Silvertie Wrote:This is the only compulsory thing you have to read in this post. I've placed any comments I'll make, and all chapters inside spoilers for two reasons.
1) Easier "bookmarking" of chapters. Just unspoil the chapter you want to read, no inadvertant reading of a character dying in the chapter after the epic fight you're reading.
2) If you're just visiting to drop a comment, you don't have to scroll through my entire story to quote relevant posts.

another thing; DON'T QUOTE THIS POST. It's much larger than it looks; 6 chapters is no lightweight.
Read on, citizen.

Spoiler for Comments from the Author:

Hello all; this is a story. A story of violence and badassery. A story of a future society. There are many stories like it, but this one is Mine.
Time permitting, I'll update approximately every weekend.
Since this I'm also releasing this on a literature-dedicated *chan, They're about 6 chapters in, so I'll throw you guys the first 6 chapters so nobody can plot spoil, lol.
With no further ado, let's get this saga on the road.

I present to you; The Hybrid.

Spoiler for Prelude:

It is the 24th century. The Human Empire has expanded over 120 solar systems with terra-compatible planets, and a further 30 solar systems rich in raw materials like metals. In addition to this, the Empire has a presence on a further 50 solar systems of both types.

It all began back in the 21st century; at about approximately 2056, perhaps earlier. During that time, World War 3 was in progress, so a lot of specifics are unknown; but what is evident, is that when the dust settled in 2058, another army had risen, and beaten all the other fighting nations. That army called itself “SyntheDyne Corporation”. Under the guise of enforcing peace, it systematically crushed each nation’s military, one by one. Over time, the Corporation grew to be an unrivalled global superpower, a megalithic jack-of-all-trades. And then, it did something unexpected. It stopped, and extended the hand of aid to every nation.
With each nation’s defenses in tatters, and governments in disarray, they had no choice but to accept the aid. Being bankrolled by SDC, with its seemingly endless resources and diverse production range, the world rebuilt itself anew; and all the time, nobody saw the whole picture. People saw parts, like evidence of major candidates on the take from SDC, to covert weapons deals which violated the weapons laws that SDC initially put into place; but nobody ever shared any of it, for fear of death.
SDC had an iron grip on the world, and nobody knew.

In 2078, exactly 25 years after “The Shuffle”, as people called it; SDC worked its contacts and set the Human race on the path to the stars. Supplying near-For the loss spaceship technology to each nation, it forced the spread of the human race across many star systems. Over the next 50 years, great advances had been made in terms of wealth and prosperity. In 2042, the Human race, now identified as the Human Empire; made first contact with an alien race. The aliens were similar in planet requirement, and inhabited 5 such planets in the star system. Without hesitation, SDC pulled the levers and initiated the first human-related, inter-species war.

Using the weapons technology developed over the last dozen years, SDC armed the human race, and manipulated them to a seemingly easy victory. Comfortable in their victory, the Human Empire relaxed its guard, just as a fleet of the aliens recently vanquished unleashed a crippling blow- they induced a supernova in the Sol system, home of Earth. The empire was quick to react, destroying the offending fleet, but it was too late. Earth was gone.

Over the next century, the empire expanded and exterminated without prompting from SDC. Loss of Earth meant there was nowhere to go but outwards. Over this time, 12 sentient alien species were exterminated in warfare, 4 of which had high technology. Assimilating the technology of the vanquished, SyntheDyne moved into more and more far-flung areas of science.

However, peace did not last. In 2297, unsatisfied with the current leadership of the SDC, the Madrigaar system, base of all the science related to a race which used organic steel; rebelled. It attempted to launch a coup d’état, under the name of Biologic Metals. Using a combination of the organic steel dubbed “BioSteel”, and cutting-edge SyntheDyne robotics, they produced an army which was small, but tough enough to rival the raw numbers of the SyntheDyne army; the BioMech. This army took the entire system and its neighbors by surprise; and all fell within 3 years. The Empire civil war still rages on to this day.

This tale begins in 2310, 13 years after the start of the rebellion, on the planet Cordia, in the Harlan system; a contested system of no tactical value. As such, neither side is waging a major campaign against the other here.

Spoiler for Chapter 1 - The Boy:

--- A secret lab, exact location unknown, Planet Cordia, Harlan System March 15, 2310 ---

A scientist stood in front of a glowing, glass-fronted suspension tube filled with fluid, watching stuff bubble and bloop. The rest of the lab was in darkness.
*blip blip*
He turned, and paced to a desk, where a phone was making a distinctive *blip* noise and flashing; he had a caller.
“Is this Samson’s Pizza Deli?” spoke the phone.  It was a code phrase.
“Sure, can I take your order?” replied the scientist. The response indicated that the line was secure and free of taps.
“Samson. Is prototype 2 ready?” asked the phone. The tone was no longer jovial. “I hope for your sake it is.”
“Yeah, it’s done, H,” Samson replied, unfazed by the very thinly veiled threat. “He’s in a sleep state and will be until he leaves the packaging.”
“Good. Have it sent over with priority 3 security ASAP.” Priority 3 meant highest possible levels of covert security, so as to not raise suspicion. Priority 2 was full-blown military convoy, whereas Priority 1 was a straight raze and burn of any potential obstacles.
“Yes sir,” said Samson, slapping a button on the desk marked “prepare subject”. “You want it delivered to Biologic Metals HQ?”
“Shut up moron!” replied H, very quickly. “SyntheDyne might have their ears to the ground on this one.”
“Sorry sir,” apologized Samson. The glass tube’s light was extinguished, as a metal cylinder descended around it.
“You’d better be. Have it sent to Cell 5. They’ll deal with it. Got it?”
“I got it-” the line shut off with a click. Samson put the phone down, and turned to look at the tube, its light now un-obstructed, and sporting a brand new frame to keep it functioning in transit.
“I wonder what they have in store for you…” he walked forward, and after a bit of thought, slapped a sticker on the tube’s casing.
‘Hybrid Prototype 2’


--- Surveillance van, not too far away ---

“Sarge,” a man in black body armor motioned for another man in armor to come over to his laptop. “Wee got him. The prototype is being transferred ASAP, apparently.”
“Really? Okay, everyone,” ‘Sarge’ clapped his hands. “Wee’re a ghost’s ghost in 5! Let’s go! Wilkins!” He pointed at the man with the laptop. “Get the SDA on the line, wee’ll need an operative.”


--- Intersection, Downtown, City 7, Planet Cordia, Harlan System ---

The teams were in place. The target was a shipping container truck coming this way. Two teams of SyntheDyne Tactical trooper specialists were concealed in vans either side of a 4-way intersection.  The specialist troopers worked in pairs, operating mission-specific heavy weapons. In this case, it was some SD8 rocket launchers. Further along the truck’s intended route, two APCs were parked. Intended as a decoy by way of obvious trap, they were still a serious part of the operation, carrying two full complements of SDT between them, and cannons. SDT were the elite of pure human infantry, and the SyntheDyne Corporation had trillions on their payroll across dozens of worlds. And to complete the trap, a single, nondescript black car on the only uncovered side of the intersection. Ironically, it was the most lethal unit of the lot- a SyntheDyne Agent, the most deadly of the Corporation’s human warriors.

