Omakes, or takeouts, are not intended to be seriously considered as part of the main story. At best, they're going to be only subtly referred to, as a "Could it be...? But probably not." moment. Such as the idea of Pen-pen worshipping the Penguin Emperor or having an AT-field.

With that; set your rationality aside, and enjoy what 'just might' be...





Shinji made another phone call. "Send them." was the gist of his message, though of
course clad well in polite and self-humbling words. He thanked them all for their well
wishes in his recovery.


A few days later, NEON STARS GUNSELLING (of course also displayed in garish red
neon) gunshop was open for business. Its apparent owner was a tough old ex-SWAT,
who had no need for an apprentice. He chewed at a cigar like his namesake, Patton;
though his full name was Patton Shirokawa Sakura. For obvious reasons people just
referred to him as 'Patton-san'.

Section 2 checked his background well, and found nothing that should prevent them
from approving his business license. A gunsmith was a useful person to have around.
Tokyo 3 had a few other gun shops, but they seemed more of the 'off-the-rack' kinds.
The old guy dealt in stuff people really needed to defend themselves, along with
various survival gear.

It should be noted that post-Impact, gun laws in Japan took a rather drastic change.
The chaos in those early days were held back only by the force of arms. Too many
died and were abused simply because they had no means to defend themselves. The
spirit of the samurai was as nothing if you didn't have a weapon.


Patton-sat bit down on the cigar and chewed the bits of leaf, moistening and pulping
with his saliva. He resisted the urge to spit it right out at the face of the sunglasses-
wearing man in front of him.

"How much did you say again? Then; no." he said

"All right, how much more do you want? I suppose we are in a rush. I'm sure we can
arrive at a... reasonable... exchange."

"It doesn't matter how much. The more you offer the more I don't want it." He spat
aside, uncaring of propriety. "I don't deal like this."

"Why not? It's a legitimate transaction."

"Ten submachine guns? Yeah. I have those in stock. The laws allow it. I've sold a few.
Tokyo 3's almost a war zone, I understand. But like hell I'm letting a bunch of Yakuza
get their hands on more guns."

"Us...? No, Patton-san. You misunderstand. We are a legitimate security company."

The Kusanagi Corporate Security representative certainly looked slick and businesslike.
However, there were supposedly easier ways for an organization to get their hands on
such hardware. Easier... were it not for the battery of background checking. There
might be military connections, but Section 2 and the freaking MAGI were well outside
their reach.

After what happened in the recovery of Shinji Ikari, even Yakuza were leery of tangling
with Section 2. Case in point, the one in front of him was wearing midnight -blue- suit
and dark sunglasses. Black suit and glasses were all but Section 2 uniform, and it
would be incredibly bad to be accused of trying to pass off as them.

Patton-san yawned. "Get your ass out of my shop. I don't need your business."

"Please, reconsider. This is good money we're offering. Refusing our kind patronage
can only... harm you in the long run."

The old gunsmith snorted. "Like I care. I'm old, ya little twit. There's not much you're
scared of anymore at this age. I'm not gonna need that money when I die. I'm gonna
take a few bastards with me to the grave if I have to."

The Kusanagi stood up, and looked disapproving behind his shades. He left, slamming
the door as he did so.

Patton-san yawned again and got up as well. His cane was a relic of the days just
after Second Impact; a trusty old shotgun fixed into a short staff. With a slight pull;
boomstick, and a pointy stick for poking people in the eye when the ammo is dry.

Slowly he walked over and began to close up the store. He made sure that all the
guns on display were empty, the ammo boxes under lock and key; then turned in for
the night.


He heard a loung clanging noise. Quickly, he got at his cane; unhooking the shotgun
from it. He fumbled for the light switch and - "GAAH!"

Patton-san fell back on his bed, clutching his heart.

"Dammit, how many times do I have to tell you to STOP doing that? There are other
entrances to this place, you know."

The figure, clad in black, pointed up to the skylight at his ceiling. As if it... no- she,
for that shape was hard to mistake; blamed him for choosing to live on the top floor
of a two-story building.

"I'm getting too old for this shit. You're going to kill me one of these days..."

The black-clad figure stared back impassively, with its eerily glowing red eyes over
a strange gas mask. She made a deeply sarcastic cutsy and walked away. However,
just before his door, she stopped and stared at a chalkboard. Written there was
'Check Below - KA'.

Below the chalkboard was a steel cabinet with an electronic lock. Tapping in a few
numbers, she opened it up. Inside where what looked to be a strange box-like gun
with twin barrels. She held it up to him.

"Yeah... me and Kensuke just finished that. He calls it a Storm Bolter, so you can fire
two shots at once. I don't know -why- you'd want to burn through ammo even faster,
those custom rounds are expensive, but there ya go." The old gunsmith sighed and
tapped his cane. "It should work. The kid spent two hours praying over it."

The armored female recognized where on her own thick bracers she could attach the
thing. A thin trigger line ran from it to her thumb. She made a pose.

"Yeah. That kid scares me sometimes. Not as scary as you, though."

"My, what MEAN thing to say, Patton-san!" said the female, holding both deadly fists
under her chin cutely. Her left arm was encased in an odd metal gauntlet, sizable but
light; fitting like a glove and ending in claws. Similar was the right, but the fingers were
blunted. A large skull etched over the back of the hands reinforced the intimidating
sight of rudimentary Power Claws and Power Fist.

The old man let out another "Gaaah!" and made warding motions. "Dammit! That's
what I mean. That's creepy! Don't talk like that! Don't move like that!"

She pressed a button on her helmet. When she spoke again her voice was loud, harsh
and rasping with electronic modulation. "Is this better?"

"Yes." The old man began to breathe normally. "Somehow Darth Vader with breasts is
just less disturbing."

