 
### Introduction by the author

If you write just one page a day, every day for a full year, you'll have written a book!

That statement right there, which is something I spotted on Facebook or something like that (now I don't even remember) was the primary catalyst for this novel.

I saw that and said, "Now, for anyone who has ever written at least one book, they know better than that. A book isn't a mere collection of words and paragraphs, but a story or a conveyed message, or perhaps someone's life story. Further, it isn't a series of lines of sentences and a string of events, real or contrived, but an art form. There are major differences from a newspaper article about new apartments and the epic novel. And anyone who has ever read a good book knows there's stuff going on to engage and shock, captivate and perhaps offend the reader.

"These take time and preparation, outlines, graphs and charts, perhaps, and tons of notes. Especially tons of notes. Characters have to be developed, plot lines mapped out, the opening lines have to be perfected. There's all that without even mentioning _The Zone_ , which is a mystical place where all writers go when creating. How do you reach this zone within such a short timeframe? Any book written willy-nilly and just a page a day could never be worth reading. It would be a perfect waste of time."

Then my wife asked from the other room, "Who are you talking to? Are you talking to yourself again?"

You see, I am a truck driver by trade and have been for quite some time. Thus, I spend quite a bit of time alone. I just might talk to myself quite a bit, being alone so much. Okay, a lot. I might drive upwards of 650 miles daily, but I have a lot of time just sitting there, waiting or doing nothing while other things, like loading and such, are going on. Consequently, I have learned to write. Now, to offer full disclosure, I have been writing longer than I have been driving, but my job offers (or once offered and I'll explain) plenty of time to write, so I actually waste very little time.

The catch is that for more than three years now I have been driving as a team, meaning I have another guy in the truck with me at all times. When one is on duty and driving, the other guy is off duty and resting, reading, talking on the phone, or trying to write. The shifts change back and forth, but the truck is almost always on the go. It doesn't take any effort to put between five and six thousand miles on the truck in a week. The reason I mention this is because it is nearly impossible to write in such an environment. Nearly, but not completely.

I cannot bring my laptop into that environment. If you have never been in a Peterbilt rolling along at highway speed on what looks like nicely paved highway, it feels as though you're in a tank trudging through blast craters. The suspension is very tight to accommodate up to forty tons or more, so one feels every little bump. The computer would be ruined quickly by the turbulence and you would be challenged to touch the ever-moving keys. However, writing is possible in this environment with a tablet and a stylus. It's still challenging due to the movement and noise and the limitations of the equipment, but I have done it. I wrote this book this way. You just have to hold it in front of you and go with the motion while keeping contact with the screen. I really have to wonder if this book is the only one ever written in such a manner.

If you find this book sucks ass, then it wouldn't matter. But if the general consensus is the story is good, that says something.

I sought a way to achieve more writing when starting team driving and I was happy to find the Kindle Fire and the various writing apps. But I was still challenged with the ability to switch from notes to other pages and different windows, so I accepted this _one page a day for a year_ scheme. I decided I might know enough about writing to maybe, just maybe, pull this off. If anything, it would be a fun and daring experiment. After all, I had long enjoyed the detailed and intricate process of planning a book before the first line was written, sometimes preparing for months before actual writing began. I always wanted it all mapped out first, with plot, characters, scenes from start to finish, and the machine tuned and oiled. But to just _wing it_ was never my thing.

So, winging it was now my thing. I decided I would accept the challenge of merely a page a day for a year. No notes, no planning, no outline, just making up about a page a day, with about 300 to 350 words daily, thinking that's about a page or so. You see, since I was doing this entirely on a Kindle Fire (the 1st generation, so no Bluetooth keyboard- not that such a thing would work in a moving semi) I didn't have specific pages. Thus, I worked with word count.

I made this up as I went. I began on December 31st, 2013, starting the prologue. The only thing I kept in mind was the story would be based on a rogue team of crazies who hunted Human Traffickers. They would be worse than those they hunted. That's it. That was my outline. From there, I made this thing up as I went. From the 31st of December 2013 to the 31st of December 2014, I wrote one page a day, every day for a full year.

The following novel is the result of that effort.

I didn't keep one note other than what swam around in my head throughout 2014. I wrote the defined number of words and then quit for the day. But I have to say this was a unique and intriguing challenge indeed. After all, I wanted this to be the best it could be, with a good story and great characters along with a seamless plot throughout the work. I didn't want this experiment wasted, and I certainly didn't want to waste a full year's time of writing. So I concentrated on keeping a solid story and strong, vibrant characters while moving at a proper pace. That latter point was difficult because by the time I reached the start of Spring, it was increasingly difficult to recall what was going on. I went through that throughout the year, refusing to read back (as that wasn't in the primary instructions) but always having fresh ideas vying for their chance.

This was one draft, so there was no changing my mind or going back. In fact, I started placing the weekly results on _Quotev_ , which is a site known for a lot of writing. Thus, everything was basically written in stone from the start. I killed at least four characters I was tiring of just to change my mind and come up with clever ways to save them. While this proved to be a series of awkward choices on my part because I decided later those characters had more to offer, the depth of the story won out through my having to concentrate on having to re-employ those characters yet again, in a believable way. I apologize for the spoiler, but it was important to gauge the challenge of this.

By the time the summer of 2014 hit, I was getting lost a lot. I didn't know where I was going because I was continually forgetting where everything was and even what was going on but I concentrated and struggled onward. I refused to look back and staunchly refused to modify anything that was already written. The only thing I would scour for was improper words caused by the auto-correct on the Kindle. That was something too sloppy and distracting to allow.

In the end, I became entranced with what I was doing with this story and it was a part of my life in 2014. My sister and a few others I didn't know became a big fan and looked forward to each entry placed on Quotev, usually placed there on Sunday. Through the year, I became quite attached to the characters and fell in love with Chloe Rhodes as a very unique character inspired in part by my granddaughter and some of her writing. Hey, Chloe turned out to be one hell of a character.

I ran these characters through so many wringers and turns while I stepped in for but a few minutes a day to add whatever was in my head at the moment. By the time the autumn season arrived, I had to retain in my mind that this actually had to close up relatively soon or else I'd goof up the entire experiment. In fact, the final chapter and the last few lines were a total mystery to me until some ideas popped in on or around the 28th of December. All the way to the very end, I winged this thing and stuck to the rules. One page a day for a year. The only thing slightly away from that was choosing pictures for the Quotev entries. But no re-reading and no rewriting.

So, can this thing really be done? Can anyone really pull this off? Could any writer, from the novice (whom I believe the original idea was created for) to the experienced writer write a worthy book in this manner, with just one draft, no outlines or notes, and strictly by the seat of the pants? After all, anyone who knows anything about this knows one NEVER submits a first draft as a finished text. That is a newbie error on steroids. But this is rather less the first draft than it is an _experiment in writing_. So, the question is valid, in that can this really be done?

Presently, that isn't for me to decide. But I can say that the select few readers the work garnered over the year gave praise and demands for that weekly installment. At the time I am writing this introduction, I have yet to complete a reading of the work (I want to read it through and search for auto-correct blunders but I otherwise will not modify anything... Edit- and did so) so I can't say even I know what this story is about. But I followed the gang through some fascinating times and adventures, and I think I pulled off something worthwhile. It may not be the most amazing book written in 2014, but there's nothing else like it, on several levels. Further, in my defense, I ensured those few words per day were the quality my skills can offer.

I hope this book finds its way into the hands and hearts of at least a few readers and writers who would be willing to see how this experiment turned out. I can honestly say I wouldn't offer it like this if I thought it ended up a ball of tripe bound for the slush pile. Sure, it would be extremely different if I had written it in the traditional manner, but where's the fucking fun in that? This was written at just a page a day, on a Kindle Fire with a Targus Stylus while using several writing apps, including _OfficeSuite, My Writing Spot, Evernote,_ and _My Binder._ OfficeSuite wasn't employed until sometime in November and I was mad at myself for not having it all along. It was nearly entirely written in a moving Peterbilt eighteen wheeler, but I downloaded a week's worth of work on my laptop at home and used it to place work on Quotev. I received a new Kindle Fire HD for Christmas and transferred all the work to it around the middle of January of 2015.

If you happen to be reading this and then choose to read the novel, I humbly ask for your opinions and input. Did I do something cool, or did I screw the pooch? Is this slush pile tripe or might I have created something worthwhile? I, along with a few inquiring minds would like to know. I mean, I know it's never recommended to go with the first draft and I'm one of those carrying a pitchfork and torch to lynch all offenders. But this is something different.

Look at this another way- How many writers procrastinate and fail to get the words down, claiming a hectic schedule and kids, the job and neighbors with explosives. But this trucker (and you know what they say about those people...) wrote this entire novel in a year while bouncing along in one of those eighteen wheelers. Could it be a motivator? If that guy did it in those conditions, what the hell is your malfunction?

"Just because he cranked it out, that doesn't mean it's any good."

True, but one has to read at least some of the story to determine this. I knew that going in and well before this experiment. Being an independent writer, most people think I suck simply because I'm not published traditionally and within a major publishing house. Thus, on and on with the stereotypes.

I have actually heard, "Are you on the bestsellers list?"

"Uh, no."

"Well, then it can't be any good."

It is what it is and you can't fix stupid. But the truth is that the oddest luck can garner some attention, so if the work is truly good, that said luck could continue. Overall, I write what I write and some of it catches while some of it doesn't. I have to admit that some of the work I wanted to succeed is still waiting while what I thought what would drift into obscurity caught on well.

Let's see what happens with this little number. I will continue to refer to this work as an experiment rather than book or novel. If anything, this experiment demonstrates how far one writer can go with the simple, original premise. So, how about a better writer? A novice writer? The seasoned pro? Someone who never wrote so much as a paragraph? Could they do this, too?

Hey, I didn't open this can of worms. I just went with the instructions. So, how about you?

Now, as for the subject matter, it was easy to find motivation there. I find the act of Human Trafficking our worst and most evil crime and I see reports on the subject daily. Some are good and some are bad, with stories of some meeting with justice while others suffer in a world largely blind to their plight. So it was easy to send these people in after them.

This isn't my first attempt to address this scourge through fiction. My first novel, _The Egocentric Predicament_ , attacked the subject, and I touched on it within my novel, _Tangled in Climbing Nightshade_. It's just that I cannot find within me a way to comprehend how this heinous evil exists within our world with such freedom and strength (but then, we have to recognize the evil and good in our own kind). I ask everyone to learn all you can about this abomination. Further, the subject makes for awesome suspense and drama.

So, we have several things going on. A simple yet effective motivator to prompt one to write, along with one guy following that motivator in a way nobody else has ever done (that's history, people!), all the while addressing an issue of extraordinary importance. Come on, dashing and lovely readers; take a chance and see what you might find from here. You might be pleasantly surprised.
Prologue

The world will not be destroyed by those who do evil, but by those who watch them and do nothing.  
-Albert Einstein

According to the FBI, Human Trafficking has become the second most prolific organized criminal activity, only topped by drug trafficking. According to numerous sources, many prior drug runners have given up the drug trade for human trafficking for several reasons. One of the major reasons is because running stolen girls (I'm mentioning girls, but keep in mind this evil affects both genders and all ages) is so much easier, and more profitable, than drugs ever could be.

Girls aren't sniffed out by dogs (when they're still alive) and unlike a bag of dope, they can be sold over and over again. They just make better sense. Furthermore, because the world's population is higher than it has ever been, ever, the availability of potential commodities, being the girls, is overwhelming. They're almost literally everywhere. And once you beat them and drug them for just a little while, maybe just a couple weeks, they'll do whatever you tell them to do with virtually no limit. For fucking ever. Or, well, until you kill them.

The only downside is they don't last forever. But once they get to the point where nobody will pay for them (they do get ganky) there's always that one guy who will pay that one final price, a good one, too, to just take her off your hands. Occasionally they find the body, but usually not. Who really cares? And if there are no buyers, beat her to death in front of the other girls to make a point. Two birds with one stone.

The crime is everywhere. The availability of girls (at any age desired, and boys, too) is akin to sunshine in Hawaii. They're everywhere and really just free for the taking. What's even better is that the more that disappear, the more people see that as the normalcy of life. Presently people are snatching up more than two thousand a day, a fucking day, and almost nobody blinks an eye.

What's even better yet is that law enforcement is the trafficker's best friend. They say they're cracking down, but they're at it just like they are with the drugs. This really means trafficking drugs (or stolen bitches) is far too good an economic stimulus industry to stop. Sure, they put forth some effort and make occasional arrests, but come on. Who are we really kidding here? Government and law enforcement are in on it. Not all of them, but come on! How could the average dirtbags keep it going while leaving trained professional law enforcement scratching their heads?

So, there are girls stolen every day from everywhere. And then they're sold, raped, beaten, trashed, and anything else you want to do for a price, because it's awesome, easy money. The easiest money one could ever, ever make. The only catch is you can't allow yourself to have a conscience. Those get in the way.

But it turns out there was another catch somebody failed to consider. It turns out there was a glitch in the system. The fact of the matter is that the vast majority of victims stolen are effectively forgotten. Not really, but nobody does enough to really make a dent in the industry. However, on occasion a girl is taken that should not have been taken. Because there are those who have people in their lives who will stop at nothing to ensure a safe return, and a halt to the threat. Or, those who escaped have a grudge.

And then it reached a point where there were a bunch of those, and they started talking. And organizing.

Soon, a new criminal organization popped up. While it wasn't quite as big as the big guys, you know, running drugs, girls, and guns, but they were getting somewhere. Some call them vigilantes. Some even call them heroes. But those in the know call them what they really are.

They call them the monster hunters.

Not Your Typical Heroes

Dale Hoskins woke up later than he wanted, but since this was the first real day off he's had in nearly two months, he couldn't think of a reason to cry about it. Even then, however, it wouldn't truly be a day off, but a day spent at home rather than out getting blood all over himself. And while at home, he would soon be on the computer, seeking new ways and new people in order to spill more blood.

You know what they say: do what you love and you'll never work a day in your life.

Wow, but did Dale enjoy a good killing. Sure, there was a period of time where he needed to be careful, really careful, since there were several law enforcement teams seeking his head, on both state and federal levels. Sure, he's enjoyed killing and dumping bodies (in fun and dramatic ways) through thirty states. But once upon a time, Dale wasn't really truly elite when he killed. Now, he had never killed the sweet and innocent and he's never harmed a child, but there was a time when Dale was barely able to not simply dismember some jerk-off who felt content in being a bully. The abusive husband wasn't safe. Neither was the drunk and neglecting mother. But the threat was so-and-so.

But through what they call a series of unfortunate events, Dale was gifted with a new focus on which he could turn his attention. Not only that, but he found a sort he could savor when he had them to himself. Dale felt no guilt or like he might go too far with this choice of prey.

And to make things even nicer, Dale has found a few friends. Some birds of a feather. They were why he'd be on the computer in his apartment throughout most of the day. These fun friends enjoyed the same tastes for blood he did (a couple of them liked it even more) and some research has to be done in order to find a fresh batch. But finding them wouldn't be difficult, as these sorts of prey liked to put themselves out there.

Well, those they preyed on were put out there. Because Dale and his pals weren't just hunters; they liked to hunt more than just challenging prey, but other predators.

Dale wasn't the only one out of the group enjoying the new ways of doing things. Chloe Rhodes had been feeling lazy and drifting in and out of sleep, cozying up to Dale through much of the morning. If it wasn't for the marathon the two of them ran until just a few hours before sunup, he'd find her irresistible and just, well, need her. But he needed to recuperate.

She was outrageous in her capacity to go all night, but they enjoyed a fantastic evening before they even came back to his place, and Chloe must have achieved more than a few kills. Her ability with a knife both chilled and thrilled him, but he saw her take down two of those bastards with her teeth to their throats. She sure loved her sex, but wow if she didn't love killing.

Dale himself took only five through the prior night's hunt, but if you stood the lovely couple next to one another, you'd be sure he was covered with far more blood. After they and the rest of the gang were done, the two of them came back to his place and went wild while still saturated in guilty blood. In fact, being soaked in blood fired that girl up like nothing else could.

Once the sun was up and pouring in, the scene was, well, rather gruesome. Dale doubted the sheets or pillows could be saved.

Finally fully awake, she came up onto her hands and knees and starting licking at the dried blood caked around his chest.

She looked up to him, almost unrecognizable with so much dried blood all over her and said, "Good morning, sweetie."

He noticed how delicious she looked, particularly with all the blood caked in her luscious, blonde hair. All that gore covering her sexy body served to recuperate him fast, so he moved to go to her.

"Good morning, sweetheart."

But once he showed a sign of moving she lunged at him and bit down, ever so gently, at his throat. He smiled and acquiesced. She noticed just how recuperated he was and quickly got on, taking all of him. She looked to the nightstand and saw the vodka bottle was half full.

She picked it up and poured half of the contents on herself and the rest on him, and after simply dropping the bottle to the floor, she began loosening and thickening all that dried blood on the both of them with exploring hands. Once what was once caked became so, so slick, she pushed down onto him and took over from there.

If there was one thing Dale enjoyed and found attractive about Chloe (and there were actually many), it was her unique eyes. Chloe likely became how she is through a lot of head trauma, so when she gets worked up over a kill or anything else driving up her adrenaline and mood, one of her pupils shrinks to a pinpoint while the other dilates to the size of a nickel.

She's developed the habit of blinking one eye closed and then the other open, back and forth, left and right, in order to enjoy the difference in perceptions. She confessed she likes to see things bright and dark with sort of a strobe effect while she works and plays. So at that moment, Dale looked up to her as she looked down to him as she blinked in that tick tock fashion. So, that combined with the odd pupils, the blood and her crazy hair combined with her fascinating figure, she was a dazzling sight to behold and soon he was harder than Chinese grammar.

It was all so close to perfect because due to him thinking he was spent, she had to work, really work, for both of them to get there. She was there first and she came forward to bite down hard on his shoulder, right into the bloody wound she caused just hours before, and the surge of pleasure and pain brought him over. They basked in the afterglow by licking and sucking the blood from one another while he watched her pupils normalize and felt her breathing settle. Soon, she allowed her weight to settle against him and he held her while she calmly drank from the bite she created.

After a minute or two, he said, "Sweetheart, what do you say I treat you to some breakfast?"

She rose up to look at him, gently wiping away the blood dripping from her chin and onto his, and said, "Would you take me to Denny's? I am in the mood for breakfast!"

"I'll take you anywhere you want to go, my love. And Denny's sounds fantastic. We'll get showered and dressed, go eat to our heart's content, and then get back here so I can find more of those monsters to deal with, all so we can build a better world. Because, as you know," he said as he flickered his tongue at the thickening blood on her nose, "we are the true heroes of this world."

"Yes. Yes we are."

Decisions, Decisions

Once she was cleaned up, Chloe was a vision to any man, and most women, who saw her. She preferred to dress conservatively and professionally even when she's being casual, but made sure what she wore accentuated her beauty. She found she caught eyes and created fantasies through avoiding dressing provocatively but yet looking like a million bucks. She looked like the CEO of all that's stunning and hot.

Because of it, Dale had to up his game and dress appropriately. Chloe helped him dress the wound she bit into him, cleaning and caring for it before it became a problem. Besides, he didn't need it bleeding into his Oxford shirt. So, what he wore would make Peter Gunn proud. His suit was impeccable, being slate grey, and his shoes were stunning. He'd already maintained a perfect haircut, but that was mainly because luck graced him with perfect hair.

They stood before the mirror, looking at one another and each other as such a beautiful couple, and they smiled. They really were the nicest looking couple. Chloe blinked again, trying to get her pupils to normalize. When that was difficult, a sharp pair of fashion sunglasses was like the cherry on top.

"Denny's, here we come," she said with a dazzling smile.

They looked as though they would be eating at some Manhattan restaurant eighty floors up, but this girl had a thing for Denny's. She was weird, after all.

"Watch out, world," Dale said.

\-------

While Dale and Chloe stepped into his Challenger and drove to breakfast, Agent Fred Charles assessed the situation at one of the more gruesome crime scenes he's seen in some time. While a lot of these agents and investigators were quite used to some blood, this scene had most of them gagging over the fence beyond the crime scene.

There were actually forty victims, each killed in a manner so gruesome that any one of them would be studied for years. Further, who the victims were didn't surprise anyone. Considering who they were, one has to wonder why the others gagged. Fred didn't. He was merely impressed, and a bit more certain. But, forty?

It looked as though the Traffic Cops struck again. The Press coined the name after the fourth such kill scene was discovered, mainly because all the victims were discovered to be deeply involved in trafficking girls or young women, or both. One thing the press loved so far was that, so far, twenty three girls have been freed, and one poor little boy. That means that someone out there, or several someones, are freeing the innocent and killing the bad guys.

Sure, people tend to like that. But law enforcement isn't among them. Well, not officially. But Agent Charles isn't concerned with some vigilante group of veterans feeling the need to be secret heroes. This isn't three former soldiers who had daughters or granddaughters victimized and are saying no more; whoever is doing this is beyond gruesome and angry. Every kill has very experienced sociopathic serial killers written all over, in cold blood. The people doing this are crazy, crazy, crazy lunatics with a genuine thirst for killing and the blood that follows.

These people are having fun and using traffickers as the source of fun, because today they are the anti-humans of humanity. Once upon a time, people didn't care about dead hookers, but today they're the ultimate victims.

Fred Charles knew that was statistically true. Most people working as prostitutes do so under threat and coercion. Most are children or little more than children. And those that partake are happy with the situation. So, having a bunch of psycho killers hunting them down makes people happy.

Hey, most psycho killers hunt the weak and innocent. These people hunt those who hunt the weak and innocent. Let the problem take care of itself, some callers said. Rather than stop them, we ought to encourage them, some commenting stated.

To the point of distraction, the press is doing just that. And reaping the reward.

Fred was somewhat amused by those who entered the house with confidence and, within minutes, walked out with their pale face dangling. Well, the forensics team coped okay.

"For the love of God, Fred," Joanne Simmons said. "These fuckers redecorated the place with blood and body parts. Limbs and appendages are nailed to all the ceiling fans. And whoever did this was really good. Those victims lasted a while before just hitting their limits. I know these guys were all scumbags, but whoever these people are who did this are fucking psycho. Artists, but psycho."

"Yes, they are," he said. What he didn't say, not yet, was he thought he recognized a signature or two. And because of that, he strongly suspected these weren't just misguided heroes. They were sick fucks who decided to spare the innocent, for now. But if he was right, those who were doing this cut their teeth on innocent flesh. A lot of it. In fact, if he knew anything about anything, some of this has Chloe Rhodes written all over it. If that is indeed the case, one of the craziest human beings to ever exist is still on the loose. But why would she expose herself like this when she convinced the world she was dead?

\-------

Dale enjoyed watching Chloe enjoy her breakfast. The woman had several ravenous appetites and they were all great fun. But while she focused on a three-egg stuffed omelet, he thought seriously about this unique and unpopular team he has brought together. While Chloe and he worked much like a pair, the other five tended to operate somewhat independently while cooperating with the group. The trouble, potentially, was that these were, well, a bunch of crazy people.

Dale felt sure he was the sane one in the group, if there was such a thing. He knew Chloe was one of the most psychopathic and craziest people alive despite how much he loved and adored her, but a few of the others were fighting for a close second. In fact, Thomas Godfrey surpassed her when he was feeling really good. Honestly, he wasn't sure if he wanted to keep Godfrey around much longer, but his uncertainty was just that. After all, Godfrey was good, really good, at what he did. Not only was he good at it, but organized and fast. Thomas Godfrey just might be the most efficient serial killer in action.

"We're going to have to go on a road trip, aren't we?" Chloe asked through a bite of English muffin. "I think we've burned up our options around here for a while, which is perfectly okay with me."

"I don't mind, either," he said. "By fucking killing all the goddamned human traffickers around, there aren't any more to threaten our neighborhoods. Then, it just reverts to us as being the biggest threat." He winked.

"Speak for yourself, sweetheart. I don't think I could ever allow myself to harm another innocent person ever again," Chloe said.

Dale could see the mist rise in her eyes when she said, "The way those children hugged and kissed me after we freed them from those bastards in Arizona. Wow. I could never picture anyone truly human looking at me without disdain and fear, but they seemed to truly love me. I just couldn't ever do it, that's all. Not that it matters; there are more than enough monsters to last me a lifetime."

"Hearing you say that makes me love you even more, Chloe," Dale said. "I'm very proud of you."

She actually blinked and wiped away a tear before reaching across the table, taking his hand and saying, "Thank you, dear, and I wouldn't be who I am now without you."

Dale felt doubtful Godfrey has such a change of heart. So, he couldn't help but to wonder about Emily Rose Hutch. Emily, being the team's other female, wasn't as gushy as Chloe can be. In fact, not having male anatomy was what kept Emily from being the most sinister guy Dale has ever met. Emily was a woman, but a bull dike that would frighten the most boastful professional wrestler. She wasn't all that large, but frightening nonetheless. While Chloe is a raving lunatic, Emily is simply a heartless, soulless being.

Dale had to smile while enjoying his scrambled eggs and thinking of Doc Picasso. His name was really Samuel Picasso, but because he developed this veritable need to dissect and explore, and then seek artistic perfection with his kills, he was another psycho with a bent for the bizarre. When the FBI agents came into the crime scenes he's left behind, they were sure to become case studies for generations of agents to come. The same was with Chloe, too, but her remnants would test the mettle of those who hid their doubt. Doc explored, but the lady in Chloe liked interior decorating.

"You know, just for a change of scenery and all that for the team, I'm thinking of looking into possibilities someplace sleepy, like Nebraska or Iowa," Dale said. "Any thoughts?"

Chloe smiled for a moment, internalizing pictures sure to shatter most appetites and said, "Yeah, like we'd really be newsworthy somewhere that enjoys little more than the occasional ATV being stolen, or someone's aging Camaro getting keyed. Yeah, I have a few delicious thoughts. Too bad Gottschalk is locked up."

"Gottschalk?" He said through some eggs. "Your wheels are spinning, aren't they? No, I've pushed my luck with this magnificent seven. But somewhere seemingly less crowded makes our prey think they don't have to be as careful. They're easier to catch when their pants are around their ankles."

He saw her eyes change when she gushed, "That would make it fun, wouldn't it?"

"Yep. They'll keep their eyes open, but just for the Jethro cops in the neighborhood. But they..."

Dale's voice traveled off for a moment, but then he said, "You know what? Maybe we're wrong. We are getting kind of famous, you know. Rather than think nobody's watching, they might all be keeping an extra eye out for the boogey men, and ladies. But they don't know what they're looking for, so as far as I'm concerned, it only adds to the fun."

"They might shut down business and hide for a while, you know, until they think the coast is clear," Chloe said.

"I don't know. The money is too sweet and they don't get any of that any other way. I see them trying to step outside of the mainstream and keep business only to their better customers just to keep out of the sunshine, but we're the only thing making them truly stop. Besides, they have inventory to maintain."

"That's lovely."

He let out a long breath and said, "Yeah."

Ayers and Sands, and Others

There were two other members of Dale's team who weren't immediately on his mind while he enjoyed breakfast and quality time with Chloe. Jacob Ayers and Dana Sands were two former elite soldiers who were pulled from the grid by a very ambitious government program that went very awry.

They were both part of a select program designed to set apart certain Green Beret soldiers who demonstrated a knack for particular military needs. While any soldier earning his Green Beret is certainly a soldier worth his day's earnings, someone along the way wanted a unique unit set aside for unique situations. Several soldiers were brought in on a voluntary basis (the ultimate excuse) but because this program became too ambitious, too few survived the additional training.

Someone wanted super soldiers and was willing to attempt to fool Mother Nature to succeed. There were operations, endurance tests of extreme natures, and experimental drugs hot from the lab. Some of the inexcusable deaths were horrific.

Someone actually in charge from The Pentagon got wind of what was occurring, did some homework that revealed a lot of dirty goings on, and quickly supervised the systematic shutdown of the program. Where they failed to act was that, yes, they stopped what was truly horrible in scope, but they underestimated what happened to those soldiers who survived.

It was easy to do, since only five survived and three of them were later confirmed dead. Two died of suicide while the other was taken down by soldiers after he went haywire and attacked Fort Bragg on his own. Sergeants Ayers and Sands, by and large, demonstrated a rather calm demeanor when questioned and assessed for their state of mind. Because they were exposed to what was considered extreme conditions, they were offered release from military service with compensation.

Because they were the two most promising soldiers of the destroyed program, they gladly jumped at the chance of going private. So, while the military thought it released damaged goods from its specific obligation, it released two of the most driven and dedicated killers ever created.

The program was designed to neutralize criminal organizations like large gangs, human traffickers, drug lords and the like. They were largely illegal in that they would shut down organizations the law couldn't take hold of properly. Dale found them perfect.

Ayers and Sands go in first with guns firing tranquilizers and put to the ground the enemies. They also used percussion grenades and other little tricks. While Emily could take most linebackers, Chloe had no such strength and neither did the others. The two soldiers leveled the playing field so the rest of the team could take care of their end.

While the two soldiers were quite driven and could be ruthless, they weren't any sort of classic psycho. The failed program twisted them in ways the taxpayer wouldn't find appropriate, but Chloe made them cringe.

Dale was happy to have them, but they didn't do down time very well. This was one of the reasons he needed to find another established trafficking ring; they would do a reconnaissance mission and pass on pertinent details to Dale. But if they were neutral for too long, they tended to drift out of bounds.

"Ayers, the boss man found us something to do," Sands said. "It's a bit of a drive, though, up in the barren lands somewhere between north of Chicago and the southern region of Wisconsin. He thinks some things are moving through Milwaukee and across the waters."

It made sense, since the Chicago area was known for a lot of trafficking of girls (well, every city was) but this area was strongly suspected of moving girls north into Canada where they could be moved virtually anywhere a plane might go. Smuggling American girls to the Middle East was too common, as those people had a morbid taste for the vulnerable of the infidels.

It was believed that many of the culture found infidelity as a horrible crime, but infidel girls weren't viewed as human, so it wasn't really a crime. It was also believed such a girl experienced about a week of horror before disappearing from all of existence. Hey, they were effortless to replace. It was also easier to smuggle them into Cuba from Canada, even if they came from Miami. Laws and such.

Dale was correct. A rather successful and organized trafficking ring was moving girls from Chicago to Madison and then Milwaukee, either boating them to other places or flying them to where they were worth the most. Ayers and Sands loved jobs like these, because it was such an easy thing to recon. Such as the girls being easy to move and manipulate, mercenaries moving around also blended in rather well. They could look inconspicuous and learn a lot. Besides, selling girls was hard if nobody was looking for some buyers. The girls were working here and there, such as truck stops, and advertised online.

Dale, Ayers and Sands, and everyone else loved a virtual lighthouse beacon leading them just to the proper place on shore. Where there were girls there were handlers, and where there were handlers there were organizers. Thus, there would be plenty more money that Dale used to help finance his cause.

Because not only was it fun to leave these traffickers in volumes of blood and carnage as they begged, but it was almost as much fun to reallocate their funds.

\--------

"Emily, can you behold the power of cheese?" Dale asked her over the phone.

"Dale, do you have something intelligent to say?" She asked in her tell-tale gruff voice. "You got meat to sell? I don't need any cheese; I have my regularity to think about."

He chose to leave his sense of humor where the goofy slogan was. "There's a significant job to be done in Wisconsin. A lot of runners, a lot of innocent girls and a lot of money. I believe there are a lot of girls smuggled through and north of Chicago to Milwaukee and Madison, and then from there, well, I'd like to know."

"Well, you do have something to say. Do you have any details, such as when you're going up there, or have you yet to dispatch Ayers and Sands," Emily inquired.

"They're on their way now. I should expect to have some workable information from them within the week," Dale said. "Thus, I'm finding out who can and cannot make it once the light goes green."

"I suppose your cute little girlfriend is going, right?"

Emily and Chloe got along like oil and water, as they were very different people. Dale was ever so thankful they were able to play together, as these two viewing one another in a sour light would mean Emily would not be on the team. He loved Chloe, but viewed Emily as quite valuable. Being forced to let her go would suck, as everyone knows they don't get to just quit, accept being laid off, or simply move on. There are no lifetime contracts, but agreements have to be made, and enforced.

There was one very handy individual who, just about a year prior, was an incredible asset to the cause. Joseph Hegel was a renowned combat surgeon for the Marine Corps before branching out on his own after his time of service ended with a stellar military career wrapped up. The thing was, Dr. Nightmare, as some came to call him, could really create an impression when he felt it necessity.

His particular specialty was the ability to remove a very large percentage of one's body (in sections and parts) while leaving the patient quite alive. There would be no more limbs, teeth, tongue and more, but given the proper care, they could still live into the unforeseeable future. His patients made great calling cards, lessons learned, and gestures to be understood. But Dr. Nightmare had one significant character flaw that didn't fit well; he had a tendency to operate independently and outside the spirit of the team.

While Hegel worked well with the team during active missions, he felt the need to pursue a few questionable victims liberated by the team. Yes, there were a few older girls and young women eventually turned from victim to asset by the traffickers who were causing serious harm. But Dale and the team at large felt these girls were just trying to survive. There was nobody on this team who was in a position to cast stones.

But Hegel was using intelligence gathered on missions to pursue those he felt deserved a second opinion. Dale had Chloe take care of the problem. It was unfortunate, but necessary. Even Dale knew he couldn't just call things quits and move on without making others feel exposed. It was just that there had to be a process.

"Of course Chloe will be with me, Emily. She's the love of my life. You're not feeling jealous, are you?"

Emily guffawed loudly into the phone. "One might suppose that's a good question, sir, but you're not my type and neither is she. I just find her a bit frazzled between the ears is all."

"Well, it just adds to all that makes her endearing. Besides, how sane do you want to be with this sort of thing?" Dale asked her.

"Only so much, but that girl is...I don't know," Emily said. "But yeah, you can count me in. I always look forward to these sorts of adventures."

"Fantastic," he said. "I look forward to working with you as always."

He hung up the phone, seeing he had but two remaining team players to contact. But did he really need them? Because Ayers and Sands won't have seen assessment for a few days at best, Dale figured he had no choice but to contact Thomas Godfrey and Doc Picasso.

Dale didn't like not liking to call them. They were both efficient and Doc has a wonderful way of making it clear what he thought of these traffickers, which got around at least a little. Some mid-level punks have dropped out, not seeing the money or the evil worth ending up like that. And as for Thomas, he's a numbers guy. He doesn't choose to linger long after they're gone, unlike Picasso. But Godfrey wasn't always the best team player, and he has a bad habit of bullying when he could. As for Doc, he has been known to take a few risky risks.

Samuel Picasso, known by many as Doc, was known by even more as Dr. Picasso. Doctor Picasso was a very well respected and sought after gynecologist who received extraordinary praise from his numerous patients. Dr. Picasso had a unique way to make his patients feel safe and comfortable, even when such doctors were new to them, as it is with young women.

Samuel was not an attractive man at all, which helped. Because the women who came to him saw nothing physically interesting in him, they felt less self-conscience about the visit. But he was famous for doing his job quite well, never missing anything important even when it's quite subtle. For several years he's enjoyed a reputation for having an exquisite understanding of that region of the female anatomy.

While he was famous for his care and concern of his patients, there were a number of things few knew about the good doctor, and there were a few nobody knew but him. For one thing, Picasso was unusually fascinated with the female reproductive system. He thought what the female body does for our species should never be underestimated, ever. He had a perfect love for women and their bodies, although his sexual attraction was somewhat stunted. His self loathing didn't help. He just couldn't find attractive a woman who could be attracted to him. This likely didn't help his psychological profile.

As would be expected, our doctor also harbored a healthy fondness for children. So, it wouldn't require much imagination to suppose he has a particular disdain for those who hurt children as well as for those who profane and defile the aspect of female he finds so important.

What Dale was lucky enough to find and utilize for his mission was a psychologically troubled doctor who harbored a strong fascination for those who are being victimized by insidious criminals. The icing on the cake was Sam Picasso's deep, obvious psychopathic bent.

From a very young age, Samuel put to death and took apart anything, and eventually anyone, that demonstrated a potential threat. At first, he just wanted to get in there and see what was wrong and causing something so obviously bad. But over time, young Samuel simply realized evil was a part of the way it is in the world.

Samuel did exceptionally well throughout school and graduated from high school early, moving into medical school with a full scholarship, where he also became a star and consistently top of the class. He was viewed as a progeny of the highest order, but he didn't divulge that he pursued a lot of extracurricular activities when he was not actively engaged in class.

A lot of jerks and criminals, rapists and molesters, started coming up missing throughout the region, but Samuel never came into the radar of the authorities. He was careful, meticulous, educated on the use of the best sedatives (he could never overpower anyone) and cleaned things up perfectly.

It was Chloe Rhodes who discovered the good doctor.

She found him to be an amazing OBGYN, but they say a good psychopath can smell out one of their own. While Chloe was most impressed with Dr. Picasso's abilities as a doctor, she was sure there was more to him than that. After a patient's husband came to the office and was way out of line and abusive right there in the office, the psychopath in Picasso showed while Chloe was there where things occurred. She wanted to visit the jerk, but she saw that look in Picasso's eyes and knew what she saw. She decided she would stay close to the good doctor but not be seen.

Chloe found she was more than impressed with the good doctor. She followed him while he quietly prowled around where the jerk and his battered wife live, and what was discovered was worse than either of them expected.

This ruthless son of a bitch had his wife so beaten down that she no longer stood up to nothing. Chloe discovered this cocksucker was raping his own children, and so didn't the good doctor. At first, Chloe thought she would have to take matters into her own hands. This vile bastard needed to go down but Chloe doubted Picasso had the size or strength to cope with a man the size of a linebacker. She knew quite well how to use that to her advantage, but did the mild mannered gynecologist?

Indeed, he did. After deftly picking the lock of the back door, Picasso moved with military precision as he quietly went through and simply tranquilized everyone in there. He used a pistol looking something like a paintball gun, and it may have been, but modified. Whatever he used was quite effective because once one was struck they fell like a bag of chain, even the big guy. Chloe had to pat herself on the back for her ninja skills, or otherwise she would have also ended up with a dart in the neck.

But that pat on the back was misplaced.

Picasso stood over his hefty prey, assessing his options. Then he looked to where Chloe was near and said, " Ms. Rhodes, I haven't the strength to move this lummox; might you have a few ideas? I will not have these good people witness his neutralizing, so he needs to come along."

Chloe stepped out of the shadows and said, "How did you know?"

He looked at her as though she was just a tad dull and said, "Dearest Chloe; I knew in the same fashion you knew. I also know you can be somewhat dramatic and messy, so I don't want these children going through more than they have. Besides, he is my kill. Do you understand?"

"What have you done with all of them?" She asked. "That's some handy stuff you have there. Are they going to be okay?"

"Oh, yes. They'll be just fine, although they might have a slight headache and have a case of considerable dry mouth along...my dear. Why are you doing that?"

"Doing what?"

"I am sorry, my dear. I see you've endured some considerable head trauma."

There was a time when she took it hard when someone pointed out her, well, blinking condition. When things were calm, she was able to keep it under control and not be so obvious. She'd never be able to entirely equalize the pupils, but that hardly mattered anymore. But when things got exciting for Chloe, that blinking went on and if nobody made an issue of it, she'd never realize it.

There was a time when someone pointing it out could cause an awkward moment, but it was easier for her to dismiss the faux pas with Dr. Picasso and the present situation.

"I'll explain it, if I can, another time," she said. "But for right now, let's get this party started."

The sack of shit weighed more than two hundred and forty pounds (and his wife came in at maybe a buck and a quarter) but they managed. Chloe wasn't a big girl, but she had learned over time how to cope with such a situation. Between the two of them, they simply pushed him out the second floor window and sent him to the ground. From there they carried him together and soon they were on their way.

The good doctor was meticulous, imaginative and certainly a lot of fun. After his patient eventually died (with exceptional drugs, Picasso kept him conscious and shrieking for longer than expected, even with a broken back) Picasso kept digging, looking for the answers and why this guy was such a scumbag.

"These are spiritual questions, doctor," she told him. "This is beyond the physical. You have to know that."

"As above, so below, dearest Chloe."

"Okay, if you say so. But please let me tell you a few things about a few friends of mine."

And so, Dr. Picasso had been an indispensable part of the team ever since.

Changes- They Are a Coming

Dale had found Thomas Godfrey, mostly by accident. Godfrey got a bit sloppy and careless one fine evening and his work ended up on the news. They even got some video of him, although what they had was little more than shadow.

Dale wanted to find him and remove him from the equation, as what Godfrey was doing (although he had no way of knowing) was interfering with Dale's work. Godfrey had a taste for gang hunting. Because Godfrey saw these gangs as among several poxes on humanity, he felt more than happy to remove them from the equation. But good old Tommy didn't just settle for quiet declines in numbers, bringing down one at a time. Instead, he preferred to move in fast and deadly, like some gruesome and bloody superhero.

Thomas was good with a sword. If there weren't too many of his quarry in a crowd, he could dash in and take down the lot of them. He also liked a silenced pistol. He also liked a knife. With a knife he could put down one character, spilling almost no blood, just through a stiletto stab to the brain stem at the base of the skull.

Thomas saw karate fighters in the movies, elite soldiers in the movies, and other highly skilled action stars move in and take down bad guys by the hoards. What he saw he viewed as real or as real as it could get, so over time he strived to make it real. And, by cracky, he pulled it off.

Thomas was extraordinarily fit, talented, and highly skilled in numerous martial arts. He felt he was what Batman was supposed to be, although Thomas was jealous of all the toys. But once one removed the flair and drama, Thomas Godfrey was just another serial killer doing what they do. He was also a rather arrogant prick.

There was a particular gang Dale was watching for a while, largely because they were very, very dirty, running drugs, girls, children and even organs. These bastards were really bad and Dale wanted them taken down, but they possessed a lot of information he required. And then Godfrey swoops in and takes down the bunch, info and all.

Dale saw Godfrey as a loose cannon needing its fuse pulled, but he soon found Godfrey more fascinating than dangerous. Besides, Dale also figured out he may very well not be able to down the guy by himself. So, he wanted to contact Godfrey and offer a place on the team, but it wasn't as though they could just send an email or drop by with some lemonade and a pie. People like Godfrey had to be dealt with in ways similar to handling sedated tigers.

It would require some gestures passed on from the team as a whole.

At first, this was literally done via email, with emails sent from each team member. Dale, Chloe, Picasso, Emily, Ayers and Sands, sent invitations to Godfrey asking if he would like to be a part of something bigger than all of them combined. Their messages weren't any more revealing than that, but they did reveal theirs was an offer he should consider.

Everybody received a reply stating he wasn't a guy who was pleasant with beating around the bush; he requested a public meeting with everyone present and open to who they were. While the only one genuinely comfortable with that was him, he got his way.

At Denny's.

While such cheap food wasn't his idea of a perfect meeting place, it offered a public location without being overly exposing. The restaurant was rather dark in the far corner away from the kitchen, so it was a fairly secluded place for everyone to get acquainted without feeling cornered or set up. And everyone there was more than happy to let Godfrey in on just what they do best.

"We can be who we are and actually be a benefit to society," Picasso said. "This is proof there is a place in the world for people like Chloe."

Chloe looked up from her meal for the first time and nodded.

Dale recalled the meeting could have been better than it was. Godfrey was an arrogant ass and proved good at pissing off Chloe. But he agreed he would join the team on various missions on a case by case basis. If he chose to decline, so be it. His price? He would be allowed to do his thing without concern as long as it didn't interfere with any of the other teammates.

So, as shaky and unpredictable as it was, the team was complete. And despite the level of freak involved, their intentions and abilities made them heroes.

\------

Who Dale Hoskins was and how he got involved with everything was and would remain a mystery to everyone, including Chloe. Chloe didn't appreciate the secrecy as she came to love Dale, but she respected it as it must be hiding something rather awful.

Dale Hoskins was not born a serial killer. He wasn't born with a level of psychopathy as severe as some of the others. He was born an innocent life like so many of the billions upon billions of people before him. But what made him different from most people of the world was that he was brought into the world by two parents intent on creating a sex slave.

The sad truth is that numerous parents are having children with the full intent of creating slaves, even in our modern times. Dale's father was a notorious pimp who operated without resistance on the streets of New York and New Jersey. He worked numerous women and girls, making fantastic money. But many requests over time showed he didn't have enough product to offer and fulfill the numerous requests.

A lot of customers wanted younger. A lot younger. And that was fine by Shane Black, who would be happy to sell whatever people wanted to buy. But getting hold of such product proved daunting, and dangerous, at times, forcing him to rethink some policies and procedures.

He used to simply beat and stomp any whore that ended up pregnant. Allow them to keep it until it showed and then beat them mercilessly in front of the others with some contrived story of misbehavior. That would usually knock the baggage out and life would continue. But occasionally no beating was good enough to shed the problem, so Shane would have to sell that whore one final time. Sometimes they would find the body, but not too often.

But then genius struck! Allow some of the whores to carry to term and, voila, instant whores. There would be no more kidnapping and causing trails or trouble. The police protecting him frowned on him taking the little ones, but they didn't care about those born to him. It was too easy! Sure, they had to be raised and that came with a cost, but it proved worth it. Soon, Shane developed a reputation spanning the globe and people from around the globe paid so nicely.

Some wanted babies and Shane could toss this into a buyer's lap minutes after it showed up. But some wanted older. Old enough to know and be afraid. Old enough to beg and plead.

Dale was born to some bitch named Dahlia Hoskins. Shane never understood why females were named and not merely numbered, but the world was a strange place. Anyway, the filthy thing somehow survived over its first ten years, being the only boy that did so out of the entire stable.

But wow if it didn't make Shane a lot of money! The best money came on the boy's sixth birthday, when a bike gang paid to run a train on Dahlia and beat her to death while forcing him to watch, and then he got his, you know, for his birthday. Oh, those were the good times...

It got to where Shane could easily find some really sick bastards to pay well for little Dale, and the little shit was usually well enough to sell again in just a couple weeks. And then it came in! That one big ticket holder that wanted to be the last one.

"So, what do you want to do to the kid?" Shane asked.

"Let's just say that after I'm done, you won't want him back anytime soon," the mysterious buyer said.

"Yeah? Well, that's gonna cost you. But damn I wish his mother could be here to see that. Seeing the horror in their eyes after someone pays to torture and mutilate their brats makes my day. But all I got was to see him enjoy that moment with her."

"I'll pay whatever you want."

Dale was beyond begging. He wouldn't cry until he had no choice and the pain was too much. But when this latest man picked him up and whispered into his ear, "I'm not going to hurt you, boy. I'm going to try to get you out of here," Dale didn't know what to think.

Dale didn't know what to think for a long time. For years before the arrival of this stranger and then for weeks after all the gunfire was over and they carried him past two of Shane's henchmen. Things were so much of a whirlwind for so many days since he first met the man he would grow to love so much, but Dale Hoskins knew he would go to his grave owing an immense debt of gratitude to Marcus.

Life went from being a daily horror show of misery and pain while surrounded by monsters to a life of training and education, learning the world for what it is and can be. Marcus and a few of his people brought Dale from a boy to a man while educating him, teaching him how to truly cope with people like Shane Black, and by giving him a mission in life only those like Dale could appreciate.

"Do you really think you're ready to do this, Dale?" Marcus asked.

"I couldn't be more ready, Marcus, thanks to you," Dale said.

"It's just that going after Shane Black is going to feel so personal. Your training has gone well and you've exceeded my expectations, but perhaps someone less at home might be better."

"To be honest, Marcus, if I can go after Black and his organization and come out on top, everything else will be that much easier."

Marcus nodded, hesitated, and then pulled Dale in for a hug. "The world can be such an awful place, Dale. You know that as well as anyone. But if there are people who are willing to do what's right, really and truly right, we just might be able to make this world a little better. Shit, I would at least like to make it worse for the evil."

"Doing that is my first order of business, my friend," Dale said. "And you were right in that my reunion with Shane Black will be quite personal."

Marcus pulled back, smiled and said, "Bring the wrath of Hell upon them, my boy. Upon all of them."

"All of them is right," Dale said. "I have every intention of making Satan himself reconsider his place in the scheme of things."

\----

At first, it was just too easy. Dale had come to be a good shot with a small caliber sniper rifle. A small handful of Shane's guys were on the roof of his apartment building. It took Dale some moments to consider the changes that have occurred over time. Rather than skip into some debauched, seething life of alley slithering, Shane Black created a massive meat market right in a manicured section of downtown. The apartment building wasn't all utilized for trafficking forced prostitutes and children, but the top six floors were that exclusively, and several other apartments were occupied for the cause.

Six shots easily dropped the minions. Dale just had to hope nobody else stepped out while he found his way over there. He considered a fired wire line to traverse, but that sort of thing was left to Hollywood and Batman. Such a thing worked okay in a short distance, say, between two adjacent buildings, but Dale had a bit further and he was higher. But then, if he didn't have an option he wouldn't have taken the shots.

He chose his selected roof not because of vantage point alone, but because of wind direction. One daring jump and the quick deployment of a quality parachute and he could simply ride the wind to the chosen rooftop now littered with dead vermin.

Such things worked so well in the movies, but Dale nearly soared into the side of the building. He was just able to keep enough altitude to swing his body horizontal and skid onto the roof, with some fat bastard breaking his fall. Dale remembered the guy; he used to relish in raping Dale harshly. There was no irony with the fatal shot piercing the demon's neck.

A bumpy landing or whatever, so far things were okay. Each of the six targets was in fact dead, so now things were rather downhill from that point.

Almost literally. Dale's mission from there was to work down the floors, taking down the freaks as he went and liberating the captives. It was almost as easy as it sounded, as there wouldn't be anyone on their defensive toes, so to speak; they would be on the young girl or child they paid for. It was really just a matter of quickly break into the small apartment, take down the offender with the silenced pistol and tell the victim to remain there and be quiet.

Dale had several clips for his pistol, a specially designed high powered .177 weapon designed for quiet and minimal damage but stopping power with high velocity. A quick shot to the head or the sternum and it was done. The theory was that he would be able to move from apartment to apartment, quickly and efficiently, removing the problem. But once the game was up, whether by being exposed early or after succeeding entirely, he would go aggressive and seek the boss, Shane Black.

The first apartment entered went well. This creep had this poor girl pinned down over a chair within ten feet of the door. The guy looked up with startled confusion and then, after one shot, fell dead.

"I'm going to get you out of here, but for now you have to stay quiet," Dale told the frightened girl, who appeared petrified. She looked like she might soon be in her teens. "I have more to do, but stay here and be quiet."

For the most part, it went roughly like that for every apartment on that floor, with Dale freeing mostly young girls but also two little boys. The children were frightened but taught to cooperate. If he was able to free them all, he would lead them in a group. If not, he would call the authorities and then cause a ruckus of tremendous proportion. From there, the law would have to free these kids in front of the public.

Dale would have preferred a team, but that wasn't an option. He would work on that someday, should he make it through this one. He still had a way to go.

Dale was actually feeling rather heady once he made it past four more floors and had but one to go. He couldn't believe it was really that simple, but he knew things were a pleasant combination of exquisite training combined with plenty of good, dumb luck. Five floors of just breaking in quietly, tapping out the bad guys and having the children turn to one another for comfort, and nobody was yet the wiser.

But he was far from getting complacent or cocky. In fact, he felt nervous as Hell as this really began feeling like a major setup. Could it be a setup? He's seen action movies where the hero's first mission was a test of mettle, but this was quite real. Forty seven minutes into his first mission and he'd terminated more fuckers than most ever would in three lifetimes.

One floor to go and then an active hunt for Shane Black. Tagging and taking Black was a secondary priority, however. Should he not be taken, letting him know he had better run was number one. Dale had a particular fantasy with how it might go for Shane Black.

Dale moved quickly and quietly through that last floor, keeping an eye out for any sort of trap or problem, needing neither. Most of the cramped apartments were sadly like so many of those prior, but at least the goings were uneventful. There were just four to go and this major aspect of the mission would be complete. But the thing was, that next apartment was not what one might call uneventful.

Dale bypassed the lock quickly and moved in. Right away, this was not what he'd hoped to find. There was blood in quantities he never would have imagined might come from what appeared to be just two victims. He moved with conviction but no hesitation to ensure the place was clear and then he moved closer to determine what might have happened.

Some pudgy and vulgar ass munch was carelessly thrown over who was once likely a very pretty young girl. Dale had to clear his head from the shock of it, but kept focus to check for life signs. He didn't have to look very hard.

The girl seemingly held down by the fat monster on top of her suddenly opened her eyes wide, momentarily shocking Dale in the process. One eye's pupil was hardly noticeable while the other eye's pupil was about the size of a thumb nail. But the shock of that sight was nothing like what happened next.

The girl suddenly became crazy lunatic bitch, kicking the ass wipe's body aside and coming to her feet in a record instant. He did not anticipate one of the buyers being a woman, but it was far from unheard of. But would she pay for, well, that guy?

In nearly no time, his pistol was knocked away and gone from sight while Dale was in a sudden fight for his life as crazy girl pulled a rather large military style knife and came right for him.

"Just so you know before I eat your fucking heart, you son of a bitch, nobody victimizes me ever again."

She had put up a Hell of a fight before he was able to subdue her, thanks to a small Tazer he had. But once he had her down, he told her, "I'm not here after you. I'm here to help you get out of here.

"Look, I've moved through every floor above here and don't have time for this. I have three more rooms to go before somebody catches on. Don't make me put you down."

She began to blink one eye and then the other, with one pinpoint pupil and then one quite large. Big. Small. Big. Small. Both fucking crazy.

"Okay," she said. "I'm here hunting, too. You go do what you do and I'll be on my way."

Dale looked at her, blinking that way but so relaxed, as though this was an everyday thing for her. He certainly didn't trust this crazy thing, but he moved to let her up. Once he was on his feet and moved back, he put up a hand to motion a ceasefire.

"So, you've been freeing the kids and such, huh?" She asked, smiling a rather sweet smile through all the blood all over her. "Do you mind if I tag along for these last three rooms instead of run off? I'd like to see your way of doing things, sexy boy. Your gun went over there."

Dale moved carefully as he retrieved his weapon, intrigued by the girl before him.

"Have you been held here?" He asked.

"No, but my father and a couple uncles used to bring me here or to Mr. Black when they said I needed an attitude adjustment. I have since eaten their hearts. I suppose I have a bad attitude. But today I came on my own. What brings you by? Are you feeling heroic today?"

"I'm here to huff and puff and blow Shane Black's house down. And free some of these victims of I can."

She acted somewhat demure and yet flirty, but she was a lunatic covered in blood. However, she was interesting, quite interesting, to Dale.

"We'd better get moving, then. That guy started to get boring, so boring," she said, smiling and blinking. "But not you. You're lots of fun. Come on, sweetie. I want to see how you huff and puff."

"Please just keep it quiet, okay?" Dale said as he peeked out the door and saw the hallway was clear. "I'm feeling my luck run its course."

While she licked the blood from her hands and arms, she said, "Not mine. Mine just took an uptick."

Dale felt wrong not simply turning and putting this crazy chick down, but he couldn't find the right to do it, either. She had obviously been severely damaged by the place and the freaks involved in her life and that tugged at him, but...she was out there now. He decided he would stick to his plan and do his job, and watch her if she became a liability. If that moment came...

Dale rushed down the hall and quickly bypassed the lock to the closest apartment, placing his ear to the door before entering. Crazy chick put her ear to the wall, leaving a bizarre stain of someone else's blood there. He looked at her as she still blinked, big and little, dot and circle, tiny and huge, and placed a silencing finger to his lips.

She put a bloody finger to a bloody face and pretended to lock those lips and then throw away an imaginary key. Then she gave him a seductive wink and smile.

Not knowing what to think of her, he focused on his entry. He moved in fast, tapping down two targets as soon as he went in. He could hear commotion in the adjacent bedroom, where he heard two men laughing over what was a child's muffled crying. Gritting his teeth, he was about to move in when he heard a "pssssst."

"You get going to the next apartment," she whispered. "I got this. If the child is okay, I'll know what to do."

Dale was about to protest when she smiled and said, "You can trust me."

She had a fascinating smile under all that blood, so Dale decided to go with her suggestion.

He turned to move out, but asked, "What are you going to do?"

"What I do to all those like them, sweetie," she said through a bloody smile. "Become the most horrible thing they've ever experienced before they begin their trek to Hell. Now, you take your cute, little smile on and save the day."

"I have yet to smile today, chick," he said.

"Maybe I can change that later. And I'm Chloe, not chick. Now go."

His going brought him to the next apartment, making him feel glad he had but one to go and his mission would be nearly complete. This was a fairly simple one, with but one elderly man standing over who appeared to be a girl in her late teens, handcuffed to a line from the ceiling fan. Her toes barely touched the floor and she endured several welts and lacerations as the dick was thrashing her with a cat of nine tails. Her eyes suggested she was barely conscious.

The man struggled to raise a card and then said in a heavy accent, "Diplomatic Immunity!"

Dale revoked that with two shots to the neck and one above the bladder. He quickly moved forward and freed the young girl, helping her to a couch as he looked to the bitch gasping from the neck wounds.

"I'm so sorry this happened to you," he told the girl. "But I'm here to help you and get you out of here. Can you understand me?"

She began crying, rather loud, but nodded her head. "Please help me get out of here!"

"That's what I'm going to do, but I need your help, too. Listen to me closely. I have cleared every apartment except the next one over this floor and six floors up. There are victims everywhere needing a lot of help. I want you to call 911 and tell them there has been an attack and there are dead people everywhere along with many hurt children. They'll know the address from the call. Tell them your name and where you are from along with everything else you know, except anything about me. Got that?"

He heard from behind him: "How are you getting Black?"

He turned and saw the girl named Chloe, just dripping with the blood of a thousand monsters, it seemed. The girl with Dale nearly screamed just from the sight of her. He felt anxious to put her down but she gestured a finger indicating wait one moment. She walked past him and out of sight, and then he heard a shower.

A shower? He understood it would soon be a good idea, but, not actually at the...

...the shower didn't run for thirty seconds and a much cleaner and attractive woman came back, dressed the same but dripping wet.

"Okay, go to the next apartment and stop whoever is over there," she said, "and then go after Shane. I'll help all the survivors and catch up with you later."

"Now, how in the hell do you intend to do that?"

She walked up to him and handed him a business card. It was blank but had a phone number written on it. Her pupils were still at odds, but this Chloe was alluring.

"Yeah, I suppose you'll have to catch up with me. Do you think you can handle that, big boy with the nice guns?" she said with a wink and a smile.

"Be by the phone," he said as he rushed out the door and to the next apartment.

Dale made a quick entrance into the next apartment only to see a large woman holding a young boy from behind, with a large kerambit blade to his smooth throat.

"One move and this little prick gets it," she said just before she dug the blade in and severed his throat so deep she nearly took more than half his neck. His eyes were those of intensive terror just before they went dark.

"Oops. I suppose I surrender," she said as she casually raised her hands to about shoulder level.

"I'm not a cop. I'm a hired hitman," he said with a smile as he took aim at her hefty center mass. Her smile faded just as emptied the clip, about a dozen rounds, into her chest, neck and face.

A quick move through the apartment ensured there were no other people there. The mystery girl had everything else, it seemed, and he felt she was at least sincere if not a lunatic, so Dale had the chance to seek out Shane Black.

From there, Dale wasn't sure what exactly to do. If this was a building he once was imprisoned within he would know where Black likely resides. But this was a fairly new acquirement by Black, bought with the blood and tears of the innocent. But in that Dale didn't know exactly what to do, he did have a few educational guesses.

Before his arrival, Dale had done a considerable amount of recon work, around the actual sight and via the available blueprints of the building. So, while he had never actually been inside, the comprehensive virtual tours he enjoyed thanks to today's technology made him feel right at home. Thus, he had a few ideas where dear old Shane might be hiding. Well, not so much as hiding as it could be considered living large in a unique space especially designed by the one who commissioned the construction of the place. That would be Shane.

The floors that should be three, four and five are actually one predominant space with various levels and rooms within it. It could be nicely described by saying this was a luxury home sandwiched between two apartment buildings. The construction was so advanced and avant garde that it should have been featured as a tremendous accomplishment on the part of the architect and construction company, honored in prestigious magazines and such. But that wasn't the case at all. This didn't even make the papers for anything other than some road closings while construction went on.

It wouldn't take a record winning game show contestant to figure out this was something someone wanted kept private. Shane wanted it kept quiet. So quiet, in fact, that his precious space wasn't included on any of the blueprints anyone could find. That was important because should the police need to go in and conduct their line of work, they would be going in blind. In fact, Dale assumed the elevators and stairwells circumvented Shane's secret lair, offering entrance only to those invited.

Neither Dale nor the authorities were invited. Well, Dale wasn't one who was shy about crashing a party, so he rushed down to the sixth floor, thinking he would find a way down to Shane's personal space from there. He knew it wouldn't be obvious or easy and may very well be accessed through one of the sixth floor apartments (which would be a hassle), but some sort of ruckus or diversion just might shake things up enough to open a crack.

Dale already wanted some drama involved, mainly to draw attention to what has been going on upstairs. Expose that and inquiring minds would want to know even more. That would be where his new and mysterious partner would come in. While Dale knew that rescuing the large number of victims would be a daunting task to pull off while being secretive so therefore it has to be secondary, having someone else take the spotlight just might make it all okay. Dale just wished he had some idea about what crazy chick might do in order to succeed.

\------

Once Hunky Boy rushed out the door and was gone, Chloe was left alone with a very frightened young girl. She knew she looked like a nightmare while covered in blood, so rushing in to the shower to wash the fright away might just be the ticket. After that, sheer charisma should be enough to solicit the frightened girl's help to make things happen.

After rushing out there quite wet but a lot cleaner and then sending Mr. Lots of Fun on his way, Chloe rushed to the girl with a calming hand gestured and said, "I know things have been awful and I know my appearance hasn't helped, but please understand that I'm here to help and to get you out of here. But I need your help to make that happen, okay?"

The frightened girl just nodded.

"Okay, I need you to say something," Chloe said. "I need to know I can count on you."

"I'll try, but I just want to go home," the young girl said. "Please help me get out of here!"

Chloe's eyes narrowed and she said, "I already said I get it. But the reason this shit happens so much is because people don't stick together enough. The bad people work well together but the good people don't like to bother with the team. For the time being, I need some team players."

That seemed to help. "What can I do to help?" She asked.

"What's your name, sweetie?"

"Erin. Erin Oldfield."

"Erin, I need your help to get everyone else on this floor out of the building. Once you do that, you and all the others do what you can to tell everyone, the cops, your family, and even the world what has happened here," Chloe said.

"I will," Erin said through her tears. "I'll do what I can to expose these monsters for what they are."

Chloe and Erin rounded up all the victims and survivors on the floor and then Chloe led them to the stairwell. Once they started with the next room, more and more of them moved into team mode and worked to help the others and each other. It was funny how people could be like that, Chloe thought. Too bad they didn't do it enough.

Chloe had everyone in the hallway within minutes, with Erin and a few of the older ones gathering everyone together. They were all scared, hurt, and a few of them required immediate medical attention. There wasn't a one of them whose well being meant anything to anyone there before the hero showed up. But at that moment, they all meant something to each other.

"Okay. Get out of here," Chloe said. "Try to find a way to be happy someday."

She left them with Erin leading them down the stairwell. They were clearly miserable and so frightened, but surely on the way to bring free again. Chloe rushed up to the next floor, finding several of the victims left there peering from the apartment doorways and a few of them actually out into the hallway. But the moment she came into their sight, they disappeared from hers.

"Children, I'm here to help you get out of here. It's safe now," she said. "But I'm going to need your help and cooperation if we're all getting out safely."

After that, frightened eyes peered once again from the doorways. Chloe examined them to see who might be among the older and more able. One young man, looking like he might be about twelve, caught her eye as did a young girl likely in her mid teens.

She gestured towards the boy and said, "Please, I need your help here. Yours, too, if you would," she said to the girl.

The boy slowly entered the hall, frightened and clearly in pain. Judging from the blood that's run down his legs, he's been raped.

"I know you've been hurt and I'm sorry, but it's time to get out of here and get help," Chloe said to him. "Do you think you could help me?"

"I don't know what you want me to do."

"What's your name?"

"Jeremy," he said, looking as though he might regret doing so.

"Jeremy, there are four more floors above us, each of which has had this insanity going on. I need someone to go to those floors and tell those like yourselves that they need to gather and flee down the stairwell."

"What can I do?" The young girl asked.

"You are?"

"My name is Chloe."

Chloe smiled and said, "Sweetheart, my name is also Chloe. Chloe, would you help gather up everyone here and move down the stairwell? There are others already moving down and will be contacting the authorities. Then once you're out of here, tell everyone who will listen what has happened here and tell them who has been doing these things. Tell everyone everything."

Two other young girls looking like they were in their teens came forward. "Can we do something?"

It wasn't but a short time later and Chloe had accomplished her mission. All the victims (that survived) were moving down and out of there. She felt good about that.

And then she heard someone call out for help.

Chloe narrowed her eyes, recognizing the voice was not that of a child, but someone likely a lot older. She looked around the door to see a pathetic man wearing nothing but a sleeveless undershirt and a badly done Dragon tattoo on one calf, lying there on his back while trying to hold his entrails in place.

Without being conscious of it, one of her pupils dilated out to enormous proportions while the other reduced to a near microscopic size. But Chloe was quite conscious of the smile spreading across her face.

"I'm here to help," she said. "I'm here to make it all better."

As she said that, she had a small paring knife in hand, cutting one of his eyes out while he screamed. Once she had it in hand, she gently clenched it between her teeth so this wretched fuck could watch himself being scourged.

She just might have enough time to seek and cope with at least one or two more survivors before hunky guy got the attention of the city.

\-----

Dale was sure he was on the right track to locating Shane's secret lair. It was just a matter of finding the right crack, the mysterious draft, the seemingly out of place this or that. That sorry bastard had to have a way in, and out, so there has to be...

