Darkness...

    Blair came to groggily in absolute darkness. He tried to feel around, but found his hands were bound. "Jim?" he said weakly.
    "Not just yet, Little Brother. There will be time for training after you adjust, but for now you've got to acclimate yourself to our presence in your little area. Otherwise, you'll keep overloading and continue blacking out like you did for those four rapists..."
    "What? But... I... That is..."
    "Calm yourself, Little Brother. If your heart beats any faster it may just leap out of your chest. Take it slowly... Adjust."
    "Why do you keep calling me Little Brother?" demanded Blair. "And why can't I see?"
    "Does it bother you? Would you prefer Apprentice?"
    "I would prefer to SEE."
    "Then see. There is ample light for such as ourselves... Calm is the key. If you continue to fret, then we doubt many of the lessons will take hold. Concentrate first on your heartbeat... Keep it slow and steady, and breathe in slow rhythm along with it. If it helps, visualize a calm pool of water..."
    "Dammit, I don't need you to teach me how to meditate... I'm just a little out of sorts considering I've been KIDNAPPED."
    "Anger is hardly what we mean by calm, Little Brother. Anger closes the mind, and to learn you must remain open..."
    "Hey, I'm as open-minded as ANYONE that gets snatched off the street and taken to God-knows-where to be trussed up like a kite, okay?"
    "Hmmm... We suppose that some... concessions should be made to make you more... receptive..."
Blair felt the ropes loosen around his wrists, then fall away. "Gee, thanks," he said caustically as he rubbed the rope burns.
    "It was necessary to restrain you, otherwise you would have hurt yourself."
    "How did you find me, Bobo?"
    "Well, we see you've been doing your homework. This pleases me. Very well... When we escaped, we took the liberty of appropriating the laptop possessed by our former warden. Luckily, as a fairly high ranking official of the penal system he had access to various databases - such as Hospital Admissions. From there, it was easy to cross reference the time of your episode to all Emergency Room admissions within the hour, and the process of elimination did the rest. There were, of course, other admissions; but among all those stab wounds, gunshots, and et cetera you were the only fainting spell. After that, a quick check to the DMV netted your address - though you weren't home when we looked. We _did_, however notice several flyers from the Rainier University, and ONE of them had a listing for our old friend Jack Kelso... So we visited him and found out that you were a 'Special Advisor' to the Police, no doubt through the use of your skills..."
    "Anthropology?"
    "Heh. A sense of humor is a good thing... No. Obviously, we meant the use of your enhanced senses in the employ of the Police."
    "MY enhanced senses? Oh... Oh YEAH. MY enhanced senses. Of course! How silly."
    "Hmmm... You're sweating. It isn't THAT hot here, is it?"
    "Uh, no. Just a side effect of the pills I got for that bump I took..."
    "Pills? Bah. You'll not be needing any of those..."
    "But the pain-"
    "Live with it. Pain is the enforcer of Fear... To master Pain is to be free of them both. Learn..."
    "I don't know if I can-"
    "SILENCE! Indecision... Doubt... You must be free of such things, Little Brother. You cannot become what you need to be if you listen to those voices that second-guess your own ability. FOCUS. What do you see?"
    "I see that I'm in trouble...."
    "Hmmm... THIS is going to be a little more difficult than we had anticipated... Luckily, we just love a challenge... Heh."
    Blair wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry...

    Jim Ellison stepped into his apartment feeling strangely uneasy. Something was wrong, he knew it, but aside from that he had no idea. He scanned his apartment, and noticed a manilla envelope in the kitchen. He strode to it and snatched it off the counter. It contained a note, and a wad of cash that would choke a gorilla. He read the note for some sort of clue...

    "To Whom It May Concern.
    "Blair Sandburg, regrettably, has to move out in order to further his education. In all fairness, so as not to leave you in the lurch for his half of the rent, please accept this money. Ten thousand dollars should be amply acceptable for his half, and should provide plenty of leeway until you can find a new roommate. Hopefully, you haven't grown attatched to him - but if you have, please accept this additional ten thousand dollars to ease your mental transition.
    "In short, buy yourself something nice.
    "You're welcome. See you soon."

    Jim quickly counted the money. Twenty thousand dollars in cash, just like the note said... He threw the money to the floor angrily. "You miserable motherFUCKER! You won't get away with this!" He caught sight of the back of the note, and read it quickly...
    "Oh, yes I will," was written on it, along with a happyface giving a raspberry. :)
    "FUCK!" Jim shouted as he brought his fist down on the counter. "That TEARS it, you freak! I'm going to hunt you down and tear off your goddamn HEAD!" He examined the note studiously, hoping for some indication of where to look; but it was positively sterile. Just like all the murders so far, there were no fingerprints. He scanned the apartment again; nothing out of place. No signs of a struggle... Nothing. Whatever it was, it was DAMN careful about leaving clues, and that pissed Jim off even MORE. "You scumbag! You think you can waltz into my HOUSE and mindfuck me with these goddamn NOTES? I'll find you... And when I do you're going to be a REAL Angel! I swear to GOD!"

