Requiem
Part II of The Legend of Prospero
Copyright 1998 by Kane

   The rush hour traffic continued to crawl along 17th street.  
The dull rumbling of car engines was occasionally punctuated by 
car horns.  In his apartment above the street, Prospero lay in his 
bed, staring vacantly at the ceiling.  His eyes were unfocused, 
his hair was tangled and dirty, his breathing was shallow.  

   The telephone on his bedside table suddenly gave an angry ring.  
Prospero reached out and fumbled with the receiver, his eyes still 
fixed on the ceiling.  He held the receiver to his ear.  "Mmm..." 
he said in a voice that sounded half asleep.

   "Hey Paul," replied a voice, light and musical.

   "Mmm..." mumbled Prospero again.  "What?"

   "Jesus, you sound awful" said the voice.

   The neurons in Prospero's brain began to work again, and he 
remembered who it was he was talking to.  "I feel awful, Phoebe."  
He rolled over and looked at the copy of the picture of him and 
Kahn, standing side by side, taken just ten days ago.

   It had been an agonizing week for the mage.  His mission to 
assassinate Steven Blackpool had cost him the life of his dearest 
friend.  In the few days that he and Kahn had known each other, 
they had developed a powerful bond.  Prospero had regarded the 
tigerman as a brother, a comrade-in-pain.  They both had fought 
for a common goal: to get revenge.  He had used a magical fire to 
cremate Kahn's dead body, then he had summoned a wind to spread 
his ashes over the city.

   The next day he contacted a necromancer friend of his, and 
asked him to try and contact Kahn's spirit.  He agreed, and guided 
Prospero into the land of the Dead.  It was nothing at all like 
Prospero had imagined.  All around him was flat, featureless 
black, and a chill breeze blew around him.

   "Kahn?" he said, his voice echoing over the empty plain.  The 
blackness around him yielded to a pale orange color with black 
stripes, and Prospero felt a pair of strong paws on his shoulders.

   "Kahn!" he exclaimed.

   "Prospero," whispered a voice, faintly, yet fervently, "I'm 
happy to see you again."

   Prospero was shocked for a moment  "You...you can talk?"

   "Yes, I can here," replied the voice.

   "Oh Kahn, I'm sorry about all this." cried Prospero.

   "Why are you sad?"

   "Well...because you're dead."

   "But we both got our revenge."

   "No!  I didn't want to lose you!"

   "Perhaps it's better this way."

   "No!"  Prospero was shocked at the calm indifference in Kahn's 
voice.  "No, it isn't!"

   "Didn't your revenge bring you happiness?"

   "No..."

   "Then all was in vain..."  The voice faded into an echo and 
disappeared.  The presence vanished from Prospero's awareness, and 
he awoke, tears streaming freely down his face.

   "Yeah," said Phoebe,  "Well, I hate to burst your bubble, but 
your pretty illusion didn't keep Hamatochi fooled for long.  
They're mighty ticked about Blackpool, and they've dispatched 
their hit squads."

   "Oh great," he said sarcastically, "just what I need."

   "Jesus, Paul, what's with you?  Two weeks ago you would have 
jumped at the opportunity to take on Hamatochi."

   Prospero rolled on to his back and resumed his scrutiny of the 
ceiling.  "I hate this, Phoebe, I hate it.  It's all become so 
senseless."

   "Why don't you come over to my place?  I've got some of that 
Japanese tea you like."

   "I think I've forgotten how to move my legs."

   "You haven't forgotten how to be sarcastic.  I'm putting the 
kettle on right now.  I expect you to be here on time, or else 
you'll be drinking cold tea."  Click.

   Prospero hung up the phone and continued to stare at the 
ceiling.  He blinked slowly, then pulled himself into a sitting 
position on the edge of the bed.  He rubbed his legs to awaken the 
feeling in them, then stood up and walked slowly towards the door.

   "You never really told me anything about him," said Phoebe as 
she poured the tea.  "What was he like, really?"

   Prospero sipped his tea slowly, savoring its rich flavor.  No 
one could make tea like Phoebe.  He stared across the table and 
looked at her.  She was short, barely five feet tall.  Her coppery 
hair touched her back just between the shoulder blades.  Her face 
was round, with a small, upturned nose and a pouty lower lip that 
stuck out when she was trying to coax information out of 
something, which was often.  "Well?" she said, her lip sticking 
out even further.

   Prospero put down his cup.  He spoke slowly, choosing his words 
carefully.  "I found him in an alley.  He was fighting one of 
Hamatochi's robots.  He got pretty badly beaten up, so I took him 
in and patched him up."  Prospero took another sip of his tea.  
"He wanted more than anything to get back at Blackpool for killing 
his family; he even gave his life to the cause."

   "I see," Phoebe said simply.

   "He was so gentle inside, even if he was an animal on the 
outside,"  Prospero found that it did not hurt to say it as much 
as he thought it would.  He took another sip of tea.  "After he 
died, I got a necromancer to contact his spirit, any the only 
thing he wanted was for me to be happy.  But now I'm miserable 
without him."

   Phoebe stood up and waled over to the other side of the table.  
She leaned on Prospero's shoulder. "He really meant that much to 
you," she asked.

   "Yes, he did."

   "What about me?" she said, her lip sticking out again.

   Prospero rolled his eyes.  "Well..."

   "Oh, you're impossible," she pouted.  She stood up and lifted 
him out of seat.  She wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned 
her head against him.

   "But that's the way you like it, isn't it?"  said the mage.

