Topic: Scorched

Devon Goral · Date: 2015-02-07 18:09 EST

Picks up immediately after "New Order" and (finally!) concludes the mafia storyline.

Devon Goral · Date: 2015-02-07 18:10 EST

Hello darkness, my old friend,
I've come to talk with you again.
Because a vision softly creeping,
Left its seeds while I was sleeping?

As music issued softly from an obsolete clock radio, Devon Goral sat quietly at his desk. His hands were folded neatly in front of him as he stared off in the direction of the front windows of his apartment ? not really seeing anything in particular.

To the left of his hands, a single ticket on the next transport vessel back home.

To the right, his venerable Ares Predator, unloaded with a line of bullets leading nearly off the edge.

The Protector didn't sleep last night, after witnessing the end of a war and the beginning of new hope for two families. He could feel the alcohol draining out of his body.?

Leaving only silence.

In restless dreams I walked alone
Narrow streets of cobblestone,
'Neath the halo of a street lamp,
I turned my collar to the cold and damp.

"But sir," Rooney sputtered, "I don't understand."

McRae sighed, putting on his best smile. "Albert, you have to trust me."

"B-but you're just going to surrender?"

"I'm not surrendering, Albert. I'm sixty-two years old in an industry where most don't make it past thirty. I'm retiring. And after everything I went through last night, I'm lucky to get out without any personal consequences."

"But sir, we're on the verge of winning."

"Albert, we're on the verge of a war that will consume this city for months or years."

Rooney slammed his hands down on his master's desk. "Give me a week, sir. I will wrap this up neatly for you."

McRae shook his head, leaning back in his desk chair. "No, Albert. The decision is made. It's a done deal."

Rooney took several steps back, looking at his master with a hurt expression on his face.

"Albert, when I first recruited you, I was at the end of my rope. I was a dead man. You revitalized me. And together we ran this town. We made more money than anyone should. But all good things must come to an end. I need to spend some time with my daughter. I need to slow things down."

"Of course, sir. I apologize if I was brash."

"I owe much to you, Albert. I couldn't have done it without you. I want you to have a conversation with my son and go to Sanch?z together. I believe there will be a place for you in the new organization."

Rooney blanched. "Your son? Sanch?z?"

McRae nodded. "They'll be the new power in this town. And you should hitch yourself to them. They'll benefit from your knowledge and skills."

"But ? but ? you always said that, uh, that you didn't trust your son to succeed you. That I?"?

He trailed off.

McRae squared his jaw and nodded. "My son isn't succeeding me. Sanch?z will be."

Rooney closed his eyes and shook his head.?

"I know it's not the future you and I discussed, Albert, but you have to trust me. It'll all be fine. You're going to have a great deal of further success."

As Rooney opened his eyes, he only saw red. He remained silent.

And in the naked light I saw
Ten thousand people, maybe more.
People talking without speaking,
People hearing without listening?

Devon ran a finger along the line of high explosive rounds. Taking the magazine in his hands, he began to examine each bullet ? one-by-one ? and load it into the clip. He imagined where each bullet might go. What task it would perform. He trusted in them, implicitly.

And no one dared
Disturb the sound of silence.

"I believe you and I are looking for the same woman."

Roopit Singh looked up from the papers at his desk, eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Who are you?"

Beans Cooper smiled. "You know who I am. And you know who I'm talking about."

Singh shrugged helplessly.

Beans walked into his competitor's office, glancing around at the somewhat disheveled trappings.

"You'll have to make an appointment with my secretary," Singh insisted.

"You and I have both torn this city apart looking for Zephyer Storm, and we've both failed. Eventually that's going to come back on us when our employers lose patience with us." Beans tilted his head, the knowing smile widening. "Although I suspect that's a bigger problem for you than for me."

Singh leaned back in his chair, folding arms over his muscular chest. "What do you want, Cooper?"

Beans leaned forward, planting his palms on the messy desk. "Or we could team up, combine our resources, and split the rewards."

Singh raised a brow. "Somehow I doubt our two employers would agree to share."

Beans shrugged. "Not my problem. I'm sure you and I are smart enough to figure out how to get us both paid. After that, they can split her in half for all I care. We're done."

Singh reached a hand up to his chin to scratch his wiry beard, eyes flashing. "You've got my attention, Mister Cooper. Tell me more."