Inside the car, Agent Jonathan Sride scratched his short haircut. The part-Russian stood at about 6’5”, aged 35 years old. He had his feet on the dashboard, and was idly spinning his handgun, a .45 Semi-automatic SP5 on the end of his finger, and watching pedestrians stroll past, looking for any hot ladies. His job was to tell everyone the truck was coming, and then retrieve the objective. So simple, he wasn’t going to walk out of this with anything less than a perfect rating, it was that simple. Nobody knew exactly what this “prototype” was, but whatever it was, it must be important. His money was on it being some sort of combat armor. He put the feet down as the truck in question moved past.
“Target passed the lookout.” Sride muttered into his lapel microphone.
“Roger that Sride.” The radio cut out, and Jonathan pulled himself out of the car. All pedestrians had vanished by now, that sense of something big about to go down more deterring than a fat naked man dancing on a pole.

The truck approached the intersection. Sensing something amiss, the driver sped up… as predicted, and the SyntheDyne team made their move. Firstly, the turrets on the APCs fired CS2 shells. CS2 shells aren’t so much about dealing damage as they are about simply throwing targets around. Since the APC shells were approaching from the front, the force they exerted brought the vehicle to a standstill in a split second. The second part was performed by the SP8 teams. In synchronization, they both fired their rockets. The effect of the two simultaneous rocket impacts on the engine was impressive, completely destroying the engine and seats in the cockpit. Needless to say, the henchman driving the truck was pasted.

Closing in on the now completely immobilized and demolished truck, the SDT troopers encircled it, and began to move towards the container on the back end of the truck. Jonathan was still a distance away, when he realized that this was too easy. He began to sprint.
“Get back! It’s a trap!” he shouted, as his boosted muscles propelled him towards the SDT men, who didn’t hear him. He stopped and dived for cover behind a mailbox abruptly as he saw a sliding door on the container move to the side to reveal…
“It’s a BioMech! Get d- ark” shouted one SDT trooper as he was gunned down by the “BioMech” in question.

BioMechs were the signature unit of the rebel corporation/division, Biologic Metals, and made from Bio-Steel. Just like human flesh, except steel, Bio-Steel could grow, heal and even get stronger; having a robot army built from the stuff was a huge tactical advantage, and offset SyntheDyne Corporation’s natural advantage of manpower and advanced technology.

Capable of wielding any gun or weapon intended for human hands or use, today’s BioMech was carrying a minigun, the sort that you find securely mounted on helicopters; and using it to great effect, chopping SDT in half, and generally making holes in stuff. Jonathan looked at his .45 pistol. After a judgment call, he drew a second, identical pistol. SyntheDyne Agents, as a rule of thumb, never used anything more powerful than a pistol; usually because the pistol was good enough for them. With their nanonic muscle supplements and Neural Augmentation Systems, as well as a lot of natural talent with firearms, one Agent with a pistol could defeat odds as unfavorable as 10:1. Even so, one BioMech with a minigun was still a considerable challenge.

Jonathan hurdled the mailbox, dual pistols up and firing with unnerving accuracy on the BioMech’s head, which, like regular humans, was where the “brain” or rather, CPU, was stored. However, the .45 rounds merely bounced or deflected off the shiny dome of the BioMech. Evidently, this one had extra armoring on the skullcap. As the BioMech brought the gun to bear on Jonathan, he gave up on the headshot, and changed target to the BioMech’s kneecaps. If a lesser man tried it, it would have been suicide. For an Agent, it was a legitimate tactic.
Since the tactic was so suicidal, no designer considered such an avenue of attack, and no additional plating had been installed on the knees; the result being that the knee joints were trashed, and the BioMech began to collapse. The BioMech, computing vectors like mad, began to move its arms to bear on the now airborne Jonathan. It didn’t get there. The next two .45s from Jonathan decimated the shoulder joints, crippling the BioMech. Jonathan landed on the deck of the truck’s trailer, next to the still struggling BioMech.
“Faster, stronger, better my donkey.” He muttered, putting the gun barrel to the underside of the BioMech’s chin, and firing. This time, the bullet had no problems penetrating the CPU, and the robot died. Jonathan checked the status of the SDT. Of all the men who had been in firing lines, about 90% were dead, and 8% were about to die. Jonathan turned to face the interior of the container, and entered.

He looked around; nothing but a big, glass tube. He frowned. He wiped the condensation off the glass, and looked through.
“A boy?” Jonathan cocked an eyebrow. The boy inside the tube had breathing apparatus on his face, and was wearing a white/light blue one-piece suit. Jonathan put a hand to his ear, activating his Neuro-radio. Different from the lapel microphone, it established a direct satellite link to HQ; not local wireless radios.
“HQ, you read?”
“Wee read you Sride. This better be good.”
“It is. The prototype isn’t here. All I see is a boy in a suspension tube.”
“What? Is it a setup? Wait, why would they do this with the boy? I know it seems crazy, but this must be the “prototype 2” they were talking about.”
“That’s nuts.”
“Wee don’t care, Sride. Get that thing out of the truck, wee want it.”
“Fine, Sride out.” Jonathan lowered his hand, and examined the tube. It was big and heavy. No chance of moving it, then. He looked at a keypad. The keypad would make things easy, obviously draining the suspension fluid, and opening the glass front. Jonathan drummed a random number on it, seeing:

******
Invalid pass code, try again

“Horse dicks.” Jonathan pulled a code-cracker out of his pocket. Using something just above brute force decryption, it found passwords. 5 characters meant a lot of combinations, and he might be a while.

--- Biologic Metals control room, Biologic Metals outpost, Cordia ---

A computer jockey raised his hand. “Sir, contact lost with the parcel’s courier.”
“What?! Impossible!” A fat man got up from his central computer, and waddled over.
“I’m getting reports of gunfire from our scouts, suspect SDC interference.”
“Spoon! Wee can’t allow the subject to fall into their hands! Um…”
“Activate the bomb.” A man in dark spoke up. He was wearing what appeared to be a suit of sleek, close-fitting combat armor. “Do it. Now.”
The computer jockey swallowed nervously. “Bomb activated. Detonation in 60 seconds…”


