NEMESIS - PART 3: HEROES SPENT

-- from A Bright and Shiny Future

-- from Robert Jordan's Lord of Chaos

THURSDAY, 8:49 A.M.

The high tide reached its peak at about eight o'clock and, upon withdrawing, took along the fine foams of saltwater that had dosed his uniform thoroughly for half an hour. T-Bone's shivering, though, didn't originate from his wet clothes and lasted on even after the sun tried to make up for the cold, drying up his back with the mild strength of a morning's ascent.

Inside him, the shock-caused pain had dimmed a bit, if the feeling of being hacked to atoms with a dull axe could be called dim. Liquid fire pulsed in his head, avalanching his old self and leaving only gloom.

Worse, however, was the understanding that his agony would never fade away completely, that it would be a part of him henceforth, buried in a now-shriveled part of his heart, in the now-dead layer of his soul.

"BUDDY? A buddy wouldn't have ejected me out of the TurboKat AGAINST MY WILL!"

Dead, and yet mourning.

"You should have died at Pumadyne, T-Bone." You should have died. Died!

Shriveled, yet hurting like hell.

"It's your fault you have to see this. Your fault…"

T-Bone. But Chance no more.

"It's over, T-Bone… It's over, Chance."

It's over…

Over…

What was left of his life? What was left? Ever since the day two young Enforcers disobeyed Feral's order and paid dearly for this decision, only two things made up his life:

His SWAT Kat double life and his friendship with Jake.

When he and Jake had arrived at the salvage yard, Jake's suggestion to build their own jet and do some justice had seemed a gift. This purpose had kept him upright. At this special point in time, the future his secret identity offered had predominated his comradeship.

However, that was then. Only a momentarily arrangement born out of his anger and shock. This purpose hadn't faded; for all the good things he could achieve as T-Bone, his SWAT Kat identity defined a great part of his life. And yet, that wasn't the major part of him. In their joint suffering, the friendship between him and Jake had strengthened, unifying them.

For Chance, this camaraderie had outshone everything else, the SWAT Kats included. And, there hadn't been a single day, a single hour, a single second, where he had thought it wouldn't be the same with Jake.

Until today.

Now, as all the shock and pain collapsed on top of him and crushed what had been his source of power up to this day – after it had crushed Chance – to be a hero and to do justice was suddenly a shallow basis, not likely enough to alone uphold the warrior he'd been.

In his darkest hour, T-Bone realized more than ever how much he needed Razor.

But, he had lost him. Lost him the most brutal way…

BETRAYAL!

"You should have died at Pumadyne, T-Bone…"

As this river of loss and trauma threatened to carry him off, the T-Bone wobbly rising to his feet was just a fragile, exhausted shadow of his former self. Black streaks cloaked his vision upon his sudden rising and his eyes were burning fiercely, dried out of tears for years in advance.

Stumbling away from the shore in search of the nearest street, he was only pushed on by the faint awareness that MegaKat City would be in danger.

Hadn't his mind been one big maelstrom of misery, T-Bone would have grasped the bitter irony of the situation.

With his life turned upside-down and his future unquestionably wiped out, the lone part of his former self that hadn't been driven out completely by the day's events was T-Bone's care for the citizens of MegaKat City.

The ungrateful, ever-complaining citizens…

Nonetheless, he would fight for them. He would suffer for them…

And, suffer he did! More excruciating than anything ever felt before, a second pain thrived inside him. A persistent, massive throbbing.

Jake!

He might have to face Jake.

It was like a paralyzing cold. His friendship with Jake was embedded too deep inside for him to be untouched by this image. With every step, this picture threatened to crush him, yet somehow he kept on walking.

Step after step. Meter after meter.

When finally he staggered onto a sand-crusted beach road, anger had built up in him to balance all the pain. It was a flaming rage against the Enforcers, who must have known about Turmoil's accomplice all along.

But, let them play the ignorant. They would help him – or would be made to, if need be…

***

As the figure of a SWAT Kat appeared in front of his car out of nowhere, Jonathan Waters suddenly wished he hadn't skipped work today to go surfing. He hit the breaks on reflex, stopping just in time, his bumper merely inches away from T-Bone.

What disturbed him more, though, was the expression on T-Bone's face when the tabby looked up. The look was unfocused, the things happening around him nonexistent. Jonathan doubted the SWAT Kat was aware of how close an accident had been. He held a faraway gaze, cracked and grieved; it almost seemed someone had killed his partner, the kat named Razor.

Wraithlike white ovals instead of eyes drilling through him, Jonathan wished he were far away from this cornered kat. He wanted to be on the other side of the planet when T-Bone found the enemy that had him so close to the edge. The thought of what he would do when he got his hands on him or her and what might happen to the innocent kats nearby was too dreadful to think to an end.

That look still chilled him standing alone in the middle of the street five minutes later.

Only then did he realize that the SWAT Kat had hijacked his car.


 

THURSDAY, 9:23 A.M.

His right leg swung a wide arc and would have sent a tin can rolling over the filthy ground in every other back alley. But, in this special back alley, a goods entrance to Enforcer Headquarters, it just stirred the air, for everything was tidy, and tranquil and ordered. No tin cans, not even some old newspapers were shuffling in the breeze that announced a storm.

For Lieutenant Gregory Maxwell Taylor, it was simply boredom.

He kicked again at an imaginary obstacle. How he wished for something that could not defend against his mood.