He noticed the interior space Shane had built for himself was largely intended to be secretive and relatively inaccessible to the average person. But it wasn't like it was virtually invisible from the outside, was it? The stairwells and elevators run along shafts that are built away from the building's center and main construct, so they essentially circumvent any aspect of the main structure. They were almost an afterthought.

But it couldn't be that Shane's space was some sort of cave, right? He would have windows, spacious rooms and modern amenities, and would likely be able to entertain VIP's when he desired.

But it wasn't like he hadn't done his homework. Dale knew when he entered the building that bypassing Shane's security would be a daunting task. The first priority was to shut down operations on the upper floors and make it known. With the crazy girl up there (he hoped she didn't kill all the victims, doubting that was her style) on the job, he was concerned she would draw the attention of the city instead of just send all the freed down.

But there was a timer on this. If the wrong bunch catches those kids first, they could be corralled back into the fold. He needed the authorities out and on the job, but how? How indeed was a question until he heard what had to be a good dozen sirens coming in. Dale pulled his phone out to watch for any sudden local breaking news popping up on the app.

There was. The entire upper structure of the building was on fire. There might be six or more floors engulfed in flames. He had to hope she was good enough to get those kids out before she did that. He didn't know why, but his instincts said she did. She was crazy, but a cool crazy.

As the cacophony picked up, he looked at the number she gave him and whispered, "Who are you?"

He really wanted to know who she is (and was sure he would find out) but at that moment he had bigger fish to fry. Shane Black couldn't be far away, but if he suspected foul play having anything to do with his new situation, he just might flee into obscurity, at least for a while. That would suck for more than one reason.

But all the excitement just might expose a chink in the secret lair armor, so Dale kept his eyes and wits focused on what was going on. How would Shane move in and out from the central suites? They were elaborately designed, which was known through what blueprints could be obtained, but these blueprints were intentionally vague, not exposing the entrance and such. So, if he had to, where would Dale fill in the gaps? Where would those entrances actually be located?

Making an educated guess, Dale moved into the rear service staircase. While it was narrower than the primary stairwell and well away from the elevator, it just might provide an idea or, better yet, expose Shane's inner world to someone wanting back in after a considerable absence.

Dale moved slowly, knowing his liberated friends should now be occupying the primary stairwell. While he was sure there wouldn't be an obvious doorway, there might be something giving away something secret.

Like three assholes leaving through a moving wall.

Dale fell back to the shadows while these three fled downward.

"I don't care if the President himself is responsible for this; I want his goddamned head on a stick and presented to me next to a bottle of wine."

Hearing the voice of Shane Black sent so many emotions surging through Dale, but he knew he had to maintain if this was going to go just how it should. He could rush down and cap all three of those guys, surely taking Black and two of his lieutenants with him. But Dale was after more than just blood and he was confident that secret suite held the key.

But who held the key to the suite? Would a key be required?

Once those three were gone and out of sight, Dale moved to where they entered the staircase. Whoever designed this was clever, but not so clever as to ensure some clever bypassing wouldn't allow unwanted visitors. One must suppose they convinced themselves they'd never have to worry about it. Silly fools.

Just as that evil three went out of sight, Dale looked over the hidden doorway they'd just come through. There wasn't any sort of obvious door knob or leave to twist or pull, so just how was it done? He was pretty sure the door opened inward, but it wasn't as though he could simply push it. He had tried and there wasn't even so much as a budge. It could be there was no entering through this door, only coming through from the other side.

"Well...shit."

Dale felt so close yet so far off, because he found the door only because they made it so evident to him. If they were all like that, he wasn't sure what he was going to...

He could hear someone coming back up the stairs, and a quick glance revealed it was one of the lieutenants or whatever he was that went down with Black.

"I'll grab it really quick, Mr. Black. It won't take but a moment."

Then suddenly, the door opened. Just as Dale was going to move up and out of sight, the door opened, likely via some sort of remote control. So rather than move away from the door, he dashed through just as there was enough space. He looked around quickly, making sure he didn't just surprise someone with his dramatic entrance, even if it was someone there against their will. He saw nobody so he simply moved around a corner and held still in the shadows. The trouble was he didn't know where this coming minion needed to go.

The immediate space revealed what appeared to be a spacious office setting, so hopefully whatever this bitch wanted, he would find it there. Dale knew this suite was big, roomy and luxuriant. He hoped this ass munch would get what he came for and leave Dale to, well, get what he came for.

While hidden, he watched Black's henchman scrounge around the desk where there was a considerably complex computer system in place. Dale bit his tongue, hoping the guy wouldn't grab some sort of thumb drive or shut down the computer. But it turned out all that he did was grab a tablet, like an iPad, and promptly leave through the way he came in.

Dale's eyes narrowed, making him feel rather inadequate for losing the chance to cut that bastard's throat. But his primary target was right there before him.

Before he did anything else, Dale moved quickly throughout the suite, taking photos and making notes of what was there. From the inside, the entrances were obvious, which made sense. Shane's bedroom was glorious, except for the shackles and chains along the walls. Closer inspection revealed these have all seen use and were all tainted with innocent blood.

"I cannot wait to kill you slow, Shane Black."

The kitchen was elaborate enough to serve a restaurant accommodating fifty guests, and the dining room was something seen in the first lifestyle magazine. Clearly, one can live an extraordinary life through peddling one's own kind to one's own kind. But to live that life, money is required.

After assessing what was there and ensuring he was alone, Dale quickly moved to perform the most important task of the day. A task that Marcus ensured his student could perform as well as anything spilling blood. Dale sat down before the computer and prepared to change some lives, including his own.

He inserted a flash drive of his own, installing a spyware that would instantaneously open everything the computer contained and had access to via the internet. Once he worked past all the firewalls installed to prevent such an invasion, Dale wasted no time in transferring every single dollar and account he could find to various offshore accounts in Switzerland, the Bahamas, Costa Rica, Russia, and a few cloaked accounts in various U.S. financial institutions.

If the point of the mission isn't obvious yet, the idea is to render Shane Black entirely penniless except for any cash he had on him. Money is power and power demands finance. So, once Shane Black was suitably broke, it was a good time to send just about every record and document Shane Black stupidly kept regarding his profitable but purely evil affairs to the ever curious FBI.

The dumb fuck actually kept photos, videos, documents, and clear proof of what he had been doing for nearly twenty years. It isn't likely he was doing that from the start, but he clearly reached a point where he was sure he was untouchable. It didn't take long for Dale to discover Shane had a few cops and elected officials on his payroll and even more watching his back (one can't help but to wonder about the fees and compensation), causing him to smile when he thought of how interested the FBI might be when they're clued in.

The entire process required about twenty minutes and Dale was more than grateful to Shane and his people to allow him to do his job without difficulty or hassle.

But once he was done, the time to get out had arrived. From this point, he had accomplished too much to place things at jeopardy by lingering. Dale infused a software chomping virus into the computer system, causing it to send every aspect and bit of data contained on the computer system to the FBI and then encrypt the data so that it would be inaccessible from this end.

Before leaving the building, Dale did one more quick sweep of Shane's suite before leaving, but before he stepped out, he wrote on the wall above Shane's bed, with ketchup of all things, this was for my Mom. The sweep of the place brought Dale nothing except one minor treasure. Dale found a photo of Shane Black with a very unexpected yet prominent Hollywood icon.

There was one certain action hero who was going to offer some considerable cooperation very, very soon.

Sharing Intimate Memories over Bacon

Dale wasted no more time in getting out of and away from there. He was suddenly worth literally tens of millions more than he was after he soared onto the roof, and that would be after giving Marcus his cut.

Marcus didn't demand a cut, but they both knew Dale would be moving on after this adventure. That was demanded. But Dale said he would transfer a healthy sum to Marcus so he could either retire or train another soldier. Marcus didn't specify what he would do.

"All I ask you do is make a positive change, my boy," Marcus said. "You were born of such evil, so now make it your mission to betray that evil at every opportunity. You were literally created for the purpose of sinister perversion, so go forward crushing that at every level.

"Aside from that, know that I will always love you, but I just ask that we forever part ways."

That wasn't easy for Dale, since there was no other that ever cared for or about him. He always felt his mother might have if given the chance, but she knew he was forced upon her only for the profit of Shane Black.

So, how delicious it was that Dale literally took ownership of virtually everything Shane Black owned. He walked away from Shane's refuge of evil, literally leaving it in flames and with all those held there being taken in and questioned by the authorities. Those who have paid Shane, protected him and partnered with him are soon to be the focus of the FBI.

Dale walked away from the Frankenstein that created him, suddenly a powerful monster hunting monsters wherever they hide. Feeling more than prepared to pursue his mission in life, he felt like celebrating. He pulled out his phone and made a call.

After two rings, he heard, "Yes, who is this?"

"The big bad wolf that just blew a bad house down. The question is, who are you?"

"Why, hello there, Hunky Guy! You were a lot of fun tonight. I had a lot of fun with a few others, too. I suppose I should tell you my name is Chloe. Chloe Rhodes."

Dale stopped where he was and took a knee. His hand went to his head and he caught his breath. Chloe Rhodes required no introduction.

Anyone who has some understanding of psychopathic killers on the loose is familiar with the story of Chloe Rhodes. She is well known as one of the most notorious and vicious serial killers who has ever lived. She was made famous when she escaped capture by imitating a scene she saw in the movie, Silence of the Lambs. Hannibal Lecter cut off a man's face to take his identity and gain escape. Chloe once emptied out a man's hefty body and got into it to gain escape, so the story goes. She then killed that man's wife and parents while wearing his body. They way she did that caused nightmares in people who merely studied the case.

She's a lunatic beyond measure.

"You still there, sweetie?"

"Yes, yes, I'm still here. I'm just not sure what you want from me."

"In case you need reminding, you called me," she said. "To what do I owe the pleasure of the call?"

"I'm not sure why I called, so perhaps I should say I'm sorry and good night. I'm sorry I bothered you."

"Before you hang up, sweetheart, why don't you take a chance and get to know me better? I know I can make it worth your while."

The way she said that made it sound so enticing, so if he didn't know who she was, he would be enticed. But...

He continued walking, thinking about the Pandora's Box he just opened. If there was one thing for sure, he would have to replace the phone in his hand. What he wasn't sure about was how he felt about the overall situation. If he knew that was Chloe Rhodes when he saw her, he would have put her down instantly. But he didn't on either point. The thing was, because he didn't know her from anyone else, the vibe he got from her was, well, enticing. She was capable and alluring, and he was sure she helped those kids. Further, he called because he wanted to know more. He wanted to get to know the mystery girl better.

That is why he called.

"Okay, as long as we can meet somewhere public. Where do you suggest?"

"Why don't you take me to dinner like any good gentleman," she said. "I can tell you I really like Denny's."

"You want dinner from Denny's?"

"There's a Denny's at the corner of Cleveland and Elm, across from the Borders. How about that? Nine o'clock tonight okay?"

"Yes, but I want to make sure I understand you right. You really want to go to Denny's?"

"Just so you know, I really, really like to eat at Denny's," she said, sounding firm.

"Denny's it is, my lady," he said. "I look forward to seeing you at nine o'clock."

While Denny's seemed a bit odd of a choice, Chloe Rhodes was known to be off the beaten trail. In fact, as he walked away from the disaster falling all around Shane Black and his world, he couldn't help but to wonder what it was he was thinking when it came to her.

But she would be the concern of later that night. First, he wanted to get back to his apartment and his computer systems. The surge of adrenaline returned when he thought of how the mission had gone, what with numerous scumbags down and literally millions of dollars gained along with several victims freed. It was a good day on the job.

That was the main point, wasn't it? Was this how Dale Hoskins would pursue his future well into the unforeseen future? While he knew he wouldn't gain that much money all too often, he did know one thing. There were plenty of these exploiters and traffickers to keep him busy. And with that in mind, he had found an unlikely accomplice along the way.

Could he actually think he could work with crazy chick in the future? She was certainly helpful with this particular situation and it was significant. They say you always remember your first time and she was a big part of that. Well, it was just dinner and it was in public. It wasn't like he didn't have the money for Denny's. Hey, they always have great bacon.

Dale moved fast and made it back to his apartment quickly. He turned on the TV to the local news and saw he made the news everywhere. Helicopters over the complex revealed bodies on the roof and further investigation revealed plenty more. The best part of it was the news was all over the issue with the victims.

Apparently they caught the right people and their attention because the city chief of police was telling how the place has long been suspected as a den of sin and crime and this blew the lid from his investigation. Dale knew that was a lie and that this bastard was on Shane's payroll. The FBI now knew it, too. There was no longer a reason for concern; his job was done and he had succeeded.

He sat down before his computer, which was connected to everything state of the art thanks to Marcus, in order to verify the transfers were successful and secure. It was possible Shane had a hidden security backup in place that would reverse all transactions after about an hour. Shane found no indication of that, seeing he was now more than fifteen million dollars richer than he was the last time he showered, which was just before he went to work.

Before leaving his station and getting into the shower, Dale took a moment and wrote a check for an amount far exceeding any amount he'd ever written before.

After getting cleaned up and dressed well, quite well for the likes of Denny's, Dale slipped the check into his pocket. Because the trail he had created was still quite fresh despite how perfectly he had covered it, Dale made sure everything was more than perfectly secure before he left and made his way to a date with a very peculiar angel.

He looked at his aging jeep and quickly realized it would need replacing. He loved it and it was more than reliable as well as capable, but his situation just took an upgrade. But the old beast would do for the time being. He fired her up and to the fastest route to Denny's.

It didn't take long for him to get there. He looked at his watch and saw he was nearly a half hour early. Then he was startled by a knock on his passenger door.

"You're early, lover. You hungry?"

Because it was clear she wasn't a threat to him, at least not yet, Dale forced himself to calm down.

"I have managed to work up a bit of an appetite," Dale said with a smile. "It's good to see you again, Chloe, and if I can say so, you look exquisite."

She did look exquisite. Chloe was a remarkably beautiful woman, tall and shapely with a subtle auburn color to her hair, and makeup looking as though a team of professionals took their time to apply it. The way she was dressed caught his eye the most, since she was dressed quite professionally rather than provocative. She looked stunning but as though she was leading a crack legal team rather than on a date.

He could see through her rose colored glasses that she still dealt with her issue of unmatched pupils and she tried to minimize if not hide it behind the shades.

"As do you. You clean up very nice. They say every girl's crazy about a sharp dressed man. Well, as for me, they say I'm just plain crazy."

"Just plain crazy? My dear, you're famous for being one of the most notorious psychopathic serial killers still on the loose. I've seen two hour special reports covering your escapades, love. But I'm being rude; my name is Dale and I'm glad to finally be properly introduced."

He gestured to the restaurant and said, "How about you, my dear? Could I interest you in what's on the menu?"

"We'll enjoy Denny's for a while and get to know each other, and then later you can let me know what's on your menu."

As they walked across the street to the restaurant, he said, "You come across as the sort of girl who likes to get what she wants. How am I doing so far?"

"You have to realize, Dale, that there's more to me than meets the eye, and that I am far from predictable. I can say a few things they say about me are true, but they have never once said why," Chloe said. "I've never once heard a single calorie expended to understand what makes me tick."

"Well, then I want to know that most of all," he said.

"It isn't the most entertaining of tales, but it is what it is," she said. She took his arm and said, "I'm sure you know they serve breakfast all day. I just love their omelets, you should know. Do you like mushrooms?"

"With a good steak, particularly," he said.

They walked together to the restaurant, both of them keeping a close eye on their surroundings. Dale had just left a very warm and dramatic trail behind him regardless of how he worked to hide it, and her trail was the stuff of legends. Regardless, they seemed to catch no attention other than a trace glance at Chloe's legs.

"Hi there. Just the two of you dining today?"

"That's right. Could we get a table instead of a booth should one be available?" She asked.

"Certainly. Right this way, please."

The two of them found a suitable table near the rear of the restaurant, in a rather dim area compared to some other tables directly under a glaring light. After ordering some coffee for them both while perusing the menu, they both looked over one another while actually feeling more comfortable with the whole idea.

"I can't help but to think you really put yourself at risk by letting me know who you are," Dale said. "Is that something you do often, or is it a case of two can keep a secret if one is dead?"

She smiled and said, "I have never done that before, to be honest. But I get a strong feeling that you're the sort who would be okay with me. You took down several of those guys like a trained pro, even though I get the notion you haven't been at it for very long. But you seem to have a taste for eliminating the bad apples from the big cart.

"Overall, I sense a kinship, or a similar bird of a feather. I can say you're taking quite the risk for trusting me. Now, why would you do that, giving what you know about me?"

"Up there in those apartments you gave me a feeling you were on my side. You freaked me out at first, but you were leaving the innocents alone while taking down the trash. From there, as best as I can tell, you truly helped those in need," Dale said.

After a pause, he said, "Okay, so we're cool with one another. But I have to tell you that I'm more than intrigued with how you came to be the Chloe you are today. I can't help but to ask, what the Hell happened?"

Chloe's response was delayed by the arrival of the waitress who said, in a marked southern accent, "Hey there, folks. How are you today?"

"Fine, thank you. And you?"

"I'm good, I'm good. What can I get for y'all today?"

They both ordered, with the theme of the meal being breakfast even at that time of the day (her idea), along with plenty of mushrooms and bacon. The nice waitress topped off their coffee and promised a swift return. From there, Chloe took over.

"I'm more than happy to convey my history to you, but I ask the gentleman to take the initiative and provide his side of the story," she said. "I want to know what it is that brought us together."

It took a moment for Dale to put his mind in the right place and place those buried memories and images on the table between them, but once he started from the beginning and let the information fly, they were well done with their meal and even an indulgent dessert before he even made it to the part where Marcus came into his life. He could tell from the expression on Chloe's face throughout his confession that she gave her full attention to his exceptional story, and that she harbored an understanding where most would feel horror.

"So, my first official mission after all my training and education brought me to that little piggy's house in the sky, so I could blow it down. And then, to add some icing to that delectable cake, you were there. And there's even more."

"There's more? Wow, what could you add to this grand adventure?"

"Removing from the equation people like Shane Black is going to be my mission in life, but such a mission requires a method of financing. Marcus is a remarkable man and truly a hero, but he could never do that. But Shane Black could, and he is going to."

He told her a quick and hinting tale of how he cleaned out Shane and is now in possession of his wealth.

"That's exciting, lover. Might I inquire as to the amount you acquired?"

"In time, my dear. But please understand that I would like to get to know you better, a lot better, and build a trusting relationship," he said.

"Wow, this is just our second date and already you want a commitment," she said with a smile. "But you certainly have my attention. So, you would like my side of the story, would you?"

"I'm on the edge of this seat."

"Well, lover. You might want to strap in for this."

\---------

Chloe Rhodes was the single child of a low rent prostitute who conducted business in a ratty trailer park just north of Jackson, Mississippi. Clair Rhodes never wanted kids, but a friend in the business told her some men pay good for a little fresh one.

It didn't seem like a bad idea. Charlie and Sandra McCauley, in trailer 4127, have three kids, two girls and one boy, they trick out for rent and good smoke, so there's certainly good business there. Clair usually drags out any potential brats, but decided to let one through just to see how it might work out.

Almost nobody wanted the little shit through her first year. There were a few takers on occasion, but not enough to call real money. But once little Chloe was a toddler and could scream, beg and even try to run, commerce picked up.

It did reach a point, however, where Claire had to meter what was going on, since most of these customers had a thing for hurting, really hurting, little Chloe. There were times when nobody wanted her until she healed up some and regained some level of consciousness.

Things weren't working out the way Claire hoped they would. She eventually sold Chloe to an anxious buyer for six hundred dollars and a pretty glass bong. It looked like a unicorn, sort of.

Richard Turner bought Chloe to raise as his own sex slave. A handful of his friends all had one, making him feel left out. When he went to Joe's to pay poker, his seven year old slave had to do everyone while they played. It was downright awesome.

Up until the age of eleven, Chloe Rhodes knew nothing but life as a sex and stomp toy. She didn't talk well, or much, during the years Turner kept her as his own vessel of relief, but there was a historic moment of change one wonderful day. Turner raised and trained fighting dogs as a hobby that was passed on down from his pa and granddad.

He was growing concerned that Chloe would eventually be a liability as she grew older, so he thought it would be a good idea to rail her real good one last time and then throw her into the training pit. She'd be nothing but ribbons and he'd just sell a couple of dogs to get the money for a new slave.

He probably shouldn't have drunk as much Southern Comfort as he did before attempting that.

Turner went into the pit and then to ribbons while young Chloe watched from the edge of the pit. It was certainly a poignant moment and a wonderful lesson learned. When it comes to those who hurt others, you merely ravage their body while they scream, tearing them up while they beg and plead for the mercy they would never show.

Chloe never really had the need to write that down. She caught on the first time with no trouble at all.

Two of Turner 's buddies were supposed to drop by a bit later and have a good time doubling down on his squealing slave (stupid Turner forgot that after a few nips from the bottle), so little Chloe waited for them while rocking on the swing on the front porch.

With Turner 's crossbow in hand.

It took some doing to figure it out, but she's seen Turner use it enough on the substandard dogs, so it was just a matter of try and try again. The constant kicks and punches to the head caused a concussion severe enough to cost little Chloe proper eyesight (her pupils would never equalize, ever) and some cognizant thought, but she learned that the more you tried the better the results. She got that thing cocked and ready, so she simply waited while enjoying herself to the fridge and everything in it.

Bob and Will showed up within the hour, calling Chloe's name.

"Hey, Chloe! Get out here and get what you got coming, bitch!"

Will looked to Bob while grabbing his crotch with a laugh. But that giggle turned to screams when a crossbow bolt pinned his hand to his suddenly pierced Scrotum. Bob stood there and watched while Will dropped to the packed dirt like a sack of chain, not catching on that what he should have done was run for his life. But it didn't really matter, as another bolt drove right through his thigh and placed him on the ground with his foolish partner.

They looked at one another with horror as they heard a chainsaw roar to life and then saw Chloe skipping their way. Will tried to get to his feet and run, but that well maintained chainsaw zipped through his thigh with no difficulty.

The awe and splendor of a change in authority inspired little Chloe. She had endured countless beatings and brutal rapes, and she had been forced to watch the heinous killings of innumerable dogs and who knows how many kidnapped toddlers that weren't reported missing until after they were dead. She went through years of thinking those who were in charge were to be as sadistic and evil as possible, and she had years of exquisite training.

She got to enjoy two fun views as she blinked from one eye to the other while she watched the fun saw tear those guys apart. Bright. Dim. Bright. Dim. Nickel. Pinpoint. After they stopped moving, she felt her head and thought the soft and crunchy spots just might get better one day.

She skipped back onto the porch and reloaded the crossbow and then retrieved the little revolver from the kitchen counter. She put it outside by the crossbow and then went back to helping herself in the kitchen. Little Chloe Rhodes didn't know this particular detail at the time and never would, but things took an abrupt and positive turn on her eleventh birthday.

She turned up the radio and liked hearing the songs on the radio. She didn't know it then, but the fun song playing was a little diddy by Led Zeppelin called Four Sticks. It didn't matter, though. Bob and Will drove a big truck Chloe was sure she couldn't drive on her own, but the day was Thursday, and that meant Pastor Robbins would be coming along soon to have his hour with little Chloe. He drove a little car.

When Pastor Robbins showed up, the hour they would have together would be very different from the hour they shared just a week ago. This time, he would be slapped and spanked for every time he made a gagging sound. With the pretty black hatchet Turner kept for the dogs.

Later on, after spending more than two hours listening to the good pastor beg and plead before she removed his head, Chloe didn't know where to go in the little car. She had been in town on a few occasions when Turner made her go and didn't leave her tied up and dangling by the rope over the mean jumping dogs, but she had never been out of his truck.

For the first time in several years, little Chloe smiled. She really smiled. This thing of being on the top of things, being the one who caused the hurt, was a lot more fun than all the pain and agony she's tolerated throughout her life. She managed to get the car started and moving away from where she had been enslaved for so long, feeling free and recognizing freedom costs the blood of those out to hurt you. That was a price she would be happy to pay.

But once she got the car into town, she quickly recognized she had no idea of what to do. She didn't know where to go or who to turn to. Chloe had never had anyone to turn to in her life. But she did see that the former pastor and owner of the car had a few business cards with the picture of a church right on them. And after managing to negotiate the car through the streets without drawing the attention of local law enforcement, Chloe found the very church that matched the picture on those cards.

Chloe Rhodes simply didn't fathom or comprehend how the church would seem to pose a threat, what with it being from where Pastor Robbins originated. Most others would avoid it and anything like it for virtually forever. But for little damaged Chloe, the church looked like something she had seen before (which she did; on the business cards in the stolen Mazda) so she gravitated to something that demonstrated familiarity and therefore a potential for safety.

Through either serendipity or just dumb luck, Chloe parked the little car in the designated parking space of the vulgar pedophile she had just killed and dismembered a couple hours before. She put the car there, shut it down and then stepped onto the sidewalk in front of the church, and then stood there and stared at the building, afraid to do anything else.

After a couple hours had passed, Chloe was feeling the effects of what was a rather long and eventful day. In truth, she hadn't had any water since the afternoon before and had not had anything to eat since the beginning of the weekend. Will and Bob had a fondness for savagely raping her anally but disliked any debris other than blood clots. They found that unsavory and would brutally beat her after making her lick them clean if there was the slightest sign of feces, so Turner simply starved her when necessary.

It couldn't have been much more than a matter of minutes when Rachel Salisbury run out the front door of the church and collected up Chloe's emaciated and filthy body to bring her in and help her.

Joined to be the Monsters of Monsters

Rachel Salisbury quickly rushed the horrible looking little girl into the church. She was unconscious and obviously in very poor health. Holding the poor thing in her arms made it clear the wretched thing was barely skin and bones.

"Nancy. Nancy, for the love of God, please help me here," Rachel said as she rushed in with the child.

Nancy Reynolds came to see what the concern was and nearly fell over from what she saw. She rushed her hands to her mouth and leaned against the wall to steady herself.

"Dear Lord, have mercy on us all," she finally managed to say. "Where did you find this poor little soul?"

"This poor creature was on the sidewalk out there, nearby Pastor Robbins' car," Rachel said. "Where has he gone? Have you seen him?"

"I never did see him come back into the church. I haven't even heard him," Nancy said. "You do what you can for this poor girl and I'll see if I can find him somewhere around here."

Nancy was gone and out of sight, leaving Rachel alone with the child. Luckily for the little girl, Rachel had received a significant amount of medical training before she dedicated her life to the church. She saw the girl was far too underweight and badly dehydrated, so she quickly brought the girl to Pastor Robbins' office, where there was a small cot. Pastor Robbins, thanks to his dedication to the cloth, often worked day and night doing God's work.

"Sweetheart, can you hear me?" Rachel asked as she gently patted the child's hand. "Darling, can you tell me if you're okay?"

Chloe shrunk away from the strange woman the instant she saw her, for more than one reason. First of all, Chloe has not seen many women in the past few years and those she has seen were more than cruel.

"Sweetie, sweetie. It's okay," the woman said, showing a nice and endearing expression. Usually, that expression is followed by advice for Chloe to go to a happy place in her mind and that the pain is almost surely far worse than the actual injuries sure to come. "I just want to help you, sweetheart. What's your name?"

In a frightened and tiny voice, Chloe said, "Stupid Whore."

The woman blinked. Twice. "What? No. Honey, what is your name? Dear God. Who told you to say such a thing?"

"Master Big Cock says my name is forevermore Stupid Whore. But before he bought me, it was Chloe Rhodes. Who owns you?"

The woman took a step back, rushed her hands over her mouth and then started tearing up. She then came close, showing concern and said, "Please, Chloe. How did you get here?"

Another woman stepped into the room and said, "I can't seem to find him anywhere. How are you, you poor thing?"

"Chloe, please think. Nobody here will hurt you and nobody is going to hurt you anymore. My name is Rachel and I only want to help. Now, how did you get here?"

"The Punisher's little purple car that starts with M. He isn't going to punish me anymore. Will I be allowed to have water today?"

The other woman cried out and her hands covered her face. "I knew it, Rachel. Those won't rumors or lies and everyone knew it. They sent him here knowing full well that he-"

"Not now, Nancy." Rachel looked back to Chloe and said, "Did he drive you here?"

"No. He won't be driving anything anymore. I drove the car and saw this place looked like the one on the little card, so I came here. Can I have water today? How many more days before I can have something to eat?"

That had Rachel sitting back with her hands over her face. She could only imagine what the child has endured. But she wanted to be strong, so she said, "Chloe, there were people who took advantage of you and hurt you, but that isn't happening anymore. We only want to help, and..."

"Nancy, would you please get me my lunch from the fridge, and at least two bottles of water," she said after seeing the imploring look in the child's eyes.

"Yes, you get to drink and eat today. If I have my way, you'll never be in want again. Nancy is going to get some food and water. Now, sweetie, please tell me what you can about what has been happening to you."

Chloe only offered bits of information at first, such as admission about the four Punishers she killed that day, but once she started putting some water and then food into her belly, she opened up with more about what she knew and had heard in her life. She knew she was created to be a sex slave and that was all she had been, but she never knew why it has to include so much hurt and meanness. Turner and his mean friends always wanted to hurt as well as use, and Pastor Robbins always made sure she knew how evil she was.

About an hour after Chloe finished eating and confessing, Rachel couldn't take it anymore.

"All right, Chloe. I think I've had enough of my opinion of humanity shattered for one day. But I need you to know I only want to help, and that goes for Nancy, too.

"What would you say to spending some time with me until we can figure out what's happening," Rachel said. "I can promise you that nobody will hurt you and that everyone you meet will only do what they can to help you." Rachel came closer while taking Chloe's hand and said, "Nobody is hurting you, anymore. It's time you know what it's like to be loved for a while. Okay?"

Not knowing what else to say, Chloe said, "Okay."

They left there a bit later, after Chloe overheard Rachel and Nancy talking about calling the police and seeing doctors. Rachel assured Chloe those people would only want to help and, like she said, nobody is hurting her anymore. While driving, Rachel said, "The first order of business is putting some meat on your bones."

"Turner and his friends said they like dancing on my bones," Chloe said. "It's nice to know they won't be doing that anytime soon. I'm sorry, but I think I'm hungry again."

"I don't doubt that, dear," Rachel said. "You have some making up to do. And I can see the bright sunshine is bothering your eyes. Looking at your pupils, I can see some signs of concussion. Did they hit you a lot?"

"No, not much. They usually kicked and stomped on me. That seemed a lot funnier."

"Dear Lord, give me strength," Rachel said. Rachel then passed to Chloe some nice sunglasses and said, "Put those on and see if it helps some."

Rachel had to show her how it was done, but once she had them on, she smiled.

"If you're hungry, let's go in here and get something," Rachel said as she pulled into a parking lot. "It's usually quiet and the lights are low, and the food is really good."

"What is this place?"

"It's just a Denny's, but I think you'll like the food, especially if you're hungry," Rachel said. "Like I said; these are often rather dim and cozy, which might ease the strain on your eyes. But best of all, the food is rich and might stick with you better than my BLT."

What Rachel couldn't see was that little Chloe was pinging in her head, almost frantic from waiting for some boot to drop. People have been very nice in the past, often for quite a few minutes and then say something like, "I know! Let's play a real fun game!"

Those games have resulted in horrible nightmares, weird feelings in her head and body, and a loss of several days to what she didn't know was a minor coma. She once found out Turner hired her out to a gang that raped her comatose body repeatedly for days, loving that she just wouldn't die. Because she didn't remember any of it, she asked for more of that. While Turner only beat her a little bit for making a request, they did try to repeat the process. Despite some valiant efforts, they never could quite get it right. She was glad they eventually stopped trying. Thus, the pupils.

But Rachel felt different. There didn't seem to be a rope about to go taut. Someone actually being kind was considerably foreign to Chloe, but was it foreign to absolutely everyone? Rachel parked at the place she called Denny's and they went inside.

It was somewhat dark and easier on the eyes. There weren't many people in there and, as it turned out, the food was astonishing. Chloe relaxed, actually relaxed some, feeling things might be turning around. Then she felt something and went suddenly quiet.

Rachel asked her, "Sweetie, are you okay?"

Chloe had to go to the bathroom. That was never a good thing when Turner was around. He would want to hurt her or worse. He has made her eat or drink what was there.

"Need the restroom, sweetie?"

She just nodded, hating how it all had to come to an end this way.

"You don't have to be shy with me, Chloe. Do you want me to bring you to the restroom? It's right over there."

Chloe looked to her with such gratitude and thanks that it puzzled Rachel for a moment. Then Rachel's face softened and she asked, "They even made you having to go to the bathroom awful, didn't they?"

Chloe just nodded again.

Rachel patted her hand and said, "Not anymore."

Still on the partial high of taking charge and making the hurt, Chloe moved with confidence to the restroom, with a knife from the table in her hand. But she never would need it to defend herself there. Everyone in the Denny's so far was nice.

It was when Chloe left the restroom, being able to do what she did in there alone, thus nobody seeing all the blood flushed away (the healing process would take some time), that things took a sour turn. She saw Rachel talking to two police officers. The two officers that always paid Turner with drugs instead of money.

\-------

"Well, I suppose that helps me understand your affinity for Denny's," Dale said. "And how you ended up in the situation you're in. I'm sorry those things happened to you, Chloe. Tell me; how did you manage over the years after that?"

"I felt betrayed by Rachel when I saw her talking to those officers and I thought I was being rounded up by the three of them. That was true of the officers, since they found my mess. But Rachel was truly on many side, I discovered."

"How?"

"I paid her a visit a couple years later with the intent of putting her away. I survived through begging and prostitution for the next couple years but eventually found a way to simply take from the takers, and then I learned to hunt the hunters," Chloe said. "But I felt so betrayed by Rachel and it stuck with me. I found her and intended to kill her, but she gushed and fell into me when she saw me, worried what had happened to me. Sweetheart, I was standing over her in her dark bedroom when that happened."

"I was stunned by her reaction, so we filled in the gaps. I told her I had to run because those cops were bad guys, and when I explained how I knew, she felt horrible. She wanted to call that in, but I explained that I had since coped with them. Anyhow, I have been able to rely on her since then."

"Really? She's been an ally all this time, even with your reputation and her place in a church?" Dale asked. "I don't mean to pry, but where is she these days?"

"She still works for God. As for me, she believes her God works in mysterious ways. So, while I've been labeled as a notorious lunatic serial killer, I've only killed those who menace our world while they're alive. It explains a few things regarding who is who, doesn't it?

"Well, that's my story and I'm sticking to it. What about yours?" She asked.

After Dale spent a considerable amount of time relating his story, Chloe looked quite impressed. "You've done well for someone who has gone through all that."

She then smiled bright and said, "Wow, so I was there during your first kills? I think that places me in a certain special category, doesn't it? I do have to say I admire your training; you'll have to teach me a few moves."

"I did have that in mind," he said with a smile. "I have to be honest and at that I was a bit nervous before getting here, but now it seems we're cut from a very similar cloth, don't you think?"

"What are you going to do, seriously? How are you pursuing your future?"

"What else could I do? I wasn't trained to be some dazzling family law lawyer and crack these bastards with the book," Dale said. His jaw set and his eyes narrowed when he said, "They, whoever they are, have been monsters upon this Earth. I was created by the monsters and so were you, and then we were betrayed and abused by our creators. I have every intention of making those monsters gone. All of them. We will be the monsters of monsters."

Plans for Wisconsin

Denny's was it yet again. There was the inseparable couple of Dale and Chloe waiting for Doc Picasso and Emily, with her ever-present grumpy mood, Ayers and Sands were on their way to the jobsite, complete with a zest for action. There was the open invitation for Godfrey to join them in their quest to Wisconsin.

Godfrey providing his presence and unique abilities would make this Dale's Magnificent Seven, but how magnificent would have to be seen. Dale knew that he could accomplish an incredible amount with just Chloe and him combined with the recon abilities of Ayers and Sands. But Doc and Emily add a zest that helps fulfill so much more than a mere body count.

Doc is like Chloe in that he leaves precious souvenirs for the FBI to play with. While Chloe will dismember a body and decorate a room with what she has, Doc is good at leaving a telltale sign that these players aren't mere wannabe heroes. Nope, these are some sick puppies on the move.

"Well, look who it is," Chloe said with less than perfect enthusiasm.

Dale looked over to see Emily approaching. Chloe likely felt the changes on the Richter Scale as she stomped her way in. She looked exactly like what she was, minus the hard hat, high visibility vest and sledgehammer.

"Dear Emily, you're looking lovely today," Dale said.

"Suck my Cock, Hoskins," she said in her signature gruff voice. "What have you bought me for lunch?"

"Whatever's on the menu is available to your heart's desire, my dear," he said.

"Well, if it isn't Chloe. I almost didn't recognize you without blood and flesh in your hair. What's the bounty on your pretty head gone up to?"

"It's a quarter million, you know, if you need to boost your cosmetics budget," Chloe said as her eyes shifted to the extreme. She closed her pinpoint eye to look at Emily through her dilated eye and said, "But your effervescent personality makes up for your subtle colors."

"A quarter million. She must be hellacious in the sack, Dale, for you to not take advantage of that."

"I don't need the money, but she's so dear to my heart," he said. "Which is why I adore how well you two can get along when you try."

"Sure," she said as she fell into a seat. "So tell me what you have keeping me from collecting."

"That would be me," Chloe said, smiling bright.

"What I have is a rather bold bunch running victims out of and through Chicago to Madison and Milwaukee," Dale said. "I don't know all the details yet, since Sands and Ayers haven't completed their reconnaissance, but you could likely get twice what her head is worth."

"But why me? Aren't you folks happier with a dramatic mess and psycho theatre as opposed to just broken bad guys?" Emily asked. "Where is shrimpy, anyway?"

She was referring to Doc.

"This is expected to be a numbers thing. You're right in that I want to make a statement, but we could use some backup if things get ugly. Doc and Chloe, and myself if I'm up for it, will certainly catch some attention with some fun and artistry," Dale said. "I want their kind to feel a shiver in the night, wherever they are. But this could be a big bunch of guys. I want their henchmen to fall like bad apples, but once the hotshots are cornered, it'll be time to make some history."

"So, you want me to pick fruit?"

"Fruit pickers rarely make this kind of money," Dale said.

"Would it be inappropriate of me to query about the kind of money to which you refer?" Doc asked as he sat down.

"Hello, Samuel," Chloe said. "Might I trust you've been doing fine as of late?"

"I have been doing well and keeping busy, my dear, and might I say you are looking as lovely as ever," Doc said. "But I haven't had you in my stirrups in some time; your health could be in question, you know."

"He's had me in his stirrups," she said as she gestured towards a blushing Dale. "I think his prognosis is that I'm quite fine."

"You know, I'm hoping to eat something in here," Emily said.

"Your health and happiness are among my highest priorities is my point, so I am available when my services are required," Doc said. "That goes for you, as well, Mr. Hoskins. I am at your service upon request, and merely at the same rate as Miss Emily."

"As always, I appreciate you being on board, Doc," Dale said. "Would it be icing on the cake that this mission involves zero restrictions?"

"I'm tempted to work pro bono with that in mind, but I must pay my bills," Doc said. "But I will assure you'll get your money's worth. Might I inquire about the presence of Mr. Godfrey?"

"Why? Were you actually hoping the asshole would show up?" Emily asked.

"I simply noticed his absence and hoped he had come and gone before I arrived," Doc said. "I should say I was not hoping for such things, as he and I rarely get on that well. One would suppose it is a difference in personalities, but yet Chloe and I are rather different, yet get along just fine."

"It's because he's an asshole; it wouldn't hurt anyone's feelings if you pointed it out," Emily said.

"It would hurt my feelings," they all heard from a nearby table. "And Emily, I thought you found me debonair and quite sexy."

"You know, I'm not sure if I should be working with you yahoos if this is your level of awareness," Godfrey said. "I got here before any of you and who noticed? That would be me."

Chloe threw him her cellphone and said, "Oh, so you think so? Scroll through the last few pictures, you nose picking buffoon."

Godfrey had to smile and say, "I have to admit that I'm quite impressed, you sexy thing." As he scrolled through the pictures, he said, "Damn, for how long have you been following me? I'll have to up my game."

"You just might for this job," Dale said. "I'm still waiting on more details from the recon team, but this one might get dicey.

"I'm glad to have everyone together, because this job might really place someone at serious risk. My understanding is that this group knows what they're doing and doesn't want to lose a good thing. Not only that, but we've gained some fame in that some of these trafficking groups know we're out there. They don't know who we are but they're keeping an extra eye open for anything dodgy."

Dale looked at everyone to make sure he had everyone's attention and then said, "One of the reasons I really wanted Godfrey on this is because we might have to split up, with part of us in Milwaukee and the rest in Madison. Ayers and Sands worked their way through what's been going on in Madison but are in Milwaukee now. I have reasons for the idea."

Now with the jokes and attitude aside, Godfrey asked, "What is it you're thinking? That we sort of gauntlet them in, hitting them in Milwaukee and then whacking them in Madison?"

"To a point, but they're splitting up because there aware enough of them to operate in both places. Madison is a way point but they're also working victims there. But they're exposed in Milwaukee in order to transport. What I'm thinking is that if we cause them trouble in both places simultaneously and then drop back for but a short time, we might be able to shake up enough of the operation so I can find out just who is running this big show," Dale said.

"Ah, that's a big part of everything, isn't it?" Godfrey asked, being an ass yet again. "You have to know the whereabouts of and tap the head or nobody gets paid."

"To be honest, if I don't tap, as you say, the administration, then I'll be the one who doesn't get paid and has to pay everyone out of my wallet," Dale said. "But if I find the gear box of this machine and stop it there, then I can both profit from the operation and bring it to a halt, which means being able to free most if not all the victims.

"Just to pass on a reminder of what we're doing here, we are tearing down the trafficking organizations of criminals making money from the flesh of those they enslave and doing so by ripping open their organization and taking everything they hold dear, which includes their money and their human inventory. That way, we can gain the resources required and the intelligence needed to move ahead and go after the next bunch of bastards doing the same thing. Our monster feeds off their monster or it goes hungry."

"I think that Godfrey, Emily and Doc would work well together should I be able to get either Ayers or Sands to help in Madison. They crash the front door, Godfrey moves behind with Emily blocking any escape. Then Doc moves in and makes a point," Dale said. "Then, in Milwaukee, the other team works the same way, with Ayers, or Sands, Chloe and me. But there's a momentary snag, and that's the fact that I don't where the primary leadership is. They might be bigger and away from all of this, for all I know. I'm smart enough to recognize we could bite off more than we can chew all at once. But if we do, it might tell more who doesn't like it. You know, other than Fred."

But of course, there is Fred Charles.

\------

Fred looked around him, not looking at any particular thing as he looked at the ceiling fan, the coffee maker, the copier, and at nothing of consequence out the window. He looked around but didn't really see anything other than the splendor of possibilities after receiving a mysterious message.

It was delivered in a highly distorted voice and had nearly no detail. But it didn't have to say much to say everything Agent Charles needed to know.

"There are Traffic Cops soon to walk a beat in Madison and Milwaukee."

That's all it took to say an awful lot. Fred wasn't sure what to think first since this was the first hint he'd ever received regarding what the Traffic Cops were planning. But he couldn't help but to wonder who called and why. Now, why would someone on the inside of that precious organization want to stir up something like this? Were they dissed somehow, or perhaps once a trafficker so always a trafficker? Or, was this some sociopathic ass munch who just wanted to watch the world burn?

Fred deleted the message.

Anyone who could see inside the head of Fred would know he doesn't have a major crosshair for these so-called Traffic Cops. Sure, they're criminals and down-and-out murderers, but someone would need to show an equally affectionate crosshair for those scumbags selling kidnapped children. And Fred knew damned well this was why he was placed in charge of the investigation. While some agents would hunt the Traffic Cops with a fury (and then fall into policy and protocol when it comes to the actual trafficking), Fred had every intention of moving like this was an investigation.

He intended to investigate.

But that harbored more than two or three wrinkles, to be sure. If there was a blatant and obvious crime taking place right in front of him and his team, well, that would be that. But otherwise his job was to investigate what occurs after an attack by these infamous Traffic Cops.

But it wasn't as though there was a minimum of wrinkles here. Agent Fred Charles now knew there was a high potential for an attack by a group being actively investigated, and it would surely be newsworthy. These psycho lunatics were getting bold and had a flair for the dramatic. Outside of being an agent, Fred got it. He could appreciate, as a father and as a man, why these guys did what they did to bastards like them. But it wasn't like he could just pull up an armchair and enjoy the show.

He would have to make a few phone calls. He would have to request permission from the state of Wisconsin, asking for assistance and manpower. He would have to work towards bringing a good thing to an end and he hated it.

Well, this could bring that nutcase Chloe Rhodes to a halt. At least there was that.  
But yet, there were still bigger fish to fry...

Some Things Go Awry

Sands had to enact every ounce of restraint he had to keep from taking down the fuckers he watched through his electronic monocular. Six large bullies surrounded a young girl who might be fourteen someday early next year and took their time as they beat and kicked her. Sands knew she was a fairly new acquirement, grabbed directly from a suburban bus stop outside Lincoln, Nebraska. It was apparent she had to learn a few things in order to fit in to her new place in life.

The problem was that she wasn't learning the fine art of fellatio to their liking and she was finding out substandard performance was always met with zero tolerance. There was a guy just standing there with his junk at full mast, and he would allow the poor girl a minute or two of trying her frightened best before he would shove her away to enjoy the resumed punishment.

"Damn it, Ayers," Sands said through his mouth piece. "I could take these six bags of shit right now. I'd have all of them down before the last coward standing even had a clue."

"I feel you, brother, but maintain and stand fast," Ayers said. "I can tell you that I am personally looking forward to cracking down this Milwaukee operation. These bastards are heinous and forcing these victims onto boats knowing they're being sent to their early deaths. I wish the boss man would quit with the tutti fruity pancakes and get this ball dropped."

They knew they couldn't act without authorization and there was more than one reason for that. First of all, taking down anyone or anything would ring every bell and scatter their prey before everyone else was on point. Beyond that, they needed to ensure any potential audience wasn't around; audiences that might report to or know of Fred Charles.

It was always hard for Ayers and Sands, because they always had to sit back and quietly watch the filth feel at home as they abused their victims. It was so hard to understand, since one would assume if they treated their slaves well they would get more out of them. It simply appears that the abuse, torture and murder were all a big part of the fun. And people whined when these bastards were sent to Hell? But the upside was that they were ready to crush skulls once the word was given.

"Other than the fact that these fuckers have me so pissed that I want to slowly cut them to ribbons, this Madison location is ready for assault," Sands said. "Do you think Hoskins is going to split up his cast of crazies and try to whack both locations at the same time? He said he was thinking about it."

"I think he has to, since both locations are really one big location and that hitting one would alert the other," Ayers said. "But this shit don't stay ready, so they need to make their move soon."

It was as if Dale could read their minds.

"Ayers, you got a copy?"

"Damn straight."

"You're here at the Milwaukee location, right? I haven't spotted you."

"You're not supposed to. Things a go?"

"I'm here in Madison," Sands said. "Give the word, damn it."

"Sands, Emily and Godfrey are with you, with Doc pulling up the rear. Go guys, go!"

"You better believe it," Sands said as he quickly dropped his first six of the evening. It was good to see that little girl had the strength to get up and run.

Once they were down, Sands moved in fast, with the intent to rush the building and hit as many as he could before Emily got in the way. He liked her tenacity but she had the grace of a newborn giraffe, being more of a brutal monster than anything he's seen. He tuned out the screams of the girls in order to identify his targets and act. He knew they would cope with nightmares after having to comb the blood and brains from their hair, but the girls from just days prior faced nightmares far worse. He saw Godfrey come in from his right so he moved left just to see Emily holding some shit down as she cut open his throat.

Just another day at the office.

\------

Ayers knew he had to move fast if he would clear the building and make it through to the boat docked in the rear before they escaped with that many girls. They apparently had a large order and stacked these poor victims in there like cord wood. They were bound and holding one another up from going down like dominoes. He wanted to clear enough in order to make way for the boss, who could handle himself like a pro, and his bizarre princess who scared the living shit out of him just by looking at him.

Things were looking fantastic, since they were able to move through and keep the relative noise down to a lot of screaming and some muffled pops of the silenced gunfire. That meant Dale could do his administrative thing while his girl could...for the love of God...

Ayers was as calm as possible when he said, "Boss, we've been set up and had. Get out."

\-------

Sands wasn't quite as calm. "Fucking damn it! Bad news, boss man! I got heat in this place! FBI everywhere and they got going a laser light show. Copy?"

"Same here. Get out now. Do what you can to see the other two out. I'll bet Doc is already running."

"That Godfrey dick blew out of here like a whirlwind, but Emily is down. Sorry, but she's down. I'm gone and off the air until later, but if you got it, too, we've been set up."

Dale wasn't prepared for that at all. They could handle an arrival of police responding to the ruckus, but this looked like somebody was waiting for them, and at both locations, no less. Worse yet was the team was split up and already lost a vital member. No sooner had they ensured they were clear and rushed in when gobs of agents rushed in right behind them. He knew Sands could handle this and escape, and if he was alone, Dale could likely get invisible, too, but there was an issue.

More to himself than anyone, Dale hissed, "Chloe, where the Hell are you?"

He couldn't imagine escaping without her. Chloe had become such a vital part of his life, so much so that, should it come to it, she was a very part of the definition of him.

They were both born of abominable reasons and made it to the present without ever having a legitimate place in the world. What they did defined who they had to be in order to be anyone at all, but Dale was confident he wasn't ready to pursue that alone. Sure, he could continue on alone, rebuild his crew or even go it alone from there forward, but she completed him. Dale knew Chloe was a monster, but she kept him from becoming one, too.

"Boss man, we have got to get the Hell out of here and right now," Ayers said over the link. "I might be able to help you for a moment, but this is bad. They're everywhere."

He could tell Ayers was moving fast and still heard plenty of others in the background. His situation wasn't any different. Ayers moved through the location from the west to clear eastward to the boats, but had to backtrack. Dale came in from the north in order to cut off any potential escape from there and saw the FBI had the vessels under control. If the leadership of the present traffickers had no FBI connection, which was almost certain, at least those victims were on their way out of this.

But Chloe was going to move in from the south. Because she suffered some vision issues due to the extensive cranial trauma, affecting her ocular function (among many other things), she wasn't an effective long range shot. She had no problems with operating a pistol, but the truth was that Chloe was more at home with a knife. Part of Dale's issue was that many of these agents moved in from where she should have.

She likely wouldn't have been able to alert the team. If she had the ability, she might have passed on a message of sorts, but because her finest skills required stealth that demanded all of her faculties that remained, she wouldn't wear an earpiece for a communications link. It would be too distracting. But she would have come in from where a bulk of those agents poured in. She either saw them and went dark or fled, or she's been taken.

"Front man, get out and regroup later. You're out for you now. I have me and don't know about drama." Drama was what Chloe was to bring. "Reconnect later if you make it. Good luck."

They doubted their communications, which was encrypted satellite phone use, would be compromised by the FBI, but they could never be sure enough to speak out of code.

"I'm dark. Good luck."

The only thing keeping Dale from steaming for the blood of Godfrey was his concern for Chloe, but he was smart enough to know he had no way of pinning anything on anyone. But there would be an order of those whom he would suspect first and then second, and those two would be Godfrey and Emily. While Emily was out for money alone, Godfrey was a loose cannon. But Hell if Dale could think of any reason anyone would rat them out. But Hell if someone didn't.

It ate at everything Dale was, but he would have to go dark, too. There were too many agents, and weapons, to risk just being invisible and staying close. He had some training for that, but these guys were not entry level buffoons.

"Come on, girlfriend," he said to himself as he fell back slow, watching for any sign of her. He saw nothing that indicated they apprehended anyone, so there was that. Ayers got out and Chloe would either escape or blend with the victims and play innocent. But he would rather she had simply escaped now, because who knows what that crazy chick might do to regain her freedom later on. Chloe wouldn't want to bring down any innocent as they had worked on that, but there would always be such a thing as collateral damage.

\------

She had a fairly clear escape route, but Chloe decided to blend in with the victims. She was so looking forward to playing with the boys after the party boys were done, but something took that from her. Hunky guy and Captain America would do their thing and leave her with so much in order to create her blend of what Hunky likes to call drama.

Something took it all away. She knew she was angry because her eyes abnormalized, so to speak, making her night vision worse. Pinpoint. Quarter. So little. Too much. Open. Closed. Left. Right. She cut the meat of her thumb near the wrist and sucked the blood, hoping the taste of fresh blood would ease her mood. Tasting blood always made her feel better, but when it had to be her own, she knew she was forced to compromise.

Making Chloe Rhodes compromise made Chloe Rhodes somewhat twitchy. Some of the girls, despite the ordeal they've endured, shrunk away from Chloe as she put on her best victim expression. It was difficult to hide the lunacy even from that so much immersed in it, but she found some borrowed sunglasses hid her unique features.

And then there was a notoriously scrumptious stroke of fun luck!

"Ladies, please listen to me," Agent Fred Charles said with his best sincerity. "I know things seem hectic and stressful, but you're safe now. Those who held you captive will no longer rule your lives. We have some questions and we need to know what you know, but you are now free."

"I'm free?" Chloe muttered. "That should prove for an exciting night. And I get to pay a visit to snazzy Charlie? This is indeed turning out to be a groovy night after all. Yippee for me!"

She had to refrain from applauding her promising evening, so she curled close, hugging her knees and rocking. And she kept a close eye, her right one, where Fred Charles was at all times. She kept such a close eye on him and her idea of a fun evening, but somehow failed to take into account her wardrobe. While all the other girls were forced to wear seductive clothing that revealed a lot, Chloe wore an outfit that might be in Catwoman's casual lineup. Well, she was going to move in the shadows and explore her creative side. That was the original plan, but the night is far from over. The thought kept her from giving in to answering the vibrating phone in her pocket.

\----

"Come on, woman," Dale said. "Answer your phone!"

He was just under one hundred percent sure she had escaped. There was the slightest of chances she was caught up in gunfire, but Dale doubted that. She just wasn't close enough to the action. She either escaped and is on the way back to the safe zone, or, God forbid, she jumped in with the victims to blend.

That girl doesn't blend. Anywhere. Besides, Fred Charles was almost certainly a part of this disaster, thanks to some traitor to the team. If anyone could recognize Chloe and bring her down, it would be him. She wouldn't put herself in that hole, would she? Sure, she was certifiable and reckless, but would she do that?

Dale scolded and cursed himself for even harboring the next thought. Could Chloe have turned on them? No, come on. Godfrey also ran. But to be honest, it didn't seem like his speed, either. Besides, Chloe wasn't one to exercise goofy logic for the sake of some clever outcome.

"Boss, Sands, Doc and Godfrey are back at the safe zone. I'm on my way there now" Ayers said. "Are you going to be able to make it?"

What? Godfrey showed up there? "I should be able to, but I lost a team mate. I'm not comfortable with leaving without that member just yet," Dale said. "Are you sure Godfrey is there? Is that confirmed?"

"The Doc is treating him now. He was injured during his escape. Minor, but getting some bandaging. I know what you're thinking. It's odd he would show up if he was our snitch."

"Yeah. Odd or really, really smart. Do me a favor and watch him. Get a feel."

"Roger that. Out."

Dale stopped and looked around him. "Girl, where in the Hell are you?"

\-------

Chloe followed the other girls into the local offices, delighted to see how they've been keeping the place. Well, she's never been in this particular branch, but the colors are nice and the furniture is tasteful. She adjusted her sunglasses, keeping them firm and in place while she listened to a nice female officer explain how everyone was going to bend over backwards to help them in every way possible.

\-------

"Right there, goddamn it! Right there!" Agent Charles said as he pointed at the monitor. "Tell me that isn't none other than Chloe Rhodes. I haven't seen her in a long time and wasn't even sure if she was still alive, but if that isn't her, I'll wash your car every weekend for the rest of the year."

"I suppose it could be, Fred. And you think that woman is responsible for all the carnage we've had to clean up at these crime scenes?"

"Not all of it, but most of it. Some of that freaky shit didn't have the same signature. Just the craziest, sickest shit," Fred said. "Hey, get two officers down there now and bring her to my office. Pronto!"

"Despite your assumptions and the evidence we do have, there has never been a solid identification record made of this Chloe Rhodes. Even if that is your twisted Angel, we don't have enough to hold her."

"Well, we hold her for as long as we legally can hold her, damn it," Fred said. "Push the legal envelope. What's she going to do, hire a lawyer?"

"She could."

"Oh, and then what? We get a scolding and a wrist slap and you know it. Look, this woman is directly responsible for the murders, heinous murders, of at least twenty five people. Were they derelicts and scumbags? Hell yeah, they were. But she's also suspected of killing several innocent people who got in her way," Fred said. "And this goes deeper. She's never been on the grid; some say it's because she was intentionally bred, brought to be, as a sex slave. Then, she suffered heinous abuse and escaped after killing her captors.

"Look, my heart actually bleeds for this woman, but she's beyond crazy and beyond merely dangerous. To top it all off, she partnered, however that happened, with a team of killers who are committing vigilante justice and we're not supposed to allow that. So," Fred said through clenched teeth, "get her into my office."

"All right. We'll make it happen."

\--------

Chloe had instincts beyond that of the average girl, likely developed over years of anticipation of abuse that soon actually occurred. She perceived several different individuals watching her and then closing in.

"Well now, let the fun begin," she muttered under her breath.

Chloe was confident she could stir up a fury in their quaint surroundings and escape unscathed, but she was more than curious about a few things. She knew one particular agent harbored a raging hard-on just for her, and she wanted to finally meet him. After all, he must be extraordinary just to have any idea who she is.

She walked directly towards the nearest agent, pulled off her sunglasses and said, "Hi. I'm Chloe. Did you want to talk to me?"

The agent was taken aback by her bizarre appearance, with the crazed grin and blinking, freaky eyes.

"Um, yes," he said as he looked towards the other agents for reassurance. "Are you Ms. Rhodes?"

"Honestly, I don't know for certain. But I am often referred to as such, but mostly Chloe. Sometimes, Psycho Chick.

"You know what? You're kind of cute. Would you take me to see Chucky, handsome man?"

"If you mean Agent Fred Charles, yes. Please, right this way."

Although it visually startled the man, Chloe took the man's arm and walked with him, smiling flirtatiously. He appeared as though he wasn't sure to do, but assuring nods from others there let him know he was doing the right thing.

"What's your name, handsome?"

"Ma'am, I am Agent Charles Frederickson. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. You're somewhat famous, you know."

"But I believe I'm famous under false pretenses. I think someone thinks I did something I should not have done, but you can rest assured that I would never commit such an act. So, there is a Fred Charles and then you. I bet that can be fun at times."

Charles felt somewhat at ease by her casual approach, until he looked at her. He was confident she was the craziest looking human being he had ever seen. But the agent in him needed more.

"Miss Chloe," he said as they neared Agent Charles' office, "Do you often get questioned about your lovely eyes?"

"Honestly, Charlie," she said as she looked right at him with this signature blinking eyes, "nobody really asks me much of anything. But thank you for the compliment."

He knocked on an office door and said, "You're quite welcome."

"I have a question for you? Why is it that I don't have seven of you on top of me, cuffing me and all that?"

Agent Fred Charles opened the door and answered her question. "Because we don't have enough to hold you yet."

Fred and Chloe, and Emily

Agent Fred Charles gestured to Chloe a nearby chair.

"Please, make yourself comfortable, Ms. Rhodes, if that is, in fact, your name," Fred said as he walked to his desk.

After surreptitiously answering the phone vibrating in her pocket and leaving it where it is, Chloe said, "Thank you so much. Before we continue, would you have any coffee or something similar?"

He chose to ignore her request and said, "I would like to know how you ended up in that group of women we rescued this evening. Were you being held captive and forced to prostitute like the others?"

Since the good agent didn't specify a timeline, Chloe confidently said, "Yes, very much so. Since I was born. In fact, it is the reason I was brought to be. Those are uncomfortable issues, sir; might you have something more interesting to discuss?"

"I'm sorry to hear what has happened to you, but I have to take notice of the unsolved murders of dozens of alleged traffickers as well as several other suspicious murders that some say you may have information on," Agent Charles said, undaunted. "And I would very much like to know the identities and whereabouts of those planning an attack on traffickers in Madison and Milwaukee. Might you know anything handy, Ms. Rhodes?"

\---------

"Damn it," Dale said to the others there with him. "Well, I think I know where Chloe is."

"Where might that be?" Doc asked.

"She's having some sort of powwow with none other than Agent Fred Charles," Dale said.

"Damn," Godfrey said. "I knew it was her all along, the sorry bitch!"

"You don't know a fucking thing, pal, and you'd benefit from keeping yourself in check," Dale hissed. "She answered her phone so we could listen in. She surely needs help but she might be fishing for intelligence, although this is a crazy way to get it."

"Crazy and intelligence," Godfrey murmured.

Dale quickly plugged the phone in to his laptop in order to record what was said.

\-----------

"I'm so sorry, but since you and a bunch of your friends were there with a grudge, I have to assume you know a lot more about all of that than me," she said, now actually wanting some coffee.

"Well, we found out about much of what might have gone down tonight, thanks to this unusual phone call," Fred said as he retrieved a phone call that he saved as temporarily deleted.

He knew he could retrieve the deleted message, also knowing that deleting it again means forever, which he intended to do despite it bordering on destruction of evidence. He punched play knowing there were bigger fish to fry.

"I have to admit that I don't recognize the bizarre voice, dear sir," Chloe said as she listened. "You know, if you turned it up and played it again, I might be able to gain an idea of who might talk like that even with the voice being distorted."

Elsewhere, Dale whispered, "Good girl."

Chloe was slightly surprised that this guy honored her request by elevating the volume and playing it again.

"Okay. I know they electronically distorted the voice, but you have to have some sort of idea of who within your group of merry heroes would double cross you and your people," Fred said.

"This merry band is a mystery to me, but double crossing is a bad thing," Chloe said. "They're glad I'm getting wind of that compared to this certain young lady I know." Chloe looked into the distance and said, "Those who betray will be sent away..."

"Where can I find this young lady?" He asked.

"Oh, nevermind her; she is far away and has no significant knowledge of anything out this way," Chloe said, stifling a sliver of a chill working down her spine. "It's just that her level of lunatic psychopathy would cause your balls to reascend. Thank your lucky stars you have little old me in here and not her. All of you seem like such nice people..."

"Ms. Rhodes, I don't have time to play riddles with you."

She cut him off, saying, "Buddy, I have all the time in the world."

\----------

Dale was running the distorted voice through his computer. He was sure he could reverse the electronic distortion and regain the individual's actual voice. He looked to Godfrey for any signs of nervousness.

In order to accomplish the task, the computer would have to imitate the original distortion frequency, but it didn't know what it was. So, they had to run it a number of times until they found something uniquely male or female in order to get near that original frequency. They weren't having any luck at first.

Finally, Sands stepped forward and said, "I know this sounds weird, but try a voice signature somewhere between male and female."

That clicked with Dale. "You saw her go down but didn't check her vitals because of the melee."

Sands looked pensive but then looked at Dale and simply nodded.

\------

Chloe was rather sure she got everything she was going to get without putting herself in a hole from which there was no escape. She wasn't sure the information passed on to Dale would be worth much, but there was a chance. He could be a resourceful guy if given the opportunity.

Chloe was also reasonably sure this Fred could be a force if he had to. He was right there when they had no clue of it, wasn't he? Sure, someone really betrayed the trust of the team to pull that off, but they sent the team off with their tails tucked.

If there was one thing for sure, these guys should enjoy the little win they received, because it's the last one they're going to get. That means they're not nabbing the hopeful catch of who they call Chloe Rhodes.

"You know what, Miss? You just might have all the time in the world; there's nothing I would like more right now than to ensure your brand of mayhem never again leaves the custody of this bureau," Fred said, feeling good about himself.

"I have no doubt that might bring you a moment's joy, but we both know you do not, and I mean do not, have anything to hold me on. You aren't even sure of my positive ID, and honestly, neither am I. So, if you'll excuse me, I have to be going now."

Fred moved from his desk to disagree, saying, "I'm excusing nothing, young lady."

\---------

"Can't we go any faster?" Dale asked of Ayers as they risked a conga line of police cruisers due to the breakneck speed as they closed in on Chloe's location.

"If I had a helicopter, just maybe," Ayers said. "But we're asking for a serious escort if we keep this up."

"I get it, but them keeping her is not an option. It simply isn't and you know why. If this rescue mission fails, the next one will gather a lot more attention," Dale said, meaning it. "So, failure is not an option. For those fucks, that might be a goober cliché, but not for Chloe and me. We don't apply to their law and I'll burn down half this city if I have to."

Ayers knew the deal. He grew up an All-American boy hailing from the farms of Indiana, having very loving parents who firmly believed in the American dream. His father was in the Air Force for twelve years before taking over the family farm and when he told his father he wanted to join the Army, Dad was most pleased. He knew he was who he was because of a good family and firm principles. His Dad might not approve of his current lifestyle (and level of government manipulation at the organic level), but there is a true and actual war. God's war.

This is why it's so hard to fathom the beginnings of Dale and Chloe. There was a guardian angel who took in Dale, but the life Chloe had even up to today? Few things made Ayers shiver, but it's utterly amazing she isn't a complete monster threatening the creation of God. It's a miracle she's alive. But the future for them after such a past? Dale and Chloe were truly not amongst the others and did not apply. The world might have tried to accept them once, but that time is long gone. So, since they don't apply, the law does not apply. They don't get Chloe and it's that simple.

"So, let's make this happen without burning down the town. That might piss off the mayor. But this might be a bit simpler if she wasn't in that agent's office," Ayers said. "Wasn't it demonstrated just a while ago that taking on the FBI is NOT easy?"

\---------

While Chloe knew this was not the time to do anything to piss off Fred or any other part of the FBI, she knew Dale and maybe others would be on their way to rescue her. It was time to go before Fred and his minions had her trapped in for good. She knew they didn't have any legal capacity to hold her for long, but that didn't mean they wouldn't do it.

