Altered Blood and Rusty Metal A Tenchi Muyo/Gunnm crossover of sorts. By Ryan Norman Gally/Yoko, ScrapIron city, Zalem, etc… Belong to Yukito Kishiro. One of the finest writers and artists ever to grace the written pages. Naotaki Hakubi/Noru a.k.a. "Operative A", belongs to Pioneer AIC in distant terms. Revisions to the character, his names, and characterization belong to me, Ryan Norman. A man who hopes to attain his own dreams one day. Note: This takes place between the Battle Angel Alita Graphic Novels "Angel of Victory" and "Angel of Redemption" shortly into the two years Gally/Alita has spent on her own. Note 2: I have chosen the original character names and places for my story instead of Viz's alterations. Therefore: Gally = Alita, Zalem = Tiphares, ScrapIron City = The Scrapyards, and Yugo = Hugo This story fits into my own series, "Between Light and Shadow, Name and Deed," shortly after "Truth is Merely a Perceptive Lie." Prologue A City in Need ScrapIron City, a city composed of broken metal and rusted dreams. A city built by the people who dwell on the surface of the planet, crafting buildings out of the waste of the floating city of Zalem, a city of mystery and beauty to those who live below it. The inhabitants spend their lives working for Zalem, building the machinery and caring for the goods that are sent to the mighty floating metropolis. The people of ScrapIron City live in constant agony. The pollution created by Zalem and their own city have burned away at their fragile bodies, requiring replacement by stronger, more durable bodies made of Iron and Steel. These people are no longer truly human, but always look to the city in the air, knowing in their hearts that true humanity dwells up there. ScrapIron City is a city in need. In need of hope, in need of strength, but most of all, in need of a symbol. A man or woman to look up to, to believe in. These people don't need a god, or a herald of a god. They need a man. A man of flesh and blood who's will is stronger then their own. They will never have this man. Their faith is too weak, they feel, for someone like that to ever give them what they need. So it's up to the universe to give them this man. Even if it's just for a little while… Chapter One When Flesh is Stronger Than Steel Day two The body of a young man strikes the ground hard, ripping through chunks of broken metal and trash at lightning speeds. His body finally comes to rest against a huge pile of scrap, pieces of which fall out and cover him. He is badly wounded; his body ravaged by flight through space and wounds sustained in a fierce battle. He is not dying, however. If he was his body would have perished long ago. He is special, this man. He exists thanks to the mixture of incredibly advanced technology, genetic manipulation undreamed of by any normal human, and the sheer will to live. He is a dream come true, and a fallen savior to the people of ScrapIron City. "He came from the sky," a man whispers to others in a crowd assembled around the body. "Do you think he came from Zalem?" a woman asks. "He must. Look at him, he's not a cyborg!" a spectator points out. More and more people crowd around, intrigued by the streak of flame in the sky. One by one, the people push their way through, trying to get a glimpse of this miraculous man. They are all dressed in rags, like beggars or the destitute, yet each is healthy, their bodies a mixture of metal and flesh that only the rich should have. One man amongst the crowd, his face pockmarked with scars and metal, reaches out with an arm of crafted steel and taps the body on the shoulder. Others immediately pounce upon the first, outraged at his "defilement" of the godsent creature. Soon, something strange enters the crowd. Its body is completely metal, forming a cylinder with various extrusions for specific purposes. Its head is a simple metal sphere, with an organic face stretched across the front and a screen where the mouth should be. A rifle-shaped barrel shoves people out of the way, and the people do not resist as it works its way through the crowd. The cylindrical creature is a "Netman", a creature who controls the city through its wired brain. "Out of the way, inhabitants. I have been called upon to eliminate a criminal," the cylinder announces in its metallic voice, which comes both from a special speaker in its head, and an organic mouth fused onto the body. "But this is a man of Zalem!" a man protests. "He is to be protected, not destroyed!" "Right! The people of Zalem are not criminals!" another joins in. "That is not my concern. The suspect was seen flying beneath Zalem. Flight is a Class A crime," the Netman responds in its matter-of-fact way. It waves the barrel of its weapon around threateningly and the people move back. The Netman moves closer to the body, its four powerful wheels pushing it along the scrap metal ground with difficulty. It stops a few feet from him and aims the weapon carefully. "Unidentified target, you have been charged with flying beneath Zalem, a Class A crime. You are sentenced to immediate death," it tells the man coldly, in a tone similar to a recorded message. When the man makes no movements in response, the Netman fires its weapon. The powerful blast rips through the man's torso as if he were tissue paper. The blast causes his body to jerk in shock and pain, and then lie still, a gaping hole in his chest. The Netman examines the body carefully with its two organic eyes, looking for signs of life. When it finds none, it