For a crime scene, there were remarkably few uniforms present.

Tony Sobczak normally would not be surprised at the lack of force " especially in WestEnd. The RhyDin Watch was stretched thin as it is and investigations originating in what may as well be the ghetto of RhyDin were usually a dead end. But the description his partner had provided him over the phone of the apparent homicide in the warehouse district had given Tony the impression that this one was a little bit more gruesome than the others. That usually meant it merited more attention. And Tony's partner generally had a nose for these things.

Correction. Ex-partner.

"Thanks for coming," Fick's distinctive gravelly voice carried through the black web of piss that RhyDin called rain. It was just another reason Tony hated spring. The weather was like some clingy broad with daddy issues " always coming back to annoy the living hell out of you. What was worse, spring showers often carried with them the stench of mulch, and, in this case, garbage and human remains. The body Fick had asked a consult for had to be close, but the inclement weather and lack of streetlamps would make it difficult to locate " especially this late at night.

"Where is everyone?" Tony asked as he ducked under fluorescent police tape that sagged between plastic barriers. Though he touched nothing, the easel propping up a "CRIME SCENE: DO NOT ENTER" sign toppled over and sprayed the back and hem of Tony's coat with whatever crap was on the street.

The Watch really was cutting back on its budget these days.

"The scene's cold," Fick explained from the other side of a diamond-linked steel fence. "There's a break over here, but you're going to have to use your torch to find it."

Tony's fingers slipped under his beige trench and curled around the hard rod of his flashlight, unclasping it from his belt. He flicked the switch on and oscillated the beam as he followed Fick's voice.

"Where's yours?"

"Outta batteries."

The dim pool of light finally landed on a pair of unmistakable cheap cowboy boots. It skated the pair of legs connected to them and shone brightly onto the stern, scarred overhang of brow that projected over Fick's dull brown eyes. Instinctively his partner raised a claw of a hand to protect what sight he'd left, exhibiting a missing knuckle and countless more burn marks.

Tony grinned. "Well, aren't you pretty."

"F*ck you," Fick grunted through a crack of a smile. The fence grated noisily on concrete as the tower of his shoulder shoved against it, providing Tony enough room to squeeze through.

Once inside, he had a much better view of the building. It was obviously long since neglected, but judging by the cracked appearance of the bricks it was a cheap foreign manufacturer of some kind. Struggling immigrant entrepreneurs often tried to cut corners by skimping on building materials, which meant using slag instead of cement and bricks made primarily of animal dung. It explained the decaying appearance, at least. This close to the pier, moisture and fog were a constant issue. Couple that with poor ventilation and a crappy foundation, and microscopic organic sh*t would eat up that previously organic sh*t with zero warning, leaving gaping material deficits that would soon become construction hazards.

"In here?" Tony asked casually, his solitary beacon searching for some kind of entrance to the place.

?"Round back," Fick corrected, his trunk of an arm pointing his ex-partner in the other direction. Before he could trudge off and lead the way, Tony's hand snapped out and latched onto Fick's canvas sleeve.

"Outside" In the rain" And it's a cold scene" How the f*ck do you expect me to?"

Tony didn't finish the question aloud. His partner knew about his ability, but they had never actively spoken about it. Tony never referred to it directly and Fick never asked why. That was why their partnership worked.

"I covered what I could. I ain't an idiot," Fick grumbled, jerking his arm free. Though the slice in the network of scars that formed his mouth twisted into a scowl, Tony could tell he wasn't offended. Fick always knew how touchy Tony could be about it, and he wasn't upset easily.

"Could've fooled me," Tony shot back with a smirk, earning another grunt from his former partner before he rocked into lead.

"So how's Special Victims treating you?" Fick asked, wiping the constant dribble of rain from his bald, scaly scalp as they hugged the east side of the warehouse, making their way around it. Much good it did him " the water seemed to stick to Fick's head like a swim cap, reminding Tony a bit of a glossy cue ball. At Fick's query, it was his turn to grunt.

"I prefer it when the victims don't talk back." Or whine pitifully back, Tony corrected himself inwardly.

"I'll never understand why you were transferred. You're perfect for homicide."

Fick didn't explain, but Tony knew why. In any other profession Tony might have considered his ability some kind of curse. But he was practical. If he'd had the power to reanimate dead squirrels instead he'd still have found something useful to do with it. And while he wasn't one of those "everything happens for a reason' zealots, he could at least resign himself to the fact that he could do certain things better than someone else could.

The rear of the warehouse was much narrower than the front, but the layout was generally the same. The building construct was simple and quadrilateral, which made the fence easy to follow but difficult to distinguish. Both detectives slowed their progress substantially as the distance between barriers narrowed, hardly permitting enough space for the bear that was his ex-partner and Tony to walk shoulder-to-shoulder " or shoulder-to-arm, as the case was.

"That's it up there," Fick said at last as Tony's flashlight shone on a long spread of tarpaulin that covered a length of fence and several feet of ground. When they reached it, Tony squatted and lifted the tarred canvas from the concrete. As he did so, the pool of water that had collected in its wrinkles spilled off and rushed underneath, washing over the rust-colored stain there.

Tony clucked his tongue. "You're not giving me much to work with, Fick."

"I know it's a long shot," his former partner replied, standing tall behind him to shield him from the rain, which had taken to the breeze quite happily and was content to begin pissing on them from all angles. "But I'm getting nowhere with this one. She was found hanging upside down on this fence. No bite marks, no external wounds of any kind, but the poor thing was covered in blood. Pretty little thing. Blonde. Maybe in her twenties."

Having found nothing usable on the ground, Tony began scanning the links on the fence from the bottom, using the tarpaulin as a makeshift umbrella. "T.O.D.?"

"Maybe five days ago. M.E. said nearly all her intestines were removed through her mouth. Like someone reached in and pulled everything out."

Tony shook his head slowly. Sadly, it wasn't the worst crime he'd ever caught wind of. When his scan of the fence continued to be fruitless, Tony flicked a sideways glance at his partner. "You know, this wouldn't be the first unsolvable murder in WestEnd.?

Riverview Clinic's Chief of Staff felt weariness clear down to her bones while she made her usual rounds. Briefly, she longed for the days when she was on maternity leave, and the full weight of the responsibilities regarding day to day Clinic operations did not rest squarely on her sore shoulders. A soft sigh escaped her lips and she pressed on with grim determination.

"Doctor Valkonan to ER Five! Doctor Valkonan, ER Five! STAT!" The frantic page over the PA system startled Maranya Ergin-Falconne out of her fatigue-induced stupor. She doubled back and hurried toward the emergency room. Once there, her tired hazel eyes noted the organized chaos of activity in the treatment cubicle that centered on a battered and bruised young girl.

"Bozhe moi," she whispered. "Status?"

"The patient, approximately eleven years old, is in critical condition. Multiple contusions over sixty five percent of her body, blunt force trauma, flail chest," the trauma resident stated. "There are signs of? sexual attack as well."

Maranya's face paled visibly, and her jaw clenched against the ocean of curses that threatened to spill forth. "You've done the rape kit, da?" she forced out through gritted teeth while she snapped on latex gloves.

"Just finishing that up, Doctor. The Watch officer who brought her in is waiting outside for it."

"Good. Let's get her stabilized first." Beyond help the svoloch who committed this atrocity".

Maranya entered the surgical locker room and pinched the bridge of her nose between her right thumb and index finger. Then she rubbed at the affected area with that hand's fingertips in a futile attempt to ease the hard nodule of pain that rested just under the skin's surface. A soft sigh of frustration escaped her lips, and she sunk onto one of the benches. Her face dropped into her shaking, blood covered latex gloved hands.

The bastard won. The Beyond damned bastard won!

Her mind relentlessly replayed the events of the past two hours. The frantic Code Blue call over the PA. Barotrauma induced by the ventilator that was supposed to keep the girl alive. Acute atelectasis. All in all, a domino cascade effect that at its irreversible, inevitable end left the innocent victim of a horrible crime dead.

"Doctor Valkonan?"

Maranya's dark blond haired head snapped up at the sound of a female voice. "Da, Janelle?"

"A Watch officer is here about that Jane Doe case"."

And the hits just keep on coming".

Her soft sigh escaped her lips. "Spasibo. Tell the officer that I will be out shortly."

"Of course, Doctor Valkonan."

Once the echo of the nurse's retreating footsteps faded into relentless silence, the Chief of Staff slash Director of Administration rose from the bench. Bloody gloves were snapped off and discarded into one of the hazardous waste bins. She stripped off her blood spattered teal surgical scrubs and forcefully stuffed the balled up fabric into a laundry bin.

The ice cold water spray served to mask the sound of her bitter tears while Ivory soap washed away the visible stains left from the past two hours from her skin. But those stains still marked her soul as she dried off and dressed in a clean set of mint green scrubs.

Maranya squared her too sore from fatigue shoulders and left the relative sanctuary of the locker room to confront the Watch officer. Reddened hazel eyes widened when she saw who waited there to gather the information.

"Bozhe moi. I never expected it to be you."

The examiner seemed to take affront to Tony's vulture-like orbit around the titanium stretcher. "Excuse me, sir. Can I help you?"

When Tony didn't respond, Maranya spoke up. "Everything is all right, Matt. This is Detective Sobczak. He's here for the preliminary report."

"I haven't even begun yet," Matt replied, shooting a glare at Tony as the detective snapped on a pair of latex gloves, lifted one of the girl's stiff wrists and turned it over. There were serious ligature marks around them, and judging by the extensive bruising and discoloration they had been given time to heal and re-heal before they were renewed. That meant the girl had been a prisoner, and for a while by the looks of it. Since the time of death was so recent, the chance at finding out where she'd been held captive was fair. But as Tony's gloved fingers skated the girl's skin, he closed his teeth against a curse or six.

God damn him. He cleaned off every single trace of blood.

From the other side of the room, the examiner's tone piqued. "Detective, I ask that you do not move the body. Seeing as I'm the medical examiner, I will be happy to supply you with?"

Oh hell no. That pompous prick did not just pull the authority card on him.

"Would you give me a minute, please?" interrupted Tony calmly, pointedly looking at the Chief. "I can't think with all this f*cking drivel." Despite his scathing retort, Tony appeared to remain the paragon of composure " much like the Chief herself. His brown eyes darted back to the examiner coolly, whose upper lip was curled.

"Now look here, buddy?"

Buddy' Tony stood upright slowly and placed his hands on his hips, giving the M.E. a good look at the badge on his belt and the underarm holsters beneath his trench coat.

"Matt, let's go get some coffee, da?" the Chief finally said, hitting a button on the wall that elicited a loud hiss and whoosh from the door as it slid open. When Tony smelled the humidity in the hallway, he suddenly became aware that the autopsy room must have been negative pressure.

Riverview must have really had funding out the as*.

Much to the M.E.'s consternation, he was escorted out of the room. To Tony's surprise, the Chief went with him. With that amount of trust, she was either incredibly perceptive or incredibly stupid.

That was the reason he hated most women. They were usually impossible to read.

Not wasting any time, Tony peeled off one of his gloves and plucked a scalpel off the instrument tray. After a cursory scan of the victim's body, he found a row of eight stitches closing a temporal laceration just above the hairline.

Years ago, Tony would have considered what he was about to do barbaric. But he reconciled himself with the fact that it was not nearly as barbaric as letting this son of a b*tch get away.

With careful precision, he cut through the first four stitches and coaxed the wound back open. The skin was inelastic and almost rubbery, reminding him a bit of wet leather. When no blood oozed, Tony popped one more stitch with the scalpel, and used his gloved fingers to pinch the sides of the wound and squeeze gently. As the viscous humor finally reached the seams, he discarded the scalpel on the same tray and flexed his right fist.

He only had a minute or two until the Chief and that as*hole came back. He'd better make this quick.

Without missing a beat, Tony pressed his bare fingers fast to the oozing wound. The connection hit him in the head like a lead pipe.

"Make it quick."

It is too dark to discern anything, but I can feel the vibrations. Where I am is small. Confined. It seems to be carpeted. I hit my head again. And again. I am being tossed around in this place like a ragdoll. The trunk of a car, maybe?

I don't care as long as it is all over soon.

I can breathe again. My hair is coming out of my head. I'm being dragged by it.

The world turns. I can't make out the time. The image shifts before I can make sense of it.

"Open your mouth, you dirty little slut."

I gag. I can't breathe.

"You like that, don't you? I'll bet you dream of doing this to me."

I taste blood. Screaming.

"You f*cking little b*tch!?

My ears ring just before I hear a loud cracking noise.

And like a little girl cries in the face of a monster that lives in her dreams Is there anyone out there 'cause it's getting harder and harder to breathe*

Rachael's cellphone sharply flipped closed after her call to her current partner. Her black leather gloved hand's grip on the piece of electronic equipment tightened until her enhanced hearing alerted her to the warning cracks of its casing. Breath left her too stern lips in a soft rush, and she finally relaxed her hold on the cell. The device was slipped into an inside trenchcoat pocket.

The Watchwoman's bootheels echoed behind her with her military precise stride down the cobblestone path of her usual rounds around that portion of the city. Sunlight reflected off of the nearby storefront windows and the dark lenses of her Lunar gray Gargoyles. Her protected sapphire hued gaze swept over her surroundings with mechanical precision.

Why do you work for the Watch" That was the first question that most people asked Rachael when they learned that she was indeed an officer of the law. Because I protect the innocent and make a difference, she would answer the person truthfully, with slight variations in the wording.

But there was another, deeper reason. One that was literally engraved both in her genetic coding and the synapses of her brain. The Watchwoman was an officer of the law because she was designed that way in a genetics laboratory in Plattsburg, New York. Delicate manipulation of the genetic code in both sperm and egg allowed her designer, Kieran Halloran, to select the precise traits that would make the woman who would later become Rachael Wynter an unstoppable, efficient Enforcer of the law. Relentless training by her employers from menarche until her legal majority was reached completed the process.

I have the tendency of getting very physical So watch your step 'cause if I do you'll need a miracle*

There were many times that she was grateful for such training, as it saved a number of lives, including her own. . And there were other times that it was a curse, not a blessing.

Like the other night".

Rachael stopped in her tracks and studied her warped reflection in a smoky storefront window.

I wonder if Dyarhk fully grasps the significance of what actually happened in the ring at the Outback. When the rogue part of my brain takes over, I am fully capable of killing someone quickly, efficiently, and completely without remorse.

Her gloved hands clenched and unclenched into fists a few times. If he had not snapped me out of that state".

Despite the diamond and turquoise Key that rested over her heart under her black leather trenchcoat, her breath caught in her throat, and forced itself out with difficulty.

Grimly, the scarred woman in black continued on the rounds that would occupy her time until her eventual meeting with that b"tard of a partner.

And like a little girl cries in the face of a monster that lives in her dreams Is there anyone out there 'cause it's getting harder and harder to breathe*





*Lyrics, Harder to Breathe, Maroon 5

"Nah, I'm just gonna go," he replied, giving his ex-partner a casual slant of a smile. "Watch your six, Fick."

"Safe driving, wifey," the bear of a man called after him as the double doors swung shut.

As he wandered to his precious POS sedan, Tony passively kept an eye on a group of punk teenagers that were watching him from across the street. For a Watch precinct, Tony had to admit that the parking lot was embarrassingly unprotected. The whole building was relatively unprotected, for that matter. It was difficult to get out of, but the prison itself was pretty damn easy to break into. Just more proof how much stock RhyDinians placed in organized law enforcement.

