Rob Has His Thorns by Yoteicon92

Rob Has His Thorns

Yoteicon92, Biloxi, Doberman, Drama, Friendships, German Shepherd, Hybrid, Illinois, Introspection, Malamute, Newark, Slice of Life, Suspense, Violence, Wolf, assassination, aviation, chicago, lawsuits, mississippi, ohio, travel

Feeling subjected to the trials of Job, Rob Barion endures the chaos of his lawsuits after his factory bombing in Chicago the years prior, all the while struggling to find his inner calm.

Part of my Series: https://www.furaffinity.net/journal/2143509/

Rob Has His Thorns

Prologue:

The middle of nowhere Licking County was silent in the fading light of a cold February day. A morning storm had turned the rural landscape white, the featureless landscape of gently rolling hills covered by a near foot of fresh powder. An icy breeze whipped up little crystals of glistening snow, twirling and dancing through the air. The sky, once gray and miserable with low tumultuous clouds, was now clear. Shades of amber, orange, and blue, turned purple, fading to a deep blue to the east. Wispy thin clouds took on shades of pink and magenta, the snow colored by the sky. Through the silent farmland, a lone Tahoe rolled, its tires crunching through the thick powder. The red SUV slowed up and pulled off to the side of the lonesome country road, its hazards blinking yellow.

The door swung open to reveal an exhausted looking Rob Barion. The brown and tan wolf-hybrid looked burned out as he shuffled out of his Tahoe with his little 135 camera, a vintage Nikon F4. Bundled against the cold in brown Carhartt pants and jacket, with a thick beanie atop his head, Rob marched through the thick powder to find his subject. The very cold air made him wheeze and cough; Rob was recovering from a bout of Covid, which left him weak and tired. He already felt weak enough as it was from injuries sustained in the very recent past. His face bore the strain, looking sullen and dour, menacing from a dark jagged scar that ran the entire length of the left side.

Marching through the thick snow, Rob stood in the middle of an empty field, untouched and pristine. His subject was the gently sloping hill, where a large maple tree, gnarled and twisted with branches sat alone. The colorful sky and crisp white snow provided a beautiful backdrop as Rob took pictures. Cold, frozen fingers gripped his Nikon firmly as Rob lined his shot up and fired off the shutter. He bracketed his exposure, and took both landscape and portrait perspectives of the lonesome tree silhouetted against the fading sky. He looked around and tried to use up his roll of film, a new prototype of a highly-saturated slide film his photochemical company was developing in Chicago.

Snapping his last picture, Rob slowly lowered his camera. Staring off into the distance, Rob felt physically and mentally dead to the world. His body ached, his old injuries to his back and hips flaring up again. His mind felt like a turbulent sea, drowning him in all his problems. Lawsuits, business woes, and the aftermath of a factory bombing, which destroyed his Chicago optics plant, the "Chicago Glass and Optics Factory", or "CGOF". The factory bombing was unintended. The bomb was meant to kill him, by the disgruntled brothers, Ryan and Brent, and their older brother who worked for the city, Sam Vlockner. Rob had fired Ryan and Brent for gross incompetence. He was suing the family for half a billion dollars in damages, suing the city for 1.4 billion dollars in damages, and suing a member of city council, plus a news network for defamation of character. The councilman had claimed that Rob was "ruthless criminal" and "unethical business practices". The news network, WNBB-TV, released a political cartoon depicting Rob as a Nazi, as Heinrich Himmler. Rob sued both of them for ninety million, after the construction company tasked with repairing the ruined CGOF, abruptly pulled out after the allegations were made, something Rob strongly suspected was related to the slander and libel. All the legal debacles were taking a toll on him.

And yet, despite all these problems, Rob tried his best to maintain his calm. After surviving the bombing, only to be nearly beat to death by Sam Vlockner and his younger brothers, Rob had a major epiphany about himself and the way his life was going.

For too many years, Rob held onto the hate he felt from what had happened to him as a teenager. Nearly beat to death in a gay bashing his senior year in high school, which left him in a yearlong coma, and debilitating injuries he continued to suffer from, twenty-three years later. The attack left mental scars that transformed him into the bitter loner that he was. Rob put walls up around people, and kept his distance, for "protection". He assumed the worst in people, and brought the worst out in them. His body bore the scars of all the fights and gunshot wounds sustained in his various past battles. Now months away from turning forty, Rob was tired. He wanted to find calm and let things be, but calm to him felt empty. It felt lonely and uncertain for him. But the path before was going to lead to an early death, and Rob's face reminded him of all the stress and injuries that were taking a terrible toll on his worn out body. He was thirty-nine, but looked like he was about fifty-five. It was an untried path he was now traversing in his life.

Alone, with a cold wind blasting against his face, Rob stood in the middle of the field, watching the last of the light slowly slip away. The yellows and oranges of the sun turned more purple, growing dimmer and dimmer as stars began to shine. A sullen look never left Rob's scarred face.

Rob Has His Thorns

Monday morning felt "especially Monday" for Rob. An unpleasant day awaited him as Rob caught his seven o'clock flight to Chicago. Bundled against the cold and flurries, and clutching binders of legal and business documents under his arm, Rob marched across the tarmac of the airport that he owned, where his plane awaited him, a Convairliner he restored. The twin-engine C-131F was christened "Columbiana", and wore a colorful US Navy scheme of dayglo orange, white, black, and polished natural metal. Rob climbed aboard through the forward port hatch, with its integrated stairs.

Poking his head into the cockpit, he saw his primary flight crew getting ready for the flight. Jordan Hoover, and his boyfriend, Ivo Horvat, the son of Rob's mechanic Vlado, went over the checklist as they prepared the old Convair.

"Morning, gentlemen~" Rob greeted.

"Morning!" Jordan said with a happy tone. "Almost there."

"Good~ Let's have a safe flight gentlemen!"

"Let's not blow out our exhaust system this time!" laughed Ivo.

"Yeah." Rob said with a faint, jaded chuckle. He turned and left the cockpit to step between the bulkhead. Stepping through the small galley, Rob stepped into the main cabin, which ran the length of the fuselage. Being restored as a VIP Navy transport, the interior sported two large couches, and four plush swivel chairs around a table. The rear bulkhead made up the restroom and changing room. Everything was adorned in a dark gold color, with faux wood paneling making up the bulkheads. Rob would be sharing the flight with his attorney, lady German Shepherd, Lisa Scheiddegger, and his company comptroller, Charles Manchester, a red Welsh Doberman in his late sixties. They too carried binders of paperwork. Rob checked the time on his phone; Maverick was running late.

"Good morning." Rob greeted. He sat his binders down, placed his laptop bag on the chair, and took his tan trench coat off, which he hung on the back of the chair. Rob wore a pair of charcoal gray slacks, a dark gray zip-up cardigan with a shirt and tie beneath. The typical pressed white shirt, and a dark blue necktie with a dark red diamond pattern. Rob took his beanie off and ran a paw through his slicked back brown hair, which looked wet from a dab of Brylcreem. He finally felt happy that it had grown back to its original length again.

Lisa tapped her fingers on the desk. "Dare I ask how you're doing, Rob?"

"Well I didn't get a good night's sleep because of this shit, but here we go. Ready or not."

"Let's get this bullshit over." Lisa sarcastically quipped. "We need to start coming up with an actual settlement, or the lawsuit is going to go through. Period."

"Yeah." Rob shook his head. "They're stonewalling us."

"Well it's Chicago..." Charles rolled his eyes. "The machine..."

Rob was about to fire off something sarcastic, when he heard Maverick come rushing into the cabin. Bursting up through the hatch was the big Russian husky himself. He stood taller than Rob, at six foot five inches, clutching his laptop bag and coffee thermos. "Sorry! I had to drop Robby off at school, and got stuck behind GRANDMA GOING TWENTY IN A FORTY! D'OH!"

"Better late than never." Rob said. "Let's get this nightmare over with!"

Rob walked over and closed the hatch. Engaging the electric motors, the foldable aluminum airstair was folded up and stowed. The hatch closed and locked into place. Rob announced to the cockpit that all was ready to go, and he returned to his seat, just as engine two coughed to life with a cloud of oily blue smoke. Engine one was turned over, the exhaust erupting in smoke as the prop wash blew it away. The cabin was filled with the muffled chug of cold cylinders as the radials warmed up. Soon they were taxiing for the runway, and "Columbiana" lifted off smoothly for the westbound flight to the windy city. The roar of propellers faded away as the old propliner disappeared into the overcast.

Punching through the cloud deck, the colorful Convair settled down for the hour and a half flight at nine thousand feet. Inside the cabin, Rob and his team huddled together, while they planned their strategy for the day's settlement meeting with city officials of Chicago.

Several months before, CGOF was bombed by Ryan and Brent Vlockner, the former management of the optics plant Barev operated as "Barev Two". It was an attempt on Rob's life that had gone horribly wrong; the intention was to build a bomb, disguised in a duffel bag and stowed in the company SUV that Rob had stored at the airport for his arrival. It would explode on the highway and kill Rob. Instead, the timer was not set properly, which meant the bomb went off in the parking lot, beside the main office. The heat of the vehicle made the chemicals making up the bomb unstable, enhancing its blast. In all, thirty people were killed, and scores were wounded. The CGOF was heavily damaged, and a secondary explosion of chemicals used in the optics manufacturing went off, destroying even more. The brothers were aided by their older brother, Sam Vlockner, who had a cozy position as the city commissioner. He used his powers to orchestrate the manpower needed for such a devious operation.

Rob had always held a low opinion of the Vlockner family. They were "old money" in Chicago; immigrants from Germany, the Vlockners had their hand in the financial, steel, and railroad industries, amassing a huge fortune. But Ryan and Brent were Rob's hapless management for CGOF. Ryan was forty-three, and liked the title and pomp of being the plant manager, but not the responsibilities. He always let problems slide, and seemed incapable of yelling at people, or resolving operational problems. His little brother Brent, who ran the warehouse, was the bane of Rob's existence. Brent was a habitually late, incompetent worker, who milked excessive overtime and never got anything done. They were both "stupid momos", and Rob made no secret of how he felt about them. He always called Ryan "Dumbfuck", and Brent "Ricky Retardo", and always remarked that "they could fuck a cup of coffee up!" The entire family wasn't much better, a bunch of out of touch, wealthy snobs.

Rob sued all of them. 1.4 billion dollars plus punitive damages for Chicago's government, and a half-billion dollar lawsuit against the Vlockner family. Rob wanted personal damages on the attempt on his life, monetary compensation for the destruction of the facility and its equipment, payroll losses, and employee deaths. He also sought to get compensation for the skimming operation the Vlockners had, where Sam got kickbacks skimming the business. And to add insult to injury, the building, already heavily damaged, was continuing to deteriorate from such a hard winter. And the delays and constant back and forth in settlement talks, was only making things worse.

Also discussed with Lisa was Rob's personal vendetta against WNBB-TV, an ABC affiliate and news station, plus lawsuits against two city council employees, regarding defamation of character. Rob wanted ninety million, each. He wanted that to hurt, badly, and to make a much needed example; Rob wanted to make an example out of Chicago, so other cities would know their place in the future.

But there was not enough money in the world that would help the injuries Rob sustained. He was badly hurt in the bombing, and when the bomb didn't kill him, the Vlockners tried with baseball bats. They fractured his skull, broke his hip and multiple ribs. Rob killed Ryan and Brent with a captured bat, but Sam fell to the bullets of FBI Agent Gary Dove. It flared up old injuries Rob sustained his gay bashing many years before as a teen. It left Rob with bouts of chronic pain in his spine and joints.

"How the fuck did I get myself into this..." Rob grumbled as he rubbed his tired eyes. "By obtaining business in Chicago, that's why!"

"Well they fucked up big time by leaving you the blueprints!" Lisa chuckled. "Phone contacts, text messages, e-mails."

"Well they were fucking retarded, so I'll give them that." Rob shrugged. "I want this nightmare over with."

"Understandable, Rob." Lisa nodded.

Maverick pursed his lips. "Ya know I have a feeling that we might lose Barev Two..."

Rob had to agree. "Yeah. That building is deteriorating and fast."

"I don't really want to think of it... but we might have to cut our losses with CGOF and let that dream go."

"Unfortunately. If we can't get the settlement, or end result to the lawsuit... because I don't see it holding up, especially after the smoke stack collapsed into the factory roof and destroyed that..."

"Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong." The husky shook his head.

An hour and a half later, Rob watched through the cabin windows as Chicago emerged from the clouds. Descending in, the Convairliner flew over the heart of the windy city's downtown, its concrete and steel skyscrapers jutting upwards. Rob looked out with both interest and contempt. Jordan and Ivo held the Convair in the landing pattern for Midway Airport, as they let traffic ahead of them takeoff and land. Banking around again, Rob glanced down at the Central Manufacturing District, home of the dilapidated Barev Two. From a distance, Rob could see the broken remains of the factory, which stood out from the other old brick buildings making up the CMD. After one more pass over the city, "Columbiana" descended in for the runway, for a smooth, uneventful touchdown. Slowing to a crawl, the C-131 turned off the runway and taxied to Centoh's main maintenance hangar.

Guided in by ground crew, the Convair looked right at home with Centoh's fleet of vintage propliners. The tarmac was home to several DC-6B's, and two Super Constellations, all dressed in the red, white, and silver scheme of Centoh Intermodal, Barev's cargo division. "Columbiana" taxied and turned, to park beside the hangar. Both radials were run lean, before Jordan shut both radials down. The hatch was opened and the airstair deployed by the hum of its electric motors.

Rob stepped out first, and marched with his clutch of binders, and bouncing laptop bag to the hangar, where he stored his company SUV at. After the last one was sabotaged and blown up, Rob kept the replacement secured in the hangar, guarded by his dreaded security, Barev's "Blackshirts", or as employees called them, "Rob's Schutzstaffel". The vehicle sat inside, under constant watch of a CCTV camera.

The replacement Tahoe was the same model year, a reluctant used purchase, as vehicle shortages plagued the country. Rob sat his stuff down and opened all the doors and inspected every inch of the vehicle, going as far as kneeling down and checking the undercarriage for any sabotage. Feeling more comfortable, he packed his paperwork and bag into the back, and everyone climbed in for the long drive to city hall, to begin their latest settlement hearing.

Chicago's City Hall was a marble and concrete structure, a big square building of classical architecture. It's iron clad windows and marbled pillars stood in contrast to the slick glass and steel skyscrapers jutting up into the windy city's skyline. It was the nucleus of operation for the city, home of the mayor, and city council.

Getting a parking spot in the closest parking garage, Rob marched with his entourage, through the wind and cold to the city building. The sidewalk was packed with people walking on their way to work, a sea of people going to and from, minding their own business as the snow flurries danced in the frigid breeze. Rob observed this with curiosity, as he had never seen anything like it in small-town Newark Ohio. Chicago was an alien landscape to him, a labyrinth of streets amongst the towering buildings. Traffic echoed against the buildings, and the whole city seemed to be alive to him. It made Columbus seem small and insignificant compared to the windy city.

Stepping into city hall, got checked in at the directory, for his meeting with the city government. Walking the expansive halls of city hall, Rob got a taste of its classical architecture. Wide hallways adorned with arches, were covered in granite and marble, with intricate designs etched into the ceiling. Bronze lamps hung from the ceiling, casting the building in a warm glow. People drifted through the hallways, the bustling of footsteps and murmurs of people echoing against the brown and tan stone. Rob and his entourage boarded an elevator and made their way to the fifth floor, the city government level.

The conference room for the settlement talks was a huge room, almost the size of an office itself. It had a huge conference desk made of solid mahogany, with fancy leather chairs all around. Huge picture windows gave a view of the downtown, and portraits of the city and Mayor hung on the light green walls. Rob and Maverick sat with Charles and Lisa on one side of the table. Soon, the officials from Chicago, assigned to the city's defense against Rob's lawsuit, arrived.

Possessing a small army of attorneys, Chicago's defense was led by city comptroller, Michael Trenoff, and assisted by the budget director, Shannon Fenris. Trenoff was a gray wolf in his late thirties, with brown hair that was neatly combed back against his head in a pompadour. Icy blue eyes peered out from rounded glasses. Wearing a dark suit and blue necktie, he took a seat at the center on the opposite end. Like his eyes, Trenoff was an icy bureaucrat, with ruthless acumen of his skills as the city comptroller. Budget director Shannon Fenris was a white wolf with dark blonde hair and goatee, in his early forties. He had blue eyes that slightly twitched, and wore a gray polo shirt and dark slacks. There were several other subordinates from the city's budget and treasury that assisted them and their attorneys.

Rob looked calm and collected on the other end. While outmatched in sheer numbers of lawyers, Rob had one of the most ruthless lawyers in Licking County. Lisa Scheiddegger was a thirty year veteran of legal affairs, and had been Rob's attorney for almost a decade. Earning the nickname of "Mrs. Rob Barion", Lisa was as ruthless and determined as Rob to win a case. Nothing was off limits to her. Rob didn't think much of the opposition; Trenoff was a pontificating, pedantic, bureaucrat, and Fenris to Rob was just a "googly eyed motherfucker" who spoke with a "dopey" voice.

The big glass doors to the room swung open to reveal, to Rob's surprise, the Mayor of Chicago, Laura Earhart. A red furred lady Dober in her fifties, with neatly permed brown hair that was graying slightly, she wore a gray pants suit over a white blouse as she entered with two of her aides.

"Good morning, everyone!" Earhart smiled. "Good morning, for round seven of the settlement hearings~"

"One round too many..." Rob said under his breath. "Good morning, Mayor~"

"I thought I would come to help...say... motivate this settlement to progress some more." Earhart explained in a warm tone as she set down. "And how are you this morning, Mister Barion?"

"Fine. Thank you." Rob said rather curtly.

"Let's get to work~" Lisa suggested, opening her folder up.

"Alrighty then." Trenoff nodded. "Gentlemen?"

For several hours, the two teams tried to negotiate. Like all the other meetings before, it was a tense atmosphere. For several months, Rob and the city had been arguing, fighting, over every single little aspect. It took four meetings totaling thirty-two hours, to come to an agreement just over monetary compensation for lost wages. Rob didn't say much, and let Lisa do the talking. Trenoff was a meticulous negotiator, and a tough nut to crack. Rob was both annoyed and impressed at his performance.

Rob took a swig of water from his water bottle and glanced at the clock. A long day awaited him.

After spending all morning and the early part of the afternoon in the meeting, Rob left with his entourage, no closer to a resolution than before. Looking burned out, Rob walked with Lisa out the main doors, back into the blustery wind and flurries.

"These settlement talks are getting us nowhere." Rob said to Lisa, who nodded in agreement.

"They're just trying to stall. That's it." Lisa shook her head. "Fine. Then if they wish to play that game, we're gonna fuck their day over in court!"

"I like that idea."

"Fuck 'em!" laughed the Shepherd.

Getting back into the SUV, they went over to visit for an hour at the FotoChem plant, nicknamed "Barev Five". Rob wanted to check on things at the photo chemical plant, and ended up leaving with another box of film prototypes to test in his Nikon F4 back home. Driving around the city, back to the CMD, Rob returned to the pathetic ruins of Barev Three.

Looking like a warzone, the remains of the CGOF were cordoned off by a tall fence topped by barbed wire. Barev's security marched around on patrol of the perimeter, the Blackshirts armed with AK-103 rifles, looking like Rob's private army. Rob pulled up and was waved through the gate, into the ruined parking lot, which still had a huge blast crater in it. The only other vehicle waiting inside was a small hatchback that belonged to the insurance agency.

Hopping out, Rob and everyone stood and talked to the insurance agent and the building inspector who had come along with him. The picture was not good for CGOF; the bombing had heavily damaged the building, with the car bomb obliterating the offices, and the chemical tanks that ruptured destroying the factory and part of the warehouse. Without adequate heating and cooling, the harsh Chicago winter wrecked havoc on the weakened structure. There were further small collapses in various parts of the factory, and new and worsening cracks appearing everywhere. The ninety-two year old building was not salvageable. It would have to be razed and rebuilt.

While the others talked to the insurance agent, Rob ventured inside the ruined factory. Lonely footsteps echoed through the silent halls of the CGOF. The factory that once bustled and churned out decent lenses and other glass products now at in complete silence. Suspended dust cast rays of light through the frosted windows as Rob walked through the empty factory floor. Part of the roof had caved in, and busted machinery and broken glass littered the concrete floor. A disappointed look fell on Rob's face. Thirty people ultimately died, and dozens severely injured. All because of two disgruntled employees that Rob fired for incompetence. In a way, Rob felt guilty himself; he had pushed them too far, he expected too much, and tried to ruthlessly force two incompetent managers to be competent. The guilt of all those deaths, and needless destruction weighed heavily on his conscious.

Walking through the bulkhead, Rob stepped into the silent foundry, where the glass was actually made. The blast ovens that usually made the room unbearable were now cold and dead, their once yellow glow now replaced by blackness. Light filtered in through broken windows high above, and Rob looked around solemnly. He felt that perhaps it was time to abandon lens and glass manufacturing, cut his losses, and take the insurance payout and move on to another venture to expand into.

Rob paused when he heard footsteps. They were heavy sounding, like boots on the concrete, with a deep, resonating, thump, thump. Turning around, Rob saw one of his security guards approach. He was a white wolf with icy blue eyes, and a stoic, cold expression. He approached Rob, his eyes deadest on him as he got close.

"Mister Barion. We have a bit of a situation going on." He said in a very formal, deep voice.

"What is it?"

"Reports of a shooting~"

Rob suddenly watched the security guard pull his side arm and aim it at Rob. In a split second decision, Rob knocked the gun away and it went off, a mighty blast loudly echoing in the foundry. A window shattered from the bullet flying through as Rob suddenly fought for the gun.

Grabbing the Glock, Rob kicked the wolf in the chest and knocked the gun free. He lost his grip and it fell onto the ground with a thud. Kicking it away, the gun skidded across the floor into the silica sand pile in the corner. Hand to hand, Rob and the rouge guard fought; Rob punched the wolf in the face, and grabbed him, only to get suddenly head-butted. Knocked back, Rob was momentarily dazed as the guard grabbed him and threw him into a piece of machinery. Rob hit his back hard and it shot pain throughout his body. He yelled and dodged a punch and kicked the white wolf in the chest again. Going on the offensive, Rob shoved him into a pillar and punched him in the throat. Rob got shoved back and blocked two punches, but managed to get a well placed upper cut in which whipped the guard's head back. Rob kicked him in the gut, and jumped with a spin to roundhouse kick him.

The wolf fell to the floor, and swung around, striking Rob in the legs and knocking him to the floor. Rob landed hard on his side and rolled as the wolf tried to smash his head with his boot. Getting up and putting distance, he watched his rouge guard reach into his coat and pull out a hypodermic needle and flick the cap off. His face was unchanged as his nose bled, turning his white fur red. He flicked the needle and suddenly charged at Rob.

"WHOA!" Rob shouted. He dodged the first attempted jab, and then the second, only missing narrowly. "HEY! HEY! HELP ME!" Rob screamed.

Knocking the needle away with a well placed kick, it shattered on the concrete floor.

Rob grabbed the wolf by the collar of his uniform, and was swiftly head butted again. Bleeding from his forehead, Rob was shoved into a table, and punched repeatedly. Grabbing a bundle of heavy chains, Rob struck his attacker in the head with it, and was shoved across the table, knocking all the tools and electronics off it, all of it with Rob, crashing to the ground.

Doing a flip to get back up, Rob grabbed his assassin again, and slammed his head into another steel pillar. He swung to punch, but the assassin dodged and Rob struck his paw on the steel pillar. "FUCK!" Rob screamed. He recoiled in pain and was shoved back by the guard, who revealed a garrote.

"Now you're gonna die."

Growing exhausted, Rob called out for help again, his voice helplessly echoing away. Backing himself away, the assassin slowly followed Rob, his face unflinching just like Rob's. The wolf-hybrid realized that he had met his match. Baring his teeth, Rob yelled and charged at the white wolf, only to be shoved and spun around. The wolf threw the steel wire around Rob's throat, the wolf-hybrid catching it at the very last second. With a great heavy, the assassin tried to strangle Rob, who held onto the cable with his paws. The steel wire began to cut into the palms and blood gushed as Rob struggled and held on. He snarled and fought for any inch to survive as the assassin matched his moves. Rob was running out of ideas fast; he really did meet his match.

There were yells and the sounds of rapidly approaching boots storming on the ground. The assassin looked over and was momentarily distracted. Rob saw an opening and kicked him in the knee, which made him loose grip. Rob ripped the garrote away with his bloody paws, swung around, punched him in the face and chest, and threw himself on the ground as his Blackshirts opened fire.

Three security guards opened fire with automatic bursts from their AK-103's. Rob landed on the ground hard as his assassin was shot multiple times. Blood burst from his chest and back as bullets found their mark. The white wolf convulsed, stiffened up, fell onto his back, convulsed twice, and went still. Blood started to pool around him as he lay dying.

Rob, hyperventilating, crawled away as more of his security guards came rushing in, followed by Maverick, Lisa, and Charles.

"Rob!" Screamed Maverick. "Rob!"

"Oh god!" Rob screamed in a panic. Maverick helped his best friend up.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Lisa screamed. "Rob are you okay?"

"This motherfucker tried to kill me!" Rob screamed.

"HEY!" came another security guard. "Randy's down! Randy's down!"

"What?"

"I found Randy in a storage closet! This muddafucka took his uniform!" yelled another guard.

Rob fumbled his brow in frustration as he wiped some blood off his face with his bloody paws, which only stained his face more. Feeling his legs get wobbly, Rob had to sit down. His blue-green eyes were as wide as saucer plates as a security guard began to treat Rob for his injuries.

"Lock this whole place down! Get the fucking pigs here and get an ambulance!"

"No!" Rob shouted. "Take me to the ER. Not the ambulance."

"Yes sir."

Rob looked up at Lisa. "Someone tried to get me killed..."

"Well that ain't your first rodeo, Rob~" chuckled Lisa.

"No shit."

Late at night, after several hours being at the hospital, and questioned by police, and FBI, Rob was on his way home. Aboard the Convairliner, the C-131F plotted course for home in the inky night, its twin radials droning into the darkness.

The cabin was quiet, save for the muffled burble of the twin radials and synchronized propellers. The lights were dim, and Maverick, Lisa, and Charles rested in the back of the plane where it was quieter. Rob sat towards the cockpit, on the long couch. While everyone else was asleep, Rob sat with bloodshot eyes, looking down at his mangled, bandaged up paws that sat in his lap. Fingers trembled as Rob stared aimlessly at them. He needed hundreds of stitches to close the wounds to his palms from the severe gashes sustained by the garrote. Another nasty scar would be added to his body. Looking catatonic to the world around him, Rob kept thinking about who would try and kill him? Who was the assassin? The FBI only said that it was someone they had on the radar for years, a ruthless assassin, world class. Who was responsible? Could it had been the Vlockners? Rob was suing them for half a billion dollars. Were they seeking revenge for the lawsuit? The deaths of their relatives? Could it have been someone in the city government? Trying to prevent the lawsuit? There were so many questions, and not enough answers.

Rob sat in his sad little pose for the entire flight back to Newark. The clock struck three-fifty-five when the Convairliner taxied back to Rob's hangar at his airport. "Columbiana" turned and parked, and her radials were powered down. Rob stepped off first down the stairs, to be greeted by his husband Joey, and their nephew Alvin Paulo.

"Are you okay?" Joey asked him.

"I guess." Rob said in a quiet voice. "What a day."

"I'll say. C'mon lets go home, Rob."

"No... I gotta clear my head for a bit... I'm gonna go take a drive."

"Oh okay." Joey nodded.

Rob gave Joey a kiss, and left his laptop bag and binders for him to take back home. Rob simply got into his red Tahoe and fired it up. He looked visibly frustrated as his aching paws gripped the steering wheel and manipulated the column shifter into drive. He took off and departed from the airport, slipping away into the darkness.

For an hour, Rob drove alone, through the empty back roads of rural Licking County. His mind felt restless and overwhelmed by the unexpected assault. Feeling more comfortable being unarmed, Rob didn't have his gun on him; had he been armed, it wouldn't have been an issue. But Rob was tired of being the violent gunslinger that everyone expected from him. He had made a promise to himself to change things up, but now he felt like he was back to square one. He felt conflicted on what to do.

Who was responsible for this? The question kept bugging Rob. He drove around thinking constantly of who the culprit was. Was it one of the many corrupt people in Chicago's government, trying to literally "settle out of court"? Was it Mrs. Vlockner and her corrupt family of nincompoops? The thought drove Rob nuts. Also driving him nuts was the realization that he got overpowered. The usually hyper vigilant Rob let his guard down, and the only thing stopping him from being strangled to death was a fast move to block the wire with his paws. Now they stung with a dull pain throbbing through his palms.

Stopping at an empty intersection in the middle of farmland, Rob smacked his paws on the steering wheel, only to instantly regret it. He winced in immense pain and yelled. Nobody heard him inside the darkened cab. Rob breathed heavily, his chest rising and falling rapidly in frustration. He needed someone to talk to. Struggling to grab his phone, Rob took a glance at his GPS, to see where he was at. He put his turn signal on and made an abrupt left turn, while he dialed a friend's number.

Pouring Rob a mug of coffee, Cyrus Filton carried the steaming mug over to an exhausted looking Rob at the dinner table. Cyrus, a burly, tattooed up blonde wolf with long red hair, sat the mug down in front of Rob, who accepted it from him. He returned to cooking at the stove, leaving Rob to slowly sip his coffee with the company of Freddy Filton, Cy's nephew.

"So wait a minute? You mean, this guy just jacked a security guard's uniform and attacked you? What kind of Agent forty-seven shit is this?" Cyrus exclaimed.

"That is exactly what happened." Rob recalled. "I didn't have my gun on me... and man... that guy had me matched move for move~"

Cyrus returned to the table with a plate for Rob and himself. Rob looked down at a plate of bacon and eggs, with a side of crisp homemade hash browns. Rob grabbed the ketchup and squirted some in an empty spot on his plate and handed the bottle off to his friend. "If I just had my gun on me... I let my guard down, and he took the opportunity. I can't believe he almost got me... I can't ever let it happen like that."

"Rob, you can't win every round~" Cyrus reasoned. "You're shook up from what happened."

"My paws are all fucked up..." Rob frowned. "I had to get a couple hundred stitches."

"Could be worse, you could be dead!" Freddy chimed in.

"Yeah." Rob grunted over a bite of food. "I'd love to know who's responsible... and string 'em up~"

"Well it's Chicago... good luck!" laughed Cyrus. "The machine!"

"Yeah... very much so." The wolf-hybrid shook his head.

"Dare I ask how the lawsuits are going?" Freddy quipped.

"We're trying to negotiate a settlement, but I don't think they're negotiating in good fate. My other lawsuit against the McFuckups, I mean, Vlockners, is proceeding along about as well to be expected."

"Rob's going for the jugular!" Cyrus grinned.

"I'm seeking the rightful damages that's owed to Barev." Rob shrugged. "Can't pay the dime? Don't do the crime~"

"Wow, that's pretty good, Rob!"

"I try."

Rob sat listening to Cyrus and Freddy talk while he ate his bacon and eggs quietly. He took a moment to think. Washing everything down with the last of his coffee, Rob sat the mug down and dabbed his lips with a napkin. "I really feel conflicted."

"How so, Rob?" Cyrus asked.

"I don't know what to do? I don't want to be Mister gunslinger, violent Terminator... but people like that stupid fuck make me have to do the dirty work... I just want to have calm, and people just fuck it up. Too much has happened in my life. I want to find some kind of happiness, a happy medium somewhere, and people trying to kill me is not helping it!"

Rob slammed his paws on the table and immediately regretted it. He let out a muffled grunt as he held himself back and writhed in discomfort. "Fuck it, I am about ready to pass out. I'm gonna go back to asleep in your bed, Cy."

"Sure! I gotta get ready to man my adult daycare!" Cyrus laughed. "Just pull the door shut when you go later, Rob~"

"Sure."

Rob put the plate in the dishwasher and thanked his friend for breakfast. Rob ventured through Cy's rustic farmhouse and went upstairs to his bedroom. He laid down in Cy's bed and laid on his back looking up at the ceiling. He thought about what to do as exhaustion overcame him, and he fell asleep, into a deep spent slumber.

Concealing his mangled paws in a pair of snug black leather gloves, Rob filled out his flight plan for a test flight of his newest warbird. Jotting down his flight destination, the times, and scribbling his name on the bottom, Rob clicked his blue ballpoint and stowed it in a pocket of his khaki flight uniform. Turning the paperwork into his friend Geert, who oversaw the airport operations, Rob stepped out of the terminal to go walk over to the museum's flight line.

Sitting on the tarmac was his newly restored "Ole 655", a 1946 P-51H. A rather rare Mustang variant, the all natural metal Mustang wore post-war USAF markings, with "655" stenciled on the nose in bold black numbers. Overseeing its preparation for flight was his mechanic Vlado, a burly Croatian wolf.

"Evening, Vlado~" Rob greeted. "How's the bird?"

"Well I took her up for a flight earlier today, and she flew as good as she'll get." Vlado recalled. "I did a minor tweak to the propeller, and that solved a minor vibration issue."

"Good." Rob accepted.

"She's ready for flight."

Rob climbed up onto the wing and stepped into the cockpit, where he donned his "bone dome". Strapping his helmet and radio to his head, Rob grabbed the checklist as Vlado climbed up to assist him.

"How are your paws, by the way, Rob?"

"As good as they're gonna get... sore." Rob explained. "But I'll live. It ain't my first rodeo, Vlado."

"Yes, we know~" the gray wolf chuckled.

"I gotta visit a friend down in Cinci, so I'll be a hot minute."

"Alrighty. Safe travels Rob."

"Thanks."

Vlado climbed down and manned the fire extinguisher as Rob got the Merlin ready to start up. Giving the priming pump a few pumps and switching the magnetos on, Rob engaged the starter button and watched the big paddle blades making up his four blade propeller turn over. He counted the blades and engaged the mixture controls, the Merlin roaring to life in a cloud of glycol smoke. The propwash blew the smoke away as Rob watched his gauges for the engine to come up to temperature. Slowly, the rough idle of his Packard Merlin smoothed out, and Rob checked the engine temperature and oil pressure, before releasing the brakes. Giving a little bit of power, Rob began to taxi in a slow turn for the runway. He stopped at the access road to watch a TP-40N taxi by, piloted by his nephew Alvin Paulo, and adopted son, Felix Barion. Rob waved from the cockpit as he turned and rolled onto the access road.

Getting onto the runway, Rob opened the throttle and commanded maximum power from his Merlin powerplant. Lightly loaded, the Mustang galloped down the runway, lifting off its tail and smoothly taking off after a nine hundred foot run. Rob climbed into the evening sky and banked around to begin flying southwest, towards the direction of Cincinnati.

Flying low over the countryside, Rob took his time at a leisurely rate towards Batavia's airport. He made a mental note that the "H" flew no different than a "D" model Mustang, and its paddle blade Aeroproducts propeller had a bit more "grab" to the air. Another worthwhile investment to his aviation museum.

About forty-five minutes later, Rob circled over Batavia's airport, and descended in for an uneventful landing. "Ole 655" taxied up to the tarmac and parked by the fence, where Rob saw Special Agent Gary Dove waiting for him with his teenage son taking pictures. Rob shut the engine off and climbed out once the propeller coasted down.

Stepping through the fence gate, Gary Dove, a gray wolf with tousled brown hair, was dressed in black work pants and a blue V-neck sweater that read "FBI" in big yellow letters on the front. "Good evening Mister Rob!"

"You requested my presence?" Rob asked in a sarcastic tone.

"Well a telephone chat would have sufficed, Rob~"

"I had to take a test flight, so kill two birds with one stone, Dove."

"Very well~ I see even injured paws won't stop you!" Dove exclaimed with a teasing grin on his face.

"Takes more than that." Rob quipped. "What do you need, Dove?"

"Are you aware that you killed a world class assassin?"

"Well for starters, I didn't kill him- members of my security detail did." Rob corrected.

Dove made a sarcastic facial gesture at Rob and chuckled. "Always a man of details. The man who tried to kill you was Constantin Stoian, a Romanian national, and a world renowned assassin who had been wanted by twenty governments for contract kills."

"I see."