Since Turmoil had escaped from Alkatraz, Headquarters was a beehive of bustling activity, the number of patrols increased excessively. In fact, every single car officer was out on tour of duty, most of the pilots were flying double shifts, and those who didn't were adding to the number of officers guarding outside the building.

Greg Taylor was one of them. And, only one word could describe his guard job: unfair.

Enforcer Headquarters had received a hint as to the whereabouts of Turmoil and Hard Drive. Commander Feral himself was leading two squadrons of his best jets and officers available to track them down and arrest them. Of course, protecting Headquarters wasn't something to be abandoned for this hunt, Greg could understand.

Yet… Best officers, that hurt.

Well, Greg *was* one of the finest weapon officers the Enforcers could present, but they certainly hadn't waited for him. When he had reached the landing platform on top of Headquarters, they were already gone.

It was a chase where every single minute would count, a sergeant in charge had told him, just before assigning him to this senseless post. A sergeant. A mere sergeant! The only souls he'd ever encounter in this back alley would be rats, and those rats would wave protest signs, demonstrating for their rights to be fed properly.

Yeah, even rats would only come here if they were on a hunger str…

Gregory didn't even hear him come.

Between one moment and the next, the rifle was ruthlessly snatched from his hands without care about whether he still held a finger on the trigger or not. It was thrown to the ground, splintering from the sheer power behind the thrust.

And, Lieutenant Gregory Maxwell Taylor found himself in a death grip.

T-Bone whispered coldly from behind. "You bring me to Commander Feral. Now! On the fastest route! And, I'm in a *very* bad mood, so you better start moving!"

Greg suddenly felt his innards freeze over as he frantically fumbled for a way to explain the current situation to his captor with a shock-blocked tongue.


 

THURSDAY, 9:34 A.M.

Knocking on the cafeteria door would have done the trick, but Lieutenant Taylor was treated to the experience that being slammed at the nearest wall was just as good a way to announce an entry.

Alone in the room, Lieutenant Felina Feral turned around from the coffee machine, and Greg forgot the pain in his side as a wave of relief flooded through him.

T-Bone had taken the news of Feral's absence evenly and *asked* for his niece instead. But, arriving at Felina's office, they had found it vacant. Life seemed to mock Greg. Odds-on she was out on duty, hunting Hard Drive and Turmoil with her uncle. When he had stammered this to T-Bone, he had thought his life doomed. Even now, he didn't know how he came up with the idea that she might be at the canteen.

Either her uncle had put her off again, or she had had the night shift, but for Gregory that didn't matter anymore. He had fulfilled what T-Bone ordered him to.

For the first time since he'd met T-Bone, he was optimistic to see the end of this day alive.

"Lieutenant Taylor, what…," Felina started.

T-Bone came bursting through the door, cloaked in wrath, and raced toward her.

"YOU KNEW IT! YOU ALL KNEW IT!"

"We knew what? I…"

"Your uncle has never turned tail that easily. He was always despicable, but to place the accusations on his inferiors to get rid of a pair of vigilantes, that's low, even for him."

Felina had no clue as to what T-Bone was talking about, but, even if she disagreed with her uncle over his actions from time to time, this was going *much* too far. Anger flashed.

"YEAH? So. Why don't you tell *him*! You're already on the best way to get yourself a decent rest in a detention cell. I'm sure my uncle will visit you there sooner or later."

"If you think you could get me into the detention block…"

"Just go on with your amok accusations and I will! There are more than enough Enforcers in this building who'd die to see you locked away."

T-Bone stopped half a meter away from her and lifted his glovatrix menacingly. "They're welcome to try. If they're so keen on dying, I will fulfill their wish!"

"You wouldn't stand a chance!"

"ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO FIND OUT?" T-Bone aimed his right arm at Felina.

Felina fought to keep herself from countering this move with an attack. "The moment you injure one Enforcer, you won't get out of this building alive!"

"WASN'T THAT THE SOLE PURPOSE ALL ALONG? KILLING US!"

"YOU'RE MAD."

"REALLY? Tell me that Hard Drive freed Turmoil from Alkatraz!"

Felina hesitated.

"TELL ME!"

"T-Bone, I…"

"T-E-L-L M-E!"

"No, he didn't!"

T-Bone coiled back as if shot. "He hasn't escaped at all, right? It was just his surge suit that was taken! You knew Turmoil's accomplice was someone else!

BUT THERE'S BEEN NO NEED FOR THE ALL-SO-PERFECT ENFORCERS TO TELL THIS. LET THE SWAT KATS STAY COMPLETELY IN THE DARK. PERCHANCE THEY RACE TOWARD THEIR DOOM, AND YOU ARE RELIEVED OF A MEDDLING PEST WITHOUT GETTING BLOODY HANDS YOURSELF!"

Felina inhaled deeply and started to answer. She didn't get far.

"HEY," T-Bone barked, twisting his head around, "where do you think you are heading?"

Lieutenant Taylor gulped and turned against his urge to try to make a run for the door. From the surprised look on Lieutenant Feral's face, she had already forgotten about him. Why couldn't that go true for this T-Bone too?

"I… I mu… must go back to… to my post."

"YOU STAY HERE!"

"Let him leave, T-Bone!"

"HE STAYS HERE!"

"HE HAS A DUTY TO FULFILL!"

"TO ROUSE SOME CORRUPT BACKUP, NO DOUBT."

Felina barely suppressed her anger. "Lieutenant Taylor will go back to his guarding post. Just that. You can trust me on this, T-Bone."

