By Jeremy

January 14, 1998

It was lightly snowing over London, and the people who walked down its proud historic streets felt more than content with their lot. And why shouldn't they? They had just come out from two weeks of joyous festivities and were full of hopeful dreams for the present year. England was safe and sound, politically and economically enjoying stability and even a bit of prosperity. There was no doubt to the everymen and everywomen that there should be no problem on the horizon and, at least, that it wouldn't affect them it there ever was one.

Unfortunately, some other people were not that hopeful for the future of England - or the world for that matter - and twoo people in particular were showing the signs of definite restlessness and anxious anger. Both were dressed in formal business suits and both were unused to them. One was an Asian woman, athletic, bombastic, vehement in her comments, while the other one was a man, tall and strong, who spoke with a Spanish accent. He was showing a more moderate tone, but it was clear that he largely agreed with the angrier lady.

"This plan of Wolfman is completely unrealistic!!" she was fairly ranting "The systematic raids on Circle interests and bases will cause untold underground turmoil. If he'd just considered the situation a little more..."

"Wolfman didn't want it to come to this, I'd say, Chun ," mused the man, "He wanted an increase of activity against the Circle, but the higher-ups and generals threw this out of proportions. Still, there may be some advantage to it."

She shook her head impatiently, but her tone was weary now. "No need to play the optimist, Castillo. We both know that there will be some benefit from having a powerful organization like MI6 taking on the Circle. It'll be a battle of titans, and it'll cause the other underground organizations to keep still for a while. But that'll be only temporary." her friend tried to say something, but she cut him off. "Let's say MI6 gets a limited success, which it might. The Circle will lie broken, its resources scattered and its holdings ripe for the taking."

"Ripe to being swallowed up by other organizations, other large ones."

"That's what I'm afraid of." she admitted.

"And you might be right to fear it." retorted Giorgio gravely.

She looked at him hard, sensing something in his word. She'd been friend with the man for years, and knew he never made idle statements about conspiracies and underground operations. "What do you mean by that?"

"We raided a Shadowlaw base not long ago." he explained "We didn't get much data on their activities, no, but we had a....let's say 'helper'...who told us that she'd seen a man talking to Bison. Black-garbed, very neutral. A guy who didn't seem to be cowering before the Master of Shadowlaw. Quite a feat he? Anyway, we cross-checked and came up with a very interesting name..."

"Everick."

He raised an eyebrow and gave an appreciating smile. "Know him, don't you? Eh, amiga?"

She snorted. "Who doesn't? On the streets, they call him the ShadowWalker. There's not a darn bum around the Western sphere - and very few on the Eastern - that wouldn't pee if they heard the guy was paying him a visit. After all, he's one of the Circle's..." she stopped, then slowly put an hand on her forehead. "Oh, please tell me you're not serious."

He crossed his arms, looking right and left to see if no one was eavesdropping on them. Although they stood in the middle of one of the safest place in the entire British Commonwealth, they couldn't allow themselves to be careless. What had happened to the SCD Headquarters had proven that one could be hit or spied on anywhere, even in the places it should be impossible to. There was no one either could see, so Giorgio kept on the conversation

"Think about what's happened. A spy sent to SCD from a region that Shadowlaw virtually controls. The Circle attack just after that, sent from Limerick. Against, I might say the Elders' wishes and most likely, their knowledge."

"How do you know all this?" she inquired.

He became grave, almost sullen at the question, as if visited by a very nasty memory. He turned away from a moment, sighed, and turned back with a blank impression that made Chunli shiver inwardly.

"The traitor was very cooperative in telling us all that she knew before she died." he said stiffly. He left it at that and she decided not to push. It would be unwise, very unwise, she knew. "Anyway, that means there's a possible arrangement between Shadowlaw and some of the Circle. I'd say that with the influence of Limerick joining them, they'd gain at least a third of the other holdings in that organization when the dust settled."

She didn't like this. Not one bit. But she couldn't deny the logic. It all fit, it could definitely happen and it all frightened her. "With such resources, Shadowlaw..."

"Would have footholds just about everywhere." he finished, nodding. "Chun, keep the pressure on them, anything Interpol can do. SCD will give semblance of help to MI6, but we'll give more help fighting Bison right now...at least until a strike against Limerick."

She was actually glad for the change of subject. The conversation was getting too depressing at the moment. "How's the SCD recovery, by the way?"

He scratched his head, coughed. "Almost complete. Julia became the new official Head ten days ago, and we've stabilized our position around the world. Morale is steadily climbing back up, and we're restarting our usual operations."

"I take it there's a new defense system?" she mused.