"Fools," said I, "You do not know ?
Silence like a cancer grows.
Hear my words that I might teach you.
Take my arms that I might reach you."

Devon loaded the last bullet into the magazine. Hefting the empty Predator into his free hand, he slapped it upwards into the grip until it made a satisfying clicking sound.?

The loaded Predator was a very different weight than when it was empty. He held it in his hands, watching the sunlight from outside gleam over its peaks and valleys.?

Then, he ejected the magazine and put it back on the desk, laying the Predator back down empty.

And the sign said, The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls
And tenement halls
And whispered in the sound of silence.

The Sound of Silence written by Paul Simon, Nat Simon, Gordon Jenkins
Copyright: MCA Music Publishing A.D.O. Universal S, Paul Simon Music

Devon Goral · Date: 2015-02-22 15:12 EST

Albert Rooney stood in the doorway of Roopit Singh's office in RhyDin's industrial underbelly. The bounty hunter had called a few hours earlier to say there was good news and that he should come right away.

So when Rooney found the office to be dark and deserted, he immediately became suspicious. Singh, while not always competent, was not known for hyperbole or games. He never missed an appointment ? and with The Wraith he wouldn't dare.

Rooney walked slowly though the disorganized office, peering briefly at various tables full of books and files and covered in a layer of dust. Singh's main desk was likewise piled high with documents. A large, dirty picture window behind the desk looked out over the shadowy city and the docks beyond. It was dark, and there were few lights in this part of town. Most people who existed in these parts were eager not to be seen.

This was wrong. Singh had been compromised. This was most certainly a trap.

Just as Rooney came to that realization, he felt a scream inside his head. For a moment, the sound caused him to double-over in pain and his eyes saw only red. Spinning around, he spotted the bodyguard, Devon Goral, standing in the doorway that he had passed through only a minute before.

Rooney fought his way through the pain and straightened his posture, eyes narrowed at the audacity of this simple man. "So you're the one behind this charade," Rooney observed.

Goral didn't respond. His right hand was in the pocket of his trenchcoat, and Rooney exercised control ? forcing the bodyguard to withdraw his hand. It was closed around a small black box.

"Is that what's making this noise in my head?" Rooney asked. "Get rid of it," he commanded, and Goral dropped the box on the floor. He followed up by smashing it with his boot until it lay completely shattered.

Immediately the terrible sound stopped.

"Was that supposed to affect me in some way other than giving me a headache?" Rooney asked, smiling. "Surely you didn't come here thinking you could take the upper-hand."

"You're not leaving this room alive," Goral grunted.

Rooney shook his head. "When will you learn, little man? You are nothing to me. And now you will die like you lived ? pathetic and alone."

Goral dropped helplessly to his knees. Rooney forced the man to reach into his coat and feel around until he found a weapon. Drawing the pistol, he paused to admire it in the dim light from the moon outside. It was large, almost comically-so. Fear flashed over the bodyguard's face.

"This reminds me of when I had your man Calderone in a similar position," Rooney observed, forcing Goral to press the gun tightly against his own temple. "Do you know how long before he gave you up? Less than a minute. He named you and then begged me for his life."

"You'll get no such satisfaction from me," the bodyguard retorted.

Rooney shrugged, taking a few steps around Singh's desk to get an unobstructed view of his victim. "Much has changed since that night, so many months ago. All of my plans were realized and you ? you lost everything."

"Not everything," Goral responded defiantly.

"I can only assume that you are somehow behind my master's decision to retire. And once you're dead, I'm sure I'll be able to correct that as well."

"McRae is twice the man you'll ever be."

"Good bye, Mister Goral. I wish I could say you were an interesting adversary, but in truth you were nothing but a pathetic distraction."

Rooney smiled as he forced the bodyguard to squeeze down on the trigger. Goral's eyes closed one final time as the gun clicked.

Clicked.

Rooney pulled the trigger three times, his eyes widening with fury. Goral's eyes, meanwhile, re-opened and he smiled smugly.

"No bullets," the bodyguard said. "I came prepared."

Rooney allowed the pistol to drop harmlessly to the floor. "I don't need a weapon to kill you," he practically spat in the air.

"Bring it," Goral taunted.

