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  She thought, "The Rogue. It’s here. It’s coming for me."

  It walked toward her down a dark cluttered street lit by neon signs and street lights. The Type Four Model of Un-Man had short, brown, wavy hair and a pale chiseled face. Black smudges from Tainted Rain covered its brown suit. The Rogue passed three hookers and their pimp.

  "Hey there big guy," one of the women said, sizing up what she thought was a man. "Looking to party?"

  "Yeah," another said. "Mr. Shades. What ya hiding behind those glasses anyway? Did yer old woman black yer eye?"

  The Rogue turned to the second hooker, and its shades reflected a XXX red neon sign. "Old woman? No, but if we party, I will show you what is behind them." The Rogue removed its Bowie and grabbed her as the other two women ran off screaming. "So, let us party."

  "Hey, none of that kinky stuff till we discuss a price," the pimp demanded as he walked to them.

  The Rogue punched him in the abdomen. "Mind your manners. I am talking to the lady here."

  The pimp grabbed his stomach and snarled, pulling a small gun. "It isn’t how things work here."

  "How things work?" The Rogue grabbed the man’s hand that held the weapon and twisted it and broke his wrist. "This is how things work in my world."

  The pimp cried out, dropped the gun, and collapsed to his knees, holding his wrist. "My hand! You broke my hand! Pucker!" he cursed. "You’re going to pay for this!"

  Down the street...

  Kat fled in the other direction, but stopped as the pimp cried out. She glanced at the gun. "Why should others suffer because of me?" Everything within her screamed for her to escape while she had the chance, but one small voice told her save them. The flow of the e-field increased, and the blue stage of the Ult L-E glowed brighter. Save them.

  Up the street...

  The hooker, horrified by what she witnessed, turned to bolt, but the Rogue grabbed her arm.

  "Do not be rude and leave before the party has started." It pulled her close and whispered, "Pandora. We have to wait for Pandora."

  "Pandora? Sick mother-pucker! You can get yer freak on with someone else. Ya creep! Let me go you pucker!" The woman screamed, pulling against its hold. "Let me go!"

  Kat arrived, raised the Beretta, and aimed at its forehead. "You can release her. I’m here."

  It looked up. "Ahh... Pandora..." A wicked grin slithered across the Rogue’s pale face as the color of its dot-light changed to fiery crimson. "Let her go? Why would I do that?"

  "Why? I’m your target. Why do you need to hurt anyone else?"

  "Yours is a valid question." The Rogue twirled the hooker around, wrapped her up in its arms, and placed the blade against her throat.

  The hooker whimpered.

  "I enjoy it, but bio-mechas are not supposed to feel anything. So that makes me something special, does it not? I think that is why my creators are afraid of me. Why they want to destroy me." The Rogue scanned Kat, noting her fear and exhaustion. It also noticed her eyes’ bluish afterglow in the darkness of the day. It noted how this light was not normal for a human. "It is also the reason you want me dead."

  "I don’t want you dead. I just want you to stop hunting me!"

  "I cannot." The Rogue examined every feature of Kat's face, every minute scar, and imprinted it to memory. "I am still a machine. At least for now, I cannot escape my programing."

  Kat hated depending on the gun for her survival and tried to talk her way out. "Maybe your creators are afraid of you, not because you have feelings, but have the potential to disobey your programing."

  "You mean like you." The Rogue laughed. "No, it is my potential for evil that they fear. I am sure of it." It cut a tiny slit in the hooker’s neck and made her whimper louder. "But what would a machine know of evil?"

  Kat reacted by pressing against the gun’s trigger.

  The Rogue ducked behind the hooker, so she had no shot. "Drop your gun or I will slit her throat. Do it!" It cut deeper into her neck.

  “Okay! Okay!” Kat placed the gun on the ground, making herself vulnerable. “Just don't hurt her!”

  "Excellent." The Rogue smirked.

  "Now what?" Kat asked, not sure of her next move.

  The Rogue's grin widened. "Now you watch me kill her!"

  Before Kat had a chance to utter no, a man came up behind the Rogue.

  "Hey!" the man shouted.