--- The intersection ---

*Beep… Beep… Beep…*
“What’s that?” Jonathan stood up. The code cracker toiled away. 2 out of 6 characters.
*Beep… Beep… Beep…*
There it was again; a beeping. Jonathan walked around the tube to find… a pulsing light winking at him. It was attached to a metal box which was stuck in a large brick of putty-like substance… SDEX-10, spoon was powerful enough to vaporize a car with a Lego brick-sized piece, this was more like a house-brick of the stuff.
“OH Spoon. EVERYONE, GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!” The SDT examining the truck heard him, and quickly passed the message on. When an Agent told you to get the fudge out, you got the fudge out, no questions. Jonathan peered at the bomb- it was a nightmare. No indication of how long until detonation; all the wiring in a smooth, one-piece box; no idea if there was proximity radar, so he couldn’t get close to have a poke around. In addition to that, his bomb-defusal skills were rusty like a shipwreck. He ran to the code-cracker. Only 3 of 6 digits? Fuck it, Jonathan drew his gun, and took aim at a part of the glass that made a line of fire nowhere near the boy.
*BLAM* *schwitt*
He gaped. The bullet cracked the glass, no more: bullet proof. Plan three then; the mighty foot. He raised his leg, and gave the glass a good stomp.
*SMASH!*
The glass shattered around his foot, making a hole which widened as the suspension fluid flowed out. Reaching through, past the shards, he grabbed the boy, disconnected all the not-boy, and pulled him out. Carrying the boy in a fire-fighter’s lift, he ran like hell, away from the truck, to a corner of the intersection. There was a large metal statue standing there. It was out of range, and it should stop any shrapnel. Sprinting hard, he was thankful that it was a boy and not a man; a man would have slowed him to a jog, at best. He was almost to the statue, when…
*BA-BOOM*
The ground illuminated. New shadows were cast. Jonathan threw the boy towards the ground behind the statue. If he’d timed it right, or was lucky, the boy would bounce and roll past it; but he would be behind the statue for the time it took for the shrapnel to hit their various targets.
But he was not so fortunate; he was still 5 meters from the statue. A small, but in this case, lethal, distance; his only hope was to pray that no shrapnel hit him. He dived towards the statue after the boy, turning his head to look at the explosion. In that respect, he was a bit fortunate- he saw the jagged blade of metal flying towards his face. Contorting wildly, he twisted his neck… and an unbelievable pain seared across the right side of his face.
He landed heavily, sliding to a halt as the rest of the shrapnel buried itself in everything except him and the boy, who had slid just past the statue. Jonathan looked up at the boy, who was ironically in the same posture as him, but mirrored. He saw the boy’s face. It was odd, almost like something was missing. He reached out. The boy looked so close. His heart fell when he grabbed thin air; it fell even further when he realized why. He touched his right cheekbone and eye gingerly, and held the hand to his left eye. Red with blood and with a clear goop mixed in. He realized that the clear goop was vitreous from his right eye. He’d be lucky to ever see out of that eye again. His arm went limp as he suddenly became tired. Breathing was so hard…. he’d just have a little sleep… just… a… quick…

Spoiler for Chapter 2 - Surrogate Father:

--- SyntheDyne Agency HQ Complex, Cordian outpost, Medical Bay 5   ---

Jonathan groaned. Drinking on the night before a morning where he had to get up early? What the hell was he thinking? He kept his eyes shut. He didn’t want to get up. But then, he had to.
“Whurugrh… my head feels like a… a… eggplant.” He sat up, and heard a lot of footsteps running across linoleum flooring, and voices. He suddenly became alert.
“Whoa! He’s awake!”
“Jonathan! Stop!”
“Don’t open-“
He tried to open his eyes. He was rewarded with one eye opening successfully, and the other… ripping.
“GHARRARGH!” Jonathan screamed. He remembered now. The explosion, the boy, the shrapnel; he remembered it all. The doctors stood around his bed, hands out ready to do stuff, but not sure where to begin.
“Give me a mirror.”
“Uh, Agent Sride, you don’t want that.” One of the younger-looking doctors cautioned. “You’re not exactly a picture of health right now.”
“MIRROR.”
“Give the man the mirror already. You can’t change an Agent’s mind about spoon without evidence.” An older doctor gestured at Jonathan. “He won’t believe you until he sees it with his own eye.”
Jonathan got his mirror. He prepared himself, and looked.
His face was a nightmare. A huge, deep gash with a chocolateload of stitches meandered its way across the left side of his face, crossing the cheekbone and eyebrow, and going to just above the eyebrow. And it wasn’t a contoured one, either; some areas seemed deeper than others. The shrapnel had carved a straight line through his face, regardless of bone. He was lucky his brain didn’t get in the way, but his eye obviously did. His eyelid was in tatters, thanks to his reckless eye-opening; stitches still attached to one or the other. His eye was even worse; it was stitched and refilled with vitreous again, but the iris was milk white, and so was the pupil. Otherwise, it showed no marks apart from that of the gash. He most certainly wouldn’t be seeing through that again.
“Told you.” The young doctor said, meekly.
“Where’s the director?”
“Med bay three, with the –MHMMp” The young doctor was stifled by the third doctor, who grimaced in apology.
“Sorry, dude.” The third doctor turned to Jonathan. “Doctors’ orders are to stay in bed, and rest. You face got really messed up by that blast; I’m surprised you didn’t take any other hits. Anyway, you- now cut that out. You keep frowning like that, and you’ll burst the stitches.” The doctor put on a disapproving face. Jonathan continued the frown. The two stared each other down for several seconds, and then the doctor gave way.
“Oh, alright; but Take It Easy, you hear me?”
“I hear and obey, doc.” Jonathan got up, and ripping the IVs out of his arm, walked over to the exit.

