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The Os-Nàdarra Sentinels

Chapter 3: Chasing the Devil

-The hidden lab of the I.T.O.U.E, August 1st,

2010-

            The playing video illuminated the room as Kyle watched

the recorded battle of Volcan against the strongest member and third gang boss;

a man known as Warwick Torison, former Canadian armed forces before he was

dishonorably discharged for his extreme brutality, according to the files the

I.T.O.U.E had on him. The man's superhuman physique however was the result of

drugs and enchantments cast upon him by The Mana's leader, not of his own

strength, which although put him under the I.T.O.U.E's radar, did not make him

a target for the retrieval teams.

            But in the video, Kyle watched as he saw Volcan fighting

to protect several people who the gangsters had taken hostage, including a few

police officers; the fight was recorded on the dashboard camera of one of the cop's

cruisers but the I.T.O.U.E had hacked it from the police database, looking for

information on Volcan that they could use against him. Although Kyle could see

some weaknesses to exploit, the actions of the phoenix were... nothing like he

expected. He wasn't fighting like someone who just wanted to kill, and he was

fighting to defend mortal people; the type of people the I.T.O.U.E were

supposed to protect as well, from ones like him

            Yet... if Volcan was the enemy... why was he...?

            A knock on the door broke Kyle's train of thought; he

looked over his shoulder as the door opened, and an anthro cat stepped into the

room. "Commander Two; the doctor's been calling for us. Why haven't you

responded?"

            "Sorry; I think my communicator was off," replied Kyle,

standing up from his desk and closing the lid of his laptop before he adorned

his helmet. "Let's go."

            ~~~~~

The

commanders of the three retrieval teams stepped into the main lab, and

approached the man in the lab coat sitting at the far end of the room. All three

men were in full gear, hiding their faces, but were unarmed, and stood at full

attention as they lined up, expertly, before the eyes of Jacob Rex.

            "You wanted to see us, sir?" The first commander, his

suit emblazoned with blue stripes around the midsection and shoulders,

inquired.

            "Yes," Rex began. "I have a new mission for you three.

I've been working on some plans for our mission, and I think I'm almost ready

to put them into play, but there are some things I need you three to do for me

first, and I want you to see to it personally, since the second in command for

team one, Observer One, already failed." His words made the first commander

flinch...

            "Are we going after Volcan Skilerain again, sir?" The

second commander, indicated by his suit bearing white stripes as opposed to the

blue of the first, asked.

            "Yes, but we must take a different approach," replied

Rex. "I made the mistake of underestimating Volcan Skilerain before; we

approached him without assessing just how dangerous he, or those associated

with him, really are. Cannot make that mistake again or it may cost us more

than just four dead men and four destroyed cyborgs next time."

            "What is it you want us to do, Dr. Rex?" The third

commander, decorated with green stripes, asked.

            "I have compiled a list of Volcan Skilerain's associates,

both current and those he met during the gang war that hit the city not long

ago," replied Rex, standing up from the chair, and hobbling on a can towards a

nearby table, where he picked up a piece of paper, and approached the

commanders. "Make copies, assign teams, and send your men out to observe and

assess these individuals. I want to know who among them are threats to us;

report in to me each day with your findings. I want to know what they do in

their daily lives, from when they wake up to when they have dinner; everything.

Understood?"

            "We will do as you command, Dr. Rex," the second

commander promised.

            "Good," returned Rex. "Remember, do not make moves to

eliminate any of them until I say so, understood?"

            "Yes sir." All three replied.

            "What about Skilerain himself?" The first asked.

            "We'll get to him," Rex assured the commander. "You'll be

able to redeem your seconds' failure soon enough, Commander One."

            "This isn't about that, sir," replied the Commander. "My

second failed because he lacked insight; that reflects badly on my unit. It's

time I remind the others why we're ranked First. Skilerain is not dangerous, my

men are not incompetent. Only my second was."

            Rex tilted his head curiously. "Was?"

            "I don't tolerate incompetence," replied Commander One.

"He has been discharged, and disposed of. Currently I lack a second, so I lead

the team myself from now on."

            Rex smiled grimly at the commander. "Cold, and efficient.

That is why you're ranked first." He looked at the other two commanders. "You

could learn from him, quite a lot perhaps."

            "With all due respect, sir," replied the second

commander. "I can forgive one or two failures from my team members as long as

they learn from their mistakes; failures happen, it's what lets us learn at all.

If they don't, then I'll remove them, but you lead teams with respect, not

fear."

            "To each his own," returned Rex, before looking at the

third commander. "And what are your thoughts on the subject?"

            "My men follow orders," he returned. "We don't think

about what those orders are; if it is for the cause, then there is no reason to

question it."

            "Now that is an

attitude I like to see," returned Rex. "Unwavering loyalty and devotion to the

cause, mixed with cold, calculative efficiency." He smiled widely. "Now, prove

to me my faith in your ability is not misplaced. Go now, carry out my

instructions, but at all times, be ready to use your weapons. We are in this to

save our world, but it must be done carefully."

            "Yes, Dr. Rex."

-Unity Falls, August 7th 2010-

            "Chief?"

            Gregory stirred as he heard his name being called, and

sat up from his desk, rubbing his eyes before he elevated his gaze, and saw the

concerned face of Constable Tanner Phillips staring back at him. The hawk let

out a mild yawn, running a hand down his face before he turned his attention

back to the Constable.

            "Sleeping in your office again, eh boss?" He asked.

            "Damn... what time is it?" Gregory asked, groaning as he

felt a slight ache in his back.

            "It's two hours past the end of your shift," returned

Phillips. "Wife has phoned twice now, looking for you. I had assumed you left

until I walked past the office here."

            Gregory groaned and put a hand over his eyes. "Shit... I

probably scared her half to death; that's the second time this year I've done

this."

            "Guess you got a little absorbed in your work?" Phillips

asked, looking down at the spread of papers laid out across Gregory's desk. He

narrowed his eyes as he examined the content written on some of the papers,

even picking one up and looking carefully at it. "The crest on this page isn't

from our station."

            "No; it's from the RCMP in Windsor, Ontario," replied

Gregory.

            "Why there?"

            "A kidnapping similar to that of Vernardo Glaseros' took

place there two years ago," the chief explained. "Adolescent girl, human, but

with supernatural abilities; she had the power to levitate. She was taken by

armoured men and one unclear suspect with metal implants, according to

witnesses, and for some reason her powers weren't working when they came after

her."

            "Fits the bill," stated Phillips.

            "I have another one from Thunder Bay, and one from

Victoria that also fit," added Gregory. "Notice what they all have in common

though?"

            "They're miles apart; what could they have in common?"

Phillips asked.

            "Think hard," replied Gregory. "Picture all those cities

on a map, Unity Falls as well, and then see if you notice the connection."

            The African American police officer thought back to the

last time he looked at a map, and took a moment to remember where the cities

Gregory talked about were located. At first, he didn't see anything in common;

Thunder Bay was placed near Lake Superior, Victoria was on Vancouver Island,

southernmost point of the isle, Windsor was very close to the border to the

United States, and Unity Falls sat directly on that border; he could not...

            The conclusion hit him like a ton of bricks.

            "All of the kidnappings are near the American border," he

stated.

            "Exactly," returned Gregory, clapping his hands. "Now

you're thinking like a detective; the most minute detail could be the one that

solves the case. Remember that." After a nod from Phillips, the chief

continued. "On a hunch, I called in a favor from an old friend of mine on the

Montana half of the city; asked him to check for cases across the northern

States that fit this profile."

            "Did he find anything?"

            "Plenty," replied Gregory. "Identical kidnappings, all of

superhumanoids, have occured in Washington, northern Idaho, North Dakota,

Michigan, even right in New York. He managed to slip me one bit of information

on the Idaho cases as well; the perpetrator or perpetrators were all tracked

back across the border between Canada and the States.

"The

I.T.O.U.E are using the national border as a safety net, crossing it after

committing their crimes where the police from the states or provinces they

attack can't follow them, and we already know they have stealth technology;

Volcan and Rikyuu both confirmed that, so they're using that to sneak over the

borders unseen by the Border Police of either country, and go into hiding until

they're ready to move again."

"They

turned the jurisdiction of the police forces into a shield," continued

Phillips. "Canadian cops can't chase them into the States; they kidnap someone

here, then hide over there until the heat's off, or they move on to a new

area."

"And

vice versa," added Gregory. "Commit a crime in the US, and then hide here in

Canada where nobody is tracking them anymore."

"They

certainly know how to cover their tracks, I'll give 'em that," remarked

Phillips. "But how does this help us find them?"

"With

all this evidence I can convince the Montana sides' police department to help

us find the I.T.O.U.E," replied Gregory. "With the heat on them on both sides

of the border, they'll either have to move on or give up, and wherever they go,

I'll make sure every cop in Southern Canada knows how they operate." He

clenched both hands into fists. "This insanity has to end, now."

Phillips

continued to look through the folder in his hand before coming to a photograph,

examining it carefully. "Did you see this photo?"

Gregory

nodded, turning his attention to some folders in front of him. "The girl was

taken from a shopping mall; surveillance caught the crime but couldn't identify

any of the suspects. They were all wearing tactical gear and face masks,

carrying automatic weapons." He began to yawn, covering his open beak with his

hand and clenching his eyes. "Damn I need coffee."

"I

think I can identify one," stated Phillips.

Gregroy

stopped yawning abruptly; his beak actually clicked shut and his eyes shot

open, immediately rolling to stare at Phillips. "You can?"

The

constable turned the photograph over in his hand to show it to Gregory. "See

the one at the front, carrying the revolver?"

Gregory

looked closely at the photo, and even took it from Phillips to get a better

look. "I didn't see that before..." He admitted. "That's not who I think it is,

is it?"

"Just

might be; he fits the description," replied Phillips. "Revolver, black coat,

concealed features, if we could see his left hand I wager we'd find a glove."

Gregory

narrowed his eyes at the photo. "But why is he there?" He asked. "He's a

professional assassin, not a lowlife kidnapper."

"I

heard he used to hunt Vampires," remarked Phillips. "Maybe he's just like any

mercenary; do anything for money."

"Perhaps...

or it's someone pretending to be him," offered Gregory. "There are only two

people I know who can tell us for sure."

"Who's

that?"

"The

only people who fought him and lived," replied Gregory. "Volcan Skilerain, and

Xavier Sinclaire."

"Xavier?

The mercenary?" Phillips asked.

"Yes,

and the only recorded person to have ever beaten Devilshade in a fight; he may

be our best bet to finding and defeating him."

"Gregory,

that crazy fox has a rap-sheet as long as I am tall," Phillips pointed out.

"Yet you want to meet with him?"

"He

was on our side during the gang war,"

reminded the chief. "I have no reason to believe we can't trust him."

Phillips

gave no response to that statement, and simply dropped it, moving onto the next

subject. "So how do we find him?"

"That,

I'll have to ask Volcan about," replied the chief. "He's about the only person

I know who might know where Xavier lives; even if he doesn't, he'll at least

know how to find him."

"I

sure hope you know what you're doing, boss; considering going to a mercenary

for help. Not many of them do anything for free."