  The Rogue turned as the man swung a metal bat, striking it in the head. The Rogue stumbled back and released the hooker. The attack knocked its glasses off, and the damaged frames fell to the street. Kat grabbed her gun, and fired two shots, but the Rogue ducked with lightning speed and evaded the bullets. It backhanded the man, knocking him to the ground. It then turned on Kat and froze. Down the street, a black van with tinted windows sped their way. Even in this world of darkness, tinted windows were useful to keep secrets.

  "They have found me! The Factory will not capture me!" The Rogue fled down an alley, shouting as it ran, "We will finish this another day."

  The hooker rushed over to the pimp. "Are ya all right? Oh, yer hand. Let’s get ya to a hospital."

  The black van sped by them in pursuit of the Rogue.

  The pounding of Kat’s heart lessened. She set the safety and tucked the Beretta in the back waistband of her pants as her irises lost their radiance. She walked over to the man as he rubbed his bloodied mouth and she offered her hand. "Thanks."

  "No problem." He grabbed her wrist, pulling himself up. "The name’s Preacher." He picked up his metal bat and glanced into the alley the Rogue ran through. "That thing was no man. What was it?"

  "They're called bio-mechas, that model is an Un-Man."

  "They? There are more of them?"

  "Yes, there are more,” she said and muttered, "There are many more."

  "No kidding." He walked up to a stoop and picked up a white Bible. "Noir’s getting wilder every day."

  Kat moved to the Rogue's broken shades, picked them up, and peered through them. The lenses, mostly intact, fizzed and intermediately crackled between green lettered readouts across tiny square screens.

  "The glasses do more than hide their eyes," she thought. "They’re hard wired. They must relay tactical data from the Factory and from each other." She dropped the glasses, crushing them with her shoe. "And may carry tracking beacons." She started across the street.

  "Wait! Where are you going?" Preacher ran after her.

  Still tired, Kat turned as he placed his hand on her shoulder. She repeated, "Where? I... I don’t know."

  "Well, you look like you could use a meal and clean up a bit." He noticed the dried blood on her forearm and shoulder. "And some first aid."

  She stared at the thin scraggly man with shoulder length, stringy, black hair. Preacher wore a worn navy blue t-shirt and broken black rim glasses taped in the front. His blue-gray eyes and pearly white smile caught her attention. They made her feel safe and welcome.

  “To feel secure,” she thought. “That's something I'm yearning for. I want to be safe, to be clean, and to be full.” Kat noticed he saw her staring, and she blushed.

  Preacher waved his free hand, thinking she was looking at him as if he was a weirdo. "I’m not being perverted or anything. I run a shelter, the Kitchen. It seems to me you’ve been on the go for a while. I thought you might be hungry."

  Kat nodded as her stomach growled. She was also very thirsty.

  "You aren’t much for talking are you?"

  She shook her head.

  "Shy. That’s okay. Come on. I believe grilled cheese and tomato soup are on the menu tonight."

  Chapter Seven

  Farewell My Friend

  Seven months later...

  32 A.D.C...

  May 25...

  Tuesday...

  7:30 P.M...

  A helicopter flew over Wayfaring Lane just beneath the looming Dry Clouds. A gust swept up an old newspaper, tumbling it down the potholed blacktop. Preacher and Kat sat on a stoop in front of the Ki
tchen, watching the people in the neighborhood. He glanced at her and noticed how depressed she appeared.

  "I’ve never seen someone so lonely or lost," he thought, resting his rough callused hand on hers. They had been sitting there in silence for about twenty minutes. He continued thinking, "She’s always so distant. I can’t seem to connect. I know we’re from two different worlds, but..."

  He asked her, "What are you thinking?"

  She stared up at the ever present Nemesis of Noir. She had always wondered how something so fluffy and soft looking could beat back the might of the sun. The wind brushed her short brown hair as she didn't answer his question and thought, "Since my awakening in Etna Toys, I have discovered nothing about my past. What's my real name? Why am I hunted? Tested?" She glanced at him. “Usually his touch makes me feel better, but not today. Only answers will fill the hollowness of my soul.” Kat gently pulled her hand away from his and rested her hand on her lap. "I would do almost anything to find some scrap of my past. If I could just find out if Kat is my name and where I come from, I would be happy. It hurts too much not knowing anything, and I don't think Preacher understands. He doesn't understand how frustrating it is and that in itself even hurts. I'm alone in a void of uncertainty, and because of that, I'm a stranger in our relationship. I don't know why I haven't shared this with him. I don't know if I can. Would he understand? I don't think I could take it if he didn't. So what should I do?"