--- Med-bay 3, SyntheDyne Agency HQ Complex ---

The Director of the SyntheDyne Agency on Cordia, Alphonse Eleric, stood with a small crowd of Agents, and looked at the boy on the hospital bed, illuminated by the only source of light in the ward, creating an island of light upon which the bed lay. Alphonse, “Al” to friends and “Director Eleric” to subordinates and enemies, he was also of Russian descent from long ago, and sported a goatee which indicated there might be a little bit of Czech in him. Other than that, he had a rather slender frame; not bony, but not too rounded either.
Al considered the events of the last several hours. So much fuss over a single boy. Why was he so important? What made him so dangerous, BM would rather destroy him than let him fall into SDC’s hands?
“Excuse me, Director? Here are the results of the full-spectrum scans.” A scientist was holding a piece of paper out to him. Al looked at it. Broadly speaking, the boy was “normal”, i.e. no physical deformities or similar. His eye color was unusual, and his complexion unnaturally pale; but nothing too radical.
On the other hand, the boy’s DNA… that’s where it got spicy.
“You sure these readings are right?”
“Of course, I didn’t believe it at first either.” The director continued to read, when the door opened, to reveal a security guard.
“I thought I said no inter-“
“Sorry sir,” apologized the guard, “but I’m just escorting Agent Sride.”
Sride walked in, surgical gown flapping in his draft. The guard winced as he saw something he shouldn’t have, and shut the door.
“Agent Sride, aren’t you scheduled for a bit of bed-rest?” enquired Alphonse, “And why would you need a regular guard to guide you?”
“Well, I don’t need the bed rest. Doctor Me says I’ll be fine,” explained Jonathan, “and I don’t need that guard so much as I need his eye,” Jonathan pointed at his right eye, “as you can see, mine is pretty much done.”
“Any man with half an e- oh; never mind.” The director coughed, he almost threw salt in the wound there. “Here, I trust you can still read?” he held out the paper he’d been reading to Jonathan. Jonathan went to grab it, missed, and corrected his hand.
“Mono-scope vision will play merry hell with my depth perception,” complained Jonathan as he read the document. “Hey, what’s this? This is some funky DNA, Al.”
“Don’t call me that in public,” reprimanded Al, indicating the other senior agents nearby, “and that DNA; structurally speaking, it’s perfectly sound. It matches what wee know about the human genome. It’s what it’s made of which is important.”
“BioSteel? His chromosomes are made of BioSteel?”
“Correct. A scan has also found a flat growth of BioSteel on the brain’s surface, too. If it wasn’t for the fact that it has a defined shape, wee never would have picked it up, it’s that well disguised against the brain tissue.”
“So this kid’s a successful merging of BioSteel and human flesh, then?” Jonathan passed the paper back, and looked at the boy on the bed.
“It would seem so. It looks like the key is to integrate the two at a DNA level first, then move on to the larger, more physical stuff,” concluded the Director.
“That brings me to a question, Director.”
“Go ahead, you’re MVP right now. Shoot.”
“What happens to this kid?”
“Good question. The truth is, I don’t know. Wee’ll probably put him into a lab for observation.”
“A life in a lab? The kid’s about five, six years old! He needs a family!”
“Oh? I’m curious as to where this line is coming from, Jonathan.”
“What I’m saying is, keep him under observation, but in an undercover way. Let him live in a semi-family environment. Please.”
“Alright, Jonathan; let’s say I play it your way. Who looks after the kid?”
Jonathan opened his mouth, but then closed it again. What he was considering saying… where did it come from?
Was it because he’d fought to save this kid? What was it? Jonathan’s face throbbed.
Was it because of the sacrifice he’d made for the kid? Or, was it just that feeling of being a fatherly figure, shielding the boy from things he couldn’t comprehend? He decided.

“I’ll look after him.”
“Don’t be retarded, Jonathan.” A woman on the other side of the bed said.
“Sasha’s right, Jonathan,” a Mexican man on the other side of the Director chimed, “Your head’s muddled from that explosion and the gash. You lost a chocolateload of blood man, down like 3 pints at least by the time wee got there.”
“I’m not muddled guys.  Julio, Sasha; thanks for caring. But it’s not a blind decision. I have a… feeling about this one.” The last Agent around the bed, a man in a black shin-length business coat with a silver tie and metal mask and wearing a hat, spoke up.
“You don’t sound so certain about that feeling, Sride.”
“It’s new to me, Silvertie. I can’t explain it, you have to feel it, and you know it when you do. Although, for someone like you… I suppose it’s unobtainable.”
“That’s true. But, for me, feelings only get in the way of logic.”
“Well, think. Logic points to me too. I can mind a kid, I’m the second-best agent in this room, and I happen to think I make a very dashing father figure.”
“Stop, before your ego crushes us,” drawled the Director, “I’m not arguing. Jonathan’s a suitable candidate for the job, if he wants it, he can have it.” The Director turned to Jonathan, and looked him square in the eye, “You’re not getting time off regular work for this.”
“I know. But that’s why godfathers exist, eh, Al?”
“Oh, come on. You’re not roping everyone into it,” The director took a step back.
“I’m not,” defended Jonathan, raising his hands; “Just you.”
Al gave it some serious thought.
“Alright, fine. You win. But that’s it. You want any more, you do it out of your own pocket.”
“That’s fine.” Inwardly, Jonathan rejoiced. He’d gotten what he wanted. Now to see how it played. They all stopped, as the boy began to stir. The agents, with the exception of Jonathan, stepped back into the shadows. The boy opened his eyes, and looked at Jonathan. How Ironic, Jonathan thought. His right eye is grey, and the other one is gold. He thought about how his eye would likely turn out- very much like this boy’s.
“Who… are you?” The boy rasped. Evidently, his voice wasn’t often used. Jonathan thought. How should he do this? He decided to go simple. He crouched so his head was level with the boy’s.
“I’m Jonathan Sride; I’m your dad.”
“Dad?”

Spoiler for Chapter 3- Like Father, Like son:

--- Jonathan and Dimitri Sride’s quarters, SyntheDyne Agency HQ Complex, August 12, 2318 -----

Jonathan sat at the dining table, and ate breakfast with his 14 year-old son, Dimitri. 8 years had passed since he’d been adopted. Dimitri had black hair, and wore a rather short haircut. His face was still something of a concern, people that had never seen him before tended to be a little unsettled by how… neutral Dimitri’s face was. His still-mismatched color eyes didn’t help. It wasn’t that he didn’t show expressions, it was that feeling his face was missing… something; and yet, there was no reason to suspect such a thing. In the years following the impromptu adoption, Dimitri had quickly forgotten the events of that day. Today, Dimitri was eating egg and toast soldiers.
“’o asting amoge, Dod?” Dimitri said, his words muffled by the food in his mouth.
“Swallow first, Dimitri. Man, I can’t even understand what you say sometimes.” Jonathan had a mug of coffee in his hand, and was holding a piece of toast in the other. Dimitri swallowed.
“I said, No lasting damage, Dad?”
“Oh, nothing to report, a few scratches and such; thanks for caring.” Jonathan rolled his shoulder and clicked it. He’d landed a bit heavily on it after being thrown from an exploding BioSteel SpiderMech. Over the years, his face had healed, leaving a livid scar across his eye and cheek. The eyelids and eyeball healed up alright, but he still would never see out of it. To spare some people the discomfort of the sightless orb, he wore an eye-patch in public.
“Good. You might want to get that shoulder checked, it’s a liability,” Dimitri said, looking at his egg, which seemed to be lacking yolk now.
“Please, don’t patronize me. I practically taught you everything you know.” Jonathan waved his toast around, stopping when his shoulder clicked again. “On the other hand, when you’re right, you’re right.” Jonathan crammed the last of his toast into his mouth, and took the plate over to the kitchen.
“Got any upcoming missions, Dad?” Dimitri was also just finishing, and he followed Jonathan into the kitchen.
“Well, I’ve been back about 12 hours, I don’t know. Why don’t you go see Uncle Al and ask him for me?”
“Yeah, alright, I’ll go. What about you?”
“Well son, I have a nurse to go see.” Jonathan wiggled his eyebrows. “Don’t be too quick about your work now, you hear?” Dimitri chuckled, Jonathan’s innuendos and dirty humor now all too familiar.
“Alright, catch you later Dad.” Dimitri grabbed a jacket, and went out the door, which slid closed automatically behind him. Jonathan looked at it. 8 years, and he still wasn’t used to it; being called ‘Dad’ in earnest. He sighed and put dirty dishes into the dishwasher.