"I

know... and I hope I don't regret it later either."

~~~~~

-Two nights later, Unity Falls Concert Hall-

"Fire dances

in my eyes!

The eyes of fire~!

Mirroring the

anger in my soul

Look into the

eyes of fire;

See my

rage... feel my pain!"

            Vinge let the word pain drag out in one long syllable,

his voice echoing from the speakers all around the concert hall as Volcan and

Pavan strummed away the last riff with their guitars, and Brent pounded the

cymbals on the drums repeated-ly until the music finally stopped, and one brief

drum-solo ended the song, and cued the roar of applause from the audience, who

threw up their arms and bounced on and off the floor in a frenzy.

            "Ladies and gentleman, thank you for coming out here

tonight; we're glad you could all join us this spectacular evening, and we

thank you all for making this fund raiser concert a success!" Vinge said into

the microphone.

Volcan

stepped up to the front of the stage, requesting the microphone from Vinge, and

speaking into it. "Some of you may or may not know, this concert was to save a

woman's life, a woman who was afflicted with a rare disease, and one who's very

special to our new singer here," he put a hand on Vinge's shoulder. "That

woman, his mother, will now be able to continue her life thanks to all of you.

On behalf of both of them, thank you all. We hope to see you all again next

time; maybe we'll even have something new to show you all! So long and

goodnight!"

            With that, the stage went dark, and the members of Winged

Fury gathered their instruments and carried them backstage, the roar of the

crowd following them until they were out of sight, and slowly it began to quiet

down outside, the satisfied fans making their way out.

            "Phew," breathed Brent, picking up a towel and dabbing

his forehead. "I'm beat... and damp; amazing how hot it gets out there."

            "How do you think Vinge feels?" Pavan remarked. "Never

hear him complain about it."

            "If you ever hear him speak at all," added Brent.

            "I'm standing right here, you two," reminded Vinge.

            "Really? We didn't notice," joked Pavan. "I thought it

was a little chilly in here."

            "Alright, Pavan; don't start teasing him," Volcan

interjected; he knew Pavan meant nothing malicious by his jokes, but ever since

Vinge joined the group, Pavan made a habit of poking fun at the ice phoenix,

trying to get some sort of reaction out of him, but Vinge's patience against

Pavan's jest was like the wind trying to push a glacier.

            Volcan chuckled as he realized the irony of that

comparison.

            "So, seems you boys are keeping busy."

            Volcan and his bandmates turned to the voice, and spotted

a familiar face at the backstage entrance. "Gregory?"

            "Hello, boys," returned the police chief, stepping up to

four musicians casually. Volcan immediately took note of the chief's change of

attire; he wasn't wearing his police uniform for once, rather he was dressed in

a black button-down shirt and light blue jeans.

            "Barely recognized you in those clothes," said Volcan. "I

don't think I've ever once seen you out of uniform."

            "I'm off duty," replied Gregory, shrugging. "The city was

actually quiet tonight; I think you may somewhat be responsible for that."

            "Me? I haven't been out busting heads tonight," said

Volcan.

            "Even criminals enjoy music," remarked Gregory.

            "He's got a point there, Volc," added Pavan. "It honestly

wouldn't surprise me if most of the street crews were here tonight."

            "Alright, granted," admitted Volcan. "Although, Greg, I

have a feeling that you didn't come here just to compliment us on our music."

He looked the hawk in the eye. "Is it about the I.T.O.U.E; are they back

again?"

            "Well, yes this is about the I.T.O.U.E, but no, they

haven't returned yet," replied Gregory. "But I believe I'm getting closer to

finding them; I've just come across a clue that may take us right to him."

            Volcan's crown of feathers flicked visibly at Greg's

words, and Vinge's eyes widened almost to dinner plates as the words reached

him.

            Volcan approached Gregory, and asked him very

matter-of-factly, "what have you found, chief?"

            From his pocket, Gregory produced a photograph and

offered it to Volcan. Brent, Pavan and Vinge stepped over as well to look at

the photo. "Look at the front," directed the police chief. "See the one with

the revolver?"

            Volcan scanned over the photo, eventually spotting the

person with the revolver, and feeling a sense of dreaded familiarity wash over

him as he saw the owner of the hand that gripped the powerful firearm... A

figure garbed in a padded, black trench coat with an attached hood that obscured

most of his face, revealing only his mouth, chin and the tip of his nose, but

not enough to identify the wearer.

            "Where was this taken?" Vinge asked.

            "You know, by law, I can't tell you that," replied

Gregory. "I can however tell you, it took place two years ago; the target was a

super humanoid girl, only adolescent, with the power of levitation."

            "What is the I.T.O.U.E's interest in super humanoids?"

Brent asked, shaking his head. "Supernatural beings like phoenixes and dragons

are among the oldest life forms on the planet, and then humans learned how to

use magic for six thousand years. It's only in the last two centuries that

people with strange powers have begun appearing."

            "Humans are especially bad for mistreating anything they

can't understand, even if that thing is one of their own species," stated

Vinge, scornfully.

            "Don't judge too harshly, Vinge," Volcan intervened. "I

saw just as many anthros in that hit-squad that came after me as there were

humans. It's in the nature of mortals to fear anything they think they'd have

no defense against. Of course," he turned his attention back to the photo,

"there's some out there that have proven just the opposite."

            "So, that's him then?" Gregory asked.

            "No mistaking it," replied Volcan. "That's Devilshade."

            "Whoa, Devilshade?" Pavan asked. "You can't mean that

same famous assassin, could you? The guy we were talking about just last month?"

            "Infamous, Pavan; infamous," corrected Brent.

            "Whatever!"

            Volcan nodded. "Yeah, that's him alright; he's got all

the toys. A .44 magnum revolver, a hooded trench coat probably filled to the

brim with concussion grenades, various types of ammo and a few pounds of

plastique."

            "How do you know all that?" Vinge asked.

            "Oh right, you weren't with us yet when we had that talk.

Well, it's like this; the bastard was sent after me during the war," replied

Volcan. "Nailed me with a fire extinguisher grenade and knocked me into a coma

for hours." He glanced over his left shoulder, at the wing folded up behind

him. "Broke my wing too; I couldn't fly for weeks."

            "Ouch..." said Gregory. "What else can you tell me about

him?"

            "Not much; he took me down pretty damn fast," admitted

Volcan. "He was fast, not superhuman fast, but like Vinge; he saw my muscles

flex and suddenly he knew I was going to make a move, using my twitches like

telegraphing."

            "So, combat training," remarked Vinge. "Defensive kung

fu, and probably judo; both of those focus on reading the muscle movements of

your opponent to determine what they're about to do."

            "Doesn't watching their eyes do that too?" Brent asked.

            "Not always; some are good at controlling their eyes to

make them unreadable," replied Vinge.

            Volcan passed the photo back to Gregory. "For any more

details, you'd have to talk to Xavier. I was knocked out, and Aisuours took me

to safety; it was only the three of us when we were attacked."

            "That's another reason I came to you," said Gregory. "I

need to find Xavier for that purpose, but I don't know where he lives."

            "Even I don't know where he is; he has several safe

houses all over Alberta; possibly more in other provinces, and he changes them

regularly," replied Volcan. "I only have a contact number for him."

            "That's all I need; I simply need to talk to him,"

replied Gregory. "I'm hoping he may also know where to find Devilshade."

            Volcan grimaced at that. "I wouldn't count on it," he

admitted. "Xavier's good, but so is Devilshade; he's probably very good at

covering his tracks."

            "Well, it's worth a try," returned Gregory. "If I want to

find a group that's evaded capture since before the end of the Cold War, I have

to follow every possible lead; this photo proves Devilshade has had

interactions with the I.T.O.U.E; if he has been in recent contact with them, he

could be our connection to finding them and finally putting an end to their

schemes."

            Volcan nodded, and reached into his pocket for his

wallet, from which he produced a phone card and passed it to Gregory. "There's

Xaviers' number. Don't try tracing it; he has it heavily encrypted, and you'll

find yourself looking for him in Oslo, Tokyo, New York and London alike before

you even come close to where he really is. Believe me, Brent already tried."

            "It had a spike waiting too," muttered the hyena.

            Gregory scowled. "Why do the dishonest folk always have

the best technicians?"

            Volcan shrugged in response. "I really have no idea."

            Gregory passed the card back to Volcan. "It may actually

be better if you speak to him on my behalf."

            "Why?" Volcan asked, quizzically.

            "I'm a cop, he's a mercenary; our types don't see

eye-to-eye."

            "You have a point there," admitted Volcan. "And, he knows

and trusts me; we did watch each other's' backs during the war. I'll talk to

him."

            "You sure Xavier will even agree to meet him, though?"

Pavan asked.

            "Knowing that guy, it's hard to say," replied Volcan.

"Even after practically living with him for a while I still can't say I know

what goes on in his head."

            ~~~~~

            The next morning, Gregory received a call from Volcan;

the phoenix had managed to contact Xavier and convince him to meet with the

police chief, but preferred it be in a public place of Greg's choosing. The

chief agreed that may have been the best course of action, since if Xavier

showed up at the police station, the cops there would probably try and arrest

him.

            Gregory asked Volcan to tell Xavier he would meet him at

the Sunset Coffee shop, west of C-Plaza; Volcan agreed to pass on the message,

and also made sure to get a preferred time, since Greg would need to meet him

before his shift began that afternoon. With that done, he put on only half of

his uniform, leaving off the overshirt and used his personal car to get to the

shop where he'd meet Xavier.

            He wasn't waiting there long before a figure in dark

clothes entered the shop and caught his eye; a black fox with white hair that

shadowed much of his face. Nine tails trailed behind him, most of them covered

due to his trench coat, under which he wore a black shirt, dark blue jeans, and

thick, black leather boots. When his gaze met Gregory's, the chief saw a single

blue eye, but the other was obscured by his hair.

            The fox made his way over to the booth where Gregory sat,

and slipped into it on the opposing seat. "So," he began. "A little bird told

me that you wished to speak with me."

            "That I do," replied Gregory, pretending not to notice

Xavier's obvious pun, although the expression on Xavier's face seems to

indicate he did not care that he had. "About a certain assassin you fought

during the war."

            "Devilshade."

            Gregory nodded in response. "I'm currently pursuing him

as part of a case I'm working; I need to know what to expect if I come across

him."

            "So you're not here to try and convince me and my crew to

turn ourselves in?" Xavier asked, turning to a waitress who approached and

offered to take his order for him. "Just a water, please; not staying long," he

said, before turning back to Gregory after she left.

            "No, I'm not," replied Gregory.

            "Well at least you sound honest," returned Xavier. "Well,

since Volcan spoke on your behalf I suppose I can trust you for a few minutes;

I know that bird well enough to know he wouldn't lead me astray, so, ask away,

and I'll answer what questions I can."

            "Thank you," stated Gregory.

            "Before I do, though," interjected Xavier, watching as

the waitress returned with his glass of water. "I'm just curious, why exactly

are you after Devilshade; did he kill someone here in the city?"

            "He may be connected to a group I am currently pursuing,"

replied Gregory. "That's all I'm at liberty to say; you should know I can't

discuss ongoing investigations with anyone outside of the department."

            "Alright, fair enough," returned Xavier. "Well, for

starters, as you may already know, he uses a high-powered handgun, particularly

a .44 revolver, and keeps multiple types of ammunition; armour-piercing,

