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What his eyes beheld stung at his heart. He had shot X. She was dead. The joy that had filled Belg's soul only a moment before was now weighed with despair and self-loathing. How could he have been so careless, foolish, idiotic? Why hadn't he thought about what he was doing. He had never expected her to come, that's why. he had expected the stone-cold X to finsih the mission and end the war. It was her fault.

"No...NOOOOOO!" He tore at himself. How could he ever have blamed X for this? She was only human, no matter what she said. He would have done the exact same.

It was his. His fault. It struck him in the head. He had done it. After blaming himself then her, it had sunk in. It was his fault. He was the reason this mission was to fail.

The loud buzz of the incoming jets grounded him, returning his mind to reality. X was dead. She was...! "Ahhhhhhh!!!" Belg roared and raced to a first jet, reaching in with his fist of Sheel and pulling out Perfect pilot who was sent hurtling to earth below. The others unloaded a clip of vulcan shots, but Belg brought up Sheel in the form of its name-sake, a shield, and absorbed the bullets, entering Belg's resevoir of shots.

He whipped out the arm of Nakt. The cannon grew to monstrous proportions, enlargeing the shell within. He released the whsitling ball of fire as it plunged through the side of a fighter, the target explodiong.

Belg's nostrils flared like a bull. The cannon had reformed itself as a mini-gun of equal size, releasing a barrage of equal power to tear through everyone the remaining jets. They all tumbled to the earth or explode on impact. Either way the threat was subdued.

In the air, BEeg's limp form hung. He had used all his ammo, and all the gate creatures were exhausted. His brain was about to snap. And it did. All the creatures errupted from him, and the human form of Belg began to plummet through the skies to wear X had fallen. head first.

He was about to die. Die next to X. What mattered was that the NBR plain would make it to the bojective and end the war. If he was lucky X wasn't dead, just uncnoncious and badly injured.

He would not be so fortunate. With barely enough energy to breath, the air rushing through his gaping mouth was a all that kept him concious.When he hit the water, the force would snap his neck, and he'd be dead. For a moment, Belg hoped that X was dead so that she wouldn;t see him in such a state. He coughed up blood that splattered on his uniform. So this was the end.

"Fo...r... th..e...Res..ista-"

Hours had passed, possibly days, but Belg didn't know. He didn't know anything. He jsut knew it was hard to breath. And he couldn't see. No... It was just dark... "This is it I guess..." Belg sighed, but it stung him, so he made note of trying to lessen it. "What a shame..."

The ex-cop, ex-reistance member looked around. Everything was dark, and it seemed endless. He was tempted to open his gate, but decided it would hurt too much. He lied back down. So this was it. He just sat hear in the dark, forever.

Someone stirred close. If he were still alive, maybe he would have cared. But he was dead, so there was no fear of death clouding his mind. He tried to muster his commanind voice of athority, but the pain wouldn't stop. So he sat there in his purgatory, unaware of reality.

The feint flicker was enough to wake him. The quick flash had shown him that he lived, and that he was in a cave, with X teetering on the verge of death. She wasn't dead. She wasn't dead!

A streak of hsppiness surged through his soul. He hadn't killed her. There was hope for the resitance. He edged closer to her, the random halos his guide. His breathing quickend when he moved, it was a struggle just to crawl.

But he sucked it up and dragged himself to her side until his head hung over hers and he eyed her wounds. They were deep. There was blood everywhere. Her armour had lessened the damage in some areas, but not os much. His bullets were armour piercing. He thought about it for a moment. Those were his bullets in her. Belg shivered at the thought.

He examined them a little closer. Two had burrowed beneath her armour, and needed to be exrtacted if there was ever hope of full healing. But if he took them out too soon the pain could kill her. He reached for his belt and got his first-aid kit. He stared at the one in her right arm. This one would hurt the least if removed, but it could be catasrophic if he blundered it.

He weighed it in his mind. He could kill her, or save her. He was going to save her. He knew X was strong enough to withstand something like this. He took out his tweezers and aimed for the wound. His breathing quickened, each one stabbing at his chest. He dove in and took hold of the fine piece of lead. It was up to X to live through this, and Belg was gonna help as best he could.

