 
BLAST

By

Stan Lerner

SMASHWORDS EDITION

*****

PUBLISHED BY:

Lerner Wordsmith Press on Smashwords

Copyright 2007 Stanley R. Lerner. All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form without permission.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, incidents, and dialogue, except for the incidental references to public figures, institutions, agencies, products, places services, or companies, are imaginary and are not intended to refer to any living person or disparage any company's products or services.

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This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. The ebookk may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

*****

BLAST

Chapter One

Generation Rave

Music and young bodies pulsated together to the sound of thunderous house music— electronica accompanied by Intelibeam lighting meant to bend the mind's perception of reality—inside of an otherwise ordinary warehouse.

Danny Turner, a clean-cut college freshman with sandy brown hair and the distinctly square shoulders of a football player, wandered the cavernous space looking for his best friend since childhood, Shawn Pierce.

The scene he beheld could do nothing less than penetrate and fill his mind with a sober and raw view of the humanity of his generation; kids dancing, drinking, doing drugs, and making out—all part of a natural progression to mindless fucking.

Danny stopped and knelt down next to his college dorm-mate Mark, who was giving an attractive young girl an ecstasy, enhanced massage. The green laser swirled momentarily on the wall above them and to Danny it seemed that Mark's fingers were able to reach from the shadows and dance across the girl's back in exactly the same pattern as the intense green light.

"Mark, have you seen Shawn?"

Mark lifted his chin upward towards the bare skin of the young girl's shoulder blades—a reverse nod meant to convey a message between men. I'm busy, bro. Mark mouthed the words, "I'm going to fuck this chick."

Danny's expression was more exasperation than sympathy. "I've got to get my dad's car back...and I have an eight o'clock class tomorrow."

"You don't have to go, do you?" the girl asked, Mark—Danny's presence finally registering in some part of her serotonin deprived brain function.

"Yeah, you better walk me out to the car," he said, as he ran his middle finger up her neck, into her hair line, and up her scalp, causing her head to tilt forward.

Her bangs fell in front of her face and covered her eyes. "I don't know if I can walk." The words could have been construed as an impediment but the tone of her voice made it clear that this was not their intention.

"I'll help you, Pussycat," Mark said, determined on closing the deal.

A faint smile crossed the girl's lips.

Marked looked from his imminent fuck to Danny. "Give me the keys. We'll be in the car. Shawn's taking care of business in back, by the dumpster."

"You and Pussycat have ten minutes," Danny said, handing Mark the keys. Then standing, he looked toward what he imagined was the rear of the building just as the DJ took a box of red glow sticks and emptied its contents into the eagerly awaiting hands of the dancers in front of the stage. The red glow spread across the dance floor like a virus—and for a moment Danny could only stand and stare at the human connectivity before him. But despite his cognizance of it he felt nothing—this wasn't his scene.

The loading dock at the rear of the warehouse was dimly lit by one single halogen light that illuminated the outdoor area with a tinge of dirty yellow. Still, even in the shadows to the side of the large brown dumpster Shawn stood out. He was the same age as Danny, but taller, with a relaxed posture more suited to a European aristocrat than a nineteen-year-old. He had edgy good looks—the appearance achieved only by a fractured relationship with society. He was a boy born to money and opportunity, yet purpose had eluded him—and somehow this made him, as it does in just a few rare cases, more attractive.

Surrounded by ravers, Shawn's hands moved in and out of his pockets with precision exchanging the highly sought after white pills for cash.

"Bro, I need five. You gotta hook me up," said the young raver, almost pleading.

"Sorry, dude. I've got two left for forty. Take it or leave it."

The money, as always, was handed over. But this time with a profound sense of dejection—five people were going to have to take their roll on two pills. Shawn tucked the money into his pocket, however he found himself distracted by the sight of his best friend approaching, with a less than happy look on his face.

"What are you doing?" asked Danny, miffed, in a hushed yet emphatic tone. "I've been looking all over for you."

"Marty, the dickhead promoter, told me to split. So I had to relocate back here."

"Thanks for telling me, Shawn. It's not like I was supposed to have the old man's car back right now or anything."

Shawn rested his hand on Danny's shoulder. "Relax, Danny boy. He's probably drunk off his ass—passed out on the couch by now, anyway."

With a violent motion of his arm Danny knocked Shawn's hand from his shoulder. "Don't talk about him like that!"

"Would you chill the fuck out..." Shawn spoke quietly, trying not to attract attention.

Danny lowered his voice but the intonation of his words remained intense. "It's off limits. You can rag on me all you want but don't ever bring up my family shit."

Shawn put his hand back on Danny's shoulder. "I'm just saying don't make a Federal fucking case out of me trying to make some money...By the way, if business keeps up like this, I'll have wheels again soon. I can sell as much of this shit as I can get my hands on. I just have to figure out a way to get my hands on more than a dozen at a time.

"Great," said Danny, shaking his head. "That's a real nice future you've got planned, Shawn. C'mon we gotta go."

Danny and Shawn walked back through the warehouse, both noticing that they were being followed by an ever-increasing number of private security guards. Dressed in black and talking into small microphones that clipped to the cuffs of their shirts—they were not discrete.

Shawn looked down at the concrete floor. "Try to blend in as inconspicuously as possible."

"They're following us...I think it's a little late for being inconspicuous."

Shawn looked up at the exit sign—there was a flicker of hope. "I think we might just be..."

Shawn's voice trailed off as he was slammed against the wall with considerable force. It took a moment for his mind to catch up to the physical reality he was confronted by—Marty the promoter—greasy, weighing 280lbs, and furious. It was not a pleasant realty. Shawn looked at the angry promoter and then to his security guards—he counted twelve.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" asked Marty. Rage had made his cheeks turn a shade of crimson, which in-turn made his curly, black hair seem even blacker and more greasy than normal.

Shawn's eyes focused back on the promoter he cared so little for. "What the fuck, Marty?"

"No! What the fuck, Shawn? Whose party is this? Who's the promoter?"

Shawn tilted his head to the side just slightly. "Well since it's your name on the flyer..." he said in a mocking tone.

"Dude, do you know the ass kicking you're this close to getting?" Marty asked, holding up his hand—his right thumb and forefinger an inch apart.

"Marty, relax," Danny interjected thinking they were getting close to the point of no return. "We just came to have a good time."

"No—" Marty turned to Danny, "you just came to have a good time. Shawn came to make money. My business. My party. But Shawn is here making money. What type of bullshit is that?"

Danny's face held no discernable expression. "How much do you want?"

Shawn shook his head. "No, fuck that!"

Danny glanced at Shawn's right fist, which had contracted into a ball—he was ready to fight no matter how terrible a beating they would both get. "Shut up, Shawn!" Danny looked from Shawn back to Marty. "How much do you want to let us leave without a hassle, Marty?"

"It isn't about that, Danny. This fucker selling E can get me shut down."

It only took a moment for Danny's mind to process all of the reasons for not getting into a fight. They were all of no consequence—friendship ultimately demanded they not be considered. "Well...let's do what we have to then," Danny said, removing his coat and dropping it to the floor.

Marty smiled—the act of loyalty was not lost on him. "This isn't your problem. Why don't you split and let us finish our discussion with Shawn?"

Danny shook his head in the negative. "Shawn came here with me. He's leaving with me...or it is my problem, Marty."

Marty looked at his security guards. They all knew what was up. There was history. There was a debt, not a monetary debt, but something that couldn't be so easily paid.

Marty took a step back from Shawn and turned toward Danny. "I owe you for what you did for my little brother," he pointed at Shawn, "I don't owe this scumbag shit...Two hundred bucks right now and he's eighty-sixed. You hear me? Eighty-sixed! I don't ever want to see him at one of my parties again."

Danny glanced at Shawn, who stood rigid and seething at the thought of giving up money to Marty. Danny wouldn't dare show it but he admired how tough Shawn could be. He knew it was only the fact that he had put his own wellbeing on the line that had forced what would now be a peaceful outcome. "Give him the money, Shawn."

The parking lot was a brimming sea of cars. Danny looked around for a moment in attempt to get his bearing.

"I could swear I parked right around here."

Shawn pointed to the end of the row and off to the right. "No, it's still a ways down."

Danny let Shawn lead the way. Shawn had always had an uncanny sense of direction. A minute later both stopped and watched the older model Lincoln Town Car rock back and forth. A chorus of male and female moans emanated from the back seat.

"Two hundred dollars down the drain." Shawn looked down at the dirt and shook his head. "Thanks, bro."

"Cheap compared to the hospital bill we'd be running up right now after getting our asses kicked by Marty and his twelve bouncer friends...who live to kick the shit out of people."

"Some of them would be going to the hospital with us."

"Great...Like I said, two hundred was cheap. You ought to try thinking a step ahead every now and then."

Shawn looked back up from the dirt parking lot to the car. "You know, that was a nice car in its day."

Danny's face warmed with the memory of something good. "My dad brought it home with a red ribbon tied around it for my mom's birthday. I remember it like it was yesterday."

Danny and Shawn both took a few steps toward the car—improving their respective vantage points, from which they watched Mark ram the nameless girl in the backseat.

"Well at least she left him with something."

"Yeah—at least she did that." Danny took a step forward and opened the door, just as Mark began to gasp, "I'm cumming. I'm cumming. Oh, shit that feels good."

"It feels good baby." Her hands slapped at Mark's buttocks with stinging force. "Just a little more."

Danny looked back at Shawn—who made no pretense with respect to his enjoyment of the show. For Danny, the sight was something more of an absurdity than arousing entertainment. "Let's go, the party's over." He motioned with a sweeping gesture of his hand for them to exit. "Out you go!"

"A little more—don't stop!" yelled the young girl—obviously sexually matured far past her chronological age.

"Mark!" Danny persisted.

"Oh yeah!" Her fingernails embedded in Mark's skin and her head thrust upward past Mark's shoulder. "Oh yeah!"

"Out! Both of you!"

Shawn, no longer able to contain himself, began to laugh.

"Finished!" Mark gasped.

Danny winced, as the defilement of his father's car sank in. "Wipe the seat off. This isn't the barn you grew up in."

Mark slid out of the girl and exited the backseat. He pulled up his pants and began buttoning his fly. "She's warmed up," his face was glowing, "if you guys want to take a turn."

"I have to get home," Danny answered gravely.

"You can't just leave me here," said the semiconscious girl. "Drop me off at my house on your way. Besides, don't you want me to keep you company?"

Shawn took a step forward and with a lustful thrust the girl reached out from the open car door, grabbed Shawn's pants at the beltline, and pulled him into the backseat on top of her.

Mark, satisfied that he and Shawn were about to be brothers of the hole, walked around to the front passenger's seat and got into the car.

"No way, Shawn," objected Danny not sharing Mark's belief that friends needed to bond by inserting themselves into the same vagina.

"Dude, Marty took two hundred bucks off me and I got eighty-sixed from his parties forever..." Shawn lifted himself off of the girl for just long enough to close the car door. But before he could say another word the giggling girl pulled him down, horizontal, and wrapped her legs around his waste like a boa constrictor.

Danny could only stare on as Shawn ripped at the buttons of his pants, trying to hurry up and satisfy the desperate-for-more-sex-creature now residing in the back seat of his father's automobile.

"Great!" he said his hands falling to his hips. Looking down at the dirt he noticed a beer can—which he kicked a good ten yards the opposite direction of the old Lincoln before sliding into the driver's seat and starting the car. As he pulled out of the parking lot he looked in the rear view mirror and noticed Marty and Marty's sidekick Peci, who at a glance was a fatter and more greasy version of Marty, standing outside of the warehouse, not so subtly watching them drive out of the dirt lot.

Peci's dark, mean, eyes followed the car as it turned from the driveway and disappeared out of sight. "I don't know if it was such a good idea to cut them slack like you just did," he said to Marty in the tone of voice used by a boss' closest confidant.

Marty did not turn toward his associate as he spoke; rather he stared straight ahead as if the car were still there. "If it wasn't for Danny, my brother would be dead. I owe him for that."

"Don't take this wrong—but he might have been better off dead. Going through life hurt like that...."

"It's all about my mom. As long as he's alive, that's all that matters to her. Danny still comes to visit him...Anyway, he's a college kid—he's nothing to worry about."

"What about Shawn?" Peci asked finally turning toward Marty. "I don't like him."

Marty nodded his agreement. "Neither do I. Never have." He turned to face Peci. "Next time he gives us a reason to fuck him up, we'll fuck him up good."

Chapter Two

Family

The Turner residence was a modest single story home built in the late forties. Its white paint was faded and clearly overdo for a fresh coat but the lawn was well manicured and it was obvious that lack of means had not precluded pride of ownership. Whatever could be done with the effort of his own hands, Mr. Turner had done.

Danny walked into the living room and found his father, Ned Turner, passed out on the couch. An almost empty bottle of Johnny Walker Red Label and a low-ball tumbler sat on the coffee table next to him.

"Who's there?" mumbled Ned Turner.

"It's me, Dad." Danny bent down and began the routine of helping his father off the couch. "Come on, Dad. Let me help you into bed."

With his father's right arm draped around his shoulders for both support and guidance, Danny lovingly maneuvered the man who had raised him to his bedroom and into bed. With well-practiced movements Danny removed all of his father's unnecessary articles of clothing.

"Get some sleep, Dad." He stretched his father's gray slacks over the one chair in the room, so the slacks would not be wrinkled in the morning. "I'll call you at work after I'm done with my exam in the morning."

"I got laid off. There is no work tomorrow."

"What?" Danny asked his voice reflecting an immediate understanding of a situation now closer to a disastrous precipice.

"Hallibreese finally managed to buy the plant."

"And they laid you off? You only had three years to go until you retired. Why would they do that?"

"They laid everybody off and closed the plant. They bought the company for its customers, not its plant—in the middle of nowhere. Hell, with satellites flying around up there taking pictures of everything, you can't hide a plant anyway. It's all over. I'm sorry son."

"Don't worry about it, Dad. You've got nothing to be sorry for." Danny turned and walked to the door. He paused for a moment and looked back at his father, a truly good man who had been dealt yet another bad card in the deck of life, a pained smile crossed his face as his hand moved across the switch plate and the lights went off.

Shawn stared into the Sub Zero refrigerator, which had been built into the wall of his parent's large gourmet kitchen. The thought of eating their food revolted him but he reached in and grabbed a cold beer anyway. Raising the bottle to his lips, he closed his eyes and drank trying to imagine being somewhere else.

Behind Shawn, unnoticed, stood Big Jim Pierce, Shawn's father, the proud owner of Big Jim's Cheverolet.

"Nice of you to come home before sunrise."

Shawn closed the door of the Sub Zero and turned to face his father. "I can crash on the floor of Danny's dorm room if it's a problem."

"You mean Danny, your friend who works and goes to school?"

"That's the one."

"It's funny how a kid like Danny who grew up with nothing, not even a mother, is making something of himself. Of course, he got that scholarship by not getting kicked off the football team...like you did."

Shawn did his best to imitate his father's mocking tone. "I'm sorry, Dad. But I think I'm missing the point of what you're trying to communicate."

"My point is that the broke kid from the shit family that was your backup quarterback since you both were eight-years-old is now making something of himself...while you are making yourself into nothing." Big Jim's mocking tone had been replaced by deep heart felt anger. "Do you understand what I'm saying to you, Shawn? You're the worst kind of loser...because you're a winner who's turning himself into a loser. You're making yourself into nothing, son."

Shawn downed the rest of his beer and placed the bottle on the granite counter top. Then slowly, to make a point, he pulled two one dollar bills from his pocket, held them up for Big Jim to see, then carelessly tossed them down next to the empty bottle.

"That ought to cover the beer. I'm just going to grab some clothes and go."

"If you're not going to go to school, come work at the dealership. I'll train you so that you can take over the place one day."

Shawn hung his head feigning bewilderment. "You're going to train me to take over your car dealership? The same car dealership that I used to work at after football practice? The one where the car I used to drive—but you took away when I got kicked off the team—came from. That car dealership?"

Big Jim lowered his normally booming voice in an attempt to strike a chord of reconciliation. "I'll let you drive whatever car you want if you come learn the business. How does that sound?"

Shawn turned away from his father and started walking toward the archway that led from the room. "It sounds like manipulation...I'll buy my own car, thanks," he said petulantly, his voice trailing off as he crossed into the hallway.

Big Jim's face was flush from the aggravating encounter. "How are you going to do that, Shawn? Win the lottery," he yelled out after him. "Unfucking believable," he said aloud to himself. Then, sensing another presence in the room turned to face the disapproving stare of his wife Helen Pierce.

"Maybe if you shout a little louder," her voice dripped with sarcasm, "the whole neighborhood will know our son has turned into a loser."

Shawn's hand was on the doorknob of the front door—hearing his parents' conversation two rooms away, he could not move.

"Oh—don't worry about that, Helen. They already know. The whole neighborhood knows he's a loser. You're the only one who doesn't seem to get it."

Danny and Mark slept in their respective built-in beds on each side of the small dorm room—Shawn was crashed on the floor.

The alarm clock on the desk read 7:44 a.m. and then in an almost imperceptible digital nanosecond the red numbers changed to 7:55 a.m. and techno music began to blare. The assailant pounced on Danny with startling force but with little chance of prevailing in the ensuing struggle.

"Shit—what's the matter with you!" yelled Danny, pinning down Jackie, the attractive blonde coed, whom he had been dating since the beginning of the year.

"You have a chemistry test in fifteen minutes." She strained to bring her face close to his and kissed him on the lips. "I thought you might appreciate a wakeup pounce."

The kiss accomplished its intended effect. Danny looked at her beautiful face, a face that had no doubt been beautiful since childhood—he descended toward her and began kissing her neck. As his lips touched her skin she turned her head to the side and exchanged a flirtatious look with Shawn who laid naked and awake on the floor next to them. Danny righted himself to his knees, straddling Jackie, he looked over at Shawn who had stood and begun dressing.

"You can have the bed if you want," Danny said, feeling sorry for his friend's unpleasant living situation.

"No, I have to get over to Tweeker's and score some more ecstasy before he sells out." Shawn looked down at his shirt to make sure he was actually buttoning the right buttons as he continued, "This buying twelve at a time shit is getting old fast. Maybe when you're done with your chemistry test, you can whip up a batch say of...a thousand?"

"We could do that..." said Jackie, having yet to take her eyes off of Shawn. "I mean if we had our own lab."

Danny looked down at her scornfully. "His dad is rich, your dad is filthy rich, and it's you two that want to sell drugs. What's wrong with this picture?"

"Big Jim's golden rule. 'The man with the gold makes the rules.' You don't know how good you had it." Shawn slipped his feet into his shoes—a pair of black boots. "You're dad may not have money—but he's a cool dad."

Danny took a deep breath—the weight had just landed back on his shoulders. "They closed the plant yesterday. So now he's also an out of work dad. I might have to get a second job just to keep him in the house."

Shawn blinked. The plant had been the town's largest employer since before Danny or he had been born. "No fucking way. They closed the plant?"

"Big corporate consolidation. They don't give a shit about people like my dad—just the bottom line."

"So what's going to happen to the plant?"

"With all the toxic waste they've dumped out there, nothing. That place is going to sit and rot. Besides, it's in the middle of nowhere. Nobody's driving out there to play golf."

Jackie rolled onto her side and propped her head up so that it rested against her hand. "Shawn, the gossip vine says that you got eighty-sixed from all of Marty's future lame parties."

"Good news travels fast," responded Shawn. It was just like a girl to rub salt in the wound. He wondered why.

A satisfied light inflection filled her voice. "Well now that you've completed a total downward social spiral, maybe you should borrow the plant and throw your own raves."

Shawn disappeared from Danny's field of vision as his completely dismayed stare came to rest on Jackie. "Did you just tell him to add trespassing and illegal parties to his resume under the line that reads drug dealer?"

Jackie was not intimidated. She laid back flat and returned Danny's stare. "My dad always says, 'To make an omelet, you have to break a few eggs.'"

Danny wasn't going to be the one to break eye contact first. "Which is a nice way of saying it's okay to fuck people over to get what you want. Nice."

Jackie deciding that the battle was lost but the war just begun. She rolled off of the bed and began walking for the door. "C'mon. We better go, Saint Danny—so you can be another step closer to curing cancer."

"You got that right," said Danny, walking past her slightly annoyed by her cavalier attitude about everything—including breaking the law.

Jackie took two steps behind Danny, then looked back thoughtfully at Shawn. His mouth tensed slightly at the corners, which caused her to smile openly—a woman could never be attractive to too many men. She raised her brow slightly, turned, and followed Danny dutifully out of the door.

"Don't do it," said Mark, propped up sleepily on both of his elbows.

Shawn rubbed his face in a futile attempt to feel more alert. "Why? It's not such a bad idea. Raves at the old plant; nobody would ever know."

"I meant don't fuck Jackie." Mark let his weight fall back on the pillow behind him so he could reach under the covers and scratch his balls. "I saw that look she gave you."

Shawn watched the movement of the blanket and thought that Mark might be doing a little more than scratching an itch. "I've got enough to think about right now. Screwing my best friend's girlfriend isn't on the list."

Mark smiled lasciviously. "Of course if she looked at me like that, I'd fuck her in a New York second. But I'm weak."

Shawn sighed. Mark was horny even by collegiate standards. "I've got to go buy some drugs now. You want to come with?"

"I would—but I have a class in two hours and I haven't jerked off yet."

"I'll catch you later," said Shawn turning to leave.

"Shawn..." Mark stopped scratching his balls and sat up.

Shawn laughed. "No, I can't stick around and help you find it."

"It is a good idea." The words stopped Shawn in his tracks. "People would come from all over for a party out there. I heard about this rave in LA...they get over thirty thousand people. The promoter's making a million dollars a night—cash."

A vision of Jackie unexpectedly came to mind. "A million cash? That's a big omelet."

Mark nodded. "Yeah, a really big omelet."

Chapter Three

Over The Edge

Danny answered the last question on the test and looked around the tiered lecture hall. He wasn't surprised that he was the first to finish—he always was. He thought for a moment about waiting for Jackie to finish, but he had to get to work so he collected his backpack and walked up to the professor's desk and handed in his test.

The professor looked up from the book he was reading. "I'm starting to think that I'm making these tests too easy for you, Danny. Are you sure you don't want to check your answers?"

"I'm sure. And besides, I have to get to work."

The professor smiled. Most of his students were mediocre at best—a sad testament to the state of education. Danny on the other hand was a throw back to a time when students approached education as a privilege rather than a right. Talent and drive, Danny had both and it was this type of rare student that kept him teaching. "You're going to make a fine chemist one day."

"I hope so. It's the only thing I've ever wanted to be."

The professor picked up a piece of paper from his desk and extended it toward Danny. "I didn't want to distract you while you were taking your test. Apparently, the Dean would like to see you in his office before you head to work."

A sick feeling washed over Danny but he couldn't identify the source of the anxiety—it was just a feeling. "The Dean? Do you know why he wants to see me?"

The professor shook his head. "They just sent that note...I'm sure it's nothing bad." His words were meant to be reassuring but his tone did not hold an adequate amount of conviction to make them so.

"I hope not." Danny's eyes shined with concern. "I've kind of had my fill of bad lately."

The professor's lips tightened slightly so as to give the impression that he would have liked to smile. "Keep your mind on winning the Nobel Prize one day and everything else will fall into place."