   Phoebe separated herself from him.  "And this is the way you 
like me," she said as she Changed.  Her face remolded itself like 
rubber to form a slender muzzle.  Reddish fur sprouted over her 
body, and a fluffy red tail tipped with white sprouted at the base 
of her spine.  The werefox wrapped her paws around Prospero's 
waist again, and she nuzzled his face.  Prosper closed his eyes 
and buried his hands into the fur on her back.  It always felt so 
good just to be held like this.  Phoebe's tongue flicked out 
briefly, wetting his ear.  The mage closed his eyes and moved one 
hand up to rub her soft ears.  She made a faint growling sound, 
almost like a purr, and she nuzzled him again.

   The sex was wonderful, as always.  The room was darkened, with 
only a thin trickle of light coming from the window, which was 
open a crack.  Prospero was asleep, his face buried in Phoebe's 
shoulder.  The foxwoman lay underneath him in a half-doze, idly 
running her claws through the mage's hair.  His lean chest rose 
and fell gently with his breathing.  Phoebe sighed contentedly.  
Prospero had desperately needed some for of relief from his guilt.  
He had a habit of letting things weigh too heavily on his mind, 
and it could hurt him if he kelp it up for too long.  This was the 
release he needed.  Phoebe closed her eyes and prepared to join 
her lover in sleep.

   A sudden gust of wind blew through the open window, ruffling 
her fur.  Phoebe sniffed the air lightly.  Her eyes opened, and 
she sniffed again.  Her ears picked up she sound of a car entering 
the parking lot below, and then a voice.  She sniffed again, 
confirming her fears.

   Phoebe sat bolt upright in bed.  She shook Prospero awake.  
"Paul!  Wake up!" she hissed.

   "Mmm..."  A few inarticulate noises came from the mage as he 
tried to stay asleep.

   "Hamatochi hit squad!  They've found us!"

   That got his attention.  All thoughts of sleep left his mind.  
His eyes snapped open, and he rose and peeked out the window.  
Sure enough, three men in black business suits were entering the 
building.  Their jacket contained irregular lumps which Prospero 
knew were guns.  Uzis, from the look of things.

   Phoebe reached over to the nightstand and picked up a small 
switchbox.  Two wires led from the box into the wall, where they 
disappeared.  She flipped the switch, and dropped the box back on 
to the nightstand.  "That ought to delay them a bit," she said.

   "What did that do?" asked Prospero as he put on his shirt.

   A small explosion was heard downstairs.  "It armed the defenses 
downstairs," replied Phoebe.

   "What kind of 'defenses'?"

   Another explosion was heard.  "Shrapnel grenades in the 
ceiling."  Phoebe hurriedly put on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt.  
"We can go out the window," she said as she opened it.  

   Prospero quickly muttered the words to a simple feather fall 
spell.  He joined Phoebe at the window, and they jumped out 
together, floating gently to the ground.  "Let's get out of here," 
said the mage.  Phoebe nodded in agreement.   They cut across the 
parking lot, heading for the street. From there they could use the 
subway to lose their assailants.   

   It all felt so terribly senseless to Prospero.  Everywhere he 
looked, corporations held the population in a strangle hold.  They 
bribed governors and senators to give them more power.  Nowadays 
it seemed like they were becoming small governments themselves.  
And here he was, being hunted down like an animal, just because he 
had dared to fight back.

   "PAUL!" screamed Phoebe.  Prospero turned and saw what she had 
seen.  Another hitman had stepped out of the black limousine in 
the parking lot, his gun aimed at the unguarded fox.  

   "NO!" shouted Prospero as he threw himself between the gun and 
Phoebe.  Lightning flashed.  Thunder rumbled.  An incredible pain 
erupted in Prospero's shoulder, and he blacked out from it's sheer 
intensity.

   Prospero awoke to the gentle, droning hum of a fluorescent 
light bulb.  He was lying in a propped up position in a soft, 
clean bed.  Phoebe was hovering over him, her human face shadowed 
by the light above her.

  "I thought you were never going to wake up," Phoebe said as she 
kissed him.  "You've been out for over thirty hours."

   Prospero stirred slightly and moaned.  He was surprised that he 
was not in pain for a change, but his left arm felt different.  He 
moved the sheets and looked at it.  It looked and felt enough like 
his own, but it was less tanned.

   "The doc had to amputate it.  The shoulder was mangled beyond 
repair," explained Phoebe.  Memory flooded back, the apartment, 
the window, the parking lot, the gun...

   GUN!

   "Are you okay?" he asked quickly.

   Phoebe giggled.  "I'm fine.  You, on the other hand..."  
Prospero stared at her, then at the arm.  "It's a perfect 
replacement, cloned from your existing cells."

   Prospero willed the hand to move, and it did.  He willed his 
fist to clench, and it did.  It felt strange to him, like he had 
forgotten how to use it.  "So, where are we, anyway?"

   "We're in Doc Dicer's place."  Prospero remembered hearing the 
name before.  Doc Dicer was a street doctor who ran a small 
underground hospital.  She usually helped out people who had been 
hurt by corporations.  "We should be safe here."

   "What happened?"

   "Your spell went off just as you got hit.  I picked you up and 
took you here."  Phoebe sat down on the edge of the bed.  "So, you 
still thinking about giving up?"

   "What do you mean?"

   "You said you were tired of the fighting, and you just wanted 
it to stop.  Doc Dicer could arrange for you to stay here."

   Prospero clenched his fist again.  "No, I don't think so.  We 
may be fighting a hopeless war, but it's worth fighting for."

   Phoebe lay down next to him on the bed and hugged him.  "I'm 
glad to hear that.  I'm not ready to give up either.  Kahn 
wouldn't want us to give up."

   Prospero hugged her back.  His arm did seem as foreign as it 
had before.  "No, he wouldn't."