Greg nodded furiously. If only he could get away from this place…

"DON'T COME TO ME WITH TRUST, LIEUTENANT," T-Bone poked her hard on her left shoulder with his index finger, his voice a heavy accumulation of hurt and ire. "DON'T *EVER* COME TO ME WITH TRUST!"

"Well, then there's only one way to bring you back to your senses!"

In a swift, fluid motion, Felina raised her arm and *punched*.

Taken by surprise, T-Bone stumbled a step backwards from the blow to his face. He snarled and aimed his glovatrix at Felina again.

"Now *that* was a mistake!"

"WHY? NOTHING I COULD SAY OR DO WOULD OPEN YOUR EYES. I CAN'T STOP A MADKAT FROM SHOOTING ME! C'MON, GET IT OVER WITH, T-BONE!"

"DON'T TELL ME I LOST IT! *YOU ENFORCERS* WANT TO GET RID OF US SWAT KATS! HARD DRIVE IS STILL LOCKED AWAY SECURELY, BUT YOU HID THIS SO TURMOIL COULD FINISH ME OFF!"

"HARD DRIVE IS DEAD!"

"What…?"

"HE WAS KILLED LAST WEEK!"

"Hard Drive? I'm afraid Hard Drive has expired his usefulness."

Last week…? Turmoil sat in prison last week…!

From one moment to the next, T-Bone collapsed onto the nearest chair feebly. NO! No… Oh why, Razor, why? "Razor…"

Felina watched the SWAT Kat with a deeply worried face. As she heard Lt. Taylor gasp in utter relief, she realized that she, too, still held her breath. She exhaled heavily, but it didn't help to soothe her. She felt taut as a drawn bowstring.

"Back to your post, lieutenant. And no word to *anyone* about T-Bone or Hard Drive, understood!"

It was no question.

Gregory nodded. He scurried to the door and closed it behind him before T-Bone could object.

But, the cowered kat at the canteen table was insensible to the things around him anyway.

***

T-Bone's sudden change in character frightened Felina. Only a thin, fragile line separated shock from anger within the tabby, and temper mixed with misery. He was not mad, Felina was now sure. But, he seemed broken, deprived of an inner strength that had been just as colossal as his brawny statue. She had heard him whisper his partner's name before he collapsed.

Could it be…? Could it be that concealing Hard Drive's murder had caused Razor's death?

An arctic hand tightened on Felina's heart at the thought. It couldn't be, or could it…?

She walked back to the coffee machine, her mind a whirl. She snatched her cup of coffee, still steaming hot, and took the seat opposite T-Bone.

How to start?

"On a routine patrol of the Evidence Room last week, late Monday night, early Tuesday morning, Hard Drive's surge coat was reported missing. As soon as we realized, we checked on Hard Drive. He was gone as well, without a trace. Someone had burrowed a way into his cell without triggering the alarms.

Our first suspect was DarkKat. His creeplings had freed Hard Drive before; it was only a logical conclusion.

Then, Hard Drive was found.

Each part of the sewage systems has to be checked regularly in two- or three-year rotations for breaches, obstructions, bubbles of explosive gases, and so on. Virtually every day a small part of the underground network of sewers is being inspected. Last week, quadrant AJ15 was safety checked. This quadrant includes the sewers around and beneath Headquarters.

One worker stumbled over Hard Drive's body by pure chance. It was… not a pleasant sight."

Felina paused. T-Bone didn't move, showed no sign that he had followed her words. He looked down at the table, his torso moving rhythmically forth and back with his breathes.

"Forensics dated his death back to the very same night and stated electrocution as its cause.

Hard Drive's surge suit stayed lost. We even diver-searched the sewers, without success. Whoever had freed Hard Drive just wanted his suit, and had only taken Hard Drive along so as not to rouse suspicion.

But, that ruined our DarkKat theory. DarkKat would use Hard Drive, not kill him directly after making all the effort of blasting a way into his arrest cell.

Whoever the mysterious kat was, he or she had an impressive knowledge of Enforcer Headquarters, infiltrating the detention unit and getting the surge suit out of the Evidence Room. The hole in the bottom of Hard Drive's cell was the work of a pro, and left little evidence for our experts.

Then, Turmoil and her crew escaped from Alkatraz with the help of Hard Drive. If not for the lucky find of his corpse, we wouldn't have doubted it for a second. But, thus, we knew it wasn't him. It should only make the impression he were.

We needed time to examine the tiny bits of information we had. It wouldn't help our labors if Turmoil's accomplice became aware that we knew about the diversion. So, we held back with our knowledge. One word to Ann Gora would have been disastrous."

She sighed. *Not* telling had been just as catastrophic.

"T-Bone, my uncle didn't say anything so we could trace down the murderer and Turmoil, not because he wanted to get rid of you SWAT Kats. If I had guessed that harm would come to Razor because of this, I would have…"

"Spare me your words, Lieutenant," T-Bone murmured unsympathetically. "Commander Feral would have acted no different. A vigilante is no better than a villain, so why bother about a SWAT Kat?" 

He chuckled miserably. "A vigilante is no better than a villain. Seems your uncle's been right after all. You want to uncover Turmoil's accomplice?

It's Razor," T-Bone said, his stare empty and lost on some distant point.

Comprehension dawned on Felina with several seconds delay.

"…No… It… It can't be!"

"BUT IT IS!"

T-Bone slumped down on the table again after his flare-up. "But it is…" His voice cracked up.