"You said it, amiga. Mark worked hard on that one, spent nearly all his time checking, testing, making sure everything fit. More than once, I ordered Steve or Jeremy or Cammy to drag the guy to bed before he worked himself to madness." he smiled "Believe me, there won't be any other attack on HQ like we had, traitor or not."

"That's good to hear. Very good." she said sincerely, then smiled in turn "I also heard something else. Seems like the two agents you were so exasperated about finally made up."

He looked at her in surprise. "Where'd you hear THAT?? Never mind, I don't think I want to know. Still, you're right. They danced and danced around a relationship for months, then Cammy gets hauled back to Shadowlaw. We get her back and there they were, dancing again! I wanted that settled, so I sent them on vacation together and, voilà! They're committed now. In fact, sometimes its hard to see one without seeing the other about. But its far better than their dancing."

She looked out the nearest window, watching the snow float down, down to the ground far below. "Hard to believe this is the same girl who seemed like a robot the last time I saw her."

"Si. But people change. And in this case, it was for the best."

She gave him a sly look. "I always knew you had a soft spot for blondes. You always look as if you wish to lift their skirts up."

He gave a look of mock-indignation. "Harrumph. I get no respect. And I can guarantee I wouldn't even think of it with her. She'd break my arm and Jer would break the other. I like my arms the way they are, thank you!"

She gave an amused giggle, then looked at her watch. "Well, time to go back home for me. Take care my friend."

Giorgio's face was serious again. "Just remember, Chunli. Don't let up on them. They'll make a move. Bison's not going to miss such a chance and we both know that."

She nodded. "I'll so my best."

"In that case, there's hope for the world yet."

And with that, two friends and warriors separated, both going back to their lives, both filled with a feeling. A feeling that would grow quickly into an absolute certainty, and later into undisputable fact:

This is one conflict they would never forget.

* * * * * * * * * *
Three days later...

A man moved through the streets of a suburb near Marseilles. It was night, pitch black, with no moon. Clouds covered even the stars, and the humidity level showed that it threatened to rain at any given moment. Not a time people would choose to be outdoors for the fun of it. But that wasn't the reason the man was here. He had a mission to fulfill. A dangerous one, that required infiltration. And infiltration was so much easier when it was a dark night such as this.

But then again, Albert Desmarais had always thought the night an old friend of his.

This was his first mission, his first test, for the SCD organization. He'd been picked out by an Elite that went by the name of Tyrone, a man who had died in the HQ Battle. He knew why: athletic, intelligent, and yearning for adventure, he must have caught the man's eye, especially since he had great fighting skills and more-than-modest marksmanship skills. No wonder the organization had picked him for the job of replacing Tyrone. He was the best, after all!

"Wolf Two, you in position?" came the uncertain voice of the team leader, a young SCD Elite named Kelly. The voice had more than its share of nervousness, and Albert gritted his teeth. What had possessed SCD to accept such an insecure fool within its Elite, anyway?

"Repeat, you in position?" came the voice again, slightly less nervous, but not much more.

"Yes, I'm in position." he answered a trifle impatiently, although that wasn't the whole truth. He was NEAR his position, that was certain, but he wasn't exactly at it, because he found that his place was bad idea. He reviewed the plan, absently musing that this original action, taking on the gate guards around the mansion, might not be that good.

"Wolf Three, how about hostiles?" asked Kelly.

"Nothing on radar. Coast clear." came the deep male voice of Lewis Glosshouse, another recruit, a spidery individual who was an apparent natural marksman but an eccentric man of girlish follies. He paid no more attention to them, preferring to revise the mission briefing.

About ten terrorists had taken hold of a mid-level hydrogen bomb, enough to blast the southwestern area of Marseilles, cost between thirty and fifty thousand lives. Terrorists cornered inside small walled mansion, armed and dangerous. Advise caution from operatives. No microwave link from HQ.

So they were on their own, and from the little he'd been told, that meant he could change the parameters a bit. The gate guards might see him, and give off the alarm. Elite Agent Cammy White had assured them that this possibility was minimal enough that the risk could be undertaken, but the risk still existed. However, he'd seen that the western wall was clear of any sentries. A few seconds of climbing, and he could take the guards by surprise. He made his decision.

"Wolf Two, changing position." he whispered and quickly followed the wall, hefting his riffle in his hand for better acceleration.

"What?" exclaimed the team leader, who hesitated a moment "De...denied! Return to original position, Wolf Two!"

He didn't answer, continuing along the wall. That Kelly and her nervousness, what a waste of space she could be. He didn't want to haggle and the situation didn't call for it. It was time for decisions, not jittery hesitations. He kept on, making as little noise as possible but picking up speed. He came to the corner, rounded it...