"We have suspected that several unexplained deaths of business leaders, and government officials may have been his handy work. Leaves no trace uncovered, witnesses describe a formal speaking man with few emotions, ability to blend into his surroundings and adopt numerous disguises and overcome obstacles. Until he met Rob Barion~"

"Can't win 'em all." Rob shrugged. "So do you know who paid him to try and kill me?"

"Well, no." Dove admitted. "I was hoping you had a hunch?"

"I suspect either someone in Chicago's government, or the Vlockner family." Rob guessed. "I figured since it failed, it has to be the Vlockners, because they fuck everything up. Those folks could fuck a cup of coffee up. But I just don't know. I seem to bring the best out in people, Dove."

"No comment, Rob." Chuckled Dove. "I'm looking into it with my Illinois counterpart, and we will keep you posted."

"I appreciate it, Dove."

"By the way Rob... how have you been feeling as of lately?"

"Conflicted, I must admit."

"Feeling like you're stuck between a rock and a hard place?"

"Yeah, kind of." Rob admitted. "I feel like I want to change, but problems keep dragging me back, and it's this internal conflict, this turmoil on what I should do, or how to handle a problem just makes me feel... depressed? Blah? I've been pretty depressed since the start of the year."

"Trust me, this year has already tested my patience..." Dove shook his head.

"I just want calm. I want these lawsuits to end, and I can't get a settlement ironed out, and I'm tired of the bullshit and everything. It's like a rollercoaster I can't get off. Up and down. Up and down. Just like my depression. It's terrible."

"Well hang on in there, Rob." Dove nodded. "Why don't you let your attorney handle the legal problems, and just take a breather and have some fun? Do something that makes you happy? I don't know~ Don't piss people off and have them try and kill you!"

That last part sounds oddly specific." Rob chuckled cynically. "I appreciate it."

"Well Rob... I appreciate you flying down here. And I appreciate you bringing another plane of yours so my son can see it~"

"Hey, kill two birds with one stone." Rob said with a sarcastic point and a smile that momentarily curled up on his face.

"Have a safe flight back to Newark, Rob. I'll hear from ya later."

"Likewise, Dove. Have a good night."

Departing from Batavia, Rob returned to the air in his polished up Mustang. Having a long thinking session on his way back home, Rob admired the scenery and the sounds of his purring Merlin in front of him. Almost an hour later, with the light of evening fading away to twilight, Rob touched back down at Newark-Heath. He taxied back to his museum's hangar, where Vlado stood with his son Tito, awaiting his arrival. Rob spun around and parked, cutting the mixture after a brief idle in lean. Rob climbed out watching the propeller coast down.

"How was the flight?"

"She flies like a million and a half dollars~" Rob complimented as he took his helmet off.

"I hate to burst your bubble of contentment, Rob... but she's back..." Tito announced.

"Oh no."

Rob made his way to the terminal to find Patricia Muncie in the lobby, making a big scene arguing and yelling at Geert Apps, who co-owned the airport with Rob. Patricia, a young gray wolfess in her early thirties, with a lot of attitude, was a constant thorn in the side of the airport and museum. She had moved into the neighborhood in mid 2020, and immediately began constant noise complaints. Rob and Patricia had many screaming matches over aircraft noise. And once again, Rob had to deal with her "Karen ass" again.

Patricia was hollering and throwing her arms around in frustration at a very calm looking Geert. The almost sixty year old Dutch border collie never showed frustration or anger on his face. He just calmly listened to her rant and yell at him over an engine test earlier with one of his Su-27's.

"Look, look, look, Patricia." Rob started. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm telling you again to shut the fuck up with all these airplanes noises!" she yelled. "Do you want me to get the city involved again?"

"You mean the city that told you that you have no business dictating operations of this airport?" Rob asked her. "So go again, make another complaint. They're gonna just tell you the same thing again!"

"How about I get the police involved!" the gray wolfess screamed. "I'll fucking get them here and arrest you all!"

"That's not how it works." Rob sighed. "Look. You moved into a neighborhood that is right next to a municipal airport. You made that choice- nobody twisted your arm, or made you sign the agreement under duress. You're just wanting to pick fights and I'm done with it. I'm going to ask you nicely to go home, or I will have my security escort you to the perimeter."

"You're never going to stop me, Rob! I'll keep being right on you about all the noise!"

"Okay."

"This won't be the end of me!"

"Sure~"

Patricia stormed out of the terminal as Rob watched her march on back home. Rob checked the time on his phone, and remarked that he was beat and wanted to go home. Without even raising his voice or showing any anger, Rob just left for his SUV in the parking lot. Geert, Vlado, and Tito all looked at each other with a surprised look on their faces.

"Is everything okay with Rob?" Geert asked them.

Turning onto Hebron Road to head back home, Rob sat back in his red Tahoe looking rather content. Flowing with traffic through the tiny city of Heath, Rob thought about the latest encounter with Patricia, and how this time, it didn't leave him in seething rage. He felt quite good about defusing the latest round. The last time he argued with her they got in each other's faces in a red-faced screaming match that ended with him pushing her to the ground in the parking lot. He felt tired of screaming and yelling.

Returning back home, Rob parked his Tahoe in his garage, next to his husband Joey's GMC truck. Rob stepped out through the side door as the garage door closed. As he approached the steps to his deck, Rob was greeted by Greenie, his pet Mallard duck. Emerging from the slumbering garden, the little green headed drake walked up to Rob, and in his usual way of greeting him, flapped his wings and quacked. Rob knelt down and gave Greenie a pet on the head and picked him up gently. Greenie contently sat in Rob's arms as he was carried inside, out of the cold.

"Hey you made it~" teased his husband Joey, a well built Brazilian Doberman, with black and tan fur. "How are you doing, Rob?"

"Ya know, Joey... content." Rob admitted. He walked towards his bedroom to take his flight uniform off. Joey followed and leaned against the door frame with his arms crossed.

"Content you say?" Joey smiled.

"Yeah."

"Was it a good flight?"

"Good until I had to come back and deal with that stupid bitch again."

"Oh god, not her again." Joey rolled his eyes.

"I just calmly told her to go home." Rob shrugged as he hung his coveralls back up. "I'm done yelling at her."

"You mean... you didn't blow up at her? You didn't go full Stalin?" Joey grinned teasingly.

"No." Rob shook his head. "I'm done yelling. I need a vacation from this shit."

"Yeah, I agree." Joey smiled. "You've taken a great step in deescalating a situation!"

"I got too many problems, and she's not gonna be another."

"Ninety-nine problems but a bitch ain't one?"

"Yeah~" Rob smiled.

Joey walked over and gave Rob and a hug and a kiss. "Glad to see a smile on your face, stud~"

"Glad you like~" Rob chuckled.

Downtown Newark was home to the headquarters of Rob's slowly growing business empire, United Barev Industries. Just a few blocks away from the city's old courthouse on the square, Barev was housed in the former Newark High School, across the street from the public library. The big brick building served as the nucleus of operations for the company's factions located across six states. Adjacent to the main building on the property was an old farm house. Nicely landscaped with slumbering trees and gardens surrounding a pond, the old brick farm home served as Rob's personal office space.

Arriving via the back alley, Rob swung wide and parked his Tahoe in his assigned spot near his building. Hopping out with his laptop bag and packed lunch, Rob walked along the winding sidewalk to the entrance. Stepping inside the lobby area, he said good morning to Tabby and Charles, who oversaw his secretarial duties on top of other assigned tasks.

"Morning Rob!" Tabby waved.

"Morning~" Rob calmly quipped as he walked by.

"You're already getting phone calls in from Chicago."

"Tell 'em to shove it." Rob sarcastically quipped as he ventured upstairs to his office. "I'll get to them shortly."

"Sure~"

Going upstairs, Rob poked his head in to Mav's office, to find the big husky fiddling around with a Rubik's cube while talking to their southern director on a Zoom call. Rob smiled and waved at him before stepping next door to his office. Rob opened the frosted glass door, stepped inside and closed it. He took his wool trench coat off and hung it up on the coat rack.

Taking half the upstairs of the old farm house, Rob's office was large and spacious, with a large picture window behind his desk showing the decaying downtown of his home city. The floor was made of a yellow teak, with dark streaks in it, and the walls were a calming medium blue. The set of couches around a coffee table were earth colors, as were the bookshelves that housed his collection of manuals and legal books. He had one bookcase dedicated to showing off his tube camera collection, and another showcased his extensive collection of video imaging tubes.

Rob sat his laptop bag down behind his desk and stuffed his lunch into his small fridge tucked under his second desk against the wall, which held his dual monitor workstation. He reached over to power his Thinkstation up and waited for Windows to load. As the leader of his "empire", Rob found that his workload had transformed; he could recall the days of being the subordinate at the school district, working long hours nursing along the school's broadcast station, WNCS-TV, which he still owned and controlled. Or the early days of running his business, working long hours doing almost everything with a skeleton crew creating videos and digitizing analog videotape. Now his workload was answering e-mails and dealing with "adult daycare" of his middle management. He sometimes was still hands on, especially with his aviation assets and somewhat with making broadcasting materials, but most days, it was here, in his office, doing his "adult daycare".

As Rob logged into Windows, his phone rang. Rob reached over to answer it. "Yeah."

"Rob? You have a Shannon Fenris of Chicago on the line for you."

"Lovely..."

Rob got up and went to his main desk to pull from the drawer, a cassette tape. Not trusting a single word from anyone in that godforsaken city, Rob resurrected and modified an ancient Tandy telephone recording device to record any call that had come in from the parties being sued. He held a chromdioxid audio cassette and shoved it into the tray and slammed it shut. It was labeled "Chicago Lawsuit Parties Tape III". Right before answering the call, Rob engaged the record button and hit "line two".

"Barion speaking."

"Good morning Mister Barion, this is Shannon Fenris." Came the dopey voice of the budget director.

"And how can I help you."

"I would like to make a new offer in regards to the settlement."

"You, and the other parties involved in this tort were told that any and all discussions regarding our settlement talks pre-trial, are only to be conducted in the presence of attorneys. I will not speak to you regarding this matter."

"Please hear me out- I got you, Rob."

"And why don't we pick a better vocabulary than sounding like a fuckin' wigger, Fenris?" Rob hissed. There was an awkward silence on the phone.

"I was going to offer that in our next discussion, I would like to make an offer that the city will pay compensation to the victims of the bombing if you go lower on your damage claim."

"Yeah, I'm gonna believe that crock of shit from you. Remember the last time you offered something and then just reneged on it, and then played dumb on me, Fenris. You are wasting my time."

"I got you..."

"You can bring this offer up at the next settlement hearing, in the presence of our attorneys. Do not call me again."

Rob slammed the phone down and hit the stop on his audio recorder. He ground his teeth in annoyance. Not even a minute later, the phone rang again.

"Yeah." Rob said, answering it again.

"Rob." Came Tabby's voice. "Michael Trenoff on line two."

Rob rolled his eyes. "okay." He hit record again and picked up and engaged line two."

"Damage report, Trenoff!" Rob sarcastically fired off.

"Rob, this is Michael Trenoff."

"Yes... I unfortunately know."

"You were very rude to my budget director, who only wished to offer you a solution to this very painful lawsuit!"

"So you call me to whine. He's a big boy, he can get over it." Rob grunted. "You are not going to negotiate with me over the phone, and try and bamboozle me with offers that get reneged in the next meeting. In fact, I highly suspect that your side is not negotiating in good faith! You are simply trying to obfuscate this entire lawsuit and try and run out the clock and financially ruin me. Well I'll tell you what, Trenoff, you are not going to intimidate me."

"You are suing the third largest city in the country..." Trenoff grumbled. "We are trying to negotiate in good faith and you are not cooperating."

"That's why it's a fucking lawsuit, ding-dong." Rob snapped. "A member of your government used his position in power to provide the materials to construct a bomb that was an attempt on my life, and ended up destroying a factory and killing thirty people and wounding hundreds of others."

"We are not liable for it and-"

"You, the city, are indeed liable for this!" Rob shouted. "If a member of my company used company resources to do the same exact thing, I, the company, would be held liable, and would have to pay monetary damages for actions taken."

"There is a huge difference between a city government, and a private business."

"You are liable for the bombing, and you are liable because members of your government worked with Sam Vlockner, to make the bombing happen. And I am suing for the appropriate financial compensation that you are not getting in the settlement talks. That is why I argue you are not trying to negotiate in good faith."

"That is not true."

"You're lying." Rob bluntly fired off. "Just like Fenris promising things and nothing ever happening."

"You're crazy if you think we can just give you the money requested... that is an astronomical amount, Rob! One point four billion, plus personal damages, PLUS potential punitive damages? As comptroller, I refuse to let our budget get out of what over your misdirected anger!"

"We shall see about that, Trenoff... I will see you in the next meeting."

Rob hung up and hit the stop button on his tape recorder. His fingers trembled in anger as Rob closed his eyes, and took a deep, slow breath, to calm himself down. It wasn't worth being angry over. But he felt so slighted by them.

A knock at the door revealed Maverick poking his head in. "Hey! Bixby wants to talk to you!"

"Yeah, sorry, gimme a sec, I had to deal with dumb and dumber on the phone."

"I gOt YoU rOb" grinned the Russian husky with a snort, as he impersonated Fenris' voice. Rob shuddered and shook his head in disdain.

"Chop 'em up, Mav, just chop 'em all up~" Rob chuckled. "Be one moment."

"Sure!"

Stowing the cassette away and tossing it back into his drawer, Rob logged into Zoom and got himself situated into the video chat. Along with Maverick and Martin Bixby, the southern director of all Barev operations in Mississippi, they were accompanied by the heads of security for the company. Brad Johnson, an imposing looking black and rust Doberman, oversaw all operations of "Barev Security Services", a private military contractor division, and Jerry Schultz, the head of security down in Mississippi, a middle-aged German Shepherd.

Martin Bixby, a gray wolf with tousled brown hair between his pointy ears, was the main focus of the Zoom meeting. He sat at his desk down in Biloxi, where he talked about "Barev Four", the medical PPE facility that was almost operational.

"Good morning, Rob~"

"Morning, Martin." Rob greeted. "Sorry about the delay."

"It's fine, Mav informed me that you were speaking to the peanut gallery." The wolf chuckled as he shuffled some paperwork on his desk. "Well to give you the news in a nutshell, Barev Four will be operational by early April."

"Good."

"We have just done some trial runs, and we're ironing out the kinks of the new equipment. It's looking great." Martin explained. "The small glass foundry has produced excellent vials in the two trial runs, and the FDA liked what they had seen."

"Considering that was a last second addition thanks to the fucking CGOF blowing up by the Retardos... I'm glad it worked out."

"Luckily I lucked out finding some folk who were skilled at glass foundry stuff when Anchor Hocking went out down here. Now, we're going to do an opening ceremony in April, and the press is coming, so we'll have to give some speeches."

"I'll step back and let all of you speak, as my involvement in this hasn't been too extensive."

"You are the president of the company, Rob~"

"Nah, I just do adult daycare for all the facilities." Rob quipped sarcastically, which made Brad and Jerry chuckle. "I would rather have you and the plant manager give the speech to the press."

"Alrighty, then Rob."

"I'll sit back and watch~" Rob chuckled. "I have faith in you, Martin!"

"Heh, thanks~"

Rob continued his chat with Martin, Mav, and the security team while he sorted through paperwork and legal statements.

A light dusting of snow turned the landscape a mottled white. A cold wind stirred up the sparkling powder on a late Friday morning. The emerging sun in the clearing sky took the bite of the cold away.

Stepping out from his office, Rob ventured out to walk over to his attorney's office a few blocks away on the north side of the downtown square. Bundled against the cold in his knitted beanie and gray coat that was zipped up to around his chest, Rob walked along the sidewalk with a thick stack of clipped together and stapled paperwork tucked under his left arm. Blank eyes stared out through his dark aviator sunglasses. Compared to the never ending bustle and claustrophobic labyrinth that was Chicago, downtown Newark Ohio was an almost silent, dead community of crumbling brick buildings and shuttered businesses.

Walking up Main Street, Rob crossed third and second street, and passed by the cold and square brutalist city hall. Getting to first street, Rob waited at the light for the crosswalk to give him the signal to cross over. In front of him, stood the century and a half old city courthouse, with its copper roofed clock tower jutting up over the square giving the time on an old set of clocks.

"Hey man! You got some cash!" yelled a tweaked out wolf, a twitching, lanky gray wolf who looked high on drugs. Rob turned to look at him approach with his twitchy, jerky walk, and unkempt clothes that sagged on his lanky frame. His face was bony, with pink baggy eyes, and some sores on his muzzle. A blue eye twitched some. Rob kept his cold, stoic face.

"No." was Rob's reply.

The wolf suddenly pulled a switchblade from his pocket, aiming the glistening blade at Rob. "Hand it over, motherfucker!"

Looking like he wasn't even trying, Rob grabbed the wolf by his wrist and yanked him forward, where Rob kneed him in the gut. The wolf lost his grip on the knife, and soon found himself staring at it in Rob's grip. Rob's face didn't even flinch once.

"Beat it, Michael Meth."

The wolf stumbled back into a trash can and looked mortified at Rob disarming him. He bolted and ran down the sidewalk to first street, right as the signal changed for Rob. Shaking his head in disdain, Rob walked across first street, eyeballing the pathetic little switchblade in his grip. He simply discarded it in another trashcan and went along his way to Lisa's office.

Straddled between an eatery and a jewelry store on Park Place, the north end of the square, was the law office of "Scheiddegger, Manson, and Juarez". A nondescript entrance, sheathed in dark polished granite with a single entry door, was where Rob entered at. He checked himself in and went to go see Lisa in her office.

"I thought I'd make your messy desk even more messier with more paperwork!" Rob chuckled as he entered.

Lisa sat at her paper strewn desk, typing away at her keyboard as she sent off another e-mail to a client.

"Just set 'em in the tray, Rob." The German Shepherd motioned. "How's your paws doing?"

"Good enough to disarm some methhead at the crosswalk."

"What!?" Lisa said, looking up from her computer with a look of bewilderment.

"Michael Meth comes staggering up for money, and when I told him to fuck off, he pulls a knife on me. Eh~"

"Oh Newark..." Lisa shook her head as she reached over to grab Rob's stack of paperwork.

"Yeah." Rob rolled his eyes. "This the place where hopes and dreams come to die."

"Not to get too distracted on the intellectuals of this town! I had spoken to your best friend, Agent Dove. He called me to inform me of an execution of a warrant that nabbed twelve people in Chicago."

"Oh really now?"

"Warrant was granted, and seven people from the maintenance department, four from the parks and recreations department, and one from the water department, were arrested and charged with being an accessory to the conspiracy to try and kill you."

"Oh joy."

"I thought you might like that, especially in regards to your billion dollar lawsuit against the city of Chicago."

"One point four billion, Lisa~"

"Sorry!" Lisa laughed. "Not every day that one of my clients is suing for more money than God!"

The German Shepherd scrutinized a new e-mail that came in through her inbox. "Oh fuck... it's Tiller..."

"Oh god... what the fuck do the Retardos want now?"

Lisa read the e-mail inquiry to Rob. "Peter Vlockner is inquiring about whether your client, Rob Barion, will accept the settlement terms that were laid out last week, as the burden of the lawsuit on the family is too much, especially to their aunt, Misses Virginia Vlockner."

Rob pursed his lips and tapped his foot on the carpeted floor. "Lisa tell Tiller I said this, verbatim. 'Go fuck your mother'."

Lisa typed it out and smacked her finger on the enter key." "Sent!"

"Thank you."

"Honestly Rob, these settlement talks are pointless, and we've gotten almost nowhere for both parties." Lisa reasoned.

"Yeah, I agree. I'm done listening to googly eyes and that pontificating, pretentious bastard."

"Yeah fuck em." Lisa snorted. "I gOT yOu gUyS, tRuSt Me!"

Rob and Lisa shared a hearty laugh over it. Rob agreed to end settlement talks with the city, and wait for the first trial come April. As for the talks with the Vlockners, Rob simply said "fuck it" to any settlement talk as well. The other smaller lawsuits were proceeding as planned as Lisa compiled paperwork for those.

"Well I hate to cut it short, but I gotta fly out to Chicago, so I can meet with the Mayor... heh, my 'date'." Rob explained.

"Hopefully not to talk about the lawsuit!"

"No, Lisa, Jesus, I'm not that fucking stupid." Rob exclaimed sarcastically. "Mayor Earhart wants to 'get to know me' so she can try and work with retard one and two and find a solution to this."

"Pfft. Good luck~" Lisa chuckled.

"Yeah, I said the same thing. But I'm a good sport, and I guess... I would like a good impression to unfuck this whole clusterfuck." Rob rolled his eyes. "Any mention about the lawsuit and it's a fifth amendment."

"Now you sound like a Trump administration member."

"Ha, yeah." Rob shook his head. "The times, Lisa, the times."

"Unfortunately."

"Yeah."

Clipboard tucked under his arm, Rob walked, securing the straps to his orange ZsH-3 "bone dome" atop his head. Wearing his black leather jacket with fur covered lapels, Rob walked across the tarmac to his mount that would take him to Chicago. On the flight line sat "Red 5015", his pride-n-joy MiG-21PFM. The sleek and slender delta wing interceptor carried the colors and markings of North Vietnam's air force. The lower half of the jet was bare metal, but the upper half carried a two toned green splotchy camouflage. A dark green shock cone at the nose housed the jet's intercept radar. Shackled onto the belly was a 150 gallon drop tank, to give the Fishbed some extra range. Flying to meet the mayor of Chicago, it would be the Fishbed's first flight since 2019, after it had gone out of service for a major overhaul.

Rob circled around his pointy jet warbird and signed off on the visual inspection. He gave the tires a kick and checked the nose cone for any damage. Giving it a tap, the dull knock gave it away that the supersonic MiG's shock cone was simply wood that kept the violent slipstream away from the radar unit.

Signing off, Rob handed the paperwork to Vlado, who helped Rob strap into the MiG. Its cockpit was somewhat cramped, and painted an oddly soothing blue color. The instrument panel was packed full of gauges, dials, switches, and indicator lights, which soon glowed as Rob turned on systems and got internal power going. Some gauges were American, others were the original Soviet instrumentation, complete with Russian Cyrillic. Switching on the Tumansky R-11, Rob heard the dull spool up of the turbojet grow louder, filling the cockpit with its distinct, shrilling whistle. Reaching over, Rob pulled the side opening canopy shut and locked it in place. Vlado backed away with the ladder and watched from a distance as Rob began to taxi for the runway.

Getting onto the runway, Rob hit the afterburner and held on as the Fishbed throttled up. Spewing bright yellow flames, the delta wing jet, lightly loaded, quickly got off the runway, and climbed skyward. Its roaring afterburner echoed across the landscape as Rob rapidly climbed and spun around to head west. He donned his oxygen mask and climbed to 15,000 feet, where he held the speed at 500MPH. He wanted his "date" to be over and done with to start his weekend.

Rushing across Ohio and Indiana, Rob admired the clouds and scenery of a snow dusted landscape. Reaching Chicago by two in the afternoon, he circled over the city for an opening at Midway Airport. From the air, Rob watched as his red and white Centoh birds slowly lumbered into the air for their afternoon runs, the old DC-6BF's sailing skyward into the distance. Exiting the landing pattern, Rob kept the nose aimed at the runway while he descended with everything down, including speed brakes. Coming in hot and crossing the threshold at 200MPH, Rob flared for touchdown, and felt the jolt of landing as the tires smoked on the pavement. "Red 5015" bounced once and touched back down, right as the braking parachute deployed. Rob bled off speed down the runway, and soon taxied to his Centoh hangar, dragging the orange and white 'chute behind him.

Greeting ground crew and signing off on more flight paperwork, Rob grabbed the company SUV, and began the trek across the city to city hall, to meet with Mayor Earhart. Twenty five minutes later, Rob pulled into the parking garage of city hall, for his one on one meeting.

Going up to the fifth floor, Rob watched the bronze elevator doors slide open. Doffing his flight suit, Rob stepped out of the elevator in his usual gray work pants and a dark green v-neck sweater over a white polo shirt. His brown hair was slicked back with a wet sheen to it. Walking down the hallway, Rob made his way to the mayor's office, as he passed by various office workers in the city administration. As Rob walked, he momentarily made eye contact with comptroller, Michael Trenoff. The icy bureaucrat, clutching a binder in his grip, gave Rob a cold stare, a gesture Rob returned effortlessly. Rob's usual resting face was an intimidating scowl, the byproduct of the paralysis to the left side of his face.

Stepping through the glass double doors graced with the great seal of Chicago on them, Rob was checked in and sat waiting for Mayor Earhart. Rob sat silently reading an e-mail on his phone. There was the faint sound of a door opening, and the sound of footsteps approaching, Rob looked up to see Earhart round the corner and stop in front of him.

"Right on time, Mister Barion~"

"You know it, Mayor."

"Please~" the lady Dober gestured. "Come to my office!"

Rob followed Earhart to her office, down a short hallway of the mayor's suite. With huge picture windows giving a beautiful view of the loop, Rob found the Mayor's office looking something like his own office back home. Hardwood floors that shined, and wood paneled walls adorned with artwork and photographs. Earhart had a progress pride flag framed on display, next to a portrait of her, her wife and two adopted children.

"Misses Mayor, this is a really nice office." Rob complimented.

"Please, just call me Laura, Mister Barion."

"Likewise, just call me Rob."

"Sure thing, Rob."

"Laura, I must start off that this is an... awkward situation in regards to things that are going on."

"Understandably so, Rob. That is why I asked you to come here, so maybe I can understand you, one on one, so I can help Fenris and Trenoff meet you in the middle in the so far... difficult settlement talks." Laura explained. "I feel that... I understand where you and your company are coming from, but I also think that it's a bit heavy handed."

"My factory went kaboom."

"You're lucky you weren't killed."

"Heh, if it don't kill ya, it makes ya stronger they say~"

Laura couldn't help but chuckle.

"My lawsuit is nothing personal." Rob reasoned. "So don't take it as a personal thing."

"I used to work in the legal sphere, Rob." Chuckled the Dober. "I get it~"

"Interesting."

"Many moons ago, before I got into politics, I worked for Chicago's chapter of Lambda Legal."

"I see."

"I understand you are, by trade, a broadcast engineer?"

"Yes. Sort of. Self-taught after high school." Rob explained. "I formerly worked for our school district creating educational programming for our station, WNCS-TV. I still own WNCS, but I no longer am involved in day to day operations of the student broadcast channel."

"Very humble roots."

"It paid the bills~" the wolf-hybrid chuckled cynically. "I had to scrounge old parts and cameras and keep them going because the school district didn't want to invest in new equipment. BUT! They wanted me to make a top notch product for the group we were part of, NETA, the Newark Educational Telecommunications Association."

"Oh I see."

"How she goes- do everything on a shoestring budget and act surprised that it's difficult!"

"Ha, yeah, I get that~" Laura laughed. "Even in a big city like Chicago, that's the same deal."

"It's the sign of the times~" Rob shrugged.

"I was told by a few folks that you're a very tough to work with, ruthless fella. But you sit here... and you don't exactly breathe fire, Rob."

"Only if you want me to." Rob suggested with a twisted smirk on his face. "There's lots of people who have a negative perception of me, and I've always suggested that was because people don't know how to exactly handle me. I've been through a lot... I've seen a lot... and somehow I've largely kept my sanity. The people who have a negative perception of me have that because I wasn't going to bend to their will over stupid matters, and they didn't like that. Hence the genesis of this current clusterfuck we're both pulled into now."

"There's really not that much information on you that I can find Rob!" Laura pointed out. "Your bio on your website is pretty... short, sweet, and to the point!"

"Well yeah."

"I get the impression that most people don't know the real you, Rob?"

"Yeah, that's true. And it's not necessary for them to know."

"I see."

"Yeah."

Rob slightly adjusted his pose in his chair. "You see, I'm not one of those people to let their hair down. I don't spill my guts to many people, that's just not my thing. I think one should keep their troubles to themselves."

"That doesn't sound very healthy..."

"Yeah, well, people do all kinds of unhealthy things all the time... too much drinking, drugs, sex... and so on."

Laura closed her eyes and laughed a bit. "You're a blunt speaker, Rob. You could make a Chicagoan blush~"

The wolf-hybrid shrugged at her joke. "I don't beat around the bush, and I feel like we could solve part of our world's problems if people just ripped the fucking band-aid off, verses try and not hurt people. Sometimes the truth hurts, and it's better to be honest upfront, than lead people on and hurt them later. It's no different. Some people can't handle the truth."

"Sadly. As seen in our political climes."

"Our political climate is what happens when people replace facts with 'I feel', and it's going to be the destruction of this nation. An army of stupid is tearing down our institutions, and we are allowing it to happen out of fear of offending others. Rip the fucker off and tell people their ideas are fucking retarded."

"I believe using the term 'retarded' is a bit much Rob?"

"I think it's perfect for our times."

"I think that's quite ableist?"

"Pfft. Please." Rob chuckled. "I have autism myself. We get too hung up over mere words. How fragile are we that mere words take us down? That's my problem with left-wing politics, progressives. Everyone's offended over stupid shit. Just like conservatives being offended over stupid shit."

"I am curious to your political leanings and ideology~" Laura smiled.

"You'll never know." Laughed Rob. "But I'm not a liberal. I'm not a conservative. I'm a pragmatic moderate, and I'll leave it at that."

"Alrighty then."

"My problem with leftist politics is the hypocrisy. People clamber and plead about tolerance and acceptance, and turn around and do the very same things they say they oppose. Like in the gay community. If you're not young and pretty, and slim, you're nothing. You're a nobody. If you're not a flippant, flaky fag, you're a nobody. Progressives expect progress maybe... over thirty years, right now, and it's just not doable. Or expecting people to just instantly accept things that people have to grasp around, like pronouns, that stupid shit. It's insane. And the hypocrisy is astounding."

"Well you know Republicans are-"

"I'm not done~" Rob wagged a finger. "Republicans are just fucking useless. A bunch of right-wing, christofascists. The Republican party in twenty-twenty-two have reached the Brezhnevian level of political stagnation. They have no solutions for modern problems, no popular policies and ideas. It's just give money to the rich, and do what you can to preserve European nationalism at the expense of everyone else. Trumpies are the scum of the earth."

Laura tilted her head in surprise at Rob's raw, brutal honesty. "You definitely don't mince words, Rob!"

"Sorry. I'm frustrated at the world."

"I understand." The Dober nodded. "It's been a very trying time for the past couple of years... I didn't think when I became mayor that I would have to lead the city through the worst pandemic in a century, and unrest over George Floyd's death, now everything else being piled on."

"Sign of the times~"

The elevator doors swung open, and Rob stepped out into the lobby of city hall. He felt that he had a largely okay meeting with the mayor, and they left on good terms. Walking with the exit in sight, Rob walked with a moderate pace.

"Buddy! 'Scuse me! Buddy!"

Rob turned around to see a portly looking wolf run up to him. He looked to be similar to Rob's age, a brown and gray furred wolf in a cheap looking suit and a mismatched shirt and tie.

"Can I help you?"

"You're Rob Barion, right?"

"Yes. And who the fuck are you?"

"I'm Kyle Maxwell, and I'm the Republican nominee for Mayor of Chicago in the twenty-two election!" the wolf grinned, beaming with excitement as he held out a paw. Rob glanced at his paw, and back at his face with a disinterested look.

"I see." Rob said. He turned to walk away when the wolf got in front of him.

"Hold on a sec! Wait a sec!" he said with a smooth sounding voice.

"What the fuck do you want, man?"

"Well I was curious about asking for your support in my election?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I don't support politicians. I don't like politicians."

"I'm not like the usual Chicago machine."

"Yeah. That's what they all say!" Rob chuckled. "Where have I heard this before?"

"I think I have a good chance of throwing Earhart to the curb, and really bringing some law and order to this city!"

"The last Republican mayor of Chicago was William Thompson, who was elected ninety-five years ago, and served just one term. What makes you think you'll be any different? The odds are stacked against you."

Maxwell looked a bit dazed at Rob's harsh bluntness. "You don't have to be so harsh... I was hoping to help you with your lawsuit against the city..."

"How the fuck are you gonna help?" Rob snorted.

"If I win, I would work with you to resolve what had happened."

"HA. If that's not the most pathetic pandering I've ever seen." Rob laughed. "Beat it, Kyle Comb-over~"

Maxwell frowned and felt the top of his balding head.

"And how the fuck are you gonna be Mayor if you look like a cheap car salesman in that ill-fitting suit and cheap cologne? And match your tie with your shirt color, motherfucker! Jesus Christ."

Rob turned and walked away, leaving a dumbfounded Maxwell to just stand amongst the crowd of people who walked on by him.

Rob exited city hall and grabbed his SUV from the parking garage. Getting out into the road, Rob followed the unrelenting traffic, on his slow drive back to Midway Airport. Through the downtown, Rob admired the scenery. There were things he didn't care for about Chicago, things he didn't care for about big cities in general. But the architecture, the entirely different atmosphere from backwater Newark Ohio, intrigued him. The wolf-hybrid felt that if he was going to have businesses in the windy city, he might as well learn more about it and mingle in it more. Curiosity got the best of his cynicism.

Returning back to Midway, Rob was waved through security and parked the Tahoe back in the hangar. His MiG-21 refueled, and its parachute repacked into the tail cone, Rob climbed aboard "Red 5015", and turned around to head back home. His ground crew watched as the out of place Vietnamese Fishbed roared back into the air, its screaming afterburner resonating loudly as it pushed Rob back into the sky, to head eastbound back home.

After months and months of trying to work out some kind of settlement, to no avail, the first opening trials of "Barion v. City of Chicago", and "Barev v. City of Chicago" began on a Thursday, April 15. It was the "big shot" trial that was making the local news. All day in court, Rob and his business team, and their legal team, squared off the legal team of Chicago, under the auspices of Trenoff the comptroller. Rob thought it was a boring, exhausting affair, listening to the bureaucratic legalese of stuffy courtroom protocol, and the relentless back and forth. At least it wasn't a jury trial. And then tomorrow, it would be another all day event back in court, for Rob's trials of "Barion v. Vlockner", and "Barev v. Vlockner".

Leaving the courtroom, Rob and Maverick walked with Lisa and her husband, Richard Scheiddegger, who formed Barev's legal team. Everyone looked mentally exhausted. Maverick loosened his collar and blue necktie, and Rob marched with the same scowl he carried on his face all day. Bloodshot eyes gave away Rob's exhaustion. And he dreaded more of the same old crap for tomorrow, squaring off against the Vlockner family. And to add to his annoyance, he had further court hearings regarding his defamation lawsuit against WNBB-TV and a city councilman. Rob felt like he was experiencing the trials of Job.

The courtroom doors of the Richard J. Daley Center Courts were held open by two Chicago police officers, as Rob and his encourage stepped out into the setting April sunshine. On top of the granite steps they stared down into the media circus that awaited them. Prowling news reporters, armed with microphones, the blinding strobes of flash guns firing, and cameras with their tally lights glowing red, awaited every move of Barev's entourage as they began their walk down the courthouse steps. In typical Rob fashion, he always had an ace up his sleeve.

Blocking many of the reporters and even Chicago police were members of Barev's security. "Viking Battalion", assigned to protect Rob's Chicago assets, stood guard, heavily armed with their AK-103's rifles at ready. Stoic faces hidden behind darkly tinted goggles stared off watching Rob and everyone leave. Reporters screamed questions and cameras rolled to get any shot, any remark, to throw onto the evening news. As everyone walked by and left down the sidewalk, Rob's "sturmtruppen" turned and followed, fifty of them in total shielding Rob and his party from any hecklers. They walked back to the parking garage and departed quickly.

"God what a fucking nightmare..." Rob shook his head behind the wheel of his Tahoe.

"I swear, Trenoff has become ear rape." Mav groaned from the passenger seat.

"But we hit them good for the opening, especially the Sam Vlockner e-mails and the FBI warrant." Lisa pointed out. "Now they have to defend that for the next trial."

"Good." Rob nodded. "I don't know if it's a good enough smoking gun though."

"Give it time." Richard suggested. "We're laying out the plot, the conspiracy, that Sam Vlockner used his position in the city government to orchestrate the heinous crime."

"Rome wasn't built in a day, Rob~" Maverick chuckled.

"This entire shitshow has been a nightmare..." Rob grunted. "And tomorrow I have to once again do this all over! But with the fucking Vlockners."

