Darkness...

    Blair fidgeted in the darkness... The cell phone Bobo left with him sat on the table, and he turned away from it like Superman from kryptonite. He sighed in melancholy, and decided he may as well pass the time until Bobo came back. He got off the floor and changed the channel of the television... It FELT like early evening, and that would mean that the news was on... He changed to KCSD, and his jaw dropped...

    It was Bobo.

    On the news.

    Driving.

    A NEWS VAN.

    Blair leaped to the television, and turned up the volume.

    "This is Don Haas. Live. And with me is the Dark Angel of Cascade... In a KCSD-TV Exclusive, the Angel has decided to speak to us..."
    "Sharp left coming up," said Bobo as he cut the wheel. The camera view tilted rakishly as the tires squealed in the background.
    There was a young man suddenly in the picture as he turned the camera onto himself. "My name is Alfred Smith. I was known as King G of the 357's. But the Dark Angel changed all that, and now there AIN'T no more 357s... Or much else in the way of criminal element."
    "Are we to understand you speak for the Dark Angel?" asked Haas.
    "No. What I speak for here is the community that the Angel saved."
    "You're a representative of the community? Who elected you?"
    "HE did," said Al as he pointed to Bobo. "He changed me from what I was to what I am... The same as he changed the Badlands from what they were to what they are..."
    "What you were?" scrutinized Haas. "And what was that, exactly?"
    "Well, seeing as how it'll be used against me in court no matter what, I'll be up front... I was a murderer, drug dealer, and gangster. Worse, I was a terrorist and traitor to my race - and by that I mean the HUMAN race. I and many others that were just like me - criminals, you could say, I guess - waged war against the Dark Angel, and we LOST. BIG. What the Dark Angel is, I don't know, but I DO know that he is not a criminal. The police and the media talk about what a terrible thing the Angel is doing, but they're just downing him because he succeeded where they failed."
    "Who failed?"
    "Everyone, man... Social workers, cops, politicians, reporters, activists... All of them could see the problems, but none of them could FIX things... I don't blame 'em, though..."
    "Why not?"
    "Well, same reason there ain't no cure for cancer, or HIV, or even the flu... No money in the cure... Money's in the TREATMENT. Think about it - all those snakes connin' you into thinkin' they help people, and all they do is keep things where they are. A big network of scam-artists that just exist to keep each other in business."
    "What do you mean?"
    "What I said, man. Look... Politicians make laws, right? The social workers break your spirit with bureaucratic procedure that's designed to dehumanize you that keeps them in a job more than it EVER helps you. And when you get up against the wall and nobody can help, most folks do what I did and turn to crime. Now the cops come into play, and they take down us 'bad guys'. You reporters get on the TV and talk about how the world's going into the crapper, and some activists get involved. They get in touch with the politicians, and it all starts over again. They're just spinning their wheels - and at the PEOPLE's expense."
    "That sounds like standard revolutionary rhetoric," mused Haas.
    "What's that mean?" asked Al.
    "He said he thinks you're full of shit," replied Bobo.
    "WHAT?" shouted Al.

    Blair laughed in spite of himself. This sure as hell WAS live... But what was Bobo up to? What purpose could his being on television POSSIBLY provide? And more to the point, where were the COPS?

    "Move it, by God!" shouted Simon. "Taggart, get up to the fourth floor! We've got a bomb in the IA! Haul ASS! I want every man jack we've GOT suited up to assist the Bomb Squad. Full riot gear! Maintain an open channel on your radios, and I'll relay your orders to you by squad! Get MOVING! Go, go, GO!"
    "Holy shit, Simon," gasped Taggart. "What the hell is going on?"
    "Not much, Taggart. We've just got two hours to stop the APOCALYPSE..."
    "Man, I just KNEW I should've stayed in bed..."
    "If you did, I'd PERSONALLY have kicked down your door. Now, MOVE!"

    "No, no, no!" stammered Haas fretfully, reading the barely restrained fury of this young man QUITE clearly.
    "We don't blame you, of course," continued the Angel in a tone that made Haas think he was in Special-Ed Class. "You've been trained to be jaded. To cast a bad light on everything for the sake of maintaining interest... Tell us, Haas, how many good people have you brought low? Do you know? Do you even CARE? How many of your pretty little trophies were fashioned from the bones of others? How many awards do you have that were written with the blood of the lives you've watched being destroyed, or for that matter destroyed YOURSELF?"

