 
Scar: Where are our Children

(A Serial Novel) Episode 7 of 9

By Gary Sapp

Copyright 2015 Gary Sapp

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Table of Contents

Our Story so far

Serena

Seth

Thomas

Chris

Angel

Louis

Roxanne

Chris

Serena

Seth

Sneak Peek at Tempest Rising

Dedication

Nest Egg Publishing Note

Nest Egg Presents Where are our Children

Where to find this author online
Our Story so Far

While incarcerated as an inmate at Calhoun State Prison in southwest Georgia, Xavier Prince, the leader of A House in Chains, confronts Michael Davenport; a man that he believes has knowledge of what turns out to be the 411 attacks upstate in Atlanta. Serena Tennyson and her Pandora associates carry out the highly coordinated, highly lethal attacks weeks later against the Andrew Young Youth Center, The Fox Theatre and the mayor of the city itself, Ernestine Johnson. On her deathbed, rotting away from a yet to be identified poison, Mayor Johnson enlist the aid of Thomas Pepper, a freelance reporter, to find out the answers to the three questions that every Person of Color in America wants to know. The FBI recruits a renowned Clinical Psychologist, Dr. Angel Hicks-Dupree to consult on the crisis in Atlanta—and after a confrontation with her husband, Dr. Seth Dupree, she reluctantly agrees to help. Her childhood friend, Special Agent Christopher Prince, turns out to be one of the hostages being held at the Fox Theatre. Meanwhile, his half-brother, Xavier, is confronted with his own problems as a siege breaks out at Calhoun Prison on the eve of his scheduled release. In the meantime, Christopher Prince escapes the theatre alive, but immediately faces a new predicament when he receives a series of text messages that his 20 year old stepdaughter has come up missing.

Roxanne Sanchez, formerly of the FBI's training program, is now a private detective and has been hired by Chris' ex-wife Denise to find her daughter Erica. Roxanne can tell from her conversations with both parents that they are hiding a deep dark secret from their time together as a family. Serena Tennyson show up at Thomas Pepper's townhouse looking to confess on his blog for her role in the deadly 411 attacks as well as present a new warning to a House in Chains and all People of Color: Xavier Prince and his organization is to stand down or face a new round of attacks centered at Atlanta's children. The FBI, led by Agent Prince, capture her, but not before paying a high price in casualties. Xavier learns of a plot to kill him upon his exit from Calhoun Prison as a volatile siege and riot takes place. Serena sees a series of frightening visions including the much prophesized Whirlwind coming to fruition. Yet, it is in real life where she is traumatized after being nearly raped by an APD police officer. After she and Thomas Pepper give separate but hotly contested interviews with the bureau, she escapes in a series of daring synchronized stages that leaves Christopher Prince and the FBI befuddled. After celebrating her freedom with her closest Pandora agents Serena instructs an increasingly fragile Louis Keaton to begin rapturing Atlanta's children.

Chris and his ex-wife, Denise Prince, meet for lunch to discuss Roxanne's search for Erica. The FBI Agent is promptly refreshed to the fact of how volatile his complicated relationship still is with her. Both parties are also reminded of the hostility that existed in their household that aided in their dissolution...and the catastrophic secret that has yet to be revealed to the general public about an event that occurred many years ago while they were still together. In the meantime, Roxanne Sanchez is far closer to finding their missing daughter than they both realize. The private detective's tenacious search leads her to the Carver Housing Projects...just in time to witness the Peacekeepers launch a major offensive to liberate its citizens from underneath the rule of the Choir Boys. Xavier Prince and his Circle had decided that this community would no longer wilt under the oppression of thugs, drug dealers and gang bangers. Roxanne makes two starling discoveries while barely surviving the incursion at all: She meets a self-proclaimed Pandora mole named Joseph Champion and finds Erica Lovings dead body in a dumpster. At the same time, Chris and Angel began investigating staged crime scenes that they question whether they unlock secrets of the past, or disclose clues to future abductions. Chris learns of his step daughter's death and travels to Denise's apartment to tell her the horrible news in person not knowing that Seth is secretly on the premises as well. Louis names Moses Jackson, the first of his new child captives, his general, and instructs the boy to watch over the other children he plans to rapture from Atlanta's streets. And then, under increased pressure from Serena, Louis reveals a startling revelation of his past that so enrages Pandora's leader, that she takes the time to journey to his hometown of Memphis, Tennessee, to avenge a terrible wrong.

Thomas continues to fend off threats from retribution from both elements of a House in Chains and Pandora as he continues his final preparations for announcing his findings in front of a national TV audience. One of the most frightening aspects of his investigations is the discovery that America's first Black president was not assassinated by a sniper's bullet, but killed by the same unidentified poison as Atlanta's Mayor, Ernestine Johnson. Even more unsettling to the blogger is that Serena herself is feeding him such vital information. Their relationship grows ever odder, ever more intimate. Upon Serena's request, he meets with her and she discloses the physical remains to Thomas of Templeton Healy, the uncle of Louis Keaton who she took a brutal vengeance against for his past indiscretions against Keaton as a boy and other Memphis residents over a number of years. After a testy interview with Muhammad Clark, the other perpetrator during Atlanta's first round of child abductions, an emotional Chris tells Angel the entire truth about the time he spent with Keaton while kidnapped. He was never sexually abused unlike the other captives who were taken. He was given the responsibility of watching over the other youngsters by Keaton. Yet, the emotional trauma that Chris suffered knowing the other boys were killed specifically because of his escape has continued to trouble him even to this point of his life. Seth and Denise show up at the agent's hotel room with Chris' ex-wife believing beyond a reasonable doubt that the two old friends have resumed a sexual relationship. Desperate and heartbroken, Denise commits suicide by throwing herself out of her apartment's window while Seth is helpless to do anything but watch. After her funeral the two Prince Brothers have an impromptu reunion with both men concerned about the other's decision making and general welfare moving forward. Roxanne had been following Seth and confronts him with her findings and rationale behind her decision that his estranged wife must die for her role in this crisis—and that she is the one that must kill her.

At Thomas Pepper's long awaited press conference, he reveals all of his findings on his investigations into Pandora to a national TV audience that raises the tension between Serena Tennyson's people and a House in Chains. But it is Lucy Burgess, Thomas' former colleague and lover that steals the spotlight and the headlines from underneath him with her own revelations. A controversial episode in Special Agent Christopher Prince's life is at the center of her report. Now, his already chaotic existence is thrown entirely on its ear. But for Chris his troubles are only beginning as he learns from a highly unlikely source that his father Isaac was indeed the infamous Caretaker and he did not perish in a car accident as he and the rest of the world was led to believe. And then Chris learns that he himself is suffering from the same stomach ailment that killed his mother.

Dr. Seth Dupree and Thomas Pepper get up close and personal samples of the strife that has broken out in the streets of Atlanta. The question is will either them survive a night in hell itself to divulge to anyone what they have seen. Chris Prince is reinstated to his posting with the FBI while Angel loses consultant status at the same time. Chris gains an unexpected ally from within the Circle in a desperate search to find and save his brother Xavier from certain betrayal from Quincy Morgan and the Peacekeepers loyal to the Sargent at Arms of a House in Chains. There is a change in leadership on tap for Pandora as well, as Serena Tennyson decides to forcibly remove Raymond Rice from leadership.
Serena

The piano:

Serena Tennyson or Oracle to those who knew that it was wise to fear her, hadn't played one of these in decades; She sat on the stool with her knees up and pecked at a key and then a second and third until she found a melody that had grown familiar to her.

And to the one she'd been forced to destroy.

She'd gone through the set up this new command center at a new hotel whose owner was secretly—and as importantly, a silent friend to Pandora. Considering the locale and the wondrous view of Metro Atlanta, the man had outdone himself and would be rewarded for his time and attention. Those underneath her command that she respected, trust would be far too strong a term for it, advised her that a change of scenery at this point of the campaign would be wise if not prudent. Rohm reminded her of the allies and friends of their movement butchered at the hands of Quincy Morgan and an elite cell of Peacekeepers in his company. Her people thought it highly unlikely—perhaps even suicidal for a House in Chains sergeant at arms to make a personal play for her but why risk it.

Otherwise, their current operation was going forward and well as planned. Pandora was taking its own offensive against supporters, community leaders and The Board in all of the major cities across the country. The wounds that their enemies were inflicting on Pandora were superficial at best. Their operation seemed to be focused on pulling off guerilla tactics like desperate terrorist. Those left behind by the death of Xavier Prince were poisoning a good man's legacy and that of his father Isaac Prince—the Caretaker.

And it would stop. It was just a matter of time.

She got up from the piano for the moment, worked her way to the fireplace and tossed a pinched finger full of sand into the flames as she called out the names of each individual lost to the barbarism of the enemy over the past few hours. She'd honored the people of color who were lost in the wee hours of the 411 operation. She'd better damn well honor her own solders in this conflict.

She whispered the name of Raymond Rice...and tossed in her last pinch of sand into the flames.

And then Oracle sat herself down at the piano and played for who knew how long until she felt someone nudging her on the shoulder.

"Rohm," Serena heart fluttered. She must be really tiring if she wasn't hearing and feeling people approach her. This madness must stop. "Please sit down."

"I'm sorry if I started you, Serena." The younger woman dressed all in black gave her leader a once over. "Serena, have you been crying? Are you alright?"

Serena stifled any further questioning by offering the other woman a quick smile. It was a warm but brief one that Rohm might have missed if she blinked at the wrong time.

Serena asked her to sit down again. The younger woman crossed one black pant leg over the other, but squeezed Oracle's hand while she did.

"I'm glad you came, Danielle." Serena told her. "I asked you here because I need to ask you something important?"

"What is it, Serena?"

"You've told me, or more than one occasion, about your spiritual beliefs."

"I have."

"I was wondering what is it that you do when your faith wavers."

Rohm sat back and rested her head on the cushion before sitting back up in full attention mode.

"I guess that I pray for clarity of mind and spirt. In Christianity faith is the ultimate test of our love for our Lord. He passes that love down to us...his children, and through His example we pass that love and faith on to those who matter the most to us." She said. "But make no mistake, Serena that faith is under constant scrutiny. That is why the Bible teaches us to pray."

"So the faith you speak of," Serena said. "It is like the faith you've shown me."

Rohm smiled through her black lipstick.

"Of course, Serena," She said. "You've given me no reason for my faith to waver in you."

Serena stands at her full height for a moment, and then turns and seats herself in front of the piano once more...and begins to stroke the keys as if she'd never missed one of her mother's lessons from all of those years ago.

Rohm said, "I heard you playing through the door just before I came in. I admit to being curious when you requested the piano come with this latest command center. I know how you feel that furniture, for the most part, is a waste of space in a room. I didn't even know that you played." Rohm closed her mouth long enough to take in an ear full. "That song is beautiful. Is it an original composition? I can remember hearing the piece somewhere before but I can't quite picture where."

"It is called Death is in the air Tonight. It is Xavier Prince's song."

"Exactly," Rohm nodded, pleased with her own recollection. "Death is in the air tonight. He played it quite a few times while he was under my surveillance: Sometimes as he ate his meals, once when he sexed one of his lady friends and every night before he went to sleep. I remember when you have me secretly mail him the CD. I must admit that I never tired of hearing it play myself. Where did you first come in contact with the song?"

"Before my father rose to fly with the Dragon he wrote and composed music in his spare time."

"Your father was very talented."

"He was at that." Serena nodded, nearly smiling again at her father's memory. "And yet, I believe that his raw abilities had very little to do with the origin of this composition."

"I don't understand?"

"Danielle, my father composed this song knowing that his fate was already sealed." Serena said with some urgency. "He composed it for me."

The hotel's phone rang.

Serena hesitated...she glared at the receiver for a minute—and continued playing as if she were never interrupted.

"Aren't you going to answer that, Serena?" Rohm said in a cautious tone.

"In two minutes exactly they will call back," Serena played louder then. She raised her voice loud enough to be heard. "And when they do, answer it for me and put the call on the speaker."

120 seconds later the phone indeed did ring again. Rohm looks to Serena briefly, gets to her feet and does as Pandora's undisputed leader requested. After that the younger woman folds her arms over her small breast and remains standing. Serena stops playing in her own time and no sooner, but allows her long fingers to rest on the keyboard.

"You are an ally, Danielle, but I need to know if you are truly a friend. Friends don't keep secrets from another. If we are to continue on with this, Danielle," Serena said in a quiet voice. "I need to expose you to the truth...all of it. I need to test your faith in me.

Quincy Morgan is the man behind the voice on the speaker. "

"Serena, are you there?"

Serena replied, "I am, Mr. Morgan. I am here. I need to know if you've got it done. Did James Carter track your movements as we both anticipated? Is that hatemonger there?"

Danielle Rohm—Shooter's thin black lips part into an O.

"He did at that. You're betrayal caught him completely off balance and by surprise. I thought the smug son of a bitch would fall to his knees and cry. You should have seen the sense of hopelessness bearing down on him when his men refused to follow the order to kill me and my Peacekeepers. We were completely surrounded, out manned and outgunned. It was priceless."

"Good. Did you do everything that I've asked of you, Quincy?"

"I did. As per our agreement we allowed the 50 or so men who joined him in the pursuit to vacate the scene without incident—"

"And James Carter—did you proceed as I asked—"

"Yes, Serena we beat him to a pulp. He is so very dead. And before you ask, we left a positive way to identify him quickly beyond DNA for the authorities when they find him in the coming days."

"What did you leave behind for them to find, Quincy?"

"We cut off his head." The man on the other end of the speaker phone said. Rohm gasped. Serena blinked her eyes rapidly. "We left no marks on it just as you asked. It's clean. The note that you prepared in advance is attached to his skull; the title of No Hiding Place—whatever in the hell that means—is in clear script and view."

Serena exhaled very deeply.

Rohm looked as if she were the Dragon. She looked as if she could breathe fire thanks to the fury brewing inside of her.

"Very well, Quincy." Serena said, but never took her eyes off of Rohm. "You have avenged Xavier Prince's humiliation at Princeton by an uncivilized man with his ancient ideals. As I've said before, James Carter and others like him have no place in Pandora's new world order. Our trade is now complete; the life of Xavier Prince for the life of James Carter...an eye for an eye."

"I believe that alliance is now at an end and the war can continue?"

"I believe that you are correct, Quincy." Serena said. "Of course, you could use this opportunity to surrender your remaining forces to me and help prevent a further escalation of hostilities."

"Save it, Serena," Quincy Morgan said in a loud and clear voice. "I know that humor is not your strong suit. How about this for a plot twists...if you truly want to prevent this escalation as you call it, why don't you hand over the exact location of Atlanta's missing children."

Daniele Morgan could stay still and silent no longer. She took as large strides as her petite frame allowed her until she was standing over the telephone.

"She's perfectly serious, Morgan. I'm positive that you used the time that Serena's cloak of protection allowed you to kill many of Pandora's supporters—our people. I will tell you this: If you continue along this path of behavior you and whoever follows you are headed for destruction. I personally guarantee that yow will be dead before sunrise and your cause will be dead soon after that."