"Pfft. Don't even sweat that one." Lisa laughed. "From what you told me about Ryan and Brent, the rest of the family seems fucking stupid too."

"Proof that being intelligent won't make you rich, and being rich definitely won't make you intelligent!" Rob scoffed sarcastically.

"Or just proof you can still be white trash~" the husky shrugged.

"Just give the family enough rope and they'll strangle themselves. Six already have!" Maverick laughed.

"How fucking stupid does this whole family think they are? They all had their dickbeaters into this conspiracy, and three of them got arrested for being financial enablers..." Rob rolled his eyes. "Well if they can finance a fucking bomb, they can help finance Barev's compensation."

"YEAH! 'MERICA!" Maverick cheered.

"Just think Rob, if they let anyone other than Brent build it, you probably would be dead."

"Yeah, there must be a god in heaven. They let the fucking wingding who couldn't keep the gravy in his mashed potato volcano build a complex bomb... Hell! I wouldn't let Brent do anything! That dude could fuck a wet dream up!"

"Or someone saying they're not ready for your arrival." Teased Maverick with a grin. "QUICK! PULL THE LADDER UP! IT'S ROB! D'OH!"

Rob turned and glared at Maverick jokingly as he slowed to a red light.

Taking Lisa and her husband back to their hotel room, Rob and Maverick decided to go explore more of Chicago, fulfilling Rob's promise to himself that he would take more curiosity to the windy city.

Armed with their Betacams, Rob and Maverick went to "paint the town red". In the blue hour of twilight, Rob and Maverick ventured around the loop, to capture the night life of the expansive downtown on their old analog gear.

Framed perfectly center in his shot was the famous "bean" of Millennium Park. The towering buildings of the downtown formed a silhouetted, shadowy backdrop in the somewhat dim picture. The metallic sculpture glistened for the camera, bathed in amber and white light from the streetlights surrounding the plaza. Rob watched his shot record to tape on a small LCD monitor, plugged in via a short cable, from the video out port. The last light in the dim sky took on a deep ultramarine in Rob's shot. Not far away, Maverick stood with his own HL-791, capturing some other scenery as people milled about in the late evening.

Hitting pause, Rob took control and panned the camera around, watching the streetlights comet-tail faintly in his camera's Diode-Gun Plumbicons. Faint white ghost trails danced across his picture as Rob lined up another shot and hit record on the VTR toggle. He took a few more shots before putting his Betacam on standby and dismounting his Ikegami from the tripod.

"This is great~" Maverick said in a happy tone as he returned to Rob's position. Rob stowed his tripod back in its bag and threw the strap around his body.

"Let's go." Rob suggested.

Rob and Maverick aimlessly walked in a slow trek around the loop, capturing video of various sights and sounds, before ending their journey at the Chicago river. Rob got his final shot, a wide angle shot of all the skyscrapers and the river, the streetlights dimly glistening in the ripples on the water.

"It's funny how far we've come from this." Rob chuckled. "From big insensitive tubes, to smaller more sensitive tubes, to solid state, and now ultra high definition solid state chips."

"I think people take it for granted these days." Maverick nodded as he jotted a note on his Beta SP cassette label. "I think television has suffered because of it."

"TV is shit these days. Everything's just pathetic reality shows and shitty, vapid shit." Rob scoffed. "Back when real cameras were tens of thousands of dollars, and videotapes were expensive, people took their shit seriously. Not anymore."

"Handycam and a laptop to edit on!" Laughed the husky.

"I think that's enough, before I burn the streetlights into the tubes..." Rob said as he hit pause and powered his camera off. He took his "Ikky" off the tripod boot and sat it down to stow the tripod away into its bag. Rob stood and leaned against the railing, to just admire the scenery. Mav stowed his videotape into his backpack and stood beside Rob to watch the soft white light ripple off the waves in the river. Rob sat in silence for a while, a look of introspection on his face.

"You okay, Rob?" Maverick asked.

"Well..." Rob hesitated. "You know... sometimes I wonder how I got myself into this mess. Maybe I should have just let it be. But... I can't... not of this magnitude."

"Rob, there's no way you could just let an assassination attempt that blew up the factory go unpunished. There's just no morally right way. This tort is for the rightful monetary compensation for our losses, and punishment for wrongdoing."

"Yeah. But is it worth subjecting myself to all this stress? Just for vengeance?" Rob asked his friend. "I just don't know. It's nature to me. Vengeance. I hate it, ya know? But it feels like a means to an end. And I feel you can solve any problem if you're ruthless enough."

Maverick chuckled. "Hence autocracies~"

"I hate all of it. But I'm committed."

"I told you before Rob. Don't beat yourself up over Brent and Ryan and Sam. You didn't blow the factory up. You didn't kill all those people. They did."

"Yeah, and I pushed them to do it." Rob shook his head. "All I wanted was for them to get their heads out of their asses and just do their fucking job! I should have just fired them from the get go."

"You know this could have been inevitable. If you fired them on day one, Sam could have done it regardless."

"I guess. It is fucking Chicago after all." Rob rolled his eyes. "What the fuck am I talking about- Newark ain't much better."

"At least there's more to do in Chicago..." chuckled the husky.

"Newark got the nickname of little Chicago because of all our good 'ole boy shit, and violence in the past." Rob chuckled. "Ole Newark... Bumfuckistan Ohio."

"Hell, Ohiostan now." Laughed Maverick.

"Yeah." Rob laughed. "But it's home."

"True." Maverick smiled. "It's been my home since I was three years old."

Rob picked up his gear and walked along the river, illuminated by the glowing streetlights. "I like that in Chicago, people leave you alone because they don't give a shit. I can walk all around with this camera and almost nobody gives a shit. You do this in Newark, and people just wanna fuck around."

"HEY! IS THAT THERE A CAMERA!?" Maverick mocked in a southern drawl. "WHAT'D YOU DO!? DROP YER DONUT!? HUR! HUR! HUR!"

"Sadly." Rob laughed. "So many crackheads."

The husky admitted a sarcastic "ugh" to Rob. "You hungry, Rob?"

"Yeah. Wanna do a late dinner?"

"What sounds good?" Maverick asked as they turned around to head back to where their SUV was parked at.

Under the dim lights of a smoky Italian eatery, Rob ate a steak dinner with Maverick, towards the back of the quiet establishment. Dim lighting accented the warm glow of a candle on the round table. A bottle of lemon Perrier sat in a tub of crushed ice, which Maverick fished out to pour himself another glass of sparkling water.

"This was a good idea, Mav." Rob said as he chewed on his steak. "They actually know how to fucking cook a steak right~"

"Me and Amy went here many years ago, when we took a weekend trip to Chicago." Mav recalled. "A nice lil' hole in the wall."

"Yeah. I like it." Rob nodded. "Maybe I should get out more."

"You should!" Maverick laughed. "You're a hermit, Rob."

"World's a dangerous place, Mav."

"Yeah, no shit." The husky grimaced. "Global pandemic, rising authoritarianism here and abroad, and the wingnuts and moonbats."

"What a nice bunch of bedfellows, huh?" Rob snorted cynically.

"I feel like time has flown in chaos." Maverick admitted over a sip of his water. "I don't care how you spin it, the past two years have been an unmitigated disaster."

"No shit." Rob rolled his eyes. "It feels like the world's weight rests on your shoulders."

Mav stabbed his fork into his spaghetti and twirled it around. "I wanted the last years of being in my thirties, the last grasp of youth... I wanted it to be fun, not feeling like I'm reliving the nineteen-thirties or something!"

"You're telling me." Rob glanced up. "I'm trying to find calm and it's really been a struggle! Between unfucking these lawsuits, and watching your country teeter on the brink between a fascist group who worship a no talent assclown, or embracing communism~ If someone had told me in 2016 that all of this would happen? I'd laugh and say they're nuts."

"Egg on your face!" Maverick pointed with a laugh.

"Yeah!" Rob laughed with him as well.

"Oh fuck Rob..." Maverick pointed with an annoyed expression forming.

Rob spun around to see Peter Vlockner approaching their table. Rob's face grew immediately cross at his presence. Towards the entrance, Rob spotted members of the Vlockner family. Rudy and his wife Sara Vlockner, John and his wife Mary Vlockner, and the family matriarch, seventy-three year old Virginia Vlockner.

"Mister Rob!" Peter announced. He had an annoying voice that was deeply Chicagoan. Wearing a green shirt with a gray necktie and black slacks, the gray wolf sported a pompadour of thick dark brown hair. Rob guessed that he was around his age, nearing forty. "Ya' know Mister Rob, I wanna talk to ya..."

"I don't see our attorney's present." Rob glared. "You can talk to me all you want in court tomorrow."

"Do you not realize the amount of stress and despair that you are putting on my family? Our whole family?" Peter protested.

"Sorry! I don't see our attorney's present! Can't hear ya!" Rob sarcastically said, speaking over Peter.

"You must think this is a big fucking joke, huh?"

"I'm looking at a big fuckin' joke, huh, Elvis?"

"You think half a billion dollars for yourself and your business is just peanuts or something? Do you not realize that you are financially ruining our family over what my cousins did!?"

"I mean, your cousins only ruined a factory, and almost two hundred people's lives... I think thirty are unavailable for comment."

"Also unavailable is Ryan, Brent, and Sam..." Peter glared. "And you are responsible for that!"

"Look... Peter... I want you to go back over there, and leave me alone." Rob suggested in a calm voice. "Do something smart."

Maverick spoke up. "If you have something to say, Peter, then you can say it in court when we go on trial tomorrow. Do not enflame this situation anymore!"

"Oh shut up!" the wolf snapped at the Russian husky. "You're not the one having your fortune risked for something you didn't do!"

"Peter I'm giving you a chance to walk away from making an ass of yourself..." Rob suggested again. "Go back to your family, and fuck off."

"You are putting collective guilt on all of us... the whole Vlockner family by suing us..."

"How many of you just got arrested again for being accessories to the conspiracy?" Rob asked with a smirk. "Hell, knowing how retarded ya'll are, I'm sure you had your dickbeaters involved too somehow!"

"I only consulted with Ryan about the concept- D'OH! DAMNIT!"

"PETER!" yelled his wife with a deep groan.

Rob turned to grin at Maverick. "I love it! These muddafuckas make it too easy!"

Rob spun around in his chair and grabbed Peter by his necktie. The wolf-hybrid yanked his head down closer to Rob's. "Ya know Peter, you're a real fuckin' schmuck."

"C'mon, maybe I got a little too heated here... perhaps I'll just go back..."

"You know what I think about ya, Peter?"

Rob grabbed the bottle of Perrier and smashed it across Peter's head. Glass exploded everywhere, showering Peter in a cold blast of carbonated water. "JESUS CHRIST!" he screamed.

"GET THE FUCK OUTTA HERE PETER MCFUCKUP!" Rob screamed. He jumped up out of his seat and kicked Peter into another table, where the wolf fell onto the ground. "GET BACK OVER THERE!"

Rudy Vlockner stood up and reached a paw into his coat, only to stop when he saw Rob yank his Glock out from under his partially zipped up cardigan. The entire eatery was silent as Rob stood, aiming his suppressed 10mm at Rudy and the other Vlockners.

"Make my day." Rob threatened. Rudy slowly pulled his paw out, revealing that it was empty as he slowly sat back down. Peter retreated back to his table and covered his face with his paws.

"I'll see you in court tomorrow, Misses Vlockner." Rob said formally. He holstered his gun. "Have a good night."

Rob turned and walked towards the exit. Maverick got up and quickly followed behind his friend.

"Sorry about the mess." Rob said to the manager, as he paid for his meal and gave him a few hundred bucks to "forget about it". The manager watched Rob and Maverick exit and slip away into the night.

The nighttime fog slowly rolled through Chicago Midway, under the bright glare of the airport floodlights. The Centoh hangar and tarmac was quiet after the last planes had made it in from their runs. A gaggle of DC-6BF's, Super Constellations, and a lone DC-7BF sat neatly arranged on the tarmac, ready to load in the morning for their next cargo runs. The large hangar for Centoh glowed red from its vintage style neon sign, which read "FLY CENTOH CHICAGO" in huge letters.

Glistening under the harsh white lights sat Rob's posh Constellation, "Coneflower". The 1954 L-1049E was all polished natural metal, reflective like a mirror. Curvaceous and elegant, she sat near the hangar, under the watchful eye of Centoh's night watch, the Blackshirts patrolling Centoh's perimeter. Rob and Maverick used their transport plane as their own hotel room for the night.

The inside cabin was artfully lit, giving a relaxed atmosphere. The plane was divided up into several compartments; a crew rest station and navigator's position immediately aft of the cockpit, a forward lounge area that held a custom made analog and digital editing suite, a chrome lined galley, a mid section that housed several rows of traditional airline seating, restrooms and a small shower, and finally, Rob's personal quarters, which held a desk and bed. Rob sat in the forward lounge, working on editing his footage while Mav got cleaned up in the bathroom.

Framing up his shot on the monitor, Rob hit "dub" on his A/B switcher control panel and watched the shot play back as it recorded to another Beta SP tape. The shot was on the plaza around the "bean", showing the bustling nightlife in a slow zoom out shot. The highlight spots on the glistening "bean" faintly comet-tailed a ghostly white trail. The brighter streetlights gave the typical Plumbicon red flare, from the overloaded lead-oxide phosphors in the tubes. Rob had "trimmed the beam up" on the -791, and with the special preamps of the camera, gave a very quiet, noiseless picture. Everything was shadowy and somewhat dim, showcasing the limitations of camera tubes in sensitivity. Rob ended his cut, and went back to searching the tape for another shot to fade into. He was working on a rather impromptu music video for his friend Varg, for an instrumental piece he had worked on. Rob remembered in his head how the song went as he ran through the tape to find the next shot.

Emerging from the bathroom, Maverick stepped out in blue gym shorts and a white tanktop that clung to his muscular frame. He stretched and yawned as he returned to see Rob hard at work at his station.

"Hey that's a nice shot~" Maverick pointed out.

"Yeah, I think it'll go great with the chorus." Rob suggested with a shrug as he watched the long walking shot dub over. It was a clip Maverick had taken, showing him walking amongst a small crowd of people. It was in a way chaotic, but artful as people just minded their own business.

"You could never do that in Newark." Laughed the husky. "So many nosey motherfuckers be like 'WHAT THE FUCK ARE YA DOING!?'"

"Or you'd be chased by a cracked out homeless guy." Rob chuckled and shook his head.

"I'm glad we picked up those HL-791's last year." Mav chuckled. "I really liked restoring them."

"I like that they're basically the HL-79EAL's tubes and electronics in a modular chassis." Rob pointed out. "Plus, I like that they have the negative three decibel mode preamps for the yokes, like our TKP-47's."

"You just tweaked the gamma and colorimetry a bit."

"I added my own flair~" chuckled Rob. "I don't like the Ikky cold that you get when you set them up by the book."

"Yeah, I don't get it. You do any Ikky by the book and it looks just... a bit cold in the blues and greens. Sony and RCA have a warmth to their palettes, and Ikegami is just...cold."

"I just tweak it a bit, so it doesn't have the excessive bias towards reds and yellows like with Sony, or the chalky pastel colors that some Norelco's and RCA's have. A nice happy medium."

"You're a steely eyed missile man, Rob."

Rob chuckled at the tease and crossed his arms as he watched another play through on his tape. "Too bad I can't think of a solution to get out of this clusterfuck."

"Eh, don't sweat it."

"Then I wouldn't have to be camping out in this damn plane." Rob remarked with a sigh at the end.

"Well the Vlockners might have just fucked themselves tonight." Maverick suggested with a shrug. "I'm definitely not retarded enough to confront the person suing me... But different strokes for different folks!"

"That whole family... what a bunch of fuck-ups." Rob shook his head. "...this whole year has been fucked up so far."

"Yeah... More like the past couple of years..." Mav grimaced. "Hard to imagine it's been like this for... what now? Almost three years?"

"I knew the moment Covid became a problem that we'd fuck it all up. Our innate selfishness and profound ignorance doomed us all. And now over a million dead, and people still refusing to get vaccinated, and all the conspiracy nuts... this whole country is fucked."

"Sadly." Mav said with a disdainful head shake.

"It's in our nature to destroy ourselves." Rob remarked in a bitter tone, as he continued on editing his footage. Rob got the last shot he wanted, and working the fade control lever, faded to black. Ending the dubbing, he rewound the tape and sat back to watch it play back. Satisfied, he grabbed his laptop and plugged the audio cable in to dub Varg's music onto the tape.

"New meets old~" chuckled Rob.

Rewinding the finished tape, Rob jotted some notes on the tape's label, and smacked a "EDIT MASTER COPY" sticker on it. Rob handed it off to Mav to stow in his backpack. "That's how ya do it."

"You still got it, Rob!"

"Damn straight~" the wolf-hybrid pointed with a smirk.

Calling it a night, the two retreated back to Rob's private quarters in the tail of the Super Constellation. Rob had his bed, and Mav inflated an air mattress to sleep on. Wearing a white t-shirt and black gym shorts, Rob yawned and stretched.

"People are fucking exhausting, Mav."

"Yeah. I agree, Rob." Maverick nodded. "The past couple of years... people have really drained my social battery."

"Your autism is showing." Rob pointed out with a teasing chuckle. "I don't have much social capital to begin with."

"I used to never have an issue with this! But after my divorce, and then Amy dying... my whole... perception of the world and people in it have... changed? It's like when Amy died... part of my heart withered... not the part that already got damaged with the heart attack... crazy! But it just... changed my perception of everything. I find people so annoying anymore, so vapid, and just... people pick fights over the dumbest shit."

"Yeah. I don't care for people, social shit." Rob shook his head. "People are like chameleons. They change their colors to suit their needs. But everyone eventually shows their true colors. It's inevitable. Leopards don't ever change their spots."

"I agree."

"That's why you're my best friend~" Rob smiled. "You've always been there for me."

"Well, that's what best friends are for!" Mav grinned. "I like you Rob because you're not flaky and into superficial, popular culture shit. You're just you. Ruthlessly honest and sometimes Nixonian!"

"Well I'm just me... shaped by circumstances and experiences." Rob shrugged. "Cyrus once asked me why I don't have a really close gay best friend. I do, his name's Joey and I'm married to him and he's bi~"

Maverick laughed as he sat down on the air mattress.

"Gay men are their own worst enemy, and that's something I've talked to Cyrus and Mark about before. The gay community is really toxic and mean to each other. No wonder why gay guys have so many problems."

"Amy told me lesbians are the same way. There's unrealistic expectations." Maverick recalled. "Amy wasn't good enough because she was this so called plain-Jane bi gal. She wasn't all weird and eccentric or whatever..."

"If you're not young, fit, and look looking in the gay community, you're a nobody. And everyone's always trying to get into your pants. Even if you're in a relationship. Everything's vapid and superficial. Everyone flakes. It's why there's so many problems with alcohol and drugs, rampant STD's. It's a self-made problem. Communities make self-made problems all the time, because of the expectation to conform and fit in."

"And then there's you~"

"That's right!" Rob pointed. "See? You're getting it."

"You're a loner Rob." Teased Maverick. "Anymore I find myself being a loner... just me and my son. And I'm happy like that."

"I'm a loner because it's for the best." Rob admitted. "The more distance you put to others, the less it hurts when they stab you in the back."

"Sadly people do it anymore. People tear others down to build themselves up." Mav shrugged in response.

"Terrible isn't it?" Rob shrugged. "So yes! My best friend in the world is straight, and I like it like that because there's no sexual tension. And we both share eclectic hobbies in electronics and broadcasting!"

"Yes!" Maverick exclaimed. "Well...I think it's time for some shuteye. I need to recharge my batteries for tomorrow's shitshow in court..."

"Here we go..." Rob chuckled sardonically. "Good night, Mav~"

"Night, Rob~"

Mav turned the lamp off beside him and laid down and covered himself up. Rob set his alarm and plugged his phone into the charging cable. Before turning off the light, Rob walked over to where his coat was, hung up on the closet door. Rob reached in and pulled out his holstered Glock that was concealed inside.

In his grip, Rob examined his suppressed Glock 20. A menacing black, polymer gun, equipped with a large Gemtech suppressor screwed onto the barrel. A conflicted look covered Rob's tired face. He held it in his paws for a moment, reflecting on things. He turned and stuffed the gun under his pillow.

Turning off the last lamp in the office, Rob went to bed, the lights of the airport faintly filtering in through the windows. He laid in bed for a bit, thinking about things and wondering about the future. Exhaustion finally overcame Rob, and his heavy eyes fell shut, the wolf-hybrid drifting off to a deep sleep.

Dry and pontificating was how Rob thought of his court day. Propping his head up on the desk, Rob looked tired and burned out as he listened to Virginia Vlockner testify on the stand. He was five hours into an eight hour day, numbed by an annoying headache. The courtroom was quiet and largely empty, save for the attorneys and parties to the litigation. It was a bench trial, and the jury stand was empty. Judge Randolph Benson, a black and gray wolf in his sixties, presided over the trial. Interestingly enough, he was also chosen to take on Rob's lawsuits with Chicago, WNBB-TV, and the city councilman suite. Rob felt sorry for the judge, who had to deal with all his problems.

Lisa stood asking Mrs. Vlockner questions, and she answered in her shrill, annoying voice. Rob glanced over to see Lisa's husband look half asleep, the same with Maverick, who sat with his eyes half closed and his arms crossed. Rob rubbed his forehead and adjusted his blue necktie. Looking up, Judge Benson looked as burned out and tired as everyone else. Listening to the Vlockners for hours would make anybody tired.

Listening for hours to Virginia, Peter, Rudy, and Carson Vlockner testify, Rob was unsure of how they could pull off a defense. They were all aware of Sam, Ryan, and Brent's ambitions. The three who got arrested, provided funding and some of the materials for the bomb. Even Virginia put herself in a precarious situation by admitting that she encouraged her sons to "seek vengeance" for losing their jobs. The opening trial ended by four o'clock, adjourned to the end of April for the defense trial. Gathering his stuff up, Rob was relieved to get out of the courtroom.

Stepping out of the court house, Rob was once again greeted to a barrage of reporters and camera crews. Guarded by his security members, Rob walked with Maverick and their attorneys, covered on all sides by the Blackshirts who marched stoically. They made their way down the sidewalk to the parking garage, where they slipped away in the company Tahoe. Rob likened the Vlockner's testimony to "ear rape".

Returning to Midway airport, Rob dropped Lisa and Richard off to return back to Newark. Rob and Maverick also returned to pick up their friend Varg, who had flown to Chicago for some business with his recording studio. On the tarmac, parked beside the silver "Coneflower", was Varg's "Stavanger", a DC-6B Rob had restored for his recording studio. The Cloudmaster was polished silver, sporting a dark blue cheatline outlined in red that was made to look like a Viking long boat, complete with dragon's head at the bow. The nose also bore the same insignia to Rob's L-1049E, a golden and black outlined arrow that read "WHIN", for "We're Here In Newark!" The upper fuselage read "VIKING RECORDING SYSTEMS LTD" in a Nordic inspired typeface.

"Boy you two look like you got the shit beat out of you!" Varg teased as he greeted his friends on the tarmac. Varg was a burly white Arctic wolf from Norway, with long black hair that was tied into a ponytail. He was taller than Rob, but shorter than Maverick. Casually dressed, Varg wore gray sweatpants and a sleeveless red and blue hoodie that bore a Norwegian sweater pattern on it. Both his beefy arms were tattooed with black and gray sleeves sporting a Nordic theme.

"Court likes to do that, Varg~" chuckled Rob. "I need some Tylenol."

"I need a drink..." Maverick joked.

Lisa and Richard departed for home in Varg's DC-6, which lifted off the runway and slowly slipped away from view. Varg hopped back into the Tahoe with his friends, as they prepared to enjoy the rest of the day exploring around Chicago.

"So how'd your business meeting go?" Rob asked from the front seat. Maverick drove, navigating traffic.

"Probably as good as your court hearing!" laughed Varg with a big grin.

"That bad huh?"

"Oh man... so I wanted to open a vinyl record plant here! And I found out half my fucking equipment that was coming from France, sank at sea when the damn shipping container fell off the ship!"

"Wow." Rob muttered.

"So I'm only getting maybe half of the gear, and I have no idea what's all lost, because it was on two shipping containers and the manifest doesn't specify what went where." Varg grunted.

"Shit happens." Rob rolled his eyes.

Varg rolled his eyes as well. "Now I have to file a claim with insurance and with Matson to get paid for the loss. And that's gonna fuck me in the ass as well~"

Maverick glanced back at a red light. "If you really want an ass fucking you won't soon forget! I'MMA CALL THE IRS!"

"No thank you!" Varg laughed.

"The worst of the worst for the alphabet agencies~" Rob chuckled.

Following dinner at a Greek eatery, Rob, Maverick, and Varg explored around the city. Taking pictures and videos, Rob even got to take a ride on the Chicago "L", a first for him. Riding on the subway was a strange experience for the small town Rob, who had to rely on Varg's street smart from his days of living in New York City when he moved from Norway with his family. Rob was finally beginning to have a good time. As the sun slowly began to set, Rob found himself exploring around Lincoln Park's nature area, right on the lake.

Sitting on a bench, Rob shoved a new battery onto his Betacam, and loaded a fresh tape in the BVV-5 deck attached to his HL-791. Stowing the tape case back in his backpack, Rob carried his tripod and camera with him as he explored with Maverick and Varg. With the skyscrapers of the downtown jutting up to the west, Rob stood taking some video with his HL-791 resting on his shoulder. Aiming north-west, Rob captured the glistening skyscrapers, the brilliant sun reflecting off the dark glass and steel. The lens picked up the highlights as brilliant ten point starbursts off the structures, which comet-tailed as Rob zoomed out and panned down. Satisfied with his shot, he hit pause on the VTR toggle and continued along his way.

"It's such a different world than Newark." Rob remarked as he walked with Varg and Maverick. "There seems to be so much to do, and not enough time. Compared to Newark, where there's literally nothing to do."

Varg nodded in agreement. "I grew up in Stavanger, and I lived in Oslo, New York City, Hilliard Ohio, and now Newark Ohio, and Newark is just... I don't know what to make of it."

"It's where your hopes and dreams come to die." Rob snickered.

"Has Newark always been like that? Just a shithole?" Varg asked.

"When I was a kid, it was still a decent community." Rob recalled.

"Yeah, that's what my parents said, when we got relocated to Newark." Maverick added. "My Dad worked at the Newark Advocate as a cartoonist and publisher, and Mom was the high school secretary for thirty-three years. Newark is just... stagnant."

"That's the word." Varg snapped a finger. "I wasn't sure how to describe it? It's like for the nine years I've lived in town... nobody wants to really change or improve Newark, and if you bring up the idea, people scoff about it. And then the same idiots seem to get in power in town, and nothing ever gets done."

"Yeah basically." Rob agreed. "All the industry left starting in the late eighties, and the city government doesn't do shit to encourage other businesses to come in, so they all go to Johnstown, New Albany, Hebron... all that tax revenue and jobs for people in town... but no... city council can pat themselves on the back that they got a Sheetz on twenty-first... and they only had to tear down three homes for it!"

"Fresh mozzarella sticks!" Maverick laughed. "Get fuel and fresh food!"

"Riveting!" Rob chuckled cynically. "Maybe Chicago isn't as fucked up as I thought."

"It's got its downsides, just like anywhere you go." Varg shrugged. "Even in Columbus, there's parts the city just left to its fate."

"Yeah, Linden, Hilltop, Grovetucky, the bottoms, campus..." Rob rolled his eyes. "But people also need to rise up and be better than trash. There's a point where people have to take personal responsibility and not just blame 'the man' for their problems."

"Self-made problems Rob~" Mav smiled with a sarcastic shrug.

"Yeah." Rob agreed.

Walking along the trail, Rob carried his Betacam on his shoulder, his right paw tightly gripping its lens zoom control grip. As they walked, all of them took notice of music playing. It was some hard rock n' roll. Walking towards the music, Rob, Maverick, and Varg saw a group of guys playing an impromptu concert around a large gazebo. They looked like a bunch of rough and tough biker guys, clad in leather. Closer scrutiny showed the unmistakable patches of the Hells Angels on their vests. A few people stood around, and some kids played together in the vicinity of the gazebo. The sight piqued Rob's interest.

Walking up, the trio had a front row seat to an impromptu gig by the biker guys. They sang a seventies style hard rock that was infused with an R and B feel. Rob actually liked the sound. The lead singer was a tattooed up red Doberman, who wore black leather pants, and a leather jacket with its sleeves pushed up, revealing tattoo sleeves on his arms. His chest bore a nice chest piece as well. Long locks of semi curly, dark brown hair, moistened and clinging with sweat, stuck to his face as he sang. A white Arctic wolf, like Varg with long black hair pouring over a blue bandanna tied around his forehead, played bass. A burly malamute rocked away with a red and white Fender Stratocaster, along with a gray and white timber wolf. A black and rust Doberman played a fancy looking keytar next to the drummer, another meaty malamute, drumming away. Sitting near the gazebo were a couple of women, who looked like their girlfriends.

Rob stood looking content. His scowl softened to a more content gaze as everyone jammed away to a park that was largely uninterested. After finishing up their song, everyone put their gear down to go take a break.

"Wow!" Varg greeted. "Nice work, guys!"

"Hey thanks!" the red Dober grinned. He pushed some locks of sweaty hair out of his face with his leather gloved paws. "Hey, wait a sec- you're Varg Eikemo aren't you?"

"Yeah!" grinned the Arctic wolf. He held out a paw that was immediately grasped and shook by the excited looking Doberman.

"Holy crap man! I like some of your metal albums!"

"Thank you! I appreciate it!" Varg grinned. "Your music sounds familiar? I feel like I've heard it somewhere before."

The bassist approached. "Well you might have. Heh, we used to almost be famous."

"Ever heard of the band Hard Times?" the Dober asked Varg.

"Hmm..." Varg thought. "That name doesn't ring a bell... but it sounds familiar."

"We used to be on the Carson label. Made two albums." The white wolf said to Varg. "Before they dropped us when our drummer got killed."

"Oh! Now I remember!" Varg pointed. "You guys got fucked by your label over the plane crash that happened in Iowa five or so years ago!"

"Yeah..." the Dober nodded. "Name's Ronnie Samson."

"Well it's so nice to meet you guys." Smiled Varg. "These are my friends here, we're just spending the evening in Chicago. This is Rob Barion, and Maverick Tokarev, of United Barev Industries."

"Sup!" grinned the Dober with a wave. "Ronnie~"

"Maverick!" the husky greeted as he shook his paw.

"Rob." The wolf-hybrid greeted. He shook Ronnie's paw with a firm grip.

"These two are my video engineering talents that make the magic happen!" Varg complimented.

"Oh neat!" Ronnie smiled. "I kind of like technology myself."

"So you guys are Hells Angels?" Maverick asked curiously. "...we don't want any trouble!"

"Heh, heh, you don't get trouble if you don't make trouble~" grinned the white wolf with a sarcastic wag of a finger. "Yeah, we're all Hells Angels. We like motorcycles, we're all part of the same chapter, and we all like music, so it was all meant to be!"

"Well I like the music." Rob complimented. "It's quite a nice sound to it. It's not obnoxious... it's quite... soulful."

"Thank you!" Ronnie exclaimed. "See, people listen to our music and then see us in your leathers and shit, and don't know what to make of it. This is just who we are?"

"Nothing wrong with that~" Rob nodded. "So who's everyone here?"

"I'm Colt Janssen." The white wolf waved. He introduced everyone else. The burly malamute was Killian Halen, the gray wolf was Todd Kennedy, and the black and rust Doberman was Adam Stein. Colt introduced their drummer, Killian's younger brother, Don Halen.

"Hey Dad!" came one of the young kids, who ran up to put his arms around the red Dober and hug him with a happy grin.

"And this is my son, Colt Samson." Ronnie laughed. "Say hi to our guests lil' man!"

"Hi!" the young red Dobie waved. "I'm Colt!"

"Nice to meet you." Smiled Rob.

"This is our motley crew." Janssen pointed out with a chuckle. "We still play together in our free time, with our old ladies watching with the kids."

"I take it you guys are trying to get rediscovered again?" Varg asked.

"Yes and no. I mean, it would be nice? But... I think we burned our bridges with the accident..." Ronnie grimaced.

Janssen chimed in. "We all created this band back in 2013, and we put out our first album that hit the charts, and then we started gaining momentum. We made a second album and that went even higher, and things were looking up!"

Killian chuckled. "Then sadly my brother and our engineers got killed in the plane crash."

"Our van had broken down while we were in Illinois, and we had a gig to play in South Dakota that next day. We decided to split up when a guy told us he could fly all of our gear to South Dakota. So Eddy Halen, our original drummer, Lisa, and Samuel, the lighting and sound engineers, got onboard this cargo plane with all our gear, and somewhere over Iowa, the plane blew up." Ronnie explained to Varg and everyone.

"Wait a second, I think I know what you're talking about." Rob recalled. "There was an old DC-3 that had a heater malfunction and it burst into flames and exploded over Iowa back in January 2017. It caused an AD on my DC-3 fleet."

"Yeah!" Janssen nodded. "That was it. All on board were killed. And the record label blamed us for it, because all of us got fucking sued. We lost everything. Our royalties, our rights to our own songs! Everything. So now me and Killian here work at a warehouse...."

"...I work for a motorcycle dealership." Todd added.

"Yeah, and I work at a bank!" laughed Adam the Doberman.

Don waved from his drum set. "I got all of you beat at the dealership!"

"No one gives a fuck, Don~" teased Janssen with a chuckle. "Hey Ronnie, why don't you tell 'em where you work at!"

Ronnie sighed and rolled his eyes a bit with a bit of a smirk. "I work as a short order cook and dish washer at a biker bar."

"Hey, nothing wrong with that!" Varg exclaimed. "I used to help my Dad with fishing when I wasn't touring and making music~ I come from a big fishermen family in Stavanger."

"So you know what we're dealing with!"

"Kind of!" Varg chuckled. "I know what it's like to be fucked over by a band and record label..."

"While we still got some light... I'd love to shoot some video of you guys playing, if that's cool~" Rob asked.

"Yeah!" Ronnie exclaimed. Everyone seemed excited to the idea. "Say man, what kind of camera is that! That thing looks old!"

"Oh! This is an Ikegami HL-791 tube camera, with a Sony BVV-5 Beta SP recorder. Built in September 1985, and uses three, two-thirds inch Low Capacity Diode-Gun Plumbicons."

"Neat!"

"Me and Mav restored these."

"Along with all the other cameras!" Maverick exclaimed.

"So that's like your hobby?"

"Yeah, when I'm not playing fucking adult daycare with my company~" Rob chuckled. "Quick! While we have light! Let's shoot this!"

"Sure!"

Putting his back into it, Rob heaved and pushed the huge propeller to his Connie. Slowly turning the sixteen foot long blades to engine two, Rob checked for hydraulic lock as he prepared to fly home on a foggy Saturday morning. Muscular Maverick and Varg had no problem as they worked together to slowly hand-turn the big Curtiss Electric propellers on engine one. Ground crew prepared engines three and four.

Rob gave the prop a final tug and stopped to catch his breath and rest his back. Glancing across the tarmac, he watched as the same thing was done to his Centoh fleet of old propliners. DC-6's, DC-7's, Constellations, and some twin-engine DC-3 and Convairliners had propellers turned, fuel tanks topped up, and cargo loaded up for the morning runs. Taxiing by was one of the red, white, and silver Convair 340's, its twin Double Wasp radials burbling away.

In a weird sense, Rob felt he was going to miss his time in Chicago. Despite the annoyances and headaches of navigating the legal system with the back to back court dates, the media scrutiny, and annoying encounter with the Vlockners, Rob had a lot of fun exploring Chicago with his friends, and even making new friends along the way. Meeting the biker guys was a lot more fun than what Rob had expected; he spent hours hanging out with them, well into the night, shooting a music video for them until they ran out of spare tapes and batteries for the cameras. It was well worth it, and they made a friend out of that Ronnie Samson. Varg had even offered him a job as a sound engineer back at his Newark recording studio, something he had to think about. It was a very fun experience to the wolf-hybrid, who didn't feel like he was having any fun in 2022.

"Morning Rob!" waved one of his Centoh pilots, Kyle "Hup" Hupfner. A gray wolf with tousled brown hair, he walked up with his first officer and flight engineer.

