LIGHT!!!

    There was much screaming in several basements as the Dark Angel's surprises triggered, as well as several emptied bladders as the rooms filled with a brilliant burst of light.

    And then nothing.

    Nothing at all.

    "Whu-huh-huh," hyperventilated Taggart standing transfixed; his face ashen with shock.
    Simon gingerly patted himself, then gave himself a pinch. As far as he could tell, he was still alive. "C-command to remotes," he said slowly. "W-what just happened?"
    Silence.
    "If there's anyone still out there, then respond!" Simon barked.
    "B-bravo unit here, Command," Rafe whispered in reply.
    "X-Ray is still here, Command," coughed Dr. Wolfe. "And I need some new shorts... Stat."
    "Delta's here, Command," said Henri. "I don't know why, but I am."
    "Gamma's solid, too, Command," replied a shaken Megan Conner. "Um... Not that I'm complaining, mind, but... aren't we supposed to be smithereens?"
    Taggart dropped to his knees, still wide-eyed and shaking. "It went off. We're supposed to be dead," he blubbered. "Maybe we ARE? There was no way to defuse that bomb. I... I couldn't do it. It was impossible. I killed us all. It's my fault..." He wrapped his arms around himself and sank to the floor sobbing.
    Suddenly, there was a whirring from the copier, and everyone stopped in their tracks to see what was happening...

    And the copier coughed up an instant photo... Simon could read the brightly colored letters on the border clearly.

    'SURPRISE'

    Bobo blinked in amazement at the four men standing ready where there was only to be two. "Are you two so foolish as to stand with these evil men against us?" he demanded.
    "Hey, we promised not to attack THEM," smiled Jim smugly. "Never said anything about YOU."
    "This is true, Shaman. Surprisingly well considered, despite the suicidal folly it ultimately produced. Well done. You may stand with these men against us... And is this also YOUR choice, Little Brother?" asked Bobo levelly. "Is the new world we envision so horrible to you that you would throw your life away to impede it?"
    Blair said nothing, but nodded grimly as he stood ready in a boxing stance while a single bitter tear rolled down his face.
    "That is unfortunate," Bobo sighed. "But as we said, we did not have adequate time to properly assess your character. Ah well, such is life," he shrugged. "Now to business..."

    Kelso winced. He had hoped to get Bobo before the action started, but that was ruined. Now there were four men circling around Fiendish, and he only had one shot. He tasted bile at the realization of WHEN he'd have it.

    "When those guys are all dead, what do we do next?" asked Susan.
    "Not sure," Al said.
    "This is but the first step," said the first apostle in her shellshocked monotone. "It is a much longer journey towards the Golden Age the Angel seeks to create than can be done in such a short time... Much of the work still to do falls on us to perpetuate. With or without him."
    "Wait a second... What are you saying?" Susan demanded.
    "Is the Angel going to die?" whispered Al urgently.
    "We all are. We all HAVE," she explained in her level cadence. "The people that we were before the Angel arrived are no more. Those people needed an Angel to show the way... The Angel has. Now that we know the way, it follows that the Angel will return to Heaven..."
    "Oh no...," Susan gasped softly. "What can we do without him?"
    "He is simply the beginning. We, and those that follow, are the continuation. Historically speaking, it is rare - if ever - that those that initiate change see the full fruition of that change. Moses, Jesus, Dr. King, countless others. He knew that when he began it, and gathered us to him so that the change could continue..."
    "Why us, though?" asked Al. "What makes us so special?"
    "A warrior king, a harlot child, and a traumatized nurse? No stranger than a taxman, a doctor and some fishermen, is it?"

    "NO!!! The son of a BITCH!" Simon cursed angrily. A wave of memories tapestried together in a sudden epiphany that took the captain's breath away...

    "He NEVER goes back on his word. He may keep to the exact letter of it when it suits him, but he never knowingly tells a lie or breaks a promise. Ever," Kelso had said.
    "I have placed surprises timed for five in five places," Bobo warned. "We have enough concentrated plastique to blow up the world. So let's leave it a surprise, shall we?"

    The cocksucker NEVER called them BOMBS. He called them SURPRISES...
    Because that's all they WERE!

