--- City 7, Downtown ---

Dimitri and Jonathan stood next to a statue on the corner of the sidewalk, their car parked not too far away, watching the hover cars fly past; the non-hover vehicles like trucks, cheap cars and motorbikes drive past on the ground; all in near silence thanks to the electric fusion engines. The duo watched the traffic for a bit, before Jonathan spoke.
“Tell me, Dimitri; what can you tell me about this intersection?”
Dimitri looked at the abnormal features in the intersection. “There was a bomb explosion at some point. The center of the intersection’s road-steel is newer than the surrounding panels; the walls of buildings around this intersection still bear shrapnel damage in most cases; and this statue,” Dimitri thumped the big metal statue commemorating the founding board member of the planet, Chairman Cortez; “this statue looks like someone took a flak cannon to it.”
Jonathan made an impressed noise, his un-patched blind eye scrolling around. Despite the years, he could see the intersection clearly in his mind and blinded eye. “Very astute, Dimitri; I can see a post-graduation in recon would be a suitable line of study for you.” He cleared his throat. “You know there was an explosion here. I can say you were right, because I was here. This was where I lost this.” He indicated his eye. “You probably can’t guess why, though; am I right?”
“You’re quite right. Why did you lose the eye?”
“I lost it for you.” Jonathan turned to Dimitri, who looked at Jonathan.
“Why would you have to give your eye for me,” Dimitri asked, “and why here? I’ve never seen this intersection before.”
“That’s right. You’ve never seen it, but you were here, 12 years ago.”
“Dad; get to the point.”
“Dimitri… the truth is…”

“Oh, would you look at that,” a mystery voice interrupted. Dimitri and Jonathan looked around for the voice’s owner, to see a man in slim black combat armor flanked by two bodyguards. The man’s face was obscured by a black half-balaclava and goggles, which were pushed up on his head; the bodyguards looked like gorillas on steroids, and as thick as two short planks.
“The thief returns to the scene of the crime. 12 years I’ve been waiting for this. 12 years of stake out! Ridiculous; it’s not like I had company to talk to.” The man waved his hands about in emphasis, although the Agents were focused on the blade hilt protruding over his shoulder. In unison, they drew their pistols, and pointed them at the man, who seemed unfazed.
“Oh dear; where are your manners? More to the point, where are mine? Silly me; the name’s Captain Marcus Fronz of the Biologic Metals army; pleased to make your acquaintance, Agent Sride and Prototype 2.”
Dimitri and Jonathan clicked the safeties off their guns, only to hear a louder click behind them. Slowly raising their hands, they saw two more henchmen strafe around them, wielding Biologic Metals Plasma Rifles. Looking like big, heavy brutes of weapons, Dimitri remembered that they were the basis for the one he saw in the SDAC labs. Also remembering how damned heavy the things were, he realized that these henchmen didn’t just have gym muscle.
“Show a little generosity there, you two; give me the guns.” Fronz gestured, and Jonathan and Dimitri put the safeties back on, and handed the guns to him. Fronz examined the guns.
“Very nice work, these; well maintained, and the choice of ammo size is reasonable; wise weapons of choice.”
“What do you want, Captain Fronz?” Dimitri said the word “Captain” with as much contempt as he could.
“What I want? I want to bring you two assholes in, so I can get off this stupid stakeout and back on the promotion ladder! I mean; your destruction of the convoy, Agent Sride; you destroyed a very important operation of mine, and I took the fall for it! And all you had to pay was a blind eye; and you got this prototype!” Marcus’ eyes darted all over the place, and he began to hyperventilate. “Aargh!”  Marcus stormed over to the wall and punched it, leaving a considerable mark on the concrete. Dimitri noticed several things in this moment:
1) Fronz had anger management issues, to say the least.
2) There were no crowds or traffic.
3) He still had the graduation gun in his back pocket.

After venting his rage on the wall, Fronz turned to face the two.
“You know what? I can deal with this on my own. You lot,” he pointed at the henchmen, who suddenly looked like they wanted to be doing something else, “get back to the room, and call a prisoner transport.” Grudgingly, the four mooched back down the street, and vanished down an alleyway. Fronz turned to face the Agents.
“Before the prison wagon gets here, I think I’ll have a little fun with you two.” He drew his sword to reveal a Katana with an odd edge. “Nobody said you had to get there in one piece.”
“Come on, Captain.” Jonathan spoke up, “I know you did your research on this one. Our suits are combat grade armor; a blade isn’t likely to scratch the surface, even. It’s that tough!”
“Wee did do our research. This is the result.” Fronz flicked his sword as if flicking fluids off the edge and with a flare of plasma flame, a solid-looking cohesive plasma edge sprang into life, leveling exactly with the odd edge, giving a smooth, conventional edge.
“Now the hard bit; what to cut off; actually, I have a better idea. Since wee only need DNA samples from Prototype 2, and it doesn’t matter whether he’s alive or dead; he’s equally expendable, so I’ll kill him!” With that, Marcus leapt forward, towards Dimitri, swinging his blade through the air, leaving a trail of ions and burnt ozone in the air behind it. Dimitri jumped back, and realized that even with that jump, he was still in range of and vulnerable to the Captain’s slash. He braced for the impact of the blue blade when-
“Move, Dimitri!” He was pushed and thrown quickly to the side by Jonathan, who then occupied the space that was originally Dimitri’s. Dimitri watched as the blade flashed, and passed through Jonathan’s right bicep and left forearm like a hot knife through butter. Jonathan screamed, and fell over, dimly aware of the irony in the situation. As blood streamed out of his new stumps, he realized that he was more or less in the same position as 12 years previously, lying in a pool of his own blood. Although, the key difference was in that there was still something trying to kill him, and this time, he had backup.