"You don't have to excuse anything, good sir; I'll just see myself out."

As he came around his desk to take charge of the situation in a manner other than her liking, she grabbed what looked like a bowling trophy and, finding out it was quite heavy, saw the anger well up in Fred's eyes with her having the audacity to do much as touch it.

"Put that down!"

"Oh, I'm so sorry," is what she said as she tossed it to him. By the time he caught it with the grace of a newborn giraffe, she was out his door and running down the hall. She pulled her phone from her pocket while she ran.

"You still there, Hunky Guy?"

"Yeah, baby," Dale said, just happy and relieved to hear her voice. "And you were good to get Freddy to play that recording. Our snitch is Emily."

Chloe wasn't sure if she had the time to simply chat and wonder, and when she heard an alarm begin screaming through the building, her uncertainty was allayed. She started running faster.

"Sweetheart, please tell me that alarm isn't because of you," Dale said.

"Well, ummm...."

"Okay, where are you?"

"Just the second floor, but I'm feeling like a celebrity," she said.

"That's what I thought," Dale said. "I hate to tell you this, but I think I need you to steal a car."

"That sounds exciting! Can I turn on the siren?"

"I'd rather you didn't, Love, but you need to do what you have to do to get out of the building and into or onto some wheels, minus killing anyone. That makes them grumpy."

"Okay. Wheels and try not to kill anyone."

"Wheels and do not under any circumstances kill anyone. I don't want anyone getting so much as a stubbed toe, lovely lady. Follow these simple instructions and I'll treat you to the menu at Denny's."

"Wow, you got a date, Hunky Guy."

"Do you have enough battery life to stay on for a bit?"

"Yeah, unless this takes like a real long time."

"I want to be soothing the tension out of your thighs within thirty minutes," Dale said with a smile.

"My heart's already a flutter. Hang on while I find some transportation."

Chloe was already moving like she was in a major hurry, loving the luck that where she was didn't harbor a zillion agents bent on preventing her thigh massage. But she could hear them moving in from all around her. They were coming down from upstairs, up from downstairs, and along the hall behind her. It was a good thing they weren't pouring in through the window straight ahead.

\---------

"I need everyone to stand down," Agent Charles transmitted. "I repeat, everyone stand down and allow the female suspect her way out. We don't have enough to hold her, so there's no point in getting all dramatic. Besides, she just might prove a lot more valuable if she's allowed to go do her thing, whatever that is."

"Sir, does that include breaking through a window to exit the building and then steal a car? Because that's what just happened."

Fred had to roll his eyes. "Okay, that changes the equation a little bit. Put a few cruisers on it and give some chase, but don't apprehend. Let her and whoever else thinks they got the better of us. But whatever anyone does, I don't want these people arrested. I have my reasons. Do I need to repeat myself?"

"No, sir. We'll give them a good show but give them a way out."

\--------

Chloe wasn't one often happy with having to make a dramatic exit, particularly if it puts her at risk. She's going to have to treat a few cuts resulting from the Hollywood crash through the window as well as a twisted ankle resulting from the minor fall. She'd be okay, but it was going to swell. She knows her life is a bit riskier than the average soccer mom, but Chloe Rhodes has a good reason to be touchy about her head.

Her entire youth was one of horrible abuse and pain, so it doesn't require cornucopian math skills to get that she was struck in the head. A lot. Chloe surely suffered concussions over time that should have been treated and weren't. There were likely concussions that never healed properly. Unfortunately, they have likely made her the way she is and who she is.

Cute Charles Frederickson looked at her as though she was a freak, and while she was used to that, everything forced to come home all at once pissed her off. She was having some fun at first, but then there were those not playing fair. Being chased doesn't help with old buttons and nightmares, and hitting the ground and feeling sharp pains in her head trends to really spoil a good mood.

She ran towards a guy who wasn't paying attention and took his car quickly. That she didn't have to go through some big fight with that helped a little, but she wasn't in a good mood anymore. Once she was rolling away from there and saw a way out, she grabbed her phone.

"Dale, are you still there or not?"

Dale knew her well enough to know that when she refers to him as Dale, she would need some consoling. Before people die horrible deaths. He looked to Ayers with wide eyes and said, "Right here, sweetheart."

"Do not sweetheart me, because right here would mean I could see you, but I don't. In fact, I'm really feeling quite fucking alone. Got that?"

He mouthed to Ayers that she's pissed off about something and then said to her, "Tell me what you do see and we'll get right to you."

"I see red, motherfucker."

"I'm sorry this isn't going the way you intended, but I need you to focus, okay?"

Making Some Necessary Changes

"You want me to focus? You got it, bubba."

Just as Dale felt his stomach sink due to not having any idea how this was going to go, he and Ayers watched Chloe and her speedy entourage zip by at the intersection they approached. Ayers punched it, chirping the tires as he gave chase. But just as he got behind the procession, they watched with slacked jaws as Chloe tromped on the accelerator and spun it around to face the fans.

Virtually in a whisper, Dale said, "Baby, what are you doing?"

With less venom in her voice compared to before, Chloe said, "I'm exercising some occupational therapy."

He wouldn't know much else until this was all done, as she hung up the phone.

Just as the phone went dead, Dale looked up to see her in a bizarre game of chicken with what has to be nearly a dozen cruisers. He was impressed with the power of her car when he saw both rear tires smoke up as she fully intended on coming through.

She made very solid contact with virtually every car there, including a few of them just parked alongside the road. Sparks flew and two of those giving chase ended up in their sides.

"Hey, I think she's feeling better," Ayers said as she waved while speeding by.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Dale said as he punched redial. He put the phone to his ear and listened.

"Hi there."

"Okay, we've done enough for one night, so why don't you stop while you can and we'll get going."

"But I think I like this car. I'll just follow you."

"Out of the question. I don't know if it has a LoJack or something. Now, come on, Chloe. I've had about enough of the day not going as planned. We need to regroup and lick some wounds."

He expected some suggestive comment from her, but she just muttered, "Fine", as she pushed the car up onto a sidewalk and through a diner's front window. They quickly pulled up to find her standing there, looking forlorn and angry.

"Come on, Chloe," Dale said as he opened the door. "They're going to be on us any minute, so we'd best be on our way."

Ayers was looking over his shoulder towards the direction they just came from and said, "I'd like to know why they're not all on top of us now, to be honest with you."

With no particular drama, Chloe collected herself and slipped into the backseat behind Dale. "On the way back, would it be okay if we breezed through a McDonald's drive thru? They don't make a bad salad, you know."

Dale turned to look at her as Ayers wasted no more time in getting out of there, working to make space between them and two cruisers giving chase from well behind.

"If you want, we'll check out a Denny's some-"

Dale stopped in mid sentence, seeing her rub a rather swollen ankle. That's when he noticed she would need a few cuts tended to.

"-where. Honey, what the Hell happened back there?"

"Now isn't the time, and Mickey Dee's will do for tonight. We should be able to lose them, right?"

Ayers said, "They're all gone." He looked at Dale with an expression stating, that was rather convenient and easy. "I don't want to be bossy, but I think everyone should power down and then pull the battery from your cell phone."

\----------

Agent Fred Charles felt his blood pressure tick up a notch after seeing his trail of electronic bread crumbs go dark. But it was just a notch, since he had a few other tricks lined up.

The ditzy, brain damaged chick thought she was smart in getting him to play the message, but he knew her cell was on and connected to another caller. It didn't take long to track and confirm the phone, although its owner is still a mystery. Placing a track on the phone wasn't hard, either, turning each into a personal LoJack. But they must've caught on, because not only did they power down the phones, but pulled their batteries.

That just meant these people were more than just monsters on a mission; they were savvy and sophisticated in their methods, knowing what they're doing and why. They're also pissed off, because the smart phone owned by the mystery man isn't easy to obtain. He isn't going down to Radio Shack for another one.

But an even more significant issue was, did they have the means to decrypt the message and identify the caller? And if so, what were they going to do about it?

Fred wanted to keep his Intel close at first, never intending on giving up his sources. But they knew they had a snitch, so virtually everyone was under scrutiny. He could have allowed them to assume the teammate was dead and that another brought them harm, but this lets them know they're all kinds of watched. Their snitch could ID them, and the FBI is just having fun playing cat and mouse.

But that led to another issue. The snitch just wanted to drop a dime on the one they just let go. Of course they had more than enough to hold Chloe Rhodes, but there were bigger fish to fry for a tab of half a million. But burly Emily doesn't want to snitch beyond whacking the psycho chick.

Yeah, she says that now.

\----------

The three of them moved quickly despite the noticeable absence of the law. Ayers drove with his eyes looking everywhere while Dale sat in silence thinking deeply about the situation. Chloe sat in back, blinking in her bizarre way, twitching to whatever demons haunted the dungeons of her twisted, fractured mind.

She then leaned forward and brought her face uncomfortably close to Ayers and said, "You saw that car I was driving. It was nice, huh? Do you think I should've kept it? Huh?"

He looked at Dale and said, "I don't know. I think the boss had his reasons for wanting it gone."

"Oh?" She looked to the boss for more information. "Some reasons, boss?"

Dale could see Ayers was nervous with her that close, so he made the command decision to crawl over the seat and get in the back with her. As he did so, he said, "I gave you my reasons."

She sat back with her eyes blinking and bright, saying, "I guess you did. What are you back here to give me now?"

"I wanted to see how you're doing," he said as he took her hand and looked into her eyes. "You seemed angry and hurt, and I know you suffered some boo-boos. Is there anything I can do for you?"

He nestled back and reached to her, letting her know she could lean in on him and relax while he held her. She acquiesced to that quickly and fell into his arms, feeling better as soon as she was there. She removed from her shirt collar a small scalpel blade and made a small incision in Dale's wrist. Nothing dramatic or too painful; just enough so that she could access some fresh blood.

"Don't take too much; we might want me having plenty later on," he said.

She turned to look at him and he winked. His blood dripped from her chin and nose, but she was really just after the taste and the distraction. She had high hopes of spilling large quantities of blood that night and lost the opportunity, but she could let it go with the taste of her man's blood and then his fire later on. She looked the wound clean and placed her thumb over it, and then nestled against him. She forgot all about the McDonald's.

\------------

They decided not to regroup nearby. Dale asked everyone leave the area and rejoin in Indianapolis. It was a bit of a drive without being too far away and busy enough to be able to hide in the masses. Chloe dressed very professional and conservative while wearing dark lenses, making her turn plenty of heads without looking like she was officially wanted.

Everyone was there minus Emily. But that didn't mean she wasn't on their minds.

"We all know how much we're compromised by the issue revolving around Emily," Dale said. "She can identify each of us, provide an incredible amount of intelligence and valuable data, and create a situation to where we couldn't order a pizza without being identified. So, why haven't we heard anything? How come we're not all over the news?"

"Not even Chloe's chase in town after escaping made the local news," Ayers said. "They have entirely swept this away. I don't know what to think."

"We know they've been fans for a while, but now we don't seem to be what they're after, at least not specifically," Dale said. "If they wanted us that bad, they would have kept Chloe, for one thing. Why did they let her go with the attitude of not enough to make stick when she is on a most wanted list?

"Furthermore, they tipped their hands too soon during our raid. They could've waited until we were right in their trap before they sprung it, but they sprung it well before we were in it. They gave a bullshit chase after Chloe but never meant to capture. They traced our phones, I'm sure, but they never sought to close in. So, why aren't we in court right about now with a bond hearing?"

While several heads shook, Doc Picasso offered a thought with a raise of his hand. "I don't think they want us stopped. I just think they want us kept to a dull roar."

"That makes sense to me," Chloe said as she checked her makeup in her compact mirror. "We do what we do because we think we're doing what's right. Why would we be alone in that belief? We are efficient and thorough, and we make one Hell of a point."

Godfrey rolled his eyes. "Look at the source of this assumption and ask yourselves if you want to entertain that. Look, sometimes investigations can go for months before a major bust."

"You have somewhat of a point, Godfrey, but I think you two just might have pinged on the crux of the issue," Dale said. "It could be that the only reason they did anything at all in Wisconsin is because Emily threw them too big a bone not to grab. I just wish I knew what that bone entails."

"I'm willing to bet that bone was me," Chloe said. "We didn't like each other, and although that's one thing, I know she thought I was, well, an odd fit."

"It couldn't have been just that. Godfrey doesn't like anyone here."

"No, it couldn't have just been you, love. I could see a psychological team wanting in your head and I could see law enforcement wanting you off the street, but there are several people here making an impact."

Dale continued. "The funny thing is we used to make the news and developed a reputation, but this debacle didn't make the local paper. Have we made them look like schmucks for too long and too much?"

"It isn't that," Ayers said. "Any sort of grudge would have made them rain down on us and they didn't. I don't know the deal with Emily, but I think it could be as simple as she got cold feet and worried we were going to hit a wall so she grabbed at what she could before going down with us all."

"Now that makes some sense," Godfrey said.

\----------

"Look, Ms. Hutch. I'm sure you see the situation in which you have found yourself," Fred said. "The one who you thought would go down while you counted your money has been deliberately set loose. We allowed Ms. Rhodes to escape and we still have you."

"That's because you're a double crossing sack of shit," Emily spat at him.

"I guess it takes one to know one. Now look, you can still walk away with your money, but we need more than just Chloe Rhodes. If we had kept her, there's a good chance they would have moved in with some sort of rescue mission, placing innocent people at risk. We all know this team operates outside the allowances of the law. So, I want names and everything that goes with them. Who is the team leader? Who are the former soldiers, and I know that's close to right with the recon team. And mainly, who is doing all the artwork?"

"Chloe Rhodes is your creepy artist," Emily grumbled.

"She isn't the only one."

"As far as I'm concerned, she is."

"I wouldn't bet the farm on that."

\-----------

"Well, I'm not stopping what I'm doing," Dale said. "If they want us to keep going, let's keep going."

"Where to, boss?" Sands asked.

"Well, I'm assuming our weak and leaky link is gone, so wherever we pop up should come as a surprise to everyone. So, unless your practice can't afford to miss you much longer, Doc, I'm thinking of visiting Texas."

"That sounds like fun," Chloe said. "I like it there, so long as I pay attention to proper hair conditioning."

"I can come and go as I please," Doc said. "So, I'm intrigued by your idea."

"I suppose I'm on board," Godfrey said. "But why Texas in particular?"

"Because everything is bigger in Texas and I want to make a big noise there," Dale said.

"But not before Doc and I have a chance to play, right?" Chloe asked. "I haven't had the opportunity to commit a genuinely satisfactory kill in some time. I need to hear one of these bastards beg me to stop and I need to see their expression when I show them their own beating heart right after I make them lick their liver. I want to be saturated in the blood of fiends. I'm missing it and I'm getting anxious."

"I merely desire to make a statement," Doc said. "With that being said, I'll likely create something even more heinous than this lovely lady. I must say that hearing the merciless beg has a certain allure."

"We would like to make up for the fizzle we had before," Ayers said, with Sands nodding with confidence.

"Okay then. What I've found after some digging is that there's a spike in certain algorithmic data suggesting an unusual amount of child porn in a small area called, Three Rivers, Texas. It's along I-37 about halfway between San Antonio and Corpus Christi.

"The I-35 corridor has been watched heavily, but some data suggests victims are run to Christi and then moved by boat south to Mexico."

"This boat thing seems to be rather trendy," Ayers said.

"I guess it does," Dale said. "If my hunch is correct, someone has a halfway house in that area, holding and training victims that are too young to, well, do anything. So, if I'm right and we sneak in, we'll be able to do what we do and then leave a souvenir for the media. Let Fred have to get up and suck on that."

"If that's the plan, Sands and I should get going toot sweet," Ayers said.

"But move like there's a crosshair following you. I don't know what intelligence Emily might have been able to pass on. While we might think we've exhausted our precautions, they might be hearing and watching us this instant. I've learned a valuable lesson on getting cocky."

"We'll be as careful as we possibly can, boss," Ayers said.

"As for the rest of us, let's split up and get there spaced apart. Chloe is with me, of course, but don't move in a group."

"Not a challenge, Dale. The rest of us tend to be loners."

"Yeah. In three days we'll meet at the Denny's at the southern side of San Antonio, there along I-37."

"Not a good idea. Emily would ping on Denny's first."

"I'm going to make her regret the existence of everything," Chloe hissed.

"I strongly suspect there is an International House of Pancakes nearby," Picasso said. "Is that not similar to your beloved Denny's?"

"Bite your tongue, Doc," Chloe said with a smile. "But I suppose it will do for now."

"I wouldn't suppose we could choose something edible for a change, like a steakhouse or something. You know," Godfrey said, "something without tutti fruiti in the menu."

"It isn't the food at Denny's; there's a historical significance for us," Dale said. "With that in mind, I'm changing mine. We're going to meet at the Denny's and keep our eyes open."

Coming Together in Three Rivers

Ayers and Sands were looking forward to the gang getting there. After doing some recon work and knowing the right signs to look for in order to find a place near Three Rivers that might specialize in trafficking sex slaves or producing child porn with kidnapped victims, they found something heinous.

"This is what you've been looking for, Dale, for a long time," Ayers said. When he refers to his boss as Dale rather than Boss, he has something important to say. "They're not just enjoying child pornography here in Three Rivers; they're producing it and peddling it. For the love of God, Boss. What they're doing here is awful. This is why God placed Picasso and Chloe on this world."

Ayers described how someone managed to place a highly organized child porn production studio in what's largely nowhere and are selling it internationally. They're also doing what's known as Pay-Per-Rape. This entails a remote viewer enjoying a show of his own, paying to see what he describes he wants seen. If he wants to see four men brutally gang rape a toddler, he just pays the fee through a sophisticated process that protects his data and, once the fee is collected, the show must go on.

"God placed all of us on this world for these reasons, my friend," Dale said, "and we're going to let the world in on at least some of that. If the media gets a kick out of what we do, then just wait until they see what we're going to do there. Fred can suck it."

The thought of what was going on angered Dale. He grew up surrounded by such filth and hated that it still existed. It probably has always been a part of the human equation, although that wasn't comforting to consider. He knew most of what Chloe suffered, so he knew she would enjoy bringing her brand of Hell upon those who thought Hell would be fun. He promised himself he would encourage her to outdo herself on this mission.

He found it disconcerting that Emily wouldn't be in on the action. At least, what with things being what they are, he hoped not. But it's just that this is the sort of thing that made her valuable.

"Can you both meet us in the Denny's at the south side of San Antonio, the last one in town just off from I-37? I know that seems predictable but I have my reasons."

"Sure thing, boss. About what time?"

"I'll let you know."

\----------

Emily Rose Hutch wasn't one to tip her hand often, but when she stacked the deck in her favor, sending certain parties on wild goose chases was all part of the fun. Seeing a big gun like the FBI take the bait and chase that goose was even a good laugh.

She was even able to coax the FBI into helping her fake her death during the Wisconsin attack. That super soldier of Hoskins' fell for it like a gullible toddler on the lap of Santa, but she knew the charade wouldn't last. Well, not likely, anyway.

She knew that more than likely, Hoskins would work out who dropped the dime on their Wisconsin operation. Smiling, she hoped it would be worked out with Hoskins putting his freak fuck on the task of interrogation, goading a confession out of that asshole Godfrey or, even better, Picasso working one out of Chloe. Or Godfrey. Either way, part of the fun was going to be dissention in the ranks, but they held up well. They figured out it was her fast and in a way she didn't see coming. They sent that Chloe freak right into the lion's den? One must suppose she isn't the lay she ought to be.

So, the FBI goob, Freddy, thinks he has her by the collar. Hoskins and his do-gooders have it in their head she's spilling her guts all over Charlie's desk. She couldn't help but to entertain the notion that the team might fall back until the smoke clears, or they'll raise Hell with a vengeance and evoke some drama.

Whatever it is, Agent Charles is sure to seek her confession and demand as much info as he can get. But he wants to offer a deal and provide immunity for some details. Just thinking about it made her laugh.

"Ms. Hutch, you can't really think we're going to simply provide you with some monetary reward and send you to the bank," Agent Charles said. "I mean, isn't our letting Rhodes go her way an indication that we want more than just her?"

"I came forward with the intent of providing information on her and collecting," he said. "The poster didn't ask for anyone but Chloe Rhodes, sir. I think I smell a rat."

"Emily, you can't expect me to believe you came forward with that intent and assumed we would overlook your involvement with that group of vigilantes. We could dismiss some traffic violations, but not this."

Emily knew she was pushing her luck by implicating herself in the operations, but it was the only way they'd take her seriously. Yeah, it placed her ability to walk away at risk, but risks defined her.

"Well, it looks like I also want some immunity for information."

Emily Rose Hutch has never fit in anywhere in her entire life. Her childhood wasn't bad and her parents were good people, but her parents were known and famous, and paid well, for being exceptionally beautiful. They were both models for the love of God. Her father modeled men's fashions and her mother modeled for magazines, both men's and fashion. She was a goddess.

Anyone could tell they were slightly dismayed that their daughter was born so butch, but they loved and indulged her. That she was physically unattractive wasn't the problem. That she was born mean and cold, that was the crux of the problem.

It didn't make her many friends, but she eventually found her way. She started out as a bouncer at the age of twenty, quickly found work breaking knees and heads for owed money, and soon thereafter found a grand affinity for being a hired gun. Organized groups kept her on call for a while and she eventually went independent, killing for those who were willing to pay.

Dale came across her doing a job he intended to do and was quite impressed. The job was a guy's older daughter wanting the old man removed from the equation ever since she found out what he did with children, including his own. They never knew each other since the relationship with the parents didn't work out, but once she discovered her pathetic roots, she wanted that weed plucked and discarded.

Dale found out about the guy because he was sloppy in the way he did his home videos. What the guy was doing was reprehensible but he was such an easy target. Dale was simply going to snipe the ass munch but Emily just beat him to it. Well, to the hit, anyway. But she didn't snipe him. Emily handled him an entirely different way.

She beat the bastard to the point that he could hardly move and then rammed a heavy dowel fitted with numerous barbs facing the bad way right up the guy's chute. Attached to it was a chain. On the other end of the fifty foot chain was Emily and her Harley. By the time it went taut she was going more than fast enough to eviscerate him in such a way that he crawled more than a mile dragging his colon and plenty else before succumbing to the blood loss and trauma.

Because Dale offered good money, she let him go on thinking she did the job for the good of the afflicted children, but truth be told, she would have done the same thing to the kids if paid enough.

She had to be honest with herself and found that, for a while, she liked Dale's team and what they did. Not so much for the moral equation but for the fun violence and mayhem against scumbags. But it didn't take long and she quickly got sick of the lunatic, Chloe Rhodes. The screwy bitch was simply all bad and had no place, anywhere. But because she was pretty when she wanted to be, she got such a pass. Emily thought that was bullshit.

The resentment festered. Things got to a point where the crazy bitch would be covered with gallons of blood, with her creepy eyes twitching like some retarded demon, and still, Hoskins wanted her in the worst way. It wasn't that Emily had a thing for Hoskins, it was just that Emily grew up sick and tired of the beautiful getting that free pass even when they were as twisted as Rhodes. And is that chick ever so twisted.

So, Emily found herself with a unique challenge. She wanted to do whatever she could to prevent Hoskins' team from going down. While she didn't really care, even Emily could admit they did a good thing. But that Chloe? She has to, has to, has to go down.

Three Rivers of Blood

Everyone was in position to do what needed to be done. Ayers and Sands were ready to knock down all the resistance, Dale and Godfrey would move in and ensure things were prepared for Doc and Chloe, and then this corner of Texas would challenge the worst corner of Hell ever imagined.

"The first wave is ready to crash," Dale overheard on his radio. He knew it was Ayers signifying Sands and he were ready to move.

"Ten Four on that. In exactly two minutes from...now, do your thing," Dale said.

The two minutes allowed him one last moment with the others. He pointed to Godfrey and said, "You and I move once Ayers signals they're clear. Now, there are likely young children in there and those two are going to traumatize them enough. The thing is, I believe there are other victims held nearby and I want to know one way or another. We're going to encourage whoever is in there to cooperate.

"Once we have done our thing," he said to Chloe and Doc, "you two are going to seek the making of history. I'll encourage the children out of there and leave you two to enjoy yourselves. As far as I can tell, you don't have to be in a rush. Unless Emily has us tracked somehow, I can't imagine how anyone would know we're here. So do us proud."

The anticipation had Chloe blinking and smiling. "I'm so happy to be here. Wow, but it seems like it's been so long since we've had any real fun playing well with others. Do we know how many partiers are in there?"

"It could be as many as two dozen, but I doubt many more than that at the time."

"I hope your goons don't kill them all," she said. "Doc and I got the mojo going and don't want to waste it."

"If it helps, I told them to keep their mortality rate to a minimum," Dale said. "We wanted this one to be about you two. We want to make a statement, if you know what I mean."

The gunfire was loud but the screaming of children was louder. Dale knew it really burned Sands when children were present as he was soft hearted when it came to our most innocent. He's told Dale in the past he'll never quit doing this until the world's children are safe.

The other four waited anxiously for their compatriots to finish their jobs. Dale knew they would want to be thorough rather than miss some scumbag with a pistol hiding under a bed. A job priority was Doc and Chloe had to be safe.

After what seemed like a bit too much time, Ayers called. "Dale, we're going to need you in here. The four of you can come in or just you, but this isn't funny."

"Are the targets all dead?"

"No. Just one went down. We have about thirty guys and six women in here, but about as many children."

There was a pause before Ayers finished. "These monsters were filming some sort of epic child rape gang bang in here, and they've killed children in the process."

Chloe asked, "How many children were killed?"

"Three children were horribly murdered, but just those three. But one of the kids told me they were all supposed to die. For the love of God, they were going to rape, torture and kill these kids while they screamed until they were done. Some wealthy fuck in Saudi Arabia ordered the scene, from what this fucker here tells me."

"Hey, are the cameras still rolling?" Dale asked.

"It took my stiletto into this asshole's thigh, but he finally admitted they're on a digital feed. Someone's watching right now. They couldn't ID us through this gear."

"Is it safe for us to move in right now? I want to put on a show, right the fuck now."

"Come on in," Ayers said. "But we need to get the kids out and... wait a moment."

Dale was momentarily confused by the delay, but then Ayers came back and said, "There's a young girl here, maybe twelve, who tells me there are a lot more kids held captive close by. Boss, we have a lot going on here."

Dale felt disappointed that they would have to prioritize for the kids rather than scourge these bastards. Then he felt bad for having the thought.

"We'll be right there."

"I wanted to make a point tonight," Chloe said, "but the children really are more important."

Dale felt his affection for her surge at that moment. He said, "I'm not sure you won't have some time to play, but we have to be smart. Whoever is watching might alert the authorities or who know what."

"Dale, if you and I work to extricate the children, we could leave Chloe and Doc to do their job. Unfortunately, I don't think it would be a good idea to linger much," Godfrey said.

"You're right," Dale said. "How about it, you two?"

"It's fine, but I want to help with the kids first; at least the ones that are right in there," Chloe said. "I want their fear and suffering to pump me. It's worth the risk and the kids are the priority. Also, it might help having a feminine touch in that regard."

"Mission accepted," Dale said. "Let's go have some fun for a change."

\---------

After the dramatic fire in New York City, where there was extraordinary destruction as well as numerous young victims of heinous crimes freed, numerous offices of the FBI had plenty to do when it came to prosecuting a ridiculous amount of people, many of whom are well known celebrities, and one sinister and connected Shane Black.

After several interviews with the young survivors, it was clear and obvious that Chloe Rhodes took a major part in the destruction of the Black Empire. The description of those eyes made that clear. But the other mysterious hero, the one who took Black's money and clearly orchestrated the event, remains a significant mystery. The only thing Fred knows is that he is the mastermind. He also knows that's why he can't take down Rhodes quite yet.

But this Emily wretch knows who this mastermind is and yet doesn't want to play nice.

Agent Charles isn't the only one on the case; if he was, he'd be able to bend Hutch to his way of thinking sooner rather than later. But the top of the FBI food chain wants answers, as does certain branches of the CIA. Normally, they wouldn't have a seat at this table, but everyone knows victims have been smuggled to and through Canada and Mexico. That spells CIA.

The thing is, that's too much money, too many lives affected and too many lives lost to violence and perversion to just chalk it up to 'the way it goes'. Regardless of the Robin Hood appearance and the rooting of the media, there isn't anyone just beyond the reach of the law.

Well, except those who wield it.

\------------

Paul Kaczynski has done a number of things during his relatively short career as a reporter. He's been to Afghanistan and Kuwait. He's been on the ground for train derailments, in a helicopter reporting the sight of hurricane damage, and a few fun things reporters talk about with a contrived grimace when they're old and grey.

But he never thought he would get a call from The Traffic Cops. The call came to his cell phone directly, from whom he had no clue, but the message was clear. Just down the road, in Three Rivers, the bad guys lost a battle.

Paul went to San Antonio thinking things would simmer down just a bit and he could enjoy a satisfying career riding on a good reputation while working in a relatively stable Texas community. He knew the occasional calamity would show up and he would greet it with a convincing grim expression, but when the label of Traffic Cops is in the mix, few reporters would harbor the ability to hide the glee.

In a distorted voice, the message said, "Good morning, Mr. Kaczynski. We thought you might like to know that there is a lot of good news coming out of where the included coordinates demonstrate a loss on the part of those who profit from the harm if children.

"Please notify the authorities, as there are numerous children needing rescue, but rest assured that there is plenty there to keep your team occupied. As luck would have it, there is actually an abundance of video evidence and digital traces to those who have enjoyed the show. As a special touch, from us to you at no additional charge, we left the scene looking the way most people think it should. Justice had its way today, thanks to those some call The Traffic Cops."

Paul literally jumped out of bed and hit the floor running. He made phone calls and forwarded the message as well as the teaser of a pic he received.

He was glad the pic was only on the small screen of his smart phone. If he was subjected to more detail than that, his stomach would have done more than just turn and roll a bit. But it did inform him to look down a lot and peek just a little once he got there, because he had no idea someone could force human bodies to end up looking like that.

\----------

Kaczynski did the right thing and notified the authorities right away, but took the risk of making sure his people were called first.

His boss woke up fast, too. "Paul, you're sure about this?"

"I'm not out there yet, but everything in my gut, which is turning, tells me this is for real. We need to move like we're on fire if we're going to get out there before the FBI closes off the entire town."

"Okay. I'm going to cut into local programming to announce breaking news to those who are up at this hour. In a town this big, that's a big rumor."

It didn't take long for Kaczynski and his people to arrive where the so-called Traffic Cops freed numerous victims. Seeing the sheer number of children they had illegally detained at the location was a shocker in itself. The scumbags who operated the place were beyond evil, as they were using these kids to record heinous rapes and mutilations for their entertainment as well as the entertainment of their kind everywhere, via a secure video feed.

It isn't secure anymore and soon the FBI will have names. Lots of names. And addresses.

That those scumbags were doing those things is the appropriate tense to consider, as they were doing lots of things but never would again. Not unless they had the opportunity to pursue their proclivities in Hell.

This just in...

"This is Paul Kaczynski reporting live from what was thought to be a small dairy farm just outside the quiet town of Three Rivers. Sources have revealed this location has not operated as a dairy farm, but a corner of Hell farming out abducted and exploited children for the purposes of sex slavery, trafficking and violent child pornography.

"Part of the serious issue is that the source that revealed this information is none other than the secret organization known as The Traffic Cops. Just to inform our viewers, I just indicated we cannot show much to our viewers because of the graphic nature of the crime scene here. But I can inform you that the gruesome scene demonstrates some of the worst images of murder and body mutilation I've ever heard of."

The cameraman panned around, showing that arriving authorities have been assisting the children and that much of the place looks abandoned. But there was little else to be seen from the camera's view.

"The scene here," Kaczynski continued, "is beyond gruesome. These vigilantes simply cannot be viewed as anything but vicious murderers, to be honest and thorough. While it has been assumed all those killed were among the criminals, the methods used to commit these murders are truly the stuff of nightmares."

Agent Fred Charles overheard some of that as he moved about with his team to occupy the crime scene, gather evidence and so forth. The thing was, it was known (to a point) who committed the heinous crime of vigilantism, with Chloe Rhodes and her partners the likely suspects, but the bigger fish to fry was to ascertain what was going on before the Traffic Cops came on the scene.

"Sir," Agent Charles Frederickson said as he approached Fred. "The evidence and information we're gathering here could take weeks to process, but the main point is that these fucks were committing rape, murder, torture and trafficking of children. We've found literally hours worth of video evidence that will have to be viewed.

"We've also found evidence of major Pay-Per-Rape conduct here. Customer information has been kept on most of those who bought in, with much of the commerce from overseas. A lot of it was from the Middle East, but also Europe and Japan. But then, there's been more than an ample amount from right here at home. The sorry shit online last night was some oil bigwig from Saudi Arabia."

"That sucks," Agent Charles said, "because there might not be anything we can legally do to him."

"It wouldn't hurt my feelings to tell Kaczynski there exactly who the bastard is," Frederickson admitted. "We might not be able to collar him, but we can out him."

"We're not supposed to do that, but I'll take the heat for it," Fred said, knowing the so-called heat would be bluster and a wink. "Have the families of the rescued children been notified?"

"For many of the kids, but not all. Agent Tunny believes several of these children were, well, created just for this. She says it's likely they've never known anything but this bullshit."

Agent Charles squeezed his eyes shut and just shook his head. "For the love of God. Hey, all evidence collected regarding the Traffic Cops comes straight to and through me, got that? Nobody else gets a whiff of any of it, you know what I mean?"

Frederickson nodded and said, "You're coming in five by five, sir."

There was one other person who needed to catch on with crystal clarity. That person's name was Emily Rose Hutch.

\-----------

Emily watched the video files presented by the FBI, likely just for her benefit. Once it was done, she smiled and applauded.

"Some popcorn would have been in order, Fred."

"I want to know who else is involved other than Rhodes, Hutch."

"Judging by the looks of this mess, I wouldn't doubt it. I can tell you that the guys tied to one another and dismembered simultaneously, and that's what happened to make them do that to each other, are victims of Chloe Rhodes. The ones with their limbs and heads exchanged, that fun activity is the work of her," Emily happily admitted. "But everything else there just seems shrouded in mystery."

A Lot of Confidence Going Around

Agent Fred Charles wasn't interested in this bitch's bullshit anymore. The shrouds of mystery were surely going to place her behind bars. Much of that was because of her refusal to cooperate, but mostly because, well, you don't get to be a part of things like that and get away with it.

"Hutch, the witnesses there, the children rescued, all extensively mentioned someone fitting the description of Chloe Rhodes. They all tout her as being some sort of wondrous hero."

"That's because they didn't witness any of that." Emily pointed to the evidence of carnage.

"Very good. But they mentioned two guys looking like G.I. Joe, a librarian, whatever that means, some sort of American Samurai, and another man too busy with taking care of things to talk to them. That means I need five IDs, as I already have one."

"Had. I doubt you'll ever get the chance to collar that one ever again."

Emily knew the score. She overplayed her hand by coming to the authorities but figured that out a bit too late. It was just that her disgust for a creature like Chloe Rhodes clouded her judgment. Why did she think she could drop a dime on Rhodes and leave the team going strong? Well, she knew she was lured by the money, and lured by the picture of seeing pretty Chloe collared and chained. She likely could've killed Chloe on her own, but that wouldn't have tasted nearly so sweet.

But sometimes compromise is a part of life.

"Well, I'm getting closer, Hutch. I got you and that means six to go."

"You got nothing, bitch."

For a large and bulky girl, Emily could move well and was considerably flexible. She would have to be in order to perform a roundhouse kick and catch Agent Charles in the throat like that. After all, the man was over six feet tall. But Emily was flexible and heavy, so old Fred went down like a bag of chain. As he grasped at his throat while lying on the floor, she made a promise.

"I don't know why I thought I could trust you. I just wanted you to take down that Rhodes, and you had the cunt in your fucking hands. It looks like I'll have to cope with this myself. If I'm feeling generous, I'll send you her winky head."

With that, she rushed out the door to who knows where. Fred was able to get to his knees and reach the phone, but what he conveyed to those at the other end only served to distract them from the fleeing Emily Rose Hutch. After all, he sounded like he was being choked, so everyone rushed in his direction.

Emily left his car in an abandoned lot about thirty miles away, with no trace as to where she went.

\----------

Because Chloe had no idea Emily was on the loose and hunting for her directly, she was in an exceptionally good mood. But the truth of the matter is that Chloe's mood would likely elevate with knowing she could place that sow in her sights.

Chloe's mood had nothing to do with Emily. Her mood was heightened by the opportunity to scourge, render, slaughter and torment a nearly uncountable amount of monsters who committed merciless acts against innocent children.

After torturing and killing more than thirty freaks at the Three Rivers corner of Hell, Chloe felt beyond elated. Once she was done and the last bastard gave up, she was literally dripping with cold blood. Because she was so elated with herself and the grand service she gladly performed for this world, she went outside and danced in the moonlight, singing and laughing, loving the moment for exactly what it was.

It brought a tear to Dale's eye to see his true love so utterly happy. His heart swelled to the thought that he wished he could place thirty more of those freaks before her, chained and pleading while Chloe chose her edged weapons, in a nightly basis. She would be so incredibly happy. And, as anyone could figure out, a happy Chloe makes for a happy Dale.

But the high of that night carried with Chloe for several days. She was funny, effervescent, sweet and sexy, and a veritable delight. Dale knew such things defined a wondrous and happy life for his true love and himself, so he rediscovered he never wanted those moments to stop.

The entire crew sat at a large table at Denny's, enjoying the feast of the successful hunt as they watched the local news continue to rant on the story even days later. They laid low for a few days while the media and law enforcement had their fun, but the first Saturday night after their festivities found them drinking to a toast.

"To making the world a better place for everyone," Dale said as raised his beer. "To having the chance to do so again and again."

"You got that right," Chloe said. "And I must say, Doc; you must have been divinely inspired that night. You'll have to coach me on removing that much of a body before they finally succumb to the awe of it all."

"Why, thank you my dear," Picasso said as he blushed. "But I could hardly hold a candle to the artwork you displayed for the world to admire. And as for you, Mr. Godfrey; your ability to sweep through those fiends with your Katana would make all of Japan quite jealous."

"Thanks, Doc. I had a marvelous time, but if it wasn't for the super troops, my story might be quite different."

Ayers and Sands both remained rather stoic, feeling a bit exposed at a San Antonio Denny's that early after a major mission, but Ayers responded. "Your tax payer dollar made sure we were more than good at what we do, so the thanks go back to you for your contributions to our free market society."

Dale saluted that with another raise of his beer. "Here's to an appreciation for the value of a vibrant economy."

After all, Dale was able to access the financial records and accounts of everyone actively involved with the Three Rivers location. That level of income would easily cover the meal at Denny's, particularly since the income rivaled what Dale got out of Shane Black. Well, about half of it.

So, everyone was paid rather well. Even Godfrey was somewhat sociable and chose to get along.

Dale knew he had a good thing going with this crew, but the Emily issue wouldn't leave him alone. She knew too much and had a bad hard-on for Chloe; if she was truly working with the FBI desired to bring them down, she just might be able to pull that off.

Thankfully, Chloe was the only one Agent Fred Charles could identify. Doc Picasso was safely secured in his practice, even if Emily dropped a dime on him. There was no proof on him at all, just as there wasn't anything on the super soldiers. Godfrey was such a ghost that not even Dale himself would know what to do if he had to find the guy. But then, Dale knew he was just such a ghost.

Chloe was the red flag and the loose cannon, but Dale loved her deeply. She loved him, as well, and they were good together. Besides, her role on the team was more than just shock value; she was what made the news and put a sense of fear in at least some of these sinister fiends.

He watched her as the six of them relaxed and celebrated a job well done. She seemed relaxed and at ease, chatting easily with Doc and even engaging with some conversation with Ayers. She gave Ayers the creeps but he understood her reality.

The team needed a success after the Wisconsin fiasco, and another success would likely help even more. Once dinner was done and they retreated, Dale would be back on the search right away for the next group to go down.

\-----------

The Bureau strongly recommended to Agent Charles that he take off enough time to recover from what nearly resulted in an emergency tracheotomy. That monstrous wretch named Emily almost killed him. He hoped she realized any deals they might have had were gone and off the table.

But of course she did. They never had any true deal, and how could they? It didn't take long for Fred and his people to determine Emily tipped her hand by coming forward to nab Chloe Rhodes. There was no way she could avoid implicating herself and still provide reasonable intelligence on Rhodes, and then she wouldn't provide information that might implicate the rest of the crew.

Not the brightest bulb on the string.

It didn't require a lot of prodding to work out that Emily's primary motive was jealousy. Chloe had so much going on and was pretty while Emily looks like Hulk Hogan in drag. But things are working out just fine, minus the risk to Fred's singing career.

While he didn't want to push too far and drive Hutch away, he did have the desire to have her lead him to the Traffic Cops. It would be almost impossible for the FBI to catch this vigilante crew while playing fair, but following Hutch just might do the trick. But it wasn't just that simple, though.

Fred has his hopes and dreams while the FBI has ideas all its own. First of all, he doesn't have a major issue with seeing those who hurt the innocent go down in flames. But beyond that, Fred is sure that the Traffic Cop leader has access to a ridiculous amount of money. Money that just might cozy up one certain agent's retirement.

\-----------

The gang fell off a horse and fell hard, but they got up and got back on with a vengeance. In fact, while the Three Rivers mission was first thought to be simple and just an attention getter, it turned out to be one of the team's greater accomplishments.

Wouldn't it be nice to repeat the success? Wouldn't it be sweet to find an arrogant group of traffickers who deserve to be under the mercy of Doc and Chloe (Mercy? How cute) and after annihilating them body and soul, taking their ill gotten gains in order to put those funds towards rescuing more victims as well as creating wealth for the team? Sure, it's a tough living, but somebody has to do it.

Yeah, it would be sweet, indeed.

Once upon a time, Dale, under the advice of Ayers and Sands, avoided towns and areas near large and major military complexes for the obvious reasons. But the team was in their game and had a mission greater than the concern of those unconcerned. So, while a hopping area like El Paso might have been shied from because of practicality, it turns out there's too much to ignore.

The running of young women across the border to Mexico has run virtually unheeded. But what dug into Dale's bag was that Mexico was a half way point, with the Middle East being the final destination. Trafficking to the Middle East burned Dale particularly because while most traffickers and buyers dehumanize their victims, the corrupt among Muslims look at infidel women as just product.

Through intelligence gained at Three Rivers, the team discovered there was going to be a major shipment of several dozen victims via school buses and chartered buses on some mock trip to Juarez.

"Hey, fellas."

"Yeah, boss," Sands replied.

"How would you like to show some ambition and create a major international incident," Dale said with a smile.

Ayers just swallowed hard.

"I have to state that there might not be any potential income, as I don't know who to crush, but I want to expose a major shipment going from El Paso to Juarez. Not only that, but I want to let all of planet Earth know what's going on and why, and who's involved."

"Why sure, that sounds like a lot of fun, but Fort Bliss is right there," Sands said. "That's a lot of military that might swoop in on us."

"I'm counting on it. In fact, I just might make sure of it."  
Ayers swallowed hard again and said, "What do you have in mind?"  
\----------  
The team had to act fast. The information gained had yet to be exposed to the offenders who thought they were operating freely, so their concerns for security didn't rise beyond the norm.

What helped was the disconnected attitude on the part of those loading the four buses with victimized young women. It seemed they felt a bit rough for doing what they were, knowing all the girls were being sent to their horrible deaths. They were impervious to the cries and pleas, but they weren't cruel or antagonizing. Their attitudes were as though they were sending lambs to the slaughter.

This job was primarily for the skills of Ayers and Sands, who possessed the training and proficiency required. Dale intended on seeking leadership information (because that led to financial information, and this situation likely involved large sums of money) so Godfrey and he would take a few risks while the soldiers did their thing.

"This job is a bit different from what we usually do, but the lives saved are sure to be many, and the notoriety gained just might make us celebrities. We just might make the cover of People or the Rolling Stone."

"Not my thing," Sands said.

"Have no fear. The objective is to free these victims, make enough noise to garner the attention of two countries, and make our fans hug one another in ecstasy. The bonus is that it'll royally piss off Fred and his minions."

"So, the big thing is to place these packages near the fuel tanks of each bus in question? You know these won't make much of an impact, right?" Ayers asked.

"I don't even want them set off. We don't want anyone on the buses hurt, remember?" Dale asked. "But during the investigation sure to follow, I want them found intact. Let Fred and his people diffuse them."

The two soldiers simply nodded and smiled.

Making Some Noise

Everyone was in place. Through the information the team received from the Three Rivers coup, they knew what vehicles to watch for and even some of the henchmen working the caper.

The border crossing location was actually a large area, with numerous lanes to traverse that were choked into individual booths for credentials and inspections. There was a main building on the far west side, surrounded by several civilian vehicles and numerous cruisers.

Those on location were Dale with the soldiers. The intent was to strike each of the buses in question with subdued rocket launchers. The rockets themselves were quite toned down, filled with low level explosives that wouldn't likely break a window but would flame up in a large fireball of drama.

Once the flames were evident, a well placed shot was to knock flat at least the front steer tires, rendering the buses immobile. Chaos was the main ingredient, but well placed chaos, as information of who and what was on the bus would be released to authorities just moments before the light show.

But that explosives were placed next to the fuel tanks of each bus was the guarantee to capture attention. Terrorist activity at the border with Mexico? That's news.

"Here they come, boss," Ayers said, ready to make his shot.

"All right, let's do this right. We don't want genuine casualties, as that would cancel us out," Dale said.

"The chaos might cause a ruckus, boss," Sands said as he took aim. "That might trigger someone who's trigger happy."

"Yeah, that's why I want these guys alerted before the first shot. I'm making the call right now."

\-----------

While Dale prepared to make a call that left no doubt or misunderstanding to chance, Godfrey, Doc and dearest Chloe were poised to pounce where the buses were loaded with crying, innocent girls and young women. Dale didn't like leaving those three exposed where gunfire might occur, but Godfrey made it clear he could hold things under control as well as anyone.

That wasn't Plan A, but when it was discovered there were going to be major transactions at the point of product receiving, the cha-ching factor kicked in. Dale wanted to be there instead, but being the boss meant being where all the action is.

"Look, trust us or don't, Dale," Godfrey said. "But I think this is the way to go. The buses leave and these goons think it's Miller Time. We move fast because there are only six of them, neutralize them and lift their wallets. You three are the ones who need speed and stealth to make sure you're not caught. I just have to wait on the two artists to hurry up."

Dale eventually agreed. The three of them watched the buses pull out while the vicious pigs waved with smiles as they drove off. But as soon as they went inside, Godfrey pulled his sword while Doc ensured his tranquilizer gun was ready to go.

Chloe had a 9mm.

"You do know how to use that, right?"

"Of course. My man and I have practiced quite a bit. Guns hurt my head sometimes, but I know what to do. But if you both are really on your game, I won't need this. So you both pop 'em and chop ' em, and I'll go in nice and quiet and have some funny fun fun."

To both three-man teams, it seemed like a piece of cake. It's funny how it often doesn't end up that way.

\---------

None of the three men wanted to linger after the rockets were launched, but the anticipated escape route wasn't as wide open as they hoped it would be. In fact, once the flames roared and the buses stopped and everyone was running around in a melee of confusion, authorities from eighty different directions poured in.

"We can't run, Dale, and we certainly can't fight our way out. We can't just shoot cops and we won't be able to fight any military troops who might show up," Ayers said. "Right now, we blend in and we hide if we can. We do what Chloe did in Wisconsin."

"She had numerous cruisers chase her and she dumped it in a restaurant front window," Dale said as they scurried out of their excess military garb down to just pants and shirts. "She isn't an example to follow in anything, ever. I love her dearly, but there it is."

The original notion was that the plumes of fire would rise and the response to that, there, would be speedy. But instead it seemed as though planet readiness was right there for some training session and got lucky. Their position was centered and swarmed almost immediately and if they didn't have the distance they did, they would be on the ground with their hands on their head.

Lucky for them that Ayers and Sands were part of an experimental military mission that went awry. While Dale couldn't move like them or run as fast, or hold his breath nearly as long as they could, he was fit and capable enough to not bog them down to the point of being a liability. Or, at least too much of one. That was good, considering the percentage of law enforcement and everyone else that spotted them.

\----------

Doc Picasso was not an action hero. He was rather spindly, getting up there in age, and had his hands buried deep in various vagina more than he did anything else. He was an accomplished gynecologist who had a psychopathic bent for scourging, mutilating and killing those who fell into his category of 'need to go'. But those he operated and experimented on were best prepared or at least subdued before he felt comfortable to proceed.

That's why he felt better about the adventurous Godfrey moving in before Chloe and he, but yet felt horrible and confused, and trapped, when it was clear that whoever was in that small building somehow got the better of Godfrey and his daring entrance.

Over their earpieces: a lot of commotion, a few screams, three reports from a firearm (Godfrey had his sword upon entry and it doesn't sound like that), an eerily familiar voice crying out in pain, and then someone saying, "I don't know who you are, bitch, but you're about to wish you were someone else."

Doc felt even more confused and concerned when Chloe left his side and rushed to what she surely thought would be a rescue attempt.

"Chloe! Don't go in there," Doc hissed. "Come back here!"

She just turned and shook her head and then continued forward. She knew those inside might assume their unknown wouldn't be alone, so she moved fast but with her pistol leading the way. Once she had a window near the door where Godfrey entered, Chloe opened fire, sending in four quick rounds.

After that, she laid up close against the wall just around the corner from where the door is.

Two men quickly exited with guns drawn, looking around to target anyone and anything suspicious, but they didn't expect anyone right there, to their dismay. Without firing one shot, Chloe was able to bury a dagger into the base of the neck of one attacker, dropping him like a bag of chain, and then she spun with a kick, separating the trachea of the other guy. One hand went to his throat but he still managed to fire two shots. One round went to the sky but the other grazed Chloe's shoulder. Before a third round was fired, she kicked away his weapon and then quickly slashed open his belly.

She reached in and took hold of as much entrails as possible and then handed that to the gurgling fool. Considering him finished, Chloe moved to peek in the mysterious doorway.

No sooner had she peeked when there was a shot fired right at her.

"Hey," she yelled in after barely being missed. "That was very rude and I don't think I like you anymore."

Chloe was fairly sure there were likely four more guys to cope with, but just as she was about to take another glance, she heard a pop and then a groan behind her. She turned to look, seeing a man down with a tranquilizer dart in his neck.

"Nobody likes getting a shot from the doctor," she mumbled as she looked to see if that guy was alone. He wasn't.

Just as that other guy aimed to fire at Chloe, a dart entered into his right cheek.

This certainly caught him off guard and he stumbled, but he didn't go down. Because the dart entered his hollow cheek, most of the drug dribbled onto his tongue rather than immediately entering the bloodstream. But enough entered his system to cause some disorientation, so Chloe took advantage and rushed the man. With a small folding hunter, she acted fast to hack the man's head free, looking into his shocked eyes just before they went dead.

Chloe rushed back to the eviscerated dude and worked his head off as fast as she could. Holding both heads by the hair in one hand and her nine in the other, she moved to look again into the door.

"Drop it or he gets dropped," is what she heard when she saw the bad guy holding a gun to Godfrey's head.

"Okay, okay. You win," she said as she threw her nine towards their feet. Then right away she retrieved a gun from headless and gutless guy and then held his head in full sight of the doorway.

Right away, three bullets entered the head, causing it severe damage. She was lucky her hand and arm weren't shot. She looked to sight in where the gunman was and then threw the head at him.

"Holy Christ all fuck!" the bastard shrieked.

The guy instinctively veered away from the gory sight and when he did, Chloe slung the other head at him like it was s dodge ball. It hit him right near his ear and he shrieked again, but not for long. Godfrey, once he was free of the fun to his head, pulled a dagger from his belt line and plunged it into twitchy boy's eye. He wailed for a hell of a moment, but Chloe moved fast and kicked the blade through his skull. He didn't do a thing after that.

"Come on, Chloe. I wanted that knife back."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Just a sec."

She stomped the head apart and dug through the slimy mess until she found Godfrey's dagger. She wiped it clean on the dead fool's shirt and handed it to Godfrey.

"There you go, sweetie. You okay in here?"

Godfrey pulled his shirt back, exposing a rather nasty wound to the left side of his abdomen. It bled freely and Godfrey was pale.

"Chloe, my dear," she heard from behind her. "Allow me to come through and take a look at that. Do you know how to access the information we were sent to retrieve?"

Before she responded, Doc was getting a close look at Godfrey's gunshot wound.

"Hunky Guy told me everything I have to do. That guy isn't going to die, is he?"

"Thanks for the concern, darling."

"No, I think you should be okay, but you are going to need some medical attention," Doc Picasso said. "I can take care of this, but I can't do it right while we're in this wretched place."

"Doc, why don't you get him out of here and find a better spot," Chloe said. "I'll do what I'm supposed to do here and then catch up."

"My ass, bitch," Godfrey spat. "That's our money and I can't see a good reason to trust you with it."

Wow. That was a dumb thing to do.

Chloe rushed at him quickly, wrested his dagger from him and violently plunged it into the gunshot wound. She then held his face to hers, eyes blinking wildly, and she said, "That is the last time you question my loyalty to this team. The next time you do it, I will kill you in a way more gruesome than I have ever killed anyone. Take that to the bank, fucker."

She dropped him and went to do her thing while Doc Picasso helped Godfrey to his feet.

"That was a particularly ignorant thing to do, Mr. Godfrey," Picasso said.

"Gee. You think so?"

\--------------

The three men were able to keep ahead of those pursuing them, but just barely.

"We don't have many choices here, boss," Sands said. "Do you think you could hold your breath for a little while?"

Dale just looked at him after looking around to ascertain they were just about through. They had a good head start and the two soldiers mostly dragged him along (he couldn't get how they could run so fast) but he was already winded and suffered a grumbling stitch in his side.

He barely managed a response. "Why?"

Because it was dark, their best chance was hitting the water and remaining under and out of sight until they could find a better means of escape. While most people, regardless of who they are, would be trapped and surrounded after hitting the water, these two soldiers were not most people. In fact, their abilities under the water were why they survived their unscrupulous training while most other trainees died.

Most of them drowned.

To the sound of gunfire, the three men went over the side of the nearby bridge and hit the water, suddenly feeling the cool rush after being so heated by the melee. The Rio Grande wasn't exactly what anyone would call grand in scale, but by moving along the bottom of the mucky creek, the team would be able to keep out of sight. But there was a slight issue- while Ayers and Sands were physically modified to hold their breath and even breathe the water for a short amount of time (most trainees failed that aspect of training, and surgery), Dale had no such abilities.

It was no wonder he drowned by the time the three of them were a safe distance away.

Close. Really Close

Once Chloe was done decorating the vicinity with the blood and body parts of those who caused them so much grief and nearly killed Godfrey, they were no longer in a major hurry. Doc was careful to treat Godfrey in order to ensure his speedy recovery while Chloe did what she could to transfer every dollar of available funds to the accounts provided by Dale.

"So, you think I'm going to live?" Godfrey asked as Doc cleaned up the area he just closed.

"Well, Chloe punching another hole in you with your own knife didn't make things easier, but I do believe you are going to recover just fine," Picasso said. "But you need to understand that those stitches must be allowed to heal before you get back in the fray. If you pull apart what I just put together, you could be at serious risk. My dear boy, you just might be out of the game for a little while."

"That sucks Emily's balls."

"Yes, so it would seem, but the alternative is somewhat darker," Doc said.

"I wouldn't think you have too much to worry about, since your convalescent leave should pay out handsomely, according to the numbers I've seen," Chloe said, stepping into sight looking as gruesome and gory as could be.

"Just the sight of you covered in the blood and offal of those guys is enough to push me into needing therapy and medication," Godfrey said as she came into sight. "I'm not a squeamish guy, but, come on now. You look so much better when you're presentable to the public."

"Oh, so you think I'm sexy."

"Well, you can be quite attractive and you clean up very well," Godfrey said. "Linen is a good fabric for you, but I imagine you catch some attention when you're in denim."

"Yeah? I'm in denim right now."

"Oh," he said, looking away. "We're about done here, but what about the other half? Have you heard from Dale yet?"

She just looked at him. She looked at him, blinking from left to right, big to little, and nickel to pinpoint, covered in what has to be two gallons of thickening blood and perhaps ten pounds of horrid flesh. There was no way of telling what was on her mind. But there was something...

"My dear, what did you do to your hair?"

Chloe reached up and pulled what proved to be the top of the skull from one of the goons. She just threw it to the side.

Godfrey had to concentrate on not getting nauseous; the wretching would likely be bad for the stitches.

She then said, "My Hunky Guy said he wanted to make a big noise and catch a lot of attention. I hope he didn't catch more than he wanted."

She looked around her and spotted a small LCD TV mounted in one corner of the room. She pointed at it and said, "Do you think we can turn that on?"

Picasso went to it, looking around. He found a remote and brought the screen to life. They waited the prerequisite moments for the screen to brighten, only to find the scene blasted with bright writing saying, BREAKING NEWS.

This just in:

The scene was horrific, with helicopters displaying what might be scores or maybe hundreds of police and maybe soldiers moving all around while twice that many civilians hid and dodged the melee and gunfire. The border was in utter chaos.

"Hey, you go, Hunky Guy!"

"The scene here near El Paso is beyond dramatic, Jim, with what has to be every available officer in Texas hunting the mysterious three men who committed this horrible terrorist attack. As you can see in this footage, the three of them hit the water but disappeared since. Everyone has watched for them to emerge, but there has been no sign of them. Perhaps they had diving equipment, but if not, it's difficult to gauge how they could have survived being under water for all this time."

"I don't know how to say this easily," Godfrey said. "But I don't think they had any equipment for that."

Picasso just watched with one hand poised tightly over his mouth.

Chloe retrieved her phone and dialed a number she needed to respond. She just stood there with the phone to her ear.

After an extended moment, Picasso asked, "What can you tell us, my dear?"

She turned to look at them, with tears starting through the coagulating blood caked on her face. "Nobody is answering the phone. It just keeps ringing."

\-----------

The soldiers dragged Dale's lifeless body with the current for as long as they dared. Sands enjoyed greater efficiency when it came to breathing the water for longer than Ayers could, but Ayers was still fine so far. It was Sands who did his best to give Dale what air he could via mouth-to-mouth to Dale, knowing they couldn't risk breaking the surface without risking a barrage of gunfire and their location being revealed.

As they moved with a dead Dale along the bottom, they watched the time. The body of Dale Hoskins demonstrated no signs of life, but they knew if they somehow got a lucky break and could escape the water unseen, there might be hope. Yes, there was still hope. And then they saw it.

They came to a small pile of plywood halfway into the murky water, recognizing they could bring their heads to the surface and retrieve some air. But first they would have to purge the vulgar water of the Rio Grande from their lungs. While they did so in order to regain the ability to breathe the air, they worked to get the water from the lungs of lifeless Dale.

They remained underneath the debris and tried to stay as quiet as possible, hearing search helicopters and therefore knowing they were stuck for a time. But they had a significant priority change and took the time to focus on that.

Once Sands had enough water out of his lungs, he said, "I need to get on this guy if he isn't going to end up brain dead or worse."

"Good enough. I'll do a quick recon to see if we can get out of this mess."

Ayers submerged and went unseen, leaving the boss with Sands. He began CPR, hoping he wasn't too late. Because the boss's clothes were saturated with dirty water and his phone was on vibrate, Sands had no idea it was ringing over and over.

\----------

Seeing that these asinine Traffic Cops bite off more than they could chew, Agent Fred Charles's moved as many of his essential personnel as he could to the border near El Paso.

He had watched the video evidence and listened to the cryptic message from those assholes, but he couldn't help but to smile when about a zillion cops and soldiers sent those three bastards into the river, afraid to come up for air.

He had to hand it to them for having the foresight and wherewithal to place scuba gear in order to escape. If those there on sight had seen them hit the water and then where they had moved to, they would have been nabbed. But they must have hit the water and grabbed a tank while rubbing their bellies along the bottom, and then moved fast, because they were gone.

Wow, but those idiots made a noise. They blasted those buses with some sort of rocket that blasted some flames but only slightly scorched the sides. After seeing so many frantic young women evacuated from those buses and then finding out their intended fates made it clear what these Traffic Cops wanted to do.

But at the border? Now the Presidents of two countries, and likely more, know who they are. Further, they stated there were explosives on the fuel tanks and that prompted panic and evacuation of the area. When explosives experts found packs of Black Cat firecrackers taped to the tanks (one hundred percent harmless on diesel tanks) they were pissed off.

But Fred was sure those guys thought their escape was going to be easier. They never assumed the bureau would place extra personnel from the FBI and Fort Bliss there. But it should have been obvious, since trafficked victims move out the borders so regularly. So now, they did accomplish a lot of what they wanted, with making everyone know about those women and girls who are now free and returning to their families.

But POTUS along with many others aren't happy with those sorts of busy bodies. Two Presidents just got socked in the eye by vigilantes and they're not taking it nicely.

So much for keeping this shit on the lowdown.

\----------

Emily couldn't help but to laugh at what she saw on the breaking news report. She knew those three desperate fools hitting the water were Dale and his super soldiers. But she also knew that bunch wouldn't likely have their softies on site; Doc and the creepy Chloe would be elsewhere in order to keep them safe.

"So, they're somewhere nearby in the shimmering metropolis of El Paso," Emily said from the edge of her hotel bed in central San Antonio. "Wouldn't it be precious if we could have us a nice reunion?"

\-------------

Sands wasn't entirely happy with Dale's recovery. Sure, he managed to get him breathing and his heart rate going, but Dale's responses were not what Sands hoped they would be.

"Come on, boss. You need to talk to me. Just say something, damn it."

Dale Hoskins was coughing, shivering, and looking around some, but didn't seem coherent and as though he could relapse. He gasped for breath and seemed like he wanted out of the situation, but he wasn't showing any overtly conscious signs.

"Okay, I hate to do this, but..."

Sometimes, people need a little push in life. So, Sands placed a firm grip over Dale's nose and mouth, cutting off the air supply he desperately fought for. It didn't take but a moment for Dale to realize he needed to struggle even more.

At first, Dale blindly beat at the arm of the hand suffocating him, but after a moment, he opened his eyes and glared with rage at the man bringing him harm.

"There you are, Dale," Sands said as he pulled away to allow the boss to breathe.

Gasping, panting and coughing, Dale managed, "What. The. FUCK?"

"I know you're somewhat disturbed and disoriented at the moment and that's fine. But what you need to know is that, so far, we have eluded capture. The bad news is that we're not out of the woods yet. Even worse is that you need to gather your wits because we need to move the hell out of here, pronto."

Just at about that point, Ayers emerged from the water right next to Sands. The sight of him startled Dale, but watching him gush filthy water from his nose and mouth, and about two gallons of it from the looks of it, was more than a little weird.

Ayers needed a moment to cough up the remaining water and gather enough air into his system in order to talk. Dale watched wide-eyed but Sands just waited.

"Okay, the good news is that I think I've found a way to get us out of here," Ayers said as he coughed and sputtered.

"The bad news?" Dale asked, still unsure of what was going on. His coughing and shivering was settling down.

"We're probably going to have to kill you again."

\-----------

While Doc drove with Chloe next to him and Godfrey moaning in the back seat, holding himself together with both hands, Chloe wouldn't give up on calling the same number repeatedly.

"You saw what was going on, just like we did," Godfrey managed through gasps of pain after every little bump in the road. "Your guy probably has his hands full and can't jabber on the phone with you. I'm sure he'll be more than happy with whatever you make for supper."

Doc got a firm hold of her before Chloe made it over the seat.

"My dear, now is a time to focus on the matter at hand. You know quite well that the man back there tends to push his luck. It is part of what gives him his strength. But he may be right in that Dale and the soldiers are in a desperate situation. Frankly, after seeing that many personnel on them with those helicopters overhead, I dread to hear who may answer that phone."

Despite her nightmarish appearance, Picasso felt sorry for her. She was drenched in blood and still wore the mangled skull cap of one of the victims: a man who felt glad to sport a terrible haircut and several tattoos on his head. But the tears of concern flowed down her cheeks and the anger flared in her quickly blinking eyes. Left. Right. Pinpoint. Quarter. Sad. Frantic.

She tried the number again. Then, she tried the number yet again.

The way she acted when there was an answer startled both men in the car.

"Is that really you, Hunky Guy? Tell me you're not dead, okay?"

"I was dead up until a few minutes ago, my dearest love. The guys had to drown me to secure our escape and then luckily managed to revive me. But now I'm practically shitting myself, since they want to kill me again," Dale said, heavily coughing through the statement. "I think I'd rather be shot, since drowning sucks balls."

"I could shoot you, boss," Chloe overheard, "but reviving you would be even tougher."

"You're weirding me out, boys. If you saw me, you would find that bizarre."

"You got that right, the lunatic bitch," Godfrey said.

"Now, Chloe my dear, you need to just ignore that man," Dale overhead the Doc say as there was commotion and Godfrey screaming in pain. "I made a concerted effort to save his life, so I don't want you killing him now. Now, if I have to pull this car over..."

Dale was looking at the two guys, wide-eyed and wondering what was going on. But then Chloe got back on the phone.

"Hunky Guy, I want to kill and eat Godfrey. Is that okay by you?"

Hoping he would be loud enough for everyone in the car, Dale said, "No, it is not okay, and we got some shit going on here, if you don't mind."

Chloe overheard Ayers say, "We don't have time for this shit. If we're going to do this, then we had better do it."

Then she heard a tussle for the phone, and then the voice of Sands. "Sweetie, I'm going to have to kill your Hunky Guy again, and I'm sorry about that. If I can revive him, I'll do so. If I cannot for whatever reason, I'll be your main guy, okay?"

"Wow, that'd be so hot, super soldier! But I really like that one, so try really hard. There will be an awesome night in it for you."