turns around and announces in its monotone voice, "The target is deceased, inhabitants. You may now depart." A few murmurs of protest blurt out, yet quickly fade as the Netman makes its way out of the scrap heap. "Got a suggestion for you, metalhead," a ragged, half-gasping voice calls out from behind the Netman. The machine turns, and faces the voice, and stops cold. The man who had just been shot stands, living and breathing, before the metal creature. The hole in his torso is still evident, steadily leaking blood. His armor in tatters of metal and cloth hanging off his severely wounded body. He coughs, spitting blood onto the Netman's dented body, then speaks again, "If you're going to walk away from a fight, make sure that your target's dead first." "Target reacquired," the Netman announces with no uncertainty, "First assault unsuccessful in neutralizing target. Backup plan now in effect." It fires a second round from its weapon, the shell launching at incredible speeds towards its target, only to explode violently a foot in front of the man, pieces of debris clattering against the scrap floor. The man grins with a hint of twistedness as he steels himself for battle. He is unharmed, the blast from the Netman never having reached him. The area in front of him crackles with energy as the last wisps of smoke from the blast fade away. "That the best you got, metalhead?" he asks, strength returning to his voice. "Error, error, target has unknown energy field protection. No countermeasures are available. Backup requested. Backup requested," the Netman babbles incoherently, spinning around in confusion. The man quickly reacts, taking the malfunction to his advantage. He steps forward, and shoves his fist into the metal creature's head. His powerful hand rips straight through the armored metal of the Netman's skull and comes out the other side in a burst of shattered steel. It continued to spin, causing it to wrench off its own head in the process. The thing's cylindrical body sparks brightly for a moment, then falls over, dead. The man looks down at the creature and scowls. He examines his arm, which still had the head wrapped around it, and yanks the metal husk off of his bleeding wrist. He flings it at the defunct body, denting its remains even more. "That's incredible! He took out a Netman with one punch!" a frightened spectator murmurs. "How can he survive a shot to the chest? He's all meat!" a second man notices as he tries to shove his way through the crowd. "He must be from Zalem. Only they could have perfect bodies like he does!" a third screams out, falling to her knees in worship. Others follow, bowing before the man, chanting and praying to him as if he is some sort of god. The man looks around at the people in confusion. His piercing blue eyes dart from one worshipper to another, sweat dripping from his forehead. "No, no, it's alright. You don't have to bow. I'm not a god or any…" his voice is cut off as he falls to the ground, the extent of his wounds finally getting to him. "Is he alive?" a voice asks. The man cannot see the owner of the voice, his vision is blurred as he awakens from the cold embrace of darkness. "Yes. He has an amazing constitution! His body is regenerating as we speak. Perhaps he could be my greatest subject!" a second voice speaks, answering the first. The voice is strange, high-pitched and hurried, like the owner is out of breath. "But he's so handsome. He's big and strong. I don't want you to destroy that great body of his," the first voice complains. The man realizes the voice is feminine, and somewhat sultry, like… He can't remember. "I won't destroy his body, my dear. He is a perfect example of Karma. To destroy it would be a shame," the second voice replies. [Is the voice talking about him?] the man wonders. His head hurts, and so does his chest. His mind reels in anguish, trying to piece together events. "Good. I like him, he's cute," the female voice speaks. "You'll have plenty of time for that later, my dear. Look, he's awake!" the second voice shouts, coming close enough so that a blurred outline becomes visible in the man's view. "How are you feeling? Any pain?" "C… Chest hurts," the man weakly blurts out. "Oh, yes! You had a massive chest injury when we found you, along with dozens of other cuts, bruises, and third-degree burns all over your body," the voice explains excitedly. "However, it's healing fine now. You are simply incredible," the voice tells him, pausing for a moment. "I forgot to ask. What is your name?" "N… Name?" the man replies in confusion. He reaches into the vast emptiness of his memories and comes back with nothing. "D… Don't remember." "Too bad. Well, he'll still be useful in other ways," the female voice announces. "Please, Eelai. We don't want to overexert him too much. He needs to recover before I can start my research. Now fetch me some Flan." "Yes, Doctor," the female voice answers glumly. The man hears her boots clack against the ground, fading in intensity, as she walks away. "Research?" the man asks, concentrating on the blur. "Why, yes. I'm going to examine your brain a teensy little bit," the second voice replies, a hint of laughter evident. "Why?" the man asks, his voice becoming weak and hoarse the more he speaks. The blur focuses, forming the image of a man with strange glasses and a red mark on his forehead. The strange man smiles insanely and waves about. "Why not? Your body is absolutely perfect. I need to know how your brain functions in conjunction