    Bobo slammed his hand through a wall in frustration. "No! Wrong! By all that's holy, man, are you making mistakes JUST to ANNOY us? How many times do we have to go through this with you? THINK! FOCUS!"
    "I-it's a little b-bit difficult under the stress, Bobo," stammered Sandburg.
    "STRESS? It's SIMPLE! Clear your mind, and tell us what color that damnable scarf on that damnable mannequin is... NOW!"
    Blair was in serious trouble, and he knew it... "I don't see _ANY_ scarf, man!" he blurted. He gasped as he realized what he said, and began silently reciting the mantra for peace before entering the next life.
Bobo stared at Blair icily and then walked over to the mannequin... He sighed, and then dragged it over to the dim flicker of what passed for the lighting and held it squarely in front of Blair as he proclaimed, "FINALLY! How can you tell us you saw a CHARTEUSE colored scarf? Or a blue one with little white snowflakes? We weary of what passes for humor to you, and suggest that you take this training MUCH more seriously." Bobo flung the mannequin away, and it shattered against the block wall. "And clean yourself up! You've got the bladder of a ninety year old dowager! Toughen the hell up, would you?"
    "S-sorry," muttered Blair sheepishly. "I'm just still getting adjusted, I guess... Say, I know! How about we have a little talk, so I can feel more at ease?"
    "A what? A little TALK? For what purpose?"
    "Oh, you know... Get to know each other... So I know what I'm dealing with here, y'know?"
    "Heh. It is to laugh... You REALLY want to know what you're dealing with?"
    "It'd be a start..."
    "Very well... Look deep into the darkest, most primal part of your soul and dredge up the most horrible thing imaginable... Call it your Ultimate Nightmare, for visualization's sake..."
    "And I guess that thing would be you?" said Blair, trying not to sound smarmy.
    "No, clearly not. That thing you conjured up, if given form and substance... Would worship us as its GOD."
    "Oh, damn..."
    "There, now you know... Feel better?"
    "Uh..."
    "GREAT. Now back to business..."
    "Waitasec! I have so many questions..."
    "QUESTIONS? What sort of questions could you POSSIBLY have?"
    "Why?"
    "Why what?"
    "You want the whole list? Why do you do what you do? Why do you kill people for no reason? Why-"
    "No REASON?" said Bobo incredulously. "How long HAVE you been in school?"
    "Well, I-"
    "Nevermind. It was obviously TOO long. You're so wrapped up in the STUDY of life that you don't even understand what it IS anymore. You and the rest of your smug little coffee klatsch society bolting your windows and doors as the world rolls merrily into the crapper. Too busy walking around with your USA Today and your E-Trading to even look outside. And when you gather in those little bleeding-heart clubs to shake a stern finger at what you THINK is wrong with the world, it's really pathetic... Amnesty International? The NAACP? The ACLU? Greenpeace? All of them just big circle jerks... You so desperately need to feel superior that you champion anything that pulls your little heartstring... Bah! All rubbish! For all that smug righteousness and intellectualized indignation, you never see the big picture..."
    "What's the big picture, then, if you're so enlightened?"
    "The big picture is that things are the way they are until they are CHANGED. Newton's Law states that objects in motion STAY in motion until acted on by a greater force, yes?"
    "I... I don't get the connection," admitted Sandburg.
    "Heh. We know you don't... Your ilk would rather concentrate on a frayed thread than step back and admire the tapestry... It's not your fault, mind you, just a result of conditioning... For all their howling, do you expect fatass Ed Asner or pussy Mike Farrell to lead a charge to free their precious 'political prisoners'? No, clearly not. But do you have the faintest idea WHY?"
    "Because they have to work within the parameters of the law, and international treaty?"
    "WRONG. Because they - and all others like them - are just BULLSHITTING. Do you think they REALLY care what happens to some ex-hippie cop-killer, or some dissident in the bowels of South America? NO. They just care about being on television... They just want more people like YOU to think that they're concerned, connected and righteous. We've BEEN to South America. We've SEEN and FOUGHT these people that so irritate you 'activists', and you know what?"
    "Uh..."
    "We didn't see Ed Asner ONCE. And we LOOKED. His fat ass should just shut up, because it's OBVIOUS he doesn't really care about anything but being on the damnable television... If he had a shred of decency he'd show some concern for the WIDOW of that dead cop that his 'flock' seem hell-bent to demonize. If he had an ounce of integrity, he'd acknowledge that he doesn't know SHIT about the cause he's championing. But then, that would be admitting we aren't as superior as we claim, wouldn't it? Full steam ahead!"
    "Now, hold on a sec, you're painting with a pretty broad brush..."
    "Really? Just for grins, are you in favor of the death penalty?"
    "No!"
    "Why? Tell us..."
    "Because to sink to their level... We'd be no better than they are..."
    "We really wish we could laugh, sometimes... Heh. So you'd rather have scumbags trotting around and doing as they will? Selling drugs to children, killing women, robbing and hurting the weak? You'd rather feel superior than SAFE?"
    "It's not that simple!" argued Blair. "People have taken money from selling drugs and sent their kids to college. Heck, some even start record companies. I've met lots of girls that danced on tables to pay their way through med school. Sometimes people do things that aren't good in order to DO good. Sometimes, the end justifies the means..."
    "THAT'S why we do what we do, Little Brother... And with that, the prosecution rests. Heh. Get yourself some sleep, you've`gotten a lot of serious training and you need to digest it... You're welcome. See you SOON."
    Blair suddenly felt very cold, and he wasn't sure whether he was shivering or shaking...