  When she didn't answer him, he looked down at the Bible he always carried. He was unsure of what to say. Preacher searched for words that would comfort. "Katharine, don’t you know there’s more to this life than what you can see?"

  She focused on the book he held and replied, "You have told me, but still there’s something within me that wants to discover who I am." Kat stared at her worn shoes and spoke softly, "And yet, there’s this part that fears what I might discover." She turned to him, hoping to find a sympathetic heart and a look of understanding.

  Preacher peered at the street, his attention drawn to a group of kids playing. He smiled, knowing even in Wayfaring Lane children could find time to be children. He didn’t notice her searching gaze.

  Kat frowned when he didn’t look at her and turned her attention back to her shoes. She said almost in a whisper, "What if I’m a bad person? What if I’ve done terrible things?"

  "We’ve all done bad things," he said as he turned to her, and his expression saddened as he reflected on his own life.

  A red VX corvette with the license plate FromAshes drove by with a blonde woman at the wheel.

  "I feel like I should be searching for something." Kat unzipped a backpack. She removed the worn Note, business card, and the Music Box. "I know these are clues to my past, but how do they fit?"

  "Our Gracious Lord has a plan for you Katharine. I know it. In due time, he’ll show it to you. Just be patient."

  His words didn't help, and she said, "That’s all I have, but even my patience is running out."

  Preacher grinned and his blue-gray eyes and pearly white smile caught her attention again. His warm expression made her feel safe and gave her some hope. It gave her hope that her search would not be in vain.

  * * *

  Five months later...

  October 12...

  Tuesday...

  10:11 P.M...

  The day before Kat arrived at Topa’s estate...

  A car burned, then exploded, sending fiery shrapnel in all directions. Bullet holes littered the buildings. Citizens of Wayfaring Lane ran screaming for their lives as Kat returned from meeting an informant who never showed. "What's going on?” she wondered. “Oh my gosh! Preacher!" Anxiety pressed against her chest as she hurried toward the Kitchen. "Preacher!"

  She continued running till she spotted Argus. He stood at the entrance of an alley and stared at the pavement. Kat ran past him and found Preacher lying in a pool of blood. He had been shot several times in the chest. Her eyes widened as she froze, paralyzed with dread. In disbelief, she stared at his lifeless body.

  "No," Kat whimpered and took a step forward. "No." She walked to Preacher and collapsed at his side. She feared touching him, feared discovering the truth. Her eyes burned with her cowardice and anguish. "He can’t be dead. He’s not dead." She picked up his hand and his skin was cold to the touch. "Preacher," she whispered, looking into his pale face.

  He didn’t respond.

  "Don’t you die on me." Kat squeezed his hand. "Don’t you leave me alone."

  He still didn’t respond.

  She turned to Argus. "Hurry! Go get some help!"

  Argus didn't move or say anything. He knew he couldn't help, but he also knew it was too late.

  She rubbed Preacher's cold hand as if to bring warmth back into it. "Don't worry. Help will be coming. Just hang in there. You have to. You can't leave me alone. I can't bear my life without you. So please... Stay with me."

  His eyes were closed, and he looked as if he were sleeping. She noticed there was something missing about him, not something physical, but spiritual. Kat knew it was too late, and finally let herself believe he was gone. She screamed, "Preacher! Preacher!" She shook him and cried, "Nooo!" She cradled his head in her arms and wailed to the heavens. "Don’t leave me! Not alone!"

  Her heart ached, and her eyes sweltered with a dry grief as she wondered, “Why can't I cry for you? Am I some thing like a bio-mecha? Am I not able to express my grief?”

  She sat there for minutes, holding Preacher in her arms as his blood saturated her t-shirt. She rested her head on his. "Forgive me," Kat whispered. "I should have been here. You told me not to go to the meeting, that it might be a trap. But I didn’t listen. I had to go. I had to find that scrap." She sniffed. "I should have listened. But no... I had to find out if the man knew anything about my past, but he wasn’t there. No one was there."