Lieutenant Feral tried to sift through the chaos in her mind. Razor not injured, not dead. Worse, Razor the aggressor who'd killed Hard Drive. It was unbelievable. And, then, there was T-Bone, right in front of her. He was Razor's partner, so could she trust him?

Before the clarity of T-Bone's infuriated lecture about trust could settle in completely, Felina noticed him looking up, and for the first time directly at her.

"I need a jet."

"A jet?"

"Turmoil has the TurboKat. I need to get back on her ship."

"Her ship?"

"Turmoil and Razor framed me there but failed to kill me."

"How…? Why…?"

"I DON'T HAVE TIME TO ANSWER YOUR STUPID QUESTIONS! I NEED A JET!"

"Not a proper tone for a request, mister! Are you going back to recover your jet, or is it vengeance you seek?"

"I just want to stop Turmoil at any cost!"

Felina copied T-Bone's angry stare. "Forget about the jet, T-Bone!"

"DON'T YOU DARE! I'LL GET MYSELF A JET, WHETHER YOU HELP ME OR NOT!"

"YOUR PROBLEM, 'CAUSE I AIN'T GONNA HELP YOU! I WON'T SUPPORT A BLOOD FEUD!"

T-Bone felt a stabbing at his heart. "I will fight Razor if that is what I have to do to turn Turmoil and her crew in. BUT, I WILL GET BACK ABOARD!"

"OH, JUST A FIGHT, HMM? MAYBE TO THE DEATH?"

"DON'T GO CYNICAL ON ME, FELI…"

"It is illegal enough to mask your identity for crime fighting, but it's another thing to misuse your SWAT Kat secret in a bloodthirsty personal agenda. I WILL NOT HELP A…" Her eyes widened.

"Holy Kats!"

"The SWAT Kats," her adversary whispered, "are dead!"

Helmet and bandana in his hand, Felina looked into the face – into the *eyes* - of the kat behind the mask. She had never thought she would see this, and now that she did, she was at a total loss.

"Who…?"

"Chance Furlong," was the dispirited reply.

Chance Furlong, one of those hotshot Enforcer pilots who got booted out of the Enforcers years back? she asked herself.

But, come to think of it, it fit. An ex-Enforcer as a SWAT Kat. Hence their outstanding ability at military operations, Razor's profound knowledge of Enforcer Headquarters.

Razor…

"Jake Clawson?"

He nodded sorrowfully. Jake Clawson, my friend… my brother. I would have given *anything* to protect him. I've trusted him more than I've trusted myself…

"Perhaps," Felina started hesitantly, "Razor didn't really betray you, T-Bone. Perhaps you escaped Turmoil's clutches alive because he prevented her from killing you. Maybe his plan is to double-cross her?" Even to her own ears, her words, meant to be hopeful, simply sounded stupid.

Chance's tormented stare was soul-ripping. "It was Jake who tried to kill me. His plans weren't meant to prevent Turmoil from killing me. They just failed.  Don't slap me with a farce you don't even believe in yourself!" he spat back at her.

Felina remained silent for a moment, unwilling to answer his attack. Unwilling to admit its truth. Her decision was fixed anyway.

"It makes no difference if you're right or wrong on this. It makes no difference I know your real name, T-Bone. You're lost to reason. The Enforcers will handle this," she said, not uncaringly.

Anger crept onto Chance's face again. "WHEN DID THE ENFORCERS EVER MANAGE TO HANDLE THINGS? YOU'RE SCREWING IT UP EACH AND EVERY TIME! YOU DIDN'T EVEN KNOW ABOUT TURMOIL'S AIRCRAFT…

Wait a minute…" Chance trailed off as the news sank in at last.

"How come your uncle is tracking down Turmoil and Hard Drive when you seem to know nothing about Turmoil's aircraft?

How come he was been out at Pumadyne that fast?

WHAT DID YOU HIDE FROM ME?"

Felina gulped and realized her mouth was bone-dry. She sipped at her coffee and grimaced. "Eewww, I forgot the milk!"

She stood up, walked back to the coffee machine, and took a flask of milk from a cupboard. When she turned for Chance again, he looked ready to pounce.

Forcing herself to a cool step, she got back to the table and sat down. She poured the milk into her cup, the coffee turning from black into a light auburn.

"Ah, that's better," Lieutenant Feral stated after taking a deep swallow. "How about…"

"*Don't* try to evade me! What are you hiding from me?" Chance's voice was frozen over.

Felina sighed, giving up. "The surge suit. On the unlikely chance that Hard Drive might escape, we bugged it with an emitter that uses the suit's connection to circuitry to get power. Whenever someone zips through wires, it gives off a signal we can tag on to.

We first received such a signal yesterday when Turmoil and her crew were freed from Alkatraz Island, and then today when Pumadyne was under attack. But, in both cases, Turmoil and Hard…, and… Razor were gone before we arrived at the scene of the crime.

About two hours ago, the signal came in for the third time. Its origin could be traced back to Pumadyne's SWD Complex Four. SWD stands for 'Shields and Weapons Development'. It's a secret facility hidden somewhere inside MegaKat Desert, and no outsider knows about it, or so we thought.

My uncle took off with two squadrons of our best pilots at once. Unfortunately, I was on car duty when they did." She grimaced at this. "I hope they can crush the raid. If the weapon prototypes at Pumadyne SWD4 fall into Turmoil's hands, too…"

Chance forestalled her. "What did Turmoil's crew get away with this morning at Pumadyne, lieutenant?"