It was ainful to see her in such pain, especially knowing it was his fault. He drowned the thought with the task at hand when he saw X's lips move.

"...M..h..r..."

It was indecipherable, and he didn't want to think about it. He knew what she was saying, and he didn't want to remember what happened. "Get back to work..." he mumbled to himself, which once again stabbed at him. The sudden pain focused him.

His hadns trembled violently, and his breathing was sharp and short. He had to do this, he had gone too far to stop here. But his gut was was urging him to stop; stop the pain. He knew what neede to be done.

He took a deep, forced breath and yanked. The bullet came out and clattered to the floor, the clinking echoeing through the cavern. "Plesaae don't be dead..." And it stung him again.

"Argh!" Belg was thrown back at the sudden summoning of her gate. The blinding flash had startled him and sent him scutlting backwards. He dropped the tweezers and the blood tipped end clattered to the floor.

X was up and awake, bloody, sweaty, and probally half-awake. But she was alive, and looked like she was gonna live.

Belg inched closer to her, pocketing his tweezers on the way. He knelt beside her and through stabbing gasps managed, "Are...you...alright?"

The newcomer came into the firing range, watching the girl as she shot the target. Each bullet leanded closer to the center, but then she faltered. "Why" was the question that sounded, from the voice inside his head. "Why" was the word banished from the mind as he took out the worn silver switchblade from his pocket, flipping it back and forth from one finger to the next in a mesmerizing series of movements. It was an old companion, one that he had taken long ago, and one that he had come to trust. He smiled; a rare sight. He could rarely bare to smile these days, and he remineded himself every time he was sent out. He knew why they sent him; he was dangerous to be around. That saddened him occasionally. The good thing about it was that while everyone else was getting ready to advance on a weapons cache, he could move into the heart of the complex they planned to attack and eliminate the force before reinforcements could be called. He was an assassin, and everyone who looked at him knew it. He took his contracts, but he was never controlled by him. And that freedom, he decided, was reason to stay with this rag-tag band who called themselves the Resistance.

He stood for a while longer, watching the girl several feet away from him, trapped within her own thoughts and fears. He had no such bonds, and he had no such inhibitions. He took up the pistol laid before him, took careful aim at her single loose strand of hair, then fired.

He stared back into her eyes. The windows of the soul...Well, he thought, maybe not the soul, but definately of emotion. Lost in a sea of despair one second, and boiling with rage the next. He smiled; her reflexes were quite amazing, even to him. A deadly opponent, and a stubborn rival. Who knows; he just might have some fun around this place. Better not stay too long, just long enough. He kept smiling. "Not bad. Could use a bit of improvement, though. Gotta learn to keep your cool in all situations..." he said as he took a step forward. "You know, you remind me of a few contracts I had to take. You look at them, you know they're all show."

He arrogantly turned his back to the girl and started to walk away. His time here would be quite fun indeed.

((And this is a perfect moment to cut to the next scene! On with the rampaging romp!))

The young man stayed outside in the tent. The suppliers had no trouble at all sending him the tent, while his weapons took a considerably longer time to arrive. No doubt in his mind why that was. Another reminder of why he was an outcast. Was it his fault that his allies kept venturing into his field of fire? He certainly didn't think so. Speaking of which, that hadn't happened in a very long time now. In fact, it hasn't happened for nearly three years, the three years since the disastrous attempt at the Heart of the System. How many of his comrades had fallen to the clones? How man more had fallen to his own hand? The questions forever stalked him, but realitywas merciless; time would not even let him dwell on those dark questions for more than a few moments. Life was bad, he decided, as he had decided so many times in the last three years. Footsteps outside his tent, coming closer. The sound was barely audible; whoever was coming at him was skilled in the ways of stealth. He lounged on his cot, one hand on the butt of the pistol he palmed out of the firing range, the other over his face, fingers parted just enough to hide his open eyes while restricting his vision in minutely.