  Kat noticed Argus’ shadow stretched down the alley and wondered, "Is the Council behind this? Did they lure me away to kill you? Is this another test?" Her sorrow turned to anger. "Did the Council kill Preacher?"

  She directed her rage at Argus and demanded, "Who did this? Who shot him?"

  He didn’t answer and stood there as the breeze whipped his black trench coat.

  "I know you saw. You’re always watching. Was it the Council? Did they have Preacher killed? Did they have him killed to get at me because I’m not passing their tests? Because I'm not passing something called the Gamma Phase?" Kat gently laid Preacher down and stood enraged. She grabbed Argus by his coat’s collar and slammed him against the alley wall. "You were here weren’t you?!" she screamed, wild with rage. "You were here and did nothing!" She beat her fist on his chest. "Isn’t that right? Tell me! Did you watch them kill him?"

  "Yes," Argus answered as he looked down at her, taking her hits as a small part of his penitence. "My job is to watch." His expression was blank. "I’m not to hinder or help. My job is to..."

  "Shut up! I hate you!" She dropped her fist, leaned her head on his chest, and whispered, "I hate you."

  Her words stung him worse than her fists. They were more vicious than any physical attack. The next thing that happened, surprised him. His eyes watered. Argus had never lost control of his emotions before. He had never lost them before today. Argus wanted to stroke her head and soothe her sorrow. This past year, he developed something his training should have prevented. He developed feelings for her. He cared about his assignment.

  Argus thought, “The Pandora Project is more than a job, it... No. She... Kat is...” He let his thoughts drift away with the wind. He wanted so badly to console her as he gritted his teeth, fighting back tears. "But it isn’t part of my job."

  Kat heaved deeply as sorrow and anguish drowned her soul. "Tell me. Tell me who murdered Preacher. Was it the Council or the Factory?"

  He didn’t answer.

  "For once in your life do something useful. Take a side. Take a stand." Kat screamed, "Be more than an observer!" She looked up into his watery blue eyes and whisp
ered, "Kill me." She struck his chest with her fist. "Help me." She hit it again. "Just do something!" She hid her face in his coat as her body trembled with sorrow and heartache. She knew nothing would bring back Preacher and that she was all alone.

  "Topa," Argus whispered. "Topa ordered the Closing on Preacher. He has an estate on the outskirts of the Hellenistic Sector."

  Kat sniffed, pulled herself back, and stared at him heartbroken. She slapped Argus in the face, and he only looked at her.

  She said, "That’s for doing nothing and letting Preacher die." Her eyes still burned as she turned her back on him. "I don’t ever want to see you again. You’re my shadow no more, so don’t follow me." She walked over to Preacher, took the Bible from his grasp, and headed out of Wayfaring Lane.

  Chapter Eight

  From The Ashes

  Present time...

  October 13...

  Wednesday...

  9:47 A.M...

  Topa’s office felt menacing and reeked of corruption as the men in the photos stared at Kat. They seemed to glare down at her as if she was the monster in the room. She ignored their silent accusations. Her heart ached so much it made her ill. Preacher had given her the strength to go on, and he had made her feel like a person not a project. Now she felt empty, alone, and part of some twisted experiment. She gritted her teeth as she thought, “Topa will pay for killing the only light in my life. I'll snuff out his flame as he had Preacher's life extinguished.”

  Her gun felt heavy in her hand. She didn't know how much longer she could hold it up. Sorrow overwhelmed her as she aimed for Topa's forehead. She had to make the pain go away and this was the only way she could think of to make it stop hurting.

  Topa feared this was it for his own life till he noticed her hesitation. He questioned, "You've never killed anyone, have you?"

  She didn’t answer as she pressed her finger against the trigger and thought, "Topa’s death will be like the others. He'll die just like the Un-Men. I'll squeeze the trigger, the bullet will penetrate his forehead, and enter his automaton brain. No... That's not right. Am I so naive? This will be different. Topa's flesh. He's not a bio-mecha. I have to be honest with myself. I'll be taking a life. The one thing I've fought so hard not to do. But he killed Preacher. Doesn't that change things? Preacher was my friend. And I lov..." She let the last word fade away. “I have no right to claim that type of relationship. Not when I couldn't admit that simple word to him.” She paused in her thoughts as grief seized her again.