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The brick crashed against sergeant Coulson's riot shield with a heavy thud. The plastisteel shield trembled in his grip, shuddering as the police officer lowered his helmeted head down to hide behind it.

He looked to his commanding officer, hoping for some form of guidance. Beside Coulson, three other members of the riot squad huddled back, forming a shield wall. Jones, a younger officer, stumbled back a few steps and gave a bleating whine. Coulson pursed his lips, grinding his lupine teeth together down tightly. "That's a brick" he snapped, "the little bastards just threw a brick at me!"

Not far away, on the opposite side of the street, the protestors gave a resounding cheer. A young one - ferret, or perhaps weasel, some kind of filthy mustelid, Coulson didn't care which (they were all the same, after all) - pumped his fist in the air. "Freedom of information!" yelled the youngster.

The protestors urged forward, pushing against the police barricade. Coulson clutched his iron stave hard, taking a sturdy swing at one of them which drew too close. The student dodged out of the officer's way.

A hand fell on Coulson's shoulder. He turned, weapon ready, only to recognise the face of his captain. "This is a shit-show" growled the hefty bear.

Coulson nodded. The day had begun easily enough - an organised event and public gathering of the Goodly Folk had been planned to take place in the downtown region. Coulson had to admit, he had a soft spot for the Goodly Folk. Their spokesman, a boisterous and vibrant young lad who gave public with a hearty energetic voice. Coulson liked the youngster's pluck and vigor, but more than that, he liked the Goodly Folk's willingness to say what had to be said. They weren't afraid to talk about what was wrong with society - about the lesser species coming to this country, about the loss of culture. While most politicians were afraid to say it, Coulson knew the truth - that with the youngsters getting into all of this modern cybernetic tech, changing their bodies into god-knows-what, all the while good people like him and his friends were becoming more and more a minority, right here in their own country. When the first counter-protestors turned up, Coulson had been happy to put a steel bar across the young student's skull and leave him bleeding in a pile on the middle of the road.

And now, the rest of that youngster's ilk were here, breaking windows and throwing bricks. Acting like a right bunch of little thugs.

"Captain" snapped Coulson, turning to glance at the bear, "permission to fix these little shits good and proper?"

The captain looked out at the counter-protestors. Not far, one of them waved a damaged, home-made sign. "Freedom for Samedi!" he yelled. "Release Samedi!"

Coulson snorted. In the last few weeks, the young rebel brats had started to latch more and more strongly onto Samedi. Previously just a figure in the online hacking scene, Samedi had been active for as long as Coulson was aware; an enigmatic figure known for digital data theft. More than one corporate project had been all but hamstrung by Samedi and his habit of cracking his or her way into megacorp systems and leak private data onto the digital matrix. But in the last few weeks, he had gone silent. Nobody knew where he had gone - and as word of his vanishing had spread, suspicion had fallen on damn near everybody. Conspiracy theories were abound of Samedi's vanishing, ranging from covert megacorp assassination to an arrest by the police force. If there was any truth to that one, Coulson was unaware of it. Frankly, he hoped that the little thief had bitten a fatal dose of feedback.

"These anti-fascist kids are sure egging for a fight, aren't they?" he asked. "Did someone kick over a rubbish bin?"

Coulson nodded. "They're getting very uppity."

"Well" said the captain, reaching over his shoulder to retrieve his rifle, "Try to drop maybe twelve of them."

Coulson reached up to recover his own. "My pleasure, sir" he said, a grin forming on his lips. He clicked the safety on his gun, and checked that the live ammunition was loaded. High-calibre bullets, he smiled, that will put the little hooligans in their place. Propping his shield against his shoulder, he reached around it, taking aim at one of the anti-fascist protesters, lining his sights up to focus on the teenager's forehead.

* * *

A resounding crack filled the air as the stallion brought the butt of his rifle against Luke's forehead.

The fox reeled back, his body tumbling to the right from the force of the impact. The entire chair to which he was bound to would have been knocked to the ground, taking Luke with him, were it not for the other Graves that stood holding onto the boy's shoulders.

Forcing his head back up to stare balefully at the soldier, Luke narrowed his brow. One eye was swollen into a dark mess, but with the other he glared angrily. "That the best you can do?"