And came face to face with a figure. He hadn't switched on his infrared goggles because of the lighting given by street poles, but saw that something long was suddenly pointed towards him! A sentry, outside! His mind froze, and he brought his riffle to bear and squeezed out a round. The sentry twitched on impact, gave a muffled, wet groan, and fell backward. Inside the compound, he heard shouts, and movements. He cursed, the alarm had been given.

"Wolf Two, report!" came Kelly's voice.

"I'm okay, " he said grudgingly, switching his infrareds on. "There was a sentry here and I..." he trailed off has he looked down.

Flat on his back in front of him was a man of maybe forty years old, a bag of groceries near him, items askew. In his dead, clutching hand was an umbrella, closed, an umbrella that had been swung instinctively when a stranger had made a sudden appearance right in front of him. He stared at the corpse for a moment, blinking in shock. What was that guy doing here, anyway? he thought in befuddlement. He was still staring when the image went shakily, then every thing went black.

After a moment of blackness, he sighed and removed his VR helmet and looked around.

They were inside the white room that SCD used to run simulations and tests. All white, and pierced only by a large bay window from which officers studied the simulations and a large metallic door that pierced a wall. There was nothing else, nothing but VR helmets and suits, and two other people attired like he, who had removed their helm and were looking at him,one in near-shame, one in searing annoyance.

"What the fuck did you do, Desmarais?" grumbled Glosshouse, flicking a red bang of hair out of his round, small face.

"Ta geule." growled Albert, not wishing for the man's jibes right now. "I only did the thing that HQ didn't think about and..."

"And screwed up as bad as you could make it!"

They hadn't noticed the doors opening, but they had, and in came Cammy White, looking anything but pleased. They all stood at attention the moment they saw her, Kelly pale-faced and nervous as a mouse, Lewis a bit more confident, but no less worried Even Albert, for all of his personal pride and his bravado, couldn't help but cringe a bit at the terse disapproval and flat-out disgust they saw in her scowling face. She fairly stalked her way to them.

"If we had a prize called The Worst Simulation Ever, I'd make sure you'd win it." she spat fiercely as way of introducing the matter. "That was the worstly maintained operation I've ever seen by people of this organization, and I've seen a FEW!"

"Ma'am..." coughed Kelly, who stopped as soon as soon as White's burning eyes set on her. Dark eyes that brook no interruption.

"Agent Larchand, when I ask you to give comments you may speak. Right now I'm asking you to shut the hell up!" she jerked a finger at her. "First, let me say that for a tried and tested SCD Elite, I've found your handling of the operation completely acceptable. These are your men, you command them. FORCE them to listen when they do something, don't start hesitating like a six-year old who wants to act some grown-up a favor! Understood?"

"Y...yes ma'am." she said unsteadily. Cammy looked at her a few moments more, letting her fidget, then turned to Lewis.

"As for you, mister Glosshouse, I'm mighty glad you're no my partner. A mission like this and you gave lame reports. Kelly had to pry the comments out of you! In the field, the radar guy gives CONSTANT UPDATES!" Lewis tried to hold her gaze and quickly failed, hanging his head down a little and apologizing, promising that this would not happen again. She appeared unconvinced, but let him go.

Then Albert had his turn. She looked at him, and her hardened, scowling face became even darker. He wondered how such a woman, who stood no taller than five feet five, could make such an impression on everyone, and put a paralyzing fear into many. Only a few Elites, like Castillo, Simmons or Storm, seemed to be impervious to it.

"As for you," she stated, her voice suddenly colder than an iceberg. "I'm more than tempted to throw you out of HQ this instant! There are lines we DO NOT CROSS in SCD!! One of them happens to be OPENING FIRE ON DEFENSELESS CIVILIANS! You've got a lot to learn if you think we accept people like YOU, who just change things around and make fatal mistakes that cost innocent lives, not to mention a mission!"

Albert wasn't used to being talked that way. No one had ever dared before: he'd been intelligent and powerful, respected. To see an arrogant BIMBO talk to him as if he was a child proved to much, and his mouth open in retaliation.

"Listen here, miss, that civilian wasn't supposed to be there! Its his own fault if...guk!"

His voice was cut off as White grabbed him by the front of his suit with a strength that far exceeded her size and brought him at eye level. The eye-to-eye meeting wasted all wishes he had for confrontation as far as he was concerned. Never did he want to meet eyes that nasty again. She let go of him and he stumbled a bit, feeling humbled and ashamed. She waved at the entranced.

"Get off those suits and go get some rest. Make sure the next time you do a simulation, to do it right. Kelly knows there are those who are far worse critiques than me." with that, she stalked out of the room.