The smoke from his cigarette made a steam-like cloud behind him as he unlocked the driver's side door, watching over the hood as two of the teens made obscene gestures at him.

"The f*ck you lookin" at, pig?" one of them called out. "See something you like?"

Wordlessly Tony dropped his cigarette on the concrete and slid into the sedan's bucket seat. It took three tries, but finally the ignition turned over. He pulled out into the street just in time to get a charming look at the patch of pubes one of the teens was flashing him.

"Please, Daddy, no!"

He slammed on the brakes, shaking violently as images of a bloody baseball bat and white-hot pain raced through his mind.

My legs are bloody and broken. When the bat comes down again, I feel all of the air being forced out of my lungs. I can't scream anymore. I'll pretend I can still scream. Oh, god, make it stop.

Jesus Christ. Not another echo.

"You want some more of this, pig" Come out and I'll give you a taste," catcalled the little punk from the sidewalk, wagging his flaccid, puny piece of equipment at Tony from only a few feet away. His friends were eying him through the driver's side window warily, and when one of them touched the grip of a pistol jutting out the front of his pants, Tony lead-footed the gas.

That had been a delightfully convenient time to relive a victim's death. While echoes were an unfortunate side effect of his gift - often replaying the murders over and over in his head months or years after the actual crime " they usually became more frequent when he was stressed out or exhausted. In this case, the effect was predictably compounded. Worse, the echo had been of her murder, which meant that if he became any more strung out he'd probably snap in half.

As they say, misery loves company.

In the old days he would drown out the atrocious crimes with an unhealthy amount of Jack. But since that fatal mistake with her and his successive sobriety, he had to find more creative ways to get rid of tension.

The way into central WestEnd was driven practically with muscle memory. It was ironic, being a cop, that Tony felt most at home in the seediest districts of the city. Gunfire hardly even startled him anymore. Probably yet another side effect of how mercilessly Insight f*cked with his dreams.

Light from an upcoming streetlamp filtered through the fog at him as he rounded a corner and eased off the accelerator. Up ahead around six girls and women of varying ages were clustered, most scantily dressed or weighed down with filthy, fake furs. It took some effort to make out their faces in the dark, but when he saw the one he wanted, he flashed his headlights twice.

A leggy blonde glanced in his direction at the signal almost instantly, her saunter far too practiced to betray any excitement or dread " the latter of which was likely rather prevalent in her line of work. When Tony rolled down his passenger window, she folded her slender arms and poked her head inside.

"Back again, Detective?" she asked, the over-zealous lip-liner smeared on making her cherry red smile far too broad for her face.

"Feel like going for a ride?" Tony didn't wait for a response to reach across the seat and let her in. The piece of sh*t only opened from the inside.

Fake satin made a hiss as the woman slid sensuously in, all bones and breasts beneath the loose overhang of a red thrift store party dress. Out of habit she leaned over and gave Tony a peck on the cheek. "Job kicking your a*s, I take it?"

"Something like that." His hands slowed their trembling as he felt a hand on his crotch. "Where to this time?"

The hand squeezed, making him shudder. "Surprise me, stud."

Tony hardly made it to the parking lot a block away before his passenger had unbuckled his belt and had her lips on his neck. Once he put the sedan in park and reclined his seat, she climbed over and captured his mouth in a kiss. She paused her efforts only briefly, taking a few seconds to scrunch her dress up to her waist. "One fifty," she informed him casually.

Tony nodded, but gave the woman a wry, amused look. "You raising the rates on me, Sugar?" While he didn't often make a point of getting to know them, much less their names, Sugar had become a guilty pleasure of his and one of the very rare exceptions.

"Not me," she replied, climbing over to straddle his lap as if it were second nature. It probably was. "Big Daddy's gettin" greedy. Any girl what don't come back more"n even loses a finger."

"That would become a problem, I imagine, in your line of work," Tony replied dispassionately. He had tried multiple times to convince Sugar to find someone else to answer to, but unfortunately "Big Daddy' Drell was the lesser of the evils.

"You want head first, baby?" she asked nonchalantly as she unzipped his pants. "On me. I'll treat ya "cause you a handsome SOB."

Just as Tony was about to rise to the occasion, his pocket started singing.

"Oh, f*ck me," he grumbled, reaching for his phone.

"I was getting to that part," Sugar informed him with a sultry wink.

His eyes took a while to adjust to the dim light on the cell's screen. It was a text message from Wynter.

Jane Doe. 18-20. Elm St, Marketplace. TOD 36 hrs.

Thirty-six hours dead. That didn't leave him much time for a clear read.

"Sorry, baby. Maybe next time," Tony mumbled regretfully, giving the hooker's a*s an appreciative squeeze. For her time, at least, he afforded her a fifty from his wallet.

She took the money without hesitation and grinned, dismounting him. "Come back anytime, baby. I'll give ya a freebie next time, yeah?" A pink bubble suddenly grew over her lips and burst. He didn't even realize she had been chewing gum.

"Sure thing. Watch your fingers," Tony remarked humorlessly as she opened the car door and slid out. She giggled, wiggling all ten of them at him before she shut the door and sauntered away.

"Please, Daddy. Please, no!"

Tony's hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel as he forced himself to focus on the road.

If he got lucky, seeing this one's murder would help him forget hers.

But chances were, that would never happen.

Well. It was slightly more crowded than the last actual crime scene he visited.

"Identification, sir?" asked a Watch in his blues as Tony used his elbows as cattle prods to access the crowd. Most of the gaggle hovering around the barrier of police tape stunk of estrogen " mothers on their way to dropping kids off at daycare, probably. And there was nothing bored housewives loved more than scandal.

To corroborate his thoughts, one of the ladies spoke up.

"That could have been me," said a brunette with lines on her forehead. "I passed that woman on my way home!"

Some people needed a hobby.

The Watch patrolman nodded absently as Tony flashed his badge and ducked under the tape, far too preoccupied with keeping the quacking attention hounds at bay. Despite the isolated location of the body, they had sure found it in a hurry. They, of course, being the pair of faint spinsters an EMT was fanning not several feet from the body that was slowly but surely losing the attention of yawning officers. By then it was about six thirty in the morning; the drive had taken a little longer than usual when his POS sedan's engine had stalled out on the South Bridge. After some effort he'd gotten it started again, but only after a vampire in a hurry had made his life difficult by denting his rear bumper. Twice.

Maybe Tony's comment had rubbed him the wrong way. But in his personal opinion, those pale f*ckers could do with a little sunlight.

As he reached the body, Tony put a lighter's tongue to the end of a cigarette dangling from his lips. He took special care not to ash the smoke onto his partner's head as he came up behind her.

"What do we got?" he asked, inwardly patting himself on the back for playing the stereotypical detective role.

Rachael stiffened at the sound of that Brooklyn accent immediately behind her. Black leather gloved fingertips made a cursory swipe along the left side of her face. She executed a smooth pivot turn to face her partner. "What we have, is another victim that quite possibly fits the profile of the other cases we have been working on."

"Yes, I can see that," Tony mumbled as he popped a squat beside Wynter and fished a pair of latex gloves out of his trench pocket. "M.E. O.K. moving the body?" he asked her as the rubber gave two loud snaps " one for each hand.

"Oui. They have done their evidence gathering. The reports will be filed back at the Eleventh once they are processed." There was a fant edge of strain to her words, while her sunglass shielded sapphire eyes watched Tony snap on those protective gloves.

"It looks like?" His thoughts were cruelly interrupted by a femininely-charged uproar yards behind him. As he looked over his shoulder, he gathered that one of the witnesses who had found the victim had fainted" again. Biting into the cigarette filter with his molars, Tony made a sharp gesture at the cop policing the tape.

"Joe, will you get them out of here" We've got work to do!" Civilians. While the Watch officer went through the motions of herding the onlookers elsewhere, Tony inhaled pungent smoke deep into his lungs and re-regarded the body. "It looks like blunt force trauma," he observed, gently turning the woman's head. Her skull was a damn eggshell that had been cracked over the side of a bowl. "Some kind of narrow object. Maybe a crowbar or a tire iron?"

"Oui, that is my estimate also. Multiple strikes. Which suggests rage, rather than the intent to render the victim unconscious before the perpetrator how do you say, got down to serious business." Her stern lips flatlined. "This stronzo needs to be put down, like the rabid dog that they are."

Those shielded sapphires focused on a distant point, rather than on the victim's body, or the man who knelt beside.

Tony's eyes ticked slowly over to the patterns of sprayed blood on either sides of them " first on the the butcher's back door, then on the dumpster to their left.

"He did it here," he noted, pointing to the artistically gruesome mists of red. "Blood splatter is consistent. Blues didn't find the weapon?"

"Non. Perhaps the stronzo kept it, as a souvenir. Or it is something that they use every day, and would not be easily replaced. Unique perhaps. The victim was not of any use to them, so they were left behind."

Rachael's shielded gaze took in the pattern of dried blood.

?" Here's something," he mumbled after he pulled up the woman's sleeve. Her wrists were bruised and discolored just like their first victim, giving more credibility to the perceived relationship between crimes, but as Tony's fingers smoothed out the soft skin in the crease of her elbow he noticed a tight group of puncture marks. "What do you make of this" User, maybe?" A drug deal gone bad, perhaps. But then that wouldn't explain the growing number of victims" that was, unless their dealer was a particularly sadistic son of a b*tch.

She stepped closer to the body, and knelt down to regard this piece of new evidence. Sunglasses were removed, and her eyes narrowed briefly to readjust to the change in lighting before she studied the marks closely. "Non, the pattern is....too close for someone who uses. It resembles the mark made by one of those pressure injectors."

Well damn it if that wasn't ridiculously f*cking helpful. One way or another, they wouldn't know the pockmarks' origin until they got her body back to autopsy.

As he eyed the congealed blood on the victim's scalp, Tony felt his fingers itch. It had already been over forty hours since her blood memory had begun to decay, which only gave him a tiny window of opportunity to glean any important details with Insight.

One thing was for sure, at least. He could not do it with her here.

"Gimme a minute," Tony mumbled, plucking the cigarette out of his mouth and grinding it onto the pavement. Out of habit he pocketed the butt.

Rachael's unshielded gaze turned away from the body. There was a faint catch of her breath in her throat as once again she was reminded of what would never be. "Oui....certainment."

Unrolling and snapping his gloves off at the wrists, he regarded Rachael critically. "Alone," he added, his eyes intently on his partner. She could think he was dismissing her so that he could have his way with the body; he didn't care. Just as long as she took that pert a*s of hers elsewhere.

"Oui. I need....Air." She executed a swift pivot turn, and military precise strides quickly took her away from the immediate crime scene. The Watchwoman ducked under the yellow tape. Her gaze focused off into the distance, past the crowd of morbid thrill seeking onlookers. Breaths were forced out through the tightness in her throat and chest.

As his partner tuck-tailed and ran, Tony didn't wait to sink his fingers into the four-inch bone-riddled laceration in her skull.

He felt like a f*cking vulture.

"You goddamn FAILURE!" I hit the dumpster and crumble. "Do you have any idea what they're going to do to me"! You f*cking b*tch! You're a worthless f*cking b*tch!" I see black shoes. Bloody slacks. As white hot pain breaks into one side of my head, those pants become bloodier. There is ringing. More ringing. And more ringing. God damn it; he thought he put his phone on silent. As he came to, Tony was surprised to find that he was hunched over the body, and despite the fact that heat didn't often bother him " one of the reasons he rarely, if ever, removed his trench coat " beads of sweat were rolling off the tip of his nose and contaminating the integrity of the crime scene. Or, more accurately, the integrity of the body. Had that been the extent of Insight' Even for a forty-hour window, that had been pretty brief. Still, Tony couldn't risk trying again just yet, especially given the annoying amount of tremors that were currently neatly racking his body. Jesus Christ. He felt like he was coming down off of something. Usually the tail end of Insight left him feeling strung out and nervous. After being hit by a bus. Being nervous about being hit by a bus, maybe. But there was something much more" chemical about this bout of shakes. They felt way too real to be normal. Fft. Normal. As he made a mental note to order a tox screen on the victim's blood, Tony barely managed to pull his phone out of his pocket. When the foreign Riverview doctor's name blinked at him " worsening his headache, for sure " he bellowed his partner's name over his shoulder. Rachael smoothly turned at the sound of her name, laced with that oh so charming Brooklyn accent. The heat or cold never seemed to bother her, either. Yet her gloved fingertips appeared to merely trace her facial scar, and wipe away what looked like sweat to the untrained eye.

The phone sang annoyingly in his hand as he leaned back on his haunches and held it up at his partner. "I have a feeling it's for you."

"Oui?" She ducked back under the tape, and moved with that unnatural grace to take the cell from Tony. "Detective Wynter." She managed to keep her words calm and neutral, despite the roiling she felt in her stomach and heart.

Her jaw tightened and the facial scar began its seismic twitching while she listened to the Chief of Staff on the other end. "Merde. We will be there at once. Merci." Those naked sapphires flicked to Tony. "We have another victim at Riverview. Alive."

Her gaze flicked past her partner, presumably before he saw too much there. The sunglasses were slipped back on to armor them just in case.

Tony inwardly silenced himself before he cursed out loud. It wasn't that Tony had a problem with crying women" well, he did" but the reason he had done so well in homicide had to do with the fact that his gift was only ever effective when his victims were much more" silent. Insight was only ever useful when blood memory had begun decomposing. Any time before then and there would be way too much information available to make any rational sense of. After all, the one time he actually tried using his gift on a live target' Well" In a few words he caught up very well on his sleep. Despite his internal censor, Tony couldn't help but utter a, "Perfect' as he used the dumpster to get back up. Casually he withdrew and tossed his partner his keys. "You're driving." "Oui." Sapphires widened subtly behind those dark lenses as her gloved hand snatched the keys out of the Air in a blur of movement. Perhaps she would mark this day on the calendar as the day her partner finally lost his mind. Allowing her to drive his precious POS vehicle" Madness, surely.

Damn it all. How f*cking compartmentalized did a hospital have to be?

Already ten minutes had passed and Tony found himself fruitlessly wandering around the Riverview basement with every futile intention of locking himself in autopsy. Sure, he had disclosed to the blonde doctor that his designs had pointed him in the lab's direction, but truthfully it would benefit him far more when he spent his thinking time by himself without the threat of interruption. Besides, he and autopsy had a special kind of relationship " just like he did with death.

It was probably a testament to mankind's morbid denial of mortality that these places were always so hard to find. Morgues and human fridges were so often kept blissfully out of sight " tucked away or disguised with pretty colors to blend into their surroundings. It was a passive attempt at mankind to forestall the inevitable. A pathetic game of pretend so that when Uncle Bob chokes to death on his own vomit and his intestines bloat up with bacterial excrement we can still paint his face to look like he's smiling. We can put him in a box and hide him in the ground, all the while thinking that he's taking a nap, and that the coffin will never collapse and maggots and beetles won't turn that smiling face into hamburger meat. What people don't realize is, sequester or pretty up one's expiration all you want, in the end we all go to the worms.

Tony's gift of Insight had taught him to accept death as a beautifully cruel inevitability. He never liked it, but having access to that small window of passing always brought him some kind of disgusting, cynical enlightenment as to the human condition. A person's final minutes or seconds were always a treasure and torture to experience; they were a d"nouement, a testament to the victim's life. The sh*tty plot of a too-short foreign film with erroneous subtitles desperately trying to wrap up in some kind of resolve in those scant seconds before you went braindead from lack of oxygen. Those were the seconds that were supposed to have mattered. It was just a f*cking shame that the only seconds Tony got to experience were only ever mottled with fear and pant-pissing panic.