hollow-point, and even these strange rounds that emit a high-pitched shriek

after they're discharged. Not lethal to get hit with, especially if you're

wearing any armour, but they can leave your ears ringing for hours.

            "I also shot at him several times, but it seems he had

armour my guns couldn't punch through through and he was working hard to keep

me at a distance, so I couldn't get any closer. He had a lot of combat training,

was a crack-shot with that magnum of his, and in his coat he carried at least a

dozen different kinds of secondary gear and other tools. He dropped a building

on me during our fight by demolishing its supports with C4."

            "So he has access to military hardware," said Gregory. "Previous

connections with the armed forces, perhaps?"

            "I doubt it," replied Xavier. "Some of the stuff he used

looked hand-crafted; nothing the military uses are made by hand, it's all done

in factories on assembly lines. I think he makes the stuff himself."

            "But how would he even have the schematics for something

like that?" Gregory asked.

            Xavier shrugged. "Honestly, I have no idea," he replied.

"Normally I'd say something about him buying it in the States, but not even the

Black Market can get a hold of plastique."

            Gregory sighed. "Great... so he's a hitman and a

demolitions expert. He's not going to be easy to take down. This complicates

things even further... as if finding him won't be hard enough, I'll need an

entire SWAT team just to get near him."

            "Well... that's about all I can tell you," said Xavier.

"I actually don't know where Devilshade is."

            Gregory looked at Xavier with a deadpan expression.

"You're joking... you can't tell me where he is?"

            "I'm afraid not," replied Xavier. "My team tried to track

him after he and I first fought but the trail went cold several kilometers

outside of the city. I did a lot of damage to him in the fight, though; I can't

imagine he could've gone far."

            "You think he's still in the city?" Gregory asked.

            "I'm quite certain he is," replied Xavier. "A month ago,

Third Division was investigating a murder, right?"

            "Yes, but what makes you think it's connected?"

            "The guy killed was a top leader of the Sylvia Syndicate,

right?" Gregory gave the nine-tailed fox a quizzical look. "Trust me, I'm well

aware of these things."

            Gregory grimaced. "Okay, let's assume he was," replied

the chief. "Again, what makes you think it was him?"

            "Firstly, because none of the gangsters in this city have

the stones to challenge the Sylvia Syndicate," explained Xavier. "Secondly, if

they used a hired gun, a hit on someone like that would cost a damn king's

ransom, more than any of the smaller gangs could afford to pay, or be willing

to. And third, the round the killed the crime boss was a .44 Magnum round."

            Gregory narrowed his eyes at Xavier. "How would you know

that?"

            "I have my sources," replied Xavier. "And before you ask,

no, it wasn't me; the guns I use aren't .44's."

            "So you think he's taken a job here?"

            "I'm not saying it's definitely him, but it's about all

you have to go on."

"Can

you give me an exact location to where you lost his trail?" Gregory asked.

"Maybe my forensic teams can find something you missed."

            Xavier shook his head. "If there had been anything to

find, we'd have found it, trust me on that. Sorry Chief, but nobody on your

side of the greenery is going to be able to find out where he is; only those

with underworld connections would have any chance of knowing where he is."

            "What're you saying?"

            "If you want to find Devilshade, chief, you have to start

by looking for those who hired him and right now the ones you should start with

are those who'd have the motive -and the courage- to take on the Sylvia's, and

you'll have to find a way to get them to tell you." Xavier stood up from the

table, downing his glass of water in one long swig before setting the glass

back down. "So, you have a decision to make, Chief. Sometimes, to catch a

devil, you have to make a deal with one first."

            With that, Xavier left a toonie of the table as a tip to

the waitress, and marched out of the coffee shop without another word to the

police chief. Gregory watched the mercenary leave, before folding his hands

underneath his chin and propping himself up on his elbows, slipping into deep

thought as he considered Xavier's words. Unfortunately, the strange fox was

right; if Gregory wanted to find someone like Devilshade, he'd first have to

find someone connected to him, like an employer. His forensic team had found

nothing except for the bullet casing from the discharged .44 at the crime scene

Xavier had been referring to, but without the gun it was fired from, there was

no way to trace it back to its owner.

            Gregory ran a hand down his face, knowing what it was he had

to do... but he was loath to have to, because as Xavier had said, he'd have to

make a deal with one devil to track down another...

            He perked up a second after that thought ran through his

mind. "Although... maybe not."

            ~~~~~

            The Casa 'Del Gato Night club, named so for the feline

dancers that made its star attraction, was still at the slow hour when Gregory

and Obsidian arrived; the parking lot was empty except for the staff cars, and

the only person in sight was the bouncer standing by the front door to check

ID's of patrons coming to the club.

            They knew the bouncer; his name was Jason Takayama, a

hybrid of a pitbull and a crocodile, with a canine physique, but a body covered

in brown scales and a crocodile tail growing from his lower back. He was tall,

easily dwarfing either of the police officers in height, had blue eyes, black

hair and was very fit. He wore a black shirt, with 'Security' stitched over the

left pectoral, dark blue jeans and green shoes, and wore a radio on his belt

with an earpiece running up to his left ear.

            He recognized the two as they approached; Jason had

fought alongside Volcan during the Genocidal War, and was known for when he

defeated General Maxim Boleslav, the ex-Spetsnaz officer who led the massacres

in Unity Falls. Jason had fought the man, and thanks to being younger and much

more fit, he was able to defeat him, and end the slaughtering of anthro

citizens across the city.

            "Chief Vinson, and Obsidian?" He asked quizzically.

"Well, didn't expect to see you guys here, although by the uniforms I'm

guessing you're not here to party."

            Gregory shook his head. "No; we're here on duty," he

replied. "We need to see your boss, Mr. Agostina."

            "One sec," replied Jason, picking his radio off from his

belt and holding it up to his muzzle. "Front door to Management."

            "Go ahead," a

voice replied few seconds later.

            "Hey, Carlos; do you know if Russel's in yet?"

            "Yeah; he's in the

office. Why?"

            "Couple of police officers out front here; they want

to see him."

            "They got a warrant?"

The responder asked, with some aggravation present in his voice.

            Jason looked at Gregory, who shook his head. "We only

came to talk to him; nothing else."

            Jason turned back to his radio. "No, they're just here to

talk to him."

            "Tell them to buzz

off, and not come back unless it's important."

            Jason scowled at the radio. "The fuck is his problem?"

            Almost as if on cue, another voice chimed through the

radio, one with a European accent that couldn't quite be placed, but still

apparent. "Now Carlos, where are your

manners?" The voice asked, in a smug tone. "Jason, show the officers up, please."

            "You got it, boss," returned Jason, putting the radio

back on his belt. "Well, there's your clearance; follow me."

            The two police officers followed Jason into the club.

During the trek, Obsidian looked at Gregory. "You sure about this, chief?" She

asked, keeping her voice low.

            "It's the only way," he replied. "Like Xavier told me,

the only way we're going to find one devil, is by asking another. And there's

no one bigger than Russel Agostina."

            Jason glanced over his shoulder. "Don't mean to

eavesdrop, but did I hear you say 'Xavier' back there?" He asked.

            "Yes," replied Gregory.

            "It wouldn't be Xavier Sinclaire, would it? How's he

doing?"

            "Oh right, he was with you and Volcan during the gang war,

right?" Obsidian asked.

            Jason nodded. "Yeah; guy was a tough son of a bitch but

hard to figure out." He snickered. "Although, watching Volcan spar with him was

sometimes pretty funny, especially since bird brain couldn't keep up with him.

That guy was fast."

            Obsidian giggled. "Bird brain... the number of people who

call him that," she remarked.

            Gregory cleared his throat, eyeing both of them with mild

annoyance.

            "Oh... sorry chief."

            Jason led the pair over to the stairs beside the bar

counter, and up the steps to the second floor, where they entered the assistant

manager and security office; two desks, on either side of the room, both with

little signs that marked who used them. But they didn't stop there; he led them

across to another, short set of stairs that led up to another door, which he

ascended to and knocked.

            "Come in!" A voice called.

                Jason looked back to Gregory

and Obsidian, nodding to them and pulling the door open. They thanked Jason as

they passed and stepped through the door into the office, coming into a room

illuminated with white neon lighting, emitted from a sign over the window to

their left, which read 'RUSSEL' in great, bold letters made of shaped neon

lights. The carpet and walls were both black, the only colour in the room being

the redwood desk, where the person they had been looking for sat, his feet

propped up on the desk.

            Russel Agostina was an avian like

Greg, only he was a crow, with a long, narrow beak, golden eyes, and

charcoal-black feathers. He wore a two-piece formal suit, without a tie, and no

shoes -not that avians needed shoes, or could wear them, due to the size of

their feet. He bore an irritatingly smug expression that could make even the

most patient man want to strike him, regarding the two police officers with a

friendly smile, but his eyes alone gave away a man who had many secrets.

            Russel was of Italian descent,

having immigrated to Canada over ten years ago, though how and why were

unknown, and somehow, he had come into a vast fortune in record timing;

official records stated that a relative of his in Italy had passed away and

left him his vast fortune, but ever since Russel appeared, crime had reached a

high in Unity Falls, so Gregory suspected that the crow, however legitimate a

businessman he seemed -running both a barber shop and a night club- may have

been involved in something illegal.

            Unfortunately, he'd yet to find

enough evidence to prove it...

            Gregory hated this man; he knew for

certain that Russel was not the model citizen that the world was deceived into

believing, but no matter how many times the UFPD investigated Russel, he was

never once found guilty of the charges brought before him, due to no reliable

eye-witness reports, bullets found on the scene didn't match the firearm

registered in Russel's name, he always had an alibi with countless people to

verify it, and he had never been found in possession of any illegal

merchandise.

            A clean slate on the front, but

coated in dirt on the back, was the best way to describe Russel. It frustrated

Gregory endlessly, knowing such a monster lived in his hometown, untouchable

even by the law...

            Russel looked at Gregory with

intrigue. "Chief Vinson. I suspected it might be you," he said. "Let me guess;

you're here to ask about some incident that happened a few nights ago, that

once again, you think I was involved in?"

            "No," returned Gregory. "I'm here

about something else entirely; I need information, the type of which I think

only you can provide."

            "Oh. Well now, that's a gemstone of

a different colour," said Russel, flicking something up towards the ceiling,

something shiny and reflecting the lights of the neon sign, before catching it

in his hand.

            "Was that a conflict diamond, by any

chance?" Gregory asked.

            "Look again, good sir," replied

Russel, holding out his hand and revealing the gemstone; it was greenish in

colour and perfectly cut. "This is not a diamond at all; it's an emerald, which

I specially ordered and was thinking of putting in a piece of jewelry, as a

gift for a lovely friend of mine." He studied the emerald in between his

fingers. "What do you think; a ring, necklace, maybe bracelet?"

            "Cut the bullshit, Agostina," said

Gregory, scornfully. "I came here for info I know you have; I want to know the

location of an assassin known as Devilshade."

            Russel clenched the emerald back in

his fist, and rolled his eyes to look at Gregory. "And you think I have this

information because?"