Rooney forced the bodyguard to his feet and forced him to run at full speed into the wall to his right, crashing into a bookcase and sending objects scattering in every direction.

"You could have had it simple and painless, you fool," Rooney continued. He then sent Goral speeding the opposite direction into the other wall, smashing into a narrow window and launching shards of guess into the air. "Instead I'll just have to break every bone in your body."

Rooney continued the attack, forcing Goral backwards into the door, smashing the wood into pieces. Then forward, causing the man to demolish a wooden table and land helplessly on the floor.

"You are nothing to me," Rooney announced, forcing Goral awkwardly back to his feet. "I am a god. I walk tall among the clouds. I am the puppetmaster. The Wraith. You are an insect. A spec of dirt stuck to my shoe."

Rooney again smashed Goral into the left wall and then into the right, each hit harder than the last. He threw the bodyguard around the room like a limp doll, giving him little time to recover from each savage hit before launching him into the next.

"Soon this city will bow before me," the diatribe continued. "All will know my name. And they will fear my wrath."

Rooney dropped Goral on the floor in front of him, again on his knees. He forced him to look upwards so that their eyes met. There was still defiance in Goral's face, despite the beating. He wasn't yet broken.

"You're ? not leaving ? this room?" Goral began to repeat.

"What a wonderful idea, Mister Goral," Rooney responded with a smile. Stepping aside, he pushed Goral backwards and then ran him at full speed towards the front of the office. With surprising agility, he jumped up on Singh's desk before launching himself into the air and crashing through the wide picture window.

For a few seconds there was only a chorus of raining glass, before Rooney heard the satisfying thump of Goral's body hitting the pavement outside. He turned and looked out the window, where Goral lay prone in the middle of the street, surrounded by a spiral pattern of broken glass. If the force of his body flying through the window didn't kill him, the three-story fall certainly did.

"Pity, I think I would have preferred watching you shoot yourself," Rooney said ??mostly to himself. "But this will suffice."

Rooney glanced around briefly to see if there were any witnesses to the murder. He noticed someone lurking in the shadows off to the right, probably a street urchin or beggar. That wasn't a problem ? in fact it would only boost his reputation to be known as having killed one of RhyDin's prominent bodyguards.

Come to think of it, Rooney was suddenly sad that there wasn't an even larger audience. It was time that he received a wider audience. People city-wide needed to know and fear him. Once he fixed things with Mister McRae, that would be the next project.

Rooney heard a grunt and looked back down at Goral. To his shock, the bodyguard began moving ? mostly a squirm. He was still alive.

The Wraith sighed. On one hand, he was happy to have an opportunity to torture the bastard more. On the other hand, this was beginning to take more time and effort than he was willing to put into a man he insisted was nonessential. Perhaps he would need a weapon after all ? and he reached into the window frame and withdraw a large, knife-like shard of glass ? perfect for stabbing of throat-slitting. Turning, he moved towards the exit of the office and the elevator beyond. He paused to retrieve Goral's hefty handgun ? which, while empty, would make a good hammer for bludgeoning. He then continued, intent on finishing the job.

* * *

Devon Goral's broken and battered body lay prone on the street, trickles of blood flowing away from him in every direction. The chill of The Wraith's control faded from his spinal cord, replaced with searing hot pain. Everything ached, and Devon longed for release. His mind clouded and he let the warmth overtake his body.

"Get up!" he heard a voice say.

His eyes no longer functioned. He saw only red and white and black. He felt only pain. Nothing else mattered.

"I said get up!"

Devon's fingers twitched. He felt a piece of glass near his hand, caked in his own blood. Something about the sharp, straight line of the broken glass appealed to him. Order amid chaos. One perfect thing he could count on."

"You have to get up!"

"Leave me alone," Devon muttered into the pavement.

"Ye cannae die like this." He felt a nudge to his ribs, which sent a shock of pain through his body. "Now get UP!"

Devon felt hands rolling him over onto his back. Shards of glass and debris fell off of his body and bounced off the cement all around him. He blinked his eyes, trying to clear his vision, but everything was foggy.

"'E's comin' and I cannae stop him. Ye have ta disappear before 'e gets 'ere."

As his vision cleared up enough for some definition, Devon sighed. "Have you come here to gloat?" he asked, his words slurred.

The specter of Zephyer grabbed him by the collar and lifted him partially into the air. "I've come ta save yer ass."