Serena could almost feel Quincy Morgan smiling through the speaker.

"Damn, Serena, you sure not to recruit them. I another time or another circumstance I would have loved to have someone with that type of fire working for me. You just have to love her spirit." And then his tone turned serious, almost as if someone else was speaking. "But you are right about one thing, Shooter: By the morning I will be dead. Just remember that Pandora's arrogance have given me my own Whirlwind, my victory. I'm not too proud to thank you, Serena. I couldn't have pulled it off without you. Goodbye, Serena, I hope you burn in Hell."

The next thing they both heard was a dial tone.

In the next minute or so, Serena turned her attention to Rohm who still had her back to her.

"Are you surprised?"

"I'm disappointed, Serena." Rohm turned around. "You had something of a strategic importance to gain here, as well as the long term political ramifications after this skirmish between us...and them is over." The younger woman leaned against the piano's frame. It was black on black, almost transparent to the naked eye. "I can think of several scenarios. Trusting Quincy Morgan to have Xavier Prince killed for you was a risky but logical move. You also knew that James Carter wouldn't pass on the opportunity to get at the newest leader of a House in Chains after Xavier Prince survived his onslaught all of those years ago. You have preached it over and over again to me and our other comrades the need to disassociate ourselves from the old guard, the old image of organizations like Pandora. We are preaching patriotism and not hate. We are pushing for a better tomorrow for all Americans but maintaining the racial status quo in this country."

Serena nodded.

"Pandora will stand victorious tonight, tomorrow, or the next day but it is important to me that we do not have to deal a House in Chains a crippling, fatal blow."

Rohm stepped into Serena's personal space.

"Is there more, Serena?" She asked. "You mentioned that you were going to test my faith in our cause, in you?"

Serena only began to play her song once again. She slowed the melody to a near crawl so her voice could be heard over her playing.

"As you've said, Danielle, the murder of James Carter was a necessary evil." Serena stopped playing. "But what do you feel about the maiming of his wife?"

"Oh my, God," Rohm said. "Are you telling me that a House in Chains wasn't responsible for shooting Carter's wife? It wasn't an errant shot as so many people have theorized all of this time? You ordered a hit on this civilian?"

"No," Serena said as a matter of fact. "You witnessed it when I defied Pilot's orders to cease our operations. You saw how difficult the decision that I made to press on was for me. You saw that the terrible price that both Raymond Rice and I paid for that decision. It was as tough a decision that I've ever made since I was recruited to this organization by Isaac Prince so long ago. James Carter was a dangerous man. I needed something that would push him over the edge from a mental and emotional stand point. Killing his wife would enrage him but after a period of grief that all humans share—he would have regained his focus. Yet, having his wife maimed, having him have to see her like that—well it did enrage him, but also kept him off balanced. He made mistakes." Serena said and after a moment of pause. "So I trusted no one, not even the Shooter to do this task. I took the precision shot myself."

"She was a civilian, Serena." Rohm could hold her fury back no longer. "She was an innocent civilian."

"She is. She is also no different than Thomas Pepper's housekeeper that you murdered in cold blood and no different than those boys being held at the compound by Louis Keaton—a known pedophile."

Rohm rounded her small hand into a fist.

"You promised me integrity, Serena. You gave your word that some lines would not be crossed. You agreed with me that we were doing God's work."

"Yes, I did. I also gave my word to Isaac Prince, before he truly died, that Pandora would end this conflict with as few civilian casualties as possible. Everything that I've done so far has been consistent with that philosophy. There is an element out there, Danielle that is contemplating genocide against people of color...a Whirlwind. I don't know who. I don't know how. I do know that such an action cannot stand. I won't have it on my conscious or legacy."

Rohm whipped around and stormed out of her leader's hotel room without closing the door behind her—leaving Serena alone with her conscious and her legacy.
Seth

James Carter's severed head:

Dr. Seth Dupree couldn't help but glare at it as much as he tried to look away. Maggots and scores of other pest were already working their way through open any open passageway on the way down his neck; and all along his lifeless eyes continued to glare up past Seth into the smoky Atlanta night.

Seth would never forget what had transpired over the past half hour. He would never forget when Carter's heavily armed militia surrounded Quincy Morgan and his Peacekeepers. He would never forget how the banter of threat and counter threats volleyed from one camp to the other. He would never forget the name calling and the insults and the near exchange of gunfire that would have surely left him for dead.

He would always remember when Carter himself offered him a way out of this. The last woman who Quincy had allowed to live took him up on his offer without hesitation and spit at the spot where the sergeant at arms had been standing. Seth almost accepted his conditions. He almost had.

And yet he had refused temptation. I stayed with you, Quincy, because you were the devil that I already knew.

And so he had prepared himself to die then. There looked to be no other alternative but to perish alongside with Quincy and his Peacekeepers. Seth felt his brain cells at a tug of war with his gut.

He remembered seeing the images of his friends who'd died during and since the boating accident that ultimately had set him off on this path to who he was and where he was tonight.

He saw Denise Prince take her leap of faith out of the window, while he was helpless and impotent to stop her.

And he visualized Angel, his wife, all alone at the mercy or Roxanne Sanchez.

But he was alive.

He was still alive.

He'd chosen wisely.

After Quincy Morgan and this woman...Serena, finished their phone conversation over the speaker for all to hear, Seth would always remember James Carter turn four shades of white—

All of this while his entourage simply turned away.

And in over two decades of performing surgery, the Gray Man had in his collective experience seen as battered and beaten a body as he did the mutilated carcass of one James Carter.

Seth knew it to be true until Carter's men turned over the woman who had wrongly thought that she'd seen the last of Quincy Morgan.

In the minutes since, Seth had gone from angry to bewilder to thankful to angry again.

He was damned angry right now.

He jacked Quincy Morgan up by his collar until both of them were up against a nearby Volvo.

"I want you to listen to me," He yelled into the other man's face. Quincy turned away. "Don't turn your back on me you son of a bitch."

Quincy held him off with ease with his forearm, barely breathing hard or working up a sweat. Percy took two steps towards the combatants but Seth saw Quincy flash him a muted, confident look that he would handle this. Seth was little more than a nagging mosquito flying around to be swatted down this Atlanta night.

Quincy moved with a speed that defied explanation that defied the laws of gravity. He spent Seth around until the Gray Man was pinned on the car and maneuvered through a combo with lighting speed and accuracy.

Seth found himself the victim of a half dozen or more punches and kicks to what seemed to affect every inch of his torso down, while he rolled around on the asphalt again struggling for breath.

After a moment, Seth squatted down closer to Seth, looking like Johnny Bench.

"Our time together has been...educational, for both you and me, Doctor, but alas, that time has come to an end. Just before James Carter made his long awaited appearance, Percy here reminded me that we have more pressing business elsewhere in metro Atlanta. If you will excuse me, I intend to see to it."

He's just one man, the voice inside of him, the Gray Man whispered in his ear. If you can kill him, you may save more lives than you ever have on that surgical table.

Seth knew that he had survived this long for a reason. He'd chosen willingly to stay behind with the Peacekeepers when common sense and a healthy fear of dying told him otherwise.

It was time for him to put the last minutes of his life to good use.

He back handed Quincy—but once again, as if this scene were on a repeat cycle, the other man retaliated with yet another lethal combination of jabs and kicks that put Seth's ass on the asphalt quickly and viscously.

Quincy hopped on top of Seth where he'd fallen and raised his hand and arm in a jackhammer like motion—as if he were going to swing through for a killing blow.

"Do it," Seth shouted at him with his last ounce of strength and will. And in an instance it was all gone; the strength and the will. "What are you waiting for, Quincy? You should complete my education. At the end of the day I'm just one of them. You've murdered plenty of white people over the past few hours. Murdering one more rooster should come easily to you by now."

Quincy got off of him...and sat down, and rubbed his own chin. He then surprised the Gray Man further—by extending his hand to him, so that he could sit up as well. They both sat there for a time, to Percy's growing impatience, breathing in the smoky air that was consuming the city now.

"We've rid the world of a hatemonger known as James Carter." Quincy said without preamble and looked ever briefly where the dead man's head rested on the concrete. "America and the world are better places for it."

"There are thousands, there are hundreds of thousands of men and women like him still out there, Quincy. And as precise and lethal as your operation and your operatives are, you can't possibly hope to kill them all."

Quincy nodded once.

"You're right, Doctor. You've been right about a lot of things since our paths crossed hours ago."

Seth painfully scooted himself over until he was face to face with Quincy Morgan.

"I understand the need for you to save, especially in front of your people. I do. But is there any way possible for you to stymie the remainder of this operation you are planning. Call of this...Scar of yours, Quincy. I'm asking you. I'm begging you to stop this."

Quincy turned and his face looked almost apologetic in the moon light and he slowly shook his head in finality.

And for the first time and the last, Seth thought he saw Quincy's eyes go moist with tears.

"My grandmother was so very right," Quincy said after a time. "She was a grand old lady before death took her from me."

"Your grandmother," Seth searched his memory banks and found the data stored somewhere in his head. "You mentioned her to me in the last minutes before Carter and his men showed. You mentioned Scar. You didn't finish telling me what the connection was."

Quincy got to his feet and brushed the dirt off his clothes though the blood, brains and marrow would remain. He once again extended his hand to Seth who rose as well, but not without difficulty. Sporadic gunfire sounded off like someone one was popping another bag of popcorn for the early morning show. Seth could hear screaming.

And then Seth heard something that he hadn't heard before tonight—or anytime ever in his life.

The Gray Man heard and explosion.

And after he'd turned to see where the noise had originated from, he'd twisted in time to see a mini mushroom cloud rise through the haze of the Atlanta skyline.

"Oh my, God," The question sounded as if it had originated from someone outside of his own body. "What in the hell are those explosions?"

"Sometimes you have to learn life's lessons the hard way. That is the lesson that my grandmother left me with. Sometimes life's lessons leave you with a scar so that you never forget."

Seth struggled to catch his breath.

He felt his own body losing its equilibrium...its balance and he slumped and fell backwards until he was once again in the seated position that he had started this night in.

He now understood to by definition what Scar truly was.

"All of the indiscriminate killing, the tactical executions, the sniper attacks of the APD...none of that was going to be enough to satisfy your House was it, Quincy?"

"You reminded of something earlier that I already knew, Doctor, that my ultimately people couldn't possibly win this conflict with Pandora and I agreed with you." Quincy pointed a long manicured nail towards the due South so that Seth would look in that direction as well. He asked Percy for the time and a third explosion and subsequent fireball appeared like clockwork when Percy replied with the current time. "All of the strife that went on during the Civil Rights Movement and the Watts Riots before our time, Doctor. We lived through the Rodney King, Ferguson and Baltimore riots over the past few years; the fires in the streets of America after the nation's first Black president were killed. All of this, all of this has or will be forgotten by the residents of this nation eventually. All of the lives, all of the sacrifices, Doctor, how do we dare forget?"

"Maybe they have been discarded, but not forgotten." Seth said, the hair standing up on his wrist and behind his neck. "I don't think that anyone has truly forgotten."

Another explosion lit up the skyline.

"They won't ever forget this, Doctor. Scar and its aftermath will be remembered forever." Quincy walked down the street 10 or so steps towards where the explosions were originating rom in Fulton County and his Peacekeepers followed. He turned back one last time one las time to where Seth was standing. "Farewell, Doctor."

Seth said quickly, "Alright, Quincy...alright, Scar contains even more destruction than Pandora or anyone else who have believed a House in Chains was capable of. I get it, Quincy. I get the symbolism. Ok, you're blowing things up. It's bold. It's unprecedented. I still don't get what's so damned memorable about it? What makes these pipe bombs or car bombs or whatever explosive devices you are using do different, so special?"

Quincy started to walk away but stopped. He looked towards Seth preparing to spring his final surprise but his eyes held no joy in the coming presentation.

"Go to the gymnasium near Bel Air Street." Quincy asked Percy for the time once again. "From here it is a good twenty minute run. If you hurry you'll see all of the fruits of my people's labor there. You will see for yourself why history will never forget a House in Chains. They will never forget the Vision of our Future."

Seth ran as hard as he could manage considering his age, injuries and lack of everyday exercise. He would pause and lean on a light pole to catch his wind, glance around him to see if he were still angling in the right direction and start again. He wouldn't have believed that he was capable of coming close to completing this run without passing out, but he'd survived so much this night—

He had proven Roxanne Sanchez wrong.

He ran and then he ran some more.

He'd owed all of those who'd died in his place tonight and over the years to make it to Bel Air. He owed them all that he should be there to bear witness to what Quincy Morgan and a House in Chains had plotted for so very long.

He finally had the gymnasium in his sights...before his legs went wobbly and he tumbled down the hill. He struggled to his feet again—his ribs aching. He was cut and bruised as well, but otherwise he was no worse for the wear. What do I do now? In all of the time that it took to get here, he never gave it much thought to what he would do if and when he reached this place.

The city was using the gym and other buildings of its size for shelters and would welcome people of all colors and races who wanted to escape the dangers of the streets. By the shape and size of it, Seth estimated that if could easily fit 200 to 250 people inside comfortably. He mostly saw people of his skin tone entering and leaving. One man had brought in a two bags of food.

The Gray Man gathered his thoughts: Somewhere inside that gym or in this nearby he came to the quick conclusion that a House in Chains had an explosive planted in the vicinity.

So now what? Do I got down there and publicly announce my belief that there is a bomb somewhere nearby? Good luck with explaining that.

Even worse...they may believe him after all. Would they exit in an orderly way or would they more than likely trample one another while they fled the building for the lives.

And how did Peacekeepers know that the city would use this or any other specific building for a shelter anyway?

The Gray Man was still missing a very large piece of the puzzle and time was short.

Seth checked the watches that Quincy had one of his men give him before he began his travels.

He sighed. Time had indeed run out.

Nothing...nothing but...wait...Seth watched a young black girl; she couldn't be any older than 17 or 18 at the most, arrive at the front entrance. She was a pretty thing too but he could only see her face because the rest of her body was wrapped in a trench coat.

Why is she wearing—?

Dr. Seth Dupree knew that the nights in this part of Georgia at the base of the Smoky Mountains could get cool like this night one was, but not to that extent.

Obviously the two men tasked at welcoming the refugees inside felt troubled as he was feeling at that same exact moment.

Oh my, God, Seth had put it all together. Oh my God in Heaven, she's wearing some type of devise underneath that coat.

She's a suicide bomber.

It all made sense to him now...if unadulterated killing ever made sense to a human being.

Quincy Morgan was correct after all.

They both knew that never before in the history of the United States had Americans seen such brutality...such sacrifice. The country would awake in a few hours and read stories on their tablets and phones and newsstands how hundreds—maybe even thousands of young people of color strapped bombs to their chest and killed thousands and thousands of mostly white civilians.

Regardless to how this conflict ended over the days and weeks to come, this would leave a scar on the national conscious that would never be forgotten.

