Irony really fucking blows.

Here I am... one of the things I always hated most. I'm alone, away from everything I knew... and its not even really me. Life bites.

I must be someone's idea of a really bad practical joke. I'm not fucking laughing. Anyone who knew me knew how much I hated boomers. And, to make a body like this for me, who ever did it had to know me. I'm... I look like I always wanted to. Blond, sleek, and tough as nails. And, I look a little bit like Sylive now. I have her build... her design below the face. I'm a fucking Sexaroid.

There's that bloody irony again. Fuck.

I'd kill myself, but there seems to be some kind of self-preservation program stuck in my mind. Either that or I'm just a fucking chicken. I can't tell anymore.

Sylia wouldn't do this to me... leave me inside a boomer for a few hundred years. I've been sleeping at least that long... the world is so changed. Where ever I was, it was a ruined city when I woke up. Not Tokyo... no bay. Besides, it doesn't feel like Japan here.

People speak English around here... or rather a broken, English like language. There's a little Japanese mixed in, and a bit more French and German than I'm used to. Its a good thing I learned English and French. That's about all I ever did learn! That and how to fight. And sing.

Which seems to be all I have left. Whoever went to the trouble of sticking my mind in this fucking boomer probably didn't want me to spend my life lounge singing... which is probably why I do it. Just to wave my middle finger at the past... to who ever did this to me.

I... I think I'm in America. I've been singing at this bar called "New Kansas". I heard an old mp3 of "Say Yes" the other day... one of Vision's songs. Kansas city was where the Chang family lived in the U.S. if these memories of mine are real.

I sometimes wonder if any of my life was real... not just some story programmed into my brain. I guess every boomer has to ask that... Sylvie and Anri at least. If every fucking 55-C wondered about its life, I'd really have to start wondering about my opinions of boomers. But, then, it wouldn't be the first time.

The guy who owns the bar, Kyro, was telling me about this other metal chick that sings there. Gally or something. Says I should stay after my sets and meet her sometime. I never do. Not that I have any place to go... I just don't want to meet someone else like me. Someone lost and afraid. I hate being afraid... I don't want people to see me like this. And I'm always like this now.

This body isn't strong, and it requires a blood supply, but it has a few suprises. If I look at someone really hard, I can stun them. I... I don't know how that works, exactly, but then I never was good at figuring out boomers... just killing them.

So far, I've only had to kill for blood once. The bastard was asking for it... stabbed me. So, I took his blood to replace what I lost. Now, I just have to be careful not to lose any. That's why I don't go to the Factory place and get a Hunting license... I can't risk getting damaged.

Fucking self preservation programs.

Fucking cowardice.

I won't hide. I hate masks. I hate boomers. I won't go on like this.

I'm a fucking pussy, and a fucking liar. I say I won't hide, won't live, but I keep doing it. Keep making excuses.

Even my singing has lost its meaning. There's no Genom anymore... just Zalem. You can't fight what you can't reach. That's what I tell myself.

The enemy got stronger while I slept... and now there's no one to help me fight. I'm alone. All by myself in a body that isn't mine. In a Sexaroid. I always wanted Sylvie’s body... but not like this.

Fucking irony.

"I wonder what Kyro wants..." Gally murmured, walking towards New Kansas. Last evening, she had gotten a rather cryptic message from the barkeeper to show up early, before her usual time. Not that she minded... it'd just be nice to know what was up.

As she neared the bar, Gally paused, listening. A loud, thumping pulse was drifting up from the bar. Music... unlike anything she'd ever played on a keyboard. Gally quickened her pace, walking down the stairs to New Kansas and into the eye of the pounding storm.

She was met by laser light effects, artificial smoke mixing with real, and a burst of applause as the song ended. Fortunately, the blond woman on stage showed no signs of leaving. The special effects seemed to be coming from some kind of large scale amp, located where her keyboards were usually set up. Gally trotted over to the bar and sat down, nodding to Kyro in passing.