with your body. Then I will know how you deal with Karma. "Karma?" "Yes, Karma, the force that controls our destiny. I'm trying to find how it works, and then how to circumvent it, allowing mankind to survive its own sordid history!" the strange man announces, as if speaking to an audience with a speech he's spoken a thousand times. "Don't understand…" the man whispers. "You will," the man with the glasses says. The man becomes even more confused by the mysterious reply. It does not matter, though, as the image of the strange man fades out and the hated darkness overwhelms him. Day Three The man awakens again. His mind is as dark as the void he just escaped from. He struggles, only to find himself held securely in place. Sweat drips down his forehead in worry. He is confused and disoriented. The memory of falling and a strange cylinder with a gun are all he recalls. He can see again, however, and the pain in his chest has become a low ebb. "Ah, he is conscious again!" a voice speaks. The voice sounds familiar, but not friendly. Then he remembers, it is the strange man with the glasses from before. "Is the subject well yet, Doctor?" a second voice asks. This too, is a voice from before, the female one. "Oh, he's more than well. It's incredible, in fact. Despite the quickened regeneration he is going through, he has no need of the Nanites you and I have to regenerate his flesh!" the strange, insane man replies, his voice high-pitched and joyful. "No Nanites?" the woman asks, her voice betraying her confusion. "But look at him. He's healing before our eyes. Only your 'restorer nanites' can do that," she points accusingly at the man. The man looks at her with confusion. She reminds him of someone, but the face, the hair, and the arrow design on her forehead, it's all wrong. He feels she should look like someone else, but he can not remember. "Yes and no, my dear Ealai," the madman answers the woman with delight. "With this one, though, things are different. His entire genetic system is radically enhanced. He appears to have been naturally created this way. I believe someone engineered him to be like this. Someone with technology even greater than Zalem. He is the perfect representation of Karma!" "Created?" the man asks aloud, a memory piecing itself together. ["I created you to protect…"] the voice of a young woman speaks to him. But the memory is incomplete, fragmented. Who is he supposed to protect? The madman hears this and moves in closer. "You don't remember?" he asks the man. "I can fix that. You want to remember, don't you? Tell me. Tell me your deepest desire. Tell me what your heart yearns for. Tell me, and I can make it happen." The man considers the question in his head. Does he really want to remember? Is that his strongest desire? That girl in his dreams, how will he know who she is or what she means to him without his memory? What if he is something he doesn't like in reality? More than that, though, what if this madman hurts him more then he helps. What if the "doctor" causes damage to his brain in an attempt to help him remember? The man muses over these problems, then decides, "I…" he begins hesitantly. "I want to know. Help me… Help me to remember." "Good, good, your curiosity is peaked. I can help you," the madman replies, his face the symbol of pure joy. The supposed "doctor" reaches over to a counter and takes a single, strange object, shaped like a twisted claw. The man looks at it with fear, the numerous sharp blades attached to the edge of the object gleam demonically. The madman flicks a switch at the handle and the blades begin to rotate along the edge, moving so fast all he can see is a blur. "What are you doing?" the man asks, eyeing the saw with fear. "Well, I have to examine your brain before I can repair the damage, of course," the madman replies, an evil smile on his face as he moves toward the man. "You will need to stay still, I have to make this cut very carefully." "I don't want to stay still! I want out of here!" the man screams out, struggling with the harnesses that keep him in place. "I can't let you do that. I have work to do," the madman announces, bringing the blade to the bound man's temple. The rotating blades make contact… then snap apart as if striking some incredibly hard substance. The mad doctor drops what remains of his saw and gapes in surprise. "He can alter his own molecular density! That cannot be!" A thought comes to the bound man's mind, and he reacts. "Oh, it can be, 'Doctor'. In fact, so can this," the man replies, and with strained concentration, he causes the fingers on his right hand to elongate and sharpen to a dagger's edge. He pulls his hand upwards, slicing through the leather straps holding him down. From there, he cuts away at all the other straps, freeing him from his tormented imprisonment. The man stands up from the table and looks around at his surroundings, confusion and anger dominating his thoughts. He looks himself over, finding that the madman had stripped him of his clothing, giving him the opportunity to examine his wounds. His chest wound was almost gone, only a large scar marked its previous existence. The other wounds were also nearly gone, leaving only faint hints of having ever been there. "What are you doing?" the mad doctor cries out. "Don't you want to remember?" The man looks down at the doctor, then jumps off the table to face him directly. "Sure I want to remember. But I'll do it my way," he replied, frowning. The man turned around and was about to