--- SyntheDyne Agency HQ Complex, Agency tower ---

Dimitri wandered through the Agency’s main doors, and looked at all the people milling about. He’d been living on-site for 8 years, since he was about 6, and was a familiar face to a lot of the staff.
“Hey Dimitri.” A janitor walked past, pushing a bucket and mop.
“’Sup, Hans, how’s the ear?” Dimitri began walking backwards.
“Twelve thirty, innit?” Hans’ face indicated that he didn’t realize his answer was completely unrelated to the question. His eardrum had been kind of ruptured by some sense-overload ordinance discharging in a warehouse a couple of weeks ago.
“I guess it’s still buggered then. See you around!” Dimitri turned, and almost bumped into a group of suit-clad Agents. “Sorry there.” He made to move around them.
“Hold it!” one of them grabbed him by the shoulder, and not gently. “What’s a kid doing here?”
“Hm? Oh, you guys must be new. I’m Dimitri.”
“Don’t want your name, I want your authorization.” Dimitri thought about it; he hadn’t had to wear that stupid card for ages, so it was sitting in a pile of DVDs in his room.
“Eh, got one, just don’t have it on me.”
“Kid, you’re in the wrong place to be telling lies.” The Agent pulled a pistol. His companions did the same. “Perhaps I should just shoot you right n-“
“Do that, and you’re in trouble, Agent.” Another Agent had shown up. “This here’s the son of Jonathan Sride. You waste this kid, you die.”
“I… what? Look, why’s a kid wandering around here with no ID or authorization? My family can’t do that. They can’t even come here with visitor’s clearance!”
“Not the point, new fish. This kid’s special, he’s been wandering around since forever. In fact, I did the same thing you just did, except Director Eleric caught me. Now step off, let the kid go.” Grudgingly, the offending Agent let go, re-holstered his gun, and left, muttering something about smartass kids.

“You know, Julio, I could have dealt with that,” Dimitri said reproachfully.
“Lies, Dimitri.” Julio made a dismissive gesture with his hand. Standing at just less than 6 feet tall, and at 29 years of age, Julio was one of the “players” in the Agency. His much-diluted Mexican blood and heritage gave him darker skin than most Agents, and a moustache. For chocolates and giggles, he wore a Mexican sombrero some days. Hardly anyone got the connection; they would just see the big hat.
“I suppose I can’t lie to you, Julio.”
“You can’t. Wear the card next time.”
“But it looks so dorky.”
Julio sighed. How Jonathan got anywhere with Dimitri, he had no idea. “Look… pop on over to R&D, see what they can do for you.”
“Yeah, alright.” Dimitri crossed his arms. Thanks to his nagging of R&D staff, he’d actually gotten some neat toys which they’d developed, but had no real practical application or market. Among these, he had the slim-line impulse jetpack which wasn’t very strong at lifting stuff, and barely managed to lift a full-grown agent; but for an 8 year old kid, it worked just fine. Another one was a remote control car… with concealed, bonnet-mounted miniature chain-guns. Let’s just say he won the Remote Control Grand Prix by miles.
“Thanks Julio.”
“No worries. Give my regards to your Dad and the Director.” Julio moved back towards the entrance of the Agency. Dimitri went to an Elevator, entered it, and ascended.

After a bit of socializing, Dimitri reached the Director’s office. Running his thumb over the scanner plate, which disabled the locks, the door slid open, and Dimitri entered.
“Ah. Dimitri. What brings you… here… today?” Alphonse Eleric said, fighting to get the words out, as he was intently focused on his screen. He didn’t look up, as only four people were allowed to just enter without his consent; he was one of them. Of the other 3, only one didn’t wear a suit. Dimitri moved around the desk, to look at Alphonse’s computer screen. He saw a game; Half-life Anthology. It was a remake and roll-together of a game and its modifications, which was immensely popular back in the early 21st century. It was made by a company whose name had something to do with taps… he forgot. At the present, the Director was playing as a man in orange armor, wielding a crowbar. As he watched, the Director’s character was hit with gunfire from soldiers in white, and died.
“Hard luck, Al; better luck next time, eh?” Dimitri moved back to the front of the desk, and sat in a chair.
“Man… games must have been hard back then. Using a keyboard and mouse! How did people manage without neuro-controllers? Anyway,” Alphonse turned the screen off, and turned his swivel chair to face Dimitri. “What does my favorite god-son want from me?”
“Psscht.” Dimitri waved a hand. “I’m your ONLY god-son. And I’m here to see what my dad’s got scheduled for the next couple of days.”
“Oh, really? Okay.” Al turned on a different monitor, and began typing on the holo-board. “Let’s see. Jonathan Sride; just finished a mission… it says here Jonathan’s handling training and instruction of new Agents, so he should be bumming around here for at least 5 months, if not longer. Does that answer any questions you might have had?”
“Uh, yeah; thanks Al.” Dimitri stood, and made to leave.
“Hold it- I got some things for you to do. Here, it’s on a bit of paper in case you forget.” Al handed Dimitri a shit of paper, and a parcel. “I want you to deliver that parcel to Doctor Bernard in R&D, and then report to the training grounds.”
“Okay, I was going to see Doctor B anyway; but why the training grounds?”
“So wee can get you training to become an Agent. You can’t have a free ride forever, you know.”
“But I’m only 14!”
“The earlier you start, the more you learn. You could have the basics and intermediates by the time you’re 18, and then the advanced stuff by 20. You’d be one of the best in the Agency.”
“I guess so. Well; there’s worse jobs, I suppose.”
“That’s the attitude.” Dimitri turned, and left the office.

As the door slid shut, a woman stepped away from the wall. Al made a disapproving noise. “Sasha, how long have you been standing there?” Sasha Carnstrom, a woman in her early thirties, was one of the few women who bothered joining the Agency, let alone graduate. Ironically, she was also the second-in-command and ranked number 3 in the agency. She had majored in Stealth and Infiltration, with a supporting degree in Assassination. She was also the de-facto secretary for Al Eleric.
“I’ve been here since you gave Dimitri the parcel. Does he remember his heritage?”
“Don’t be blonde, Sasha.” Sasha made a grimace. Her hair was naturally blond, but today it was a gold-yellow. “If the boy did, he’d probably flip out, and wee’d know about it quickly.”