"This the suprise?" Gally asked, nodding to the stage.

Kyro nodded, making a faint hushing sound as the next song started.

*Thump, crash, thump, crash, thump, crash... thump thump crash! Thump, crash, thump, crash, thump, crash... BOM BOM!* Gally cocked her head, the off-beat drum intro replaying in her mind as the first guitar riffs began. It was different... she liked it.

Gally listened, awe struck by the power in that voice. Though she didn't understand all the words completely, the meaning seemed to be slipping through. "'You and I are like a wounded beast...'" Gally whispered, "'with sparks in our starving eyes.' I wanna learn to write like that...."

"That there is Priss." Kyro informed her, "She's got all her backgrounds recorded... even other voices. Like Karaoke, except its her song and I ain't never seen anyone sing like that... Er, no offense meant, Miss Gally."

"None taken... I wish I could pull something like that off, but..." Gally trailed off as the Priss entered the next verse. Gally found herself falling into the deep red eyes that shown behind the mike.

As her final words ended, the blond woman, Priss, stepped back into the mists of the stage. Gally could still make out her shape, a mere silhouette caused by the laser effects behind her. She seemed to be wavering slightly... immersed in the final throngs of the music. Bits and pieces of lyrics still seemed to hang in the air, a temporal echo of the recently passed performance that was still going on.

"'The more masks I remove, the more woman I become.'" Gally quoted to herself. There was something... so true and moving about the woman's song. It dug its nails deep into Gally's soul. "She and I are something alike." Gally whispered, blinking her honey-gold eyes. Part of her longed to know what was hidden behind those red eyes that had gripped her so only moments before. Who was this Priss?

"That's her most popular song..." Kyro said quietly, "I always make a killing when its on the play list. And that body of hers is pretty popular with the males in here."

Gally snorted. "Leches."

"If that ain't the darnest thing!" Kyro exclaimed, "That was Her reply!"

Gally nodded slightly, still gazing at the stage. "I want to meet her..." Gally murmured softly, to herself.

"Ya better hurry then, Miss Gally. That was her last set."

"Thanks Kyro!" Gally called, bolting for the backstage. Slipping through hallways she knew so well, Gally arrived at the "dressing room", a small bathroom that performers could change clothing in. There, she hesitated.

"Oh come on..." she muttered, "I've faced Makaku, Lee of the White Hot Palm, and all of Motorball... what am I so afraid of?" She paused a moment, then murmured "someone who can sing like that", answering her own question. Gally took a deep breath and rapped twice on the door.

"WHAT?!" Priss's deep voice bellowed back. Gally jumped inspight of herself, then opened the door. "I was... I mean... I wanted to meet you. I'm...." She paused, unsure of what to call herself. Priss was inside, wiping sweat from her face with a dirty rag. She was still dressed in the red leather she had worn on stage, and seemed in no hurry to change that. More leather, a jacket and pants, lay in a heap in the corner with some kind of helmet.

"You're Gally, ne?" Priss asked, her tones changing from annoyance to suspicion. "The Cyborg chick Kyro's been wanting me to meet." Priss straightened up and threw the rag into the corner with the helmet and leathers. "Well, we've met now. Anything else?"

"Ya... I mean... I want to learn to sing like you." Gally stammered. This wasn't going at all well...

"You wanna learn how to sing like I do?" Priss asked. Gally stepped back as Priss's eyes gleamed. For the first time in a long time, Gally was scared for her life. Anger, hatred, sadness, and fear were seething behind those red eyes. "Maybe I should go..." Gally squeaked.

"Nothing doing!" Priss snapped. "I'm gonna tell you everything you need to know." Priss grabbed Gally's metal arm and hauled her back. Gally stiffened, but didn't resist. For some reason, she couldn't move. She was being held to her spot by those red eyes.