Seth yelled and waved his hands and arms in the air as he charged down the hill with only the gym in his sights. He increased his speed...but it was as if the world had been reduced to moving in slow motion and his weary legs along with it.

The guards did seem to notice him, but as they glanced in his general direction to see what all those noise was all about—the young woman used their lack of attention to her to sprint past them and disappeared inside.

"Noooooooooo."

And then there was a loud explosion—and a portion of the gymnasium's roof blew away from its holding.

Dr. Seth Dupree could not say how long it took him to even remotely begin to recover from the effects of the explosion. He was bleeding from the nose...from his ear...from what felt like everywhere. The Gray Man's hearing was suspect and he could taste blood in his mouth. Dozens of smaller fires were popping up where he'd fallen.

And the two men who were watching the entrance and been blown into several pieces of men on the hill around him well.

Dr. Seth Dupree wept as hard as he ever had.

He cried. He screamed. He pounded the ground around him until his knuckles matched the bleeding that his ears, nose and mouth had done.

Roxanne Sanchez had been right about him after all.

It was no way in the hell, he had survived it all. He would surely wake from his next slumber a dead man. No one could have witnessed what he had tonight and survived it, no one.

He cried and pounded the ground for a time longer—

And then the ground seemed to pound back for nearly 30 seconds after.

He stopped crying with a suddenness that frightened him. He lifted his head from the ground thinking that another suicide pretty teenaged suicide bomber had fulfilled her destiny...but as quickly realized yet one more bout of madness had returned to the Atlanta area just in time to make an already difficult situation now impossible.

Weary and distraught Seth lay himself down on the hard canvas.

He prayed.

And then Dr. Seth Dupree wondered who in the city had survived the earthquake.
Thomas

The dying man spoke.

He told Thomas Pepper a story more horrifying than any sane man would ever wish to hear and keep his sanity intact. It was a tale filled with words of machetes and precision and overwhelming numbers and stealth and butchery.

Thomas had arrived at the downtown hotel ten minutes ago. He'd ventured the rest of the way over here over the loud and persistent protest of the Black minister who'd begged him not to return to the streets—at least until after sunrise. Thomas had convinced the man that he would be fine and promised to return when he'd finished doing what he had felt he needed to do. He never got into specifics but the other man easily could see the guilt and the unease in his eyes. Finally, the minister had been resigned to nodding his bald head and said that no matter whatever sin that he'd committed, he was sure that God would be with him.

And then he sent Thomas Pepper back out into the Atlanta night from which he came.

He'd alternated between running and walking and had made it nearly six blocks to the base of the hotel without further incident. He'd seen troubling acts all along the way but had left the manner to those involved and left well enough alone.

The desk manger—the dying man—was the first person living person Thomas had come across inside the hotel's lobby.

If anyone dared calling a man lying in a pool of his own blood with his throat partially cut and the top knuckle of each finger snatched from the rest of his hand living. But when Thomas could stand to glance around his perimeter, all of the dead and broken bodies told him more about what had happened here than any story this man could tell him.

And yet, he struggled on trying to share with Thomas what he'd seen. The dying man told him that some young punks had crashed through the front entrance with an automobile for God's sake. The Zero Hour had only been minutes old when they entered the premises. They robbed the hotel's register and everyone who had been unfortunately caught here in the wrong place and certainly at the wrong time.

Thomas could feel a frown growing on his face, especially when he glanced at the carnage in this lobby. Do you mean that some deranged kids did this—?

The dying man found the strength from somewhere to shake his head once and again with an emphatic no.

The punks' self-proclaimed victory was short lived and the territory that they'd claimed as their very own was snatched from them within minutes. The Peacekeepers made quick work of the overmatched thugs. Thomas could see that they'd taken the time to gut a couple of the young men and used their blood to paint V's all over the previously all white walls.

The Peacekeepers weren't done however.

The dying man told Thomas that the vigilantes turned their attention to the employees of the hotel and any civilian who dared to get in their way. They asked only one question and they asked it again and again and again until someone provided the information that they needed to accomplish what they'd come for.

The question of the night was: Where is Lucy Burgess?

Thomas swallowed then and found that his breathing was becoming more difficult.

The dying man told him how brave and courageous that his manger had been. He told him how that man refused to allow anyone to invade the privacy of anyone staying at one of his hotel.

The dying man told Thomas Pepper that after they'd beheaded his boss that he was not nearly brave or courageous. He explained that he'd lost his top knuckle on each finger for them wrongly thinking that he was stalling when in actuality, his nerves would not allow him to thumb through the computer database any faster.

The slash across the throat only served as a parting gift when he'd told whoever their leader was to go to hell when he provided them Lucy's hotel room number at last.

Thomas laid the dying man as gently as he could must on the floor and for the second time in an hour or so had promised a complete stranger that he would return. He carefully made his way through the hallway to the elevator. The Peacekeepers had left an easy trail of blood and dead bodies for Thomas Pepper to follow. Were these poor saps just unlucky bystanders or did they hear the exchange at the front desk and made a valiant but ultimately futile stand to right a wrong?

The elevator was out of service to his mild annoyance. Thomas searched around and quickly found the stairs. He took a deep breath, still trying to recover from his long dangerous trek to this hotel from his own one.

He saw more blood.

He saw a handful of more mutilated bodies.

He saw more blood paintings of the letter V. Is that for your vision, Xavier or for your victory?

This hotel had been classy enough, probably too nice for what Thomas Pepper patronized hotels for. He wouldn't take any of his flames to one this nice or expensive even if he'd done a weekend getaway.

He and Lucy had never spent a night in a place like this one.

Thomas Pepper was nearly out of breath again when he finally reached the floor where Lucy's room would be located. He felt his heart rate quickening and he was pouring sweat. Two bodies of hotel personnel were lying of the carpet near the closest room. They'd looked as if they'd been shot in the head. A third person, dressed in a maid's outfit, had her throat opened from ear to ear.

A door opened when he walked by.

He cursed and slid his large frame along the wall and tried and failed to make himself small.

It was just one of the hotel's guests who had peeked out—and quickly slammed the door shut before he could open his mouth to ask a question.

Two or three other doors opened and the traumatized guests nervously watched as he passed. What have you poor bastards heard in these halls tonight? What have you people seen?

Thomas produced Lucy's key unnecessarily as he stood in the shadow of her already opened door.

He made himself as small as he could again, but he had already made up his mind before he entered that there was only one person on the premises. A House in Chains had come and likely had gotten what they'd been promised. There was no need to leave anyone of their people behind with

The room was dark as they'd doused all of the artificial lighting—but there was a smell of candles, yes that was what the smell exactly was, coming from just around the first corner of the suite. He nearly tripped over something... a broken lamp or perhaps it was a vase. They'd trashed the place for sure. No, her suite had been destroyed. The Peacekeepers had left nothing unmolested from their fury.

Thomas got down on all floors, trying not to panic completely. He inched forward towards the candle light and the candle smell. He came across a woman's blouse and then a pair of pants. They'd both been cut to shreds with something very sharp. And then he turned another corner and felt something cool and moist on his elbows and on the back of his arms. He stopped long enough to smell it and realized it was blood.

If Thomas Pepper had any hope of finding Lucy alive that hope was crushed with the blood sighting. He wanted to weep. He wanted to turn back and crawl back out of the door and exit the hotel from which he can.

He didn't want to look up but he did.

He didn't want to see the silhouette of a female's figure that the candle light provided him.

He stood up and flicked on the nearest light switch so he would have no further doubt of what he'd seen and what he was seeing and the nightmares that would rule his nights during the Hour of the Wolf for the rest of his natural life.

He saw a nude Lucy Burgess hanging by her extremities on an X in a makeshift poses as if she'd been crucified.

"Lucy," Thomas said in a voice far calmer than he actually felt. And then a sudden realization struck him. "God almighty, what have they done to you Lucy?"

Lucy moved her head so subtlety that Thomas barely realized it. It looked to him as if she'd mustered all of her remaining strength and energy to accomplish such a small feat. She was alive...but probably only for a few minutes longer.

Thomas used an old boy scout knife to quickly but carefully cut her down. He had to be careful though and not let her shifting dead weight topple him over as well. Just as he had with the dying man at the front desk, Thomas laid her down on the carpet as gently as he could. Her eyes were blackened and swollen nearly shut from being pounded on repeatedly with someone's fist. Lucy's nose had been broken in more than one place, her lips busted and several of her teeth shattered.

The more Thomas looked at his former lover's body, the worse it had been for her and the worse it was for him right now.

There were burn marks of X's all over her upper torso that nearly covered every inch of skin. She coughed up blood—and when Thomas held her close so that she wouldn't choke on it, he got a good feel of the bullwhip marks that shrouded her entire back.

"What have they done to you?" Thomas asked as he began to cry. "What have I done to you, Lucy?"

Lucy would have cried with him, if only she had the strength. She would have cried with him if only she had the tears left inside to offer. Instead she managed only a pained cough...and rubbed his hairy squared jaw with her tiny fingers. Lucy's hand never looked more childlike than it did right then.

Thomas heard himself say, "I've got to get you some help, Lucy. I've got to get you to the hospital right now. Maybe there is time—"

Lucy had found another small bout of strength and shook her head at him and it broke his heart all over again.

"It's too late for any of that, darling."

Thomas teared up again.

"I'm sorry, Lucy. I'm so sorry."

"And I forgive you," She said with what must pass for the moment as a smile. "At the end we all pay for our sins." Lucy hesitated for the longest time and Thomas thought she was gone. "I'm paying for all of mine right now. And you will as well...darling. You will pay as well."

And then Lucy Burgess's small frame went instantly heavy as she died.

Thomas finished laying her down and took the time to cover her nude and scarred body with the spread off of the nearby bed.

He numbly made his way back out her hotel room, down the stairs and out of the hotel into the streets again.

It wasn't until Thomas Pepper was a block away until he looked down at his palms and saw that he had blood on his hands until they—and the entire world shook uncontrollably for a minute a longer.

And one block from there Thomas Pepper wondered who had survived the earthquake?
Chris

A flat tire;

What else could possibly go wrong tonight? Special Agent Christopher Prince thought to himself as he removed to deflated tire and rim from Blue's car.

"I don't believe this. I refuse to believe that this is happening right now." He said more to himself than the two women who were accompanying him.

"Well, believe it," Blue said, pacing. She had her government issued piece out and scanned the perimeter again for dangers seen and possibly unseen. "It happened—get over it. The proof is in your hands." And then she saw Chris scoop out the spare from the trunk she sighed and added: "And it looks like my spare is a piece of shit to."

Chris examined it quickly and rolled it away, the wobbling action convincing him that he and his partner had come to the same result.

"Damn," He said.

"Why did you take this street anyway, Chris?" Blue asked, using her gun to mark their recent path to this neighborhood. "It would have been quicker to hop on Marion and take it all the way up to the 285 junction."

"You're right, Blue. It would have been the quicker and more direct route—if we were going to drive back to the FBI field office?"

"And why wouldn't we, Chris?" Blue pointed her free hand at Grace Edwards, who was leaning against Blue's useless car. "She needs to be fully debriefed and the sooner the better."

Grace folded her arms and took a deep breath exercising extreme patients. She turned her attention solely on the senior partner.

"We didn't agree on that proposition."

"We aren't exercising the democratic process here, sweetheart." Blue shot the other woman a stern glance. "You don't get a vote."

Chris said, "But I do, Tabitha. Remember, our original orders were to find the leaders of a House in Chains. She still is an asset. We can still use her help. She knows where any potential rendezvous point with the Circle may be. She could potentially lead us to them."

"She might do that," Blue nodded in admittance. "Or she might also be manipulating you, Chris."

"Manipulating," Chris stood up straight and bit back the first rising tide of anger he was feeling. "Have you been listening to what's being reported on the radio? Suicide bombers are igniting themselves in shelters, malls and other heavily populated houses of commerce or socialization. Thousands of civilians have been estimated of dying here in such attacks in greater Atlanta alone. The other members of the Circle, led by Quincy Morgan betrayed my brother and are acting without impunity. There is no longer a reason for her to be overly loyal to them. No, I don't have to completely trust her, Tabitha, but in my opinion following where she leads is the most productive course of action."

Grace shifted her weight off of the car.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you before, Chris. I'm sorry that I didn't tell you about the specifics of Scar. I know that I kept the knowledge of the bombers from you. Again, it was our plan that if any of the Circle were out of communication with the others—that it would not stop the others from deploying them when the Zero Hour. We had a choice to use them or lose them."

Blue frowned at that.

Grace noted the other woman's expression but continue to focus her gaze and conversation on Chris.

"Xavier and Quincy Morgan worked out the specifics and provisions for unleashing each escalating phase of Scar. Percy, Warren and I were not included in those discussions."

"You see, Chris? You want us to trust her and yet the members of this so called Circle didn't even trust each other with this vital information." Blue said in an increasingly unhappy voice. She showed her overbite.

"Even amongst the Circle, the less that each individual knew about timing details, the less the chance that our operations could be compromised," Grace finally turned her full attention on Agent Blue. "I felt it was totally necessary, especially if any of us were subjected to capture or torture."

"Alright, you were protecting yourselves and this...heinous operation of yours. I get it, Grace. And you protected the location of this rendezvous of any survivors up to this point as well?" Chris asked.

"Yes, that is correct." Grace was nodding. "The signal would be in the form of a specialized text over our cell phones only after Scar had been initiated in full fury. We have the potential to utilize eight different locations depending on what the surviving senior officer feels is the most secure facility at that time." Grace raised her cuffed hands up so that the other two could see her wrist clearly. "As you can see, I've been a little too busy to make that call, even if I had wanted to."

Blue frowned up again.

"Honey, you should find someone who cares. I don't think that anyone of your people outside the Circle expected Quincy Morgan to have Xavier assassinated. More people in your little organization would have tried to stop him. You can't go around terrorizing white folks if you are involved in petty bickering at the top." Blue rubbed her thick brows a second. "I say we confiscate a ride and take her down to the field office, Chris. She's proven that she can't be trusted beyond a reasonable doubt. It's more to this than she's telling. I know that I'm right about this."

Grace planted her shoes into the street.

"Then you had damned be prepared to kill me because I'm not going anywhere near a FBI Field Office or any other government agency building with you or anyone else, Agent Blue."

"The hell you aren't," Blue raised her gun and pointed it at Grace's temple. Chris heard Grace's braids rattle as she turned to facedown Blue's gun. His partner took an unnecessary step in the other woman's direction. "Lady, I'm done talking to you, I'm done playing with you."

"Good," Grace said as seriously. "I'm glad I don't have to listen to you anymore. But you should listen to me: You better be prepared to use that, Agent Blue."

"I don't think that you will continue to cooperate under the terms that Chris set out for you so in my opinion you are useless to us. The only thing that you can do is to try and escape. And I can't let you do that—

"And I can't let you do this."

Special Agent Christopher Prince had pulled his own gun on his partner.