    Even on the tape the Chief got from the newsdesk to play for him while he was chewing him out, Fiendish was QUITE clear, and they NEVER saw it. "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..."
You can... NOT you WILL. It was absolute truth. If he actually DID rig them to blow up, the newsies most certainly COULD have killed thousands of people. But he DIDN'T.

    This was the biggest and most successful bluff of all time... He played the WORLD for patsies. Simon brought his fist down on his desk again before getting up and walking to the gathered officers in the lobby.
    "What are your orders, sir?" asked a patrol sergeant.
    "Two words," Simon said...

    "Get him!" the one called Brackett shouts as they circle us. We drop down on all fours, and Little Brother runs headlong into the Russian.     The Shaman and Brackett stopped just short, and as the collision falls away we leap into the air, twisting as we straighten our legs to windmill into the other two. The Shaman got his block up just in time, but Brackett didn't and he goes sailing courtesy of a heel to the temple. However, the impact has backed the Shaman up, which allows us to right ourselves. Then we drop down on all fours again, and the Shaman stares a second before he speaks, in recognition of the style we're using.
    "Pentjak Silat?" he says.
    We know he's trying to get us to talk to buy time for his associates to regroup, and it pleases us to play along... "Rainforest fighting is but one of many styles we are skilled in," we reply. "It's native practitioners tend to do so in the mud... We could tell you stories of the things we've done. The tribes that are no longer there... But I digress. Shall we?" We sense the Russian coming in from behind, with Brackett and Little Brother at his flank. Schoolyard level diversion from the Shaman, but we let them think its working up until the last instant, when we cartwheel to the left from our crouch - which puts us right next to Brackett, who stares in slackjawed surprise long enough for us to drop him with a striding elbow to the sternum. The Russian leaps over him as he goes down trying to connect with a flying crescent kick - but we step into the arc and grab him by the belt as his leg whips harmlessly across our shoulder. We pivot, and drive him to the pavement right next to Brackett. Little Brother stands there dumbstruck, and we motion for him to take a shot, fully aware of the Shaman circling behind us. He does, surprisingly, and we grasp his wrist and slide behind him as he and the Shaman barely manage to pull up short their attacks meant for us before they damage each other. We smile as we seize Little Brother by the pants and lift him into the air. He reflexively flails his legs - as we knew he would - upside the head of the Shaman; sending him to the ground as well.
We then set Little Brother down, and he spins around and punches us right between the eyes. We smirk as he shakes his hand - obviously stinging from the impact - and then say, "Nice punch. Y'know, you're tougher than we thought..."
    "Really?" he says, eyes sparkling.
    "No, not REALLY," we say mugging him with our left hand and shoving him to the ground. "Heh." The Russian is getting to his feet, and we hook our arm into his left as we roll across his back to his right side. Then we stand up, and momentum and leverage pair up to send him flying over Brackett - who charges at us. We stop him in his tracks with a knee lift to the solar plexus, and since the cameras are getting this we decide to have some fun. So we grab him by the neck and plant our foot in his midsection. Then for laughs we bring our leg parallel to our chest, holding him aloft. The Shaman's getting up, so we twist and bring our leg down so Brackett hits the pavement again - this time with our foot on his gut, and he coughs up some blood on impact.
Bummer. We'll have to be more gentle in future. We know they don't have a chance, and they're probably catching on by now - but it won't do to rip them up so quickly. There's folks at home to entertain...
    Ah, show business... Heh.
    The Shaman comes at us with a Kenpo barrage and we occupy ourselves swatting his punches away with our left hand alone as Little Brother gets to his feet. Frustration's showing on the Shaman, who we suppose is used to being considered a skilled fighter. Not that he isn't, mind you, but that's compared to laymen. We dodge a nice spinning roundhouse from the Shaman, and then slam a shoulder into his chest. He starts to go flying, but we catch him by the shirt with our left and change his momentum to send him flying over our heads. Then just for grins we change it again with a capoeira rolling roundhouse that connects with his ribs in midair. He hits the ground pretty hard about fifteen feet away. Sheesh... No less than two knockdowns for the four of them already, and the only hit we've taken was from Little Brother.
    That's just SAD.