"Leave me alone," Devon practically whined. "Let me sleep."

"Like 'ell!" She tugged on him, pulling him upwards to a kneeling position. "There's nae time for this. Get up."

"He was right. I gave up everything to pursue a revenge plan ? only to fail."

"S'not over yet. Run away an' fight another day."

"I can't beat him."

She shook him, forcing him to look her in the eye. She looked thinner than the last time they'd spoken ? yet somehow more substantial. Something about her eyes seemed ??different.

"Ye can, and ye will. Yer the only one 'oo can. Now GET UP!"

Another tug and Devon pushed himself to his feet. He stumbled a moment, his legs not quite functioning properly and every bone and muscle in his body aching. Yet as his wife's phantom took her hands off of him and stepped away, he found that he could remain standing. It was clearly a miracle.

"Now run. Or 'obble. I'll try ta draw 'im away."

Devon took one last look at his wife, then up at the window where he'd been forced to jump. He wasn't sure how in hell he'd survived that fall, but she did have a point. Perhaps he was meant to be the one. Perhaps he'd been kept alive for that sole purpose.

He couldn't wait any longer. He turned and began limping as fast as he could down the nearest alley, cloaked in shadows. He didn't dare look back.

* * *

Albert Rooney emerged from the dingy office building, a shard of glass in one hand and a large pistol in the other. To his surprise, Goral's body was no longer where he'd left it. Growling, he looked up and around in every direction. A few figures seemed to be retreating into the darkness, but he couldn't be sure which one was his victim.

Noticing a trail of blood on the pavement, he followed it for several feet before it just stopped. Looking up, he was all alone. He couldn't be sure which way the bodyguard had run.

Rooney tossed away the glass and tucked the gun into his waistband. It didn't matter. Goral wouldn't get far after that beating. Soon it would be over.

Devon Goral · Date: 2015-02-23 20:46 EST

Albert Rooney made his way silently along the edge of the harbor in the depths of RhyDin's docks. At this late hour, most of those around him were homeless or criminals up to no good. But no one noticed The Wraith ? he was all but invisible to the scourge and the dregs. Sometimes this worked to his advantage, but sometimes he longed to be noticed ? and feared.

It had been just over twenty-four hours since his epic defeat of the bodyguard Devon Goral. He'd quickly put out the word that Goral was a wanted man and that there would be a reward for his capture ? dead or alive.?

When the word came to him that Goral was captured, it came from an unexpected-yet-reliable source. The time and place for the hand-over were set.

Rooney turned towards a warehouse on the edge of the docks and entered through a side door. The large building was completely empty of cargo, with one entire wall open to the warm summer air and the docks beyond. They were already waiting for him ? Goral was on his knees and appeared to be barely alive. Behind him, a firm hand on the bodyguard's shoulder, stood the behemoth Muscles McVickar.?

Gloria Sanch?z greeted Rooney with a pleasant but formal smile. "Thank you for meeting us."

Rooney nodded. "I must admit, I wasn't expecting to hear from you."

"Imagine my surprise when this man, half-dead, showed up on my proverbial doorstep last night, seeking asylum. It was hours before we even understood what happened to him."

Rooney's eyes darted between Goral and Sanch?z. "Why would he go to you?"

"That's a good question," Sanch?z answered. "We tended to his most serious wounds and kept him locked up until we could figure out what to do with him. It didn't take long before we received word that you, of all people, were looking for him."

"And my reward is acceptable?"

"I'll take the money to cover my expenses, sure. But since it's you ? I'm going to have to add a condition for turning him over."

Rooney tilted his head curiously. "A condition?"

"By now I assume you've heard that Mister McRae is ceding his businesses to me. There was some question over whether you would come as well."

"That decision isn't final yet," Rooney insisted. "Mister McRae may yet decide to stay here."

Sanch?z shook her head confidently. "I think not, Mister Rooney. That ship has sailed."

Rooney narrowed his eyes.

"I need to know if you're with us ? or against us. I can't have you running around trying to keep McRae's empire going when it already belongs to me."

"My loyalty is to Mister McRae?"

"?who won't be here much longer," Sanch?z interrupted. "So let's start working with reality."

Rooney grumbled, looking down at the floor and then up at Goral. The bodyguard seemed barely aware of the conversation ? he looked like he might pass out at any moment.