Danny looked down at the note in his hand. "The Nobel Prize—that would be nice."

The professor nodded and this time his tone of voice made it clear that he was sure of his words. "You have what it takes, Danny. Believe me. Just keep working hard. It's all going to happen for you."

For the moment the sick feeling subsided. "I better get going...Thanks, professor."

Danny folded the note and slipped it into the back pocket of his jeans, then turned and walked towards the door.

Jackie, sitting in her lucky seat in the front row, looked up from her test, her brow wrinkled, signaling that she was curious about the exchange he had just had with the professor. Danny, thinking it best to not show concern, smiled and winked, which had its intended effect of causing Jackie to refocus on the stack of pages still in front of her. She shuffled through them and looked back up at Danny, disgusted by the fact that he always finished so far ahead of her.

The anteroom of Dean Stanton's office was large and well appointed. Danny glanced around, there were enough seats to accommodate ten waiting students, but none were currently filled. His eyes came to rest on the dean's secretary who sat behind a large wood desk that faced the door. She was an attractive woman in her early thirties, her hair was pulled back in a bun and she wore glasses with black plastic rims that were oddly stylish. Her brown suit jacket and white blouse were conservative so her tone of voice was of no surprise to him.

"Can I help you?" she asked, in a distinctly authoritative manner.

"I'm Danny Turner. I received a note that the Dean wanted to see me—"

Her look was so disconcerting he could not find the words to continue. It was the look that only someone privileged to inside information could give.

"Danny Turner, of course. They're expecting you. Why don't you follow me back to the Dean's office?"

She stood and proceeded to walk through a hallway at the end of which there were large double doors. Danny couldn't help but feel like a cow being led to slaughter; he searched his mind and couldn't imagine what he could have done wrong—he was to the best of his knowledge a model student and athlete.

As they approached the door her words struck him "They're expecting you," she had spoken in the plural. "Who's expecting me? Can you tell me what this is about?"

She stopped at the impressive door. "Sorry, I wish I could." And then for the first time a hint of compassion came to her face. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Sometimes people with talent, people like you, get bad advice from the people they rely on. You have to watch out for yourself in life. That is, if you really didn't know what was going on." And before he could respond she opened the door.

The sick feeling came back as Danny stepped into the office and found himself facing Dean Stanton, Coach Ryan, five other important looking men whose names he did not know, and Bill Scribner, the founder of Scribner Laboratories—the owner of the company that he worked for.

Shawn sat in the messy living room of the severely dilapidated home of Tweeker, the one and only reliable source of ecstasy for three hundred miles. Tweeker, a sixties throwback whose disheveled appearance matched his living environment, sat on the couch next to Shawn.

At a glance Tweeker looked to be the much older of the two, but under his beard there was the smooth skin of a man still in his early twenties. He was a young man with suspicious, paranoid eyes and a heart that was on the edge of darkness—disdain for authority had brought him to this state. Most often, in young men, disdain for authority brought them to freedom, travel, creative genius, and a fair amount of mischief, but Tweeker was not a young man of this sort. He was a dangerous exception—because the idea flitted in his mind not to run or hide from authority, but rather to destroy it.

Shawn hung his left arm over the back of the frayed couch so he could turn to face the source of his livelihood. "Tweek, you have to sell me more than a dozen at a time."

"Why? Because you say I do? I don't have to do a motherfucking thing, Shawn. You're lucky I'm selling to you at all!"

"Tweek, I can make us a lot of money if you'd just loosen up the supply."

"I have plenty of money, bro—and no legal problems. You ever hear the expression, 'Pigs get fat and hogs get slaughtered'? I'm just happy to get fat...nice and slow. Longevity is the name of the game.

"Longevity? Are you kidding?" Shawn had seen half-a-dozen dealers who stayed in too long go down. "I say make a big score and get the fuck out."

"Well, we're just going to have to agree to disagree. I couldn't do one day in jail—and big scores land guys like you and me in jail. I'm not going to jail ever, Shawn. Are you hearing me?"

Shawn had known Tweeker for years—with the exception of his own overbearing father, Tweeker was the most stubborn individual he had ever come to know. "At least let me buy twenty at a shot." A small victory was all he could hope for. "An extra eight tabs isn't exactly going to get the attention of the FBI and I really need to score some additional cash."

Tweeker leaned back and stared at Shawn thoughtfully. He appreciated that Shawn had the discipline to not break the silence. Most of the young assholes he dealt with would have kept trying to sell him. "Alright, I'll bump you up to twenty—but be fucking careful." And to put an exclamation on the importance of Shawn being careful he pulled a chrome-plated, .357 Magnum from under the pillow he was leaning against and pointed it at Shawn. "I'll put a bullet in the head of anybody who tries to fuck me up. You understand?"

Shawn's always-cool attitude was only betrayed by his eyes having widened slightly. "Put that away, before you hurt somebody..."

A smile spread across Tweeker's face, from ear to ear. "Do you like it? .357 leaves a big hole..."

The loud crash was startling but recognizable—the police breaking down a door.

"What the fuck?" shouted Tweeker.

Shawn's eyes darted to the gun in Tweeker's hand. "Get rid of that fucking thing, Tweek!" And then the blur of the next few moments began.

"Police!...Put your hands up where we can see them!"

Shawn instinctively dove for the floor, but Tweeker stood, pointed the gun, and fired at the first of many police officers to rush into the room.

"Fuck you pig motherfucker!" The bullet from Tweeker's gun seemed to travel with the underlying intent of the words he was screaming. When it struck the lawman in the left eye the back of his head exploded and a millisecond later he collapsed forward like a broken mannequin.

Before Tweeker could squeeze the trigger again the bullets of three other police officers found their mark and his lifeless body crumpled to the ground next to Shawn splattering his face with the hot spray of blood.

"Don't you fucking move!" The voice was loud but seemed far off in another place.

"I'm not doing shit," Shawn responded instinctively, keeping his head flat against the floor. "I just stopped by to talk some football with him."

"We have an officer down. Repeat, we have an officer down," one officer said with urgency into a handset.

"The little scumbag shot Davie in the face," said another while pointing a gun at Shawn.

"Don't you move you little prick or I'll blow your fucking head off."

A third voice. "Hey, isn't that Big Jim's kid?"

"Fuck if I know."

"I'm talking to you. Are you Big Jim's kid?"

"You'll have to ask my mom that question," responded Shawn still flat on the floor.

"Don't be a smartass."

A new voice entered the dialogue. "It's Jim's kid. He played football in high school with my cousin."

Tweeker's blood had begun to pool around Shawn's face. "This is disgusting, let me stand up."

"You're under arrest, you little fuck."

"Under arrest? I just stopped by to talk to Tweeker."

"Don't arrest him. His dad is tight with the chief. Just take him in as a witness and get a statement. If he's involved with anything going on here, we know where to find him."

"Get up and clasp your hands, interlocking your fingers behind your head."

Shawn stood up, covered in blood, and took in the carnage as the officer who threatened to blow his head off patted him down. He stared at the cop missing half a head and then at Tweeker, who had a number of holes in his back from which some internal organs protruded.

"He told me that he could never spend even one day in jail."

"He's clean," said the cop who moments earlier had wanted to kill him.

The cop who had been the first to recognize him as Big Jim's progeny looked him up and down with considerable skepticism. "You may be Big Jim's kid—but you have some explaining to do."

Shawn walked along side his father as they descended the precinct steps and headed toward his red Suburban, which had a Big Jim's Chevrolet sign painted prominently on its side. Big Jim was a formidable man by any standard but he seemed even larger in this particular circumstance.

"A witness to the murder of a police officer who was in the course of executing an arrest warrant on a known drug dealer. That's really something, Shawn."

"I just stopped by to collect on a football bet. I've known Tweeker for years—you know that."

"Did you know he was dealing drugs?"

Shawn shook his head. "No. How would I know something like that?"

"Son, I don't like the choices you've been making. But I told the chief that no kid of mine would knowingly be involved with someone who was dealing drugs." Big Jim stopped at the curb and turned to face Shawn. "You better not have made a liar out of me."

"I had no idea, Dad."

"Get in. I'll give you a ride home. Your mother is worried sick."

"Thanks for coming down and helping me," Shawn said feeling a warmth for his father that he hadn't felt in the last several years.

"You're still my son."

"I'm going to walk. Tell Mom I'll come by the house later. I just need some time to chill-out."

Danny and Mark sat on their respective beds. Jackie laid next to Danny staring up at the ceiling while Shawn stood in the middle of the room more animated than usual.

"I'm screwed. Tweeker had the only decent supply in town."

"Better than being dead," said Mark—always the optimist.

"Not much. Big Jim's all over me—I'm not spending the rest of my life selling cars."

"Tweeker really killed a cop?" asked Mark.

"Yeah—blew half his head off. I'm lucky they didn't shoot me. What am I going to do? I'm so fucked." Shawn turned from Mark to Danny. "Danny, I lost my supplier and almost got killed today. Any comment?"

Danny looked up from the spot in the floor he had been focused on. "I got kicked off the football team, fired from my job, and lost my scholarship."

Shawn's handsome face contorted into a wince—the words he had just heard had provoked this reaction, yet he didn't consciously grasp what Danny's words meant.

"What are you talking about?"

Mark turned his attention to Danny and smiled nervously. "Dude, that's not funny."

"I know, but I'm not joking. Apparently my job at Scribner Laboratories, that coach Ryan hooked me up with, was a violation of the NCAA rules."

"You can't work and go to school?" asked Mark.

Danny hung his head. "Not if you're on a full football scholarship and don't punch a time clock."

Mark's usually carefree demeanor was gone—replaced by heart felt anger for the injustice done to his friend. "That's bullshit."

"Bro, I'm really sorry," Shawn said, not so sure how to react since it was he who was usually the one being punished for inappropriate behavior. "Have you thought about what you're going to do?" Danny usually had a plan A,B, and C.

Danny continued to stare down. "I've been trying to get my head around it but I'm just...I don't know..."

"Whip up some ecstasy," Jackie interrupted, speaking for the first time since hearing the events of the day, "and throw raves at the plant. Or as my dad would say, 'Be a man and do what you have to do.' I'm so tired of listening to you guys complain about your shit lives." She didn't bother to look at either of them. Her words overflowed with the severity of a woman who understands the true nature of the world and the men who get what they want out of it.

Shawn glared at her. "Well maybe you should go hang with some fuck head fraternity boys? You think you just snap your fingers and throw a rave and whip up E."

"She's right..." Danny said softly. "I need to stay in school and I have to help my dad out or he could lose his house."

Compared to Danny, Shawn was worldly when it came to women and he knew the type of trouble a girl like Jackie could cause. "Last night, I was on the road to nowhere. And now we're going to be business partners?"

Danny had been doing the right thing his entire life and in turn life had been giving him one ass kicking after another. "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," he had always thought after each blow, but getting kicked out of school was not an option. He would make a deal with the devil before letting his life come to that.

"I did everything right, Shawn. I need money."

"I'll get Wheezer to design us a flyer." Mark had made his deal with the devil at the age of thirteen when he seduced his ten-year-old cousin.

Shawn shrugged. "If you're really serious, we're going to need more than flyers. Sound, lights, DJ's—and we're going to need some money."

Jackie still staring up at the ceiling held up an Amex Platinum card. "I'm in for a third if we're using my card."

"I'll need some lab equipment and a place to set it up..." Danny's voice had a sense of authority and real world purpose to it for the first time.

"Buying lab equipment's no problem now that we have the Bank of Jackie." Shawn nodded toward the platinum card. "But we should set it up at the plant. That way, if anything goes down, it can't be traced to us. I've had enough interaction with law enforcement to last me for a while. What do you think Mark?"

"I think we should take a drive out to the plant tomorrow and see what we have to work with. Maybe, they left some stuff behind—"

Danny gave a cynical laugh—a sign of danger because cynicism can be the greatest of evils. "My schedule is open these days. We should leave early; it's a long ride."

Jackie sat up; the thrill of leading Danny down a path of her preference had made her down right perky. "We can't take a road trip without Lucy."

"Oh yeah!" Mark rumbled, a sound more from his loins than his vocal chords. "An hour in the car with Juicy Lucy. I'm loving this business already."

Shawn didn't share Mark's enthusiasm. "Lucy's got a big fucking mouth. I don't know about getting her involved."

Mark held his hands out palms cupped toward his chest. "She's also got some big fucking tits to go with that mouth. I have to have her on the street team, which I'm putting myself in charge of by the way."

"Lucy's my roommate—she has to be involved," Jackie said, as a-matter-of-factly. "And besides, that big mouth will be telling everybody who needs to know about our parties. Lucy's cool, she just needs direction."

Mark did not hesitate to volunteer. "I'll be her guide...when I'm not guiding it into her, that is."

Shawn took a deep breath and resigned himself to Lucy's participation. "Just let Wheezer know we'll be taking a drive first thing. Danny, you're sure you can make E if you have everything you need?"

Danny's brilliant mind had already calculated every ingredient and the process required. "It's a designer drug, anyone with a basic grasp of chemistry can make it."

"Well, with your GPA..." Shawn's words were accompanied with a raise of his brow confirming his confidence in Danny's soon to be misused intellectual prowess.

Danny nodded. Shawn had been giving him the same look since they were six—usually a prelude to trouble. "It'll be like nothing anyone's ever had before. Trust me, people will be begging you for it."

Jackie wrapped her arms around Danny's back and hung her head over his shoulder looking at Shawn. "We have to give it a name. Something catchy."

There was silence for a few seconds—young people's collective imagination at work.

"We should call it, Blast. I've always thought there should be a drug called Blast." Shawn was as confident of his marketing sense as he was of Danny's chemistry.

Danny had always admired Shawn's knack of knowing just what people wanted. "I like it."

"You want to have a Blast? It rolls off the tongue," agreed Mark.

"Well boys," Jackie had assumed the persona of a gun-mal talking to her gang, "if my genius boyfriend does this right, we'll be blasting people's brains out—and getting paid." She gave Danny a kiss on the cheek—meant to encourage his enthusiasm.

Danny needed no encouragement. "Getting paid—that's really all that matters."

Chapter Four

The Plant

Danny felt strange driving the Mercedes Benz Jackie's parents had bought for her as a high school graduation present. It was part of a world he had never been privileged to nor thought highly of—kids with material possessions that they had neither earned nor appreciated. But it wasn't their doing, he thought, the blame lay with their parents. So he drove down the highway with Jackie sitting in the passenger seat and Shawn, Wheezer, Lucy, and Mark in the back, yet he couldn't get the fact out of his mind that all Jackie had to do to, to own such a car, was be born.

"For a hundred thousand dollars, they should give you a little more room back here," Lucy commented, while trying to adjust her tight fitting white blouse in cramped quarters.

"You could sit on my lap, if you want," Mark suggested with a wink.

Lucy's beautiful, full, red lips, protruded slightly and shifted from one side to the other thoughtfully before she spoke. "I'm sorry. Who are you, again?"

"I'm Danny's roommate, Mark."

Lucy popped open her compact and began adding some eye shadow. "Jackie, is this guy really Danny's roommate?"

"Yeah, he is," confirmed Jackie. Her tone had an amused quality that foreshadowed the treatment Mark would be getting from Lucy.

Lucy, satisfied that she looked great, shut her compact. "I thought you said he was cool?"

Jackie turned toward the back seat with a reasonably convincing expression. "I lied to get you to come with us."

"Thanks, Jackie," Mark said, thinking that his plan for getting into Lucy's pants might need some further consideration.

"People will go to any length to be in my company." Lucy was completely convinced of this. She turned to Wheezer, whose pudgy round face only came to eye level with her well-endowed bosom. "You're kind of cute. What's your name?"

Wheezer hadn't expected this, his eyes went wide and he found it necessary to take a hit on his inhaler. "My name is Sherman. But everyone calls me Wheezer."

"Why do they call you that?" Jackie asked, playfully poking him in the chest with her long, red, fingernail.

Wheezer sucked on his inhaler again.

Shawn, worried that Lucy might actually kill the kid that he needed to make his flyers decided he'd better intercede. "Because he wheezes, Lucy. That's usually how people get their nicknames—some kind of character trait that describes them."

Lucy extended her hand to Wheezer for him to shake. "My nickname is Juicy. Do you want to know why people call me Juicy, Wheezer?"

Wheezer's gasp caused Jackie to turn back around. "Lucy, leave Wheezer alone. We need him to design our flyers. If he dies, we're screwed."

Lucy looked down at Wheezer. "You're not going to die on me, are you handsome?"

"No, I'll be okay," answered Wheezer, shaking his head emphatically.

"You're a graphic arts major?" Lucy had become genuinely interested.

"Yes—I'm a double major," Wheezer relaxed a little, since the conversation had drifted into more comfortable territory. "Graphic arts and architecture."

Lucy tilted her head slightly to the right—a seductive and inquisitive gesture. "So when we get back, you're going to whip up a really good flyer?"

"Yeah, I brought my camera. I'm going to go for a Gothic post-industrial look."

"That's really a turn-on." Lucy paused for a moment to run her tongue over her beautiful red lips. "You can do your little flyer thing. But when you're done, I want to study you."

"You mean study with me..." Wheezer gulped, interrupting his own sentence.

"I'm an English major. I know what I said." Lucy turned her attention to the front seat. "Danny, where is this place? We've been driving forever."

"There's a private road ten minutes from here we have to turn onto. From there, it's another couple of miles up. There's no sign so pay attention Wheezer, you'll need to put a good map on the flyer."

"No maps," said Shawn interjecting himself. "Don't even think about telling people where this place is at."

"Then how do you expect people to find the place?" asked Danny, knowing that he was an amateur in comparison to Shawn when it came to illicit behavior.

"I don't. We're going to use busses with blacked out windows so nobody knows where they're going."

"That's a good idea," Mark said, nodding his approval. "Nobody will be able to narc us out to the cops."

Lucy turned to Mark. "I don't understand."

Mark sensed a chance for redemption. "If we put a map on the flyers, the cops will find one somehow somewhere and they'll bust the party...Using blacked out busses is like blindfolding everyone. They'll go to a party but they'll never be able to tell anyone where they were...It's perfect."

Lucy stared at Mark for a moment—summing him up. "You know, you're pretty smart. I might have been wrong about you...Oh, turn that up!"

Jackie was already reaching for the volume dial on the radio. And a moment later Lucy was moving around provocatively singing the words to a dance song called "Don't Mess With My Heart".

Mark, on Lucy's cue, sang the male part of the duet while moving to her groove.

"You still want me to sit on your lap?" asked Lucy, straddling her legs across Mark before he could answer.

"Yes!" Mark shouted as Lucy proceeded to grind on him causing the whole car to erupt in sing-a-long while enjoying the show.

Nobody, but Danny, noticed the foreboding NO TRESPASSING SIGN that the car sped by as it veered off of the highway and onto the private road that led to the plant's main building—a massive structure constructed of cement and steel, thick enough to withstand a nuclear blast.

The passenger's side front tire missed the rat as it scampered across the road; the driver's side rear tire did not. In an instant the rodent's internals were expelled from every orifice of its body leaving nothing but a flattened, fur carcass on the hot, black, asphalt. A much larger rat, the size of a cat, watched intently from a crouched position underneath one the many large ventilation ducts that disappeared into the building's thick foundation.

"What the fuck was that?" Lucy was the first to ask at the sound of the thud made by the exploding rodent as it momentarily ground against the wheel well.

Mark looked back out of the rear window. "It was, a rat."

"Rats are disgusting." Lucy crossed her arms in front of herself and shivered. "Yuck...I hate animals in general."

Danny hit the brakes and the car came to a stop right in front of the main entrance, something that security guards would have prevented just a few days before.

Shawn was the first out of the car but was quickly followed by the others.

Danny stretched, it had been a long drive, and he wanted to give his friends a moment to take-in the incredible sight of the completely abandoned facility. The thought had crossed his mind that the plant would be left secured but he had witnessed enough of big corporate culture to know that they probably wouldn't want to spend the money on such a trivial detail as public safety.

"Look at this place." Jackie's eyes were wide as saucers. "It's crazy!"

Mark squinted thinking that he had seen something move on the second floor. "This is going to be great." He stared at the window a second longer but decided that it was just the reflection of the sun.

Wheezer began snapping pictures. The eyes that watched from the second floor were drawn to the camera. Nobody had ever been allowed to take pictures of what had once been a top-secret facility.

"I think Wheezer likes it," said Lucy, leaning against the car impressed by Wheezer's expertise with a camera.

"This is some serious Cold War Architecture." Wheezer continued to snap shots as he spoke. "Whoever built this place, built it to withstand a nuclear blast."

Danny's father had spoken to him often about the building's history. "It was built to meet Department of Defense standards."

"Nobody has a location like this." Shawn's tone was unusually reserved. He was well aware of the fact that to be successful every man had to get a couple of good breaks in life. This seemed to be his first. "I'm going to put that dick Marty out of business." Shawn looked from the building to Danny. "Do you remember your way around?"

Danny nodded. "I remember the areas my dad worked in. There were a lot of restricted areas that he couldn't show me but I can get us around to what we need to see—especially the lab.

Shawn stared at the vault-like front doors. "We should climb up onto the ledge and go in through the window. Then we'll come down and let them in." Without another word he ran for the side of the building, jumped high enough to grasp the ridge between the first and second blocks of cement, and began the difficult task of scaling the building's fist floor. The eyes in the second floor window watched Shawn climb with ferocious intensity.

Danny had always admired Shawn's athletic prowess but watching him climb brought about a strange feeling. He had almost forgotten that Shawn had been the better athlete. He didn't like the feeling of wondering if he still was. "Shawn!"

Shawn had reached the second story ledge. "What?" He looked down and smiled for Wheezer's photo. "Come on, don't be a pussy!" he yelled, daring Danny to join him.

Danny held up a set of keys in his hand with a fuck you I'm smarter smile. "I have an extra set of my dad's keys. Let's just go in the front door."

Shawn laughed and flipped him the bird. "You could have said something before I got all the way up here. You..." He looked down the ledge thinking he had seen something out of the corner of his eye.

"Hey, are you all right? Or do you need me to come up and rescue you?" asked Danny happy to take advantage of the rare opportunity to get the better of his best friend.

Shawn edged his way down the ledge far enough to look into the window. He saw nothing. "I'm fine...You could have told me you had keys."

Danny smiled. "I know."

Shawn scaled halfway down the first floor then released his grip on the small ledge allowing himself to drop the last fifteen feet to the pavement below. Danny had walked around to the back of the car, opened the trunk, and begun handing out flashlights to Mark and Wheezer. "We're probably going to need these until I figure out how to get the lights on." He extended a flashlight to Shawn as he approached.

"Definitely a good idea." Shawn turned to Mark. "Why don't you walk the grounds and check out the auxiliary buildings..."

With a quick jerk of his wrist Mark flipped the flashlight into the air and caught it like a baton. "No problem."

"...And look for a good spot to park and turn around busses...Also, we're only going to want people to come in and out of one door, probably on the side of this building." He pointed down the side of the structure they stood in front of. "So make sure everything else is locked tight."

"Where should I meet you when I'm done?"

Shawn thought for a moment. "Come back to the car. One of us will come out to get you."

Danny inserted two different keys into the heavy steel door and turned them simultaneously. He waited a few seconds for the small light on the top of the lock to turn green, then pushed. The tension bound hinges were designed to only allow the heavy doors to open slowly—so as to not injure anybody who might be standing behind them.