"Why…? Ehm, let's see, they got some crates with standard Enforcer rifles, two crates with laser snipers, an experimental formula for an alloy that should be used on satellites, some three or four barrels containing a highly explosive gel called Rho…"

"How explosive?"

"I'm not sure. It's still in a phase of testing. But, from the reports I've read, I'd say it would be more than enough gel to wipe out Pumadyne SWD4 completely three or four times."

He simply shook his head.

"You really think Razor would miss your emitter? Jake would never be tricked that easily! I'm certain he has worn the suit several times to get used to it before he freed Turmoil. But, you never got a signal. Not until yesterday. Ain't that curious? Oh, and by the way: The last time I saw Turmoil, she was over the shore of the Pacific, not east of MegaKat City." Which was where MegaKat Desert was to be found.

Chance barked a laugh.

"So, I'm not the only one who's been fooled!" he said in the most caustic tone he could manage.

"Pumadyne SWD4 is just a fraud. Turmoil will charge in on this city with her aircraft from behind. And, there's only you Enforcers who could threaten her plans, so it isn't too difficult to guess where she'll head with her explosives!

Feral has already been gone for two hours now! You either give me a jet and manage to get up an air defense on Headquarters," he said, putting his mask on again, "or else I'd suggest you evacuate this building within the next few minutes!"

Though Lieutenant Feral recognized the sudden dimness to be imaginary, the hot coffee couldn't drive out the cold that seized her.


 

THURSDAY, 9:55 A.M.

His hands were shaking. Badly. Convulsions visible through leather gloves that hid the outlines of fingers that had once been the steadiest fingers the Enforcers had ever known. Fingers meant for a virtuoso, a surgeon, or for a topnotch sniper. The fingers of a hero.

If life were a fairy tale, they'd still belong to a hero. Humph! To believe in heroes is as absurd as to believe in fairy tales.

The figure clad in black clenched his hands and ducked out from under the TurboKat, fleeing from his thoughts and memories as well as from his refection on the dark metal – in a vain attempt to escape *himself*.

He swiftly walked a few paces away from the jet.

He.

The once Razor.

The now Flight Commander.

But, in reality only the burned-out remainder of the tom named Jake Clawson.

And, he knew.

Jake stopped, unclenched his fists again and yanked on his gloves with a fury. The right glove was difficult to pull out from under the glovatrix – the only bridge left standing that connected him to his former life, a reminder of his technical genius.

Of his folly.

When he got the gloves peeled off at last, he let them drop to the ground. His thin, delicate fingers were shaking more often than not these times. It looked like an illness. In fact, it was an illness. They were playing to the silent tune of withdrawal symptoms.

He hadn't believed it when Hard Drive had spitted it to his face that the surge suit caused a thrilling effect that equaled a drug overdose. He had thought it a plain lie, something desperate Hard Drive would tell to keep his suit. He hadn't listened… Hadn't listened when he should have listened, but when his life had been too far down the dumps to worry about the stutters of the shivering kat before him.

He hadn't *CARED*, he'd just put it on. And experienced that cheating all physical laws known to katkind was such a sweet juice to drink, and better than the cleanest air to breath.

Experienced that it was so highly addictive.

He laughed. A sad, broken laugh that dully ricocheted from the hangar walls, distorted into not much more as a doleful whisper.

So highly addictive…

Yes, it was a drug, and, as it was true with every drug, it caused more harm than harmony.

Oh, sure, it was the ultimate rush to race through telephone lines and electricity cables, to be literally charged with high voltage to the point of bursting with power, but this ecstasy took away any sense of reason.

It twisted the character.

No, not exactly twisted it, but instead unfolded the hidden fractions of the soul that a rational kat kept locked in the deepest, most fortified parts of the brain.

In his SWAT Kat days, Jake had always feared that his alias could be revealed. But, unmasking Razor was nothing in comparison to unmasking *Jake*, to exposing the demons within. Hard Drive had been there – his – first victim.

All the frustration of being unable to wipe out the criminal activity in MegaKat City, all the aggravation at seeing two new seeds of wickedness spring up where they had just uprooted one evil tendril had accumulated during his years as Razor and boiled up in the cauldron of his mind when his warders of sanity had fled from the drug effect.

His dark half had snickered viciously at giving Hard Drive a special treatment of his own medicine and leaving his corpse down there in the sewers for the rats or the rot.

His other half, the sensible side he feared was no longer the true Jake, had thrown up when he realized what he'd done.

Progressively, his laugh had turned into sobs; something that, intensified by its echoes, flooded the ship with a gale of sorrow.

No one could understand his agony. Two grindstones were slowly turning, his demons and his scruples, and he was caught up in the middle. No one could understand him.

Except…

Chance could. As he hadn't been able to remain unaffected by the frustration to fight a battle they couldn't win, so hadn't Chance. But, Chance had always been so strong, so… fierce and proud. So different… even in his suffering. Different, yet maybe Chance would have understood.

Only, he was dead. Dead by Jake's hand.

Could he blame it all on the surge suit? Could he? It was so easy to blame. It was entirely the suit's fault, that *damn* mind-manipulating thing.

If only he could fool himself into believing it. But, his conscience wouldn't allow it.

How to confess when there's no peace in truth, no salvation?

No. It wasn't the suit's wrongdoing. It was his. Jake couldn't say when it had started. It was impossible to tell when every decision of his adult life had been a big mistake: Joining the Enforcers, the narrow-minded pursuit of DarkKat, the whole SWAT Kat delusion… Using Hard Drive's surge suit.