Mortals liked to pretend death didn't exist. Put it away in a box to think about on a day that would never come. Locked it in a closet so that they didn't have to look at it. But Tony knew which closets to look in; and that's exactly how he finally found the autopsy room.

When he cracked open the door, he found it blissfully empty of Mr. Necrophiliac the M.E., who Tony amused himself with imagining taking too much pleasure in palpating a corpse's chest and pelvic cavities. It wasn't that he minded people who mouthed off to him. It was that he minded people who thought they knew more about death than he did.

It was like that annoying age-old complaint of women. You can't ever know what it's like until you go through it yourself.

"So what?s it going to be?" Tony asked himself as he carefully snapped open the clear evidence bag he'd in hand and dumped its contents onto the stainless steel examination table in the middle of the room. Squatting down, he lowered himself until he was eye level with the measly, stained wads of fabric. "You gonna tell me something to help me catch this son of a b*tch?"

It was a stupid f*cking idea, he knew. The only reason Insight ever worked was the amount of information he perceived from the connection was only ever enough to be able to successfully interpret in that short amount of time. Performing a read on the deceased was a bit like paging through tabloids and gleaning noteworthy details. But trying to do a read on the living was not only nearly impossible; it was dangerous.

If using a dead sample for Insight was like paging through a tabloid, then reading from a living one was like having an encyclopedia thrown at your head. The fact was a human life " however brief " simply accumulated too much memory to be able to access accurately all at once. It would be like watching A Clockwork Orange in extreme fast-forward with the sound off and trying to make sense of it. Moreover, the amount of firing that your neurons did with that amount of information could at the least cause violent headaches, and at the worst permanent brain damage.

"I f*cking hate this assignment," Tony grumbled. Without thinking, he covered a rusty patch of blood on the victim's shirt with his palm.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

Instead of being grounded in the victim's shoes as he always was, Tony felt himself tumbling through a chaotic whirlwind of screaming thoughts and moments. Every single one of them rocketed by before his eyes could even adjust, making him taste metal and his focus blur until all he saw was black-and-white static. Still, he wasn't grounded; felt like he was tossed around in the car of some horrible carnival ride or grabbed by the ankle and roped around like a lasso. He couldn't even accumulate enough force to form real regret.

At least Tony could console himself with the fact that if he died there in autopsy, MacGyver Matt would certainly have a literal ball fondling his rotting junk.

Steeling his resolve, Tony reached for something. He didn't know what it was, but he knew he'd latched onto something when he felt his inner id stretch like drawn-out silly-putty. Insight pulsed, and when it did it brought with it blinking images that reminded him of an old film footage reel.

Screaming. These things always started out with screaming.

"Don't let them see you cry, Moira."

I can't help it. I feel my eyes sting.

"I don't want to die, Moll."

She doesn't say anything. I know that she knows that she can't promise I won't. That they locked us in the same cell tonight even proves that they're probably going to get rid of one of us. And judging by the way my arm is useless where they injected it, it's probably going to be me.

When she looks at me, I know Molly knows it too.

"Mom and Dad will take care of you until I get there. Then we can all be together again."

It sounds nice. But even so, I don't want to die. I know that Molly doesn't either. So when I start screaming and beating my fist against the glass, she doesn't try to stop me.

I can't be here. I have to get out.

It wasn't like getting hit with an encyclopedia. It was like getting nailed in the head with about ten encyclopedias.

When Tony's thoughts came back to him, they were in bursts ? like the kind of disorientation one felt after being too close to a frag when it went off. Actually, that was exactly what it felt like - right down to the blood he tasted in his mouth and the way his skull pounded against the cold autopsy floor.

As he tried to sit up, Tony would have gladly traded the worst four hangovers he had for how he was currently feeling. One of his eyes continually skated and scanned the spotted tile beneath him while the other remained stubbornly stagnant, giving him a disgusting feeling of being unbalanced. After some time spent focusing and refocusing he finally was able to discover where the stains on the floor had come from; they matched the long red stripe down his shirt that led all the way up to his dripping nostrils.

Fan-f*cking-tastic. Well, it wasn't like he looked presentable to begin with, anyway.

With some effort Tony brought his wrist up into his line of sight and noted the time. Christ Jesus; it had already been an hour and ten minutes.

Haphazardly wiping up the mess on the floor and scooping the evidence back into the evidence bag, Tony staggered to his feet and felt his way back to the elevator.

He didn't know what he saw or how he could use it, but he did know one thing: Wynter's time was up.

At the sound of rapping knuckles on the door, Rachael's singing quickly faded off. After a brief swipe at her eyes with her gloved fingertips, she continued to hold the child close, to keep her feeling comforted and safe.

Her partner didn't wait to let himself in, obtrusive as it was. He was casually buttoning his trenchcoat up to his neck as he closed the door behind him, and when he turned around he remained silent. Completely silent, save for his eyes. His eyes spoke and asked volumes " namely if she had made any headway with the victim in her arms.

Those unshielded sapphires met his deep browns without flinching, and she dipped her raven haired head in response. "I have a description of the stronzo." Her ungloved fingers resumed their stroking of the girl's hair. Tony's surprise was curbed the instant it reached his face. Wynter got a confession out of a hysterical juvenile" Wynter" Of all people" Somehow the root of his disbelief was soothed with an image of the scarred woman hypnotizing or using some other extraordinary means on the girl. Anything but compassion. Christ. This broad wouldn't exhibit an animated response if someone played This Little Piggy on her toes with a sledgehammer. Still. If she'd gotten a description, maybe they had a chance. Expectantly Tony ventured bedside as he whipped a pen and pad out of his trench pocket. He bent over just so that his ear was level with his partner's lips, and as she told him the suspect's description his pen scrawled across the page in nonsensical chicken scratches. As the exchange took place, their witness only stared into vital oblivion, likely traumatized all over again from having to recall such abhorrent details. "Missing a finger?" Tony repeated once his partner had finished her verbal report, almost wondering if he had heard her correctly. "Oui. And mean eyes." She demonstrated that feature by sharply narrowing her own eyes for Tony to study. All the while stroking the girl's hair to keep her centered and grounded on this plane of existance. "Petit is very brave."

The girl seemed to behave as if neither of them were there. As a matter of fact, she behaved as if she weren't there. Though Wynter's ingenuity had been relatively effective, Tony had to admit that with only a generic suspect description " amidst the thousands upon thousands of RhyDinians matching almost the exact same " their situation was royally f*cked without a general location of the crime. "Moira," Tony addressed her using a soft voice of his own. That he knew her name didn't seem to surprise her or his partner. A guy couldn't get any credit for being inventive all on his own, could he" Her pretty green eyes swung his way but held none of her attention. "Moira, this is important," he insisted mildly. "Can you remember anything about where you were when this happened" Where you might have been beforehand?" She only gazed back at him emptily before dropping her forehead onto Rachael's shoulder. "Petit, I promise that you are safe with me. Can you tell me where you first saw those mean eyes?" Her words held none of the razor sharp venom that she usually wielded with relish against her partner. Rather, they reminded one of someone calming down an out of control horse. Soothing. The illusion was further reinforced by that gentle stroking of lank dark blond locks.

When Moira only shook her head pitifully, mumbling disjointed, apathetic I don't knows, Tony pressed forward and even dared to touch her arm. That was a big damn mistake. All at once the girl started shrieking again, fighting against Wynter's hold in a desperate attempt to kick and flail out at Tony wildly. Mumbling less apathetic words of his own the detective leapt back, holding his five-inch spiral notepad in front of him like the effective shield that it was. Conveniently he found himself using it to guard his crotch. It wasn't the size that counted. "Moira!" he shouted over her shrieking, ducking swinging fists and feet while his partner struggled to wrestle her back into calm.

"Petit, he will not hurt you." Rachael suffered the whirlwind torrent of blows and kicks that would leave even more bruises to be dealt with later. "Shh. Petit." Either she forgot that her callous partner was still present, or she didn't care if he heard. All that mattered was this fragile, broken child in her arms. Nevertheless, those soft words of that French nursery song left her lips while she held on to the tormented girl and let her rage.

The shrieking had done wonders for the splitting headache Tony had been combating since autopsy, and he felt his patience and his toleration wearing extremely thin. Every alternate thought he had to remind himself that this little girl was a victim, and not merely a screaming banshee unleashed by the mighty god Fukkyu (who also went by Gofukuself) sent specifically to him to make his life difficult. However he was going to reach the girl, it would have to be on a personal level. And that was when he remembered what he'd seen. "Moira," Tony pleaded through clenched teeth as he witnessed his partner receive a sharp elbow in the ribs and passively sympathized. "Think about Molly." At once the girl went still, regarding both detectives with wide, worried eyes. Bingo. "We can find her," Tony insisted, shooting a look at his partner asking her to play along, even though she probably didn't know what the hell he was talking about. "We can help her. But I need you to remember where you were when this happened to you." "Oui, petit. We can find Molly. But you have to help us. Be brave, like I know you can, petit. For Molly." Her ribs and arms ached from the onslaught of blows from the girl. But she would endure far worse, to make sure that the stronzo was brought to justice. Not her sort, unfortunately. Were she able to, Rachael would let the rogue part of her brain loose and let the CSTs try to put the jigsaw puzzle of what remained back together for an autopsy. That much was clear, if her partner dared to look into her eyes.

Something in Moira's demeanor suggested surrender. "I-it was dark...." she mumbled at last, clutching to Rachael's sleeve like she was drowning and it was a life preserver. "I remember," her breath hitched, "I remember a giant clam." Tony couldn't help it. His eyebrow lifted skeptically. A clam" "What clam, Moira?" Tony asked. Psychology 101. If you want to establish a personal relationship with the victim, use their name. Constantly. "Was it an actual clam' A statue of a clam' A picture of a clam?" "It was" I don't know," she whined, turning her face into Rachael's sleeve again. Tony had to physically prevent himself from groaning. When he said her name again, practically pleading it, she only burrowed deeper into his partner's clothing, mumbling more I don't knows. Maybe it was time to say a prayer to Fukkyu.

"You were hungry when you saw that clam, oui, petit' Like a restaurant' Or was it pretty, like a jewelry shop" Sparkly?" Her vocal tones remained that soothing almost croon while she spoke to Moira. Bare fingertips smoothed down the girl's tousled hair.

"It was" sparkly," Moira admitted slowly, lifting her head up and furrowing her brow in thought. "Really sparkly. There was a lady inside." In that ever-calculating noggin of Tony's an idea suddenly sparked. "The lady was inside the clam?" Tony suggested, knowing full well that one of the worst things a detective could do was put words in a victim's mouth. But seeing as the victim's words were getting them nowhere, and he had a certain idea in mind" Sometimes these things paid off. And when Moira gave Tony a doe-eyed nod, he was torn between kicking his heels, sighing in relief, and throwing something and cursing " also in relief. "Thank you, Moira," was all he said after that before spinning on his heel and heading back for the door, leaving his partner with two arms full of trouble. "Merci, petit." Rachael's lips flatlined when Tony started for the door. "I am going with you, Monsieur." Her lips brushed the top of Moira's head. "You need to rest now, petit, and let the doctor look after you. She is a very good friend, and will take good care of you."

"Please," Moira begged Rachael earnestly as she reluctantly let go. "Don't let Molly die." "I will not let it happen, petit." Another brush of her lips was given to the girl's forehead before she eased her back into the bed and tucked the covers around the too tiny girl. "Rest now." Her measured strides took her to the door and her partner.

One uncomfortably silent ride and car full of smoke later, Tony was surprised that Wynter was the first one to speak.

"You are mistaken, Monsieur," she crooned matter-of-factly. "From what I can see, this area is, how do you say, exceptionally "lady-friendly.?"

As he pulled his POS sedan over to the curb on that infamous street in WestEnd, Tony hoped soundlessly that his partner wasn't the white knighting type. If she intended to emancipate every one of the hookers hanging out on that corner, then they were in for a long night and a friendly visit from Big Daddy Drell " a social call that Tony wouldn't particularly look forward to, seeing as the last time left Tony with a broken nose and a laundry list of new expletives to use at a later date. People on the street always did come up with the best slang.

"Keep your cuffs in your pocket, will you?" he warned Wynter as he flashed his headlights twice, encouraging his favorite long-legged dame to scurry over. She was wearing purple tonight, and Tony had to admit that for a hooker it was pretty hot " and not in that sleazy, clothesless kind of way. It was some kind of shiny thing that hugged her in all the right places, and for a split second Tony regretted two things: Firstly, that he agreed to bring the ball and chain along; and secondly, that he hadn't visited the ATM beforehand.

Rachael only gave him a nod in the affirmative when Sugar's knuckles rapped against her window. Obligingly, his partner rolled it down. When the blonde noted a passenger within the vehicle, she donned the most impish smile and propped her chin up in her hand as she rested against the car's frame.

"Gettin" kinky are we, baby?" she asked, her voice reeking of all too much familiarity. It made Rachael's spine stiffen slightly and Tony smile.

"Not tonight, non, merci." There was a surprisingly sultry sort of quality to the Ice Witch's voice.

"Naw, Sugar. Just got a couple questions for you if you got the time." In place of a badge, he flashed Sugar a palmed fifty. "Do we need to move?"

The blonde reached across Rachael's lap and took the fifty, but shook her head. "Daddy ain't here tonight." Her eyes ticked over to the female passenger. "This your boo?"

Just as Wynter was about to speak up again, Tony silenced her with a gesture bordering on rudeness. "My partner, Detective Wynter." Though annoyed by her partner's not so subtle rudeness, she managed a polite nod for the blonde.

Sugar's nose wrinkled. "I thought not. I know you like "em a little more.?" She gave Rachael an appraising look, ?" pretty."

It was dark inside, but Tony was positive some random part of his partner's body was twitching. "We're looking for a suspect," he informed the blonde. "Salt and pepper, maybe late thirties."

Sugar gave the two of them an incredulous look. "Honey, you just described about ninety percent of my customers."

"This one is missing a finger," Rachael supplied coolly.

"Ah, that sh*thead."

Tony's brows lifted, surprised. "You know him?"

The blonde's shoulders bounced in an apathetic shrug. "Not Biblically, if you know what I'm sayin", but Gigi did him once or twice. Had to bring Big Daddy into it when he knocked her around one too many times."

That captured Rachael's attention. "He was physical with the girls?"

Sugar snorted. "Honey, our job is physical. But yeah, way I hear it he bashed her up somethin" good and put her cute little a*s in the hospital. Daddy and his bros paid him back and took his finger for the trouble."

"He been around since then?" Tony pressed, feeling an odd and misplaced sense of gratitude for Drell, despite their happy misunderstanding.

Streaky blonde tresses were tossed casually in the midst of a head-tilt. "Don't think so. Every time the a*shole jacks off is probably a nice reminder to stay the f*ck away from Drell's girls."

"Do you know where he might be?" Wynter asked abruptly.

Despite the origin of the question, when Sugar answered her eyes were on Tony. "Might want to try Di's. He seems like he's into that S&M sh*t."

Di's. Aphrodite's Palace. Well if that wasn't serendipity as its f*cking finest.