The stallion that had struck him, Graves three, wrapped his meaty fist around the boy's throat. The force of his grip dragged the wooden chair against the floor.

"Leave him" snapped the first.

With a grunt, Graves three looked over at Graves one.

The first among the troop, Graves one, had hung back throughout most of the capture. Now however it stepped closer, folding his arms over his thick chest.

Luke turned his eyes towards the first of the clones. Ever since they had doffed their helmets, he was certain that there was something different about their leader; the way he moved and held himself, as though he was more familiar to puppeting an entirely different body. Something perhaps just a little more officious. "You" said the fox, "You're with CyberaTech, aren't you?"

The horse pursed his lips, stepping closer now. He towered over the fox, a wall of muscle. "That's right" he said, "and I remember you. I was there when they rewrote your memories."

Looking up at her, the young fox felt a small trail of blood trickling from the cut on the side of his muzzle. The captain must have been wearing another body now, he thought - clearly puppeting along with the same meat clones as all of the other troopers. He thought for a moment, and determined that the captain clearly wasn't a life-long soldier. "How'd you know to find me here?" he asked. "I thought you couldn't track Cybe."

"We can't" explained the captain. "But we can track you. Or, more accurately, your wrist-phone."

He flexed his hands, bound as they were behind the small of his back, feeling the watch around his right wrist. As he did so, he tugged in agitation at the tight restraints, finding they were still as tight as they were when they had been fastened on. "Really?" he asked.

Giving a nod, the captain smirked. "Corporations have been able to monitor phones since the late twentieth century. Online data, build-in microphones and cameras, we have access to it all. They're a great invention; they listen to what you say, they watch you, they check your location. And best of all - people want them to do that. We made it fashionable, and people were happy to pay for the privilege of being the subject of continual surveillance."

The fox gave an unimpressed grunt. "Keep boasting" he said, "it clearly makes you feel better. Why don't you just shoot me and be done with it?"

"Let's just say" replied the captain, "that you would be just as much of a liability to us dead as you are alive."

The fox grunted. The group had worked him over pretty well, and his body ached strongly, but he could feel that none of his bones were broken. They had tied him to the chair, punched him a few times, but Luke was sure that they were pulling their punches. Trying to scare him, rather than actually kill him. What the captain had said had confirmed what the fox had already suspected - that they wanted him alive.

The question, as far as he was concerned, was why. If it was to locate Cybe, they didn't need him to be alive to do that anymore. They could quite easily have popped a bullet into his head here and now, and then lain in wait for the wolf to turn up and wander into a trap. No, that couldn't be the reason why they were keeping him around. With a light grin forming on his bruised lips, Luke played a guess.

"So" he said, "I guess you expect me to tell you where we hid the data we stole, eh?"

The captain paused, mid-pace. Slowly, his eyes turned towards the fox. With heavy, thudding footsteps, he moved back over to the chair, leaning close enough into the fox's face until the clone body's breath whistled across Luke's whiskers as he spoke. "I don't think you know a thing about that" said the captain.

Luke fought to keep the grin on his face, eager to convince them that he knew more than he truly did. "Really?" he asked, mockingly. "Me and Cybe have been alone together for a long time. You don't know everything that he told me."

WIth a disgruntled huff, the captain leaned back. He paced a few steps away, mind caught in contemplation.

Luke watched the captain, trying his best to study the body's mannerisms and posture. There was definitely something uncertain about it - the way the soldier moved was rather unsteady and unsure on his feet. Watching him, the fox found himself wondering if the stallion was more familiar with using an entirely different center of gravity.

He tried another hunch. "I think I remember you" he said. "How are you finding the new body though? Must be a bit difficult to get used to having a dick suddenly stuffed in your pants, eh?"

The captain's head turned. A look flashed across the stallion's eyes, something akin to fear.

Perfect, thought the fox. Inwardly, he congratulated himself. "You didn't really think a forced re-write of some basic memories would work, did you?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.

The captain stepped closer.

"A surface-level personality recoding" jabbed Luke, "child's play. No, I remember exactly who you are - who you are, and what you tried to do to me. And trust me, all that you've succeeded in doing is making me very, very angry."