"First, you grow up in a rotting world of death and destruction, where you have to fight for every meal." Priss paused, then laughed bitterly. "That's easy around here. This damned Scrapyard feels just like home! Then, you need to fall madly in love and see it fall apart. See him die. See everything die. See your world burn." Priss paused, considering a moment. "Then, after you do that, you need to find some reason to go on. Find a cause. Find another person you can love. Then, when that love asks to die, you kill her. Let the cause become everything. Then lose the cause. Lose everything you know and love. Lose it all. Then, you can sing like me."

Priss grabbed her leathers and the helmet and walked out, leaving Gally to the empty room. Gally sat alone for a time, then picked up the dirty rag from where it had fallen and mopped her eyes with it. She didn't quite know how all the tears had gotten on her face...

So much for that.

After a few years on the road, wandering, I thought maybe I could come back, maybe sing at Kansas again. Its gone. Just like everything else, its gone too. Destroyed.

I've been feeling something else lately... something I don't quite understand. An urge. Somehow, I know that there are more of my kind someplace...

Fuck. I'm calling boomers "my kind" now. I can look at cyborgs now and not be disgusted at what they have become. I guess I just can't be that much of a hypocrite anymore... the only really disgusting thing in this town is me.

Men are a problem now. This damned aura of mine... some kind of Sexaroid thing. I can't seem to escape them. They all want this body of mine.

There was only one I ever wanted. Gone too. Everything's gone.

Why do I want to go to Zalem? Zalem and beyond? What did my programmers know that I don't? I can't tell what's paranoia anymore either. I can't tell what's motivation, and what's programming, and what's just the desire to do something. To fight again. I'm tired of just existing... but I can't do anything.

So, I wait. I'm a fucking cop out. I haven't done anything worthwhile in a century; just sung my outdated songs and wandered the Scrapyard.

I should have given that Gally girl a chance. I should have. I fucked that up too. Too late to go back, anyway.

Who's calling me? What is waiting for me up there, above the city in the sky? Does part of me want to retrace Sylvie's steps? Or do I have some kind of hidden agenda? Is Genom still out there, somewhere? I'm so scared. I hate being scared.

I'm pathetic.

I'm so alone.

Priss stepped from the tower on to Zalem. They had won... them, not her. The impossible enemy had fallen and she hadn't even tried to fight.

I'm such a pussy.

Walking slowly, she made her way through the plant covered streets, watching the brainless citizens as they tried to live on, tried to keep their own dreams crumbling. She didn't know whether she wanted to laugh or cry. The assorted scum that had accompanied her on this momentous day would see that Zalem was never the same again. Priss, however, didn't give a fuck about Zalem anymore. There was only one goal left to her...

The "Ladder" was working again... yet another battle never fought. Priss walked to the green elevator platform that was rapid filling with the citizenry of Zalem and surface dweller alike, all hoping to find answers in the upper city of Jeru. "Ha." Priss muttered to herself.

The device groaned to life, lifting them up to the other side. Jeru-Zalem... the home land. The place of answers and God. The goal. What a pathetic joke.

As they moved up the multi-mile accent to the top, Priss cast her gaze to the greenery that lay all around them. The Tree of Life... that which saved the three cites at the end of the age. The only age Priss had known since her awakening. Now man was moving on again... and so was she. To what, she didn't know...

"There's something about this tree..." some Marked citizen whispered. One of the others, a youngster without a Mark, turned to the man. "Its the Angel of Life... the Imaginos."

"You mean the Angel of Death!" a young woman from the Surface exclaimed, butting in. "I've heard all sorts of stories about how Gally came here, but not the whole thing. That's why I'm going up to Jeru.. to find the truth."

"Hey, aren't you that Barjack Chronicle girl?" another asked. Priss tuned the rest out.

This tree... is that Gally girl?

Priss reached out, letting her fingers play across one of the branches. It seemed to tingle with her touch... almost like skin. Priss pulled back her hand, feeling very cold...

