The command center looked like a warzone. A big section of floor was charred, warped and sagging, as if partially turned to slag. Smoke was billowing up through the glowing, yellow, cylinder-shaped isolation field, which flickered occasionally, but dutifully hummed along, doing its job for at least a little while longer.

Ugly as it was, living bodies rained off the tower-like command center platform, propelled out of the isolation field by the blast. They plummeted to the distant metal floor below. Seven's bomb in that comparatively small area was overkill, no question. The power was so much that even his own cover didn't protect him fully; the black-clad troublemaker lay under a bent, shredded, fully-blown-out computer terminal, which appeared to have been torn out of the floor and knocked over atop him, partially pinning him down.

Seven sat up tenderly, clutching at an arm, grimacing, and looking entirely worse for wear in every possible way. He nonetheless lifted the console enough to pull his leg out from under it, rolled over face-down, and pushed himself up onto his knees with considerable effort. He appeared to be experiencing some mix of pain and satisfaction, and coughed every time he started to laugh, and winced behind his grins.

"... Biometric analysis interface ready," said the computer's voice. The system was somehow still operable. A probe-like structure with a single, glassy-looking lens on the underside extended from the distant ceiling above, and began projecting a circle of blue, grid-lined light that encompassed the command chair and a space of twenty-five feet around it on all sides. "Please approach the center of the platform."

Meanwhile, far away, dangerously near to the edge of the platform and mere inches from the isolation field, was Geoff. No amount of crystal would have been enough to protect him fully from that blast, but it was enough to increase his mass such that he was the only other combatant not blown clear off the tower. Instead, he had lucked up and stopped a hair's width from ejection. It may have been hard to call being in that situation "lucky" in any way, though.


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"N-nuh uh!" shouted Seven as he lunged to his feet, only to fall to one knee first, scramble, and then start limping after the hedgehog. One hand clutched across his abdomen while the other drew the machinepistol hanging from his thigh holster and leveled it at Geoff's back.

"This is my opportunity!" he shouted and squeezed the trigger.

The muzzle flashed and flared as a volley of pistol rounds were blurted out in fully-automatic fire at Geoff from behind. It was only a short burst before the weapon went dry, however, and clicked in the boy's hand.

He stumbled and fumbled a moment, ejecting his magazine and fishing around on his person for another. Most of them had been in his jacket, but he soon remembered he had one attached to his left leg, and went for it shakily.

"Error — anomaly detected," said the computer in response to Geoff's crystal-generating transformation. As such, nothing was set in stone yet (no pun intended).

With a wobbly motion, Seven finally got the long magazine into the well, chambered the next round, and raised the weapon at Geoff again, grasping with both hands. It virtually buzzed with gunfire, assailing its target with a hail of bullets.

The weapon soon ran dry and its chamber locked open.

Seven, seemingly fueled by Geoff's attempt to taunt him, and eased by the computer's unwillingness to recognize him with all that crystal attached, grinned horribly despite his setback and tossed his gun aside with confidence renewed. Out came his combat knife from its shoulder-rig sheathe, whispering a gentle metallic noise as its blade glinted into the yellow-tinged light.

"Bombs aren't as fun," said the battered, bruised, scratched, and singed boy, looking like the worst kind of sadistic mess of a human being.

Out of gadgets, out of ammo, out of luck — Seven had somebody who wasn't going to fall for it, and nothing to make him fall with except a combat knife.

The boy shifted his footing and took shallow, hesitant breaths. He swept his hair back with his free hand, shook his head, and, with resolve hardened, charged and made a stab at any open spot he could find. It was a short sprint, more a hard lunge, or a long jump, the best he could muster under his present condition, and nothing to scoff at. However, truly, he was not fresh, and nowhere near his usual agility.

That ended it pretty quickly, to be frank. Seven buckled outward from the kick, was nailed directly in the head by the swing, and slammed the ground with a bounce such that his previous forward momentum was fully broken and he actually flopped and tumbled right back out of the circle like a rag doll.

All that was left was for Geoff to drop his guard (so as to no longer confuse the sensors) and advance to emperor-hood.

There was a whir; the lights danced. Just like that, the deed was done.

"Biometric analysis complete."

...

"What is your command?"

"All possible options cannot be listed," replied the computer, a sort of artificial confusion in its voice. "Did you mean to ask for a list of relevant suggestions?"