fire-engulfed shop.
 
Part shadow themselves, the huge black forms of hounds darted in and out of the roiling smoke, half loping, half gliding counterclockwise around the yard. The largest was easily the size of a pony, the smallest more wolf-like, but somehow stretched seeming, far too slender while still powerfully muscular. Ebony fur gleamed between thick plates of bone that ran from nose tip, along the back and sides, to end at the base of the whip-like tail. Besides the bone armor growing through the hounds’ flesh there was something entirely not right about them; each flickered intermittently like a candle flame, there for a moment and then abruptly reappearing a foot away in an unexpected direction.
 
Azrael stood alone at the center of the demonic whirlpool, proudly observing her creations. She had bred, trained, and altered her dire hounds into a mighty force to be reckoned with. The hounds’ eyes, luminous white and alert with disturbingly human intelligence, were riveted on their master. Circling in silence but for the slight clink of metal chest plates and hinged collars, their speed increased as they worked themselves into frenzy.
 
The hounds smelled their prey. They craved its blood.
 
“Go.”
 
Their master’s whisper was like a gunshot. The dire hounds raced off in eager pursuit of their quarry, Azrael running in their midst.
 
The entire hunt passed soundlessly down the alleyway, leaving a roaring inferno and drifting ash in their wake.

[JakDos]

His boots pounded the pavement, Jak breathing heavily as he ran full tilt, desperately trying to get to a crowded spot he could lose his pursuers in. No such luck, as the streets were empty, except for random squads of enforcers. Clutching his rail gun to his chest, feeling the heat from the coal chamber burning into his apron, he pressed himself against a corner and peeked around it - only to stare straight into a reflection of his own face, coming off a shiny black helmet! He swore, and fired instinctively, the red hot rail piercing the man's armor and spattering Jak with blood. The whistle was earsplitting at this range, and was more than likely drawing too much attention. The tinker gritted his teeth and ran out into the street, yelling frantically and shooting any black target that crossed his vision, until he raised his gun against a squad of three enforcers drawing a bead on him - and heard a click. 

"Pzzzap! Pzzap zap zap!"

Jak grunted as he felt a laser blast hit him in the chest, and he dove to the side, breathing heavily as he fumbled with the burning hot coal chamber on his gun, unscrewing it as he heard the stamp of boots coming towards him. He tossed open the loading hatch, dropped a smaller sack into it, slammed the lid shut, and threw the now sparking bulb out around the corner, where it exploded, the heat reaching Jak and singing his eyebrows. He struggled to his feet, the heavy bag on his back slowing him down. Pausing a second, he looked down at his chest, and saw four smoking holes in his apron. Peeling it off, he threw it on the ground, and looked at his shirt, which had the burn holes in them as well. The skin underneath was reddish and inflamed, but not damaged. Thank goodness for small miracles, although the hit had knocked the wind out of him. He gritted his teeth and rushed out into the street, trying to ignore the dismembered and moaning guards, one of whom grabbed at his ankle as he passed. Jak kicked back, feeling somewhat more confident.

Running a tally in his head, he counted the guards he'd taken down so far. 6 from his rail gun...and the three with that improvised explosion just now. He had no way of know how many his house of death had taken out, but a count of nine wasn't too shabby for no wounds. Of course, he doubted Azrael would have skimped on the security. Without the lifesaving apron, he could move much quicker, and did so, withdrawing a small, silvery projectile weapon from a dangling pouch on his backpack. The needler was one of his favorites. He'd invented it while still with SYS7, and it had been adopted for black operations, being it was so small and quiet. The rank-and-file that were chasing him wouldn't have these. 

Creeping along quietly now he could afford to, he allowed himself a smile, confidence replacing panic at his small victories. He could even see the open sky behind the buildings in front of him! Almost there, and in a further lucky break, he snuck up behind another group of three terrorizing a vagrant. 

"WHERE IS HE. WE KNOW WHO YOU ARE. YOU HAVE HAD DEALINGS WITH THE TINKER."

The enforcer's modulated voice sounded crisply, as the terrified old man whimpered, facing down their meltaguns. "I-i-i don't know! He brings me food sometimes I don't know where he lives! P-p-please! I'm a loyal citizen!"

The death squad raised their guns. "ACCEPTING GIFTS FROM ANTICITIZENS IS TREASON. PREPARE FOR TERMI-

thwipthwipthwipthwipthwipthwipthwipthwipthwipthwip

Their bodies hit the ground, silvery darts sticking out of the back of their heads. Jak pressed his finger to his lips, and made a shooing motion with his hand. The vagrant nodded, and whispered "Thank you." before running like hell.

Jak could see it. The clouds. Freedom. Holding the needler out, he jogged towards the last row of buildings and laughed. He had beaten them!