    "You can't touch him," said the Japanese calmly to a very angry Captain Banks, who was flanked by a cadre of officers in riot gear fully aware of the numbers the were facing - and not happy about it.
    "This is an illegal gathering! You're interfering in a police capture," Simon shouted. "Stand aside, or I'll see you in jail!"
    "Think there's room for ALL of us?" asked the Italian. "Because nobody here is gonna let you near that schoolyard."
    "That's right," nodded Kalil. "You didn't fire a weapon to dispute his plans when he asked, so you're bound not to interfere - same as all of us."
    "I don't fucking BELIEVE this!" Simon screamed. "That fucking monster killed your own people like DOGS, and you're PROTECTING him?"
    "Our people were dying by more than he ever did, BROTHER," retorted Damon. "WE were doing it, and you didn't fucking CARE. What, NOW you do, or something? Get the fuck out of here, Toby."
    "And take your blue boys with ya," chimed in the Void. "They look scared enough to do something STUPID."

    Yuri struggled to his feet, taking a moment to pull a knife from his boot and palm it. Fiendish was currently clubbing Ellison to his knees with a crushing forearm to either of his shoulders, and that was with the curly-haired youngster on his back trying to choke him down. He may as well have been trying to strangle a lightpost for all the effect he was having. Ellison desperately lunged forward, seizing Fiendish by the legs as Brackett connected with a series of roundhouse kicks. The monster seemed totally unaffected by it, and pitched forward - tossing Ellison's friend off his back like a pebble from a slingshot straight into Brackett. He then almost leisurely brought his right elbow down on the top of Ellison's head, breaking his grip on his legs and then plowing into the side of his head with a crouching left ridgehand strike.
Realization dawned on the Russian. All this time, and Fiendish hadn't used his right hand at all! If what Ellison said about it punching through that concrete wall was true, then it was obvious it injured itself doing so! Yuri smirked grimly as he started forward.

    We turn to face the Russian, who has a smarmy grin on his face for some reason. No matter, we heard the sound of steel sliding across leather, so we know he's got a knife or similar. We suppose he figures we can't tell he's hiding it in his left hand, and we assume a Muay Thai stance. He feints with his right, and then comes around with his left. No surprise to us, as we can hear the very muscles flex and strain in our opponents, which makes us aware of what they do as they attempt it. We could fight for days without them landing a single strike if we so chose. But where's the fun in that? It's more dramatic when they look like they're giving a good fight, you know... Heh. Guess that's why we haven't already killed them... We lean back as his left comes across harmlessly, and then bring a knee into his ribcage - following up with a hook kick that cracks him in the back of the head, sending him stumbling. We've been pulling our punches the whole time, and the four of them are still beaten half to death already... Brackett tosses Little Brother off himself behind us, and they both shakily start to their feet as the Russian comes back across with that loaded left. We catch him by the forearm with our own left, and he deftly flicks the knife to his right hand.
    "Now you DIE!" he chortles.
    "No, clearly not," we reply as his knife shatters on the back of our right hand. The color runs from his face as we then seize his right hand with our own and apply a liberal amount of pressure.
    "But... But how?" he squeaks as his knuckles pop. "You never used your right hand!"
    We bring our hand up to show him as we explain, "That was because we never had time to remove the metal gauntlet." He shrieks in pain as we crush his hand to ruination. "Just keeping it fair, you know. But since you CHEATED... It's time to go." We yank him up by the waist, turning him to sit on our shoulders facing behind us. We then stride forward three steps and bring him down - leaping up and putting our heels on his shoulders as we do so, a maneuver named after the tiny Japanese cruiserweight who made it semi-famous. The Liger Bomb. He hits the asphalt like a sack of wet cement, but we add our own little twist to things, as we are wont to do, and roll to the right - still holding the Russian's legs, which flips him onto his face. Then we smile as we yank him through our widened stance by his legs, scouring him along the harsh terrain before we bring him up again. The other three stand horrified by the spectacle, and we wink at them before pivoting and swinging the hapless Russian into the teeball pole. He wraps around it with that familiar wet crunch, and we hear a single utterance from those gathered that echoes the sentiment of the remaining three...
    "OOOO!" the world winces.
    "You killed him!" Little Brother shouts, aghast.
    "That is not so, despite that being the object here," we reply. "He is tremendously injured, true. His face will be a ruin of scars, he'll never hold anything in his right hand again, and he'll be confined to a wheelchair, all granted; but he will live a long time yet."
    "B-but why?" the Shaman croaks hoarsely. "Why?"
    "Silly child, don't you recall?" we ask. "Sometimes it's worse to let them live... That was once a powerful man, who took life as he saw fit for mere money. We have taken from him all of that power, and placed him in a far worse prison than your law ever could. This pleases me." We then lean down to the shattered Russian and smile as we say, "You're welcome. See you SOON."
    "You heartless BASTARD!" Brackett screams as he pulls a small pistol. "Yuri was no saint, I know, but nobody deserves what you've done!"
    "We disagree. In fact, Lee, we feel you deserve similar. Worse even, since the Russian did not turn on his own, as you have done." He starts firing, and we easily serpentine through the bullets towards him. He's in a panic, now, and we smile to ourselves. It's always gratifying to show these big, bad men where they REALLY are in the food chain. Heh. We know of this Brackett from the files we've accessed. Believes himself to be a genius, or somesuch. Bah. We snatch the small pistol from him, and he screams like a woman as he tries to turn and flee. A stamping kick to the calf of the leg he pivoted on, and his leg snaps like kindling jutting his patella through his flesh. We step speedily to his side as he shrieks in agony to stuff the handle of the pistol into his mouth and follow quickly with a knee to his chin while we hold him in place with our left hand. His jaw fractures as London Bridgework splinters, and Little Brother and the Shaman recoil at the sound of it merging with Brackett's muted screams. We then pull the grisly painted pistol from his ruined maw, and force his eyes open as we place the weapon against his forehead pointing to the ground. Then we fire. Brackett's knee on his previously whole leg explodes as the muzzle flash takes his eyes, and we conclude our business with a sharp blow with the gun butt against the base of his skull. When he comes out of his coma, folks, he's not exactly gonna be a Mensa member... but he WILL remember every last detail of today and his life beforehand. Bummer, eh? And they thought we weren't paying attention in anatomy class... "You're welcome," we smile as Brackett sinks to the ground in a bloody tatter of his former self. "See you SOON."