His decisions going more and more awry with every new step.

But, his anger had not been created by some criminal's technical gadget. Just focused and brought to the outside like a flower bud. It had burned inside him a long time before the day he became a murderer. Always close to the surface, always swallowed back by a young, hopeful kat believing in wonders. Yes, the anger had always retreated, but it had ripped at his faith every time, taking along a small part of it as a price Jake had to pay for his every victory.

Anger had burned inside him… And, it had consumed him.

How long it would have taken him to turn on Chance without the influence of the suit, Jake couldn't guess. But, turned he would have. Even now, his mind shouted yes more powerful than no, and, even now, it shouted in rage.

*Chance!*

With Chance around, wrath had relentlessly been on his mind like a taut spring for a long time now, but after his first use of Hard Drive's precious suit not much more than a week back had let it all loose, he'd constantly been on the verge of forgetting himself. Even when the direct effects had worn off after a joyride in the suit, like his eyes, blazing sun-bright for hours later on, his wrath had stayed.

So, for the old times a tiny sensible rest of him had wanted Chance to die as a hero, and had created the disastrous plans for Pumadyne and Turmoil's ship that made him both laugh and weep now at their absurdity, but what a pathetic excuse they were!

Jake knew in his heart there were no excuses at all. Chance was dead because of his blinding outbursts of anger.

And, although it triggered an almost lethal pain, he knew that if life gave him another chance to go back in time to meet him for a second time and undo this, his anger would sweep him up yet again.

A tear rolled from his eye when he blinked, turning into a warm river of saltwater that wandered down his facial fur.

What lay ahead would cause more sufferings. *Much* more! A snowflake trampled loose by his deeds had grown to become an avalanche he couldn't stop anymore. Turmoil's Mega Squadron had already taken off to ensure Enforcer Headquarters didn't offer resistance. They must plunge into combat any minute now.

He had started his crusade. There was no turning back…

All he wanted, the single thing that mattered, was to be together with Turmoil. Solace she gave him, and peace. If only they could build their own little world, just the two of them…

Abandonment on his dreams came swift as a predator and quenched his sobs. Jake wiped the tears from his face.

The Enforcers would never grant him his wish. They'd hunt Turmoil and him day in, day out. He'd be a fugitive fearing every shadow until the Enforcers would spin a trap that caught them, or else be broken by the years on the run. Feral had destroyed his life once already, and his comrades – his *friends* - had looked away at that.

Now, he wouldn't let them shatter his future again!

Flight Commander Jake Clawson reached for his black gloves and rose from a kneeling position he didn't know he had fallen into. Slowly, he made his way back into the heart of Turmoil's ship.

How he wished he could think he were a hero again, or a warrior.

He had been once.

Instead, he was tired. Simply worn-out. Every step was a fight with himself, a tiny flame of resistance all he could muster against the gusts of wind the surge suit made. If he just hadn't given it to Lieutenant Archer to create Turmoil's diversion.

After all, he *felt* better when he had it on…

Alive…


 

THURSDAY, 9:55 A.M.

"YOU GOTTA BE KIDDING!" T-Bone bellowed across the hangar on top of Enforcer Headquarters.

The words were swallowed by the indescribable melee around him. The roof was literally swarming with Enforcers walking or running to and fro. What looked like chaos was actually a well-ordered organism of technicians, guards, communication officers and many more high-trained specialists. Their significant job was it to ensure a nonstop disposal of jets and choppers for MegaKat City's best military pilots, who mingled with the crowds and added to the high number of soldiers. In this controlled mayhem, few kats had time to look at whoever had shouted, and these few instantly went back to whatever duty they were about to fulfill.

Felina Feral dropped her arm and turned to face him directly. "NOT A BIT!" she shouted back over the noise.

T-Bone crossed the distance she had won on him on his surprised stop with three long strides. He once more took in the form of the jet she had pointed out. It was a look much askance.

"I will not take this jet," he growled low in his throat.

The lieutenant adopted the unalterable stance of a Feral. "Yes, you will. It's the only jet left over that's in airworthy condition and tanked up."

T-Bone didn't heed the warning. "I will not take it! Give me one of the squadron's jets."

The Delta Squadron's jets, twelve in number, were what the tumult was all about. Feral was leading Alpha and Beta Squadron to Pumadyne SWD4. The Gamma Squadron jets were dismantled for overdue repairs. Two days ago, Felina had still grinned in glee that Manx had granted them the extra budget to get them repaired. Now, it seemed the worst thing possible. And, there was no doubt that Turmoil knew about this flaw – Manx had seen to this. He had been in the media constantly the last days, telling the story about his donation, in hope to gain more voters for his re-election.

So, the Delta Squadron's dozen jets were all Felina could organize in a hurry, the precious little last line of defense.

Them, and the jet T-Bone was so livid about.

Compared to the Delta Squadron's jets, T-Bone's supposed-to-be plane was *old* and a two-seater, the paint of the Enforcers' insignia beginning to flake off already. If not for the sure knowledge that it had crashed years before, the plane could have been the very jet he and Jake had dropped on Headquarters in their pursuit of DarkKat on their last normal Enforcer day.

T-Bone's fury was understandable. The Delta Squadron's jets combined pilot and weapons officer in one person, while these functions were distributed among an Enforcer team on a two-seater. He could gain access to the weaponry by switching on the auxiliary weapons panel of his pilot's chair, but since the plane was designed for two kats, not unlike the TurboKat, such a switch was supposed to be a stopgap solution only. Thus, it needed most of his concentration; concentration he'd rather spend on his piloting.