            "You're the owner of a night club;

sometimes things are whispered here that people won't say publically, right?"

Gregory asked. "Maybe his recent employers let something slip while visiting

here, or even just a rumor regarding him?" He looked Russel in the eye. "Well?"

            Russel stared back into Gregorys'

expectant gaze for a moment, before his smile broadened he leaned back in his

chair. "Well, perhaps I have heard something, but you know, information like

this is quite dangerous; I'll need something in return, if you want to know

exactly where to find your hitman."

            "And why should I do that?"

            "Well for one, you'd only be asking

about someone that dangerous if you were after him," replied Russel. "However,

on the topic of 'dangerous', what guarantee do I have that he's not going to

come after me as revenge for giving away his location?"

            "So you know where he is?" Obsidian

asked, eyeing Russel suspiciously.

            "Maybe," replied Russel. "Like your

boss said, in this business, you hear things. But information is a commodity

nowadays, so if you want what I have to say, I want something in return."

            "Alright; I make no promises but

name your terms," Gregory returned, spite in his voice.

            "Firstly, I want you to quit

investigating me the instant something happens around here," began the crow. "I

understand you have a job to do, but please, tell your officers to quit

pointing fingers unless they have a good reason; this invasion of my privacy is

getting annoying and I am a very busy man; my time is precious.

            "Secondly, there's an associate of

mine who's in prison right now, falsely accused of murdering someone he didn't

even know to begin with; he was denied bail or early parole. I want you to

arrange for the courts to reconsider, and allow bail so that I can get him

back. He handles some very sensitive matters for me."

            "No deal," retorted Gregory. "You're

asking me to turn a blind eye to you, and

release a convicted murderer from prison; forget it. Neither you or him are

getting any such slack."

            Russel shrugged. "Then I suppose we

can't do business; I'm now having some trouble remembering the rumors I heard."

He rolled his eyes about as if searching for something in the room, no longer

even looking at Gregory.

            "I guess we can't," agreed Gregory,

which immediately brought the crows' attention back to him, eyeing him

quizzically. "We appreciate your time; we'll see ourselves out."

            Russel watched the two officers

leave, a suspicious expression on his face until the two were out the door, and

once it shut, his gaze drifted to his desk. "He gave up far too easily," the

crow whispered. "I have a feeling the joke may be on me this time..."

            ~~~~~

            "Did you get it?" Gregory asked,

once the two officers were out of the club and heading back to their police

car.

            "Was like reading a childs' book;

his thoughts were very clear," replied Obsidian, tapping the side of her head.

"I know exactly where Devilshade is."

            Gregory beamed at her. "Excellent

job, Obsidian; I'm sorry I had to ask you to do something so underhanded, but

it was the only way."

            Obsidian waved it off. "If this

brings us closer to bringing down the I.T.O.U.E, I'd do it again," she stated.

"Especially if it means we can protect others like Volcan, or Vinges' father,

from suffering their cruelty. I'd read every mind in this city if I had to."

            Gregory nodded to her. "And that, we

can agree on," he said. Suddenly, a thought occurred to him, and he hummed as

he contemplated the idea that entered his mind.

            Obsidian glanced at him. "Something

up?" She asked.

            "Just an idea I had," replied

Gregory. "One I might bring up to a friend of mine in the parliament sometime."

            "Going to share?" Obsidian asked.

            "Officially Sanctioned telepaths for

the police force," replied Gregory. "Performing what I like to call 'Psychic

Evaluation'; authorized mind-reading that lets a telepath examine the memories

of a suspect to confirm their stories if they have no alibi's, or even to

disprove their alibi's if the need arose."

            Obsidian smiled and nodded. "That's

actually quite an idea," she said. "Although telepaths would have to remain

classified, or people might start targeting them."

            "Also a good idea," agreed Gregory,

grinning. "If this were approved, the law system could change for the better."

He shook his head. "But let's worry about that later; we've still got a job to

do." He looked at Obsidian. "So... where is Devilshade?"

            "You're not going to believe it, but

he's actually quite near the city, just like Xavier said," replied Obsidian.

"And he's hiding out in the woods."

             ~~~~~

            As Rex finished the last touches of

soldering on the new microchip he had been working on to upgrade his cybernetic

soldiers, his computer emitted several beeps, indicating someone from the

retrieval team was trying to contact him. He shut off his soldering equipment,

and turned to the terminal, approaching it and pressing a button on the keypad.

            "Report," he commanded.

            "Dr,

this is Retrieval Team 3. We have an update."

            "What have you found?"

            "We've

been watching the police chief of Unity Falls, Gregory Vinson, as you

instructed," the voice on the other end reported. "It seems he is actually leading an investigation on your organization,

as you suspected. The problem is, sir, I think he is getting close."

            "What makes you so certain he is?"

            "According

to our findings, he is searching for the hired gun you enlisted for a capture

two years ago; the one who called himself 'Devilshade'; we've patched into

their radio frequencies now. It looks like they may be mobilizing to seek him

out, and detain him for interrogation; several cruisers are heading for the

woodlands outside the city even as I speak."

            Rex listened to the report attentively, considering everything that

Commander Three was telling him, and felt a chill creep up his spine; if the

police had found Devilshade, the organization could be compromised, for

Devilshade actually had, on his very person, a piece of Rex's own cybernetics

technology. If it could be analyzed, his enemies would better know how to fight

his cyborgs, which were his best weapon against Empowered Beings. Not only

that, but if Devilshade were to talk and reveal the location of his hideouts...

no, Devilshade didn't even need to

talk; the UFPD had their very own telepath to extract the information from him!

            No

doubt she uses her powers to control them, he thought to himself. Yes... she's making them seek me out because

she knows I'm a threat to her kind, and that I may know a way to stop them when

they make their move; that must be it! Nothing can be done for those officers;

they have fallen already.

            He glanced back at the terminal, pressing the transmitter button again.

"Find out where they are heading; if they have found Devilshade, do whatever it

takes to beat them to his location and eliminate him before he can be captured.

You are authorized to deploy your full squad instead of standard operation."

            "As

you command sir," Commander Three promised. "If they have found Devilshade, we shall not let him compromise the

organization."

            "I expect you to keep that promise, commander. Over and out."

            With that, he ended the transmission,

and glared at the screen before him, seeing his reflection in it. "I will not

let mind-controlled police officers impede my mission," he stated. "I'll save

this world from Empowered Beings if it's the last thing I ever do." He turned

back to the workbench where he had been before, eyeing the microchip he had

been putting the finishing touches on. "And this is the first step; with my

cyborgs' upgraded with enhanced combat prowess, nothing will get in their way.

I think I will call this model... the Centurion; not a bad name. Like the Roman

Centurion they shall spearhead my mission. Now... back to my secret weapon,

project 'Aerial Savior'."

            ~~~~~

            "Alright, men; listen up," Gregory

began to brief the SWAT Team on their mission. He was dressed in tactical gear,

wearing a kevlar assault vest, and carrying and AR-15 on his back, in

preparation for the upcoming operation. "Rangers are currently sweeping the

area for our targets' hideout; we have the general location and layout though,

since it's the only structure in this area; it's a private property that used

to belong to a plantation owner who lost possession of it during the depression

in the 30's.

            "The map is old, but since the place

hasn't been owned in eighty years, it should be accurate," he continued.

"However, the foundation is going to be a little decrepit so watch where you

shoot; try not to hit the support beams or the whole place will come down right

on our heads. But that's not the only danger; the target himself is to be

considered armed and extremely dangerous; just because it's only one person,

don't turn your back on him for a second. Despite that though, we need him

alive; the information he could give us vital, and without it, there's a very

dangerous group out there who'll keep roaming freely."

            "Understood, chief," the SWAT

sergeant, Timothy Green -a pale-skinned, blonde haired and green-eyed human-

was his name. Unlike the other officers, he wasn't currently wearing his helmet

or face mask; the other three officers were completely makes by those said

items; each of them were canines, that much was apparent, but what colour their

fur, eyes or what their species were could not be determined. "You're certain

he's alone, though?"

            "Modus Operandi dictates that the

fugitive known as Devilshade has never been seen in the company of anyone else,

besides an incident two years ago where he was hired by the very organization

we're pursuing," replied Gregory. "He'll be alone, but don't assume that's an

advantage; this man has proven he's a one-man special operations force in the

past, so face him as if you were fighting one of those. We know he carries a

high-powered handgun; a .44 magnum revolver..."

            "What is this guy, some sort of

Dirty Harry fan?" One of the officers asked, eliciting a laugh from the other

officers, which earned each of them a glare from both Gregory and Timothy.

            "Don't treat this like you're going

after some everyday low-life," stated the police chief. "Devilshade fought

Volcan Skilerain once and nearly killed him -I found that out from the source.

We have to approach this cautiously. You are the leading team, but myself and a

few other officers will be accompanying you as backup."

            Suddenly, his radio buzzed, bringing

his attention to his shoulder. "Ranger 1

to Alpha 1-0-1."

            Gregory raised his hand to the

receiver on his shoulder, pressing the transmit button and holding it as he

spoke. "Go ahead."

            "We've

located the area and have set up a perimeter, two kilometers due west of your

position. There are signs of recent activity here; someone is definitely

inside."

            "Hold position, Ranger 1; do not enter the building, but stop anyone

who tries to come out," instructed Gregory. "We're on our way. Alpha 1-0-1

out," and with that, he released the transmit button, and turned to Timothy.

"Alright men, this is the moment; keep the sirens off, we don't want Devilshade

to hear us coming. Let's go!"

            The SWAT team adorned their helmets

and ran back over to their armoured van, promptly climbing aboard and starting

the engine, while Gregory strode over to his cruiser where Rachel Hernandez waited,

along with Obsidian and Phillips, all of whom climbed into one cruiser, with

Rachel at the wheel. Once everyone was on board, she started the car and sped

off, following closely behind the SWAT van.

            "Obsidian," began Gregory. "I need

you to make a call for me."

            "To who?" The dragoness asked,

picking her phone from her pocket, while Phillips fitted himself with a suit of

tactical armour

            "To Volcan," replied Gregory. "Tell

him I want him and as many of his friends as possible nearby."

            "Chief, this is a Police matter,"

Rachel reminded. "Volcan can't be anywhere near here."

            "He can't help us take down

Devilshade," Gregory corrected. "That is for us to do. However, if someone else

shows up, then they're fair game."

            Rachel looked at Gregory. "You think

someone else is coming?"

            "Call it a hunch," replied the

chief. "Just a gut feeling that the I.T.O.U.E is not going to simply allow

Devilshade to tell us about them."

            "But they don't know we're after

him," Phillips pointed out.

            "They

know we're after them," Gregory

returned. "And if they think we're closing in on them, they'll want to tie up

any loose ends that could endanger them."

            "So we're not just here to apprehend

Devilshade," said Obsidian. "We're going after him in order to protect him."

            Gregory nodded. "I may be reaching,