The boy in question was jogging through the SyntheDyne Agency “Campus” as everyone called it. It was primarily for the Agency HQ, but supported a variety of Corporation facilities; including a R&D lab sub-complex. After breezing through the complex’s security, he made his way to the main lab where the head of R&D would be. He entered to see an old man in a lab coat, shouting at a robotic arm mounted on a pole, which was waving a plastic, square rifle around.
“Hey! Doctor B!” Dimitri waved his arm, while remaining in the doorway. In this R&D lab, when you entered the lab without announcing yourself, you tended to become fair game for any number of experiments to “malfunction”, to say the least.
“Huh? Oh, Dimitri, it’s you!” Doctor “B” waved, and then faced the arm once more, “You! Put the rifle down!”  The robotic arm whirred and clicked, paused, and then proceeded to ignore the Doctor, pointing the gun at various targets and firing.
“Whoa!” Dimitri ducked quickly, and rolled behind a solid steel block pillar- put in place for such events as this. He watched as a plasma burst flew through the air where he had been, and melted a hole in the wall. He peeked around the pillar to see Doctor B wrestling with the arm. There was a flash of blue, and the doctor stepped back, revealing a mechanical arm with half of the bicep melted off. Unable to function, it collapsed and dropped the gun. The doctor checked the gun and put it back on a rack. Doctor Bernard, or “Doctor B” as he liked to be called, was an elderly man approaching his 65th birthday, and head of the Research and Development department. The fact that he was 65 was amazing enough; over the whole of the Corporation’s R&D labs, the average time-span a person worked in the department was measured in single digits of years, if not months. Doctor B had been working there since he was 25. While he’d been given many hints by a lot of people that he should get out of the R&D game before the long odds he’d been playing against caught up to him; he blissfully ignored all of them, and continued just the same, somehow avoiding death on an almost daily basis.

The doctor sat at his large, central desk which was heaped with media of all sorts; not just research-related media, either. Dimitri sat on a chair after he cleared some of the stuff off it.
“What brings you to my wonderland?” asked Doctor B.
“A few things; one is this;” Dimitri held up the parcel for the Doctor to inspect. As the doctor did so, Dimitri shifted, and removed some things which had been digging into his leg and buttocks. He removed a small book on quantum physics; a boxy, rectangular device which promptly sprouted blades and superfluous fittings, almost certainly guaranteed to have been painful if he’d left it there.; and the most disturbing item, a DVD entitled “Girls gone Wild #23”.
“Hey! That’s mine.” The doctor quickly snatched the DVD before Dimitri got a good look at the images on the covers. “Man, how did that get there? Anyway; I have the package, it’s a good lump of BioSteel recovered from a mission. What else were you after?”
Dimitri thought. “First, I need some sort of not-lame device I can put my authorization and ID on; secondly, where is all your staff hiding; and thirdly, what the heck is that plastic gun?”
“Wow. Someone’s got a lot of demands. Now, I think I have something for demand number one, let me look for it.” The doctor turned around, pulled open a filing cabinet, and began flicking through the folders. “As to where all my staff is, they’re on holiday. They’ve gotten smart, and realized that when only a few take a holiday, the workload on those remaining is increased. And when a few are given more experimental work, their mortality rate increases tenfold. Thus, they have all taken their holiday leave simultaneously; I have to hand it to them, this is the smartest bunch of interns I’ve had for a long time. I’ll talk about number 3 later. Ah.” Doctor B pulled a thick folder out of the cabinet, and flipped it open on his desk.
“Let’s see... wee have the regular card… wristband… here’s one that might appeal to you. It’s an access ring. A miniature version of the microchip in your regular access card is concealed inside the ring’s decoration itself. Just upload your id to it, and it’s as good as a card. Even better, it’s designed to work for one person, the person wearing it when ID is uploaded. It’s in aisle 3…” The doctor got up, and bustled off. Dimitri levered himself out of his chair, and followed him.

They got to the aisle in question, and began checking boxes; Dimitri with more caution than Doctor B, because sometimes, past prototypes malfunctioned in the boxes, and because they were air, shock and in general, everything, proof, you had no way of knowing what you were going to find or be hit with. The doctor opened them faster simply because he was a reckless old man, and firmly believed that things he made wouldn’t hurt him. What made it worse is that he was always emerging unscathed from experiments gone catastrophically wrong; the only thing worse than an annoying, arrogant bastard is an arrogant, annoying bastard that is always, by luck, right. This was also a huge contributing factor in the doctor’s 40-odd year survival streak, surprisingly.

“Here it is.” Doctor B pulled a box off the shelf, and blew dust off the top of it. “One of our more applicable prototype series, they rejected this one because it was supposedly too easy to make a fake of and switch for the real deal.” He deactivated the vacuum seal, and opened the box. After a quick look inside, the doctor fished out what appeared to be…
“Hey, it’s that sandwich I misplaced! This is where it went?” Dimitri checked the box’s label.
“Last… sealed… 2315… DOCTOR! Don’t eat that, that’s 3 years old!”
Doctor B looked at Dimitri. “That was a vacuum sealed box, boy. No bacteria.”
“It’s a CHEESE sandwich! It’s even Blue Vein! Cheese IS bacteria!”
“Blue Vein?” Doctor B looked closer at the plastic-wrapped artifact. “Huh, I don’t remember ever purchasing blue vein cheese before… perhaps I really shouldn’t eat this one.” He put the sandwich on a shelf, and presented the open box to Dimitri. “Pick a ring, any ring.”

Dimitri looked at the box. The doctor had evidently gone all out as far as choice was concerned, with many designs available, some of the designs still quite popular. He then decided, picking out a ring which was little more than a metal band with a metal square on it. It was a discreet ring, less attention-grabbing than some of the others.
“Going to pick that one, eh? I thought you might. It suits you.” Doctor B put the box away, and they went back to his desk.
“Anything else you wanted, Dimitri?”
“The plastic gun, what is it?” Dimitri pointed at the plastic gun.
“Oh yes. You know those Biologic Metals plasma rifles? The big heavy metal ones made of plasma-resistant Carbon-alloy uranium?”
“Yeah, only BioMechs use them; they’re too heavy for humans; even an Agent can’t use them easily.”
“That’s the one. Well, wee decided to have a bit of fun one day, and see how accurate they were, and wee shot a plastic cup.”
“What happened?”
“The cup was fine. Plasma couldn’t touch it. Wee tried it again, but this time, with a plastic box, and wee put some gunpowder in it. The box didn’t detonate. Wee took the lid off, and it detonated; thus, our plastics must be resistant to Biologic Metals Plasma weapons. Typical, everyone was fudgeing around with high-density alloys, and the answer was so low-tech, the 21st century could have stopped it. No wonder wee stomped those K’aandar who created plasma technology; very impressive against hard targets, but surprisingly ineffective against soft ones.
Anyway, wee had another idea; dismantle the gun, and replace everything wee could from shell to trigger with plastic. Wee did that, and that there is the result. It’s now less than one sixteenth its original mass, and it retains the same destructive capability. Only problem is, because it’s plastic, it’s rather fragile. You rupture the power cell for this thing, and it explodes in a ball of plasma flame. This plastic is really thin, plastic cup-grade plastic. It breaks if you throw it, for the love of god. So wee’re still doing work on it.”
Dimitri nodded. He got the gist. “Thanks for your time, Doctor B. Good luck with the gun.”
“Have a nice day, Dimitri.” Doctor B turned back to the gun, and began to dismantle it.