"All right, this is gone too far you..." is what she heard before a lot of splashing and then the line going dead.

Chloe placed the phone in the dashboard and looked ahead, being quiet. Doc looked at her, concerned.

She then looked animated and thrilled, saying, "If Dale dies, I get to bang one of the super soldiers!"

Her eyes were blinking and animated for a moment. Then a moment later, she began to cry.

Too Close

"Yeah, but it's an ugly drive," Emily mumbled to herself.

She was convincing herself it was just a day's drive, being only about six hundred miles from San Antonio to El Paso. She broke some ugly pimp's neck and took his Chrysler 300, still rather put off by the obnoxious dragonfly paint job. But the trip would be six hundred miles of ugly Texas scrub and virtually nothing else.

"Might as well be in an ugly car."

She hit the road shortly after seeing the news report break on the news. Emily thought it would be odd that the team would manage to escape the area before she made it there, so she didn't waste any time in getting the move on. But she knew she couldn't just stomp in while the planet's law enforcement was on full buzz kill, particularly since Fred would likely be there. He might be a little sore about what happened before.

Because it would be such a long drive, Emily thought it would be best to pull into a Wendy's drive thru and stock up a few supplies for the trip. Just a meal for the start and something enough to hold her over until she rolled into the blissful town of El Paso.

"Welcome to Wendy's. May I take your order?" is what Emily heard the sweet sounding teen girl at from the other side say through the grainy system.

"Yes. I would like three number three meals, all of them large. Not only that, but I want the drinks all unsweetened iced tea and in one of those cardboard carriers. Are you with me so far?"

"Yes sir. Not a problem yet."

Emily's eyes narrowed. "The problem is only slight, since the response is to a madam but not sir."

"Oh, ma'am. I do apologize. These systems aren't as up to date as they should be. I'm so sorry. Would there be anything other than the three number three meals?"

"No. Just those."

"Thank you. Please pull up to the next window."

Little Janie knew it was what was supposed to be a woman in that car, but she looked like a bull dike from Hell. But did she really need to eat three triple cheeseburgers, on her own?

Once Emily made it to the next window, Janie had been mean enough to call over a few of her co-workers to see the sow with the monstrous appetite and gruff demeanor.

"Hello, ma'am. That'll be $24.37, please."

Emily looked at her with wide eyes. "What? Twenty five dollars for burgers and fries? Wow. Just a second."

Emily had to lean back in order to dig into her pocket so she could find a five dollar bill to add to the twenty she thought was enough. In the meantime, the crew in the restaurant tried to be subtle in how they mocked her.

Emily found the bill and handed the twenty and five through to the young girl, but just before Janie put her hand on the money, Emily pulled it back and said, "You morons can enjoy your giggles now, because if I wasn't in such a fucking hurry I would come in there and make you eat each other's tongues."

The look on Emily's face made it clear to Janie that she needed to up her courtesy quotient. "I do apologize ma'am. You enjoy your meal and have a wonderful day."

The transaction was made and Emily was on her way. But it was Janie's co-worker who noticed the unique 300, recognizing a few calls would have to be made.

\------------

"We don't have time for games or bullshit right now," Ayers demanded as he carried Dale's limp body into the safe house secured well before they conducted any aspect of the mission. "If we are going to save this man's life, we need to do what we are going to do. So, girl, step back or I will have to put you back. You got me?"

Chloe was unusually erratic to the sight of Dale being unresponsive. Her blinking condition was to the point where she wasn't really seeing anything, and then she was actually self-destructive. Doc rushed her.

"Please, I need someone to help me sedate her! Her skull cannot take this sort of trauma," he said as he struggled to prevent her from striking herself.

Godfrey was laid up on the couch, shivering and sweating horribly. He was clearly suffering a traumatic fever and likely suffering a sort of sepsis due to his wounds.

"I just can't do it, Doc," he managed to set from the couch, through chattering teeth. "You know she'd kill me for sure, and then you'd still be worse off."

"We're sorry, Doc, but we save the boss or we save her now and leave him," Sands said as he stripped off his shirt to leave him bare chested. "And what would she be if he dies, or is that too tough to contemplate?"

It took everything Picasso had in him to hold Chloe while she screamed as though she was herself being killed. "What the hell are you two doing? I don't understand how you're going to save him like this?" he asked.

"Doc, he was submerged for more than twenty minutes, and that was after being drowned and revived just before that," Ayers said while moving fast to strip down and assemble equipment usually used for a blood transfusion.

As he struggled with Chloe, Picasso said, "What? My God. What do you think you can save, gentlemen? Even if you manage to regain any signs of life, the brain damage must be well beyond reversing."

Doc was blinking away tears as he said. "I'm so sorry. But you are wasting your time."

"No!" Chloe shrieked as she struggled and even bit at Picasso. "You fuckers are dead! You did this to me!"

Her state was truly frightening.

The two soldiers kept moving fast, saying, "Hey, I know it sounds crazy, but we think we can make this okay. You just have to let us do our thing."

They moved fast and by doing so, intentionally moved fast enough to break a sweat. It was as though they were pumping themselves up for this. Both of them were shirtless and starting to sweat, moving their feet even though they weren't going anywhere. And then, while doing so, they quickly ran lines into the veins of Dale and then into, bizarrely, into their necks. They were seeking their arterial blood.

Before long, they had the circulatory systems of the three of them linked.

Doc Picasso held Chloe as best he could, but she was calming some as the sight became so intriguing. Quickly they were both more than curious.

"Do you know your blood types are proper?" Doc asked.

Now sweating and panting as they rushed in place, Sands said, "That doesn't matter with us."

While there was no direct way to tell whose blood was whose, it was clear the brighter blood was arterial blood from the soldiers. But soon, it all seemed mixed evenly. And that's when things changed.

With some good force, Ayers raised his fist and dropped it hard onto Dale's chest. There was no response.

"Chloe, listen to me, woman," Doc said quickly. "I have to let you go and you have to behave. They need my help of I'm going to save Dale."

Chloe just suddenly relaxed into him as though she was laid back to watch a movie and said, "You're good. Go do your thing."

Doc rushed to the scene and immediately began CPR. That allowed the soldiers to pump their blood through the three of them while Doc breathed and gave chest compressions.

It didn't take long after that.

The cold and lifeless body of Dale Hoskins regained some color after being so ghastly and pale, and he quickly started struggling. At that sign, Ayers and Sands moved fast to pull all the vein lines and then held Dale after nudging the doctor away.

"Thanks Doc, but now you might want to stand back; his potential strength is going to be beyond normal."

While backing away, Picasso stared, whispering, "What did you do?"

While holding a fighting Dale, Ayers said, "You have some knowledge of our history, right?"

Doc Picasso just shook his head.

"When things calm down, we'll talk."

\--------------

Virtually every single law enforcement agency and then military unit in and near El Paso had some explaining to do. A lot of that explaining was demanded by POTUS. Once the so-called Traffic Cops made that sort of news and then bang to garner the attention of a significant portion of the western hemisphere, and then actually escape in order to have the chance to do it all again, after being pursued by nearly everyone, people were quite impressed.

Yeah, the President was more than impressed, but not in a way that makes people happy.

"It actually gets worse, Mr. President. Not only have these vigilantes committed the heinous crimes they have, we now have reason to believe there are members of their team who were once a part of an ambitious military program that, uh, went awry."

"Uh, went awry? You have my attention."

After hearing the lengthy explanation of the program that left only two soldiers alive and killed so many others, the President wasn't sure if knowing this about his country made him feel any better. Actually, it physically made him sick to his stomach.

"And it made perfect sense to simply cut these two super freaks into the population. Is that a fair assessment?"

"That was the decision of the administration of the time."

POTUS just shook his head. After an extended moment, he asked, "Who else is on this team?"

"There was Emily Hutch, who broke away from the team, but now she has escaped us and is at large. The reasons are bad but have to do with one other who is confirmed to be a part of the team. The other one is a psychopath named Chloe Rhodes."

The explanation about Emily and Chloe had POTUS wishing he stayed on the subject of Ayers and Sands.

"While the legal and security issues are what they are, Mr. President, there is still a factor that these people are more popular than ever with the public at large. Good, bad or ugly, that is important."

The public at large is the people who vote. He was happy to pay attention.

\-------------

The state of confusion was overwhelming at first, but with every passing minute Dale was regaining what and who he was. Not that he impressed his girlfriend at first, since the first sight of her had him screaming in panic.

"I am truly sorry, my love. But you have to understand that I just came back from the dead equipped with little more than fear and confusion. I simply didn't recognize you."

She was angry, very blinky, and nearly to the point of being too unpredictable. Everyone else but Doc was growing concerned and Godfrey, being left vulnerable, was frightened.

"Oh, so is that what people see in me when they first met me? A freak causing sheer panic?"

"That's bullshit and you know it. How many children have hugged you, seeing you a savior? You know what, woman? I don't have time for this right now; we have a lot of things going on and I don't know if any of them are good."

Dale turned to walk away and join the others, only to end up with Chloe jumping on his back, attacking him wildly.

The bite into his head hurt, but it was the blatant turn against him that angered him so. He reached behind him and took her by the neck. Violently, he pulled her forward and held her off her feet in front of him. She kicked and thrashed but was effectively detained.

The crimson color coming to her face and eyes as he squeezed brought to him what he was doing. He pulled her to him, let go of her neck and just held her close in a way that meant he loved her. He held her like that because he did love her.

Chloe coughed and sputtered while she bit, kicked and punched at him, but it didn't take but another several seconds for her to calm and recognize the love flowing from this man. Her violence turned to affection. She wrapped her arms and legs around him.

"You just don't know, Dale. You don't know what it did to me to think I lost you."

He pulled her away enough to look into her bizarre and blinky eyes and said, "Just before each time I died, I couldn't help but to wonder if I would see you again. I love you so completely, Chloe. Do not ever doubt that again."

The others watched them from a distance, wondering if they should cringe or shed a romantic tear. But they all knew with confidence that if Dale goes down, she has to be killed right away.

\--------

Agent Fred Charles was not a happy guy. The crime scene where these people left mutilated bodies and little more than some pocket change was just a pile of bullshit. But what made it worse was just about every authority above him, to POTUS, wanted to know the deal.

But it wasn't as though it was Planet Earth v. The Traffic Cops. Nope. In fact, the percentage of the world wanting these vigilantes, these incredibly wealthy vigilantes, stopped was right at about infinitesimal. The trouble was that this tiny group was the one actually in charge. And Fred held a goodly chunk of the authority.

But it wasn't enough. It just wasn't enough to take hold of the group and then their money. The burr was that should these guys get nabbed, and so far they've eluded that, the government would absorb that money into its unfathomable deficit. Because these guys are not likely to be trillionaires, that means that money will instantly turn into zero.

"Emily, where are you? Can't we let bygones be bygones?"

Yeah. It wasn't too late quite yet.

\----------

Fred would like to have known Emily was coming into the region of El Paso, slowing down in what proved to be a very nice, comfortable car. She had finished off the last of the meals she ordered about two hundred miles back, so she was looking forward to refueling both her and this cozy car before rebooting her hunt for Chloe Rhodes. Because she was looking forward to all of that was a good reason she would have no appreciation for the five vehicles forcing her off the road. Even less appreciated was her realization that this was not law enforcement.

It looks as though the dead prick in the trunk had a few friends out there.

"Hmm," she murmured. "Hmm. Hmm. Hmm. What am I going to have to do with you bitches?"

Three large and imposing black men exited one car while several others, along with a few white girls, hovered near their cars, looking around. Emily didn't feel like allowing them to size her up (that isn't to her advantage) so she simply aimed and opened fire with her nine. So far so good, since the three of them went down fast.

There was no time to wait for them to catch on, so Emily simply opened fire on those she saw, sending them scrambling or dying, depending on their luck. She jammed it into drive and after running over some crouched down blonde, she forced the car between two other cars blocking her. Knowing the gunfire would commence any moment, she tossed a fragmentation grenade into the car to her left and got down.

That was really loud and even more dramatic. She lost all the windows on that side of her car and even ended up with a cracked windshield.

She leaned back up and yelled, "If you retarded morons had a fucking clue, you would have opened up on me right away instead of playing Hollywood bluster. Did you cocksuckers think I was going to beg and cower?"

She raced forward about three car lengths and spun the nose to the left, taking a chance but wanting a clear picture of what was left. Some young redhead was trying to hold in the gut of one of the other stupid girls, which was fixed by two more shots from her nine. If there was anyone else, they were cowered down in their seats and out of sight.

Emily tossed one more grenade to just the other side of the cars (no sense in fragging herself) and then pulled out quickly, making sure none of the tires took bad damage.  
"Damn this bullshit," she muttered. "Now I have to find another car."

The New Deal

"That's what was found, and the media is all over it. I'm sorry, but that's something else to add to your situation."

Agent Fred Charles just didn't get it. The heinous murders of twelve people on the side of the road had Emily Hutch written all over it. Just when he considered pulling her in with some enticing tidbits of bait, she goes and does something like that. And what's more, those killed were several pimps and their goons along with some of their stupid bitches. She killed a pimp and then drove his obnoxious pimp-mobile from San Antonio to El Paso, with the asshole in the trunk. They come in to swoop down on someone for hurting one of theirs and she offs them all.

She is definitely not a team player.

But she is in El Paso. She's still hunting Chloe Rhodes.

"Thanks for the head's up," Agent Charles said. He paused for a moment and then murmured to himself. "Things might be looking up a bit."

\-----------

"Please, do you think you guys might be able to help him?" Doc Picasso asked as they looked on to Godfrey, who was in seriously bad shape.

His fever was high and the infection was spreading. If he wasn't brought to a hospital soon, his chances were grim. Beyond that, the guy was suffering immensely with virtually nothing for pain relief. That is, unless there is something Ayers and Sands could offer. Dale offered to drop Godfrey off at the hospital as long as he understood he knew nothing of what got him there.

"I can't do that; the chances I would never be free again would be too high," Godfrey managed. "Remember that they wanted me for quite a bit before I came on with you guys."

"I honestly do not know, Doc," Ayers said as he looked on to Godfrey. "The limits of our healing properties are a mystery to everyone. Like we said before, the program we were a part of was shit-canned before it was complete. There was more they wanted to do to us. But I do know this- our ability to offer healing properties are now limited because we have so much of Dale's blood in us.

"If I hook up to him while Sands recuperates, we might be able to stabilize him. But our abilities are now diminished and this would drop us down even more."

"This is this man's life, my friend."

"I get it, but this is a tough sport. Further, if we're down and out, the entire team would be at risk. Please don't forget that our unique abilities have played a major role in getting us this far, and they saved one man's life."

"Could I offer a say here?" Dale asked.

"Of course, boss," Ayers said. "I'll go with what you decide."

"If one of you can stabilize him until you get your strength back, then I think that would be a good idea. This is a tough sport, so we all have to take a chance. If we have to, we'll fall back and regroup until we're up and running. I don't like that, but we can't do shit if we're picked apart."

"Okay, but Sands and I will need to recover. That's mainly just nutrition, down time and some exercise." He looked to Picasso and said, "You help hook me up to him and we'll do what we can."

"I feel like a million bucks; can I help somehow?" Dale asked.

"The added strength and perceptions you feel will dissipate shortly," Sands told him. "But it might work to our advantage for the short term, because we're going to need a few things around here."

"Just make out a list and we'll get things going," Dale said.

"Who's we?" Chloe asked. "Can I go? You know how a girl loves to shop."

"If you get cleaned up and dressed nice, I would be proud to have you with me, love. But we'll need to keep our eyes open. I wouldn't be recognized, but you might."

"Hey, keep in mind, boss," Ayers said. "Emily would know you from all the way over there."

\------------

Agent Charles took a risk in deciding not to place posters featuring Chloe and Emily as well as old military photos of Ayers and Sands. Some with positions of authority wanted posters at numerous locations such as post offices, rest areas and other high traffic locations. But Fred fought it, stating it could either prompt more vigilantes or, worse, mistaken identities. Few look like Emily, but there are a lot of pretty girls looking something like Chloe (he claimed).

The bigger truth was that he wanted them to flush one another out. Where there's smoke, there's fire, and if Chloe and Emily found one another, it might be like remaking King Kong v. Godzilla.

"If I could just reach out to Emily before she does anything else stupid," he mumbled to himself.

Fred grumbled over having the chance of a lifetime when he had Emily before and ending up pissing her off. The thought had him rubbing his neck. It's just that he wasn't allowing the greed to set in at the time. But the dough was too sweet to pass up and too valuable to allow Uncle Sam to squander.

Alas, all he could do was wait and see what fate decided. After all, he wouldn't sell his convictions down the river, would he? Fred's always been a good cop, so just how far would he go?

\---------

Dale couldn't get over his consistent amazement with how he felt. The memories of death were still with him (and he had some fantastic experiences during that mysterious time) but he had to accept that he had never felt so alive.

All his perceptions were heightened. Did those two soldiers feel like this all the time? Chloe and he browsed around the Wal-Mart, gathering the various items the guys wanted and needed. Chloe looked divine as long as she kept those sunglasses on, but he couldn't help but to watch her close as she's been getting quite twitchy even for her.

Perhaps that's what has him catching certain hints and clues. So, as he passed through an area where the line between produce and retail electronics merged, Dale caught a hint of something familiar. Not something nearby but something that was through there recently. Very recently.

He looked to where Chloe peered at the soup choices and then whispered desperately. "Emily."

\----------

Knowing her prey was in the vicinity, Emily felt any average Wal-Mart would have the plethora of items she would require for a few days' stay. This was Texas, so getting the prerequisite ammunition wouldn't be difficult, and neither would several other survival and paramilitary items. But she also wanted some grocery items in order to counter the poor diet she endured on the road, and despite the rumors, she would require some feminine stuff. Healthy is healthy, you know.

She knew her prey was around somewhere, but she didn't have anything better or more specific than they were in the vicinity. She did have a fairly good idea of what Dale looked for in a safe house, so such an inside scoop might actually help. She would look for a house, rented, near the outside of town and on the edge of rural but not too far away. Space around it would be ideal in order to prevent a team from sneaking in. A reliable escape route would be a joyful bonus.

Because Emily knew the team would soon be seeking an exit from the area, all she really needed was a simple motel room near town. The two pathetic honeymooners were on the verge of being sickening when the best they could do was a Motel 6 outside of El Paso. Before she tied them up in the closet (oh, she wasn't checking in personally anywhere, just to be specific) she got them to admit they eloped. Her Daddy was sure to be infuriated but they were in love.

Emily told them she would release them when her time was done (and she was fairly certain she meant that, but couldn't make any promises) but that might require a few days. She said she would pay them in order to have another full week. She meant that, too. Once she was done at the Wal-Mart, she would have to get back there soon, as they've been tied up for several hours. Maybe she would allow them a few conjugal moments; they were on their honeymoon, after all. Don't let anyone say Emily Hutch isn't a hopeless romantic.

\---------

"There she is, right over there," Dale said as he pointed to Emily.

"Wow, that is really her!" Chloe said. "Come on, let's go say hi and catch up."

Dale had to take Chloe by the arm and pull her back. "We're going to no such thing, woman. What we are going to do is leave this cart right here, and then we're going to quietly leave the store. We'll watch for her from outside and then once she's gone, we'll come back in and finish what we started."

Chloe pulled down her sunglasses, showing her blinky eyes, big, little, nickel, pinpoint, loony, batshit, and said to him, "And that makes perfect sense to you. Hunky, we could end this right here, right now."

"Sugar, the entire team is relying on us to get back with what we need without the entirety of the world's law enforcement in tow. Remember that, doll?"

"You're getting boring in your old age, you know that? How did you know she was in here?"

"To be honest, I smelled her scent over there. She must have passed through that side first. What I received from the troops is good stuff."

Chloe then purred, saying, "Well, when do I get to sample some of the new Dale?"

He looked at her with a wry grin and said, "I don't know where we'll have the privacy, but just as soon as possible."

Their particular safe house fit their needs, but it wasn't a big place.

"I'm looking forward to that, but you just want to avoid her? Can't I just wave or something?"

"For the love of Christ, you are the reason she's here," Dale said. "She is on the hunt for you and won't stop until your head is on a stick. I prefer it where it is, just so you know."

"You're such a romantic, Hunky. Okay, we'll do it your way. For now. But I think letting her go is a bad idea. I think you should let me take her down."

"Not in fucking Wal-Mart."

\-----------

Doc kept a close eye on his patients. Ayers was apparently asleep but he wasn't looking his best. The transfusion process fed the blood of the two men into one another, which meant Godfrey was getting some good blood but Ayers was getting weak, infected blood.

"He will recover fully, I trust?" Doc said, looking to Sands.

"Oh yeah, of that there is no doubt. But just how Godfrey will do is a big mystery to me. Rest assured that the guy won't heal overnight, but he should stabilize. The infections should come down."

"That will have to be good enough for now. If I could have had access to proper facilities and antibiotics, this would have been a different story. If Chloe hadn't taken the man's dagger and plunge it into the wound out of being mean, it might have been a different story."

"I'm a troop and do my thing without asking for details, but I have to honestly say that I don't get that chick," Sands said. "I don't get what Dale sees in her, and I really don't see how her brand of batshit is so valuable."

"What most don't know is that they are both cut from the same cloth," Doc Picasso said. "You are aware that Dale was born, created really, for the purpose of being a slave? A strange and benevolent hero took Dale in and trained him to combat this scourge. Dearest Chloe took it upon herself to do this, and that was after suffering horrifying abuse. I must also confess that Chloe will always be dear to me."

Sands smiled and said, "Well, that's all more than good enough for me. I knew she went through Hell; I just didn't know the specifics."

"I believe there's a lot about both of them they're not telling, but whatever it is has saved the lives of so many victims," Picasso said. "Regardless of what anyone thinks or says about what we do, all the way to the President, we have accomplished more good against this evil than just about anyone, and a lot of that we owe to Chloe."

Doc turned to look at Godfrey and said, "We even owe much to that man, despite how difficult he can be. All of us have our place in this, particularly you two grand soldiers and your fascinating history. With that being said, it was somewhat of a shame to lose Emily in such a discouraging fashion. Every good tool box has a hammer."

\-------------

Every good tool box should have a level, as well. The funny thing about incarceration is that it all too often provides an exquisite location to operate a criminal organization at the inflated expense directly charged to the good taxpayer. Shane Black was more than aware that he may face prison some sunny day. He was actually rather surprised that it took as long as it did, but things taking so long were quite the benefit.

While Shane lived large and enjoyed brutalizing and mutilating innumerable bitches and miserable kids, he knew prison was just on the far side of inevitable. That's why he long prepared to pick up almost seamlessly once he was incarcerated. What was so cute was that once it occurred, he felt like he missed out for not seeing to it earlier.

The connections from the inside, particularly within the confines of law enforcement, are virtually unfathomable. The access to information through corrupted resources rivals that of the CI fucking A. So often, because you can't really go anywhere, you don't even have to leave the comfort of your seat. One of the several prison guards now in his possession handed him a cell phone.

"This is Agent Fred Charles. Who is this?"

"My dear and good Agent Charles, my name is Shane Black. Good sir, I do believe you and I might be able to do a lot for one another. Might you have a few moments to spare? These moments will surely prove to be worth a lot to you; I have every confidence in that."

While Shane discussed things and details with the fine Agent Charles, a young and attractive girl, crying wonderfully and recently brought from the juvenile detention center across town, was handcuffed to the bars of Shane's comfortable cell. A shiny needle containing a delicious dose of heroin was placed in the sight of them both. Shane looked her over while he talked shop.

\-----------

Fred was mildly surprised by the sudden stroke of luck after hitting so many brick walls lately. While he was on the phone with some impressive gentleman named Black, one of his officers brought something juicy to his attention.

"This is going on at the Wal-Mart just fifteen miles from here, right this very moment."

The access to security cameras via facial recognition software saved a lot of wear and tear on shoes. It also demonstrates magical moments such as heartfelt reunions of wondrous proportions.

"Well, would you look at that? Hmm, one can't help but to wonder if Emily has her phone with her."

Changing a Few Things

"Wow, you really just called me?" Emily asked, suddenly looking all around. "To what do I owe the pleasure of the call? And by the way, your voice sounds rather velvety compared to before."

Agent Charles had to put that aside while he considered the new dynamics of his situation. "You can sound all tough while you look around you like you're a frightened school girl, but rest assured that your notions of being in control beyond my control are little more than amusing. What's even more amusing is that Chloe and some gentleman are literally on the other side of that store. Who's the tall fellow with the square jaw?"

Emily wouldn't normally respond with too much drama, but she knew she was being watched, likely through the security cameras accessed by Charles and his minions. Further, to hear him describe Dale Hoskins when she was almost certain nobody has a clue to who he is, she had to accept the fact. She starts walking fast.

"You're a helpful guy, Chuck. Where are they right now?"

"They saw you and immediately stepped outside, likely waiting for you to leave. They probably don't need a confrontation with a violent lunatic in Wal-Mart. But they were shopping before they saw you. They parked their cart by the Gatorade before leaving, so I'm thinking they might return when you're gone. Are you as interested in what they're buying as I am?"

Emily didn't respond, but she moved to verify what she just heard. What she found was a cart containing some simple grocery items but a hefty amount of varying first aid supplies.

Somebody is injured.

She didn't take the cart but she did rearrange everything in it. Then, with a fine Sharpie, she circled every E she saw.

"What do you want, Fred?"

"There have been some major changes taking place, as well as a few dynamics that are no longer what they were. Such as, do you know where your former boss got all his money, and from whom? Hint- it's believed he met his lovely girlfriend there."

"Why should I care?"

"The person who lost an extraordinary amount of money would like to have that money back and is willing to pay a handsome reward," Fred told her. "Think about that. Help in the removal of these Traffic Cops and you can have that Chloe. Then, you could have your share of what's likely tens of millions of dollars. What isn't to like?"

"So, after what we've been through, you still want to be buddies, huh? You know what, Fred? I smell a dirty cop. I smell a cop that would sell anyone down the river for a buck."

"I have a mission that I want to see fulfilled; it's just that I don't want the financial gain squandered. I'm not lured by the cash, just the potential comfort. My retirement won't but barely cover the bills. I don't need a yacht to retire, but I would like to have better things to worry about."

Agent Fred Charles felt inside he was not a dirty cop, but hey. The money these vigilantes have had always been stolen money, and stolen from those who earned it in the dirtiest ways. If these vigilantes feel okay in stealing it for their better causes, then there's enough of that to go around.

"Whatever, bitch. So, where is Chloe now?"

"This mystery man and loony tunes are out in the parking lot waiting for you to leave."

"What are they driving?"

"That's a good question. Give me a moment."

Fred had to admit he didn't watch what the other two went, what with the intent of Emily on his mind. But he didn't have to tell anyone that.

"All in good time, now that I think about it. So, you have a few things to think about. Once you've made a few decisions, you let me know. You know where I am."

Emily dropped the phone in her pocket and finished her shopping. There was no point in getting worked up now. The chance of being in Wal-Mart when the others are is simply a matter of chance. It is a small world, isn't it?

It sort of bit at her to not simply rush out and challenge any obstacle between her and Chloe, but the new turn of events and exciting information rather intrigued Emily. In fact, it forced her to revisit her original intentions. For the most part, she was generally happy with working with the Traffic Cops, but the haywired bitch and her cute charms made Emily's teeth grind.

The situation now calls for a systematic crushing of the team and then a smooth transition of some hefty funds to where Emily wants them. Fred gets happy and leaves her alone (no guarantees trusted there) and then some big boss man goes back to peddling kids with impunity.

"Hmm. Hmm, hmmm, hmmm."

\-----------

Dale was thankful Chloe held still and quiet while Emily did her thing and moved on. But he wasn't thankful for what he found when he and Chloe turned to the cart. It was there, right where they left it. But it wasn't how they left it.

"That's actually quite clever, Hunky. A quick round of applause for the she-man."

She subtly clapped twice.

"I feel crosshairs everywhere, love. We need this stuff, but we need to get the Hell out of here. Let's get what we came for and get back. Godfrey might still be alive."

"No thanks to me, I suppose."

"I'm not concerned with the water under the bridge. Death somehow puts things into a new perspective," Dale said. "But I would appreciate it if you refrained from attempted murder of our own, you know, if you can. But I can't tell you when I'll have fresh meat on the table again. I'd like to see Godfrey regain his strength before we do much more."

"That's a fun thought, but I think we should be vigilant. We have but one guy down. If we target something less ambitious than the border of two major countries, Mr. Hunky Guy, maybe we'll be able to handle it without the chronically arrogant. Besides, since when is our mission a low enough priority that we quit when someone goes down. If you remember correctly, I was going solo before this, and so wasn't Picasso."

"I gotcha on this; it isn't as though I want to stop or quit. But I am still pulling myself together while we place our two strongest assets at risk for the sake of the others," Dale said. "That's why the cohesion of the team makes us strong. The pieces complement one another. You're strong and Doc is okay, but the soldiers protect you two when you work. I'm the axle, but still a wobbly one at the time. Godfrey is on a deathbed, but he's awesome when on his game. Beyond that, we have a rogue acting against us who knows us as well as anyone.

"We do what we do because it's important, Chloe. But if we lose this team, we lose what you claim cannot be a low priority." He looked into her blinky eyes and said, "We have to go on for the sake of those who have nobody but us. But if we go down, they have nobody, including us. I can't allow that to happen. We can't."

\------------

Dale and Chloe drove all over to ensure they weren't being followed and then brought what they had to those needing it most. Godfrey looked asleep, but not dead. Doc Picasso pulled Dale aside.

"He still has an uphill battle, but I think he should recover, particularly if we get more of their blood in him," Doc said. "Dale, they are a treasure beyond our initial assumptions. The healing properties of their blood are astonishing. I can't help but to think we should take full advantage of that."

"I won't have these two men bled like donor dogs or blood cattle, but if we need that, we have it," Dale made clear. "How are they?"

"They need nourishment and rest to replenish, but other than that, they are amazing. I'm just saying we have an asset to consider, not that I want to be a bunch of ravenous vampires."

"I agree. But what it is and what they have is still unknown to everyone, even them."

"How do you feel? You died twice in one day and for some time. If it wasn't for their blood you would not have been revived," Doc said. "Have you experienced any heightened sensations?"

Dale had to think about that. He knew he felt good and very strong, and he did sniff out Emily. "I did experience something that helped us. I smelled Emily where we were, even when she was nowhere near us. But I don't know how she knew we were in there. I don't think she smelled us but she somehow knew. She made that clear."

"But you smelled her and knew? What else is heightened? I know you picked Chloe up from the ground with one hand earlier. I just wonder how long your situation will last."

"Put your hands on your head," Dale said.

Doc did it hesitantly, saying, "Okay..."

Dale reached over and attempted to lift Doc from about the elbows. Since he was roughly the same size as Chloe, it shouldn't be a challenge. But it was. He was able to barely lift the man with both hands, but it wasn't anything like before. Dale noticed none of his senses were anything special anymore, not even smell.

"Well, it looks as though I'm normalized. Hopefully those two will do the same about as quickly."

"Their situation might be different," Doc admitted. "They might get back on their feet, but they might need a bit more time to achieve their full potential. But then, we just don't know."

\-------------

While he pushed the various body parts of that luscious teen through the bars so the custodial crew can return his quarters to the fastidious condition he prefers, Shane considered his options regarding the so-called Traffic Cops. He knew they launched their career choice with his money, but they've been gathering even more money along the way. Shutting them down might be one of the most profitable things he's done since the high rise apartments.

He had to admit he was fucking pissed about that. The apartment complex and his secret getaway within it was his shining star of accomplishments at the time. These grubs burned it and cost him his freedom, and then went on to live large by playing hero on his dime. It was a tough nugget to chew. Thus, shutting them down (and eating them) will be delectable to the tongue. He prays he knows at least one of them personally.

Shane's quite certain he doesn't know the one that goes by Chloe, but he would have to meet her to know for sure. Hell, he wants to meet her regardless. The taunting bits of information he has about her has him more than intrigued. He isn't sure whether he wants her finished off or hired. But then, there is this mystery guy everyone wants, all the way to the leader of the free world.

That Washington bitch just does what he's told. He can have his interns, but these targets are off limits to the doofus factor. They are just too enticing.

Nobody knows who the mystery guy is with the exception of one known person, and that person is some dyke named Emily Hutch. She knows him because she used to work for him, but she turned in the team due to some row between her and the boss's crazy tail. What he knows about this Hutch has him grimacing more than the scattered remains of the wretch he recently decimated for entertainment, she was so, well, ugly. But the story has it that she's effective.

Shane couldn't help but to wonder if his new FBI bitch could set him up with an interview. After all, with the combination of his resources combined with that of the FBI, mixed in with pure hatred between two bitches, he was sure to see his quarry hung on a string. Maybe a match between those two chicks would entertain the inmates.

"Hey! Get someone down her to clean this up! It's starting to smell."

As he looked around him, Shane realized he just couldn't wait to get life back to normal. But in the meantime, he could prepare his line of questioning with the lovely Emily Rose Hutch.

\-----------

Wow, but did the good Agent Fred Charles have a lot on his plate. Yet, but yet, it did seem as though it was all coming together. Sure, the political forces wanted their little piece of the pie, but this Shane Black was sure to be an influential player.

"Look, Emily. This guy is the starting point of all of this. Everything the Traffic Cops have become stems from their issues with Black. Or perhaps it's just the mysterious leader. As far as I can gather, that might be the missing piece to the puzzle. There may be a history between the two of them, but Black needs to know the guy to know for sure."

"So, you really think I'm going to enter a prison, a maximum security prison, for a job interview?" Emily asked without even trying to hide her sarcasm. "You either think I'm as dumb as a rock or you really put yourself in something dark and deep."

"I know quite well you're not stupid, and what's dark and deep is the potential pile of money. I knew this thing was big money, but I had no clue it flows like this," Agent Charles said from the comfort of his own cell and car. "What I do know is that this somehow ended up being some personal war. I couldn't care less about all that. What matters to me is that there is big money combined with a law enforcement agency with a grudge."

"So, how am I supposed to do this? How do we talk shop without endless cameras and microphones? I know you have your tricks, but..."

"I'll have you set up with a conjugal visit. That will leave you both about an hour of privacy," he said.

"Let's get one thing clear..."

"He just wants to pick your brain for a few minutes and then you'll be on your way."

\----------

As the President of the United States looked out to the lawn he could see from the Oval Office, he watched his two young daughters enjoy their time with the famous family dog. Jones was a rescued Border Collie who had more than enough energy to power everything requiring power within the beltway.

"So, you're telling me these so-called Traffic Cops have captured the hearts of America," POTUS asked.

"In a manner of speaking, Mr. President. The media has done a wonderful job in making them look like something other than what they really are."

"What are they, really?"

"They are a crazed group of vigilantes who have killed an extreme amount of people who never were afforded their day in court. Chloe Rhodes alone is a seriously dangerous serial killer. The two soldiers working for them are extraordinarily dangerous. Those are just three of the team; we don't know who the others are."

The President turned and said, "I'll tell you who they are. They are a group of people who have successfully rescued and saved more victimized young women and children than anyone else.

"I know that their methods are criminal in nature. But they're effective. Not only that, but they're getting rid of scum we have not been able to get rid of properly. I look at my kids out there and wonder what would happen to them if this scum got hold of them. I have a safety net few can enjoy."

The President looked back to his kids and then said, "I think we should reconsider our position on these vigilantes. I know we can't support them in the open, but we can certainly light their way and toss in the occasional bone."

"We do a lot of dirty shit here. This would be one that wouldn't bother my quality of sleep. Am I clear?"

A New Paradigm

Upstate New York was as good a choice as any. Dale wanted the team well away from El Paso, so somewhere near the Adirondacks seemed like a good place to regroup and heal. It wasn't over-populated and because of that, it was rather quiet. His primary concern was the positions of Ayers and Sands over the others, mainly because he wanted to expedite their reaching full capacity as soon as possible. Those two being at one hundred percent facilitated the team being the same way.

The team found a lovely safe house near a small town known as Gloversville. It was relatively quiet, offered the wondrous nature of the region, and harbored a well reputed medical facility should one be required for Godfrey. Godfrey was improving dramatically thanks to the doses of blood he received from the two troops, but he wouldn't be swinging his blade amongst the enemies of humanity anytime soon. While being free from significant infection, musculature begged for healing as well as some internal organs. It turns out that being shot and then stabbed is bad for one's health. Huh, how about that.

Dale needs healing, too. He was still coming to terms with the profound issues of dying and being brought back to life. He didn't recall any tunnels of light or angels dictating he return for his special place, but he remembers experiencing something significant. Things were not just black and absent. Dale knew that he was somewhere. But where?

The issues concerned him because he didn't experience what many claim happened to them, such as tunnels and angels. Were those for better people? Was Dale Hoskins doomed to Hell? That didn't feel right. But there was some thing that meant something. He hoped some time to calm down and reflect would help.

But then, he didn't want to just go dark entirely. Some simple searching demonstrated there was recent trafficking activity in the area in recent years, leading to the death and family loss of a local sheriff named Kevin Sealy. While the story was gruesome and sad, remnants of the issue recently came to Chloe's attention.

While Sheriff Sealy and his family suffered tragically, some new evidence suggested that the primary officer in charge of the investigation of the time, a Lawrence Stevenson, was not only back in the area of Sweeney County, but also some points suggest he was corrupt and perhaps a part of the trafficking ring. That made Chloe's radar start to ping.

"Hey, Hunky Guy, while the bunch of you rub oil on one another and meditate all day, I would like to keep on my game. After doing some digging in the history of the area, I found some groovy stuff."

"Only if you agree to come back to me safe and sound, okay?"

"When I get back, I'll rock your world. Deal?"

Dale winked and said, "Deal."

\-----------

It wasn't difficult for Chloe to find the FBI agent known as Lawrence Stevenson. He was rather tall and somewhat handsome, but possessed an air of pomp about him. He seemed quite confident about himself while he was in the vicinity to follow up on an old investigation not quite closed. But Chloe's instincts pinged on something other than crossed tees and bureaucratic details.

After looking over the case details that were made available to the public, Chloe was sure she saw a few things that the common eye may overlook. First of all, this guy has a hefty government employment record, including with the CIA. Not only that, but Agent Stevenson seems to be wherever Human Trafficking issues are prevalent. Further, he headed a major investigation in this area that he manipulated with official excuses, including the breaking open of the case. While the public information does not state manipulation directly, it is rather obvious to those who recognize it. And manipulation, kids, is something darling Chloe knows like Denny's.

The case involved several police officers in on the crime, each of which was supposed to be prosecuted under the fullest extent of the law. But it didn't take Chloe and Dale long to work out most of these so-called officers were placed elsewhere rather than in prison, yet were still under Stevenson supervision and control.

As she watched him enter the Holiday Inn, along North Comrie, she muttered, "Now, why would such a high ranking Hunky Guy be staying at something as humble as that. What are you up to, nice FBI man?"

Because she had every intention of finding out just what he was up to, Chloe slipped on her most fashionable sunglasses and entered the lobby just moments behind the object of her curiosity. She stayed relatively close to Stevenson without looking as though he was in her region of curiosity, having every intention to follow him wherever he might go.

She watched as he chatted with some rather raggedy looking fellow, who after receiving an envelope from Stevenson, left the building but through the rear entrance. It simply emptied into the rear lot. She was tempted to follow the agent as he entered the elevator and to a higher floor, but instead she followed the seedy guy outside, mainly just to ascertain why he would receive a Manila envelope while looking like he sold used cars from his grandpa's back yard.

But he didn't go to some any old car. He went instead to a Ford van that looked as though it was recently pulled from the river after spending the winter submerged. He opened the front door of the van and placed the envelope in the pocket of the driver's door. He then opened the side door, where Chloe saw he lectured who looked like at least four frightened young girls with a finger and then a shaken fist before he slammed that door closed on them and then walked to a Nissan and drove away.

\------------

Lawrence was rather happy with being back in the area after such a lengthy absence. He once investigated a significant trafficking issue in the region, trading barbs and vitriol with the local hayseed sheriff. But through some clever manipulation of what some think is the truth, he gleefully watched the morning news one morning shortly after that goob annihilated his entire family just before killing himself.

It was a good thing, since the drama pulled attention from the trafficking line Lawrence himself set up through the area. Some would call his position similar to having the Fox watch the henhouse, but when you're selling those hens for as much as thousands a piece, and you get to sample them before you sell, life was good.

He didn't like dealing with this area's local keeper since he looked like some seedy bookie from a seventies crime drama, but he knew how to attain fresh meat and make it do exactly what it's told. Regardless of appearance, that's a handy skill. Because Lawrence was mainly just passing through as he traveled from Boston to Chicago, he thought something young and fresh would hold him over until he arrived to his windy destination. And hey, since this was his operation, the funds were provided by the good people of the taxpaying citizenry.

Lawrence showered and then imbibed, enjoying quality coke and smoke while waiting for his brand of room service to knock on his door. Well, she wouldn't knock, of course. The handler with a Tazer and pistol along with a no-nonsense demeanor would escort her to him, and he would knock.

So, after enjoying a nice lunch and then some quality Columbian along with some heavenly tequila, Lawrence finally received that knock he was waiting for, causing a spike in his heart rate and a subtle twitch elsewhere. He got up and answered the door, unconcerned of the lingering smell in the room.

"Thank you for showing up on time; I've been looking forward to this since this morning," Lawrence said to the man holding a rather attractive young girl quite close. He spoke to the man, but kept his eyes on the attractive girl who didn't look anywhere but toward her feet. "Please, just place the product over there on the edge of the bed."

The handler simply nodded and mainly pushed the young woman to the bed and then forced her to sit on the edge. He did talk to the girl, though, saying, "You do exactly what you are told and nothing else. I get so much as one word hinting to anything else and you'll regret it for the rest of your days."

She simply nodded as she shivered, causing Lawrence to catch his breath. He just loved the shy ones.

The handler gathered his hefty cash tip from Lawrence as he exited, leaving him to examine his lovely purchase with no more distractions. He liked the shape of her lithe body as she shook, but he particularly liked her sophisticated and alluring attire, all the way up to those attractive and captivating designer sunglasses.

"Listen to me very closely," he said in a firm tone. "I want you to slowly remove those sunglasses and then look right at me with a hungry look in your eyes, as though you are begging for what this man has. Do you got that?"

She let out a subtle and quiet whimper before replying with a very nervous nod, but she did as he wanted. She stood up with one hip slightly to the side, and then pulled those shades away as she seductively shook out her luscious strawberry blonde hair. She then looked directly at him as she smiled and licked her full, sensual lips.

Lawrence found her stunning. She was glorious and sexy, and he would enjoy the afternoon for sure. He didn't think he would hurt her too much, as she had to be worth a good amount looking like that.

But damn, what was the deal with those weird, blinking, crazy eyes?

\------------

This just in-

"We apologize, ladies and gentlemen, as we interrupt your regularly scheduled programming, but our newsroom just received a report of a high ranking FBI agent found dead, dismembered and barely recognizable as human, in a hotel room near Gloversville, New York.

"Preliminary investigations prompt the suspicion of one of those members of the Traffic Cops, particularly Chloe Rhodes, who often had been attributed to such dramatic carnage in prior investigations. The last known location of the so-called Traffic Cops was near El Paso, Texas, so their appearance in Upstate New York, if that is the case, remains a mystery.

"More on that story when we return. This is Judy Kidde and we'll be right back."

\-------------

While he was being placed on the case because of the relevance, Agent Fred Charles knew in his heart that Larry was a dirty cop. He was never really able to put a finger on it, but he knew the guy was playing with things he never should have. What was discovered left Fred a bit stunned.

What the sweet and attractive Judy Kidde didn't tell the world was that whatever the freak was that left such a heinous mess for housekeeping also left an ample amount of evidence demonstrating Stevenson has been orchestrating and supporting a lot of trafficking for likely quite some time. Fred hoped they might be able to release the information one day, as it would exonerate a local cop once framed for the crimes.

Even more bizarre was the fact that the President himself wanted to pave a way for these vigilantes, but everyone was nervous with this one. These guys do what they do in El Paso and get away Scott free, and then travel across the country to nab one bad seed somewhere near BFE? The bunch was far too connected and well beyond the capabilities they should have. A lot of people were asking questions, including several within the Secret Service. Just what could they really do?

It made Fred wonder if Emily's meeting with Black was a good idea after all.

\------------

The moment Shane Black entered the room where Emily waited, she said, "Don't think for one instance I'll blow you for any reason, pal."

"I find my carnal pleasures elsewhere, my dear. Regarding you, I would like to develop a close but professional relationship. It's my understanding that you have some intimate knowledge of the people known as the Traffic Cops. Is that correct?"

"It is correct. I know who they are and I know what they look like. But everyone knows Chloe. How about you?"

"I do not know this young lady named Chloe, other than her colorful reputation. But I do believe she is intimately involved with someone who became intimately involved with my fortune and then created the situation that placed me here. It is he who I am most interested in. Might you be able to, one, help me with knowing who he is and, two, assist me with his prompt removal from the equation?"

"I might be able to help with a bunch of things, you know, should the price be right," Emily said.

Before she went in there at all, Emily did some digging and found out what she could about this Shane Black. What she found out was that he was more than just some greedy scoundrel; this man was a monster of the high order and truly cared about nothing but himself, his wealth and the power that came with it. The story goes that this man has bathed himself in the blood of countless innocents.

Because of that, her level of awareness and vigilance was at full swing. While she didn't know exactly how things were in prison for Black, she knew enough to know that he was largely doing fine, getting what he wants, controlling plenty, and calling most of the shots. Most major players don't slow down just because they're in prison; the only true limitation they endure is they can't come and go as they please.

And she was in a cell with him, in the quiet and on his terms. Surrounded by a maximum security prison.

It was a good thing she knew that going in.

"We can negotiate price, Ms. Hutch, once I have a good idea of what it is you know. Further, there has to be a level of give and get here. I have made it clear that you could be rewarded handsomely, but I have yet to receive confirmation you are who is claimed.

"So," Shane said as he took a more firm pose, likely to appear intimidating, "I am asking for some specific information before I decide to proceed."

"Don't threaten me, princess," she said to him without flinching to his front. "Just so you know, Nancy, I don't need anything from you. I have my money and I have my fun. The only thing I don't have is the head of Chloe Rhodes on a stick. So, I'll help you, for a hefty fee, but I mainly want that cunt made mine. But when I say. Got that?"

Black just looked at her for an extended moment, clearly getting heated. He then moved to the door and knocked on the window. Right away, three very beefy guards stepped into the room, each of which armed with Tazers and night sticks. Oh, they also had a look of arrogant determination.

"Ms. Hutch, I am not the one who isn't catching on. Got that?"

\---------

At first, Dale was more than a little perturbed that Chloe brought so much attention down on them when he really wanted to be in the region enjoying a degree of anonymity while they recuperated. But a fun little twist of things had him quite surprised and even a little amused.

It seems the President might be a fan. Or, at least he plays one on TV.

"Good evening, my fellow Americans. My administration and I believe it's time the people of America know a few things about something that has become out of control."

Intermission

Now that I have moved half way through this story, it actually seems daunting to wonder where I am going with this. My goal was to write that one page a day throughout the year, and so far I have honored that goal. But I simply didn't know what I was getting into by doing this.   
If you didn't know, I started this story based on some one-liner I read that stated, 'If you write one page a day for a full year, you'll have written a book!' It seemed like a clever and intriguing hypothesis, so I felt it was a good time to give this a try. I would write one page a day (approximately 250 to 400 words) without any guidance from an outline or any preplanning. I would simply make it up as I went, and I decided to do that because that goofy line implies that. After all, the line offers the novice no other information.

Because I have written a few books, writing something of this length without having some sort of template is unique to me. I fully support outlines, piles of notes and weeks and weeks of work on the story before the first line is written. Then, the entire work should be entirely written and rewritten at least four times before the readers have access. With this story, I'm just breezing through for proper wording before sending it on, and the reason for that is because I'm writing this entire work in my Kindle Fire with a simple stylus. Hey, you know how daunting the auto correct can be. It wants the word travel to be gravel or Rachel, and that to be restroom, and that to be eastern, and eastern to be Easter and that to be water.

You have to pay attention to this unique challenge.

But once you've read the latest entry to the story, your guess to where this is going is as good as mine. In fact, now that we're halfway there, I have made this so complex and with so many twists that I fear I'm digging a hole from which I cannot escape. But hey, it was an experiment from the start.

But my overall goal is to create a fun and exciting story that one can enjoy throughout the year. Right now, this story enjoys precious few readers, but that could always change. So, for those with me so far (Andrea), what are your thoughts as of now? Does this leave you hanging with anticipation? What will Chloe do next? How about Emily? If you're wondering, wonder with me since my guess is as good as yours.   
But I can tell you this- I'm having a good time. I wake every morning, wondering where I'm going with the story on that day. I usually don't know until I get the tablet going. I know I have some ideas that have popped in but haven't made it to the story yet. But they're few and then, I've had some that were entirely forgotten until it was too late. The other trouble is that once the writing is out there, that's that. Once upon a time, I wanted to kill off Emily (I did kill her off) but there she is, being a nuisance. At least for now. That's why you keep notes, boys and girls. Yet, this irreverent cluelessness makes for some fun twists and turns.

Follow me, dear readers. This is just getting fun...

Fame has a Price

"My fellow Americans, the thirteenth amendment to the Constitution of the United States of America was passed by Congress in the January of 1865 and ratified by the states on December 6th, 1865. For those of you who do not know, the thirteenth amendment declares slavery and involuntary servitude illegal in this country. President Lincoln and so many others of the time knew it was the right thing to do.

"What's more, the entire free world was supposed to strive towards the decimation of slavery in the world, yet that has not happened. Instead, as of now and the moment I am talking to you, slavery is more prolific, organized, and in control of more enslaved human beings than ever before in the history of mankind."

POTUS took a moment to let that sink in with his audience by sipping on his water. He placed the water down and looked back to the camera.

"While I cannot explain how the issue reached the point of chaos that it has, the truth of the matter is that just about every one of us could fall prey to this insipid situation. The adults out there could be convinced issues such as prostitution are victimless crimes, but our young children and adults are easily roped into what can be a horrendous situation, placing that as lightly as possible.

"While there is far too much forced labor and involuntary servitude everywhere, it seems the slavery of choice today is forced prostitution and sex slavery. My fellow Americans, this affects literally millions of victims around the globe, and while some might assume our country would be isolated from this, the truth is that we are among the most egregious offenders."

\-----------

While the President makes his case against the issues of the time, elsewhere Emily is coping with her situation. She was struggling to find her way to her feet. She couldn't help but to acknowledge the pain, mainly because she learned the hard way that she couldn't avoid the blood. While she didn't think her shoulder was dislocated, she knew quite well that it would be more than a bit sore for a day or two. Pushing the blood away from her forehead and chin, Emily looked to the three ass wipes who thought they could play tough with her. Two of them wouldn't be doing that with her ever again. The other wouldn't be doing it with anyone, ever again.

Emily's mood soured as she found her way to her feet and looked towards the once smug and confident Shane Black. He was gathered into the corner, trying, in vain, to scurry from the blood-soaked and angry woman moving his way. But that was to no avail, as she grabbed his nearest ankle and pulled him to the center of the cell, this time ensuring she wouldn't slip. Once she had him in the center of the floor, she fell hard onto his chest and then quickly head-butted him in the face. It was clear he wasn't in as good a mood as he was when she first arrived, but at least she had his undivided attention.

"Listen to me closely, little bitch. You need to know this is going to go the way I decide, not you. So, it seems our original agreement is going to stand. You are going to pay me what I want, and then I'll give you what you want. But mostly, I'll help you get what you want as long as I get Chloe."

Just as she was about to get up and find her way out, Emily felt a bit charitable and said, "But hey. I want you to know I can be a veritable sweetie on occasion. So, I'll give you this, just for the sake of my curiosity out of what might happen. The name of the nemesis you're looking for is...ready?"

Black had to bark and choke it out, but he finally managed to say, "Yes, please."

"The guy you're looking for goes by the name of Dale Hoskins. Good luck with that."

\-----------

"So, while there is no way my administration could ever accept vigilante action or violence, I just ask of each and every American that you help us hold dear and adhere to the supreme law of our land. But never forget that this is not about law alone; this is about the most fearsome moral dilemma our kind has seen since Rwanda, the holocaust and the Trail of Tears. This is about our children. This is about our innocent. This is about how we are viewed in the eyes of God. "Thank you, my fellow Americans. Good night and God bless."

"I really can't say much for sure, you know, what with my imperfect state," Godfrey managed to say after the President's speech ended, "but my money says that was an endorsement."

Dale didn't say anything at first, but nodded in agreement. But then he said, "Yeah, it was sort of a wink and nod from the big guy. And according to him, it might have been from them both."

Godfrey didn't respond to that, what with him going back to eating some soup while he simply struggled to remain on his feet. Dale himself wasn't sure how he felt about things, but he hasn't been able to shake the significance of something in him after surviving what he did. Sure, there was the basic science of it- the two soldiers are modified to survive beyond the normal capacity and they were able to pass that on. It wasn't a genuine miracle, was it? It wasn't that. Dale had long recognized that this mission was what he was, almost from the very beginning of his life. He lived the horrors to know what they truly were, and then escaped those horrors through the heroic actions of a wonderful man named Marcus. Marcus helped Dale put everything together that became known globally as The Traffic Cops.

Out of the entire ordeal, Dale appreciated the fame the least. But if there was a good thing to that, the only famous one on the team was his lovely Chloe. Even better was that nobody knew who he was. His anonymity was among the things he appreciated most. For more than just one reason, too. The President himself spoke of their important mission despite his skirting around who it was he addressed. But he gave hint to another who also appreciates their efforts. Could that be? Could the very God Himself be working His will through the team? Dale decided to allow that Good Lord to know for Himself what He does in that regard. The guy tends to keep quiet unless He acts as He intends, and how does anyone know when that might be? The thought of it just made his head hurt.

Dale knew enough to know that he needs to do what he needs to do now, here, with his team. His swordsman was down but recovering, and the remainder were just gaining strength. Doc was happy to help that asshole Godfrey get back to being an asshole, and Chloe saved more lives. It looked as though things were really coming back together.

\------------

It's been a long time since anything made Shane's head spin. He's been in complete control for so long that he simply couldn't comprehend the notion of someone putting him in a place he didn't want to be in. Sure, the state of New York and all their law enforcement placed him in prison, but that was actually just a minor setback and opened up the doors for several opportunities. But having a monstrosity like Emily Hutch whoop his ass while taking apart three beefy men who each could take most people their size was an experience he will not soon forget. He won't allow it to stand and she'll have to be dealt with, but he couldn't help but to like her.

But what had Shane's head spinning most of all was a name he hadn't heard or thought of in a long, long time.

"Could it really be? Could he have survived to do this? It would stand to reason he'd be pissed. But...how?"

Shane relished in the memories of little Dale and the sorry whore that spawned him. Their existence was his to decimate for his own entertainment and profit, and wow but did he get his money out of that bitch. What she suffered will torment her soul for eternity, and that, boys and girls, is fucking awesome. But the snot was bought for a final run. That was what the guy claimed, anyway. Phone calls would have to be made. Despite how much damage that ass wipe boy caused, there was still a good chance there were records of who sealed the deal. Because hey, to find that out would give Shane a head to dangle for that little shit to grab at.

\------------

Agent Fred Charles felt like he must be possessed by demons, what with as much as his head's been spinning as of late. The President didn't say one thing against those Traffic Cops. He didn't provide them with one inkling of permission or excuse, but by addressing their topical issue without criticizing them even a little is a well-known government speak thumb's up. Everybody's talking about it, wondering where things would go from there.

Things complicated severely due to Emily and her dramatic meeting with Shane Black. What sucked was that because she was in there illegally and via cover up, her killing of a guard would never meet with proper justice. The only thing allowing it to go on without a sniper in tow was because all three guards were pathetically corrupt and the one who kicked was a fiend. Black wasn't talking regarding the details of the meeting other than stating he did gain some intriguing information- too bad for old Fred that it had to remain confidential. But it was made clear that the good officer's talents would be needed to find an old acquaintance. Fred asked who it was and Black stated he truly didn't know yet, but when he did, the word would be given.

Fred ran his hands through his thinning hair, mumbling, "Damn, what have I gotten myself into."

\------------

"While several of the records that old have been corrupted or destroyed, largely because of water damage when the fire was fought, we do believe we know who made the final purchase of little Dale Hoskins. Mr. Black, are you familiar with a man named Marcus Bono?"

"I am not, but you're stirring up a few old memories. I recall this man named Marcus, but I thought the name was an alias, for obvious reasons. I remember he paid well for that little fuck."

"The name likely was an alias, and likely one of many. But some digging on the part of that FBI goon you have on the payroll demonstrates that this Bono used the alias more than once.

"It turns out that our old friend is a retired CIA agent who once trained soldiers in various locations around the world. He's also former Special Forces and all that. Rumor has it he also trained young boys who were child prostitutes, teaching them how you enact revenge on those who owned them. He was shit-canned by the government because he was training child assassins."

"That's all wonderful and romantic," Shane said, "but I would be interested in knowing where this Marcus is right now."

"We're having some difficulties in narrowing down where this man is, for obvious reasons, but I know we're getting close. We just need to eliminate a few potential locations and people and we'll be on the right track."

"Just know I need him alive and well. Live bait trends to flush out the prey better than anything else."

In his cell, scratching at the bandaging, Shane Black strummed his fingers on the bars, deep in thought.

\------------

Emily was a bit turned off with the thought of having to travel all the way to New York. She was born to rich, beautiful parents near the pristine beaches of the City of Angels, and even though she hated the beach (her parents both tanned well but she only burned), Emily didn't take kindly to higher elevations. It didn't kill her, but the Adirondacks sported bears, mountain lions and the occasional Sasquatch. In the winter, there were several yards of snow.

But there were plenty of places to get rid of a body.

She drove properly, what with the car being stolen (no body in the trunk this time, but someone left their keys in the door) and thought about her mission. Her personal mission drove her motivation, but that guy Black sure knew how to negotiate. She wasn't sure what to expect, but she just loved the expression on his face when she mentioned Dale's name.

So, they knew one another, eh? Did Dale once work for the guy and go rogue? That would make Hoskins a hell of a hypocrite. Emily knew Chloe had some privy to Dale's history, but everyone else was likely in the dark.

The more she thought of it, the more it bothered her. What gave fucking Hoskins the big change in perspective? Didn't Black pay enough? Did he see some toddler being cornholed too roughly and he suddenly grew a conscious? Was he not getting his fair share of kiddie tail and he got all whiny? She didn't give a damn. Dale was almost surely as dirty as his former boss, who is royally pissed over the loss of funds and freedom. After all, one doesn't have to think far into it- Dale will kill with no concern and spit on the occasional corpse, so what stretch is needed to once see him gathering up fresh meat for those in command. Emily once held a level of respect for Dale and his mission, but now that she's figured out the sorry fuck is no better than those he double-crossed...

"He's going down with his creepy lay."

Northern Exposure

"All right, this is what we've done, and these are the results we've gained," Doc Picasso said to Dale. "We've seen Godfrey do so well in his recovery, first of all. His wounds aren't perfectly healed, but they've healed enough to allow him to function to a considerable capacity, and this improves daily. Now, if he's held down and beaten, that might be it for the man. But otherwise, he might actually be ready for much of what he used to do."

"Has he compromised Ayers and Sands in any way? You know, weakening their state by thinning their blood's abilities?" Dale asked, showing genuine concern.

"Not at all. In fact, their blood replenishes and regenerates with aplomb. I've drawn two pints of blood from Godfrey and then a pint from each of them. Those two pints were pumped into Godfrey while each of the soldiers received one from him. What this has done is create a remarkable boost to his system and healing process while those pints given to them would be integrated quickly, and I did this two days ago."  
Picasso smiled and said, "I believe it's fair to say that we are at your service and command."

Dale smiled and said, "I'm glad to hear it. Because while we've been regrouping, I've been doing some important homework. I think I might have found something that just might get us back on track. So, if you would, tell Godfrey to hold it together and then pass on to the others we've been bunkered down long enough. We're going to Denny's."

\----------

He had to admit to himself that age and retirement have not done him a lot of good. Marcus knew right away that he should've seen these guys coming well before they made it to where they did, but it's just that it's been so long since anyone cared enough to put him to the test.

He knew why they were there and he had a fairly good idea of who they worked for. The age didn't dull his mind, and that's the one thing he did keep rather sharp. The thing is, one of his star pupils has been making a lot of noise lately. Quite a bit of noise, in fact. Beyond that, the fame of Dale's fun girlfriend made it simple to triangulate who was who, providing you had just a couple of clues.

When those two lovebirds first met, it was at Black's complex in New York. Marcus knew it was Dale right away and everyone else knew this quirky Chloe. One would just have to suppose it would be a matter of time before someone in the mix found out where Dale came from. Marcus knew they recorded and cataloged his so-called purchase back at the time; he merely hoped they lost the documentation in the fire.

Guess not.

Marcus checked the various monitors and quickly recognized that he wasn't getting out of this today. They made it in too far, too quickly, there's a bunch of them, and they likely have a mission's mentality. But Marcus felt rather sure they wouldn't kill him. They might rough him up, but he'd just be sore tomorrow. He could be wrong, and so be it, as life has become somewhat boring, anyway. But the more likely scenario was they wanted live bait to lure out the asshole who put away the boss and pilfered his well-earned wealth.

Marcus looked around, realizing he'd miss the old place. His home was a spacious if not palatial place of more than five thousand square feet nicely positioned on nearly two hundred acres of nearly inaccessible forest lands well within the western hills of West Virginia. Well, they weren't so much as inaccessible; it was just that just about nobody would bother coming up there without something they thought would be important to say.

Looking at those monitors, Marcus just shrugged, sipped his coffee, and said, "Well, I might as well have some fun with this."

As two men quietly entered the house from the rear (thinking they were slick, to be sure), Marcus yelled out from the above floor banister allowing one to overlook most of the first floor.

"Marco!"

Marcus quickly transferred his security video links from his office monitors to a tablet. From this tablet he could control lights, cameras, window shades and curtains, climate control, the video and audio entertainment systems, and one riot control canister. He could see there were fifteen armed men in and around the house; because of their level of control, there just weren't enough people in Marcus Bono to cope.

The last thing he wanted to do was take down a few and then end up going down after leaving them no choice. It wouldn't be the worst way to go, But Marcus really wanted to play this one through. He feared he could jeopardize Dale and his people, but this could also stunt and knock down that bastard Black even more.

He could see through the monitors that they heard his invitation, but they failed to respond. He smiled and tried something else.

"Red Robin!"

"Yum. Mr. Bono, I'm sorry things have to be this way, but I must inform you that you are coming with us."

"You fellas want some lunch first? I have a few frozen pizzas in the fridge and I could make some lemonade."

"Thank you for the hospitality, Mr. Bono, but the facts are that we can do this the easy way, or we can do it the hard way."

"Is the hard way a lot more fun?"

Suddenly, about eight zillion rounds of automatic fire ammunition of various calibers caused an extraordinary amount of harm to Marcus' kitchen. So much for the frozen pizza.

"That's just a hint, Mr. Bono."

"I think I got it. Let me get dressed and I'll be right there."

\----------

If the television over the bar at the Denny's didn't feature the breaking news of a former CIA agent being kidnapped from somewhere well into the hills of West Virginia, a former agent named Marcus Bono was taken surrounded by a lot of drama, everyone within the group would have had a good time.

Dale was prepared to inform the team that he was planning an ambitious mission in Albany, just east of their present location. But the sudden knowledge that Marcus was in jeopardy changed the plans just that fast.

Dale seethed. "Damn those sons of bitches to the horrid bowels of Hell."

"Do you know that man?" Chloe asked.

"People, I was about to tell you about the mission I was planning for us in Albany, but it seems that mission has just been placed on the back burner. Something of the highest priority just hit the news," Dale said as he watched the TV.

"He took you in and trained you, didn't he, Dale?" Godfrey asked as he ate the soup in front of him. Picasso recommended soup and fluids for a while longer, but damn if he didn't want a Grand Slam so, so much.

"How would you know that?" Dale asked.

"I didn't know it, but I saw it as a good guess. You got those skills from somewhere, but I can tell the way you are with our two soldiers that you never served in an official capacity," Godfrey said.

Dale frowned, impressed. "Do you think you could guess how old I was?"

Godfrey just shook his head and then said, "No, I couldn't say. But I would guess that you were barely out of your teens."

"I was ten years old. I haven't covered this tidbit of personal history with most of you, but I was born a child sex slave, spending my first ten years as such," Dale said to some surprised expressions. "Chloe knew some things about this as she came from something similar. I think everyone knew that.

"The thing is, that man there, Marcus Bono, is the man who bought me from my owners, thinking the transaction was one final, fatal sale. Instead, Marcus trained me to hunt those doing that. This, you all know."

Dale looked to the screen and then said, "It's just a guess, but I'm willing to bet Shane Black found about me specifically, likely thanks to that sweet Emily, and now intends to lure me out with Marcus. He's correct on that note."

"You know we'll be playing right into their hands, right?" Godfrey asked. "Since I imagine you know that, what do you think we can do?"

"I can't ask anything of any of you. This is specifically me they are after."

"Don't even attempt to exclude this team," Sands said, surprising everyone a little since he almost never says much at all. "We are a team and you're this team's leader. They might want you but they're getting all of us."

Dale just smiled and nodded. "I have no idea what's going to happen yet, but I'm sure they'll reach out to us one way or another.

\---------

"For fuck's sake," Emily said. "Are these morons actually sitting together in Denny's?"

Once she made it to the area she assumed they haunted, Emily looked for specific clues quickly. She knew what sort of place Dale wanted in a safehouse and she knew creepy chick would want to eat at Denny's, for whatever whacked out reason. While her search for the safehouse was uncertain (she didn't find the team or hints of their whereabouts at any house), her search for the various Denny's in the area brought her to one in Schenectady.