Albert couldn't help but try to regain some of his bravado. "Ah, come on! Nothing can be worse than that maudite femme!" he said.

"That's because you never had Simmons or Castillo test you." Kelly stated softly. Both men looked at her.

"What, they're THAT bad?!?" asked Lewis incredulously.

She gave them an hard look that told it all. "They were. Hope Giorgio isn't the one manning the controls next time around."

It was two highly anxious recruits that made their way back to their place that evening.

* * * * * * * * * *

Five minutes later...

It was a smiling, chuckling Mark Culhen who watched as Cammy returned to the control room to gather her things. She hadn't cooled down much, if he was any judge of the stiff way she held herself. Not that he found anything wrong with what she said or did - these three had really messed things up. It was the way she did so that merited something. Not arguing, he'd never win in that case. But he certainly in the mood for a little teasing. The past months, after all, have been so gloomy.

She entered, saw him, and shot him a glare that still contained quite a bit of bristling anger. He was wholefully unaffected, only answering with an amused mien.

"Quite the chew-out there, Cammy." he stated jokingly "Ye know, ye could've just pointed guns at their heads and told them 'Do better next time' the way ye just scared the hell out of them."

She huffed, obviously too upset yet to relax. She looked as if she though his words were what he meant. He knew that it wasn't really true, that she knew he was just kidding really. However, to take things everything seriously was still something she tended to do. After all, even a miracle can't cure everything in a flash.

And, as far as he and most of the others were concerned, some kind of miracle HAD happened while Cammy and Jeremy were off on a rather ORDERED vacation. What had transpired there, during these two months of leave, he knew little and dared even less to guess. The fact was that when she had left, bare weeks after her ordeal at Shadowlaw, they'd seen a woman barely holding herself together and two months later, they saw a rejuvenated lass. Gone was the hesitation - although traces still remained for some personal things. Gone was the hollowness, the uncertainty. The Cammy White that had returned was bossy, opinionated, direct and had one abrasive tongue. At first stunned, they had quickly found themselves liking this new personality, that according to Joan was far more in touch with how the braided agent had been like, before Shadowlaw first got hold of her.

"I went easy on them. Of all the ops I've seen SCDs do, and all the successes, I'd think we'd get more intelligent, organized sims. But NO, stupidity instead." she growled.

"We have our lots of failures." he reminded her, still grinning "Everyone here did his share of those."

She gave an impatient gesture. "Failures maybe, but nothing like the things I've just watched." her face hardened "Demarais. Did you review what he did just now in the simulation? Did you see it all?"

His grin faded at that, his face turning grim, even sour. This was a point that he found absolutely no light to shine on. "I did see it. He changed the operation without good reason, refused to follow Kelly's orders and worst of all..." he trailed, sighing "He's not Tyrone, that's fer damn certain, lass."

"He's a bloody arrogant, short-sighted, I'm-always-right fool and we both know it, Mark." she spat. "If it was just me, I'd boot him out right this minute, he'll bring nothing but trouble. He doesn't get along with the other newbies, doesn't take orders well, never thinks that others can have a good idea except he..."

"Now YOU'RE a fine one to talk, Cammy." exclaimed a voice, cutting off the ranting litany of wrongs. Recognizing it instantly, he turned his head and waved, his good humor returning.

"Watch it, lad. She's full of venom right now. Might get hit by some." he cautioned.

Whatever Jeremy might have to that said remained a mystery, for the athletic, braided SDC Elite rounded on the newcomer with renewed vigor. In fact, with too much vigor. "What the bloody hell are you saying here?" she said, but the dangerous edge was gone from her voice, giving a sharp reminder that there was a second half to the miracle.

Even months before the tragic events of Cammy's abduction and the battle at the Headquarters, it had been clear that there was something going on between the two. First assumed to be a form of friendship, it had become clear to everyone present that it went deeper than that. Mark had been reluctant to call it love, partly because he had trouble with the then-much less emotional Cammy allowing such feelings into her. It had stopped when he'd had the uncomfortable discussion with a Jeremy going mad with guilt and worry. That and the fact that he'd waited by her bed the first few days, when she'd been sedated and nearly whimpering with horrendous nightmares. The care, the tenderness Mark had glimpsed had convinced him that it was love, at least on his part.

When they came back from that vacation, it was clear that it was two-sided, reciprocal. Cammy rarely spoke harshly to him, even when she was angry, whereas all the other males had to run for cover. She curbed her bossy traits in front of him and always seemed willing to take his opinions seriously. But that wasn't what had really showed it.

What showed the love was the smiles she gave him, she who rarely even grinned yet to others. That and the way her face seemed to change, and become softer, gentler with a new light in these blue eyes. If that wasn't love, well then he wasn't Scottish, and the Culhens had adopted him, there.