Dimitri rolled on landing, and drew his graduation gun, flicking the safety off. He was a good 4 meters away from the Captain, and he had a gun; tactical advantage, Dimitri. Marcus looked at Dimitri, and his victim.
“Oops. Guess this blade has a bit more weight than I’d like. Oh well.” He pointed at the ridiculously shiny gun in Dimitri’s hands. “Another gun, huh? That’s not like you Agents, usually you have just the one.”
“Well, tough spoon.” Dimitri chambered a round. “Prepare to get a lead aneurism, asshole.”
“Not so fast!” Marcus quickly ducked down, and grabbed Jonathan by the back of the collar. With strength that belied his size and build, he held the now unconscious body of Jonathan up, while hiding behind it; with his plasma-katana held in a backhand grip, edge and point inwards towards Jonathan’s stomach. “Try and shoot me now, Prototype!”
“Dimitri weighed it up. If he took the shot and got it, he had a very good chance of disarming the bastard. If he missed, Jonathan might die. He wondered what his father would say:
“Do it! Take the shot! Don’t worry about me; I’ve not got much longer to live! Shoot!”
Dimitri nodded in decisiveness, and adjusted his aim.
“You’re not serious about taking the shot, are you? You must have a mental defect; I’m behind your “dad”!”
“Not all of you.” Dimitri steadied his breathing.
“What are you-?”
*BLAM*
*clang*

“Aargh!”
Dimitri ran forwards, scooping up the plasma sword. He’d taken the shot, and instead of aiming for anything really serious on Marcus’ body, he’d shot the hand and forearm holding the sword. If he was accurate, the shot should have travelled down Fronz’s wrist and forearm, generally messing stuff like nerves and bone up. Judging how he dropped the blade and was now backing away from Jonathan’s body, making loud noises of pain; Dimitri would say he was dead accurate. Throwing the sword into the ground next to him, he slid forward to catch Jonathan as his now unsupported body fell. He looked at the bloodstained face of the man he called his father.
“Dad! Don’t give up on me!”
Jonathan cracked open an eye; the good one.
“Did… you… get… Captain?”
Dimitri looked up, to see nobody on the street. The Captain must have made a run for it; without his sword, as it was still lying where it fell.
“He got away.”
“Oh… I… wanted to… get that bastard…”
Jonathan looked up at the sky, and his adoptive son’s eyes. Grey and gold… his remaining eye shut.
“Dad! Don’t die! The medics are on the way! Just don’t die on me!”
The sounds of a young man with mismatched eyes shouting at the body of a man who was short the better part of two arms and about 3 liters of blood on the corner of an intersection with a long history could be heard for quite a distance away on the quiet streets of City 7.


--- SyntheDyne Agency Complex, Agency Tower, Databank level ---


Sasha Carnstrom browsed the files on the Databank direct-access computer.
“Dimitri… Dimitri…. Ah, here wee go.” She watched as screens of information flashed up. “That’s a lot of stuff, I might need more folders.” She highlighted all the documents, and hit “Print”. The nearby laser printer fired up, and began to noisily produce pages of information.
The noise proved a perfect distraction for the person covered head to toe in a dark bodysuit to quietly pad along the large open space behind Sasha’s seat.
Leaning back on her seat, Sasha stretched. She’d been fetching files for the Director all day, and- what was that no-
The dark person ungloved a hand, and grabbed Sasha by the neck. The body suited person shuddered, and after 4 seconds, drew a syringe. Quickly jabbing it into Sasha’s carotid artery, she held Sasha still as she struggled and quickly stopped moving. Checking her pulse to make sure she was dead, her killer pulled her out of the chair.

The killer pulled their hood back, to reveal a woman’s features: Short, spiky black hair and a rather generic face. Checking the corridor behind her and the door’s lock, she began to strip the bodysuit off, revealing a body that belonged to someone that did their fair share of acrobatics and general athletics. Turning to the corpse of Sasha, she stripped that, too and began to put Sasha’s clothes on, underwear and all. The clothes were a bit large, but that was only to be expected, as Sasha had been about twice the killer’s age, but that didn’t matter. Concentrating, the killer stood there, and quickly inflated to fill the clothes. Crouching over her old bodysuit, she sifted through the pockets for three things; a small, flat case that could have been for makeup powder; a square, functional looking communicator; and a small cylindrical device. Shifting all her old clothes into a pile, she pressed a button combo on the device, and threw it onto the pile. After a second, it activated, glowing and creating distortions in the air. As she watched, the bodysuit and anything attached to it disintegrated with each pulse, until all the clothes were completely gone. She returned her attention to the corpse of Sasha. Hiding a corpse in a databank room was hard, but she had an idea. Walking over to the nearest supercomputer in her 'borrowed' heels, she pulled the side off the computer and grinned. Dragging the body to the opened cavity, she carefully wedged the body in the bottom of the case, under all the wiring and such. With any luck, she shouldn’t decay for a while thanks to the clean-room environment, and the concealment in the supercomputer.

Opening the make-up case, she revealed no makeup, but an array of single colored contact lenses. She double-checked the hue of her victim’s eyes; a stunning green, rare in today’s gene pool; and picked a lens out, putting the others away in her pocket. She went over to a shiny metal pillar and used it as a mirror as she looked at her golden left eye, and placed the contact lens over it. Both eyes were now a shade of green; perfect.
Making sure the tampered supercomputer showed no traces of being opened, or that there was a person’s dead body in there, she went over to the printing. She knew what it was for, and put it into a single folder. The assassin, now under the guise of Sasha Carnstrom, entered the elevator, and left the Databank level.