The daylight streamed through the crack of the opening doors into the large lobby area—which appeared to simply have been abandoned. Danny stepped into the room first and listened for the alarm warning—there was none.

"It's okay come on in," he said, waiving them forward.

"Wow, look at this floor!" Wheezer bent down to get a closer look at the black granite, which was lightly speckled with almost translucent white flecks of color. "This is amazing." Wheezer stood back up and began taking pictures of the room. The floor seemed to move under their feet with every flash.

"Amazing?" Lucy stood close to Wheezer. "You mean creepy. It looks like everyone just went to lunch and didn't come back."

Danny understood the perfectly preserved surroundings better than the others. "They bought this place and locked it up. They didn't want anyone taking anything out of here."

Wheezer walked to the front of a glass case filled with antique weapons. "Like this stuff."

Danny walked over to the case and looked at the instruments of death that he had gazed upon with such fascination, as a kid visiting his father. "Those are baby toys compared to what they were working on here."

"Which way are we heading?" asked Shawn with the intention of interrupting any further discussion of the plants former use.

Danny was disquieted that he found it difficult to avert his stare from the glass case. "Let's go to the lab first," he said, trying to imagine what it might feel like to have one of the serrated blades in front of him puncture his skin and run through his body. The vision was ended by a flash from Wheezer's camera—the light of which bounced off the glass into Danny's eyes. "I think I remember an electrical room on the way."

Danny opened the double doors at the far end of the lobby, closest to the reception counter and proceeded with the group in-tow behind him. With each step further away from the lobby the hallway darkened until they were completely engulfed in blackness.

"Danny darling," Lucy's hand gripped Wheezer's shoulder tightly, "can you turn the lights on please?"

Jackie, usually more courageous than her roommate, found herself in empathetic agreement. "Lights would be nice."

Shawn held the flashlight so his face was lit from underneath his chin. "I'm really scared right now. I'm sorry, Mom. I'm sorry."

Danny and Wheezer chuckled.

Lucy dug her nails into Wheezer's shoulder.

"Ouch!"

"Still think it's funny?"

"No!"

"It's only about another twenty feet," said Danny rescuing Wheezer from further harm. A few moments later he shined his flashlight on a door with a bright red sign with black lettering that read Electrical Room—Danny smiled, his brow wrinkled upward. "Let there be light..." He dropped the keys. "Shit!"

Without so much as a word, all three flashlights came to focus on the keys that teetered precariously on top of a previously unnoticed vent in the floor.

Shawn held his flashlight directly over the vent, revealing what might as well have been an endless abyss. Shawn whistled. "Be very careful, Danny my boy."

"I can't believe I just did that," said Danny, crouching down cautiously next to the vent.

"Just don't let them fall through those cracks," said Shawn holding his beam of light steady on the target.

Danny laid his flashlight down on its side so that its beam was aimed at the keys and slowly, steadily; he reached for the keys grasping them between his thumb and forefinger. Standing back up with a mixture of relief, amusement, and confidence Danny held up the rescued keys for all to see. "Got 'em!"

The next moment was surreal. The keys were snatched from Danny's hand with incredible speed and he was forcefully knocked to the floor. There was a haze of confusion. Shawn who had been shoved aside, like a twig in a tornado, managed to keep his balance long enough to shine his flashlight on their assailant—some type of large, hairy, primate—distinctly not human.

"Wait here!" shouted Danny, over the girls' screams, as he scramble to his feet and bolted down the hallway with nothing but a flashlight in hand.

Shawn looked at the others unable to contain his own shock. "Are you guys okay?"

Jackie gulped. "I think so."

"Okay?" Lucy shouted. "What the fuck was that?"

An out of control Lucy was not on Shawn's agenda to deal with. "Wheezer, stay with the girls!"

"Oh no you don't..." Lucy began, but Shawn was already running down the corridor after Danny and whatever it was that had just attacked them.

Wheezer's face was a picture of horror, the kind of which that could only be painted by the brush of unexpected and unwanted responsibility being suddenly thrust upon someone who feels compelled to at least try and rise to the occasion.

"Did you see that thing?" asked Jackie, her voice trembling.

Wheezer nodded his head slowly but could not speak.

Lucy, more irritated than scared, looked at her two companions. "What the fuck were they doing in this place?"

"Stuff for the army..." Wheezer finally managed to squeak.

The hallways were pitch black and only the jarring beam of the flashlight illuminated Danny's pursuit of the creature. The run was fast and furious through a maze of hallways and doors until finally, the primate burst through a pair of double doors and made a spectacular leap from the catwalk. Amazingly, the powerful creature bound across the cavernous room with ease landing on the platform some fifty feet away.

Danny, running full speed through the doors, was neither able to make the jump or stop in time to save himself from going over the edge of the narrow, metal, walkway. He could only hold on for dear life as he watched his flashlight fall a hundred feet before shattering and leaving him in the dark, hanging by a thread.

"Holy shit!" Danny said out loud, his voice echoing, the reality that he could die setting in quickly. With desperate resolve, he began to strain to pull himself up to and on to the catwalk he had slid over the side of. It was an impossible feat to perform because the ledge was thick and he couldn't get his thumbs around it, though he tried repeatedly, to gain the much-needed grip.

His left hand failed first, slipping away from the ledge, due more to perspiration than fatigue. Then finger-by-finger his right hand gave way to the powerful force of gravity that seemed so determined to pull his body to the floor so far below.

For an instant, when his right index finger could no longer feel the steel of the deck, it seemed as if he were suspended in midair. His eyes shut for a moment but opened immediately as Shawn's hand slid over the ledge grasping on to his like a vice.

"Got you!"

"Pull me up!"

Shawn braced himself with his other hand. "On three! One, two, three!" Shawn pulled Danny with enough force for Danny to get his left hand back on the platform again.

"Halfway there buddy!" Shawn reached over and grabbed Danny by the back of his shirt—and all at once they were both on the catwalk.

Danny lay looking up at the black void for a moment, panting. "I owe you big time for that."

Shawn let out a deep breath before speaking. "Can't have my best friend getting splattered. Who would I whine to about all my problems?"

"I do plenty of whining myself," said Danny, before letting out a relieved laugh. "Almost had nothing to whine about ever again."

Shawn stood extending Danny a hand up. "C'mon let's find whatever that thing is that has..." Just as Shawn pulled Danny to his feet the primate jumped back to the catwalk sending them sprawling before crashing back through the doors.

"Are you okay?" Danny asked, scrambling to his feat first.

"Yeah."

Their eyes met. Danny could tell Shawn was thinking the same as he was. "We've got to get those keys!"

"I'm right behind you," shouted Shawn as he followed Danny through the doors, back in hot pursuit of the creature that literally held the keys to their future. The chase took them through a maze of hallways that finally came to a dead end at a door that swung back and forth obviously ajar from something having just passed through it. Shawn shined the flashlight on the sign above the door. It read, LABORATORY. They looked at each other apprehensively.

"Do you have any idea what the fuck that thing is?" asked Shawn.

Danny shook his head. "No, but boy can it move!"

"What if it's some kind of secret weapon these assholes left behind in their rush to close this place down?" Shawn looked from Danny to the door and back at Danny. Lowering his voice. "It could just be luring us in for the kill—"

"No keys, no party," Danny said quietly. His words were the words of a young man running out of options. "No party, no school, no house. It's not like we can call a locksmith. So, it doesn't really matter to me what that thing is. I'm getting those keys."

Shawn focused the flashlight on the wall next to the door. Behind the glass hung a fire hose and an ax. "Stand back, this is going to be a little messy." Shawn swung the handle of the flashlight at the glass, which shattered on contact. With a purposeful movement he pulled the ax from the prongs that affixed it to the wall and handed it to Danny. "Better safe then sorry."

Danny brought the ax up to a striking position. "Agreed."

Shawn entered first. The beam from the flashlight probed the room—revealing an array of complex equipment and shelves filled with chemical compounds. Danny stood at the ready to swing. What was supposed to be a fun business enterprise had turned unexpectedly into a very serious matter of life and death.

"We just want our keys," shouted Shawn. "Give us our keys and nobody will get hurt."

The beam of light caught something.

"Did you see that?" asked Danny, more anxious than the moment before.

"See what?"

Danny nodded to the far end of the room. "Over there—in the corner."

Shawn pointed the light back to the right side of the lab. Sitting on the lab bench was a large, very cute, orangutan playing with Danny's keys. Shawn and Danny smiled simultaneously.

"They left behind an orangutan?" Shawn let out a sigh of relief. "Poor guy's kind of cute."

Relieved, Danny brought the ax down gently letting its head rested against the top of his foot. "He may be cute—but you do realize he's about four hundred times stronger than us?"

Shawn held the flashlight out to Danny. "Hang on to this, I think he likes me."

Amused, Danny took the flashlight from Shawn and kept it trained on the orange primate.

"You think he likes you?"

"I'm getting a good vibe," said Shawn, beginning a cautious approach.

"I've got to see this," said Danny, both amused and concerned.

"Hey big fella," Shawn continued to take slow methodical steps, "you want to be friends, don't you?"

The orangutan seemingly paying some attention to Shawn made a few noises accompanied by something resembling a nod.

"Well, friends don't steal other friends' keys. You have to give them back."

Danny let out a laugh. "You're reasoning with an ape?"

Shawn ignoring Danny held out his hand. "Stealing is wrong."

Solemnly, the orangutan extended the keys toward Shawn, who had his own doubts about things going so easily. However, thinking that there was no turning back he made one final reach and took the keys from the hand that could have ripped his arm right out of its socket.

"I wish I knew your name," Shawn said, looking at the keys now safely lying in his palm.

The orangutan pointed to the far wall.

Shawn followed the direction of the pointed finger. "Shine the light over there, Danny."

The beam caught a glass wall behind which was a room full of empty cages. The largest cage had a brass nameplate that read Chico.

"They named you Chico?" asked Shawn, almost forgetting for a moment that he was talking to another species.

The orangutan, apparently named Chico, nodded in the affirmative.

"And you live in that little cage?"

Chico shook his head no.

"Well...you better hang with us. You can't just be running around this place wild."

For no apparent reason, Chico slid down from the lab bench and walked to the door, pausing, he looked at Shawn and Danny thoughtfully, then waved for them to follow.

Shawn looked at Danny. "He wants us to come with."

"Yeah. I think he wants to show us where he lives..."

Shawn looked over at Chico. "You want to show us your pad?"

Chico nodded.

Shawn turned to Danny. "On a one to ten, how weird is this?"

Danny smiled. "We've broken into an abandoned weapons plant to make drugs and throw an illegal party because I lost my scholarship for no reason that I can ascertain—so why not an orangutan that apparently understands English perfectly?"

Ten minutes later and several floor down, Danny, Shawn, and Chico stood in front of an ominous room marked Safe.

Shawn stared at the sign. "What the fuck is this?"

"It's a safe room," Danny paused, "I think."

Chico casually walked toward the room. Shawn proceeded to follow, but was jerked backward—he glanced down at Danny's hand which gripped his arm.

"Don't go in there," said Danny, not releasing Shawn's arm from his tight grasp.

"Why not?" asked Shawn, his posture having taken on the relaxed manner of a man prematurely comfortable with his environment.

Danny pointed to the green button on the wall just past the doorway. "You see that green button?"

Shawn cocked his head slightly to get a better look. "Yeah. What is it?"

"It closes an airtight door." Danny let go of Shawn's arm so he could turn to face him. He wanted to make sure that what he was about to say was understood completely. "And in a place like this, it probably triggers some type of automated cleaning procedure."

Shawn's body straightened to a more appropriately taut posture. "You mean like a self-destruct button?"

"They wouldn't want any kind of explosion." Danny thought about the most likely scenario for a moment. "So, more like a self-incineration button."

Shawn gave his new friend Chico a heads up. "Hey Chico, you're not thinking about closing that door are you?"

Chico began to shake his head emphatically, no.

Shawn waved him out of the room. "Then come on out of there. From now on, you hang with us." Chico waddled back to Shawn's side as Shawn turned to Danny. "We better tell everyone this place is off limits."

"I'll let you handle that. In fact, bring 'em down here and show them—so they know for sure."

Shawn noticed a camera above the safe room doorway. "There must be a security room in this place?"

"On the second floor...Every camera in the plant feeds to it."

"Good. I can run the whole party from there." Shawn looked down in amazement; Chico was contently holding his hand. "We better go rescue the gang."

Danny and Shawn, with Chico still holding his hand, approached Jackie, Lucy, and Wheezer.

Lucy retracted her right hand to her protruding hip. "You can't be serious?"

Wheezer took one look at Chico and reached for his inhaler.

"Don't worry about him," said Danny trying to allay their concern. "He's really friendly once he gets to know you."

"And smart. I think they did something to him," added Shawn.

"Well if he's so smart, why don't you ask him to turn on the lights?" quipped Lucy.

Shawn ignored the remark. "When we get the lights on, I'm going to go through the files and see what his story is."

Danny began sorting through the keys trying to find the one that might open the door to the electrical room—Chico held out his hand.

"Let him do it," suggested Shawn. "You know how he loves keys."

Danny, thinking that it couldn't hurt, placed the keys in the palm of Chico's extended primate hand. A few seconds later, the unusually smart orangutan had the door open.

"Thank you." Danny walked into the room, the ceiling flickered momentarily, and the lights came on.

Chico pulled the keys from the door and offered them to an appalled Lucy, who stared with dismay at the smitten primate.

"I think it's a mating gesture, Lucy," said Shawn enjoying Lucy's displeasure immensely.

"Well Shawn, if I ever expected anyone to know about fucking monkeys it would be you." She glared at Chico. "Tell me he's going to be locked up during our parties."

Chico immediately looked to Shawn. The words "locked up" were anathema to his ears.

"He doesn't like being locked up." Shawn gave Chico a pat on the head. "Don't worry, we'll work something out."

Danny walked back into the hallway. "We're in business. The lights should be on everywhere now."

"I want to go back to the room where I saved your life." Shawn regretted his words and the sense of gloating that he felt. "I think the bottom level could be perfect for dancing."

A look of concern swept over Jackie's face. "Saved his life? What did we miss?"

Danny was annoyed that Shawn had introduced the subject but the moment of his hand feeling nothing other than air was vivid—he was only alive because Shawn's hand had reached through the emptiness. "I slipped off one of the catwalks in pursuit of our furry buddy here...and luckily Shawn was good enough to lend me a hand."

Jackie flashed Shawn an admiring look.

"We should split up," Danny continued. "Jackie, you come with me and help me do an inventory of the lab. Wheezer, take Lucy and get all the pictures you can."

Lucy looked down at Wheezer. "Want me to pose for you?"

"Yeah!" said Wheezer, nodding enthusiastically.

"Shawn," Danny's voice had assumed an authoritative tone that even he wasn't used to off of the football field, "you and Chico figure out where we're going to put thousands of crazed ravers."

Shawn looked at Chico face to face. "You know your way around this place, right?" asked Shawn prying Chico's hand from his ear; which for some reason Chico found an object of curiosity and amusing to play with.

Chico nodded and began to pound his chest while making some distinct orangutan noises.

Wheezer followed Lucy into the elevator like a Chihuahua on a leash. Realizing that he needed to assert himself, at least a little bit, he pressed the button marked 20 and the elevator began its decent.

Lucy was not thrilled. "Tell me you did not just do that."

Wheezer shrugged. "We might as well start at the bottom and work our way up."

Lucy stepped forward, pushing Wheezer to the side, and pressed the button marked 10. "I think not; twenty stories up, yes, twenty stories down, in this creepy place; no way."

The doors opened, and before either Lucy or Wheezer could take a step six rats, of unusually large size, rushed in. Lucy screamed and jumped behind Wheezer. The rats unfazed by Lucy's scream attacked immediately. Four scrambled for Wheezer's legs, two ran past Wheezer and cut back toward him in a flanking maneuver. Lucy kicked at these two wildly, sending one crashing into the wall and sinking her spiked hill into the others ear.

"Do something!" she screamed trying to shake the dying, screeching, rodent from her Sergio Rossi heel.

Wheezer, having managed to shake the other four lose from his pant legs took aim with his Camera and hit the flash button. The rodents instantly retreated and then, inexplicably, turned on each other.

Lucy's face contorted, sickly amused, by the savagery with which the rats tore one another apart in a cannibalistic orgy. "I think your flash short circuited them."

Wheezer kept his finger on the button. "I think you're right." The elevator door opened on 20. "Come on let's get out of here." Wheezer grabbed Lucy by the arm and pulled her out.

"They're eating each other," said Lucy, still watching with morbid interest as the doors closed. In her final glimpse she saw the largest of the pack throw its head back gulping down, tail first, the hindquarters of the one she had kicked to the wall. "That was so gross!" she said bending forward slightly with a smile.

"Are you okay?" asked a shaken Wheezer.

"I'm fine." She glanced down and the corners of her mouth turned downward. "But I have fucking rat brains all over the heel of my shoe."

"Sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"Which way do you think we should go?" Wheezer looked up and down the hallway in both seemingly endless directions.

Lucy nodded to her right. "This way."

"Why that way?"

"Woman's intuition."

They walked down the hall until they reached its end—a curved wall and convex, double doors.

Wheezer stared at the door handles apprehensively. "What do you think they kept in there?"

"Hopefully something worth taking a picture of," said Lucy opening the door with the reckless abandon of a woman who has tired of an activity that she is not the focus of.

Wheezer followed Lucy into the brightly lit room. "Do you know what this is?" he asked raising his camera into position.

"Boring, that's what it is. It's a big, round, boring room."

Wheezer began taking pictures of a ceiling so high that it couldn't be seen by the naked eye. "It's an empty missile silo." He shot continuously as he rotated in a circle almost reeling from the larger than life perspective. "I don't think a civilian has ever taken a picture of one of these before."

Lucy's fingers began unfastening the buttons on her blouse. "At least there is plenty of light in here."

Wheezer, glued to his work with the camera, didn't notice that Lucy's blouse and then skirt had fallen to the floor. "Plenty of light," agreed Wheezer. "It's like a studio in here."

Lucy posed provocatively against the wall of the missal silo—revealing most of her impressive breasts. "Wheezer, if you want people to come to the party, start taking some pictures of these. Think of the missile silo as a symbolic backdrop."

"Symbolic of what?" stammered Wheezer, his eyes unable to focus due to a feeling of panic that had constricted both optic nerves.

"Wheezer, just take the damn pictures. If I'm on the flyer, I'll make sure to explain it to you on the night of the party."

"I'm shooting! I'm shooting!" gasped Wheezer.

Lucy licked her lips as her eyes burned into the lens of the camera. "You'll be shooting a lot more little man. A lot more."

Danny walked along a row of shelves stocked with chemical compounds, while taking notes on his PDA. "I can't believe they left all this stuff here. We really don't have to buy anything."

Jackie had donned a white lab coat and sat at a long table reading through files marked CLASSIFIED. "We're still partners—no getting out of it, Mr."

"Not to worry." Danny looked up from his PDA. "Sound, lights, and DJ's are going to cost plenty." He caught it out of the corner of his eye but wasn't sure that he had read the label correctly. So, he glanced back at the container on the shelf. "Shit, you're not going to believe this."

Jackie turned from the file in front of her, to Danny. "What?"

"There's Peperadine, just sitting here on the shelf."

"Are you serious?" Jackie asked, immediately sharing Danny's concern.

"I'm looking at it."

"That's really dangerous stuff, it can be absorbed right through your skin...You shouldn't even touch the container."

"You don't have to worry about that." Danny decided not to mention that it could also escape as a vapor and be inhaled if not stored at the right temperature with an airtight seal. "Anything interesting in the files?"

Jackie nodded. "Shawn was right about our hairy new friend, Chico. He's part of an enhanced primate intelligence program called Fail Safe. Apparently, they've been working on this since 1962. He's twelfth generation..."

"Great," Danny interrupted, "they spent a hundred million dollars teaching a monkey to fly the space shuttle, but I can't keep my scholarship."

Jackie picked up the file and opened to a page she had marked. "I don't think he was being trained to fly the shuttle...It says here in his file that he's never to be allowed to leave the premises." She closed the file on Chico and opened another. "Disgusting..."

"What?"

"Apparently they spent another hundred million on making more aggressive rats."

They both looked at the empty cages.

"Fuck, you don't think?" she asked.

"No, we'd have seen rats by now if they were loose in the lab."

"They're on ten," said Lucy, strutting into the room with Wheezer in tow.

Jackie and Danny both looked at her impressed by her strange sense of calm.

Wheezer sensing a moment took a picture of Jackie with Danny positioned just behind her. "We got shots on every floor but ten. Big mean rats on ten."

Danny walked to a computer terminal positioned in the middle of a floor to ceiling rack server column at the far end of the room. He clicked on Floor Status and all of the floors read open except for ten, which flashed red indicating that it was locked down.

"Well someone was smart enough to lock down the floor but not the elevator," observed Danny, right clicking on the elevator status icon.

"Probably Chico," Jackie snickered, "the future space shuttle pilot."

"Don't laugh," said Danny raising a thoughtful eyebrow. "It could have been him."

"Well what are you going to do about the rats?" asked Lucy flipping her long, black hair back over her shoulder with her hand haughtily. "If it hadn't been for Wheezer's quick thinking, they would have eaten us alive!"

Danny looked at Wheezer—sensing gallantry. "Wheezer, did you save Lucy's life?"

Wheezer flashed Danny in the eyes with the strobe light from the camera causing him to turn and blink. "I wasn't making fun of you."

"I know," said Wheezer. "I was just trying to show you that they hate bright flashes of light."

"So do I." Danny rubbed his eyes. "Good thing you were paying attention in biology."

Lucy was not amused. "It's not funny, Danny."

Danny held up his hand to ward off the verbal abuse that was sure to come. "I'll password protect the floor until I figure out a way to get rid of them." He typed on the keyboard, blocking elevator access to the tenth floor. "We might be able to just starve them to death...Did you guys run into Shawn?"

Wheezer nodded. "He's in that giant room with the vats and the catwalks. I got some good pictures down there."

The vat room was vast even by military standards. Shawn stood in what had been a square staging area at the end of the room farthest from where he had hoisted Danny back to safety. He tried repeatedly to get a measurement extending the measuring tape across the floor. Frustrated, that he couldn't get the tape to stay in the right spot, he looked at Chico, who was happily rolling around the potential dance floor. "Would you mind holding the end of the tape in place?"

Chico scampered into action; taking the end of the tape measure to exactly the right spot where he held it perfectly still.

"Thanks old boy. You see most people just put sound up front. But to do it right, you have to have base and highs all around the dance floor." Shawn looked up for a moment at Chico who watched him intently—clearly understanding what he was talking about. "At a hundred and twenty decibels," Shawn continued, "it's disorienting. Add some E to the equation and well—it's ecstasy. I guess that's how it got its name."

Shawn pointed diagonally across the room. "Other side please."

Chico, needing no further explanation walked his end of the tape to the other end of the dance floor.

Shawn shook his head, amazed by the brilliant orangutan. "You're really something, you know that?"

Chico nodded. Not a nod of conceit but an acknowledgment that he was both aware of and comfortable with his abilities.