but I'm hoping it'll also convince him to cooperate with us," stated the police

chief.

            Rachel smiled incredulously at

Gregory. "That is kind of reaching,

chief; what makes you think he'll even listen to us?" She asked.

            "You have a better idea for catching

the single most dangerous human being in the entire western hemisphere?"

Gregory asked, looking at her sarcastically.

            She chuckled in response. "Nothing

that hasn't been tried before."

            Obsidian was dialling Volcan's

number when she paused, and turned to Gregory. "Greg... it just occurred to

me," she began, prompting the chief to look back over his shoulder at the

dragoness. "If we contact Volcan... what's to stop Vinge from coming too?"

            "Vinge?" Rachel repeated. "The kid

who was on trial the other week, who Volcan had put in his custody?"

            "The same one," replied Gregory,

rubbing his chin in thought as he considered the question.

            Obsidian raised a valid point; if Vinge

was with Volcan -which, by order of the court, he had to be at all times, then

it was possible Vinge would want to get involved, hoping to find some

connection to his father; Gregory had already learned, thanks to Obsidians'

consensual 'Psionic Evaluation' of Vinge that the Ice Phoenix still wanted to

find his father. Not to mention, if Vinge got involved, then if he did anything

to interfere with the investigation, Gregory would be forced to arrest both him

and Volcan.

            The hawk looked back over his

shoulder at Obsidian. "I guess we're on our own," he said. "Our friendly

neighborhood phoenix can't help us this time."

            ~~~~~

            The officers approached the

plantation house cautiously, keeping their footsteps as light as possible as

they ascended the front staircase and approached the door. "Mount up; check the

lock," Timothy ordered, keeping his voice low.

            The first officer, a canine armed

with a Remington 870 shotgun, reached over and tested the door, turning the

handle carefully. It didn't budge. "Door's locked; clear to breach?"

            "Let's keep this quiet, and play it

safe," Timothy instructed. "Rogers, pick the lock. Johnson, use the wand; check

under the door."

            The shotgun-carrying officer slung

his weapon over his shoulder, and knelt down, lifting an thin, dual-view camera

designed to slip underneath the doors, slowly pushing it underneath the door

while Rogers, an officer carrying an MP5 sub-machine gun, produced his

multi-tool and worked on picking the lock. After a moment, Johnson looked up;

"No one in sight, sir," he reported, "and no signs of booby traps on the door."

            "Door is unlocked; we're clear to

enter," Rogers reported, putting away his multi-tool and elevating his MP5 once

again.

            "Alright, get in there and clear;

keep quiet, stay in two's," instructed Timothy. "Eddison; you're with me." He

looked over his shoulder at Gregory, who stood at the bottom of the stairs with

his officers. "Chief, you better join with the Rangers and keep the perimeter

secure, in case he tries to make a run for it."

            Gregory shook his head. "They can

handle it," he assured. "It's going to take all of us to take this man down."

            Timothy clearly wanted to argue, but

after a brief hesitation, he agreed. The officers quietly stepped into the building;

their weapons raised, and promptly cleared the foyer before they split up and

stepped over to nearby doors to the left and right to check the other rooms,

all of the officers calling out 'Clear!' after checking the rooms.

            "Keep clear of the stairs," Gregory

advised his officers, once he looked up and saw the open ceiling, giving a

clear view of the second floor. "I don't trust those walkways up there."

            "Think he's watching us?" Obsidian

asked.

            "I don't see him up there," replied

Phillips.

            "Me either," agreed Rachel.

            "Just in case," replied Gregory.

"Remember, he's an assassin; sneak-attacks are his specialty."

            The three officers agreed.

            Timothy and his SWAT officers

returned, regrouping in the foyer before moving on to check additional rooms of

the group floor as well. They were not gone long, however; they appeared back

moments later, and Timothy approached Greg and his officers. "Okay, this floor's

clear," he reported to them, "he must be upstairs."

            "We'll never be able to climb those

stairs without making a sound," Phillips pointed out.

            "Looks like our entry is about to be

revealed," said Timothy. "I'll go first; all of you, cover me until I get to

the top."

            "Got it, boss," returned Rogers.

            "Careful, Sergeant," said Gregory,

stepping over to the railing and aiming his rifle up to the opposing walkway on

the second floor, while officer Johnson did the same for the other side.

            Cautiously, and with expert

footwork, Timothy ascended the stairs, making his steps as light as possible.

The stairs groaned in protest, the creaking of the old wood enough to make

Gregory cringe. Timothy turned about once he was halfway up the stairs,

ascending the rest of the way in a backwards fashion so he could watch the

upstairs doors, aiming down the sights of his Colt C7 rifle. Once he was at the

top, he motioned for Eddision to join him; the officer, keeping his MP5 aimed

towards the left, while Timothy continued to watch the right.

            Once both were upstairs, the other

two SWAT officers carefully ascended to the upper level, followed soon after by

Gregory and his officers. Timothy took notice that only Gregory and Rachel

carried anything other than handguns; both of them wielded AR-15's, but the two

constables, Obsidian and Phillips, both carried only their sidearms;

standard-issue Sig Sauer pistols.

"You know, if you two needed some better gear, I had

some spare tactical firearms in the van we could've lent you," he whispered to

them as he ordered Rogers and Johnson to search the rooms on the left,

accompanied by Rachel and Gregory, the rest following him to the rooms on the

right.

"I'm... more comfortable with my pistol," replied

Obsidian.

"A handgun is all I need, sir," returned Phillips,

confidently.

Timothy quirked an eyebrow at Phillips. "Well,

okay," he returned, and took point, Eddison coming up behind him, with Phillips

and Obsidian at the rear.

They came up to the first door; Timothy tested the

door, finding it unlocked, and pushed it open, aiming into the room beyond, only

to pull back a second later. "Hall closet; empty," he whispered, and continued

to the second door on the right, the last except for the ones the others were

entering; the four of them disappeared into the room.

Meanwhile, for Gregory's group, they entered the

first room; the room looked like it had once been a bedroom, but it had been

gutted long ago, only for something new to be put in its place. Shining

flashlights into the room, they saw the left and back walls were both lined

with workbenches, covered in tools, copper bullet casings, lead jackets and

more. The items were clearly placed there recently; they were not covered in

dust like the rest of the floor, they were clean, some of them brand new,

including the vice mounted on the corner of the workbench.

Gregory approached the bench while shining his

flashlight about the room, confirming nobody was inside, and examined the

table, eyeing a few components in the corner between the two walls. "Looks like

some unfinished flashbangs over here," he informed.

"Flashbangs; the guy makes his own tactical

grenades?" Johnson asked in disbelief.

"I've found something else over here," Rachel

informed, eyeing a cylindrical object that somewhat resembled the unfinished

grenades Gregory had found. "Not sure what it's supposed to be; probably

something of his own design."

"This room's clear; let's move on," said Rogers,

already stepping back out to head on to the next door.

"Rogers, slow down!" Johnson hissed. "Don't get too

far ahead."

The others rushed back out to catch up with Rogers

before he went too far. Just as they approached the door and Rogers was about

to test it, the sound of creaking wood filled their ears, coming from inside

the room they were approaching. The officers froze at the sound, Gregory putting

his ear to the wall to listen, before he looked at Rogers and nodded to him.

"Open the door; bang it," Gregory instructed,

keeping his voice low.

Johnson walked around Rogers, standing on the

opposite side of the door from him, hand on the doorknob, while Rogers reached

for a flashbang on his belt, reaching for the pin on the flashbang to activate

it...

The instant his finger closed around it, however, a

horrifying thing happened. The wall behind Rogers exploded, and an arm -a metal

arm- struck the officer in the back, sending him sprawling to the floor, while

his flashbang rolled across the floor over by Johnson and the pin going flying

across the room.

The flashbang was armed!

"Back!" Gregory screamed, turning away and releasing

his rifle as he threw his hands over his ears, while Johnson dove away from the

tactical bomb before it could go off. Rachel covered both of her ears and

clenched her eyes shut.

The flashbang went off, the explosion deafening, and

a flash of light bright enough to blind anyone who had not shut their eyes in

time, filled the room, along with a small cloud of smoke and dust from the

force of the blast. The ears of the officers were left ringing, and Rogers, who

had been facing the bomb when it detonated, was blinded, after recovering from

the initial blow to the back of his head. He rolled around in pain, covering

his eyes with his hands and screaming through his facemask; the goggles he wore

hadn't been enough to protect him from the flash.

Gregory opened his eyes, just in time to see a dark

figure leap out of the room, over the banister and down to the floor below.

Timothy's group appeared from their side of the building, the sergeant aiming

over the banister down to the floor below. "Freeze!" He barked.

When Devilshade failed to complete and headed for

the front door, Timothy fired a warning shot, shooting two rounds through the

door. He deliberately missed, of course, but it was enough to make Devilshade

reconsider and back away from the door, seeking cover beneath the walkways.

When Gregory stood up and looked at the assassin,

the man was just as Xavier described; clad in a black trenchcoat with a dark

brown vest worn beneath. In his right hand, a dark chrome revolver with a

wooden grip was held in an upright position, his face was shadowed by a hood

attached to his coat, hiding his features quite well in the gloom of the unlit

foyer. The metal-clad arm Gregory had already heard of was concealed by the

coat as well, but he knew that was what had struck Officer Rogers before.

As soon as Gregory revealed himself, the assassin

saw him and aimed his revolver up towards him. Gregory dove down just before

discharge, the loud .44 revolver belching smoke as the powerful bullet tore

through the wall where his had been less than a second before. In retaliation,

Rachel took aim with her AR-15, firing a short burst at Devilshade. The rounds

found their mark; the assassin fell back against the wall behind him, but there

was no blood from any wound whatsoever.

Rachel was forced to duck as Devilshade took a shot

at her as well, feeling the draft of the bullet as it whizzed past her shoulder

while she dropped to the floor. Devilshade turned and ducked for a nearby door,

heading into another room. Seconds later, they heard a window opening in the

room, only for it to shut again following some voices shouting from outside;

Devilshade had spotted the Forest Rangers waiting outside for his attempt to

escape.

"We've got him cornered!" Timothy called as he and

Eddison rushed downstairs to pursue the assassin. Meanwhile, Johnson was

checking his partner, Rogers, and reporting his injury due to the flashbang to

dispatch; they replied shortly after that paramedics were enroute.

Obsidian ran over to Gregory and Rachel. "Are you

alright?" She asked them.

"We're okay," replied Gregory.

"I don't know how the heck Devilshade is," she said.

"I'm sure I hit him, and these AR-15's are loaded with armour piercing rounds;

why wasn't he hurt?"

"You sure they're armour piercing?" Johnson asked.

            Rachel pressed a toggle behind the

magazine on the rifle, ejecting it and taking a look at the rounds inside.

"Yeah, no doubt; 5.56 NATO armour piercing. Even an assault vest wouldn't stop

these at the distance he was from me."

            "He must've upgraded his armour,"

stated Gregory. "Dragonskin, maybe; only type of body armour that could

withstand rounds of that size."

            "Now how the hell did he get his

hands on something like that?" Rachel asked.

            "No idea, but it only makes our job

harder," stated Gregory. "Still, that armour doesn't cover everywhere; he's

cornered in that room. If we use a stingball grenade or another flash..."

            "That is not going to work,

officer," a cold, morbid voice stated from behind the four officers -and one

disabled one, due to Rogers still being unable to see. The voice had no shred

of conscience in it, so toneless and menacing it made the feathers on the back