"Chris," Blue said in a voice partly stained in surprise, partly stained in hurt. "What are you doing?"

"Grace Edwards is trying to serve the greater good of all Americans by remaining here and fully cooperating with us. Thousands have died tonight, Tabitha. How many more thousands will die over the next 24 to 48 hours from now as this thing gets further and further out of hand. I don't see a downside to this, Tabitha. And I gave her my word." Chris said. "I gave her my word, Tabitha."

Blue stepped back from both of them, lowered her gun a half inch.

"Listen, Chris, I know you're distraught after losing your brother the way that you did, especially after we were so close to reaching him in time before the Peacekeeper's loyal to Quincy Morgan did. Damn, Chris, I can appreciate how you must be feeling...really I can."

"Don't be a fool, Tabitha." Chris said in a hard voice and shook his bald head back and forth. "Xavier's death had very little with why I'm doing this."

"Bullshit,"

"Tabitha, I gave her my word. That has to mean something."

"You shouldn't talk to me about giving and keeping promises, Chris." Blue had raised her firearm back to where it was previously. She took a step closer to Grace until she was nearly hidden behind her. Chris shadowed her until he had reestablished a clear shot again. "What about the oath you made to your country?"

Chris didn't answer. Instead they rounded each other with their weapon trained on the other as they circled Grace Edwards. Chris did the dance with his partner as he sweated bullets. He could smell his own fear...but was it for the fear of being shot by Tabitha Blue—or was it because he was becoming more willing to shoot her with each passing minute. He felt his pulse racing in the wrist of his trigger hand.

He could hear the rustling of the leaves in the background and nearby as another heavy gust of wind passed.

He could hear someone fire a round off in the distance.

He dared not take his eyes off of Blue.

"I don't want you to talk to me about the bureau. Maybe you need a reminder about what happened to me in the recent past, Tabitha." Their dance paused as an imaginary record changed. "This bureau that you speak on and on about so proudly and blindly follow is a broken institution. How many of our fellow agents split and worked as double agents for Serena Tennyson and Pandora over the past few years. Hell, Tabitha, the director himself was leading that outfit over there. How many of our people abandoned their post with the ATF, CIA and other lettered agencies to aid a hate group plot the murder of people of color? How many do you think, Blue?"

"Alright, Chris, I won't argue that point with you, I can't. And I give you the same word that I promised myself when I found out about what Raymond Rice has been doing: I won't rest until those who have betrayed us are brought in to justice." And then the dance between the partners resumed. "But I want you to forget about all of those strangers for a minute and focus on the only thing that matters right now—what about us, Chris? What about me? Do you count me among the broken? Is our partnership broken? What about our friendship?"

"I don't want to lose you as a partner or a friend, Tabitha." Chris replied, but kept his gun raised just the same. "You are good cop. You're a better person and you're the most loyal person that I know. I just think that your loyalty is sometimes misguided."

"You talk about loyalty," Blue flashed her overbite as laughed bitterly. "You are so right, Chris. I am loyal almost to a fault. I'm loyal to the bureau. I'm loyal to you. But something has to give tonight. Someone has to give in tonight. But it won't be me, Chris. Your lady friend here claimed that she was ready to die for her beliefs. One or both of us had damn well been prepared to do the same thing. Are you truly ready to make that call, Christopher? You better not be mistaken especially if you are prepared to pull that trigger and kill me where is stand right now."

Chris pulled his hammer back.

"I don't want to, Agent Blue, but I will."

The dance ends at last as does the imaginary song.

There is only silence.

And then there is only more silence.

Until Chris hears voice calls out from somewhere behind them. Both he and Blue train their guns off of one another and he points his to the North while his partner aims to the South.

"Too bad we won't ever know which one of you would give in. Both of you should put your guns down on the asphalt and kick them away from yourselves and I think that both of you should do it right now."

Chris silently mouthed a curse. He hears nothing but the rustling of the leaves once again and thought that the sound had aided these people in approaching them without being heard. He gives a quick head count. It looked to be a dozen civilians, all white, armed mostly with shotguns and hunting rifles. The man who spoke appeared to be the oldest of his posse. He was bald man perhaps in his mid-60's, wearing overalls that matched the other males in view.

Blue didn't look impressed. She shot him a warning glance and carefully flashed her shield with her free hand.

"Sir, listen to me carefully, this is a police manner. My partner and I would appreciate it if you instructed your people to point your weapons—or better yet, leave us as you found us all together."

"Sorry," He nodded more with his thin lips than with his bald head. "I don't think we can do that."

Blue tried again.

"Sir, I would ask you to take a second look at us. Do you see the stenciled letters on our jackets? Take another look at my badge. Chris flashed his for support. We are FBI Agents on official business. I'll warn you only once that interference in a federal investigation is a felony punishable to very stiff penalties. I kid you not when I say that you are risking jail time here." Blue told him.

The old man nodded in comprehension, but kept his own rifle high and tight in his grip.

"Under normal circumstances your threat might carry more than just a little weight with me, young lady. I'm a law abiding citizen. I always have been. I'm a proud tax payer. But I think that you will agree with me that the events that have transpired over the past few months, week, days and especially the last few hours fail to qualify as normal, even around here. And I'll tell you one more thing: What I have seen tonight with my own eyes tells me that those jackets and shield of yours don't mean diddly squat."

Chris had to admit to being curious about what the old man meant by his last statement. He kept his weapon aimed at Blue but formally introduced himself, his partner and Grace Edwards to all of men wearing overalls asked him his name.

"Martin," The man's answer was quick and proud. Whether Martin was his first or last name Chris could not say. "And, Agent Prince, it would ruin both my night and yours if I had to blow your head off your shoulders after meeting your acquaintance, but I will. I don't trust you. I can't. I surely cannot after what I've seen tonight."

"What have you seen, Mr. Martin?" Chris wanted to know now more than ever.

"We've seen men of color dressed in all manners of uniforms tonight: We've seen everything from paramedics to firemen to policemen in person and on TV beating and raping white women all over this city."

"That's impossible," Grace put base in her tone that left no room for rebuttal. "And of course, Agent Prince and I can always depend on white folks like yourself to speak the truth in these matters—"

"You'd be wise to watch your tone, young lady." Martin said in a measured tone, but kept his rifle's barrel trained on Chris more now than before. "You don't know me. You may not want to know me, but if you are implying that me and mine are racist, simply based on how I talk and how we're dressed then you are way off base and out of line. All white folks don't act alike. Assumption is a dangerous weapon in the wrong hands, in the wrong mind." He looked over the horizon and Chris thought he saw the man's eyes mist just a little. "I was marching through these same streets with Dr. King before either one of you were born."

"Why should I believe that?" Grace asked.

"You can believe whatever in the hell you want." Martin's tone was not kind. And then his voice suddenly softened. "All that I know is that he was a great man. And I know that he would not have approved of any of this." And then Martin lowered his weapon a foot and only had eyes for Special Agent Christopher Prince. "And I know that your father wouldn't have approved this either. How did you and your brother let our world come to this?"

"You didn't know my father." Chris tried to mask the feelings of the truths that Serena Tennyson had told him from the others. He tried so fucking hard—"None of us knew him, Martin."

"I don't know what you mean by that, son." Martin pushed the rifle higher, gripped the rifle with all of his might and his left eye disappeared as he peered through the scope. "Anyway, my eyesight ain't what it used to be, but I can still tell you that FBI Agents don't usually pull their side arms on one another. It looks as if I ain't the only one who has trust issues."

"No..." Blue said her voice was barely above a whisper as she lowered her eyes. "FBI agents don't usually behave like this to one another."

"Sir," Chris said. "As far as I can tell, you are the one in control here. If you don't mind, why don't you share so information with me? I want to know more about these men wearing apparel as if they were official personnel of these various public servant organizations? Can you describe them to us? Was there anything memorable about them?"

Martin seemed to be searching his memory banks.

"They were the typical, hard looking types. They were wearing their hair—they were wearing their hair like your smooth talking lady friend there in the nice suit. Most of them had mouths full of gold teeth and they wore baggy pants with their boxers showing." Martin stopped for breath. "We stumbled on them gang raping this teenaged white girl before we negotiated a deal with them."

"Negotiate—"Chris though that he'd chosen an interesting choice of word to use.

"After we killed a couple of his friends, my friends and I negotiated the unconditional release of the girl for the life of those of his brood still breathing. The accepted, although I never heard the leader speak, his Deacon—yet that's what he called him—did all the yapping for him. The lot of them headed east."

Chris stifled a laugh. Blue wasn't sure what to make of the story. Grace didn't look comfortable at all. She looked as if she were working something uncomfortable in her mind under her own braids.

"Tell me...Mr. Martin, did you hear any of these young men chanting anything?" And when the man didn't answer immediately, "Mr. Martin, did you hear them chanting anything in particular?"

"I don't remember saying that you could speak young lady—"

"I need an answer...please. It could be very important."

Martin scrubbed at his heavy beard.

"Maybe I did...yea, I think that I do. It came out all jumbled as they took turns with the girl, but at first I couldn't make heads or tails of it."

And so Grace Edwards said it for him.

"Yea," Martin's beard seemed to take a life all its own. "Yea, that's it exactly." And then he altered his aim from Chris to Grace. "I told you that I had no reason to trust you. Might be that you're one of them?"

"They were Choir Boys?" Chris said to Grace. "And it sounds as if the Bishop and his Deacon were out leading the troops tonight."

Grace nodded a yes.

"We need to know how far this altercation happened from this location, Mr. Martin." Grace Edwards asked. Chris could see genuine fear in Grace's eyes for the first time this evening, but it had little to do with being the target of Martin's rifle. "How long ago did this happen?"

"I don't remember—"

"I need you to think, Mr. Marin," Grace visibly worked to calm herself. "It's very important that you remember these details."

Martin conferred with an associate to his near left.

"I think it was an hour ago. Maybe, just maybe, it was 90 minutes at the top end."

"We've got to go, now, Agent Prince." Grace's braids rattled as her head went on a swivel. "They'll be here soon and probably with what's left of the Choir Boys that survived the Peacekeeper incursion at Carver Housing Apartments."

Chris suddenly became alarmed.

"She's right, Tabitha." Chris said. "Remember the intel that we received on from the agents in the field house. Remember that we were told that the Choir Boys concentrated numbers were in Carver, we knew that they had other smaller cells all over the city. One of those larger cells hung around here."

"That's why they are wearing the FBI garb." Grace added the information, probably from her own information files. "I would bet that they are conducting assaults while they feel they have a perceived advantage. If Mr. Martin's group got the drop on them they are not going to stop until they find you when they feel you are the most vulnerable and avenge those you've killed."

"Do you hear me, Tabitha?" Chris said. "We have to go—now."

"I never agreed to any of this, Chris."

"Tabitha, please,"

"Alright," Blue said. "But I need you to put your gun down first."

"I always thought that a lady was supposed to go first."

And so both FBI Special Agents began to lower their guns—

He then the earth moved underneath them—

And Chris could feel his gun fire off a round...

After an unknown number of minutes, Chris picked himself up off the ground and he could see Grace Edwards and Marin and his people around him slowly doing the same.

Everyone but Tabitha Blue was on their feet again.

"Oh no," Chris muttered. And then a louder voice he said: "Oh, no—"

He sprinted over to where she was lying flat on her back with a clear head wound. He got on the ground and in an instant he had his partner wrapped into his arms. At first glance, he couldn't tell how deep the bullet had penetrated or how severe her injuries really were. She was bleeding. She was breathing though and he was taking every positive that he could and storing it away.

Grace Edwards pointed through her cuffs in the general direction to where the nearest hospital was.

And then...

And then—

"So what do we have here?" A new voice added his to the mix. "Ain't this a bitch?"

Chris recognized the Deacon who was speaking—as usual—for his and the other Choir Boys leader that carried a Bible around, wore a minister's robe and called himself the Bishop.

Your Peacekeepers let the big fish get away, little brother. And tonight we may all pay the price for that mistake.

He laid Blue down on the ground and instructed Grace to put pressure on her wound, while he rose to his feet with his gun discovering a new target.

"Bishop, you don't know how I wish I had the time to do this with you," Chris said to him and his Deacon. The dozen or more other Choir Boys, still dressed as first responders, looked on with fully automatic weapons at their disposal. "My partner's life hangs in the balance. I need to get her to the nearest medical center right away. You are your heathens are in my way of accomplishing this."

Bishop smiled through a mouth full of gold teeth and snapped out of long handgun and held it at an angle that made him look like an old school gangster.

The Deacon spoke as if he could read his leader's mind.

"Well, don't you cry, boy." He said for his Bishop. "But it looks as if that white girl is as good as dead anyway. And if you don't stop pointing that gun at my pastor, so will you."

Chris felt a smile curl on his dark face. These two clowns are everything that the mass media makes our young people out to be: They believe that we are lazy, arrogant and stupid. Chris had made himself memorize the report on the Bishop. It had believed that the man had been responsible for fathering nearly a dozen children from nearly that many women—and that was before the Center of Disease Control reported that he'd contacted and was spreading HIV, especially to the harem he'd taken at Carver. He was a lifelong felon including murder and conspiracy to commit murder.

I'll give your Peacekeeper's this, Little Brother, by liberating Carver and shutting down his drug operations there you denied him a valuable source of revenue. And he's been on the run ever since.

You should have stayed on the run, Bishop.

He could take him out with a single shot but...but at what price. What would happen to Grace Edwards and his partner Tabitha Blue? And he would surely sentence nearly a dozen other civilians from Martin's clan to death as they would have to shoot themselves out of any mess that he'd created.

Bishop seemed to be putting Grace's face to a name...

"Is that my, Grace," The Deacon said for him. "Ain't this something, fellas? I thought I'd never see your pretty face—and the rest of you again, girl."

"I wish I could say the same."

"Yea, you still a cocky, bitch, Grace," Deacon continued on for his Bishop. "But I liked that about you. I should have known you were a undercover hoe. I should have known. You were smarter than the average hoe. You asked so many questions. And then you sacked your Peacekeeper dogs on my boys at Carver and I never saw you again. I should have known."

"I was doing my duty," Grace said as a matter of fact. "I did what I had to bring down you and your sick operation. It wasn't personal."

The Bishop waved his arms in exasperation and shucks his long braids back and forth. The deacon said for him: "It was certainly personal when you were acting like you was my main squeeze over them couple of months. I put my other hoes aside for you. I was going to make you my queen. You were to be the Queen of Carver."

Grace said, "Thank you, but no. You know, even I have to sacrifice my ideals to serve a cause greater than myself. Sometimes it's the little things that you have to deal with the most—"

The Bishop mouthed something unfathomable and fired his gun into the air. Martin's people took defensive positions.

The Deacon said: "Bring you black ass up here now, Grace." When she didn't move he repeated what he'd said and added: "I won't ask you again."

"Grace isn't going anywhere with you two." Chris said.

"Man, you are the fool who is going to get yourself and these country boys killed. I owe them already. "

"I might," Chris nodded in agreement. "But know this: When I am through counting down from the number ten, that body count that you swear by will begin with you."