"We're going to throw some great parties here, Chico. I'll make more in one night than my dad makes in a year. Big Jim thinks it's wrong to make easy money—but if I don't, someone else will. When this is all done, I'm going to do some traveling. Who knows, maybe I'll even go back to school one day—on my own terms. All right, that's good."

Chico let go of the tape, his eyes following it with amusement as it retracted back into the palm of Shawn's hand.

Satisfied that the space he had measured off was more than adequate Shawn walked over to an area off to the side of the room. "This will be the main bar—I can get twenty bartenders back here."

He took a dozen steps forward to a vat labeled Water Only that was smaller than the other vats in the room but still large enough to supply a small town's needs for a week. Shawn contemplated the possibilities, and then took hold of one of the many hoses that fed from the tank. He depressed the handle on the nozzle and water came out.

With a mischievous grin he turned toward Chico and let a stream of water arc his way.

Chico, delighted, did a double roll toward Shawn to escape the cascade. With a gentle tug Chico pulled the hose from Shawn's hands.

"I'm thinking a few thousand gallons of our signature drink in this baby," said Shawn patting the side of the tank. "No point wasting time mixing drinks one by one." Shawn pointed to the front of the room. "That's going to be the stage area. I need to go back and take a look—if you're done fooling around with that hose?"

Chico gave him a quick squirt, then followed obediently.

The intended backstage area was a mass of tanks and control panels. Shawn approached a rack of blue tanks labeled Nitrous Oxide and smiled. "Nitrous," he glanced down at Chico, "we should probably give it a try."

Shawn hooked the plastic hoses to the valve then turned the valve until he heard the sound of the gas flowing. Putting his mouth to the hose he took a deep breath. Nodding his head with a huge smile, he offered the hose to Chico who duplicated his actions exactly. Shawn turned off the gas and they both looked happily at each other and nodded.

"I definitely have to figure out a way to sell hits of this at the party."

Lucy posed for Wheezer wearing nothing but a lab coat while Jackie watched Danny mix chemicals into a flask over a Bunsen burner.

"Where do you think Shawn disappeared to?" asked Jackie, thinking that Shawn had been gone for a lot longer than she had expected.

Danny picked up the phone receiver and pushed the intercom button. "Shawn Pierce, please report to the lab. Shawn, to the lab please." He put the phone back down. "That ought to do it."

Jackie smiled, suppressing a tinge of annoyance. "How's our first batch of Blast coming?"

"It's coming."

"I can't wait to try it," she said, slipping her hands around Danny's waste.

"You rang?" asked Shawn walking into the room with a very happy Chico somersaulting his way behind Shawn.

"How did it go?" asked Danny sensing something amiss.

"It went great!" Shawn laughed. Exerting considerable effort he managed to regain his composure. "Why do you ask?" He laughed again.

Lucy buttoned her lab coat, walked up to Shawn, and circled him absorbing every aspect of his curious demeanor. "Only drugs could make someone laugh at the sight of me dressed in nothing but a lab coat."

Shawn giggled. "Nitrous, incredibly strong—like nothing I've ever had before."

Danny looked up from the swirling liquid in the beaker that was close to being mixed with the contents of the flask. "Everything in this place is industrial strength. Don't try anything from now on until I test it out first."

Shawn tried to keep a straight face. "What are you working on?"

"Our fist batch of Blast. But it's like I said, this isn't normal lab grade stuff. So, I'm going to need a few tries to get it right for party consumption. You better go check on Mark and see if he's back at the car."

"Yes, boss," snapped Shawn. "Is there anything else you'd like me to do while I'm out?"

"Shawn—you're hi..."

Shawn held up his hand in surrender. "C'mon Chico, we're not wanted here."

Chico followed Shawn out of the lab but not before stopping at the doorway to give Danny the finger.

"Mark! Mark!" shouted Shawn, Mark nowhere in sight. "We're out here waiting for you!" Shawn looked at the empty car, then back at Chico. "Where do you think he went?"

Chico shrugged and scratched his head causing his hair to form a peak in back.

"We should probably go look for him." Shawn eyed two sprawling, single story, auxiliary buildings across the private roadway. "If you were the horniest man on the planet, where would you be hanging out in a military research and development facility?"

Chico considered the question for a moment, grabbed Shawn's hand and led him across the road to a much smaller building than the behemoths that had originally caught his eye.

Mark had lined up four ultra-life-like love dolls, each on all fours ready for rear penetration. His pants were around his ankles as he worked his way down the line.

"Oh yeah baby! Fuck me, you synthetic whore! Fuck me." Sweat sprayed forth from his well-defined abdomen with each inspired thrust of his body.

Shawn, thinking he had seen Mark engage in every kind of sexual depravity—making him impervious to shock, found himself, temporarily, at a loss for words as he stood behind Mark watching his buttocks expand towards him like blossoming white orbs before contracting like billows into a manmade woman. Chico covered his eyes with his hand.

"Mark..." Shawn finally managed to gasp.

"Hey Shawn," Mark responded calmly, still thrusting.

"Have you completely lost your mind?" Shawn felt like he should avert his eyes but couldn't. "You're supposed to be scouting this place."

"I was—until I found the girls here. Apparently they're making these for the guys on long term-deployments. Dude, seriously, this is as good as the real thing. They don't make any noises, but the skin it feels totally real. I've cum twice already."

"Mark, stop fucking the dolls. We have to go back to the lab and get a game plan together."

"You should try one before we go," Mark said, still thrusting, now even more vigorously than before. "We could rent 'em out at the party?"

"With Blast and chicks in the same place—we won't be needing any love dolls, genius."

Mark's gluteus maximus contracted together in one last paroxysmal spasm. "Oh, fuck yeah!" He turned around still panting and ejaculating to face Shawn. "What the fuck is that?"

Shawn looked down at Chico. "It's an orangutan. His name is Chico."

Mark rubbed his cock releasing the last of his cum to the floor before bending down and pulling his pants up. "You're hanging out with an orange gorilla—and you're on my ass for screwing the military issued love dolls?"

The cat sized rodent watched from under the ventilation duct outside of the building as Shawn, Mark, and Chico walked back through the front doors. Sensing the opportunity to gorge would soon be coming it lurched forward from its spot under the pipe and followed them through the slow-closing front doors.

Everybody sat around the lab table and watched as Danny pulled three trays of pills from an ultraviolet cooker.

"I can't believe that you already have some Blast ready to go." Mark rubbed his hands together in greedy anticipation. "I almost feel bad about fucking the love dolls while you were really working."

Danny set the trays on the table and used a small pair of lab forceps to place a pill into a mini ziplock bag. "Don't feel bad. Nothing motivates like necessity." Danny handed the bag to Shawn and continued, "It's mostly a serotonin uptake inhibitor like ecstasy. But I've added a circulatory enhancer as well."

Shawn looked at the small bag in his hand. "You mean its part ecstasy and part Viagra?"

Danny nodded. "I need to keep working on it. But it should already make the stuff you've been selling seem like aspirin. That's a quarter dose. Don't take it until you get home tonight."

"Why just a quarter dose?" asked Shawn.

"Because, I'm going to try a full dose on myself. I need to compare our two experiences."

Danny took a pill from the third tray, put it in a ziplock bag and handed the bag to Jackie.

"That, my love, is the girl version of Blast."

Jackie held up the small bag. "I don't know if I can handle being any hornier than I already am."

"Well, unlike the man's formula, it won't make you hornier." Danny knew all to well that his girlfriend didn't need any motivation in the sex department. "But it will make your body ten times more sensitive to being touched."

Lucy's hand shot forward. "You mean my clit is going to feel ten times the pleasure? Give me some!"

Danny shook his head. "Sorry Lucy, not until the three of us try it first."

She stamped her foot on the floor and her face twisted into the pout of an eight-year-old.

"That's not fair!"

Danny, used to Lucy's tantrums, laughed. "Trust me, your clit will be having fun soon."

"And I can help you out in the meantime." Mark raised his eyebrow suggestively.

"On that note," Shawn said abruptly, "it's getting late. We should probably head back."

Danny had no interest in disengaging from the work at hand. "I'm going to stay here tonight and keep working."

"You're going to stay here," Jackie's intuition sensed real danger, "by yourself?" she questioned, yet something about his absence appealed to her selfish desire.

"I don't have a choice. I have to get this done. What I need you guys to do is buy me a bunch of food and bring it out tomorrow. Also, bring me some fresh clothes."

"I don't know, bro." Unlike Jackie, Shawn just had a purely bad feeling about his best friend staying.

Danny appreciated their concern but discounted it completely. "I've been coming here since I'm a kid—I know my way around. And I won't exactly be alone." He nodded toward Chico who was typing on a computer terminal with his name on it. "I've got Chico to keep me company if I get bored—and some well-stocked vending machines."

Shawn resigned himself to the fact that he wouldn't be able to change Danny's mind. "I'll start working on transportation, sound, and lights first thing in the morning." He looked over at Wheezer. "Wheezer, can you have some flyer layouts done by noon?"

Wheezer's cheeks reddened. "Well, I have class in the morning..."

Lucy leaned forward in a threatening manner—revealing her entire cleavage, the proverbial stick and carrot.

Wheezer gulped. "But I can skip it—it's not that important. I'll have something ready by noon."

Satisfied, Lucy leaned back. "What should I be doing?"

"I've got some suggestions," Mark said, relentless in his pursuit.

"You and Mark should start getting the buzz going." Shawn paused, a thought having crossed his mind. "The last Saturday of the month is the full moon. The party happens then."

"And every full moon after that..." added Danny.

"Have you thought of a name?" asked Jackie.

Shawn had thought many times of what he would call a rave if he were ever to throw his own. "Since it goes all night, we'll call it Nocturnal."

"That's a good name." Jackie meant this sincerely, however she had her own creative vision that was not to be discounted. "But why not name the party after the drug we're trying to sell? Blast...it's a co-branding opportunity."

Smiles spread around the table.

Shawn turned to Danny. "She might actually be smarter than you are."

"That's why I love her."

Jackie reached over and gave Danny a hug and a kiss on the lips. "I'm going to miss you tonight."

Danny kissed the side of her neck and whispered in her ear. "Take your Blast when you get home and think about me."

"Only if you promise to do the same," she said giving him one more peck on the lips.

"I promise."

Danny stared out the window and watched as the Mercedes pulled away. He looked at the pill in his hand. "Full dose for you," he said out loud...The sound of a doomed Pac Man drew his attention to Chico, who sat playing a video game at his computer. "Life's pretty simple for you, I imagine." He looked down at the pill again. It was a tense moment, drugs had never been his thing, he thought about his dad passed out on the couch, then put the pill in his mouth and swallowed. "No going back now, Danny boy."

Chapter Five

First Blast

Nightfall had come on the drive back. It had been a quiet, contemplative drive—all of the car's young passengers were aware that their lives had entered a new dimension—a provocative dimension of sex and money.

Shawn was down on the floor doing pushups, with his shirt off, while Jackie watched perched on her bed.

"This stuff is incredible." Shawn clapped his hands together then plunged them back toward the floor to brace his body's downward decent.

Jackie put a CD into the Bang and Olufson 3500 on her desk. "Shawn—this is the best I've ever felt." She wiped a tear from her face as it rolled down her cheek.

Shawn righted himself to his knees and stared at her. "It's like every emotion I've ever had just wants to come out of me all at once."

She rubbed her abdomen sensually. "Me too." She extended her hand out to him. "Shawn, come here."

Shawn moved toward her, pulled by a force beyond his control. Their hard, young, bodies slammed together and they began kissing wildly, while ripping at each other's clothes.

"Touch me all over!" Jackie begged, before sticking her tongue deep into Shawn's mouth. "Touch me all over," she begged again—their lips parting for a moment.

"You feel so good." His hands clutched at her breasts.

"Squeeze my nipples, Shawn." She threw her arms around him and scratched her fingers down his back. "How does that feel?"

Shawn groaned from a place deep in his gut. "Do it harder."

She could feel his warm blood running down her fingers—an incredible turn on. "Bite me!"

Shawn bit her lower lip—her blood was in his mouth, it was a dirty, sweet, taste. His face plunged down to her left breast. He bit at the nipple. Blood splattered the white sheets.

"I'm going to fuck you, Jackie."

She grabbed his face, in her hands. "You want to fuck me now? You want to fuck me bad, Shawn?"

"I want to fuck you bad." His hands clutched her ass and squeezed her crotch against his.

"I want to fuck you so bad."

"Do it! Show me what a bad boy fucks like!"

Shawn slammed down on top of her, her legs locked around his waste, and simultaneously they both grabbed and pulled at what remained of each other's clothes until he was able to force himself into her. And then with no conscience whatsoever Shawn and Jackie fucked and came so hard that they passed out entangled in each other's arms—passed out into a deep peaceful sleep.

Danny's hands clutched onto the catwalk that he had almost fallen from earlier that day. This time however, he was enjoying himself—easily able to pull himself back up to safety. "Now that's what I call a fucking Blast!" Danny admired his bulging forearms and biceps then walked back through the doors into the hallway purposefully.

The Danny, of a few hours earlier, was gone. The new Danny had an aura of real danger about him.

Suddenly, he turned and ran for the doors at full speed. Bursting through and dropping to the floor duplicating his previous slide he allowed his body to fluidly spill over the side of the catwalk before grasping its edge.

"Oh yeah!" Danny looked down and laughed. "This is fucking beautiful." Then, with even greater ease than before, he pulled himself up to safety...Looking still more disturbed, he propped open the double doors, walked back down the hallway, turned, and ran full speed. But this time, instead of sliding, he jumped for the platform across the cavernous room, replicating Chico's earlier feat.

Danny landed with a thud, a sound that in most instances would have indicated the breaking of a human body—even his newly enhanced strength couldn't fully brace him for the impact—which caused his head to strike the metal with enough force to break the skin of his brow. He knew he had been injured but felt no pain—all he could do was curl up into the fetal position and laugh uncontrollably.

The hours of night had passed like a few minutes. Danny lay completely naked on the outer ledge of the building, passed out. Chico sat next to him playing with his hair, which eventually caused him to stir. Danny's first conscious impulse was to cover his eyes to protect them from the sun. "Whoa—and to think I used to be a morning person." Danny looked up at Chico thinking that the smart orangutan had probably spent most of the night vigilantly guarding him against a sure to be fatal fall to the pavement below. "I thought I told you to stay in your room?" Danny asked, with a smile that assured he was grateful.

Chico let his hand fall on Danny's face affectionately.

"Want to eat some candy bars for breakfast?" Danny asked, while removing his hand.

Chico nodded in the affirmative.

Danny looked down the length of his own body. "You don't happen to know where my clothes are at, do you?"

Chico shrugged; even a smart orangutan had little interest in clothes.

Jackie woke up with Shawn's arm around her. She had often wondered what it would feel like and it exceeded her best expectations. Slowly, trying not to wake him, she rotated her body his direction—she wanted to watch him sleep.

"Are you awake?" he asked his eyes still closed

"Yeah, I'm staring at you."

Shawn opened his eyes and stared back. "Danny and I have been best friends since we were four-years-old..."

"It was the drugs, Shawn," she interrupted. "And it was Danny who gave them to us."

"I still feel guilty—drugs or no drugs."

Jackie kissed him on the lips and reached for his crotch. "Does your dick always get this hard when you feel guilty?" She moved her left leg over his lower body and straddled him; hot and wet she began rubbing herself the length of his morning erection.

He looked from her perfect breasts to her smoldering, fuck me, eyes. "What are you doing?"

"If we're going to feel guilty anyway—" She groaned as his cock slipped into her "what's the difference?" Jackie moved her hips back and forth in a slow deliberate rhythm. "I've wanted you for a long time, Shawn. I'm glad this happened."

The face meant to draw the eye's focus, out of the montage of pictures on the front of the flyer, was Lucy's. Shawn stood hunched over Wheezer's perfectly organized, brightly lit, desk and cogitated for several minutes before speaking. "This is great, Wheezer. But even though Lucy's mad hot, I don't know if we should use her on the flyer."

"Oh no Shawn, we should definitely use her."

Shawn looked at his emphatic little friend. "Because it will make people want to come to the party? Or because you have something going on here I don't know about?"

"Because it will bring people to the party..."

"Wheezer?" Shawn pressed further, putting his hand on Wheezer's shoulder.

"And—I have something kind of going on the side...Maybe."

A twinge of amusement seemed to bounce across Shawn's face. "Okay, we'll go with it as is."

Wheezer's mind raced to the obvious possibilities. "I just need to know who the DJ's are and it'll be ready to go."

Shawn knew exactly what DJ's were needed to deliver a sellout. "I'll have them booked by the end of the day." Shawn looked at Wheezer, he was aglow, Shawn imagined that getting laid by Lucy to Wheezer was even more important than financial independence was to him.

Lucy sat drinking a bottle of water, surrounded by a large group of college boys, bloviating. "You can forget about Marty's bullshit parties. You've never seen anything like this place."

"It's about time Shawn threw his own rave," said one of the captivated college boys.

"When's this thing going off?"

"Two weeks from this Saturday." Lucy took a sip of her water and added. "It's always going to be the night of the full moon."

"How do we get to this place?" questioned another mesmerized young frat boy.

Lucy gave him one of her most seductive looks. "You don't...We take you there."

"What?" The question was far more rooted in intrigue than lack of understanding.

"You're going to take us?"

Lucy hadn't imagined how much she was going to enjoy promoting. "Not me, daddy. A bus. You call me; I'll tell you where to catch the bus. Then you guys tell your friends."

"This sounds way cool," said the college boy she had originally been speaking to.

Lucy wiggled in her tight skirt, just enough. "Would I invite you to a lame party?"

"I heard a rumor that Shawn's going to have some new kind of E?" the frat boy questioned further.

"Well if he does," Lucy smiled acknowledging that the rumor was true, "I'm sure you'll get a blast out of it."

Mark stood in the hallway surrounded by a group of attractive female coeds.

"It's huge. Trust me, you've never seen anything like it."

"Mark, you tell that to everyone you want to go out with," a girl with long, straight, brown hair, in a plaid skirt and conservative, white sweater commented causing the group of girls to giggle.

"I'll pull it out and show you if you're not a believer," Mark offered, causing the girl to blush. "And you know I'm talking about the rave."

"No age limit, no dress code?" asked an attractive freshman in tight low-rider jeans.

Mark shook his head. "None—this is the real thing."

An especially attractive blonde, in a Cheerleader's outfit, stepped forward. "I go-go danced at a couple of raves last summer. Does Shawn need some dancers?"

"Definitely," answered Mark without hesitation. "We're going to need at least ten—so call Shawn.

"I can call some of the girls I worked with this summer and see what they're up to."

"Great!" Mark couldn't decide whether he was more impressed with her golden brown legs or her helpful attitude.

"Will Shawn pay us cash or is he going to have something he might want to trade?" Her tone implied that she had heard the rumor that Mark and Lucy had been spreading.

Mark had a special appreciation for a beautiful, helpful, girl who partook in drugs. "Oh, he'll have something you'll want more than cash."

"She's not talking about you, Mark," chided the girl in the plaid skirt.

"I know what she's talking about, sweetheart." Mark wondered if she'd be so sassy after he fucked her on Blast. "There's going to be some very potent stuff there."

Danny sat at the lab table, with his shirt off, studying some books and classified files. Almost as an after thought he glanced at his watch. "Oh shit." He stood and began mixing an ingredient into the new batch of Blast he was working on.

"Hey don't get dressed on our account," said Shawn as he walked into the lab with Jackie; both of their hands filled with bags of groceries and clothes. "Any reason you haven't been answering your phone?"

Danny looked up from the mixing beaker and stared across the room at his friend and girlfriend. He thought he would be happy to see them but instead he just felt annoyed. The Blast had done something to his senses and he sensed something that he didn't like—a change in dynamic.

"There's no cell phone reception out here, jackass. Did you get everything I need?"

"Yeah, we picked up at least a week's worth of food, jackass. And Jackie packed some clothes up for you."

Shawn and Jackie put down the bags they were holding and walked over to where Danny was working.

Jackie put her arms around his waste and gave him a kiss on the lips. "Are you okay?" she asked in her most loving tone, trying to change the strange vibe she was getting. "Didn't you miss me?"

It could have been her touch, her smell, or her tone of voice, he wasn't sure which—perhaps it had been a combination of all three, but his mood returned back to its normal state. "Yeah, I missed you. I'm sorry, I'm just a little worn out from last night—and sore." He rubbed his severely bruised shoulder. "Did you guys try the Blast I gave you?"

"I thought it was amazing," said Jackie hoping that Danny didn't sense the awkward moment. "I've never felt so good. I can't wait to do it again." It was daring and stupid to say but she was sure that Shawn understood that her last sentence had been for his benefit.

Danny turned to Shawn. "What about you? What did you think?"

The expression on Shawn's face was enough to answer the question before he spoke. "I can sell a ton of it just the way it is."

"Did you feel emotional?" asked Danny, questioning with the cold, detached tone of a young scientist.

"Very," answered Jackie even though the question had clearly been posed to Shawn. "It's like you can't hide what you feel—it just comes out."

Danny smiled at Jackie's desire to help but really wanted to compare his experience with Shawn's. "Same with you?"

"It was intense," confirmed Shawn, vividly recalling the pushups he was able to do with a feeling of almost complete weightlessness. "I couldn't believe how strong I felt." He paused trying to rid the image of his dick penetrating Jackie from his mind. "What was it like for you?"

"I never imagined anything like it. But it still has a way to go."

"Why don't we stick with what Jackie and I took?" Shawn glanced at Jackie hoping that she would support his suggestion. "I think anything stronger could be dangerous."

"Is that your clinical opinion?" asked Danny, sarcastically.

"What the fuck's the matter with you today?"

"Boundaries, Shawn," answered Danny.

"What?" asked Shawn, a bolt of guilt running through his body.

"Just take care of the fucking party and let me worry about the Blast."

Jackie tried to digest the side of Danny she was seeing, for the first time. "Since when do you cuss, Danny?"

"Since, I stopped giving a fuck about what people think of me."

The disturbing thought crossed her mind that he might suspect something. "You've had a tough week."

Danny wasn't in the mood to be cosseted. "Look, I've got a lot of work to do still. Why don't you leave the rest of my things in the lobby? I'll get them later."

Shawn leaned forward on the table. "You make Blast, I sell it. That makes us partners—so don't talk to me like I'm a piece of shit. If I wanted that, I'd be working for Big Jim."

"Do I need to put you two in time out?" asked Jackie. She had always enjoyed playing boys against each other but this triangle had much greater possibilities, so prudence dictated tamping down the testosterone levels—at least for a while.

Danny wiped at his clammy brow with the palm of his hand. "Sorry, I'm just feeling edgy." He wrapped his arm around Jackie and gave her an apologetic hug and a gentle kiss on the cheek. "Why don't you come back the day after tomorrow. My body chemistry should be back to normal by then. And if you don't mind, I'll need a ride into town."

I've got things back on track, she thought to herself with a sense of relief. "Of course, I don't mind giving you a ride."

Danny turned to an obviously uncomfortable Shawn. "I'm sure you have everything for the party going smoothly." His tone was conciliatory.

Shawn pulled the sample flyer from his pocket and laid it down on the table. "What do you think?"

Danny examined it for a moment and smiled. "It's good, it's really good. Did you decide on a departure point yet?"

Shawn, feeling more comfortable, relaxed back into a normal dialogue with his life long friend. "The old train station. Five thousand cars can park there without anyone noticing."