of Gregory's neck stand up, less than the cocking of a revolver that followed

it

            Slowly, Gregory, Obsidian, Rachel,

and Johnson peered over their shoulders, to find the trenchcoat-wearing

assassin was standing directly behind them, his revolver aimed straight for

Gregorys' head. Devilshades' hood did not fully obscure his face at the current

distance but it was still enough that Gregory could not see him very clearly,

except for two dark blue eyes that glared at him from under its shadow.

            "Pardon me," he said, correcting his

use of the word 'officer' before. "Police Chief Vinson."

            When...

and how... did he get back up here? Gregory demanded in his mind; he had

just seen Devilshade flee into a room on the bottom floor, with Sergeant Green

and Officer Eddison in pursuit, yet somehow, without even making a sound, he

had dispatched the two officers and come back up to the second floor, as

impossible as it seemed.

            "This guy moves like a stalking

wildcat," Rachel remarked, a pang of humor in her voice despite their

predicament.

            "You should never take your eyes off

your target, not even to plan," Devilshade returned.

            The clicking of a gun sounded from

behind Devilshade, and the voice of Tanner Phillips spoke with a one of

warning. "And you should make sure you do a headcount when you take hostages,"

he stated. "Now, put down the magnum; you're under arrest."

            "I was wondering where you had

slipped off to," Devilshade remarked, but didn't relinquish his gun. "Officer

Phillips, isn't it? The UFPDs' best shooter; Chief Vinson was smart to bring

you on the operation against me." Suddenly, his left arm twitched, and Phillips

recoiled from something, grabbing at his side with his left arm.

            "Ow! What the hell?!" He demanded,

before his body suddenly went completely limp and he fell to the floor, eyes

wide and staring straight towards the other officers, conscious but immobile,

and he grunted, trying to speak.

            "But trying to arrest me... it

simply isn't going to happen," Devilshade added, his voice low. "Don't worry;

the paralysis only lasts two minutes; once it runs its course, you'll just have

a case of the shakes for an hour or so."

            Gregory sneered at Devilshade.

"Threatening and assaulting officers of the law is a sure way to raise your

already high bounty, 'Devilshade'," he stated with spite.

            "Yes, so every cop I've ever evaded

keeps telling me," returned the assassin. "But I'm not going to stand here and

monologue like a megalomaniac while the drug I gave your officers wears off;

I'm leaving, and if you try and stop me, I'll blow this building and drop it

right on your heads."

            "You're bluffing," Johnson accused.

            "Is your life and those of your

coworkers worth wagering that I am?" He asked, coldly.

            Johnson didn't answer.

            "I thought not," stated Devilshade.

"Now, I'm going to count to five; remove the magazines in your guns and toss

them away before I reach that, or the chief loses his some brain matter. And

don't forget to eject your chambered rounds too; don't go for your sidearms, or

he's dead. One..."

            "Do as he says," stated Gregory,

pressing the magazine release on his AR-15.

            "Two..." Obsidian and Rachel ejected

the magazines from their weapons and pulled back the sliders to eject the

chambered rounds, which clinked to the floor at their sides, placing their guns

with Gregorys' after he emptied his.

            "Three," the assassin continued.

            "Johnson," Rachel stated.

            "Fine," the officer returned,

begrudgely.

            "Four..." The sound of Johnson

pumping his shotgun multiple times, with shotgun shells hitting the floor each

time he did, filled their ears, and then he dropped the weapon over the

handrail, clattering to the floor below.

            "Five," Devilshade finished, raising

the barrel of his revolver to angle away from Gregory. "Smart... now, I'm

leaving, and you are not following me; once I'm a kilometer away you'll be safe

to leave the building. I'll be out of range for remote detonation."

            "And how do we know you'll not just

blow it up when you're outside?" Obsidian asked.

            "You're a telepath; you should be

able to see I'm not planning to," Devilshade retorted, earning a surprised look

from Obsidian. "As I was saying, I am..."

            Bzzt!

"Ranger 3 to Alpha 1-0-1! Please respond!"

            Devilshades' gaze shifted, looking at the radio on Gregorys' shoulder.

As soon as the assassins' eyes left the hawks', Gregory lunged at him, using

all the strength in his legs to propel himself faster than even the assassin

could react. He tackled Devilshade straight in the ribcage, and twisted both

their bodies about, using his legs once more to push off of the wall and force

Devilshade towards the railing. The old wood snapped effortlessly from the

combined weight of both men hitting it, and they tumbled over, heading for the

floor.

            The drop was short, but somehow,

even in that short span of time, Devilshade pushed Gregory back enough to plant

both feet on the police chiefs' stomach. They hit the ground, the jolt momentarily

stunning both of them, but Devilshade pushed with his legs and angled his hips

upward, pushing Gregory over his head and throwing him off. Gregory hit the

floor a meter away, scrambling back to his feet; he didn't have time to draw

his sidearm, so he pulled his nightstick free of his belt, and just as

Devilshade leapt back to his feet and aimed his gun, Gregory delivered a

backhand swing with his nightstick.

            Devilshade was holding the gun right-handed,

as was Gregory with his nightstick. The backhand swing was timed perfectly and

struck the revolver from Devilshades' hand, sending it flying across the foyer

and disarming the contract hitman. Gregory immediately went in for a

knockout-strike, but Devilshade caught his weapon with that dreaded left hand

of his, squeezing tightly until Gregory could hear the wood starting to

splinter. Gregory grabbed him by his shoulder, and tried to push him off

balance; the two men grappled with each other, stumbling about the room as they

fought for control.

            Gregory was actually slightly bigger

than Devilshade, and so had a little more weight to throw around.

Unfortunately, because of that bionic left arm, Devilshade had the strength of

a machine on his side. All Gregory could do was keep pulling him about, using

his greater size and mass to keep the assassin from getting a solid foothold,

until finally, he managed to wrench his nightstick free, twirl it around and

jab Devilshade hard in the thigh with

the pointed butt-end of the club.

            Devilshade winced from the strike,

throwing off his balance entirely; Gregory seized that moment to jerk himself

back, twisting his body and using his hand on Devilshades' right shoulder to

send the assassin stumbling, where Gregory tried to tackle him from behind. But

Devilshade let himself fall forward, catching himself with his hands and

delivering a punishing kick to the underside of Gregory's beak.

            Gregory fell flat on his back,

feeling a searing pain shoot through his shoulder blades as his wings were

crushed under his weight, but managing to keep his head from hitting the floor.

He looked up, seeing Devilshade coming at him, his left fist drawn back to

strike...

            Time seemed to slow down as the

front door, and the wall around it, suddenly exploded inward, debris flying

into the room and striking both the downed Gregory and the charging asssassin;

Devilshade was thrown off and stumbled instead into the railing of the stairs,

saving Gregory from a lethal, potentially fatal punch. But when he turned his

head to find out what had entered the building, it was not a welcome sight...

            The one who had come through the

wall was a huge figure with a metal-clad face and body, and arms ending in

giant, spiked maces like the medieval-era morningstar used by knights of old Europe,

and long legs -disproportionately long mechanical legs that made the creature

taller than it would have been if the legs were organic.

            Gregory dropped his professionalism

briefly for one snide, irritated remark, directed more at himself than anything,

said in a low, condescending tone.

"I fucking hate it when I'm right..."

            ~~~~~

            A

few minutes earlier...

            "Retrieval

Team 3 to Command Center; we have located the target, but the police got here

first and already have him cornered inside an old plantation house, two

kilometers due west of the city of Unity Falls. Visual confirmation puts UFPD

Special Weapons And Tactics on site, along with six forest rangers and unknown

number of police officers."

            Rex folded his hands in front of him as he peered at the terminal,

showing a view of the scene from an onboard camera of the R.T.3s' Retriever

craft, which was still cloaked and in midair above the forest clearing where

the plantation house sat, abandoned for years and in surprisingly good

condition, despite not being maintained in decades. It was shame that such

fine, old architecture was about to become a battleground. But one cannot decontaminate the world without a bit of harsh

treatment... He thought.

            "Proceed with the operation," he

commanded. "If the police and the rangers get in your way, you are authorized

to eliminate them all. But the assassin must die, one way or another."

            "By

your command; R.T.3 we are clear to launch. Begin the attack, I repeat, attack,

weapons free; assume all targets hostile. Deploy the cyborgs."

            ~~~~~

            It was only after the initial shock

of the Cyborg appearing in the plantation house that Gregory registered shots

being fired outside. The appearance of this cyborg was no coincidence; the UFPD

officers had been followed here, and the I.T.O.U.E was not intent on letting

them capture someone who could compromise them.

            He snapped back to reality when he

saw the cyborg lumbering towards him, its big arms waving like pendulums in a

grandfather clock with each step it made. He scrambled to get back to his feet,

but in his franticness he found little purchase, succeeding only in crawling

back from the abomination, but paused when it stepped over him, seeing it was

making a beeline towards Devilshade, not the police chief.

            Rachel and Obsidian appeared over

the railing of the walkway above, both of them armed with their reloaded

firearms. They shot at the cyborg, smoke and fire belching from their guns as

they tried to keep it from attacking Devilshade. Obsidians' standard-issue pistol

did very little to harm the cyborg, but Rachels' armour-piercing 5.56

ammunition yielded greater success. After six or so shots directly into its

head, the cyborg went still, teetered over and hit the floor loudly. Seconds

later, the floor splintered and groaned before it suddenly collapsed, sending

the metal-clad behemoth falling to the underground level.

            Devilshade used the distraction

provided by the cyborg to slip out of the foyer before anyone could stop him;

Johnson came charging down the stairs, leaping across the hole left by the

downed cyborg and landing deftly before retrieving his shotgun and beginning to

reload it, while Obsidian came running down the stairs, Gregorys' AR-15 slung

around across her torso, and went over to Gregory, followed soon after by

Rachel, who carried the still half-paralyzed Phillips down with his arm around

her shoulders, and guiding the half-blind Officer Rogers around the hole. His

hearing had returned, thankfully, but his eyes were still burning from the

flashbang.

            "Are you okay Greg?" Obsidian asked,

concerned.

            "Yeah; I'm fine. The cyborg wasn't

after me," he replied as she helped him back to his feet. "It was here for

Devilshade; where'd he go?"

            "Son of a bitch ran into the kitchen,"

replied Johnson. "I heard a door shut; sounds like he's gone down into the

basement. If I hurry, I could still catch him."

            "Forget it," Gregory stated. "He's

probably going for a safe-room or for more firepower; either way, we have

something much worse to deal with now. Go check on your Sergeant and Officer

Eddison; we're going to need them."

            "Yes sir," returned Johnson. With

that, he ran across the foyer into the room where Timothy and Eddison had

pursued Devilshade before; through the door, Gregory could see someones' legs

sticking out from around the corner, but a movement following Johnsons' entry

revealed they were not dead. Devilshade likely paralyzed them with the same

toxic darts he used to incapacitate Phillips.

            Obsidian unslung the AR-15 on her

back and passed it to Gregory. "You're going to need it," she said firmly.

            He agreed, and accepted the rifle

from her. Rachel set Phillips and Rogers where they'd be out of the line of

fire, and joined the other two officers as they hurried towards what used to be

the front door of the house. Outside, they saw the forest rangers using their

jeeps and the SWAT van for cover as they exchanged fire with numerous men,

garbed in police-issue tactical gear and bearing on their shoulders that