"Morning~" Rob greeted. "Be safe getting out of Midway with this fog, Hup~"

"Will do! You be safe as well with Coneflower!"

"That's what I'm here for!" Rob exclaimed.

Vlado walked over with paperwork clipped to his clipboard that was tucked under his arm. "Fueling is completed and our flight plan is set."

"Perfect, Vlado, thank you!" Rob patted him on the back.

"Rob, you seem... energized?" Vlado asked.

"I had a nice evening exploring about." Rob admitted as he walked back towards the air stair to board his propliner.

Venturing into the cockpit, Rob took his seat in the captain's chair and grabbed the flight checklist. It had been a little while since he had flown his L-1049E, and was itching to pilot his Constellation once more, rather than be a passenger. He was accompanied by his primary flight crew; Jordan Hoover, a twenty-eight year old German Shepherd, and his now husband, Ivo Horvat, the oldest son of Vlado. Ivo would be Rob's co-pilot, and Jordan the flight engineer. Vlado joked that he was due to be "the passenger".

"Here we go~" Rob said, stowing his flight checklist. "Go on three, Jordan~"

Jordan reached over at his engineer's panel to switch the magnetos over and engage the starter. Ivo leaned over to his right to watch engine three turn over, the young Croat "counting the blades". Engaging the mixture, engine three caught with a mighty back blast of oily smoke and an eruption of flames from the turbine hoods. A deep rumble of cold cylinders filled the cockpit as gauges came online for the engine.

"Three is good."

"Go on four."

Rob felt the thud of engine four turning over, the growing vibrations felt as the engines warmed up at idle power. Turning around to look to his left, Rob watched engine two, and finally engine one get turned over. The big R-3350's fired up with big clouds of white and blue smoke, with a gush of fire from the power recovery turbines of the turbocompound system.

Ground crew pulled the chocks and retreated back. Getting the all clear, Rob released the brakes and a burst of power allowed them to begin turning for the service road. "Coneflower" followed behind a DC-7B and three DC-6B's for the runway. And one by one, they turned and took off for their morning runs. Rob turned onto the runway and pushed the throttles to full. Revving up, the big Cyclone-18's roared, shooting cherry red flames from the turbine exhausts. Lightly loaded, the L-1049E needed only 1200 feet to get airborne. The Constellation gracefully lifted off into the fog, slipping away from view.

Punching through the fog, Rob got a glimpse of Chicago's skyscrapers jutting above the thick gray fog choking the entire city. They entered a slow climb as Rob turned around to head east. Jordan pulled the throttles back to cruise power, and worked to ensure that the propellers were properly synchronized.

As Chicago slowly disappeared behind them, Rob sat back and was just beginning to relax, when he heard increased commotion on his radio headset.

"Chicago Center, pan-pan, pan-pan, Chicago Center, this is Buckeye four-oh-seven heavy, reporting an engine failure. We're continuing north and plan on dumping fuel over the lake to return back to Midway, over." came the calm voice of Hup.

"Buckeye four-oh-seven heavy, this is Chicago Center, acknowledging your emergency. We will notify the tower."

Rob pressed the microphone toggle on his control yoke. "Buckeye four-oh-seven heavy, this is Disco two, come in over?"

"Disco two, nice to hear your voice Rob!" came Hup's response. "We're heading out over the lake to dump fuel."

"Acknowledge." Rob radioed back. "What engine?"

"Rob, this is Ritchie." Came the flight engineer's voice. "We're climbing outta Midway and there was a really loud bang, associated with the, uhh, caution and warning lights on four. Four lost partial power, and the fire light was on."

"Lower part of the cowling blew off too." Hup added. "Uncontained failure of something on that outboard Cyclone~"

"Great." Rob shook his head. "Just hold on, I'll meet up with you. Over."

"Copy, Rob~"

Releasing the microphone toggle, Rob reached down to pick up the phone for the cabin. It was the original 1950's Bell telephone installed in the cockpit.

"Yeah Rob?"

"Mav, let everyone know that we gotta turn back. One of our planes is in trouble."

"Gotcha."

Cranking the yoke around, Rob put his silver Constellation into a turn and spun around to head north to meet up with his wounded Centoh bird.

Several minutes later, Rob saw his wounded propliner out over the lake, in the midst of dumping fuel to return to Midway. The C-121J was one of Rob's "heritage" propliners; instead of the red and white Centoh scheme, it wore the drab colors of its former life in the US Navy, in a white and gray scheme. The Super Constellation limped along on three engines, its outboard number four engine shut down and propeller feathered. Rob formed up on their four o'clock and saw that the number four engine was still streaming a faint trail of white smoke. The nacelle and part of the wing were soaked black in oil, and the lower half of the cowl was missing, revealing the mangled guts of the big R-3350.

Having dumped fuel, the wounded propliner returned back to Midway for an uneventful landing. Minutes later, "Coneflower" returned and touched back down as well. Fire crews waited for the Constellation's arrival on the Centoh tarmac.

Parking his Connie on the other side of the tarmac, Rob quickly climbed out the first moment he could, and ran over to see the damage himself. Hup and his flight crew stood examining the heavily damaged engine and cowling. Rob almost immediately recognized what had happened; the supercharger, mounted behind the cylinder banks, had exploded. The blast had blown the lower cowling off and damaged one of the power recovery turbines, which was precariously dangling. A similar incident had happened on one of his DC-7BF's, which damaged the landing gear, forcing a belly landing at Midway in 2020.

"The good ole parts recovery turbine engines!" Hup remarked with a sarcastic snort.

"Yeah it's the damn supercharger rupturing." Rob grumbled. "I don't see any other major damage to the wing or nacelle- so hopefully an engine change out, and a new lower cowling petal, and it'll be good to go again."

"That was quite a bang~" the flight engineer quipped.

Rushing out from the office was Gary Morton, the hub director for Centoh Chicago. Tousled graying hair fluttered as the chubby older wolf ran out to the flight line to see the damage himself.

"We got reports of debris hitting a youth center a few miles away." Gary announced.

"Oh lovely Gary..." Hup groaned.

"Here, I'll go take care of it." Rob said to Gary. "Vlado? Can you see about making an assessment to unfuck the engine?"

"Even when you think you're having the day off, you're right back at work!" Vlado chuckled as he agreed to do damage control.

"Here, I'll go with you!" Maverick exclaimed as he ran with Rob to go grab the company SUV again.

The Cook County Youth and Family Services building was a factory like structure, located southwest, along Midway's flight path. An imposing, gray concrete building, it looked cold and heartless for a youth services center. Rob pulled into the parking lot and hopped out with Maverick, to go assess the damage.

Going in, Rob found the inside to have a really uninviting brutalist look. Everything looked tired and worn out, even the furniture. Lusterless linoleum creaked beneath Rob's feet, and the walls were painted in a very weird "atomic mustard" color. It made Rob think of East German government buildings. Colorful children's drawings and bulletin boards provided an ironic, cheerful contrast to the cold concrete walls.

Greeting Rob and Maverick was the youth center's director, Latoya Robinson, a forty year old Rottweiler with a ponytail of braided black hair. She was warm and friendly and welcomed the two up to the roof to assess the damage. Along the way, she gave a little tour of the center, and explained its history to an interested Rob and Mav. It had once been a factory, built during the early years of World War Two. After the factory had closed down in the 1960's, it was turned into a shelter by the city in the early 1970's, and opened in 1975. The youth center was for troubled youths who showed promise and needed help in the county.

Opening the door to the roof, Latoya, Rob, and Maverick stepped out into the light from the dim stairwell. The flat roof was a built up roof, with a coating of gravel over layers of tar and underlayment. Immediately present was the bent and twisted cowling petal from the Constellation, along with part of a cylinder and the cover to the power recovery turbine. The cowling petal had struck and damaged some of the ductwork to the roof mounted HVAC. The cylinder had hit hard enough to gouge into the roof, revealing the underlayment.

"Oh man." Rob muttered. "Latoya, I must apologize for this accident."

"Well, it could be worse~" the Rottweiler chuckled cynically. "A couple years ago, parts of a jet engine fell on us and started a fire."

"We'll pay for this in full~" Rob promised. "Especially since the ducting to the HVAC got damaged~"

"Oh well that thing is a piece of junk anyways." Latoya pointed out. "We haven't had a heater for almost a month now...and we're still fighting the city on funding for a new heater!"

"You mean to tell me that you have no central heat at the moment?" Maverick asked.

"No."

"Well that explains why it was so cold inside." Rob shook his head. "You know, forgive me, Latoya, but this building is kind of a dilapidated piece of shit."

"Now you get it!" the Rottweiler laughed. "We've been wanting to get out of this building for the past fifteen years, and the city government has not been cooperating with us at all."

"Wow."

"It's like the damn heater and air conditioner. It blew up on us a month ago, and we keep asking the city about funding to repair it, and we keep getting old 'I got you, I got you' and nothing's happening."

Rob and Maverick looked at each other and smirked. "Gee! Where have we heard that before!" Maverick laughed.

"Well I'm willing to pay for a new system for you. It's similar to what our main office uses, and I know-"

"I'm sorry Rob, but the city will not allow that. Any charitable financial donation has to go through the city government."

Rob rolled his eyes. "Great."

"I understand you are in a legal bind with Chicago." Latoya chuckled.

"That's an understatement." Rob sighed a bit.

"The system!" the Rottweiler exclaimed. "I appreciate your kindness though."

"Tell me this is not a government operation~" Rob chuckled as he shook his head.

"This building needs to be replaced. There is so much overhaul and work that needs to happen, and the city doesn't want to pay for it, nor do they want to move us to another building. They want to milk this building for all its worth."

"This building looks like 'das ministerium fur staatssicherheit in Ost-Berlin'" Mav spoke sarcastically in German.

Rob looked over at Latoya. "Ja, Frau Direktor".

"I'd like for this building to just burn to the ground! After we get everyone out of it!"

"Never say never!" Maverick laughed.

"Jokes aside, why don't you get an inspector to make an assessment, and give me the PO, and Barev will pay for it, no questions, no hassles." Rob explained as he handed her his business card with his contact information.

"Okay. I can do that. Thank you!"

"You're welcome." Rob mustered a smile as he turned to depart for the stairs.

"Oh Rob~"

The wolf-hybrid stopped and turned his head around.

"You know, people told me you're someone who breathes fire. But I don't think that's true at all." The Rottweiler smiled at him.

Rob smirked a bit. "I have my thorns. When needed."

He turned and continued on down the stairs with Maverick to depart.

Somewhere over Indiana, Rob's L-1049E gracefully flew, aided along by a tailwind. The sky was clear with clouds that looked like icebergs in the sky, silently drifting around the glistening propliner that droned.

At the controls, Rob sat, peering out through the windows through tinted aviators. His co-pilot Ivo and flight engineer Jordan, aided him in piloting the curvaceous old Lockheed.

"Rob it sounds like, other than the legal shit, and the plane engine exploding, you had a heck of a time this time in Chicago~" Ivo suggested.

"You know, I did have fun." Rob remarked. "It was neat to just...explore a different place, verses the backwater nature of N'erk."

"Sometimes it's just nice to get out and explore. That's what I love about this job!" Ivo exclaimed. "Me and Jordan can spend all our time together, see new places, and be home by evening time. How great is that?"

"I can't complain~" Jordan spoke up from the back.

"Things like subways, and the expansiveness of the downtown- things that you just don't see in greater Columbus."

"Columbus is still a cowtown to me, after living in San Diego." Ivo added with a laugh.

"Yeah, same here, after spending eight years in Queens." Chuckled the German Shepherd. "I don't want to relive that homeless nightmare again..."

"Can't blame you." Rob nodded.

"I had fun. I got to ride on the subway, I got to take a bunch of video and pictures, and met some cool biker guys into music and shot a music video for them. I can't complain."

Rob sat back in his seat and looked content as he listened to his radials burble and the clouds drift by the cockpit.

Despite his promise to take the week off, Rob found himself sitting in his basement office, on the phone with his attorney. Multitasking, Rob spoke to Lisa on speakerphone while he wrapped a present for his grandmother, who was turning ninety tomorrow. He spoke to Lisa concerning his lawsuit with WNBB-TV, which had an upcoming trial in two weeks, at the end of April, just in time for the defense trial with the city and the Vlockner family. Another marathon week of endless headaches.

"Hey Rob, I have a question for you?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you happen to know an Andrew Bueller at one time when you worked at the school?"

Rob looked up from what he was doing. The name Andrew Bueller rang an immediate bell, a name Rob hadn't heard in years.

"Yes. He was an assistant of me and Mav at WNCS. Andy Bueller was fired in 2007 for lying about messing up our Marconi Mark Nine fleet by improperly setting the beam fly back current on the ACT type tubes. Because of the mistake, all four cameras had their tubes destroyed. And he claimed I was responsible, so I let him go..."

"...dare I ask why his name was brought up."

"Well in sorting through the evidence that was turned over, I came across Mister Bueller's name. Apparently in an e-mail conversation, Andrew is the gentleman who was the genesis of the Rob Himmler drawing that made it on WNBB's social media page and the newspaper owned by same parent company. In back and forth e-mail conversations between Bueller and the cartoonist, Frank Callahan, Bueller described you as a 'ruthless perfectionist', a 'totalitarian asshole', and a 'Nazi like autocrat' in how you ran WNCS."

"Well that don't surprise me." Rob shrugged. "In retrospect, I did push people too hard, but sometimes you have to push people to the limit, to know what your limit is! If people made an effort, I was fine with it, but there were so many people who worked for the station that were fucking useless. And Andy knows that too. We got what we accomplished nursing all that old video gear about, was me being an asshole and pushing people along to get shit done! Andy's just bitter about me firing him. He knew how I felt about lying... and he chose to try and throw me under the bus, and he paid the price with his job."

"It sounds like you're still bitter about it too, Rob."

"I had a lot of respect for him." Rob admitted with a frown. "When I first met Andy, he was a very promising student in the advanced broadcasting course, and I fought tooth and nail to get him hired on when the school district didn't want to. And for him to take my trust and just trash it? That hurt. I didn't want to fire him. But you have to make an example ya know?"

"I gotcha, Rob. I just wanted to ask as I get things ready."

"God help me." Rob grunted as he taped the last corner on his Grandma's gift.

"Everything's gonna be okay Rob. Just breathe and take it easy for your week off."

"Will do, Lisa. Appreciated."

"Thanks Rob. Goodbye~"

"Bye~"

Rob reached over to press the end-call button. He sat back in his chair and thought about the past for a moment, remembering the friendship he had with Andy before their falling out. He was surprised that Andy was now working for the Chicago market. It dawned on Rob that 2007 was a long time ago. A decade and a half now. Andy would be thirty-seven, and Rob was a few months away from forty.

"Hey Rob!" came Joey's voice as he knocked on the door. "You wanna go shooting?"

"Sure, gimme a second!" Rob called back.

The explosion of a gun, with the sharp supersonic crack of a bullet, resonated at the firing range. The tall earthen berms, adorned with flowering trees on top, provided a safe backdrop to the range, just outside of the northeast end of town. It was the first generous project Rob did for the county, after becoming a multi-millionaire in 2013.

Sitting at the bench, Rob watched his husband Joey unload on a paper target with a rifle he was testing, a restored Albanian Type 56 copy, the ASh-78. The wood table was strewn with their rifles and submachine guns, along with copious boxes of ammunition for them. Rob had brought along his East German MpI-KMS-74, a Hungarian AK-63F, and his very first rifle, a second world war veteran M1 Garand. Joey had brought his G3A4 rifle, a short barrel Colt Commando carbine, and a few assorted rifles he had restored at his gun shop, like the ASh-78.

Muffled by his earmuffs, Rob watched Joey unload with his semi-automatic Type 56 clone. It fired like any other Kalashnikov Rob had seen, and its shot grouping looked adequate. Joey fired the last shot and instinctively yanked the charging handle back to ensure that the chamber was empty. He put the rifle on safe and sat it down on the bench to take his hearing protection off. They walked up to examine the holed paper target, which showed a decent shot grouping in the chest area of the silhouette. They squished through the soft, muddy ground, the tall emerald green grass gracefully swaying in the breeze.

"Well I got the sights lined up okay~" Joey chuckled. "Like the Soviets, good enough for government work~"

"Heh, yeah." Rob chuckled. "Not a bad looking rifle once you cleaned it up a lot."

"Oh man, these Albanian guns came in looking like shit." Joey explained as he changed the target out. "They were all beat to shit, and covered in the worst smelling cosmoline I ever had to deal with."

"Imagine how they got stored. Not like Albania's the leader in modern anything..." Rob laughed.

"I'm surprised to even get them, since Albanian made guns are so rare." Joey smiled. "But that's my Dad's talents- how to find these rare guns to put on sale. And maybe get sold to some crazy motherfucker who wants to shoot up a school with it!"

"Nah, they'd be using an AR-15~" Rob chuckled with a cynical hint. "You know according to the libbies, the AR stands for 'assault rifle'."

"Oh boy..." laughed Joey with a sigh. "The amount of misinformation I hear about the AR-15 is just amazing."

"Don't people realize that the only reason why AR's are used in mass shootings so often is their ubiquity? I mean, you can walk into almost any gun store and buy some kind of AR clone for at least five hundred bucks."

"I see on Twitter constantly, all the ranting about how civilians shouldn't own a 'military gun', and the 'military wounds' the AR makes... hell... you think a five-five-six makes horrific wounds? Wait till they see what a thirty-odd-six or a three-oh-eight can do!"

"Or a thirty-thirty Henry lever action?" Rob fumbled his brow. "People don't understand how ballistics are determined by rifling twist rate, barrel length, and bullet design. Not by how the rifle looks."

"People are stupid, Rob~" smiled Joey.

"Yeah. Fucking retarded is what it is." The wolf-hybrid rolled his eyes.

"Or that most shootings are committed by a handgun." The Doberman added, recalling that "most gun seizures are a thirty-eight special".

"People need to stop acting like they can solve all their problems with a gun, or that its some kind of swagger stick."

"Or penis extension." Joey smiled.

"That too." Rob chuckled. "Too many snack bar rangers."

"Heh, gravy seals~" grinned the Dober.

"And I wouldn't personally put my life in the hands of a direct gas impingement system..."

Joey picked up his Colt Commando and fiddled around with it. "Yeah, I agree to that. I'm still working the kinks out on this stupid thing..."

Joey put his hearing protection back on and loaded a twenty round magazine into his Commando. Rob donned his muffs and watched Joey rip the charging handle and take aim with it. He managed to fire a couple short bursts at his target, before the gun jammed up on him. Joey put the rifle down and ripped the charging handle again to clear the jammed round. He ejected the spent cartridge, slammed the forward assist and took aim again to get a couple more rounds out before it jammed up again.

"This stupid thing has been acting up since the last time I fired it..." Joey grumbled. "I think the bolt is worn out... or the recoil spring is needing replacement."

"Probably. I mean that is an almost fifty year old rifle." Chuckled Rob. "Meanwhile in Afghanistan, Type one AK-47's still lurk about..."

"Nothing beats a good AK~" chuckled the Doberman as he tore his Commando down to examine the bolt assembly. "Best equivalent in my opinion is the FAL, or G3~ I love my baby, that G3 Dad built for me."

"Solid and durable. Quality German engineering." Rob chuckled as he picked up his MpI-KMS-74 and shoved an orange Bakelite magazine in and rocked the charging handle. Joey watched as Rob effortlessly put a thirty round burst down range into his paper target. The unique muzzle brake spat flames and sparks to the sides as Rob tore his target apart. After the last shot cleared, he pulled the charging handle back and blew the smoke away before setting it back down. "Gun control is when you use two paws!"

"Not bad~" chuckled Joey with a grin. "Ah fuck it, I'll look at this with Dad when I take 'er back to the shop."

"It needs some new parts and springs most likely." Rob shrugged as Joey grabbed the cooler with their lunch in it. He opened the lid and reached in to grab Rob's sandwich and a green apple. He grabbed his lunch, and two paper cups with a bottle of grape juice which he poured for them. Rob sat and ate his sandwich in silence as he thought to himself.

"You know it's funny..." Joey said, breaking the silence. "I've been working for Dad for sixteen years at the gun shop, and I never once had a problem with people until the age of Covid. Now it's like everyone has lost their collective mind. Their civility. In one year's time, I've had five people pull a gun on me in a fucking gun store. Of all places!"

"Usually it's gun free zones~" Rob quipped sarcastically.

"What the fuck has become of people lately? Everything's a conspiracy. Everything is just 'the man' or something, the system holding them back. Their precious 'freedom', or more like 'freedom for me, not for you' shit." Joey griped. "Is this just a larger symptom of our political system poisoning everything else, Rob?"

"It's a sign that our systems that we have relied upon for centuries are not working in our era. The fact that our government has essentially operated on what is essentially an honor system? To put one's paw on a bible and swear to uphold the constitution and that's it? That all it takes for our system to start to collapse is when a handful of people say 'fuck it?' and do their own thing with no consequences, because our hyper-partisan hackery prevents accountability for wrong-doings? That we make meaningless laws and selectively enforce them on a basis of our class and what popular, unpopular group we're part of?"

"I had a naïve hope that maybe Covid would bring people together..." Joey chuckled. "Yeah, right!"

"You're seeing people's true colors emerge. Most people are fair-weather- when the going's good, they're fine. But when the going gets tough, and crises happen? People's true colors emerge. The greed and selfishness. Give anyone enough time, Joey, and they'll show you their true colors." Rob pointed. "People are chameleons. They change colors to suit their selfish needs."

"It's crazy to watch people blow up because I won't sell them a gun." Joey rolled his eyes. "Makes me and Dad want to just retire and do away with this shit, honestly. I had a dude come in, and want to buy a Mini-14, and when we did the background check, his past conviction of domestic violence came up, and I said no. And he threw a huge fit and pulled the biggest Karen I've ever seen. I told him to get out and he motioned for his gun... and Rick and Randy drew bead on him with a set of MP5's... that motherfucker bolted..."

"I would have just made it look like an accident." Rob shrugged. "Or just said he shot first."

"Oh boy, Rob." Laughed Joey. "Sometimes you haven't learned a thing have you!"

"Oh shut up." Chuckled the wolf-hybrid with a smirk. "Sometimes some people just deserve what comes to them."

"Yeah. I agree." Joey nodded.

"People are terrible. People lie, cheat, steal, murder, and destroy people's lives and get away with it most of the time. And add to the fact that good men get murdered and mediocre hacks thrive in this country." Rob shook his head.

"...all the shootings leave me feeling conflicted." Rob admitted. "It's a tidal wave of violence hitting us. As if a collective sense of frustration in the nation is finally boiling over into rage. I wish people would stop trying to think that a gun will solve their problems."

Joey nodded.

"If you hate your life that much, just take your own life, don't take others with you!" Rob protested. "That's the fucking problem with so many people in the States- if they can't be happy, then nobody can. And soon it's going to fuck all of us who lawfully have our guns... and I fear the idea of disarmament... especially with government behaving the way it is..."

"I agree." The Dober nodded.

"Having faith that the state will look out for your best interest is naïve at best, fatal at worst." Rob concluded as he took a gulp of his grape juice. A frustrated gaze covered his aged face.

Rain fell from a turbulent slate sky. Splashing against the glass picture windows of the Jolly Pirate donut shop, Rob paid for a big box of donuts he had ordered for his grandmother's birthday. The counter had a few people sitting about, aging boomers reading the morning paper with a cup of coffee and a donut or muffin. A radio softly played in the background. Rob glanced around at the sights and sounds of the shop. Five years prior, he had survived a robbery gone wrong at the Jolly Pirate, which left several dead after Rob had intervened. He also had his hip broken a second time in the incident. The chaos and pandemonium of panicked patrons, was now just calm again. Like it had never even happened. Rob turned and left with his big box in his grip.

Driving through the rain, Rob made his way north to Shady Acres, on the north end of Newark, where his grandmother resided at now. At a red light, he dialed her number on his phone to give her a heads up he was on his way.

"Hello~" came her voice.

"Grandma? It's Rob."

"Oh Rob! How are you doing?" Nancy asked, her voice cheering up.

"Happy Birthday, Grandma~"

"Thank you, Rob! I'm ninety now! Wow."

"Big milestone to cross." Chuckled Rob. "Hey I wanted to let you know that I am on my way with some donuts."

"Oh good. Your uncle Steve is bringing a cake in a little while, and everyone's gonna come on over to celebrate."

"Good. My brother will be coming along, but a bit late, as he had to tend to something at his machine shop."

"Well no hurries! I'll be here." Nancy stated. "Not like one does much anymore at this age!"

Rob chuckled. "Take it easy, Grandma."

"Hey Rob, before you go, can I ask you something?"

"Yeah? What's up?"

"Uhh, social security does not come to your house, right?"

"No. None of the alphabet agencies, outside of... the FBI would." Rob explained. "Social security and the IRS operate on form letters. Why?"

"Well...the past couple of days I've had someone come to my door and say they're social security. They had a badge and everything, but something didn't add up and I told them to leave, and they keep coming back, saying there's an issue with my account and need my information? But I don't have a problem with my account? My bank statements show things are fine!"

"Oh really..." Rob said, his face stiffening into an even more stern stare. "That's a scam."

"That's what I figured, but they keep coming back!"

"You let me take care of it, Grandma. I'll be over shortly. Love you."

"See you in a bit, Rob. Bye."

Rob put the phone down and ground his teeth a bit.

Shady Acres was a small neighborhood retirement community, of small white condos nestled in neatly landscaped, curvy roads. Rob pulled in off 21st Street, past the Ollie's store and past a storage garage facility. Making a left turn, Rob pulled into the community and followed the road, navigating by landmarks. As Rob pulled up to her condo, he spotted a ratty, beat up looking Toyota that had just parked on the curb. Dull red with the clear coat eaten away from age, and a spare donut mounted for the back left tire, and a bumper that was held on by duct tape. Rob parked behind it and hopped out.

The occupant that hopped out was a lanky gray wolf, who wore an ill fitting suit that looked as though he had cobbled it together from a Goodwill store. Tousled brown hair was matted down from the rain, and his face showed the look of years of drug abuse.

"Can I help you, bub?" Rob asked him. He made no secret of how he felt in his tone.

"Oh, uhh, uhh, uhh, I'm with social security!" the wolf grinned awkwardly.

"Are you."

"Yeah, and uhh... I gotta fix a problem with someone's social security payments!"

"Uh-huh, yeah, sure." Chuckled Rob. "You are aware that's my grandmother you're harassing?"

"Uhh, uhh, well she has a problem with her payments and I am here to help her!"

"I want to see your identification."

The wolf reached into his pocket to pull out a laminated card. With the intention of just flashing it at Rob, the wolf-hybrid lunged and grabbed it from his paws, revealing a rather poorly printed copy of a badge.

"Your inkjet printer fucking sucks." Rob said with a glare as he turned the laminated card around to see the faintness and streaking. "And replace the lorem ipsum too ya stupid momo."

"Well you know what buddy..."

Nancy opened her front door to see the wannabe social security agent pull a knife on Rob, who fearlessly knocked it away. Rob kicked the wolf square in the chest and knocked him off his feet; he landed against his open door and broke it, bending it forward on the hinges. The window shattered as well. Nancy gasped and covered her muzzle.

Rob's face did not flinch. He grabbed the wolf by the collar and hoisted him up to confront him. "You're a real piece of shit, you know that?"

"Yeah."

"Glad you know it. So listen here motherfucker. You ever fuck around like this again, and you ever harass my grandmother with your drug addled dumbass, I'm gonna smash your fucking head in and you won't be leaving this place. Got it!?"

"Sure..."

Rob glanced over to see Nancy standing on her porch, looking shocked. Rob instantly felt regretful. He turned to look at the wolf again his face hardened back into a ruthless gaze. "You're not worth my time..."

Rob let him go and the wolf fell back onto his damaged door. He hopped back into his ratty car, its motor straining to start. He yanked the door shut, which almost fell off the hinges and sped off, the tires chirping on the wet pavement.

Rob stood soaked in the rain, looking upset. He ran a paw through his messy locks of brown hair to run it back against his head again. He went back to his Tahoe and grabbed the donuts, the gift, and shut the engine off. Nancy quickly whisked him inside.

Nancy fetched a towel from the bathroom and tried to dry Rob off as he stood with an annoyed look on his face.

"I can't believe you beat that fella up!" Nancy exclaimed as he patted Rob's face dry.

"Sometimes they gotta learn the hard way." Rob grunted as he took the towel and dried his hair off, leaving it a tousled mess.

"At least he won't be back." Nancy said with a snicker as she went to the kitchen to prepare some coffee. "I have to break out the old stove top percolator!"

"Well I have a lil' gift to help you out there~" Rob smiled as he picked up his gift for her. "Happy Birthday, Grandma!"

"Oh?" the elderly wolfess muttered as she saw Rob standing with a gift wrapped present for her. "Oh Rob you didn't have to!"

Nancy accepted the gift and strained a bit as she carried it over to the countertop to open. Bony fingers trembled as she slowly tore open the gift wrap to be presented with a new Mr. Coffee maker. "Oh Rob! Thank you!"

"I remember you telling me your Mister Coffee went out, so I got you a replacement~"

"When you get to be my age, this is what keeps you going!" Nancy laughed. "When you hit ninety, you're on borrowed time..."

Nancy ushered Rob back to the living room and encouraged him to sit back down with her on the couch. His grandmother was a frail gray wolf, with neatly permed hair that was snow white. She wore black slacks and a dark blue sweater, with gray socks on her feet.

"Rob you look tired~" Nancy said as she sat with him, waiting for the others to show up.

"Yeah. I've had a lot going on with business and my lawsuits."

"How is that going?"

"Exhausting, but in progress." Rob shrugged.

"Understandable." Nancy nodded. "Just don't be like my brother Carl and be stuck in a lawsuit for years until he died."

"From the concrete accident right?" Rob asked her.

"Oh yes. Carl got a job right out of high school working on the expressway and they didn't tell him to wear heavy boots or anything, so all the exposure to the cement just caused these horrific chemical burns on his feet!" Nancy exclaimed. "I remember him calling me, and this was right after Steve was born, so you know how long ago that was! He said he had crawled down the stairs to get to the telephone, and he was in so much pain from his feet. So me and your Grandpa drove over there... and you should have seen his feet. They looked like a damn pepperoni pizza! It was that bad. Gordo put him over his shoulder and we took him to the hospital. He about lost both his feet. So he sued, and he should have took the settlement! But Carl wanted more money and he never got a penny because he and Kimmy died in that car accident."

Rob shook his head. "A shame isn't it."

"So I hope you're not going to be stuck in a lawsuit forever!"

"I got an exit strategy, by winning." Rob chuckled. "It's a bit more cut and dry in my case."

"Your Grandpa always said you're a fighter, Rob."

"Eh. It's my nature. Unfortunately."

"You've been through a lot."

"Yeah."

Nancy sighed a bit and looked at the wall of family photos, specifically, a photo of her and her sisters, Wilma and Velma. "This has been kind of a rough time for me... Wilma is in the hospital down in Chillicothe, and from what Greg and Velma was telling me... it's not good."

"Well she's eighty-eight years old, and has emphysema and congestive heart failure from massive chain smoking..." Rob rolled his eyes. "Coupled with having Covid last year."

"I never understood the appeal of smoking, never have." Nancy shook her head. "Wilma and Velma were like the lung cancer Olympics with their smoking! Me, Carl, and Paul? Never picked up on the habit."

"It was the times, Grandma~" Rob smirked a bit. "Everyone smoked."

"Thankfully your grandpa only smoked a cigar once in a while, on a special occasion." Nancy said with a smile as she gazed at his picture. "I look at these walls sometimes and think about all the people who are gone now. My parents, my brothers, your Dad... all their faces here to remind me of the time I had with them."

"I sometimes think about it too... since I'll be forty in July." Rob grimaced. "How did I get to be forty? It feels like yesterday I turned thirty!"

"Time gets faster when you get older." Nancy pointed. "You think it's fast at thirty-nine? Wait till you're ninety!"

"I don't think I'll be around to hit ninety." Rob said bluntly. "Not at the rate I'm going!"

"Oh c'mon, don't say that." Nancy sarcastically gestured with a paw swipe through the air. "No one knows when our time will come. Maybe it's for the better."

"I agree."

"When you get this old, everyday's a miracle you're still moving about." Nancy quipped. "So many of my classmates and friends are gone now. It's amazing."

"If you want to visit Wilma, I can take you to Chillicothe."

"I need to talk to them and see about it." Nancy recalled, just as there was a knock at the door.

"I'll get it Grandma! Just in case it's Crackhead Carl!" Rob said with an insincere smile as he got up to answer the door. He opened it to reveal his Uncle Bill, his wife Rebecca, and twin-brother, Jake Barion.

"Come on in!" Rob said as Nancy happily greeted them with hugs and kisses.

The lights of downtown Chicago glowed on a rainy, overcast dusk. The skyscrapers disappeared into a low ceiling that drifted over the city, dumping a torrential downpour. Rain splattered against the huge picture windows of the Mayor's conference room, adjacent to her office. It was a private meeting between Mayor Earhart, Michael Trenoff, Shannon Fenris, and the two Vlockners, Virginia and her nephew Peter. The mood in the giant conference room was somewhat tense.

"My son worked for you and you're not even trying to defend him!" Virginia protested. "He worked for the city for almost twenty years and you're just gonna throw him under the bus!"

"I am, because he threw all of us under a huge ass bus, including you." Trenoff glared behind his round glasses. "We're on our way to losing well over a billion dollars, and that's before punitive damages get assigned..."

"And you think we're in any better shape?" Peter snapped. "A century and a half of wealth in the Vlockner family may be taken away from us in one swift stroke! Because you don't have the balls to defend yourself!"

"What is there to defend when we've been backed into a corner from the opening trial?" Fenris asked. "What is there to defend? That Barev and Rob Barion managed to paint a case that so many people were aware of what Sam was doing, and nobody did anything to stop it? That the FBI is also investigating us? What is there to defend, Peter?"

Peter sat back and pursed his lips in frustration.

"This whole thing happened because your sons were all idiots." Laura glared. "And now I have to unfuck all of this during an election year!"

"So this is our fault?" Virginia asked.

"Yes!" Laura exclaimed.

"This is Rob Barion's fault!" Virginia exclaimed. "He shouldn't have belittled and insulted my sons and drove them to murder!"

"Well maybe if your idiot sons would have just done their jobs, and not acted like a bunch of Mister Magoos, we wouldn't be in this collective boat now would we!" Trenoff shouted. "Rob Barion is a threat to all of us... and this bickering is pointless and serves no purpose but to give Rob what he wants..."

"You don't realize that this is political suicide for me." Laura groaned. "How am I going to explain to millions of voters that I just blew billions of their tax paying dollars away, because your family all had their paws in this plot? That your eldest son used his cozy position in power to orchestrate this whole shitshow. And now you're whining that it's going to affect your bottom line. Well what about our bottom line? Mine?"

"I thought you were going to take care of the problem, Mike?" Peter asked the comptroller.

"I thought I could... but luck wasn't on my side that time..." Trenoff grumbled.

"You don't understand who the kind of person Rob is..." Fenris chimed in.

"He is as ruthless as us- inflexible, uncompromising, and now fired up for vengeance. His whole legal argument and the evidence turned over has collectively fucked all of us over! Don't you get that!? Sam fucked all of us by kicking the hornet's nest. All you goaded this whole thing in..."

"I am not going to let my family name get pushed around by some outsider from a ho-diddley-hum Ohio town..." Peter hissed.

"Well obviously Rob did... Trenoff glared.

"Well if you weren't successful in neutralizing the threat... then we're going to do something about it!" Peter exclaimed.

Following the tense meeting of everyone trying to coordinate their defense, Mayor Earhart returned back to her office with Trenoff, who closed the door behind him. Laura took a seat at her desk, reached down into a drawer, and poured herself a neat shot of bourbon.

"Lord...what did I get myself into..." the Doberman grumbled as she took a sip of her amber colored drink.

"Laura I want a written copy of the order you have given me in regards to Operation Defochi."

"Why? Nobody is going to know?" Laura response with a look of puzzlement on her face.