"And it's already set up for busses," added Danny. "That's good thinking...And sorry about the attitude."

Shawn motioned for Danny to walk around the table and give him a hug. "It's cool—don't stress so much. We're going to be rich soon." They gave each other a heart- felt half-hug. "By the way," Shawn glanced around the room, "where's Chico?"

"I told him he could play around outside for a while." Danny nodded toward Chico's computer terminal. "His video games were driving me nuts."

"I don't know about letting him run around outside by himself." Again, Shawn didn't recognize the Danny that would make such and irresponsible decision. "I'll bring him in with the rest of your supplies."

Danny remained silent. A lifetime of Shawn taking control of every situation had progressed from tiring to intolerable. He had never let his mind go to the place where his resentment resided, but Blast had cleared a wide path—he had been happy when Shawn got kicked off the football team. There were many more thoughts—he needed to stop thinking.

Shawn and Jackie walked toward the door. Danny watched; then looked down at the ax, which still lay on the counter top next to the lab table. With a power and confidence he had never felt before he grasped the wood handle—it felt incredible, almost molded for his grip and his grip alone, he took careful aim, and hurled the ax with deadly accuracy.

Jackie's scream was a shrill, blood curdling, auditory exclamation indicative of far more than the mass of gore in front of her. Shawn stared at the ax, which had caught the enormous rat as it jumped from a shelf for his throat mid-air, and pinned it grotesquely to the wall. Danny allowed himself to watch the rodent's blood ooze down the sterile white surface for a moment before turning calmly back to his work.

"How did you do that?" Shawn's voice had a slight tremble in its inflection. The type of tremble that can only be found in a question that one already knows the unpleasant answer to, but does not want to allow completely into consciousness.

Danny's gaze remained downward on his work. "Residual effect from last night's Blast." His answer could not have sounded more as-a-matter-of-fact.

"You could have killed one of us!" Jackie yelled at him, having regained enough composure to yell.

"I could have..." Danny shrugged, cutting off his own sentence—thinking it too mundane to bother finishing.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Questioned Jackie, her mind perceiving both threat and warning in his words, yet her own rationality screamed to her it's your own guilt.

"It means show some fucking appreciation for the rabies shots I just saved you from having to get." Danny sensed what he had earlier, when she first walked into the lab. He couldn't identify the energy but he didn't like it.

"Is there something you want to say to me?" She regretted the question. It was an admission that she would never have normally made—that she could be questioned.

Danny shook his head. "No. I'll see you the day after tomorrow."

Shawn pulled on Jackie's arm. "Let's go."

They didn't say a word to each other before getting into the car. There was an intuitive understanding between them.

"What's wrong with him?" asked Jackie, the moment the car door closed. "Do you think he suspects that we..."

"It's the drugs," Shawn interrupted not wanting to hear the conclusion of her sentence. "Four times what I took last night is way too much."

"Well, what are we going to do?" Her tone was not meek; rather it contained a sense of opportunistic drive. "I don't think I like the new Danny."

"Danny knows what he's doing in the lab," Shawn decided to assure—not taking the conspiratorial bate he had just been offered. "We just need to keep an eye on him. He'll get it right and everything will be back to normal."

"Will it?" questioned Jackie, making it a point that she had her doubts—and was titillated to have them.

"I hope so," said Shawn, turning to look at her. He was truly concerned for Danny but Jackie and he were cut from the same cloth and he was more than willing to play her game—even if the ending was in doubt.

"My parents are in Europe. Do you want to hang out with me at their house tonight?"

"It's probably not a good idea."

"Shawn, you've already stuck your dick in me twice. Why stop?"

"Because you're my best friend's girlfriend."

"Oh, retroactive loyalty. I didn't know that there was such a thing."

"Jackie..." Shawn thought back to the day that he was kicked off of the football team and Danny so gladly took his place. Loyalty?

"Since I'm driving, you don't really have a choice."

Shawn let his head fall back against the headrest. "Then my answer is yes." He feigned a resigned smile. "As long as I don't really have a choice—"

Danny took a pill from a large canister marked Blast Full Strength and swallowed it. Knowing that the effects would be coming in a few minutes he rolled a chair from behind one of several desks that lined the area in front of the unoccupied animal storage space to a small seating area in front of a sixty inch plasma screen. He picked up the remote control from the shelf next to the plasma and aimed it at the control box. With a click of a button the screen lit up and a scientist in a white lab-coat began speaking to an audience of fellow scientist and men in military uniforms.

"We had hoped that Peperadine taken properly before entering combat would greatly reduce incidents of Post Traumatic Fatigue Syndrome among our troops, which it did. Unfortunately, there have been some regretful side effects." The scientist used the control in his hand to scroll through more than two-dozen pictures of civilian carnage—each picture depicting a worse horror than the previous. The gasps from the audience were left on the audio track—no civilian was ever meant to see the recording.

"It get worse," said the scientist morosely. A slide of three dead soldiers appeared. "The soldier responsible for this atrocity, Sergeant Keating, was given a mild dose of Peperadine. It suppressed his conscience to a point that not only allowed him to kill enemy combatants without remorse—he slaughtered innocent civilians with the same ferocity. When his fellow soldiers and commanding officer attempted to subdue him, he killed them as well. The killing did not stop until a special forces sharp-shooter took action." A final slide appeared of Sergeant Keating with a drug dart in his neck.

"Because Peperadine was designed to affect the nervous system on a cellular level, the test subject's condition is not treatable. He is a killing machine with no conscience. Regrettably, he must never be allowed to leave his holding area. And it is my recommendation that the drug not be tested on any further subjects until we can determine why the desensitization we desired to cause is accompanied by such murderous rage."

Danny pointed the remote and froze the frame on the killer, Sergeant Keating. His eyes drifted to the jar on the shelf that read Weaponized Peperadine. "What holding area?" But before he could ponder the question any further his vision began to blur. The Blast was hitting him like a sledgehammer. The surge of confidence made him feel indifferent about anything other than his own strength. With a few purposeful steps Danny walked up to the DVD player, ejected the DVD, and broke it in two. "Well, good luck wherever you're at."

Jackie sat alone in the driver's seat of her Mercedes parked in front of the nice upper-middle-class house. "He's acting even weirder today, Shawn," she said into her cell phone, looking around to make sure Danny was nowhere in sight.

"And you drove him to Marty's house?" Shawn asked, his voice filled with stress.

"I was scared," said Jackie defensively. "If I had said no, he would have snapped. You don't think he'll say anything to Marty, do you?"

"No. He didn't go there to see Marty. He went there to see Marty's brother."

"The one that got burned?" Jackie rarely felt a step behind but Danny's request that she drive him to Marty's house had left her completely lost. "Why would he want to see him?"

"Danny feels guilty that he didn't get him out of the house in time. He just can't let go of it."

Jackie exhaled a short puff of air from her nostrils—a silent chuckle, and a smile spread across her face at the realization that Shawn and Danny were involved in a game of their own. One she knew nothing about.

Marty's brother Brian—badly burned and in terrible pain—laid in the bed he had been confined to for more than seven hellish years. Danny stood and looked at the boy, just three years younger than himself, thinking of the life he had been deprived of by no fault of his own. Brian's effort to smile gave Danny the assurance that it was okay for him to pull up a chair and speak.

"Brian, I think I can really help you now."

With considerable effort Brian held up his badly charred arm for both of them to consider.

Danny's mind immediately filled with a vision of Shawn chasing him at a Fourth of July picnic—both ran full speed with Roman Candles in hand.

"I heard that you got fired—and that you lost your scholarship. How are you going to help me now?" His raspy, strained voice had just enough life force left in it to convey a promise had been made that remained not yet fulfilled. "I wish I were dead—"

"Don't say that." Danny's response was automatic and driven by emotional pain.

"Look at me!" Brian somehow summoned the strength to rip open his pajama top revealing his entire torso—all of which was burnt, like his arm, into something that no longer resembled human tissue.

Danny stared at Brian's skin, unable to make eye-contact—but what he really saw was the past.

Danny stopped running a few feet past Marty and Brian's house. A fireball from Shawn's Roman Candle ripped by him as he lighted his own and fired back. Shawn got off another two volleys before his candle flamed out causing him to run for the cover of the house. Danny aimed at him and missed; then missed again but unlike the fist ball of fire this one landed on the shake shingles that covered the roof of the house. The fire spread quickly while he stood and stared—in shock, unable to move.

Danny could listen to Brian but he still could not look into his eyes as he spoke.

"I lie here every day, alone, wondering what it's like to go to school," he paused, recounting emotional pain was not a relief of any kind, the intensity actually increased upon recollection, "wondering what it's like to have a girlfriend. But I'll never know."

"I can't change the way you look yet—but I can change the way you feel." Danny pulled out a bag of full-strength Blast from his pocket and looked up the length of Brian's body—to his face.

Brian made an excruciating effort to turn his head toward Danny. "Why are you doing this?"

Shawn ran up to Danny and grabbed the Roman Candle from his hand. "Come on—let's get out of here before someone sees us."

"We have to do something!" Danny felt his mind regaining its ability to reason. "We have to do something!" He repeated feeling as if he was awakening from a terrible dream—but to a worse reality. A reality you can do something about, he surmised in his mind.

"What are you talking about? They're at the picnic. We'll call the fire department from the pay phone at 7-Eleven..."

Danny looked away from Shawn to the house. For a moment running away seemed like a possibility. But then his eyes transfixed on young Brian looking out of his window, trapped by the spreading fire. Danny turned to Shawn, but Shawn was already running to call the fire department. Without another thought Danny turned back to the house—and ran for the front door.

"It's my fault. I did this to you."

"It was an accident." Brian grasped Danny's forearm with his badly damaged hand. "I've never said anything to anybody."

"Listen, I've got access to the lab at the defense plant."

"How?"

"They closed it. I've got my dad's spare keys," Danny confided, as he took out a pill for Brian and handed him a glass of water from the nightstand. Danny opened the nightstand drawer and put the rest of the pills into it. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a note, which he held up for Brian to see. "This is the formula I used. If anything ever happens to me, you have it. It's not legal so..." Danny placed the piece of paper into the drawer with the pills. "Take one pill every eight hours. Your days in here are over, Brian."

Brian swallowed the pill. "Really, and if this stuff works, where do you recommend I hang out, the zoo?"

Danny stood. "I've got to go..."

"How about the circus, Danny? Maybe I'd fit in there."

Danny walked to the door.

"I hear you have beautiful girlfriend, Danny. What's it like to fuck her? What's it like to fuck a girl, Danny?"

Danny wanted to keep walking but stopped at the door and turned. "Brian, if you say anything to anyone, I won't be able to help you anymore."

Brian nodded and watched the door close behind Danny. He looked at his hand and, for the first time since the fire, closed it into a fist. "Help me, Danny? How can I repay you for what you've already done?" Brian marveled for a moment that he felt no pain as the scarred skin stretched. Then, with a hateful look, he raised himself from the bed and walked to the window. "I'll think of something...I'll think of a way to repay you and your friend Shawn for everything you two have done for me."

Brian watched as Danny got into the passenger side of the Mercedes and was driven off by what he imagined to be the girlfriend he had heard about. Marty's car seemed to pull up almost in slow motion. And Brian felt a strange sense of amusement at the way his far from fit fleshy brother bolted from the car to the house. What a surprise he's in for, thought Brian.

A few seconds later, Marty entered the room.

"What are you doing out of bed, Brian?"

Brian turned toward his brother Marty. "New medication, I'm feeling much better."

Marty glanced at the pills in the open nightstand drawer. "Did Danny give those to you? Is that why he got fired from Scribner?"

"That's really none of your business, Marty."

"I'm the one who's been sitting by the side of your bed for the last seven years—it's my business...Who knows what he just gave you?"

"Who cares!?"

"I care! Mom and Dad care! I'm your older brother, Brian. Tell me what's going on."

Brian stood silently for several moments. His life had been on hold for years and now there was movement again. "Danny's been trying to help me. He broke into the defense plant."

Marty lowered his voice. "The plant?"

"Apparently it's closed..." Brian looked at his brother, they had different agendas but they were after all brothers.

Danny looked around the lab—it had become home. Dismal, he thought to himself. Dismal, not because it was a cold cement tomb of a building, but because it made him think of the other two places he had called home; a small box of a house void of the warmth of a caring mother. He thought more deeply about why she had left. She wanted a better life. "She wanted a bigger box," he said out loud to Chico who sat faithfully by Danny's side as he produced more Blast.

Danny slid 100 pills from the tray into a nearly full plastic bag. "We're going to need a larger bag, Chico." His mind drifted to his dorm room, an even smaller box than the one he had grown up in. Neither Mark nor he had done anything to give it a personal touch. What would have been the point? A box that someone else owned...was just a box...could be gone at anytime...Fix it up and give one's self the illusion of a home? Danny shook his head. "I don't know Chico. Maybe it's better to give yourself the fantasy." Chico looked at Danny with serious eyes, feeling empathy, because he too did have a conscience.

"You know Chico, you might have been better off if they hadn't made you smart. Your relatives are swinging around the jungle happy." Danny looked down at the pills and picked one up with a pair of small forceps, he was strung out and stressed, both at the same time. "This is what it's come to..." the tone of his voice softened, "and I don't mean the Blast. It's so easy to judge other people. It's so easy to think you are better...But then when things don't go your way, well then you do what you have to...and then...Behind every great fortune there's a crime. Isn't that what they say? Is it that gem of knowledge, if it's true, that makes this all right?"

Chico reached out and pushed Danny's hand down to the table top, forcing the forceps to be released. Then with a tug he pulled Danny from his work, down the hallway to the break room, where they stood together in front of Chico's favorite vending machine. Danny's reflective tone took on a note of levity as he took in the image of the two of them in the glass. "You're right a Snickers bar is the answer to everything that doesn't kill you."

Chico reached forward and pushed the button.

Wheezer's room was an immaculate recreation and merger of the school's computer lab and graphic arts design studio. The wise face of Albert Einstein stared down from above Wheezer's bed—the genius of the ages wore a hint of a smile, perhaps amused by the promise of young precocious minds or maybe the thought of one of his many lovers, or maybe like the Mona Lisa he just understood that no matter how many layers of genius he possessed, he was not finished.

Wheezer rolled his ergonomically designed chair to the printer and pulled the beautiful, glossy print into his hand. He nodded his approval and handed Shawn the finished flyer. "What do you think?"

Shawn smiled and nodded. "You're the best Wheezer. I've never seen a better flyer for a party."

Wheezer blushed. "Thanks Shawn. Even if you don't really mean it..."

Shawn sat down on the desktop so he could face Wheezer. "You have to stop that Wheez. It's the best. I wouldn't bullshit you. Don't put yourself down like that."

Wheezer looked up at Shawn—the only person he would ever not object to sitting on his desktop. "I'm a dork Shawn. I'm the fat kid in "Lord Of The Flies" whose brains wind up on the rock—I'm Piggy."

Shawn looked down at the flyer and then back up at Wheezer. "You're smart and you're talented Wheezer—and you're a good friend."

"So, you think that girls just don't talk to me because they're intimidated by all my great qualities?"

"Wheezer, let me tell you something about girls, most of them aren't worthy of a guy like you. They're shallow, they think about clothes and makeup, and what type a car a guy drives..."

"Some girls are smart, Shawn."

Shawn's face was grim. "Stay away from them, Wheezer," he thought of Jackie, "they're the worst kind. All women are schemers, but a smart woman will get you involved, she'll get you involved in her schemes."

Mark pulled the naïve freshman into his dorm room.

"What if your roommate comes back?"

"I told you he's not staying here right now?" He kissed her on the lips and began pushing her back towards the bed.

"Mark, I think you're cute, but I told you I have a boyfriend back home."

Mark's right hand pressed against the small of her back and brought their bodies close together. He could feel the heat of her young vagina through his jeans. There was no way he wasn't fucking her. "C'mon, long distance relationships don't work, especially leftovers from high school."

She arched her lower back pulling her face away from his. Mark was an expert in wearing girls down, he bent forward kissing her on the lips again—this time getting his tongue into her mouth for a blissful moment.

She turned her head to the side. "Mark," he began kissing her chest, "stop, Mark, I don't hookup like this."

"This isn't just a hookup," he whispered into her ear.

"It's not?" she whispered back, a note of hope in her voice.

"No I really like you," he assured. "And you've been doing a great job inviting people to the party." He kissed her on the lips—she offered no resistance. "How many people did you invite again?"

She smiled feeling both awkward and horny. "I told you, I invited all the girls in my sorority and everybody in my classes."

Mark pushed down on her shoulders so that she had no choice but to sit on the bed in front of him. And with a flick of his wrist his pants were undone and his dick was in her face.

"No Mark, I can't..."

He used his right hand to rub his cock over her soft skin. He wondered how many passes across her lips it would take before he was in her mouth—three was the number. He looked down, in an almost cataleptic state, as the shy naïve girl sucked him off with the expertise of a twenty-dollar whore. She must have invited three hundred people he thought to himself. He patted her gently on the head like a pet dog—she was the third girl that day—only three more to go before dinner.

Lucy, always the quick study, had grudgingly come to admire Mark's unique way of promoting. He had truly taken viral marketing to a new level, but she was resolved to not being out done.

Lucy thrust her hips forward engulfing the erection of the varsity tennis star causing him to let out a low guttural moan.

"You like that, John?"

"Yeah..."

"Yeah? Don't tell me yeah...Tell me you love my hot, wet, twat. Tell me or I'll stop fucking your brains out right now and you can go jerk yourself off."

"I love your hot, wet, pussy, Lucy."

She pulled on his hair. "I said twat...tell me you love it the right way or I'll stop!"

"I love your hot, wet, twat," gasped John. "I love, you, Lucy," he whimpered reduced, like the other five guys she had bedded that day, to putty in her hands and between her legs.

She bit his ear. "John, you invited the tennis team to our party, right?"

"Yeah..."

She practically jumped off of him ripping his prick from her body. "What's with this 'yeah' shit? You need to be a little fucking more specific!"

Stunned, he began to stammer. "I invited everyone—even the guys on J.V. and the trainers too...That's like thirty people."

She stood in front of him naked, considering his fate. "Turn around and bend over the couch."

"What?"

"What are you, fucking stupid," she opened the top drawer of her dresser, "just do what the fuck I say."

"But...What's that for?" he asked as Lucy began strapping on the enormous black dildo.

"You love me?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"There you go with that 'yeah' shit again." She took a step towards him. "Do you want to cum like you've never cum before?"

"Lucy...I've never..."

She spoke in a tone normally used for small children—mockingly. "Oh—didn't you come to college to learn new things? You love me but you don't trust me?" She rubbed some Vaseline over the fake penis she was sporting. "See, I'm making it nice for you."

"Lucy..."

Her voice was harsh. "Bend the fuck over motherfucker! Now!" To her surprise he complied. She slapped his ass cheeks hard enough to leave a handprint on each side and tried not to giggle. "That's my baby."

"Lucy, promise you won't tell anyone."

She fished around the side of the couch for her cell phone, intent on getting a good picture. "Shut the fuck up."

"Please, Lucy."

Cell phone in hand she thrust her hips forward, but this time it was she who was in him—kind of. He moaned and whimpered—she got her shot. Then as Lucy gave him the kind of ramming she liked herself she began to laugh out loud. "C'mon Mark, try and top this!"

"Who's Mark?" groaned John.

"You are," she answered, "metaphorically speaking..."

It was a five-hour drive to the regional supplier of Turbo Sound and Lighting.

"This better be some great sounding stuff, for this kind of drive," Jackie whined.

"It is," Shawn assured.

"You couldn't just order what we need online?"

"Jackie, I told you, you didn't have to come. Besides, it's a nice drive."

"But I'm horny Shawn. I don't want to drive, I want to full around." She pulled up her short skirt and began rubbing her spot."

"Nice underwear."

Jackie smiled like a horny little ten-year-old. "I knew you would like poke-a-dots—Chester the molester," she said, then laughed.

"All guys like poke-a-dots." Shawn could feel himself getting hard as a rock. His dick was the wrong way in his pants, so it was not a pleasurable feeling. "Jackie you gotta stop."

She pulled her panties just a little to the side to show some pink. "Stop what?"

Shawn sighed a sigh of relief. "This is our exit. And just so you know how serious this is; you can have a party on the side of a mountain if the music and the sound are right. It's all about music and sound."

Jackie pulled her wet middle finger from her clit and traced it around Shawn's lips. "And Blast." She sat back in her seat. "Well then let's get the best system they've got."

Shawn walked the aisles with Scott, the very accommodating salesman, and picked out the sound and lighting equipment that he had dreamt of.

"Thirty six, thirty-six-inch base cabinets in one room! Nobody has ever put that much sound in one place. You have to let me know where this thing is going off at," said Scott, as they approached the sales counter.

Shawn put his hand on Scott's shoulder. "Give me your cell before I leave and I'll make sure you have a ride...If you know what I mean?"

Scott understood. "Oh, that's the way to do it. Should I ask how you plan on paying...I can take cash, if need be."

Shawn shook his head and pointed his thumb toward an unusually quiet Jackie. "I'm just the help. The boss is taking care of the rest."

Jackie handed Scott her American Express Platinum Card, "There you go."

"A credit card?"

"There's no limit on that one," Jackie smiled—nothing else needed to be said.

Scott nodded. "Beautiful and rich," he swiped the card through the processing machine "I only ever meet average and poor." He handed Jackie back her card, which of course had gone through.

"Help us get the word out about our party and I'll introduce you to some of my friends." Jackie waved her hand around the impressive store. "You know if you marry the right girl you could own this place."

Scott looked from Jackie to Shawn. "Wow! She really is the boss."

"And she doesn't let me forget it—ever." Shawn said putting his arm around Jackie.

"Well life is full of tradeoffs," observed Scott. For a moment his attention turned to the back of the store where he heard his boss speaking to someone. "So where do you want me to ship all this to?" Scott asked, his demeanor becoming more business like.

"Just get it ready...I'll come back with a truck and some guys to pick everything up," answered Shawn, having gathered that the arrival of Scott's employer had changed the vibe.

Scott handed Shawn the receipt. "I'll have it all ready by tomorrow..." He lowered his voice. "And I wrote my cell number on the receipt."

Scott watched the happy couple turned business partners walk out with just a little envy.

Marty's man Peci shook hands with the owner. "Thanks for your time, but I have to run, I'm late for a meeting."

Peci walked out of the store behind Shawn and Jackie completely unnoticed. He wanted to laugh out loud when Jackie reached over and grabbed Shawn's hand—they were clearly not disposed to discretion.

Jackie had been a spoiled only child and consequently had always been given the run of her parent's home. The only room that had ever been off limits was the formal, living room. So being bent over the couch of this particular room by Shawn, whom her parents had never cared for, was a highly satisfying sexual experience—the long drive, the shopping for sound equipment, the wait, had all been worth it.

Peci looked through the window wishing he had more than his camera phone handy—but it would do.

Shawn gazed proudly upon the twenty blindfolded shady Mexicans willing to install all of the sound and lights needed for the Blast Party.

"You can take your blindfolds off now," said Shawn. The one Wetback that spoke English translated for the rest. And a few seconds later the Mexicans looked around with curiosity at their unusual surroundings.