There they were, stuffing their faces.

Emily's job at this point was to let the group know where they could find Dale's precious mentor, whoever the hell he was. He's just likely another dirty cop like Fred Charles. Emily was miffed because they requested she leave dear Chloe alone for the time being but could grab her up in Virginia, where they held this mysterious VIP. They wanted the group whole and focused until they were all wrapped up with their needs. From there, Emily could do with that booby prize whatever she wanted.

"So, how am I supposed to inform the team of their new mission without ending up with this place shot up and burned down?"

Emily then broke out a few giggles when she looked to all the nasty but unopened fortune cookies littering the passenger side floor along with the burger wrappers and empty Styrofoam cups.

\-----------

Dale searched through and watched the various newscasts carefully, looking for any sign of a hint as to where they needed to go. The best he had so far was that Marcus had been living and was kidnapped in West Virginia, but that's still rather vague.

"Is everything okay with your breakfast, folks?" the sweet and elderly server asked.

"Everything was just marvelous as always, dear. Thank you," Chloe said with a dazzling smile.

"I think we'll just get the check, please," Dale said.

The server smiled and said, "Sure thing. I'll be right back."

"Dale, rest assured that you don't need to explain why this man is so important to you," Doc said. "That he is so important is why he's so important to all of us. So you don't need us explaining that we will do what we do to secure his freedom."

"While that's all true, Dale," Godfrey said. "We have to keep in mind that our prior conquests were fiendish yet cowardly bastards taking advantage of innocent and vulnerable girls. Now, I suspect we'll face some fuckers who know what they're doing, expecting us to do something about it if we don't like it. I completely agree we need to face and then vanquish these guys, but we could be up against something that could change the face of what and who we are. Hey, I'm usually the dick here, so let me point out what's uncomfortable."

"I agree and actually already knew all that, Tom, but Marcus is who made all of what we do possible, not me," Dale said. "I know this is a rock and hard place."

The server then returned with the check, and a few other things.

"Wow, I really dig fortune cookies, but don't they usually come with Chinese food?" Chloe asked, blinking as she does while looking quite suspiciously at what was placed in front of them.

The server let loose a small laugh and said, "Well, that woman over the said she knew all of you, and that you would enjoy a little inside joke."

Suddenly getting the point, Dale said with a smile, "Why everyone, I bet it was our good friend, Emily. Was she a rather big girl, more like a linebacker than anything else? But you know, she's such a ballerina on the inside."

Laughing again, "Yep, that's her. She said she couldn't stay, but she asked I pass on to you folks the very best of luck in whatever you do."

"We'll be sure to do that. We'll also be sure to let her know when we see her, which should be soon, what that should be," Dale said, handing over a handful of bills. "This should cover the check and the rest is all yours."

Godfrey was the first to pull open one of the fortune cookies. "This only has some coordinates on it."

Everyone there dug into the fortune cookies to find the message, but largely found the same information. But the cookie found by Doc was an exception. He handed it to Chloe. "My dear, I believe this one is for you."

Chloe looked at it and smiled. "It just says, 'you're mine, bitch.' Awww, that is just so sweet!"

\----------

Dale was hip-deep into everything he found on the computer, utilizing every available tool and program in order to decipher precisely what is located at and around those coordinates. He wasn't at all happy with what he found.

The satellite footage he obtained through public channels revealed what was simply a large home sitting on a large and barren hill. There were very few trees seen in the picture and the data suggested the photos were less than two years old. If anything changed at all, the precious few trees seen there could be gone, but it wasn't likely many popped up since the shot. So, it seems the area and the home are open to everything around it. There was just no sneaking up on it, which was surely the point.

Further digging revealed the home's interior details and architecture. Dale was at least happy he could find a blueprint of the place. But all in all, the information wasn't worth but so much. The place was as average as white bread and demonstrated no surprises. But Dale understood this was the basic information he could find on Google. He knew the stuff was old and quite public, which meant it wasn't necessarily accurate. So, he couldn't help but to wonder what it was he didn't know. He knew there had to be something new there not immediately available to the public but making it sweet to those holding Marcus.

"So, it seems we can't just go ninja and sneak up on them, but..."

Dale couldn't help but to start wondering. So, because he couldn't help it, wonder he did.

\----------

"So, you've found what we've been looking for?" Shane asked.

"Yes sir, we have. Not only that, but we know Dale Hoskins and his team have been duly notified. They know right where we want them to go. We're ready to make this happen."

"Are you really? I am quite confident you realize these people are more than capable. In fact, they've accomplished things that have made them internationally famous and they've demonstrated unique abilities difficult to explain. But it seems you believe you're more than ready for them."

"I understand your concerns and doubts, Mr. Black. That's why we have more going on than just the average hit. Our goals are retrieval of stolen funds and the prompt removal of those responsible, right? Those are our primary goals, but there are secondary concerns, as well, such as the spotlight on our way of life. We quickly recognized we would require some help with these issues, so we sought some help. Well, Mr. Black, thanks to your association with certain people in certain agencies, we think we've found the assistance we desire."

Challenges of Reality

"For the first time in quite a long time," Dale admitted, "I have no idea of what to do and I don't even know how to fix that. I feel as powerless as I did when I was ten years old."

"Don't knock yourself down too much," Ayers told him. "The only confirmed information we have is we're being set up to travel a slaughter chute. They just provide a coordinate and no time to meet? No demands such as no cops, only you, no weapons, show up naked and with cold beer, no Pepsi products? We could call the authorities and send them in, knowing the outcome but watching from here. I'm pretty good at this, but this has me stumped. I don't know what they're up to and the reason I don't is because I can't see their risks or what they have to lose. But that can't be that simple. It can't."

Dale looked at Ayers and then looked around. "You know what; perhaps that's the big problem here. They want us flushed out because taking us down would be so easy if we're exposed there. For all I know, the only ones there are the FBI."

"What do we have to lose?" Ayers asked.

"If we don't act, just Marcus. Otherwise, everything. Jesus, do they think we're that simple-headed?"

"Now turn the tables. If we don't act and just say, tough break, Marcus, but you knew this was a dangerous sport, what might come of it?"

"Nothing but a grudge, to be honest."

Ayers smiled. "Then let's take this situation by the balls. The only genuine threat among them is likely just Black. The rest of them are pointless minions, unless someone is getting ambitious."

"But if that was the case, we would already know it. But Shane is running things while soaking in the comfort of hospitality provided by the taxpayer, just biding his time until his lawyers do...whatever," Dale said as he thought. "But what do we do about Black? He's likely the screw holding his organization together, but how do we pull that screw? He's in a maximum security prison."

Ayers smiled. "I have a couple of ideas. Just give me a bit of time to let those simmer."  
\------------  
The thought of it all coming to a grinding halt appealed to Agent Charles' sense of accomplishment. He's been chasing these Traffic Cops for a while now. But would they actually take the bait and seek their mentor, risking everything they are and have done? He felt confident he wouldn't do it. Sure, he may avenge the man, but if he was that man he wouldn't want them throwing away everything just for him.

Fred knew for a fact that this Marcus felt the same way.

The last thing Agent Fred Charles wanted was this Marcus being able to identify him. Fred's placed enough risk on his career by playing dirty pool with Shane Black and his merry band of heathens. What they did and how they became so powerful burned Fred, but that was something a lot bigger than him. There was no agent that fought that; not even the entire bureau was able to put much of a dent in it. Fred wasn't in the business of selling kids; he just wanted a piece of the enormous profit that gargantuan provided every other scumbag out there. Besides, there was no lack of history of law enforcement partnering with organized crime for a mutual goal. The entire federal government has partnered with the mafia before.

That was the shtick here. This team of so-called Traffic Cops has made some big news and caught big attention. While someone like the President gives an unofficial wink, the fact remains that these people are fugitive vigilantes and that's the fact on that. One retired, rogue agent feeling some discomfort isn't a big price to pay. If the team approaches quietly, the arrests and subsequent actions will occur quietly. But if they think they're going to crash a party with the same drama they pulled at the border...the TV special reports on the subject should invoke some serious ratings.  
Actually, he hoped it went like that. It'd just make the acquisition of the funds that much easier. After all, the only one they need alive is this Dale Hoskins or whoever he is. He's the mastermind and the one holding the purse strings. He just needs the motivation to hand over the proper numbers. After that? Well, he might let Shane Black decide his fate. Yeah, Fred thought. Good old Shane Black...  
\-------------  
"This seems rather irregular, what with a prisoner of his record and reputation," the guard said as he looked over the paperwork, a shackled Shane Black, and the three officers presiding. "But everything seems in order. Is this prisoner being permanently transferred?"

"We just don't know that on our end. Our orders revolve around the issue of transport and then drop the prisoner off at the designated location. We intend to do just that."

"Roger that. Just sign right here."

The three guards escorted the prisoner to the armored vehicle designed for such high profile prisoners. One of them unlocked the back doors while the other two stood vigilant and watchful. But once the doors were opened, they assisted the shackled Shane Black into the back. There, he was assisted to his seat by two other uniformed officers.

"So, everyone," Shane said. "Might I take a guess as to where we're going? I have to say that I'm not familiar with any transfer, so, might you good officers be under my employment?"

"I guess I could say I was once on your payroll, Mr. Black. But that was a long time ago."

"I see. And how about you, officer? And might I say that you're looking rather lovely today. The uniform suits you well," Black said, feeling confident.

That female officer smiled and lowered her sunglasses. While her eyes blinked left, right, pinpoint, nickel-sized, right, left, she said, "Why, how sweet of you to notice."

Shane Black, for all his faults and lack of soul, isn't stupid.

"Why, if it isn't the lovely Ms. Rhodes. And you, I suppose, must be my darling Dale. You've grown considerably since the last time I saw you, but you were bent over and likely with a dick forced down your throat, so I can only guess. Do you miss your Mommy?"

Dale was better than to be lured into a fit of rage, and he expected it. He just smiled and said, "I do miss her from time to time, to be honest, but I know she rests in peace, largely thanks to you. I often ease the pain by counting your millions and imagining your mother sucking the cock of Satan. But I would imagine her jaw is a bit sore, so she's looking forward to when you take over."

Chloe raised her hand, quite high. "Um, Mr. Black? Can I say something?"

"I would imagine you have a lot to say. Is it because you were abused as a child that you look like that? I feel saddened that I wasn't there to see that."

"I was kicked in the head quite a bit. It makes me fun. But that wasn't what I wanted to say."

"Then what is it, my dear?"

Chloe quickly retrieved a boot knife and lunged at Black. She plunged the five inch blade into Black's thigh and then pulled it and stabbed the man deep into his left cheek. While Black shrieked and tried to favor his cut face even though his hands were cuffed behind him, right thigh bleeding badly, she said, "I just wanted to say fuck you, asshole."

Dale maintained his composure and allowed himself but a slight smile as they drove to meet Ayers, where he had additional transportation waiting.  
\------------  
Emily held back, remaining as solitary as possible. The party was getting rather raucous for her tastes, what with so many people involved. She had already pissed off Black, let alone the hard feelings held by the old team. It seemed nobody much liked Emily Rose very much lately. Besides, she called Black's people and confirmed that she delivered the message to the Traffic Cops. She had no way of knowing when and how they would respond, but they had the coordinates. They got the message and she was paid handsomely for her effort.

Emily decided to stay in the shadows until she knew just how she would get hold of Chloe Rhodes. It looked as though half the planet wanted to eradicate the team, but Emily just wanted that little psycho bitch to herself. "I think the way she likes to kill is the best way for her to die."

Remaining about a mile south or so from the target home where everyone is expected to show up, Emily watched closely through the narrow area of a sniper scope. While she felt shy about getting mixed up with the group, she just might make her mark if the right asshole came up in the crosshairs. Not Chloe, of course, but maybe her creepy, backstabbing boyfriend or the goofy doctor. After all, things were supposed to get exciting around here, weren't they?  
\-----------  
Agent Charles held back from the house, about a mile to the north, along with numerous agents and SWAT personnel. While nobody has an exact time when to expect those Traffic Cops to show up, logic dictated they should be sooner than later. But because of his personal stake in the party, he occasionally ordered the troops to remain where they were while he moved in and entered the house. He was undercover and expected, he would tell them.

Being so anxious about what was happening and when prompted one of those occasions.

"Yes, Agent Charles. What is it now?"

"I don't mean to be a pest, but I wanted to check in and see if there was any additional information. Have those Traffic Cops made any sort of contact yet?"

"No, they have not. I'm starting to wonder if we should have demanded a specific time, but Mr. Black felt allowing them to decide when they're ready would make things more interesting. He assumed they would act quickly simply because of the importance of their Mr. Bono, but that remains to be seen."

"How is the Mr. Bono? He hasn't been severely harmed, has he? That could shake things up?"

"He's quite fine, to be honest. But whether he remains so depends on the level of cooperation from our esteemed guests when they arrive."

Marcus had no intention of cooperating with anyone. While he was still officially tied up and shackled, he already ensured he could escape the bonds in moments, should a suitable melee allow the distraction. Many decades of training and covert operations ensured he maintained the doctrine of never negotiating with terrorists. The one catch was that he didn't want to jeopardize Dale and his people, but once he saw they had some control (or needed assistance due to an ambush) he would take as much control, and casualties, as he could. Hey, this is personal. They shot up his place and ruined his kitchen.

He didn't know the dirty cop, but he knew the ass-wipe had some sort of team in the near distance. Ok, so this cop didn't toss his soul to Hell, but he was up to something. He was likely skimming off the top before doing his actual job. Well, it could be worse. But the dirty cop had a good point- What are you people waiting for? The return of Buck Rogers or something?  
\------------  
"I don't recommend we get any higher than five thousand feet over the intended target, Boss," Ayers said from the controls. "Unless they have anti-aircraft equipment or get really lucky, they won't be able to do much to us, but we can't attract undue attention by moving into the wrong airspace. Besides, I don't think we could get this much higher, anyway. This helicopter has been around awhile and likely has a few stories to tell."

"That's perfectly fine. I want to get a thorough eagle's eye view of the neighborhood before we proceed with any specific course of action, anyway," Dale said. "Sands, you think you have the eyesight necessary to examine the area surrounding the house in question? I want to know who is occupying the mezzanine and outer stands."

"I don't have X-Ray vision, but my eyesight is keener than just about anyone has ever had. They tormented me something severe to make that happen. If there's anyone down there that isn't hiding exceptionally well, I should spot them."

"Boss, do you want me to set this down just outside the house, or do you want a place some distance off and then we can hoof it in," Ayers asked. "Coming in close would make us a target, but might show an element of trust."

"To be honest with you, Ayers, I want you to find a position directly above the place at this elevation. Let me know when you have that and then we'll make a decision from there." Dale turned to Picasso and said, "Doc, were you able to patch up our delightful friend here? I wouldn't want him in horrible pain or anything."

A morose and very angry Shane Black looked to Dale and said, "I should have seen to your death a long time ago."

"Sir, you thought you did," Dale said with a smile. "Not only that, but you were paid handsomely for the trouble. I never did know what Marcus paid for me that day. Do you remember how much it was?"

"Does it really matter? You stole it all back and then some," Shane said as his tongue constantly aggravated the stitches in his face.

Dale laughed. Chloe did, as well. "I suppose I did, if you look at it that way. I just assumed I was gathering unpaid wages earned by my mother and I."

Shane tried to force a smile and said, "Well, she certainly earned her pay. She earned a good percentage of it on your sixth birthday. Do you remember that?"

"I do remember that. Quite well, actually. It must have been quite the trick to find that many scumbags who wanted to rape and ravage and then torture to death one simple woman."

"No, boy. It had nothing to do with her. The point was watching you suffer helplessly while she screamed," Shane said. "Would you like to know who they were? I keep records of everything."

"I just might take you up on that some day. But today, we have other fish to fry." Dale faced forward and asked Ayers, "How much longer until we're at our destination?"

"We should be there within thirty minutes."

Little did any of them know that while Dale and Shane reminisced about old times, breaking news told the world that Shane Black escaped from prison and was to be considered armed and dangerous.

It wouldn't matter.

Terminal Velocity

Fred was more than a little surprised by the news. Could Shane have made an actual jail break? He couldn't help but to think that was too cliché even for the likes of a monster like Shane Black. But what was more important was how the news potentially affected what was going on in the here and now.

Was that what Black had intended all along? Was he planning to lead this excursion? Make something big happen? Prompt a bigger news story? What if those vigilantes had something to do with it? Or, for the love of God, could they have teamed with Black for some mutually beneficial situation? That would suck balls.

"This is getting to the point that it isn't worth the trouble, anymore," Fred grumbled.

It wouldn't matter.  
\------------  
"Are we in position?"

"We are right where you wanted us to be, Boss. We are directly over the target and I can tell you there's a team of people in the trees to the North. I've scanned the area and I don't see anyone else," Sands said.

"I would guess those are either SWAT or FBI or both, waiting for us."

"Do they know we're up here?"

"I imagine they know a helicopter is hovering above the scene; who it could be they may not know immediately, but a few calls could narrow it down in a minute."

"Could they take us down in any way?"

"I don't see that happening. There's too much risk in shooting down aircraft. But they could send more aircraft out here and make things crowded. That's important to know," Sands said. "We're sitting ducks one way or another, so let's make something happen."

"What did you say we're over?" Chloe asked, blinking with excitement.

"We're over our intended target, Chloe," Sands said, answering her question.

She was blinking fast, fast, and then stopped. Those eyes looked at him, and then through him. "It's funny, how you put it that way."

Chloe could move with extraordinary speed and precision for someone who's been through what she has. It didn't take her any time at all to fling the sliding door open, and then it only took an additional fraction of a moment to hook her hand into the mouth of a frightened Shane Black and then simply yank him out the door. She laid down on the floor with her head looking out, watching a shrieking Shane Black plummet to his certain death.

"Geronimo!" She yelled as the remainder of the team looked at her with mouths gaping open.

So, it turned out those other things didn't matter at all.  
\----------  
Emily quickly put her rifle in front of her, desperate to see that sudden object falling from the helicopter of mystery. She wondered if the chopper was law enforcement, the media, or maybe her old friends. She couldn't tell even with them right there, as the helicopter maintained a high altitude. But she was pretty sure that was Shane Black she saw drop quickly and then crash through the roof of the house.

"Now, what in the Hell made you decide to do something like that?" She mumbled.

Emily placed the rifle across her lap and leaned against the old oak shielding her presence. Things just changed rather quickly. Such as, the old team apparently tossed their primary reason for being there into the weeds. The team of agents that old Fred had stationed to the North was now rushing into the house; she could hear the raucous noise even from where she was. She heard the flash-bang lead the way, so there was no telling how nutty it was going momentarily. Black's team was feeling with what was likely going to be a long day.

Fred might be shielded from wrong doing because he has excuses, and that other guy...

...that other guy. Emily spun around fast, examining the area through her scope. She wasn't stupid enough to take a shot at these various cops on this beat, but she just might assume the role of real dick and pop off who those assholes just kicked to the curb. Because, why not? The guy was what trained and preceded every other swinging dick rushing in, so the chances of him going down were lean. More likely was he would free himself and either join the forces or he would escape alone.

"Where are you, tough guy? Where, are, you?"  
\------------  
Dale simply fell into his seat. He dropped his head into his hands as he watched Chloe wave bye bye to Shane Black while he plummeted more than three thousand feet and punched through the roof of the house below. The house where the rest of the team hoped to receive Marcus Bono safe and alive.

"Hey, sweetie? Sweetheart? Hey, Chloe!"

Chloe pulled back from the open door and looked to Dale, blinking wildly and smiling. "Hey, Hunky Guy?"

For the first time in a long time, Dale wondered what he was doing with her. There were times when she was charming, vivacious, sexy and quite smart. She could don a fashionable pair of sunglasses and make the guys swoon. But he had to admit there were other times when she demonstrated she was surely the craziest and most psychotic lunatic on the loose. There were times when he genuinely felt wrong for maintaining such a loose cannon on what he tried to maintain as a tight ship. Sure, she usually fit in well and her brand of mayhem instilled fear and concern in those seeking quick profits from victimizing the innocent...

...But...come on.

"Just so you know, I had-" he then turned to Ayers and said, "It looks like a change of plans, so just get us out of here." He looked back to her and said, "My love, I actually had other plans for that guy; I thought you should know that. I thought you should know that my plans DID NOT INCLUDE HIM BEING THROWN OUT OF THE FUCKING HELICOPTER AT MORE THAN A HALF MILE IN THE SKY! Do you know where I am on this, my dear?"

She was quite still as her smile faded and the blinking slowed to just one or two blinks a second. She looked at a steaming Dale and then around to the others, who were, while demonstrating a few emotional responses, were mostly in shock. After nearly a minute of that she returned to her seat and looked at her hands. Dale wasn't letting it go that easily.

"Do you have anything to say for yourself or not?" Chloe just continued looking down and at her hands, but shook her head.

Sands said, "Boss, I can see someone being brought from the house who doesn't appear arrested. Might your Marcus Bono sport long, grey or white hair?"

"Likely. When I knew him, his hair was long and auburn but showing plenty of grey. A strong but wiry man."

"If it helps, what just went down saw this guy free. I see him shaking someone's hand."

Chloe piped up and said, "Well, it just goes to show that-"

Dale cut her off with a pointed finger her way. "Not one more goddamned word. Not even one."  
\------------  
While close examination revealed the identity of Shane Black's body, mangled after plunging through some stout construction, Agent Fred Charles required no in-depth look. He was entirely intact and barely hit, but just as dead as Black. As Black came through with amazing velocity, Charles was struck in the head and killed. Agent Fred Charles was bitching. Bitching and pacing while those there tolerated him, but only because Mr. Black felt confident that having an experienced FBI agent on the payroll was a grand idea. The other minions had learned over time that once law enforcement was corrupted they were quite shackled, so a level of tolerance was afforded to the annoying Charles in order to the boss. But if the boss had not killed Charles by coming down on him where he stood, they would have killed him just for the pleasure of it. The thing was, nobody expected the boss to arrive and certainly didn't expect that arrival through the ceiling, so people were flustered for a moment. But once they saw what they had, it didn't take long to do the math.

Shane Black was dead, meaning those Traffic Cops weren't playing fair, meaning that Marcus Bono was a liability while alive. Someone rushed to cope with that, but met with a death nearly as quick as Fred and Shane. Bono was loose.

It was time to get the Hell out. But there was a problem. The mediator between the rushing SWAT and FBI agents and Black's people was no longer Fred Charles but Marcus Bono. Several of Black's veteran people and numerous heavy henchmen were killed in the melee. Marcus heard the raucous noise of something crashing in and then, an extended moment later, heard screams of terror and then just a lot of shouting. He had the bonds holding him still in place but at a point where they required little more than another few seconds to freedom. The bizarre noise was cue enough, so he broke loose and checked his passage. There were minions about, but they were confused. Then someone came quickly past them and then towards where he had been tied up. Very simple math. They either wanted him gathered up, unlikely giving the sudden drama, or they intended on doing away with the cargo. Marcus just waited until the gruff and confident goon was in reach and then took his firearm. Taking down the rest was simple from there.

Gunfire and more screams placed the few remaining fools in a panic, but it didn't matter. The agents outside were poised to close in fast, for what Marcus didn't know as yet, so he identified himself to them fast. On his knees and hands up, he yelled, "I'm Marcus Bono, a prisoner of these people. I am Marcus Bono!"

Once he was escorted outside through the house, Marcus then saw the rogue agent and an injured Shane Black, both quite dead. Math problem solved. As they left the house while other agents moved in to clear it, Marcus looked up to see a high altitude helicopter moving south.

"You got some balls, Dale, doing that," Marcus said to himself as they escorted him to safety.  
\--------------  
"You got some balls, Dale, doing that," Emily said as she watched the helicopter go past overhead after causing such a ruckus.

Emily quickly aimed at the helicopter, thinking that while it's a long shot, LOL, wouldn't it be nice to see the thing spin out of control and come crashing down. She then had a second thought and spun around, looking at all the hubbub going on around the recently renovated home. For whatever reason, Dale had a major falling out with the deceased Shane Hill (more guffaws) and terminated the relationship for the final time. She knew there was a man named Marcus Bono who meant something to both of them, but it seemed he didn't mean all that much to Dale.

Or, did he? Emily watched through her scope, seeing this older man laugh and chat with the agents who are...

...they're treating him like he's some sort of hero or celebrity, for the love of Pete. So, Shane, like most people named Shane in an ideal world, plummets to his death and everyone suddenly wants to have a picnic.

Mumbling to herself, Emily said, "I might have some leverage to take hold of that bitch, after all."  
\------------  
"Where are we off to now, boss man?" Ayers asked.

"Before we were so rudely interrupted with this situation, I wanted to let everyone know about a job I had lined up in Albany. We're going back there."

As they maintained a high altitude, the trip was rather quiet. Nobody knew what to say and, really, wasn't comfortable saying anything. Dale is mad at Chloe? Whoever would have thunk it?  
\----------  
Agent Charles Frederickson wasn't sure what to think. Being assigned to the Traffic Cop situation after the untimely demise of Fred Charles was uncomfortable at best. Everyone was rather sure Fred was on the take with Black and his goons, but they didn't have any definitive proof of that. Because the proof wasn't there, other than those who once worked for Black said that about Fred when they were arrested, it was considered bad rumor and wouldn't taint the man's reputation. Part of the problem, however, is that Fred didn't keep much in terms of reports and records.

There wasn't much to fall back on in order to pick up where Agent Charles left off.

Not that Charles needed a whole lot, however. These Traffic Cops were veritable celebrities and just about everyone knew about them. But this last stunt made a lot of people unhappy. They entered a maximum security prison with false identification and kidnapped a prisoner while impersonating a police officer. Is there anything these guys can't do? The bigger question is, is there anything they won't do? Just how much of a threat is this team to those who don't like being threatened?

Charles wasn't sure exactly what to do. But he knew that crazy Chloe on sight; he's escorted her to Fred's office while she flirted with him. If it wasn't for the fact that she looked like the craziest human being ever, she would be quite attractive. And he knew another thing, too. Something Fred just couldn't know. This Marcus Bono knew the mystery man, who is now identified as Dale Hoskins, quite well, according to a few in the know. Charles couldn't help but to wonder if he could recruit a new partner. Perhaps this Bono is tired of his early retirement. It was a long shot, but the guy must know something valuable.  
\---------  
Chloe just sat and watched the world go by while they flew north. But her mind was on far more than just a hint of fall colors setting in. No matter how she tried to excuse and justify who she is and what she does, the look in Dale's eyes as he expressed such anger with her while the rest of the team was right there gave her considerable pause. The more she thought about it, the more she was convinced she was the weak link on the chain. Even Picasso, who could be gloriously messy when playing with the bad guys, offered the team a professional doctor. What was she? She tried to stop the incessant blinking as they crossed over into New York State, but she couldn't even do that right.

Chloe couldn't help but to wonder what it was she was doing, anyway. Why did she throw Black out the door? Ayers told Hunky Guy it was a target, but, does that offer an excuse? While she had a lot of questions, there was one thing she knew for sure- she was proving to be a team liability more than she was an asset. She was caught by the FBI, even if it was largely by intent. She stabbed that one guy that's always hanging around. She was certainly the most famous out of the bunch. And then, she did something that caused an unknown amount of damage while pissing off, well, everybody. Part of her wanted to throw open the door and jump, but she couldn't do it. Killing herself was never one of her better qualities. But then, she might be able to get some help.

The Empire State

Dale needed to get back to work. He felt strongly that the team needed to get back to work. But he was also considering taking a small vacation after the strike in Albany was complete. Dale wanted each member of the team to take some personal time and get some of their own, everyday affairs in order before resuming on the next one. Some time to reflect. He wasn't sure if he wanted Chloe to remain with him or rather she found her own way for a little while. But it was just so difficult for him to dismiss her, even for a while. He would worry. About a lot of things. There was a part of him that wanted some me time, but the thought of her going out on her own frightened him. But why? She made it on her own wonderfully before they met. But yet, he knew who she was before they met. Or at least, he thought he did.

There was the Chloe that was famous for being a psychopathic monster, and there was the woman he loved. And he did truly love her; of that there was no doubt in his mind. But sometimes he wanted more woman than monster. It shouldn't be too much to ask. But when she hooked Shane Black by the jaw and just slung him out a helicopter at that height, and on a whim? Yes, the man was a monster, but she had to consider his value to the team, didn't she? Didn't she think about why they took the chance to take him from prison? The truth was that Chloe was an issue. She had her place on the team, but who else thought so other than Picasso? The super soldiers were exactly what they sounded like, but yet she creeped them out at every turn. Godfrey would easily admit he would be fine without her. Dale himself loved her and she held a place within him, but could it be in part because of what he was? Emily came to despise everything about her to such an extent that she dismissed every other aspect of her situation. There was a lot to think about.

\------------

Marcus looked around his kitchen. Damn, but they caused a hell of a lot of damage in a very short amount of time. The unleashing of gunfire was focused on the kitchen, but most of the rounds were 9mm. The damage spread through most of the first floor. So much so that much of the first floor was structurally compromised. But he had to admit that it didn't really matter in the long run. He would employ a team of contractors to rebuild it while he sought refuge in what was actually his primary home. The home where he trained his soldiers. Soldiers such as Dale Hoskins. He knew he would be safer there than at this Southern home. Marcus grew up in the area and just loved it, and that's why he settled in the sweet, little house. But as he looked around, he recognized why the boy he was had little to do with the man he became. And it wasn't just the house that sunk that in.

"What? Nobody knocks anymore?"

"My apologies, Mr. Bono. The door was wide open," Agent Frederickson said with a shrug. "It looks as though you need some sort of termite protection."

Marcus looked the guy up and down and said, "So it would seem."

"My name is Agent Charles Frederickson. I've been assigned to take over where Fred Charles left off."

"Who takes over when a crime boss is dropped on your head? Fred and Charlie team out there somewhere?" Charles smiled.

"It makes one suppose. The reason I'm here is to see if I could partake of your knowledge of Dale Hoskins and his people. After all, these people have reached quite the celebrity status, but there are still a few issues to address.

"As you know, they've been afforded quite the pass by the media and perhaps even the White House, according to some. But just recently they abducted a federal prisoner and deliberately murdered him. That action directly led to the death of my prior boss. Am I out of line in saying they've pushed their luck?"

"Yeah."

"Mr. Bono, you used to be one of our own. This is where you can help make some amends. How can I find Dale Hoskins? We have that name but we don't know who he is since we have no decent records. I have met dearest Chloe. She's an intriguing woman. Who are these people?"

"I honestly cannot tell you anything. You know I was once one of yours but got dismissed because of those like Hoskins. I haven't seen any of them since I sent them on. That includes Hoskins. What he's done since I released him was a mystery to me until all of this." Marcus gestured at the state of the kitchen.

"The point is, you could reach out to them."

"For what? They're doing what I illegally trained them to do. Granted, Dale has done far better than anyone else, but he has a unique history. When you meet him, you can ask him about it. But you can rest assured I'm not doing a thing for you."

That's when Agent Charles Frederickson stepped forward and came just close enough to touch his nose to Marcus' and said, "We'll just have to see about that."

As Charles saw himself out, he said without turning around, "Keep your eyes peeled, sweetie."

Marcus slightly touched his nose, subtly surprised.

\------------

Chloe woke up feeling better. The rather severe scolding she received from Dale genuinely hurt, but she's had time to think it over. However, she felt better for just moments. First of all, there was no lovemaking the night before, yet they had the time and the privacy. Hunky Guy kept his distance and stayed on his computer until he was certain she was asleep and then he crept quietly onto the far side of the bed. He hardly moved throughout the night but he wasn't there when she woke. He was back on the computer, dressed and looking ready to go. She wanted to talk about what occurred, wanting to give some reasoning for her screw-up as well as apologize, but he dismissed the discussion with few words and stated it was water under the bridge.

She didn't want the awkward silence starting the day.

"What you doing, Hunky Guy? Mapping out the details for Albany?"

"Morning, love. Yeah, I'm putting together the details for what and where. I don't think this is a major spot but a way-point from the city. However, I think it's a steady and established point. A good handful of guys and goons running girls and kids, with some potential funds for the grab."

Dale turned around and looked at her. "I should have something for just about everyone, including you and the doc. The troops will have a good target to hit and I think this will even give Godfrey a chance to get back in the game. I'll go in behind Godfrey and then leave you to do your thing with Picasso while I raid the coffers and help send the victims out of there. Easy peasy, as they say."

"Sounds like fun," she said as she eyed him with her signature blinking and smiling. But she then slowed the blinks and asked, "You still angry and disappointed with me?"

That was followed by another awkward silence, quickly forcing her to regret the question.

"Chloe, I just... I don't know. You're being so unpredictable is one of your lovable traits, but that threw me and everyone else. It's just that I had such a significant history with that man. He is as much of my maker as Marcus, if not more. He saw to the horrible torture and death of my mother on my sixth birthday just to torture and scar me.

"That man was summarily killed like some stupid henchman. Like some hired hand. I know I sound like the fiend," Dale said as he finally made eye contact with her, "but an awful lot of unresolved things went out the door with him. I can't get that back. I'm sorry, but I can't help but to feel as though you took something very important from me. If I was just going to kill him, I never would have taken him from the prison. What was there is completely and finally gone."

"Dale, I'm sorry. If I could make it up to you, I would. If I could take it back, I would do that first."

He turned his back to her and returned to the computer. "Yeah. I know."

\-----------

Emily wasn't used to having to move like she's been moving to keep up with the long-haired, hippie freak who looked like he was stuck in the early seventies, but she was worried that if she lost track of him she'd never find him again. While he looked like he ought to be in a Seals & Crofts tribute band, he was likely quite elite when it came to government spooks. She wiped the sweat from her brow and watched for Bono to exit the FBI building. She was smart enough to set up a remote camera facing the rear of the building, but she had to really push it to get back to the car she was using. She went wide and away in order to avoid drawing attention, so the cheeseburgers and fries were letting her know she should reconsider her career choices.

"But if I can make this work with this petunia, I just might be able to retire for good."

\------------

If Marcus wasn't so preoccupied with badass Frederickson, he just might have noticed the large woman stalking him. But the manner in which Chucky acted wouldn't let go of his mind. A former colleague, nearing retirement, wasn't much help in figuring things out. John Bowman shook and scratched his head. "I'll tell you, Marc, if I had anything on this guy I would let you know. But not only does every indication show he's squeaky clean, but most reports state he's kind of a wuss.

"He was first brought in as an analyst but somehow proved to be helpful when it came to pinning traffickers, so that got him work in the field, although not much. He was getting some work doing backup for Fred Charles before he was whacked, which landed him Fred's job."

Marcus just shook his head. "The guy who put his nose to mine isn't a mere wussy analyst. Not only that, but he wants Dale Hoskins in a bad way. Something tells me my kitchen might get shot up again."

\-------------

Dale seemed to be in a better mood at the Denny's near Johnstown, where they first started before the caper with Marcus began. "Okay, so where was I before we were so rudely interrupted?" Dale asked with a smile. "Oh, yes. I was mentioning Albany."

"Sands and I are ready to make this a go. We can enter Albany fast from Troy and, if we're lucky, we'll be able to set that helicopter right on their heads. Once we get the clear, we'll set the charges and make a big noise."

"Big booms and explosions? This sounds like it'll be fun," Chloe said with a smile.

"It ought to be," Dale said. "They're running victims out of Albany via some old apartment buildings near the Mohawk River. These buildings were slated for demolition but I guess they keep going to the back burner. I wonder why.

"Well, we'll help them decide. Now, the way we're going to do this is a bit different than what we've done before. Rather than send in Ayers and Sands in as our forward troops, it will be Godfrey, Chloe and me."

"My role in this, sir?" Picasso asked.

"You'll move in with Ayers and Sands. The three of us will enter this building from the ground and work our way through quickly. We'll whack the scumbags and send the victims on as quickly as we can. About that time, they'll set the chopper on the roof and come down, meeting us somewhere there. Let's not whack one another.

"Now, this is just phase one. We'll push the place clear after taking down the bad guys and getting the victims out, but then we need to get away from there and into an adjacent building, which is where I suspect we'll find more victims and likely our payoff. I think the adjacent building is the scumbag headquarters."

"You're going to blow up the helicopter on that roof, there in town?" Godfrey asked. "How are we getting out? I'm hoping we're not taking turns drowning in the Mohawk. No offense."

"This one requires some get up and go, so I hope you're feeling a lot better. The building goes boom while we clear the next one and gather our payment. There should be vehicles around for us to commandeer, which we'll use to reach the river. From there, we'll get what we can. Everyone is going to have to work together and be on their toes. I know this is risky and would be simple if we kept the helicopter, but I want to make some noise."

"Don't get me wrong, there boss, but this doesn't sound like it's planned out thoroughly," Godfrey offered. "This is a bit sloppy."

"I know it looks like that, but that's because it is. But we're good at what we do. First, this frees a lot of victims. Second is that we kill plenty of bad guys. After that, I should be able to access what I think is a good amount of money originating from the city without having to get sloppy there. Like I said; I think this is a midpoint of running product from the city and then north, likely through Canada. But even more is that we let the world know we're on the job."

Chloe just glared at him. "Hunky Guy? This was all a lot of fun and a really neat story, but it isn't going to happen."

An awkward silence similar to what they endured on the helicopter coming in just reappeared.

Before Dale had the opportunity to respond, Chloe continued. "I know I'm supposed to the fucking lunatic here, but this is the craziest and dumbest idea you've come up with since I've known you. I don't know what you're thinking and, honestly, I don't know what you're up to, but I won't allow this."

She looked to the others, blinking behind her fashionable sunglasses. "Nobody backed me up on the chopper and I get that. But here's everyone's chance to step up. Come on, team, with team being the key word here. Am I the only one who sees this as something we need to revise?"

Everyone did little more than stare at the table for an extended moment. But just for that extended moment.

"I have to be honest and state I would be a severe liability to the soldiers if I went in with them," Picasso admitted. "I would just slow them down, and honestly, place them in jeopardy. We are not the same."

"I am feeling a lot better, but I don't think I was ever up to something like this, Boss," Godfrey said. "I'm a swordsman and wannabe comic book antihero; I am not the guy who absorbs the superpowers of those guys and does something like this. But hey, before you get mad and steam off to the IHOP, I have a few suggestions to make this caper work out."

"So don't we," Sands said as he pointed to Ayers.

Dale wasn't angry so much as he was embarrassed.

The server approached and said, "Would you folks like the check now. I'm afraid I don't have any more fortune cookies." She giggled at her own humor.

"I'm glad to hear that," Godfrey said.

Dale looked ahead for a moment, and then he turned to her. "Yes, dear. The check would be fine. But please know we're not going anywhere for at least a little while more. We just have a few things to iron out before moving on. Are we taking up valuable space?"

She looked around and then back at Dale. "There's virtually nobody else in here. Take your time, everyone."

When she was out of earshot, Dale looked back and said, "All right, team. Let's iron this out."

Déjà Vu

Dale listened to the team members make their points. Well, all the guys had something to say; Chloe sat there and burned holes through him, one blinky eye at a time. The two soldiers offered their perspective and what they brought to the table, as did Godfrey and the doc. Yes, he knew their version of ideas surpassed his, and he knew his ideas sucked balls. Yeah, it just might be time for a vacation. Maybe Hawaii or even Alaska. He'd heard it could be quite fun and adventuresome, particularly at this time of year.

"Okay, gang. I like what you have more than anything I put together," Dale said with a forced smile. He looked to Chloe and said, with that saccharin smile, "How about you, my love? Do you have anything you would like to add, or are you okay with what's on the table now?"

"What I have to add is something you don't want to hear."

"Now, sweetest to my heart, why does it have to be like that?" He asked with an exaggerated shrug. It was a bad idea. Chloe grabbed a fork from in front of him and plunged it into his forearm. She apparently didn't want to deal with the results of that so she somersaulted over the table and sauntered for the door while he and an attentive Picasso reacted to the sudden medical issue.

"This might be a bad time to bring it up, but you two might want to get a grip on this spat before somebody gets it," Godfrey said with an exaggerated shrug. He then put his hands out in surrender and said, "Whoa, now. I've been stabbed enough, but thanks anyway."

Dale worked at controlling his sudden temper while working with the doc to assess the damage. "Fuck, that hurts. Am I wrong in pointing out that women can be a pain in the ass?"

No response. No fools in this crowd.

\-------------

Emily was virtually exhausted and exasperated after her efforts to keep up with the elusive Marcus Bono, but she was also proud of herself. If she didn't move at a pace an Olympian competitor would need to just to qualify, she would have lost the guy long ago. But she was still with him, just a few cars behind him but keeping up and close enough. That is, until a large, black sedan t-boned her driver's side of the stolen car. Emily glared at the driver of the sedan, pissed off that she was losing her target, pissed off that she was pinned into the car, and pissed off that she spilled a large iced tea across her lap. But what pissed her off even more was the look of steely determination on the part of the other driver quickly exiting his vehicle with a Tazer in one hand and a nine in the other. Before she could take hold of her .44 and equalize the pressure, the bold stranger placed four rounds into her car, including one through her driver's side window. But it was the sudden voltage from the stun gun that bothered her the most, particularly since the bastard locked the thing on high voltage and, well, she wouldn't have known when he stopped, since she lost consciousness before that.

\------------

Agent Charles Frederickson waited for Emily Hutch to regain consciousness. Once he noticed she started stirring, he unleashed another bout of voltage through her, but only for about five seconds.

Straining to speak, she said to him, "You are a cocksucking asshole."

"Young ladies shouldn't speak in such a tone; I ought to have your mouth washed out with soap. But instead of that, I intend on seeing you do what I want you to do."

"The last two assholes who had that in mind ended up dead. Don't expect the trend to slow down," she said.

More voltage and a chipped tooth for her trouble.

"To be honest, you might like what it is I want you to do," Charles said. "I want your help in disbanding the Traffic Cops, seeing they are all incarcerated or dead. If you do that, I will ensure Chloe Rhodes is all yours."

"So, what's with the voltage?"

"It captures attention and, honestly, I find it to be a lot of fun. But you need to know I'm being more ambitious than just hunting them down. I want their assets. All of it."

Emily looked at him and said, "I know who you are. You're nothing more than Fred's bitch, doing what he tells you, or used to, anyway."

"My place within the FBI is according to a larger plan. It gets me access to information I and my other colleagues need. Or, needed."

"You're a plant. I get it. What's in this for me, other than the blinky bitch's head? I can only eat that once."

"I'll have to think about that, but I'm known to be generous. After all, the truly big money is not in this mission."

"Part of getting to them would have been simpler if I had that hippie guy, but you fucked that up," Emily said. "So, do you have a better plan?"

"Actually, Marcus Bono is part of the equation. Don't worry; I know exactly where he's going. I'm glad I stopped you, since he would have spotted you coming. His main place is a fortress. The other one was just a summer cottage," Charles said. "But I know how to bypass the systems and use them to our advantage once Hoskins and his people show up. Then, I have every intention of taking it for my own, since it'll help further my efforts. So, can I count on your cooperation?"

She wanted to say, for now. But she said, "You have a deal. But you shock me ever again and you had better simply kill me. That is, if you know what's good for you. Oh, and I'm hungry. Let's talk at Denny's or something."

\------------

The revised mission was far better than what Dale wanted. It even involved everyone escaping via the helicopter rather than destroying it. There were two primary buildings in question, positioned just south of the Mohawk River. Ayers led Dale and Picasso into one, with Ayers laying down fire and identifying enemies to hit while Dale scurried victims together and watched for any signs of potential payment, either through an office or central location. As far as Dale understood things, the other building would be led by Sands with Godfrey working behind him and Chloe helping usher victims and then leaving her signature blood trail. That was what he thought was the deal.

It was amazing to follow behind Ayers, even though one has to be fast. The guy was awesome to watch, with his unique strengths and speed as well as weaponry prowess. If Chloe wasn't his girl, those two would be a force of awesomeness. Dale watched Ayers ahead while ensuring Doc kept up, even though he took the moment to ensure several enemy casualties would never recover. Dale almost forgot how bizarre Picasso could be with a blade, but he quickly saw he was so like Chloe and had to turn his head away. Chloe often preferred a classic fighting blade or perhaps a Spyderco edge, but the Doc likes his scalpels. Oh, and Doc simply opens and reveals while Chloe mutilates and likes to wear her victims. The psycho. Regardless, they both are more than happy with a lot of blood.

Dale was worried about time constraints since they were essentially in the center of town, but once he found what was a communications center, he placed his equipment and finest hacking skills into play. The noise was distracting but with some concentration, Dale was able to access some great information. He was right in that the location was a waypoint for running victims from New York City to states north of that and then into Canada. Once they made it to Canada they could easily be sent to Cuba as well as several Central and South American countries. Thus, the Albany location has access to a lot of information mainly gathered and processed in the city. Information such as financial and banking records, including account information and routing numbers. Dale had found a juicy jackpot.

"Damn, but this is fantastic," Dale said as he gathered his things and dropped an incendiary stick on what he left behind. "Three or four dozen victims out and a take of more than two hundred thousand? Vacation sounds like something sweet."

Ensuring the details were covered, Dale looked for the Doc. While he wasn't as outwardly psychotic as his girlfriend, Picasso had a thing for looking for subtle and hidden details in fresh corpses. Truth be told, they only need to be close to death. As long as they don't fight back, he'll seek what makes them tick.

"If you haven't found what you're looking for yet, Doc," Dale said as he wandered in to a nightmare, "save it for another day."

Picasso looked at him as he wiped the blood from his glasses, "Am I to assume time is of the essence?"

"That's a fair assumption, particularly since we need to meet the other team and then find transportation to the helicopter."

"I was under the belief it was coming to us."

"That isn't how the autopilot works, my friend."

The two of them rushed down the stairs and made it outside. The melee was still raucous with crying young girls who weren't convinced it just got better from here. Dale looked for the remainder of the team, finally spotting a few of them in the shadows beyond the northern building. He motioned to Picasso where they were and ran towards them.

He wasn't there an instant and said, "If we're going to get out of here without police escorts, we need to find some transportation and get to that chopper, pronto. Jesus, where the Hell is Chloe?"

"Boss, the plan was that the helicopter would come to us," Ayers said. "We're waiting for that now."

Dale looked around, seeing everyone in the team except Chloe. "You want to tell me how it's getting here? I mean, you two are right here and I was under the assumption you guys knew how to fly the helicopter. Doc doesn't know how to fly it, am I right about that, Doc?"

Feeling leery, Doc said, "I must admit that I do not know how to do that."

"But I'm not worried that you don't know how to do that, because you're right here. But who isn't here is the love of my life. No, I don't mean Kate Beckinsale; I'm talking about a chick named Chloe Rhodes. Because I doubt she can fly a helicopter, I can't help but to wonder who's on the fucking way."

Looking tense, Ayers said, "Well, she said she knew how to fly it. She said there wasn't much for her to do here because of the time constraints, so she would bring the helicopter in and get us."

Dale crushed both hands to his face and took a knee. "I'm afraid we need to find a way out of here."

It was about then that they heard the sound of a helicopter, closing in.

Ayers said, "That sounds low, so it would either be the authorities or the love of your life. I told her to come in low to avoid pinging any local radar.

"If she can't do it, she sure as hell might be faking it really well. But I'm not saying she has a lot of experience at that. It's just that I think-"

"Please, just stop talking for a minute," Dale said, still holding his head. The sound of the helicopter was closing in fast. "Damn, but that does sound low."

"I hope she's above the buildings, since I just met low in altitude," Ayers said.

Looking tense, Dale said, "Who the fuck are we talking about?"

Just about then, the helicopter came into sight. The team watched wide-eyed as it came in maybe as much as fifteen feet above the road it followed, taking down power lines and wobbling horribly as whomever was flying it seemed to struggle in keeping it straight.

Sounding excited and ecstatic, Godfrey said, "She sure as Hell knows how to make an entrance, doesn't she?"

Sirens wailed all around within a couple miles and nearly everyone in sight ran in terror, screaming. People abandoned their cars along the street while Chloe took down almost every traffic light in dramatic sparks and eventual flames.

That's when Ayers stepped forward and said, "Jesus, that thing can't fit between those two buildings; get some altitude, woman! Go up!"

Chloe didn't get any altitude and she didn't go up. The blades chopped at the windows as it squeezed through the narrow corridor, scattering glass everywhere. Surprising everyone there, she made it through without crashing and gained about forty feet as she banked and circled around the square once before bringing it to a tentative hover near the center of the area. From there they could see blinky Chloe looking around.

"Can those blades take that?"

"Not for long."

It was Ayers who stepped into the light and waved with both arms, much to Dale's horror. Dale's concerns were right. They saw Chloe smile bright and then they saw the chopper lunge forward, the forward edge of the blades perhaps six feet off the pavement. Recently rescued girls scrambled for safety as the helicopter rushed in the direction of the team, forcing them to take cover as the chopper zoomed past them with just a few yards of clearance.

Everyone found their way back to their feet and watched as Chloe banked wide and then came to a central point where she practically dropped the aircraft to the ground. The tail rotor barely missed a tan minivan sitting directly behind the helicopter, forcing a release of breath from Ayers. That's when they saw the side door open and Chloe standing there. They couldn't hear what she was saying, but they saw her expression and got the hint when she gestured they get in and then she impatiently dropped her hands to her hips, tapping a foot.

"Hey, uh, aren't there any other options other than getting in there with her?" Godfrey asked, looking tense. "It's just that she would benefit from a few more flight hours. Just saying."

"She's getting those hours in now, so let's go," Dale said, moving in as the sound of sirens escalated and they saw flashing red and blue lights.  
Everyone poured in through the door of the helicopter, moving fast as an excited Chloe waited at the controls.

"Maybe it would be best I take over from here, Chloe," Ayers said.

Dale held out a hand and said, "Now, wait a second. She got the thing this far and mostly without too much damage, so she can get us out of here. We're in, girlfriend, so make it happen."

She didn't need any other motivation. The helicopter rose quickly and then spun around, facing directly north and towards the river. It was also moving fast and directly at the numerous Maple trees lining the river's edge.

"Some altitude would be a good idea!" Ayers pointed out as he pointed to the trees that would certainly bring the craft down.

Chloe brought up the nose and cleared the trees, although the skids scraped a lot of leaves and branches, sending them into the water. But they kept rising and within a minute the scene of the town filled their range of vision and escape was a success.

Dale stepped towards Chloe and said, "Sweetheart? Could you tell me when you learned to fly this thing?"

"Just the other day. I learned to do this by watching those guys do it. That's how I learned how to drive a car and that worked out just fine," she said as she moved to the north at maximum speed.

Godfrey looked as though he was going to say something, but closed his mouth, thinking that moment wasn't the time.

Reunion

While she maintained the controls as they flew high over I-80, moving west, Ayers worked with Chloe to assist her with the operation of the helicopter. He explained the controls and various gauges as well as limits and capabilities of the craft.

Dale knew he should have been impressed with Chloe, and part of him was impressed with her ability to pick up something just by observing. It might be something they should use to their advantage. But for the most part, he was pissed off. The mission didn't require a major test of the team and it proved to be a success, but Dale felt as though he was just a backup singer for the job. If he had known Chloe was assigned the helicopter he would have flat out refused. Maybe that's why it was kept from him. But what's with the secrecy? It was bad enough the entire team vetoed his plans.

But then, maybe they thought he knew about it and didn't want to question his decision. It didn't matter once they were approaching the Adirondack area with nearly a quarter million more than they had a week prior. Chloe was showing a great aptitude for the task and everyone seemed calm with the idea.

But none of them were on the streets of Albany, running for their lives while she ripped down poles, lights and wires across more than two city blocks. Who couldn't see that Chloe Rhodes didn't need to pilot a helicopter? Why don't they give her a tank next? What could possibly go wrong?

He felt guilty for feeling against her, and that only added to his irritability. But all in all, he didn't have anything concrete to simper about, so he kept quiet and thought about some deserved time off.

If he had any clue as to how that would go, his demeanor wouldn't be so easy.

\----------

Despite how he wanted to feel, Marcus felt uneasy. The Palace, as he liked to call it, was actually a secure fortress capable of withstanding one hell of an attack. It's just that it wasn't comfy and cozy like his other place.

The Palace offered all the comforts of home, though, so Marcus tried settling in. Part of the problem was the place was quite large for one person. When he had trainees on hand, such as Dale Hoskins, once upon a time, it seemed spacious and proper. But presently it simply felt like he was in some auditorium.

If there was one thing that made him happier about the place was how he could control virtually the entire house through a tablet. Just about anything he could open, close or adjust could be operated through the clever gizmo. He could reposition every camera and view every available monitor.

But nothing needed any adjustment and there wasn't anything to look at.

"I think I need a dog," he mumbled to himself. Even that was unsettling in the gargantuan space.

Marcus placed the tablet on the enormous white marble bar and moved towards the kitchen where he could build a marvelous sandwich. If he had kept the tablet in his hands he would've seen the bulk of Emily moving fast towards the rear of the house and towards the pool house. If he had paid closer attention to the house's monitoring systems, he would've recognized someone had remotely muted the alarm systems.

One would think he would've learned to be more careful these days.

\----------

Emily had to admit she was nervous about the job. There were cameras everywhere she looked, but that replacement dirty cop assured her the systems would have to be viewed continually for her to be spotted. The alarms were pinging, but muted remotely by Charles. He couldn't shut down everything without being noticed but he could dull the red flags, and that might be good enough to sneak past Bono's complacency.

She rushed to the rear of the big house after seeing what she could from the pool house. The space between the two was wide open and she'd surely be seen should someone be watching, but a good look revealed nothing and nobody. She ran as fast as she could to the sliding glass door, looked in to see if her hand was up yet but saw nobody, and then slipped in to what was the dining room.

Still no sign of Bono and no sign that she was spotted. Then there was the clank of a dropped piece of silverware dancing on tile.

"Well, damn it."

The man was making himself something to eat in the kitchen, indicating to Emily that this guy just doesn't pay enough attention to the world around him. The guy was just released after being kidnapped, but here he is, oblivious to everything but the Reuben he was preparing, likely more out of boredom than hunger.

She prepared herself mentally with a few quiet breaths and then moved quickly but silently towards the aging agent with the aging reflexes and blind instincts.

Or so she thought.

Once she was close enough to stun the man, which was her intent, he suddenly spun around with a sharp kick to Emily's jaw, suddenly stunning her and sending her hard into the large black-faced refrigerator. She struggled to regain her balance as her adrenaline pumped her for a fight.

"Now, allow me to take a guess. You must be one of the moron goons of that ambitious Charles Frederickson," Marcus said just before he hurled a cast iron pan at her head. "Where did he find you? Stocking shelves at Wal-Mart?"

The pan came in too fast and she couldn't deflect it, but she was able to go with it and lessen the blow. It still drew some blood, though. She didn't give in to the taunting or the strike, getting up fast and rushing the smaller frame with all her might. He was good but a bit cocky as he thought he could use her weight against her and sling her again, but she took hold of his wrist and brought him with her, taking him hard to the floor and against the stove.

"You can't look like one of the Doobie Brothers and still think you're James Bond, you little prick," Emily said just before she offered a heavy kick to the ribs of Bono. "Just so you know, I think what happened to your brother, Sonny, was funny."

As she moved to take hold of her prey, Marcus threw an opened salt shaker into Emily's face, blinding her.

"That's just a coincidence, you prick. There no relation between us. Christ, how many times in my life do I have to go through that?"

As she fought the salt crowding her eyes, she said, "I'm a woman, you asshole. But I know how you feel."

"Oh, my sincerest apologies. No wonder you're so angry at the world," Marcus said as he found a pistol under the counter, only to lose it in a world of pain and confusion.

"Both of her parents were supermodels," Charles said over the sizzle of the high powered stun gun. "One must suppose it would suck to look like Jack Elam as a girl of theirs. But she can be formidable when she isn't outsmarted."

"I'm not one to tell the world about my business, you cocksucker," she said, still clearing her eyes. "Hey boner, how did you know I was in here?"

"I have to admit I didn't know anything until you came through that sliding glass door," Marcus said, trying to regain his senses after the shock. "But then I felt the change in air pressure."

"I must say that I'm impressed with the both of you," Charles said as he took a knee. "That's why we are going to make such a wonderful team."

\-------------

"I hope you guys had something in mind for this," Dale screamed as he, along with the rest of the team, counted the various aircraft on their tail. "If you remember correctly, I wanted to blow it up. Remember, big booms and all that?"

"They're demanding we land immediately or they'll shoot us down," Sands said. "They just might mean it."

"Now that would be a big boom," Chloe said from the controls.

"I did have something in mind for this, but I'm not sure if it would work, particularly since we don't have everything we would need," Ayers said. "I never wanted to bring it up, but we might not have a choice."

Sands and Ayers just looked at one another with grim expressions.

"Any time now, guys," Dale pointed out. "And just how the hell did we draw so much attention, anyway?"

"It might be me," Chloe admitted. "They told me to stay low to, you know, fly under the radar. So I came in at the elevation you saw, but all kinds of people noticed."

"What?" Ayers spat. "The helicopter was on the far end of town. You flew through the entirety of the city like that?"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time. I did bring it up a few feet when I heard people yelling, 'Hey, that's Chloe Rhodes! Run!' But they could still see the whole helicopter, though. But I have to say these are a lot of fun, so I'll have to look into one-"

"For the love of God, just stop," Dale commanded. "This is where we are now; so how are we going to get out of this? What were your plans?"

Sands moved to the storage boxes near the rear of the cabin. "In these boxes are wing suits. There's one for each of us here and they should fit well. But there's just one minor glitch."

Dale raised his hand. "Oh, pick me. We don't have any parachutes to prevent our imminent deaths, do we?"

"Very good. We were going to get some after this mission but weren't able to before that," Sands said. "They're demanding we respond."

"Have Chloe talk to them until we come up with something that doesn't involve death or surrender," Dale said.

"Yeah, that sounds groovy," Chloe said with a giggle.

While Chloe chatted to whoever was at the other end, Ayers said, "Hey, we're above the Adirondack area and the place is littered with lakes. If we go high enough and spot a large lake, we might be able to skim along the water. My concern is that this idea would be awesome for Sands and I, but I can't say for sure about anyone else."

"Does anyone have anything else?"

"They have us surrounded. There's no getting out of this without going down in a blaze of glory."

Dale turned to look at the others. Both Godfrey and Picasso seemed rather pale. He hoped it was just the elevation but he doubted it.

"While it may seem crazy, everyone in the suits, pronto."

"Dear Chloe, please allow me to take those controls," Ayers said. "I might be able to buy us some time while everyone gets in these suits."

"No, I don't think so," she said without looking at anyone. "I have these controls until it's time to go."

Ayers looked at Dale and said, "We don't have the time for this."

"Chloe, for once, just do as you're told, okay? You need to get into that suit. If you want to fly, you just have to try this stunt."

She moved from the seat. "Well, since you put it that way."

Sands said, "I'll try to buy us some time." He then keyed the Mic and said, "This is the Traffic Cops. It looks like you got us. Where do we set this thing down, over?"

As soon as Sands said that, Ayers elevated quickly. Sands just powered down the radio.

"They know we're up to something, so make this fast before they start lobbing rounds in here."

Ayers said, "That lake to the north looks like a good sized target to aim for. But you have to know that you have to keep those wings wide and aim for there. Aim for the shore line closest to you so you don't skim off into the trees. Something might not grow back."

Everyone scrambled into the suits, but Dale has seen better motivation surrounding a bong. Chloe seemed unfazed by the prospect but the two guys didn't seem hopeful.

"Can you two do this?"

"I've never been one for heights," Godfrey said. "I've always wanted to do some skydiving but couldn't find the courage to make the jump."

"How about you, Doc?"

"I have never been so frightened, to be honest with you," Picasso said. "It seems so bizarre that we've placed ourselves in a situation like this after all we've been through."

"Muster all of your courage and the will to succeed," Ayers said. "If we do this, we can do anything."

"They're getting ready to light us up, guys," Sands said. "Everyone into the water. At first, dive for the ground at first and then spread those wings. This is actually the fun part; hitting the water is what will really suck."

Ayers left the controls and scrambled out of his clothes and into his suit. While he did so, Sands helped Godfrey and Picasso make their minds up and then the others followed suit. Just moments later and they were all in the air right when two missiles took apart their chopper.

\------------

Marcus wasn't happy with the situation.

"I don't know how you did it, Chuck," Marcus said as he looked at what Charles offered. "Most of them have been off the radar for quite some time now."

The issue was that Charles Frederickson found a few of Marcus' prior trainees. Dale Hoskins was the last of those trained by him, but far from the first. Regarding the others, many of them died while pursuing their life's work, and a few others simply moved on to other life choices after accomplishing a few missions. But there was the issue of the one student trained just before Marcus found Dale.

Marcus took in Dale and made him a special project, bound to know so much more than the others, just weeks after releasing the prior student upon the world. But the student before Dale was among the most unique of all the students, in part because of her eventual fame resulting from her wondrous talents.

Cynthia Hodges first appeared on the missing persons reports when she was just seven years old. Nobody in her real family ever truly found out what happened to their little girl, not even when she was eventually liberated by Marcus Bono when she was sixteen. Her situation was largely typical, with her first being kidnapped at a bus stop just across the street from her home while she was on her way to school, only to be taken to a large city on the far side of the country, where her life as a sex slave and prostitute would hold her until Marcus became involved.

Cynthia suffered a lot of abuse and torment at the hands of those who held her captive, but it wasn't as severe as the situation endured by those like Dale or Chloe Rhodes. Cynthia suffered the occasional beatings, but they were more frightening than damaging. That was because her captors wanted her kept very, very pretty. She was worth a lot because of that.

But then she was rescued and trained by Marcus. Cynthia helped with the rescue of numerous victims and the prosecution or destruction of numerous traffickers and abusers. But it was her eventual fame and position in life that made her worth so much to Charles, and Marcus.

"I have to admit I've outdone myself with this one, buddy. So, do I have your cooperation or not?"

What's Unexpected

Cynthia Hodges struggled to maintain her composure as well as her level of consciousness despite the repeated stuns from the high voltage Tazer. But as was common with Cynthia, it wasn't the pain and injury that hurt her, as she grew so used to that over time. Rather, her growing concern revolved around the sudden change in everything about her reality.

She's never forgotten the years of sex slavery she suffered, and she'll never forget her witnessing the capacity of human evil. But she knew the goodness, as well, and did what she could to promote that goodness for a long time before she found the courage to find some happiness in her life.

Cynthia never would have thought her former life would creep into the life she's enjoyed for so long, particularly with all the professional people watching out for her safety as well as that of her husband.

Her husband was a lawyer for a considerable amount of time before he involved his life with politics. To him, he always said, the two went hand in hand for those who truly wanted to make a difference. She really loved him for that because, after the life she's endured, someone wanting to make a difference seemed so heroic.

Once upon a time, she was one of Marcus' finest examples of the force for good. Cynthia's abilities with weapons of all sorts as well as her prowess with hand to hand capabilities proved her to be a monster of monsters. While she wasn't a particular lover of oceans of blood, she found herself a part of just that time and time again.

But then she met Vincent Hodges at a party where several young treats were expected on the menu for certain VIP people there. At first, Cynthia thought this man who carried the same last name as her was there to partake of stolen sweets and she pictured him holding his offal in his hands before he succumbed to his injuries. But he wasn't among the guilty, but quite the opposite.

When Vincent found out what was going on by some drunk who let the word get out, he fought two men involved and nearly lost his head for it. That was the first time Cynthia saved his life. While she toned down her abilities during the moments he was there, what they did together was enough to liberate fifteen preteen girls who were sex slaves for several years of their young lives.

One thing led to another and they were a couple in almost no time. Cynthia struggled with leaving behind the special gift Marcus gave her, but she reasoned that her husband and she could make a positive difference from the top side of government and society rather than just from the shadows. Marcus made it clear he was training a promising new student and gladly gave his blessing for her to find a real life.

When the husband of Cynthia Hodges became the President of the United States, Marcus was sure she just might be right. So, when Cynthia endured yet another surge of electricity, she couldn't help but to wonder about the scale of evil daring enough to attack the First Lady.

\------------

As the team sailed the winds over the Adirondack mountains, vying for the hopeful safety of the cold waters of the lake still so far away, Dale was oblivious to all the reasons why his President seemed so sympathetic to a bunch of hardened and psychotic criminals. He merely sailed those winds with anger and sadness in his heart as he had to watch helplessly as Thomas Godfrey dropped to what had to be certain death, unable to find the wings of his suit. Instead of flying, he fell while screaming in panic, all alone. His sword glimmered in the sun as it fell to be lost just like the one who gave it life.

Everyone else sailed for the lake ahead, but Dale worried about the vulnerable Doc Picasso, who was the one Dale was sure he would lose to this madness. Picasso was riding the wind, but at a height far lower than everyone else and they should be higher still. Everyone followed the lead of the two super soldiers, going they would guide them to the waters and then another day.

Dale was angry and hurt over the horrible loss of a team member who eventually became a vital part of the team after being such a pain in the ass for so long. There was something mysterious about what came over Godfrey after being affected by the blood of the super soldiers, but that mystery was illuminated with an amazing transformation of someone sure to die.

Die largely because of the direct effect of the insanity of Chloe Rhodes. She was the one who stabbed the man after he was shot and vulnerable. She was the one who piloted a helicopter through nearly the entirety of the state capital of New York State, the city of Albany, and drew the attention of virtually every aspect of law enforcement for miles around. All of that law enforcement watched the team drop into the middle of nowhere that they would have to escape on foot and with no supplies while said law enforcement had time to scurry together what they needed to complete their mission.

She soared in close to him, saying, "We ought to be doing this a lot more, Hunky Guy," with her blinky head smiling wide. But all he could manage to see was a lunatic bitch bringing everything he valued crashing to the ground.

\------------

Marcus freely offered his complete cooperation to Charles Frederickson, knowing with confidence the man was sure to crash and burn for this latest stunt. How he figured he could actually kidnap and hold the First Lady of the United States and get away with it boggled the mind. Marcus wasn't the only one who thought so.