The Bishop gritted his teeth; his Deacon looked nervous as he said: "My Boys will kill everyone they can, starting with you and Grace."

"No they won't," Chris took five steps forward as to separate him from the others. "You're Deacon and your Choir Boys are cowards. Sure, they have us outnumbered and outgunned but your number superiority is irrelevant because in their heart of hearts they are cowards. They serve you, a false god, out of fear not loyalty. The Choir Boys are only dangerous against the old the weak and the defenseless. The Peacekeepers took Carver simply because they weren't afraid of you. My new found friends behind me aren't afraid of you either. All I have to do is count to ten—and then kill you and the rest of your congregation will run. Your types always do."

The Bishop had to shake his Deacon back into the now.

He said, "You want to take that chance with your life, boy, you want to risk the lives of everyone here?"

"I do. I will. There will be no surrender here. There will be no retreat."

And then the countdown began.
Angel

The Doctor laughed until it hurt.

Roxanne Sanchez fixed her with one of those vicious glares that only she could manage — which wasn't much different from any of her normal gazes actually.

Dr. Angel Hicks Dupree ran her fingers along her tender side where she'd been stabbed. Roxanne had gotten her alright, but she was still ahead of the game because the wound wasn't going to prove fatal no matter how much the other woman wished it upon her. Angel's semi normal breathing assured her of that. It was superficial at best but just deep enough to be superficial. She was most likely to feel it if she did any running in the near future.

And along with her limp she would be quite the sight.

And that thought set her off on a new round of nearly uncontrollable laughter.

Roxanne looked tired.

"What in the hell could you possibly find funny about any of this?"

"Only a few hours ago, I put a pistol in my mouth," Angel replied and arched a brow at the dark memory. "I wanted to end it all—and not for the first time in my miserable life."

"And what do you feel now, Doctor?"

Angel ran her fingers near he wound again without looking at it.

"I'm hoping that this isn't worse than I think it is. I pray that I'm not already bleeding to death as we speak."

Roxanne fixed her with that stare again, the one that could melt artic ice for a long minute, before breaking it off—with a laugh of her own. Angel thought the other woman had a wondrous laugh, one that lit up all of her dark facial features on like a flashlight against the night. Is this the one, Christopher, she thought about her best friend. Is this what you had fallen for?

Angel put her hands on her knees.

"I want to live, Roxanne," Angel said to the other woman who nearly killed her minutes ago. "I want to live. I want the chance to see if I can make things right again."

"Are you sure, Doctor, are you really sure that's what you really want?"

"I do," Angel answered simply and lay back in her seat. The question and answer served as an intermission session between the two of them. I'll bet my pension that you still want to kill me don't you, Roxanne. Are these the final minutes of my life are going to look like...before you finally fulfill your destiny and kill me?

"Don't tempt me, Doctor?" Roxanne rubbed a knot growing on her own forehead.

"That's what this is about isn't it?" Angel knew she was disadvantaged in any physical confrontation with this other woman. It was time to challenge her on Angel's own playing field. "If you kill me then all of your pain magically disappears inside the coffin they bury me in."

The Marta stopped at its next preordained location. No one got on board.

Roxanne pointed a finger at Angel and cursed.

"Save the psychobabble for someone who truly gives a damn about it."

Angel cocked a brow.

"It doesn't take any measure of professional training to see that you are hurting inside, Roxanne. You are full of guilt. It's the only thing that makes sense that you once tried to join the very organization that you felt ambushed Maria in the first place."

Roxanne sat back in her own seat and her body seemed to grow limp.

"She made me promise to bring her back."

"Who," Angel got to her feet and stretched, while keeping her distance, "Who made you promise, Roxanne?"

Roxanne made a half turn and looked out of the window into the Atlanta darkness. It had already been a long night. It was the longest night ever. "'Don't let them hurt my baby'" she made me promise. My mother told me that she knew what Maria was doing was wrong—and that's not to mention the whoring and stealing that came before. She told me that the police needed to put her away for a very long time. On the inside she could get treatment. On the inside she could deal with all of the hate she had for all men because of our father leaving us the way that he did. She told me that she wanted her baby to live...despite all of the evil that she'd done, she wanted her baby to leave."

Angel nodded in understanding. A painful past was a difficult beast to bury.

"Most mothers would want the same for their children, Roxanne. Would you want that for me, Mama? There is no shame in that."

And when Angel saw that Roxanne Sanchez could fight back the tears no longer... she gave her space, she gave her silence and she gave her the dignity that she knew the other woman would want.

"I just can't get her voice out of my head. I hear her every day, every night. It is relentless."

"I'm sorry—"

Roxanne spun back around.

"Shut up, Angel. I don't need you to say anything. You can't possibly—"

"Understand," Angel matched the fury in Roxanne's tone with fire in her own. "Of course your dilemma is your own; we all have our own troubles. But of course I can understand. I can't reach inside of you and pull out your feelings, Roxanne. I can emphasize. You feel that you let your mother down. I killed mine and have relived my father's sad legacy almost like I'm his image in the mirror."

"I didn't know..."

Angel grabbed the other's wrist and pulled her close until they were face to face.

"You need to understand that neither of us is directly responsible for what happened to our loved ones." Angel said to her. "But I am not responsible for what happened to Maria Sanchez either, Roxanne, any more than you are. I don't have any reason or motivation to lie to you. But I will ask you—I will beg you to believe me when I say that I had no knowledge that the FBI was planning to ambush and kill your sister."

"And why should I believe you, Doctor?" Roxanne said without anger.

Angel dared to move closer.

"Roxanne, if you didn't know this already I will share it with you: I am a terrible human being. I deserve to be held accountable if not die for the things that I am responsible for with the crisis that this city and our country is facing this hour. The other thing that I have done in my professional and personal life isn't much better. My day of reckoning is coming. Don't you understand, Roxanne, I have nothing to lose anymore by exposing my sins to you, to the world. Most importantly, I have no reason to lie to you about what happened to Marie."

And then Angel released her grip on Roxanne's wrist.

And then the Marta—and the world at large shook beneath them.

Angel was tossed on her butt at the start...she immediately felt the hole in her side split open further. Roxanne screamed—and the sound of it was as terrifying as her laughter was a glorious sound in Angel's ear. Yet, she managed to reach her arms out in front of her face before she crashed and broke the car's glass.

Angel grasped for the nearest hand post and held on with everything that she had. She could faintly see out of the corner of her eye that Roxanne was struggling for survival even more than she was. Angel couldn't help her even if she had wished it.

The next thought she had was to pray that this car wouldn't skip the track and plummet downwards at an incredible velocity.

And then a minute later the earthquake was over.

The Marta—or least this car was thrown on its side. Angel gathered herself, the best way anyone could considering the circumstances, reached out for Roxanne to see if the other woman who wanted her dead mere hours ago, was still alive. She saw movement. She heard grunts, but was happy that she wasn't left alone here in the dark.

After a time Roxanne finally made eye contact. Fear was etched in the other woman's dark eyes. Or was it Angel's own fear only being reflected in the other woman's pupils. Angel reached out for Roxanne's wrist for the second time in minutes, reached her and held her close.

After a moment, Roxanne Sanchez at long last began to cry.

And Dr. Angel Hicks Dupree cried with her.
Louis

For now, all was quiet on the eastern front.

All was quiet except for Moses Jackson who was finishing the final verse of his prayer for two of the boys who had perished from events that transpired from the earthquake that happened nearly an hour ago now.

Louis Keaton didn't offer any words in the prayer and kept his distance from Moses and the other six boys he'd put in tremendous jeopardy first by kidnapping them in the first place and now with this botched escape attempt.

The total of them were driving alongside the mountain when the quake struck. Louis had tried to break, but not so hard that it toppled the pickup truck. He'd managed both. The boys in the unsecured bed went flying out of the truck. Louis' last turn caused the truck to land on top of two of the boys killing them instantly.

The God that Louis knew, but had never served, would not have let them suffer.

Now, Louis finally found the strength to move back towards his troops that he was leading. And he was their leader whether he wanted it or not. He was there leader whether they wanted it or not.

He walked up behind his general and planted a firm hand on Moses shoulder. For once the boy did not flinch.

"Thank you, Moses."

"What are you thanking me for?"

"You have turned out to be the leader just like I thought you were. You are the leader that your family thought you were. You weren't named Moses for nothing. He led the children of Israel out of Egypt. You're going to continue helping me lead the rest of these boys back home."

Moses teared up.

"That was a beautiful sermon that you gave for our lost companions. But we have lost a lot of time, but hopefully so have Pandora in their search for us. I believe that we can still reach the interstate—even without a ride. We need to go."

No one moved.

"I can't," The youngest living boy who'd broken his leg in the crash said. The bone was more than a clean break actually; it was likely shattered from kneecap to ankle. "I can't walk any further."

Louis swallowed hard.

"Well, that only means that we will have to take turns carrying you. I'll volunteer to go first. Solders never leave anyone behind. All you have to do is to try. You can't give up."

"No," The boy cried out. "It hurts to bad. And I'm so tired and hungry too."

"We all are." Another boy said.

"You were told to get to your feet, solider." Louis said sternly.

"We don't want to play solders anymore." A third boy offered. "We want to go home. But I don't think any of us knows the way now." The group of them seemed to be focusing their complaints on Moses. "We're scared."

Moses looked from the boys to Louis back to the boys again.

"We need more time—sir." Moses said partly in urgency, partly in a calm tone. "Can you give us 30 minutes to gather ourselves?"

In thirty minutes we will have returned from which we came. And we will never leave this world to the weak and impotent again.

Louis shuddered with that familiar voice from deep inside of him trying to swim up to the surface once again.

"I don't think I have 30 minutes, Moses."

Moses Jackson must have seen the look in Louis' eye, because he instantly caught the man's meaning. He scooped the boy with the shattered leg up underneath his arm as to take the first shift.

Louis stood and watched it all nearly helpless. Hugh told him to quit this nonsense now. The weakling that was Louis Keaton was had taken these boys as far as he could. He'd fought off Hugh's natural instincts as long as any weakling had any right to. It was over now, finished. He'd failed these boys long before now. Dr. Angel Hicks Dupree and all of her therapy wouldn't save him now. And Serena Tennyson and Pandora's long arm of influence was always reaching out for him. And now even Mother Nature was working against him. The earthquake was devastating. Even if they were to reach the outskirts of downtown who knew the devastation that and obstacles they would face then? He had failed in his final chance to save these boys.

Give them to us. Give them to me, Louis.

In my last visit, I learned much, Louis. The Dragon Witch has helped me in strengthening my resolve. The next time that I return to your world I will not settle for anything less than eternal life, Louis.

And in my life, you must be vanquished forever.

It is only a matter of time.

It is not a matter of if but when.

Louis Keaton recovered enough from his living nightmare that he though he saw a movement in some nearby trees. He took a hard longer look and was positive that he saw something, but was unsure of what. Moses Jackson and his younger eyes must have seen it too, because he nearly rammed into Louis with the other boy in tow to escape it.

"Did you see it?" Moses asked him.

"I did, Moses. Get our troops together. We will either leave here now or die here now. Our greatest escape is still to come."

Moses and the others all eased away from the pack of wolves as they were bid and continued towards home.
Roxanne

They were both in survival mode.

Roxanne Sanchez tried to get to her feet to no avail. Stubbornly, she gave it a second attempt, got further along than she did the first time, then crashed to the side of the Marta car (which served as the floor now) when she failed to steady herself by putting pressure on her ankle. It was tender. It was maybe even fractured or severely broken.

She bit her lip and watched Angel rise from her own unconsciousness. She cocked a brow and gave her surroundings and their plight in general a once over before rising to her feet. She worked her way over to where Roxanne was and she could see bruised blood caked on the doctor's blouse.

A stab of guilt washed over Roxanne. And yet, feeling the emotion was cool. It meant that all of her humanity hadn't abandoned her yet. Roxanne still found herself angry at Angel, at least a little. But the harshest feelings were subsiding. Thankfully, she still had managed to separate what was right and what was wrong—at least in her own mind.

And this pursuit of the doctor had proven fruitless.

What about Chris? Where is he now? Is he alright?

And to what extent had the earthquake enhance the city's suffering or alter it to one degree or the other. Was there still an active investigation for Atlanta's missing children?

Angel had finally pushed her way over to where Roxanne was sitting,

"Lean all of your weight on me, Roxanne." Angel got her arm around her. "I've got you. I'm not going to let go."

Roxanne grunted and then struggled to her feet again. Once there, she peered back over her shoulder only to see multitudes of other Marta riders from other overturned cars that were in various states of stress. There were obviously dead people among them. Yet, there had to be at least handfuls of them who were injured but would survive if they were treated to adequate medical attention.

"What about those people over there," Roxanne asked Angel. "We can't just leave them here."

She felt the doctor nod.

"We are going to do just that. I'm sorry, Roxanne. We are in no shape to help them—at least in any adequate sense. We've got to concentrate all of our energy and efforts on ourselves right at this moment. If there are any emergency services or responders available they will show up here sooner than later." Roxanne parted her lips in debate. "Come on, we are leaving this car."

Roxanne felt a surge of new anger rising up out of her chest to her temple that she could direct at the doctor...but it quickly passed. Damn you, Angel, you are right here. They were blessed enough to be able to escape this car, they weren't in the condition to aid anyone else.

They took one measured step at a time, each seemingly slower and more ponderous than the one that proceeded it. Roxanne's ankle was busted up good alright.

And then she felt a buzzing.

It was her cell phone ringing.

Angel must have felt it too and halted both of their progress, reaching over and then past Roxanne to slide it out of her side hip pocket; maybe it was Chris calling her.

Damn. Angel couldn't reach it before it stopped buzzing. When the doctor showed her the number on the screen Roxanne didn't immediately recognize the phone number that the call had originated from. She snorted while she waited the long minute it usually took for any left message to work its way to voicemail. She had to think a moment or more to remember what her password was and entered it into the phone while Angel held it up for her.

And then both women waited.

"I will see you suffer before your end," Was all the voice on the message said. It was all that it needed to say. Roxanne felt a cold shiver of fear run through her shoulder blades and down the length of her spine. Not now, I can't deal with this now. I can't deal with him now.

Roxanne must have seen the look on her face.

"Roxanne," She asked in a gentle voice. "Are you alright? Who was that voice on the phone? He sounded foreign, maybe of South American origin from my distance? Roxanne can you hear me?"

Roxanne surprised both women...by laying her head on Angel's shoulder. They sat on a bench nearby.

Roxanne wasn't sure why she did—she was unsure of most everything now but she told Angel the story of Ricardo Silas, the story of her time in Mexico in its unfiltered entirety. She told Angel how she'd been warned not to pursue the business man's missing girls. She remembered how Ricardo had warned her of the consequences of her actions for the villagers after she rescued them. She told the doctor the story of putting a gun to the girls 'head and threating to shoot them instead of letting them be returned to their corrupt mother.

She told Angel how she would have done anything to survive the moment.