The captain towered over Luke. For a moment, the fox tried to picture what the stallion's birth body would usually look like. She must be short, he thought, and seemed to enjoy feeling a bit of height over somebody.

"Where's the data?" asked the stallion.

That was it - the confirmation that the fox had been pushing for. It told him exactly what he had guessed - that whatever it was that their group had stolen, CyberaTech had no idea where they had hidden it.

* * *

"Okay" said Cybe, patting Rowan on the shoulder. "You're good with the plan?"

The mouse gave the wolf a skeptican glance, and exhaled. "We're all going to die" she muttered.

Waving her hand dismissively, the wolf gave a disgruntled "Meh" sound and instead turned her attention to her wristwatch, pulling up a holographic layout of her apartment.

Rowan leaned back in her seat. The car had enough room to carry most of their belongings, armaments and necessary supplies. She still felt a little guilty for the way in which the android had digitally hotwired the vehicle. It was the second vehicle that Cybe had stolen in the last few hours and Rowan was sure that if they weren't careful they would eventually earn something of a reputation.

Cybe waved her hand. "Look" she said, "We have, at least, five hostile signals located in the main room. They're generally crowded around this area here" she pointed. Sure enough, several little lights illuminated a single room on the holographic display. "Based on what happened earlier, we can expect that they're bio-morphs - clones. This means that an EMP pulse won't be able to shut them down. And because we're unsure which one is Luke, we can't go in with frag grenades."

Rowan stretched, working out the cramped tension that had accumulated in her neck. "I could talk to Grant" she said. A pang of bitter regret rose up inside her - an acrid, guilty feeling.

The android shook her head. "Not if we can help it" she explained. "Let's not wake him, not until we're ready and sure that he can handle it."

The mouse nodded. "If you need me, just give me a buzz. Remember, you've got your wireless cell phone built into your audio receptor. Just throw me the code-word and I'll be in there, plasma pistols blazing. You know," she added, "I wouldn't have this problem if Luke was still online. I could just ping him, and..."

Cybe patted Rowan's shoulder.

"But you know," continued the mouse, "people still have this weird aversion to having mechanical apparatus hooked up into their skulls. They get all 'What?! No!", and "Who are you? How did you get in here?! Is that a power drill?""

Cybe gave a sad nod. "Don't worry, little mousie. We'll find you some test subjects yet." With a smile, the wolf reached into the glove compartment, retrieving a small baseball cap. She pulled it down over her head, and hopped out of the vehicle.

* * *

Seventh Incumbent Walter Jones finished his chant. "Blessed unto thee" he concluded, drawing a final anointing circle on the somewhat dented surface before him.

Glancing to his right, he checked on his brothers and sisters. They continued the chant, as they had done for most of the previous few hours and would continue to do into the night.

He, however, stepped back. Looking at the bulk of the tank before him, he uttered another prayer to the All-Knowing Unseen.

Soon, he thought.

He checked the circles and glyphs. They glistened wet with oils in the candle light of the inner sanctum.

In his previous life, before he had been awakened to the divine mysteries of the unseen microverse, Seventh Incumbent Walter Jones had worked in factories which had produced machines not too dissimilar to the vehicle before him. This one was a tank, a vast but compact blue police tank, which the All-Knowing Unseen had blessed him with the discovery of, but it was not so dissimilar to the machines that he had been responsible for aiding in the construction of. Of course, in those days, he had merely been responsible for creating shells, frames and moving parts. Now, though, his calling was greater.

The process of miniaturisation could certainly be performed without the oils and sanctified paints. Seventh Incumbent Walter Jones knew the processes easily enough; a simple reworking of the metals and alloys. Roughly half of the tank itself would create billions upon billions of nano-machines, each of which would then continue Jones' work for him, turning on the other half to continue the conversion into yet smaller nano-machines.

The process would doubtless take months, possibly even years. He marvelled at the idea of the final result - of vehicles so miniature that the entire church would be able to re-sleeve their consciousnesses into them and journey between the atomic walls.

Yes, the process could technically be performed without sanctifying the vehicles. But what an affront to the creator that would be. What an insult to finally venture into the unknown, to meet the All-Knowing Unseen face-to-face, only to arrive in a nanotechnic chassis that was unclean. Seventh Incumbent Walter Jones felt sick at the very thought.

