"Truth never comes into the world but like a bastard, to the ignominy of him that brought her birth."

JOHN MILTON

The pilot of the black armored helicopter looked at the glass in front of him. Across the glass spread the outlines of a series of housing developments and disused warehouses. Within this maze lurked green forms with red spots in their interiors. Each shape carried an object that glowed metallic silver. Some were smaller images, others were large, but all carried silver tools.

"Armed," the pilot said.

A system of clicks rippled in the interior of the helicopter, yet no sound escaped outside. As quiet as the tomb, the helicopter drifted forward into the labyrinth of scurrying jade outlines. Wherever the helmet of the pilot turned, the weapons on the outside of the helicopter followed suit.

Some of the green silhouettes on the screen stepped out from behind the buildings and raised their silver objects high. The pilot saw many flashes from these silvery implements, but heard nothing. Indeed, it was as if bugs hit his screen as the pilot turned the nose of the Anastazi helicopter down.

"Engage," he said, then quickly followed up with the word, "Eviscerate."

There was no hesitation as the guns of the Anastazi riddled the two green objects with lead. So many bullets pounded into the shapes beneath the chopper that the green forms no longer possessed a humanoid outline.

Hovering around the edge of the building, the pilot directed his chopper lower. This caused many more emerald figures to scramble into the open.

"Settings," the pilot stated. "Vivisect."

The wide spray of bullets refined themselves into a thin slice. Indeed, the desired effect came to pass. The green shadows divided in halves like gingerbread men rent apart by a child. These pieces fell to the street and the Anastazi drifted on.

The pilot continued his program, making sure several of the targets contained no red hues, and that his armaments worked.

At the edge of the slum, the pilot twirled his vessel and faced the buildings once more.

He decided it was time for the conclusive test and said, "Emergency." Two missiles flew from under the chopper, burying themselves in the urban setting of decaying bricks. The chopper swung around and made a hasty exit. From his rear sensors, the pilot watched the city. For a few minutes, nothing happened. Then, a bright flash and the slum was no more.

"Perfection," the pilot announced over his com link. Satisfied his Anastazi measured up to code, he returned to the base at AREA 68. Landing in the underground center, he departed the black helicopter and told his superior, "The test went well."

The small aging man with a clipboard looked at the pilot. Keen blue eyes seemed to register delight at the pilot's words. "Very good, Aron. This one is ready for war."

"Dr. Steiner," Aron asked as he took off his helmet. "I know it is against MAJESTIC policy to ask too many questions."

The German accent of the old man grew heavier as he muttered, "Then don't break policy, my boy." Dr. Steiner grinned and sighed. "Truth is relative here and written in pencil. What we do, we do for the betterment of our country. What is it?"

"I am sure the test subjects in the exercise, well…"

"Acht! Do not agonize on their score, my boy! Let us just say that John Walsh will never find many of the villains he so desires. Come now, we have real mischief to plan. Did I ever tell you about the keen resources that can be earned from a simple triangulation of cross-fire in Texas?"

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