wretched, inverted-pentagram insignia and lettering that identified them as

members of the I.T.O.U.E. Gregory did a quick head-count of the interlopers,

counting a total of twenty at least, give or take, and three more cyborgs,

which were lumbering towards the forest rangers slowly, the rounds from the

rifles and handguns used by the rangers doing little to impede their advance.

            "Gregory!" Obsidian exclaimed. "They

cyborgs; they have the same weakpoints as a human being, and their legs are

hydraulic- take them out and the whole cyborg will come down!"

            "How do you know?" Gregory asked.

            "I'll tell you later; we have to

tell the rangers!" Obsidian returned.

            "Alright," he returned, and looked

at Rachel. "Stay here with Johnson; if Green and Eddison can still shoot, get

them out here. We're going to need their rifles!"

            "What about Devilshade?" Rachel

asked.

            Almost as if on cue, a loud hissing

sound was heard, and something flew out from along the southern end of the

house, striking one of the cyborgs directly before exploding, engulfing the

mechanized monstrosity in smoke and flame; metal pieces, skin, muscle and even

the mace-hand of one of the cyborgs were sent flying, showering the I.T.O.U.E

gunmen. The cyborg toppled over, hitting the ground with a clamour, half of its

left side blown apart straight down to the bone, but no blood flowed from its

body, only a blackish substance that closely resembled oil or hydraulic fluid.

            The three officers glanced over to

their immediate right, where the rocket that had downed the cyborg came from,

but saw no one just yet. "I guess he's behind the house," Rachel remarked,

sarcastically.

            "The cellar must have an external

door," stated Gregory. "He's trying to clear a path so he can escape. We have

to get to him before he does so; Obsidian, you're with me. We're going after

him." He peered back into the house and called out. "Johnson; how is your

team?"

            "They're okay; Devilshade only knocked

them out," he called. "He didn't use that dart like he did with Constable

Phillips; Sergeant Green is coming around now."

            "If they can still shoot I want your

team assisting the rangers and prepare to pull out," Gregory instructed. "Whether

we detain Devilshade or not, in ten minutes, we're out of here."

            "Yes, sir," returned Johnson.

            "Alright, let's go."

            With that, Gregory and Obsidian

charged back into the house, and began to search for the cellar door, while the

firefight outside raged on.

            ~~~~~

            The steps groaned ominously as

Gregory descended down the ladder leading from the kitchen down into the

cellar; with each step he fully expected the whole ladder to come away from the

wall and spill him onto the floor below. Thankfully, it never did, and he

released a breath he didn't even know he'd been holding when his foot touched

down on the basement floor soundlessly.

            Obsidian descended down the ladder

shortly after, and stood next to Gregory, both of them carrying their handguns

to compensate for the enclosed space of the cellar. In the next room, they

heard gunshots, and could see the gleam of sunlight coming through the door,

telling them that Devilshade was still fighting the I.T.O.U.E gunmen trying to

reach him.

            Obsidian glanced at Gregory. "Think

he's booby-trapped the door?" She asked.

            "If he did, he'd have no way back

into the house, and it'd be his only escape route with those men out there,"

Gregory pointed out, carefully approaching the door and testing it, confirming

it was unlocked.

            He glanced at Obsidian, their gazes

meeting until the two nodded to one another, and she walked behind him, her

pistol aimed past his shoulder as he slowly opened the door; a light squeak of

protest sounded from the hinges, but the sound of gunfire easily drowned it out

in the room beyond

            They spotted Devilshade at the top

of a short flight of stairs, armed with an RPG-7 and his magnum, which he was

shooting at unseen targets outside the cellar doors at the top of the stairs.

He ducked back as a burst-shot of bullets hit the wall above him, and

retaliated with another shot of his magnum. No return-fire came after.

            His gun clicked, and he cursed

loudly before pulling it back and reaching into his coat pocket for more.

Suddenly, one of the I.T.O.U.E gunmen appeared at the cellar door and shot him

in the chest with their modified SMG; the shots sent Devilshade reeling, and he

fell down the stairs, grunting painfully as he hit the floor followed by a

plume of dust upon impact. The attacker took aim to fire again...

            But Gregory was faster. He leapt

into view, took aim with his Beretta, and squeezed the trigger three times in

succession.

            Bangbangbang!!

            The full metal jacket, 9mm rounds in the high-powered pistol punched

clean through the I.T.O.U.E gunmans' armour, all three shots in his centre-mass

torso, and he fell to the ground outside, dead before his body hit the grass.

Obsidian ran up beside Gregory and used her telekinesis to slam the door shut

and slide the bolt into place.

            "That'll buy us a moment," she said.

            Devilshade got back to his feet;

Gregory started to approach him, only for the assassin to turn and aim his

magnum at him again, but Gregory didn't flinch. "You're out of bullets," he

stated.

            Devilshades' eyes met his for a

moment, never lowering the weapon and waiting to see if Gregory bought his

bluff, but the hawk had distinctly heard the click of the revolver; he knew it

was empty, and reloading a gun in the short span of time since he had fallen down

the stairs was impossible, even for someone as fast as Devilshade. Knowing

this, Gregory didn't even raise his own firearm, but Obsidian, standing beside

him, had hers aimed straight for him, her finger on the trigger and her eyes

narrowed.

            Devilshade let his arm drop, the

barrel of the magnum now facing the floor. "Well, Chief Vinson," he said in

defeat. "You've managed to succeed where others have failed and have captured

the most wanted human in all of the west," he added with dark humor, "they

better give you a medal for it."

            "Capturing you was only a second

priority," returned Gregory. "I'm here for the same reason the I.T.O.U.E are."

            "You're here to silence me?"

Devilshade asked.

            "I'm here because you may have

information that can lead us to bringing down the I.T.O.U.E," corrected

Gregory. "If you cooperate, I can make sure your prison sentence is shortened.

If not, then you're facing charges of numerous counts of murder, including of

several politicians and officers of law, espionage and of course, all of your

counts of assault today; that should add up to a total of twenty five years."

            Devilshade grimaced beneath his

hood. "And what is it about them you think I can tell you?" He asked. "How do

you know if I'm involved with them in any way?"

            "Your left arm," replied Obsidian.

"The cybernetics of it match those used in the I.T.O.U.Es' cyborgs."

            "And we have photographic evidence

of you with one of their retrieval teams two years ago, which on that note will

add kidnapping to your growing list of charges," added Gregory.

            "Impressive," said the assassin,

glancing at his arm. "You're right; some of the tech of this arm does belong to

the I.T.O.U.E, and yes... they contracted me to help them apprehend of a highly

dangerous super humanoid two years ago."

            "Highly dangerous?" Gregory echoed,

his face filled with disbelief. "She was a little girl!"

            "I know; that's why I left,"

retorted Devilshade. "Broke the contract, and got out of there before they knew

I was gone. Left a message for Rex too, telling him to go fuck himself; an

assassin I am, but I don't target

children."

            "Then you know where to find him?"

Gregory asked. "Devilshade, you have to tell us how to find the I.T.O.U.E..."

            "I can't," the man interjected. "And

no, it's not because I feel I still owe him any loyalty, or because of some

professional silence. It's because I don't know where they are currently."

            "Currently?" Obsidian repeated.

            "They change bases after every

operation," replied Devilshade. "The only one I saw was the one near Windsor;

if he has one here in Alberta as well, I did not see it."

            Gregory felt his heart sink, and the

chief very suddenly felt heavy. All of this; this operation, the investigation

that led up to it, the fighting back the bile at the thought of turning to a

crime lord for help to find Devilshade, putting the lives of numerous officers

of the law in harms' way to track down one of the most dangerous human beings

in the entire world...

            And it was all for nothing...

            "My god..." he whispered.

            "Chief?" Obsidian asked.

            BOOM!

            The cellar door suddenly exploded,

showering all corners of the room with wooden shrapnel; Gregory cried out as a

searing pain shot up his left leg and he keeled over, looking down at his leg

to see a chunk of wood imbedded in his calf. The sight of it made him want to

retch, but he knew there were bigger things to worry about at that moment as

four figures descended down the stairs.

            Gregory had lost his gun when he'd

collapsed, but Obsidian, miraculously untouched by the previous blast, still

had hers; as the I.T.O.U.E gunmen entered, she shot the nearest one with her

firearm, delivering four shots to his torso; one of them turned to her to

retaliate, but she projected a blast of telekinesis towards him, sending him

flying across the room. However, the first one she shot didn't stay down; his

armour had prevented any of her rounds from landing a kill shot, and he aimed

at her with his MP5, delivering a short burst directly to her stomach.

            Obsidian screamed in pain and fell

onto her back, clutching her stomach where the bullets had hit. She pulled one

hand away, and there was blood; not much, but it meant at least one of the

bullets had penetrated her body armour, and even now she could feel it in her

body, gritting her teeth against the burning agony from her midsection.

            The other two gunmen moved to finish

them off, but one of them jerked as a crackling sound filled the room, and he

dropped to the floor with a pair of wires and metal prongs stuck in his back.

Devilshade, the wires leading from the wrist of his bionic left arm, was up,

and in his right hand he held Gregorys' Beretta. In nine successive shots, he

killed all three of the men; a shadow filled the cellar doorway, prompting him

to aim at the fifth gunman trying to enter. Three shots later, the man fell

down the stairs, his body joining the others.

            Devilshade turned the automatic

pistol about in his hand, noticing the slider was stuck back, revealing an

empty chamber inside. "Not as powerful as my magnum, but for such a low caliber

and large clip, not a bad weapon," he commented before tossing the gun over to

Gregory, the empty beretta hitting the dirt by his leg, and began to walk

towards the cellar door.

            "Wait..." Obsidian called weakly.

            Devilshade glanced over at her. "You

brought this on yourselves, officers," he stated, before callously turning away

from the bleeding dragoness, and ascending the cellar steps, until he vanished

into the daylight beyond.

            "Obsidian," Gregory called to her,

as the hawk rolled onto his front and pushed himself up with his hands,

fighting his way through the burning sensation in his leg. "We... have to get

out of here... now..."

            Obsidian rolled onto her side, and

tried to push herself up with one hand, using her other to keep pressure on the

wound in her stomach to slow the loss of blood. She had little success however,

until Gregory limped to her side and helped her get to her feet, putting her

free arm around the back of his neck. "Can you walk?" He asked.

            "Yeah..." she replied. "Yeah, I can still

walk, but your leg..."

            "It's nothing compared to what will

happen if we don't get away," returned Gregory. "Come on; we have to do this

together." He put on of his arms over her back, evenly distributing their

weight between one another, and made their way over to the cellar steps.

            They climbed out of the cellar and

back into daylight. As they emerged, the revving of a motorcycle filled their

ears, and they saw a sportsbike, with Devilshade in the drivers' seat, speed

past, racing off behind the I.T.O.U.E lines and fleeing into the woods. Several

of the I.T.O.U.E gunmen shouted after him, and broke off their engagement with

the police to pursue, the others shortly following after, except for the

cyborgs they had brought with them.

            They made their way around to the

front of the house; now that the shooting had stopped, and found their fellow

officers, or what were left of them. Two of the park rangers had been killed,

as had Officer Eddison with the SWAT team. Half of the remaining rangers were