Fsssh... click. Unsuprisingly, it was Maya Ibuki. There was another suit like hers
though, and someone else did choose to wear that upon occasion. "Who?" she asked.

Patton-san grimaced. The apalling ignorance of the new generation. "Never you mind.
I'll bet you don't know who Batman is, either."

"Oh! I know him! Makoto-kun has manga about him. He's the guy in a black suit, right?
Fighting crime?"

"Like you. Yes."

"His parents were killed on a baseball diamond, so he swore to fight crime using the
power of baseball. His greatest enemy is the Jester, who launches jokes and insults
and uses all sorts of dirty tricks! The most dangerous is Mister Froze, with his ice
shooting cannon! Good this the Bat-man can hit those snowballs right out of the park!"

The gunsmith groaned and lay back down on his bed. He stared up at the stars. "Why
didn't I just die at the Second Impact, Kami-sama? Why are you punishing me this
way? Just... strike me down. Strike me down, now."

"Please, Patton-san! There's no need for such negativity!" Maya felt a little guilty in
that she hadn't told him that Second Impact was self-inflicted. That knowledge would
do more harm than help, though.

"When the Chief pulled me out of retirement just because Ikari-san needed my help, I
had no idea this was the sort of shit waiting for me." He groaned again. "I'm getting
too old for this."

"I... I'm sorry, Patton-san. Do you regret coming here? We can find someone else to
mind the store and the safehouse, if you want..."

"No, no." The old man got back up and rubbed his tough, age-lined face. "If you want
to play superhero, so be it. Someone has to make some sense around here. I hate the
criminal bastards as much as anyone. Let Ikari-san defend this city from the big
threats, we'll protect the people in another way."

"Thank you, Patton-san."

"Graah. I still can't believe how -corrupt- the police here are. I guess that's what you
get if some machines are running the city. The politicians almost have nothing to do
except just feed off the fools who elected them just to have that useless feeling of

"Um... the MAGI -are- doing a good job. Every problem given to them do recieve a
prompt solution."

"Yes, yes. I'm still not gonna trust no machine to run my life. But to really screw up,
you need -human intervention-. The military have their own laws. The civilians... we
just have to make the best of it."

Maya nodded. "There are a disturbing amount of criminals with access to high-power
arms." It was a good thing her suit was tested against most assault rifles in use. It
had to be one of the most expensive, most advanced combat suits in existence. That
Jet Alone would just part with it at Shinji-kun's say-so boggled the mind. But that was
Shinji-kun... he always found ways to reassure her faith.

"You better check out Kusanagi in that computer of yours. They're out for trouble."

Maya stretched out and yawned. The gunsmith sighed again. "Too old..."

"Sorry for disturbing your sleep, Patton-san. I'm going to get some rest too. It's been
a hard night. I don't know if I could have gone so long without the flexible exoframe
in this thing."

"Yeah. Well, good night. Remember that -you're- still the most important part of that
suit. If you want to play at this, then be sure to keep yourself on top of your game."


Maya went down into the safehouse, much changed over the past months. It now
had more armored reinforcements, a more secure main entryway, and a bank of
sophisticated monitors dominated a wall. The MAGI devoted a small chunk of its
processing power to monitoring the city and commanding her sluit. It was a neglegible
fraction of the gargantuan capacities of that supercomputer.

She stripped out of her battlesuit and slid into the bed sweaty and only in her sheer
underwear. She wriggled out the kinks in her muscles. It was all so hard, yet also so

Truthfully, she couldn't remember just when it was she decided to 'play at' being a
'superhero'. She knew exactly when she put on the improved armored plugsuit and
went out into the night, but her motivations before that... were unclear.

A search to make herself equal in Shinji's eye's seemed a sizable part of it. He went
out without fear to defend the city. He had the power, and used it well. She too, had
power all her own... she couldn't be content with being just mousy little Maya. She
had to help as well, and directly.

"Are you sure, Maya-san?" Shinji asked when she broached the idea. "I don't want to
see you hurt."

"You can't protect me forever, Shinji-kun. I need to find my own strength."

He nodded. He began to pull strings; almost invisible but far-reaching. Agents Jiro and
Kentaro helped set up the main underground safehouse into her lair. Kensuke, being
merely two doors away, was too eager to offer his assistance. With the help of an
actual gunsmith and with her access to the MAGI, he soon had several ideas for
painful, but nonlethal weapons. Of course, as was his developing trend, all could
become extremely deadly with just the flick of a switch or changing the clip. Even Rei
had her own input.

In the end, it was she that had to risk her own neck. All of them... they all cared.
They respected her need.

Maya supposed they wouldn't think badly if she stopped. They expected nothing from
her, they cared for her either way. But she felt she had a responsibility too, to the
people of Tokyo 3 and to herself.

And thus the Battlesister roamed the night roofs of Tokyo 3.

On occasion, Vigilante Rei would lend a hand, but no one ever remembered seeing her.
Maya cultivated an aura of fear and panic, for criminals are a superstitious lot. A few
tricks with the AT-field from Rei in the shadows, and soon the rumors of something
dark and deadly lurking in the darkness began to take root. Some actually stopped
crime entirely

These were also incidentally, the ones hospitalized by the Red-eyed Demon during
Shinji's disappearance.

Maya slowly drifted to sleep. She could still hear it... DAKKA! Rubber-tipped bolter
rounds stopped a mugging, maybe even a stabbing. DAKKA! Glop rounds a raping. A
kick here, a punch there. Snapping a metal pole with her Power Claw. Hopefully a few
thugs would forever forsake their useless, destructive life of crime.

She wanted to bring Justice. She didn't want to kill. Not again. Not for herself. She
didn't want to start enjoying it. Not unless it's for Shinji-kun.

Maya slept and did not dream.