Shawn turned to Mark and Wheezer. "All right you guys, you have schematics so let's split into three installation teams."

Wheezer studied the schematic in his hand. "Let me handle the lights, Shawn...I've always wanted to do a big lighting design."

Shawn pointed at Wheezer. "You've got lights, make me proud young man."

Jackie walked into the lab, not surprised, to find Danny working feverishly, producing pills.

"The guys are finishing up down in the vat room if you want to come check it out."

Danny didn't look up from the tray he was removing from the cooker. "I'll check it out later."

"Wheezer finished the website and put tickets to the party on sale. We're going to have a little get together in his dorm room tomorrow to get the official count; it would be nice if you could come."

Danny stayed focus on his work. "Not a chance, I have way too much to do here."

"Danny, I feel like you don't want anything to do with me."

He looked up. "Jackie, let's get something straight—I love you. And I trust you and the gang to do what you have to, to make this party happen, but my life is at stake. I need to be here and make this shit...It doesn't make itself." He looked at her with an expression that conveyed that he still had deep feelings. "I've got to try this new batch out—you should go."

Jackie turned and took a step toward the door.

"Jackie..." he waited until she turned back toward him to continue, "I'm sorry things have been the way they've been lately...After the party things should get back to normal."

Jackie turned and walked out of the room without saying a word. But she did think to herself that normal was not something that anyone involved with Blast would know again—the paradigm had been shifted.

Marty sat at the counter of his favorite dive of a burger joint. He had to seriously stretch the muscles in his jaw to open wide enough to take the first bite of the double, egg, bacon, cheese burger in his hands. A delightful mixture of flavors and texture caressed his pallet. Marty loved food, he actually smiled as he prepared to take his next bite, then, although expected, came the unpleasant interruption of Peci sitting on the stool next to him, and the flyer on the counter.

"Well now we know," said Peci, his voice was rough and determined.

Marty put down his burger, wiped his hands on the cheap, white, paper napkin and picked up the flyer for closer examination. "Nice flyer."

"It would be nicer if it said where the fuck the party is at," grumbled Peci.

"Shawn's a scumbag but he's smarter than that..." Marty turned the flyer over and admired Lucy's tits. "Where did you find this one?"

Peci's brow lifted. "It wasn't easy. They're definitely handing these things out hand to hand—and people are keeping them...I finally got the brother of one of the guys on the tennis team to give it to me."

Marty handed it back to Peci. "Well now we know when this thing is happening."

"Yeah, but this kid wouldn't give up where," Peci shook his head. "We need to fuck this thing up."

Marty's fingers reunited with his unfinished burger. "I know where," he took a bite, "but you wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Shawn, Jackie, Mark, and Lucy huddled behind Wheezer looking over his shoulder as he navigated the official Blast website. When he clicked on the _total tickets sold_ icon, the screen highlighted the bottom right hand corner of the page, which read 10,848. Shawn wrapped his arms around Wheezer's shoulders and kissed him on top of the head. Mark and Lucy hugged—an unusual camaraderie for the two. Jackie stared at the number a second longer than the rest of them and then loosing herself for a moment pulled Shawn away from Wheezer and gave him a kiss that was too passionate to transpire between friends. Mark and Lucy exchanged an uncomfortable glance.

Wheezer, oblivious to anything other than the computer screen, continued to look through the webstats. "There'll be a lot of last minute sales tonight and tomorrow."

Shawn, realizing that Jackie was being careless at a time when they couldn't afford to be, took a step back. "Good...I have plenty of busses lined up."

"Are you worried about the cops?" asked Mark forcing himself to put what he had just seen out of his mind.

Shawn shook his head. "No. I think we've managed to stay completely under their radar."

"How about Danny?" asked Mark, his concern having taken on a new dimension due to the unusual rapport that had obviously developed between Jackie and Shawn. "He seems a little too high on his own supply lately."

"After the party, I'll talk to him." Shawn paused. Mark had spent most of his time promoting so he had seen very little of Danny the last month. Shawn had thought about telling him the truth on several occasions; telling him about the behavior he had seen with his own eyes—but he needed Mark to feel good about promoting the party, so the extent of Danny's decline remained the knowledge of he and Jackie alone. "He'll be fine." Shawn gave Mark a reassuring wink. "Leave Danny to me."

Danny stood on the catwalk, completely naked, staring at a large, sharp, metal hook. The hook had been attached to a thick chain, which hung down from a winch that was anchored to the ceiling. With slow deliberation he took the hook into his hand and pressed it to his flesh. The pain was excruciating and it was all he could do to not ejaculate—so pleased was he by the sensation. Having penetrated the dermal layer, he exerted still more pressure until he felt the incredible rush from the metal having been completely inserted into his right pectoral major.

"Not yet! Not yet!" He screamed, looking down at his erection. He had never felt so hard; it actually felt as if he were going to burst through his own skin.

With his left hand he wiped the blood from the oozing wound onto his fingers, then placed his fingers to his lips, rubbing the hot red liquid onto them vigorously. Blood had turned out to be a most satisfying lubricant—primarily because it gained viscosity with friction. Danny stared at his left hand for a moment, his focus returned through the pain like a headlamp far off in the distance coming closer to him through a fog; he grasped the other sharp, metal hook and plunged it into his left pectoral—his head jerked back violently and he began to masturbate clutching himself with both hands. Finally, ready to explode he stepped off the ledge letting his full body weight swing from the hooks; screaming, he popped with an intensity that left him suspended in mid-air feeling as if all but the slightest essence of life force still remained in his being.

"Oh yeah...Tomorrow let my life begin again," he uttered as a statement of clarity not a moan—the truth was close and he sensed it.

Chapter Seven

Let The Party Begin

Good looking young ravers disembarked from a long line of busses with blacked out windows parked alongside the main building of the defense plant. Shawn and Jackie watched as the ticket takers at the door took ticket after ticket—an almost mechanical function, a perfect display of supply and demand, which had the power to mesmerize.

"Wait here I'll be right back."

Jackie gave Shawn's ass an inappropriate pinch as he walked off toward the bus driver. He looked back over his shoulder and flashed her an incredulous look. But he was too obviously pleased to be incredulous about anything.

"Everything going smooth down at the train station, Joe?" Shawn asked, the heavyset, older driver.

"Like clockwork," Joe answered with a nod. Should I start sending busses back down?"

Joe had worked for the school district for thirty years and had in fact been the driver of many busses Shawn had ridden on. It struck Shawn as strange to be giving orders to an adult from his childhood. "Send half, keep half here for a few hours. Nobody's leaving anytime soon."

"Gottcha." Joe turned and walked toward the next bus in line to deliver his young boss' instructions.

Shawn walked back to the entry door just as Mark emerged and stood next to Jackie.

"It sounds great inside," said Mark, holding up his hand and high-fiveing Shawn. "People are already dancing."

Shawn gave a quick glance around Mark's shoulder. "Where's Wheezer?"

Mark shrugged. "Last I saw him he was headed with Lucy toward the elevators. I think he scored some Blast from Danny when we were putting in sound and lights."

Jackie flinched slightly at the mention of Danny's name. "Have you managed to get Danny to come out of the lab yet?" she asked Shawn feeling guilty, concerned, and annoyed all at the same time. "We should be selling Blast at the bars already."

Shawn turned to Mark. "Why don't you come with me? Maybe if we team up, we can get him back to some semblance of his old self—"

Mark was hesitant. "He said he would come out when he was ready."

"The party's started." Shawn pointed toward the door. "C'mon it's time—whether he's ready or not."

Jackie watched the two of them walk into the building. She hoped Shawn was right—that Danny would be back to normal after the party. They both presented such different possibilities; she liked having all options available.

Lucy slammed Wheezer against the wall of the missile silo with the force of a tiger pouncing on its prey.

"The stuff Danny gave us is making me crazy!" she said, sinking her teeth into his ear.

"I've never been with a girl before." Wheezer blurted the words out—as a confession of trust and love.

Lucy, her eyes smoldering from the hot desire to take yet another boy's virginity, unbuttoned her blouse and pulled Wheezer's face to her bosom. "Well, trust me Wheezer—you're starting off right," she growled.

"Lucy, I love you."

Lucy pushed herself back from Wheezer leaving him against the wall, wondering what he might have done or said wrong.

"Prove it!" she demanded, with a sneering tone filled with sexuality far beyond Wheezer's capacity to understand.

He looked from her breasts to her face. "How?"

"Get on your knees little boy!" She pointed to the floor. "I said get down!"

Wheezer seized by a force that had assumed control of his every function down to his slightest motion dropped to his knees.

Lucy unzipped the side of her tight, red skirt and let it fall to the floor—with a flick of her stiletto hill it slid away from her feet. Her right thumb hooked around the side of her black thong and pulled it an inch from her hip. With a slow taunting motion she let her thumb slide back and forth under the material from hip to pubic triangle. "Beg me!"

"Wheezer clasped his hands together like a man praying for life. "Please, Lucy. Please!"

Her left thumb slipped under the strap of the other side of her thong and the small nothing of a garment that had hidden so much was gone with a single pull of her hands and a step of each leg. "Stay there." Lucy walked forward, completely naked, and put her right foot on Wheezer's shoulder. She ran her fingers through his short hair for a moment then clasped the back of his neck pulling his face to her crotch. "Eat my pussy, Wheezer." Her body shuddered at the sensation of her clit being sucked into his mouth with the passionate and awkward force of an enthusiastic amateur. She threw her head back and let her foot slip down the length of his back completely straddling his face. "That's a good boy...You're a pussy eating mother fucker."

Danny stood alone in the lab contemplating the effect of taking the two pills of full strength Blast that sat ominously in the palm of his hand...The nerve impulse traveled down his arm causing the muscles to contract and his arm to bend bringing his hand to his mouth—then just a sour taste on his palate.

Danny shook his head trying to rid himself of the taste. "Now this is going to be a party!"

"Hey bro, who are you talking to?" asked Shawn, standing in the doorway next to Mark.

Danny turned slowly toward them. His look was not like anything either Shawn or Mark had ever seen—the effects of the night before had not worn off. Danny nodded toward the corner where a clear trash bag sat filled with pills. "That should be more than enough for everybody." His words came out slowly, as if they had made a long journey from some other place, some other reality, to be spoken.

Shawn looked at the massive stash and let out a whistle. "Shit, you really have been working around-the-clock."

Mark took several steps towards Danny; each step brought him closer to understanding the depth his friend had degenerated to. "Danny, you don't look so good."

"That's funny," Danny smiled, "I feel great! How many tickets did we sell?"

"Over thirteen thousand—but that was a few hours ago. I have Cody selling tickets at the train station for the morons that didn't buy them online already. We could sell another thousand or two before the night's over."

Danny's expression was deadpan but his eyes were a black blaze of fire. "At eighty bucks a ticket...we're over a million!"

Shawn smiled. "With the bar and the Blast, we'll go over five hundred thousand each. We're going to be rich quick. But after this gig is over, we have to have a serious talk."

"About what?" asked Danny, totally aware of his shocking appearance yet thinking to himself that it was somehow becoming.

Shawn thought about broaching the subject but the sight of Chico walking casually into the room reinforced his thought that this was neither the time nor place for such a discussion. "It'll wait. Let's just enjoy the rest of the night." Chico wrapped his arms around Shawn lovingly and kissed him on the side of the head. "Hey buddy, what are you doing wandering around?" Shawn looked at Danny clearly put off that Chico hadn't been secured in one of the auxiliary buildings for the night. "He should be somewhere safe."

Danny's vision blurred as the Blast kicked in. "To be honest, I kind of forgot about him."

"Chico, I want you to go with Mark." Shawn pried Chico's arms loose and turned to Mark. "Take him out through the lobby and put him up in one of the auxiliary buildings."

Danny tossed Mark a key. "It's a master—so don't lose it."

"I won't." Mark extended his hand, which Chico grabbed with a reluctant look back at Shawn. "Let's go, Chico. I'll find you a cool spot for you to chill," Mark reassured.

Shawn leaned against the lab table just a couple of inches from Danny—trying to give a sense of trust and intimacy to his words. "I thought we all agreed that we weren't going to get high tonight—"

"I'm not your back-up quarterback anymore. I changed my mind." He pointed to the mound of pills. "There's half a million dollars in Blast in that bag. Why don't you go do your thing?"

Shawn stood silently next to Danny for a few seconds then walked over to the bag, which took both hands to lift. "We'll talk when you're not high..."

Danny answered with a distant stare.

Danny's stare of an answer caused Shawn's next words to carry a sense of futility. "Are you coming down?"

"Later...I'm going to do some pushups."

"Fine." Shawn hoisted the bag of Blast over his shoulder and walked to the door, he stopped and turned to try to say something that would leave things on a better note but Danny was already down on the floor pounding out pushups like a mechanical piston. "Who would of thought you'd be the one with a drug problem." Shawn's words were too quiet for anyone but himself to hear but he said them out loud anyway—there seemed to be some absolution it that.

Marty, Peci, and one of the bouncers that worked all of Marty's raves disembarked from the bus dressed in enough rave attire to disguise their identities to even the most familiar of acquaintances. No one in the group noticed that Marty's brother Brian had followed in the bus that had followed.

At a rave Brian, though severely disfigured, was just a teenager dressed as the Grim Reaper peering through the crowd watching as his brother Marty, Peci, and their security guard handed their tickets to the bouncer at the door. Brian watched as they disappeared into the building then smiled at the sight of Jackie standing behind the ticket takers. Attractive and in control, it didn't take much to deduce that she was Danny's much talked about girlfriend. As the throng of ravers around the door continued to grow he faded to the back—hopeful of finding another way in.

Peci could not suppress his feeling of awe as they walked down the long hallway, which had been stretched with Mylar its entire length to create the effect of traveling through a cylinder lit with every color found in the light spectrum. "I didn't think these guys had it in them," he commented begrudgingly.

"They don't," Marty barked, growing more agitated with each step.

"Well, I'm seeing it with my own eyes." Peci squinted trying to see beyond the Mylar hoping to ascertain what type of lighting had been used.

"Desperation and drugs. That's how this happened." There was a split in the hallway—

Marty pointed straight ahead. "That's got be the main room."

They walked down the hallway toward the thundering music without saying another word to each other. At the end of the hallway they entered the cavernous vat room where the party was already raging—raging at an hour when most raves could not even have started.

"This place is going off; they could put us out of business," observed Peci looking from the scene in front of him to Marty. "We should call the cops."

Marty shook his head slowly. "There's no cell towers out here. Besides, if it ever got out that we snitched on another party, we'd be done anyway."

"So what's the plan?" Peci's tone had an even greater concern than usual.

"We put an end to the happy little partnership." Marty flashed a smile of malicious intent and walked up to one of the go-go dancers that he recognized from one of his own parties. He waited for her to acknowledge their presence, but she seemed resolved to ignore them.

Peci's face turned red. "Can you believe this cunt?"

Marty grabbed the girl by her ultra-mini-skirt and pulled her down from the platform. "I was trying to be polite but..."

"Hey, Marty. How's it feel to be at a good party!?"

"Where's Danny?" asked Marty, not amused by the joy little people felt when they experienced a moment of power. The same girl had begged to dance at his parties—she would again.

"I heard Shawn tell someone he's still up in the lab," she said, thinking that she better not burn her bridge with Marty completely. "If you see him, tell him I said Blast is the best E I've ever had."

"I'll be sure to tell him." Marty offered her a hand back up to the platform, which she accepted with an air of revulsion. "You know E is bad for you."

She thrust her hips his direction dancing even more seductively than before. "Everything fun is bad for you, Marty." She winked. "You just have to decide how bad a life you want to live."

The low cement structure looked as if it had been poured as one solid block—it was intimidating not because of its size but because of its weight; a mass that made it appear to have landed and buried itself into the earth where it stood.

Mark walked to the front of the building, hand in hand with Chico—who retracted backward upon reading the sign above the heavy steel door.

"It's only for a few hours and it's the safest place here. Hell, it's probably the only place you can't get out of." Mark inserted the master key and opened the door only to turn and see Chico scampering off. "Hey, get back here! Shit, Shawn is going to be pissed—" Mark turned back to the door, hit the light switch, and walked in to the building; the sign of which read HIGH SECURITY BRIG. "Pretty cool."

"One thousand," Danny counted upon completing his last pushup. Effortlessly, he brought his feet beneath his shoulders squared to the floor and stood. Using his left hand to grasp his right wrist he flexed his chest so he could look down and admire his gruesome pectoral wounds from the night before. "I know it should hurt but if just feels fucking great!" He sensed the presence of others approaching the lab so for their sake not his own he reached for his shirt and put it on. A moment later he watched calmly as the door to the lab opened—it was hardly a shock.

"Hell of a party, Danny!" said Marty, stepping into the room with Peci and the large bouncer Danny had seen at so many of Marty's raves. "I've never seen anything like it."

"Thanks, Marty. You should have told me you wanted to come. I would've put you on the guest list."

"That's all right," said Marty moving toward Danny with a severe posture that was incongruent with his smile and platitudes. "I heard about your old man losing his job and you getting fucked out of your scholarship. We wanted to pay and show our support."

"That's mighty kind of you." Danny felt a slight wetness under his shirt as a mixture of blood and puss seeped from his chest wounds. "Why don't you guys come down with me and enjoy the party? We can talk on the way."

Marty and Peci closed the distance between themselves and Danny to just a few feet.

"Danny, I hope you're not planning on having more of these. It seems like you've pulled off a big score. You gotta have enough money for school now."

"Worried you can't compete, Marty?" Danny smirked.

"It's hard to compete with someone who doesn't have to pay rent or pull permits. And I'm sure Shawn is dealing away down there. Your problem here will never be about another promoter. It'll be the cops. You should think about your future, Danny."

"I'm going to confer with my partners before making any decisions about my future, Marty."

Peci extended his cell phone toward Danny. "Take it."

Danny looked at the picture on the small screen of Shawn fucking Jackie on her parent's living room couch.

Marty put his hand on Danny's shoulder. "You mean those partners? That's who you're betting your future on?"

Danny handed the cell phone back to Peci and turned away, toward the workbench along the wall—seemingly ready to break down into tears. His eyes blurred as the extreme emotional pain gave his body over to the complete control of the Blast.

"There's more," said Peci—satisfied and extending the phone back toward Danny this time with a picture of Shawn's cock in Jackie's mouth.

Danny looked at the picture but did not take the phone. "I've seen enough."

"You look like you could use some time to yourself." Marty's words were so smug that they were barely audible as words—instead they rang as laughter distorted into a vicious form of vowels and consonants. "We'll go down and enjoy the party now."

"I don't think so," said Danny, more to himself than to Marty, as he reached for the ax, which still laid on the workbench—no longer an instrument of self-defense from a harmless orangutan.

Danny's first swing at Marty's neck left him momentarily shocked at how easily Marty's head of thick, curly, black hair was removed from his body. The ax moved in a continuous circular motion this time for Peci, who raised both arms in an attempt to block the blow—and there were severed arms and a body split down the middle from skull to mid-torso on the floor. The bouncer, the big man who had intimidated so many people, ran for the door; only to makes it to the spot where the rat's blood and innards still stained the wall. The ax Danny had thrown spun the large body parallel to the wall behind, then forced it flat against the smooth surface as its steel blade found its way through abdominal flesh, stomach, upper intestines, and ultimately drywall. And the bouncer stood there with blood pouring from his mouth, pinned.

Danny looked from Marty's head, which still grinned smugly, to Peci, split a third of the way down—his lungs protruding from his back like wings, to the bouncer writhing in a vain attempt to slide his body off of a long ax handle. Danny grabbed a jar of sulfuric acid from the shelf above the lab table and walked toward the bouncer; not seeing him in his dying state but as a man who sold his ability to physically intimidate to men like Marty.

"No. Please, don't!"

Danny continued to wave the jar in front of the dying man's face. "Did you enjoy watching Peci take those pictures of my girlfriend?"

"I wasn't even there."

"Did you have a good laugh with Marty?"

"No..."

"Do you know what a fucking coward you are?"

He gave one last pull at the ax handle, to no avail, and looked up at Danny. "She fucks like a real whore." He smiled. "Like a real fucking dirty whore."

Danny's mouth tightened slightly at the corners—a hateful but pleased acknowledgement. "Don't you feel better now, big guy?" Danny held the jar over the bouncer's head and slowly poured its contents onto his scalp. The screams were deafening but Danny couldn't move—he just stood and watched as the acid ate through the body of the man in front of him. A man, it dawned on him, whose name he did not even know.

It took several minutes for Danny to conclude that a satisfactory amount of human refuse had pooled on the floor. He grabbed the ax handle with both hands and thrust his right foot into the rapidly dissolving body pulling the ax head out of the wall and through a gaping hole that used to be an abdominal cavity. He looked down at the dead bouncer—satisfied. "See what happens when you work with the wrong people?"

Mark stood in front of a sliding door made of metal bars. He looked at the two buttons on the wall labeled: OPEN DOOR and OPEN CELLS. He shrugged and carelessly pushed both buttons. "What type of gorillas were they keeping in this place?"

Mark walked down the stark, brightly lit hallway until it reached an end at which point it was intersected by another hallway forming the top of a tee. Arbitrarily he chose to turn left and a few moments later he found himself standing in front of a cell obviously built for humans not primates. He looked down the long hallway of empty cells wondering what possible use they could have been in a facility dedicated to research and weapons production. "What the fuck were these for?" And then there was nothing but blackness.

"Fucking Chico," Mark said to himself quietly, before yelling, "Chico, turn those lights back on!" Dim emergency lights flickered to life almost as if his desire alone for them to do so had closed a circuit. "Thanks!" He sighed a breath of relief. "Better than nothing."

Mark heard a noise from what sounded like the first hallway he had walked down. "Chico! Where are you? I can hear you, my hairy friend!"

Mark walked suspiciously back toward the barred hallway door. Something seemed wrong. He had always prided himself on his laid back attitude and this new sense of tension bothered him to the point that he was more bothered with being uneasy than anything else. He stopped at the threshold of the sliding metal bar door. "This is ridiculous." He looked down the hallway. "There's nothing wrong...you fucking afraid of the dark pussy."

He sensed the movement more than the sight of the muscular, naked body streaking by and slamming a hand against the CLOSE DOOR button. Like the jaws of a Great White Shark, the sliding door shut on Mark—crushing him to the wall where it normally locked.

Each breath was heavier and more belabored than the one that had preceded, as he stared at the naked man—his mind trying to piece together the event through the shock and pain.

"Open it...Please, open the fucking door." With every word escaped a blood vapor mist that gathered and dripped down the corners of Mark's mouth.

With an abrupt, amused more than violent movement, the naked soldier, Sergeant Keating, punched the DOOR OPEN button—releasing Mark, who slid to the ground, his back still flat against the wall.

"Thank you." The words were pushed out as poorly formed gasps of air. "Thank you."

Keating squatted next to Mark and smiled confident that the broken bodied youngster was no longer a threat of any kind. "Where is everybody?"

"At...the...party," sputtered Mark.

"Where are the people that work here?" Keating glanced around still unaware that he had simply been abandoned to rot like any other piece of no longer needed equipment. "Tell me and I'll help you."

"That work here?" Through the shock the thought came to Mark, for the first time, that he wasn't talking to a partygoer. "They're gone."

"Then who are you with?"

"My friends from school... They're in the vat room..." Mark's voice trailed off as he began to lose consciousness.