    Fiendish then turned to Jim and Blair and asked a question, "Still here?"
    "Yes," Ellison breathed, already sure of his pending death. And Blair's...
    "Why?" Fiendish asked. "Our business is done. Evil has been punished. You may go."
    "B-but," Ellison stammered, poleaxed. "We agreed..."
    "Yes, we know. You chose to stand with these two men, and we agreed to allow it," Bobo sighed as he swept an arm over Yuri and Brackett's shattered forms. "Just out of morbid curiosity, does it LOOK like they're standing to YOUR enhanced senses?"

    "Gotcha," Kelso muttered, taking his one clear shot.

    "Did you hear that?" Bobo asked suddenly.
    "Hear what?" Ellison replied.
    "It almost sounded like," Bobo began. "ARGH!" The Dark Angel flailed about him as Ellison registered what was happening... A sniper! Bobo went down clutching his chest, now awash with blood. Ellison looked in the direction the shot seemed to have come from, and zoomed in on the shape he saw.
    "It's Jack Kelso!" Ellison shouted. "Holy shit!"
    "Kelso?" Blair stammered. "Here? But why?"
    "Putting the last of his kids to bed," Ellison said grimly.

    "NOOOO!" screamed Susan Clifton. "NOOOO!" She buried her face against Al, who clumsily tried to console her. The First Apostle touched them both on the shoulder.
    "We must go to the Master," she pronounced flatly. "Quickly."
    "Make way!" shouted the Japanese. "The Angel's chosen must get through!"
    "You!" shouted the Italian to a stunned Simon Banks. "Tell me you at least thought enough to bring an ambulance or two?"
    "Rescue Units, deploy," Simon barked into the handset. "Three down in the playground. Pick 'em up, STAT."
    The crowd parted like the Red Sea as the EMTs made their way to the scene behind the Angel's Apostles.