Trenoff approached her desk with a serious gaze on his face. "Laura, let me explain this to you bluntly... This was your idea... to try and do anything to intimidate, negotiate, and stall Rob Barion and United Barev Industries in defense of the Chicago administration... This was your idea... with me executing it... and I am not going to be thrown under a massive fucking bus if the gavel is slammed in his favor and your poll numbers tank... I am going to have my seat when the music stops..."

Laura looked at the icy cold stare of the comptroller and sighed lightly. She swung around in her chair, woke her computer up from hibernation, and searched for the document to print. She sent it to the printer, where Trenoff picked it up fresh from the tray, and sat the still warm page on her desk, where she signed with a blue felt pen. Trenoff picked it up almost immediately, folded it neatly, and turned to leave. The door closed behind him as he left. Laura tipped her head back to finish the rest of her drink and sat with a lonesome expression on her face.

Zipping up his orange jumpsuit as he walked, Rob adjusted his baseball cap and headset and walked to assist getting his helicopter ready. Time was of the essence. On the flight line was his newly acquired Chickasaw, a bulbous, clunky H-19 helicopter. The restored Sikorsky wore a very vibrant dayglo orange Navy scheme, depicted in the colors of a NAS Corpus Christi in the mid 1950's. Rob walked around inspecting the airframe and its rotor pylon. Above, Vlado stood on a ladder, slowly turning the bouncing rotor blades by hand to check for hydraulic lock. The bloated looking Chickasaw was a far cry from his sleek 1960's Alouette III, the little French helicopter powered by a turboshaft. The Sikorsky was larger, and powered by a radial R-1340 in the rounded nose, generating roughly 600hp.

Rob climbed into the cockpit through the side hatch and began getting things checked over while he waited for his grandmother. It would be her first helicopter ride, but not a ride of pleasure; Nancy had received a call from her youngest sister, Velma, that Wilma was in really bad shape in the ICU and it was clear that things were only going further downhill for their ailing middle sister.

Being aided to the tarmac by Geert, Nancy wore a similar orange flight suit over her sweater and slacks. Other ground crew aided Nancy as she climbed up a short set of steps and into the cockpit, where Rob aided her into her seat and buckled her in. Rob went through some of the checklist and taught her how to use the microphone toggles into her headset to speak on the intercom. Geert closed the hatch on her side and wished them a safe flight.

"Grandma, are you ready to do this?"

"Ready as I'll ever be~"

Rob went through the checklist to turn over the radial in the nose. Engaging the magnetos and starter, the R-1340 revved up with a cough of oily smoke from the exhaust. Rob watched the RPM's build up and waited for the clutch to engage the rotors. It took a minute before the rotors began to slowly turn and build up speed. The rotors gave a distinct "thump, thump, thump" as they built up speed. Nancy looked a bit nervous as she held on tightly as Rob began to slowly roll the helicopter to build up a bit of speed to lift off. The four wheel undercarriage rolled on the flight line in a slow turn. Rob pushed the nose forward slightly, gave more power, and the Chickasaw slowly got into the air in a slow climb.

"Oh here we go!" Nancy exclaimed, breathing slowly as she watched the ground slip away.

Gaining altitude slowly, Rob climbed to five hundred feet for their flight to Chillicothe. Cruising at 85mph indicated, Rob followed the highways and kept Route 23 in sight as he visually flew the chopper through clear, calm skies.

Nancy gripped the microphone toggle with her bony fingers. "This... this isn't as scary once you get used to the sensation. It's not like a plane!"

"Nah, it's unique." Chuckled Rob. "Helicopters get you into some really tight places when needed."

"It's neat to see the ground from this perspective. You can see so much from up here."

"Yeah. That's why I like flying, verses driving. You got less idiots up in the sky, because the requirements are higher!"

"I can see that! You make a mistake in this and splat!"

"You make a mistake a mistake in this and the FAA is gonna come down hard on you!" Rob laughed.

Nancy looked over at Rob with a smile. "You know, I really appreciate you for doing this... I just... I don't think I have much time left with my sister."

"No. From the sounds of it..." Rob shook his head.

Cutting their travel time down to forty minutes, Rob and Nancy arrived at the Adena Health Pavilion. Rob circled around the hospital, and touched down in an empty section of the parking lot. His arrival made quite a few heads turn as the bright orange helicopter made its presence known. Rob wound the engine down and cut the mixture, waiting as the rotors coasted down. Hopping out first, Rob slid the hatch open for the cargo hold, and pulled out a foldable set of stairs, which he propped up against the right side. He climbed up and helped Nancy out of the cockpit.

"Boy Rob, you make that look too easy!" Nancy complimented with a laugh as she grabbed her purse.

"Second nature for me." Rob chuckled. "C'mon, let's go."

Donning surgical masks, Rob and Nancy went in to head to the ICU on the second floor. Stepping out of the elevator, Rob immediately wrinkled his nose in disgust at the harsh smell of iodine and disinfectant. It brought back too many memories of his times lying in the hospital being put back together. Stepping into the ICU, Rob was presented with a world wrapped in plastic. While not packed full of Covid patients like in winter, the ICU was still a busy place of critically sick patients. Rob and Nancy found Wilma in room 207, where Velma and some of Wilma's children sat and stood around. Velma looked like Wilma, an overweight, frail old woman in her mid eighties, with a short bob cut of white hair that almost blended in her pelt of gray and white fur. Rob saw Wilma's youngest son, Greg Gallagher, her middle daughter, Haley Munster, and older daughter, Michelle Rochester. Nobody looked like they wanted to be in the room. There was a sense of misery. Rob turned to see Wilma lying helpless in her hospital bed.

Hooked up to an uncountable amount of IV lines, and cables, the hapless Wilma looked like death warmed over. Her health had been slowly going downhill for years, and Covid did a number on her, spending two months in the hospital recovering from it. She never quite recovered from it. She breathed with the aid of an oxygen mask strapped to her muzzle. Rob frowned beneath his mask; it was a sad sight, even if he didn't care for his aunt. She was a nasty, bitter woman, much like the great-grandmother Rob never really knew. She always treated Rob rudely, for as long as he could remember. And Rob always gave it right back, with the sarcastic quip of "you're still alive?" But now it felt regretful to think about that insult, knowing that Wilma was clearly dying in front of them.

"Wilma? It's Nance~" Nancy said, greeting her ailing sister.

"Oh Nance... this is not good..." Wilma sighed. Her voice was reduced to just above a whisper. "I really screwed myself."

Nancy nodded and pulled up a chair.

"What's with the orange jumpsuits? You two break outta jail or something?" Velma asked sarcastically.

"We took a helicopter flight~" Nancy told her youngest sister.

"Oh how was that?"

"Quite the view."

"I'd love to go on a helicopter ride, but I'm sure the helicopter couldn't lift my wide butt up!" Velma laughed with a raspy cackle. Rob kept his thoughts to himself.

Glancing over, Rob could sense that Greg, Haley, and Michelle didn't want to be at the hospital. Greg leaned against the sink looking at his phone, and Haley and Michelle just looked at something on their phone. It wasn't the look of avoiding a morbid situation, it was the look of disinterest of being around their dying Mom. None of them had a good relationship with Wilma; the seven time married and divorced Wilma had burned a lot of bridges between her kids and their fathers over the years, the same with Velma. Between the two of them, they had thirteen kids, and fourteen ex-husbands. And Rob never saw really any of them. They were all largely estranged.

"Rob?" came his grandmother's voice.

"Yeah, Grandma?"

"Uhh, Wilma would like a moment with you alone, if everyone could step out of the room for a bit?"

Rob was unsure of what to make of Wilma's request. "Uhh, okay then."

Rob walked over to see Wilma struggling to breathe through her mask, her face scrunched in pain. Nancy and the others left the room and the sliding glass door pulled shut behind them. Rob took a seat beside Wilma's bed.

Very slowly, Wilma pulled the mask off her face and turned her head to look at Rob. Weary blue eyes looked at Rob's blank blue-green eyes.

"You and me never had a good relationship, Rob."

"No, we haven't. Unfortunately."

"All these years... I've been a pain in the ass with everyone. And now I lay here realizing that I'm paying the price for it."

Rob kept mum.

Wilma blinked a few times and coughed with a wheezing inhale afterwards. "You have always been good to your grandmother, even if you two butted heads sometimes. Nance has always spoke so glowingly of you and your brother. You two have always been there for her and Gordo when he was alive."

"That's what family is for~"

"Well tell them that..." Wilma grunted out. "I have six children, and you only ever see three. And they act like this is an inconvenience for them... But that's my fault. Because I made them feel that way with how I was a parent."

Wilma stopped to breathe, her breathing labored and distressed as he tried to gulp down air. "I'm not gonna make it outta here alive, Rob. And I want to see my babies, all of them, before I go... but I won't."

"You will." Rob assured her. "You will~"

"Hell, I ask them for help, and nobody ever wants to pick up half the time..." Wilma coughed out. "But that's what happens when you're the absent Mom in their lives... they don't care... not when I didn't care..."

"You still have time to make up." Rob said, trying to comfort Wilma. "Sometimes family isn't perfect. We're only canines, after all. We're flawed and imperfect, biased by our emotions."

Wilma looked at Rob with a bit of surprise on her face. "This is the first time I've ever heard you speak to me without an attitude or frustration in your tone..."

"I don't always breathe fire. And now is not the time." Rob bluntly quipped. "I don't want to be an asshole. I have to, to survive unfortunately."

Wilma weakly nodded. "I understand you, Rob."

"Do you?"

"Dimwits like me made you into who you are now. I remember you as a little kid, always laughing and smiling whenever you'd go with Nancy and Gordo. And I'd always scoff about it, and shoo you away, because I was unhappy. Your Dad yelling at you all the time... and then what those students did to you and gave you that scar on your face... you went in an instant, from that nice kid, to a man of steel around his heart."

"Don't blame yourself, Wilma. This is also my fault for allowing myself to go down that path." Rob shrugged.

"You're a good person, Rob."

"I don't agree with that. I am who I am."

"You might not think it... but I see how you take care of your grandmother... without question, completely devoted whenever she needs your help. You might project an image of a cold and unfeeling person... But how you take care of her... your brother... your family... your husband... your coldness hides the warmth inside your heart, to take care of all of them. And I... appreciate you for taking care of Nance in her last years."

"Wilma... I appreciate your words." Rob nodded.

"I'm sorry for treating you so meanly over the years, Rob."

"It's okay Wilma. It's the past." Rob smiled under his mask.

Wilma began to wheeze, and struggled to grab her mask, which had slipped down off her face. Rob leaned in and gently grabbed it. He placed it back on her muzzle and adjusted the elastic straps.

"Thank you..." she whispered.

"I must go, Aunt Wilma." Rob said as he got up. As he turned to leave, he heard her call his name, and he turned around to see Wilma struggling to lift her left paw up, as if motioning for him. Rob took a few steps closer to the bed and Wilma gently grabbed his right paw and held it.

"Rob, I want to say goodbye, just in case."

Rob nodded. "Aunt Wilma, you rest for me. And take care."

Rob gave her bony paw a squeeze affectionately and turned to leave for the door.

"Goodbye." Rob said before turning to leave.

Leaving the room, Rob found his grandmother tending to a crying Velma, Nancy tenderly hugging and holding her grieving sister. Nancy had tears in her eyes as well, and it made some of her mascara run down her face. Rob tilted his head and frowned beneath his surgical mask at the sad sight of two elderly women mourning the impending death of their middle sister. Rob looked over to see Greg looking uninterested on his phone. Rob's sad expression hardened into a more stern gaze.

"Hey Greg~" Rob said as he approached.

"Yeah?"

"You know, I get it. I get that you and your Mom never had a good relationship. But this may be your final chance to make peace with her?"

"What's there to make peace with?" Greg asked Rob. "Sorry Mom that I was upset that you broke up a relationship with my Dad and ruined his life? Sorry that you were absent in a good part of my life?"

"Don't be like me and shun my parents and regret it now." Rob pointed. "This is your final chance. Please listen to me, because I know."

"And why do you care? You never liked my Mom anyways?"

"Maybe I've had a change of heart, jackass." Rob snapped. "Your Mom is lying in that room dying, and you're acting like it's an inconvenience. All of you act like it's just a drag on your day!"

"Rob take it easy!" Nancy exclaimed.

"No, I won't!" Rob snapped at her. "I don't want all of you to just brush this off, and then regret it years later... because it'll weigh on your heart... take it from someone who knows that feeling... every day."

Greg fumbled his brow and looked at his sisters. His annoyed gaze turned into more of a look of sad regret.

"Maybe you're right..."

"Yeah."

"Nance, we'll keep you in touch." Velma said as she watched Rob buckle Nancy up into her seat.

"Thank you, sis~"

"Aunt Nancy! You have a safe flight back." Greg waved.

"Please keep trying to call your other siblings!" Nancy called back.

"I'm trying!"

"Okay, we're ready to go." Rob announced. "I need ya'll to back away from the rotors!"

"Take care!" Velma exclaimed as she shuffled back with Michelle's help.

Rob got the radial engine fired up, and with a small audience of medical personnel watching, Rob slowly lifted his bulbous Sikorsky back into the air. Gingerly turning around, Rob climbed away and began to fly north back to Newark.

The flight back was quiet as Nancy sat and watched the scenery, reflecting on her visit with her dying sister. Rob focused on flying his Chickasaw as he followed Route 23. Glancing over from time to time, he saw Nancy staring off into space with an introspective look on her aged face.

"You okay, Grandma?"

Nancy turned her head to look at Rob and say something, but forgot to toggle the microphone switch. Rob could not hear her voice over the rotors. Rob tapped his headset and reached over to toggle her microphone switch.

"Oh!" came Nancy's voice through his headset. "Forgot about that!"

"Are you okay, Grandma?"

Nancy hit the toggle. "She's not gonna make it, Rob."

"No. No she's not." Rob shook his head. "I only hope Greg and them understand what I told them."

"Both my sisters had bad relationships with their kids. But that's on them. Just absent mothers who chose to work and spend time with friends than their own children."

"Yeah. Some people are just not meant to be parents." Rob chuckled with a sarcastic shake of the head.

"What did Wilma want to say to you, Rob?"

"I think she wanted to say goodbye to me in private. It was a nice conversation... and I appreciated it."

"Well that's good!"

"Grandma... am I a good person to you?"

"Well yes you are Rob! Why would you even think that?"

"Because I don't feel like a good person, Grandma." Rob frowned. "I feel like a vengeance filled sociopath."

"I think you can be rough around the edges, and you don't take people's stupidity."

"There's too much of that anymore." Rob grunted into the mic.

"Bad people are like my mother..." Nancy said with a bit of a chuckle at the end, which got cut off by letting go of the toggle. "My mother was not a good woman. She would use people, and the moment you were no longer handy? Drop you like a hot potato! And that's why Wilma and Velma are in the boat that they are now. They did the same thing when they were younger."

"I see."

"My mother was a beautiful woman, and she knew it too, and she used it to full effect to get what she wanted!" Nancy exclaimed. "You don't use people Rob, and you don't hurt people unless they're asking for it!"

"Yeah I just don't know what to make of myself anymore..." Rob admitted. "People are exhausting to understand. Too much has happened to me over the years, and it's just warped and twisted my perspective of things."

"After dealing with the past two years... I understand what you're saying Rob." Nancy nodded. "I'm tired too."

"Yeah."

At 7:05 in the morning, Rob threw the sliding glass door open to his deck and ran out for his Tahoe. Greenie the duck flew out of the way as Rob ran past, which got Joey's attention as he saw Rob speed off in his red Chevy. Rob hit 21st street and went north to go see his grandmother, who had just called with the news that Wilma had just died, surrounded by the entire family at her side.

Rob screeched up in front of Nancy's condo and jumped out, still dressed in his red and white striped pajamas. He knocked on the door and a few seconds later, Nancy answered. Still sobbing, Rob grabbed his grandmother and held her in a hug as Nancy wept at her sister's passing. Looking stoic, Rob held his grandmother in an effort to comfort her.

One Week Later

At eleven thousand feet, "Coneflower" had the sky to itself. The morning sun painted the polished silver Lockheed in a brilliant amber sheen as it plotted course to Biloxi, somewhere over the state border between Kentucky and Tennessee. Four Cyclone-18 radials burbled, driving the massive propellers that drew red white and blue circles in the cool morning air. At the helm sat Felix Barion and his friends Ivo and Jordan, commanding the curvaceous Constellation with their full load of passengers for the official opening ceremony of the "Barev Medical Supply Company" down in Mississippi.

The cozy cabin of "Coneflower" carried familiar faces of Rob's entourage. Friends, family, and invited guests rode aboard the Supper Connie. In the forward lounge, Jake Barion sat with his best friend CJ Johnson, who was Rob's ex-boyfriend from high school. They entertained Nancy Barion and Special Agent Dove, who accepted Rob's invitation to join the ceremony, and to investigate a security matter Rob had brought up to him. Not far away, Andrew and Marie Paulo argued over something silly, while Joey and Alvin Paulo watched amusingly. In the middle section, Marcus Barion took a nap with some of Barev's video crew members, who rested with all their gear stowed about in rolling suitcases. And finally in the tail of the propliner sat Rob with Maverick and their head of company security, Brad Johnson. Accompanying them in Rob's quarters were a local journalist and photographer from the Newark Advocate.

Maverick stood with his BVP-3 Betacam on his shoulder, capturing video of Rob at work at his desk while talking to the journalist and photographer. Rob sat looking serious as usual as he filled out some paperwork that was tucked away in an orange folder. He grabbed his checkbook from the drawer and scribbled out two checks, remarking to the journalist that he was taking care of his late aunt's funeral and medical expenses.

"With wealth comes responsibility." Rob quipped as he clipped the checks to the paperwork and closed the folder up. He sat it aside and leaned back in his leather office chair.

"So you have a factory that manufactures electronics and lighting products, a vacuum tube factory, and a photo chemical plant in Chicago, why medical stuff?" the journalist asked.

"Well when you watch your country just flounder in the first year of the pandemic because there's not enough medical supplies, and you have to import it- practically all of it from China... that's kind of embarrassing when you think about it. The country with one of the largest economies in the world, and you have to import your medical gear. I don't like it. So I got a federal grant with the coronavirus relief act to build these facilities, and I hope it can do its part to put people to work, and provide a critical service for a critical industry." Rob said in response.

"A very noble thing." The young gray wolf nodded as he jotted some notes down on a notepad.

"I believe it's always safe to do right."

"So who is speaking at the ceremony? Will you be speaking?"

"No, I won't be. This is all Martin Bixby, Barev's southern director." Rob shook his head. "I just gave the okay, and let him do pretty much the rest. Bixby will be speaking, Brian Sheppen, the plant manager, he'll give a short speech. And...unfortunately... we'll have to hear mush from the wimp himself, the Governor of Mississippi..."

"...that's off the record, by the way..."

The journalist gulped at Rob's stern, but sarcastic point of a finger at him.

Stepping into the rear compartment and knocking on the open door, revealed Agent Dove. He wore an FBI windbreaker jacket over a gray t-shirt and some black work pants. "Mister Rob?"

"Oh, right, uhh, if you excuse us, we need to have a bit of a private meeting. Thank you for chatting." Rob said as he shook the journalist's paw and the photographer's, before they left. Dove closed the bulkhead door and Maverick powered his camera off and sat it down on his lap after taking a seat.

Brad looked up from his spot sitting on the bed. "What do you know about the 'Werwolf' neo-fascist group, Dove?"

Dove had a moment of thought on his face. "They're a ethnonationalist, hate group, largely identifying themselves around Nazi ideology and paleoconservatism. Mostly active in Mississippi, Texas, and Louisana, with a few isolated chapters in Idaho and Wyoming. Have been suspected in a couple of murders and weapons and drug smuggling across the southern border."

"We asked you come along, because Jerry believes they're plotting to do something in regards to our ceremony at the factory." Rob spoke up.

"Jerry, as in Jerry Schultz?" Dove asked. "The crazy Jackson Mississippi police officer, who was fired from his job for excessive violence on the force? A charge that he denies as he believes he was just following his orders to the T?"

"Yes...Dove... crazy Jerry, the T-1000..." Rob rolled his eyes.

"Crazy Jerry regardless... they're a threat and we have reasonable evidence that they are up to something..." Brad said with a serious gaze. "There was a tip off about potential activity to use the ceremony to attack the governor and the facility in showcasing their opposition..."

"Why? The governor of Mississippi is a conservative..." Dove sarcastically quipped.

"...and just as fucking retarded as them!" Rob scoffed while throwing his arms up in disgust.

"With the amount of state police and our own security teams... the cream of the crop, 'strategic missile troops', I couldn't fathom how they'd think they could succeed?" Maverick shrugged.

"Never say never." Brad motioned. "It doesn't matter if they succeed... it matters if they can get publicity. That's what they want. Success in the mission is second to the primary goal of notoriety, and martyrdom."

Dove looked at Rob and Brad with a smirk. "Dare I ask why you named some of your security that..."

"The Strategic Missile Troops are assigned to protect Mark Prince's rocket manufacturing facility in Louisiana, the solid propellant manufacturing facility, and Vandenberg launch facilities from all threats. Just as Viking Battalion protects Chicago sites, and First Division, SB-Cuyahoga, protects both Ohio and Virginia sites."

"I see."

"Police are useless." Chuckled Rob. "Do your own policing!"

"Sounds more like a private army, Rob~"

"Heh maybe." Rob said, giving Dove a sarcastic little smile on his face.

Arriving into Biloxi by the late morning hour, "Coneflower" circled twice over the city, before descending in for an uneventful landing at the Gulfport-Biloxi airport, home of Centoh Biloxi, and not far away, the home of the Barev Medical Supply Company. The L-1049E taxied up to the ramp on its inboard radials, as news cameramen trained their cameras onto the shiny propliner. Centoh's ground crews approached once the plane parked, and once the wheels were chocked, the airstair pushed up against the rear door to allow everyone to disembark.

Rob stepped out and saw all the cameras go right to him. He helped his grandmother down the stairs slowly, with Joey and Alvin behind him.

"So this is what stardom is, Rob?" Nancy asked with a smile. "There's dozens of cameras!"

"Yeah, I know. I hate it." Rob admitted.

The parking lot of the medical facility was bustling with activity as music played, and workers and guests mingled about to visit the food trucks that were parked. It was a joyous occasion for everyone, to celebrate the pulling off of getting Barev Four up and running almost on time and only slightly over budget.

Rob stood with Maverick and the management of Barev Four. Martin Bixby, the southern director, was joined with Brian Sheppen, the plant manager, as they all stood talking to the Governor of Mississippi in a private chat off to the side of all the activity.

"This is quite an achievement for the state of Mississippi." The governor complimented. "Of all the states, you picked Mississippi."

"Yeah, it's great, such a great thing." Rob nodded. "It's close enough to be halfway on both sides of the continental US, great water access, plus our air cargo hub is located here, so it made sense."

"You're putting thousands of Mississippians back to work, injecting critical revenue in not only the local economy, but the state and federal too."

"That's the plan. Make Uncle Sam happy~" Maverick chuckled.

"There were some bumps along the way, but that's inevitable." Martin said with a shrug. "You just plow through the obstacles."

Rob glanced over at all the activity, and made note of his security officers quietly patrolling. Rather than the all black and gray uniforms the "Blackshirts" wore, members of the "Strategic Missile Troops" wore dark green and black uniforms, with the emblem of the squadron velcroed to their shirt sleeve. Each "solider" wore a dark green uniform and a bullet resistant vest, and carried an AK-103 rifle slung across their back. Rob made sure each "solider" of his had a tried and trusted Kalashnikov; it was Rob's favorite rifle. It wasn't fickle like an AR and its direct gas impingement system, and always reliable and dependable. Black plastic furniture contrasted to the rust orange magazines Rob equipped them with. They were his "law and order", perhaps, he thought, a reflection of his paranoia and mistrust in others.

After an hour or so of a casual party, the actual ceremony got underway, and a small audience gathered around the stage that had been set up. News cameras and journalists sat in the front row as Martin Bixby opened with a speech for the cameras. Rob stood off to the side and watched with Maverick.

Bixby was the brains of Rob's entire Mississippi operation. A Biloxi resident his whole life, with a past career being a flight logistics officer in the US Navy, he was a natural choice to set up Centoh's fourth hub. When talks about opening a medical facility in Biloxi was brought up, Bixby jumped to the occasion and pulled it off. He spoke rather elegantly and always had a friendly tone as he explained the importance of the plant to the news. Rob watched him wrap his speech up and turn the podium over to Sheppen, who explained the inner working of the facilities and what they'll build. It brought a proud smile to Rob's face.

Rushing footsteps got Rob's attention. Rushing to him was Jerry Schultz. A German Shepherd in his early forties, Schultz was one of Rob's most frightening members of the security branch of the company. Rob likened him to the T-1000 terminator; he was of slender build, who had light brown hair that was coiffed atop his head. A piercing stare permanently graced his face, with blue eyes that looked dead to the world, like polished wet sapphires. Schultz was once a police officer who was fired for being way too aggressive in the Jackson police department. Rob had christened him the "T-1000" when he found out that Schultz had chased a suspect for two miles on foot, nonstop, without slowing, until the suspect dropped dead from a fatal heart attack. He was ultimately fired for a reckless high speed pursuit that killed a seventeen year old who had fled from him during a traffic stop. He now served as Rob's ruthlessly loyal security guard, overseeing all of the Mississippi branch's security needs with his counterpart, Sam Mueller.

"Rob! Rob! Rob!" Jerry shouted. "Rob we have a problem!"

"What is it?" Rob asked him.

"It's happening... it's gonna happen!" Jerry exclaimed. "The Werwolf's, they're moving! I just got the tip off, and I just let Brad know."

"What... do you mean this facility is gonna be attacked?" Maverick asked.

"Yes." Jerry glared. "Five box trucks full of men... maybe... two hundred? Weapons, explosives... they're gonna try and riot and attack the place and kill the Governor..."

"Notify the police..." Rob pointed to Jerry. "Let's get Dove... and let's mobilize."

"Yes, sir!" Jerry exclaimed.

"When it rains it pours..." Rob said to Mav as he called Dove to inform him of the situation.

"I feel like I've made a deal with the devil..." Dove quipped to Rob.

Leaving the medical facility, Rob and Dove rode aboard a ex-Soviet BTR-70. Packed with Rob's "soldiers", they rode as part of a convoy of Barev's security vehicles. Three BTR-70's rode in a convoy with two BMD-2s' and a BMP-1, all painted in dark green, bearing the name "STRATEGIC MISSILE TROOPS" in white stenciling on the turrets.

Borrowing a ballistic helmet and bullet resistant vest, Dove sat, clutching an AK-103. Rob sat opposite of him, utilizing a short barrel AK-104. Rob wore a similar get up, a dark green helmet strapped to his head complete with goggles. Brad and Jerry also rode with them.

"I suggest we just kill 'em all and let God sort 'em out!" cackled Jerry's suggestion.

"No unnecessary destruction!" Dove pointed. "I want prisoners. For intelligence."

"What's there to gather? They're Nazi scum." Jerry hissed.

"I need data, for FBI intelligence on hate groups."

"I would do as Dove says..." Rob said, his eyes wandering over to glare at Dove. "I don't need any more federal oversight looking at me..."

Dove just smirked at Rob.

Rob shook his head. "Minimal casualties! We're gonna intercept them with the police, and force their surrender."

"Why minimal?" Jerry asked Rob.

"Jesus Christ, crazy Jerry~" Brad laughed.

Rob leaned forward to look over Brad to stare at Jerry. "I wanna kill all of them too, Schultz, but we can't. What's the point of civility and civilization if we forsake our morals just for pure survival?"

"Rob's correct~" Dove pointed.

"You've gotten soft Rob!" teased Jerry.

"I don't need the feds on my ass."

"Plus, that's what they want." Brad chimed in. "They want notoriety, martyrdom. Jesus Christ, that's the fucking shit I had to deal with when I served in Iraq! Those motherfuckers blowing themselves up for Mohammad!"

"Stay alert, and look out for your buddies." Rob told everyone. "We got one shot at stopping them..."

Along a rural country road, a road block was set up. It was a strategically important position for an interception with no escape routes. The road was situated in a hilly area just outside of Biloxi; the tree covered hills were rocky and difficult to scale. There was a small bridge and a shallow creek that spanned the area. Rob and his security forces were staged behind the bridge, situated in some brush to try and conceal themselves. On the other side of the bridge, Mississippi highway patrol set up a road block, with two SUV's and several officers in position. Should the group ram through, then Barev's security would be the second line of defense.

Rob looked through binoculars, watching intensely. He could hear Dove on the radio, communicating back to Quantico about the situation. Rob glanced over to see some of his "troops" setting up MG42 machine guns. One BTR was modified with the addition of a M2HB .50 caliber machine guns. It was an insurance policy that Rob knew would one day pay dividends.

"Has anyone ever told you, you're paranoid, Rob?" Dove asked, pointing sarcastically to the MG42's.

"I don't know... I thought maybe you did once upon a time... I call it insurance!" Rob pointed out.

"For what? Armageddon?"

Rob gave the wolf a sarcastic wag of his finger in agreement.

"We have sighted the box trucks and they're one mile out... closing in at roughly fifty miles per hour..." came a radio bulletin from a helicopter that was tracking them.

"Copy. Acknowledge." Dove responded. "Get in position!"

"GET IN POSITION!" Brad and Jerry yelled to the troops as they took cover behind the BTR's, lying in wait.

Rob gave a final checkout of his AK-104 and stood in the open hatch, watching with his binoculars. He could hear the sound of an M2 being cocked over to his left.

Emerging from around the bend was a large Ryder box truck. It was followed by four more, all roaring along at high speed. Police got into position at the road block.

"STOP. MISSISSIPPI HIGHWAY PATROL. STOP!" blared an officer with a megaphone. The box trucks picked up even more speed.

"Get out of the way! He's gonna ram you!" Dove shouted into the radio.

Two officers dived out of the way as their cruisers were struck by the Freightliner at high speed. With a mighty crash, the box truck blasted on through, plowing the two Ford SUV's with little difficulty. Police opened fire, and passengers in the cab of the box truck opened fire with submachine guns and automatic rifles.

"Randall! Light 'em up!" Jerry shouted on the radio.

Blowing black diesel exhaust, the BMD-2 emerged from the shrubs and rolled onto road. Its turret swung to port and the 30mm auto cannon roared to life. A massive explosion of fire and sparks shot out from the long barrel as the IFV shook from the recoil impulse. Firing high explosive rounds, the cab of the Freightliner practically exploded as the shells ripped the engine bay open. The vehicle rolled and tipped over onto its side. The convoy lost control and began crashing into each other. The guns fell silent as everyone watched the box trucks collide.

Rob grabbed his megaphone and yelled into it. "HALT! STEHENBLEIBEN, ODER ICH SCHIESSE!"

"FBI!!! FREEZE! DON'T MOVE!" Dove screamed.

"BAREV FUCKIN' SECURITY, GIVE IT UP, MOTHERFUCKERS!" Jerry ordered.

There was a burst of gunfire as some of the masked gunmen jumped out of the mangled box truck. Men wore tan pants, identical t-shirts that bore the Werwolf's Nazi inspired insignia, and masks that concealed their faces with sunglasses. They fired blindly with their AR-15's.

Rob threw his AK-104 into his shoulder and let loose with a burst of fire. Troops returned fire, and the machine guns lit up the area with their red and green tracers. The M2HB belched out red tracers that tore through people and box trucks with zero difficulty. Sounding like a sheet of calico getting ripped apart, two machine gunners fired away with their MG42's. Spent shells spat everyone as green tracers ripped into gunmen and vehicles.

Rob took aim and paused. The wolf-hybrid watched the macabre unfold with a look of uncertainty on his face. Men were cut down, and watched limbs and torsos explode open from the M2HB's armor piercing rounds. Jerry led some of his men on the offensive, and they took cover in the creek's embankment. Box trucks were ripped open by machine gun fire, and Rob watched as one of them violently exploded. Something went off with a tremendous bang and concussion. Bodies were flung into the air, and flaming debris fell all over the road. People screamed in agony as they ran about on fire.

"DON'T SHOOT! LET 'EM BURN!" screamed Jerry to his men.

Rob saw people thrown their guns down and raise their arms up in surrender. Rob immediately grabbed his megaphone. "CEASE FIRE! CEASE FIRE! CUT IT OUT! CUT IT OUT NOW!"

"CEASE FIRE!" Dove ordered.

In a flash, the gunfire stopped. The sound of ammunition cooking off in the fire resonated through the background as Rob hopped down off the APC. Cautiously approaching, rifle raised and in his shoulder, he walked across the small bridge to see the group of surviving gunmen approach with their arms raised.

"HALT!" Rob yelled. "Stehenbleiben, oder ich schiesse!"

"Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" one of the gunmen pleaded.

Rob fired a warning shot at his feet. "Hör auf zu laufen! Ich werde schiessen!"

"Rob! They don't speak German!" Dove yelled.

"They should!" Rob shouted back. "Nazi scum..."

Surrounding them, the Strategic Missile Troops got the crime scene stabilized as they waited for the police and Marshalls to show up. Rob counted at least ninety dead, and well over a hundred captured. He walked by some of the charred remains of the people who had been set on fire. It made Rob look mortified at the sight and smell. He hated burns. It hit close to home to him. Dove ordered each man to be unmasked, revealing a bunch of young and old faces, looking shell shocked, embarrassed, defeated.

"Who is the leader?" Brad asked. "Who the fuck is in charge of this circus show?"

Jerry fired his rifle into the air. "WHO THE FUCK IS IT!?"

"LARRY AND LES LAMAR!" someone yelled. People pointed to two Dobermans who knelt on the ground in front of Rob's guards. Rob immediately walked over to them.

"Get up!" Rob commanded. He grabbed one of the Doberman's by their long greasy hair to pull them up to their feet. The other brother jumped up and suddenly punched Rob in the face. Rob stumbled a bit and the brother got hit in the chest by a well placed rifle butt. Rob let go of the brother's hair and took a step back with a smirk on his face.

"I'll let you have that punch... it's a freebie on me..." Rob pointed. "So you two morons are the brains of this operation..."

"Yeah..."

"Who is Larry and who is Les." Rob asked.

"I'm Larry..." the long haired Doberman said. "That's my brother Les~" He spoke with a southern drawl to his voice.

"I see." Rob glared. "Might I ask why you were wanting to attack my ceremony party for the new factory?"

"Look... it's nothing personal..." Larry said in a weirdly nonchalant way. His voice was very calm.

"Nothing personal, huh?"

"It's just to strike terror in people... scare 'em you know? Let em know we mean business."

"I would have thought of better things to do..." Dove shook his head. "And you picked the wrong fella to mess around with."

"How old are you?" Rob asked.

"Twenty-four."

"What about Les."

"Nineteen."

"You two just threw your whole lives away. You know that right?"

"I didn't throw it away... This was my destiny. To wake America up to the disease its suffering from! It's society growing weak by mixing, allowing all these Hispanics and foreigners in and diluting our European roots to this... mongrel society of mutts and inferiors!"

Rob looked at Brad and just chuckled. "Unbelievable."

Larry looked right into Rob's eyes. "And you... you're a prime example of what I'm talking about! And a faggot!"

"I thought it wasn't personal?"

"Fuck you!" Les shouted. The younger Doberman caught Rob off guard and punched him in the face a second time, this time bloodying his nose. Les got hit across the face with the butt of an AK-103 and it spun him into the ground. Two guards grabbed him and restrained him.

"Let him go..." Rob motioned. He wiped the blood off his nose and smiled, with a twisted grin, at Larry.

"Les! Calm down!" Larry shouted.

"I told you, you could have a free punch..." Rob pointed with a grin. "You know what I think about that?"

Rob turned to his side and laughed sardonically. He spun around and brandished his 10mm, shooting Les in the forehead. With a "TWACK!" from his suppressed Glock, the back of Les' head exploded in a cloud of blood and brains, which hit all over Larry. Les was dead before he even hit the ground.

"NOOOOO!" Larry screamed. He threw himself onto the ground and grabbed his dead brother and held him. "OH MY GOD! LES! LESLEY! MY BROTHER!"

Rob stood over them with his smoking Glock 20.

Larry looked up at Rob with tears in his eyes. "You're a fucking monster, Rob! Look at all this! You're a fucking god damn psycho!"

Rob took a second to savor the look of fear, rage, and shock in Larry's eyes as he held his bloody brother's body. Rob just smirked. "Heh, it's nothing personal."

