"Howard!!", a twenty-something man yelled into the screen. I recognized him at the one who had laughed at Damien's death. His name, Donald Simpson, appeared at the bottom left of the screen. "Good thing you're close. We need you here, right now. Here's the coordinates." A very precise latitude and longitude appeared at the left-hand corner of the screen. It would take me about two and a half hours to fly to that location in middle Alaska.

"What's this all about?"

"A second level's base just got overrun. And the circumstances... are pretty weird. I'll explain on the way."

"Ah hell, it should be interesting. This better be worth my time, though.", Howard said evenly, and the man simply nodded before he turned off his screen. Howard told us to get ready, and I went upstairs to dress and arm myself; Paul had turned off the computer and was getting dressed. Black suit, check. Guns, check. We're ready. We went downstairs and saw Howard come up from the elevator, the Micro in his suit; he ordered us inside the jet, and seconds later we were in the air with Sarah flying. The jet's screen flashed on with the same guy.

"All right... where do I start... oh shit, how about with this?!", the guy said, swinging the camera over to the blown-apart entrance to what appeared to be a military installation. An Enforcer came out, but not the usual Enforcer, with a relaxed stance. This one moved woodenly.

"I'm a little teapot, short and stout. Here is my handle, here is my spout.", the Enforcer said, in a kiddie, saccharine voice, going through the song's motions, as a dozen other Enforcers trained their guns on it. As it turned its head I noticed it was bleeding from its ears. "When I get all steamed up, then I shout- tip me over, and pour me out!", it finished, then pulling out a gun and blowing its own brains out as the other Enforcers pumped it full of bullets. I stared on in horror, as if Howard had commanded me to. That was beyond just 'weird'. That was... wrong somehow, other than just the obvious.

"JESUS!!", Paul screamed.

"What the FUCK was that??", Howard shouted. I remained mute with my mouth partially open.

"That's just the beginning. Every three hours or so, one of the dolls comes out and blows up whatever it touches. What you just saw is our most recent attempt to probe the place with Enforcers. We're not sure what to do now. We've sent in two heavily armored Enforcers, but our recon is getting jammed, and any wires or relay beacons we put in just get cut."

"Okay, what the hell started all this?", Howard asked, keeping calm.

"The guy's name is Peter Brenk. We thought he was just a bit eccentric, a hobbyist with things like that.. until we saw this. He's got a whole factory down there, and he's helped with a lot of our technology. As I said, he's a second level, and we're pretty sure he's in there. But we... god, what the hell did he do to make those?! We came after we heard reports of trees being blown up from Enforcers who couldn't contact their master. When I sent an Enforcer here, they were... like that. And then so was mine. We've managed to keep a perimeter. The immediate threat is gone, but we don't know what to do about Peter, or even if he's doing this. That's why we've come to you."

"Who else is there with you?" The camera panned out to reveal three more Illuminati standing near each other in a specially-made tent, keeping warm and discussing the details of strategy.

"Ah... we've got Warner, Mao, and Tim Johnson at the moment. Gates is on his way too."

"Well, this is definitely worth it. We'll get to the bottom of this. First real action I've had in a while." I hope we don't have to get too deep in this. Battles I can deal with, but this is just weirding me out. Gee, I wonder what tonight's nightmare will be about.

"All right. I've got some other calls to make. Thanks, Howard." Howard clicked the screen off.

"Okay, is there anything at all any of you can tell me about that?", he shouted, confused and a bit annoyed.

"Howard, how many horror movies have you watched?", I asked.

"Not many. Why?"

"Well, in the plots of horror movies, violent dolls and people acting strangely are sometimes included for extra fear. What you just saw could have come from one. The idea is to combine the images of childhood- dolls and clowns and the like- with insanity and violence. Which is what's going on."

"So whoever or whatever's down there is trying to scare us."

"Well, I think it's starting to work."

"Yeah.. it is. It's bugging me to hell. I'm tempted to give the order to just turn the place into rubble."

"Yeah. If I were you, I'd blow the place straight to hell. There's something nasty down there, Howie.", Paul said in a partially scared voice.

"No shit. I want to know what the hell can do that to Enforcers. They got... re-controlled somehow. You saw the ear-bleeding..", Howard replied. Paul shook his head.

"I did. Some machine... of some sort down there put spikes into that Enforcer's head. Must have been faster than lightning. You send any more down there without special shielding...", I said.