The training ground, against expectations, was a large building. It wasn’t an outdoor facility or anything- it was a VR training ground. These were better than traditional training grounds, because trainees got all of the work, none of the unplanned horrible weather, and the scenario could be modified for realistic live-fire exercises.
As Dimitri walked in, he passed a man in a dark coat. The man wore a plain business hat, a featureless metal mask, and apart from the coat, wore the basic uniform of an Agent. His tie and mask were silver, hence his code name:
“Morning, Silvertie.” Dimitri nodded to the tall, mysterious man, who paused to do the same before leaving.
“Man, what a person. Never says a word to anybody, keeps to himself… on the other hand, he is the best agent on this campus,” Dimitri muttered to himself.
“Now, come on. I know I’m not perfect, son, but I’m standing right here!” Dimitri turned to see his father, Jonathan, standing in the doorway.
“Oh, I’m sorry, dad. I didn’t see you there. But then, it is true. He’s ranked #1, best completion/failure ratio by miles, to be honest.” Dimitri shrugged.
“Yeah, I know,” Jonathan sighed, “but wee have someone else’s talent to discuss; yours.”
“Al told me about this.”
“Oh, did he? But then, you asked what I was doing, and… yeah. I got it.” Jonathan fast-forwarded his tape of logic to the relevant point. “Doc said I had to take it easy for a while, and only do basic exercises for a while- hence me being instructor to new fish.”
“So you’re going to be training me?”
“Hey- second best agents make excellent personal trainers. I can’t put you in a proper new recruit class yet, you’re too young. But I can train you one-on-one. And that’s what I’ll do for the next 4 years whenever I can. You’ll pass the graduation op with flying colors, and take Silvertie’s place at #1, beat even your old man!” Jonathan punched his palm in emphasis. “You ready to get started with the training?”
Dimitri looked at Jonathan.
“I’m always ready.”

Spoiler for Chapter 4 – Graduation Scenario:

--- SDA compound, Training grounds, April 28, 2322 ---

Dimitri exhaled sharply as he bent over backwards to avoid an incoming blade. He followed it with a sweeping kick, trying to kick the legs out from underneath the attacker. Instead, his leg met empty air, and he realized that he’d just lost. The knife blade came out of the air and towards his face…

*Scenario Failed*
*Retry?*

“Not even,” said Dimitri. He was now 18 years old, and still had the same irrationally unnerving face. He got out of the simulation pod. Simulation pods took complete scans of a user, and linked the user’s consciousness to a virtual body in a virtual world, in the middle of a specified scenario. Just like in the real world, the user was limited by the physical capabilities of his body, and was auto-failed upon death.
The scenario just finished, Scenario #529, was a simple mission; eliminate the enemy, any choice of hand-weapons permitted, enemy was armed with standard Agent gear, 9mm pistol and knife; and yet, it had a massive failure rate; few managed to beat it, by killing the sole opponent, which seemed to be exceptionally skilled; and of those, most were pyrrhic victories, with simultaneous kill-strikes occurring. Rumor had it that only one man had ever beaten that scenario with a flawless victory; although, apparently, the scenario had been added roughly when Silvertie graduated, so that very narrowly ruled out Silvertie.

“That’s a tough one, huh?” Jonathan stood there, watching his son. He was starting to go grey around the temples, and had a few more scars, but otherwise hadn’t changed over the 4 years.
“You’re telling me. Did you have this one when you were training?”
“Oh yeah. Took me like 20 attempts before I even managed to clip the bastard. Even then, he still handed my donkey to me most of the time. Heck, if I tried it now, I’d win, but I’d be mighty cut up.” He scratched his side.
“Stop that, you’ve got stitches. You’ll just pop them.” Dimitri told his father. If it wasn’t for his reminders, Jonathan’s frequent injuries would be aggravated or extended.
“Yeah, yeah. So; think you’re ready for the real life graduation scenario?” Jonathan flashed a winning grin at Dimitri.
“Yeah, probably. As long as I don’t have to do scenario 529, I’ll be good, I reckon.” Each Agent, in order to graduate, had to pass their graduation Scenario; a scenario in the VR training grounds, but against human-controlled enemies, as opposed to the usual computer-controlled lot. The challenges ranged at random from retrieval, to infiltration, and even unfavorable-odds close-quarters combat. It was a mixed bag what he’d get. There were rumors that there were scenarios that were un-passable, as nobody in the history of the Agency had ever passed it, and all those who attempted it failed.
“What day’s my graduation scenario?”
“First of May, 2322. Not too far away.” Jonathan cocked an eyebrow. “You sure you want to jump into it like this? You’ve only just qualified for official training.”
“Yeah, but you’ve been teaching me more than that for years.”
“True. But you are now officially my student, and I’ve never had a student fail before. Don’t be the first.”
“Come on. How hard is it going to be, Dad?”


--- Graduation Scenario, May 1, 2322 ---

The base Graduation Scenario was a special one. It was designed specifically to be interchangeable and neutral. The one base scenario was always customized on the fly, at the last minute, to prevent the candidate learning about the challenge beforehand.
Today, the flat plain had a met-panel arena set up in the central area. The arena was 200m in radius, 400 in diameter, plenty of room. Graduation Scenarios were open for spectatorship, so there were considerable numbers of Avatars present. Avatars represented the body, much like if you were using a VR pod, but unlike the pod, they only transmitted sight, smell, vision and hearing, and could not interact with the scenario in any way.
Dimitri, wearing a suit, stood at one end of the arena, arms crossed. There was a podium where the judges would issue the scenario objective from, and observe the challenge. He would be marked on how he did the challenge, and whether he passed or not; from that, he would either be pronounced a graduated Agent, or told to come back next year. He straightened his posture and uncrossed his arms when he saw the judges line up at their seats. He could see… Al, two senior Agents he didn’t really know; Julio, who winked at him, and smiled; another unknown agent, and Silvertie. He could hear murmuring from the Avatars; he wouldn’t be able to hear them once the assessment was underway, but he could hear them now.
“Why are there 6 judges? There’s only supposed to be 5.”
“Silvertie’s judging? That kid’s toast, Silvertie’s pretty strict.”
“Man, this kid’s cocky. He’s barely enrolled, and he’s already looking to graduate.”
Dimitri shut them out. He had things to focus on. He saw Silvertie stand up, and the Avatars fell silent. Usually, his hat cast enough shadow to obscure most of the metal mask; but from this angle, Dimitri could see the whole thing. It had a rectangular hole in the mouth region for breathing through, and two indented eye sockets had eyeholes to see through.
“This is the Graduation Scenario for the Candidate Agent Dimitri Sride,” Silvertie proclaimed, his voice echoing around the mask. “The boundary for this scenario is the walls of this arena; should you leave them for more than 10 seconds without first having completed the scenario, you will be disqualified.
For equipment, you will have 30 seconds to pick any and all hand-held equipment you feel is appropriate for the job.” Silvertie paused to check something off a piece of paper.
“Your objective today is to defeat all enemies completely. You must render the enemy immobile for at least 10 seconds or more, free of active influence from you. A kill counts as a success. You have one enemy to defeat;” Silvertie paused, “That enemy is me.”