He saw that look now resurfacing on her face, hard at work blotting out the indignation that had been there mere moments before. The man himself had none of the rougher looks he usually wore while on SCD duty. Mark coughed.

"I'm going to look up the mission files here." he said, turning to a computer in all haste.

"What did you mean?" she asked again, ignoring Mark entirely. He felt the other man shift.

"Well, you are bossy." he enumerated slowly. "And loud. And easy to annoy, and..."

"Watch it." she growled, but there was a lighter hint to it.

"And one more thing!" said Jeremy in a booming, triumphant voice."You look beautiful when you're pissed off."

Mark could have slapped his face when he heard this. He looked at the various mission files and found their team's. He scanned through it quickly, then raised his eyebrows. This was an interesting little mission. Should be a piece of cake for these two. He found it had been given to them by Julia herself - so they were starting watching Shadowlaw right now, huh? He sensed Giorgio's hand in this, and grinned.

"Hoy, lads!" he called.

"Beautiful enough to kiss, in fact." said Jeremy.

"Then do that." Cammy suggested innocently.

"NAY! NO WAY! NO HOW! N-O!" Mark shouted, whirling on them both, startling them out of their little trance. "When ye're on the airplane to Sydney ye can do all sort of romantic foolishness but a situation where I'm stuck with two teammates who're busy kissing like high school kids is something I completely REFUSE to visualize!"

They both blinked, looking a little sheepish. Cammy was the one who broke the uncomfortable silence. "Sidney."

"Right. You just received a new mission. You're off visiting Australia." he gave them a little smirk. "A piece of cake for the two of you, but its all part of Giorgio and Julia's plan."

"Ah. So we're going to do some damage to a Shadowlaw place to show them the Commonwealth is still looking their way too."

"That won't be enough to prevent what Bison may do once its all over." Jeremy added, looking grim.

"No, but it will stall them. And right now, with SCD still unsteady and MI6 gearing up to go after the Circle, that's about all this place can do for now." he crossed his arms. "We're going to be nothing more than wasps for a little while. However, lets do all the damage we can, so that it stings!"

"I'm all for that!" said Cammy, with a cold smile. But that was a taken. Anything that had to do with pissing off Shadowlaw or Bison or both was something she immediately endorsed with enthusiasm. Jeremy looked at the monitor, scanning the mission.

"Huh, so I'm going to see a bunch of Skippies, huh?" he snickered. At their bemused looks, he just gave a slight wave "Don't bother to try and understand. Its just a an old joke from North America, nothing of big consequence. 'Disrupt Shadowlaw lines in Sydney.' Easy money, perfect for a bunch of thugs like us, heh?"

Mark groaned. "Just make sure to do the mission before you get your hang on fighting."

Jeremy gave a look of semi-indignation, semi-amusement. "When have I ever put pleasure before business."

Mark threw up his hands and made his way to the door. "Frequently!" He groaned. Oh well, let them have their fun.

Things might get serious soon enough, after all...

* * * * * * * * * *
Hours later...

Nightlife in downtown London was a far cry from the stereotypical view people elsewhere in the world had of the polite, respectful English. When day became night, young men and woman gathered, coming in groups of twos, three fours or more, with a few loners thrown into the mix. Bars and discos opened full swing, and life, a very free-handed, naive and sometimes debauched kind of life, took rein of certain parts of the ancient capital. It was a time to live without the pressure of adults and the embarrassment of inhibitive socialities.

That was what the eighteen year old Laureen Blackburn though at least, and as far as she was concerned, when she went out, only her opinion counted. Her friends knew that well. Maybe that was why she had so few who wanted to party with her, for she certainly spoke her mind a little too much on such times. Tonight, for example, even her best friends, Henry and Francesca, had given her some excuses and forced her to come to this little disco-bar by herself. Well, their loss, not hers. After all, she'd just found and spent a great night with an handsome young man.

She'd already gotten at least three drinks inside of her, so she supposed she wouldn't have been so overt normally. After all, she came from a family of teachers, people with intuition, and she didn't lack in that advantage herself. There was something strange about him when she'd first approached him, that had sent faint alarms jingling in her head. But then he'd given her a nice, warm smile, and her giddiness had had the upper hand. Screw the alarms, she'd wanted to have some fun tonight! So she sat down next to him and started to talk. Soon she learned some things about the guy.

His name was Thomas Storm. He was from the United States, from the State of Maine. He was taking a year of his time to study and get back to the roots of his goals. Tonight, he said, was some kind of field day for him. She didn't get everything he said straight - she had downed two more drinks by the time he'd finished - but she was certain of those parts because he'd been extremely adamant about this.

