Darkness...

    Detective Jim Ellison entered the building that was the last known whereabouts of his partner. Jack Kelso was the last person to see Blair, and it was becoming increasingly obvious that he also knew something about the so-called Dark Angel. He just hoped he could find out something useful, because Blair's life depended on it. He strode through the dim hallway to Kelso's office and tried the door - but it was locked. Jim checked his watch and 1630 hours blinked at him in Indiglo. Maybe Kelso called it a day early? Jim turned to leave, but stopped as the sound of a pistol safety unlatching caught his ears. He strained to hear, and made out a hammering heartbeat - as well as the voice of Jack Kelso, wracked with pain and dispair.
    "Damn him... And damn me, too."
    Holy shit! Kelso's gonna commit suicide! Jim pulled his pistol and fired, shattering the lock.

    BLAM!

    Jim quickly shouldered the door down. "KELSO! Put the goddamn gun DOWN!" he commanded.
    "You don't understand... It's all my fault. All of it. This is the only way I can atone for it... Don't you see?"
Ellison saw there was no reasoning with Kelso, so he aimed his pistol at him. "Jack, don't make me do this..."
    "Are you STUPID? You want to stop me from commiting suicide by POINTING A GUN AT ME?"
Jim fired, and Kelso's pistol went flying. "No, Jack. I wanted to stop you by pointing a gun at your GUN."
    Kelso burst into tears. "Jim, please... I've got to die."
    "We've all got to die, Jack... Just not NOW."
    "But it's all my FAULT!" Kelso wailed.
    "What is? What's all your fault?"
    "It was me... I took a disturbed young man and made him into a living weapon pointed at the WORLD... I did it... Me..."
    "What the hell are you talking about? You're not making any sense!"
    "It's all in the dossier, Detective... All my sins, bare to the world. Look at it..."
    Jim scanned the cover, "Project: BOBO? Blackest of Black Ops? Jack, what the hell is this?"
    "Everything I know... Everything I did... Everything IT did..."
    "What's IT?"
    "Codename Fiendish. Also known as the Angel of Death Most Exalted... Locally known as the Dark Angel of Cascade."
    "HOLY SHIT! Are you saying you're connected with that psycho out there killing people?"
    "No. But I was... I made it. God have mercy on me for that terrible mistake..."
    "Slow down, Jack," said Jim gravely. "If you made it, then you know what I need to do to take it down."
    "Take it down?" scoffed Kelso. "You? Jim, that's suicide. You're just a cop..."
    "I was an Army Ranger, too, Jack. I've had my share of training for counter-terrorism..."
Kelso barked harsh laughter. "Jim, you don't understand... This thing was trained for EVERYTHING... Look in the docket, man... Total mastery of no less than forty forms of unarmed combat; expert marksman with all NATO and Warsaw Pact Small Arms; Demolitions expert; expert computer systems intrusion and security; expert tactician... The list goes on... The thing was trained to DESTROY the ELITE soldiers, man. By the BUSHEL."
    "This was top-shelf stuff, Jack... Full Deniability on all levels... But why? Why make something like this?"
    "Why make nuclear missiles? Why make stealth planes? Why make ANY weapon? This isn't the time for semantics, Jim. Bottom line, we needed something both personal and _disposable_, and decided that the prison system - specifically Death Row - was PACKED with just the type of creatures we needed to do the sort of things that nobody talks about. Ever. It was perfect... We had a group of killers BEFORE training, and if they got killed in the course of the program, nobody would care because they were already considered DEAD."
    "But something went wrong, huh?"
    "Oh, yes. You see, these poor lost souls - the BOBOs, as we called them - were used for suicide missions. We trained them in all they needed to know to achieve the mission goal, knowing that this knowledge would never be used against us since they'd either be killed in the course of the mission, or shortly afterward. And, when they were, it would just look like some nut prison escapee on his own sowing mayhem... None of the BOBOs ever made it back - except ONE."
    "And this one was...?"
    "Fiendish. Bobo Fiendish somehow managed to not only find ways out of impossible situations, but did so with alarming regularity. No matter what we sent him to do, he not only DID it, but he made it BACK. Sabotage... Assassination... Terrorism at its worst... He's responsible for countless atrocities in countries we'd never have been able to attack directly. We... We lost our nerve... We saw that if ONE of them could make it through the cracks, it was only a matter of time before we had another one do the same... We shut down the BOBO Project, and I opted to kill it myself. I failed, and my failure cost me the ability to walk..."
    "Jack, this is really heavy stuff..."
    "It gets worse... Upon his initial capture, Fiendish was about sixteen, and weighed one-hundred and thirty pounds. It took eighteen men to restrain him. Each of them outweighing him by no less than seventy pounds..."
    "I've seen that. In hospitals when some nut wigs out, they get amped up and can be pretty strong. But you've got some problems inherent to restraining them, since you have to try not to hurt them or let them hurt themselves..."
    "Those men were under no such orders, Jim. We only wanted it alive, and we didn't care if it needed to heal first... They went at it with batons for over an hour before it finally collapsed..."
    "That's..."
    "Heartless? Inhumane? Yes, it was. But they were objects to us... Raw material. I see that now... But that was fourteen years ago, and now Bobo Fiendish is all grown up. Six feet, eight inches... THREE hundred SIXTY pounds... With enough training for a whole SQUAD... You don't have a chance..."
    "I've had the odds against me before, Jack..."
    "Against other men, perhaps... But Bobo Fiendish is the DEVIL. I just wish I knew what it wanted with poor Blair..."
    "Blair? It wanted BLAIR? Why?"
    "What does it matter? Blair is gone. And if Bobo has him he's either already dead, or he'll spend the rest of his life WISHING he was. Just like _I_ do..." Kelso began to weep bitterly. "Just like _I_ do..."