The Avatars on the tiered seating instantly went into a loud murmur.
“It’s Silvertie against the new kid? That’s unfair.”
“Kid’s got no chance.”
“I can’t believe they’d cook something like this up.”
“My test was to defeat 2 graduated agents, which was hard enough. Silvertie’s #1, how can Sride win?”
Silvertie crossed one more thing off the list, and put the paper down. Everyone shut up.
“Dimitri Sride. This is your mission. Do you accept it?”
Dimitri swallowed. If he rejected it, he would have to wait 2 months for another scenario, and be given a “Not accepted” grade. If he rejected the next scenario, he would be given an automatic fail.
On the other hand, if he accepted, and lost, he would get the fail. The mission ahead of him was simple, but then, it was also a very difficult one. Dimitri made his decision.
“I accept these conditions and the mission.”

Spoiler for Chapter 5 – Silvertie:

The crowd gasped. The judges simultaneously looked away or face-palmed. Silvertie did not react, merely nodding in approval.
“Very well: select your equipment.” He gestured, and a weapons rack rose out of the ground. Dimitri thought. He wasn’t just marked on a pass/fail basis; he was also given marks based on how he achieved his goal, and his general style and technique. For maximum marks, it was expected that the candidate pass the scenario with standard equipment, i.e. single pistol and knife, lock-picks, and suit. Since he had no locks to open, the lock-picks were dead weight, and he was already wearing his suit. Agency suits were different from regular off-the-rack business-wear. Each suit was a marvel of micro engineering, with nanonic threads and integral force-fields, and so on. Essentially, each suit was a very cleverly disguised suit of combat armor. It would be a valuable asset. In terms of weapons, he picked his choice of pistol; a .45, like his father. He’d grown up using a .45, and found other caliber guns to lack in areas compared to the .45. He spun the pistol, and holstered it.

“Time is up.” The rack dropped back into the ground.
“Spoon!” Dimitri exclaimed. He’d forgotten to grab the knife. He hadn’t even started the mission, and already he’d messed up.
“Sride,” Silvertie was now on the ground, equally spaced from the center of the arena as Dimitri, but on the opposite side, “you seem confident a single clip of ammo is all you need.”
“Yeah,” Dimitri lied, “I’ll beat you, and without taking a single injury.”
Silvertie laughed openly. “Ha! You’ve got some balls, I’ll give you that. I’ll put my recommendation in for style points.” Up at the judges area, Director Eleric stood.
“Commence mission in 3… 2… 1… Mark!”

Silvertie wasted no time, as did Dimitri. Both opened fire, but with different strategies. Dimitri strafed as fast as he could, firing his .45 with two hands.
Silvertie just stood there, firing his 9mm pistol with one arm. The difference was that if Dimitri stopped moving before Silvertie ran out of ammo, he’d not move again, because he’d get immobilized by a leg shot or something. Even though it was a 9mm at 100+ meters range, and Dimitri had his suit, Silvertie was a certified professional, and not number one for no reason.  To make things worse, his gun’s bullets were larger, and therefore, he had less to a clip than Silvertie, and he had no spare clips, whereas Silvertie probably did. His suspicions were confirmed as Silvertie stopped firing for a brief moment, 4 seconds long, and reloaded his pistol.
Seizing the moment, Dimitri broke cover, took aim, and fired his last bullet.

The bullet sailed through the air, ionizing air particles and distorting the air around it as it travelled. The .45 slug flew towards Silvertie, who, curiously, made no move. The reason was evident but half a second later, as Silvertie saw the bullet he’d fired sail off on an angle, hitting a wall. Dimitri looked at Silvertie. The man was quickly straightening up, a large dent and gouge on the silvered surface of the mask.
He opened fire on the now exposed Dimitri, who rolled for cover, narrowly avoiding the bullets. As he rolled, Dimitri considered his options. He had no ammo, so no gun. He had no knife, either; most would say he was hosed. Even so, close range was better than long range, at which he had no defense or attack. He counted the 12th shot, and broke cover, charging directly at Silvertie. As predicted, Silvertie decided he would forgo the firearm in favor of the knife.  Dimitri threw a fast straight right punch, which was deflected by Silvertie’s left hand, while his right, holding the knife, cut a path for Dimitri’s face.
Exhaling, Dimitri bent over backwards to avoid- wait.

This was familiar. Yes. Now that he thought about it, Dimitri’s fighting style was almost exactly like the enemy in Scenario # 529. In fact, that year, Dimitri graduated at about the same time as the scenario was made…
Dimitri realized then. Scenario #529 was to beat Silvertie in single combat. And only one man had ever beaten Scenario #529 flawlessly, someone who knew Silvertie’s fighting style inside out; Silvertie himself. Dimitri was no Silvertie, but he knew that after that slash…
Dimitri fought the urge to sweep-kick, and rolled instead. He was rewarded as a loud SHUNK sounded not 30 centimeters from his head. He was no Silvertie, but all those hours of practice on #529 were about to pay off, or make him lose big.
Rolling to his feet, he saw Silvertie getting up, and delivered an almighty uppercut.

THWACK
Dimitri’s bare knuckle impacted against the underside of Silvertie’s chin, and he staggered backwards, flabbergasted. That had never happened before; nobody had ever predicted his downward stab, even those he sparred against often. But it looked like Dimitri had something wrong with him…

THWACK
Dimitri staggered back, recoiling from the uppercut. In that briefest of moments… he’d made skin-skin contact with Silvertie’s chin. In that moment, it felt like Dimitri had been hit with a jolt of electricity. Must have just been static, but his skin was still tingling. He stood there, watching Silvertie.
To beat Silvertie, he needed to think Silvertie… to be Silvertie.
BZT
“Gah!” Dimitri grabbed his chest. A sharp stab pain coupled with the feeling of being subjected to uncomfortable levels of electricity brought him to one knee. It felt like his heart was going to explode.

Silvertie wasted no more time. He charged, knifeless; as he’d overdone it a bit with the stab, expecting to have his knife stuck in person, instead of in the dirt, which was where it would remain for the duration. He wound back for a punch as Dimitri dropped to one knee, and was about to connect it when-
WHAP
Silvertie’s eyes boggled behind the mask. “Impossible!” He threw another punch-
WAP
“What is this devilry? Who are you? Where is Dimitri Sride?” Silvertie watched as a man with tousled black hair, and horrific burns to his face stood up. The burns made him look like some sort of demon, with teeth exposed, no nose, and general deformities caused by intense flames. But Silvertie knew better. It was him, his real face. Nobody still alive knew that… so how had this imposter imitated him? There were flaws with the disguise, though- the fake was wearing the wrong clothes, had no hat, and no mask. And, looking into his imposter’s eyes… he saw the right eye was the correct color, but the left eye was gold-colored.
The fake Silvertie rose to two feet, easily matching Silvertie’s efforts to push him back.
“Where’s Dimitri? What on Cordia are you talking about Silvertie? I AM Dimitri.”

Spoiler for End comment:

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