Sarah spoke up, slowly and carefully. "Shit.. if Brenk's still alive, he's probably hiding where that shit can't find him. Enforcers getting spikes through their heads... I haven't been this scared in a while." Coming from Sarah, that means something. "I can't think of anything that would control those kinds of things and do something like this. I doubt the Anarch or some pissed Illuminatus... might have been that, some other Illuminatus got pissed. But this is beyond crazy. If it was that, someone had a lot of time on his hands and a whole lot of hate."

"And/or a whole lot of dementia. We've got our fair share of mad scientists. I just wonder why anyone would do something this.. this insane.", said Howard in a 'Why the hell' voice.

Howard researched Brenk, your basic mad scientist. Interests in computer engineering, purely robotic humanoids (Enforcers ticked him off as he tried to engineer something mechanical and better), and some mind control. A loner, Brenk seldom socializes in the real world, and prefers the company of machines to people. Yeah, Brenk could have done everything we've seen so far. But.. he's obviously trapped himself, or screwed up, or something. This is not the work of a sane Illuminatus, at least not the one whose base is overrun. What reconnaissance could be gathered said one thing and one thing alone: that base was fucked, with giant robots running around doing insane things, banging their heads on walls, or lifting things that were not there. Some of the robots seemed to be policing the place, like guards in a mental asylum. Those guards had enormous weapons on them- weapons that caused Sarah to sigh and mutter.

We were almost there when the camera relayed another image- the two heavy metal-armored Enforcers walked out of the building in the same manner that the other Enforcer did. They moved with the same small, stiff, robotic, very un-Enforcerlike steps, both holding their left arms in the air and waving them and their ear-bleeding (the helmets were broken open by whatever got them) heads back and forth, back and forth, just waving to nothing, goofy smiles on their faces, looking much like a moving billboard sign or a cheap computer program. Then they were blown to bits by two ordinary Enforcers carrying bazookas.

"Well, fuck.", Howard said. For a moment I almost asked him to say 'Fuck this shit' and take us home and let someone else handle this. He wouldn't, though. This is what they have a Dominator for, the shit they can't handle on their own. Sarah climbed into the pilot's seat and slowed us down, and we landed vertically on a grassy field.

"Howard, am I going to be in any way possibly useful for this?", Paul asked, not wanting to be involved.

"Probably not.", Howard answered.

"Then let me just stay in the jet where it's safe and I won't have to face those things, all right? I mean, if I was one of you or had a retrovirus or something, I could. And I think fighting them would be cool. But.. no way." The difference between fighting big, mean enemies in games and fighting big, mean enemies in real life is that if the enemies prove to be too big and mean in the games, you get to try again.

"All right. You can stay here for now.", Howard told him, to Paul's enormous relief. Unfortunately, the rest of us couldn't. We left the jet and outside was a big resupply camp, with Enforcers setting up stockpiles of weapons. The Illuminati are regular Boy Scouts. Howard shook hands with an older, hair-dyed man who, although dressed in the usual, comfortable, white clothing of an Illuminatus, looked like an a politician or possibly some sort of actor. "Pleased to meet you, Dominator. Mr. Simpson and his other colleagues have decided that they could set up a command post in view of, ah, Brenk's facility." The man sounded like a politician, although I didn't recognize him at all. "They said they've got those things' patterns down to a routine, but.."

"But you're not silly enough to go up there and find out for yourself, right?", Howard asked.

"Um.. yes.", the older man said, nodding and smiling a bit. "It's not that Donald's, ah.." Oh, can it. You're not on normal TV. You can insult him all you want, Howard doesn't care.

"No, he's just more confident than you are.", Howard said, even more confidently. "If he thinks it's safe enough for him, I'm going up there too, because I dodge bullets and he doesn't. Now where is it?"

"About three hundred meters that way.", the man replied, pointing. Before we left, an Enforcer came up to me and Sarah and handed us communicators. Normal operating procedure, apparently. In the direction the man had pointed, I saw a metal structure- apparently Brenk's base- and then a small, semi-camouflaged tent near it.

"Dominator!", Donald greeted Howard, poking his head out of the tent and smiling. "You came at a good time. In about... three minutes, maybe you can tell us if you've seen anything like this before." Howard's seen a lot of things, but whatever the hell this is, I'm thinking 'Fat fucking chance of that.'