TWACK.

Larry's head ripped back from a single 10mm round between the eyes. He fell to the ground still clutching his brother. Rob stood for a moment and watched Larry convulse and bleed everywhere. The wolf-hybrid fired several more shots from his pistol, striking Larry and Les in the head and chest, to ensure that they were dead. Rob turned to look at Dove with a serious gaze on his face.

"Makes ya grow old quick..." Rob remarked to Dove, who just shook his head.

"A terrorist attack against a newly operational factory facility in Biloxi Mississippi, was narrowly avoided today in a shootout between a neo-fascist group, a private military contractor facility, and Mississippi State Highway Control, and an FBI agent. Of a reported two hundred and five heavy armed men, all in identical concealed clothing, seventy-seven were killed, fifty were injured, and the rest captured without incident." CNN reported on a live news feed.

The television showed a recorded shot of the captured neo-Nazi's on a "perp walk" for the cameras. Unmasked, they looked defeated and embarrassed to the endless camera flashes and news crews capturing their every moves. They were escorted along by US Marshalls and FBI agents. Flanking both sides of them were members of the "Strategic Missile Troops". Stoic looking "soldiers", all identically armed with their Kalashnikovs in an order arms position.

"Who are these anonymous green men? These men are the Strategic Missile Troops, as they call themselves, a division of United Barev Industries. They are the security arm of the rather reclusive company, headed by Rob Barion, who was involved in the shootout. CNN was at the press briefing by Barev's security head, Brad Johnson."

"We received a warning about a security threat concerning the opening ceremony of the Barev Medical Supply Company. And during the ceremony, Jerry Schultz, the head of security for the Biloxi Centoh facility and now the two factories making up the medical plant, received a warning that the terrorist group was making their way to attack the factory. It was clear that they intended to inflict maximum damage, as one box truck exploded into flames from munitions going off." Brad Johnson explained at the podium.

"When CNN tried to speak to Rob Barion, we were greeted with silence~"

A photo of Rob standing, shielding his grandmother from the media onslaught, looking visibly upset at the camera, his paws held akimbo, while members of his security charged up to the cameraman, batons raised.

"Who is Rob Barion? Nobody knows much about the reclusive businessman from Ohio."

Leaning back in his chair, Chicago's comptroller watched the evening news over a late day snack. It was late evening, and the glowing nightlights of the downtown filtered in through the rain streaked picture windows of his expansive office. His blue eyes look annoyed at Rob's face gracing his television screen.

As he picked up another baby carrot to munch on, his desk phone rang. Trenoff glanced over, muted the TV, and picked up the handset. He hit the "line one" button.

"Trenoff."

"Mike? This is Virginia."

"Misses Vlockner, good evening~ What can I do for you?"

"I have made an arrangement to help solve our problem, if you know what I mean, and I need you to try and set up a place for this to happen."

"Well I don't know how I'm going to have him sit down for another settlement meeting... considering his opening shot worked out in court..." Trenoff grumbled into the phone. "But your man better pull this off right the first time, because this son of a bitch is smart."

"Have you seen the news, Mike?"

"Yes, I'm watching it now." Trenoff responded. "Let me see what I can do for you, so have your man on standby, and we'll stay in touch."

"Okay, Mike~"

"You have a good night~"

"You too. Bye."

"Bye." Trenoff concluded as he hung the phone back up. Turning himself around in his leather office chair, he woke his desktop back up and opened his e-mail program. He sent an e-mail to the Mayor, asking if she could try and convince Rob to sit down for another settlement talk with them. After sending that off, he opened another program on his desktop, which allowed him to send encrypted messages. Grabbing a small green notepad from a locked drawer, he flipped through it and punched in the encryption code. He sent an encrypted message to Fenris, concerning his phone call with Virginia Vlockner, and their 'plan-B', in regards to the lawsuit. Trenoff hit the enter button to send. He sat looking at his monitor, biting his lower lip.

At night, the exhaust flames of the Connie's four radials were prominent, flickering blue with a hint of yellow in the core of the flames spewing from the exhaust stubs. Synchronized propellers created a mesmerizing, monotonous drone that filled the dimly cabin of "Coneflower", on her way home to Ohio. After dropping Brad off in Fairfax, the silver Lockheed droned through the night skies for Cincinnati, to drop Dove off at Cincinnati.

While Maverick and Marcus showed Nancy how they edited video on the editing console in the forward half of the plane, and Felix and his flight crew plotted course for home, the video crew guys slept in the mid section, leaving Rob to walk back to his quarters with Dove, for a private meeting.

Looking exhausted and burned out, Rob stepped into his office and turned the lamp on. Dove stepped in after him and closed the door.

"Why did you lie to the feds about me shooting the Lamar brothers?" Rob asked Dove bluntly.

"Why not?" was Dove's shrugging reply. "Technically they punched you first... not once, but twice..."

"I shouldn't have." Rob admitted. "They made me so mad. The audacity of the whole thing... the casual nature of it... oh 'it's nothing personal'. Bullshit!"

"I stated that they attacked you first and you defended yourself by shooting them is basically because I don't have sympathy for scum like that anymore." Dove flat out admitted to Rob. "They're terrorists. Plain and simple. And had we not stopped them there, on that country road, they would have caused a mass casualty event. That box truck went off because it was packed full of ammunition and explosives. Who knows what else? They were going in with the intent to cause a mass casualty event to stoke fear into people. They chose to live by the sword, and die by it. That's why I lied about it, because I'm not going to see you go to jail over them."

"I'm not sure if I should say thanks?"

"Look Rob... I've been in the FBI for over twenty-five years now. I've seen some really sick shit." Dove explained. "People don't realize how bad of a situation we're in as a nation right now. Every day I sit at my desk pouring over information about groups just like them, all concocting and scheming to attack sites in some kind of show of force. The coup attempt in January 2021 is still ongoing, simmering, slowly building, for the right opportunity to strike. And a lot of people don't realize that. The road to the gas chambers was built by hate, but paved by indifference. We're several steps along the way to that."

"Yeah." Rob agreed. "We're slipping towards a fascist theocracy."

"My great-grandfather took the family from Hungary to escape authoritarianism, after living through it with the Nazi's, and then the Soviets."

"Then they moved to Gary..."

"Okay! Enough of my hometown~" Dove laughed cynically.

"Well I appreciate what you did. But I still feel upset about it, because... I'm trying to end this shit, and here I am, going in like John Wayne again."

Dove crossed his arms and chuckled. "I'll give you a piece of advice, Rob. Sometimes you have to do it. It's you, or them. And I know you're burned out from all the chaos and violence, but take solace... you never gave anyone something they didn't deserve or see coming. While I think you have an at-times twisted sense of morals, and that you think your empathy is your weakness... you have never hurt someone who hasn't brought it upon themselves. It's okay to once in a while show your thorns... especially in today's interception."

Rob fumbled his brow and thought about what Dove had said. "Why have you been tracking me for the past four years? I want to know."

Dove laughed a bit. "Well since the 'investigation' is winding down, I can tell you. You came to the FBI's attention eight years old when you killed those corrupt law enforcement officials, and then uncovered that canine trafficking ring in 2015, and the second in 2017. The FBI was intrigued by your 'skills', and that got the attention of the NSA, and CIA, who were interested in your 'skills' for their 'enhanced interrogation' for terrorists that were captured in the middle east and elsewhere. I said that you were a poor candidate for such a thing... because of your beliefs in what powers and abilities the state should and should not have. But they told me to keep tabs on you, also for investigative purposes, should you 'turn' on a federal agent..."

"Wow." Was Rob's response.

"So almost ten thousand pages later... I have compiled the file on you." Dove grinned.

"That's sick... torture. Call it what it is."

"That's why I said you'd never make a good candidate. So while you thought I was always lurking about and stalking you! I was actually making sure the real scary folks in government were kept at arm's length away."

"Power is dangerous, and power corrupts." Rob remarked. "The state should not be in the position of torture, especially when we condemn countries like China and Russia, North Korea, for torturing its citizens."

"I agree with you there. It's hypocrisy, but in government, the ends justify the means. Everything has a means to an end."

"You can solve any problem if you're ruthless enough, Dove."

"Yes."

After dropping Dove off in Cincinnati, they began the final leg back to Newark, with the clock nearing midnight. Returning back to Newark in a rain storm that was passing through, everyone was subjected to a turbulent, bumpy landing at Newark-Heath. Rob and Joey took Nancy back home to her condo on the north end of town, through the pouring rain. Pulling up to the curb, Rob grabbed his umbrella and helped his grandmother inside.

"Rob, I had so much fun, despite the near chaos!" Nancy said, trying to cheer her sullen looking grandson up. "Are you okay, Rob?"

"This is my fault." Rob said to her rather bluntly. "If I wasn't such a asshole to everyone, then maybe I wouldn't have painted a giant bullseye on everyone's backs."

"It wouldn't have mattered, Rob. They would have targeted the place even if it wasn't yours."

"I guess, Grandma."

"We're in a really scary time, almost like... the 1960's all over again." Nancy recalled. "And we survived that."

"Uncharted waters now, in the post-truth world." Rob shrugged. "I don't know...I'm so conflicted..."

"Just sleep on it, Rob. Don't get yourself too wound up! You'll have a heart attack!"

"I guess."

"You have a good night Rob, and thanks again." Nancy smiled as she gave Rob a hug. Rob returned the hug and turned around to leave. He and Joey departed for the night.

"You know I could have gotten everyone killed today." Rob remarked to Joey as he drove them home. "If Jerry didn't get the tip off, then everyone could have been blown up."

"I wouldn't beat yourself up, Rob." Smiled Joey. "Those skinheads would have targeted something else then. They just picked the wrong factory and the wrong leader to try it!"

"I'm just... not proud of what had happened, and what I did." Rob shook his head. "I guess I'm just tired of the shit."

"I understand~" the Dober smiled as he patted Rob's right paw. "People are crazy anymore. I wouldn't worry too much about it. You've only killed a whole bunch of skinheads~"

"People are just stupid."

"Yeah~" Joey laughed. "People really are just dumb."

"Blinded by their pride and ideology." Rob shook his head.

"I call to the stand, Mister Rob Barion." Judge Benson ordered.

Taking a slow, exhaling sigh, Rob got up and walked over to sit at the bench beside the judge's podium. Looking tired and burned out from being in the courtroom for hours, Rob wanted to get it over with as he sat down, staring down at his defense team and Chicago's defense team. In the pews behind the defense team of the city, Comptroller Trenoff smiled at Rob with a sinister smirk. Rob just glared back at him.

"Mister Barion, I have a few questions to ask you." The attorney said, a yellow lab in a dark blue suit. "I would like to ask you about your conduct as the leader of your company."

"Okay."

"How do you view yourself as the head of United Barev Industries."

Rob closed his eyes, looking annoyed. "Firm but fair, in charge, autocrat."

"Firm but fair?"

"Yes."

"Does it seem fair that your language and conduct in mistreating your plant management at the Chicago Glass and Optics Factory, is essentially the catalyst for this whole situation we are in?"

"Objection!" Lisa shouted.

"Overruled." The judge pointed. "Mister Barion, answer the question."

"No, because I like to think that mere words shouldn't drive someone to murder others and cause wanton destruction of property..." Rob responded.

"Are you sure?"

"Well let me ask you something, Jerry. If you owned a factory and you gave simple commands and expectations, and your plant management not only did not follow them, but allowed out of control behavior and entitlement to erode operational capacity, would you get upset?"

"Well, yeah?"

"I rest my case." Rob glared.

"So calling Ryan and Brent 'fucking retards', or Brent 'Ricky Retardo' would have helped any?"

"Where was I wrong?" Rob said with a smirk.

"Calling someone a 'retard' is quite ableist don't you think?"

"When Ryan acted like he couldn't yell at anyone, for fear of being yelled at in return... despite... being the plant manager... and Brent couldn't do a simple task without completely screwing it up... I think I hit the nail on the head, as insensitive and crude it may be."

Judge Benson rubbed his forehead and sighed a bit.

"So why not fire them?"

"Because frankly, I thought Ryan was a decent person on a one-on-one level, at first, and I wanted to give him a chance, to see if eventually he would understand what I was expecting from him." Rob explained. "I told Ryan from the get-go that I was expecting him to turn around the operational problems, including problems with his brother, nepotism or not. Brent would work eighty, ninety, sometimes a hundred hours a week, burning through the payroll of at least two employees! And getting almost nothing done."

"Define nothing?"

"Maybe twenty, thirty hours a week equivalent of work. Constant attendance problems, and unable to resolve simple tasks handed to him in the warehouse. And to further answer your question from before, I apologize for drifting off a bit, I did not want to fire them because of a problem finding replacement labor during a worker shortage. Having two bodies that kind of worked, was better than no bodies, frankly."

For well over two and a half hours, Rob faced questioning from the defense attorneys. It was a ruthless onslaught, an attempt to paint Rob as a callous bigot, a ruthless asshole. Rob was frank and honest; he was an authoritarian, and an unapologetic asshole. There was no way around it. And instead of making up excuses, or dwell on what had happened to him in the past, Rob just let it be. Like it or not, his defense was "I am who I am". Rob did his best to turn the argument the city had prepared against them, arguing that it was hypocritical for them to judge his character, when they themselves were not perfect. But defense or not, it was not a flattering examination of his prickly personality. The only saving grace was some of the CGOF's employees, who gave testimony, which was an unflattering view of Ryan and Brent Vlockner's incompetence as plant management.

After all day in the court room, Rob stepped out to be swarmed by what felt like an even larger news presence. After the "Mississippi Incident" in Biloxi, it became an even bigger news sensation, tied in with all the doom and gloom about the 2020 election, and the rise of extremist groups and the growing violence in the States. Rob was bombarded by microphones and cameras, with journalists screaming at him, wanting anything to throw on the airwaves. Rob kept his mouth shut, looked ahead through darkened sunglasses and marched along, escorted by his heavily armed Viking Battalion, which pushed people aside, clearing a path for Rob. He quickly hopped into his company SUV and escaped.

The next day, Rob returned for the defense trial of "Barev v. Vlockner", and "Barion v. Vlockner". Again, Rob was subjected to a barrage of allegations and unflattering questioning, which he bluntly answered, regardless of how it made him look. The stress was on his face, and he really struggled to keep his boiling frustrations in check. It got the point where the judge had to intervene; Judge Benson overruled the Vlockner's attorney, and scolded them for trying to go after frivolous arguing points.

In Rob's defense, he played a recording of Ryan and Brent, to demonstrate their incompetence to the judge.

"You're the reason why Rob thinks we're both fucking retarded!" Ryan screamed at his brother, which was slightly distorted by the recording.

"I am? Buddah, you are also fuckin' retwarded!"

"Oh really? AT LEAST I CAN BUTTON MY FUCKING SHIRT UP RIGHT UNLIKE YOU BRENT!"

"Oh damnit!"

"Yeah! I rest my case exactly! I keep telling you to cut it out with that overtime bullshit! And you keep fucking off all fucking day! Eighty hours!? You only get twenty hours of work done! And I gotta hold your fucking paw the whole time! If you weren't my brother, I'd let you go!"

"Sam would be very pissed at you!"

"Yeah! I know! So now I gotta play fucking adult daycare here, with Reichsfuhrer Rob breathing down my neck! Because YOU are wasting payroll!"

"Don't blame me buddah!"

"I am going to blame you! Because you keep fucking up and it's making me look bad! And I don't want to yell at people!"

"We'll you're yellin' at me!"

"'CAUSE I'M TIRED OF IT!" Ryan screamed at the top of his lungs. "You are the reason why Rob thinks we both could fuck a cup of coffee up!"

"Well that's cause you can't run the Mister Coufee!"

"IT'S COFFEE, COTTONMOUTH! BUTTON YOUR SHIRT UP RIGHT IF YOU'RE GONNA INSULT SOMEONE!"

The judge listened to the recording with a blank face. He looked over at the defense attorney and Vlockner family, who looked embarrassed. Rob rubbed his forehead from having to hear their annoying voices again.

After hours of testimony by the defense, court was adjourned, and the verdict hearing scheduled towards the end of May. Rob knew that the ball was in his court, and his attorney backed them into a corner. But his throbbing headache and the suffocating feeling of being stressed out, negated any feeling of confidence.

Leaving the courtroom, Rob was bombarded by journalists and news cameras again, and ignored all of them yelling and screaming at him for commentary. Lisa told people to move, and his security forces once again had to force people back to give them room. Rob's face looked agitated and stressed from all the jeers.

Reaching the parking garage, Rob grabbed the keys to unlock his Tahoe, when he dropped to a knee and clutched his chest. He took a gasp of air and wheezed. Lisa and one of the guards immediately rushed to him.

"Rob!? Are you okay?" Lisa shouted.

"Let's go to the hospital... I got fucking chest pains..." Rob winced through clenched teeth.

"Here! I'll drive Frank!" Lisa said to the guard. "Let's go!"

Helping Rob into the passenger seat, Lisa and one of Barev's security guards punched out of the parking garage, the Tahoe's tires squeaking on the pavement. Rob sat in the passenger seat feeling panicked, fearing a heart attack.

Lying in a haze from a sedative, Rob rested in a hospital bed, in a private room on the eighth floor. Fearing a heart attack, he checked himself into a local hospital, where after some testing was done, Rob was diagnosed with extreme hypertension and exhaustion. He was ordered by the doctor to rest. The stress of all his legal woes, all the recent incidents, were taking their terrible toll once again.

Rob laid in bed with his eyes closed, listening to the news. Ironically watching the local ABC station, WNBB-TV, he listened to the news report about his lawsuit against the city. The commentator kept a very neutral tone about it. Cracking a tired eye open, Rob saw a shaky shot of him marching through the journalist onslaught. He looked his usual, with his cold, stoic face. Closing his weary eye shut, Rob rested his head on the pillow and sighed with a disgusted tone. He felt like he had dug himself into a hole he could not get out of, except by continuing to dig deeper. But it was exhausting him to no end, and Rob felt like he was just digging his own grave to an early death.

Stepping into his room was his attorney. Lisa wore a blue surgical mask over her face as she clutched a stack of paperwork. "Okay, Rob~"

"Hmm."

"I got word that the judge has agreed to postpone and reschedule the WNBB trial for a week."

"Okay."

"How are you feeling, Rob?"

"Groggy~"

"Relaxed any further?"

Rob just gave his attorney a sarcastic glare. "No."

"Maybe they need stronger meds!"

"Pfft! Who's side are you on!?" Rob teased.

Lisa couldn't help but laugh. "What a nightmare, huh?"

"Yes." Rob grimaced. "Can't wait to get out of this nightmare."

Lisa walked back to close the door to his room and pulled up a seat. Rob rolled his eyes to the side to look at Lisa. His face looked exhausted.

"Everyone in the press is trying to make me look like the world's biggest asshole. And it's working."

"I wouldn't worry about it." Lisa shrugged. "They shouldn't throw stones in a glass house."

"I mean... I guess I am an asshole." Rob admitted bluntly. "But why can't people just listen? I don't want to yell, but when people simply don't listen, when I tell them to do something multiple times... why do people act surprised when you yell? It's so stupid!"

"Well it's perfectly natural, and people are just too sensitive anymore." Lisa shrugged. "Hell, people today wouldn't make it when I grew up in the seventies! Nobody gave a fuck like they do today about political correctness, shit like that. And if anyone tells you they're not an asshole, they're a fuckin' liar~"

"I don't like yelling...well... I mean... I don't give a shit... but this is just so unflattering."

"This lawsuit is like chum in shark infested waters. This whole bombing, everything. This is a media goldmine for ratings... it bleeds! It sells!" Lisa exclaimed.

"Sex, violence, and the weather~" Rob joked with a chuckle.

"Do I think you go a bit too far at times, Rob? Yes. And I'm guilty of it too. But we're imperfect creatures living in an imperfect world! I get called a bitch sometimes." Laughed the Shepherd. "I don't take anyone's shit, and I know where you come from in that department."

"What makes you tick, Lisa?"

"When I was nineteen years old, I got assaulted at a college party by a classmate of mine, and I was basically told more or less to 'deal with it'. Motherfucker got a slap on the wrist by a sympathetic judge, and that's what lit my passion to become a lawyer, so I can help and fight for someone. Nevermind that I got violated... someone was just looking 'for a good time'. So I know what you're feeling when you got attacked as a teenager... you feel that the system had failed you. You're rough and abrasive, because that's just how you protect yourself."

"Unfortunately."

"And let's face it, people are just stupid." Lisa shrugged. "Fuck 'em on the TV."

"Yeah."

"That's your Mom advice from me!"

"Bill in the mail right?"

"Shut up!" Lisa laughed.

Lifting off the runway into the glare of the morning sun, Rob departed from Heath aboard his bulbous Thunderbolt, "The Spirit of N'erk, Uhhia". The olive drab and gray "Jug" roared loudly over Hebron Road, urged skyward by its paddle blade propeller, driven by the mighty Double Wasp under the white ringed cowl. Rob, sitting strapped into the armored seat of the razorback cockpit, looked dwarfed by the brutish P-47G. He flew in an authentic flight suit; khaki suit with leather helmet and big tinted goggles shielding his eyes. Leather gloved paws held onto the throttle and stick.

Climbing in a north-east route, Rob took time himself. He had spent the past couple of days recuperating after his health scare in Chicago. And what better way to take time to himself, than to have the skies all of himself. He climbed to three thousand feet, and flew towards Akron. With an arm draped out into the slipstream, Rob listened to radio traffic on his headset and admired the scenery around. It was now almost mid-May, and the landscape below was coming to life. Woodland was budding green with new leaves emerging, and farmers plowed their fields, ready for planting. Wheat fields swayed brilliant green. Everything had a clean, cheerful look. A sullen looking Rob looked out from his open canopy, reminding himself that everything would be okay.

Arriving at the Akron-Fulton airport, Rob circled around and came in for an uneventful landing. He taxied up to his usual parking spot, near the hangar of an aviation maintenance company at the airport. Hopping out, the ground crew went and chocked the wheels to his Thunderbolt, which made quite a few heads turn as Rob went to turn his flight plan in. Fetching an Uber, Rob hitched a ride to go visit his brother-in-law, Robby Paulo, who lived in town with his girlfriend and step-daughter. He was recovering from being severely injured in a shooting the year before, where he nearly died after being shot seven times by his son's delinquent cousin, Shakar Marquee. Rob paid a visit to give him some money to pay an unexpected medical bill that had come up. Rob spent half an hour checking in on Robby, and helping him with the expensive payment that insurance decided not to cover.

Grabbing another Uber, Rob ventured further into Akron, to visit the Akron Community Center, situated near the heart of the old downtown. He was dropped off at the curb, and Rob hopped out to stare at the old brick and concrete building. It doubled as the community center, and the city library branch. For four months, Rob had to work there as a volunteer in late 2020, after running into legal trouble with Akron over his efforts to save his nephew from a kidnapper in 2019. For four months he worked in the kitchen, preparing and cooking food, washing dishes, and cleaning the bathrooms and cafeteria. He met some interesting people, and befriended a nine year old boy named Sam Martin, who he helped with his late parents who later died in a house fire. Rob thought about that crazy time as he looked at the building with a gaze of introspection.

Stepping inside, Rob walked to his left in the lobby to go to the community center. It was bustling as usual for a Wednesday. A few people came and went from the library, and the cafeteria and small clinic were also bustling with activity. Emerging from the library came the community center's director, a red furred lady Dober, Mindy Brandenburg. She stopped and immediately recognized Rob. The scar always gave it away.

"Mister Rob Barion!" Mindy greeted. It got Rob's attention.

"Oh, Misses Brandenburg, hi~"

"I didn't think I'd ever see you again after you worked here." She smiled as she held out a paw to greet Rob, which he accepted.

"I was in the neck of the woods and wanted to pay a visit."

"It's always nice to see an old face again."

"Are the same folks I worked with still around?"

"Oh yes! A few new faces, but some of them are still there volunteering." Mindy explained. Haley graduated from college and is now doing her masters up in Cleveland, and Tyrone D'Angelo is now working in New York City with an advertising agency."

"Oh I see~"

"Ally is now employed at the community center, overseeing the kitchen operations."

"Very nice. May I poke in and say hi?"

"Sure!"

Rob stepped into the cafeteria and went through the double doors that led to the kitchen. To his surprise he saw Ally Stapleton, Matt Mercer, and Ben Winters still at work in the kitchen. There were new faces, but it felt like it was just the same in the kitchen.

"Hey~" Rob said, announcing his presence. Ally turned around to look surprised at Rob standing by the entrance.

"Rob!" she greeted happily. The others who remembered Rob all stopped momentarily to greet him. They too looked surprised to see him. "What brings you here?" Ally asked.

"I was in the neck of the woods and wanted to stop back to see what was new?"

"Pfft, same shit, different day!" Ally laughed.

"Yeah, I see that." Rob laughed a bit. "Whatever happened to Dan Householder? That worthless, talking turnip?"

"Oh, he died around January last year." Ally shrugged. "Of Covid. Of course."

"Ah. Oh well." Rob shrugged.

"Didn't think the pandemic was serious or anything." Ben winters chuckled.

"Yeah, fuck around, find out, huh?" Rob chuckled cynically.

"Whatever happened to that little boy that used to come here?" Ally asked Rob. "I think his name was Sam Martin. You'd always pick him up and take him home."

"Oh! Sam now lives in upper New York with his aunt and uncle. After the house fire..."

"Oh, whew." Ally smiled. "Do you still stay in touch?"

"Oh yes, we regularly exchange letters and photos." Rob explained. "I always send him film and he'll send me a copy of what he's taken. He's becoming a very good photographer."

"What have you been up to, Rob?" Ben asked him.

"Do you want to know?"

Ally chuckled. "We've seen you've had some legal problems in Chicago?"

"That's an understatement." Rob admitted with a jaded laugh. "Three assassination attempts, factory blown up, conspiracy... people love me! They say when you're going through hell... keep going."

"How do you do it, Rob?"

Rob just shrugged in response.

Before leaving to continue on his way, Rob donated fifty thousand dollars to the community center, which would allow them to upgrade the cafeteria and fix some plumbing needs. Saying goodbye to former colleagues, Rob hopped back into an Uber and took off, this time to visit a cemetery in town.

The cemetery was quiet as Rob walked amongst the silent headstones that dotted the hilly landscape. It was the resting place of Sam Martin's parents, Isaac Eckler, and Kayla Martin, who died in the house fire. Rob had bravely ran into the inferno, protected by nothing more than a surplus Soviet L-1 chemical suit, and IP-46 gas mask. His leg and paws got burned trying to rescue them, but sadly they both succumbed to their extensive burns and smoke inhalation. Sometimes the guilt still bothered Rob that he could not save them.

Finding their graves, Rob walked up to find that their headstones looked unkempt. Winter's withered leaves still lay scattered around the granite headstones, which had moss and lichen growing on them now. Rob thought it was sad; there was no family to come and take care of their resting place. The Eckler family was practically all in jail for various petty offenses, and the Martins were too far away, in New York. Rob had paid for their funeral and the headstone himself, to spare the indignity of a potter's grave. He also did it for Sam's sake. Rob stood at their grave and reflected on things.

Sometimes Rob wondered if this would be his fate one day, just a forgotten about headstone at the Cedar Hill Cemetery in Newark. That he burned so many bridges in his life with people through his callous indifference, that he would just be forgotten about after death. Perhaps inevitably, it was a fate for everyone after enough time, when loved ones pass into the ages.

Kneeling down, Rob brushed some of the crud off their headstones. In a way, he missed Isaac and Kayla. They were two people who were imperfect, addled by addiction, but had hopes and dreams, especially for their son. They weren't the one-dimensional drug addict that Rob had once thought. It was a complex issue, part disease, part sociology, and part criminality. He really wanted to help them, as he saw himself in Sam's situation at the time. A young man who's hopes and opportunities were being slowly destroyed. Rob felt compelled to help them, remembering his own words to Agent Dove when asked why. "I felt that his life was being destroyed. I had to help them- there was no choice."

Sam awakened Rob's empathy that he kept buried deep inside his shielded heart. Rob believed in helping people who were disadvantaged, and vowed that as a millionaire, he would help others after obtaining his wealth. But he did it in a very cautious way. Rob did charitable things quietly, to stay under the radar. Empathy was a double-edged sword to the wolf-hybrid; he thought it made him vulnerable to enemies. To Rob, people are nothing more than manipulators, exploiting emotions to get what they want. Rob had the capability to show empathy, but chose not to, to keep people away. Rob felt distance was key. The more distance he put to others, the less it hurt when they betrayed him.

After Sam's parents had died, Rob had thought about adopting the nine year old Sam, but decided against it, and helped him be taken in by his aunt and uncle in New York. He adopted his "son", Felix Barion, helped raise his nephew Alvin, and saved the life of a gay teen, Ben Reynolds, but Sam was different. Ben was different. Felix had a strong head and an independent streak, and was old enough to think on his own. Alvin had his Uncle Joey and his grandparents. Ben was vulnerable after his gay bashing, just like Rob, at the cusp of snapping. He needed proper emotional support, which is why Rob got Ben to stay with his friends, Anton and Borr. Sam needed his aunt and uncle's love; Rob felt that he lacked the emotions that they would need to rely on. Rob's own past trauma left him largely numb to the world. It made him continue to struggle in his quest for calm in a turbulent time.

Fumbling his brow in internal frustration, Rob turned to leave the cemetery. As he walked, he thought about Sam, and was curious to what he was up to. As he left, he grabbed his phone to make a call.

Leaning on the fence, an excited looking Sam Martin watched with his cousin Cody as Rob taxied up to the ramp in his olive drab Thunderbolt. The young brown wolf stood with his Aunt Mary, and Uncle Jake, beaming with excitement to his friend returning to Williamstown. The deep burble of the P-47's Double Wasp radial filled their ears as Rob turned to park. They were blasted by the smell of oil and avgas from the propwash. Rob ran the radial lean and cut the mixture after a minute. The propeller windmilled to a stop.

"Rob!" Sam shouted and waved as Rob climbed out of the cockpit and jumped down. He walked over to greet the DuPont family at the fence.

"Sorry to do this on such short notice~" Rob greeted.

"Hi Rob!" grinned Sam.

"Hello!" Rob greeted. A smile softened his rough looks. "How's you, Sam?"

"Good! Finally starting summer break!" Sam exclaimed.

"Summer break? What's that?" Rob joked. "I haven't enjoyed one of those in a long time~"

"That's because you run a giant company!"

"It's called adult daycare! You'll understand when you get older~"

Hopping in their van, Rob got a ride back to their home. For taking care of Sam back in 2020, and helping to ensure that he got to be with his family, the DuPonts and Martins were close to Rob, and accepted him like one of their own. Mary and Jake were the antithesis of Kayla and Isaac; Mary was a school teacher, and Jake a construction worker. They lived in the tiny little town of Williamstown New York, which reminded Rob of the small towns in Licking County, like Homer, or Hanover. Little towns that straddled a main road and intersection. Sam lived in a cozy two story home in sleepy little Williamstown. Red bricks contrasted with the creamy beige siding of the well landscaped home. Sam's family invited Rob in for lunch with them. Rob took the opportunity to get caught up on their lives.

Following lunch, Rob walked with Sam, as they all went to go get ice cream at a shack up the road. Cody walked with his parents ahead, while Sam walked beside Rob along the quiet road in town.

"How's your lawsuits coming along, Rob?"

"They're there~" chuckled Rob. "Well...okay I guess. The main, major ones are almost done. I'm going in a few days to have the lawsuit over WNBB-TV, Chicago Fifteen, started, after a delay. And the one with the councilman who wanted to lie about me? Well that's probably gonna end with a settlement and I don't mind that one bit."

"Man... I don't know how I'd handle so many legal problems." Sam shrugged with a smile at the end. "Wouldn't you go insane?"

"Yeah, it's not fun~" Rob admitted. "But sometimes when people really screw up, you have to go after them."

"I usually just ignore troublemakers, but I guess blowing your factory up and killing people might be different!" Sam laughed.

"It's stressful, for sure. And then you have a group of skinheads who wanted to attack my new medical plant in Biloxi."

"Oh I heard about that on the news. You saved the day again!"

"Heh, if you wanna call it that. I feel more like I just gave more chaos and destruction..."

"What was that like?" Sam asked. "You know, going up against an army of Nazis?"

"Regretful." Rob admitted. "Not that I give a crap about losers like that... losers in 1945, and now losers again in 2022. It's regretful that people pick such a hateful, corrosive ideology like that. It goes to show how dangerous ideology is. And the danger of making that ideology your identity."

"You'd think they would have learned in school..."

"Well that's the problem, frankly, Sam. Nobody wants to learn, and those who fail to learn from history? They're condemned to repeat it." Rob pointed out. "Another note is the topic of power. Power is tantalizing and everyone wants it. But beware those who seek power. It's usually for malevolent reasons."

"Who would want to be in charge of anything? You'd always get the blame!" the young wolf laughed.

"That's the thing about leadership, Sam. You get the credit and you get the blame. That's just how it goes." Rob shrugged. "That's why I run my business and stay out of the limelight."

"Just not your thing?"

"Exactly!"

"Some people like attention. I have a classmate who likes to be the center of attention. Gets kind of annoying!" Sam laughed. "Who wants to have people constantly paying attention to you!"

"Sounds like someone who has a problem."

"Yeah, I think he has a problem. His name's Braxton, and his parents got divorced recently I guess." Sam shrugged. "My aunt says he's acting out or something."

"Sounds about right." Rob nodded.

"I lost my parents two years ago, and I don't act out..." the wolf said with a slight melancholy tone. "But everyone's different~"

Rob thought about something as he walked. "How did you handle your parents dying?"

"Like what do you mean, Rob?"

"How did you handle everything that had happened to you, Sam?"

"Oh! Well... hmm... I guess I just dealt with it as best I could. Sometimes I still have sad days... but I have my aunt and uncle and cousin to help me on those days. I also have my new friends here who help me when I feel sad."

"Ah." Rob nodded in acknowledgement.

"Aunt Mary says that you shouldn't shut people out, because it only makes the pain worse. And talking about what hurts is good for my healing after Mom and Dad died. I also sometimes talk to my teacher when I feel down. It helps perk me back up."

"I see."

"Uncle Jake says people sometimes put walls up after a bad event... Aunt Mary says that's unhealthy. So when I feel like I have a problem? I just talk to my aunt and uncle. They're reasonable!"

After enjoying some ice cream and walking around the little town, Rob had to say goodbye and depart for home. The DuPonts watched from the fence as Rob departed in his roaring Thunderbolt. Sam and Cody watched as Rob banked around and came in for a final pass. As always, Rob wiggled his wings in salute for Sam and waved from the cockpit as he began to fly southwest for Ohio. Sam watched his friend disappear into a cloud.

Climbing through a front, Rob felt his mighty Jug get rocked about by turbulence. Skimming the cloud deck, Rob cruised on home, at an indicated airspeed of 240mph. Strapped into the armored seat, Rob looked calm and content. The sullen look before was replaced by a calm look of thought as Rob pondered about what Sam had told him. He thought about the idea of "walls" as he flew home.

"Just shoot me." Is what Rob wrote on his yellow legal pad, which he slid over to Richard Scheiddegger, who sat beside him in the court room.

"Yeah, I know." Richard wrote back with a smirk.

Rob smirked a bit and looked up to listen to the dry, banal testimony for the opening trial of WNBB-TV. In a different courtroom, under the jurisdiction of a different judge, the defamation suit was now well underway. At the witness stand sat WNBB's station director, who was being questioned by Lisa. Rob sat back in his seat and listened to the testimony.

"We wanted to make a drawing to reflect on the news about the lawsuit against the city government. And Frank likes to draw, and we periodically put his political cartoons up on our news page, on broadcast, and social media pages. Andy, who happened to once work with Rob, had a joke about Rob being 'a Nazi' when they worked together in the past, and we kind of went with that, based on what we knew at the time about the attack, and Sam Vlockner's involvement."

"I see." Lisa nodded. "Thank you, Mister Brant. I appreciate it. I call to the stand, Frank Callahan."

Rob watched the cartoonist go to the stand. He was a chubby gray wolf with thinning brown hair, and rounded glasses on his face. He reminded Rob of George Costanza from Seinfeld.

"Good morning, Mister Callahan." The judge greeted. "Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

"Yes. Good morning." Came the shy voice of Frank.