    Simon paced his office fretfully... Fifty minutes down, and Ellison hadn't checked in. He'd hate to have to put out the All Points, but if Jim ran in his present state without a short leash, God knows what he could get into... He sat down at his desk and pulled a cigar from the open drawer, and bit off the end angrily. He reached for the lighter on the desk and almost swallowed his tongue when the phone rang. He spat out the whole cigar as he lunged for the handset. "It's about freakin' time, man!"
    "Hello, my intended," said the caller. "Are you happy with your present long distance carrier? Heh."
    "What the? Who are you? How did you get this number?"
    "Let's just say we have a mutual friend or two, shall we?"
    "Who the fuck ARE you? What do you WANT?"
    "Justice. That is all... We would think you would want the same..."
    "It's you!" gasped Simon, quickly hitting the trace button on the phone.
    "Yes, it's us. Your Dark Angel... Sadly, your trace will turn up a number in Scandinavia... Sorry. We like our privacy..."
    "Why did you call here?" demanded Simon as he looked to see the number come up... Shit, it WAS a Scandinavian number... SHIT.
    "Simple. We want you to call off any attempt to investigate us, or our present whereabouts..."
    "Even IF I _wanted_ to, you crazy bastard, why would I?"
    "Do you like to sleep at night, Captain Banks?"
    "Huh? W-what do you mean?"
    "Do you like WAKING UP?"
    "Now listen here, you can't call an officer of the law and make friggin' DEATH THREATS?"
    "Really? Strange, we could have sworn we just DID... Simon. Heh."
Simon's throat closed in reflex as he considered the evidence... If he had Blair, he probably knew all that Blair knew... Like where he lived, and what he had to lose... "I can't guarantee anything, you know," he whispered hoarsely.
    "Well, we assure you that _we_ CAN. First guarantee: Any cop you send after us will be sent back to you in a BOX. Second guarantee: No innocent will be harmed. Ever. Third guarantee: If you cross us, we shall see to it that you NEVER stop SCREAMING. That is all. Questions?"
    "N-no... I... I understand..."
    "This pleases me. You're welcome... See you SOON." The connection ended, and Simon felt the room spin. He numbly hung the phone up, vaguely aware of his heartbeat hammering a mile a minute in his temples. What was he going to do? Whatever it was, it had him by the short and curlies, and knew it. Now HE did, too... For all the fucking GOOD it did! Simon was overcome with an urge to call his house and check on his son... He reached for the phone, and it starting ringing. He fell out of his chair from the surprise, but recovered quickly and grabbed the handset like it was the only thing in the world that could save him...
    "H-hello? Banks here," he coughed.
    "Simon? It's Jim. I've found out about our Angel, and you're NOT going to like ANY of it."
    "JIM! Listen, I can't explain right now, but you've got to come back in..."
    "What? Why? I'm keeping my end of the bargain!"
    "Jim, there have been... additional developments in the Dark Angel case... Come back... Please."
    "Simon, what's wrong? You sound like someone punched you in the stomach... You catching a cold or something?"
    "No. Listen... It called. HERE."
    "That's bad. What did it say?"
    "PLENTY... Come back, we need to regroup..."
    "Okay, I'm on my way..."