We found chairs and in three minutes the answer was clear- Howard hadn't seen anything like that before, and neither have I. And I didn't want to. An eight-foot-tall figure with a pasty white face, circles of red on its cheeks, no expression, a very doll-like appearance, and a giant, orange, pointy hat walked out the door mechanically, as Enforcers cut it to ribbons with armor-piercing bullets. It exploded, doing no damage- except even more to the entrance, which was pretty much in pieces.

"Shit!", Howard exclaimed. "Why would anyone build something like that?" No one answered him, because no one knew. "All right- what kind of strike team would we need to go down there and control the place?", he said, his voice more like a statement than a question. Donald's face became something like a smirk and his eyes rolled back a bit.

"A big one, Howard. We'd need heavy equipment of all kinds, and a lot of time. And even then, the weaponry would probably blow most of everything in there away." At least we're not going to be in danger. Howard's just going to throw Enforcers, machines, and tactics at this problem until it's.. dominated.

"So what are you suggesting?"

"Nothing. I really don't know. Peter might already be dead. But he's important enough to warrant it.. the problem is, the kind of weaponry on the ones inside is ugly, and the kind of weaponry we need to defeat them will put holes in the place."

"Shit, I don't know what the hell... he could be holed up someplace, or he could be masterminding it, crazy as that is. But you're right, he is worth it." Howard put his hand on his chin and thought, then stuck a finger out as he seemed to have something of an idea.

"Show me the schematics.", Howard said, in a thoughtful voice. Donald pressed a few buttons and showed Howard something he's obviously been looking at quite a bit, the blueprints to the base. It was seven floors deep, the living quarters being at the bottom and the computer database being on the very bottom. Each floor was approximately 100 yards by 100 yards, not counting the giant manufacturing bays. Hmm. This reminds me of someplace.. yup, the bottom is just like the mansion, and Brenk probably never has to leave it...

"Hey, wait a second.", I said.

"What?", Howard immediately asked, knowing that I had one of the rare intellectual moments known as a 'plan'.

"Howard, you know how you are, when you want to control something, you don't even have to leave your room, really. So why would some introvert like Brenk go up a few floors, especially if something like this happened? Screw 'not on the top', he's probably on the bottom if he's still alive."

His face brightened with understanding, hard as that is to envision an albino doing. "Holy crap, you're right. Donald- can we efficiently nuke that place floor by floor?"

"Yeah, we sure can. We won't even damage the air vents. It's worth a shot. But we will lose everything on top, as evidence.."

"The database is on the bottom. Even if Brenk has something we don't know about, the research must be in there.", the older, portly Illuminatus said.

"Then let's do it.", Howard said. Donald, with assistance from the oriental Illuminatus, Sarah, and a few other trained servants, began the tedious process of designing and implementing the covert, slow bombing of Brenk's facility. Since this is a 'military base', any normal hearing the faint echoes of powerful blasts would assume it's just some tests. Of course, this place is fenced off for miles around. Howard climbed partway up a tree and began to doze off- I joined him. This would take a while. It sure beats the direct approach, though. No way in hell Howie's leading us in there.

It was decided upon- helicopters would use high explosives to obliterate the place piece by piece. No super big bombs, but a systematic destruction of each floor. It took only one hour for the explosives to be shipped in, the temporary camp (and Howard's jet and other expensive equipment) was moved away, and from a safe distance of a few hundred meters, we watched the destruction.

It was a bit like fireworks. One boom and debris would fly into the air. Another boom and large chunks of metal would fly up and fall down. Dust was everywhere as the facility was steadily turned into smoke and ash. The only corner remaining was that of the large air vent.

There was a deep, computerized scream from somewhere inside, which was immediately cut off by more bombs. I thought it was my imagination until everyone around shared the same surprised look. No one said anything, no one would make theories in this place without supporting evidence. It was probably a deluding tactic- someone might have thought we would believe an AI was behind this. Bullshit... only humans are this insane.

And then it was done. The others stayed behind, but Howard led me and Sarah steadily towards the rubble, surrounded by a squad of Enforcers. Large excavation machines rolled towards us, began lifting the debris out of the ground, and carried it away. And then we heard and saw a thing.. a thing I didn't want to see. A metal spike of a tower, five stories tall, emerged from the bottom, pushing up debris.. it seemed to be looking at us, as panels opened from its sides. I immediately realized what it was- and why it was a foolish decision to come closer, in person. I should have thought about this, I should have warned him...