"Good morning, Mister Callahan. I have a few questions for you."

Rob sat back and listened to the cartoonist talk. Unable to separate the real person from the caricature in his head, Rob envisioned a bumbling Costanza at the stand, trying to talk his way out of legal catastrophe. Callahan explained that he was inspired to draw Rob like Himmler after hearing Andy's story about his days working with Rob. He also explained that he was off put by Rob's ruthless killing of Brent and Ryan via a baseball bat, which he felt was in line with the Nazi joke. Lisa asked a few more questions, but rested her case. She called Andy Bueller to the stand.

Emerging from the spectator pews, was Andy Bueller himself, the assistant producer for WNBB. Rob looked over his shoulder to see Andy, for the first time in fifteen years. The last time he saw Andy, he was twenty-two years old. In fifteen years, Andy looked almost the same; he was a slender light gray and white wolf, with platinum blonde hair that was still in a coifed pompadour atop his head. Unlike Rob, the now thirty-seven year old Andy still looked somewhat youthful, verses Rob's haggard, aged appearance at thirty-nine.

Pausing momentarily, Andy made eye contact with Rob, the first time since he was fired by Rob in 2007. Andy's face looked surprised at Rob, and Rob kept the usual blank expression on his face. Andy turned and quickly made his way to the stand, where he sat down at.

"Good morning, Mister Bueller." Judge Franklin greeted. "Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

"Yes." Andy confirmed.

"Good morning Mister Bueller, my name is Lisa Scheiddegger, and I have a few questions for you."

"Okay."

"So I would like to start off. You and Rob Barion used to work together a long time ago, correct?"

"Yes. We worked together at WNCS-TV, from 2003 until I was fired by him in 2007." Andy explained.

"And you two were friends back then?"

"Yes, Lisa. Me and Rob were good friends, and in fact, Rob Barion is the one who got me the job at WNCS when I was seventeen, and ready to graduate from Newark High School. The school district did not want to hire me because they argued that staffing was more than adequate, and Rob had to fight and fight to get me hired aboard."

"I see. And what is your opinion on my client, Rob Barion?"

"Rob Barion is a complex person. He is very intelligent, driven, and has tremendous tenacity and courage. But in my opinion, Rob Barion is his own worst enemy. He's very untrusting of almost everyone, and very quick to anger when confronted with a problem, especially management related problems when we worked at WNCS. Rob was... traumatized by an assault at school, which happened my freshman year at NHS, in the fall of ninety-nine. I did not know Rob before the attack, but was told that he was a very friendly soul, who almost died. So the Rob I knew, after he came back in 2002, was more distant and driven to work. He could be very frustrated by imperfections, and really demanded the best out of everyone who worked there."

Rob fumbled his brow and looked away with his arms crossed.

Andy continued. "Rob fired me in June 2007 because of a mistake I had made with our broadcast cameras. To explain, we were still using tube based cameras- the tubes being the video pickups in the optical assembly. For our studio and outdoor broadcasts, the OB cameras were a set of four Marconi Mark Nine-P's. They were equipped with a type of tube called an Anti-Comet-Tail Plumbicon, which had a special setup procedure with the beam current."

"Go on~"

"On an ACT type tube, the gun is a tetrode. On a normal triode gun pickup tube, you set the beam current for the nominal target scan, and you want just enough current to scan the target and handle four times the peak white level. On ACT type tubes, you have that normal line scan, but during the beam fly back cycle, you have to set an additional beam current level, which is a more powerful, unfocused beam sweep across the imaging target, which stabilizes extreme highlights, which eliminate comet-tailing effects. You have to be careful setting up the latter current, because if you put too much current, you will burn the tubes out, and that is what I did."

"So that happened, and is that the sole reason you were fired?" Lisa asked.

"No. I was fired because I had basically lied to management to keep them off my tail." Andy admitted. "I didn't intend to throw Rob under the bus, which is what happened, I just wanted management off my rear end! I said that Rob had shown me the steps on how to set them up so they instead went to Rob and yelled at him over all four cameras being knocked out of action, which meant one of the important football games we were covering didn't get videotaped. Rob was very upset that I lied and threw him under the bus. We had a hue argument and he ultimately fired me."

"I see. Now my question is about you regarding Rob as a Nazi..."

Andy sighed. "It was a joke. Clearly Rob is not a member of National Socialism. Rob has killed enough Neo-Nazi's over the years to prove his opposition to Nazism! I called Rob a Nazi as mean, off-color joke, because Rob was ruthless in being a perfectionist. And I understand looking back at why Rob yelled and screamed at people, because I too, all of us, myself, Maverick Tokarev, Charles Manchester, were irritated by the lackluster people that would come to work at WNCS, student workers, etcetera, etcetera..."

"Go on." Lisa motioned. The judge leaned over to listen more closely.

"Newark Schools put us in an awkward position, and it frustrated all of us. They wanted us to create, through the Newark Educational Telecommunications Association, the best educational programming we could muster! But they never gave us the budget, or the money for new equipment. We were constantly adapting, refurbishing, and nursing along equipment that was older than all of us! The camera I mentioned earlier, our Mark Nine's, were all built in 1977, and had been modified by the previous owner for ACT type Plumbicon tubes, and the modifications were poorly noted when we got the cameras out of a rummage sale in 2003. It was very hard to get tubes by that time, and we really had to nurse them along to get every bit of life out of our collection of tubes. It really frustrated Rob. And he was dealing with health issues too at the time. Rob was always in chronic pain because of the injuries he sustained in his gay bashing. He would work through that pain, and it showed. It was sometimes like daycare with the student workers. They'd come in and just want to mess around and take nothing seriously, and we have deadlines, and Rob would be very pissed if deadlines got missed, because we'd all get yelled at by a bunch of empty suites. So that's where I got the Nazi joke from- Rob's demanding perfectionism and constant yelling at people."

"Did you think there would be consequences for the drawing when you told them?"

"Yes I did!" Andy exclaimed. "I said to the director and to Callahan, that it was a bad idea to make such a drawing public. That Rob was not the person to go up against, especially in a case of libel! And here we are. It was a joke, that unfortunately went too far."

"Thank you, Mister Bueller."

Andy got up, and as he left, gave Rob a frustrated expression. Rob returned the gesture with a stern glare.

After the defense gave their case to the judge, court was adjourned. Unlike the media circus that presented Rob at his major trial against the city government, there was hardly anybody present to swarm them as they left. Rob breathed a sigh of relief as he walked down the courthouse steps, where only a couple reporters shouted questions at him. Rob and his attorneys were escorted by three members of his security, towards his SUV. They hopped in and took off to grab a late lunch before flying home to Newark.

Stopping at a Greek eatery, Rob sat eating lunch outside with his attorneys, under the shade of an ivy covered overhang. Rob poured himself a bottle of lemon Perrier and shoved it back into the bucket of ice.

"What do you think, Lisa?" Rob asked, referring to his lawsuit.

"I think you got it." Lisa chuckled. "They basically admitted that they knew what they were doing and went with it, regardless."

"Yeah." Rob agreed. He cut off a square of his spanakopita and took a bite of it.

"You know this spanakopita is to die for!" laughed Richard.

"It's not bad." Chuckled Rob. "Better than shit back home."

"Well hell, anything's better than Newark." Lisa laughed. "Fucking ho-diddly-hum Appalachian town anymore."

"Bibs and a straw hat. Hee-haw." Rob joked.

"I threw that little bit in at the end about your loss of the contract and the deterioration of the factory, because they very well could be held liable about the factory falling apart."

"Honestly that building is fucked, and I know it. I'm just waiting on the engineer to make the final report, so I can make the next move." Rob explained. "It's regrettable, because I'm probably gonna have to let everyone go."

"How many is left?" Lisa asked.

"Well, I managed to get about two hundred transferred to the photochemical plant, since they're looking to expand operations, at least a hundred found new careers, and that leaves me with about seven hundred I think? Still in limbo?"

"You mean these people are still just milling about just collecting payroll?"

"Yeah." Rob shook his head. "It is what it is because I slit my own throat on that. But that's okay, Chicago's gonna pay for it~"

"Well yeah." Lisa snorted. "Fuck 'em."

"Yeah, right~"

Richard got a phone call from another client of his, and he excused himself from the table. Lisa as well got a call from another client, and they both left Rob alone at his table while he slowly ate his lunch. Reaching down to pick up a napkin that had fluttered off the table, Rob looked back up to see Andy Bueller standing before him, looking visibly irate. Rob sat up, and glanced up at Andy's irate face staring down at him. Rob's face did not flinch.

"You know, I hope you're happy that I poured my fucking guts out under oath." Andy hissed. "I'm probably gonna lose my fucking job, AGAIN, because of you! My boss is fucking pissed at me! The whole station is mad, and I'm probably gonna get fired and be fucked over, after working at this station for ten years Rob! A second job again! Because of you!"

"That's retaliation, and that's illegal."

"Oh spare me the shit, Rob! This is your fucking fault!"

"Sounds like someone still has sand in their vagina from fifteen years ago~"

Andy looked flabbergasted, and his anger was even more elevated because he couldn't get any rise out of Rob, save for an insulting jab back at the wolf. "I can't believe after fifteen years... you're back..."

"It's nothing personal, Andy."

"Nothing personal, huh?"

"Yeah."

"So you don't think me and my family have to financially suffer because you felt insulted that Callahan drew you as Heinrich Himmler as a joke? Sue my station for ninety million because of a joke?"

"I don't know what to tell you Andy?" Rob shrugged.

"You don't know what to tell me, Rob? Well let me tell you how I feel! I hate your guts! I hate the fact that you're about to just derail my whole career over a fucking drawing! Just like how you fired me over a silly little lie back in 2007!"

"You knew better then, and you KNEW how I felt about LYING!" Rob shouted back. "You knew very well how I felt about trust with people, and you chose to save your ass instead of being yelled at. I TOLD YOU how to set up those tubes, and how to properly get the highlight overload sweep set up properly, but you fucked it up, and you didn't want to man up to the mistake!"

"I didn't throw you under the fucking bus!"

"You basically admitted it under oath~"

"I did not throw you under the bus!"

"Oh yeah? So being threatened with a pay cut by a bunch of talking heads in the Hub building over something I didn't do isn't being thrown under a bus ole' Andy? You're just as much of a fucking retard now, as you were back then."

Andy grabbed the bucket with the Perrier and threw it across the outdoor eatery. It smashed against a wall and the bottle shattered with the fizz of carbonated water running down the wall.

"ENOUGH OF THIS!" Rob yelled. He stood up and walked around the table to confront Andy right in his face. "You're out of control, Andy!"

"You're out of control as well, Rob!"

"IT'S MY REPUTATION ON THE LINE, BUELLER."

"SO IS MINE!"

"Andy... stop kicking yourself in the ass."

"THIS IS NOT MY FUCKING FAULT ROB!" Andy yelled.

"I never said it was." Rob pointed. "You were only subpoenaed because your name came up..."

"Now look what's gonna happen..."

"I'm sorry your workplace is going to retaliate against you for speaking the truth. And I'm sorry that I fired you fifteen years ago... perhaps... in retrospect... I went down way too hard over something I fixed easily..."

Andy paused, looking surprised at Rob's de-escalation. His blue eyes looked shocked at Rob's blank expression. "...You've never apologized before Rob..."

"This time it's different..." Rob bluntly stated. "Andy I always liked you... that's why it hurt when you lied back then..."

Andy instantly looked embarrassed at his confrontation, and looked down at the ground with a sigh. "I... shouldn't have yelled and blew up..."

"It's fine. It's nothing personal." Rob explained. "Look... I'll help you if you get fired..."

Rob handed him his business card, which Andy accepted. As Lisa and Richard returned, they watched as Andy sulked off and Rob stand with a stoic look on his face.

"Rob what happened?" Lisa asked. She ran up to see him.

"It's fine. Nothing. It's fine." Rob said, brushing things off.

"VERDICT" Rob wrote on his office calendar. He capped his felt pen and thought about how good it would feel to finally get another legal hurdle off his chest. The verdict for the WNBB trial would be on the twenty-fifth, the major trials, getting theirs on that Friday, the twenty-seventh. It would be all over, one way or another.

The office glowed a soft amber color from the lamps, as the dim lights of downtown Newark filtered in through the large picture window of his office. It was early in the night, and Rob kept himself busy after flying home from Chicago. Looking a bit tired, Rob had a few more things to do before going home for the night. As he sat working on an e-mail to his southern director, he got a notification for an incoming video chat with his attorney. Rob accepted it and pulled up the window on his second monitor.

"What's going on Lisa?"

"I got good news for both your defamation cases."

"Oh yeah? Whacha got, Lisa?"

"In regards to the councilman, Rudy Martinez, the attorney and client has accepted your settlement conditions on issuing a public apology and paying your legal expenses in regards to the case."

"Good. I accept it as well. Pucker up, buttercup!" Rob chuckled. "That knocks out one nightmare. And the other case?"

"Chicago Metromedia has informed me via the attorney that they are willing to settle out of court."

"Oh really?"

"The company is filing chapter thirteen bankruptcy in regards to changing market demographics, and they are willing to give you WNBB-TV, in exchange that you drop the lawsuit."

"I am asking for ninety million dollars... and they're willing to give me a station that is number five in the US broadcast market, worth almost half a billion dollars in their news and production capabilities..."

"I would say that's quite an upgrade."

"I like how they're talking... I'll accept that offer." Rob told Lisa.

"I'll let them know Rob!"

As Rob finished up his e-mail, he heard the phone on his desk ring behind him. "One second, Lisa."

Rob reached back and picked up the phone to answer it. "Rob Barion speaking."

"Rob, hey, it's Andy Bueller."

"Oh, hey Andy. What's up?"

"Well...I got fired today. Me, Brant, and Callahan were fired for 'poor job performance'."

"Ah. The ole' poor job performance troupe that's hard to fight..." Rob shook his head. "Unfortunate to hear, Andy."

"Well... it is what it is now... No use crying over spilled milk..."

"Well don't you worry Andy, because I'm gonna help you out."

"How?"

"I'm not at liberty to speak at the moment, but I don't think you'll have much to worry about being unemployed for long..."

Rob sent Lisa a written message in the chat program, telling her that his condition for the settlement included "rehiring Andy Bueller, Chris Brant, and Frank Callahan, and that Bueller is to become the station manager, and Brant the assistant."

"Well I'm interested in what you're doing behind the scenes..."

"Trust me on this, Andy."

"Well I also wanted to call to apologize for getting in your face and making a huge scene..."

"It's fine. I get it. I understand."

Andy paused for a few seconds. "You weren't like the day you fired me, when we had a massive screaming match..."

"I'm trying something new, Andy. I want to bury those days..."

"A lot's happened in fifteen years, huh?"

"I'll brief ya later. I hate to cut it short Andy, but I'm really tied up at the moment. I'll stay in touch."

Before leaving, Rob got Andy's personal number, which he scribbled down on his notepad. Rob reached back and put the phone back on the receiver, and finished up his conversation with Lisa. Rob checked the time and locked his desktop up. As he walked to start turning the lamps off in his office, Rob heard the phone ring again. He walked back to answer it.

"Rob Barion speaking."

"You don't need to know who I am, but please listen to me." Came a young sounding voice. Rob fumbled his brow in confusion. Was this another stupid spam call?

"I'm a former IT worker for the Chicago city building who was fired today for blowing the whistle on unethical behavior I have discovered with members of the city government."

"Uh-huh."

"I have reason to believe that you have been the target and currently a target of assassination by members of the city's budget office."

Rob paused in his tracks and stood at his desk.

"Please listen to me, Rob. I believe you are in danger. I have belief that either Trenoff or Fenris is plotting to kill you, based on top secret emails I managed to recover before being fired."

"How can I believe you?"

No sooner had Rob said it, when he heard his Xerox spool up. An incoming fax was sent to Rob, and the wolf-hybrid momentarily sat the phone down to see what was printed off his copier. He ripped a page off the printer, still warm from the fuser, as he read it. It was an e-mail screenshot, complete with the seal of the city government on it.

"March 9, 2022

To: Fenris, S.

From: Trenoff, M.

Fen,

I have just gotten off the phone with the ICG concerning

our 'resolution' to the problem with Barev. Their man is

ready to go to take care of the problem. I will keep you

posted.

-Trenoff."

Rob held the document with an ice cold stare on his face. A few seconds later, another e-mail screenshot was faxed to him by a random number with a Chicago area code on it. Rob grabbed that page off the printer and found it was a longer e-mail, talking about something named "Operation Defochi", which laid out a plan to derail his lawsuits against the city.

Walking back to the phone, Rob quickly picked it up. "Are you still there?"

"Yes."

"What on earth am I reading?"

"These are encrypted emails that were being sent between Comptroller Trenoff, and Budget Director Fenris. The ICG is the 'International Contract Group' for assassinations, and Operation Defochi is the name given to the city's attempts to defend themselves from your lawsuits. I was able to access Fenris' encrypted contents, but was not able to break into Trenoff's. But I have the code for his. I got it from a notebook he left on his desk."

"Keep talking." Rob told the voice.

"You can only access it through the city building, via the network backbone." The voice explained to Rob, who sat down and took notes on his notepad. He asked more questions and got more details as he planned a response.

Under the orange glow of a streetlight, Trenoff stood leaning against the pole, awaiting Fenris at Millennium Park. Looking tense, and still dressed in his suit, but with a loosened collar and tie, Trenoff checked his watch and observed a few people still mingling about around the reflective "bean".

"Trenoff, sorry I'm late." Fenris said as he approached. His white fur took on the orange glow of the streetlight.

"You called me here?"

"I wanted to talk a bit more privately." Fenris said. "Look, Mike, uhh, I am getting more uncomfortable about operation Defochi, especially after the whistleblower incident."

"I don't think you'll have anything to worry about that low level IT guy." Trenoff assured.

"I wouldn't count your chickens before they hatch, Mike... that guy could have an ace up his sleeve."

"He's a twenty-seven year old disgruntled worker, looking to stir up trouble..."

"He was caught breaking into our encrypted system."

"I doubt he saw anything critical..." Trenoff reasoned. "And you can't get to them without being in the backbone, so there's that."

"Never assume, Mike."

"Fen, relax." Trenoff pointed.

"What if he did get something critical? What if it fell into the hands of Barev?"

"I doubt that would happen. You're getting into conspiracy shit now."

"Those documents are just the stuff reporters lust after... He was in the encrypted part... I saw it with my own eyes...he was in the system for me..."

Trenoff fumbled his brow. "And you think he would somehow make a connection?"

"I am afraid that something is going to leak to Barev... and that's exactly the worst thing I fear..."

"You'd think Barion would put two and two together?"

Fenris looked concerned. "I think it's time this whole operation gets shut down..."

"Well if that's what you think~"

"Yeah, I think so."

Trenoff bit his lower lip and sucked on it momentarily. "Then Defochi shall go away... if you know what I mean... It never existed..."

"Good idea, Trenoff."

"Wipe everything clear off the drive."

"I got you, Mike~ I got you."

"I'll see you tomorrow."

Trenoff watched Fenris turn and walk back to his car, the white wolf becoming a silhouette in the night as he departed. Trenoff ground his teeth and checked his watch as he too went back to his car. Turning around, Trenoff drove a few blocks away to go to the city building. He walked with a quicker pace as he ventured inside.

The clock struck 10:13 at night on the wall in the server room. Racks of blade servers hummed away, with little yellow and green lights blinking. Miles and miles of network cables ran on racks all over the ceiling and walls. A lone security guard walked through the server room, over the grated floor that made up part of the ventilation system. He opened the door for the hallway and quickly left. The door slowly swung shut with an audible click. There was some commotion in the hallway of the room as the floor grate was pushed up, revealing a concealed Rob, all in black.

Armed with his suppressed Glock, Rob emerged through the ventilation system. Dressed in black boots, black pants, sweater, and snug leather gloves, his face was concealed behind a gray skimask, with only his eyes showing. Getting up, Rob quietly placed the grate back in place and inspected where he was at, his eyes scanning for security cameras. Like James Bond, Rob had broken into the city building, with instruction from the whistleblower.

Quickly making his way to a terminal, Rob sat down and quickly got logged in using information that was provided to him. He got into the network backbone using the late Sam Vlockner's credentials. Rob grumbled something about the city not permanently removing his credentials from the system like a "bunch of fucking idiots". He found navigating through the backbone a relatively straightforward thing. It reminded him of his high school's network system that he once messed around with when he worked for the school district. He had to manually input all the directories as he worked to get access to Trenoff's encrypted email files.

"This better work..." Rob thought to himself. At the prompt for the encryption key, Rob used a little notepad he had in his pocket, which had the encryption key written down. He punched it in and got cleared through. It took him to a directory to a specific drive, which was marked "R:\TRENOFF".

Rob looked at the drive's directory, finding a bunch of banal sounding documents, until his eyes stopped at a folder named "DEFOCHI". Rob clicked on it to open it up, revealing numerous documents. Grabbing his thumb drive, he shoved it into the USB port of the workstation, and tried to copy them all over, but found that he couldn't. Scrutinizing things further, Rob discovered that each file had to have the encryption key input to do anything with it. He could copy and paste each file individually, once he provided the code.

Opening each file at a time to save them to his thumb drive, Rob quickly read the contents of some of the emails, sent specifically to Fenris. As Rob started to read them in order, it slowly painted a picture that Trenoff wanted to kill Rob, and went as far as hiring the assassin who tried to kill him back in March. Rob had found his smoking gun, including all the information about how the city was trying to derail his investigation.

As Rob started to save his third file, he heard the door knob turn to the server room. Diving for a hiding place, Rob hid himself in a utility closet as the security guard returned. He lazily walked in and glanced around, noticing that the office chair was out of place. Fumbling his brow, the burly Rottweiler approached the desk, only to suddenly get hit in the head by a door that suddenly swung out in front of him. The blow knocked his lights out.

"Sorry about that. Forgot to knock~" Rob sarcastically quipped as he dragged him into the closet and stowed him away. Rob immediately went back to saving files.

Unbeknownst to Rob, Trenoff returned to his office. Turning the desk lamp on, Trenoff sat down and logged into his terminal. He logged into the network and immediately went to his directory to start deleting files. He would have to manually delete each file individually. Starting at random, Trenoff began deleting files.

Having saved the ninth file, which showed a receipt of the 'contract' Trenoff signed with the assassin group, Rob wanted to go back to reread another file. He clicked on it, only to get an error, a window popping up saying that the file was modified by another user. Rob hit F5 to refresh, only to find the file gone. He hit F5 again to find another file deleted. Looking down at the bottom left, he saw that Trenoff had logged in. Rob immediately grabbed his cellphone to make a call.

The desk phone on Trenoff's desk rang, which surprised him as he went to answer it.

"Uhh Trenoff here."

"Mike, hey, this is Rob Barion."

Trenoff stood up a bit in his chair. "Hello there... Rob... What can I do for you?"

"Hey listen Mike, I think you and me have gotten off on a bad footing with everything, and I'm willing to meeting with you and negotiate over some stuff... to save face." Rob bullshitted as he saved another file to his thumb drive. "Why don't we talk to our attorney's and see about meeting... you and me over some coffee or something..."

Trenoff looked flabbergasted and confused by Rob's inquiry. His eyes wandered his screen, but suddenly stopped when he noticed on the bottom left, who was logged into his directory. The supposedly top secret drive.

"USERS: TRENOFF, M. VLOCKNER, S."

Trenoff immediately put two and two together. The wolf's blue eyes went huge and he froze momentarily.

Rob knew everything.

The look of shock turned to an immediate look of rage as he deleted another file, which kicked Rob out of it before he could save it.

"Rob..."

"Yeah?"

Trenoff smirked a bit. "You know computer theft... is a federal offense..." Trenoff hung the phone up.

Rob sat his cellphone down and refreshed the screen. "So is political murder..."

Working desperately, Rob and Trenoff played a dangerous game of cat and mouse on their terminals as they tried to save and delete files. Trenoff felt backed into a corner; he couldn't call security or do anything, for his dirty little secret on the drive. All he could was delete, delete, delete.

Rob saved a large file with an attachment, which bogged down as he saved it to his drive. Cursing under his breath, Rob found the final file, which he opened, his fingers working furiously on the keyboard. His eyes quickly scanned it.

"Fen,

I have spoken to Virginia and Peter, regarding the second attempt.

I need to somehow get Rob to sit down with another meeting

to make this work out. It's a foolproof way, but I need to figure

out how to get him to sit down with a settlement meeting. The ball

is in his court now, and there's just no way... how? Any ideas?

-Trenoff."

Unable to save it as the other file was still going, Rob quickly hit control and P and sent it to the printer beside him. It spooled up and spat out the e-mail, just in time, as the file disappeared from being deleted by Trenoff. Rob ripped the page off the tray, pulled his USB drive out, and logged out. Scanning the room, he pulled the grate up and climbed back into the duct to escape.

Breathing a sigh of relief that his directory was emptied of the evidence, Trenoff desperately sent Fenris text messages, ordering him to immediately wipe the drive. He grabbed his suitcase and began walking towards the door to his office in a quickened pace. Trenoff grabbed the doorknob, turned it and pushed the door open to suddenly jump back in terror at Rob's presence.

Rob stood, his face glaring and full of rage directed at Trenoff. He held a printed copy up of one of the e-mails. Trenoff didn't know what to say or do as he stood there, looking like a deer in the headlights.

"You're going to jail, bub." Rob pointed.

Trenoff's left eye flinched a bit. "What do you think you have there?"

"Political murder huh?" Rob asked him. "You broke the law...Mike..."

A twisted little smirk graced the wolf's face as he took a step back. "Rob... you're a real wise guy... aren't you?"

Trenoff tried to walk past Rob, only to be grabbed and shoved back by him. "Let's talk..." Rob grumbled.

"You think you're in any position to tell me what to do?" Trenoff chuckled. "You've just fucked yourself over."

"You did too."

"That's your problem Rob... you think you see the world in black and white... but you operate in the gray zone."

"I don't see it as black and white, Trenoff, I see it as right and wrong."

"So what do you think you're doing with that!?" Trenoff exclaimed, pointing to the e-mail copy. "That is not yours to know about!"

"Maybe you should have done a better job trying to kill me in the first place? That way I definitely wouldn't have known..."

"I have no idea what you are talking about Rob..."

"If you're going to fucking lie, you better lie better!" Rob shouted. He closed Trenoff's office door behind him.

"I'm not going to stand for this..." the comptroller growled.

"The only thing you're going to stand is in front of the camera when they take your fucking mugshot."

"I don't think so Rob..."

"Oh I think so..." Rob glared.

Trenoff turned and walked back towards his desk as he grabbed his key from his pocket.

"Who ordered this Trenoff?"

"I have no idea, Rob..."

"Who the fuck ordered this?"

"I have no recollection, Mister Barion."

Rob ground his teeth. He marched forward and grabbed Trenoff, spinning him around and shoving him into the wall. Rob made his point by shoving the suppressor of his 10mm in Trenoff's face. The look of terror was all over the wolf's face as Rob pinned him to the wall.

"I'm fucking tired of this bullshit, Trenoff. This is someone's fucking political agenda! Who the fuck authorized this!? Shannon?"

Trenoff managed to give Rob a twisted little smirk after a moment of thought. "Shannon couldn't breathe without permission..."

Rob ground his teeth at the answer.

"If I go down... you're going with me Rob!" Trenoff shouted.

"Wrong again Mike!" Rob glared as he backed away. Trenoff threw open his filing cabinet, rummaged around in a folder and produced a document that he held up to Rob.

"I have this little insurance policy here!" Trenoff grinned as he held up the official document of Operation Defochi. "The Mayor of Chicago, Laura Earhart, has authorized, city comptroller, Michael Robin Trenoff, to conduct Operation Defochi! The defense of Chicago from the lawsuits brought about by United Barev Industries, and its president, Robert Joseph Barion! He is authorized to conduct all operations in full! Signed Laura Earhart. Mayor of Chicago."

Rob ripped the document out of his grip and read it himself. He looked up with a gaze of disgust at the grinning gray wolf.

"You... wouldn't happen to have something like this to justify what you just did?" Trenoff gloated.

"You're gonna throw everyone under the bus to save your ass, aren't you?"

"I will have my chair when the music stops..."

"You're lower than horse shit." Rob glared.

"I don't care what you think... because I finally have you exactly where I want you Rob." Trenoff pointed. "You're going to tell the judge to issue a stay on the final ruling, because you and your attorney are going to sit down with us, and have an actual settlement meeting, and this time, the ball will be in my court... or else I'll have you sent to federal prison for electronic crimes."

Rob couldn't help but smirk. "You're a real motherfucker, Trenoff."

"You think that you're so smart and clever, Rob... but now you've met your match."

"I doubt that... You've backed yourself into a corner too."

"Same with you..."

"Alright fine... I'll see you at the settlement talk..." Rob forced out with a disgusted glare. He turned to leave for the door.

"It's gray Rob..." Trenoff hissed as Rob left. "The world is gray, Rob! You're no different than us!"

Trenoff ground his teeth as the door slammed behind Rob. He wasn't sure where to gloat, or to be concerned. He had Rob where he wanted him, but wasn't sure what Rob was going to pull off next. Rob was now like an animal backed into a corner. What would happen next?

Rob wasn't sure how he was going to get out of this one. He kept thinking of a 'plan-B' as he drove through Chicago's congested streets with Lisa and Richard. Lisa was upset at him over the settlement talk, and Rob was upset too over the situation. He was backed into a corner with no escape plan.

Pulling up to the Sparta, the Greek eatery that Rob had eaten at when he was confronted by Andy, Rob got out of his company SUV and saw that the Chicago party was already seated. Rob ground his teeth and slowly exhaled through his clenched teeth. The sight of Fenris and Trenoff sitting together, looking smug, made Rob's blood boil. Mayor Earhart shared a laugh with an assistant and the attorney's looked to be in a good mood under the ivy adorned arbor.

"Good morning Rob! Welcome!" greeted Mayor Earhart. Rob gave a curt wave and sat down, opposite of Trenoff. The gray wolf gave Rob a sort of smirk and a nod. Rob tilted his head a bit with a sinister smirk of his own in return. It made Trenoff's smile fade.

"Good morning." Rob said, his eyes not leaving Trenoff.

The waiter showed up to take everyone's order. Rob looked up and realized that he didn't look like any of the waiters he saw when he had lunch the last time. It was a tall, imposing looking white wolf, who had green eyes that looked even more dead than Rob's. He spoke with a deep, formal voice. As he went around the table, he glanced at Rob, giving Rob a look that sent a chill down the wolf-hybrid's spine. Rob knew that something was up. He gave his order, and kept an eye out for anything suspicious.

"So... the settlement talks..." Trenoff said with a smug smirk on his face. "Let's talk."

While they waited for their food, Trenoff laid out what he wanted. It cut the payment in half, and he wanted Barev to drop the argument that the city was responsible. Rob had no choice but to go along, to save himself a federal charge. Though he wondered if Trenoff really could ever pull off such a stunt. Rob stalled for time.

The waiter returned and began handing out food for everyone, the conversation took a break as people accepted their plates of food. Rob got handed a bowl of Greek salad, and a plate of spanakopita. As Rob adjusted the plate, something didn't look right. Rob looked on the flaky crust a small hole, with a indentation on it, like something was quickly jabbed into it and imperfectly ripped out. Rob tilted his head as he examined it. Looking up, Trenoff was distracted talking to the Mayor, and Rob quietly swapped his plate of Spanakopita for his.

"I'm tell you what! This stuff's to die for!" Richard said jokingly.

Trenoff cut a bite of spanakopita and took a bite. As he reached for his water bottle, his motion slowed up, and Trenoff had a look of surprise and puzzlement on his face. His left paw started to tremble a bit as he reached up to tug at his collar, as if his necktie was too tight. Trenoff began to loosen his collar and tie, when Rob saw his eyes roll into the back of his head. The gray wolf fell forward and faceplanted onto his dish with an audible thump that got everyone's attention.

"Oh shit." Fenris muttered. "Mike are you okay?"

"Mike!?" Laura shouted as the lady Dober got up to see what was going on. "Mike, speak to me are you okay?"

Trenoff's face was blushed red and foam oozed out of his mouth as he convulsed a bit. He was not breathing. "Someone call for help!"

"DON'T TOUCH THE FOOD!" Rob shouted. He paused when he saw the waiter staring right at him to his left. With an evil glaze bearing down on Rob, the waiter reached into his coat. Rob knew.

"Oh my god, what's the world coming to!?" Laura shouted. Suddenly Rob pulled his 10mm from under his jacket, and opened fire on the waiter. Rob put round after round through the dark gray wolf's chest and abdomen. He unloaded on him as the waiter fell backwards and landed onto a table, which crashed back into the wall. A silver plated .45 fell out and landed on the ground with a thud.

"What the fuck the world's coming to- HOW DO YA LIKE THAT!?" Rob shouted at the Mayor. "Don't touch the food!"

Laura looked at Rob with a horrified look on her face.

"Holy fuck, Rob!" Lisa shouted. "DON'T EAT ANYTHING! THIS COULD ALL BE POISONED!"

Rob jumped up and ran over to the waiter he had shot. He laid in a pool of his own blood. Rob searched his body and rummaged through his pockets.

"What the fuck Rob!?" Laura screamed. "Are you mad! You murdered this man!"

"Would you waiter NEED THIS!?" Rob shouted at the Mayor. He held up a syringe of poison. As Rob pulled out another syringe of cyanide, a business card fell out. Rob picked it up to find the name "Peter Vlockner" on it.

"Peter Vlockner. Investor. Riven/Mantz/Vlockner/Moody Investment Group Ltd." Read the fancy business card.

Rob showed the business card to Lisa with a grin on his face. "These muddafuckas make it too easy!"

Lisa just shook her head. "Fucking retards."

Fenris approached Rob. "Okay, this has gone on far enough!"

Rob stood up, turned, and aimed his gun at Laura and Fenris. Both looked ashen face staring down the barrel of Rob's Glock. Fenris put himself in front of Laura.

"Make my day." Rob glared. "I am done with this political gobbledygook. I am done with the talks. I am done with everything. This shit ends now!"

"Now Rob... I don't want you do-"

"You're done talking. I'm tired of hearing your googly eyed wigger ass."

Fenris looked incensed by Rob's insult.

Rob lowered his gun and took a deep breath at all the chaos. He looked over to see Trenoff still lying face down on the table. The only consolation Rob could take from this whole situation was that the secret he had with Trenoff, could go to the grave.

Judgment Day.

The second to last day of May was a sunny Monday morning. Mild and crisp, with a low fog that clung to the ground. Lifting off the runway, Chicago bound, Rob's "Coneflower" droned skyward, carrying Rob and his entourage to hear the final decision from Judge Benson. Rob was on his way to make history.

Hitting cruise altitude, Rob quietly sat at his seat, watching the big radial engines keep them aloft among the clouds that silently drifted on by. He sat with his best friend Maverick, and their attorney Lisa. Rob took the time to just be introspective on all the chaos, and hoped that after today, it would all be over.

It had been a week and a half since the second assassination attempt against him, and in that time, it had been a huge tidal wave of repercussions, as the bottom fell out, and truth came rushing out. The Vlockner family was all arrested, and charged with the murder of Michael Trenoff. Orchestrated by Virginia Vlockner in revenge for the deaths of her sons, paid for by Peter Vlockner, and assisted by Rudy Vlockner and his wife, they were all rounded up and charged. They had intended to kill everyone as revenge; all the food was poisoned. In the typical Vlockner way, their incompetence screwed everything up. Rob remarked again that the Vlockners "could fuck a cup of coffee up".

Shannon Fenris, the budget director, was arrested by the FBI for embezzlement, after the whistle blower turned over all the encrypted documents to the feds. With Trenoff out of the way, Rob revealed Trenoff's e-mails that he managed to steal out of the network backbone. "Somehow", Rob got his paws on the incriminating information that revealed Operation Defochi, which caused a last minute hearing by the presiding judge over the new information "discovered". When Fenris fell, another thirty people in the budget department fell with him. Mayor Earhart rapidly found herself in a political crisis, as person after person in her government fell to corruption. In all, over 130 people were arrested, or resigned, in the revelation of the bombing, the assassination attempts, and now embezzlement. Her popularity was evaporating fast, her poll numbers tanking. To Chicagoans, Mayor Earhart was the bumbling, incompetent mayor, unaware of what her own government was doing. And by signing the document authorizing Operation Defochi? She signed her own coup de grace. Rob had cinched victory from them.