wounded, and Rogers, who only now finally had his sight and hearing back, had

still managed to take a shot in the leg, which he was bandaging with gauze at

that moment.

            Rachel, still on the porch and

surprisingly unscathed, leapt over the balcony railing and ran up to the too.

"Are you alright?" She called.

            "We took some hits," replied

Gregory.

            Rachel plucked her radio from her

belt and held it to her muzzle. "Dispatch, this is Alpha 1-0-4; team lead and

Constable K. are severely injured and in need of medical attention. Where are

those EMT's?"

            "Two

minutes out, 1-0-4." The response came.

            But Gregory wouldn't last that long;

not because of his injury, but the realization of how completely fruitless the

entire operation had been. Several officers were wounded, rangers were dead or

dying and in the end, the man they had come to retrieve had escaped. He felt

like he had become hundreds of pounds heavier in an instant as he felt the

burden of his mistake take its toll, sinking to his knees, not even hearing the

voices of his fellow officers as he wept...

            ~~~~~

            Volcan, Pavan and Vinge burst

through the hospital doors and, despite the protests of the nursing staff,

sprinted up the hall to the room where the receptionist at the front desk had

directed them to. Their wings nearly knocked over several staff members as they

bulled their way down the hall until they finally reached the room marked 309.

            Outside stood the familiar light

brown wolf with a two-tone hair colour -front blond and the rest dark brown-

they knew as Rachel Hernandez, the second-in-command of the Canadian UFPD's

first division, second to Gregory himself. With her were Rikyuu, Brent, Ayane

and Tsume, the fore and lattermost of which were seated on the floor, with

Tsume holding Rikyuu comfortingly in her arms as the dragon, seated in a fetal

position, silently wept.

            Volcan strode up to Rachel, panting.

"Is she okay?" He demanded.

            "She'll be alright," assured the

wolf. "The rounds didn't hit anything vital but she lost a lot of blood, and

they're worried her stomach may have been nicked too, so she's still in surgery

for now. But they've assured me she'll be okay."

            "And Gregory?"

            "Physically, all he got was the

worlds' biggest splinter in his leg," replied Rachel. "But... emotionally, I

think his heart may be torn up."

            "Why?" Vinge asked. "Because

Devilshade escaped?"

            "Because he failed," replied Rachel.

"Or so he feels like... He launched a raid on a single target, suspecting but

uncertain the I.T.O.U.E might intervene on it, and not only did he fail to

capture his suspect, his men and several Rangers got pulled into a firefight

they weren't ready for; he's blaming himself for the whole thing."

            "The operation was botched, but not

because of him," Pavan stated.

            "Yeah; the odds of the I.T.O.U.E jumping

in were..." Volcan began, but Rachel interjected.

            "Before we even launched, he

suspected they were coming," she explained. "He wanted to call you and your

friends in to help."

            "Why didn't he then?!" Volcan

demanded, frustrated.

            Rachel looked at Vinge. "To keep him

out of it," she said bluntly.

            "Me?" Vinge asked.

            "Gregory felt that if you were

brought anywhere near some of the I.T.O.U.E's men, you'd get it in your head

one of them would take you to your father," Ayane spoke up, explaining on Rachels'

behalf. "But if you did anything that compromised the operation, it'd be a

violation of the court agreement you and Volcan are both bound to, and you both

would be in jail now."

            "You mean he didn't trust me," Vinge

said, scornfully. "I want to find my father, yes, or at least learn what became

of him, but I'm not a fool; I wouldn't have done anything to negatively affect

the raid!"

            "In situations like that, Vinge, we

couldn't simply take your word for it," returned Rachel. She wasn't her usual,

chipper, wisecracking self, showing that she was just as upset by this defeat

as Gregory was. "And the mayor is throwing a fit too; one officer dead, several

more wounded, suspect got away, and we didn't even manage to capture any of the

I.T.O.U.E members alive; we got one of the cyborgs, and have sent it to a

secret location to be examined, in case the I.T.O.U.E try to get it back

again... not that it'll do any good."

            "Why?" Volcan asked.

            "Devilshade didn't know where to

find the I.T.O.U.Es' base," replied Brent.

            "What?!"

Pavan barked, a little too loudly and prompting two nurses to shush him.

            "Was he telling the truth?" Volcan

asked.

            "Obsidian said she read his mind as

he spoke," replied Rachel. "He wasn't lying; he didn't know where the I.T.O.U.E

are either. In the end... we went through all that effort for nothing; Obsidian and Gregory were

injured fruitlessly, and we're right back where we started, with no further

leads to follow."

            Volcan was mortified...

            Gregory was doing all of this for

him; putting his life and those of his team in danger to stop the I.T.O.U.E, to

protect Volcan, and maybe even to give Vinge the closure he needed. Now the

hawk was in the hospital, emotionally and physically wounded, without being

able to succeed. The phoenix felt sick, sick down to his bones; he didn't feel

like someone like him deserved to have a cities' protectors put themselves in

so much danger and expend so many resources, just to keep the I.T.O.U.E away

from him, and yet they fought on still.

            In his mind, Volcan pictured himself

walking behind a row of Police officers carrying riot shields, forming a wall

between him and a horde of cyborgs outnumbering them three to one, their eyes

dead-set on the phoenix and clubbing every cop in their way as they tried to

reach him, all the while the phoenix didn't even look, didn't even see them

dying for him.

            He gagged.

            The phoenix turned to a nurse

walking past. "Washroom; where is it?" He asked.

            "Up the hall that way, fourth door

on the right," she replied, directing him back the way he had come before,

eyeing him curiously as he turned and hurried away from the others. Even as

Pavan and Ayane called after him, he kept going, nearly tripping over a cart

with medical supplies until he reached the washroom and almost tore the door

clear off it hinges as he pushed it open, not even bothering to turn the lights

on before he sprang over to the toilet, facing into it... and retched.

            The door opened a second later; the

lights came on to reveal Pavan at the door, with Vinge, Ayane and Brent

appearing a moment later. They cringed as they saw Volcan vomit into the toilet

again. Brent left the washroom while the phoenix let out the contents of his

stomach into the toilet; some water splashed onto his shirt, damping his

feathers behind it with a sizzling sound but he didn't notice. Tears streamed

from his eyes after he stopped vomiting, his whole body shaking as he fell away

from the toilet and caught himself with his hands.

            "Volcan..." Pavan said as he stepped

over to his friends' side, kneeling down next to him and putting a hand on his

back. "Dude, what's the matter?"

            "It's all because of me..." Volcan

said. "The UFPD, the Rangers... they're all doing this to protect me, and dying

for it..."

            "Volcan, that's not true," Ayane

argued. "The UFPD is doing its job; they're trying to bring a group of

criminals to justice. It's not just you they're trying to protect, it's

everyone in the city."

            "But the I.T.O.U.E... no, Jacob Rex

is not after them!" The phoenix bellowed, his eyes reddened from the tears

coming from is eyes which, unlike the water that had splashed him before, did

not seem to dampen his feathers at all, or put them out in any way, like they

were some sort of supernatural fluid and not actually water -which, given his

heritage, probably were exactly that.

            Volcan punched the floor with his

hand, cracking the tile he struck with his inhumanoid physical strength. "The

I.T.O.U.E want me; Gregory is doing all this to protect me, to help Vinge get

his father back and to prevent my family from losing me; he doesn't want my

mother to lose her son or my brother to lose his only sibling. It's me the

I.T.O.U.E want and the UFPD is fighting my battles for me while I lounge at home strumming a guitar, sleeping in my

own bed and stuffing my face while people, including one of my own best

friends, bleed for me!"

            He shot to his feet, nearly throwing

Pavan into the wall, but then teetered and began to fall over; Vinge darted

into the restroom and helped Pavan catch him before he hit the wall head-first.

"Whoa, Volcan; take it easy!" Pavan exclaimed.

            "You have to calm down; you're going

to give yourself an anxiety attack," urged Vinge, letting Volcan lean against

him for support. "Slow, deep breaths; steady yourself."

            Volcan slowed his breathing, using

Pavan and Vinge for support while he desperately tried to relax himself. Over

time, he was able to regulate his breathing to a proper level, and stood up on

his own, though Vinge and Pavan stayed at his side in case he relapsed. "Bloody

hell, Volcan; I've never seen you like this before," said the Wind Phoenix.

"I've known you for a long time and you've always been so steadfast."

            "Even I have my limits, it seems,"

admitted Volcan. "I just... I just can't believe that Rex is going to such

lengths, just because he hates beings like me, Vinge, or Pavan. This time he's

targetting me; I don't know why, since there are plenty of phoenixes out there

much stronger than me. But I can't stand by and let others fight my battles for

me; Obsidian and Gregory got hurt, several officers died, and they're no closer

to stopping Rex."

            Brent arrived back, poking his head

into the bathroom and passing Volcan a can of ginger ale. "Here, to help you

settle your stomach, and rinse out your mouth."

            "Thanks," returned Volcan, accepting

the ginger ale from the hyena and pulling on the tab until the can fizzed and

opened. He took a short sip, swishing it around in his mouth for a moment

before he spat it into the toilet, which he noticed he forgot to flush, and did

so after closing the lid, then took a proper drink, knocking back the entire

content of the can and taking a breath once it was empty; as he exhaled a cloud

of steam left his beak, but didn't seem to cause him discomfort.

            "There's only one thing to do now,"

Volcan stated. "In this situation, it's gone beyond what the police are

equipped to handle."

            Vinge looked at Volcan suspiciously.

"What exactly do you plan on doing?" He asked.

            Volcan looked back at Vinge, and at

each of his friends briefly. "What I have to," he replied. "When Rex attacks

again, I'm going to face him and his goon squad head-on. I'm not going to ask

you guys to help me..."

            "But we're going to anyway,"

interrupted Pavan, prompting Volcan to turn his gaze towards the Wind Phoenix.

"You're not facin' this alone, buddy-boy; when someone messes with my pal,

they're getting the business end of my fist." He jabbed playfully at the air

with both fists to emphasize. "When he comes back, I'm gonna be there, I'm

gonna whoop some ass, and I'm gonna make sure those guys go crying for their

mommas for messing with my friend."

            "Count me in too," agreed Brent.

"I've got a little something cooking at home that might prove useful for this."

            "You can count on me as well,"

agreed Ayane. "And though he's not here to say it, I know Rikyuu will help you

as well."

            "You bet he will," a voice called

from outside; Ayane turned her gaze outside, seeing Rikyuu and Tsume standing

nearby. The phoenixes stepped out of the rest room to meet him; his eyes were

still red and mildly puffy from his earlier weeping for Obsidian, but behind

that, he looked steadfast and determined. "The I.T.O.U.E hurt 'Sid, and they're

out to get my friend... I'm not going to let them get away with either."

            "And don't think I'm going to let

you leave me out of the action either," Tsume stated firmly, flashing a wide

grin to Volcan. "I've been itching for some real action, and these guys are

just begging for a knife where the sun don't shine."

            Volcan looked at each of his friend,

fearing for their safety, but feeling more confident at their willingness to

help him. He allowed himself a weak smile. "Thanks guys," he said.

            Vinge stepped forward. "Well, if

we're going to take on an organization like the I.T.O.U.E ourselves, then I'd

suggest we formulate a plan with which to challenge them."

            "Sounds like you've already got

something in mind?" Volcan inquired.

            "I might have some ideas," replied

Vinge. "But to be confident in them, I'll need some information on the

I.T.O.U.E's operational methods." He looked at Volcan and Rikyuu respectively.

"Tell me everything you can; the weapons they carried, those cyborgs they used,

and most especially, the device they used to cancel out your powers."

            End of Chapter 3