We ran. Long, thin beams of microwave death began spinning this way and that, randomly turning off and on, obliterating everything, chopping Enforcers into pieces as they tried to shoot it. We ran and dodged and jumped and got into the forest, but the trees weren't any cover against the sheer power, and often fell in our way, having their trunks lasered, the sounds reminiscent of a wet log being thrown into a very hot fire during a lightning storm.

One of the beams was too close, way too close- Howard dodged left towards me, but I saw the beam's path get much closer to his arm than it should- and I watched, silently, as it fell off his body into the brush. Thick, engineered blood gushed out of the stump, immediately soaking his whole right side and the nearby ground. I screamed in immediate response, and so did Sarah.

My first thought was 'It's all right, he'll grow it back.' My second thought was 'He'll grow it back, but this is definitely not all right!' I looked for more beams coming our way and saw none- Illuminated missile launchers were blowing the fuck out of the tower. Only one thing I can do.. press the Enforcer button on this and.. "Enforcer, we need medical assistance here NOW!", I shouted into the communicator, as Howard, in panic and shock, ordered Sarah to give him hers and pressed a button on it. She did, and promptly took off her shirt to wrap it around Howard's upper body tightly, trying to stem the flow of blood.

"Blow that thing to BITS!!", Howard commanded whoever was on the other end, and I could tell from his face that he hadn't started feeling any pain yet. It's already being attacked, but losing limbs kind of narrows your thinking a bit.

"Medical assistance will arrive in a maximum of three minutes. What hominids have suffered what injuries?", the Enforcer asked in my ear.

"I don't give a fuck!!! Bomb the place, that's a fucking direct order!!", Howard shouted into his communicator.

"One engineered Illuminatus has lost an arm. He's losing a lot of blood.", I replied to the Enforcer, reminding myself to be calm and precise, as we've always been told in school to talk to 911 dispatchers. Howard was starting to feel the pain, gritting his teeth and groaning, then screaming with full echo in unbridled agony. Ungodly amounts of firepower poured into the base of the spire in an orgy of death, resources be damned. (Besides, I seriously doubt it costs the Illuminati as much as it costs the American government to make missiles like that.)

Howard fell to the ground, clutching his stump tightly, the blood soaking Sarah's shirt as she tried to squeeze the flow shut. It actually was probably slowing down- the wound would regenerate shut before it started growing back. Without prompt medical attention, Howard's blood loss would surely kill him anyway, and I pondered if it was possible to give him some of mine. 'Don't be stupid!', my own voice shouted in my head. 'You want to kill him, remember? You're not being commanded to save his ass- let him fucking die!' I almost- but not quite- said the same thing to Sarah. Why the hell did I call for medical attention anyway, and why the hell is Sarah trying to bandage him up?

My thoughts were interrupted by Howard screaming into the communicator, with his second set of vocal cords only. "Yeah... I'm fucking fine.. come see for yourself.. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!"

I gave myself a halfhearted explanation. 'I've still got standing commands anyway. I can't take my revenge even if he does die..' He didn't, of course. The Enforcer medical attention arrived in two minutes, and they didn't need any of my blood, preferring instead to fill Howard's body with a special nutrient solution instead, pumping it directly into his aorta at his throat just above his ribs. Sarah stepped back and they removed her tourniquet and bent a piece of plastic over Howard's stump, and taped it in place in a few swift movements, immediately stopping the leak. They didn't bother with a stretcher, instead they simply carried him out, back to the support base, with their graceless, machinelike precision, one of them carrying Howard's fallen arm with a similar plastic cap over it, nutrients injected into the forearm as if it was its own casualty. There was nothing else they could or needed to do. Howard was squinting his eyes and saying nothing, having retreated mentally due to the unholy amounts of pain. Sarah and I looked at each other and we followed them.

Five minutes later, we were there. One of the Enforcers handed Howard's arm to another Enforcer, who nodded and immediately got into a jet-helicopter.

"Recommend immediate evacuation to Northberg Medical Facility.", another Enforcer said. Sounds good to me.

"I'll take that recommendation.", Sarah said casually, and she led the Enforcers to carry Howard into the jet.