"Sooo...yershum...you're some kinda...soshial guy?" she asked, her speech slurred by alcohol. Maybe she should stop drinking, heh?

His answer was quite sober, however, which meant the drink in his hands was most likely the first. "Of a sort. I'm more like a preacher of sortys, trying to cleanse people of their sins."

"Awww, religion!" she giggled. A would-be monk, was he? Or just a very faithful guy. Who cared about which, it was interesting and that was enough for her. "T'me , t'sounds like ye want ta do a big thing, lika crusade, huh?" was she making sense at all? That didn't sound right. But it got his attention alright. His eyes seemed to come alive at the word 'crusade'.

"Yes." he said "That's it. A one-man crusade." he stated, more to himself. She took it as approval, however, and continued on.

"You must be really driven to do that." she continued.

"Its more than that. My life revolves on these principles." he retorted gently. "The principals of Truth, Trust and Betrayal, upon which so much of the world depends, although people might not know and often do not."

"Whoa, that's deep." in fact the remaining sober part of her brains told her it wasn't such a deep thing and that, in fact, the way he said it had a certain nastiness to it. "Well, you wont..feind any prob widde me, I've alwayje kept my promishes."

"That's very good!" he said, lifting his glass. He seemed perky all of a sudden. This time the alarm bell rang louder, but her brain was now to soaked to decide much. So she annoyingly quelled the danger, taking a pensive pose, unwitting that most of her intelligence was now dulled out. There was something that had struck her, something that might give the man some thought. She concentrated on the bellowing music, watched the drinkers and dancers, and finally hit upon it.

"That'ch right!" she exclaimed, giggling. He looked at her in curiosity.

"I think you've drunk way too much." he stated, trying to take the glass away. She jerked her hand back almost angrily. She was going to have fun whether people liked it or not. And she WAS having fun drinking, SO THERE!

"Keep yer paws offa mah booze! Lishen," she told him, leaning closer. "Watche gonna do when yer dead? You gotta leave shomeone to...well...get on with it ye know! A leg-lerg....legachy!" she finally exclaimed triumphantly.

"A living legacy." he started, leaning back and looking right into space. He stroke his chin, obviously taken by the idea. He then smiled.

There was little that can get through a drunk person's dulled senses to the sensible core of being, but that smile managed it somehow. There was not a bit of the warmth that had been there when he'd first welcomed her, none of the passion. There was nothing but a coldness that went beyond words, and something that hinted at more horrible feelings. It hit her then, where it would have done far before had she been sober: this was a dangerous man.

It was a fleeting impression, but it lasted, even when the warmth returned, even when he told her the idea was excellent. Something told her to leave, to get the hell out, now. But her body couldn't move as well as it should have been able to, and she stumbled, tripping. She would have fallen, but suddenly the man was there, beside her, supportive. She hadn't even seen him move.

"You really have drunk too much. Let me walk you out of here, to get some fresh air." he proposed, gentle and solicitous.

She didn't buy it. Didn't buy the tone anymore, or the gentleness. All fake, a wolf drawing in a sheep in. She started to babble something, an excuse, a warning, anything to get out of immediate range, but before she could, another voice came through. A very familiar, very sober voice, that sounded not just vaguely irritated.

"Well, here you are! I should've known you'd get yourself in a mess! Henry's sent me here to check. Shouldn't have bothered. You're such a waste space when you want to 'party', darlin'!"

She looked up from a fuzzy floor to a face she knew well, had known for over five years. Francesca. Dear old, black-haired, hawk-nosed Francesca, who always seemed to be angry at something or some one but never meaning any harm to anyone. A girl with a lot of bark but no bark. Normally she'd be annoyed that her party was about to be cancelled, but with all the booze inside her and, mostly, because of the weird preaching guy holding her right now, she really didn't mind it.

"Francie...glad ta see ya..." she said, but her dulled sense didn't allow her to speak over the din of the place anymore. All that was heard was a drunken mumble, and her friend reacted accordingly.

"That's just great!! You're drunk!! Come on darlin', lets get your stupid behind to bed!! Was she a nuisance to you, sir?"

"Actually, not really. Although I was at a loss what to do with her." said Thomas smoothly, gently. "Now that you are here, however, things are looking up. I'll haul the dame around with you. You got a car?"

He asked it so innocently, it would have taken a very good judge of men to doubt the sincerity that emanated from him. Even she would've believed it, if it wasn't for the smile she had seen, that smile that seemed to cold to be normal, too obsessive. Francesca had never been a good judge of men, took some things at face value, and didn't see the smile. She wanted to say something to her, warn her somehow, but before she could get words past the dry, pasty thing that her mouth was becoming, she felt something at the back her her head, where he helped her steady. It was small discharge, and it probably wouldn't have done much more than daze her a little had she been all right.