-crunch-

His triumph turned to pain as some....thing...materialized to his right and sunk its teeth into his gun arm, biting hard and deep. Jak screamed, never having seen anything like it as it snarled and chewed. "Fuck! FUUUCK! GET OFF! GET OFF GET OFFFFF!!!" Pain blurring his vision, he felt in his jacket pocket for something, anything..and his hands closed around a brass ball. AIVEN! He pulled it out, and threw it at the hellbeast, the little spider drone unfurling it's spindly legs and clamping onto the base of the creature's neck, chittering furiously and stabbing away at it, searching for a weak point. The dire hound opened its mouth, snarling and twisting, trying to get at the thing digging its way into its spine, and Jak used the opportunity to twist away and empty the needler in its face, porcupining the demon thing. He crawled away, AIVEN descending off the dead thing and climbing back into his pocket. The needler left his hand, doinking off the dog thing's face, thrown out of sheer spite and the fact that the weapon was out of ammo. Clutching his arm, he staggered to his feet, the Rim less than 200 feet away. If he could make it....

[Morigann Issa Helhest]

The dying cry of a dire hound cut through Azrael’s brain like a shard of ice. More sensation than sound, the shriek came from somewhere ahead, spurring the entire pack to new speeds.
 
In but a moment they were there.
 
Swiftly kneeling by the slain dire hound, a strange aching hollowness welled up within Azrael, a feeling she had not known in an eternity. It was one of her smaller hounds, designed for tracking. Reaching out a hand she hesitated, then tenderly stroked the creature’s muzzle, smoothing the soft glossy fur flat again where it had been ravaged by metal spikes. Her gloved fingertips came away stained dark purple by the hound’s rapidly cooling blood.
 
The weapon that had slain her loyal creation lay useless and discarded only feet away, the design of the needler easily recognizable: Jak Dos.
 
Nine pairs of white eyes gleamed lamp-like in the shadows, pale and inscrutable. Waiting. Watching. Restless. Their rising fury prickled along Azrael’s skin like an increasing charge of static electricity, feeding her own simmering rage.
 
Clenching her fists, Azrael forced her anger into controlled surging energy. Cold. Calculating. The next step. Gears turning incrementally, teeth intermeshing, one by one by one by one…
 
Thickening blood glistened like carelessly scattered rubies. Jak Dos had not escaped the encounter unscathed; scarlet droplets and smears formed an erratic trail on the dusty cobblestones. And ahead at the last row of buildings a figure stumbled towards the Rim.
 
Azrael’s chilling hiss uttered the tinkerer’s fate, one far worse than the death by summary execution that she had originally planned, “Capture.”
 
Surging forward the dire hounds tore through the maze of alleys in hot pursuit. Their master ran with them, her fingers twitching, longing to grasp the blades she so loved. Silent but for the whooshing rush of air as they ran the hunt gained rapidly on their quarry, startling white tongues lolling and teeth snapping. Abruptly they were among the last buildings and then beyond, dashing across the barren empty ground towards the Rim that marked the edge of the Server Island. Beyond it there was only sky.
 
The hounds’ paws skidded, kicking up choking clouds of brown dust as the smaller front runners dropped back and the larger horse-sized pack members lunged forward to encircle Jak Dos. With three of the dire hounds at her side Azrael approached leisurely, hands clasped neatly behind her back and the heels of her boots tapping sharply against the packed earth with each footfall.

Why hurry when one’s prey is so neatly netted? she mused, utterly calm, Teeth await him on all sides, and before him I stand, more fearsome in my guise of civilization than beasts could ever be.

[JakDos]

The tinker's boot moved backwards, Jak slowly backing away from the encroaching pack of hellish hounds. His vision was beginning to waver, and he could feel the open chill air of the Rim at his back, the weight of his backpack threatening to knock him off balance. He stared at the slim figure calmly walking towards him, certain that it had won. His foot slipped, small chunks of dirt and rock cascading into the nothing below them. He tilted his helmet up, hoping that Azrael would do the same, so he could at least look his pursuer in the face.

Letting go of his injured arm, the tinker called out, ignoring the beast's slavering maws in front of him. "Congratulations. You got me. I did lead you a merry chase, didn't I? Oh, but it's just you. No more guards. They were slow. Unattentive. Too busy brutalizing the citizens. My unit wouldn't have wasted so much time with the house once they saw it was empty. And they certainly wouldn't have crowded in so easily to be cut to pieces." Blood dripping down his forearm, staining his fingertips red, most likely exciting the dogs more. He reached into his pocket, clutching his last defense. The red ball he'd activated earlier thrummed in his grip, warming up. He kept talking, trying to buy himself some time.

"You know, I'd always heard of you. Rumors, mainly. The bloodshed. The sadism. When they burned me I always figured it'd come down to this. The Computer knew I wouldn't be taken in by some SYS6 rent-a-guard. Frelling insane piece of machinery. But look at how efficiently it controls us. I doubt you care."