"Howard!", Donald shouted, running up to us. "Shit, we had no idea- that was definitely a bad-"

"Save it.", Sarah snapped. "I don't even think he can hear you right now. It's over for now, talk to him when we're all calmed down.", she said, sitting Howard in his usual position next to a very horrified Paul, who had almost certainly been watching on the viewscreen, his eyes wide and his mouth going 'Holy shit...' repeatedly.

"Oh... okay.", Donald said, a bit relieved and a bit frightened, as I closed the jet's door and Sarah blasted us into the sky. Brenk's was an Alaskan base- by Illuminated standards, Northberg was right on top of the place. Paul didn't say anything, just looked at Howard for signs of consciousness.

In a couple of minutes, there were. Howard looked at each of us from right to left. Sarah looked back at him from the pilot's seat, her emotions unreadable. Paul was still stunned, watching Howard reach with his left arm to peel off the tape and plastic covering his right, revealing a healed-over stump of what looked to be bruised skin. "Holy fuck..", Paul muttered. "Your arm... Howard.. we're going to have to do everything for you now.." Has he forgotten?

"Quite a few things... and it'll be one of the most annoying one and a half weeks of your lives.", Howard replied.

"That slow?", Sarah asked.

"One and a half weeks is by itself.. depends on what Northberg can do about it.", Howard said, and went for the food and water dispensers. Of course he's hungry, and blood loss always makes people thirsty, injected nutrients be damned. Of course, he only had one arm to go after it with, slowing him down somewhat.

"Damn, Howard.. for once in my life, I'm glad I'm not you.", I said, looking at his healed stump.

"Relax.. nothing permanently lost.. not even my pride. But that hurt..", Howard said, a bit giddy. Endorphins, I think. Or maybe just plain old relief at being alive. If he hadn't dodged the little bit that he did, he would have been killed instantly.

"Howard.. you're not going to use Billy as.. well, uh.. spare parts, are you?" Bad Paul! No giving him ideas!

"No.", Howard replied after a second of thought. Whew. "But I do need him to play." Howard used the mouse to kill as I did the movement, blowing people apart on some normal server. Which reminds me- we didn't get to do any of that here. I expected a firefight, or at least an investigation, but I got nothing but lasers and a dismembered Howard instead. This, ladies and gentlemen, was a prime example of a trip not worth taking. Bugs Bunny, from a WWII-era cartoon, appeared in my mind and held up a sign saying 'Was this trip REALLY necessary?'

We only played for fifteen minutes and left, to the normals' relief, as abruptly as we came. Northberg's covered hangar opened and Sarah casually guided the plane down, a normal plane's descent instead of the usual VTOL blast.

The Day Operator of Northberg called as the plane touched down. "Dominator, your severed arm is waiting for you in a growth tank.", he said, hiding his emotions of relief and worry.

"How long, then?", Howard asked.

"With you? Six hours at most. That was lucky. Any closer and you could have lost some of your lung.", the Operator said, accurately realizing the danger.

"It was going for my whole body..", Howard replied.

"Well, if it hit where it was going for, we wouldn't be here talking about it. We need to prep you." Howard nodded, turned off the screen, and left the plane.

"You ever wanted to tour this place, Billy?", Sarah asked, casually. "He's gonna be gone, we might as well."

"There's something I want to discuss first.", I said, gravely, and both Sarah and Paul quickly turned to look at me when I said it. "The moment he got chopped by that thing, I called in for medical attention and you took your shirt off to tourniquet him!"

"Yeah... so?", Sarah asked, although she was beginning to understand what I really meant.

"So we didn't have to do it! Why, Sarah? You said you'd kill him if you got the chance, did you mean that?"

"Of course I meant it!", she shouted sharply, commanded to answer.

"I would too! But we did, Sarah, we saved him automatically and without hesitation. Why the hell did we make even the slightest uncommanded movements to save his life?"

She didn't know, and so didn't have to answer directly. "He probably would have lived anyway..."

"'Probably' isn't worth jack and you know it! We could have tossed the communicators into the trees the moment he was hit, we weren't commanded not to do that, either! Without you slowing the blood flow and with medical attention delayed by a couple of minutes or longer, he would have lost even more blood, greatly increasing his chance of dying. My point is that we had a chance, and neither of us even tried to take it."