And, of course, the two-seater reminded him of his time he'd spent at the Enforcers with Jake…

Felina spoke up again before T-Bone could object further.

"I won't replace an Enforcer just so you can get the jet you like. Be glad I need every backup I get, or you would have never seen so much as this airstrip.

And, don't even dare to think about taking a Delta jet by force. You'd never make it off the building; believe me!

It's either the two-seater or staying behind," she said, donning her pilot's helmet, "the choice is yours."

With this, she walked over to her Delta Squadron jet.

T-Bone watched her from behind, an expression on his face that befitted a basilisk. The thought about taking a jet by force had occurred to him, and it had been tempting. But, he knew she was right; the Enforcers would be on him like a pack of wolves in a heartbeat should he try something as stupid as that.

Sourly, he inspected the faces of the pilots who'd fly in the Delta Squadron. Felina had collected those spare pilots from their guard posts at Headquarters. None of the faces seemed familiar. They looked so young and inexperienced…

They are sending sparrows to fight a hawk, he thought grimly.

That alone made him angry enough to ignore his own insight about stupidity, and he strode over toward the squadron.

On half his way, he collided with a figure in a flight uniform.

"Ouch." Lieutenant Taylor's eyes widened as he saw it was T-Bone who had bumped into him.

T-Bone met the gaze with his trademark stare of the day, and Greg started to stammer involuntarily.

"I… I…" He gulped and looked around.

"WHAT?" T-Bone asked annoyed, continuing on his way.

"I… Well… I'm proud to fly with you, T-Bone. You SWAT Kats are my role models; you are heroes to many Enforcers, though few would ever admit it. There are contests at the academy where the pilots try to outdo each other in radical flying and shooting. It's illegal, but there are always cadets who risk these contests anyway."

He beamed. "I'm a two-time champion."

T-Bone stopped, his fury locking on a new target.

"You want to be a SWAT Kat?"

"I… Ehm, w…"

"How old are you? Twenty-one? Twenty-two?"

Gregory straightened. "I'm twenty-four."

"Whoa, so you're no kid anymore?" T-Bone asked not without a heavy load of sarcasm. "Let me tell you something, lieutenant. Something about heroes.

It starts all very well, with a spectacular first appearance. It's no great deed you do, just turning in a simple criminal, nothing more.

But, it thrills you, satisfies you, and sooner than you think you're on the hunt again… and again. You catch another criminal, followed by the next, and the next thereafter. Everything is fine.

Then, there comes the point where the media gets curious. They've heard of a vigilante who wipes out criminals in the city. In short: you're a mystery. You're worth a big article, 'cause you're a hero and the deeds of heroes interest the readers. And, fascinated readers grant increases in sales.

So, you find yourself in the newspapers one morning, and on the TV the next. Suddenly, everyone knows you, yet at the same time, everyone wants to know more about you, see more heroics from you. You warm up at your newfound publicity, and before you can say 'hero' three times in a row, you're not going out there for your satisfaction alone, you have an audience to please.

'And why not', you think, 'it's just the same as before, only now I get the attention I deserve', and you're so fixed on the thought that you miss to realize that your demands start rising. It's not the small criminals you're after any more. Let others take care of them!

Pride was the bait, and it got you hooked. Only the villain masterminds are worth the taking nowadays, but they are not as easy to catch. They're smart, mostly, and elude you more often than not.

You start to train, to shape your body. Oh, sure, you've exercised before, worked out before, but now you *train*. *Hours*. *Days*. Fighting has turned into a personal campaign, and the media intensifies this feeling. There are citizens who depend on you, and they won't let you forget this!

Already, you've gone too far too fast. You'll never please the audience, no matter what you do. But, you try harder. When it has worked before, it must work still, right?

You're caught in a spiral, turning swifter and swifter. Your body is burnt out, your youth years gone. You've lost, you're spent, destroyed; you just don't know it yet.

The day you realize your blindness, your idiocy, will be the cruelest day of your life. Suddenly, you are stabbed in the back, your heart ripped out and trampled on, and you grasp that you have given up *everything* for a handful of ungrateful strangers.

You realize that your life is over.

So, you're twenty-four today. If you really want to become a hero, know that you'll never see your thirtieth birthday."

He paused for a second, looming over Lt. Taylor.

"When you think of your future, lieutenant, are six years sufficient for you?"

Greg trembled, his mouth open wide. Without answering, he turned and *hastened* to his jet.

"Didn't think so."

The technicians were closing on the final preparations for the take-off of the Delta Squadron. The last kats of the ground crew were scattering from the jets, consoles on wheels and other tools and equipments in tow. When Lieutenant Taylor reached his jet, he got more than one crooked stare for his late appearance.

T-Bone turned. His rage had evaporated a bit, and with it his longing to hijack another vehicle. His walking steps back to his old two-seater were accompanied by the earsplitting sounds of Felina taking off with her jet, followed in rapid succession by the rest of the Delta Squadron.

T-Bone cocked his head to see Lt. Taylor lift off last of the bunch. He followed his jet for a moment until he spotted a dark blotch at the overcast green skies. T-Bone wondered for a second why the Enforcers hadn't spotted the plane on their radars, and, then, he realized that they had. This was no aggressor.

Seeing the jet on landing approach to Headquarters, T-Bone cursed his bad luck and resumed his walk. Only about twenty meters separated him from his plane when Commander Feral's jet came to a halt at the end of the runway and was transported into the hangar.