Keating grabbed Mark's face from beneath the jaw sinking his fingertips into the flesh of Mark's cheeks. "Who's in charge?"

The sting of fingernails sinking into his face and the commanding voice revived him back into the world of pain. "Danny—but only because he needed money."

"Where's he at?"

"He's in the Lab...I think I'm hurt bad." Mark coughed and blood began to trickle from his nostrils down into his already blood filled mouth.

"Don't worry. I'm going to help you." Keating took the key that Mark still managed to grasp in his hand. His lips tightened towards his teeth and his head bobbed just slightly as he considered Mark for a few more seconds. Then with no other thought he stood and pressed the DOOR CLOSE button causing the door to slam shut again, this time almost folding Marks body into the latching crevice with a terrible bone cracking sound.

Expressionless Keating pressed the DOOR OPEN button, squatted down straddling Marks legs, and began removing the clothes from the lifeless body. A few minutes later, dressed as a college student at a rave, Sergeant Keating walked out of the building he was never meant to leave—toward a party.

Chapter 8

On The Loose

Danny prowled the vat room—ax in hand—looking for Shawn and Jackie. The party raged around him but it was just a tableau of partially dressed ravers, some engaging in sexual acts openly on the dance floor, all of no consequence to Danny's Blast deranged mind any longer. His gaze came to focus on a couple against the wall next to the long bar lined with bartenders who pumped Monster Juice out of hoses from a vat into glass after glass.

He began toward them, his hands tightened on the ax handle; he intended to kill them both with the same blow. The girl grabbed the boy and spun him around so it was now he who was pinned to the wall. Her mouth crashed back into his. And the realization struck Danny that they were not Shawn and Jackie, they were just a couple of horny kids. He contemplated killing them anyway. What good would that do? He thought to himself. Except, possibly prevent you from killing Shawn and Jackie. His mind answered viciously wanting justice for the betrayal.

Shawn slammed Jackie against the wall of the security room, oblivious to the bank of monitors behind him. A deep thrust into Jackie caused her eyes to close and her blood to pulse to the rhythm of the then continuous movement of his body into hers. There was nothing else in the world to her, just his passion and desire—that had proven stronger than friendship and loyalty.

Dead Mark, dead Marty, dead Peci, and the dead bouncer appeared in macabre sequences across the screens, all startling incongruent to the raging action of the images around them. Somehow the shot of Sergeant Keating entering into the reception area of the main building brought a logical continuity to the bizarre mosaic of life out of control.

Keating stood and stared at the glass case filled with antique weapons. He felt nothing but the powerful desire to use them, yet he stood frozen until the desire completely consumed his being and only then did he move—with the absolute power of his desire concentrated in his action.

The chair that he threw might as well have been weightless—it traveled with such velocity the glass shattered as if disintegrated by a wave of energy rather than a material object. Keating reached in and grasped a wicked looking knife, one edge of which was smooth and razor sharp, the other serrated; meant to do the maximum damage to tissue upon extraction. He held the knife close to his face and rotated it first to the left then to the right. The steel blade did not touch his face but his skin drank in its cold, steel, soul. And yes, to Sergeant Keating, an instrument of death did have a soul—perhaps far more pure than that of a human.

Keating pulled up the back of the shirt he was wearing and slipped the knife between the waste-band of his pants and his skin. He stood and enjoyed the calm moment—knowing that it would be the last one for some time to come. Finally, Keating began for the door that would lead him down the hallway to the lab. Much of what he was, had been created there, so it seemed the logical place to-begin-a-new.

He stopped at the doorway and smiled, contemplating taking a second life in less than ten minutes. "How much have you seen?" he asked not bothering to turn and face Brian.

"Enough," said Brian, not afraid of losing a life of such misery.

"Why are you following me?" Keating turned only his head to look back at the Grim Reaper.

"I don't have a ticket."

"People paid for this?"

"Yes."

"But you didn't."

Brian pulled back his hood. "I've paid enough."

Keating had seen plenty of burnt flesh. He decided not to kill Brian. "Funny, I feel the same way. Why don't you go have some fun—while I get things in hand around here?"

"Get things in hand? There are fifteen thousand people in this place."

Keating nodded. "I plan on doing some recruiting."

Brian watched as Keating disappeared down the hallway. Then walked over to the weapons case and took a dagger into his hand. He stared at the weapon and thought about how the choices he was about to make would affect his life and the lives of others. Brian had not witnessed Mark's demise but he had noticed Keating as he ran from the brig. His curiosity had led him to the broken remains of Mark—which did not shock him. He himself had just come home to get a baseball mitt that Fourth of July, life was not a safe proposition. He had been burnt; Mark had been murdered, so why shouldn't someone get raped?

Shawn and Jackie fucked wildly, straining every muscle, slamming against the wall, sweating—tears of ecstasy laced with a hint of guilt rolled down the sides of Jackie's face. Monitor 27 displayed Keating's entrance into the lab. Jackie's head reared back hitting the wall hard enough to make the ceiling fill with stars; the story unfolding on video wall, like the stars, was there but not—not in a way that mattered.

Keating looked at the three dead men with no emotion whatsoever. They were nothing more than something that he needed to step over to get to the long shelf that contained so many interesting bottles of dangerous chemicals and compounds. He walked slowly down the aisle carefully reading the labels. "Well there you are old-friend." He took the jar of Peperadine into his right hand. "I've been living in a brave new world thanks to you. I was supposed to have comrades but instead I got a ten by eight cement room and three meals a day. And then not even three meals a day. Do you know how hungry I am? Do you know what I'm hungry for?" He screamed, "Do you!?"

Glancing down, Keating noticed some tablets of extra strength Blast Danny had left on the counter. He grabbed one in his left hand and held it up. He looked at the jars that were on the workbench and laughed. "It must be a real party." He scooped up a handful of pills and popped them into his mouth, then walked over to the master computer terminal.

The keys felt good to the touch and to his pleasant surprise his password hadn't been deleted. Keating imagined none of the men he had answered to had ever dreamt he'd be logging in again, given his reassignment to rot in hell.

Methodically, he narrowed down the rotation of security camera images on the computer screen to the main building, only. Less than five minutes had passed when a blood-splattered young man getting into an elevator with an ax appeared on the screen. "You must be Danny," said Keating, as he looked from the computer to the dead bodies on the floor of the lab. "You are an angry young man aren't you?" Keating went to a split-screen and logged onto the elevator control panel. "And you don't seem like much of a follower." He locked all elevator access to the floors, but 10.

With an air of watching quality entertainment, Keating stepped back, crossed his arms in front of him, and chuckled as Danny pressed the elevator buttons feverishly—to no avail. The chuckles turned into hardy laughter when the doors opened and the rats rushed in. "Kids today." Keating typed the final command that disabled the elevator, doors locked open, on 10.

Danny swung the ax feverishly at the voracious rodents. A normal person would have already been dead but Blast had given him an edge. Having hacked his was through a pile of regular sized rats in the elevator, Danny stepped into the hallway and sighed—at the sight of a thousand much larger creatures waiting on each side.

"So that was your first wave." Danny wiped his brow with his forearm, not scared in the least. "Come on fuckers!" And with that they rushed at each other.

Shawn stood with Jackie's legs wrapped around his waist, against the wall. The moment had just happened and as is usual with young lovers neither was in a hurry to separate.

"How does it feel?" Jackie asked, pressing her forehead against Shawn's.

"You feel great."

"I meant being back on top. Blast is going to make you famous...rich and famous."

"I can't think about that right now..."

"Do you have feelings for me, Shawn?" she asked while he was still hard inside of her.

She could feel his oversized cock throb against the walls of her vagina—sexually he was hers. But was he more than a fuck-buddy? That was the million dollar question that she needed the right answer to.

He nodded. "Yeah, but...Danny."

"Danny!" Jackie was suddenly very upset.

"Don't freak—I'm going to talk to him."

She released one hand from his neck and pointed at the wall of monitors. "What's he doing?"

Shawn looked back over his shoulder and watched on the monitor as Danny hacked his way through an endless assault of rats then disappeared through a doorway only a moment before they could overcome him.

"He's on ten," Shawn said in disbelief, his flaccid penis slithering out of Jackie as he let her body slide down his own to the floor.

"I thought it was locked down—" There was a sense of urgency in her voice.

"So did I."

"What are you going to do?"

"I've got to find Wheezer," said Shawn, hurriedly pulling up his pants and buttoning them.

Jackie ran to the consul and started typing on the keyboard. The pictures changed rapidly.

"There!" Shawn pointed at a monitor to the far left. "Go back!"

Jackie brought up a picture of Wheezer and Lucy getting dressed in the missile silo on the large center monitor.

"They're down on twenty," Shawn said to Jackie as she continued to type on the keyboard.

"Shawn, someone's reprogrammed the elevators."

"See if you can get them back online. In the meantime I'll take the stairwell." Shawn crossed the room and gave Jackie a tender kiss on the lips.

"Be careful, Shawn."

He walked up to the pane of glass that protected a fire hose and ax. As he had done a month earlier he broke the glass and took the ax in hand. Shawn paused at the door. "Everything's going to be all right." He gave Jackie a reassuring wink and walked out the door. Confident he was out of sight he ran for the stairs—revealing the panic he was truly feeling for Danny's situation.

"'Everything's going to be all right,'" Jackie repeated. The next moment her blood ran cold. "No, it's not," she whispered, as she stared at the dead bodies in the lab that appeared on the screen in front of her. "No, it's not." The image on the screen cut to Mark, dead in the hallway of the brig. Jackie's hand rose to cover her mouth. "Oh no." And then came the feeling of Shawn's cum running down her inner thighs.

Keating stepped out of the thirteenth bus he had killed the driver of and took a deep breath. It was a lot of work but he wanted to make sure that he would have a captive audience for the rest of the night. And with the importance of this in mind he began his walk along side bus number fourteen.

"Hey! Can't take you anywhere," said the middle-aged African American bus driver as he stepped down, unexpectedly, from the door of his bus. "Nothing's leaving for an hour..." he lighted a cigarette, "and this is the first one to load out."

"Well, I guess there's no rush." Keating's tone was freakishly amiable.

"I'm not supposed to let anyone on...but you can grab a seat if you want."

"Thanks," said Keating, not moving to board the bus, looking around to see if there was anyone watching as they were fairly out in the open.

"I'm surprised you want to leave already." The driver winked. "I mean, I've seen a lot of cute, young girls go into that place." He pointed at the ominous building. "I don't know what's going on in there, but if I were a younger man..." He noticed Keating staring at the cigarette in his hand. "I'm sorry. Do you smoke?"

Keating shook his head. "You know smoking will kill you?"

The bus driver had been hearing this from his wife and kids for years. "We've all got to go sometime." He smiled. He had never grown tired of giving this irreverent answer.

With a motion so fast that it seemed to be nothing more than an outward flick of his arm Keating stabbed the bus driver in the throat. "I'm glad you feel that way..." He took a step back as the bus driver fell to his knees clutching his hand to his severed trachea, which billowed smoke between and around his fingers. "Because it's a nasty, fucking habit."

The bus driver collapsed to his side, not yet dead—but close. Unceremoniously, Keating grabbed the dying man's feet and began dragging him back into the bus—amused by the sound of his head banging against each of the steps.

The cute, young girl looked around to make sure the coast was clear. "Here?" she asked her best friend, also at her first rave.

"Yeah, there's no one around."

"We should just go inside."

"The line is way too long. And it's gross in there."

"I can't believe I'm doing this."

They both giggled as they squatted down to pee. But halfway through their business the giggles stopped.

"Get out of here!"

Brian squatted down in front of them, intentionally revealing his terribly disfigured face.

"But I'm enjoying myself."

"You heard her. Get of here you freak! Our boyfriends are just over there. You'll look even more fucked up when they're done with you."

Brian pulled the dagger from under his cape and pressed the tip under her chin. "For those kind words, you get to be my first."

"Please..." The knifepoint to the soft skin beneath her chin changed her tone to a soft squeak.

"I'll make you a deal, kiss me and I'll let you both go..." He pressed up on the knife and a trickle of blood, to her horror, began to run down her neck.

"Okay..."

Slowly, fearfully, with great disgust, she moved toward him and kissed his ghastly lips. With his left hand he pulled her face tightly against his, sticking his tongue deeply into her mouth. All the while keeping the dagger tightly to her throat. Then, his blood pumping, and his heart ready to explode—he released her.

"Turn around!" commanded Brian, surprised by the authority, an authority he liked very much, that filled his own words.

"But you said..." stammered the young girl.

"Turn around!" he shouted grabbing her arm. "Or I'll fucking kill you!" A hard jerk with his left hand spun her the opposite direction—to the desired position. He began tugging at the buttons of his pants, which came free with the same ease that his first fuck to be had come to be positioned in front of him. Out of the corner of his right eye he noticed fuck number two looking like she was contemplating making a break for it.

"Get down next to her." He turned his face, his horrible face, toward her. His voice had grown calm; he was in control. "If you run, I'll stick this knife right in her fucking back."

"Do what he says," she gasped tearful and terrified. "Please Shannon..." she pleaded. "Just do what he says."

With considerable trepidation, Shannon turned around and assumed the position. She was reasonably sure she would have gotten away, but there was no doubt in her mind that it would be at the cost of her best friend's life. They had been taught to put up a fight. "Make a huge racket," they had been told. It's funny how the threat of a sharp piece of cold steel plunging into her body had made all that well researched education seem like such bullshit.

"We just wanted to have a good time." Her words were an attempt to humanize—another bullshit lesson.

"Oh, you're going to have a good time." Brian let out a laugh, the first in many years, that he could remember. "I can promise you that."

Tears ran down fuck number two's, Shannon's, face as she stared down at the dirt—her ears filled with her best friend's moans and intermittent sobs as the monstrous looking creature committed an assault that, because of his looks, could only normally be thought of as the subject matter of the worst kind of nightmare. And then, even more horrifying was a desire that had crept into her being to look at her friend's shame—soon to be her own. Somehow, he sensed this.

"Just ask your friend here if she's having a good time." He pressed the blade of the dagger against her back. "Tell her you love it!"

"Fuck you!" she grunted, a vain attempt at preserving some dignity.

He reached forward with his left hand, gathered her soft long hair into his grasp and pulled her head back with all of his strength.

The intended effect was immediate. "I love it."

"Again," he said pulling even harder. "Say it again!"

"I love it—ahhhh! Please..."

But he did not let go of her hair. He didn't care whether her neck broke or not. All he could concentrate on was the rush of his bodily fluids into her, bodily fluids that had not previously been released. Finally letting go of her hair, she crumpled to the ground.

Brian's enthusiasm for the second sexual experience of his life was even greater than it had been for the first. She could have gotten away—instead he brought the handle of the dagger down hard on the small of her back, causing her to arch into just the right position before smashing himself into her. As he rammed her, mercilessly, he could not help but be struck by the fact he enjoyed her more than her friend. They were the same age. They were both attractive. But one's anatomy was better than the others."

"You've got a great pussy."

Unlike fuck one, Shannon had the decency not to moan or whimper, rather she panted and panted—trying to get through it. And as she felt herself near orgasm, a feeling she was sure she would hate herself for having for the rest of her life, her eyes met her friend's. It was a look of pathetic understanding.

"You motherfucker," she said, as she came against her own will—her body defying her mind. "Finish you fucking asshole."

"Just a little bit more." He raised the dagger high in the air.

Fuck number one broke eye contact with her friend. "No!" she screamed.

"Yes!" Brian screamed back, plunging the dagger down between fuck number two's shoulder blades.

The blade cut through the young girls heart, allowing only a brief moment for her to scream. It was not however a scream of pain, but of disbelief. And as suddenly as he had plunged himself and a steel blade into the girl he ripped both from her body. He turned on fuck number one still ejaculating.

"Why?" she asked.

Brian's arm moved effortlessly through the night air slashing her face. Automatically she grabbed at the just opened wound. "Because of the way you look at me," he said to her with malice. Then, he pounced on her—his first. The struggle was violent but short—he pinned the girl down and proceeded to carve out her eyes. She screamed a blood-curdling scream. Strangely, he didn't mind, in fact it added to his sense of satisfaction. But she fell silent the moment the sharp edge of the dagger severed the optic nerve...Two dead, dirty, little whores thought Brian as he stood and composed himself.

Jackie sat at the main control consul in the security room. Seeing the dead bodies had caused a feeling of profound despair to permeate her being—it struck her, however, that this was the most real feeling that she had ever had. Her fingers flew over the keyboard causing the massive wall of monitors to bring up, what seemed like, a never-ending collage of images from the party. With each normal image, of kids having fun, the cloud of hopelessness that had descended on her lifted. It didn't make sense. There would be trouble. Her life would never be the same. Yet watching the party made it clear—through the oddest of juxtaposition—that life goes on. And then all hope faded.

"What's he doing back there?" Jackie asked aloud, as she watched Keating walk up the stairs to the top of the vat that was feeding Monster Juice to the bar. "Shit!" was the only word she could muster from her collegiate vocabulary at the sight of the large knife Keating held behind his back.

The young bartender was pouring in bottle after bottle of rum and mixers into the giant cylinder. He wasn't thrilled that this task had been assigned to him, yet a break from the mayhem at the bar wasn't such a bad thing. This wasn't his first rave—it was however like nothing he had ever seen before. The vision of Keating appearing at the top of the stairs and standing on the scaffolding was unexpected—still it could not assume its proper enormity in the mind of a bartender because it was a vision dwarfed by what was going on around it.

"You're not supposed to be back here." This was an admirable amount of responsibility to assume, given the illegalness of the overall context of things.

Keating smiled a reassuring smile. "I just wanted to see what you guys were mixing. Looks good." The inflection of his voice trailed up as he said the words, "looks good," making him sound like a truly harmless country bumpkin.

"Seven types of rum," said the bartender, slipping back into his generation's more normal attitude of not giving a shit. "Madori, and Red Bull. It has some kick to it."

"This vat serves all the bars?" asked Keating, as he moved closer.

"Everyone of them." He began pouring the bottle in his hand out into the vat. "I haven't taken a break in two hours."

"How do you get it to bubble and smoke?" This, Keating found to be genuinely interesting.

"Dry ice. We throw it in the cups before we pour the drinks."

Keating nodded. "Everybody seems to love it."

"It's the Blast...it makes you feel great. But it makes you hella thirsty. Have you tried Blast yet?"

Keating let out a laugh before answering, "Oh yeah. I feel like I could kill everyone in the whole fucking room!"

"What?" asked the bartender his voice registering a note of concern. Like many young men his age he was a cynic—unhappy with a life going nowhere but lacking the passion to do anything about it. A second later this particular young man's disgust with the world would be alleviated—Keating's hand had passed by cutting his throat in a manner that was, for lack of no better description, artistry. The young bartender fell forward, over the side of the vat. Finally, he found passion for something, as he clutched his own throat tying to stop his blood and the life force it carried with it from flowing out of his body. The bleeding was profuse, the jugular had been severed, and there was no way to stem the flow of the precious red fluid.

Keating watched for a moment then crouched over this one as he had so many others. He used his left forearm to pin the boy to the side of the vat while his right hand poured the large jar of Peperadine into the mix. "Now this shit is really going to have some kick to it," he said to himself, as much as to the dying bartender, then dropped the jar into the vat. Keating erected himself, slightly, above the young man to gain leverage. He used his left hand to grab the boy by the hair and his right to cut off the boy's head. There was one initial shriek, then some gurgling, and then a thud as the decapitated body fell to the boards atop of the scaffolding. Keating paused for a moment to admire his work then kicked the body over the side of the catwalk that surrounded the vat. He held the bloody head out straight in front of him so he could look at it face to face, so-to-speak. The look on the face struck Keating as absurd. "Why?" it seemed to scream. "I bet you were a whiney, punk bitch." Keating tossed the head into the tank before turning and walking away.

Wheezer and Lucy made their way up the stairwell that switched back directions every fifteen steps for what seemed life infinity.

"Wait 'til I get my hands on the asshole that turned off the elevators without telling us," snarled Lucy.

"It's not so bad on Blast," said Wheezer, knowing that in a non-drugged state he'd have collapsed on the first landing.

"Try wearing six inch heels..."

"Wheezer!" the desperate voice interrupted.

"Shawn?" Wheezer shouted back.

Shawn came flying down the stairs. Appearing as suddenly as his voice had. His face was red, and he appeared to be in a state that neither Lucy nor Wheezer had ever seen him in. "Come on—Danny's in trouble." He grabbed Wheezer's arm and began to pull him along. "Big trouble."

"What do you mean? What's wrong?"

"He's trapped on ten! You've got your camera and flash?"

Wheezer held up his camera. "The battery could use a charge."

"No, time for that...Lucy, go hang with Jackie. She's in the security room."

"The security room?" Lucy looked up at the endless stack of stairs. "My feet are killing me."

"Go!" Shawn shouted at the unceasingly obstinate Lucy. He gave another strong tug on Wheezer's arm and they were on their way down two more floors to ten. A moment later both stared at the door.

"Wheezer, when I open this, start flashing the camera. Danny is all the way at the other end of the hall, in the janitor's closet. We need to get there and get back fast."

Danny watched as the first of the rats clawed its way through the wall. His breathing was heavy but not labored...It was a dire situation and still he was looking forward to the next moment...He was completely focused, completely absorbed. As soon as the small muzzle protruded, he swung the ax. There was a loud screech, a comical sound to Danny's ears, and perhaps an even more comical sight. The black nose, mouth, and whiskers of the rodent lay on the floor—a strange looking cone. Danny laughed. The scratching however, became still more intense. Danny stepped back and readied himself to take another swing. But before the opportunity presented itself, a rat dropped from a new hole that had opened in the ceiling tile—onto his neck.

He lunged backward and crushed the rat, which was bighting at his neck, against the wall. Then, swung the ax—hitting the next rat to drop mid-air. Danny repeated the process over and over again—a similar experience to hitting balls at a batting cage. Even on Blast Danny could not be in two places at once, a necessity once the rats began pouring through the ever-growing hole in the wall. Danny sensed the party was just about over, yet his mind couldn't really fathom that his end would be to be eaten alive by rodents. Then, quite unexpectedly, the rats stopped coming through the wall. The door opened, Danny stood ready to swing.

"Danny, are you okay?" asked Shawn.

Wheezer stood with his back to Shawn—flashing away at the rats to hold them at bay.

Danny's shock only lasted for only a moment. "Fucker!" he screamed taking a swing with the blood covered ax. Shawn's reflexes had been honed to perfection from years of dodging defensive linemen with seriously harmful intent. A quick bob to the right caused the ax to miss him—and hit Wheezer in the back instead. Wheezer dropped to his knees as Shawn used the ax handle in his own hands to fend off an onslaught of swings by Danny.

"What the hell's the matter with you?" screamed Shawn, at a crazed Danny who continued to drive him back down the hallway.

Wheezer, though mortally wounded, kept his hand on the camera and more importantly the flash. The strobe effect caused the ax-to-ax battle being waged between Danny and Shawn to appear in slow motion.

"Nothing's the matter with me, Shawn! I don't fuck other people's girlfriends!"

Danny kept swinging on Shawn until they neared the stairwell exit, at which point the ax handles crossed against each other, and Danny violently forced Shawn back through the stairwell door. Shawn knew the moment his foot felt nothing beneath it that he would be taking a painful fall—backwards, air, hard, cold, steel stairs, pain, and Danny swinging for a deathblow.