And that her former lover Ricardo had promised to see her suffer before her end.

"Don't beat yourself up, Roxanne." Angel said when the fires of this maddening story had turned to embers at last. "You were desperate and vulnerable. Sometimes people put in such dire situations sometimes do desperate things in return."

Maybe;

And the tears rushed out of Roxanne.

Were these tears the continued sorrow over Maria's death or the first ones she'd ever shed over her own situation in Mexico?

Anyway, she couldn't believe that she was behaving this way—especially in front of Angel, this stranger who she'd grown to hate for so very long.

Was there a power epiphany at work here?

After a time Roxanne asked Angel about Louis Keaton?

"I think that I can still reach the humanity that lives within him. Louis is a troubled soul but is had a moral base." Angel said. "The persona known as Hugh is partly my responsibility, partly my creation. Well, maybe creation is too strong a term but I think my medication techniques aids in bringing his dominant personality back to the surface."

"Hugh," Roxanne asked in confusion. "You're the first person from Pandora, A House in Chains or the FBI or the media who I have heard refer to Keaton with that alias."

Angel nodded.

"Hugh Keaton is his true self." Angel said to her patiently. "Louis is little more than a persona that he picked up along the way. Louis was someone who was very special to him. I've never been able to extract the entirety of this tale from him in the time I've spent with him. I do know that Hugh reverts back into this recessive personality during various times of stress, and stimulation. To be honest, Roxanne, I'm unsure what it all means on the grand stage. I do know that I have to reach the Hugh persona if those children have any chance at survival. I've screwed up so much. But I know that he is trying to communicate with me. There were crime scenes that Christopher and I were investigating when Atlanta's children first went missing." Angel swallowed deeply. "He may have killed Denise Prince's daughter Erica as well. I'm not sure."

Roxanne had never considered that scenario but she was not privileged to Keaton's file and background the way Angel had.

"Did you tell Chris any of this?"

Angel shook her head.

"I couldn't. I wasn't sure. I'm still not sure that he did."

All of the memories Roxanne had of finding Erica dead in that dumpster back at Carver came rolling back into Roxanne's head. If this Keaton was as potentially vicious in this Hugh persona as Angel believed then he could be good for the deed.

Roxanne made her best effort at standing up once again. The pain in her ankle was terrible but she stood up none the less.

Angel asked her, "What are you doing?"

"We've wasted enough time, Doctor. I've wasted enough of your time. You told me when I first saw you tonight that you were trying to reach a family important to one of the missing boys and I caused you to miss that appointment. Now, you need to find this Keaton fellow and help save those remaining children and I'm holding you up from that as well. I've wasted enough of your time. We need to get along with the business of finding those boys."

"And we'll waste even more time with me dragging you along on a busted ankle, Roxanne."

"Surely you are not suggesting that you should leave me behind?"

Angel pulled out Roxanne's gun. At some point in the conversation and the closeness, the doctor had lifted the weapon off of her without her even missing it.

"I'm so sorry for this, Roxanne," Angel said. She never pointed the gun directly at her, but she made sure that Roxanne could see that she possessed it. "I am suggesting just that. I need to make things right. Like I said before, I'm sure emergency responders are already headed here, but I promise that I'll send any help I come across to you and the rest of the victims here at this station. I know that ankle hurts like hell but otherwise you're alright. And you're not under any immediate threat of any kind here."

Roxanne wanted to be angry with Angel, especially when the woman began to back away from her. It marked the second time tonight that the barrel of her own gun was put in her face by a civilian. That was unacceptable in her eyes. She was supposed to be better trained than that. It was more than apparent that her fear and anger were overriding emotions that clouded the rest of her judgements.

"The only promise that I want you to make me is that you will tell Chris what you believe, Angel."

"How can I? How can I tell my best friend that my training may have set Louis Keaton off on his latest kidnapping and molesting venture? "

"You have to, Angel. Don't let him find out any other way. If Keaton or anyone else associated with Serena Tennyson and Pandora killed his stepdaughter Eric Lovings, Chris should hear it from you first."

"I know," Angel said with a blank look on her pale face. "Like I said, I've screwed this up so badly already."

"Don't let him find out any other way, Angel." Roxanne said as she sat herself on the ground, offered her cell phone to Angel and resigned to the fact that she might be there for hours to come. And since she had her own secrets to keep as well—the fact that Angel's husband Seth was with her only hours ago—the sooner Angel left her, the better. "Don't,"

Dr. Angel Hicks Dupree nodded silently and disappeared into Atlanta's night.

An hour later Roxanne lay down in the dirt; she had no cell phone, no gun, and no chance of defending herself if and when he found her.

Roxanne broke down in tears once again.

She called Chris Prince out loud by name but he failed to answer her back. Was he even alive? He wished he was with her right now.

Every shadow frightened her.

Every movement startled her.

And Ricardo Silas was coming soon to watch her suffer before her end.

He might as well come right now
Chris

"Somebody shoot this bastard,"

Special Agent Christopher Prince heard what the Deacon said, but continued his march towards Deacon and the Choir Boys' leader the Bishop. He had finished his countdown with a shot that everyone involved in this standoff knew was an intentional miss wide enough to miss the Bishop's skull, but close enough to get his full attention. Chris could feel the tension from Martin's clan behind him. He had deduced that the others weren't just following him they were family. Martin's family had to be unsure of what they were seeing. Why should they believe in him especially after walking on him and Blue had guns locked on each other at the beginning of this?

Tabitha, he remembered his partner lying on the ground nearby after his gun discharged as the earthquake struck the city unexpectedly. It was an accident, he kept telling himself. It was a damned preventable accident.

But he had one problem to deal with at a time.

Since the Choir Boys had showed up on the scene something in him had changed. Or perhaps they fully manifested themselves. Perhaps it had started when the FBI had relieved him of duty after Lucy Burgess had brought the spotlight on a very dark period of his life? Perhaps it began when Serena Tennyson exposed him to the truth...all of the truths about his father Isaac Prince. Or perhaps it was commenced when he held his dying brother Xavier in his arms? Anyway, he couldn't identify what it was. A transformation was taking place. Chris couldn't stop it. He wouldn't stop it.

A dying man had nothing to lose.

"Ain't this something, just look at us, Bishop?" Chris said, continuing his methodical approach with his gun drawn on the two men. "I want you to understand how pathetic we are."

"What are you talking about, man?" The Deacon said for the Bishop. How the man translated for his muted leader was beyond Chris understanding—or caring at this point. "I know that you need to back the hell up."

Chris looked back at Martin's clan for a second.

"No wonder white folk fear our kind, our very presence. Look at you, Bishop. Look at how you are dressed. Look at the gold teeth and the tats and the baggy pants. You are a disgrace to the mother that births you."

"They don't dictate what I wear," Deacon said for the Bishop. "You are fucking crazy, man. Why doesn't someone put this bastard out of all our miseries right now? Somebody shoot him."

Chris finally stopped in his tracks.

"You're right, Bishop." He said in a voice that was eerily calm and civilized. "They don't dictate what we wear, how we talk, what we do with our lives. Yet, too often our people grasp ideals and ideas that the rest of society questions as a way of embracing our so called blackness. A man once said that we see the right in the wrong and the wrong in the right. I believe that to be true. Look at you, Bishop. The baggy pants and the tattoos originated from prison garb. Is that what we want our young people to aspire to look like—escaped prisoners?"

Bishop actually tried to mumble something through the injury that had incapacitated his means.

Deacon seemed to struggle with this translation. He searched his leader's face long and hard before speaking again.

"I...I guess it's our heritage." Deacon finally said. "I don't know. I do know that I didn't come here for a public service announcement or history lesson from you. I want Grace Edwards. I want payment for the lives that white man and his redneck brood took from me. You got real spirit there, boy, real spirit. I'm going to let you walk away from this if you're smart enough to hand them over to me and just walk away."

"No, it's far from being that simple, my brother." Chris said. "Grace Edwards is a little busy right now. She's not going anywhere with you. And in the 30 minutes that I've known Mr. Martin, I can tell you that he's not giving any of his people to you either."

"Give me—"

"No," Chris answered in a tone that would brook no further argument. "You have only one choice here, my brother; you are going turn and walk away from her or you—and your Deacon is going to die here, tonight, right where you are standing right now."

"Man, I was right, you are crazy."

"I am far from it, Bishop. I am sick in every way a man can be sick. I'm sick to death of young brothers like yourself embracing everything that you perceive that white people hate. I am sick of more black men your age serving prison sentences than being enrolled in college. I'm sick of the nightly shootings and other violence. Mostly though, I'm sick of good men like my brother Xavier Prince who died to make this world better for your tired trifling black ass."

"I don't care." The Deacon said for his Bishop. "I'm trying to get mine. It's every man for himself in this world."

Chris shook his head in exasperation.

"Yea, I guess you're right. And that might be the saddest part."

"What have you done? What are you doing?" The Deacon asked him. "Just because you wear a badge don't mean anything."

"You're right again," Chris said. "In this role I've probably done little more than you have to further the cause of people of color. I'm one of those people whose taken their success—and there money to the suburbs. When I'm off duty I was one of the ones who pretended that what goes on in our communities that I left behind doesn't affect me personally. All of the drugs, all of the suffering, all of the murder fade into oblivion while I move on to a new day."

Chris raised his weapon.

"Look man," The Deacon said with a trembling voice. "I recognize you, now. You're Chris Prince from the FBI. I...he didn't kill your step daughter."

"Of course you did, Bishop."

"She dissed him just like that bitch over there, Grace. He wanted to kill her. He would have but someone beat him to it. I swear it. We found out shortly after that private dick your ex-wife hired found your step daughter in that dumpster in what the Peacekeepers left of Carver."

"I...I believe you."

And Chris Prince spun around and showed both of them his back.

The Bishop grunted, nearly incensed.

The Deacon said: "Oh, you screwed up now, boy. Somebody shoot this mother—"

Chris twisted back around and squeezed off a round with the speed and precision that no one, including himself, would have thought imaginable that tore into the Bishop's skull. He mustered a second and third shot while Martin's people got the memo and targeted the Choir Boys—picking them off one by one.

When Chris looked again, there were only three Choir boys still standing. At least two of Martin's men were wounded and didn't look well.

"I want you to remember back when I told your Bishop that I was sick." Chris told the last of the Choir Boys. "I am, as much as your leader was. You are still armed so I guess that makes you dangerous in the immediate sense. Perhaps one or more of you will fire off a shot that kills me, that eases my pain. Dying tonight instead of painfully down the road may be a mercy. I really did believe the Deacon when he said that your people didn't kill Erica Lovings. But you are responsible for scores of deaths and destruction and deserved the death penalty that the Peacekeepers and now...I have served on you. The atonement for your sins has been paid. You three can have a stay of execution but hey it's been a strange night already. Maybe you three will continue to cheat death but it is my advice that you throw down your arms and walk away. You should walk away and live."

They throw down their weapons quickly and leave the scene.

Special Agent Christopher Prince holsters his as well and walks to the spot where Tabitha Blue is still lying.

He praised God that she has a pulse, however faint.

"Who will help me get my partner to the hospital?" Chris asked. "You people have heard me; I'm dying of a type of stomach cancer that killed my mother as well. I'm dying but my partner doesn't have to." Chris said through the tears that were streaming down his face.
Serena

"Tell me your name, sir."

The man, whose voice was the buzzing in a hornets nest, shifted his beady eyes back and forth before they landed on Serena Tennyson at last. At least a dozen other Pandora Agents were mulling about the darkened alley avoiding eye contact with her as well. Today she wore the guise of Oracle, the hard and unforgiving field leader that existed before her near assault at the end of Operation Deliverance. Only Danielle Rohm—Shooter—dared to maintain eye contact with her now. And Serena could not decide if the petite woman dressed in black's gaze was one locked in fascination or contempt.

"Penrose," The man's thick mustache rose and fell as he spoke. "My name is Charlie Penrose."

"Very good then," Serena locked her hands behind her back and circled Penrose. "Tell me, Operative Penrose, in what capacity did you serve your country before you became enlightened and recruited by Pandora."

Penrose looked from Serena to his immediate supervisor, Alexander Bolton for any indication of support from the suntanned and fit younger man, licked his lips and watched Serena complete another circle around him.

"Look, Oracle, I—"

Serena hardened her gaze further and planted her nose and lips an inch from Penrose's right ear.

"I asked you a fucking question, operative," Such vulgarities were normally beneath Serena, but this was not just an exercise in discipline but in appearance. Reports were coming in from many of her field supervisors that belief, courage and hope were fading—especially after the destruction and death that had touched so many of her people after the earthquake. "I asked you a question and I want a fucking answer to that question an hour ago."

She heard Penrose swallow.

"I was a contracted agent for the ATF. In fact, now that I think of it, I would have been employed by them ten years late next month."

Serena grinned...and it startled Penrose. Good.

"You would have served them ten years you say?"

"Yes, Oracle, ten years,"

"Well then, to the matter at hand. Why did you abandon your post?"

She heard Penrose swallow again.

"It was about the earthquake of course," Serena could see sweat building on his brow and on his thick mustache. "Before our last operation began I moved my family out of Metro Atlanta, you know, expecting the worse in violence and rioting in the city after we passed the Zero Hour."

"Go on,"

"Well, mam, when the initial reports about the earthquakes started filing in and we learned that the epicenter was 20 to 25 miles east of the city...well...I panicked. That was the same general area where I sent Lizzy—my wife and my boys towards. My in-laws retired in an area near Athens." Penrose seemed to shrink a little and some of the sting went out of his voice. "I haven't heard a hair from them since the quake struck; I admit that the situation has shaken me up pretty badly, it's been difficult to concentrate on anything else since. I needed to know if my family made it. I left here and drove until I found them alive at last."

"It shook you up; of course it shook you up, Operative Penrose." Serena said, echoing the man's earlier statement. She glanced back only at the woman dressed all in black only interested in her reaction to all this...and interested in her words. "Shooter, tell Operative Penrose what transpired during his absence from his post."

Rohm rolled her eyes and stepped up to the center of the group and planted her small but lethal hands behind the small of her back in as neutral a stance as the younger woman could muster.

"The Atlanta Police Department had split into smaller independent battalions as they've struggled with their own breaches of discipline and defections during events in the city over the past 24 to 48 hours. One of these battalions, a group who called themselves Blackstreet infiltrated a position that our people held six miles from here. Operative Penrose was by far our most senior and most experienced man in the area of combat. The others fought valiantly...but were overrun and were forced to withdraw from this vital strategic holding."

"With all of the earthquake damage between here and there the obstructions caused my roundtrip to take far longer than I would have anticipated. I knew that zone was important to Pandora, Oracle. I know that it was important to you—"

"Operative Penrose," Serena interrupted him.

"It is my opinion that we wouldn't have held the zone even if I—"

"Operative Penrose," Serena said in a voice that ran both hot and cold. "You abandoned your post. You allowed an enemy combatant to make a successful incursion into Pandora held territory; a zone that cost us valuable lives and resources to claim and then to hold."