    "What's the problem, Ellison? You look like hell... And where's Sandburg? Didn't I tell you to bring him to me?"
    "Simon, it came into my HOUSE. It has Blair, and God knows what it's going to DO with him..."
    "Jim, calm down," urged Simon. "I know that you're upset about this thing putting the grab on Sandburg, but in your current state you're no good to him or anybody. What about King G? Did you find him?"
    "Yeah, I found him... Seeing that thing at work was a religious experience for him, and he's going back to school... Word is the 357s are finished. The other mobs and gangs are going through serious powerplays as they try to regroup, but it'll be months before they can recover... If at all..."
    "And we're stuck with cleaning up the mess. Perfect..."
    Jim froze in his tracks. "What did you say?"
    "C'mon, Jim. Nature abhors a vacuum. There's going to be a lot of bloodshed as these gangs try to reorganize..."
    "No, about us cleaning up the mess... Is that all we are?"
    "Is what all we are?"
    "Janitors... Just here to clean up the mess..."
    "Hey! None of that kind of talk, Jim... Maybe I used a poor choice of words, but you're reading too much into an idle comment."
    "It wasn't idle... Simon, I don't know how to say this without sounding like a nutcase, so I'll just say it... What you said, about us cleaning up the mess... That THING said to me in my dreams..."
Simon pondered the information before he responded. "Well, that settles it... You're off the case."
    "Simon, I have to go find Blair."
    "What you HAVE to do is STAND DOWN. This thing is a walking nightmare, and God knows if the shit it's been doing wasn't enough to rattle ANYONE... But now you're PERSONALLY involved, and that's just a gold-engraved invitation to disaster..."
    "Simon, NO. You CAN'T pull me off this... I'm the only one who has a chance of catching him!"
    "That's ENOUGH, Ellison. You can't be on this... I'm sorry."
    "Simon, please..."
    "No, Jim. In the state you're in, you're liable to get yourself killed... The department can't afford to have you running off half-cocked. When you calm down, you'll know I'm right..."
    Jim pulled his badge out and threw it on Simon's desk, and followed that with his pistol. "By then Blair could be dead, Simon."
    "If what you say is true, and this thing DOES have him, what makes you think Sandburg's not dead already?"
    "He's still alive... If he were dead, I'd know... I don't know HOW I'd know, just that I WOULD. Does that sound crazy?"
    "Yes. But I'm forced to consider the source." Simon picked up Jim's badge. "Are you positive you want to do this?"
    "Absolutely."
    "Well, you have to be able to do something if you DO find it," he shrugged as he put Jim's badge and gun in his desk. "So you can keep your backup piece..."
    "Thanks, Simon."
    "Don't thank me yet. I want all the information you have on it, plus anything you manage to scare up on your own... Check in at least once an hour, or I'll have to pick YOU up for interfering in a police investigation. If you miss a check and we don't find you after three hours, we'll have to assume you got killed..."
    "I'll be careful."
    "Good. Good luck. God knows you'll need it..."

    Jack Kelso fidgeted in the flickering light of the overhead fluorescents of his office. His eyes kept going to the pistol in his top desk drawer... It sickened and saddened him that he was party to the creation of the rampaging beast that was ravaging the city, and a wave of nausea flooded over him as he considered the ramifications of such information becoming public. He'd be destroyed... His career; everything he worked so hard to achieve would turn to ashes... He looked at the thick dossier on his desk - the only holdover he had from the BOBO Project. All the information he had on the sole survivor, along with enough interoffice memorandums on it to implicate himself a thousand times over. The missions... The targets... The foul methods... The complete suspension of countless civil rights laws in the recruiting process...
    'Sometimes, it's worse to let them live' the monster told him after shattering his spine... He now knew how right it was, and sagged in his chair under the weight of it. The information would be of scant help against Fiendish, but it would certainly bury Dr. Jack Kelso for a long, long time...
    And all because it wouldn't kill one measly kid. He looked at the dossier again... The son of some Colombian drug czar that needed a slap to bring him to heel, and the goddamn freak balked at the mission! What the hell was something like that getting ETHICAL for, anyway? It wasn't like it was going to heaven, right? Damn it all! He sighed and reached into his desk to pick up the pistol. He checked to make sure the safety was off, and held it against his temple. "Damn him," he muttered woefully. "And damn me, too..."

    BLAM!

On to the Next Chapter...