"Look at it this way, Billy.", Sarah said, calmly. "First off, even with us tossing the communicators, he would have still probably lived. He might have lived even if he never got any medical attention. And of course if we did that instead of what we actually did do, he'd control our every motion from then on. Our lives would become nothing more than a series of commands and you know it. What's more, the blood loss might have caused non-fatal brain damage. That would increase the chance of a fatal miscommand in the future, but do you really want to live with an brain-damaged, all-controlling Howard and you to blame?"

"You're right, on all counts, and if you don't believe in freedom at any cost," How any of us could believe in freedom at all anymore was a mystery to me, but I did. Sort of. "those are excellent reasons to do what we did. But that's a post-operation explanation.", I said. Just like the one I made up about the standing commands. "You weren't thinking that when you did it."

"No.. no, I wasn't. Not consciously, anyway. You're saying we instinctively saved him, aren't you?" I nodded. "For me it was an operation and he was the operation leader. That's how I think in situations like that. That's how I was thinking during that whole rainforest business, that he had given me leadership responsibilities. Billy, I'm an Illuminati-trained assassin, the best professional killer in the world with training in group operations." She sat in the pilot's seat, half-turned around, thinking. I looked at Paul, who was listening to our conversation intently and silently. "That's what you should expect me to act like. Not like a desperate servant out to kill her master, because, when it comes down to it, I'd save him again in a situation like that. Of course, if he says the wrong words, his ass is still mine." I understood completely. "Why'd you do it?"

"Instinct. Utter instinct. I didn't even think about it at all. I just saw him hurt and called for medical attention, no hesitation. I can't be counted on either to let him die." The truth of it frightened me. Even if he was holding onto a rock in a waterfall, his commands rendered inaudible by the rushing water, would I want to go out there and save his life? Even if I did want to, I resolved, unless he commanded it, I would stop myself from doing it. Dead is dead and I don't care who or what kills him, just so long as it puts this shit to a stop! "I'll probably let him die, but I can't be counted on.", I said, honestly, before thinking about something else as well. "But... why did the Enforcer give just us communicators? Why not him?"

"Because he was not considered to be a part of the operation; he was a visiting Illuminatus. We got them because we were recognized as participating agents. Even though four of them were there, Illuminati aren't expected to participate in this stuff. I know, it's a shitty philosophy, and I should have probably said something when it didn't. So, care for the tour?" I nodded. "I want to take a look at that dragon for myself, so we're going to head east, to the experimental area near the Enforcer manufacturing. If we headed west, we'd go to the medical ward where Howard is," I remember that part from when Paul was in there. "or the educational facility with the engineered kids. Almost all of them are just partially engineered, some more heavily than others." We got into the twenty-seat tram and she selected the experiments department. "I know they're using a lot of our DNA for the modifications, too, but that's okay. We can kill them.", Sarah continued, casually. Paul turned to look at her sharply. "They're not Illuminati and they're not anyone's property. Their guardian Enforcers would of course attack us, and then we could butcher them in self-defense. Start with the babies, and go up to the toddlers and see if we can make it to the three-year-olds before we're stopped by either Howard or overwhelming force. The older children here could kill us if they attacked as a group, but we'd get a lot of kills in before that." Her voice did not hesitate or falter in the slightest. Holy crap. She's serious.

"I'm not about to kill innocent engineered children, Sarah.", I said, quietly.

"Neither am I.", she replied. "But if they were normals, you wouldn't have a second thought. Think about why that is." Instinct, again. If I put other concerns aside- like what Howard would do or what would happen to us- if they were normals, I'd consider them the spawn of the organization that enslaved me and squish them like so many evil alien eggs. Since they're engineered, I consider them beautiful, healthy children with an eternal bright future, even though I haven't seen a single one. It's the same reason I called the medics for Howard, and, I suspect, at least part of the reason he refuses to cause harm to me or Sarah.

'Then fight it.', the worst part of my mind said to me, cold and dirty. 'Fight this miserable engineered instinct. It isn't stronger than you are. Butcher the children- command Sarah and Paul to butcher these spawn of the ones who enslaved you. Howard will take his revenge, but it doesn't really matter. Either you die or you'll have a possibility of a chance to kill him later, just the same way you do now. Or are you intimidated?'