"Have you lost your fucking mind, Chuckles?" Emily asked. "How do you possibly think you're going to come out of kidnapping her with a win? You have to know you just brought the power of the entire country down on us."

"Ah, but I don't think so, my dear," Charles said. "I made it clear I want what those Traffic Cops have and I intend on handing you Rhodes for your cooperation. In order to accomplish this, some help was needed.

"Mr. Bono, would you like to inform Ms. Hutch about your relationship with our First Lady?"

"No, I would not. But thanks for asking."

"Why don't you go ahead and state what it is in asking, anyway."

Marcus took in a breath while rolling his eyes and said, "Before I took in and trained a young Dale Hoskins, I took in and trained a young Cynthia Hodges. She was what you refer to as a Traffic Cop before she met her husband. I can tell you she's a force to reckon with, so I hope you have a good idea of what it is you're doing. Wow, but you're really good or really dumb."

Charles smiled and said, "Look where I am so far?"

\------------

Dale hit the water in the way Ayers suggested, which was to ball up and roll with it just before touching down. He watched the two soldiers do just that before he hit, and he could only hope Chloe and Picasso would follow suit.

It turned out that Doc hit the water but tumbled, flailing his limbs as he did so. Sands rushed to him right away, taking hold of an unconscious man before he drowned.

Chloe touched down on the water with her feet and skied in on her heels, just slowing enough to sink into the water when she was but feet from the edge. She hardly even got wet. Dale had to shake out the dizziness after tumbling so much before slowing enough to sink into the very cold water.

He noticed they all were there except for Godfrey, but they saw him plummet straight down, leaving his body a solid couple miles away. The loss was senseless and tragic. But out of the five, Doc Picasso didn't look well as Sands dragged his body to shore.

"Give me some sort of good news," Dale said, suddenly irritated that the stupid wing suit was it until they could get back to the safehouse. "Is he going to be all right?"

"He took a serious beating, but that's about all this is," Sands said. "He's going to be sore for a couple days, but I'm not worried about him. He might need some help getting out of here, though. Not too big a deal."

Sands then looked uncomfortable and said, "I don't know what to say about Godfrey, Dale. I can't see how he could have lived. If you want, I'll find him and get him out of here. It didn't seem right to leave him to the bears."

Dale nodded and said, "That would be a great thing to do, my friend. Do you want someone to go with you?"

"I could go," Chloe said. "I can't do much else until we're back, anyway."

"I don't need any real assistance, to be honest," Sands said. "If I find him, I'll be able to carry him with no problem. But if you want to go, I'm good with that."

"I'm nobody's daddy here," Dale said. "Just make contact as soon as you can. We don't want to lose anybody else, but keep in mind they know where they are. For that reason I have thought about leaving Thomas and just getting the hell out of here. But we all know that wouldn't be right. Just be careful and be in contact soon."

As Chloe and Sands left, the lack of anything said between Dale and her hung in the air for all to see.

\-------------

"So, just how did you pull this off anyway, Frederickson," Cynthia said. "How was it you connected me with anything beyond Washington politics and the love of family?"

Most First Ladies have a project or effort to pursue, with some focusing on drugs or healthy weight, so Mrs. Hodges counseled the people on the importance of family. There was no irony in her being aware of that.

"I had to triangulate some disconnected information, but tracking through what disgraced Bono and discovering some seemingly unrelated information eventually led me to investigating a handful of people," Charles said. "Believe me when I say I was almost beside myself when I discovered what I did of your past, Madame."

"So, just who the fuck are you, anyway?" Marcus asked.

"My dear sir, the bunch of us are related in ways you never would have imagined."

\-------------

"We're sorry, Mr. President. At the moment, we simply don't know where she is or could be."

There are few nightmares a secret service agent could imagine that would be worse than reporting to the President that his wife is missing and nobody knows where she is. But Chief Agent Bud Paulson had to face that nightmare like a boss and accept the fallout sure to come.

Thankfully, this President wasn't the sort who had to make everything about him and how amazing he was. But that didn't mean he wasn't furious.

"Okay, I'm not going to ramble on about incompetence or any such thing, but you have to know how this looks and what the entire goddamned planet is going to say, right?" POTUS asked.

Paulson simply nodded.

"Enough of that. Let's do everything possible to ensure her safety and safe return. I think I can say what we do know I'd that this is on the inside and not some terrorist bullshit."

"I agree, sir. No claims of responsibility or any other media drama is part of this yet, so someone has either a personal stake or they're simply batshit. There are other possible scenarios, but not likely. Mr. President, she disappeared from here. Someone very clever and convincing lured her from the White House."

"This is someone who knew what to do." POTUS looked at Paulson and asked, "Bud, how would it not be one of yours?"

"I thought of that first and ran it. Everything and everyone is accounted for. So, we're running through every record and video to see who was here and even near here during the potential time frame of disappearance," Paulson said. "If we don't have something within twenty minutes, it was either Batman or the Martians. Twenty minutes, Mr. President."

\---------------

Charles knew they'd be on to him at any moment, which is why he had to act fast and smuggle the First Lady to a secret location. The perfect location? Yeah, you guessed right, even though Marcus didn't appreciate it.

If she had some sort of LoJack installed somewhere, there wouldn't be a proper location to run to. But all Charles had to do was stun her, strip her of all her clothes and jewelry, and voila, she was off the grid. The unique aspect of Marcus' fortress made it the perfect location to operate; the only glitch is that Marcus might know a little bit more about it than anyone. Thus, his complete cooperation was essential.

"All right, Chuckles. If you think I'm going to suck your ass, you're in for a ride awakening," Marcus made clear. "But as for your lunatic mission, just let me know what it is you have in mind."

Charles smiled. "Well, I had a few ideas I wanted to pursue right away, most of which dealt with your guy and his people. But as you can see, we might have to wait a day or two before we can get their attention. It looks like they've been busy."

Charles pointed to the TV for Marcus, which had a pretty anchor telling the world about the latest fate of the famed Traffic Cops. The fun and exciting video showed the team sailing into the Adirondacks with nothing but wing suits, but yet one of them tumbling straight down, followed by the flaming wreckage of their helicopter.

"Yeah, let's get out the monopoly board and some cards, because we might not get their attention for a bit," Marcus said, genuinely concerned for Dale and his people. "Are you going to give to anyone what's happened to her in the meantime?"

"What? Hell no. My intention might seem fuzzy, but I'm not an idiot."

So Much for Vacation

Once Dale was back in the safehouse and out of the wing suit, which chafed considerably where the extra material met the suit, his thoughts went directly to something tropical, warm, and resplendent with a lot of young women in scanty bathing suits along with drinks with little umbrellas. Just for a couple weeks or so.

The pictures flowing through his mind were lovely. The realization that none of it was coming to pass anytime soon was a bitter pill to swallow. In fact, everything about it sucked ass.

This just in:

"We apologise for interrupting your regularly scheduled programming, but breaking news from the White House reports that Mrs. Hodges, the First Lady, has been kidnapped. The reports do not specify when this tragedy occurred, but sources inform us that, as yet, no terrorist organizations have claimed responsibility."

Dale listened closely to the report, deciphering what might be there that the general public would not recognize as valuable information. He was dismayed to hear the breaking report offered virtually nothing to go on.

Ayers knocked and stepped in, saying, "Hey boss, you heard the news?"

"I have it on now."

"While I don't know what to do about the politicians and their problems, I can tell you we made the big news when we fled the chopper. We were all over the news a couple days ago, with flying fugitives and all that along with exploding helicopters. But they also showed Godfrey didn't make it. They showed him fall with the chopper right behind him."

Dale ached to hear it. He had always kept Godfrey on with a grudge, mostly because the guy was a dick, but he had reached a point where he was a fantastic part of the team. His abilities sunk in the persona the team needed to be who and what they were, so losing him hurts like a lost foot.

"I wish I could say none of that went on."

"Dale, they sent in a bunch of people. They sent in a SEAL team along with who knows who else. They found and are examining the copter, as well as combing the lake where we went in," Ayers said.

"I have to say all of that would be expected."

"The thing is, they're reporting that they haven't found the body of the man whose suit failed. They found some traces of where he crashed through the trees and into a stream, but they can't find a body and they don't have any evidence that animals were a factor," Ayers said. "Dale. I can't help but to wonder."

Dale's mouth fell open.

\------------

Charles figured he'd given the team enough time.

This just in:

"While there has yet to be any claim of responsibility as well as any demands, it has come to our attention that there is significant development in the case involving the kidnapping of our First Lady," the attractive newscaster pointed out.

"Video evidence has surfaced, depicting the First Lady bound and clearly suffering from what must have been a vicious beating. She apparently has been coerced into giving a prepared speech. To our viewers, while the message from the First Lady and her captors is quite clear, we ask that you please recognize we recommend that viewer discretion is advised. The condition of our First Lady could be disturbing to some viewers."

Charles released the video to the media with a snicker and a smile, knowing that everyone who mattered would know the message passed on was a load of crap.

"My name is Cynthia Hodges and I am being held prisoner until the vigilante team known as the Traffic Cops surrenders unconditionally to FBI agent Charles Frederickson, including the surrender of all illegally obtained assets. The Traffic Cop team is instructed to follow these directions, reporting to the FBI office in Richmond, Virginia. Failure to do so will result in the execution of me, Cynthia Hodges, First Lady of the United States of America."

"So far, ladies and gentlemen, this single yet disturbing video is all we have at this time. But joining us is former FBI agent Thaddeus Johansson, here to explain what we've just seen.

"Mr. Johansson, I can't help but to see this video as a publicly displayed ruse and is actually nothing what it looks like. I mean, I can't really be expected to believe the FBI kidnapped the First Lady, right?"

"Absolutely not. But the trained eye would notice that the First Lady was instructed to give subtle eye movements and facial gestures that I believe are passing secret messages to these Traffic Cops, but possibly any other criminal entity. I think we can rest assured these vigilantes are not reporting to the Richmond FBI."

\--------------

"Well, would you look at that," Dale said as he watched the video of the First Lady. "I never would have guessed."

"What am I not seeing, boss?"

"For as bizarre as it is, she used to be one of Marcus' trainees," he said. "That Johansson guy is right; she's giving signals most wouldn't clue into. The thing is, the FBI and many others would recognize there is a code there, but I doubt anyone but me has any idea of what it is she's trying to say."

Dale turned to face Ayers and said, "You see, that code was created by Marcus and nobody knows it but him and those he taught it to. One of those people is me. And her, too, apparently."

Dale rolled his eyes and said, "So much for my goddamned vacation."

"What vacation, Hunky Guy?"

Dale bit his tongue for tipping his hand right at someone he didn't want to see it. "I've been thinking about taking some time off after this last one. You know, just to get the head back on right."

"Uh huh. And you were going to inform me of this...when, Hunky Guy?"

"I was going to surprise you."

Apparently he didn't fool anyone with that.

"Yeah. I'm surprised, all right."

To ease the tension, Sands said, "I hate to break up the goo goo eyes and all that, but I have a concern I want to pass on, boss."

"What's that?"

"I'm trained to have a good eye for certain body motions and hints of intent behind what's said. While I don't know this language and what was said was done with gestures, I can say I saw tell-tale signs that what she is saying is not the truth," Sands said. "She's being coached to say something she didn't agree with."

"The only one who could tell her that would be Marcus," Dale said. "Nobody else would know that, and she must've known the signs for quite some time. It couldn't be anyone but him."

"Yeah, I get it. And that tells me that someone has him saying something he didn't want to say. I hate to break this to you, but your Marcus is likely leading us into a trap. But I don't think he's doing it voluntarily. Someone has him by the collar and it likely has to do with her. Is there anything he might choose over you?"

"Yeah," Dale admitted. "Country."

\-------------

"So, am I to suppose the message was quite clear to your latest protege?" Charles asked.

"If he saw the news report, he got the message," Marcus said. "I suppose all we can do now is wait and see. Anyone want to play Aggravation or Twister? I also have Monopoly and Life. I have cards, too, if you prefer. Do you have a particular favorite, Cynthia?"

"I have a particular favorite," Emily said. "It's called you two shut the fuck up. You've passed on enough code for my comfort level. Chucky, I think you should want to keep a tighter reign on these two."

"Whilst I understand how you feel, I do believe I have their complete cooperation. You see, I've provided them with a deal they simply cannot refuse," Charles said. "Rest assured, dearest Emily; they'll happily deliver the Traffic Cops and their assets directly to me, and they'll gladly deliver the psychotic woman to you. I have no worries."

Emily didn't say anything at first, but then ventured in. "Are you threatening the President, Chuckles?"

"I never said I was threatening anyone, but I can tell you I kidnapped the First Lady from the White House with a minimum of difficulty. My connections are deliriously wonderful."

\---------------

The first several hours were a blur for Thomas, but once those hours allowed him to gather his wits and strength, he was able to work out just how he managed to live through what should have killed him.

The material in the wing suit caught enough branches and foliage as he plummeted through that his fall was lessened just enough. Then, rather than falling to level ground he fell down a healthy slope after taking some bumps from the trees. That brought in more bruises and loss of some blood, but nothing was really all that wrong. And then, he couldn't help but to wonder if the blood of the super soldiers was a factor.

It may have been. His first few hours were joined with soreness and confusion, but by dark his strength was returning quickly and what once felt loose was once again in place. There was no dislocated shoulder, no broken bones, no discernible concussion, and no loss of precious teeth.

He likely would have lost consciousness for longer had he not been aroused by the dramatic crash of a large helicopter near where he lay. There was enough heat to force him away from that, but he had the wherewithal and ability to seek and find his sword and clothes before they burned with everything else. The wing suit was sky blue and horrible to look at, so getting into his own cozy attire boosted his spirits.

"So, how about that, Godfrey," he mumbled to himself. "It's a good day to be alive, isn't it? Now, where is everybody else and how do I get the hell out of here?"

Not sure about much, he did know their safehouse was south of where he was, roughly, so Thomas placed his sword across his back and started moving. He knew there would soon be authorities in the way, curious about the helicopter and its passengers, so he knew enough to make space. He knew something else, too.

As he found his way through the darkening woods, feeling the chill, he smiled and said, "I can't help but to wonder how many people think I'm dead."

\--------------

Chief Agent Bud Paulson was a little more than surprised by the video he saw. To the untrained eye, it looked like one witnessed a frightened First Lady following the instructions of her beastly captors, but he saw something else.

Johansson was correct in that she sent signals not likely seen by the untrained eye, but he was les than accurate in his assumption those signals were coached. No, she knew what she was doing and she did it with exceptional clarity and experience. Bud couldn't work out what she was communicating out to whom, but he could tell she knew what she was doing and why she as doing it.

"Mr. President, if you could provide us with some information as to what it is she's doing there and why, we could better determine a way to secure her rescue," Paulson said.

"You know what, I can't believe this is happening," POTUS declared. "My wife is kidnapped under your watch from what ought to be the most secure structure on the planet, and you dare come in with accusations? Am I in the Twilight Zone or something?"

"Mr. President, your wife knew exactly what she was doing and why when she sent those gesture signals. Codes such as those were common to CIA and various spooks before technology allowed for other means, but they're still common with the old school. Sir, are you telling me you know nothing of your wife having some sort of clandestine background?"

"That is exactly what I'm telling you, except to say her background, to my knowledge, consists of baking brownies and embroidery."

"How did you two meet?"

"We met at a party. She was among the guests at a function where I and a handful of others were making contacts with some business VIP's. We were simply being to know one another when something lurid was discovered going on behind the scenes," POTUS said. "It turned out someone there attempted to smuggle in girls forced to-"

The President stopped where he was, hearing the lights in his head click on in rapid succession.

"If I may venture a guess," Paulson said, "there was an instant of illegal trafficking there, is that right?"

"Yes. Some idiot who had too much to drink let on that there were some girls to be had. One thing led to another and we were able to get these girls from their captors and into the hands of the authorities, but I nearly had my head handed to me."

"What kept that from happening?"

President Hodges swallowed hard and said, "Cynthia took down four guys, all of who had weapons, and she did so with her bare hands and a foot. She was and still is one of the most kick-ass women I have ever met, and I think she held back."

Paulson nodded. "I'm not surprised. You see, I looked into the prior cases of Marcus Bono and those he was known to train. We never discovered much, but the sign language they used was similar to what your wife demonstrated. So, Mr. President, I believe your wife may have ties with these Traffic Cops."

The President didn't know what to say.

"But if that's correct, I might have a good idea of where she might be right now."

Bringing Family Together

"Look, if you're right about the situation and my wife is related to these people in the way you say," POTUS explained, "then I don't want to go in with guns blazing. It was Cynthia who convinced me to demonstrate some sympathy when it came to these so-called Traffic Cops, particularly since they've accomplished some good things even while creating plenty of messes."

"They've killed a lot of people, Mr. President, and they have caused an enormous amount of damage," Paulson said. "Their kooky nut chick, Chloe Rhodes, created utter mayhem in Albany by flying their helicopter eight feet above the road. I'd like to know how she is even at the controls. These people may think they're doing the right thing but they're not heroes by any means. Further, that woman is known as one of the most notorious serial killers alive."

"I get it, but I don't want to go in all Chuck Norris just to have them kill her in defiance. Plus, if you're correct, she doesn't want those people annihilated. Make it happen, Bud, but do it smart and neat, not Hollywood. Besides, we don't even know if that's where she is."

Bud Paulson nodded and said, "We'll make you proud, Mr. President. But keep in mind that if I am correct about her past, the issue might be other than simple to make go away, and we certainly don't want the media knowing. That, sir, would be a monster."

\-------------

Emily Rose Hutch wasn't feeling the love. She wasn't in it for the money alone; she wanted to feel the honor of relieving the world of that lunatic Rhodes. But for Christ's sake that was coming at a hell of a cost.

If it wasn't for Rhodes grinding her gears at every turn she would have been fine with remaining with the team. They kept busy, made money and had quite a bit of fun. But since she double-crossed them in Wisconsin it's been a consistent pain in the ass.

But she had bitterness to keep her on target, knowing this might be the event of a lifetime. After all, who knows what scumbag shit this Hoskins did to his precious girls before turning on those who trusted him. That punk Black owned Hoskins for a while before he cut out on his own; he likely has a lot of cold blood on his hands.

But she has no comrades now. This fuckwad Chuck really got too big for his britches even though he's smart enough to get away with what he's done so far. But, damn, it got real when he dragged in the President's old lady, the ambitious fool. It's been a long time since Emily was truly, really concerned, but that's how she felt with all of this. What was worse is that the sorry Chuck only wanted her for the dirty work, such as battering the First Bitch.

It was time to reassess the situation.

\---------------

Marcus was actually enjoying himself, much to his own chagrin. His time for playing spook was well behind him, so he wasn't all that fearful for himself. He had enjoyed his life and had little to look forward to; there wasn't one reason to compromise any principles.

He felt bad for Cynthia since she wanted this shit behind her, and he feared for Dale and his people since they had so much more to do. But there was no denying that things were getting to be a lot of fun lately. Shane Black is dead and so isn't the foolish Fred Charles. His people have really gone places in the world, making him proud. This Charles Frederickson is still a bit of a mystery, but Marcus felt that might reveal itself rather soon. After all, he's really pissed off a lot of people, even if they don't know who he is yet.

He hoped Dale got the message sent via the very angry and bruised First Lady, Cynthia Hodges. What was humorous was that the world at large would assume the terrorists or criminals worked over the First Lady, but the truth is that she attempted to escape and ended up scrapping with that moose, Emily.

He had heard the signature, "This is where Hodges dodges," but Cindy did what so many have done when it comes to that brute; she underestimated Emily's agility and speed.

"You got a lot of fight in you," Emily said as she finally subdued the wrangling little lady. "Why don't we slow some of that down."

A powerful and ugly body slam onto the hard floor really took the wind out of Cynthia until they could tie her up and prepare her for her moment. It was a good thing Marcus and she gave been able to communicate quite a bit before Charlie caught on and separated them.

\------------

The situation was quite reminiscent of the recent rescue involving Marcus they were recently involved with. That's when Dale gathered his first element of irritation with Chloe.

That level of irritation wasn't improving. He still cared about her, found her beautiful and wanted the best for her, but there was a nugget in him that kept growing, and that nugget believed this team was no place for someone like Chloe Rhodes.

She made her claim within the team and had made a difference, but Dale couldn't shake off the sight of her throwing Shane Black from the helicopter. That was a man, a monster, who held such great power over Dale and his world for so long, and truly was a major impetus of what made Dale what he is now. Dale hated him and wanted him destroyed, but to do so seemed daunting, even nearly impossible, right up to the moment when they heard his panicked screams fall away as he plummeted to his death. It just took from Dale something he needed.

It showed him what everyone else on the team saw, which was she was a loose cannon at the least. They also saw a monster.

Dale knew where to go, thanks to his sister-of-sorts who was commonly known as our country's First Lady. Marcus' main home was a fortress to be sure, but Dale knew things about it few others would. This is why it seemed so bizarre that Marcus was being held there. Who is it that has that kind of power, influence, and truth be told, sack?

Dale's mind crawled over the thoughts, wondering if a former student of Marcus betrayed him. If that's the case, whoever this person is would be a problem. Marcus unleashes power, not pussies. It made him wonder how many students Marcus set free. The more he thought about that, the more he wondered why they didn't know one another. One of them married the President? Wow.

But it was time to consider the job. This was a setup, pure and simple. Whoever this is doesn't want the President's wife; they already have her and must've been quite smart to get her. No, they want him and his people, and likely know how much they have in assets. Dale is worth many, many millions, which is part of the reason he wanted to take some time off.

"Okay, this isn't going to go like it did before. We won't be able to just toss people out the door and move on."

"Fuck you, Hunky Guy."

He ignored that, but said, "The point I am making is that this could be our biggest challenge yet, and I wouldn't blame anyone if they wanted to wait this one out. Whoever this is took over the man who taught me what I know and kept a bunch to himself, and then had the time and sack to visit the White House and grab the First Lady and get away with it."

Ayers looked at Sands and said, "Are there more of us than just us two?"

Sands just shrugged, but looked concerned.

"Christ, I hope not," Dale said. "But with all of this in mind, I believe our best course of action is to do what we usually do, with a few exceptions. We no longer have Godfrey, may God have mercy on his soul, and I don't want the doc put at any unnecessary risk.

"As for you, my lovely love, I would like to ask for a certain mission for you, should you choose to accept it."

All blinks and no smiles, she said, "You want me to search for and destroy Emily, don't you?"

"Our sync is in wonderfully, joining us for life. That's exactly what I want. I have a strong belief she is in on this somehow and she needs to fucking get gone once and for all," Dale said, trying to mean all of it. "She's a hard liability and has to go."

"But if she takes me down, it's just that easy to go to plan B, am I right, Hoskins?"

He looked at her and said, "No, Chloe. You are not right. Hey, I'm sorry I pissed you off, but we can work on that later, okay?"

After he said that, he so wished he believed it. He had to, since nobody else did.

\----------

Godfrey made it back to the safehouse but found it empty and everyone gone.

"Well, shit."

He couldn't call and didn't know any actual numbers, since they were programmed in the phone that went down in flames. He was lucky to retrieve his sword intact.

"They think I'm dead, don't they? What to do, what to do?"

And then he saw a small scrap of paper crumpled up and left where he once slept. It was encoded, but said, 'just in case', and gave a coordinate. Godfrey smiled and quickly left the building.

\------------

Charles was not an idiot. He knew where everything was about to go, which was to Hell and quickly. Planet Earth would bend the laws of physics and reality to rescue the First Lady regardless of her past, those Traffic Cops would do the same to take care of their own, and fugly Emily would risk the ire of all the above to dig her hands into the skull of Chloe Rhodes. He knew his FBI cover was about to be blown and that his bigger agenda was due for seeing the light of day.

After all, life is to be lived, people! Toe the line and you're living for someone else. But not Charles Frederickson. Good old Chuck lives for himself and for the day. It was how he was raised and what he was prepared for. His father built an empire and Charlie had every intention of taking that inheritance to a whole new level. So, sometimes risks have to be taken, but if it can be pulled off, the rewards can be astonishing.

He had to admit to himself that it should have hurt more when his father was killed, but that guy's death led to the start of Charles' new life and initiated something that would change the way everything is done. Besides, it opened things up for the future, as the life insurance policies and everything that went with them placed a considerable amount of wow before the feet of the one child Shane Black chose to treat like a human being.

After all, Shane knew he was but just so mortal, so he long desired to have someone follow in his footsteps should he reach a point where his feet no longer step forward. That's where little Charles came in. While Shane saw to the sale and destruction of most children that dared cross his path, he chose (quite randomly) one child who would be raised according to the will and desires of his old man. Shane chose one child to be raised under the tutelage and philosophies of life according to himself.

This child, once a man, was to distance himself from the family situation and prepare himself within the world of those who just might pose a threat. So, Charles began a life within the realm of law enforcement with the intent of having an in from the inside. When he found a path leading him into the FBI it seemed as though it was just perfect, as it would tie him to other branches of service when needed. The CIA and the Secret Service come to mind.

So, the next level of what's to be is about to be. With everyone who's somebody in the situation is on the way, things are far more exciting than when Charles had to suck up Fred's crap and toe the line.

"Wow, but am I glad that guy is dead," Charles mumbled to himself as he monitored the mansion's extensive security system.

\-----------

As the team closed in on Marcus' location, Dale couldn't help but to worry about everything he had thus far. His team was strong despite the silly spat between Chloe and him and it was clear the dynamics of what they do and who they are just might change big time. He didn't know what it meant to know about the First Lady, but it couldn't be all bad, right? However, the bigger issue was, what a hell of a party this just might be, particularly when he didn't know who intended to crash. Dale didn't feel like scrambling with the United States military and Secret Service when he clearly had better things to do.

It crossed Dale's mind to simply ignore this in much the same way they did before. They came in to help Marcus but his situation righted itself without the team. They didn't even reunite at the time. So, with this being what it is, with the forces of the country sure to move Heaven and Earth to rescue the wife of POTUS, Dale wasn't positive he even wanted to tangle with it. But yet, this was family. Marcus was like a father so Cynthia was so much like a sibling.

But how the affairs of the heart are affected Dale never saw coming.

Up the Ante

It actually felt weird for Dale to be there, doing what they were while still feeling the flood of memories, from when he first arrived in Marcus' care to when he set off on his own. The first several weeks were difficult for him, what with him having severe trust issues. Dale knew he was in danger when he was purchased by Marcus. Shane Black made sure he knew he would endure this, suffer that, scream to this, die to that. Black laughed while he recited his fantasies about what would happen to the little boy. So, for several weeks Dale was sure the ball would drop and the charade would end. Pain and victimization was all he knew. But Marcus never gave up and Dale, almost in defiance, gave his trust. He did so with a grudge. But that trust was never betrayed.

The first few months went by with Dale knowing Marcus would reveal what he really, truly wanted, but Marcus was always wonderful. After about six months of intense training and, honestly, healing from the life before, Marcus wanted to know what was going on in Dale's mind. "You've been here for months now, Dale. You haven't been attacked or taken advantage of, and I have been and done just what I always said I would. So, how's it been so far?"

As Dale looked over the complex while his team of extraordinary people converged on the fortress at his command, he had to admit to himself that it's been amazing so far. Life from the time of Shane to the time of Marcus had to be something like life from Earth to Mars. Marcus brought everything to Dale that he could value and taught him how to be a genuine human being. That is why they're converging on Marcus' location even though everything in Dale is telling him he should just leave it alone. This is a trap and the trap of traps, but... damn, there's no way he could abandon or ignore the needs of true family. After all, his team is true family, as well. What would they think of him if he allowed this to just go by?  
If there was one thing he knew with confidence, it was that they could never enter the place unnoticed. They simply didn't have the equipment to bypass these systems. So, there was the next best thing. "Let's crash the party, people."

\----------

Charles had to admit he was somewhat surprised that those Traffic Cops would virtually ring the doorbell. While there was no way they could find a way in without being noticed, one would think they would try to be sneaky. He never expected a volley of gas grenades and smoke grenades.

"So, it would seem your boy and his minions are just in time for lunch, Marcus. And it seems they sure do know how to make an entrance."

"Well, I taught the guy, you know. So, Chuck, now that we're here, what could you possibly have in mind?" Marcus asked, not wanting to let on that he was concerned.

"Yes, what could I possibly have in mind?" Charles pondered as Marcus looked around. "I have a few ideas, but give me just a moment, please."

Charles then keyed the mic for the property PA system and said, "Would you people stop doing that, please? Those gases can settle into the tapestries and furniture, ruining them forever. It isn't like you get these things at Wal-Mart, you know.

"Dale Hoskins and the whole Hee Haw gang, I have to ask that you really pay attention to what it is you're doing, since we're about to have some fun company."

It was about then that the sounds of helicopters were evident, as were the lines dropping anonymous soldiers armed to the gills and pouring in like locusts.

\--------------

"Holy shit! How could they just pour in here without us noticing?" Dale screamed to the sound of what must be five Blackhawk helicopters.

"This is the secret fucking service, boss," Sands said, looking surprised and concerned. "Their equipment is designed for stealth and silence. I would have heard them, though, if we hadn't been fooling with these grenades, trying to smog someone out. I have to tell you I think we have a few problems."

The Blackhawks likely dropped in from hovering at a high altitude before descending quickly. Their muffling systems were extraordinary, as the proximity of the craft paired with their eerie quiet made them seem surreal.

"Dale," Ayers said, looking around, "Sands and I might be able to escape, but that's about it. At least on the ground. Are there tunnels under here? We're sitting ducks out here in the open."

"So, this was a setup," Dale hissed. "But who set us up?" Dale thought quickly and said, "Everyone with me! I don't know what to do now, but I know where we can get some cover."

The team moved with Dale as the helicopters circled, except for one pertinent member.

\------------

Chloe fell back and crouched low while she watched everyone else make their way to the big place. It was big and quite pretty, but she had something, someone, else in mind. Emily Rose Hutch was Chloe's assignment and she wasn't about to abandon that just because a bunch of soldiers fell from the sky in helicopters and on ropes. Blinking left and right, pinpoint and nickel sized, Chloe watched close for any sign of entry or any way to slip in to the compound. Hers was a simple assassination mission and that's exactly what she sought. Chloe had had enough of the bullshit regarding this Emily bitch and wanted it over once and for all. She had a rather sweet Glock 10mm with her and knew how to use it, and Emily had a bulbous head begging for a 10mm sized hole right between the eyes.

\----------

Everything was going down in a rush. Secret Service hovered over everything within the zip code it seemed, Hoskins and his team were running scared, but where the fuck is that skinny bitch Chloe? Emily didn't want anything to do with anything going on beyond her personal issue with Chloe Rhodes. That blinky abomination was going down on this day; that was the mission and the goal to override all others in life. But where is she? She wasn't with the team, so did they force her to remain behind? The news reports stated one of the teammates died, but Emily saw the video and knew it was asswipe Godfrey that fell screaming like a little girl. So where is...

"Why, hey there, sweetie pie," Emily said as the prime security system spotted the choice prey attempting to sneak up on what cannot be surprised.

Seeing that Chloe was attempting to gain entry on the northern side of the house, Emily hurried that way, hoping to avoid the rest of these assholes and whatever it was they all hoped to accomplish.

\-----------

"Okay, Charles," the First Lady stated. "What's the big idea now? The gang's all here, including a hefty rescue operation from the Secret Service. If you're looking for a wonderful way to get shot, well okay then. But if you have better plans and think you're going somewhere, you must have one hell of a trick up your sleeve."

Charles just winked at her. "Yes, a few tricks indeed. The Secret Service wants you while those Traffic Cops want him. Emily wants Chloe and Chloe wants Emily. While I thought it would be fun to bring everyone together, you know, just to see how they rub elbows and such, but my goals are distinct from the entire shebang. My goals are personal and merely have to do with family."

"I'm not the world's perfect genius, but I think I have enough clues to work out your game," Marcus said. "Or, at least I know why you have such a personal stake. Tell me, Chuckles, how did it feel to know your daddy screamed like a bitch as he fell?"

The question was first answered with a hefty dose of voltage from a very nice stun gun. But once Marcus showed he was recovering from that, Charles said, "You can be a difficult and coarse man, sir. So it seems you guessed well about my past."

"I don't get it," Cynthia said.

"Cynthia, dear Charlie here comes from the same neighborhood as Dale Hoskins. But for whatever reason, Shane Black set aside one to treat like a human."

"Mr. Black has a legacy to consider, Mr. Bono. Those like Dale Hoskins and you, my dear, exist to ensure others fulfill their desires. Those like Shane Black and now, me, exist to ensure those wheels continue turning. And I intend to do so for quite some time. Until, you know, someone throws me from a high flying helicopter."

"It's a date, bitch," Marcus said.

\------------

"I know how you guys feel," Dale said with his hands up, "but at least for now, we're all on the same side. I know the First Lady is here because I am the one she sent her signals to. Marcus Bono is also here, but I don't know who is holding them out how many there are."

"None of you are moving a goddamned inch, pal. You're under arrest and anything you say or do could result in you bring shot dead in the fucking face. I have no reason to believe anything you just said, so I'm not going to."

The thing was, Bud Paulson did believe the man, to a point, anyway, but he wasn't going to let on to that until he knew who and what he was feeling with. He knew this man before him was likely the one known as Dale Hoskins and he was pretty sure the two big guys were none other than Ayers and Sands; two of the most famous yet enigmatic soldiers known to exist. He just couldn't say about the slender-shouldered fellow, but he assumed he had a part in this somewhere. The biggest concern was the loose screw, Chloe Rhodes. She was believed to be a danger to everything and everyone, so Paulson wanted a lid on that quickly. But that didn't seem likely at the time being.

"There is a woman who is often with your team. Where is she now?"

"I honestly don't know. She was assigned a mission independent of this one, due to an individual who is a continual threat to our team. Either one of them could be anywhere."

Paulson turned and said to three members of his team, "I want you three on these guys. Make sure they do nothing but what is instructed and feel free to shoot any of them for any reason."

"As for you, all of you are coming with us, and we're going in."

\--------------

Emily moved with a purpose, finding the day was perfect for the prompt removal of Chloe Rhodes from the equation. Just the thought of it pumped her adrenaline high. In fact, it made Emily fell as though everything she'd ever endured was so she could be prepared for this magical moment. She couldn't help but to accept that the prompt removal of Rhodes from this planet would right all that is just and good in her reality.  
She had a tablet with her as she moved to the north side of the mansion, watching Chloe on the monitoring system the entire time. She had Chloe pegged every step she took while the dirty bitch was clueless to it. It felt wonderful to track the cunt as though she was a tagged cougar hunted by the team intent on darting her unconscious just so they could take teeth and blood and whatever else they wanted, all at their leisure. She thought about it while she followed Chloe to the northern side, where she would wait, ready to pounce the instant she entered. She pondered on the idea of a long, slow and agonizing death, which would be fun but usually wasn't her way. The fantasy was fun but Emily knew the day was filled with enough excitement. Once Chloe was finished, she would have to find a way out of the situation. The place was too busy for her taste. And so it seemed she would have the chance to pontificate the notion soon enough, as Chloe was just about there, just about in, and just about gone. So it was rather tough to see Chloe suddenly decide to scramble up the ivy growing along that side and moving towards one of the upper floors and out of sight.

"Shit shit shit goddamned fucking shit!" Emily hissed as Chloe went out of range and out of sight. The cameras she could access through the tablet in her hand didn't follow along the actual wall, so all she could do was guess where Chloe was going.

"Am I ever going to nail this bitch or what?"

\-----------

Chloe knew she was being continually monitored with every step she took, or was at least reasonably sure of it. The fun and exciting new arrivals kept everyone busy but apparently had enough going on to keep from coming around to bother her. The thing was, if Emily was there she would do what she could to bring her down. Chloe assumed she drew Emily's crosshairs all the way to the far side of the very big house, but since she wasn't actually trying to get shot the pretty ivy seemed like a perfect way to a way in without a bullet or Bowie knife to the head. Besides, Chloe had every intention of winning this battle.

Few things would give her greater pleasure than removing Emily Hutch from the world. Maybe Hunky Guy might be okay with her again. Chloe moved fast up the vines and towards the roof, looking for a window she could access and use for finding surer footing.

Little did she know that Charles watched it all, having the time of his life.

Didn't See that Coming...

Chloe moved slow and quiet along the narrow corridor of the third floor. She really liked the fun and colorful paintings lining the hallway, making her wonder who Salvador Dali was and where he was lately, if he was still alive. The floors were a nice porcelain tile, allowing her soft shoes to move silently. She didn't know where Emily was, but if she was here at all she would likely be down below where Chloe found the ivy just before the door. If she was correct, Emily would be scrambling through various monitors in the attempt of relocating her prey.

The blinking slowed, one eye dilated and the other narrowed, pinpoint and nickel, as Chloe watched for what was going on. And that's when she heard an abrupt entry into the place from below along with a lot of commotion. After all, they were all there for one purpose or another.

Chloe froze where she was, listening for any obvious signs of violence such as gunfire or people screaming. She heard a lot of shouts and grunting associated with soldiers or cops moving in on a scene, but it sounded as though it was a straightforward forced entry. At least so far.

She knew she would have to stay in the shadows or well hidden if she wasn't going to end up whacked by one of these hothead secret service guys. That also meant Emily would have to do the same thing, should she actually be around. The hair standing up on Chloe's arms said Emily was rather close.

\-------------

Emily forced herself to stay focused even with the place being overrun by gritty secret service on a mission and the old team with an attitude and a grudge. They should have pulled off her faking her death far better than they had, because those old chains were getting heavy.

It would be a game fit for Monty Python and the gang, just trying to avoid the others while prowling and hunting for one person. It was likely that Chloe was looking for her; there would be no other great reason for her to be wandering on her own. So the game was on, even with an untold number of others running their own game under the same roof.

\-------------

Bud Paulson pulled everyone aside and close once they were in. He wanted a quick briefing and wanted everyone on the same page. The thing was, this was a turn of the page none of them saw coming.

"All right, listen up. We're splitting up from here, with three teams going in three different directions."

"Three, Bud? What are we going to with these fucks?"

"These guys are part of those three teams, that's what."

Paulson pointed at Ayers and Sands and said, "You two are working with those men there." He pointed at a squad of five men. "The seven of you are going to clear the place from the top down. Do it like a team or else. Tell them, Hoskins."

Dale said, "You have your orders."

The seven looked at one another and then their bosses and then nodded before moving out fast.

"Hoskins, your medic and you are with me while the rest of you move outside and work the perimeter. Nobody gets in our out without my authorization."

"How did you determine my role in this, sir?" Doc asked.

"I can't imagine what else it is you would do."

Dale smirked and said, "You really don't want to know, to be honest."

"Yeah, well you're likely one of those who likes to decorate crime scenes with body parts, right?" Paulson said as he signaled them to follow. "That discussion's for later. Right now, the First Lady is this planet's prime priority."

\---------------

Emily had Chloe on monitor via the tablet, seeing her scramble for cover while the hoard moved fast in that direction.

"Where are you gonna go, bitch? You're running out of options."

And so, it seemed Chloe heard the slight and reacted in kind, because Chloe suddenly abandoned the idea of trying different rooms and just went out a window and continued up.

Emily, still quiet and trying to keep low while the place crawls with numerous armed and elite soldiers, said, "Great. The fucking cunt is up on the roof."

Emily moved fast, knowing that maneuver would draw every secret service agent in the air and circling the place. It would be almost certain she'd be spotted by someone almost immediately. She ran outside, watching close for any signs of the troops left out there to secure the perimeter; the idea was to follow and tread the area already secured. She stayed low but scoured fitter any sign of a spot she could use to scurry to the roof. Hell, high water or snappy secret service, Emily was not going to lose this opportunity now.

She saw no one and was shadowed on the mansion's north side, so Emily moved quickly up the lattice work sporting the extensive vines. She whispered as she climbed, "Come out, come out, wherever you are."

\---------------

Charles was loving every little minute of it! The place was hopping with secret service, inside, outside and in the air, and now they commandeered the assistance of the Traffic Cops? It was just too much fun. But it didn't really matter, since what Charles wanted first was the presence of Dale Hoskins and his devices.

While Marcus and Cynthia looked on helplessly and, really, with no idea of what it was Charles was up to on his elaborate computer run into the house's primary security system, Charles manipulated everything he knew how to, all from their little hiding place in a hidden room at the end of a hidden corridor. The clever agents just might find it sooner or later, but their clamoring for the obvious first surely bought Charles some time.

"Come on, come on, come on, come on," Charles murmured as his fingers deftly operated the computer in a way that made Charlie both sweat and giggle. "Come on. We are almost there..."

He then jumped to his feet, squealing like a cheerleader who just won some pompom prize. Then, as he was rushing out of the room, he turned to Marcus and Cynthia, almost as though he nearly forgot they were there. He said, "Uh, hey, best of luck to you in all your future endeavors."

He was then simply gone from their sight.

Charles quickly made it out from the hidden corridor, making sure he was seen by nobody there. But once he was out in the open of the main house, he made sure his presence was known.

"Help! Help me, please!"

The team with Ayers and Sands found Charles quickly.

"Freeze! Do not move!"

Charles did as instructed, but said, "My name is Charles Frederickson and I have been a prisoner here. I am an FBI agent; I have my identification here with me. Please hurry, I have information that must be passed on to the White House as soon as possible. This information is important as it involves the First Lady. Please hurry."

"Turn around and slowly retrieve your identification, and then toss it to me," the secret service agent in charge demanded.

Sands whispered to Ayers, "I don't like it, man. I smell three people on this guy. One is male and the others female. One I don't know but I do know one of them is none other than Emily."

"You're sure?"

While they whispered, the agent in charge scanned Charles' ID and said, "Your identification checks out. Put your hands down and tell me what's going on. Where is the First Lady?"

"I don't know that, as they've kept us separated, but I was demanded to bring information to the President. The information is encrypted on this jump drive and the decryption software only exists within the FBI system. Can anyone here get me to the local office, like right now?"

"Chopper Four, I need you to land in the southern lawn in order to pick up an FBI officer who needs immediate transport to the logical FBI office."

"Copy that."

Charles tried to stifle a nefarious laugh.

\------------

Chloe tried to lay low and stay in the shadows on the roof, but she was just sure the quickly descending helicopter was doing so because she was spotted from the air. So, rather than hold still like a sitting duck, Chloe moved fast towards the other side of the mansion, negotiating the multifaceted aspects of the enormous building and its roof, only to draw gunfire from a direction other than the chopper.

"Hold still, you bitch! I'm better with a stationary target!"

Chloe turned to see none other than Emily coming up onto the roof and firing a pistol in her direction. She dropped to take some cover with the angle of the roof and then returned fire. Even with her blinky eyes and anxious situation, she saw a small spray of blood where she struck Emily in the shoulder.

\-----

"Squad Leader. I'm descending to the ground now to grab your spook, but I've got two women exchanging gunfire on the roof of the building."

Ayers and Sands looked at one another knowingly.

\------

"No, you psychotic cunt! I'm supposed to be taking you down!" Emily yelled as she checked the wound, which hurt but was minor. "Now put your blinky head up where I can get a good bead on it."

"Hunky Guy said I have to kill you, Emily Rose. I'm sorry, but that's the way it has to be. You're putting stress on my relationship and he doesn't like me much anymore," Chloe responded. "I haven't been laid in some time now and it's because you're a nuisance. So why don't you be a good cupid and take one for the team for a change?"

Emily looked to the sky with a twisted expression that stated, 'What the fuck?"

Then, for reasons she just couldn't explain, Chloe ran and jumped into the open door of the Blackhawk as it descended by.

Chloe shoulder-rolled across the small space in the large helicopter but gained her composure quickly and immediately approached the pilot.

"Hi! How are you today?"

Upon seeing the person rush into his craft and, then after recognizing who it was, the pilot screamed like a little girl.

"Calm down, sweetie pie. I think you're one of the good guys. But I'm going to have to ask you to put your seat tray in the fully upright position and exit the helicopter."

She put her face within inches of his and said, "Like, right now, sweetheart."

That blinking and crazy face would make anyone comply, including this guy. It took a few weeks, some traction and physical therapy, but he eventually recovered from the fall and was back at the controls.

As soon as he plummeted out of sight, Chloe rushed to the controls and took control of the Blackhawk. It was certainly bigger than the other one she learned to control and somewhat different in operation, but the basics were the same. It was a good thing she gained control when she did, as the craft started receiving shots fired.

She spun the chopper around quickly and scanned for Emily on the roof, intent on taking her head with the blades.

\--------------

Thomas Godfrey approached the area quietly, seeing there was a lot of commotion along with a lot of official uniforms. He didn't want to come all this way just to get caught or shot or both. But when he got a good sight in what was taking place, he saw Chloe jump into the open Blackhawk and then witnessed the thing for erratically for an extended moment before and guy, presumably the pilot, fell out. That's when he spotted Emily Hutch standing on the edge of the roof and fire at Chloe.

Then he saw the entire chopper spin around and nearly decapitate Emily but instead crunched a landing wheel through a window.

"Crazy bitches."

\------------

It wasn't looking good to take out Chloe through firing wasted rounds at the helicopter. Emily was losing rounds fast and didn't have but so many. This was looking like a losing proposition and sinking fast. The commotion was attracting the attention of everyone at the address, so there would be no clever getaway.

"So, this is it, huh? Fine."

Emily took care to aim well and fired her last shot at Chloe, striking the windshield but missing her target. Then she simply through the weapon at the windshield, both of them seeing it fall away.

Chloe stared at her through the broken windshield, blinking wildly and smiling her crazy smile. Then, she simply waved.

Emily flipped her off and then gestured, 'bring it.'

The helicopter spun around, almost catching Emily with the tail, forcing her to duck but nearly pulled her off the roof. Chloe then climbed about forty feet and then plummeted the craft down in the roof, nearly getting the landing gear stuck in the severe roof damage. But just as she managed to elevate to try again, Emily threw caution to the wind and jumped in with her prey.

\--------------

Bud Paulson and the others were startled by the loud noise and shaking of the big house. They could hear the Blackhawk and then had to wonder if it crashed into the mansion.

"What the FUCK is going on out there!" He yelled into his radio.

"There are two crazy women fighting on the roof, with one of them being Chloe Rhodes. She commandeered Jim's Blackhawk and is trying to ram the other one with it. Oh shit! Now they're both in there! The big one jumped in!"

Dale just couldn't believe it. He instructed Chloe to go after Emily but he never would have imagined she could take one of the....but how could he assume anything when it comes to her?

All he could do is relax and look on as his entire world crumbles apart. The woman he (is pretty sure he) loves just might not pull through a direct attack from an angry Emily, particularly since she can't fly and fight at the same time. His super soldiers are more surrounded and identified. It wouldn't take but a moment to ID Picasso, so who knows what might happen to him. Godfrey might or might not be alive and, oh, if Dale knew what Charles Frederickson just did.

The Courage of Convictions

Marcus didn't know what was going on out there, but what he was hearing both frightened him and pissed him off. He heard several shots but didn't know who was shooting at whom. He also heard a helicopter banging into the side and roof of his very expensive home. Bullet holes are one thing but, come on.

"Cindy, I'm getting too old for this shit. And I might as well move into a goddamned trailer if this shit's going to keep up. Do you know what this house cost me?"

"Marcus, are they going to be able to find us in here? These hidden rooms and corridors are, well, just that. I'm assuming they're designed to keep out the snoops."

"The few rooms and corridors hidden are somewhat of an expanded version of a sort of panic room. All of this was designed to conduct low level operations from in here, should the reason arise. I have to say I'm glad I didn't do much of that, now that I know the FBI has had access without my knowledge. I don't even know what they can access through this place, so I won't trust it."

Cynthia had been struggling with her bonds since Charles fled, but wasn't quite there yet. Charles had tied her up well, likely knowing they might not be found quickly by the secret service teams. That would surely buy him time to do whatever it is he's up to.

\------------

Seeing the helicopter suddenly go ape shit just when it was supposed to pick him up and carry him to his destiny almost placed a damper on Charles' mood. Almost. But the cacophony of the helicopter tearing up one side of the house while all the agents responded helped Charlie find another way out.

Having transferred most of the home's security systems to his smart phone, Charles was able to open the garage door, where he saw three vehicles to choose from. But he didn't want to just jump in and run just to end up shot at.

Over the craziness, he caught the attention of one agent and told him, "Contact your squad leader and let him know I can't access that helicopter now, but it was coming down here to retrieve me. Inform him I'll just take the car and drive. It'll be fine."

The agent watched him with suspicion but one he talked to his leader and verified the credentials of Charles Frederickson, FBI, the agent waved him on.

There were three vehicles to choose from and each had the keys in the ignition. There was an eighties model Ferrari similar to something Magnum P.I. drove, a very cool but old Pontiac GTO, and an actual Delorean. Charles pulled open the gull wing door on the Delorean, fired it up and smiled to smooth purr. He eased it out of the garage but one he was free of the house, Charles accelerated quickly and left the scene. But he didn't really put it to the floor until he confirmed his primary mission.

When Charles saw the wonderful capabilities of the mansion allowed him to access and infiltrate every electronic device on the property, he found accessing and emptying the contents of every account owned by Dale Hoskins and Marcus Bono was easier than choosing which car to take.

\------------

If Chloe didn't have her hands full, she would've applauded Emily's choice to jump in the moving chopper, because her doing so placed Chloe at a major disadvantage. She couldn't possibly fly the big thing and fight that sow all at once.

But her hands were full and they both knew it. The instant Emily got her bearings and saw where both she and Chloe were, she rushed directly at her with no hesitation or concern for the potential.

"Not this time and not today, bitch," the blinking Chloe uttered as she returned to the controls and pitched the helicopter hard to the right.

The entire craft moved hard into the side of the house, causing damage to the right side of the nose, with the blades missing the roof by mere inches. If they had dug in, that would have been it for the chopper, but Chloe regained control and elevated quickly.

The sudden movement brought Emily off her feet and nearly back out the door, but she took hold of a seat belt on one of the seats. With being that secure, she pulled her pistol and fired her last three shots in Chloe's direction.

Two of the shots fired blazed through the windshield, causing a lot of damage. The third round pierced the back of the seat and entered Chloe's body just below the rib cage. That one caused a lot of damage, too.

\---------------

Dale was getting more than angry with the way the situation was going out of control. Neither he, Paulson and Picasso were finding Marcus and the First Lady, but the team keeping Ayers and Sands was coming up with zilch, too.

It wasn't helping matters that fucking Chloe was the center of the mayhem. At least it wasn't surprising.

"If she doesn't get the hell out of here with that, I'm going to have the outside team take it the fuck down, regardless of who is in there," Paulson said. "What the FUCK is the deal with that chic of yours?"

Just then, the nose of the chopper struck the building, with the blades just inches from the window they watched from, in disbelief. Then they saw shots spider web the windshield.   
"Why don't we concentrate on why you're here; my people know how to do what they do," Dale said. "I know Marcus well and I have every confidence there are likely hidden rooms in the place. This house is enormous so it wouldn't be hard to weave hidden corridors and rooms into the construction. Paulson, we're not looking for the obvious here."

While Paulson turned his wheels to the suggestion, Dale couldn't help but turn his concerns to Chloe. She was at the controls of a large craft and had her hands on that while a veritable monster lurked right behind her.

"I need everyone to scrutinize everything you see," Paulson said over the radio. "There are likely to be hidden passages in plain sight or behind something where you wouldn't normally expect it. Don't assume it is what it looks like because our target could be in serious danger. We're taking too long already."

\---------------

The First Lady was bleeding and likely sprained her wrist, but she was nearly free of the bonds binding her hands. Marcus had been working on his but wasn't gaining much ground.

"Cindy, once you're free, go to that control panel there. There is a PA system throughout the house; we'll be able to communicate with every soul in the place through that," Marcus said. "So, do me a favor and tell them to stop tearing my house down."

"If I can't get through these, don't you think they'd find us eventually?"

"Yeah, after dropping a grenade or some such bullshit and blowing holes in the place. You know, I kind of like it here," Marcus whined. "I wouldn't be surprised if it would take months to fix the damage that's there right now."

"Well, I'll do everything to convince the right people this is the bill of Washington," she said.

He looked at her with a smile and said, "That's been a given all day, sugar."

\---------------

Godfrey heard the shots fired from where he was and feared the worst. He feared as he did because the Blackhawk veered wildly and nearly crashed just a moment after the shots, causing him to fear Chloe lost this battle. But the bird didn't go down; it pitched and tossed and roared but kept aloft, leaving Godfrey to assume Chloe was trying to toss Emily out.

He didn't know what to do while standing there armed with just his katana, but once the enormous machine swooped in near him at maybe eight feet above the vehicles that brought the secret service, Godfrey caught a moment of insanity and took hold of the side of the chopper just before it shot high above the mansion.

He didn't expect anything when the idea came upon him, but he didn't anticipate whoever was at the sticks to decide to climb to a quick thousand feet while shaking the craft as though it was a wet dog. He could hear the women screaming at one another, telling him Chloe is still in the game, but he could barely do much more than hang on for dear life as he relived some recent and spooky memories.

\--------------

It's been a long time since Chloe had truly felt desperate. Not since she was a child has she felt this vulnerable and cornered. Her profession comes with risks, but there have been others there to watch her back while she does her thing. But this is different. She's cornered at the controls while a sworn enemy is free and armed to attack at her leisure.

Being shot in the back was rather convincing, too. The bullet passed through her midsection, coming to a stop in the control panel, which set off alarms and a lot of distracting noise, only adding to the stress. She felt the bleeding seep into the seat, soaking her pants.

Not knowing what to do, Chloe shook and veered the craft to keep Emily off balance while she climbed to an elevation away from obstacles. An elevation where she could level the playing field. Where the odds were all in.

She climbed high and then did her best to level the craft in order to keep it from plummeting into the ground or the house, and then spun around with a knife in her hand and a look of determination in both blinky eyes.

Holding her belly, Chloe said, "Just so you know, you're going the same way Shane Black did."

"Seeing you try would be a treat, Chloe. But I intend on making you bleed a lot more than just that," Emily said.

With a shriek, Chloe lunged at Emily, succeeding in burying more than half her blade into Emily's forearm. But that was a proverbial sacrificing of the Queen for a greater end, because Emily quickly fell away from Chloe, taking the knife with her. She found her feet fast with the intent of lunging at Chloe and giving her that knife back in a manner she wouldn't forget.

But with nobody at the controls, the Blackhawk started to pitch and spin, making it hard to get some good footing.

\------------

Godfrey couldn't believe his luck. The last time he was in a doomed helicopter, everyone else sailed away easy as you please while he plummeted like a stone. But at least he had a wing suit. This time all he had was his sword and he would swear on his grave the thing was trying to shake him loose.

But he could hear the fight inside and sensed the moving around through the shifting in the bird. His first intention was to help the chick who recently stabbed him in the gut and nearly killed him, but it wasn't going to be easy.

A little at a time he maneuvered towards the item door, but the spinning was getting worse and causing Hell on his bearings. He was getting there, but there was a scream that made him think he might be too late.

\------------

Dealing with the spinning churned on Emily's stomach, but she kept her eye on the prize. She rolled in towards blinky and punched her hard in the head and then landed two punches and a kick into her belly. That took some wind out of the psycho bitch; enough for her to pull the blade from her arm and plunge a deep stab into Chloe's ribs and then one more into her gunshot wound before pulling back and stabbing Chloe directly into the neck.

Not leaving anything to chance, Emily saw they were still a good thousand feet up, so she angrily stabbed Chloe what must be twenty more times throughout the chest, face, neck, and then made two sweeping gashes across her abdomen to open her up. The blinking stopped. It really, finally stopped. Trying to keep her bearings while dealing with the out-of-control bird, Emily viciously punched Chloe's body in the face and head about thirty times and then backed away a foot or so to be able to kick her out the door.

Upon seeing the body go out, she said, "Checkmate, you cunt."

\--------------

It was Ayers and Sands who had the sight and senses beyond the others, helping them spot what the others kept missing. They found a hidden entrance to a hidden corridor and let everyone know.

"Team Leader, we have the hidden corridor now. Do we proceed?"

Because the Team Leader, Paulson, had Dale Hoskins with him, he wanted Hoskins there when they found the First Lady and this Marcus Bono.

"Stand fast. We'll be there in a moment."

By the time Dale, Doc and Paulson arrived, so had Cynthia Hodges and Marcus.

"Mrs. Hodges, are you okay?" Paulson asked. She didn't look it.

"I'm a bit frayed, but I'll be all right. I've been in good company," she said as she patted Marcus on the shoulder.

Marcus said, "Yeah, and thanks for nearly tearing my fucking house down."

"I'm afraid that might be partially my fault, Marcus," Dale said. "My girlfriend can be rather unpredictable."

Marcus reached out to Dale and the two men hugged. "It's really good to see you, boy. You've been doing well for yourself lately."

"So you're the one who managed to capture my husband's attention," the First Lady said.

Paulson pulled his radio and said, "All teams stand down. The prize is safe and secure." He then looked at Dale and said, "Now. You need to know I have orders to bring you and your team in. I'm not going to have any problems, am I?"

Dale just shook his head.

"Team Leader, we still have an issue out here. I don't know what to make of this rogue chopper."

Ayers went to the window and looked up towards the noise. "Aww, fuck."

"What?"

Ayers looked to Sands, motioning him over. Sands looked, only to have his jaw drop open. The others moved to look, but the craft was still too far for their regular eyesight.

Ayers said, "Hey, we're not going anywhere and we know we have to go with you guys. But for right now, we have to do something we have to do for our people. But I need to know if you have medics on the scene."

Chloe & Emily

Godfrey just barely reached out and took hold of the body that nearly fell by him. But when he looked at what he grabbed, he was tempted to let it go, it being so, well, gruesome. That temptation only fueled his anger, however, as he saw that Emily likely killed Chloe and just threw her body out like so much trash.

Not that Chloe would have done differently.

But holding on to the chaotic craft while hanging onto the body by the belt was straining his strength and he wasn't sure if he could do it much longer.

Thankfully, it seemed Emily took control and eased the chaos. It didn't seem as though she had a set direction to follow, but at least the spinning was slowing. So, what to do in order to make sure that vicious wretch doesn't get away with this.

\--------------

So, the vulgar, blinky bitch is finally dead. But now what? Emily thought she had a sort of control of the big helicopter, but she didn't really know to actually fly it. Even more bizarre was, how did the recently departed know how to do it?

"How hard could it be?" Emily mumbled as she sat at the controls and tried calming down enough to make sense of the rather serious task.

She he knew enough to know the rear rotor controlled the spin or lack of it. She grabbed the actuator before her and attempted a central or somewhat neutral spot while leaving her feet on the petals. After all, now she was in the sticky pickle of having to make some space between herself and everyone else. Nobody around here liked her very much and now that they assumed she was alone in the craft, they might shoot it down. Just get it straight and go straight; getting it to the ground was a task for later on.

Looking down, Emily assumed she was still at least several hundred feet above the ground, which meant that even if Chloe survived the onslaught she wouldn't survive that kind of fall. Emily smiled while figuring that if anything, it was worth everything just to pummel that pretty psycho into a bloodied and ugly mess.

As she worked out the controls enough to at least go in a way other than down and around, she hissed, "I hope you survived it all and end up uglier than me, cunt."

\------------

Godfrey almost actually prayed to his lucky stars that the fucking Emily stopped the spinning. It was nearly to the point that he was about to lose Chloe, his grip and maybe even his lunch. He's not easily frightened or daunted, but anyone who hangs high over an unprotected descent without the necessary equipment such as a parachute (to Hell with the wing suits, bitches) and doesn't feel the stress is simply tripping.

He quickly moved Chloe's body to between his legs and scissored her in place, allowing him to hang onto what was there to hold. He knew his grip would fail if he tried hanging on with one hand. He'd lose Chloe or lose them both.

But there was hope since he knew he had an audience. Literally dozens of people on the ground just had to know the chopper was rogue, although they might not have the details on who was aboard.

"For the love of all that is holy, just don't shoot us down," Godfrey called out to those below.

\-------------

"What you need to understand is that Ayers and I have pretty sharp vision, Bud. I don't expect you to see what I see, but you can't shoot that down. I can clearly see two of our crew clinging to the outside."

It was Dale who responded. "What?"

"I can't explain it, but we both see Godfrey holding on to Chloe while holding on for dear life outside the Blackhawk. Emily must be at the controls and because she isn't making it hard for him, she likely doesn't know they're out there."

"So what do you suggest we do? She is not getting away; that option is not on the table," Paulson said. "The choice is all three, not none. Get them all down or get them all buried, but she's a threat."

"Look, bring her to the ground or at least get her elevation low and over water. But we have to act, because the woman is badly, badly injured," Sands said, trying not to look at Dale. "All I see with her is blood."

"Do you think she's alive?" Dale asked.

Sands wouldn't make eye contact. "They're too far away for me to tell. But if we don't get that chopper down toot sweet, the answer is certainly no."

Cynthia looked at Paulson with all the fierce intensity she could muster and said, "Bud, you need to get on board with the fact that these people are my people. The only one not on your side is the woman piloting that helicopter. Now, what could disable and bring down the thing without just crashing it?"

"Because of the size and muscle of that craft, it has a minor weak point, although it's hard to grab," Bud said. "It would require an exceptional sniper. My guys are fucking awesome, but the shot required is impossible at this distance."

Ayers and Sands both smiled. "So you say."

Bud looked them over and dismissed his assumptions. "Look, if you can place a good shot or two at the point where the rotor pivots, you might be able to rob it of its power. It'll lose the power driving the blades but momentum will keep them turning enough to prevent it from just dropping like a stone."

He went on to say, "But it isn't that simple. If the pilot fights the descent, she could maintain an altitude until power subsides to the point out will just fall. If you two hotshots can hit that rotor point and her, it might sink gently enough to keep your people from a free fall."

Bud then keyed his radio and said, "I need all snipers here with me right now."

\-------------

It didn't take long for Charles to transfer the several million dollars in funds he just obtained with virtually no hassle to numerous offshore accounts. He knew he couldn't remain in the office for very long since the word would soon have to hit. Once Marcus and the First Lady were rescued, they'd make sure the planet knew just who they had in Charles Frederickson.

He watched everyone around him, making sure he wasn't being cornered or zeroed in on. Despite the thoughts of Hollywood, it would be unlikely they would telegraph their intentions. However, a trained agent would know some signs to look for. Presently, while using the encryption programs only accessible and available through actual FBI computers, Charles placed the funds in several accounts that were necessary for his plans.

He knew he couldn't merely steal the money and transfer it to offshore accounts and expect to get away with that. You don't steal candy from a baby while telling the world what, where and why. His privileges as an FBI officer, however, open him to opportunities to hide funds the same way governments do and ensure no other government can take them.

Now, would he expect to get away with that in the long run? No, but since this is certainly his last day earning an honest living...

Even with doing things at this level of process, the authorities would soon be able to follow his footsteps. So, once he was out of the office and away from these systems, he would be able to reroute everything yet again in such a way that only the finest hackers and experts could follow the hidden paths. Further, by continuing to reroute them automatically and in random sequence, Charles could force investigators to chase their own tails should he discover their actions.

The ultimate point? Shane Black raised Charles Frederickson to understand that selling humanity to humanity was the single finest market and industry ever devised. Despite the lofty assumptions that people hate slavery, the fact is that they find distasteful the slavery illustrated in historical text describing the racial slavery of early America. Blacks in chains, forced to labor while dehumanized. But the truth is that slavery is more proficient and successful presently than ever before, and that's because it only resembles the old picture in tiny pockets around the world. The remainder is sex slavery and simple slave labor in maid's attire and making pocket change. Nobody minds any of that.

The average man enjoys young prostitutes, thinking she put herself in that position. A smaller demographic knows she's a slave but just doesn't care. Smaller groups yet like kids and scourged victims. But the magic of that there are seven b-b-b-billion people to pick from and sell to. There are always options and always customers for it all. The trick is to find and nurture the markets and Black turned that into an art form decades prior.

As for Charles? Shane knew he was mortal. What better fuck you to the world while on his way out than to sick them upon themselves and have his chosen progeny to reap the benefits. The apex predators win. So, as for Charles? He had every intention of making what his dad did look like the Morse code telegraph compared to the World Wide Web. Humanity and all its appetites under his thumb.   
As he walked out for the last time, Charles knew with confidence that a significant percentage of humanity would be his property very soon.

\--------------

Ayers and Sands knew they would have to fire in nearly the same instant, not that doing that would be difficult. The challenge would be both of them having their shot open at the same time, knowing it, and then firing simultaneously.

They watched as Emily apparently struggled with maintaining a straight course with the craft, which was to their advantage. They couldn't just follow and patiently watch, waiting for Emily to land or run out of fuel or, worse, go for broke and crash just wasn't an option for the two who were actually important. The guys didn't know if Chloe was alive or not, but her death was surely certain if she isn't rescued promptly.

"On my mark, Sands," Ayers said, watching the nose come their way. He hesitated for a brief moment and then, "Fire!"

\-----------

Emily didn't see it coming. There was an instant of time where she saw the windshield split and then she saw nothing. The bullet struck her in such a way that blackness overwhelmed all else. She simply slumped out of the seat and to the floor.

Once the bullet fired by Ayers took Emily down, the shot fired by Sands disabled the blade rotation as hoped and everyone there rushed in to meet the helicopter and the teammates just in the event things get even worse.

\-------------

Godfrey was cursed with having far too little knowledge or insight into, well, just about everything. All he knew was that there was one Hell of a party going on and that the women were not getting along. But he heard the shots fired and felt the sudden change in the action of the craft.

"Did they snipe that bitch from all they way over there? Must be Ayers," he mumbled to himself.

It was a good thing, since he wasn't able to hang on much longer. Chloe's body was clearly a mangled mess and he was nearly at the moment it was her dead body going or the both of them. But the sudden addition of more drama changed things, so he took a chance and swung the body back through the open door.