Penrose's mustache quivered as his hidden lip beneath muttered something incomprehensible. Serena thought she saw tears in his eyes.

"I didn't do this on my own authority, Serena...Oracle. Operative Bolton gave me permission." Penrose peered over to where his suntanned superior went a shade of white. "You'll back me up on this part right, buddy? I got permission. I drove back as quickly as the conditions allowed me to. Please, Serena, forgive me for what happened to my guys while I was gone. We lost good people. I lost good friends."

"Operative Penrose are you aware of the penalty for desertion?"

"Desertion," Penrose uttered the word as if it were a curse as his bushy eyebrows shot up.

"We are in a state of war, Operative. What you did amounted to an act of treason against our cause—against me. Treason is punishable by death is it not?"

All of the life went out of Penrose as if his execution had already been commenced and all that was left behind were his bones. Bolton shifted his weight as if he needed to pee. Rohm folded one arm over the other and licked her black lip stick.

"My God, what kind of people are you?" Penrose asked them one and all and then rested his scorching gaze on Serena. "What kind of woman are you?"

Serena answered only be planting her hands on her lean hips.

"I am the woman who is commanding the most lethal, efficient, counter terrorist unit that this country—that the world has ever seen, mister. I have been tasked with protecting this country's way of life and values that you and I both enjoy. I expect nothing less than the best efforts from my subordinates in these urgent matters of state. Do you agree that Operative Bolton was your direct superior in this case?"

"What?"

Serena sneered as she tapped a toe in exaggerated inpatients. The look of pure dread in Penrose's eye, the anxiety of the other operatives and even the hint of anxiety in Danielle Rohm's face was exactly the effect this theatrical exercise was meant to accomplish.

"Are you deaf as well as blind to your incompetence? " Serena asked, and jerked a long manicured index fingernail into the chest of Operative Penrose until she knew that it hurt. "Is Operative Bolton your direct supervisor? Did this man give you permission to leave the city in search of your family?"

"Yes," Penrose broke down with tears. "Yes, his is. Tell her Alex. Tell her that everything was on the up and up. Tell her, please. I don't want to die—not now—not after going through so much to learn what happened to my family. Tell her what she wants to know, Alex."

"Mistress Tennyson," Bolton cleared his throat. "If I could be allowed to speak on Operative Penrose's behalf—I know this man to be of high character—

Serena interrupted Bolton.

"Well, of course he is, Operative Bolton. He would not be a member of my team if he were not." Serena's tone softened for now. She never took her eye off of Penrose, focusing on his thick mustache but spoke to Bolton. "I want you to step forward."

"Yes, Oracle,"

Bolton arrived in six steps.

"I want you to hand me your side arm."

"Sorry...I don't understand."

"Operative Alexander Bolton, you will hand me your sidearm, mister and you will do so immediately." Serena said while still eyeing Penrose's mustache.

"He acted under my consent, Oracle," Bolton said. "Please forgive him—"

"I asked for you weapon, Operative Bolton, not for your opinion—and I will ask you for your sidearm only once more."

Bolton handed it butt first.

Serena examined it quickly, checked the magazine's clip for ammunition, released the safety and points the barrel at Operative Penrose at last.

Bolton gasps in horror.

Rohm unfolds her arms.

Serena watches the other Operatives shift in their stance while one female in the groups turns away from what she fears are the final seconds of Penrose's life.

And then Serena chooses a new target—Operative Bolton—and squeezes the trigger at point blank range between the young man's eyes.

Operative Alexander Bolton's suntanned body is long dead before he ever hits the pavement.

Serena waited a heartbeat before speaking further, her theatrics nearing its end.

"Family is certainly crucial, Operative Penrose, especially in light of the events that have shined such a negative light on all of us in the past few days." Serena said and even squeezed Penrose's trembling shoulder. "However, Pandora—everyone here—is your family as well. By the end of this we may your only family left. The fault in the abandonment of your post is not yours, Operative Penrose that is why you still live. Operative Bolton was not killed because he erred in letting you pursuit the whereabouts of your family. Alexander was permanently relieved of duty because he failed to commit someone with equal experience in your place while you were away."

"Yes, Oracle," Penrose tried to steady his voice. "I understand."

"Very well then; I want you to assume Bolton's command and select a qualified candidate to serve Pandora in your own post and then I want you to retake our zone from Blackstreet."

Penrose pointed a thumb as his own chest.

"Me,"

"Operative Penrose," Serena softened her voice until she sounded as if she were another person. This wasn't theatrics any longer. This was real. "I regret to inform you that it has come to my knowledge that your wife, your children and your in-laws were all killed when one of the aftershocks leveled that community just east of Athens where your family was." Serena allowed Penrose to examine the official documents that Rohm had handed him while she spoke. "Minutes ago I spoke of Pandora as potentially your only family. You can honor your family—you can honor us by continuing to perform your duties to the best of your abilities."

Penrose's beady eyes brightened for the first time since this entire episode began. He wiped the snot that had leaked into his mustache on his sleeve.

"I need you to be a leader now. I need you to retake what's ours. Peachtree Street served as a major listening post between our current position and the heart of Midtown Atlanta. We are currently blind in that respective and I don't like being blind, Operative Penrose."

"I understand." Penrose said and seemed to find his footing again. "And I will retake that zone. You have my word on that."

Ten minutes later after the group had disbanded, Serena heard Rohm calling her by that particular name as she strolled down the other end of the street. The wind was howling and whipped both women's hair into an unkempt frenzy.

Serena had been walking towards a mobile weapons depot to pick up two guns from its wide and varied arsenal. She slowed her long strides just enough for the younger woman to catch up to her.

Danielle Rohm struggled to match her pace and Serena could feel Shooter looking up at her.

"You have a query for me, Rohm?"

"More of an observation perhaps," Rohm replied after a prolonged thought. And then she did something unexpected...Danielle Rohm reached out and squeezed Serena's arm at the elbow and spun her around until the two women faced each other. Rohm glanced down the street they had been facing and then to the one behind them and then dismissed the driver of the mobile weapons carrier.

Any anger or resentment that the younger woman had experienced after Serena's proclamation of her leading role in the Peacekeeper's murder of James Carter and the maiming of the man's wife years ago was subsiding.

Serena softened her stance as well as not to appear unnecessarily confrontational. She would admit to no one—not even Rohm—that the confrontation with Penrose and Bolton had been emotionally draining. Serena wasn't completely comfortable with all of the emotions running through her over the past weeks but somehow it felt right somehow to need this woman's approval somehow.

Perhaps Rohm was her family.

"Look, I can't say whether I completely agree with how you handled the James Carter or this Bolton situation or not. But I can save that I disagree with your decision since that you should be leading this assault yourself proves nothing. Blackstreet would have fortified their hold on that zone by now. They have more than Pandora to worry about. We also don't know if any of the other battalions of APD officers have joined them. Even if even one of them did it would make their stronghold nearly invulnerable to any incursion we could muster."

"You're knowledge of tactics and military strategy never fails to astound me, Rohm. You are quite the student of combat."

Rohm ignored that.

"I'm asking you to stay behind, Serena. I'm asking you not to do this."

"My dear, Rohm, are you actually trying to protect me."

"I am. You spoke about family earlier. You are the mother; you are the father of this family especially with Raymond Rice no longer amongst us. If you should fall..." Rohm let her voice trail off while she still had strength in it.

Serena looked up and glared into the smoky haze and the nothingness that existed well beyond it.

"I will, as you say, fall, Rohm." Serena would not allow herself to look at Rohm. She thought neither of them possessed the strength to engage in such an emotional stare down. "I've seen it in the flames, Rohm. I've looked into the fire and saw my reflection there. But I do understand that my end is not here, it will be soon, but not now. I may not deserve your trust, Rohm, but I need it unconditionally."

Serena smiled at Rohm wand resumed her march towards the mobile weapons unit when the younger woman halted Serena's progress once again.

Rohm said: "There is something dark about to happen to you...to me...to all of us who have been involved in this since the introduction of the 411 Campaign. I can feel it, Serena."

"Have you peeking into my flames, Rohm?"

"I'm serious, Serena." Rohm said. "And this comes from someone like Raymond Rice who once told you that he did not believe in your flames. I don't believe in them or you're Dragon. I do believe in you, Serena. I always have. And I'm asking you—I'm begging you to stay behind. Nothing good comes from you going any further with your plan. I can feel it, Serena."

Serena touched Rohm's face.

"I'm sorry, Danielle but I have to. I listen to Dragon within those flames. And the flames tell have instructed me to walk this path. I must obey. There is something within that zone that I was meant to see."

The battle finally turned in Pandora's favor 45 minutes into it. The majority of the operatives who had led the initial incursion with Penrose had been killed in the first half hour including Penrose himself. Still, the man had served his family, both old and new, with distinction and valor as his men had taken scores of Blackstreet with them into eternity. More importantly, Penrose's men had eliminated a handful of snipers that had been casing two buildings from above. Rohm had been wrong—thankfully—about other APD battalions' merging with this one. In fact, Serena was more than happy to tell Shooter that they'd overestimated their enemy's numbers and organizational capacity period.

Or perhaps they were more effective as the aggressor where they could use emotion and sense of purpose to drive an enemy out...but lacked the direction and aptitude to wage a defensive campaign against the likes of Pandora.

But finishing what they had started wouldn't be easy.

Serena's forces had met resistance from an unexpected source: A group of civilians who had called themselves the Book Worms. Their numbers were around 20 and they were former librarians who had banded together to defend the building and street from any and all comers. They were far from efficient with their attack and disorganized and lacked proper training. But Serena admired their gall and their courage.

It was an honor to order her people to kill them all.

By the time they'd reached the zone of Peachtree, Serena's people were tired and they had a limited amount of ammunition and supplies. And yet, not only was Blackstreet surprised at Pandora's initial counter attack, they were caught completely by surprise when Serena's supportive cell came out firing with all guns.

And then Serena made the most difficult order of them all.

Xavier Prince, the Circle and the Peacekeepers had taught Serena and her Pandora associates a valuable lesson during their outlandish missions in the operation that they had called Scar.

They had taught Serena that there were no lines that were beyond not being crossed in the effort to win a war.

And if Xavier's people could kill civilians in unpresented numbers using an unpresented and crude manner—

She could surely order her people to respond in kind.

So three of your junior operatives sprinted towards Blackstreet's final stronghold of nearly 12 to 15 officers and ignited the explosives on their chest as both men and structures exploded in a fiery hell storm worthy of Serena's Dragon.

Serena smile faded as soon as she looked behind her.

Danielle Rohm had been shot.

Serena fired off two or three more rounds as Blackstreet stragglers who had tried to outflank her people from the rear. Oracle was more frantic than she would have ever thought as she rushed over to the area where Shooter was nearly flat on her back.

She did calm her breathing with some effort when she arrived to where the woman in black was lying.

Honestly, after a second and then a third glance, Rohm looked to have suffered more than a flesh wound in her side as the bullet had went in and then immediately had passed through and out of her. When Rohm had actually mouthed the words that she was okay it caused Serena to breathe even easier. The man who had taken over for Penrose sprinted over to where the two women were and asked for permission to retake the building that would serve as a Pandora command center for as long as they held this zone. Serena happily gave him that order.

Twenty more minutes and this battle was all over.

Serena Tennyson commanded Rohm to seek medical attention for her wounds no matter how minor she thought they were, as well as the other dozen or so operatives that had various injuries like the one Rohm had suffered through to more life threating ones.

Then Serena walked with a hand full of her victorious operatives inside their old new home to inventory what weapons and information that the APD battalion had left behind.

They had completed their mission.

They had retaken the zone.

She gave her next command: She instructed two operatives to begin to access the damage to the computers that they'd set up and to get the communications array operational once again to that they could get back in contact with other Pandora cells throughout the city and beyond. Louis Keaton's whereabouts was the obvious top priority. She wanted to know if he and those boys had cleared the mountain retreat or not.

Again, Pandora had learned from the Circles 'deviousness. They had released their own suicide agents into the field. The gloves had indeed come off.

But.

But if she thought all was lost and she were to unleash the fiery inferno upon the city...Oracle's vision of the Whirlwind, Serena wanted to be absolutely certain that events had left her with no other choice—

And then Serena heard Rohm screams above the cries many others.

Serena ran out of the building as fast as her long legs would carry her.

And then she saw it.

It looked as if an entire acre of land had disappeared that was a part of historic Peachtree street as the earth had opened up—and a gigantic sinkhole had taken its place.

She carefully but quickly worked her way to the top of it ignoring the pleas from her subordinates not to venture down below.

Serena didn't lower herself down...what she saw below her...told her that it was far too late to help anyone who'd fallen into the sinkhole.

Danielle Rohm's body was torn, twisted and broken unlike any human body Serena Tennyson had ever seen before.

Serena leaned over the edge just enough so she could wipe the dirt and tears from Shooter's eyes.

Those eyes...Danielle Rohm's nearly lifeless eyes fixed themselves on Serena above her.

Serena told her stupidly that it was all okay; she told her that she would be okay. She didn't bother checking on the other operatives whose bodies were just as torn, twisted and broken as Rohm's. Most of their fates were already sealed. Rohm lived on. For a few seconds that she had left, Rohm lived on.

Rohm reached her hand up until Serena leaned over further and grasped it with her own.

Danielle Rohm, the Shooter, the woman who all dressed in black could only whisper what she meant to say.

She told Serena something that she would always remember.

And then she told her something that she would never forget.

And then the young woman died a painful, agonizing death.

And Serena Tennyson found herself orphaned once again.
Seth

The Georgia Dome's Westside Club Section had served at a triage center of operations even before the earthquake had hit the city.

It wasn't designed for this. It was massively understaffed and the refugees kept pouring in not only from Metro Atlanta, but from rural Georgia, Tennessee and Alabama in search of medical attention, food, water, and a place of safe refuge.

It would have to do until something like that could be provided.

Dr. Seth Dupree was more than thrilled to be helping others inside its walls however. It had seemed as if it had been forever since he'd what he'd actually been trained to do—surgery.

It wasn't actually. He'd performed two minor and one major procedure with the late Denise Prince assisting during the Carver mess. He had to laugh inwardly; he thought at that time that the Peacekeepers siege on that housing project had been the single biggest farce of his life.

Oh how much of the world—and his opinion—had changed since then.

He looked at the clock. He'd been working for what...four procedures and 12 hours straight since he'd found his way here via one of the few operating Marta's in the city. Two other members of his original team had been killed in separate incidents since the Zero Hour's inception. A stray bullet had taken one; the after effect of the earthquake had claimed the other. And yet, these people who he'd never worked with now were excellent and professional and dedicated to their craft despite the many different things that had befallen them and their families over the past days.

The emergency lights flickered off and then on again.

"Teresa," Seth hoped that was the name of the young woman who smelled of body wash. "Get that electrical crew up here again. We can't risk having these power fluctuations', especially right now."