'Fuck you!', I shouted at it mentally. 'I don't care who their parents or creators work for! I'm not killing smart, engineered kids!' "We shouldn't even be thinking about this at all!", I shouted to Sarah. "This is a command, both of you, and this can't override Howard's standing orders, but never harm engineered children- Howard not included- except if you have no other choice in self-defense." Paul audibly breathed a sigh of relief.

"Good. You might not understand why, but you understand what.", Sarah said, smiling. She didn't explain further. "We're here." The tram had slowed to a stop, and we walked out.

The scenery was typical Illuminated institution- steel walls and corridors. Here the halls were built wider than usual.. either for shipments of large biologicals... or the possibility of large biologicals walking around in them. I didn't see any, though. From what I saw- Enforcers walking around with sealed test tubes and a couple of objects that looked like clear plastic slides- the vast majority of the research is done on the microscopic level. Sarah appeared to know exactly where she was going, and Paul and I followed her into a wide hallway labeled 'D. Draconis'. "And this is...", Sarah announced, opening the big double doors, "...largely unoccupied." It was just a giant steel room with a retractable ceiling, and that was it. It looked like it could easily be built into a living area for dragons.

"Expecting something?", a middle-aged man wearing a lab coat asked from behind us. He had what looked to be a reptile perched watchfully on his shoulder, looking at us through yellow eyes, with what I guessed were the beginnings of intelligence.

"I thought you'd have something to show for this. Is that on your shoulder..?", Sarah asked.

"Just a mature Draconis Minimis, I'm afraid. I can show you what we've got now. Where's your master?"

"Lost his arm and doesn't want to wait to get it back. That's why we're here.", she replied.

"Must not have been forewarned." I got the joke, but didn't want it. Forewarned is forearmed. "If I was in your business, I wouldn't want to stay disarmed either.", he joked, opening a door to a lab full of scientific equipment (with which a few Enforcers were performing a few repetitive tasks) and a giant viewscreen, through which we followed him to another door to what appeared to be jars full of dragon parts, some badly misshapen. All of them were in tanks full of nutrient fluid. Some of the parts appeared to be trying to regenerate the rest of the dragon but failing miserably. Others were moving by electrodes injected into their tissue, and at least two looked to be rotting. The lizard on the scientist's shoulder recoiled sharply and clinged to the man's fabric lab coat tightly. "Bitey doesn't like it in here. As you can see, we've got a lot of work to do."

Suddenly I had a vision- of white heads floating in tanks, their brains failing in some way, white arms and legs being tested for speed and grace of movement, and digestive systems being tested for efficiency and dealing with various kinds of bacteria, each old model being destroyed to make room for the latest improvement.. "Howard was like this, wasn't he..", I asked, turning. Paul's eyes glimmered with understanding.

The man in the lab coat nodded and laughed. "Guess what program I was on before I started this. So much of our research has been exclusively on humans, as if we should stay a planet with one species of intelligent life just because we ended up that way. It took a lot of work to get the Operator to respect me enough to let me start this." The man led us to the lab's large viewscreen, which he quickly navigated to a growth diagram. From an egg.. to a small flying one about the size of a cat.. to a wingless six-legged one about the size of a bus. Then they'll climb out of the retractable ceiling.. I could easily visualize that, too. Hopefully there will be some sort of padding to prevent the wham, wham, wham these creatures must make. With sufficient armor plating and engineered speed, one full-grown dragon would be able to destroy dozens of normal modern tanks. The regular bullets would bounce off the plate, and how would you hope to hit it with easily avoidable tank shells? It would be vulnerable from the air..

"Two-stage growth?", Sarah asked.

"From a small butterfly to a giant caterpillar. You can't make a large dragon fly, not without mechanical help I'm afraid." If there really is a mechanical solution... steel, jet-propelled wings, and a body that can withstand supersonic travel.. no human pilot could hope to defeat it. This thing would dodge missiles and literally chew F-15s to pieces. "It's just a problem we can't solve with genetics in Earth's gravity. Small they can, but as they grow older, their wings grow back in like the tail of a tadpole. I'd love to tell you about their personalities and all, but..."

"You're just not that far yet.", Paul said, speaking up for the first time in a while. "I want to see one. Maybe even ride one, if it'll let me. A fire-breathing- hey wait, do these.." The draconian answered him by feeding Bitey what looked to be a berry of some sort. The dragon munched it up greedily with its hands (like a rat or a squirrel) and shot a brief, bright-blue jet of methane flame out of its nose.