News cameras watched as Rob arrived in his Super Constellation at Chicago Midway. Approaching the plane were members of his heavily armed security. Viking Battalion, backed up by members of the Strategic Missile Troops. They lined up and stood, arms presented at Rob as he walked down the steps with his husband Joey and best friend Maverick. At the base of the steps, Brad Johnson, and Jerry Schultz greeted them.

Two Barev SUV's carried Rob and his entourage, as they were escorted by their security. The Suburban and Tahoe were escorted by two BTR-60's, two BMD-3's, and a BMP-3. The tracked vehicles rolled ahead and behind as they convoy slowly made their way to the city's courthouse near the loop. Arriving at the courthouse, Rob saw an entire media circus. He saw news crews from all over the US, including some foreign crews. Rob rolled his eyes and told everyone "be ready!" Rob hopped out first and was immediately bombarded by camera flashes and people screaming and yelling at him. He was surrounded by security, as Chicago PD kept the reporters at bay. Rob walked up the large granite steps of the courthouse, awaiting his destiny.

The courtroom itself was quiet, and only a select few news crews were inside. Rob saw a CNN and MSNBC crew, and a BBC crew off to one corner. The courtroom was quiet as Rob took a seat on his side. The attorney's for Chicago sat with the interim comptroller, Trenoff's right hand man, Bobby Kybrick. The hapless looking Kybrick looked resigned to fate as the brown wolf sat in his chair with his head propped up by his paws. Also present were the attorneys for the Vlockner family, also looking resigned to fate. Rob sat looking pretty confident.

"All rise!" the bailiff announced. "The honorable Judge Randolph Benson."

"Please be seated." The Judge said in his usually calm voice. "I will make this as quick as possible for this has been a very exhausting duel between two very powerful entities."

Rob sat, bracing for impact as he watched the Judge juggle through his folders.

"I must remark that in my twenty years of being a judge, I have never once seen such a convoluted, interwoven... mess.... Yes... I will call it a mess. This is the result of overinflated egos, and a flagrant disregard for civility, law, and order. Now Mister Barion... I find you at times to be a very callous, insensitive person..."

Rob nodded, his face cold and unflinching at the judge's harsh commentary.

"...but insensitivity to talking to others does not justify in any way, shape, or form, the wanton destruction and loss of life, and the attempts on your life... with that said... in regards to United Barev Industries verses the City of Chicago? I side with the plaintiff, awarding one point four billion dollars in damages, and I award punitive damages totaling one point nine billion dollars."

Judge Benson smacked his gavel on the stand. The entire courtroom was silent.

"For Rob Barion verses the City of Chicago, I side with the plaintiff, awarding five hundred million in damages, and for punitive damages, especially after the last second information about Operation Defochi? I award one and a half billion dollars in punitive damages."

SMACK.

Rob sat up in his chair, looking surprised. Even Lisa was thrown off guard.

"In regards to United Barev Industries, verses, Vlockner? I side with the plaintiff, awarding half a billion dollars in damages, plus punitive damages totaling six hundred and eighty million."

SMACK.

"Finally. In regards to Rob Barion verses Vlockner, I award five hundred million, plus punitive damages, totaling forty-eighty-three million dollars."

SMACK.

Rob couldn't believe it. After all the stress, the chaos, and despair, he won. And he won in a massive landslide. A look of shock was on Rob's face.

"Rob you did it~!" Lisa complimented as she grabbed Rob's shoulders and shook him a bit in excitement.

"No, no. You made it possible, Lisa~" Rob smiled. "Thank you~"

"Court is now dismissed. Thank you." Judge Benson said, smacking his gavel down a final time.

Rob stood up and looked at Maverick and his husband in disbelief. Joey smiled and clapped at him.

"Misses Scheiddegger... congratulations..." came the attorneys for the city and the Vlockner family. They shook her and Richard's paws, and mentioned that they would "see them at the appeal". Lisa chuckled and quipped "I don't think there will be one~"

Emerging from the courthouse, Rob stepped out and could not contain his excitement, as a big grin lit up his face for the whole world to see. Rob walked with a confident swagger with his entourage, as his "troops" lined the sides of the courthouse steps, shielding him away from all the journalists and their cameras. He beat the city of Chicago, he beat the whole Vlockner family, and he now owned the fifth largest television network in the United States. He couldn't even comprehend how significant his victory was.

As he approached the SUV, Rob saw Mayor Earhart emerge from the crowd. She looked enraged at Rob's presence, and the lady Dober got into Rob's face. The whole world was watching.

"You must be feeling pretty good, huh?" Laura snapped at Rob, her face even more red with rage.

"Yeah." Rob smiled.

"You just took everything from me!" Laura yelled. "I have nothing left! What do I have left!? My whole government is fucked up!"

"Who's fault is that?"

"It's your fucking fault, Rob! You just come into MY CITY AND JUST SOW YOUR CHAOS!"

"Oh, I don't think so, Laura."

"That's MAYOR Earhart to you!"

"Not for much longer..." Rob said with a grin and a sarcastic wag of the finger. "The world is watching your meltdown..."

"I DON'T CARE! YOU TOOK IT ALL FROM ME!"

Laura tried to smack Rob, but instead Rob caught her paw mid-slap and tightly gripped it, a smirk never leaving his face. As Rob let her go, Jerry Schultz, the head of the Strategic Missile Troops, grabbed Laura and shoved her back with his rifle. Rob motioned for him to stop.

Rob walked up to Laura, his face becoming stern. "I told you Laura. This was nothing personal... and you have decided to make it personal..."

Rob got in her face and grabbed her by the collar of her shirt. "Nobody made you look like a fool... you did that all on your own. You didn't even know what the fuck your own government was up to, and you were dumb enough to just blindly put your name on a document that was unknowingly political murder. Trenoff was to throw you under a giant fucking bus, and you weren't smart enough to see it happening..."

Rob let go of her collar and started walking. He walked backwards slowly as he stared down Laura. She felt like Rob was physically towering over her. "Good luck on your reelection campaign~"

Laura brushed the wrinkles out of her suit and grumbled, looking horribly embarrassed by all the cameras now turned on her. Rob hopped into his SUV, and with his security following close behind. Next on his agenda, Rob turned to visit his new station, WNBB-TV. As they drove, Rob sat back in his seat feeling awestruck. He didn't even know what to think about his victory. It felt so surreal to him.

Andy Bueller stood, looking confident as he awaited with the others who made up the greeting party at WNBB. Chris Brant, Frank Callahan, and the others who made up their group in the parking lot, looked nervous at meeting Rob Barion himself. He was now their boss.

Pulling into the parking lot, the workers, except for Andy, gulped at the presence of Rob's SUV being escorted by two heavily armed IFV's. Rob hopped out first, and greeted Andy, who would now oversee all of WNBB, replacing Brant, who took his former role as the assistant.

"This is a real honor." Rob said to Andy. "My first major network."

"It will be a pleasure to work with you again, Rob~" Andy smiled as he held out a paw. "Friendo."

"Friendo~" Rob smiled in return as he accepted Andy's paw shake.

Rob turned his attention to a very nervous looking Chris Brant, and Frank Callahan. Both looked practically terrified of meeting the mercurial Rob Barion. Rob walked up to them with his back erect, looking exactly like the one in charge.

"Rob...I uhh... want to apologize about the whole drawing thing..."

"Yeah..." Frank meekly replied.

"It's fine." Rob assured them. "I'm not upset about it anymore. But may this be a lesson."

"Yes." Frank agreed. "And... thank you for rehiring us."

"Thank Andy~" Rob suggested. "But just remember about how actions can have consequences... I'm more forgiving than others..."

Brant and Frank looked at each other and gulped as Rob went on inside to tour the whole facility. Rob met with workers, and was impressed by the size of the facilities. Multiple studios, editing rooms, and offices. Rob was very impressed. Before leaving workers installed one of Rob's portraits in the lobby, an ominous portrait of him giving a rather ominous smile to the camera. It was the first Rob had smiled for a portrait since he was seventeen years old. Beneath it was a small bronze plaque that read "Rob Barion, station license owner of WNBB-TV." Rob felt so proud of himself. All the stress he had to endure, the near-death encounters. He won in the end.

Returning back to the airport, surrounded by media, Rob climbed back aboard "Coneflower". The photogenic Lockheed was captured as it took off for home, gracefully climbing away into Chicago's hazy sky.

Rob sat in his personal quarters with Joey, Maverick, and Lisa. Rob didn't say much, but sat back in his plush leather seat and thought about his victory. He would now be a billionaire. And the thought felt so strange. But the more Rob thought about it, the more something began to bother him. The sting of greed hit Rob; sure, he could now pay off all the damages sustained to his company, pay victims the right compensation, and use it to invest in his company. But billions of dollars would now be denied to Chicagoans. And Rob wouldn't let it go past people to try and pin the blame him on for any budget woes in the windy city. He thought about the youth shelter he had gone to, and all the faces he had met there, and their woes about their budget. All that money would be denied to them, and others just like them. Right or wrong, it really bothered Rob. The big gloating grin on his scarred face, the smug sense of satisfaction of rubbing it into Laura Earhart, his desire to get revenge on Chicago, was slowly replaced to a feeling of miserable dread by the time he got back home to Newark. Local media did not capture Rob's excitement like he had in Chicago. Instead, photographers saw a slightly hunched, sullen looking Rob silently disembarking, getting into his SUV and driving home.

The first of June, midweek. Rob stood at his big Xerox, watching a large document be spat out from an incoming fax. It was the confirmation paperwork, regarding the transfer of property from the Vlockner family, to Rob. Rob collected the half inch thick stack of paperwork and took it back to his desk to go through it and sign it.

Looking rather glum, Rob sat down and poured through the almost ninety pages of legalese. It was drab and boring information concerning the four buildings that were surrendered to him, after the family ran out of actual money to give. Between Rob's lawsuits, and the Trenoff's now suing, the Vlockners had not a penny to their name. It wouldn't matter anymore, as they all were facing decades in prison for murder. Rob found himself now in possession of three gilded age mansions, and a summer home, all scattered through and just outside of Chicago. The opulent, larger than life mansions that the Vlockners lived in looked like a gaudy joke, a palace fit for someone like Elvis, or Liberace. The summer home, situated with a waterfall flowing underneath a balcony, reminded him of the Frank Lloyd Wright home, "Fallingwater" in Pennsylvania. Apparently inspired by it, the Vlockners had christened their summer home "Flowingwater", but Rob disparagingly called it "Retardistan".

Signing his name on the documents with a blue felt pen, Rob didn't smile or feel excited. He felt how he looked, with a tired, sullen look on his face. He thought vengeance would be great, and he did get his revenge on the city; there were mass resignations, people arrested, and the mayor humiliated. In all, 130 people fell to the pinchers of justice. Rob won his financial compensation, but yet, it felt hollow. Sure, there was an appeal in process, but it was unlikely to succeed. There was just too much evidence stacked against the city government. And the Vlockners were screwed, no matter how one tried to justify it. But his victory felt empty and shallow. It felt like a pyrrhic victory for Rob, at such a cost it created for everyone.

The telephone rang on Rob's desk, and the wolf-hybrid reached over to press the speakerphone button. "Rob Barion speaking."

"Rob, good morning, this is Fred Higgins, Cook County Engineer."

"Hello, how are you today."

"I'm fine, Rob. But I bring bad news for you."

"Okay."

"After consulting with my team, and the inspector for your insurance agency, I declare the Chicago Glass and Optics Factory a total loss. The building is too far gone at this point to salvage anything from it."

"Lovely."

"I will send you a copy of my report so you can process it for the insurance claim to the loss."

"I appreciate it. Send it to seven-four-oh-two-eighty-five-ninety-nine-fifty-seven. That's my fax."

"Will do! Thank you!"

"Thank you. Have a good day."

Rob pressed the end call button and sighed a bit as he soon heard his Xerox spool up to the incoming fax. Rob stacked his paperwork at one end of the desk and walked over to fetch the forty page report that printed out into the tray. As he neatly stacked it against the copier's lid, Maverick stepped in through the side door linking their offices together.

"Rob! Rob! Come watch the TV!" the big Russian husky exclaimed. "Mayor Earhart resigned!"

Clutching the paperwork in his grip, Rob rushed into Maverick's office, to see a replay of the Mayor's resignation speech. A visibly embarrassed and exhausted Mayor Earhart sat at her desk in her office, announcing her resignation. The lady Dober gave the usual politician's tripe about what she went into office for, what she accomplished, and the usual spiel about 'unexpected events' popping up. But Rob felt so uneasy about unseating the mayor of the third largest city. He had gone in with the goal of making an example out of Chicago, but now he regretted taking that attitude, as the city government was now plunged into chaos. Her assistant Mayor, Anna Hicks, would become mayor, tomorrow, at noon.

"Wow." Rob muttered.

"Dude... when you said you were going to make an example, you weren't joking..." Maverick grimaced.

"This was not my plan at all."

"You took out so many people. Holy fuck man~" Maverick laughed cynically.

"This is not what I wanted..." Rob shook his head as he went back to his office. "This is not what I wanted, Mav!"

Mav stepped into Rob's office to see the wolf-hybrid frantically looking through all his paperwork. "Hey, just take a breath Rob!"

Rob looked up from his desk. "CGOF is gone. It's fucked."

"I figured that was going to be the case..."

"Me too... but when you hear it from the county engineer... it hits harder." Rob explained. He smacked his paws on the stacks of paperwork. "Well... that's that for Barev Two."

"Well...at least we tried."

"Yeah."

"How many is left on the roster?"

"Two-eighty three left on payroll for Barev Two." Rob said in a plain tone.

"Time to cut the cord then sadly."

"Yep." Rob said with a hint of sadness on his face. "It is what it is, Mav-O."

Arriving at eleven o'clock on the spot was Freightmaster's C-97G, a guest at the Centoh Chicago ramp. The bulbous, silver Boeing, christened appropriately as "The Silver Bullet Express", carried a chartered load of spare parts for the company. The big smoky Wasp Major radials burbled as the Stratofreighter rumbled in a slow turn to park. Its big radials were powered off one by one, and the ground crew approached to chock the wheels.

The rear fuselage loading ramp doors opened to the whir of their hydraulic motors, and a set of metal ramps unfolded and locked into place. Arriving in style, Rob drove his red Tahoe down the ramps with his family aboard, and screeched around on the pavement in a wide turn to leave for the gate. Accompanying him on his schedule was his husband Joey, their nephew Alvin, and his adopted son Felix, with his husband Tony Alvarez in the backseat. Rob was due to see his new properties around Chicago.

Being close by, Rob drove by the ruined remains of the now condemned CGOF, and he could tell that more of the building had collapsed in on itself. It always brought a sense of shame to him when he saw the building. All that history in that ninety-two year old building, would soon be gone forever. All he could do was shake his head in shame.

Rob spent the day inspecting each of the homes that were now in his possession. Three of them were gilded age mansions, massive, seventy, eighty bedroom homes all built in the late nineteenth century. The first mansion was a two story, gray stone building that had huge pictures windows all about. The property was at least two miles worth of land, all intricately landscaped, complete with a hedge maze in the back. Everyone toured the inside and remarked at the opulence that the Vlockners had lived before their incompetent downfall.

Going out of town, Rob found the summer home nestled in a thick patch of woods. A stream flowed by the home, which was situated on a large hill made of brown and gray stone. The large balcony, like the Frank Lloyd Wright home, towered over the stream and its flowing waterfall. The summer home had five bedrooms, and a large living room, adorned with natural stone walls and red carpet. Rob thought it was beautiful, and something more of his taste.

The second mansion was situated in the north part of the city, and had more of an industrial look to it. With eighty bedrooms, it took Rob over an hour to see every nook and cranny of the mansion with the property inspector. Finally, Rob went to see the best one of them all, the former home of Virginia Vlockner.

Virginia Vlockner's home was a huge structure made of brown bricks with a red terracotta roof. It had almost ninety rooms spanning three levels, its own elevator, and multiple balconies that practically wrapped around. The landscaping was a masterpiece, with fancy bushes, and shade providing trees adorning the front yard, complete with a huge fountain that shot water high into the air. Going inside, Rob found the walls a high contrast of white trim, and royal blue paint. The home was still largely furnished, and much to Rob's surprise, Virginia's cooking and cleaning crew were still there. They all looked sad at Rob's arrival, and Rob understood why. They probably figured they were out of a job now that Rob owned it. It only added to Rob's sadness. He toured each room, until he was too tired to go on.

"You are the luckiest man alive to get all these amazing buildings~" the property inspector chuckled. "People would kill to get this! So what do you think?"

Rob stood in the living room and looked at everything, and everyone. "I think I am a fucking monster, Chuck."

The property inspector wasn't sure what to say to that.

"Look at all this... look at what I did!" Rob shouted. "God damnit."

Rob turned and marched outside with a frustrated look. Joey looked at the property inspector with a sympathetic smile, and excused himself to go take care of his ailing husband. The black and tan Doberman stepped outside and closed the door behind him.

"Rob are you okay?" Joey asked him. He found Rob sitting at a wrought iron patio table, under the shade of the dark blue umbrella. Rob had his head resting in his paws as he sat in silence. Rob eventually looked up at Joey. He looked visibly upset.

"I'm frustrated." Rob admitted to Joey. "Look what I did~"

Joey sat down opposite of Rob at the table. "Rob, don't beat yourself up."

"I looked like the world's biggest asshole as I walked out of that court hearing."

"Well your name's not Donald Trump~" chuckled the Dober. "Now that's the world's largest asshole!"

"No, that's just being a fucking 'tard." Rob shook his head. "What did I do..."

"You won a major lawsuit against parties that conspired to kill you." Smiled Joey. "And since the Vlockners lacked the money left... they forfeited their assets like this. I mean, they got a new place to stay! A prison~ A shower and three meals a day! Are you upset at the optics of the situation?"

"It shouldn't have come to this. The entire thing... all the people who had to die... and it's all because I yelled at Ryan and Brent and fired them."

"I wouldn't beat yourself up over dumb and dumber..." smiled the Dober. "You can't go back and change it, and even if you did it differently, you would still have faced Sam Vlockner and the system."

"Now the world will know me as the guy who took down the mayor, half her city government, and just... chaos... that's what people will remember me for... chaos."

"Well I can't argue with that~" teased his husband. "But let me give you my two cents."

"Okay."

"If it bothers you, Rob, why don't you take what you won and do good with it?" Joey suggested with a smile and a shrug. Rob looked up and a look of thought on his face. Joey could see the gears turning in his head. Rob got up and quickly walked away as he grabbed his phone to call Lisa. Joey sat back and chuckled.

"Yeah this is a bit too Liberace for me~" Joey thought to himself.

One Month Later

The carcass of the former CGOF, a mess of shattered glass, crumbled bricks, and twisted steel, was gone. The sad remains were demolished and swept away, the foundation broken up, and in its place, the "Barev Memorial Park" was born. Construction continued on in the background, as a plow pushed earth up into a manmade berm for privacy. Landscapers planted trees and shrubs. In the center of the park, a large fountain ran, made of the bricks that were once the CGOF. Water shot up several feet to gracefully fall down the sides of the memorial fountain, which bore the names of the victims who were killed in the bombing.

Rob and Maverick stood by the fountain, getting ready for a video shoot with Rob's nephew, Alvin Paulo. Alvin manned his Ikegami 79D which was bolted down onto the tripod. At his feet sat the bulky Sony BVH-500 Type C recorder, loaded with an open reel of one inch videotape spooled up. Alvin was getting a few things tweaked up with his friend Spencer Eikemo helping him. Rob took a moment to adjust a lavalier microphone clipped to his dark blue and white necktie. Maverick, also formally dressed in a white shirt and black and green necktie, jotted notes down on a notepad he held.

"I hope the water doesn't pick up too much~" Rob mused as he watched the water flow down the sides of the fountain.

"It sounds okay on my end~" Spencer said, wearing a pair of headphones as he adjusted the volume on a small mixer control that was plugged into the VTR. He picked up his foam covered microphone that the husky used for the ambience pickup. "Okay, it sounds good on my end."

"Video looks good!" Alvin said, seeing and confirming the color correction on a small LCD monitor he used for live feedback.

Rob made a slight adjustment to his monologue, and reread the outlines for it. He and Maverick coordinated while Alvin framed up his opening shot of the top of the fountain, getting the jets of water framed and focused.

"Alright, I'm ready." Maverick announced.

"Yeah. Whenever you're ready, Alvin~"

"Roll VTR~" Alvin called as he took his position hunched over the camera. The VTR clicked and began to record, the stacked spools of videotape spinning. "Action!"

Rob and Maverick gave a monologue about the new fountain and the park that replaced the CGOF. They wanted the new green space to be a place where people could come and relax, and remember the lives that were lost in the bombing. Rob took a moment to talk about the charity Barev had given to Chicago, describing the city as a "home away from home" for Barev's operations.

It had been a month since Rob's decisive legal victory, which netted almost four billion dollars in legal financial compensation for Rob and the company. With the loss of CGOF, the building was demolished with all the specialty equipment inside, resulting in an insurance payout of almost three billion dollars to the company. Feeling guilty about the amount of money reaped, Rob decided to donate some of it to help people he had met in the windy city.

Not wanting to keep the gaudy gilded age mansions, he donated those; the largest became the new youth shelter for Cook County. Replacing the ill-suited, cold factory, which felt more like a prison to Rob, the kids they sheltered now had green grass to play on, and improved living facilities. He even gifted them a grant totaling 800 million dollars, so free them from the constraints of city funding. The cooking and cleaning crews that the Vlockners employed, now worked with the youth shelter, helping to take care of the cooking and cleaning. Another mansion went to an art gallery, and a museum showcasing the history of Chicago. It's huge, manicured gardens became a public park for people to mingle about. The third mansion, Rob gave to the Trenoff family, as payment for the death of Michael Trenoff. He decided it was the best option. He wanted to bury the hatchet between himself and Trenoff trying to kill him. As for the summer home, "Flowingwater", Rob decided to keep that for himself and his business. It would become his summer home and a getaway retreat for Barev's upper echelon of management.

Back home, Rob gave a bunch of money to the homeless shelter in Newark, plus the school district. He also gave a donation to the public library, to allow them to upgrade their network backbone and buy a new bookmobile. It made Rob feel good to give back to his hometown, and to Chicago. Even if one life was helped, it made Rob happy.

After videotaping their monologue commemorating the future park, Rob and Maverick took Alvin and Spencer to go see the various sites they had donated. They went to the art gallery and looked around at the walls that were now adorned with historic and recent artwork, and walked around the new park that was filled with people out enjoying the warmth and sunshine. They then drove to the new youth center, which was bustling with activity.

Rob remembered the old factory building, which felt like something out of East Germany. Sullen looking kids in bleak concrete walls, contrasted now to the new building, where Rob saw people out running about and playing in the huge yard. Some of his security guys, members of Viking Battalion assigned to protect the center, played basketball with some teenagers. It looked joyous as Rob hopped out to go check up on things. Going inside, the living room now served as a giant lobby. Rob and Maverick met back up with Latoya Robinson, the head of the youth shelter.

"Rob, I don't know how we could ever thank you!" Latoya exclaimed so happily. "This is just a magnificent building! Everyone's so happy here."

"I'm glad this worked out." Rob said with a content smile on his scarred face. "I didn't want to see this go to waste."

"We must somehow repay you, Rob."

"No, no, no worries!" the wolf-hybrid assured. "Just do your damndest for these kids. They certainly need it."

"They have a brighter future thanks to you~"

"I believe it's always safe to do what's right~" Rob quipped. "That's at least what my parents taught me."

"Your parents raised you well~"

As Rob left to head back to the company SUV, his phone rang. Rob picked it up out of his pocket to find Andy Bueller calling him.

"Go Andy!"

"Hey Rob! I wanted to call you about the additional studio space... I found a warehouse facility for sale that just might suit us..."

"It's not on the south side is it?"

"No, no." laughed Andy. "It's on the north-west side of town. Big facility. Would be perfect for a studio."

"Look into it and if the price is good, go ahead with it."

"Thank you!"

"Hey Andy?"

"Yeah?"

"Good to have you back."

"A pleasure~"

Flying back to Newark from his visit in Chicago, Rob worked on editing some video with Maverick, Alvin, and Spencer. He showed off his video threading skills on his modified Ampex VPR-6, showing Alvin and Spencer his effortless moves to thread the videotape through all the rollers and capstans into the take-up reel. He gave it a half-dozen turns to secure the videotape and hit the stand-by button.

"See? Piece of cake. Now it's just drag n' drop." Rob joked as he went over to the editing console in the forward lounge.

Rob and Maverick sat and watched the playback on the monitor. Rob always remarked that he "painted" his "Ikky's" to have the colorimetry of RCA's cameras, with the much warmer hues than the usual "Ikky cold" as Rob called it.

"So that's not clipped right?" Spencer asked. "I notice the white shirts look a bit clipped on the shoulders."

"Yeah, you're asking a lot from tubes~" laughed Maverick. "Tubes don't have the dynamic range like today's cameras. "That there is at the upper limit of what the beam can handle before comet-tailing starts."

"Rule of thumb on triode Plumbicons and Saticons is that you can usually set the beam to handle four times peak white level without degrading the gun life or resolution. That usually is sufficient to handle average lighting levels and eliminate ghosting in high contrast scenery." Rob pointed out. He listened to himself talk on camera as Alvin got a slow zoom out from the fountain's jet of water. The sunlight made the water glisten, which created ten point starbursts that comet-tailed with a rich crimson flare.

"I hate how I sound. My voice is all screwed up from the neck slash years ago." Rob quipped.

"I don't think anyone likes their voice, Uncle Rob!" laughed Alvin.

"D'OH!" Maverick exclaimed with a laugh.

Rob sat back in his chair and listened to himself talk, over the roar of the engines filling the cabin with their mesmerizing drone.

"We will not forget the thirty who perished. Lives who went too soon, gone to the ages. And we hope that this contribution, a memorial park, can be a place to help Chicago and Chicagoans heal. Thank you."

After helping Alvin edit on the analog console, Rob and Maverick returned to the rear cabin of "Coneflower". Rob sat down at his desk to go over some paperwork he had to pick up from the Cook County engineer, the final report, which Lisa needed for record keeping. Maverick closed the bulkhead door and loosened his necktie. "Strangling myself here!"

"Do you think I did the right thing?" Rob asked his friend.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you think... giving all that money, those homes, you think that was the right thing, Mav?"

"I would think so! Why do you feel like that?"

"I don't know~" Rob shrugged. "Sometimes you open a can of worms when you start getting too generous. Then every swingin' dick wants a hand-out."

"That's when you just slap their paw away and go 'GET 'YO WELFARE QUEEN DICKBEATERS OFF THE MONEY!'"

"Oh god." Laughed Rob. "Well I pulled off the impossible... now I just gotta figure out how to fucking fix the Mario Schleppi problem."

"OH GOD, I forgot about him!" Maverick groaned. "That legal shitshow still is open!?"

"Yes!" Rob exclaimed. "Because there's still back and forth over financial compensation."

"For what? Because his pussy got sandy?"

"Basically."

"He needs to go away... far away..."

"Heh, I guess one thing at a time huh?"

"Yeah!" laughed Mav.

Returning back to Newark, the L-1049E smoothly touched down on the centerline and rolled out to a slow taxi back to the main hangar. Turning and parking, Rob soon disembarked, carrying his laptop bag and stack of paperwork tucked under his arm. Stepping into his museum, Rob spotted Ronnie Samson and his son Colt, admiring his "big birds", the two red Dobers looking dwarfed by the towering EC-121H Warning Star that sat on display. It brought a smile to Rob's face; he had helped Ronnie and his son out when they had hit rock bottom back in early May and had nothing left following an accident. Now Ronnie lived in Newark and was Varg's sound engineer. Another soul Rob had made a difference for. He felt good about it as he left for his SUV.

At nearly five o'clock in the evening, Rob waltzed over to Lisa's office on the north side of the downtown square. He ventured inside to meet with his attorney, who looked busy as always on her paper strewn desk.

"I swear, this is an organized chaos." Lisa laughed as she organized some papers and stuffed them into a folder.

"I have the Cook County Engineer's final report here." Rob said as he handed it over to Lisa.

"He could have just faxed it to me..." Lisa said with a sarcastic shake of her head. "Fucking idiots."

"I say the same thing!"

"Well I just want you to know that the feds are looking into this too..."

"Oh god..." Rob groaned.

"They're investigating some of the city government's activities, and there is a chance you might get more compensation. I don't know yet."

"Oh boy..." Rob chuckled.

"You might be the IRS' best friend!" Lisa exclaimed with a laugh. "Oh by the way..."

Lisa reached down to a low drawer and pulled out a wrapped gift for Rob. "Happy early fortieth birthday! From me and Richard."

"Oh thank you! You shouldn't have~" Rob smiled.

"Nonsense! Not after you netted us a two hundred million dollar payout! CHA-CHING!" The German Shepherd laughed.

"All part of the business right?"

"When you're good at something, you never do it for free." Lisa teased.

"Exactly." Rob pointed.

"How do you think I get these nice ass suits?"

"Red light at night?"

"Pfft. Not anymore." Lisa laughed.

"What a wild and crazy time it's been, Lisa."

"Yeah, I agree. Do me a favor Rob, and don't piss people off anymore." Lisa teased. "It'll spare you a bomb!"

"I bring the best out in people." Chuckled the wolf-hybrid.

"I understand where you come from Rob..."

"Oh do ya?"

"You were traumatized by a violent event, much like myself. You were gay bashed, and I was basically raped at a college party when I was nineteen."

"How did you cope?"

"I channeled that rage into wanting to help people, which is why I became a lawyer. I wanted to help people who were screwed over. You don't ever show it overtly Rob, but you were traumatized and that's why you help people who are disadvantaged. It puts a different perspective on things."

"I know what it was like to be kicked when you're down..."

"You're like a beautiful rose with the thorns." Lisa complimented. "Your thorns protect you. And that's perfectly okay. But just blossom out and open your petals for the world to see. It's okay to let your hair down. Relax and take a deep breath. All your stress is over from this shitshow."

"Yeah. I like that~" Rob smiled. "I appreciate it, Lisa."

"I'm ruthless like you~ But I'm also a Mom, so I know how to be all motherly to you as well." Lisa smiled.

"Bill in the mail right?"

"Oh fuck you, Rob!" Lisa laughed with him. "Fuck you and the horse you rode in on!"

"Heh, heh, thanks Lisa!"

"You have a good night and Happy Birthday... early!"

Rob smiled and waved as he left.

Rob walked across the downtown square, to return to the parking garage on the south side of the square. There was a big event going on at one of the downtown eateries, and all the parking spots around the square were packed with vehicles. Rob walked the block and a half back to the parking garage, where his Tahoe was parked at. He fumbled for his keychain and pulled it out to unlock his SUV. Rob paused when he heard staggering footsteps behind him.

Turning around, Rob saw a gray wolf come staggering towards him. Rob recognized him as "Michael Meth", the bum he had once disarmed when he pulled a knife on him.

"What the fuck do you want, Michael Meth?"

"Man... I need help... I need help..." He wheezed, a paw clutched under his armpit.

"Yeah?"

The wolf suddenly pulled a snub nosed revolver on Rob. Rob froze, his face staying the same, with a cool and collected gaze.

"Gimme the fuckin' money, now!"

"Alright."

"Gimme it now!"

"Alright fine... let me get my wallet..." Rob said, reaching back slowly to fetch it.

The wolf got right up to Rob to grab his wallet, leaving himself open. Rob suddenly grabbed the gun and knocked it to his side, where it went off with a loud bang. Rob kicked the wolf in the ribs, ripped the gun from his grip and punched him. The wolf staggered back into the concrete wall to see Rob pointing his own snub nose at him. The wolf touched his bloody nose and looked shocked at how fast Rob had disarmed him. Rob kept a blank expression on his face. There was an awkward silence in the empty parking garage.

"I want you to go home and think really hard about what you just did." Rob suggested. His voice had no emotion to it. "Because you are dead... and I hold your life in my grip. Got it?"

"Yeah."

"Go home and think really hard about your fucking bad decision!" Rob shouted. He aimed slightly to the wolf's left and fired a shot at him, which shattered against the concrete wall. The wolf flinched and immediately bolted. He practically fell and faceplanted when his baggy gym shorts fell to his knees. Rob just shook his head as he watched the wolf run in his underwear as he struggled to pull his shorts up.

"Pull your fucking pants up, motherfucker! Crack kills!" Rob shouted. The wolf-hybrid slowly exhaled as he looked at the gun. It was another silver plated, generic thirty-eight special. The ubiquitous, Saturday Night Special.

Walking back to his SUV, Rob grabbed his phone to call Joey.

"Hey Joey? I'm gonna be a bit late. Gonna take a car ride and clear my mind~"

"Everything okay, Rob?"

"Yeah. Everything's fine. I just wanna clear my head for a bit."

"Okay, be safe!"

"Will do~" chuckled Rob.

Stowing the gun in his door's side pocket, Rob backed out and took off, heading east towards the city dump.

The woods beside the Licking River really trapped the humidity as Rob walked along a small beaten trail. He pushed a few low lying branches out of his way as he stepped down onto the gravel shingle of the wide Licking River. Across from where Rob stood, the towering manmade hill that was the city dump filled his vision. A few dump trucks and equipment worked on top of it.

Rob grabbed the gun from his pocket and examined it again. With a disdainful shake of his head, he opened the cylinder and dumped the four remaining rounds into his paw. He juggled them a bit, and then unceremoniously threw them into the water, where they disappeared into the turbidity. He looked at the gun rather glumly, and threw it too into the water, where it sank from view into the silt. Rob felt relieved and it made him smile as he stood there for a moment, reflecting on what had happened. Soon he turned and left for his SUV. He turned around and headed closer to the dump, where he stopped at the base of a manmade hill, christened "Ray Barion's Hill".

It took Rob a minute to climb up the steep grassy hill, which was topped by a big old maple tree. It was named after his late father, who had once gone to the hill to meditate in his many bouts of pain. Rob started coming here to reflect on things in a quiet, isolated spot. Walking up to the tree, Rob leaned against the old gray bark and watched as the sun painted a vivid evening sky. Brilliant ambers and oranges mixed with clouds that took on magenta and purple hues. Rob always liked watching the sunsets. He found them very calming.

It seemed so calm; for months, Rob felt the constant chaos of his lawsuits, the fallout from the bombing, and the feeling of threats coming at him from every corner. He felt backed into a corner, tormented, betrayed, subjected to the trials of Job. But once again, he emerged victorious. Rob credited his victory to his tenacity and courage, and his ruthless resolve. He also had powerful allies and friends to help him along the way. The trials and tribulations taught Rob a lot of lessons, and he felt like he had learned a lot about himself in the turbulence. But in the end, he wasn't interested in the money, or power. He settled his scores and got his revenge, but not the satisfaction. It was all just chaos. Regrettable chaos. Now Rob felt calm, and he liked it like that. But he still had his thorns.

Perhaps it was just inevitable that he would have his "thorns". So much had happened to him over the decades, that he felt permanently scared from it. He could never be the gentle teenage youth that he once was, before all the trauma jaded his soul. But, Rob also felt that he averted the dark path he was heading, a path to his self-destruction and downfall. Now he felt like he was venturing down a new road, a path somewhere "in the middle". He wasn't sure where it would take him, or what lied ahead. A lot seemed at stake in the nation, like the country was at the brink with itself. It made Rob chuckle with the irony that he was finding his inner calm for once, while the nation seemed to drown slowly in chaos. Maybe his "thorns" would still be useful.

Crossing his arms and adjusting his pose against the tree, Rob watched the sun slowly set behind a cloud, casting him in its shadow. In a few days, he would celebrate his fortieth birthday with his brother, the fourth decade of his life. A feeling of mortality hit Rob briefly, but he hoped that from what he learned in his thirties, he could put it towards his forties and make it a more productive, better decade of his life. From the trauma in his twenties, to the chaos in his thirties, Rob hoped his forties would be a quieter, productive decade.

"Everything will be okay", his father once told him in a vision, as Rob laid dying on the desert floor after a plane crash five years before. He thought about what his late Dad had told him, which brought a smile to Rob's face.

"Everything will be okay in the end. Just let it be~"

"Thanks, Dad~"

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