"I did earlier, Doctor, just before—"

"Do it again, please. We either need consistent lighting from the primary systems that they set up or they need to concentrate their efforts on getting the damned battery backups going. I know that this triage center was originally designed to function from surface level. I know that our little groundbreaking event has made that design less than palpable. We've got to make what we have work for us. If I remember in our training that they should have designed the electrical systems to bypass primary conduits and piggyback directly off of the Georgia Dome's secondary power grid." He stopped the surgery and talking a moment to catch his breath. "We should have at least three more hours before all these primary systems shut themselves down. That increases the risk to what we are doing here. I'm not going to lose any patients because of loss of power at a critical juncture."

"Alright, Doctor, I'll head right over to their holding area."

"Good, you do that. And Teresa," Seth replied as she turned around with the door handle in her hand.

"Tell them not to have me to have to come up there. I can be a very dangerous man when I want to be."

Seth's sly attempt at humor brought a smile to the young woman's face. Two other nurses laughed out loud and Seth's one moment of lightheartedness had relieved much of the tension in the room that he himself probably was responsible for creating.

And yet the chemical release that laughter had provided had only served to tire him out further.

He shook off his weariness and threw all of his concentration into his work. He managed to relax his mind while working his fingers. He allowed his experience and his years of training to lead him where he needed to go. This patient—he glanced at her chart again—Tabitha Blue needed his best efforts this afternoon. The bullet had only grazed an area of her skull lined with major tissue, but missed the subsection that housed her brain. A gunshot to the head was never good, but this was a workable situation. It would be a slow physical recovery for Ms. Blue. She might suffer some headaches and there would be bouts of memory loss but she would survive.

The Gray Man just needed the damned lights to stay on—and for him not to make any mistakes.

"Doctor Dupree," One of the two doctors who had found the humor in his words earlier said. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," He said a little too quickly and instantly regretted it. He bridged the awkward silence by instructing her to hand him the scalpel to the far left. He made an incision that his medical tutors of long ago would have pleased with.

"No, you're not," Dr. Parker, his number one assistant said. He was a former lunch partner of Denise Prince and whether through personal or professional jealously, hadn't treated Seth with much affection during their training together. "You've been at this since you arrived—from nowhere—12 hours ago. You look like hell."

"I'm fine," Seth replied again, stopping long enough to raise the bloody instrument towards the heavy set doctor. "You do, however, have the authority to relieve me of my duties by the rules we all agreed upon when we signed on to serve this state in matters such as this. But you wouldn't start any shit like that—not now would you, Doctor?"

Parker chose not to pursue any of those avenues just now.

They completed the work on Tabitha Blue 30 minutes later. Teresa had returned from her errand just in time to inform Seth and Dr. Parker that this patient had two people, who she didn't think were her relatives, waiting from a report from them on the next floor.

Teresa's words got Seth's attention. Almost half of the patients at the triage center being treated for major trauma were solo acts who had been separated from loved ones by countless circumstances. This was a striking change from what he'd grown used to in his time here. He actually looked forward to speaking to who had accompanied Ms. Blue here.

It feels good to be a surgeon again...it feels good to be me again. He had survived a terrifying night that he would have never given himself a chance of surviving before it began. He had proven himself worthy of life. He had proven himself worthy of living.

But he was good at this. And what he was superior at was still in high demand after all of the madness perpetrated by equally as mad men over the past hours and days.

And yet, when Seth saw the party who had escorted Tabitha Blue to this place, he knew that the madness had followed him here.

"Let me see the chart again, Teresa," Seth said, without looking back at the woman who trailed close behind him. He only had eyes for Special Agent Christopher Prince and a slim black woman who was seated next to him on a comforter. "The patients name full title was Special Agent Tabitha Blue of the FBI." He said for his own ears more than the others standing near him.

The Gray man left Teresa and Dr. Parker where they were standing and angled his way towards where Chris and this stranger to him were seated. I'm not prepared to deal with you right now, Agent Prince. He saw Denise Prince throw herself out of her apartment's window to her death as he approached Chris. He knew that he wasn't prepared to deal with a potentially grieving ex-husband...especially one who didn't know what he knew about his ex-wife's final thoughts and words before she died.

And yet, Chris had knowledge of what came in the hour or so before that. What or perhaps who did Denise see inside of Agent Prince's motel room that started her down that path to self-destruction?

Seth took a deep breath as the two of them rose as he stopped next to where they had been previously been sitting.

As Chris rose to his full height he said: "Hello, Doctor, thank you for seeing us...how is Tabitha?" He had achieved full recognition of the other man. "Seth? Dr. Seth Dupree is that you? What are you doing here?"

"It's good to see you again as well, Chris." Seth stuck his hand out and let Chris give it a squeeze. "Sit down."

Chris flashed a look of dread.

"Tabitha isn't—"

"No," Seth shook his head and visibly saw the FBI Special Agent exhale visibly. Something else brightened on his dark face, something that Seth couldn't immediately place. He saw Seth searching for an answer as well and he quickly introduced the younger woman wearing the tight braids in her hair as Grace—no last name. And since either one of the men were offering explanations Seth moved on to why he originally came up here. "Tabitha is stabilizing. Even as we speak she is recovering."

After Seth gave Agent Prince his immediate and long term prognosis of his patient he said: "She's out of whatever fight you two are involved in, Chris. Your partner has a long recovery ahead of her, but I am very optimistic. In the short time we spent together I can tell that she is very strong and very stubborn."

Chris turned on a sheepish smile.

"You don't know the half of it, Doc."

The three of them sat in an awkward silence while the Georgia Dome's lights flickered off and on again. Seth knew that he needed to get back to the business of his other patients. Agent Chris Prince had already turned on his professional demeanor. He had transformed into full investigator mode now: The Gray Man could see the other man examining every blink of his eye, every movement of his lip searching for clues to something hidden.

The woman—Grace—kept checking her watch and suddenly couldn't sit still. Seth couldn't work out if she worked for the bureau or one of its many subsidiaries. She carried herself in a professional manner even as the fatigue showing beneath her eyes wore her down. For and instant—a small instant—Seth thought them to be lovers...but their chemistry wasn't giving off that type of vibe.

And in speaking of lovers—

"Where is Angel, Chris?" Seth asked, wondering where his beloved was and if Roxanne Sanchez had made good on her threats towards his wife. "Have you heard from her in the past few hours?"

Chris shoulders dropped a little.

"It's been a great deal of hours ago...before the Zero Hour and certainly before the quake hit." Chris admitted to him. "I don't know where Angel is, Seth, no one does."

"What in the hell do you mean by no one does?"

Grace took the opportunity to excuse herself and offered to bring the two of them some coffee after she found and had one of her own. Chris nodded in agreement at her suggestion without lifting his eyes off of the doctor to watch her leave.

Both men stopped speaking for a second as medical personnel rushed past where they were seated with another patient who looked to have numerous injuries to his lower extremities. Seth found a clock on the nearby wall and let his gaze hand there for a second so that the FBI Agent understood that he didn't have an infinite amount of time to chat.

"I've only heard this information second hand, Seth. Things didn't end well between your wife and the bureau. Sheridan—my boss left a single agent responsible for keeping her put during the duration of this investigation into Atlanta's missing children. She escaped him. No one knows where she went off to or why she made her escape. No one has seen a trace of her since."

"That means that she could be anywhere in the city."

"Well, the FBI has few resources to commit to finding her—especially in light of everything that has happened since. They are struggling with communications along with everything else. And now reports are surfacing about some super storm moving into the area over the next few hours to add misery to everything else."

Seth had noted that the wind had picked up substantially in the past few hours before the shelter of the Georgia Dome had at least taken that danger away. A super storm, you say, what else in the hell can wrong here? Seth got up and walked to one of the giant windows to see it for himself. Three men were fighting against that very wind while they were setting up a tent outside in the parking lot. Another man was chasing down some packaged medical supplies that had blown away as he gave chase.

"I haven't spoken to her either," Seth said, almost defensively. "She hasn't answered her cell in ages."

"It's funny how she never mentioned to me once that you were in town. In fact she seemed hell bent on avoiding you all together."

"She never knew that I was here." Seth hoped to quell the investigator's instincts with quick and precise answers. "We had a knock down drag out fight just after your man Sheridan recruited her. Look, Chris, I've trained with this trauma unit for situations like this one over the past few years. I needed to do something when I suddenly found a lot of time on my hand. I also wanted to be closer to my wife if this situation between Pandora and a House in Chains deteriorated further. It looks as if I made the right choice."

Agent Prince was nodding.

"I'm sure that this unit benefited greatly from having you aboard, Seth. I need to look no further than you saving my partner's life as evidence of that."

Seth believed that the FBI Agent was being honest with what he was saying, but there was something just underneath the surface of what he was saying that meant a great deal more.

"I hope so, Chris. I hope so."

"And speaking of this specialized unit of yours, Denise spoke to me about all of your training and expertise; I remember her saying that you were more than a fine surgeon. She said that you had leadership qualities that were unmatched as well. She was definitely impressed with your work. She said that you were a medical genius."

"Denise..." Seth said, and when he finally said her name he knew that the moment of truth—both literally and figuratively between them—had finally arrived after minutes, after years of buildup. He took a deep breath and lay a hand on the agent's shoulder.

"Denise...yea...look...I'm sorry for your loss. I know that the two of you had been divorced for some time, but what happened to her is beyond belief. Her death was a shock to me and our entire team as well."

"Her team," Chris looked around the floor. "Now that I look back at it I find it funny that, just like your wife, Denise never mentioned you were in Atlanta either. I saw her more than a couple of times after you're training sessions would had begun, but yet no mention of you."

Seth grinned like a madman.

"That is funny, Chris. You know, since we're already laughing, let me tell you something even funnier: Like I said a few minutes ago, I knew that the two of you were divorced for some time now. Perhaps...just perhaps, your ex-wife didn't feel that she owed you any explanation for what had been going on in either her professional."

"You're right there, Doctor," Chris smiled with him. "And that fact goes for her personal life as well."

And now it was Seth's turn at nodding.

"I didn't think that was my place to point that out, but thank you for saying it for me." And then the Gray Man surprised both men by squaring his shoulders and getting into Chris Prince face. He had stared down death all the previous night; he wasn't going to let anyone intimidate him now.

Chris as expected didn't back down either.

They did the testosterone thing for a time until Seth noticed a torn piece of paper lying in the seat next to Chris that he had failed to notice before.

"Perhaps you should pay less attention to me, Chris, and more to that piece of paper next to your leg. I'm pretty sure that has something or the other to do with your lady friend returning with our cups of coffee."

"Don't dodge the subject, Doctor—"

"Why don't you take a look at what it says?"

Chris finally reached behind him and snatched the paper off of the seat and gave it a disinterested look over.

But when he read it a second time his reaction was far different—and more serious.

Special Agent Chris Prince ripped the note into pieces, cursed and stormed out of the club section without a word of goodbye for Seth. The doctor allowed the moment to breathe again. He was thankful that the conversation—and any connection to Denise Prince and eventually him being at her place when she threw herself out of the window were not completed.

He squatted down and took the time and effort to piece the four torn parts of paper together...and read the note in spite of himself.

It said:

"I never lied to you, Chris. I never lied to you when I said that I didn't know when or where the suicide bombers would be initiated during Scar. What I am guilty of is failing to mention to you that brainchild of all of this is me. The members of the Circle realized long before 411 that we could not win any prolonged engagement with Pandora. Once the Zero Hour passed and your agency as well as ours failed to secure the release of Atlanta's missing children from the clutches of Louis Keaton we knew that we had no out left. Once the cold war ended and the situation went hot, we knew that victory was unachievable—at least in any traditional sense of the word.

And yet, we knew that we had to make these last hours of a House in Chains—at least this present version of it—memorable for them and for us.

History must never forget the lessons that we teach it now.

I also want you to know that I loved your brother very much. He only learned of my feelings days before his end. And because of my love for Xavier Prince by extension, that means that you and I are family and I love you as well. And as a member of my family I feel the need to bid you farewell, even in this crude manner.

I heard you when you said that you were dying.

But it is I who won't live long enough to see you again, Christopher Prince.

It is time for a House in Chains to institute the final stages of Scar. We are to gather the last surviving members of the Circle, the Board and the higher ranking members of the Peacekeepers and are to engage in a massive suicide ritual at the mansion on Riverside Road on the south end of town.

The world will never forget what they will see there.

What do we see when we visualize our people's future?

We see days filled with misery and pain.

Seth drops the torn letter as he feels discombobulated.

Special Agent Christopher Prince, the man who Seth had set off to Atlanta hurt or destroy must have been hurting inside more than anyone he knows—perhaps anyone that he ever has known. The Gray Man remembers the words of Quincy Morgan and his grandmother before him about the lasting effect of scars on the human conscious. And in some impossible sense, Seth understands the calamity that Quincy Morgan perpetrated on the world in the short hours Seth spent with the Peacekeepers one night earlier.

In his mind's eye, Seth can see Denise Prince as she hops through her window and dies again and again and again...

He can see the fury that a determined Roxanne Sanchez has for his wife Angel as she leaves him behind while her personal search for vengeance continues.

He sees Quincy Morgan scalping the head off of a dead James Carter and holding high and proud while the Peacekeepers celebrate in mass.

He sees Grace's letter for Chris and memorizes it nearly word for precious word although he'd only read it once.

And then the lights in the west club section of the Georgia Dome flicker on and off and on and then off...

Dr. Seth Dupree wanted to call out for Teresa again, he wanted to call out to anyone...but suddenly his lips fail to form the words...

And then all of the lights in the Gray Man's world go black.

End of Episode 7

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Sneak Peek at Tempest Rising

The Zero Hour is long past; Scar's destructive trap has been sprung and now an unexpected event from Mother Nature, an Earthquake, has caused a bad situation to become far worse. As a result, all sides in this conflict have taken heavy losses.

The surviving combatants of 411: Special Agent Christopher Prince, Serena Tennyson, Doctors Angel Hicks Dupree and her estranged husband Seth Dupree, Thomas Pepper, Roxanne Sanchez and Louis Keaton lives have all been changed forever.

And now let the reckoning begin—yet again.

Two of the anointed will meet their prophesized fate, two others have the fires of hell burning inside them, while the other three will face new crisis that make them wish for death before it is over.

And then the lost ones will fall at last.

A tempest will rise in their place.

And Atlanta will burn.

Dedication

As I've said before, this one is for...well, for me. This tale has been in my pipeline for a long time.
Nest Egg Publishing Note:

This was a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are use factiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Nest Egg Presents: Where are our Children

Episode 1: 411 (Available Now!!!)

Episode 2: Deliverance (Available Now!!!)

Episode 3: Rapture (Available Now!!!)

Episode 4: Past Prologue (Available Now!!!)

Episode 5: Zero Hour (Available Now!!!)

Episode 6: Betrayal (Available Now!!!)

Episode 8: Tempest Rising (Coming Soon)

Episode 9: Whirlwind (Coming Soon)

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Episode 5: Zero Hour (Available Now!!!)
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