He took a long breath and stretched out each arm before taking one last breath and pulling himself inside. Once there, Godfrey quickly found his feet and looked to Emily just in case she was ready for him, but she was on the floor in a pool of her own blood. The wind rushed through the holes in the windshield, making Godfrey assume she took at least two bullets.

The craft was losing altitude fast but it wasn't dropping like a stone. Godfrey wanted to assume the controls but just wasn't up to speed on what to do.

"If we get through this, everyone needs to share the love and show what they know," he said to nobody in particular.   
The helicopter was spinning again but not like it was, with a slow rotation as it sought the ground. Godfrey looked out the door and saw he was gathering an audience, a few members of which he actually knew, so he took hold of Chloe's body and braced for the impact. It would be rough and bumpy but survivable, which made him think Emily wasn't thinking straight when she found her feet and came after him.

Her screaming as she closed in on him telegraphed her maneuver, allowing him to express his total loss of patience with her by quickly retrieving his sword and, with one swift motion as he pushed Chloe's body to the floor, pull his sword and cut her head away. Her body slumped while the head came to his feet, so he unceremoniously kicked it out the open door.

"Nice knowing you, Emily."

Less Than Zero

Dale had to sidestep to avoid being struck by whatever that was that fell from the descending helicopter. It bounced off the ground and rolled up by him, looking gruesome. He picked it up by the lower jaw to see just who it was, and when he did, he smiled.

"Nice knowing you, Emily."

He unceremoniously tossed the head to the side and looked up to what was truly important.

"That's coming down kind of hard, isn't it?"

"Nobody said it would float in like a butterfly, tough guy," Bud said. "My point is that it isn't dropping like a stone. But it'll still hit hard enough to wreck my bird. I ought to make you fuckers pay for it."

Dale really thought he could do that, but his mind was on more important issues. Suddenly, the anger and resentment he'd been feeling for Chloe was replaced with deep love and a great deal of concern. All he could feel other than the love and concern was a great deal of fear. That emotion was one he didn't want.

"Once it hits and is stable, move in fast for your people," Bud said. "Whoever tossed out that head isn't going to go after mine, is he? He's your last loose end, Hoskins, but you have enough problems."

Dale scowled at Paulson but said with confidence, "He'll be just fine. Look, I have my medic but just the one. Could I borrow yours for a few minutes? You can put that in my fucking bill."

\-----------

Godfrey looked out again to see how it was going to go (he didn't need them dropping into a tree) and saw the landing zone was fairly level but firm. Not sure of what else to do, he took hold of Chloe's body again and placed her on the beefy but headless carcass of Emily. The idea was to cushion against further trauma, considering he saw his people asking with plenty of others were there. He took hold of the restraints of the seats and braced for impact. Then once he was down, he would hold still and keep his hands up. It looked like the gig was up after all.

A part of him wished he'd never showed up. If the team is being incarcerated he could always go back to being an independent. But now? It wasn't looking good. He looked to the pummeled and mangled body of Chloe Rhodes and thought, just for a moment, she made it out. He just wished he knew for sure if that mess was still alive.

\----------

"That's right, Mr. President," Bud said as he waited for the inevitable crash. "She is gravitating to them far more than to us. But sir, let me call you back, as this is about to enjoy that last bit of drama."

Elsewhere, POTUS was thinking fast. The bizarre and, honestly, shocking information about the woman he married certainly caught him by surprise. But what didn't surprise him was how the information wouldn't remain confidential. It just wouldn't. It's too juicy and ripe with great fun. Further, once the media chomped into it...

In order to keep a lid on the story, it had to be worthy of a lid. It needed national security attached to it. It was a good thing his Vice President and a few advisors had some ideas.

\-----------

"Go, Hoskins! Go!" Bud demanded of Dale, who was already more than happy to rush into the bird the instant it stopped.

He wasn't happy for long.

"Dear God, Dale," Godfrey said as he kneeled next to the body of Chloe. "I'm so sorry."

The tears started but he blinked them away as he assessed what he had. Her face was virtually unrecognizable thanks to the beating and the severe knife wounds were numerous and wide open. Then there's that gunshot wound to the midsection.

Dale wiped his face with a hand and said, "Tom, I'm glad you're all right. Would you help me get her out of here?"

They picked her up gently, but once Dale was at the door, he yelled, "Ayers! Sands! I need medics!"

Doc Picasso rushed in to help, but once he saw the condition of the body, he recoiled. He said, "I can't see us doing anything to make a difference, my friend. I'm sorry."

But Ayers rushed in and said, "Doc, you and those other medics work on closing those wounds. Do the best you can, but we need to hook her up to the two of us right now. I mean right the fuck now! We need to get the blood of both of us rushing into her as soon as these wounds are reasonably closed. Come on and let's go!"

"You have your orders," barked Paulson.

For Dale, the sight was almost surreal as he watched six men work at a fevered pace to treat a body he was sure was quite dead. Only the body of his mother looked worse than this, he realized. For reasons having nothing to do with the blood and gore before him, Dale turned and vomited.

\-----------

Charles, once safe and secure, wasted no time in seeing to his intentions.

"Who is this and how did you get this number?" was what Charles heard over the phone, and only after the first ring.

He sat back and said, "This is Charles Frederickson as I am commonly known, but you might know me as Charlie Black. I am calling to duly inform you, kind sir, that I am ready to take my place at the helm of my father's empire. I also want you to know I, and all of us, really, intend on getting rather ambitious."

"Charles! I had been wondering when I might hear from you. Please accept my condolences regarding the loss of your extraordinary father. He will be horribly missed. You might remember me, young man. I worked as your father's assistant-"

"I quite remember you, Mr. Walter Lang. I recall how my dad trusted you, so I must do the same. This is why I wanted to pass on to you that our industry is soon to expand and diversify. Mr. Lang, I want to ensure that nobody under the age of fifteen is exempt from our interests, because their place in the world is about to get interesting.

"Would you be so kind as to initiate a significant sweep of all available bodies? By that, I mean everywhere. The human commodity, dear sir, belongs to me now."

"It would be a pleasure, Mr. Black. It'll be good to be actively employed yet again."

\------------

Dale wanted to stay with Chloe in the ambulance but Paulson would have none of that.

"Having you with me keeps your two soldiers and medic on the up and up. For right now, it's my job to ensure the President and his lovely wife are reunited, but once that's done, the Secret Service and the FBI are going to get to know you and your team very, very well."

Dale hadn't felt this trapped since he was a boy, but somehow he had hope for the future. He really doubted Cynthia Hodges would allow the team and him to be thrown under the bus, but there was no doubt they were wanted for several crimes. So, rather then feeling the desire to flee, he looked forward to the new ride.

But he certainly worried. They all knew what they were getting into, but Dale still felt awful for the group. Who knows what might happen to his super soldiers. He could only hope they wouldn't connect Picasso with his kills, but things were almost surely curtains for Godfrey. That situation sucked badly because the guy was virtually free and gone. His loyalty tossed him down the stairs.

He doubted it would ever matter, but if Chloe somehow survived it would only be to occupy a cell. There was almost no way to calculate how many perished during her time as a serial killer. However, her survival is just about impossible, isn't it? The blood of Ayers and Sands was some powerful stuff and he knew it. That blood saved him and Godfrey from certain death. But Chloe was in far worse condition than the two of them combined twice over. What he saw looked as though it was struck by a train.

"You can say what you want, Buddy Boy, but we're not going anywhere. But I'll tell you this; if we were planning on moving out, there wouldn't be dick you could do to stop it. So save your tough guy attitude for your hamster."

"Yeah? Well if it makes you feel better, I do appreciate your cooperation, you know, for our sake."

He looked on with some sense of loss as he watched the First Lady and Marcus climb aboard a helicopter while Godfrey and he were loaded into one of the very secure Secret Service vans. Once they were secured and moving, Godfrey and his love for sarcasm reported in true form.

"So, boss. You got any more big ideas?"

\-----------

"I don't know how much longer we can keep doing this, guys," one of the Secret Service medics said to Ayers. "If this body doesn't respond to our efforts soon, you two won't have any blood left to offer."

Transfusions ran fresh blood into the cold body of Chloe Rhodes while medics continued with a defibrillator and oxygen while fighting to administer CPR.

"Don't give up yet," a weakening Sands said. "The blood must circulate throughout her entire body to really take effect. How much longer before we get to a hospital?"

"Just a few more minutes. But we could lose all three of you in that time without more blood."

"We could recover quickly as long as we each get transfusions right away. We're designed to not die. That's what we do. And much of the reason for that is due to the healing properties we possess. Those are delivered through the blood, as you probably know. So get us blood and we'll recover. But she'll do better with as much of our blood as possible," Ayers said. "In fact, we need transfusions so we can pump even more into her. And in case you're wondering, she is that important."

"We know who she is, pal. And you know she'll likely spend the rest of her days in prison and maybe death row, right? So, are you really sure?"

"We'll cross those bridges later. But for right now, we want breathing and a pulse."

The medics continued as asked, even though they wore expressions indicating they would rather dump Chloe's body on the side of the road. So, it was almost funny their expressions changed with but one small sign.

"I'll be damned! It's faint, but I'm getting signs of a pulse in her!"

\------------

Dale felt a bit special. The cell he was brought to was quite secure and deep inside somewhere unfathomable, if the continual decline in elevation indicated anything. He sincerely doubted there was any general population nearby. He didn't know where they brought Godfrey; the two were separated as soon as they exited the van.

He was rather sure this was a place for the special criminals, the arch villains, and those who simply disappear. While the cell was typical in appearance to the commonly known, it was uber fortified and watched with several cameras. That would make wiping his ass a fun treat for someone.

He sat down and thought about his situation. There was no doubt the team and he were hardened and wanted criminals, but what about Marcus? He wasn't incarcerated, but boarded a luxuriant helicopter with the President's old lady. And as for her; the two of them were practically siblings. They wouldn't throw him to the dogs, would they?

No, they wouldn't. Dale didn't know where this as going, but he had to figure he was in this secret cell until they figured out what they wanted. Now, would they cut him and the team loose and bid them farewell and best of luck? That surely didn't seem likely. If they had caught Chloe alive they would surely throw her away or just fry her. Who knows what they'll do with Ayers and Sands now that they have them in their clutches again. If they link the Doc to his role in the team, he'll face charges of serial murder. The same is likely for Godfrey. But this is the government and Marcus didn't work a career in record archives.

They just might want the talent.

"Yeah, but only as long as it's under their thumb," he mumbled.

\-------------

"She's in critical condition and has to go in for surgery again," the doctor said. "She's hanging in there physically at the moment, but our brain scans are not promising. She was likely dead for too long."

"I know it seems pointless, but you might be surprised," Marcus said. "The healing properties of their blood is extraordinary. So, allow the two soldiers to run the donated blood in their veins to become a part of them and then do complete transfusions into her with as much of their blood as possible. If we do this right, you'll be amazed at what might result from it."

"From what I've heard, we're recreating the monster of Frankenstein. I know that is Chloe Rhodes. Why are we bothering? Don't you have enough monster power with those two soldiers in your grasp?"

"The rumors about her aren't entirely true. She's a fucking lunatic, all right, but not as heinous as the stories lead us to believe. Besides, this is coming from way up."

The doctor shrugged. "Okay. I'll do all we can do. But I recommend you install some sort of off switch before cutting that loose. And that's if we can find some brain activity."

Marcus simply nodded and left it at that.

But for him, he had numerous concerns to think through. It seems life wasn't just changing for The Traffic Cops.

Under the Thumb

Dale was growing more morose with every passing day. His assumptions about how it would go for the team and him were close to correct, but man there were plenty of catches. Other than when accompanied by Marcus (who has been seeming distant and aloof more than anything else) or other instructors who barked expectations and ultimatums throughout the waking goddamned day, Dale and the others were confined to their cells. Then, as for the team, it was mainly Godfrey, Ayers and Sands. He has yet to receive word one about Chloe. As for Picasso, Dale was told he would know when he needed to know.

But some of the hardest pain was the knowledge that he was broke and homeless. The knowledge that Charles fucking Frederickson utilized the capabilities of Marcus' home security to clean him out stung like nothing else would. Of course he agonized over the mystery shrouding Chloe and whether she was alive, but the utter loss of any control drained Dale.

They were going to, sort of, reprise their roles as hunters of bad guys and traffickers, but without any of the genuinely fun parts. No more mass killing of bad guys, no more taking their wealth as loot, and no more operating independently and beyond the control of law. Frankly, no more enjoying the career choice. Like those prisoners gathering trash along the side of the highway, the clear point was they would all do as they're told if they know what's good for them.

But hey, the option is always life in prison. No, parole will never be an option. Hey, you guys killed and mutilated so many people that we don't know how many, you wreaked havoc across the country, and you even managed to cause an international incident. You had to know there would be more than a fine for that, didn't you?

So Dale was just largely going through the motions.

For Ayers and Sands, things changed but a little. While Dale would still be team leader (unless that attitude cost him everything), he was no longer mission leader. His job would be to ensure the mission was successful and report that to Marcus and the rest of the chain of command. He would report to his leaders what happened and why, who was involved and did what and why, and then would explain how he intended to keep it classified and out of the news. Their celebrity status was gone. They were going to be anonymous and ghosts. They were to be forgotten by virtually everyone, but if they were caught, the government would disavow all knowledge and unceremoniously throw them under the bus.

Clean and clinical. In and out. Do the job and return to base, where they would remain under government custody until dispatched on the next one.

He had to admit that the toys were awesome. Mission Command, overseen by Marcus, who must've found someone's good side, arranged for equipment suited to the team members. The super soldiers were actually quite happy to be back in the loop, doing what they were created to do. Godfrey trained with several martial arts masters to learn not only the mastery of his katana but also numerous other weapons of tons of fun.

While he was miserable in his heart, Dale gave no guff or resistance to those who controlled his life. Thus, he learned new skills he didn't obtain from Marcus before and he had ample opportunity to improve what he did know. There was no doubt they were better. But they were collared. And it sucked greasy balls.

\-------------

"So, how is she?"

"Holy shit and hot damn! She is singlehandedly the most amazing human being I've ever heard of. Not only am I shocked that she's alive, but look at the state of recovery!"

The doctor turned to Marcus and said, "What do you know about those two soldiers, Ayers and Sands? Sir, I've been a physician for a long time. During my time with the good government I've seen some amazing and, to be frank, some horrifying things. But I've never seen anything like them or, hot damn, that young woman. What can you tell me?"

"All I know is they were once a part of an experimental program that went awry and was shut down. They were the only survivors as far as I know. They are amazing, but as I understand it, they went through Hell to get that way," Marcus said. "Nobody else survived the ordeal."

"They tried creating super soldiers."

"They succeeded, but the losses didn't justify the success. Like I said, they lost a lot of good soldiers with that overzealous ambition. Anyway, the soldiers stepped out and went to work for my boy. You pretty much know the rest."

The doctor nodded. "Just about everyone does. That reminds me; what are we planning to do with that crazy gynecologist? He's giving everyone the creeps."

"The good Doctor Picasso possesses many talents. He is also a talented physician, with a twist."

The doctor nodded yet again, this time with less flair. He then joined Marcus in observing the status of the patient of the century.

\-------------

Charles and his various people were convinced they had it made in the shade. The now defunct Traffic Cops were out of the picture while Charles' contacts and inside tidbits into law enforcement opened up opportunities and avenues unlike anything seen by the old man Shane.

Various crews around the country were taking girls virtually at will. There were reports of successful abductions of entire bus loads in the way home from school. Girls, boys and young women were on their way to replacing oil as the world's most profitable commodity. So, while all that rocked the house, word quickly spread through every potential market that cheap and easy sex was back on the menu.

Thus, whatever it is you like, from little ones crying to a lot of blood, Charles Frederickson Black was large and in charge, offering it all for a price nobody can refuse.

Charles looked around the room at his best people as they took their place around the enormous table and said, "Ladies and gentlemen, there are now two kinds of people in the world. The ones we sell and the ones we sell to."

His arrogant grin was met with a hearty round of applause.

\--------------

"I'm thinking you have a fucking problem with the way I do things around here! Just so you know, I'm not your daddy Marcus, Daisy," the unmarked agent barked within inches of Dale's nose. "I'm not giving you one inch of wiggle room around here. As far as I'm concerned, you're nothing but another spoiled and privileged bitch given exception to the rules just because of your celebrity status. But I don't give one fuck about who you are, Sally.

"What's wrong, Daisy? Need your mommy to wipe your snotty nose?"

It seemed the mention of Dale's mother was that last straw, but nobody could be sure when they reviewed the security video. All they saw was Dale stiffen for a fraction of a second and then unleash a series of blows to the head, neck and face, and a couple to the abdomen just before a series of kicks to the small of the back of the unknown officer before making a break for it.

Marcus received the call first. "We're at that moment you were waiting for, Mr. Bono. Sergeant Wade is down in a heap and your boy is on the run."

"Wow. This took a hell of a lot longer than I thought it would," Marcus said with a smile. "I didn't think he'd tolerate the first week let alone this long. All right, let's get a team together and make sure he didn't get far. And just so everyone knows, if he actually escapes, I will personally see to the replacement of every swinging dick I've met in the last twenty years. Go!"

\-------------

While not at the verge of tears quite yet, Dale was desperate and alone, and perhaps about as angry as he's ever been in his life since before that motherfucker Marcus came along. While he couldn't put a finger on it, Dale assumed Marcus turned on him to save his own hide. He ended up tied to the Traffic Cops antics that led to the President's old lady getting involved. They were likely going to boil him alive if he didn't cooperate. Nothing else made sense.

That didn't make it any more palatable.

Dale didn't know where he was. He didn't have any certainty as to his geographical location on the globe let alone anywhere else. He just knew he's been kept underground and incarcerated for what has to be several weeks. Marcus treated him as though he was a prisoner he had never met before and all the various guards and drill instructors treated him as though he was one of the sorry fucks he's been hunting. Dale knew he was a criminal in the eyes of the law but he also knew he didn't apply to society.

He had tolerated and accepted the harsh treatment thinking there was a light at the end of the tunnel, but things had gone on for too long and then they treat him like a simpering brat who'd been coddled? Then they bring his mother into it? Wrong answer and not happening.

He knew he didn't want to kill that Wade fucker but it was nice to see he'd be sore in the morning. The other thing he knew was that it was time to go. He didn't know where and he wasn't sure what he would do, but Dale Hoskins was a bitch to nobody or no thing ever again.

That's when he found out it wouldn't be easy.

The entire place was tunnels. Tunnels and more tunnels, snaking their way around, some in the incline and some declining in steep swoops. But there has to be a staircase or stairwell somewhere. An elevator? As Dale ran, he heard more and more voices coming closer.

"How the Hell do I get out of here? Jesus, how the fuck did we get in here?"

He watched for any sign of an exit as he moved desperately, but couldn't see anything. But then he felt something. He heard the shot but didn't think it was close. He was wrong. The pain worked its way through his chest as he felt the warmth of everything as he ran. He instinctively reached to where the pain spread and he felt the wet there. As he ran from the approaching enemy, he looked at his hand to see his blood run cold.

What he saw was Barney purple. He then felt another shot strike him and looked at it, just to see what was canary yellow. He didn't know why, but they were shooting at him with paint ball guns.

"Just so you know, all of you can go to Hell! I'm done and I'm gone!"

"Come on, son," Marcus said over a very loud and echoing PA system. "Why do you want to be like this?"

Dale had nothing to say to the guy, but he knew he was being watched. With both arms and middle fingers extended, Dale let that guy know exactly where he could put it. But that gesture was met with two foam green paintballs to the center of his chest.

Being taunted and played like a punk only fueled Dale's anger. "What the FUCK do you want from me? Bono, you backstabbing cocksucker, you can rest assured you're not getting one more inch of cooperation from me, so you might as well put me in lockup. Because I do not care."

"Dale, you have to know that this has all been an important part of your training. What was is no more and what is happens to be an entirely new ball game. Now pull yourself together and let me talk to you. I have something you need to know, and I have someone you need to see. Believe me when I say that things are going to amaze you."

Dale had no intention of surrendering, but he just didn't have much choice. Before Marcus completed his last sentence, more than thirty troopers closed in on him from both sides. A few had those goofy paintball guns, but there were plenty of real firearms, too. Throw in a few hefty Tazer weapons and it was fair to set he was outgunned by a large margin.

"Say, that's a nice Glock, tough guy," Dale said to one of the minions near him. "You mind if I take a look at that?"

To Dale's subtle surprise, the guy just threw it to him. "I can tell you with confidence that should you try something, you'll go down in a blaze of glory. But it is nice, isn't it? While you're checking it out, follow us and we'll take you to your boss."

"Just so you know, I was happy being my own boss for quite some time. I really don't have Jack to offer you guys and I can tell you that you don't have shit for me."

"I get it. But if you do sixty in a thirty, you can't really bitch because you got a ticket, now can you? You and your people pissed off a lot of influential people and have to answer to that. But it isn't just that. Your country wants you to do something for them."

It wasn't but a minute more and Marcus shows up. He put up his hand and said, "Before you go on with how much I suck and how I betrayed you, I need you to know what's gone on has been an important aspect of your continued training. I needed to see a breaking point and how you would cope. I don't care if you didn't like it. All of that is over now and we're moving on to our next phase of the mission training. Here. Look at this."

Marcus handed Dale a tablet showing video likely coming from some security camera.

"This is live video coming in from another part of the complex. I thought this might cheer you up."

It did cheer him up but also quite shocked him. The woman he saw in the video was one of the most amazing sights he's seen in all of his days.

Resurrection

"If you take me to see her, I'll do anything you ask of me. I won't fight you and I'll serve your cause and mission to the best of my ability."

Marcus said, "I'll accept all of that with no hesitation, but I wouldn't ask anything of you to go and see her, Dale. In fact, nobody is going to do anything to keep the two of you apart. Come on. But prepare to be amazed."

Marcus clapped Dale on the shoulder and said, "I have to tell you, tough guy. I don't know how you didn't catch on that this was an aspect of training."

"Oh, fuck you. I was arrested, incarcerated and drilled to accept that my freedom was gone and I'd be a guest of the system forevermore," Dale said. "Not only that, but just about everything about us came down in a heap. I was just in a state of shock is all. I thought I lost Chloe, my team, and my purpose for who and what I am. The purpose you gave me. Can you imagine?"

As they walked, Marcus said, "Are you kidding? When my ability to rescue children and give them power to make a difference was taken from me, I was devastated. I come from a background where we operate behind the scenes, and the law. What I was doing fulfilled the spirit of our place wonderfully. So, when my last student was set loose and made so much impact, I thought I was rocking. But they incarcerated me, placed me under house arrest and shut me down."

Dale smiled and said, "Sorry, Papa."

Marcus looked slightly surprised and said, "Dale, it wasn't you."

"Oh. I thought Cynthia was your student before me."

"She was, pal. There was one other after you were set out on your own. One you don't know about." Marcus allowed a slight shiver and said, "One that went off the rails."  
\-------------  
Chloe found herself a bit more nervous than she first assumed she would be. She knew Dale was on the way to see her for the first time since the debacle at his mentor's house with Emily. It's only been weeks, but a lot has gone on since then. The medical team, largely overseen by Dr. Picasso, had worked tirelessly to help Chloe recover from the trauma of that fateful day.

Looking at herself one more time in the mirror before Dale arrived proved to her yet again that their work was near miraculous. Her only struggle was trying to remember what went on that day after Emily came aboard the chopper with no permission. She faintly remembers being shot. The horror of feeling the slug push through her abdomen was terrible, but adrenaline and desperation largely took over after that. She was a bit fuzzy about there being a knife and a blow to the head, but everything else was dark. Dark for more than two weeks. If there was one thing that she knew with confidence, it was her allegiance to her team. Dale gave her a reason to live and even love, but Doc and the two soldiers gave her her life back in a way nobody ever would have imagined.

Looking in the mirror, it was still hard to imagine that was really her. Godfrey saved her from certain death and risked his own for her. Even the White House was involved, with using their finest transportation to rush her to the finest emergency care. But none of it would have mattered without the blood of those soldiers. And despite how things between Dale and her were tense before it all, nothing would matter without him going forward.  
\-------------  
They were there. Marcus smiled and said, "Go on in. She's expecting you."

Dale took a breath and pushed open the door. What and who he saw took that breath from him.

"My God. How could it be?"

Standing there and smiling, Chloe said, "I've missed you, Dale."

It wasn't another full instant and they rushed into one another's arms. The tears streamed down his face as he held the woman he was certain he lost forever. He pulled back just enough to gently hold her face and then kiss her. That wonderful kiss, warm and so real, made everything perfectly okay.

He pulled back just a bit more to look at her and said, "But how is this all possible? Chloe, I've always loved your eyes despite the opinions of others, but now they're the most amazing eyes I've ever seen. How is all this even possible?"

"I think I can explain a few things," Doc Picasso said as he came into view. "You see, Emily beat, stabbed, cut and pummeled her so severely as well as shot her that there was no possible way of survival without the healing power of the blood of our soldiers. What's more is that her injuries were so severe and widespread that the blood not only reconstructed those injuries but also the injuries never properly healed before."

He continued while they looked at one another. "The Chloe we all knew was largely defined by an untold amount of old injuries never treated. There were concussions and brain damage, none of which is surprising, but also skeletal and cranial issues preventing proper brain function. It was her will to survive and extraordinary intelligence that saw her through at all. The healing is why her expressions and pupils are normalized. She is in a state similar to one who has never been injured at all. There isn't even significant scarring."

"There is one thing that hasn't changed, Dale," she said.

"What's that, love?"

"Where you are in my heart."

He held her tight and said, "I was sure I lost you. I can't ever let that happen again. And I'm so sorry I was acting like such a fool."

"That wasn't your fault; it was all mine. Tell him, Doc."

"I have to say that Emily, even though her intentions were nefarious, did her a tremendous favor," Picasso said. "The extensive brain and neurological damage she suffered was causing several tumors to develop and grow. This is why she was slipping out of control and doing more unpredictable things. If it wasn't for the turnaround, she eventually would have gone out of control entirely."

"But yet I have just about my entire memory intact. I lost the one day in question, yes, but otherwise I can recall instances to early childhood. I can say I can remember a few things I'm not proud of, but it is what it is."

"I can only say I'm amazed," Dale said, still looking her over with astonishment. "But what have you been doing since getting back on your feet? The rest of the team has been in training, with the soldiers receiving training and equipment suited to their abilities, which is awesome. Godfrey is doing well in his training and he's at the top of his game. I owe him the most thanks for saving your life. They've been making me fucking miserable until now.

"How about you, Doc? Where are things regarding your special talents?"

"It seems the authorities desire I focus on medical issues with our team, although there may be moments my proclivities will prove helpful," Picasso said. "So, since I have been here, I have been assisting with our lovely Chloe and the others. But once in the field, my tasks may include seeking information not immediately forthcoming, if you understand my meaning."

Dale then seemed hesitant while looking at his girl. She then said, "If you're worried I developed a bleeding heart for those we pursue, Hunky Guy, allow me to allay your concerns. Thanks to some education and training since recovering, my unique talents have only come up a tick or two. I'm just not as scary to look at. So nobody should have a reason to call me blinky anymore. I have to say this binocular vision thing is rather handy."  
\-------------  
"Cynthia, you're sure about this."

"As sure as I have ever been about anything. As sure as I was when I married you."

The President was more than a little concerned. While it proved necessary to build the team from those incarcerated in order to protect his administration and family from the sure fallout, he didn't like the idea of his wife facing danger.

"You have to know my risks are calculated, and my presence assures our mission success is encouraged."

While it didn't seem necessary just a short time ago, these actions were essential to the security of Cynthia's past and the serious nature of the presidency. By turning the situation from an issue any political opponent could exploit into one of national security and a classified mission status, any leaks to the public about Cynthia and her past could be construed as a breach of security and an act of treason. But in order to pull off that stunt, there had to be a team and a mission.

Neither were difficult to concoct.

"You're sure the others are ready? The crazy one hasn't had much time to recover," POTUS said.

"Because of the actions of administrations well before yours, she'll be fine and everyone is more than ready," Cynthia said.

"Are you ready for this?"

He wasn't ready but would look like he was. The President didn't like anything about what was going on. Sure, he spoke some words offering a hint of understanding of what these so-called Traffic Cops were doing, but he gave no quarter and certainly no justification. They were attacking the most heinous of criminals, but that didn't mean they weren't criminals themselves. Further, they were more than just criminals. That Chloe Rhodes is still considered one of the country's most heinous serial killers. It didn't feel better to know the good doctor was similar and was never caught or suspected. The dude with the sword read too many comic books and went batshit, and those two soldiers... Well, some things just aren't supposed to be.

It was hard to judge Dale Hoskins after hearing his story. Nobody should suffer that for any reason. Besides that, he comes from a background similar to Cynthia, and so much of this was because and about her. But that's only so true, since this is about political bullshit and protecting the sanctity of the White House. Thus, these trafficking sons of bitches brought it on themselves. They committed acts so wanton and awful that it made it to the highest caliber. Besides, everyone knows corrupt politicians have been financing the endeavors since Washington was a boy and likely long before that. It was more than the right time to turn the tide and make something right.

"I am ready. And I think they're going to like what I have to say."  
\--------------  
"All right, everyone. The days of skipping rope and jumping in puddles are over. We're going back to playing with the big boys. The only difference is now Uncle Sam is on your team," Marcus said.

"Don't you mean we're now on Uncle Sam's team?" Dale asked.

"I guess that would be a bit more accurate. But we're a bit different. We do things under different parameters," Marcus said. "In short, you guys will operate much like you did before, just without the freelance demeanor. Now, you have the company to think about.

"I can tell you that we won't likely need everyone to be so fucking bloody at things. This will be about the rescue and securing of resources. Chloe, we won't need you decorating the place, as there won't be anyone to impress."

"I imagine I'll help with calming and moving victims, is that right?"

"You may very well have to get a bit dirty; it'll depend on the amount of assholes dealt with and what they're doing," Marcus said. "The thing is, the FBI and CIA both have teams rescuing children from traffickers, but their mission is to extricate and arrest. Rarely is violence an issue. But there are times when those teams cannot move because of the risks involved. That's where we come in. Uncle Sam says no more to watching children suffer due to concerns for the perpetrators and political fallout. No more."

Dale raised his hand and said, "I hate to be a dick here, but, are we going to stay down here between missions? I want to know if this is what we are."

"I'm glad you asked and the answer is no. The majority of resources retrieved go to the team, so a catch in high numbers means better living for the group."

"Right now, we're fucking broke. That sorry bastard Charles cleaned us out."

It was about then that they heard the door open behind them and see two people enter the room.

Marcus said, "Everyone, on your feet!"

The team stood, but The President motioned for everyone to sit while Cynthia let go of his hand and took a seat next to Chloe.

"Just relax, everybody. Hey, I heard your concern and I'm here to inform you about the maiden voyage for this rebuilt team."

Off the Rails

Jeremy Brunton wasn't used to being talked to in a civil tone. But when none other than Marcus Bono approached his cell, there had to be a worthwhile reason for it. Jeremy found human contact made his solitary confinement worse rather than better. While he did fine with the solitude for a while, it did wreak havoc eventually, causing him to hurt himself and collapse into a weakened state before settling into acceptance. So it's been with his confinement for the past ten years. So when Marcus showed up and actually made contact rather than merely dropping off sustenance and peering through the peephole, it was notable.

"Good afternoon, sir. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company after such a lengthy absence?"

"Jeremy, I understand you caused yourself a considerable amount of injury last year, but you seem to have recovered well. How have you been doing here since then?"

"I have learned several meditation techniques over time, so, honestly, I am rarely here at all," Jeremy said. "Might I assume you're here to assist me further with that endeavor or are you here for something else?"

"I've been instructed to come to you with a deal that would allow you out of solitary confinement. In fact, Jeremy, should you perform well, you might be able to go a free man. Does any of this pique your interest at all?"

Jeremy got up from the floor and said, "You have my attention."  
\-------------  
Marcus felt confident with the success of Dale Hoskins after he graduated from Marcus training, particularly since Cynthia did so well and then stepped out of vigilante work with her dignity and life intact. Dale worked out so well and created such a positive impact that Marcus truly felt he could make that difference at least one more time.

He made a difference, all right.

Jeremy Brunton was seventeen when Marcus discovered he was trafficked to high-end clients from around the world. Jeremy was a robust boy since he was fourteen and strong; preferred by many who find the notion of little ones distasteful and for the corrupt churches. These clients never need know Jeremy has been a hit since taken from his murdered mother at age five.

Marcus discovered a Russian crime syndicate was making exquisite profits in selling young girls and kids to whoever would pay the most. The syndicate had extensive connections with international affairs, so visiting politicians and business moguls knew who to call for the hard to find creature comforts. Lucky for Jeremy and the others in the harem, their owners made it clear they weren't in the business of selling blood and pain. You can go to Shane Black for that. So, while Jeremy wasn't horribly abused like Dale or Chloe, he still suffered the heinous dehumanization and the trappings of a slave. Worse, those who paid for him were always dripping with money, luxury and power. They spent money like it was water and they used others like they were mere commodities. Despite the history of one's childhood, a smart kid would begin wondering about that other side of the fence.

Marcus manipulated his way into the syndicate and found Jeremy quickly. He liked the kid fast because he was smart, strong and still had a spirit in him. Marcus was confident Jeremy could prove to be an immense asset to the cause once proper training was given, and he was correct on that.

To a major fault.

Almost immediately after graduating from the specialized training of Marcus Bono, Jeremy hijacked a jetliner heading for Russia, intent on shutting down the mother ship of the syndicate that once owned him. He had fun but pissed off a lot of people...

Jeremy didn't make his move for control of the plane until they were feet-dry and within minutes of their destination. He was traveling on forged documents so he wasn't fearful of being identified unless captured; a contingency he had every intention of avoiding. But he did want everyone to know the plane was in control of a small team bent on money or mayhem.

Jeremy was in disguise, traveling under the guise of a man much older. This older man would be who they would target, thus sending them off his scent. He followed one of the flight attendants and waited until she entered the cockpit. As he looked older and fragile, he was far from seen as a threat and she paid little mind. But once he pushed into the cockpit, he immediately shot the copilot and the attendant with a silenced pistol he smuggled aboard with almost no trouble.

He put the pistol to the head of the pilot and said in an accent belonging to nowhere, "Do you speak English?"

The pilot wet his pants and nodded vigorously. He then said, "What do you want?"

"I want you to inform the airport my team and I want a car with five million rubles brought to where this plane will be brought to a stop on the runway. We will be where we can see a long way, so anything other than our car will be met with the systematic annihilation of the passengers of this plane. Are you with me so far?"

Another vigorous nod.

"Good. Now, to show our good intentions, we will release twenty passengers just as soon as the plane stops and the emergency ramp is deployed. They can walk away. But the rest will remain here, and they will die one at a time until our car and money are secure. But one other thing and this is important."

"Yes?"

"Make sure the car is big enough for me, my three teammates, one other passenger, and you. Because you, my friend, will be coming along. Do you got that? Now do it, in English."

The pilot nervously conveyed the information. Jeremy remained with him until the airport was in sight, but once they saw it, it was time to make things happen. "Call the flight crew up here. All of them. I want them all in here right now. Do they speak English?"

"The only one among them that spoke English is lying right there."

"Okay. Now, I want them up here. And when they get up here, tell them what they need to know. Once they're in here, I am going back to my team. But once we touch down, they are to release the first twenty passengers down the emergency ramp. I want you to taxi the aircraft to the far side of the airport away from everything else. Got me?"

"Yes."

"Once we're down and stopped, they are to release only those first twenty. But they stay up here until we stop. I want them in here so my team isn't recognized. The anonymity protects the innocent, you see?"

There was a knock at the cockpit. Jeremy could see five nervous attendants. Jeremy tapped the pilot with his pistol. "How many more flight attendants are there?"

"There are five more."

Jeremy crowded them in and said, "Now, remember to do as I say and everyone else will be fine. Are we clear?"

As soon as he was out of the cockpit, Jeremy stepped aside and removed his aged costume. Once he looked like his regular youthful self, he resumed his seat; rather sure the frightened attendants wouldn't notice the change. His seat was the seventeenth of twenty.

As he expected, the Russian authorities don't play it easy and coy like the Americans. The car showed up and those who brought it were whisked away, but he had every confidence the extended amount of time it took to get it there allowed snipers and who knows what else to set up. Just as long as the first twenty...

There they went, down the ramp and motioned to move a certain direction. And then just as he suspected, once they were clear of the place, what has to be every soldier and cop in that region of the planet converged on the plane. There was gunfire and gas grenades galore, leaving Jeremy to hope at least two people who were on that plane were sacrificed for the greater good. There were at least two men on that plane who were a part of his prior life. He was able to plant some of the nefarious plot clues in their possession while lifting their actual credentials. That would keep them busy long enough while he used the information to narrow in on who he was really looking for.

While he didn't know exactly who that was, he was confident he would know them when he sees them. The place was mayhem and these twenty tossed out were the last of anyone's concerns. It didn't take long for Jeremy to slip into the shadows and out of sight, and then it didn't take long to take control of a vehicle.

Russia is a big, big, big place and Jeremy hoped what he was looking for wasn't too far away. Presently in Moscow, chances were what he wanted might be nearby. He looked over the information he had. It was all in Russian.

"I guess that wasn't part of the class, was it, Marcus?" But adapting and overcoming was part of the training.

Being in Moscow surely meant English wasn't going to be too hard to find. It was just a matter of finding the right person to trust.

Sure.

Jeremy drove down towards town but decided to abandon the car. It wouldn't be long and someone would be looking for it, and besides, in town offers plenty more when needed. He wanted to root out the seedier areas, where there would be drugs and prostitutes, because those are the people who won't ask too many questions but English might be on the menu. After all, Moscow is likely an international town.

So what does he do? Jeremy finds the neighborhood he's looking for and simply asks passersby as they stroll past, "Hello, do you speak English?"

That earned him plenty of suspicious and accusing stares, but eventually a young woman with blue hair stopped and said, "Who wants to know?"

"Someone lost and confused. That would be me."

"You're lost, all right. If you don't know where you are and you're looking from help from, fuck, just anyone, I'd have to say you're in some trouble." She spoke with an accent hard for him to place.

"No. But I'm looking for some. Because I don't know or read Russian, I don't know how to find what's on these papers."

She looked at the ID and said, "This isn't you. Where is he?"

"Having a bad day. I just want to know where he came from. Where did you come from?"

She studied him for a moment and said, "Why should I help you?"

"Look, I have some things to address. If you can't point me in the right direction, I'll just ask another chick with different colored hair."

"Now, there's no reason for touchy. I know what you're looking for and where it is. I'll even take you there. Well, I'll get you close, but nothing could get me to go back in there," she said. "But I get the feeling you want in for the same reason I wanted out."

"No. It isn't like that. My business isn't that sort-"

She cut him off. "I know that. I can feel it on you. And I can tell you want to right some wrongs. Why don't you tell me your side of the story while we head that way."

Jeremy didn't tell her everything and he withheld some important details, but he gave her a fair dose of the gist of his situation. Her story wasn't much different.

"But I was able to actually buy my way out. Sort of, anyway, as I'm still working for them. Just not in there."

"What did you pay and how?"

"They took my first born child. A Japanese businessman paid for several days with me when I was thirteen. Later that year I had a little girl."

Jeremy was disgusted by the story, but he had bigger fish to fry. Besides, his plans were to liberate that child, and all the others.

"What I don't get is what you plan to do. What do you have with you? Maybe a knife or pistol? Just to let you know, they're armed to the rafters in there."

He smiled. "Perfect."

It wasn't much longer and she said, "Okay, hero. Your targets are in there, past those gates. But getting past the security and the cameras will be your first big challenge. Like it or not, they know what they're doing."

He looked at her with no smile. "I do, too."

She smiled and said. "Please. My little girl's name is Jinda. He mother aches for her."

Before leaving this stranger he befriended, he said, "I'll watch for her. If I can, I'll get her to you."

Jeremy left her with a smile and entered into a moment of time that would change the course of his life forever.

Over the Top

Jeremy didn't have the first issue with getting into the compound. He simply watched the moving cameras and waited until they weren't looking where he was. Then he simply moved with their sequencing until he made it to sight of the main building. From there, he saw a groundskeeper who happened to be about his size. Once they exchanged clothing at Jeremy's insistence, the cameras didn't matter anymore. It was clear they weren't expecting intruders.

There were three major buildings, with four other smaller places likely to be bungalows or apartment units. It didn't require much to assume the purpose of the smaller places, so Jeremy felt sure his most likely targets were in those main buildings. It would simply be a matter of working out what is what. The groundskeeper outfit was limiting in scope as it wouldn't likely fit in with the nicer people inside, so Jeremy caught the attention of one of the security goons and, with some insistence, exchanged clothes yet again.

Jeremy moved with purpose, as he didn't intend on lingering. This wasn't a recon mission nor was it intent on sabotage. This was a guerrilla attack, pure and simple. He just needed to get inside and then close, and then...

But he would need some weapons and more if these inhuman bastards have something fun and creative. Hell, Jeremy would be more than happy to blow the place clear out of Russia. But as Jeremy moved with purpose, taking in the people he saw as well as the layout of the building, his plan brought itself together. He saw relatively few people, but the hour was rather late. It was a good chance his prey was feeding on its prey in those various cottages while these lackeys mop up the details.

That would be fine for the time being, since what he really wanted was some firearms and ammo, and some explosives if they were on hand, if it wasn't too much trouble. According to the blue-haired girl who helped him get to where he is, they're armed to the rafters and know what they're doing. They may very well know what they're doing for the most part, but it's apparent they've become complacent when it comes to security. Everyone is too sure of the system and nobody expects anyone might actually break in. So, where are those handy weapons?

He followed one of those now his peer, staying back and out of sight in order to avoid a confrontation out something as simple as a conversation. But luck had been in Jeremy's corner since Marcus showed up and this moment offered more of the same. The man he followed was apparently going home for the night or at least clocking out since he dropped off two pistols in a small room just inside the rear entrance to the rear-most larger building. Jeremy was able to follow and watch close, also noticing the man entered with a simple push-button combination to enter. He thought he saw the combination clearly but even if not he would easily work it out. A simple study of the fingerprint patterns would betray the purpose of the lock.

Jeremy saw the man saunter to one of the cottages, likely to enjoy something sweet for the end of the day. We'll see. Once he felt his path was clear, he moved directly to where that guy was and quickly gained access to the room. It was a veritable jackpot. After a quick scan for any other cameras or surveillance devices, Jeremy saw two cameras and one microphone so he moved quickly. His game would soon be up but he wanted all the time he could muster. But he couldn't help but to smile since he found some lovely things.

There were enough AK-47 rifles for everyone, but Jeremy just wanted one. What was better was there were 75-round drum magazines and more than he could carry. But through tethering them together he could likely carry four. There were also several 10mm Glock pistols and, let's do a dance, numerous grenades of various functions. Concussion, smoke and explosive were to be had. And just to add to the fun, there were a few old-style LAW rocket launchers, which were easily slung over a shoulder.

There was enough for a party.

But this wasn't a suicide mission. Jeremy had every intent on coming all this way to exact the maximum mayhem and carnage before simply going home to resume the function for which he was trained. This was a mission of revenge but also a thumbed nose at the high and mighty of the morally bankrupt. So, what to do?

The cottages were equidistant in their layout so he could occupy a position between them. But that traps him in to a point, particularly as people start pouring out to take on what disturbed their evening. So Jeremy occupied another car and brought it close to the cottage nearest to the main complex. He did this quietly and with the lights out because he didn't want it yet but would soon. Once it was parked he moved to the farthest cottage and took a few deep breaths.

The cottages likely have several rooms in each, as they weren't that small, but they were nothing like the multi-story main buildings likely first built for government purposes. He proceeded quickly to the furthest building with only the AK and a pistol along with a few grenades. He didn't know what he'd find after kicking in the front door but he would greet it confidently.

Kicking in that door led to curious eyes peeping out to see what the ruckus was and Jeremy shooting each between the eyes for their trouble. Only seven were down before a melee of screaming people set off and out of the building through windows and external doors. Once the party started, Jeremy moved fast, tagging and tapping everyone he could and as fast as he could. He kept the shots to a single round to the head when he could, or two to the chest. He tried avoiding those who seemed innocent and trapped there, but a couple of them did get in the way.

Rather than concern himself with the logistics of the compound, Jeremy knew he didn't have time to goof off. So rather than attempt to approach the other buildings now surely alerted, Jeremy climbed to the roof and picked them off from the crowd as they ran, tripped over one another, and hid behind frightened children. He emptied two ammo drums in this endeavor and then fired a LAW rocket at the furthest building from him.

Jeremy jumped from the building and ran for the car he stashed before, finding the people thinking they just found a getaway car. He proved them wrong with shots into each of them. From there, it was simply a matter of maximum damage to the three main buildings and then an escape if possible. He drove fast to the main buildings, running over those who were too stupid to get out of the way. Once near the closest building, he threw grenades into any window where he saw shocked expressions peering out as he circled it. He then stopped just long enough to fire a rocket through the front doors. He dropped an incendiary grenade on the front seat of the car and wedged an expended LAW tube onto the accelerator, watching the car crumple through the front doors of the second main building before exploding into flames.

All in all, things had been going well. Jeremy was succeeding well in scoring the kills he sought, but things were not meant to last. By the time the errant car exploded, Jeremy felt a heavy round punch into his left shoulder, then seeing he was taking some counter attacks from those present. He then felt a bullet graze his ear.

The round through the shoulder would require immediate attention but he still felt he could accomplish his mission and get out all right, as long as he had no more problems. He fought through the pain and fired his last LAW rocket at the primary building's second floor, wanting someone to feel it. He then worked another fresh drum into the AK and opened fire on those firing on him. While they exchanged gunfire, Jeremy scanned the area, looking for another getaway car he just couldn't see. He saw a truck well into the distance and beyond those pissed at him, but a lumbering truck wouldn't do.

And then there were two helicopters circling over him, shining bright spotlights directly at him. Then there was a mysterious round from somewhere, likely one of the choppers, piercing his left thigh. So much for no more problems.

Various people, likely both soldiers and police, soon converged on positions all around him, pointing a good amount of firearms directly at his position. The thought came to him to simply go down in a blaze of fury, giving them as much as he could before taking that one last fatal shot. But before he was so injured that he wouldn't be able tho do anything, Jeremy put his hands up in surrender, vowing to escape at the earliest opportunity.

That opportunity wouldn't come until Marcus offered a deal all those many years later.  
\---------------  
The pain and anguish of being taken by his captors really sucked. It seemed as though somebody was really pissed off.

"I am going to ask you nicely one more time, you dog," a particularly mean-spirited man with a shiny set of brass knuckles said through clenched teeth. "If you do not tell me what I want to know the easy way, you certainly will the hard way."

"Let me see if I can get something from him."

Jeremy looked through his swollen eyes to see a familiar face. And familiar blue hair.

"Hello there. I have to admit I wasn't able to find your daughter. But if I could just get out of here and-"

"Just shut up, you American pig," she said. "I want you to know you caused me a great deal of trouble. I will personally have to answer for a lot of the damage you caused."

"Why, that's so sad. But you were the one who brought me here knowing my intentions, so my sympathy isn't flowing over."

"You were underestimated. You were much underestimated and then there were fools who don't know their jobs. But you did a few things you don't realize and you, and many others, are going to pay. For instance, you created an international incident from which you cannot escape. My whiny hero, you killed people today who were major influences within the realm of politics in several different countries. This is Moscow, where everyone is influential. You have been identified, Jeremy Brunton, and after you face trial for your crimes, you'll spend the remainder of your days in solitary confinement in a Siberian prison."

The weight of the issue was falling over Jeremy. He no longer had anything to say.  
\--------------  
Jeremy faced trial. Jeremy went to prison in solitary confinement in a Siberian prison. Jeremy remained there for two years before being spoken to by someone who wasn't merely insulting or threatening him.

"Hello, Jeremy."

Jeremy got up from the floor to see the face of a familiar voice.

"Oh, Jesus. Marcus, is that you?"

"Yes, it's me. Jeremy, I have some good news and I have some bad news. The good news is that you are leaving this place and returning to the United States. The bad news is that you'll remain incarcerated and in solitary there. I couldn't do anything about that. If it makes you feel any better, I've been in prison the last two years and will remain on house arrest for who knows how long. My career is over thanks to what you did here."

"I did what I had to do."

"I think so and I support your decision. I'm proud of you for what you did. I think your first mission was a resounding success. But you were caught and you pissed off a lot of very important people. The fallout is beyond our control. We had to push major favors in order to extradite you to America but the agreement is your sentence remains unchanged. I'm sorry about that. I truly felt you had a promising career ahead of you."

Marcus continued, saying, "I have to go now and I don't know when I'll see you again, if ever. Goodbye, Jeremy."

It went as Marcus described. Jeremy was brought from Siberia to an undisclosed location which he was told was somewhere in the USA. But it didn't really matter. The solitary confinement continued as promised.

It got to Jeremy. There were times it was too much and he brought himself harm. He tried breaking his own neck twice. He even tried ripping out his own throat. All to no avail. But he eventually learned to, as they say, transcend the situation and leave out on his own via meditation.  
Jeremy went on so many amazing missions and trips in his mind. He solved crimes and freed children. He traveled the solar system and the universe. He mapped the entire surface of Mars and the depths of every ocean. Jeremy Brunton discovered a way to shed the world he used to live in and discovered worlds never seen by anyone else.

And then, one day, Marcus Bono showed up and offered him something of incredible importance. It certainly caught his attention. 
Renewed Interests

While bringing Jeremy up to speed with the current events, Marcus and a team of assistants gently helped Jeremy cope with being out of his cell and other than alone. Jeremy was too thin and his body was bent due to sitting for hours on the floor, but he actually seemed in good spirits and clear of mind. That he was clear-headed was no surprise since he's been meditating nearly all day and every day. In fact, Jeremy Brunton has remained in his mind almost exclusively for nearly three years.

Marcus wanted to take advantage of that. In fact, there are several factors coming together when it comes to tactical advantages within the Traffic Cops team and the unique situation of Jeremy's internal mind. Marcus had just a few assumptions to go on and some rather fuzzy math offering little in terms of certainty, but if he was correct in his assumptions, Jeremy could prove to be an extraordinary addition to the team. On a personal note, it felt so much better to have Jeremy out of incarceration. The young man had so much promise and could have made so many positive differences if his maiden mission had not destroyed and exposed the darker side of numerous Russian leaders and their privileged families.

As far as Marcus was concerned, catching high-echelon sexual predators in the act would benefit the people they influence, but it seemed some aspects of socialism would prefer fewer social eyes on their personal proclivities. Boo hoo. Regardless of opinions, the actions of Jeremy and his heavy-handed methods caused numerous tensions between Russia and a United States harboring few sympathies for the shameless and morally bankrupt. That meant there would be casualties on the American side, so Marcus and Jeremy took the fall. Further, Russian leaders demanded Jeremy rot alone or they would expose the dirtier side of several American leaders and their hobbies. The outcome of that should be obvious, since Karma is a bitch.

But that was then and this is now. At least in America, several leaders in position then have been replaced and Russian authorities who aren't so tolerant of predatory hobbies have tightened the screws on those who aren't so personally sure. Thus, the situation of today, minus the superiority of political power, calls for those who can do a job few could ever approach.

"Jeremy, a significant player named Charles Frederickson has boosted his game and the subsequent influence of what he does," Marcus said.

"Because of his incessant need to turn the vulnerable of humanity into the commodities bought and sold by those with power, the children of the world who aren't heavily protected are at risk unlike ever before. Hey, this asshole has declared war on the children of our kind. I want him and his minions out of the picture."

"That sounds major, Marcus. It sounds like you need a rather big army to fight this, if you ask me," Jeremy said. "I'm happy to step in, but what can one guy do?"

"We feel this guy is akin to a master vampire. If we can crush his level of influence, much of the influence he supports should crumble under the lack of leadership and loss of motivation."

Jeremy wasn't convinced. "Come on. I haven't done shit but attack myself since the Russian incident, so what the hell can I offer this effort? Am I just a bullet catcher here? Is this the way of clearing my cell for someone new?"

"For Christ's sake, no. There have been a series of developments attracting a lot of attention as of late. The trainee I had before you had garnered some celebrity status. His team and he are in an excellent position to pursue Frederickson, but I suspect they could use someone like you. That is, after you've been retrained and indoctrinated into the new life and ways of doing things. Have you ever heard the name Chloe Rhodes?"

"For some reason the name rings a bell, but you must know I've been out of the net for some time. I don't even know who the President is these days," Jeremy said.

"You might very well meet the President, as he's integral to this mission," Marcus said. "But there's a reason the name Chloe Rhodes sounds familiar."

After explaining to Jeremy who Chloe is and was, Jeremy said, "Somebody like that is one of your better people and I get life in solitary? Really? So, what does super nutcase have to do with me?"

A woman's voice spoke up from behind the two men. "I'll be a significant part of your life during training. If I don't like you, I get to do with you whatever I like until I do like you."

Jeremy turned around to see one of the most strikingly beautiful women he's ever seen. "You're the one who likes to run around in a human skin suit?" He winked and said, "What's wrong with the skin you're in?"

"Oh, I just might like this one, Marcus. He has spirit. But does he get squeamish? I can't have squeamish."

"That's for you to find out. Jeremy, Miss Chloe here is going to assist you in the first stages of your training. The desire is you'll work with the team soon and become a valuable part of that team. But Chloe will determine if, when and where you'll fit in. Just so you know, Chloe likes to make a statement."  
\-------------  
Despite the confidence she displayed for Marcus and this bony Jeremy, Chloe was uncertain about her role in the training of this Jeremy. But Marcus was sure that if things went the way he said they should, Jeremy would prove to be an amazing asset to the team and the mission.

Dale had his misgivings, too. "Marcus, it took me some time to get this team to where and how it is. Now that we have the, well, right stuff, why throw something else into the mix? If we were desperate, okay, but I haven't seen want for much. What does he have to offer we don't already have? He doesn't even have the benefit of experience, does he? Oh, and I'm not doubting you. I want to know what you're not telling me."

Marcus smiled. "I'm keeping some cards close because I don't know if they're worth anything. But I know I once poured my heart and soul into Jeremy and felt he had tremendous promise. He just bit off more than he could chew and choked. I never thought it was fair he was denied a second chance and dealt such a harsh penalty."

"This is a tough sport."

"It is. But walk through something with me. Where would you and your team be without a few key ingredients?"

Both men looked at one another and smiled.

Chloe, after allowing them their moments and male bonding, said, "You want me to break him, don't you? You want him scourged."

"No, not exactly. I don't want anyone tortured. He's been tortured enough. But there are abilities he has developed through being alone so much. Look, he was veritably tearing himself to pieces for a long time, losing his mind. But then he started residing in his mind, disappearing into long trances for longer and longer periods. So, he meditates for long periods of time and is still doing it."

"So, you want to tax that brain and then infuse it with a transfusion from Ayers and Sands," Dale said. "What do you think that might accomplish? A super brain or even unique abilities?"

"I don't know, but think about it. You were revived after drowning and came out with greater stamina and strength. The same with Godfrey. Jesus, look at what their blood did to her. I just think we should wear him down some and try it, just to see where we end up," Marcus said. "We might be surprised."

"That's true," Chloe said. "But someone might tell you to watch what you wish for."  
\-------------  
Jeremy couldn't tell exactly what it was they were getting at in the other room, but he knew it was about him. As he meditated, he found he could expand his field of perception as long as he had some knowledge of what was around him. So, while he couldn't determine their actual intent, he could decipher it was about him and, no, it wasn't something against him. In fact, Marcus has high hopes. But...for...?

He reached elsewhere, working out what was in this bizarre dungeon and then beyond it. There were a lot of blanks, but he did work out a couple things. They were near Quantico, for instance. Jeremy wasn't sure why he knew this, but his mind's eye saw at least that much.

There was a time when he thought his visions were figments of his imagination but had that disproved. He knew his visions harbored some fact when his mind's eye saw something verified on the rare occasion he was removed from his cell, often for medical treatment. He had taken to hurting himself not because of insanity (or, at least he didn't think so) but because he could control his pain perception and then leave the cell long enough to expand his reach. What was fascinating was that Marcus worked much of this out. But how?

No! Marcus didn't figure out what Jeremy had been doing, but assumed the talent was there and could be developed. It didn't seem surprising as the discipline of remote viewing took off for a while, during Marcus' heyday, and may still be utilized. What was most important was that Jeremy wasn't brought in for some purpose harmful to him.

This Chloe was a tough one to read. Something traumatic had recently happened, of that he was sure, but yet he could find no trace of evidence. How could that...

Is that there intent? Do they have a way to somehow renew him? Is there some manner of experimental treatment? He couldn't find anything on that in specifics, so he tried reaching out to the others on this super team. There was Marcus' prior trainee, Dale, who harbored many ghosts and demons. There was also... a swordsman. He's a dick. But he also received some treatment.

There is this twisted but friendly doctor named Picasso. He seems friendly but certainly has some Hannibal Lecter dark side. There is a goodness in him but a psychopathic bent for pursuing those who hurt others, particularly women. Well, good for him. It seems obvious why he fits in. But there are others...

There are two soldiers who... the images and signals he's getting from them are far more bizarre and unusual than anything Jeremy has pressed on before. Jeremy sees they're a constant amongst the other members so they do apply, but they're so...opaque. Yet they're strong in this thing Marcus wants, for whatever reason.

It would be sure to make itself known soon. What mattered most was being out of that cell. Being with others and not being an animal they refused to put down. What matters is having the chance to have a purpose yet again.  
\---------------  
"Today is an exciting day for both of us, Jeremy," Chloe said. "We get to go outside today. I haven't been out of here since we first arrived."

"I would imagine you know the area fairly well, but I'm just guessing."

"You are guessing. I have no idea where we are. This could be under Beijing for all I know."

Jeremy smiled and said, "Actually, I can tell you know the area somewhat. I understand your confusion since you've been stuck down here and were brought in while recovering, but I can tell you we're near Quantico. It only makes sense since Marcus prefers Virginia so much."

"How do you know that?" she asked.

He shook his head and then said, "I'm not exactly sure and I could be wrong. This might be Beijing or Siberia for all I know. But I'll bet you a handshake that we're under some portion of Quantico."

"A handshake, huh?"

"We don't have much else. But why do we get to go outside?"

"We're both being put to the test, to be honest. I don't know what the mission is yet, but they want to make sure we are what we used to be, at least," she said. "It wasn't that long ago that I would do some dramatic things but could prove handy. The thing is, some procedures may have left me other than what I was. I don't even know, to be honest with you. But overall, you need to build up your strength and put on some weight. We need to be mission ready soon."

"Do you know what it is we're getting into?" Jeremy asked.

She smiled and said, "History."
Hitting Home

"Your mission is simple," Marcus said. "All I'm asking for in this mission is a recon of local influences of Charles Frederickson and who might be involved. Just get in close and see what you can, make an assessment and then get back here. Don't take any stupid risks and, for the love of all that is good in the world, do not get caught or exposed."

He looked at Chloe and said, "Your appearance is different since the last time you've been up top, so the chance of being recognized is minimal. This should allow you to get close to whatever you might find, but don't get too close. You're still pretty, so that puts you at risk."

"You are the charmer, aren't you?"

Marcus didn't respond to that but looked at Jeremy and said, "Your part in this is to get some fresh air and build up some strength. Get something to eat. But keep your eyes and mind open to anything going on around you. And keep your eyes on the ball. What we're doing here is too important to fuck up. If we're going to do this, it will take all of us."

"We won't let you down. I've done that once and it sucked. A lot," Jeremy said.

"I'm glad to hear it. Now remember, we're just after some information. As far as Charles Frederickson is concerned, the Traffic Cops team is finished and over. Their team has been out of the net long enough for him to assume they're either incarcerated or just broken apart. The last thing I want is some hint the team regrouped. Who knows what he's capable of."  
\----------------  
Business has been booming for the Charles Black Empire. Once everyone was convinced those fucking vigilantes were gone, entrepreneurs and patrons were able to join hands and forces like never before.

While the old man once concentrated his efforts on NYC (admittedly, a major international hub with numerous clients) and the surrounding region, Charles was able to utilize today's technology to reach across the nation and work with his dozens of working locations across the country, major and minor, in real time. These locations were virtually flooded with new blood for the ravenous consumers who only recently felt it safe to traverse the murky waters of their liking.

The so-called Traffic Cops and their few copycats made it difficult for hard-working traffickers to get the fresh meat into the hands and laps of hard-working customers and patrons who earned their right to consume and devour the prey of their choice. Sure, the whiners of the world will say what they will, but a man should be able to vent his frustrations on a seven-year-old once in a while. It's simply good for the constitution of a man who tolerates so much bullshit in the world. And a bike gang partying for the leader's birthday should be able to chase and scourge and then kill the occasional fourteen-year-old girl for their pleasure, particularly if they can recuperate for an hour and do the same to her little sister forced to watch and wait. Those things just eliminate the need for psych drugs designed for depression.

We're building a healthier world, one sorry, bratty shit at a time.

Charles found it humorous how there were those 'speaking out' against his brand of luxury and pleasure. Sure, not everyone enjoys the occasional cheeseburger, but burger joints and fast food are doing fine. Nobody readily admits to loving porn, but the sales numbers don't lie. So, if what Charles and his ilk bring to the table is so awful, then why is human and sex trafficking and child prostitution vying for the second most profitable and widespread organized crime, anywhere. Who is kidding who here?

While he recognizes this isn't something that should be open and widespread like porn (sorry about the pun), but humanity is humanity, like it or not. And the vulnerable prey never like their side of the field, but the predators always, always, always do, and they always will. The law is a ruse and, because of his prior day job, nobody knows that better than him. So, Charles is more than ready to pursue the future for which he was groomed.  
\------------  
Chloe couldn't help but notice how things were so much different from what they were before her miraculous recovery. It was as though she was once victim to some drug or other force keeping her from being herself, but yet that was herself. So, this new version of Chloe Rhodes wasn't sure what to make of the phenomenon. Her eyes being regulated certainly helped a lot and it was better not suffering from the tumors and skull damage.

She knew that if the blood of Ayers and Sands did what it did for her and the others, there was no telling what it might do for the scrawny, twitchy Jeremy. Marcus was right in that he needed to get something to eat.

"So, you were right about where we are located," Chloe said. "How were you able to work that out?"

"Because I couldn't leave my cell, I worked out a way to do so that couldn't be stopped. I was meditating more and more and reaching out with my mind's eye. I thought it was just internalizing and fantasy, but it came to be I was really seeing more," Jeremy said.

"That's a tremendous ability," she said. "Why don't you see something fat and greasy to chow down on? When's the last time you had a cheeseburger?"

"Wow. I couldn't say. But it does sound like a good idea, doesn't it?" He asked. "Does Hardee's still make awesome burgers?"

"I have no idea, but I know Denny's makes good burgers. They make all kinds of good stuff," Chloe said.

"Okay. Denny's it is. Then after that we'll see what we can feel out in the neighborhood. Just from being out here, I can tell you this Charles Frederickson isn't too far away. But I can also tell you that it feels good to be free," he said. "I thought I would die in prison."

The two of them sat down in Denny's, eating their fill and enjoying the atmosphere. Jeremy ordered a standard cheeseburger and chili-cheese fries along with a coke while Chloe ordered a chicken platter complete with rice and a Caesar salad. She even noticed how Denny's felt somehow...not different or not the same, but renewed. Everything was just that. Renewed. But she kept her eyes on the ball.

"You said before that Frederickson isn't far away. How can you be sure of that?"

"I don't know that, but I know I do know I can get a field of vision through other eyes, at least to a point," he said through some fries. "I can't read minds and I can't predict the future, but I can sort of see through those around me. So, while I can't tell who it is or if they're even in here in the Denny's, someone near us right now is familiar with the man. I can't read the mind, but I can glimpse some of what they see, or maybe even perceive. I'm really not sure."

Jeremy enjoyed another bite of the burger and then said, "I don't know much about this or why I developed the abilities; perhaps it's something in everyone and we just don't know it. But I was good enough to work out why Marcus gave me any recent thought."

"I guess you can't read minds," she said. "Because he confided in me and in Dale that a day didn't go by that he didn't think about you, and that he finds this development a wondrous turn of events."

Jeremy smiled and said, "Well, that's good to know. Now if I could just pin down who this fucker is nearby."

Jeremy went quiet. Chloe watched him as he seemed to drift off in a daydream, but then asked, "What are you trying to do?"

"I'm actually trying to triangulate what this guy sees compared to what's around us here. If I can get a bead on what he has in front of him, I might be able to narrow him down. I know we can't engage, but if we can just get some way to identify..."

Jeremy drifted from his conversation as something else caught his attention, and then he said, "Chloe, this guy just walked in here. Into this Denny's."

Being nonchalant, Chloe glanced in the direction of the rather unassuming man who entered the restaurant while engrossed in something on his smart phone. She saw him barely acknowledge the seater but indicate he was dining alone by raising his index finger.

"Are all the missions this easy for you guys? My first one ruined me from the start," Jeremy said.

"You bit off more than you could chew, hot shot," she said as she looked back to her plate. "But I know the story and I don't blame you. Now that we know who you pinged on, what else can you tell me?"

"Not much of anything. I was able to pick out that he is involved with Frederickson because he has the man in mind and is looking at something related to him on that phone. But this is where my talents run dry."

"Then this is where mine pick up." Chloe pulled her phone and called Marcus. Remaining with the casual and careless look, she said, "Hey there. It seems the mission came to us. Jeremy and I are in Denny's, trying to put some weight on him, when he pinged on someone related to chuckles."

Over the phone, Marcus said, "That's great. Now, whatever you do, don't spook him. But try to stay close and find out what you can. License plate number and so on. If you can manage, snap a pic of him and send it to me."

That was done with no trouble. The man was still engrossed with whatever it was he was doing on the phone.