But she wasn't. And the daze added up with the drinking, and she found herself drifting, giggling. She heard the remainder of the conversation from a distant viewpoint, her fears now pushed just on the horizon of counsciousness.

"That girl...are you certain its alright with you, sir?"

"Oh, absolutely." she felt herself being carried, her vision dimmed. The disco and its occupants seemed like fading dreams or such, ghosts of a begone era. She giggled again. It annoyed her friend - her dear, naive, well-meaning friend.

"Ah she's out of it. Are you certain you don't mind, sir?"

"No! I owe her, in fact. Gave me a great idea a while ago. There's just one thing I have to do before that, to make sure I can get the ball rolling with my projects and her idea."

"Oh? And that is?" asked Francesca absently.

They were out of the disco now, into the foggy night, walking. Out of the noise, out of most light and, a small part of her counsciousness realized - idiot, idiot idiot - why did you talk with him any way? - that they were far from help. She felt him shift her in his arms, tensing as if for receiving a blow. Or giving one...

"Ah, well, just getting rid of an obstacle, is all." he said, but the voice was cold. Very cold. And more than that. It was insane. And before anything else happened that night, Laureen realized two very simple things.

She should have stayed home. And something BAD was about to happen. And not wishing to meet it, she let herself go into a drink-induced sleep, embracing the calming nothingness.

* * * * * * * * * *

A few hours later...

Nathan McIntyre had been beaten to an inch of his life, he'd supported months of therapy, and fought down the fear and the helplessness that his shattered body inspired in him, and endured the jibes and contemptuous stares the came from those who didn't realize it could have been there in that alley, years ago. He had toughened his mind to it all and had willed himself to carry on. He had thought of himself as someone who could go forward no matter what the odds were.

So why couldn't he go see a girl when he ached to do so so MUCH?!?

Simple: because that girl was Area, a girl he'd fallen for utterly. He was scared of being a figure of ridicule in front of her, and waste this, their first face-to-face meeting. No, screw that. He was afraid his mangled appearance would revolt her, that she'd turn away from him. A great part of his mind, the intelligent part of course, told him that he was being a fool, and he believed it. Yet there was something that nagged him from the back of his head. Yeah, that and that headache that's been trailing him for months, ever since he'd saved that guy in the backstreet.

"Why are you making excuses for yourself, you damn fool?" he whispered "She won't turn away from you. She loves you. Like you love her." he was busily trying to convince himself of that as he made his way to the café they'd fixed as their rendez-vous point. He was in sight now. Big, white-washed place with lots of windows, with the name Star Cream in blue neons. Light blazed from the aforementioned windows, and he easily distinguished the people inside. He spotted her as he pushed the doors and entered.

She was sitting at a table next to one of the windows, looking outside with a look that seemed both angry and terrified. She wore no glasses - ah yes, she wore contact lenses for special occasions. Her blonde hair was tied in a single ponytail instead of the two he'd seen on the photograph. Dressed in a blue cotton blouse and pants, she really looked like someone else. But he knew he could never mistake that face, that mouth, those eyes. He stood a bit transfixed, silently gazing. That's when she looked towards him, by accident, just scanning around quickly. She also recognized him at once, and smiled in - could it be? - relief, and waved gently. He started to smile then, a foolish grin, an happy one, and answered by a slight gesture as he made his way to her.

They stared at each other for a moment, ill-at-ease, nervous. Then she spoke, her light voice showing the relief she had worn on her face.

"Hi. I was afraid..you'd forgotten." she said.

"Never!" he exclaimed. Some patrons turned their heads his way and he lowered his voice. "I could never forget. I'm so glad to see you face-to-face at last."

"Yes. So am I." there was so much bright sincerity in her voice. Brightness, innocence, that's what he felt from her. How long had it been, he wondered, when such quality could truly have been attributed to him. Years, certainly. Far too long, by any means. He was now a man of bitterness and depreciation. He knew that quite well, and to be truthful he hated it. However, he saw no way to be different.

She looked at him brightly, her eyes twinkling. "Well are you gonna stand here all night? Sit down, we have so much to talk about!"

His face flushed as he saw that, indeed, he was standing next to the table like a true idiot, and sat down - always favoring his shattered leg - in front of her. He then gave her the brightest smile he'd given in months.

"I've dreamed of this moment." he said simply.

"So have I."