    Jim Ellison turned to leave the building, and stopped in his tracks... Between himself and the door stood a giant lizard - maybe eight or ten feet tall; black with red swatches - and it looked like it was hungry. The monster cocked its head as if it was sizing him up, and Ellison reflexively drew his pistol. The monster hissed at him, and then strode back into the shadows. It's near, thought Ellison, that has to be its Spirit Guide. He hated being in the dark with this mojo shit flying around. But he knew one thing for sure, Kelso was in alot of trouble - if not from the Angel then definitely from himself - and he pulled his phone as he put away the pistol.

    The girl has been out on the corner for a good bit, but we still haven't seen her master... These parasites that subsist on the piecemeal sale of these women don't usually abide independent contractors, so it's only a matter of time before we can do some good. Heh. As if on cue, a large luxury sedan pulls up with a vanity plate that brags 'H0ZDOWN'... A man steps out of it with enough tawdry trappings to be a disco yard sale, and he approaches the girl. Too bad Little Brother is still trying to adjust, or we'd let him in on the fun. We hear something behind us, and turn slighty to catch it in our peripheral vision... What's this? A panther? Hmmm... It raises its hackles as if in challenge, but we feel ourselves smile. Such as this is no match for ourselves, and never will be... We shoo it away, and that seems to irritate it. Fine. If it wants to play, we could always use a new ermine wrap... We beckon it to bring the noise, and it leaps at us - but we counter by dropping back and driving a spearhand into its midsection. It lands behind us in a heap, and we move to grab it and squeeze what life remains in it out onto the ground, but it disappears like smoke. Hmmm...
    We saw the wolf when Little Brother was near, but this puts an interesting spin on our initial assessment.

    To wit: THERE'S A CHALLENGER TO MY DOMINANCE.

    This pleases me...

    "Girl, whutchu doin' out here all by your lonesome? You lookin' for work?"
    "It's a free country..."
    "But that ain't a free corner, baby girl... You wanna work THAT corner, then you gotta pay me a premium for intrudin' on my territory. I'm thinkin' a seventy-thirty split..."
    "What? That's too much! Forget it!"
    "Y'know, it does sound like too much... Better make it a ninety-ten split... Starting NOW. What you made so far, bitch?"
    "Nothing!"
    "THAT sounds like you're already trying to hold out on me... Doesn't exactly show a lot of good faith so early into our negotiation... Empty your fuckin' pockets AND your purse, or I'll crack your fuckin' head open," he slapped her backhanded to show he wasn't kidding with her, and she fell to the asphalt.
    "I'm NOT holding out on you... I just got here, and it's pretty slow what with all those murders happening... Cut me some slack!"
    "Cut you? Sounds like a winner," said the pimp as he drew a switchblade. The knife popped from its spring-loaded handle in punctuation, and the girl shrank as the pimp approached. "Everybody needs a lesson on who's in charge before business can proceed..."
    "We couldn't agree more. Heh."
    "What the fuck?" said both pimp and whore as they spun to see who else was there.
    "Hello, my intended..."