"Before you ask, I don't smoke.", the scientist said. That would be one hell of a cigarette lighter, though.

"Nice..", Paul said. In so many ways, he's still a kid- so are Howard and I, really- and kids love dragons. Fire-breathing, gigantic, nearly immortal, intelligent... yes, boys and girls, we're going to have a bright future indeed. Paul reached his hand forward tentatively to the Draconis Minimis, which looked at his hand with reptilian, strangely curious eyes. "Can I pet.."

"No. He's named Bitey for a reason. It took time just to get him trained not to bite me.", the scientist said, decisively.

"Oh. Okay.", Paul said, smiling. "We'll be back sometime." And we took our leave of the man and his tiny dragon. We did take a further look around the experimental wing, but most of it was either so incomplete or so uninteresting (or so small, as in microns) that it wasn't really worth looking at in any detail; after wandering around for a bit, we took the tram back to the jet and waited for Howard. It wasn't an unpleasant wait, only a few hours, and we had the world at our fingertips on the screen to pass the time.

Paul was obviously expecting to wait much longer, as the two-armed Howard (with a full suit, carrying one with one sleeve) walked back to the jet, smiling some. "Holy fuck.. already?", he asked, amazed, as Howard sat between me and Paul, Sarah turning the jet around to point at the hangar's exit.

"Yup.", Howard gladly replied.

"No way. That's insane."

"No, insane would be a fourth of that time. That would also be nice.", Howard said, and Sarah blasted the jet out the door with its usual force.

"Fucking.. you don't feel anything if I do this?", Paul asked, reaching across Howard and pressing his fingers into the regenerated arm where it was severed.

"I feel you poking me." For a fleeting moment I pictured Howard saying 'Stop poking me!' in an Warcraft 2 Orcish voice, and giggled at the thought.

"We found some records.", Howard explained. "Brenk was dead before we got there. We found out how those things were made and what was being done to the Enforcers. Lots of technical reasons how, but no information on why.", he said, shaking his head.

"Then damn, Howard.. other than the arm, that operation was amazing. All that annoyance you saved."

"Yeah, no kidding."

"It could have been worse, you could have ran us down there like some RPG's dungeon run or something." Which would have likely lead us into an inescapable crushing room, an inescapable flood of boiling oil (or trap door opening into same), or suchlike. They haven't finished analyzing just what was down there, but the preliminary reports tell of all sorts of nastiness.

"Was that what you were thinking?"

"Yes!"

"Strange, because I was thinking that too, until I remembered what the better part of valor is. Oh, and Billy, there's something else you should know."

"And that is.." I was expecting some sort of logical, intricate command.

"Our cell division happened by chance." Yeah, and that ooh-ooh, aah-aah sound you hear is the monkeys flying out of my butt! I cracked up laughing. I greatly appreciate Howard having a sense of humor.

"Bull-shit! Happy April Fool's Day to you too, Howie!"

"The Operator just told me. Total accident. Took him three seconds to think of what he'd do with you." No fucking way. You have got to be fucking kidding me. Sending the Dominator's twin to be his eternal servant is not a decision you make in three seconds. Okay, either Howard's sense of humor has taken a turn for the worse, or...

"Okay, I laughed already. No joke?"

"No joke."

Rage filled me like a firehose in a bucket, my face twisting and my head brimming with pure, soul-destroying hate. "That FUCKER!! That absolute shit-eating fuck monkey! Instant decision for him.. I suppose he's too valuable to let me just crush his head?"

"He is. That is one man I actually trust." I sighed. He has good reason to trust him, too.

"Damn it. Figures. Plans my ass, they just found some luck and ran with it. What the hell were the odds of that cell dividing like that? Unless they fucked up somehow, which they don't.." How the hell? How the fucking hell?! Our cells only divide when they're meant to, that's one of the key parts of the specification!

"Somewhere between 'low' and 'nil'.", Paul suggested.

"Okay, that's the final nail in the coffin of sanity. Total blind luck. Gotta love it. I knew our places were a coin flip but that.." Let's take the parallel universes theory. For every universe where we do exist as twins, there are.. there isn't any math for this, so I'll just say 'billions'.. of parallel universes where there is only one Dominator. One.. what? Movement of a DNA strand? Something that got activated chemically? They would have fixed it if it was a design flaw. But for the final version, the cell just split itself..