    Blair caught himself fidgeting... He knew enough about Bobo to recognize THAT tone of voice... At least when Bobo pissed on HIS life, there wasn't a national audience...

    "Now, just a minute, 'Angel'," protested Haas. "Good people do bad things, and I tell everyone. Bad people do bad things, and I tell everyone. I don't take sides."
    "Don't you? How many of those stories were about people doing GOOD? If ANY, we're sure they're immensely disproportionate to the stories of the bad people do. Don't you believe people should know about the GOOD done by others?"
    "It's not my job to believe ANYTHING."
    "We beg to differ. Not only do you CLEARLY believe something, but you do so with such fanaticism that you try to recruit others into believing the same... Much as an atheist will shout to anyone within earshot that there is no God, you spread your own poisons..."
    "Poisons? I just present the facts, and the viewer can make their own decisions."
    "And what of yourself? Do you make decisions? Have opinions?"
    "No, I have to remain objective..."
    "Objective?" snorted Bobo derisively. "It is to laugh... Tell us, when you go digging through someone's past, do you present ALL the data you uncover, or just the 'juicy stuff'? Of course, you convince yourself that the 'public' would RATHER see the bad than the good, but that's more a personal preference than a polled one, isn't it? You go sifting through a person's life with the FULL INTENT of digging up something you can twist against them... DON'T YOU? Why? Do you believe that the good a person does NOW can be neutralized by the bad done years ago?"
    "I... I...," stammered Haas.
    "Answer enough for us. So you in fact DO make decisions, don't you? You in fact DO believe SOMETHING... You and your kind HATE people who do good, because somewhere in what remains of your soul you feel ashamed that someone had the stones to get off the sidelines and participate in the steering of the world. Ashamed because you haven't, and you CAN'T... Therefore, to make yourselves avenged on this you seek out their past for some secret you can bare to the world to discredit them. You decide to broadcast the 'incriminating' data, and suppress anything else. And since you only offer the 'bad' information, aren't you PREVENTING the public from having all the data they NEED to make any decision? Which is in DIRECT opposition to your stated purpose, is it not? So where does that leave you? What does it MAKE you? The worst kind of hypocrite there IS... You want to make everyone believe the same ruinous message YOU live by, not because it's GOOD for them, not because it is CORRECT, but because you don't want to be the ONLY one who believes as you do..."
    "And what is it I believe, since you have all the answers?" demanded Haas angrily.
    "You believe that Good does not exist. And IF someone is doing something that is perceived as good, then they must be hiding something. This creates two products... First, it makes the public believe that ALL other people are treacherous and amoral, and thus eschew their company - which we suppose provides them plenty of free time to sit in front of the television, hmmm? Second, it makes people LESS inclined to do good THEMSELVES, for fear of having their lives destroyed by such as YOU. Then again, we suppose even LAWYERS need someone to look DOWN on... Heh. Talk about filling a need..."
    "And he said -I- was full of shit?" laughed Al scornfully.
    "So, why? If you hate the media so much why do you want to be on television?" croaked Haas accusatorily.
    "That camera is a live feed, correct? No delay?" asked Bobo.
    "Yeah, just like you asked for... We're as live as it gets, though the FCC will have our heads on a stick," said Jeff.
    "This pleases me. So you see, Mr. Haas, the message will be provided WITHOUT interference... No blanking the audio in favor of biased commentary... No editing for content. No spin. Just the message..."
    "And what message is that?" whispered Haas.
    "Patience," scolded Bobo. "All will be made clear... In time."
    "I dunno," said Jeff. "This could go bad, and the network could pull the plug on the feed..."
    "Yeah!" chimed Haas. "What're you gonna do about THAT?"
    Bobo pulled over. "Give us that camera..."

    The remnants of the 357s were lolling about the playground resting themselves after a grueling pick-up game against the Dueces... They won this time, 102-100, but they lost yesterday... Some people thought it was weird that the gangs stayed together after the Angel put a stop to the old ways, but they really didn't know what else to do with themselves. So they played basketball; and sometimes baseball. They still hated each other, but it was different now...