Somehow, that this scumbag would frequent Di's didn't surprise Tony in the least. He had only met Gigi once, but from his first impression of her he had gathered that she was more than willing to play into the whole slave and master thing that some of these weirdoes liked. He would never understand it, of course. In Tony's personal opinion sex was enjoyable enough not to need any of that extraneous sh*t; but then again not all men could get it up as easily as he could. But that Gigi couldn't fulfill this bastard's needs meant he was obviously more screwed up in the head than some " a rabid dog, sticking his jollies into too many b*tches. Those dogs were the ones that needed to be put down.

"That helps a lot, Sugar," Tony said at last. "Thanks." His partner echoed his gratitude with a rigid nod, obviously lost in thought.

"Always glad to help the cops," Sugar tittered mockingly with a playful wink. She eased out of the window before adding, "Lose the stiff next time, and I'll give you another one."

Though his partner's eyes darted over to him once from behind her sunglasses, the vibes she gave off were surprisingly unjudgmental.

"How did you know where to ask?" she inquired quietly as she rolled up the window and Tony put the sedan into gear.

In response, Tony only rolled down his window and pointed to the billboard across the street.

http://i.imgur.com/2HlaL.jpg

She's a very kinky girl The kind you don't take home to mother She will never let your spirits down Once you get her off the street, ow girl*

Rachael appraised her facial and body makeup critically in one of the backstage dressing room mirrors. Not a trace of the trio of scars that permanently marked her body showed through the natural-looking concealer foundation. A gift from her personal physician, it came in handy for times like this, when she had to go undercover and hide the marks that had come to define the Watchwoman's self-identity.

I could be like this all the time. Perfect. Flawless.

Her sapphire eyes shuttered closed, revealing the silver glitter eye shadow painted on her lids. Patently fake, full lashes brushed her smooth cheeks.

Non. I am who I am. Those who have cared for me have accepted my marks and loved me. Not in spite of them, but because of them.

The raven haired beauty adjusted the straps on the low-cut black latex demi bra portion of her all too brief dominatrix costume for comfort.

"What is your size and are you allergic to latex?" Her partner's words echoed in her mind while she made more adjustments, this time to the tops of her black fishnet thigh high stockings.

Rachael remembered actually gaping at Tony like the proverbial fish at first. A torrent of curses in both French and Italian followed. When she finally calmed down, realizing what her certifiably insane b"tard of a partner actually wished for her to do, she succinctly gave him her exact measurements and clothing sizes.

And he still got them wrong. Merde. Never again will I trust a man like him to go clothes shopping for me.

While she was still alone, the Watchwoman tested the microphone hidden in her gaudy silver studded black leather dog collar by subvocalizing the alphabet in Italian. Her ruby red painted lips twitched in subdued amusement when she heard the response in her concealed earpiece from her partner to get her culo grasso in gear.

That girl is pretty wild now The girl's a super freak The kind of girl you read about In new-wave magazines*

Rachael checked her "costume" to make sure that the riding crop, prop handcuffs, and whip were in their proper places and easily accessible.

The tempo of the music changed, signaling her cue to go out there and perform for the drooling masses.

Showtime.

Instead of her usual military precise strides, the woman known to the audience at Aphrodite's Palace as Midnight Bleu seemed to ooze languid sensuality with each footstep she took in those six inch stiletto heeled above the knee platform latex boots toward the stage.

http://embed.polyvoreimg.com/cgi/img-set/cid/33618522/id/PixUULyn4BGEJDKTK_PGQA/size/e.jpg She's a very kinky girl The kind you don't take home to mother She will never let your spirits down Once you get her off the street, ow girl*

*Lyrics, Super Freak, Rick James

The tightening grip around his neck and strangled noises escaping his mouth was definitely a pleasant reminder to Tony not to drink anything you can't recognize.

He probably should have guessed, by the way the bartender had been looking at him earlier, that he'd been made. Traditionally Tony was used to deciphering ugly looks (people didn't exactly take a shine to having to look at a badge cross-eyed), and in most cases he was good at sorting out the threatening guys from the ones with too much gas in their gut. But there was also the matter of his having to be constantly vigilant of the other patrons in the club. And then there was the fact that his partner's glitter-covered tits also happened to be simultaneously bouncing all over the stage at the time.

Christ. Of all the things to think about while you're dying, he had to think of that"

Finally, after several prolonged seconds of airlessly and helplessly pawing at the arm constricting his neck, Tony's academy training clicked on. Then only two things were going through his head: One, the positioning of his elbow so that he could thrust it back into his assailant's solarplexus; and two, how much he hoped the one choking him was the mother f*cker who'd drugged him in the first place.

When Tony heard the hit connect, it was through a canopy of fuzz and high-pitched whining " part and parcel, he guessed, to the oxygen deprivation his brain was dealing with. Though the arm around his neck loosened, the drugs made his retaliation sluggish and his assailant's efforts redoubled so much so that Tony was soon getting a rudimentary shave on a brick wall. His vision failing him, Tony could only reach between the bastard's legs and squeeze. Hard enough to crush an apple into pulp, which truth be told was being generous in the way of how much he had in his hand.

It wasn't the most honorable way to fight. But when it comes down to it, if you have a choice between letting your target or your balls die, even the most seasoned assassins usually pick the latter.

The grip around Tony's neck eased again, and in that instant Tony's head snapped back hard enough for him to hear the crunch of his assailant's breaking nose. In the time it took for the bastard to staggeringly recover, Tony blearily swung another elbow in the way of the a*shole's jaw, and missed. Instead his hand connected with the same wall that scuffed his cheek and a delayed pain registered in the heel of his palm, dulled generously by the drugs pumping through his system. Through a veil of smog he balled his other fist and tried again, this time hearing a satisfying crack that culminated in a ragdoll heap of body dropping to the level of his shoes.

Using the wall as a counterweight to his wobble, Tony squinted at the blood-mottled face.

"Ed?" Tony made an ugly sound and spat. "Seriously' F*ck me, everybody hates cops."

It was probably what Tony got for going to a seedy place like Di's to begin with, anyway.

At least he got a show to go with his broken wrist.

"Wynter?" he called out toward the end of the alley. If she wasn't dead, she could at least talk the captain out of making him piss in a cup the next day.

After morning rounds with the new group of residents, the Chief of Staff at Riverview clinic decided to take time out for something of great importance to her. Maranya hummed all the way to the in-house daycare center. Once inside, she nodded to the supervisory nurse and headed for two of the center's small residents. The eight month old twin boys squealed in delight as she scooped them up in her arms as best she could.

"And how are my little men doing today, mm?" Maranya smiled in amusement while she listened to Ayden and Andrew "prattle".

The giddiness of the infants' responses, however, was soon eclipsed by a panicked shout that leaked through the door. "You're lying!" quavered the voice loudly. Judging by its proximity, it had to have come from near the nurse's station on that floor. "I want to see my wife! I want to see the doctor! Please, just let me see them!"

Maranya's hazel eyes narrowed slightly behind her platinum framed glasses lenses. "I'll see what this is about, Madeline." She kissed the tops of her sons' dark brown and black haired heads in turn before she rose smoothly and started for the door to see what the fuss was about.

"I'm sorry sir, but I'm really not supposed to...." murmured an orderly in bubblegum scrubs helplessly as Maranya neared the station. Her large, round eyes lifted to meet the Chief's desperately. Before her stood a disheveled Caucasian man with a bandage around his head and a dark red stain on his shoulder, seemingly undeterred by the employee's obvious discomfort. Rather, he was reaching out for the aluminum clipboard she held. "Give me his chart," he insisted. "William Thomas. I just want to see how he is." "S-sir, patient families are not supposed to look at these!" replied the girl, who Maranya recognized then as Brianna, an aide from PICU, nervously. "Please, wait until the doctor gets here!" "Let me have that, please, Brianna, spasibo." The light caught the star sapphire and diamond rings on her right hand as it reached for the clipboard. "She is quite correct, sir. These charts are for Clinic personnel only."

The man's eyes, when they swung to her, were full of panic. "My son," he croaked, scratching absently at the bandage that no doubt covered a hideous scalp laceration, given the superficial bleeding that had stained his green plaid shirt. "My son was admitted. William Thomas. We were in a car accident.?" His eyes became glazed as his explanation continued. "I just closed my eyes for a second. A second, and" Please tell me something." Maranya's hazel eyes closed briefly, and she took a deep breath. This was one part of her job that she hated deeply. "I am sorry, sir, but your son did not survive. His injuries were too massive."

She hardly noticed when Brianna had left, as the father's hand soon constricted her wrist tightly. It was a rough gesture, but she knew it was out of grief, not malice. "Check again," he begged her, his pupils pinpoint in a sea of gray.

"I don't have to, sir. I scrubbed in on that case, and I know that he did not survive," she said gently. "He was" my wife, too"." the man stammered, his gaze suddenly distant as he let go of Maranya's wrist. He seemed to move in slow motion as he slumped against the nurse's station and slid down his back to the ground, where he held his head in his hands. "Just a second. I just closed my eyes for a second." His shoulders began to tremble silently. Another deep breath escaped her lips slowly. And she had still another emotional gut punch to deliver to the man. "I am sorry to say that your wife also did not survive her injuries."

"Sorry' How could you be sorry?" His tone almost reasoned with her until it elevated into a shout fueled by misery. "What do you know!?" he snarled at Maranya accusatively, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. "He was my boy. He was.?" his voice gave out in a tortured wail as he pulled at his hair and the neat white bandage on his head, threatening to tear it off entirely. "I grieve with you, sir. I have two sons of my own. If something happened to them...." She reached forward to try to stop the man from removing the bandage. Head wounds normally bled profusely after all, and it needed the pressure to keep the bleeding under control.

But for every bit as smooth and quick as her hands were, his were quicker, and had soon fastened themselves tightly around her neck. "You don't know anything!" he bellowed, his grip tightening. "You took them away from me, you ruthless b*tch!" "Nyet....I did not...." Her ring bearing hands lifted to try to pry the man's hands off of her throat.

But those hands only closed tighter, tighter, until finally Maranya's dueling knowledge kicked in and she was forced to retaliate to a greater degree. Her knee lifted up in a blur for his groin, and once he was doubled over, a quick ridgehand to the side of his neck dropped him further.

The commotion by then had drawn the attention of two nurses on staff, and as one picked up the nearest phone to issue a "Code Green" and summon security over the intercom, the other scurried over to close securely the door that Maranya had left open. The click that came next, however, came not from the slam of the phone's receiver at the nurse's station, but from the man's crippled body " or rather, the gun that he withdrew and pointed, eye level, at the Chief. "You took them away from me." Maranya froze in place with the sight of the gun that was pointed her way. Flashbacks of the many times she was shot and nearly shot flickered through her mind in a dizzying flurry, which paralyzed her mind as well as her body.

The only thing that finally penetrated her thoughts was the abrupt shout of security behind her, who had arrived from the elevator only moments ago. "Put down the weapon!" the pair of uniforms warned him from either of her sides, their own pistols trained center mass on the assailant. "Put it down!" The man, untroubled by the arrival of the security force, stared at Maranya long and hard. Slowly, his rage seemed to ebb, replaced with a look of pure, unfettered hopelessness. He said nothing, but she knew then who he'd rather be shooting. As if by divine providence, a single jerk of his had sprayed her seafoam green scrubs with his blood. The loud, jarring shot that accompanied cementing her in place before she could even conceive to move. "Bozhe moi." The words left her trembling lips in a faint whisper when she saw the man collapse from his self-inflicted mortal gun wound. Slowly, her senses returned to her fully. "Security, deal with this. And notify the Watch, Detective Wynter, spasibo.

Once she felt able to move again of her own volition, she headed back into the daycare center, and tightly hugged her sons. After the recent events, she realized just how precious life was.

As the Chief of Staff slipped away, the two gentlemen stared at the gory scene before them for a few paralyzed seconds before one finally nodded, grunting a "yes?m' at the departing Chief. Out of her periphery, greens and pinks and blacks blurred by, a chaotic rush of personnel flooding the floor and sequestering the young patients in PICU and pediatrics into their rooms. So much activity transpired in the next few seconds, in fact, that Maranya failed to notice the nurse with no nametag slipping quietly onto the elevator. Worst of all, no one, no one noticed the Code Blue coming from Room 21-B.

Given the ice-cold look of rage on her face as she left the captain's office at the Watch precinct, Tony was surprised that Wynter hadn't put the old codger's head through a plate glass window. Though the thought of his partner being royally pissed had him strangely pleased, the oaths in Italian that she uttered as she passed him which explicitly detailed the captain's parentage and lack of marital status as well as his sexual antics with barnyard animals did not bode well for Tony.

"In here, Sobczak," called out authoritatively from the office behind her. In the crowded and cluttered precinct lobby, even the phones seemed to stop ringing in the wake of Captain Anderson's voice, all booming with gravitas and command. Tony's reaction was one of indifference. While he understood that most people under the captain's command were petrified with intimidation in his presence, Tony wasn't one of them. For nearly his entire career as a detective the two had made an art of working around each other. Though Tony suspected the benign neglect was due to Anderson's being squeamish of Insight " most people were " he couldn't hold it against him, especially since, for the most part, Tony had been able to pick up nearly every case he'd wanted since day one.

Karma had to come back and bite him in the a*s eventually, though. That was where SVU came in.

When he entered the glorified cubicle " the office itself was really just a desk with walls and a door with Anderson's name on it " Tony was surprised to see the slow burn of ire on the captain's face. Since Anderson had shaved all his hair off the deep lines on his forehead seemed to stretch well past where his hairline used to be, and though his dark goatee disguised his grimace, Tony could still detect the static in the room.

"Shut the door."

Tony remained silent as the metal hinge slid home and blinds rattled against the window. Despite the palpable tension within, he couldn't help but be amused. This whole scene reminded him too damn much of a cheesy cop show. Next thing he knew Anderson would be telling him to sit down and telling him that he was taking him off Moira's case.

"Sit down."

Well, sh*t.

"Is there a problem, Captain?" Sobczak asked, remaining standing. He was not about to park his a*s in that lousy foldout if he was about to have it handed right back to him.

"I've been reviewing your file," Anderson began, thumbing open a manila folder on his desk. "We have a little problem."

Tony pivoted forward. "Listen, if this is about our leads burning out"."

"The problem is not with the case, Sobczak. It's with you."

That was unexpected.

"Beg pardon?"

With a flick of his wrist, the captain closed the case file and caught Tony in a stony gaze. "As I recall, you and your partner are Victims detectives. And this case is beginning to smell a hell of a lot like homicide."

He f*cking knew it. Whether it was from watching too many lousy cop shows or his own damn intuition, Tony knew damn well that he was going to lose Moira's case and walk out of that office with another POS rape claim from a doped up prostitute.

"Captain, don't you dare"."

Where it was stone before, Anderson's look steeled. "That sounded suspiciously like questioning the chain of command." What was this guy, a marine in his former life"

"This is our case!" Tony exclaimed, pounding his fist on the captain's desk so hard that his coffee leapt out of his mug.

"And one I'm sure homicide can handle. You're off the case, the both of you."

Christ. Why hadn't Wynter put his head through a window" Tony's fists balled at his sides.

"I know this case. I can do this better than anyone else can, and you f*cking know it." His gaze landed on the folder. "I am not giving it to homicide. Now give me the file."