walk away when another thought entered his head. "Oh yeah, I nearly forgot," he said, turning to once again face the doctor. "Where's my armor?" The doctor stared at the man for a moment, then burst out laughing. "Ealai, stop him!" The female assistant of the doctor walks out from another room; her body clothed in tatters of thin cloth and armored metal. "Yes, my doctor," she says, and then kicks out at the man with a dazzling flying assault. The man just stands there, waiting for the attack, then grabs the woman's foot with his left hand as it comes within an inch of his face. He then takes his right hand, still formed into five razor-sharp blades, and slices the woman's foot off. She screams in pain as he throws her to the ground in obvious distaste. "Now try walking, bitch," the man tells the woman, reaching down and picking her up by her tattered cloak. "Magnificent! Total epidermal transformation! You're incredible!" the madman babbles, almost unfeeling as to the damage his research subject is causing on his assistant. The man shoves his hand deep into the woman's chest, his eyes totally unfeeling as the finger-blades slice through her ribcage and into her lung. Moments later, the woman stops breathing, massive amounts of blood having poured onto the man, her skin goes dead cold and he looks at her in disgust. "In fact, try breathing again." He drops the woman's dead corpse to the cold metal ground with a single swift movement, then turns and looks back at the madman. "Now, as I was saying…" his voice was cut off as a large hand grabbed his shoulder. "Bazarld, hold him down!" the mad doctor screams. "Yeeesss," a hideous voice announces. The man looks back into the face of a massive, disgusting giant; its body malformed with augmented muscles and stamina implants. The man concentrates again, causing a blade to shoot out of his shoulder and through the mutation's hand, severing one of its thick fingers. The mutation lets go of the man and he turns to face it. "You are the ugliest bruiser I've ever seen, big boy," the man says as he regards the monstrosity. He looks down at his right hand again and uses his special technique to morph it into a long sword. "Let's see if you can take this!" The monstrous creature attacks, uncaring and uncomprehending most of the words spoken to it. The man easily dodges away and shoves his sword-arm into the creature's back. It moans in pain, desperate to fling the man away, but the man stays, shoving the blade in farther. Minutes pass by slowly, and the creature loses its will to fight back, slumping to the ground, dead. "Bazarld, you fool, get back up!" the mad doctor raves to the fallen monster. It does not reply, though, its brain functions have ceased. "Give it up 'Doctor'," the man tells the mad man as he stands back up. He pulls the sword-arm out of the dead creature and points it at the doctor. "Your playthings are dead, useless to you." "Oh, my dear boy, you are so very wrong. So very, very wrong. They are merely inconvenienced for the moment. As for you, you are free to go, for now. I can't stop you from leaving anyway. Your armor is in that locker over there," the maniacal doctor rants to the man in his ragged voice, pointing at a corner of the room containing a large beaten-up old locker. "Thank you," the man replies, the sword-arm returning to normal as a hand and the blade jutting from his shoulder pulls inwards. He walks over to the locker and yanks the door off, displaying, yet again, his incredible strength. He finds his blue tinted armor and yanks it out, strapping the various components to himself. He looks himself over and smiles, "A little dented, a little torn, but the fit is perfect, like always. It should just take a few days to repair itself and it'll be as good as new." "Fine, fine, just leave!" the mad man yells. "You've destroyed enough of my precious lab as it is!" "Leave?" the man asks, turning to look at the doctor. "I'll leave, but, I've got this thing about people who try to cut my head open. An eye for an eye, a skull for a skull," he tells the doctor, his right hand transforming into a blade again. "What! No, you can't be serious! Not my precious brain! I need my brain!" The man swiftly runs up to the doctor, smashing tables and equipment aside. He holds the doctor up by his neck and brings the tip of his sword-arm right to the mad man's temple. "Now hold still, I'm not going to make a very fine cut," the man says, mocking the doctor. "You mustn't do this! My research is very important!" The man grins, then swipes his sword-arm through the doctor's skull, spraying blood all over his armor. The doctor screams in agony, grabbing at the man with fear. The man drops the maniacal doctor, whose life still continues despite the top of his head being cut off. "My brain!? Where is my brain?!" the doctor screams aloud, his fingers searching the inside of his skull for his most precious possession. They come up empty however, no brain to be found. Only a small hexagon shaped object, planted at the spot where the brain and spinal column would normally connect. The man looks down at the raving doctor, lying on the floor, clutching at his empty skull. "Damn!" he says aloud. "I was hoping there would be some gray matter to carve up. Just my luck the doc's a robot," he mumbles, leaning down to look the mad man in the eyes. "Well, doc. I guess you can live, because you just helped me remember my name. It's Naotaki, remember that," the man says, standing up and walking out the door.