Quietly, he muttered a soft prayer, and hoped that the conversion would be finished before the police came back to reclaim their property.

* * *

A knock sounded on the door.

Luke almost jumped. Not that he could physically do so, being bound to the wooden antique chair by his arms and feet. But the troopers around him almost certainly did; especially the captain, who turned abruptly to peer through the main room, into the hallway and towards the front door.

Another knock sounded.

The captain turned, glowering at Luke, an expression on his face a mix of annoyance and surprise. "Who's that?" he insisted.

The fox returned the stallion's gaze. "How would I know?" he asked. "I'm tied to this bloody chair."

The captain snorted. Leaning back, he motioned towards one of the other troopers, then to the door.

Another knock. "Hello?" came a voice from the other side of the door, "Pizza delivery."

"Take care of them" said the captain.

The trooper eyed his superior back, uncertainty. "You want I kill them?" he asked.

"No, you moron" hissed the captain. "Do you think I want to deal with a dead deliveryman as well?"

Luke stifle a chuckle. His guess about the captain was clearly right - whilst the other troopers worked with the efficiency of a single mind, the captain was set apart. Evidently a different person had resleeved into this particular clone. The fox took pleasure in their little arguments.

"Well what do you want me to do?" asked the trooper.

Another knock.

"It's a standing order" said Luke. "They deliver it every morning at the same time for breakfast. If you don't let me get the door, they'll know something is wrong."

"Bullshit" replied the captain.

Another muffled voice from beyond the door. "Sir, mister Luke Rickard" it called, "your breakfast pizza is here. C'mon, please open up. My manager's going to chew me out if I miss another delivery this week."

"Alright, alright!" shouted Luke, perking up. "Give me a moment to get some pants on!"

One of the troopers trained his gun on Luke, but the captain waved him down. "God damn it" he grumbled.

"I really can't wait for long" said the voice of the delivery man.

Luke fixed the captain with a glance. "Untie me" he said, "and I'll get the pizza."

"The captain leaned closer, until the hot breath from his large nostrils filled Luke's face. "You try anything" he said, "and we'll fill you with more holes than a cheese grater. Understand?"

The fox nodded. "Hey, I'm in no position to bargain, am I?"

With a wave of his hands, the captain gave the order. Luke's bindings were eased. Rubbing his aching wrists, the fox got to his feet. "I'll only be a moment" he called to the door.

From the other side of the front door, the delivery man gave an audible sigh. "I'm on a schedule!"

Luke began to make his way towards the door, but with a heavy shove the captain stepped into his way. "One wrong move" he said, motioning for two of the other troopers, "and these two will put bullets in you." With that, the captain nodded to the two, "follow him. Stay right behind him."

The fox hurried over to the main door. Beside him, one trooper lurked in the hallway, ready to fire from a distance, whilst the second stayed right beside Luke, moving his body to stay out of sight of whoever was on the other side of the door. Luke gave the one beside him an annoyed, angry glance, and pulled open the lock to the door.

Outside stood a young wolf. She wore a short leather jacket, and a thin pizza delivery baseball cap pulled down over her ears. As Luke opened the door, she glanced down at her watch in annoyance. "About time" she muttered. "Hello Luke."

The fox blinked. There was something entirely familiar about the wolf. "Uh" he said, "hi?"

With a single move, she shoved a sturdy cardboard pizza box into the fox's hands. "Right, here you go. Your usual breakfast pizza. Want to check it's right?"

Luke blinked again. He knew that he had seen the wolf somewhere before. In fact, he was certain of it. His mind clicked into place. Stumbling a little as she thrust the box against his chest, he stepped back. "Uh" he said, "No. I'm good. Breakfast pizza?" he muttered.

The wolf nodded. "Yes" she said. "The usual. Bacon. Double cheese. Chicken. And duck."

Looking down at the box, Luke fingered the lid. "Duck?" he repeated. "On pizza?"

"Duck!" snapped the wolf.

Luke blinked. "Oh!" he replied, and immediately threw himself to the floor, right at the wolf reached for her gun.