Anderson's eyes narrowed murderously. "You will do what you're damn well told to, Detective." For a moment he looked like he was going to add something more, but instead he only sank into his chair and folded his hands. "Wynter has your new file, and your victim is waiting at your desk. Now get out of here." He lifted a hand dismissively and shoved Moira's case file into his desk drawer.

Tony felt his jaw tighten. "You can't f*cking be serious?"

At that, Anderson's head snapped up " just in time to shoot Tony a lethal glare. "Get the f*ck out, or get on probation, Sobczak. Your decision."

Intimidation factor, his a*s. The only image that Anderson had presented in the last five minutes was one of a total and complete prick.

With some rigid effort, Tony managed to uproot his feet and stalk out of the office. With even more, he managed not to slam the door with enough force to rattle the entire precinct.

Why the hell the captain was taking them off the case, Tony had no clue. Maybe it had to do with the fact that every one of their leads was dead or mute, but truth be told when he had been partnered with Fick the two of them had worked their way out of worse situations. Something else had motivated Anderson to pull the probation card. And though Tony had spent a full three days getting pissed in his apartment, the decision was still sudden. Something else had to have made Anderson change his mind.

Whatever the reason, Tony couldn't let the issue drop. If this thing was really as big as Ed's accomplice said, then he had a better chance of cracking it than anyone else. And against his better instincts, he was almost convinced that Wynter had become invested as well. They couldn't give the case up. They wouldn't. Not until they solved it.

Besides" He owed it to Moira.

First things first, he needed that file. But before that, he would have to talk to Wynter. With purpose he weaved through the desks and other cops on duty, bee lining for his desk on the far side of the room. Wynter had fortunately not left just yet, and seemed to be listening very intently to some blonde sitting in his chair. His partner looked up as he approached.

"Mon dieu. This is our new "witness." I think you will want to hear what she has to say."

Tony had been about to grumble about whining women when his words stuck in his throat. The blonde in his chair had turned toward him, and was flashing him a cherry red smile that he was all too familiar with.

"Hiya handsome," Sugar said with a dramatic flutter of her eyelashes. "Got a second for an old flame?"

"I WAS TOO RAPED!"

Christ. Tony had heard Sugar scream before, but until then it had always been an extremely pleasant experience. This time, the blonde's hysterical words rattled the windows inside the precinct and must have drawn the attention of just about every warm body within a half mile. Probably a couple cold ones, as well. And if the screaming didn't draw an eye or two, Sugar tearing her blouse open and exposing her shapely rack probably did. Concealed in his cove between an open office door and a chin-high lead-painted file cabinet, Tony appreciated Sugar. Not just for the view " which was top notch, by the way " but for her strangely unflagging loyalty. Whatever her reasons were, she was sure as hell one of the most helpful hookers he'd ever met' And he'd known quite a few in his day. Biblically and otherwise.

"What, you think because I can't get raped" "Cause I've got a pair of tits" Perfect, squeezable tits" I SEE YOU LOOKIN" AT THEM!"

From where he stood, Tony could see the blinds along the inside of the captain's office go up. The door didn't open.

"You get off on rape victims, you sick son of a b*tch"! Come on, buddy. You want me to drop to my knees right now and suck your?"

The last of her words was drowned out in a violent crash as she sent a full coffee mug sailing toward Anderson's office door. It flew open immediately, and the captain didn't even bother sidestepping the dripping liquid before stamping his way into the scene.

"Jesus f*cking Christ, Wynter! Get a hold of your goddamn witness!" he was bellowing, so red Tony could almost see a vein pounding on the side of his skull. He didn't look twice. Instead, Tony took advantage of the slew of expletives and very graphic scenarios Sugar began spewing to slip into Anderson's office. If he knew the captain as well as he thought he did " and in these cases, Tony was never wrong " he only had about thirty seconds until Anderson had Sugar tranked or threatened his partner into taking her into custody.

"Balding a little prematurely ain't ya, bub' How about shrinkage" Get a lot of that, do ya?" rang into the office as Tony dug through Anderson's desk, looking for the file. In any other situation, he'd probably be smiling. Once that batsh*t blonde made bail, Tony would treat her to a Big Mac and shake. And maybe they'd treat themselves afterward.

Though it took him only seconds to locate and extract Moira's case once he was in the desk, the drawer stuck when he was on his way to closing it. Fortunately it was about that time when Sugar decided to begin breaking things again. Once another crash reverberated within the precinct, Tony gave the POS a hard shove. It didn't budge, so he waited for another. She must really have been getting into it in the other room, because the second crash that came was followed shortly after by a loud oath in Italian.

He couldn't help it. He hoped that Sugar had managed to get Wynter with that one.

One final shove slammed the drawer into place. Outside, Tony could hear the commotion of Sugar being taken into custody and the peanut gallery disbanding. About to book it the f*ck outta there, though, he noticed an embossed business card wedged into the corner of the drawer he just closed. Out of sheer, morbid curiosity " the very same kind of curiosity that had brought him within an inch of his life more than once " Tony tugged the card free and inspected it.

Winslow Kain

President and Chief Executive Officer Kain Labs Incorporated

Kain Labs" What the hell was Anderson talking to a laboratory company for"

?" And so help me, I will put your f*cking ass on suspension the next time you let it get out of hand like that again!" snarled Anderson's voice from outside the office.

Tony would have to file that information away for later use. He needed to get the hell out of there if he planned on wearing a badge much longer.

Hugging the walls of the office, Tony stealthily moved back to the doorway. As he poked his head partially out, however, he got a fantastic view of Anderson beginning to turn toward him. Behind him Sugar was being dragged down the hall in handcuffs by two rookie cops. Though Wynter was nowhere to be seen, Sugar noticed his predicament and instantly began wailing again.

"I WAS RAPED! I'm gonna sue all your asses and bankrupt the ever-living F*CK out of you! Especially you, you dickless cueball!" For dramatic flair, she spat at the captain's shoes.

As he slipped out of the office, Tony almost blew the distraction Sugar'd afforded him when the son of a b*tch let his hand fly across her face.

"Please, Daddy, no!"

He hits me, again and again. I can't breathe. I can't tell what is up or down anymore or where the blows are coming from.

I don't want to die. I don't want to die. Please, somebody save me. I don't want to die.

"Hey, Hollywood. Snap outta it."

Opening his eyes, Tony got a charming look at one of the ugliest mugs he's ever seen in his lifetime.

"How long was I out?" he asked Fick, turning his head to inspect his surroundings. He was at least still standing, and the file was still safely tucked beneath his trench. He hadn't dropped it yet.

"Coupl"a seconds," the bear of a man informed him, giving him a hard pat on the arm. His voice was low. "Saw Wynter "round back idling. And when I saw Sugar, I kinda put two and two together."

"That mean I can finally enroll you in kindergarten?" Tony asked, grinning.

"S"what I get for being helpful," Fick replied, his chuckle mirthless and gravelly. "Get the f*ck outta here, Hollywood. I'll watch out for Sugar."

Wedging himself around the mountain of a muscle that was his ex-partner, Tony paused. "That son of a b*tch is gonna get what?s coming to him."

Fick didn't ask for clarification. "Yeah, I know."

Shooting one last glance of gratitude at the bulldog of the Watch, Tony trotted down the hallway and let himself out through the back door.

Bridie muttered to herself as she looked over the paperwork spread over the lab table. Her brogue, which was generally hidden, was coming out as she expressed her irritation with Captain Anderson's attempt to strong arm her. "P"g mo th"in, Captain. I answer to the Chief of Staff of Riverview, not the Rhydin Watch." Clearly, she was not pleased and even half an hour after her chat with him had ended, she was still annoyed by his arrogance. The recorders had already been set up for viewing by the detectives, but there were missing pieces to this puzzle. Was it improper action on the part of the detectives that had caused their dismissal from the case or was it, as sometimes happened in her experience, a superior with something to hide" It was a waiting game now for answers as she watched the door like the proverbial pot that wouldn't boil when watched.

"So what exactly did she say she had when you called her back" Did she tell you?" Tony was asking his partner as the two of them stepped off the elevator and into the basement hallway that led to Bridget Dillon's lab. "You'll have to take into consideration that Anderson's told her we're off the case by now. If she brought us all the way down here to tell us that, I'm going to be more than a little pissed off."

"Madame Dillon told me that she had interesting results in the tests that she performed on the first victim." Rachael's lips flatlined with the thought of someone of the woman's professional caliber submitting to such strong arm tactics. "Well, we shall find out either way, non?"

The outer door to the lab was unlocked. Bridie'd been expecting them, after all. A sign was posted that said, Please knock before entering.

Black leather gloved fist rapped its knuckles on the door, in a staccato rhythm of five knocks. To the observant, it was the first notes of Shave and a Haircut.

"Come in," Bridget answered the knock as she shuffled paperwork.

"Bridget Dillon?" Tony asked as he poked his head into the laboratory. When a cursory perusal of the area confirmed that she was the only one within, he pushed the door open and held up the credentials he kept in his wallet. "Detective Sobczak, RhyDin Watch. This is my partner, Detective Wynter. I believe you two spoke on the phone?"

She looked at Tony as if to say, You were expecting St. Nicholas or something" She nodded twice. "Guilty as charged. And, yes, we talked. I also had my ear bent by your superior about why to not allow you access to my findings." Her hand gestured between the pair as she asked her first question of the meeting, "One of you care to tell me why you were removed from the case?" A heartbeat passed. "Or why you believe you were?" Bridie was a fourth generation cop; once a cop always a cop. She'd come up against stone walling by all ranks. Anderson's behavior was suspect at best.

Used to the brusque nature of her partner, Rachael stepped in after he made his entrance into the lab. "You have heard the expression of toes being stepped on, non' My partner and I apparently did such, with hob-nailed boots."

Tony thought briefly about the business card he had discovered in their captain's desk - a detail he'd not had the chance to share with his partner yet. "My gut tells me he is on the take." The declaration was made to the other Watch officer in the room. She had to find out at some point, right" Silent, he then waited for the scathing look from Wynter. That type of assumption could cost both their jobs, after all. Still....Tony's gut had never failed him in the past. He wasn't about to start doubting it now.

She flipped the sign around so anyone in need of labs services would know a private interview was in progress. Bridget shut the door behind the detectives once they were inside. "Grab a seat." She looked Sobczak over. "According to my dearly departed father, a cop's gut rarely fails."

Rachael's lips not only flatlined, they turned downward fiercely at the thought of the Captain, a man whom she had worked under for years, a man who she had sweated blood and tears for, being a dirty cop. But the way Anderson had shut them down fast with the way the case was going left no other option than a payoff of some sort. From whom, she did not know. And her gut told her that her b"tard of a partner did.

"In my experience, there are three reasons officers are removed from cases." The redhead held up a finger with each answer. "Injury or other inability to work, malfeasance, and, as you so aptly put it, " green eyes swept over to Rachael, "stepping on toes."

"Oui." There was a rare bleakness to her words while she found a stool to sit on, by sheer luck as her conscious mind was still trying to process that thought of betrayal by someone she trusted and admired.

He didn't look, but Tony could damn well feel his partner's eyes burning a bright red 666 onto the back of his skull. One day he would get tired of upsetting her, but for now he was just....tired. Kicking out a stool he found nearby, he planted himself onto it. "So you want to tell me why you're still helping us, then?"

"You don't look injured and if you didn't give a damn about the victims or failed to do your jobs properly, well, let's say that kind of thing gets around. Besides, your so-called Captain needs a lesson in how he doesn't run this lab or this facility. The only person that needs to know what I'm doing down here is the Chief of Staff. I hate dirty cops." She shrugged. "And my gut told me he was looking to cover up what I did find not just to keep it out of your hands." Of course she hated dirty cops. It was a dirty cop that caused her brother to be confined to desk duty and almost killed him in the process.

Tony took a moment to exchange a look with his partner. Far as he remembered, Wynter had established a good rapport with the Chief of Riverview. "Chief won't get sh*t for this, will she?"

Her ears were attuned to the detectives for questions as she turned on the recorders. "I doubt it since this could be explained as personal research." She grinned. "Long story." Long story indeed. Bridie had come to Riverview to work part time in the lab while she finished her doctorate. A private case or two and the research for her dissertation had been no secret from the boss. Anyone else, however, could go fly a kite on what her personal projects entailed.

There was a bit of trepidation in the look Wynter passed back to her partner. Indeed, the Chief was her personal physician. "Very well."

"What'd you find?" Tony asked.

"What you are looking at here is Moira's test results when she was first brought in." She directed their attention to video of blood cell activity. "She had an elevated white cell count." She thought a moment and explained. "Much like someone in the beginning stages of any number of diseases that attack the blood cells and circulatory system."

"Do we know what caused it?" Tony queried.

The Watchwoman firmly pushed back the memory of holding the frightened girl in her arms and forced herself to focus on learning the facts in this case.

"Not for certain, no. " A headshake to Tony." Give me a minute and you can get a better idea of the big picture. The next group shows what appears to be improvement in her condition just a few hours before she coded." The third set of video was revealed so all three were showing at the same time. "This was at postmortem and within, what, 48 hours after you brought her in...her blood that looked like a leukemia patient's was showing improvement and then, bam, she was gone and blood slide is showing that the deterioration had accelerated." She set hard copies of the reports in front of the detectives. "Were you able to talk to the morgue guy who handled her autopsy?"

Sapphire eyes shielded by dark lenses studied the hard copy that was set in front of her, and committed it to memory. Those shielded eyes flicked to Tony for his input.

Tony frowned as he picked up the page and squinted at it. One of these days he would have to invest in glasses. "So, what, her body decided to self-destruct and we don't know why?" Looking up, he shook his head at Bridget. "Didn't get a chance to. We've been a little...." He gave Rachael a look. "Busy."

"Oui, busy. An oversight which should be corrected soon. Unless you believe that Anderson has, how do you say, gotten to him by this time?"

Bridget's attention had been focused on the touch screen and video capture, but the repeating of, Busy, from both partners had been telling. "More like sabotage, I'm thinking." She presented them with her findings as well as the autopsy report. "Which is why I've intervened. Hard to stop someone from accessing records required for their job. In the postmortem procedure, he found an injection site that didn't match with any she had on arrival or anything in her chart."

"Circular, non?" She straightened up even more than her usual rigid posture with that information.

"Mhm....he might opt not to talk to either of you, but it's not in his best interests to cause his lab results to be held up in queue. The location of the site is in the report."

"So what are you saying?" Tony asked abruptly.

"What I'm saying, Detective, is that based on the evidence, Moira's death was, shall we say, helped along." She used the touch screen to call up another set of videos. "I've requested a copy of the security footage from the area of her room." The redhead cleared her throat, but the implication that her request was for the benefit of the detectives present hung in the air. "I'm sure when suspicions are explained to the Chief, it won't be refused."

"Merde." Black leather gloved hands formed fists at her sides. "Perhaps....perhaps the petit was, how do you say, silenced because she....knew too much. Would the injection site corroborate with that theory?"

"Why bother with a fresh injection site?" Tony muttered, rubbing his face. "You can kill someone in any number of ways in a hospital and make it look like an accident."

"Was it fresh?" Rachael interjected.

A red brow raised as she heard Tony then she turned to Rachael. "Is he always so ....introspective?"

"Oui." Lips faintly twitched with repressed amusement.

Bridie turned to the page in the report that discussed the injection. "Everything that was found is here. As for your question, Sobczak, the obvious answers are carelessness or to make it look like one is being that way."