"Okay, I don't know who he is quite yet but we'll run his photo through the recognition program and see if we can come up with something," Marcus said. "Damn. I really just thought I was sending you two out to get a bite and take in some air. But this is fantastic news. I believe Frederickson is operating within the region somewhere, but I don't know where. I can only hope Jeremy can come up with something else."

"The boss man wants to know if you can zero in on Charlie through that pinhead."

Jeremy pushed away an empty plate and just sat, looking sated. He then glanced in the general direction of the pinhead in question through a glazed expression. Jeremy appeared to go into a trance of sorts for a good full minute before looking towards Chloe.

"I can't say with absolute certainty, Chloe, but I think Charles Frederickson is in the heart of Washington, D.C. I mean right near the heart of town. There is an old warehouse or something being reconstructed along Highway 50, near some little road with a place called Louis' Restaurant. There are warehouses in that area. This Charlie guy is down around there."

"Did you get that, Marcus? That's your girl's domain, isn't it?"

"Damn right it is. You two just keep tabs on that guy, at least until you can get some idea of who he is," Marcus said. "I'm going to let a few people at the White House know that Charles Frederickson might be near their vicinity. Damn, but it would be sweet to nail that shit without a fight."

"He might still put up a fight even though he's where he is, you know," Chloe said.

"Yeah, but it would be in D.C., so I wouldn't give a shit. Oh, and see if you can get Jeremy to eat another meal if he wants one. I have plans for him when he gets back."

"Oh, do you?"

"I needed some of my suspicions confirmed before we acted on anything, but with him pinging like he is," Marcus said, "I think he's ready to meet with Ayers and Sands."

"But we haven't confirmed a single thing yet," Chloe said, suddenly uncomfortable with talking about Jeremy while he was right there.

"I'm not worried about that yet. I think we will. Just get what you can on that minion in there." Marcus hung up.

She looked at Jeremy and said, "Are you still hungry? The boss wants you to eat to your content."

"Will it hurt, what they want me to do? Do I have risks?"

She reached across and patted his wrist. "It's just a transfusion, Jeremy. There are two super soldiers on our team whose blood has unique healing and enhancing properties. If it wasn't for their blood, several of us would be dead, particularly me. I can tell you that what they went through to get that blood hurt. They were the only survivors of numerous volunteers who signed up for some experimental program. Real cloak and dagger shit."

"Marcus wants me enhanced. I hope he knows what he's doing."

She just shrugged and pushed the menu towards him, but she knew Marcus had no idea of what to expect.

The Gauntlet

"Thanks for the head's up," Cynthia said. "I have a few people here in the house I can send over there. But Marcus?"

"Yes, Madame Hodges?"

"What sort of intelligence are you employing to determine this information? What manner of surveillance are you using to know Chucky is anywhere in particular? My husband wants to know."

"Well, if either of you have the opportunity to visit us down here in the Hollows, I'll be sure to satisfy your curiosity. But I can tell you this has to do with the talents of my people," Marcus said.

"He says he's more than aware of the talents of your people. He would rather they remain under wraps while here in the city," she said.

"We're simply performing some surveillance missions, you know, so the team can get their legs back and regain some strength. Chloe is helping Jeremy get used to the extra space."

"Well, regardless of what this guy says, I'm looking forward to getting in there to stretch out a little. But until then, we'll dispatch a few people to take a look around. Our neighborhood watch program is top notch, as I'm told," Cynthia said.

"Thank you, my dear. And since its Chloe who I have out there in charge of things, I'm sure all is well."

"Hmmmm," was her reply before hanging up.

Since it seemed that side of the house was in order, Marcus moved his side along. He called Chloe and made it clear it was time to come home.

"Okee dokie, boss man, but Jeremy just found out the Swiss mushroom burger just might be a new favorite," Chloe said. "Once we're done eating like hogs on your dime, we'll be right there."

"Fair enough. But once you're here, Jeremy needs to prepare for a change in life."  
\-------------  
"Now," Marcus said. "I'm not telling you that you have to do this, Jeremy. And I'm not going to state that your choice is this or back to solitary. This is as voluntary as it gets. But I am saying that I want you to choose this course of action. What we've seen in the others who have received their blood is beyond explanation. Dale was dead for nearly an hour after drowning and came back with extraordinary stamina. Chloe was scourged and died, but came back entirely renewed. Thomas Godfrey never died but would have without their blood. Today, they are all better for it."

"But do I have to be beaten near to death for this to work?" Jeremy asked. "I don't mean to sound like a bitch, but, come on."

Ayers stepped forward with a smile and said, "No, my young friend. None of that is necessary. What will happen is they'll simply run the three of us, you, Sands and I, so that our circulatory systems are conjoined. We'll simply share our blood together for some time. The only pain is the momentary pinch of the needle."

"But with you," Marcus said, "is I ask you reach your deepest level of meditation while the process takes place. Because their blood has been modified to elevate rejuvenation and healing, we suspect your unique developments may improve dramatically. But look, these are just suspicions. Nothing may come out of this at all. Overall, you're in no danger."

"Okay, then," Jeremy said. "Let's get this party started."  
\------------------  
Charles thought it seemed like devilish fun to traipse around Washington, D.C. and do his thing at his leisure. Prostitution and other petty crimes have been as much a part of Washington as political corruption. There's such a poor and crime-ridden aspect to the city along with the rich and powerful. The place was truly a microcosm of the country it represented. So, if the elected officials are happiest when fucking the vulnerable straight up the ass, Charles was more than happy to present them for a price.

But it did seem someone somewhere nearby was taking exception. Because of his extensive amount of time in the FBI, Charles knew what it was like to watch and be watched. Even though this stretch of Highway 50 is strewn with the lesser rungs of humanity, it seemed someone took notice that Charles was around.

"Now, how did you guys find that out?" he mumbled under his breath as he was suddenly struck with the need to make some space between him and those who are too curious.

He thought he had his ducks in a row but it seemed somebody noticed him when he didn't want noticing. And then they told two friends and so on. Although he couldn't be sure, Charles assumed those he saw were more likely to be Secret Service than his former compatriots of the Bureau, so this little caper just might be from the top.

"Perhaps the Hodges family took things a bit personally," he muttered as he wondered how to best escape the vicinity.

Unfortunately, his wheels were not near enough for his tastes. He had been on foot while inspecting a few temporary points of interest, with one being the reconstruction of an old factory near Fenwick Avenue. Other than the little restaurant and the uninteresting fish house along the corridor, there wasn't much else to garner any interest in the area, but the unassuming old buildings were thought to be a potential for something profitable in the short term. You know, for those who like it scary and dirty and where nobody would notice or care about the screaming. But somebody noticed and somebody cares. The sorry fucks.

But it seems these guys aren't ready to pounce just yet. While Charles is scrambling around and wide-eyed like a cornered rabbit, they're not moving in. They had their chance to swoop in and just take him...

They could take him, but they know there's so much more to him. This isn't about Charles Frederickson, rogue FBI agent or criminal; this is about Charles Black, inheritor of the infamous Shane Black enterprise and scourge of the human race. They don't want the goofy man with skinny legs and perpetually bad hair; they are after the leader of a trafficking ring that has been among the most ambitious in history.

That isn't good. But yet, it is. Because between the two sides, who is the most willing to bring the mayhem to reach their goals...  
\----------------  
"Now remember, Jeremy. While the blood of you three converges and mingles, find those deepest corners in your mind's eye. Go deep in meditation and become a part of everything that everything is..."

At first the sensation was as it always is, with a deepening and broadening of consciousness, but the familiarity soon gave way to experiences so new to Jeremy. At first he felt reticent and unsure, but the cosmos he entered all anew was unlike anything he'd ever imagined in his wildest dreams. His reality, his existence, his world and universe were but mere points of reality amongst so many, like mere stars in a miasma of galaxies. And then the ability to navigate these seemed so simple, so natural, and so obvious.

This is what Jeremy always was and was always meant to be. His prior experiences in that prior existence was a mere series of steps necessary to prepare him for his place in the universe. It was so easy, so natural, to glide along through the worlds of this plane, seeing the various creatures living out their existence in whatever way they can, and then transcend to other planes of reality and traverse the span of all that is within the multi-verses interwoven into a grander actuality of all.

The former world and existence he once knew was now so insignificant and inconsequential compared to the everything of all that is, but he knew he felt a tug of concern for it. After all, so long ago (as time means nothing to Jeremy now) that pinpoint of reality was his everything even though he was allowed but a mere pinpoint of it. So, there are a few things to do within that former world, as there are a few things he could do to help. That plane of existence knows so much suffering and woe, and while their kind brings it upon themselves with fervor, the one once known as Jeremy should alleviate some of the pain, if but by a little.

But should he? Perhaps their kind needs their pain and anguish. Why, what is it there for, in such abundance, if not for some higher purpose? But then, the one once known as Jeremy has not always attuned to all higher purpose. What was once Jeremy knew much suffering long ago.  
\-----------------  
Charles didn't want to just start shooting or think he could take a hostage. That would be a brilliant way to bring the games to a quick halt. After all, a simple glance revealed there were shooters on rooftops.

But if any of these yahoos had it in mind that he would merely allow them to close in and arrest him without incident, they were a bit naive for the job. So, it just so happened that within a few steps of Charles rounding the corner back onto Highway 50, someone who was likely a supervisor to the construction pulled over and stepped out of his running Crown Victoria.

Charles had nothing more to do than push the man away and then clamor in, pull it into drive and simply ease the car into traffic. Charles quickly moved the car into traffic and pushed his way to the next light. He watched and bullied his way through to the left in order to round the block in order to turn around and move east on 50 rather than venture further into D.C.

"So, are you yahoos going to shoot out my tires? Take out the windshield, or maybe the radiator? Bring it, boys and girls! Let's have some fun."

But as he sped east, there was nothing more than two police cruisers giving chase and losing him in the chronically heavy traffic.

Over a radio, Officer Paulson said, "Mr. President. He took the bait."  
\--------------  
"Are you two doing okay?" Marcus asked of the two super soldiers.

Ayers looked at Sands and said, "I don't know about you, but I feel perfectly fine. I get a charge when my blood is mingled with yours. But don't think I'm in love or anything."

Sands smiled and said, "Yeah, I'm good to go. What about your skinny dude? Did this turn out like you wanted?"

Marcus hesitated to answer, but then said, "I don't know what happened. But I can tell you that he hasn't reached consciousness yet, but we don't know why not."

"What's the deal?"

"The thing is, neuroimaging, MRI scans and CT scans are giving readings nobody has ever seen before. He's just lying there, but he ought to be more than awake. In fact, this opened his brain capacity in ways nobody, and I mean nobody, has ever seen before. I don't know what we did."

"Mr. Bono? The patient has reached consciousness and is now awake and alert," a medical assistant said. "He's asking for you."

"Okay. Thank you."

"But sir, you need to know something. The patient isn't...well...isn't...like anything I've seen before. What did you do?"

Marcus blinked.  
\--------------  
Charles had to smile a bit. It didn't take much for him to escape from the buffoons chasing him. He moved fast until he crossed the Chesapeake Bay Bridge, and from there he dumped the stolen car and quickly regained another from some old lady driving a rather sporty Impala.

Immediately after getting that, Charles moved west until reaching Highway 301 South, which he followed past Fort AP Hill Army Base until reaching I-95 about an hour north of Richmond, Virginia.

He was away but not too far away. D.C. is perhaps another ninety minutes north, but he didn't need to go back there right away.

"What to do, what to do?" He mumbled to himself.

Since the demise of the vigilante group, it seemed official channels picked up where those others left off. While official channels won't likely commit huge, bloody acts of murder to make their statement, they do possess some more advanced resources. He couldn't help but to second guess his decision to involve the First Lady, but it was certainly fun at the time and put those Traffic Cops through their paces. In fact, it got rid of them, killing the two kooky bitches and seeing the rest arrested by the Secret Service, who was pissed when they got there.

Charles had to figure he would simply have to operate from behind the scenes, from the comfort of his office. It could be worse. His phone rang.

"Yes?"

"Sir, are you all right? I received reports you were chased out of Washington."

"Yes, it seems I have few allies there. But I'm just fine, although my celebrity status doesn't help my desire for the public."

"If it's acceptable to you, sir, we could operate with tremendous efficiency while you govern from behind the scenes."

"Yes, and we'll likely do things in that fashion soon, but I have a few points to make and some understanding to convey."

Quiet Serenity

When Marcus entered Jeremy's room, what he saw was subtly surprising.

"Hello Marcus. It seems your experiment was a success. I feel renewed."

Jeremy didn't look any different, but yet he did. He was still very slender but he appeared quite strong. He stood with exquisite posture and confidence, with utterly smooth skin, free of any blemish, including the wounds where the transfusion needles entered the skin.

Not wanting to seem daunted, Marcus entered easily and said, "So it would seem. But how do you feel?"

"How do I feel? I'm not sure, since I feel so a part of everything. Marcus, I believe your experiment brought upon a result you did not anticipate," Jeremy said. Even his voice resonated, as though emanating from a cavernous space.

"How so?"

"The continual meditation I conducted while incarcerated developed several glands, including the pineal gland. Particularly that gland, but the strength of the mind grew over time. Because it received such rich, nutritive blood during your experiment, it grew even more and regenerated at a geometric rate. Well, since this gland harbors such connection to the dark energy of the universe, which is everywhere I have learned, I now possess this connection to all it pervades. All if it. Thus, it seems a misnomer to discuss how I feel."

Marcus didn't know what to think. Jeremy didn't seem threatening and to be so would be surprising, but the eyes...

Before Marcus entered the room, the medical assistant told him to look at Jeremy's eyes.

"Marcus, I frightened your assistant. It seems my eyes are not the dull gray they were before. Tell me what you see."

Marcus felt sure he could only be open and honest with this individual. "Jeremy, in your eyes I see the depths of space."

Jeremy looked directly at Marcus when he responded, slightly unnerving the man. "What do you mean by that?"

Jeremy then stepped into the restroom and looked at himself in the mirror. He examined his appearance, scrutinizing the changes and differences from what he was before. He then looked to Marcus and the assistant and smiled.

"I do see what you mean, although I have no proper explanation. But rest assured; I'm still the same Jeremy Brunton I've always been. Just a bit more, shall we say, diverse in sophistication and understanding. There's one other thing."

"Yes, Jeremy?"

"It's about time we address the nature of the mission. I would like to resolve the issues before us, as I will soon have other considerations to pursue. If you're wondering if I intend to stay, the answer is certainly no. But I may return when needed."

"Jeremy, could we discuss this?"

Jeremy looked at him with huge starry eyes and a smile, and said, "I couldn't imagine the point of that."  
\-------------  
"Hey, we're ready to do what we do," Dale said. "Everyone seems to be in high gear and healed up, so we're just waiting on you guys. If I was in fucking charge like I should be, I'd have my hands full with more to do than chat with you."

"I get it. But keep in mind that you overstepped your goddamned bounds more than once, which is why you're back under my watch. But it's more than that and we both know it. Everyone up to the White House got involved and things are what they are," Marcus said. "But I think things might actually be a bit better."

"Oh. How so?"

"You won't have to watch over your shoulder for the authorities when your girl pilots a chopper along traffic at fifteen feet over the sidewalk. Beyond that, we now have resources available we didn't before."

"I lost all my money, if you recall."

"Chucky took it, so you might be able to retrieve it. The bosses say it's yours, so we just have to tie those knots. But for right now, we have bigger fish to fry. For right now, we're about to move in and crush these fuckers. So I would say get the team suited up and ready to rumble."

"Hey, no reason to say it twice. I'll get the gang rounded up and we'll see you in the meeting room. Is there anything special I should know?" Dale asked.

"Yes, you'll have one more addition to the team."

"Jeremy, if I'm right."

"Yes, that's right. But I don't know what that exactly means."

Dale's expression was telling.

"You see, we exposed Jeremy to the blood of the two boys, and the results were unexpected."

Dale frowned and asked, "What does that mean?"

"What that means is we don't know what happened. The scans are inconclusive and Jeremy's transformation was surprising."

"Is this something like what happened to Chloe? Her transformation, as you call it, was extraordinary. But she was badly broken. She was dead. I was dead. But Godfrey was not and his recovery seems relatively unremarkable. So, what could be with Jeremy? Did he get fat or something?"

Marcus laughed and said, "No, it isn't that. But Jeremy has been actively developing his mind through meditation and other mental and cerebral exercises, ending with him developed beyond the norm."

"Does he have a big, bulbous alien head with pulsating veins and he talks with his mouth closed?"

"He doesn't look that way but I think you're getting closer. We'll know more during the mission he desires to get under way, but things are mysterious right now," Marcus said.

"Well, if he's on my team and working with us. I'll need to have a briefing with him. I need to know what he does and brings to the table. I want us all there, getting to know one another all over again and the new guy. We lay out our mission and we go kill a bunch of bad guys while freeing good guys and we take their resources. That's always been a workable policy before."

"It sounds like a plan. I'm looking forward to hearing what Jeremy has to say."  
\-------------------  
Charles returned to his palatial headquarters north of Richmond. Every time he thought about the fact that one of his father's minions burned down the wondrous headquarters in NYC, which was destined to go to Charles, it chafed quite a bit. The location north of Richmond met all his needs and provided fair luxury, but it still couldn't hold a candle to the New York location.

So, meeting needs would be the philosophy for the time being. The various commanders and lieutenants reported good earnings, with fresh meat proving itself readily available as needed. The ten year old he had on a chain before him was a recent catch, and although it first seemed displeased with its new station in life, some behavior modification techniques provided by the better trainers changed the tunes rather nicely. It's doubtful the thing would ever speak again and chances are the numerous breaks won't set right, and the numerous brands would likely get infected, but it certainly was fun for the time.

What with such an escalation in business, Charles assumed he might be able to rebuild according to his dad's original blueprints, although he presumed he would rebuild in Richmond or Charlotte. New York had too many bad memories. But if the uptick could remain at the present pace for some time, there's no telling what they could accomplish. Global domination had a ring to it...

With those Traffic Cops and their kind out of the way, it seemed the sky was the limit.  
\-------------  
"So, Jeremy. We'd like to welcome you to the team. Would you be so kind to let us know what you bring to the table?"

While it was somewhat subdued in lighting within the Denny's, it only brought out the unique glimmer in Jeremy's eyes. He looked to Dale with those eyes and said, "Dale, place your hand on mine."

Jeremy reached across and placed his hand where Dale could touch him. Dale was hesitant for a moment, not getting the point or Jeremy's intent, but after an extended moment Dale had his hand over that of Jeremy.

It was from there the two of them left the others behind to watch their mortal frames at the Denny's restaurant while they traveled on to see what Jeremy brings to the table.  
\-----------------  
Chloe was the first to see the starlight twinkle and brighten within the distant stare of her man, but within a moment all of them witnessed both men were no longer there, at least in mind and spirit.

"What could be happening, Dale?" Chloe asked as she reached for him.

Godfrey reached over and stopped her before she touched them and said, "Hang on a second, Chloe. I don't think you could hurt anything by touching them, but nobody else was invited yet. I'm sure they know what they're doing."

Chloe relented and withdrew, but couldn't help but be fascinated. "Okay, what's with the creepy eye syndrome? And what could Dale possibly discover just through some body contact? I mean, I know what he discovers with contact with me, but this is surely a bit different, right?"

Godfrey smiled and said, "Yeah, I imagine this is a different category. But listen; when I was younger and learning some advanced methods in swordsmanship, my sensei meditated a lot. A few times a day. Now, I didn't experience the revelations and expansion of mind he did when he touched me, but he was able to guide me through some meditations by coaching me as I meditated. In a sense, he took me by the hand through verbal leading along the meditation. I experienced more than I otherwise would have. So, Jeremy might be able to pull one in through touch because of his abilities. We'll find out soon enough."  
\--------------  
"Now, as you can see, this is where Charles is conducting his business from," Jeremy told Dale as they looked in on Black. "And as you can see while we traverse the globe, his influences spread wide and his profits are soaring."

"Is this real, Jeremy? Are we experiencing these moments as they occur in real time, in our world?" Dale asked. "How can you know this?"

"I cannot offer a precise explanation of what opened these realms to me, but my extensive training while isolated along with the magic blood have created within me a way to confront all that exists in this plane, along with glimpsing into other planes and dimensions," Jeremy said. "But you now have a view of what I bring to the table. I don't even have to leave the table."

"How are you able to bring me here?"

"I believe it is because of you having the blood. I am working to see if I can communicate with you and the others remotely, looking ahead for you as you pursue the mission. If I must maintain this physical contact, the power is limited. I can see and find you remotely, but can I communicate? We will soon know. Remove your physical hand from me and see if you remain here or join the others."  
\--------------  
Dale did as Jeremy asked and found himself back at Denny's, with the team looking at him as though they saw a ghost. But yet, there was a sort of thread to Jeremy; a thread Dale was able to travel and seek Jeremy, even though it seemed unsure and treacherous. Yet, the more he did it (as though not in physical time) the easier it came to him.

"Come to me, Dale."

"It feels a bit uncertain, like a boat with no anchor, but I'll figure it out. But, how does this help us?"

"Where are you?"

"Here, with you," Dale said.

"Where else?"

That sunk it home. Dale was truly at more than one place at once. "Do I have this ability without you, now that I've experienced it?"

Suddenly, Dale was centered at the table at Denny's.

Jeremy looked to him and said, "I'm afraid not."

"What the hell are you two doing?" Ayers asked.

Dale ignored him for a moment and asked Jeremy, "A very important question is, can one affect the other location physically? Could I go where we see Charles and slap the taste out of his mouth?"

"Apparently not. But I think everyone here can leapfrog through a location as long as I am the catalyst for the leap. Imagine, if you will," Jeremy said, "that you two soldiers enter a location where you can see the layout and details before you arrive. You know what and who is where, with all the specifics. I can be at a neutral point and be your eyes going forward."

"Would you two tell us what the hell you're talking about?"

Jeremy placed his hand towards the center of the table and said, "All of you with the blood, reach in and place your hand on me."

Doc Picasso, for a moment, felt somewhat left out but understood, as did Marcus. But the starry expressions they saw amongst the remainder of the team were beyond fascinating.

Time for Action

"Are we ready? Does everyone know what they have to do? Does anyone have a question or a concern? Is there anything you need to tell me?"

"Marcus, we've all been down these roads a time or two, don't you think?" Dale asked as he looked over his various pieces of equipment and weapons. "I don't see this being anything but a lot of fun."

"Yeah, but none of you have done anything like this before," Marcus said. "Jeremy changes the equation a bit."

Marcus looked to Jeremy, who seemed rather distant and mysterious yet on the ball when it came to the mission parameters. He knew he was the pin holding this mission in place. "You said you've continued searching for better and more efficient ways for this to go. Are you feeling good with your discoveries?"

In his resonating voice, Jeremy said, "I have explored numerous options and methods for us to pursue the primary mission of liberating exploited victims as well as the secondary mission of confiscating the perpetrators' resources. The details of these possibilities are sketchy at the moment as they will present themselves during the dynamic momentum of the mission, but I have confidence that we will be able to eradicate the operation of this Charles Black Frederickson character. In fact, I will relish his fall."

Marcus gave faith to Jeremy and simply said, "That's good enough for me. How about you, Chloe? Your situation has changed quite a bit since your last active mission."

That was certainly the case. Chloe's last true mission revolved around her dealing with her nemesis Emily, which was no secret. But that Chloe was coping with severe health, mental and physical, issues that were literally breaking her down, was very much a part of the equation at the time and nobody really knew it. They knew her behavior was increasingly erratic but all the specifics as to why were mostly unknown. The truth was that if there was no involvement on the part of the so-called magic blood, she would have spun off the rails.

But the blood changed Chloe Rhodes almost completely, rebuilding her from the core on out. Therefore, there was the question of whether she was who she was for the team before, and then she was a horrific lunatic bent on mutilation and dramatic carnage. To see her rush at a victim wearing the outer torso of the prior victim as a hoodie (she emptied the chest cavity separated from the carcass with the face torn away from the emptied skull cavity and pulled that on with a sinister giggle) caused some to faint dead away, but could she even so much as kill anymore? She had yet to do so since she was killed and revived.

"Despite the misleading appearance of my extreme makeover, I'm still just what I was since my last kill. Not only will I not let anyone down, I just might impress those who doubt me."

"I haven't the slightest doubt you'll be amazing, love," Dale said. "I'm sure you'll be absolutely fantastic."

"Thank you, sweetheart. How about you guys?"

Ayers and Sands were likely happier at the time than they'd ever been, and that was saying something. Coming back under the umbrella of the government and military offered them the means to become even stronger and more capable than before. While they intentionally kept their distance before due to the nature of the situation, changes to the situation opened doors hitherto not available. So they were more than ready to make it happen. What with Jeremy promising to be on point in a way like no other, they knew they were an awesome force.

"We're ready to make this happen."

"As long as I don't have to jump out of a helicopter, I'm better than ever," Godfrey said with a smile.

"Doc, you'll remain with me unless we really need to send you into the fray," Marcus said. "I understand you have an itch to explore what makes some of these idiots tick, but all in good time."

"I shall be fine with whatever is required of me."

"All right, we're just about there. Now, Dale and Chloe, I'm sure you remember the first mission you worked on together, as that's when you met," Marcus said.

"But of course we remember," Chloe said. "It was such a romantic time."

"Well, this one might be somewhat similar in the basic operation, but with a few minor adjustments. While that tower harbored the victims on the higher floors and left the Black company below, the limitations of where Chucky is has them blended," Marcus made clear. "This means we can't just go in blazing and crushing everything in our path. We'll need to be mindful of friendlies and victims, and we may not always be able to recognize the difference, since Charles employs women."

"I will be able to assist with that concern," Jeremy said.

Marcus nodded, happy to hear it, and said, "That's good to hear. Now, Ayers and Sands go in first, from the northern entrance, and then Thomas and Chloe enter from the south side just moments later. Exactly when will be decided by Jeremy. Dale, once they've caused a loud enough ruckus, your job will be finding the central operating point of our dearest Chucky. If he's there just kill him, but your first job is to tap and drain every aspect of monetary capabilities they have and then obtain their contacts. I want these people killed and I want them penniless, and then I want their buddies. Those are our primary objectives. Then once they're accomplished, we'll do what we can to extract victims. However, we'll leave most of that to local law enforcement. If there anything else anyone needs to know?"

"When is go time, boss?" Dale asked.

"Midnight tonight."  
\--------------  
"I thought you said we didn't have to jump from a fucking helicopter! Could someone tell me how this isn't a big bunch of bullshit?"  
Thomas Godfrey was unhappy quickly, but it seemed Jeremy was able to set his mind at ease.

"Thomas, rest assured that this will go quite smooth. There will be no wing suits, but actual parachutes. Besides, everyone in here could simply jump out from any height and I would be able to ensure their safety would never be in question."

"That would be a neat trick," Chloe said. "I'm going to try it that way."

Dale put up a hand and said, "Try the parachute like we agreed, love. I'll bet you'll love it."

"If you weren't so sexy you'd be boring," she said as she prepared the chute.

The helicopter was one of the Presidential Blackhawks. Those choppers were designed to be eerily quiet and also able to fly to heights uncommon with most helicopters of that size. As Cynthia piloted the craft over the target, she said, "All right, everyone. We're just about there. Jeremy, when this mission is finished and it's time for extraction, you let me know and I'll be right down. But let's make this snappy, since my husband wants this back in the morning. Some Russian bureaucrat needs a hug or some shit."

"All right, boys and girls," Marcus said. "This is the moment that has been led to by everything you've done before now. The success of this mission will depress the effectiveness of such a significant percentage of trafficking occurring that all traffickers will surely pull back and reconsider. This mission puts the good guys back in goddamned charge. Now, go do it. Get out."

They didn't need to be told twice. In fact, Godfrey was the first one out the door. The others followed behind quickly, dropping to their intended target in the dark of the night.

Within their minds, each of them heard, "I am going to assist you in guiding your parachute to the precise point best for your role. Please relax and allow me to motion your body as needed. Please, just relax and allow me to take over."

Each of them then drifted away from one another as Jeremy guided their direction and rate of descent. They each noticed it felt somewhat, well, artificial to allow Jeremy such control, but he assured them it would be rare and only momentary when he does it.

"I have to tell you it seems taxing and distracting to influence another's body in such a way. My abilities revolve around being in two places at once, so to speak, but the physical influence can be little more than a nudge or else I lose focus of my body. Perhaps in the future as my skills improve."

They each landed down, stripped their chutes away and ditched them, and then keyed in for a commo check.

"Sword in play."

"Twitchy chick to go."

Once everyone was verified to go, they closed in. The building was large but nothing like what Dale and Chloe hit in New York, where he glided in to the roof. This entire structure was but eight floors high. The building was large and the rooms numerous, but the team had insight unlike anyone has ever had, ever.

"I can see that Charles Black is on the fourth floor, surrounded by fourteen security personnel and in possession of a frightened child," Jeremy said in his creepy resonance. "There are more than two hundred and twenty victims being held in this facility, of various ages and states of health. There are more than seventy so-called customers present, some of which are wealthy and influential, while a few are actually famous."

"Maybe we can get our pictures on the cover of the Rolling Stone," Godfrey muttered.

"Team, we are going to modify our plans slightly in order to create the maximum effect and gain the greatest success," Jeremy said. "When we were going to have the Joes enter from the north and slashers from the south, I see it would be better to have our dearest in from the east, the blade in from the west, and the other two choose from in north and south. Boss man, please remain with me until the proper moment. I have located the treasure chest but it is fortified at the time."

The Treasure Chest is the office space of Charles, where nearly all communications occur and all financial information is accessed. The basic idea is to annihilate the majority of the bad guys and then take much financial resource as possible. It's blissfully simple and quite effective. That has been the team's MO from the beginning and it's proved itself. Marcus' first idea would be a good one, as the soldiers enter and create mayhem from one side, drawing attention while the other pair comes at the occupied bunch from behind, leaving Dale to seek the gold. There are risks but these places almost never expect to be hit and their forces are rarely more than something to please the boss. Hit them fast and they usually crumble.

But this time, a quintessential element entered the equation.

"Ayers, right now, fire six rounds into the fourth floor window to the far right. Yes, and then rush into the entrance firing to your two and eleven o'clock positions. Go."

The six rounds fired ricocheted off the concrete wall in six slightly different directions, causing six fatal headshots to the six guards eating lunch. Ayers fired to his two and eleven, blazing rounds through the doors and taking out the five guards waiting to escort Charles to a new shipment of children.

"Sands, fire a round into each window you see as you rush in on your side, and then drop a grenade at the doorway as you enter, but rush through quickly firing three rounds to your direct right."

While Sands didn't shoot through all the windows, every one of the sixteen he did fire through took down a sadistic fiend holding down or chasing a frightened and screaming little girl. He then yanked the pin of a frag grenade and dropped it at his feet as he rushed through the foyer, firing the rounds to his right and taking down four more guards, with two headshots and one shot through the neck of one and then through the eye of the fourth. Right then, seven more rushed in behind Sands, taking the brunt of the explosion and bringing them all down.

"Man, I could get used to this," Sands said as he continued forward.

"While your excitement is understandable," Jeremy stated to Sands within his mind as he assisted with targeting hostiles in sight, "I must inform you my influences at this level will prove to be exceedingly rare."

Within the Fray

"Thomas, it is now your time. As you rush in and confront those in your path," Jeremy said in his cavernous tone, "do your best to, and listen closely, do your best to move as though you're going out of your way to act within the path of the soldiers while they pursue their foes."

"Ok, so you want me to do my best to-"

"Yes, and your window of opportunity is shrinking. There are reasons you must do this, but this will only last for a small amount of time. You will soon see an opportunity to leave the lower floors and move up to engage those hitherto confident they were insulated from our assault. Thomas, move with your instincts as your guide and your sword as your link to all that is now. Go, Thomas, go!"

Godfrey had always been a calculating and precise fighter, so moving as Jeremy asked was not natural. However, once he had rushed in and cut down several attackers and fiends as they fled with shrieking children, it felt as though he could relinquish his every decision to impulse and still move with a fatal fluid ferocity. It was as though his sword was in charge, his mind, his veritable source of power, and he was but the vehicle for the glimmering Damascus blade.

He heard Ayers coming in from his rear and saw Sands approaching him fast, so it was time for true faith. Godfrey followed his sword as he led it into the consistent fire from Sands and his incredible ability to lay down a field of fire. It was nearly daunting genuinely perceiving the bullets as they passed within inches, and often fractions of inches, from all around him. But he follows his faith and watched to move to wherever those barrels aimed as he swung and slashed at all those by him. And then he saw two men manage to escape the melee and rush to an elevator door just opening. It would be like fishing in a barrel as he ascended.  
\------------  
"Feel your time, Chloe, and know that all you are, all you were, and all you become is for now, right now. Trust in all of this as you did before. To do your will is your only way."

She accepted this from Jeremy; sure she knew just what he intended. All she had in terms of weapons and fire power were two 9mm pistols, a Hibben fighting knife and little Spyderco blade, and a black Manriki. She learned how to wield the Manriki, a length of chain about three feet or so with weighted ends comprised of pieces of steel to hold to spin the weapon or to throttle someone, while training after her metamorphosis. An old martial arts weapon, it was quite effective while being very simple. The pistols were on her hips, the blades secured while the chain was around her neck and close if needed, and her eyes gleamed with excitement. Chloe actually did harbor a moment of uncertainty before the mission was underway, secretly aching over the concern if she would be who she needed to be. She was once a monster, a freak on a leash, spinning towards an early grave and an eternity of infamy. But now she was transformed, emerged anew, but yet would have to find the former monster, the werewolf abated and sic it on the enemy while securing the reins. But would it rise or would it be dead?

All those old monsters, the hundred plus of them that battled within her head, snarled, begging for release. She gave Jeremy a mere nod of acknowledgement before running full tilt into her side of the building. Chloe kicked in the door with a force knocking over a henchman whom she shot in the head without a thought, and then saw a woman holding a frail teen girl by the neck as she forced her down a flight of stairs.

That any of this existed in our world was awful enough, but women being on board with things disgusted Chloe to no end. Chloe offered no demands; she merely rushed to the two of them and with a few deft maneuvers freed the frightened girl. Chloe then shoved the barrel of her pistol into the woman's mouth so deep it amputated her uvula, and then forced her down the stairs. So, there was a basement this way...

While the woman gagged, Chloe pushed her until there was yet another woman in sight, and this was where she noticed they were wearing similar blouses. Could this be how they identified employees from captives? Chloe merely aimed the head of her first towards the other and fired, blowing the bullet out the back of one head and through the other.

The blouse of her bitch suffered only a bit of blood on it, so Chloe quickly removed it from her carcass and put it on. It was then she noticed both women were blonde. Chloe liked to color hers brown with a hint of red, so there was a chance she was yet again one of these things not like the others. With a smile, Chloe holstered her pistol and retrieved her blades, noticing how her first contact was quite pretty.

She knew she didn't have a lot of time, but she was careful enough to see to it her fun idea paid off. Then, within ten minutes, the head was removed from her first and most of the interior workings were emptied out of the skull cavity. Chloe had to break away most of the facial bones and lower jaw in order to make enough space to fit the new bitch helmet over her head, but with some work she eventually got it there.

Looking at her reflection in a glass door, Chloe reminisced about how such antics were just so much fun, even if Dale and the others cringed. But what she saw made her cringe.

"Wow, that is a bit gruesome," she muttered.

But then she pinched at the dangling face meat and pulled it into a precious smile, seeing the clever disguise just might be good enough for the night.  
\---------------  
"Dale, you will have to show some athletic ability and gain entrance through that broken second floor window," Jeremy said. "The remainder of the team has taken over nearly all of the first floor, although Thomas is on his way up. You could wait for a moment of opportunity, but that moment is passing as the floors ascend. Charles is aware that things have become dramatic."

"Tell me what you can about what I'm getting into and I'll get into it," Dale said.

"Charles has a fortified suite on the fourth floor. This is his hideout and his office space. It is well guarded, quite secured with advanced security equipment and harbors the latest in high-tech computer and communications equipment. He is operating a global network from there."

"That's a lovely tour, Jeremy, but what do I need to know in order to get in to it?"

"Once you're there, you will have to open your mind to me as I guide you through what will surely be dynamic. You see, the system is cryptically protected manually through a series of other people located in various locations. There isn't software to overrule or passwords to hack; you will have to outsmart each of these people simultaneously as they will reinforce their security protocols with every threatening maneuver. You will have to listen to me very carefully, even when there is great action occurring all around you."

"Sounds like a ton of fun. Can I get going now?"

"I would recommend it."

Dale didn't require more than that. He rushed out of the dark and into the parking lot where he was able to climb on top of a minivan and then leap into the broken second story window. He had to be careful of the glass while watching for and taking down the few hostiles seen, and he did end up nursing a few minor cuts. But all of that was minor and wouldn't interfere with the mission. He's been through worse, some of which actually killed him more than once.

That he was actually in the building was a first step, but from there he had two floors to go.

It didn't help that he was shot at by some kooky woman with what was just a derringer. If she wasn't so far off she might have accomplished something with that. If she wasn't so far down the way and had a Glock instead of a derringer, like he had, she would have shot him between the eyes just the way he did her. Dale found his feet and moved fast past the woman now dead, looking for a quick and effective way to reach two more floors. And that's when he saw the elevator.

He didn't like the idea of trapping himself in an elevator but saw few options. There was surely a staircase somewhere and now that he thought of it, he wished Jeremy had given a hint to...

"Dale, if you continue down from where you are now, there is the stairs there. But I do not recommend going that way. There are far too many hostiles down that way. You wouldn't be able to make it without a monstrous fight. Please hold a moment and there will be an available elevator coming to you."

Dale stood there and looked around, finding it a bit creepy and invasive that his thoughts are that out in the...

An elevator opened directly before him, causing Dale to raise his weapon ready for whatever what or who was there. But once the door opened, he lowered his pistol.

"Second floor. Tools, furniture, ladies wear and lingerie. Watch your step."

It was Thomas Godfrey. And a significant mess made up of whoever was there before.

Dale stepped in and said, "Fourth floor, please."

"Is that where the bonuses are?"

Dale said, "That's what the voice in my head is telling me."

"Hell of a way to run a railroad, isn't it?" Thomas asked as the elevator ascended.

"As long as they have the answers. Just ask my girl." And once the doors opened, Dale said, "I'm off to the races."  
\---------------  
Speaking of his girl, Chloe found her new and fun costume was just the ticket for getting close enough to those she didn't recognize so she could bring them down in fun and exciting ways. The bad guys saw her and either motioned her ahead or demanded her assistance, either of which resulted in severe blood loss, limb loss and dramatic mutilation. She was having so much fun that she actually started blinking in her traditional fashion, left, right, left, right. But then she stopped and saw herself doing that in her reflection in a window.

"Stop doing that, sugar. You look stupid."

A few things have changed for Chloe, such as appearance and overall health (such as the removal of tumors and skull bone calcification caused by several concussions) but her place in the scheme of things has not changed. If anything, it simply received an upgrade. So she followed her instincts as instructed and had a marvelous time killing an inordinate amount of bad guys as she followed the path of least resistance and kept stabbing.  
\----------------  
Perhaps because Ayers and Sands were the blood source, like something from an Anne Rice novel, Jeremy was able to connect with them better than the others. If he was concentrating on but one or two of the others it wouldn't likely be an issue, but the two soldiers came in clearer than the other three. The blood was almost surely the reason.

But most of the issue settled itself since Chloe largely just did what it was she does, while Thomas Godfrey followed his initial instructions that Jeremy could manipulate. So, being right there with the soldiers was best while they moved with extraordinary speed and precision while clearing the building of living bad guys and leaving casualties for Chloe to mutilate. The thing was, this wasn't merely a mission of mass annihilation. The purpose of this mission was to send a message and set a tone. Traffickers across the country are expected to get the point; victimize the innocent of our people and this is how things turn out. Chloe wearing the shed carcass of her first victim as a disguise ought to be on billboards.

Further, the method of this mission is to create a major gain that just might turn the tide against those on the wrong side. After all, Charles involved a lot of would-be alliances and then involved a lot of invested money tapped into from numerous directions. Numerous investors who felt they had a good reason to see Charles had a future. But there were details they didn't know about. Jeremy was one of those details.

Charles, Dale and the Gang

Charles really didn't know what to think of the recent developments. The close call near downtown Washington was close enough, but Charles genuinely thought he escaped. Did he take a bait car and lead these people right to his lair? He couldn't know for sure, but he was rather sure he recognized crazy Chloe when he saw her, even though she looked rather different. Perhaps it was just the grain of the security camera. Regardless, something was huffing and puffing and blowing his house down.

It hurt to lose the building and it hurt even more to lose a lot of those he went out of his way to obtain for his clients. Then, it hurt to see someone was going out of their way to kill many of those clients. It seemed somebody somewhere meant some business.

Since business is business, the moment clarified for Charles it was time to ensure the assets required to run this business must be secured as they might be in jeopardy. And this is where Charles didn't worry about a thing. After all, the monetary assets were not just secured with firewalls, encrypting algorithms and other technological safety measures, but also by actual people who knew to reroute information and change pass codes continually should there be a threat. That's hack proof, baby!

After all, he knew he ran a risky business and he knew people knew who he was. After all, he was an FBI agent for some time. Thus, asset loss and forced moves were expected aspects of the situation, and that's why Charles built a foolproof method to protect the assets required to relocate.  
\----------------  
Dale knew Charles Frederickson felt confident his methods of financial security were foolproof, so he, with the assistance of the enigmatic Jeremy, intended in taking advantage of that all the way to the end. He just had to make it to the control center where all the high-end computers did their thing.

But the road there was precarious. The foolish security and bodyguard personnel had some dumb fuck reason to verily throw themselves into the path of every bullet on the go, which did make life a tad bit easier even though most of them shot back. Dale managed to avoid any serious injury but was grazed by a bullet across the shoulder and pierced at the hip by a bullet on the ricochet. If it hit him at full velocity his story might be different.

Dale was the firepower while Godfrey wielded his sword with those he could reach. Things were slow across the floor as they had to negotiate each separate room and office separated by thin walls, but also in-home security with the home advantage of cameras and surveillance equipment. If Jeremy couldn't relate to them when to move and when to duck, they would be done. Dale couldn't help but to think these people are in awe over the fantastic luck of these people, or if they have some sort of equipment that is just amazing. He knew the soldiers and Chloe should work their way up sooner or later, but it hasn't happened yet.

"Our window of opportunity has not yet diminished," Jeremy related in his unique way, "since Charles and his people did not expect us to get this far in with any amount of firepower."

"They didn't count on you, bubba."

"So it would seem. But Charles is sweating and could easily nuke the control center at any time. I might be able to affect those there but I am occupied with moving the soldiers and Chloe. I am struggling to communicate with you."

"I don't want our people risked for the money, since with that we might get another chance," Dale said, "but I really don't want to have to dance that dance if at all possible. Do us proud."

"I can say that Charles doesn't want this location destroyed because of the sensitive information here that would be lost," Jeremy said. "This is, after all, his main location. But he'll do it if pushed enough.

"The situation with everyone is stabilizing now that we've taken the advantage. I am going to break free of everyone and place my concentration on Charles. If I can place a few suggestions in his head without him thinking it is something else, and he knows nothing of me, I might be able to gather some time."  
\--------------  
Jeremy knew his limitations were significant but also knew his abilities were extraordinary. He could see Charles and could see what he could see, but he couldn't exactly get into his head and possess the man. How sweet that would be! But seeing what Chuckles saw was a significant help.  
"Dale, I have a change of plans. I am sending you in quickly; I'll guide you in through the opposition, but pay attention to me."

"If I lose track of your directions and deviate, then what?"

"You will die. The level of security around Charles' location and computer center is considerable. You don't have the ammunition to get close enough and then escape without my help."

"Well, that settles that. Let's get this party started."  
\----------------  
Ayers was growing anxious with spending too much time below the third floor. Sands and he were running low on ammunition, and the threat level has gone way down. Those they engaged were there for that and they weren't truly expecting an imminent attack. They weren't prepared. As for the rest, they're either minions of Black or simple, evil fucks cashing in on easy prey. Taking them down is some fun but not a major challenge, which is why Jeremy went away to something else.

"Sands, I'm leaving you to this. I'm going to rush to at least the sixth floor and work my way down from there. The boss isn't protected from above and that bugs me. I know Jeremy wasn't worried so there wasn't likely anything there, but this is under control and I want to make sure."

"Go, man," Sands said. "I got this and I have Chloe coming in behind me."

Being nearby the stairwell, Ayers rushed upwards at great speed, taking down the few stragglers he came across along the way. He traversed three floors and made it to the sixth, suddenly seeing why Jeremy clued into nothing there.

As he understood it, Jeremy could project to another space and see what's there, which is why he could instruct them with clinical detail in how to move. He could see what they could not and could capture a good picture of the widespread details. But it was clear he couldn't see well in the absolute darkness.

Neither could Ayers, even though his vision was better than most. But he did have a tactical flashlight. And what he illuminated made him swallow hard. He searched for and found a light switch, flipped it on, hoping it wasn't a trap in itself. It wasn't, but it shed light on enough explosives in this space to eradicate a city block. What was worse was there were several, dozens, of frightened children and young women chained to these explosives. This was a spoil sport tactic.

"Jeremy! Jeremy, I need you here!"  
\-------------  
It just didn't make fucking sense! What the hell are these people made of? Charles watched as Dale Hoskins and his swordsman moved with magical precision, dodging bullets they couldn't possibly see.

It has to be some high-tech gizmo allowing them to see incoming bullets or something. They're all doing it when they were all outnumbered and out-gunned. Well, you know what, bitches? There's more than one player in the game who has some fun technology on his side. Charles recognized his position was beyond saving at this point and he would have to abandon ship. It sucked ass but all choices and options have been depleted.

So, fine. It isn't as though this is all there is. The vast percentage of his resources and financial strength were safe and secure in a handful of offshore accounts as well as assets spread across the country, and meat was available wherever fine humans were present, bought and sold, which was everywhere. So, this loss serves as little more than a pain in the ass and another block added to what's becoming a nasty grudge.

Ergo, the first priorities just became escape and survive to do it all again another day. Charles sat down at his really nice computer station he spent a lot of time and money putting together and stewed over the fact that it all had to go away. But it would help him go away and that was paramount. While the craziness of the attack continued and his ears rang from the incessant gunfire, Charles entered the coded sequence that would allow him time to reach minimum safe distance while everything and everyone else made for one hell of a news story.

"Just a little more time, my precious droogs, and everything will be just Hunky Dory. I'll be on my way and all of you will descend into the annals of history," Charles mumbled to himself as he entered the codes. "Just keep fighting the good fight and dying the good death while daddy here takes off to reign another day."

There. The countdown was, well, counting down. The button was hereby pushed and it would require something near a miracle to stop it. So the next logical step was getting the hell out.

Charles had planned for that, as well. While he didn't ever expect to be cornered this close at this location (hell, he never thought the place would suffer any more than a heroic attempt and some cosmetic repairs while the offenders pleaded for death in the basement) he had to hand it to those who went through this much trouble merely on his account. It was nice to see some people cared, but it was time to call it a day.

He played his last and final card by stepping on an emergency switch that instantly dropped a hidden bulletproof capsule from the ceiling and directly outside the computer station. It was designed as an emergency escape route allowing him to bring the secured capsule down, offer him a safe space to enter and then ride quickly to the roof. On the fourth floor it appeared to be a column quickly descending but above it simply resembled a support column. He would pass by those above, should they be there, while he goes by unnoticed.

It sucked that the capsule descended directly onto one of his more devoted men, leaving the poor bastard screaming while he was eviscerated by the pressure, but making the ultimate sacrifice is always a wonderful thing to do.

"Maybe you'll have better luck next lifetime, you know, if you believe that horse shit," Charles said as he quickly entered the escape pod and punched the button that closed the door and sent him ascending to his destined greater glory. It was but seconds and all the gunfire and cacophony was fading away to silence and splendor.

The only purpose of the capsule was a direct shot to the roof, where Charles' personal helicopter awaited. The cause elevated into what appeared to be an air conditioning system, allowing him to merely step out and into his reconfigured Kiowa, which is an aircraft similar to those used by local news teams. Charles left the craziness floors below him and quickly fired up the helicopter, preparing it to get him far away from what was to occur in minutes.  
\----------------  
"Ayers, I must admit that it is a good thing you discovered this when you did, my friend," Jeremy said from afar. "Now, I need you to do exactly as I say."

Jeremy had to explore the extensive amount of explosives and what wired them together in a way that was almost within the system itself. When he did that he discovered he had some good news and bad news. The good news was that the system controlling the explosives also controlled and revealed the desired information for the obscenely loaded accounts. That was because hired lackeys were in various positions around the globe instructed to change passwords and operating systems controlling access every thirty seconds, when prompted. Charles prompted just that.

The bad news was that Jeremy would have to assist Dale at his end while also assisting Ayers with explosive neutralizing, and also travel the globe and perceive what those lackeys were doing.

"Dale, I need you to do exactly as I say, when I say it."

Meanwhile, as Charles negotiated his prize aircraft to one thousand feet, someone tapped him on the shoulder, prompting him to turn and look. What he saw was so extremely gruesome and frightening that it actually made him scream out loud.

"Hi there, Chucky. Where are we off to?"

To the Victor Goes the Spoils

Jeremy knew everything before him was riding on his newfound abilities, and everything he is and was before the moment would either make or break this mission. His tether to the universe found greater strength with each passing moment, but this is the first sure true test. This will force him to dig deep.

His travels around the globe had him going in circles, what with how much he had to do it and how fast he had to go. But he had to keep focused.

"Dale, you have to do what I tell you when I tell you. I will be passing in to you a series of passwords that you will have to enter at the right moment. Now, in eighteen seconds, I want you to enter the password, Freddie."

"Freddie? All caps or none at all?"

"When you see the prompt, enter it quickly and hit enter. Wait...all lower case. Now."

Dale did as he was instructed and nothing exploded yet.

"Ayers, you will not be able to release the hostages until you entire the proper codes at each explosive location. These were not meant to be beaten, but we can if we hurry."

"Quit babbling and talk to me."

"At the keyboard on the barrel of oil before you, enter these numbers- 754306. Once you do, you will be able to cut the cables securing those bound by it."

Ayers did this and even cut the cables. Jeremy knew better than any of them that should that have been done wrong, the building would be no more.

"Ayers, you cannot move to the next nearest set of explosives, as it is not that easy. On the far side of the room there are three girls tethered to four barrels. They're all redheads and sisters. You must go there next."  
\---------------  
The First Lady saw the helicopter lift from the building, mildly surprised she didn't notice it was there at all. It has been dark and it was camouflaged. The bigger concern was who was flying it and why, although she was confident she wouldn't need too many guesses. There was no doubt it was Charles Black Frederickson, but what happened that allowed him the chance to just fly off? Whatever it was, he wasn't going to get away from her hubby's prized...

It was very dark and the other chopper was a distance from her, but the night-sight capabilities of her helmet were the best the best could get, and Cynthia was sure that was Charles pinwheeling his arms as he fell more than fifteen hundred feet, reaching terminal velocity within moments.

"Hi there, Chloe," Cynthia muttered to herself.

Almost immediately after the body plummeted out of sight, the craft surely piloted by Chloe descended quickly.

"Unidentified aircraft, please respond."

Cynthia felt it couldn't hurt to attempt to hail the bird, but there was no response. Further, unless Chloe's bizarre eyes developed super human capabilities it was doubtful she knew she was watched.

"You are correct in that Chloe Rhodes cannot see you, madam."

Cynthia physically jumped to the sound of that, being certain she was alone.

"I do not mean to frighten. This is Jeremy Brunton and we are going to need your help."

"Jesus. I heard you could do something like this, but... I wish I had a warning."

"The situation is not yet dire but on the brink. Charles Frederickson and his people have been defeated, but the building is rigged to explode in a thunderous fury and there are a lot of victims still inside. We will need you close to the building at the right time. I must attend to those things, but fly close to the building and stand by," Jeremy said in his mysterious way.

"Ten-four."  
\------------------  
"When I instruct you to enter the word, paradigm, all lower case, do this immediately," Jeremy said to Dale, who was succeeding so far but sweating.

"Ayers, enter this seven digit code now. 4281499."

Things have been moving at an incredible pace and Ayers was down to his last barrel. It was one last barrel with two crying girls chained to it.  
They were very frightened but looking at Ayers with hope while they waited their turn.

Ayers made it to them and said, "Now you just hold on, girls. We're almost there and you'll be free. I need you to be brave."

"I am sorry, Ayers, but you will have to leave them after entering the code. The chains holding them are connected directly to a circuit leading to even more explosives that were here. They are in the basement and we will not be able to stop those. I am sorry."

"Jeremy, we've done so much. There has to be a way," Ayers said.

"I hoped so and have searched for it to no avail. I will be back."

"Dale, you have but one more series of passwords to enter and then you'll be free to transfer all funds and assets. But you'll have to move quickly as we must evacuate soon or perish. We've been able to allay the destruction of this building so far, but it will go down soon as most of the explosives are unstoppable."

"Damn it! Are you sure?"

"We have done far more than anyone else could have ever done, but most of the explosives are hardwired to detonate regardless of what we do. Now, upon my command, enter the following sequence- Federal Bureau of Investigation. Four words, FBI in capital letters, and mostly, no typos. Do this now."

While Dale entered the ironic code created by Charles, Jeremy returned to Ayers.

"How did you free those hostages and why?"

"I ran the other chain to these chains and cut what held them, hoping the circuit would remain intact. It was a gamble but paid off," Ayers said.  
"Now, what is the final code?"

"If you had failed everything would be gone."

"Leaving those two scared kids would be a failure and you know it. Now what?"

"Now you flee. Leave the barrel. I will guide you."  
\---------------  
"There's a buzzing in my head," Chloe said. "Jeremy, is that you? To be honest, Dale might be jealous to find out another man is inside me."

"He's too busy counting millions and relocating it all. We were successful in bypassing the obstacles of Charles Frederickson, but there's other issues requiring your help. I need you to follow my directions precisely."

"I hope it didn't involve Charles. I threw him out at fifteen hundred feet up. I believe I saw his body crush someone's car. Does insurance cover that?"

"You'll have to ask Flo. I need you to follow the First Lady flying the other helicopter around the building. Many villains are dead, hostages and victims rescued and monies recovered. But the building is set to explode in a very mean spoil sport tactic on the part of Charlie. An explosive timer triggered when his heart stopped. We have but moments to reach a minimum safe distance," Jeremy said. "I must have our team leap from the building and into the open doors of the helicopters. Please proceed to the building and I will instruct you in moments."  
\-------------  
"Cynthia, you are almost in position. Maintain speed and altitude."

Jeremy reached Dale and said, "The spoils are no good to you unless you survive. You need to follow my directions now. Use your last few rounds to shoot out the window nearest you. Do this now!"

Dale simply followed those instructions and said, "Okay, so?"

"You must run as fast as you can and jump as far out as you can! Do this right now!"

He was four floors up, but what could possibly go wrong? Dale ran like the wind and dove straight ahead as though he was going to fly like superman. But he didn't fly like any hero except one made of brick, only to see he was going along a collision course with a helicopter, sure to meet with the blades.

"Do not panic, Dale. Maintain."

Dale simply closed his eyes, prepared to experience his head and shoulders bring chopped from his body. But through the first stroke of luck, he passed between the spinning blades and caught the edge of the entrance to the bird across the waist. His sudden weight caused the chopper to list to his side and the blades skimmed a few windows before Chloe was able to gain control.

"Honey! That was the neatest trick I've seen all day. Do you think I could see that one again sometime?"

Dale was barely hanging on when he looked to who was talking to him. What he saw was nearly as shocking as what he just experienced.

"For the love of Christ, Chloe. Who do you have on your head?"

Chloe felt around on her face and head, apparently having forgotten about the impromptu disguise. She pulled it from her face and threw it to the side, near where Dale was hanging in and setting a foot on the landing rail.

"I don't remember who she was, but I can tell you she wasn't picky about her hair products," Chloe said. "What brings you by? Did Jeremy tell you to do that?"

Dale hoisted himself into the craft and kicked out the vulgar scalp of whoever pissed off his girl and said, "Yeah, ain't it something?"  
\---------------  
"For the love of God, Jeremy," Cynthia said. "I hope no nobody else has to do that. But I'm here and ready to retrieve anyone else. But keep in mind this bird has four blades and not just two."

"Point taken. If you would, set down right about where you are. The two soldiers and this will be there promptly, as I have passed on to them where you are and that it is time to go. But lift off and make haste one they're aboard, as this place is about to go up in mere moments," Jeremy said.

"Setting down right now."

The First Lady didn't have the bird on the ground but a few seconds when Sands rolled in through the doorway. He said, "If you wouldn't mind, we need to get the hell out of here, like right now! The basement had enough explosives to shake Virginia off a corner of the map."

"We have Ayers and Godfrey to go and we'll be able to....there they are."

Ayers practically threw himself into the helicopter while Godfrey shoulder-rolled in and then turned to the pilot and said, "We should probably-"

"We're going now," Cynthia said as she pulled hard and brought the aircraft of the ground. Once they were clear of the building, she turned the nose and forced the bird in a northern direction as fast as it could go. She then keyed her radio and said, "Team Leader and Chloe? Do you copy?"

"Look straight up," was the response from Chloe.

The First Lady did just that and saw the other helicopter overhead but pulling away from her.

"Where the hell did Charlie get that?"

"I don't know but it's mine now," Chloe said. "He was FBI, you know. It only figures his toys would be nicer than anything you guys would have. I mean, you ought to check this out!"

Chloe spun the craft around and fired what would likely be a six-barrel .50 caliber cannon at some center point of the building. At first there was a bright string of rounds moving that way at about 2,000 rounds per minute, and it did look rather cool in an A-team sort of way. But what happened caught everyone off guard. Except for Jeremy.

They all heard, "Brace for impact."

The building, even though well away from them by this point, exploded in a fury unlike anything they've ever seen, and all of these people have seen more than most. The shockwave caught up with them, shoving both hovering aircraft into a spinning, out-of-control tailspin, nearly plowing Chloe into the other helicopter. If her helicopter was facing the other way, the tail boom would have swung through the windshield of the other craft and through the First Lady.

"Umm, I don't think that was all me," they heard Chloe admit over the radio.

The First Lady asked, "Were all the hostages and victims out of the building?"

From Jeremy- "No, they were not. Charles had so many hidden in so many places throughout the building, with most in the basement with those explosives. I knew this, but knew we couldn't rescue them. More people would have triggered the explosives and we couldn't have done what we did without my abilities.

"But the message sent globally is clear: Those who think they can prey on, victimize and farm our own kind will be treated like they are not. They know they will be hunted like the monsters they are, by the monsters we are. And they are afraid."

There was no response to that from anyone. Once they stabilized the aircraft they flew towards Washington with solemn expressions and furrowed brows.

The Future, Pursued

The team went into a short hiatus after the organization, conglomerate, really, run by Charles Frederickson Black was dismantled. There were a small handful of bigwigs in Washington who were unhappy that Dale transferred all the confiscated funds from the Black company to his personal accounts, but it was argued by the White House and the President himself that a significant percentage of the funds were stolen from the Traffic Cops. While they were once considered heinous vigilantes no longer applied after the government hired them on for who they were.

The break would be short to be sure, however, since there was an enormous amount of work to be done. Human Trafficking was still the second most successful criminal activity on the planet. But the team could no longer operate in vigilante status and the bureaucracy had to have a say, at least to a point. For instance, the team would be a piece, so to speak, of the CIA.

Doc Picasso went home to finish the steps required to hand over his practice to his team of doctors handling things since his departure. He also had to face some legal issues regarding his time as a rather nasty serial killer before he joined the team. He wouldn't face time but had to assist with homes broken due to some mysterious disappearances with which he had involvement. Much of it was his idea.

The soldiers were offered the chance to reinstate Operation Sandalwood but declined. It was what made them what they were but it cost too many innocent lives. They felt they were best where they, saving innocent lives. Thomas Godfrey traveled to Japan to continue his training in his chosen skills, promising to be more than he was. Marcus chose to oversee the rebuilding of his damaged home until everyone was ready to get going.

Jeremy was gone.

Before his disappearance, he said, "I will not forget you, and I will be watching. I may offer assistance when I can help, but there is another planet far from here suffering so much more. Others like me have asked for my help. I must go to them."

Nothing of him has been heard since.

Dale and Chloe walked hand-in-hand along a long and very aseptic corridor where there were so many elderly, in wheelchairs and behind walkers, assisted by young personnel in white. The facility was known to be among the better of its kind in senior care, particularly after running into some ugly legal battles about a year prior. It was once overseen by the Shane Black Foundation and had some explaining to do about too many mysterious losses and genuinely missing patients. However, once a few unknown investors stepped in, things improved dramatically.  
Chloe was immensely happy to hear that someone important to her was not victimized by what occurred and was, in fact, quite helpful at the facility even though she was still a patient.

"Excuse me, please," Chloe asked of a nurse nearby. "I'm looking for the library. I understand I'll be able to find Rachel Salisbury there."

"Are you family of Mrs. Salisbury?"

"Yes, in a manner of speaking. She once made a wonderful difference in my life when I was a young girl. Since then my life has been so much better, but quite hectic and I haven't seen her in a long time."

The woman smiled and said, "I can't say I'm surprised, as Rachel has been known to save many a young life. I do believe she'll be happy to see you; you're quite beautiful and I'm sure that's a good sign."

Chloe smiled brightly and said, "If it wasn't for her, my appearance, and demeanor, would be considerably different. I owe her a tremendous amount."

Still smiling, the woman pointed down the corridor and said, "Just go down to the end of the hall and then up one floor. Once you step out of the stairwell on the next floor up, you'll see the sign for the library to your right. Step in there and you'll surely find Rachel with a book in her hands."

As they walked towards the stairwell, Chloe said, "While I have no doubt she'll be gracious, I know I'll have to gauge her expression to see where this goes. You know she's been following the reports on me, good and bad, since I was in my teens. There was a time when I was really one of the bad guys."

"Love, if she's anything like you've told me, she's more than just a forgiving soul. I have every confidence she'll be more than happy to see you healthy and doing well."

"Yes, but you know that's not just what I'm looking for. This is so important to me, us, and I really want all of her. If she's merely polite, we'll excuse ourselves quickly."

Chloe climbed the stairs alongside Dale, feeling more nervous than she did when they entered the lair of Chucky. She knew this was different for her, out of her element, but she knew she didn't want it to be. Chloe wanted to be comfortable with polite society, feeling easy surrounded by those holding a wine glass by the stem and applauding nicely when the quartet stands and bows. She felt it would be sweet if people looked at her without screaming and fainting. As though she wasn't a monster. It was because of Rachel she was able to feel that way.

They reached the next floor and pushed away the heavy double doors, seeing the library nearby. As they aimed their direction that way Dale took her hand and then led the way. Before they entered the library they peered through the window to see if they might see who it was they sought. And then there she was, with a weighty book in her hands.

Dale and Chloe looked at one another with a smile and entered. They walked near Mrs. Salisbury, close enough to speak her name but do so quietly, as this was a library after all.

"Mrs. Salisbury?" Chloe said, feeling somewhat shy. "Rachel? Hello there."

An elderly lady turned, looking at the lovely young couple before her quizzically, as though these two were perfect strangers to her, but yet polite, so she smiled.

"Yes, young lady. How may I be of service to you?"

For an instant, Chloe felt rather stunned by this, but she knew she had to factor in she'd recently experienced quite a transformation.

"Hi, Rachel. I know it's been some-"

Then suddenly the lady's mouth fell open and she looked at the girl before her with both tears and a girl's giggle. "Oh, my God! Oh, blessed be our Lord in Heaven! Chloe Rhodes? Chloe...Chloe, is that really you?"

Before Chloe had the chance to respond, Rachel had her in a warm embrace. Instantly, all the fears and concerns Chloe brought with her melted away as she returned the heartfelt hug.

Chloe pulled back just enough to look Rachel in the eyes and say, "In the flesh. Rachel, I have missed you tremendously. How have you been?"

"I have been fine. My dear, you have surely been through quite some, well, miraculous procedure of some sort. I can see it's you, but...your lovely eyes?"

"I have received a considerable amount of medical treatment for a number of things, which brought me to a complete recovery, thank you. But I'm here for more than just that. Oh, and that has me thinking of my manners. Rachel, this Hunky Guy is my fiancée, Dale Hoskins."

Rachel smiled, extending her hand, "Dale, it's such a pleasure to meet you."

"As it is for me, Mrs. Salisbury. I've heard nothing but wonderful things about you," Dale said with a smile.

"It's certainly a pleasure to see you both, and I'm always worried sick about you, young lady. I can say it's nice you haven't made the news these past few weeks. That is, unless you had something to do with that horrific explosion in Richmond."

Dale and Chloe both virtually exuded a guilty look on their faces.

"Well..."

Rachel then showed a look of wry curiosity and said, "So, tell me how you two met. We simply have to do some catching up, dear Chloe. A lot of people have accused you of a lot of nasty things."

"I have to admit that a lot of them might very well be true," Chloe said. "I haven't always been a good girl."

"Sweetheart, your childhood wasn't the finest example of wondrous behavior, to say the very least. Does this handsome man know of your history?"

"Yes, and his was worse."

Dale didn't respond.

Rachel's expression crumbled for a moment and she said, "The evils of the world never cease to wreak havoc on our innocent. But then, I have the impression you two are making it hard on that evil."

Dale said, "You could say that, Mrs. Salisbury."

"Rachel, I came here to invite you to our wedding."

Rachel brightened immediately and said, "I can hardly wait! But please, we surely have some catching up to do. Perhaps later on today? If you're not blowing anything else up today?"

Chloe giggled and said, "No, we're off today. And I was thinking we could catch up and talk all about it, right about the same place where everything started for you and me, Rachel."

"Now, where would that be?"

Dale said, "Mrs. Salisbury, we would be honored if we could treat you to dinner this evening. There's a Denny's nearby where we can chat into the night."

Started on December 31st, 2013 and completed  
on December 31st, 2014

End