Finally at the jet, T-Bone climbed the ladder in the hope of vanishing in the front compartment before the commander could make him out. But, Feral could sense the SWAT Kat like a magnet does a magnetic field and literally started running toward him as soon as he had scrambled out of his cockpit.

He reached T-Bone when he was just fumbling to get strapped in the pilot's seat with his backpack on.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE, SWAT KAT?" he bawled.

"I could ask the same, Feral," T-Bone replied. "Aren't you supposed to be defending Pumadyne SWD4?"

That took the wind out of Feral's sails. "How do you know about…?"

"End your family's silly question-and-answer games, will ya? Did you stop Turmoil's attack?"

"Yes. And, we didn't need the help of a couple of vigilantes."

"But, you haven't caught the attacker."

"It's only a matter of time." Feral narrowed his eyes.

T-Bone could distinguish several more dots on the horizon.

"So, you come back successful, but empty-handed. Maybe even with empty tanks?"

"What the heck are you talking about?"

"ONLY THAT YOU KNOW ABSOLUTELY NOTHING ABOUT WHAT IS GOING ON, JUST LIKE ALWAYS! PUMADYNE SWD4 WAS NEVER MEANT TO BE RAIDED, NOR WAS IT MEANT TO SPREAD YOUR FORCES TO WEAKEN YOU. IF YOU WERE TO COME BACK HERE IN TIME WITH YOUR CHEST PUFFED OUT AT YOUR SUCCESS, IT WOULD ENSURE YOU ARE *AT HEADQUARTERS* WHEN TURMOIL POUNDS IT INTO DUST!

If you don't want to be remembered as the Enforcer Commander who let his soldiers be turned into toast, you better start evacuating Headquarters.

Now, excuse me, I have an appointment with an old friend of mine, and I'd rather not miss it." He switched on the engines.

Commander Feral was baffled at the outbreak, his face a shade of white. "Who came up with the nonsense of giving you an Enforcer jet? Steele?"

"No. The lieutenant commander is taking a nap in your medical department. It's your niece you have to thank for that 'nonsense'. Be glad she provided an air defense, it might give you the extra time you need for an evacuation."

"YOU'LL GET OUT OF THIS JET AT ONCE. THE ENFORCERS WILL HANDLE THIS!" Feral barked, climbing up the ladder to T-Bone's seat.

T-Bone calmly strapped out of his seat belt again.

"That's the same advice your niece gave me, commander," he said, standing up and facing him. "You know, she gave me another good council…"

*Punch*

The blow came swift and unexpected for the commander, who lost hold of the ladder and landed rear-first on the ground, hard.

He snarled in surprise. "I'LL HAVE YOUR HIDE FOR THIS, SWAT KAT! AN UNPROVOKED ATTACK BEFORE DOZENS OF WITNESSES. YOU'LL GET TWO YEARS IN THE SLAMMER, AT LEAST!"

T-Bone ignored him, strapping in for a second time and starting to roll already.

"IF YOU'RE LOSING THE JET, YOU BETTER GO DOWN WITH IT INSTEAD OF EJECTING, 'CAUSE THE NEXT TIME WE MEET, I'LL ARREST YOU, AND *NO ONE* WILL BE ABLE TO HELP YOU!"

"Yeah, Feral," T-Bone screamed over his roaring engines, "the next time we meet!"

He accelerated, closed the canopy and tuned his radio to the Enforcer's band.

His helmet was at once filled with an orchestra of voices, mostly hysterical, a tower guide telling him he was not cleared for lift-off with an edge in his voice.

The incoming pilot of either Feral's Alpha or Beta Squadron didn't mind yelling at him. "Damn you, idiot, I'm on landing approach and almost out of fuel, so get your tail out of there at once!"

T-Bone just smirked. "You better have enough fuel left for a sightseeing tour around the block, 'cause I ain't breaking off my take-off," he retorted, racing on heedless.

At the end of the runway, he pulled the joystick to his body, shooting out over MegaKat City, at the same time the other pilot chickened out from a collision course in a litany of curses.

T-Bone maneuvered his jet westwards. The argument with Commander Feral had stirred up the uncanny feeling again that he had missed a crucial detail. He couldn't say what it was. Something had flashed up for a moment in his mind, in tow with the odd sensation that Felina had said something important, too, but it was gone before he could snatch it.

He focused on Jake again, unaware that his former partner was slowly becoming the prime target of his erupting rage. He shrugged.

Whatever it was, it would have to wait until he had settled the account.

***

Commander Feral watched the form of the jet getting smaller and smaller. Anger lay upon him like a second skin. T-Bone's punch to his face had been deft. The fur around his right eye was throbbing, the flesh beginning to swell already, turning blue and red. But, what really hurt was the humiliation he had been given in front of his entire ground crew.

It made him boil inside.

T-Bone had even dared to mock him at the end. "Yeah, Feral, the next time we meet," said in a tone that left no doubt T-Bone thought being named a hero was a free ticket.

But, he would be true to his word. Oh, yes, he would. The next time we meet, T-Bone…

And, there it was, out of the blue: The sudden realization that T-Bone didn't doubt his words…

…But, rather, that he did not care about being jailed… That he did not care whether he returned or not…

The sky Commander Ulysses Feral stared at was empty, serene. Not an object in sight to be taken as a reason for the sudden expression on his face.

An expression that came close to… alarm.

***To be continued - in "Fights in the Sky"***