Tony hunched over until his elbows were resting on his knees and his hands dangled between them. "Is that really all you've got for us" We already knew she was dead, and I'm pretty sure everyone in this room figured it wasn't because the f*ckin' Nexus decided to unhook her ventilator." After a beat, he regarded Bridget regretfully and grunted an apology. He was tired. And frustrated. And now all they had to go on was the fact that Moira was most likely murdered. Fabulous. They just made light years of progress in the case, didn't they"

"The oddities in her blood, and the injection site....they have a significance, non?" Perhaps it was time for Rachael to be the voice of reason for now. The gods themselves must be laughing their heads off hysterically at that idea.

A half snort came from her as started the next part of the presentation. She could dish it as well as take it; her eyes rolled at Tony. "Just hold your pants on and learn some patience, will you? This could be interesting." Some stray hair dropped into her face as she nodded to Rachael. "Yes, they do," she answered Rachael at last. She tapped the touch screen and the videos awakened. "This is from one of the victims that was DOA. DNA oddities are prevalent and just about running rampant here. Either of you study genetics at some point?"

"Non." She bit down the urge to confess that she was a living genetics experiment herself.

For a split second, Tony looked pensive. But rather than respond, he only shook his head and let out another grunt.

Three more video appeared beneath the previous three. "What we have here, are samples from three adult females. One human with no other species markers. The other two are weres, one was born a werecreature and the second was, for lack of a better term, infected." She pointed out the specific markers in each. "There's a chart in each of your reports with more details." She magnified the samples of the DOA victim. "To the untrained, but observant eye, these points. Here, and here," a gesture to each, "indicate a match to human markers, but this is where it gets crazy."

Rachael's lens shielded eyes narrowed in study of those DNA samples. "Mon dieu. How is this possible?" Here, she did not finish. On her homeworld, genetic manipulation was a fact of life. Literally in her case.

"The adult samples were pulled from the back files to give you two a frame of reference for comparison, Detective Wynter." A finger touch or two and the specific areas she was speaking of were highlighted. "What rests in this victim's DNA is both types of were strains and even in Rhydin where people mate and mingle all the time, the odds of this are impossible." She cleared her throat. "Even when parents are one of each, the children generally show the natural born genetic markers."

Tony's head snapped up immediately. "Wait a second. Are you trying to tell me that this girl had traces of were DNA in her that wasn't....put there naturally?"

"That is exactly what I'm saying."

"Merde."

Tony angled his head toward his partner. "So what does that mean?"

"I took another look at Moira's samples. For all intents and purposes, her DNA looks human. The catch is ....whatever oddities that that someone might have been trying to hide when they hastened her death, only highlighted something else. "

"That means that someone or someones have been, how do you say, playing fast and loose with genetics....here. Why, and why those particular genes, I do not know."

"On the nose." She nodded to Rachael.

"So you're saying, what, our victim was experimented on?"

"She was," came the reply to Tony's question. "It's clear that that two others in the morgue have been ....altered."

"Do they have that same injection mark?" The Watchwoman asked.

"Yes, I had the M.E. take another look for them. I have something else to show you."

Her fists resumed their rhythmic clenching and unclenching at her sides while she waited for the next blow to fall.

More slide samples appeared on the touch screen. "These are blood samples from four people in the same family; a mother and three children. As you can see there are subtle differences in each pattern. These," she pointed them out in sample, "are a type of T cell marker that helps us gauge a subject's age. The children here are two females, ages two and six, as well as a male, age nine." Again slides of Moira's blood and DNA were on the screen. "By appearance, Moira was a young child. But these samples from admission and further testing marked her as at least twenty years older than she looked. At postmortem testing, she had the age markers of someone in their eighties. In short, her body was aging ....rapidly."

Her facial scar stood out starkly against the sudden paleness of her skin. Gloved hand hid her features from view.

Mechanically, Tony tugged a crushed cigarette packet out of his pocket and freed one with his teeth. As he sucked on the filter, he studied the slides thoughtfully. "So she had a negative reaction to whatever it was being injected into her."

"Yes. Whatever they were pumping into her, somehow preserved her body and size, but internally, that poor kid was being destroyed." It disgusted Bridget and mentally she was considering what she might do to the perp, no, not just a perp, a murdering slime ball, in a dark alley.

Wynter's faintly trembling hand lowered from her face. The mask of studied emotionlessness was back. Only a faint silver trail along her scar hinted otherwise.

At that point, Tony had heard more than enough. "Thanks, doc. I owe you one." That was the politest he could express his gratitude for now. At least until this case was finished. But until then, he needed a drink and a bit more Insight to compel him to keep on for the next few days. Sucking the nicotine from his cig, he reached for the door.

"Sure, you have all the reports, pictures, whatever I can find. Any questions?"

"Oui, there was another victim." Pen and notepad were withdrawn from an inside pocket of her trenchcoat, and she wrote down the pertinent information in a precise handwriting. The page was removed and given to Bridget. "The autopsy was handled here, I believe." Was that an apologetic look from the Watchwoman to her partner" Perhaps. And perhaps Mephistopheles himself would be ice skating to work later that day.

She took the paper and looked it over. "I can run those tests. And if the morgue guy raises a stink, he'll be up to ears in manure for months." An amused grin flickered on her lips.

"Magnifique. Merci, Madame Dillon."

"Call or come by tomorrow afternoon about six. I'll have a full work up for you by then."

"Oui, one of us will do so." Lens shielded eyes flicked to her partner for silent confirmation.

"Good. Who knows what else we'll find." She sounded weary.

"Very well. Adieu."

"Between you and me, I hope it's not what we expect to find," Tony muttered under his breath before he opened the door to the lab and stepped out.

"Dia dhuit," the Irish farewell was delivered as they went out the door. It was more of a greeting, really. However, it translated loosely to God be with you and if anyone needed divine intervention, it was the two that were leaving.

Rachael trailed her partner with measured strides. After the door closed behind the Watch detectives, she turned to Tony and regarded him with undisguised impatience, waiting for the other shoe to drop with him, as it usually did.

"I need to sleep," Wynter's partner grunted, reaching into his trench pocket to fish for a lighter. "Where you gonna be?"

"Duels start in an hour. I will be heading to the Outback." Beat. Another. Third. "I still cannot believe that Anderson would accept a bribe."

A soft huff escaped Tony's nostrils as he and his partner plodded steadily down the hallway and into the elevator. "Yeah, well, we still don't know that for sure." He punched the button for the lobby and let out a sigh. "Still....In my experience, everyone has his price. Everyone."

"Not I." She fervently believed in what she said, and hoped that it held true for not only her, but her partner. Another betrayal of that sort on that level would not sit well with her at all.

Tony couldn't help himself. He grinned. "You say that now, but damn near everyone has their breaking point." The ding of the elevator thankfully signaled the end of their conversation. "I'm going home. My phone will be on. Don't get too beat up."

Rachael's lips twitched in restrained amusement. "I will try not to." She stepped into the enclosed space willingly with him. "Perhaps you should worry more about whom I face, non?" When the elevator dinged again, the scarred woman in black stepped out with an air of saucy arrogance, reminiscent of Midnight Bleu, to her stride, and left her grinning partner as the elevator doors closed on him.

The scarred woman turned up the collar of her black leather trenchcoat against a chill that she actually felt that night, after a long and punishing night of matches. A big bowl of lamb stew and some crusty bread would ease the gnawing hunger that filled her belly, somewhat. Some cuddle time with her amour in a hot bath would ease the physical and emotional aches as well.

The alternate portal to the Isle had always been a bit of a walk, but tonight Rachael didn't mind. In spite of the noisy street side traffic, the longer trek home gave her needed time to think about the case she still worked on with that b"tard of a partner, despite the directives from their captain to drop it. Some things she did not wish to bring home to her amour. The nastiness involving the prior victims and their demises was one of them.

No, tonight she needed to be held, and have both of her deep seated hungers sated by the man she loved. Her measured strides were slower than normal, but she quickened her pace somewhat. Time to get home.

Conveniently enough, the trek hardly afforded her a moment of peace before a black SUV slowed on the street beside her to match her pace. "Excuse me!" the driver called out through the passenger side window. "I need some directions to get to the Red Dragon Inn. Would you mind helping me out?"

Tired sapphire eyes shielded by her customary Lunar gray Gargoyles flicked to the source of the hail. "Oui. It is back that way." She turned to gesture with a black leather gloved hand in the indicated direction.

"I'm sorry, which way?" the driver asked loudly over the rumble of the engine. The gesticulation she had given likely wasn't much clarification, seeing as she had chosen to wear black that night and it was past one o'clock in the morning.

Rachael stepped closer to the van. Even in the dim light afforded by a nearby streetlamp, her silver badge that marked her as a member of the Watch was visible. "If you turn around, it is about a quarter of a mile back in the other direction." She pitched her words to carry easily above the roar of the engine.

Just as it seemed the driver were about to offer his gratitude, the doors to the vehicle flew open, releasing the outpour of half a dozen armed and masked men. Two assault rifles, a pair of submachine guns, and three or four pistols were suddenly targeting critical areas on her person as they surrounded her. Interestingly, they didn't fire. One only opened the side door widely and made a jerky gesture. "Get in the f*cking car," the mouth of his mask muffled.

The rogue part of her brain snapped into action. Three of those armed and masked men soon nursed a collection of broken ribs, noses, and hits to more sensitive areas on a male. But even someone as Enhanced as the former Enforcer was could not take down six attackers with her energy reserves as depleted as they were, especially after that furious burst of movement on her part.

And amidst the cacophony of grunts, groans, and curses, seemingly from a distance, she could hear the crack of her head as the butt of a rifle connected with the back of her skull. Then she heard " and saw - nothing. A haze of fireworks greeted her when she tried opening her eyes, even with the protection of her sunglasses. They slitted in self-protection until they could adjust to the sudden, painful shift in light. "If you want my Tower, then file formal challenge. You cannot get it this way." Brave words, perhaps, but until her strength returned, words were all she had to work with.

Though the empty room she suddenly found herself in was remarkably unfamiliar, she could at least comfort herself with the fact that through the window on the wall to her right was still nighttime. Not that she was seated very comfortably. Her gloved hands had been bound roughly behind her back, and her booted ankles and shoulders taped securely to the chair she happened to be sitting on. No amount of struggle would force the tape to give way. From across the room, someone laughed. "Detective, if that was really what I wanted, do you think you'd still be alive right now?" Subtle movements on her part revealed the extent of her bindings, and the type of material used to restrain her. "Oui, because without me, alive, you cannot access the Tower."

"I assure you, all I want with you is to talk." Slowly, a three thousand dollar suit with a handsome smile and perfectly styled head of hair attached to it stepped into the light. "I'd like to talk about your options." "Oui, talk." Her shielded sapphire eyes flicked to the man as he stepped into her limited range of vision. Eidetic memory came into play. Features were catalogued and stored for later playback. Provided that she survived this encounter.

As the man delicately gestured at waist level, one of Rachael's assailants from earlier flanked him and set down a chair that the suit sank into with ease. "You're quite the investigator, are you not' I understand you have been with the Watch for quite a long time now. Do you enjoy your work?"

"Oui, I enjoy putting those who harm innocents away. I have done so for many years, and will continue to do so." Flare of bravery shaded those simple words. "Et vous" What occupies your time" Surely not just....conversation."

Long, tapered fingers settled in mock sincerity over his chest. "I am a businessman. I also enjoy my work very much. I enjoy doing what I do because what I do has the potential to make the world I come from a better place. Like you, I prefer to work for the greater good. It is a respectable endeavor, do you agree?" "Oui, when one works for the general good, but not at the expense of the innocent. That, I cannot allow." More subtle movements on her part were made to test the restraints. No sign of her frustration at her failure to escape them showed on her features. A mental litany of curses in French about this man's parentage back two generations worked for the moment to soothe those feelings.

For the first time since he sat down, the man's expression revealed a flicker of something besides the epitome of confidence and ease. "Detective....Are you familiar with the Manhattan Project?"

"Oui. It brought forth the atomic bomb."

"Indeed. It also brought about the end of a war and saved countless lives." Shifting, the three thousand dollar suit leaned forward, imprisoning Rachael in an icy blue gaze. "We are at war, Detective. At this very moment, you and I are fighting for our very survival."

"By ending countless innocent lives. What sort of war?" Rachael knew that indeed, she fought for her own survival with her words to this man. A faint shading of perplexment sat with ill ease on her scarred features when he included himself in the fight for survival. Were I free, and at my peak, oui, he would be fighting to survive.

"Progress, my dear. A war of progress." With all the grace of a lion, the man rose and folded his hands behind his back as he turned away. "Mankind won't last another century the way it is now." He angled back toward her as he continued. "I am a businessman, Miss Wynter. And though my line of work may sometimes be ruthless, I do care about the perpetuation of my species." Showing his teeth, he rested his palm calmly on her shoulder. "I don't need any setbacks in this project. Do you understand?"

"Oui. I am a, how do you say, setback in your project, Monsieur. That will not change." Her jaw set subtly with the touch of his hand on her shoulder.

The gentle slope of his neck tensed, though that was all there was to betray his impeccable manner of sheer grandeur. "I hardly think a few useless lives are that much of a sacrifice to save an entire species."

"Would you sacrifice your own life to save the species, Monsieur" I believe not." Shielded sapphire eyes narrowed subtly. "How do you determine what is useless" What gives you the right to make that decision?"

"A single person's value is negligible in the grand scheme of things." The fingers of his right hand let go of Rachael's shoulder and gracefully unfolded to receive a manila file handed to him by one of her former assailants. As he thumbed through documents inside and strolled effortlessly around her chair, he continued. "I will be blunt, Detective. The way I see it, you have two options here - one fortunate, the other, not. Your first choice is this: Abandon the case you are pursuing with Detective Sobczak, and as a token of my appreciation, I will see to it that the both of you will live very comfortably for the rest of your lives."

"And my second choice?"

"The sacrifice will all be yours, I'm afraid."

"Oui" Porquoi?"

The man's handsome smile returned at her obvious show of brave nonchalance. "Please do not mistake me as an ignorant man, Miss Wynter. I am well aware that when it comes to your life being threatened, you have historically remained consistently fearless." He looked up from the folder he was browsing. "But we are not talking about your life, here."

She fell silent. Flickers of emotion showed in her shielded eyes while she ran the possibilities through her mind of those who could be threatened by this man. And her blood ran cold with those possibilities as they occurred to her.

As he lifted a photograph from the folder, the man showed no outward signs of ill-will. It was an obvious surveillance image, having been taken with a telephoto lens. "Should I have my men pay a visit to this....'Roderick' on his way home?" Showing her a second surveillance image of a different person, his smile became easy and almost kind. "Or perhaps this 'Dyarhk,' after an evening spent dueling?"

The scar along the left side of her face very faintly twitched. "Both men can take care of themselves in a scrap." Her chin lifted in a subtle defiant gesture.

"Even you could not defend yourself this evening. And I assure you, I have many, many more men at my disposal that are capable of inflicting....force." A photograph landed in her lap of her and Roderick in a tight embrace. "Is it worth losing them, Detective?"

The scar stood out in stark relief against Rachael's now paper white face with the tangible presence of that intrusion on her privacy. Sapphire eyes quickly shuttered closed behind those dark lenses. However, the image was burned indelibly into her memory. Her loose raven hair curtained her face from view. "Non." The word held no inflection whatsoever.