Wheezer, too gravely injured to move, continued to hold the rats at bay until the flash began to weaken. With each weaker flash, the rodents moved closer. "C'mon Shawn," Wheezer whimpered, "don't leave me here." Often a person knows when death is near, but it is also the case that some deaths, mostly the death that comes before one's time, cannot be accepted. "Please Shawn, come back..." Then came a click that brought no flash. The life saving light was gone. The vermin raced forward, swarming Wheezer so that his body could not even be seen. Rather, the floor appeared to have bunched itself up into a black mound. A mound so thick that Wheezer's screams could hardly be heard—only muffled sounds that sounded like the cries of a baby in the long, painful, throws of infant death.

Jackie ran down the stairwell with reckless abandon until she suffered the immediate and total deceleration of crashing right into Lucy, which caused them both to scream.

"What's wrong with you!?" shouted Lucy.

"Lucy, we have to get to the bar!"

"Tell me about it." Her voice resonated with its familiar bitchy sarcasm. "I just walked up twenty stories..."

"I'm not kidding, Lucy." Jackie grasped Lucy's arm in attempt to stress how desperately serious her words should be taken. "Something terrible is happening! He's killing people—"

"Who's killing people?"

"I don't know." These words, because they were said in a breathless hush, weighed heavily in the air. "But I saw it on the security monitors. Lucy, he put Peperadine in the Monster Juice."

"What's that?" Lucy asked, finding herself unusually intrigued by her friend's seemingly far-fetched story. She was thinking that Jackie might have mixed her drugs badly.

"It's an animal tranquilizer that causes human beings to go insane. We can't let people drink it! Let's go—there's no time!"

Before Lucy could respond Jackie grabbed her by the hand and pulled her towards the door that exited out of the stairwell and into the hallway that led to the bar.

Danny and Shawn burst out of the stairwell into the hallway. Drug-crazed—Danny had gained the upper hand. Continuously swinging he backed Shawn into the missile silo, then through a door on the other side of the silo marked SOLID WASTE DISPOSAL. Finally, Danny forced Shawn through the plastic industrial curtains marked waste disposal platform. And with one final lunge, Danny knocked Shawn backwards over the platform.

He stood and looked down at Shawn, who lay unconscious in the giant trash compactor. Danny smiled at the fact that, even such a base matter as this could be a quandary—there was no way out. So, rather than jump in to finish the job, he walked up to the touch screen and pressed the compact trash button. Then, walking back to the edge of the dock, he looked down and satisfied himself that the compactor was on its way to finishing off his best friend that had so completely betrayed him.

"Hey Shawn!

Shawn roused to see that he was on his way to being compacted. Adrenaline surged through his veins causing him to scramble to his feet. "Danny!"

"I'm going to bring Jackie down to keep you company...so try not to die quite yet."

"Leave her alone!"

"No Shawn, you fucking asshole, I'm going to leave her with you."

Danny disappeared from Shawn's view.

"Danny!" Shawn screamed after him. There was no reply, only the sound of a motor, which held one purpose. Shawn, disgusted, placed his hands on his hips and looked at the metal walls; indeed they were inching towards him. "This is unfucking believable," he shouted out loud to nobody but himself. And perhaps worse than the situation he found himself in was the thought that he had it coming. It was a dangerous thought given the resolve he was going to need if he wanted to live.

That vat room was a mob-scene. Ravers downed Monster Juice and demanded more Blast. The bartenders gulped down Monster Juice and pills—with the same voracious enthusiasm as their patrons.

Jackie and Lucy walked down the hall, a sense of dread mixed with confusion vibrated from the opening to the room in front of them. They did not speak to each other—it wasn't necessary the scene unfolding before their eyes spoke for itself.

Jackie grabbed the arm of a bouncer, who was trying to break up a fight; a fight so violent that the fist of the young man with the shaved head was a blur in the air as it pounded the skull of a boy roughly the same age.

"What's happening to everyone!?" she screamed at the bouncer.

"They're out of their minds," he shouted back. "We can't control them."

Jackie tugged on his arm pulling him further from the fight. "Help Lucy get to the front of the line." Jackie turned to Lucy. "Go behind the bar and tell them to stop serving! I'm going in back to cut the hoses."

The bouncer began clearing a path to the bar—it was pandemonium. He looked back at Lucy. "Are you sure you want to get involved with this craziness?"

"You're fucking kidding, right?" she pushed her way in front of him. "I'm hi, I fucked a little fat guy with glasses, and now I'm going to tell the crazed masses here they can't have anymore liquid heroin...give me a lift." His strong hands clamped down on each side of her waist and a moment later she was sliding over the bar.

Lucy paused for a moment and looked hopelessly down the long line of men serving drinks to the crazed crowd—many of which were just drinking straight from the hoses.

She approached the bartender closest to her determined. "You have to stop!"

"Stop what!?" he replied only half paying attention.

"Stop serving! There's something wrong with the drinks!"

The bartender poured a glass, swirled it around for a moment to make his point, and then chugged it. "Tastes fine to me!" he said with a sarcastic smile.

Lucy grabbed the hose out of his hand. "I don't give a fuck what you think, dumb shit! Stop serving!"

Some of the other bartenders and screaming ravers took notice of the commotion. The bartender Lucy was screaming at turned to the crowd. "She wants us to stop serving! What do you say!?"

"Fuck no! Fuck her! Kill the bitch!" it was chorus of hostile intent.

The bartender turned back to Lucy with a sick look. "I think it's you that needs a drink." He grabbed her by the hair and ripped the hose from her hands. With the help of the other bartenders, he hoists her onto the bar—kicking and screaming. The ravers needed no instruction they pinned Lucy down so the bartender could shove the hose right into her mouth.

"Hey that's enough!" Seeing that the situation was spiraling completely out of control the bouncer that had helped Lucy to the front of the bar began prying her loose—the piece of metal that struck him in the back of the head was unidentifiable, in boxing they call it a rabbit punch, the concussion was to the soft spot at the base of the skull and the effect was an immediate disconnect between the spine and the brain. Conscious but unable to move he slumped to the floor where a seemingly countless number of feet began to stomp at him. He felt no pain, the pressure he felt all over his body seemed remote, a far off event, and yet with every tap his life force slipped further away.

Jackie stopped and stared at the entrance to the rear area of the bar. The sign read RESTRICTED ENTRANCE. Below the sign ten boys swarmed an attractive young girl—a gang bang.

"Leave her alone!" Jackie screamed pulling one of them off.

He pushed her hard almost causing her to lose her balance. "Get the fuck out of here!" A second push from a girl raver looking to join in on the rape in progress sent Jackie down to the floor.

The view from the floor was more graphic. Panicked she turned her head the other direction—ten girls kicking a boy raver to death.

"I'll leave when I want!" the girl screamed kicking him hard to the mouth. Her friends all delivered kicks of their own.

"You don't own me!" she screamed.

Jackie looked straight up, the raver boy she had pulled off of the gang bang was unbuttoning his pants and walking towards her. "You're next."

"No one tells me what to do! You fucking asshole!" The boy on the floor was unresponsive.

One of the girl's friends delivered a fatal kick to the boy's head—a crunching sound that vibrated through the air reached her ears stating the fact. "Uh oh!" The girl covered her mouth mockingly as she turned to her friend. "Looks like you're single."

Laughter erupted from the circle of girls. "I told you not to bring sand to the beach," one of them said.

"Yeah! Single," she cheered, then pounced on the guy that was about to rape Jackie. Forcing her tongue into his mouth she began making out with him and pulling him to the floor while her friends cheered her on.

Jackie ran for the rear bar area.

Shawn stacked assorted debris against the wall of the trash compactor—an attempt to climb out of his predicament. His struggle, however valiant, was futile, the trash at his disposal was simply too unstable. Three attempts, three falls. Frustrated, he kicked and pounded on the ever-advancing wall.

"Stoooop!" he yelled at the top of his lungs knowing there was no one to hear his plea. And miraculously, the wall stopped. "Unbelievable..." He looked up and smiled. "Thank you." Shawn began to laugh. Chico looked down at him innocently. "I'm kind of stuck down here. So, if you have any other great ideas, now would be the time to show me."

Chico looked at the fire hose and ax behind the glass then disappeared from Shawn's view. Shawn heard the sound of the breaking glass and could only marvel at the fire-hose that came falling down in front of him into the trash compactor.

Jackie desperately riffled through a pile of tools on the workbench. She pulled a pipe wrench from the pile and ran to the vat where she tried to detach the first of several large hoses. With a great deal of effort, the bolt gave way but before she could give it another turn, an arm gripped her around the neck and pulled her upright with incredible force.

"Why hang out down here, trying to ruin the party, when you can be up on top of the vat enjoying the show?" asked Keating as he dragged Jackie up the stairs.

At the top of the catwalk Keating paused with Jackie tight in his grasp to watch Lucy's distended stomach literally explode on the bar. The ravers cheered and began ripping her organs out...tossing them around like party favors. A particularly enthusiastic male raver came running up to the bar with the same chains and hooks Danny had used earlier. He shoved a hook into Lucy's mouth, like a fish—she launched into the air and the crowd cheered as her dead body soared above them. The raver took the remaining chain and hook, and shoved it into the face of the beaten bouncer who had attempted to help Lucy, and he too began to fly. The two dead bodies circled above the dance floor like a Calder mobile—dripping blood.

"What have you done to them?" Jackie screamed.

"I've set them free," responded the gruff, raspy, voice of Keating. He pressed the blade of the knife in his hand to her throat. "Do you want to be free too?"

"Sure...I want to be free,"

Keating let his arms fall away from her—she was free. Jackie moved cautiously towards the railing, eyeing the stir-stick that was being used earlier to mix the Monster Juice.

"We should probably go down and get you a drink," said Keating, enjoying the game that was now playing out.

Jackie turned and smiled a provocative smile. "Or, I could just go down...and we could get a drink later?"

He returned her smile. "Is it the Blast or is it me?"

She looked down at his crotch. "It's the Blast."

"I appreciate your honesty." He stepped forward and began unbuttoning his pants. "Make it quick, bitch."

Jackie dropped to her knees, at the same time pulling her hair back "What's the hurry?"

"I'm going to take a busload of kids into town before sunrise and collect on some of what's owed to me...by the good citizens of this country." He put his hand on her head and pulled her toward his sizable erection.

"Nice package," purred Jackie.

"Glad you like it." His eyes closed as he melted into the hot ecstasy that was her mouth. "Ahhhhhhhhh!" The pain shot through Keating's body like high voltage electricity. Pure instinct powered his fist which both rained down blows on the top of Jackie's head and the sides of her face, still it took several seconds to free himself from her mouth. Free, he collapsed backwards grabbing at the wound—blood spurted through his hands where his cock used to be.

Jackie, face covered in blood, rose slowly to her feet, and walked toward him.

"You fucking bitch!" he screamed, "You fucking bitch!"

Jackie stared down at him with a strange sense of amusement, then spit out his dick so it landed on his chest. "You fucked up the wrong bitch's party." Satisfied that Keating would enjoy the rest of the rave bleeding to death, Jackie turned and walked down the catwalk to where she had dropped the wrench and resumed detaching the hoses from the vat.

Through the pain his consciousness traveled. Keating righted himself to his knees, blood poured from his penile stump; he reached into his pant pocket and pulled out a torch lighter. He took deep measured breaths to steady the knife's blade as he held it to the intense flame. The orange and red color of the blade came quickly enough. Keating took one last deep breath, his face contorted in terrible pain as the super-heated knife blade pressed firmly to his profusely bleeding wound—cauterizing it and knowing he would never know carnal pleasure again.

At the bar the hoses were going dry one by one in the bartenders' hands. It only took a few moments of not being able to deliver the Monster Juice for the bartenders to become the objects of blame. A few crazed ravers jumped the bar and commenced a brutal assault.

Keating staggered down the catwalk to the bar and with great effort climbed onto the bar-top. "The bitch with the brown hair is in back right now cutting you off." He pointed at Jackie who was crouched over the remaining valves that still allowed Monster to flow. "Get her!"

The ravers poured over the top of the bar and through the entrance to the rear.

"Kill her!" Keating urged at the top of his lungs. "Rip her to fucking pieces!" From his vantage point the hoard passing him didn't even look human, but rather more like a school of ravenous piranhas.

Jackie, having detached half of the hoses, sensed something terrible. She looked up to see that she had lots of bad company.

"You're dead," snarled the bartender who had stuffed a hose down Lucy's throat and filled her body with libation until she exploded.

Jackie threw the pipe wrench in her hand with the precision of justice. It struck the bartender square in the middle of his forehead—he was dead before his body hit the ground. The event gave the throng behind the dead bartender just a moment of pause but it was enough to give Jackie a chance to run for the exit—the ravers in hot pursuit.

Jackie made it through the crowd and out of the exit to the hallway. Familiarity was proving to be a lifesaver as she navigated the maze of corridors before her. She had gained distance on the pack by the time she arrived at the door marked STAIRWELL. She gave one quick look to her rear then opened the door and began her race down the stairs—to what she hoped would be safety.

Jackie thought she had counted six floors when she jumped the last three stairs down to the tenth floor landing where she was struck by the best feeling she thought she had ever had in her life. "Danny!" Jackie through her arms around Danny and squeezed him tightly. "This crazy guy spiked the alcohol vat with Peperadine." She released him from her arms and took half a step back—her arms crossed her chest and her voice trembled.

"He killed Mark, Lucy and Marty."

The voice was distant but audible. "She went down this way!"

Danny's hand gripped the ax tightly. "Go to the safe room on twenty."

"What about you?"

"I'm going to slow them down."

"They're out of their minds."

"Just go!"

She hesitated but then turned and ran. Danny opened the door to ten and stepped down a few steps. As the ravers came down the steps, he pretended to come running up.

"She went through there!" He pointed at the door he had left ajar.

The ravers poured into the hallway and the rats descended upon them, a new black plague, one with a much-hastened ending for the afflicted—Danny watched from the stairs satisfied that the swarming rats would be the ravers', his patrons, end. Yet, an endless stream of ravers, some armed with pipes, tools, and axes, poured into the hall, seemingly up to the task—the rats would be exterminated.

"What the fuck?" Danny stared at Keating. He was dressed in Mark's clothes. His crotch dripped blood. Surrounded by ravers—he was their leader.

"This isn't your party anymore, Danny."

Danny's tone was mocking. "Sergeant Keating, I saw your DVD." He let his eyes drift down slowly. "Jesus, what happened to your dick?"

"Kill him!" roared Keating.

Danny raced down the stairs, exiting on the 12th floor. He ran through the maze of hallways, sterile corridors that he knew so well he could have navigated them blindfolded. Finally, he came to a dead end. A smile crossed his face as he calmly began pressing the numbers on the keypad, which was so inconspicuously imbedded into the white plaster.

The wall in front of Danny slid open. Reaching around the side, he gripped the rung of the built-in ladder that ran from the top of the missile silo to the bottom. As the first ravers reached the ledge they tried to stop, they tried to peer across the threshold to a room that had always contained only one fate. The force of the ravers behind the fist pushed them over the edge. The human crush was unstoppable—the silo rained bodies.

Shawn had just begun to cross the missile silo floor when the first of the bodies landed in front of him. His retreat was immediate—back against the wall he had no choice but to inch his way to the door on the other side of the room. Every inch brought more screams, and waves of blood that stuck to him like maple syrup filled with chunks of human matter.

Danny's eyes followed the cascade of flesh and bone downward, down, to the silo floor where much to his dismay he saw that Shawn had somehow escaped the trash compactor. Danny quickened the pace of his descent—intent on finishing the job he had thought already done.

Chapter 9

Safe For Some

Jackie breathed a sigh of relief as she stood in front of the safe room door and watched as a blood-covered Shawn came running towards her.

"What happened to you!?"

"Ask Danny! He tried to kill me!"

"Shawn..." Jackie gasped.

Shawn turned to see what Jackie was looking at.

Danny's face was barely recognizable, so contorted was it with rage. "Apparently I didn't try hard enough."

"Why did you tell me to come down here?" asked Jackie, confused, he could have let her fall to the ravers.

Shawn understood—"He was going to throw you into the trash compactor."

Danny smiled.

"Danny, listen to me," Jackie's voice was calm but firm. "You're not thinking clearly."

"I'm working around the clock to make us rich and you're fucking my best friend—and I'm the one not thinking clearly?"

"It's the drugs, Danny. There's nothing going on between Shawn and I.

Danny turned to Shawn. "Is that true buddy? Am I completely delusional?"

"I'm sorry, Danny." Shawn let the ax he was holding fall from his hands. "Let's at least settle this like real men."

"Fair enough." Danny feigned like he was throwing the ax he was holding to the side, pivoted, and swung intent on splitting his friend down the middle—Shawn caught the handle, which saved his life but drove him to the floor in the process.

Danny ripped the ax handle back from Shawn's grasp, raising it above his head to deliver one final blow. "Consider things settled, Shawn."

"Stop!" screamed Jackie.

"I'll be with you in a minute," Danny assured.

A jerk forward, the beginning of a downward bludgeoning, Danny staggering for a moment, a deep wheezing couch, blood projectiles flying from his mouth, Danny dead on the floor face down—a large killing knife between his shoulder blades.

Shawn scrambled to his feet instinctively stepping partially in front of Jackie. Their eyes moved from Keating, to the crowd of ravers behind him, and back.

Keating held his hand out to the side and a raver placed a new killing knife in his palm, in the same manner a nurse assists a surgeon. Keating pointed the knife at Jackie. "Needless to say, I'll be killing you myself..." He pointed the knife at Shawn. "You can still take the drink and join us."

Shawn took a step back, moving Jackie and himself toward the safe room. "That's a tempting offer."

"There's nowhere else to go." Keating looked back at his minions to make the point. "Besides, we can use a guy like you."

Shawn nodded his agreement—then, violently grabbed Jackie. A moment later they were both on the safe room floor watching as Chico slammed his palm on the green button, as he had been trained to do. The steel door slammed shut and the wall of monitors inside the safe room came to life.

The ravers pounded and kicked at the door wildly. Keating nodded...Shawn continued to impress...calmly Keating walked to the computer terminal in the outside hallway and logged on.

Jackie's eyes were glued to the screen. "Shawn, he's trying to open the door...Is it possible?"

Shawn's focus remained on the monitor for a moment longer. "If he can find the code." He looked down at Chico who was standing to his right. "Sorry I got you into this mess with us, big guy." Shawn turned back to the screen and watched intently as Keating brought up the access codes—one of which would open the door to the safe room.

Keating scrolled down, trying one code after the other. He paused for a moment and looked at the camera—he gave a wink and continued...Airtight metal doors slammed down over every door and window in the plant.

"The whole place is shutting down." Jackie's tone was distressed but the pure panic that any normal girl would have felt was simply not there. "We're going to be trapped in here with them."

Shawn shook his head slowly. "I don't think so."

Green liquid began to pour down from what appeared to be fire sprinklers—into every room of the plant. Jackie and Shawn both watched the crowd in the vat room cheer as the slimy green liquid falling from the ceiling only enhanced their mayhem. They rubbed it on their naked bodies and rolled around in it as it pooled on the floor.

In the hallway just on the other side of the safe room door the ravers also rejoiced in the liquid—everyone except Keating. He studied the green gel in the palm of his hand. The memory from his early training came back. Keating's head jerked back toward the camera.

The ravers whose images filled every monitor began to erupt in flames in what appeared to be spontaneous combustion. Shawn, Jackie, and Chico watched as every organic object outside of the safe room melted into a liquid that oozed down the drains, which punctuated the corridor floors.

Shawn let out a deep sigh. "They're going to give us the electric chair for this."

Jackie's voice was cold and calculating—in a way that it had not been previously. "Not if it all gets blamed on Danny." She turned to face Shawn, her eyes penetrated deeply into his. "He had the keys to the plant and it wouldn't be the first time he started a fire."

Shawn looked down at Chico. "Tell me you know how to get us out of here—"

Chapter 10

One Year Later

A million lumen flooded the football field with so unnatural a light that only something out of the ordinary could happen. The forty thousand fans in the bleachers knew it—and so did Shawn.

There are a few moments of glory in every athlete's career that are remembered. Just before one of these moments, usually, there is a sense of what's to come—a vision. The ball felt more comfortable in his hands than it ever had. The receiver moved slowly and clearly, as Shawn perceived it, past the defender, across the field, to where the ball he had released waited in the air.

The crowd roared. The ball had crossed the goal line with no time left on the clock. The conference title was their's. Shawn's teammates lifted him in the air and then piled on top of him jubilantly. Jackie, in full cheerleader uniform, held her hand over her mouth, the moment was too much—they had come through it all, together.

Shawn said his last goodbyes and walked out of the locker room. Where the force of Jackie jumping into his arms caught him just slightly off guard. Her lips were on his; the feel of her tongue in his mouth was still as exciting as the very first time. This was an apparent ongoing benefit of having taken Blast.

Jackie pulled her face slightly away from his. "You were so great tonight! I'm so proud of you."

Shawn let her slide from his arms back to her feet. "Thanks." His tone slightly subdued.

"What's wrong?" Jackie gave him another peck of a kiss. "You're going to be voted conference MVP for sure now."

"I can't believe you. It was a year ago tonight..."

"I don't want to talk about that," she said, cutting him off.

"All those people died...because of us. And you don't want to talk about it?"

"We didn't mean to hurt anyone."

"But we did." His voice was both hushed and pleading at the same time. "We should've turned ourselves in."

Jackie shook her head. "What good would that have done? They'd all still be dead." She grabbed his arm. "Look, we have school, we have money, we have each other, and we have our whole lives to make up for what happened. Besides, my parents are out of town. So why ruin the night? You want me to make you feel better?"

Shawn nodded; there was no point in arguing. "Yeah, that sounds good."

She pulled him toward the parking lot. "We're going to have a great life together, Shawn."

Neither Shawn nor Jackie had seen the figure that stood in the shadows. Brian had become use to hiding just slightly out of plain sight.

"Maybe not, Jackie," said Brian quietly, but out loud to himself as he followed them into the parking lot.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Stan Lerner is an award winning-author whose diverse credits include the novels "Stan Lerner's Criminal", "Blast", "In Development," and the children's book "Stanley The Elephant." Stan Lerner is also the creator of the Las Vegas music spectacle "Night Tribe" and the writer, director, producer of the hit motion picture "Meet The Family." Mr. Lerner was born in Montebello CA and has lived in downtown Los Angeles for the last fifteen years.

For more information about Stan Lerner please visit his author profile at http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/stan

ALSO BY STAN LERNER

"IN DEVELOPMENT"

"In Development" is a hilarious account of a day in the life of Stan Peters—Hollywood's most powerful and scummiest producer.

The day begins like any other day—a superlative, five-star breakfast at The Peninsula Hotel. However, the shocking news that there has been a change at the very top of the studio means that the perfect world of Stan and his closest associates could come to a sudden end—especially with a movie like "Two Jews and a Blonde Psycho" in development. The subsequent call from Brad, the new studio boss, confirms their greatest fear—their movie is in danger of being put in turn-around. A day of sex, manipulation, lying, betrayal, blackmail, and murder ensues -- otherwise known in Hollywood as a happy ending.

To find our more about "In Development" please visit http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/7633

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