A hound got eager, and took a snap at him. He swatted it away, the sound of electricity crackling as the dog convulsed for a few seconds, whining and backing away. "Call your dogs off, Azrael. I'll come quietly. As long as I come in one piece." His eyes opened as the ball buzzed in his hand. He let out a quiet laugh, that steadily got louder. It would seem as though he'd gone mad."Hah! Hahahahah! Ahahahah! Have fun.....telling Friend Computer YOU FAILED! AHAHAHAHAHA!"

He threw the ball, aiming at a spot between the pack of dogs and Azrael itself. With his injured arm, he grabbed a dangling loop from his backpack and yanked, the purpose of it finally becoming clear as the cloth exploded, ripping and unfolded into some sort of complex flight device, like a reinforced hangglider. He gripped the handles, his arms spread wide, and another charge exploded lauching him several feet into the air.

When the ball hit the ground, a loud "THRUM" would emanate, and a shockwave of kinetic force would explode outward for about twenty five feet. When it hit him, his glider would catch the wave and flip over, the tinker laughing madly as he glided away over the open air, leaving nothing but scraps of cloth, bits of wood, and a trail of blood drop. "FUUUUUUCK YOOOOOOOOUUUU! AHAHAAHAHAHAHAAHAAHAAHHAHAAHAHA!!!!!!!!"

[Morigann Issa Helhest]

The tinkerer teetered on the edge, his balance his only salvation from a terrifying fall into oblivion. In a last gesture of challenge Jak Dos straightened up as much as he could in his weakened state and tilted his helmet up to reveal his face. It was apparent he hoped Azrael would do the same: Jak Dos wanted to meet his executioner face to face on even ground.

Azrael’s lips quirked into a smile. The tinkerer was not her equal and she would not face him as such. He had, however, proved inventive—even slaying one of her dire hounds, and for that he had her grudging admiration. Yes, she decided, he had earned the honor of speaking with her.

“Are you so eager to die, tinkerer?” Azrael asked softly, her tone one of quiet amusement. The words hovered in the barren no-man’s-land between them, low but utterly clear, and hinted by her bizarre metallic, echoing inflection. If Jak Dos wondered at it, it did not matter; any curiosity, like himself, would be short lived. Azrael raised one hand and gestured to the mask that concealed her entire head beneath metal like smooth black winter ice. “Only the dead may see my face. If you desire to satiate your curiosity, all you must do is surrender.”

His reply was more condescending than expected from someone in his trapped position; he had the audacity to lecture her on strategy and the use of her soldiers! While she listened she studied him, tilting her head to the side. The rotation of her neck was graceful but ended sharply, like something mechanical that reached the end of its range of movement, continued on under momentum, and then sprang back into place. The head tilt was a habit; without facial expressions Azrael had long relied on carefully controlled body language to convey emotion.

Noticing Jak’s hand sneakily sliding into one of his pockets, Azrael pretended not to notice. She wondered what his last desperate attempt would entail. A ranged weapon? Perhaps suicide? What sort of man would the tinkerer prove to be? Her gloved fingers twitched, eagerly anticipating the confrontation to come and the chance to use her blades. Before her the dire hounds snarled and restlessly circled, their white eyes fixed hungrily on Jak’s spilled blood.

“Call your dogs off, Azrael,” Jak said. “I'll come quietly. As long as I come in one piece.”

It was a false surrender. She had pursued far too many to be taken in by such a charade. The mad light in Jak’s eyes made it obvious that he had no intention of coming quietly.

Azrael was delighted.

Abruptly Jak wrenched his hand from the pocket and hurled a red sphere. Two enormous dire hounds instantly leapt in front of Azrael, bodily shielding her from the explosion. The beasts collapsed at her feet, stunned by the shockwave. Mostly unscathed, Azrael straightened up. The relentless ringing in her ears from the blast was near-deafening, muting all other sound including Jak’s parting jibes while his hang glider rose on the cold wind.

She laughed though she could not hear it, thrilled by the tinkerer’s latest trick. Still laughing softly Azrael strode towards the Rim. Her arm whipped forward and a slender silver blur left her hand, flashing as it hummed like an angry wasp through the air. The impeccably aimed scalpel tore through the glider’s fabric, shredding a small hole in it. Instantly the contraption banked, tilting crazily. Knowing the hole was just enough to force the glider into a semi-controlled crash, Azrael noted the glider’s trajectory and then turned away. It would be easy enough to calculate the general area where Jak would inevitably plummet to the unforgiving ground. Once there the considerable damage to his body and equipment would prevent him from getting far.

The tinkerer had lectured her about strategy, but he had failed to realize that her actions were only the tip of an iceberg and great danger lurked deep beneath the surface. She cared nothing for the guards he had killed; they were utterly disposable. She had used them to draw Jak Dos out, to force him to show his hand. Now it seemed he had used all of the tricks and inventions he had prepared to aid his escape, and she had gained an idea of his true caliber. A most interesting anticitizen, yes indeed.

Azrael would hunt him on the ground. And when she came upon him, wounded and bleeding in the wilds of the Unreal Estates she would show him that the rumors of her sadism paled in comparison to the bloody reality.

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