"I am pleased we agree." He straightened abruptly. "And I give you my word that such reason will be generously rewarded. But I must warn you. If you attempt to resume investigating this case in any way whatsoever, our agreement will become void. Do you understand?"

"Oui." Her head lifted so that her sapphire eyed gaze could meet his ice blue one. Even through the dark lenses, the intensity of the cold fury there was crystal clear. "If you go back on your word, and harm them, I will do five times worse to you." Black ice shaded her voice that time.

"I am so glad we understand each other. I will have my men return you to your home, and you will be free to go on about your life." Her glare was exchanged with an easygoing smile as he folded the file under his arm and dipped his chin politely. "It has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Detective Wynter."

"I cannot say that I have had the pleasure of making your acquaintance, or the courtesy of learning your name, Monsieur." Her words held no inflection in them once again.

His introduction, and a polite sound of apology followed him as he left the room. Once the man left her presence, she spat in that general direction. The spittle landed on the floor without effect to the b"tard who had turned her life upside down and sideways, all in the span of a few heartbeats. "Forgive my manners," he had said. "My name is Kain. Winslow Kain."

That the Watch detention facility in WestEnd was nearly derelict in the middle of the night somehow just fit with the city's obsession with lawlessness. Tony had never understood why RhyDinians were so hell-bent on keeping killers and various offenders on the streets " all for the sake of preserving "rights" that they thought were threatened " but he didn't care. If he could put his ability to some use, even if it was ultimately fruitless in the grand scheme of things, he could at least delude himself with the hope that he was making a dent in the thriving criminal population. Wynter was late. The detention facility in WestEnd had high walls and was relatively easy to find, but for a site that housed the bottom of the barrel in RhyDin it was actually very small. The interior was really nothing more than four dozen rows of tiny prison cells " complete with the bare necessities " with barely enough elbow room for officers and fresh meat on the way to the grinder to move between them. The extensive wards surrounding the place usually served a double-sided purpose: while they were strong enough to keep prisoners in without the ever-present need for armed guards, virtually any mage worth his salt could hex his way through them and extract one of the facility's honored guests. What's worse, authorities probably wouldn't care enough to actually increase the security there anyway. RhyDin couldn't give two sh*ts about punishing the criminally insane. As it so happened, a short walk-around of the building had confirmed that the Watch had once again decided to forgo extraneous security that night. It was fortunate for them, but they still needed the key to get into the place. That's where Fick came in. Tony hadn't gotten five words out before Fick volunteered himself and his new partner to help them break into the detention facility. So all that left was waiting for him. And Wynter. Wynter was late. "Bonsoir." Speak of the devil. Tony turned to find the queen of frost herself right there beside him. She still cut an intimidating look in blue, even with the lack of her usual figure concealing black leather trenchcoat. Grunting, he dug a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket and snagged a smoke with his teeth. "Took you long enough. You walk here?" An errant gust of wind blew from behind the Watchwoman, spraying her raven locks over her shoulders. Her lips twitched. "Not quite." Should she tell her partner about one of the gifts that her Tower Key granted her, namely the ability to appear and disappear at will through the Air" No, that would likely make him paranoid about taking showers for fear of her suddenly appearing to watch while he soaped and lathered. The mischief-laden thought of doing just that to the man at least once made her lips twitch with repressed amusement again. Tony looked down and protected the flame of his lighter until the embers on his cigarette glowed red. That was when he finally saw what she was wearing. Who the hell visited a prison in two-hundred dollar boots" "You had time to shower and change?" he asked dubiously. "I told you to come right away." Rachael adjusted her Lunar gray Gargoyles and stared Tony down. "And I did. Why are we here again?" Blowing harsh smoke out through his nostrils, Tony looked up at the barbed wire wound around the perimeter fence. It was still dark enough not to be able to make the building out very well, but the wards still cast an unnatural iridescent glow on the air around it. "We're here to interrogate our only lead in this case." Perplexment truly did not sit well at all on the Watchwoman's scarred features. "Need I remind you that the man in our custody is mute?" Tony held smoke in his lungs as long as he could before he let out a sharp exhale. He didn't like Wynter. Personally, since the day he met her he'd been of the opinion that she was nothing more than a decently dressed robot with a nice rack. But regardless, he had been forced to, little by little, delegate some tasks and trust to her over the course of their partnership. And he might have even been absolutely nuts, but somehow he had begun to gather the impression that she cared about solving this case as much as he did" At least based on the way she put stock in his suspicions about Anderson. He didn't trust her completely yet. Not by a long shot. But at this point he didn't have any choice. If they wanted to finish this case, and if they wanted to do right by Moira and the others Kain probably was keeping under his boot, then he'd have to tell her. "There's something you should know about me," Tony said, fidgeting as he held his cigarette between his thumb and index finger. "I'm not entirely normal." "Oui, I had my suspicions. You eat pork rinds with hot sauce." Ignoring her quip, Tony watched the glow of the embers begin to fade against the briskness of the early-morning hours. There really wasn't any other way to say it besides just' saying it. "I have an ability that allows me to see how a victim dies." For a moment, the mask of studied emotionlessness dropped, and her jaw dropped, if only by a fraction. "How" how is that possible?" "I read their blood." He didn't bother explaining. The details could be covered later. "Depending on how old it is, I can observe moments or even hours of how the victim's death transpired." Rachael processed that information and pieces began to fit together finally to make sense. Odd behaviors on his part during this investigation. So that is why he sent me away from that crime scene". "But your" ability' it only works on dead victims, right' What does that have to do with our living mute?" "Well, I'm going to try it on him anyway." "Have you ever done it before?" Tony dropped the cigarette and crushed it under his heel. "Yeah." "What happens?" His head tilted toward a lifted shoulder. "One of two things. Either my brain gets so overloaded that I simply pass out, or I slip into a coma for a week." She unabashedly stared at the man as if he had suddenly grown two heads. "That sounds" promising, either way." When Tony peered into pocket and discovered the empty wrapper that told him he'd inadvertently just wasted his last cigarette, he snorted. Incidentally, the reaction suited Wynter's reply. "It's our last shot, right' Ed is our last connection to Kain, and probably the only one he hasn't had killed who knows the location of his facilities. Besides" I don't hear you coming up with any ideas." The thought of her partner being out of action like that for a week, a week of not having to deal with his not so subtly snide remarks about her heritage, her looks" in short, everything about her, well, it was certainly tempting to let him take that risk alone. Her dark lens shielded eyes shuttered closed for a moment. A soft breath escaped her stern set lips when she realized what she had to do. Something very hard for her. She had to trust him. "What if I help you?" Tony looked up. "The hell you talking about?" The lenses lowered and those intense sapphire eyes of hers met his disbelieving brown gaze. "In my' studies, I have been learning to read and process the thoughts of others. Perhaps I could act as a, how do you say, go-between, to mediate between you and the man. Would that blunt the effect on you?" Thoughtfully, Tony chewed on the inside of his cheek. "Do you think that's possible?" The lenses lifted to shield her eyes again. "As you say, it is our "last shot," non" And it is RhyDin. Anything is possible." Just then, Tony heard the telltale wheezing of his ex-partner rounding the side of the building. Before Fick arrived, he locked Wynter in a meaningful stare. "You get brain damage, you volunteered for it." "Oui." Beat. Another. Third. "I will finally be just as intelligent as you are." Her lips twitched with deeply restrained amusement. A moment later, Fick's burly form ambled around the corner, followed closely by a remarkably smaller, more timid one. By the looks of him, he fit the description Fick had given Tony in the past of his new partner. Scrawny and meek enough that a stiff breeze would blow him over and hardly free of the unforgivable torments of puberty. He could practically smell the Ten "o' Six from where he standing. "You're late." Tony couldn't help but grin when he noticed that Fick was red in the face and must have been running recently. The man could slam himself through a brick wall without breaking a sweat, but when it came to rudimentary calisthenics the practice was pretty damn hilarious to witness. "S"your own fault for not letting me borrow that Aston Martin we impounded that one time." The web of scars on Fick's face stretched as his lips spread into a gruesome smile. It disappeared when his flawed gaze landed on Wynter. "Hey." Wynter coolly studied the scarred man. So this is the man that I replaced as his partner. Now I understand. "You bring it?" "Yeah," Fick replied, searching his pockets. "It's in here somewhere." The tall drink of water behind him suddenly piped up. "Bring what?" He seemed to be the complete opposite of Fick in every possible way. Where Fick's voice was perpetually harsh and fiercely intimidating, this guy's words came out girlish and submissive. Not great qualities in a Watch officer, but then hey, they would take what they could get these days. "The key, numb nuts," Fick grunted, finally producing a large brass skeleton with a turquoise charm attached. The boy's face scrunched up behind a fringe of greasy black bangs. "All it takes is a key' I thought there were wards and stuff." All three of the Watch officers suddenly looked at him. Rachael's disbelief was easily read on her scarred features. How did someone like this make it past the Academy, much less become a detective, even here" "It's enchanted, Will," Fick explained. "Unless you've got some magic you're ready to squirt out your a*s. Then, by all means, let us right in." Tony leveled the kid with a stare. How he was even still alive in a place like RhyDin was a bloody miracle. "Here we go." Fick ambled forward and slid the neck of the key into a slot along the outermost gate and turned. After a few seconds both the key and lock glowed a dark red, then a dark blue, and shifted with a click. "After you." The jerk of his elbow proved to be the extent chivalry he would show Wynter that night. Will fidgeted and made a squeaky, panicked sound. "I really don't think this is a good idea, you guys. We could all get seriously fired.? Rachael smoothly pivot turned to stare down the weasely detective with ice cold contempt. "Then if you are so desperate to protect your job, I suggest that you wait outside and ticket jaywalking gnomes. That appears to be more your speed, Detective." Without waiting for a response, measured strides took her inside the facility.

It took only ten minutes for the four of them to pile into Fick's rusted-out Honda " like the bulldog himself, Tony had always thought, the car was the ugliest, oldest thing on the face of the planet but simply refused to die " and reach a distance of within a block to the piers in WestEnd. For safety's sake, and in the hopes of maintaining some level of stealth the Watch officers had agreed on the ride over to park on 23rd and hoof it the rest of the way to the location. Tony had certainly more than appreciated the silence that accompanied the drive. However tense the atmosphere had been within the car " almost to the point of spontaneously generating static in the air " the migraine that he had sustained during the pilot run of Insight on a live subject continued to hammer in Tony's head. Periodically throughout the ride he had been forced to close his eyes to keep from seeing double, and though hers were shielded with those shades she always wore, he was willing to bet Wynter's were closed as well. They climbed out of the car in pairs; first Tony and Fick in the front, then Will and Rachael from the back. Deep into the bowels of WestEnd as they were it was no surprise that there was very little street lighting, save for the blinking glow of a "No Vacan-y' sign hanging over the entrance to some motel named La Det. "L-listen. I c-can't go in there," Will began stammering. "We ain't got vests! We ain't got a warrant! If the captain hears about this, we're all screwed." Tony tugged at the requisitioned pistol strapped to his waist beneath his trenchcoat and paused thoughtfully. "We have probable cause. And if we don't, reasonable suspicion." After checking the magazine, he fit his weapon snugly back into its holster. "No way is that gonna stick," Will grumbled timidly. "You obviously have not been with the Watch for very long, Detective." Tony noted that the way she addressed Will as 'detective' was the exact same way she used to call him Monsieur. Cold contempt, and utterly dripping with disdain. "It is RhyDin. It will stick." "We need more firepower?" Fick asked suddenly. "I have a few" toys, but what do you have in mind, Detective?" This time the title was said with some respect. Without waiting for a reply from his ex-partner, the mammoth of a man waddled around the car and popped the trunk. Nestled neatly therein was an array of combat-ready weaponry: Revolvers, semi-automatics, even a few concussion grenades. Reaching into a duffel, Fick pulled out a double-barreled shotgun and loaded it with two shells. "Christ. We're not trying to start a war here, Fick," Tony muttered before he reached for a Glock and held it in his hand. He didn't have an extra holster, but he wasn't about to stick the thing into his pants unless he planned on blowing his own balls off. In addition to the ThugBlaster 2500 she normally carried, Rachael procured a Glock of her own, and a handful of ammunition to go with the weapon. "Shall we bring the war to them now?" Once Will and Rachael had helped themselves to their choice of arms, Tony and Fick began leading the way toward the building in question. More than once Wynter was forced to hook Will by the neck to keep him from flanking the pair of men too closely. Two people walking alone in WestEnd in the middle of the night was suspicious enough; a group of trenchcoats just reeked of disaster. When they reached the property, it was just the way Tony had remembered it. The four of them casually regrouped beside the chain-link fence. "See" There's no one here," Will breathed nervously. "This place has been abandoned for a hella long time." Tony was surprised to find the way through the gate had been locked by a steel chain that had not been there before. He shot Will a dubious look. "How many people you know put a brand new padlock on an abandoned building?" He looked around slowly. "I'm willing to bet they've got some kind of surveillance around here somewhere, too." Rachael's dark lens shielded sapphires eyes flicked around the scene. "Merde. Two cameras, at three and ten o"clock." She didn't point, and she didn't need to. The tiny red lights perched on the wall of one of the upper floors stood out like the eyes of nocturnal predators against the almost pitch black evening. "They have likely seen us already." "So what do we do' Leave?" Will asked. Tony's gaze swung over to Wynter. They could leave. It was probably the wisest decision. If they left, they could come back well-rested and with a warrant and backup. But they risked Kain moving his facilities elsewhere and tying up loose ends on this side of RhyDin. Besides, as Wynter had said, it needed to end tonight. "Non," Rachael answered, speaking his mind. "The fence is pretty weak over here," Fick called suddenly from a few feet away. Metal rattled several times, scraping against concrete as he tested it. It didn't take long for the other three to reach him. "Looks like we're gonna have to scale it," Tony observed. It appeared to be fourteen feet tall, give or take, but he and Wynter managed to climb it with little difficulty. Just as Fick stuck the toe of his boot into one of the fence's links, a surge of voices sounded nearby. Not seconds later, flashlight beams began waving this way and that from the west side of the building, moving closer. Fick cursed, and whispered, "Go! We'll find another way in!" before he grabbed his partner by the arm and ran. As the voices became louder, Rachael and Tony rushed into a doorway and made themselves invisible in shadow. As three men carrying assault rifles passed them, Rachael scoffed silently, recognizing them all too well as part of the group that had abducted her. The ones that she did not get a chance to disable. "Go," she murmured, sliding out from the doorway like a wraith in blue. Hugging the wall, the two stealthily made for the western side of the building, presumably where the armed guards had emerged. What they found there was a pathetic-looking door consistent with the appearance of the building itself. Tony reached for the handle, but before he touched it Rachael's black leather gloved hand snapped out and latched around his wrist. Wordlessly she gestured to what looked like a fingerprint scanner masquerading as an old doorbell. "A proverbial booby trap," she whispered. "Merde. I will attempt to hack it. Give me a moment." She pulled a small scanner device from an inside pocket of her blue suede jacket and held it up to the disguised doorbell. Hearing voices on the other side of the door, Tony grabbed his partner by the arms and swung both their bodies against a wall and beneath an overhang just a few feet away. So out in the open, he could only pray the guards weren't wearing night vision goggles, as so far the pitch black had been their greatest ally. Suddenly, the door they had been lingering before swung open, letting out another two men bearing intimidating weaponry. Instinctively, Tony pressed his body against Rachael's to force them closer to the wall, at the very least in hopes that the wash of light beaming out the door would not illuminate their forms. Rachael's breath left her in an almost silent hiss with the speed of Tony pressing her to the wall. So close to him now that she could feel the rise and fall of his chest against her own. Not about to move just yet. Neither dared breathe as the two guards hovered in the doorway, their voices mute over the adrenaline that pounded in Tony's head. Soon the smell of tobacco smoke carried over to the detectives. Cigarette break. So close to Wynter, Tony became strangely aware at just how small she seemed. She was in excellent shape, surely, but her slender feminine body was nearly completely overwhelmed by his. And though her expression was drawn tight in anxiety, from this angle her features seemed almost soft. Almost....likable. "They are going back," the Watchwoman whispered finally, her neck straining.