    The pimp readies his blade, already trying to weigh his chances against such as we. He lunges, and we catch his wrist and pivot - sending him via an overhand throw right through the windshield of his fancy car. The girl stands there aghast, and we stride over to our Big Bad Man and pull him out of his car by his ankle. He's trying to kick free, but we have him handily in our clutches. We smile, and pivot again - hurling him against a steel security shutter. He's down, and trying to get at a shoulder holster... Fine. We let him get his gun out, and he starts to shakily aim it... Heh. He's too rattled to fire accurately, so we shake a finger at him in admonishment.
    We catch the acrid scent of urine, but we're not sure if it's his or hers. He holds his gun rigidly in front of him, and from the way he's shaking he'll probably hurt himself... And that's OUR job. We step up, and grab the pistol - which tells us right away that it was the GIRL that relieved herself earlier. We solemnly place the barrel on our chest with one hand, and motion for him to be about his business.
    He pulls the trigger, and we smile. Numbnuts forgot the safety. Oh well, that's how it goes. Now to business... Heh. We clamp Mr. Toughguy McWomansmacker in a full nelson, and cinch it up nice and tight... He's blubbering some falderall about why we should let him go, but that's just not in the cards. We turn him to face the girl, and he commences enthusiastic begging for her assistance. We let him babble about for a few seconds and then tighten the hold... He's pretty much crucified as we lift him off the ground so the girl can get a good look at the wages of sin, and then simply straighten our arms... For the uninitiated, a full nelson involves reaching under the arms of the victim and clasping our hands behind his head. Then we apply a judicial amount of pressure to the back of his head by pushing down, which straightens our arms ever so slightly. This results in extreme pressure to the neck and shoulders of the victim, and unconsciousness... Most people aren't aware of what happens if one could completely straighten their arms with that hold, and we're a little curious ourselves... Heh.

SHRECKT!

    Bummer. Looks like his head popped off... His arms fall limply to the sidewalk as his head ricochets off the steel shutter and lands in a wastebin. Two points for us. Heh. We toss his shattered carcass over our shoulder and it lands heavily in the gutter. We turn to face the girl, now and wipe our hands off on our shirt. We hold one out to her, to assist her in getting to her feet... She grabs us like we're the only thing of value in the world and she's the first one to see us...

    "You saved me! Thank you! I'm so lost and alone... I've heard some stories about an Angel, but I never thought I'd SEE him..."
    "You'll be safe now, little one. But you must turn away from this life... What is your name?"
    "Susan... My name is Susan Clifton... What's yours?"
    "Hmm... Susan Clifton... You're on the list."
    "The list? What list?"
    "Runaways. You've been missing for eighteen months... Your mother's worried sick, you know."
    "No she's not. She hates me... She's ALWAYS hated me..."
    "That is not so. Perhaps you have had difficulties with each other, but she is your mother... You are her child. No one can hate anyone enough to commit them to a life such as this... Do you understand?"
    "NO! I've been so scared for so long, and now I'm safe... With you! I'll do anything! Don't send me away!"
    "Little one, if you hide a flower from the light, it will wither and die. The path we walk is far too dark for such as you... You've seen too much horror in your short life already... Do as we say, and all shall be well... Behold, the pockets of this cockroach are bulging with cash from his terrible profession. We have a good use for it... But you must be brave... Can you do that?"
    "I... I think so..."
    "This pleases me. Come, we have much to do..."

    A young girl walked into the Cascade Police department the next morning, and asked to see Captain Simon Banks...
    "I'm Simon Banks, young lady... What can I do for you?"
    "My name is Susan Clifton, and I've been missing for over a year... I... I stand as proof of the Second Guarantee."
    Simon's cigar hit the floor, and he followed it.

On to the Next Chapter....