    The Dark Angel saw to it that there would be no violence between them by removing everything they'd fought over... No more drugs. No more guns. No more NOTHING. Strangely, they weren't all that bothered by it... Sure the big money wasn't there like it was, but neither was the shooting. They'd even bashed up a couple upstart operations trying to fill the vacancy in the Badlands' drug-market themselves. Hey, they were no angels, but if THEY couldn't sell then NOBODY could...

    It was a matter of respect... Propriety...

    "Dude, that was a CLOSE win...," said one of the 357s. "I thought they had us until you hit that last trey, Damon."
    "Yeah, that was aight," agreed Damon. "I usedta think I could maybe go pro 'til I got hooked up with the 357s..."
    "Hey, you back in school now, right?"
    "Yeah... So?"
    "So who's to say you CAN'T? You could try out for the school team... Maybe get a scholarship or somethin' nah mean?"
    "Man, I can't do that shit... I got a record."
    "So does Iverson, but HE plays... So does Spreewell. So do LOTS of those dudes..."
    "I dunno... I can't see me like that, Terell... I can't see it happenin'..."
    "Look around, man... Look at US. Remember how it was just two weeks ago? We couldn't see all that gang shit stoppin', either, nah mean? Just cuz you or me can't see somethin', that don't mean it can't HAPPEN. Anything can happen if someone WORKS it into happenin'. See?"
    "So whatchu sayin'? I should follow that Angel dude's example, or somethin'?"
    "I dunno, man. All I'm sayin' is you should try... Hey, here comes Gizmo! Wassup, Giz? Whatchu runnin' all crazy for? Someone after you?"
    "Nah, man! I was listening to the radio, and some army is in the 'hood!"
    "WHAT?" said all at the playground, Deuces and 357s alike.
    "Spill, Giz," said Damon. "What's this 'bout an army?"
    "I dunno all the details... I was channel surfing on the old radio my dad gave me, and I hear this weird shit about some army sayin' that the Dark Angel is some bullshit the cops made up so they could kill whoever they wanted..."
    "Man, that's bullshit," said a Deuce. "My homie said he seen that thing tear some pimp in half..."
    "Yeah! And my sister saw it dish up some beatdown on FOUR dudes that tried to bumrush her for her purse," said a 357.
    "So if WE know it's real, how come this ARMY says it ain't?" pondered Damon out loud.
    "Dude, that ain't ALL!" protested Gizmo. "There's some OTHER shit... BAD shit."
    "What else, then?" demanded Terell.
    "The man on the radio said that this Army took hold of King Daycare..."
    "The one on 35th Avenue?"
    "Yeah! They said they were holding everyone until they got the cops to either give up the Angel or admit they made him up."
    "My little SISTER is in King!" said a Deuce.
    "My SON is up there!" said a 357.
    "Oh, HELLS Nah!" cried some of the others angrily.
    Silence fell over the group as they exchanged glances.
    Damon finally broke the silence with two words:

    "Let's Go."

    Brackett paced anxiously around the daycare... He and Yuri were set up with their backs to a corner on opposite sides of the modest facility, with all the hostages huddled in the center. If anything came in, they could cover the door and the hostages in the same line of sight... Yuri had taped Brackett's announcement and it played on a loop to allow Brackett to take up a position instead of manning the squawkbox. Brackett was glad, since that bunch of crap he said was hard enough to say without laughing the FIRST time.
    Poor kids... This should mess them up for life. Then again, considering their surroundings, seeing some guy shot to hell is probably blase' by now; which was even sadder. Yuri looked like a statue standing there with that Steyr 5.56mm semiauto... Cool as a cucumber about the possibility that they'd MAYBE have to wing a hostage - maybe a kid - to show they were serious. Something like that was just too mean to stay alive, Brackett thought. Which made it one million and ONE reasons to blast the scumbag after taking out the mark...
    The BIG question was where the hell he WAS?