At the top, Priss left the tourists and assorted others to wander alone. She slipped through the crowds, her scowl diverting most attention away from her Sexaroid body. She didn't want her aura to create annoying delays.

Using the tour book she had found back on the surface, Priss made her way to a store on the far side of the upside down city. Spotting the store front was simple, it was several feet high and lit with neon-like signs that moved and reshaped. Sylia would have wondered how they worked; Priss didn't give a shit.

Walking in to the building, Priss once again found herself surrounded by tourists. Pathetic dicks; leaches that wanted to see a tomb. They made her sick, but she'd have to live with that for the time being...

She paid for a ticket and boarded the small Space Ferry for the Orbital Tour. On her way in, Priss took note of the airlocks... and the EVA suits. Funny... space suits now looked a bit like Hardsuits. For once, Irony was on her side.

Taking a seat in the back, Priss waited. The tour began. Priss yawned as they guide pointed out ancient relics... the Hubbell, station Freedom, a Turner Broadcast satellite. Then came her cue.

"... And on your left is the Space Station Genaros, owned by the ancient Megacorp Genom. Not much is known about this place now, as it was a secret instillation even in its own time. If you'll look to your right..."

Further comments were lost as the Air Lock alarms began to blare. Panicked screams were quickly cut off from her hearing as Priss closed the inner doors and opened the outer. She leapt out, the jets of her space suit cutting in almost the instant she left the airlock. She left the outer door open... no chance for them to follow... and fired her jets towards the space station.

A few minutes later, Priss was opening the airlocks on Genaros. The air within the station had long since gone stale and toxic with carbon dioxide and other gasses produced by the oxidation of various substances. It didn't matter, she still had her suit.

Priss made her way slowly through the old space station, picking her way towards the storage facilities. She had been programmed with this information. She knew where to go.

The units were made to last a few thousand years. Priss chuckled slightly. "Better than Genom's usual crap." The lab had been wrecked... but the storage freezers had remained untouched. Entering the sequences, Priss opened the doors. Cold mists drifted out, turning odd colors as they met the chemicals that floated in the no longer still air.

Inside stood a few hundred thousand boomers. Row upon row of them. Sexaroids like Sylvie, Anri, and herself... C-series... Bu series combat boomers... Dobermans... and others. Priss stared at them with a mixed expression on her face.

"My family." she whispered, "I could take them all back... then I wouldn't be alone." Priss closed her eyes, then smiled.

She shut the door quietly, then stepped away from the storage units. Moving with purpose, she headed to another part of the station... C&C. The Command and Control center for the station. The room was dark when she got there... it didn't matter. Priss closed the doors and activated the air recycling systems. After a few minutes, with the air was more to her taste, Priss removed her space suit and the cloak she had worn since her journey's beginning. Dressed once again in her biker leathers, Priss sat at the navigation console and began the atmospheric reentry sequence. Ancient engines flared to life as the station’s solar collector panels retracted. Priss smiled, then fired the main blast. The station shot from its comfy orbit and dove back into the earth's atmosphere.

Priss watched the screens and laughed. Activating the landing sequences, Priss selected her landing pad... Tokyo. As the barren landscape appeared, Priss was able to take manual control. She laughed again as a black mound hoved into view. Though long since bombed out, Genom Tower still managed to mark the center of the city. Priss fixed her gaze on it and laughed again.

"Thought you could program Me to do your dammed dirty work for you, huh?! You fucked up! I won't be your tool! You may have programmed me, but I'm a Knight Saber! I made my one cause to see you and your fucking boomers burn! We may be late, but the Knight Sabers have won! You thought you could make me reactivate your boomer legacy, did you? Well, I'm gonna bury it instead!" As the Tower hoved closer, Priss increased thrust. Taking the retro thrusters off-line, Priss, dived the station towards Tokyo.

"I win, you lose. Ha ha!"

Seconds later, Genom Tower and the Genaros station exploded in a ball of fire visible from Jeru...