The romantic moment passed, and eventually the tone became more clinical - the talks of two geniuses who were always comparing ideas, always making plans. But the tone, although highly mental, was always impregnated with fondness and gently growing affection. A talk of geniuses, true, but mostly at talk of geniuses who cared for each other.

"So you think you can put together a new kind of internet?" she asked.

"Yes, just like you seem to be on the verge of creating a revolutionary computer microchip, I'm pretty sure I can find a way to have a true, instantaneous dataflow, which is why I call it Insta-Net for now. I still got to work on the algorithm, it still a bit off. What about you?"

"Well, the microchip can store and process five times the information at four times the speed than any other, but like you, I'm not certain about the success of it yet." she stated.

"I was thinking...maybe we could work on both our projects together. Get fresh perspectives, things like that?"

She grinned at him. "Oh, I was hoping you'd say that."

He raised an eyebrow slightly. "Oh?"

"Cause dad and me, we're moving to Portland, so..."

Portland. Barely and hour and a half from here. She was coming to so near they'd be able to see each other as frequently as they wanted. At that moment he forgot his doubts, his self- depreciation, even his nagging headache. She was coming close to him, very close. Wordlessly, overcome by his feelings, and took her hands in his and held her. They smiled at each other.

It must have lasted a while. The waitress had come to ask what they wanted and thought better of the notion when she saw the dreamy expressions of the two faces, deciding to come back later. To them, it lasted barely a moment, but it was a memorable one. Nathan was certain he would never forget it, would hold on to the warmth he had inside of him right now.

It had taken long for him to do it. To feel like he was fully human again. But tonight, he felt good. He no longer felt like a cripple.

Yes, this was a memorable evening indeed.

* * * * * * * * * *

Around the same time...

Henry Morton, a Criminal Investigation lieutenant for Scotland Yard, took a look at the object of his newest investigation, his mind tightly focused, his face carefully neutral. Dressed in a overcoat to keep the foggy night away, he looked like an old, bent man. In fact, he was forty-three, and when he stood it was tall and straight. He didn't show the paunchiness cops his age sometimes did, thanks not to any exercises but the fact that he had a metabolism that just didn't keep fat long. As he stood up and let the paramedics pull the white blanket back up the victim's face, he shook his head slightly. In twenty-six years in the police, he'd seen just too many deaths, and was fast attaining the stage where one had difficulty feeling sorrow for the dead. He knew it and, although he'd never really admit it, it scared him. The dead deserved better than the neutral look of an overconfident man.

"Hey, Henry." said a man walking to him, also an investigator. Donald Kent, forty, and Morton's partner for the last nine years. "Talked to the kids. So, who bought the bloody farm today?" he was trying to lighten the tone, it was clear, but his grim voice belied it all.

"Hmmm, well, according to her papers, Francesca Erretio, nineteen. Lived in London for the last twelve years. Cause of death: massive internal bleeding."

"Notified her parents yet?"

"Sent some people." he sighed "They should be told in a few minutes at most." Now there was something he'd never grow out of: the parents grief, their clear horror and disbelief that the child they'd raised so long and lovingly could be gone just like that, no one could become blasé about. After all, the old saying was right: no parents should live to bury their own children, life is just not supposed to happen this way.

"This psycho, what do you make of him?" asked Donald with a strange edge in his voice.

"Except for the fact that he's crazed? I'd have to say there's rage within the guy. Rage and fanatism. You never saw the way he ravaged that girl. I checked the body, Donald, and I'm certain. There's a lot of anger. At what? Who knows? But this one is dangerous. Very dangerous. But enough of that, what did you learn?"

"About the guy. Little." he seemed angry at himself,as if he took this all personally. But knowing Donald, Morton guessed he probably was. "Those kids at the disco barely saw him at all. They say he's tall, athletic, dark hair - brown or black. In short, thousands annd thousands of youth could fit this category. But that's not the worse."

Morton groaned slightly. "I hate that last sentence. What is it?"

Donald grimaced, foretelling it would be anything but good tidbits. "The kids that saw the guy, saw him meet and walk out with TWO women."

Morton cursed loudly. The implication of it was appalling.

"Now, we got two options: either that other one's dead, around somewhere, or..." he hesitated. But Henry had gotten the gist of it. He nodded.

"She might still be with him." he finished grimly "In a sense, it gives us hope that she's not dead... but in another..."

He looked around the place, at the police cars, at the people curiously trying to see what was happening, and finally at the spot the victim had been found. He thought about the victim herself, of the horrible pain she must have suffered, and closed his eyes wearily.

"Donald, I know I've never said this and I hope I'll never say it again. But I hope she is dead. The alternative would be..." he couldn't even find the right word for it, and gave up. But his partner understood. They both did.

This was a sad and dark night indeed...