Slowly, Tony shifted away from the overhang and kept his body tight to the wall as the second guard stamped out a cigarette and let himself inside after his associate. Before the door locked behind them, Tony dove forward and thrust his fingers beside the frame to keep it from closing. It took everything he had not to bellow every single cuss word he had learned in his life as what he could only assume was twenty-pounds of steel slammed and broke the fragile bones of his right hand. Several seconds of excruciating pain transpired as the two of them waited for any signs that they had been discovered. When none came, Tony waited as Wynter, sensing his injury, carefully curled her fingers around the other side of the door and pulled it open. If they had been caught on those surveillance cameras, it meant they had only minutes to make it to Kain before he fled the premises. They could only hope that the way to him wasn't hindered by any serious obstacles. ? Obstacles like the dozen assault rifles suddenly pointed at them.

Since the proverbial cat was let out of the bag by Kain, Wynter decided to give it a few yowls as well. In a furious blur of motion, she first brought her elbows back hard to strike at the two men directly behind her. Dropping down to avoid the retaliation punches that flew over her raven haired head, she pivot turned to send her fist for one man's groin and brought her leg around to sweep the other man to the ground. In the next heartbeat of time, she leaped at the third man and brought him down with a spinning tackle. That instant the guard released Will, allowing him to snap his hands up to collide with Kain's arm. As the pistol discharged over the kid's shoulder and the guard dove forward to tackle Kain, Tony spun around to take care of his own problems. Throwing his elbow out, he managed to nail one of his armed escorts right in the nose, producing a loud enough crunch to make the guy wail with pain and drop his rifle. He bent over immediately to retrieve it as his victim recovered, but as he reached for it the heel of the man's boot came down on the broken bones of Tony's hand. "Hollywood!" Fick's voice bellowed from the other end of the room as Tony roared in pain. Through a fog of agony and adrenaline, though, he could still locate a pretty good opening " one the guard had so kindly created when he stuck his crotch in Tony's face to break his hand even further. With only a limited wind-up, he pulled his fist back and delivered a powerful uppercut to the family jewels, which elevated his opponent's scream at least several octaves. Rachael dove for one of the weapons that her victims had so kindly provided for her when she took them down. She rolled up and sought out a likely target. The last man standing staggered back, and as he did so Tony wrapped his uninjured fingers around the grip of the freed assault rifle, unleashing two rounds into either of the guards" feet. Over their heads, a boisterous alarm sounded. With Kain trapped in a fierce headlock, Fick used his free hand to yank off the mask he was wearing. He scowled. "Well ain't that just dandy." Attention caught by Fick's declaration, Rachael's shielded sapphire gaze flicked that way, and her eyes widened. Tony had to yell to have himself heard over the shrieking alarm currently echoing through the property. "What's the quickest way out of here?" he bellowed at Kain.

When the businessman struggled in Fick's massive arms, the bulldog of the RhyDin Watch tightened his hold. "You ain't goin" anywhere, buddy. Will, get his gun!" While the boy grabbed the pistol he had knocked out of Kain's hands, Tony pointed the muzzle of his rifle at the soft underside of the man's chin. "Tell us how to get out of " SH*T!" The alarms were loud, but not nearly as loud as the gunfire that suddenly erupted in the hallway. Two of Kain's armored security perched themselves at the open doorway and began unleashing a wave of ammunition aimed at Wynter. When the Watchwoman used a few of the downed guards as literal meat shields when the gunfire began, that was to her acceptable collateral damage. She fired back with the captured weapon, aiming for center mass when possible but kill shots were kill shots, even if they did happen between the eyes of her targets. "F*ck it," Tony shouted when Kain did nothing but curl his lip arrogantly at them. "Bring him. Will, get one of the rifles!" he ordered before holding his own weapon against his chest and pressing his back against the inside of the doorway. His aim wouldn't be great left-handed, but here was hoping they wouldn't run into too much resistance on the way out. The moment Fick waddled up behind them with Kain in tow and Will swept up another one of the assault rifles as instructed, Tony gave Wynter a look. "Ready?" "Oui." Spattered with gore from those once living shields, she regained her footing and reloaded the weapon while she had the chance. "On three?" Tony nodded. "One?" "Two." "Three!" Swinging his uninjured arm into the hallway, Tony let loose an aimless volley of bullets, giving Wynter enough cover to enter the hallway for more accurate target practice. And that cover was well-utilized, as she dove down and fired in the same motion. Above and below. Time to cut their enemies down to size. Shielded sapphire eyes flicked around. Where was that putain who worked for Kain" Rachael focused on the battle at hand. The woman in red would be dealt with in time. "Will, pull the trigger, god damn it!" Fick snarled as he heaved Kain into the hallway and followed Rachael and Tony as they sprinted back the way they came. Timidly, Will fired off one round at a time from his pistol, taking down two guards in poor cover until he emptied the clip. As they raced past the row of cells, Tony skidded to a stop. The gaunt elf from earlier had his hands and face pressed against the glass in wide-eyed amazement from all the activity. When he saw Tony, he began beating on the glass hopefully. They couldn't just leave him there, could they' "Sh*t' Rach, help me out," he said, stepping back to aim his rifle at the top of the glass enclosure. "Stand back!" he shouted at the elf inside, who hurriedly complied. No, they could not leave any of the victims behind if they could help it. The Watchwoman moved to her partner's side, weapon held at the ready, just in case. She tried not to focus on the suffering held in by those glass walls. But even the momentary glimpses of it would haunt her memories until the end of her days. As they fired up high the glass shattered and rained down, sharp fragments flying in every direction until they collided with tile and exploded into dust. The elf, who had been shielding his face, slowly lowered his arms as the gunfire stopped and Tony stepped forward. "Do you know the way out?" Tony shouted over the alarms. When he didn't seem to understand, Tony pointed his gun down the hallway and repeated himself. Clarity dawned in the elf's eyes, then, and he nodded quickly before shuffling in the same direction, dodging his way past bullets and through the labyrinth of corridors that Tony had never even realized were there. Rachael looked around for anyone else that they could free from this hellhole before she gave Tony's shoulder a nudge with her own. "Shall we blow this popsicle stand?" "I don't know what kind of ?"Tony flinched and ducked into a corridor as more bullets bombarded them from a pair of guards around the corner. "We need back up!" he bellowed over the rat-a-tat-tat of submachine guns. "We don't know what kind of creatures they have locked up in here." Fick pulled up next to them. "I can call them, but I won't get a signal down here. We need to get outside." "Merde." The feeling of being herded through a maze like so many lab rats was getting stronger by the minute. "Those creatures are sentient beings." She left it at that for Tony to chew on and spit out as he chose. After another burst of fire from her weapon, she took cover to lock and load. Gloved hand reached into her jacket pocket for her cell, hopefully missed in the pat down for obvious weapons. Soft sigh of undisguised relief when it fitted into her free hand. "Bonne." Perhaps her partner thought that she was certifiable, the way she fiddled with the communications device. But it had a purpose. A way to equalize things, if used correctly. The back of the cell was removed, and six small disks, three silver, three black, were removed. She snapped the back of the cell in place and held it out to Fick. "You might be able to get a signal with this. If not, I will complain to the manufacturer." Should I get out of this alive, she did not add. Before Fick could take the phone from her, more gunfire came at them from behind. Oaths escaping him in Italian, Tony gave Wynter a shove as their escort took off again. "Come on." Rachael tossed Fick the phone and moved along with that not so subtle urging from her partner. Hurriedly the elf led them through another series of turns. When they passed the labs, the technicians on the other side of the glass were obviously wide-eyed and frozen with terror. As they reached the end of that hallway, the elf pointed sharply at the wall where the elevator was, fortunately still open. From where they stood, the children on the other side of the glass still watched them emotionlessly. Tony's gaze swung from Wynter, to them, and back again. She nodded. Sighing abjectly, he took a step forward and handed his rifle to the elf. "Take this and let the kids out. Let them out. Understand?" The elf looked down at the rifle, then nodded at Tony confidently and disappeared through one of the laboratory doorways. Tony waited until Will had dispatched their latest two assailants with the rifle of his own before he led his company to the elevator and punched the button. The doors slid shut once everyone was inside, filling the compartment with an instrumental version of Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On." Silently, she thanked Khoom once again for his thoughtful gift that made even Muzak tolerable to her enhanced hearing. Still, the feeling of being trapped like those lab rats grew inside of her, and intensified once the elevator doors closed and it made its inevitable progression upward. Surprisingly, no barrage of bullets greeted them when the doors slid open again. Panting, Fick asked, "Did we kill "em all?" His breath heavy, Tony cautiously poked his head out of the lift and checked the hallway for any signs of resistance. Finding none, he wedged his foot against the automatic door sensor to allow his fellow Watch officers and their murder suspect to pour into the foyer and head for the exit. "If not, I have some, how do you say, toys that will make things easier for us," Rachael declared while she stepped from the confines of the elevator and started for the exit. Once they emerged outside, the pale dawn welcomed them. Fick heaved his enormous mass breathlessly through the doorway with some effort, followed closely by his partner and former partner. "Hang onto this, will ya, while I call for backup?" he told Rachael, giving Kain's neck a hard jerk to clarify. "Oui, gladly." Perhaps a bit too gladly, given the clear enthusiasm in both her voice and the way her gore spattered arm wrapped around the businessman's neck to keep him subdued, at least for the moment. Subtle pressure of her forearm against his chest, to make it clear who was in control now. Not the six thousand dollar suit wearing man. "God damn," Tony exhaled as he bent over trying to catch his breath. Against all odds, they'd actually made it out alive. Shooting Rachael a repulsive grin, Fick cradled the phone she had given him in his hand and punched a series of numbers. "With our luck, they can be here in ten, maybe fifteen min-" his voice cut off in a strangled cry as the phone suddenly exploded in his hand. Just as he turned to try and assess precisely where the shot had come from, his body jerked from another bullet to the chest, dropping him to the ground like a ton of bricks. "Fick!" Tony yelled, turning to see that the assault rifle Will was holding was smoking. "What the f*ck are you doing"!" "Bastardo," Rachael snarled. "How much' How much did this stronzo," a jerk of her arm against Kain's neck made clear exactly who she referred to, "offer you to be a cazzo coward?" One of those silver disks fitted into her gloved hand, ready to toss it at the weasely little man. "You two-timing son of a b*tch," Will said directly to Kain. "You were going to kill me"!" "We can still work something out," he rasped. His lip curling off his teeth, Will targeted the businessman's chest, depressed the trigger and fired four bullets center mass. The expensively dressed corpse was released, to collapse on the ground before her. "So much for living longer." Dark lens shielded sapphire eyes glared at Will. "How much" Was it worth it?" "Careful," he warned Tony, targeting him with the rifle when he looked about to take a hasty step forward. Scratching his forehead, Will let out a loud curse. "You are all f*cking idiots. If you'd just done your part, all of us would be f*cking rich right now." "Blood money. You can trick yourself into believing otherwise, but that money is at the expense of innocents. Children," Rachael said. "Get it through your f*cking head, profit is always made at the expense of someone," Will spat frustratingly at Rachael. His gaze landed fiercely on Tony. "There's still time to salvage this, if you two don't f*ck it up." Tony's eyes narrowed. "You honestly think you can continue this project' You don't have what it takes." Will's face immediately lit up with anger. "Who the hell do you think emptied out the case file" You're not f*cking this up for me. Once they perfect this serum I'll become a millionaire." His livid gaze snapped over to Fick. "And who'll be the numb nuts then, HUH"!" One good shot, one good shot with my fist, and that b"tard will surely have numb nuts. Before he swallows them. The spittle blended in with the gore from the earlier collateral damage on her jacket. "F*ck"." Will breathed, rubbing the space between his eyebrows. "F*ck, f*ck, f*ck." Seeming to reach some kind of decision, he angled his rifle pointedly at Tony's chest. "Sorry, but you're the liability. Goodbye, Tone." He pulled the trigger. In the space of a few heartbeats, three things happened in rapid succession. One, that silver disk was flung at Will and when it made contact, a localized Taser field was emitted. Two, she dove tackled Tony to get him out of the path of the bullet. Three, she felt the unmistakable burning sensation as that bullet found her flesh and tore through it. The gun Will had held clattered to the ground as he seized from the electric currents being sent through his body. Beneath the weight of his partner, Tony rocked and reached for it, managing just barely to wrap his fingers around the pistol grip and hold down the trigger long enough for the automatic fire to make a veritable meshwork of the kid Watchman's lungs and abdomen. In a spray of pink mist and red pulp, Will finally collapsed to the ground, unmoving. Discarding the rifle and pulling himself into a seated position, Tony rolled his partner over onto her back. "Rachael" Rachael"!" he roused her in alarm. Sapphire eyes unshielded by those ever-present sunglasses fluttered weakly open in an attempt to focus. The craggy, handsome features of a lake blue eyed and black haired Scotsman superimposed themselves over those of her partner. "Rod'rick?" she weakly asked. Some odd feeling punched its way through Tony's gut. Jealousy' Flattery' Who knew. At a loss of anything else to say, he only muttered, "The hell's the matter with you?" before crawling over to Fick's body and fishing his cell phone out of his pocket. Four numbers were punched before he put the phone on speaker. "Dispatch, this is echo two bravo seven seven six, requesting backup at ten one hundred twenty-first WestEnd. We have GSW casualties and two officers wounded, possibly with more resistance incoming, over." The response coming from the other end was full of static, but decipherable. "Acknowledged, echo two-bravo, help is on its way, ETA six minutes. Keep the line open and follow MCI protocols." "Roger," Tony muttered, already hearing the sirens from the precinct three blocks away. "Rach, you still with me over there?" he called. "Cold. So....cold." Her words were almost lost in the wind. Words about feeling cold from a woman who, to the best of Tony's knowledge, never complained about the weather, even when it was hot enough to melt bullets or brass monkey ball freeze off temperatures. "F*ck me," Tony replied, crawling back over to Rachael as the sirens got even louder. His uninjured hand pressed hard into the wet stain that had suddenly manifested over her shoulder. "Just hang on, will ya?" With the pressure on the bullet wound, her grimace twisted her scarred features, and a sharp cry of pain escaped her lips. Right gloved hand lifted to try to hold onto Tony's jacket, but the material slipped through her grasp and her hand dropped away. "Rach"." Tony breathed, the odd feeling returning. In a screech of tires, an ambulance finally arrived. Tony's hand was soon replaced by the expert hands of a trained medical professional, all before Rachael was lifted onto a stretcher to be loaded and taken to the nearest hospital. "God damn it," Tony muttered, rubbing his face. "Hollywood"." Fick suddenly wheezed as the EMT's scurried over to him. Tony's head turned. "Fick?" The bulldog grinned hideously. "Now we're even.?