    Bobo handed Jeff back the camera after slapping some box on it and making some connections... "What's THAT?" Jeff blurted.
    "Insurance. There are five surprises scattered about this city that we made with several hundred pounds of a concentrated plastique called Semtex... We just wired the remote detonator to the live feed. If IT goes out, so does a LOT of things. Do you pinheads at the news office REGISTER? You flick that switch, and you can KILL THOUSANDS of people... Make your decision NOW."
    The light stayed red.
    "This pleases me. Do NOT doubt our resolve, people. That detonator is primed, and now officially out of our control..."
    "You're bluffing!" said Haas. "You couldn't have planted any bombs..."
    "Please, Mr. Haas," scolded Bobo. "Children may be watching... You could cause a panic. Just call them 'surprises'..."
    "Where did you put these... surprises?" Haas asked.
    "That would be telling. Heh."
    "Are you out of your MIND? You're taking a whole CITY hostage!"
    "That is not so... We're setting the whole -world- FREE. And YOU'RE helping us... Think what THAT will do for your career..."
    "I'd rather not," gulped Haas.

    Blair laughed again. He'd never BEEN one of Haas' biggest fans, and the thought of that pain in the ass having his career self-destruct was strangely gratifying... There was even a word for it - shaedenfreud. It was German, of course, and meant 'to take comfort in the suffering of others'. Which, when he thought about it, was what the news was really FOR... It came on just as you staggered home from your miserable life and showed a cavalcade of wretched souls that had it MUCH worse than you, and thus made you feel you didn't have it so bad.

    In that light, it seemed... Sinister. Sadistic. EVIL.

    No wonder Bobo hated it. He was starting to hate it himself... Blair suddenly stopped short, and shook his head fretfully. "Dammit, you're starting to THINK like him!" he moaned. "And that's what he WANTS." He looked around a little in the dim illumination, trying to adjust himself so he could at least get up and walk around a little. He stretched, muttering curses as his joints popped and creaked. He hadn't been far from that bedpost in over thirty-six hours, and that would take a little time to shake off...

    It was obvious that Bobo had some plan for Jim, but had mistaken HIM for the Big Guy somehow. And it was taking all the luck he had to make sure he didn't goof it up... Bobo seemed to be getting suspicious, but hadn't out and out accused him of being a fraud. Why? God knows he'd tripped over himself enough in the last day and a half to make it ABUNDANTLY clear he wasn't a Sentinel... And when that monster DID figure out that he was being played for a sap, he'd probably be pissed - and that would be BAD.

    Unless he already DID figure it out... Bobo was the most intuitive person he'd ever met, and cut through bullshit like a LASER. He HAD to know that he was faking it... Which would mean he was just amusing himself watching Naomi Sandburg's baby boy jump through hoops - like a cat playing with a mouse before he ate it. Blair shuddered. He was sunk, he knew, but before the inevitable he had to buy Jim as much time as he could to prepare for this monster. He suddenly found himself thinking back on something that the Dark Angel demanded of him:

    "How can you so SHAME the wolf with your WEAKNESS? GET UP!"

    Blair got up.

    Jim Ellison had fallen down twice in his attempt to focus past the pain of his meeting with Fiendish... He bitterly refused to accept being sidelined for the coming showdown, and spat as he concentrated afresh... Blair and he had figured out that if he focused on any one sense too heavily, he'd 'Zone Out' and be aware of nothing else except what he was concentrating on... That HAD to be it. He'd never tried to split his focus in such a way, though. After all, to concentrate on one sense; that was one thing... But to concentrate on everything BUT _another_ sense was entirely different. And if he did it too far, he'd lose his sense of touch entirely - and that would make him worse than useless.

    But maybe... Just maybe... He could split his focus among TWO senses, and that would -theoretically- mute the effects of the Zone Out among three senses - and his split focus COULD keep him aware enough to be of use without being so sensitive that he'd be overwhelmed... But which two? Sight was a given, or he couldn't drive... Touch was definitely out, or he'd REALLY feel that beatdown... Taste? He could do without that one for the time being - and probably smell also since they were pretty much dependent on each other physiologicially... That left hearing, which he'd also need. He started some of those breathing exercises, bracing himself for what could be the defining moment is his career...

    The day he took control.

    "God, if you're up there," whispered Ellison hoarsely. "Please. Help me."

On to the Next Chapter....