    "Hang on, man," Blair said fretfully as Bobo's wound bled unabated. "Help is coming."
    "Help... It is to laugh," coughed Bobo as he spat blood. "There is none that can help us with this, Little Brother. We must leave, as is... fitting. It is... to your hands... all of your hands... we pass the torch. Take what we have taught you... Use it... well. And we shall see... a brighter tomorrow. We promise."
    Ellison frowned as he listened to Bobo's heart fluttering. His ragged breathing. He was hit square, and everyone knew it, but he held his hands over the wound. Jim looked to the stunned visages of Don Haas and his cameraman. Was Bobo hiding the wound for the sake of the people at home? Strange, considering what he did on camera to Yuri and Brackett, but something else weighed heavily on his mind.
    "Speak... Shaman," Bobo sputtered. "Why so glum? Is this... not what you... wanted?"
    "Fiendish," Ellison said levelly. "Those people are going to riot when you die..."
    "Nonsense," Bobo sniffed. "Did we not say we were... not... dead... until we said so?"
    "B-but," Blair said tears welling up in his eyes despite himself. "You're..."
    "Hush... Little Brother...," Bobo said. "You have greater... things to worry... about than... us. You must guide... the world... to the next age."
    "I can't," Blair wept. "You said yourself that you misjudged us..."
    "We did." Bobo nodded. "We thought you weak. Unworthy. But... that is.. not so. You fought... even knowing it was... futile. Such unswerving bravery... and compassion... even for such... evil men... makes you the... correct choice. This... pleases me. We would... have liked... to help you more... than we have... Perhaps... find others... like us... for you..." He winced from the pain, and Ellison knew Bobo wasn't gonna make it as sure as he knew his own name. From the sound of his breathing one of his lungs was filling with blood and his heart was fluttering like a hummingbird. He looked anxiously over his shoulder as the EMTs had begun to gather up Yuri and Brackett, and Bobo's 'apostles' stood silent vigil over their leader.
    "Master," said the monotoned girl as she knelt beside Blair. "We thank you for all you have done."
    Bobo nodded weakly and started to speak.
    "Please, don't!" wept Susan. "Conserve your strength... We still need you here! I... I still need you."
Bobo raised a single finger, and waved it side to side. "That is... not so.., Little One," he scolded. "Be... of good cheer... This is... not the... end, but the... beginning."
    "We'll... carry on, sir," Al said thickly.
    "Good," Fiendish coughed. "Time is short. Shaman?"
    "Yes," Jim replied, still worrying about the reaction of the crowd to the death of their 'savior'.
    "Ask us... That... last... question..."
    "Are...," Jim started, his throat tightening. "Good sir, are you dead?"
    Bobo smiled. "No...," he said softly. "Everyone... can go... home... now."
    Blair stared in amazement as the crowd, watching everything unfold on tiny TVs, began to peacefully disperse. "Big Brother," he whispered. "Thank you..."
    "You're welcome...," Bobo sighed. "See... you... soooooon...."
    The EMTs began to check Fiendish, but Jim stopped them. "He's gone," he said. "Save it."
    One of the EMTs nodded and reached into his satchel, pulling out a black vinyl bodybag. Susan wailed, and Al held her as still as he could. The First Apostle reached gently over and closed Bobo's eyes, then asked, "Could... Could we ride with him his last miles?"
    "It's against policy," the second EMT said. "I mean, he's dead... You could only ride with him if he was alive..."
    "He is," Blair said. "He told us he wasn't dead, so that... that means he's alive... Right, Big Guy?"
    Jim grimaced, then looked at the three people standing there, and then to Blair - whose eyes pleaded more eloquently than any voice.
    "That... That's right," he said haggardly. "He's not dead. Let them go along..."
    "I dunno," said the first EMT, zipping up the bag. "Seems dicey."
    "Come on, what can it hurt?" Blair demanded.
    "Okay okay! Geeze, you act like it's the POPE or something..."
    "No," Al said. "It's someone IMPORTANT..."
    "Whatever," the second EMT shrugged as they loaded the gurney into the back. "Pile in."

    His duty done, Kelso lifted the pistol he'd brought along for himself. Placing it in his mouth, he removed the safety, and then pulled the trigger. There was a loud click, but nothing more. Jack, puzzled, removed the weapon and checked it.
    The firing pin was broken off...
    "Must've broken it while I was climbing the stairs..." Kelso mused. Then he started laughing, and didn't stop for three years.