"If Mister McRae leaves RhyDin, you have my promise not to interfere with your plans. But I won't work for you. It's not my destiny."

"I see," Sanch?z answered. "And how do I know you won't get in my way?"

"How do I know you won't get in mine?" Rooney responded sharply.

Sanch?z chuckled. "It seems like you still don't know your place."

"My place is on top," Rooney insisted, puffing up his chest. "In time, everyone will know my name."

"I assure you, Mister Rooney, enough people already do."

Rooney shifted impatiently. "Are you going to give me the prisoner, or do I have to take him?"

Sanch?z glanced down at the bodyguard and then back up at Rooney. "I actually left out an important detail. When Goral showed up last night seeking my help, it was the second time he'd approached me in the same day."

"Oh?"

"The first time, he told gave me the news that Mister McRae had agreed to hand over his businesses to me. But he also had a condition."

Rooney furrowed a brow. Something about her speech made him uncomfortable.

"Mister Goral asked me questions about the death of Giovanni Donatello. Seems they didn't understand how he got himself killed."

Rooney's eyes flashed. "He was a traitor and a rat. He deserved what he got."

"I agree. Of course it helped that you called me up and told me he'd be approaching me, so I could be ready for him. I imagine that Mister McRae will be very interested in that detail."

"I? uh?" Rooney stammered. "Sometimes Mister McRae makes decisions based on loyalty or family. He was placing us all at risk by trusting that incompetent fool."

"That's a decision he'll have to make, Mister Rooney," Sanch?z said with a smile. "I know that if Muscles here sold out one of my guys ? rat or not ? without telling me first, I'd have his eyeballs stuffed down his throat."

McVickar nodded sagely.

"This is not your concern," Rooney blurted. "Hand over the bodyguard at once."

"I suppose I could trust that once McRae is gone, you'll stay out of my hair," Sanch?z continued. "Or I could nip that in the bud now, once and for all."

Rooney took a menacing step forward.?

"Mister Goral warned me that you might not agree to my condition. So I brought along some backup. Now!"

A door on the opposite end of the warehouse opened, and men and women began to file in. Rooney recognized some of them as soldiers in the Sanch?z organization. Others used to work for Donatello and were listed among those who defected after the families collapsed. All-in-all, a group of nine thugs entered the room.

"Don't waste your time looking for weapons," McVickar warned. "We can take you down using our bare hands," he added, squeezing one massive hand into the other.?

Rooney went rigid. "You fools. You'd make me kill you all to get what I want?"

"We're fairly confident there must be limits to your ability," Sanch?z observed. "Can you control all twelve of us?"

Rooney's lips curled into a sick grin. "With no more effort than it takes you to sneeze." He began walking towards the group of assembled mobsters, and he forced them all to back away from him in unison. Fear and terror flashed across their faces as they realized the extent of his power.

"Now, I assume you will offer no further resistance to my taking the bodyguard."

"Oh, we're not done with you," Goral said, rising shakily to his feet. "In fact, we're just getting started."

* * *

Devon slowly and carefully walked a half-circle around Rooney, who was still holding Sanch?z and her crew at bay. "I spent a lot of time in bed today, on painkillers. I used that time for some math problems. I asked myself just how many people you could control. Somewhere there has to be a limit, right?"

Rooney turned towards Devon, his back now to Sanch?z. "Don't be so certain."

"Let's find out, shall we?" Devon asked, somewhat cheerfully. "Hut!"

The door behind Devon ? from which The Wraith first entered ? opened and more people came marching in. This time it was nearly the full complement of RhyDin Security and Investigations. Led by Xander Carter, a full thirteen men and women filed in behind Devon. All wore full body armor but ? of course ? lacked any weapons.?

"Many of these people knew and worked with Ramone Calderon," Devon explained calmly. "Others just don't like what you represent."

Rooney glanced around at the assembled crowd ? now totaling twenty-five. "This is twice you've managed to set a trap for me in as many days," Rooney conceded. "Perhaps I underestimated you, Mister Goral," he continued. "But still you are no threat to me. Thirty insects are no more threatening to me than one."

To punctuate his point, Rooney rolled his shoulders and forced the entire group ? all twenty-five ? to take an involuntary step backwards.

Devon narrowed his eyes. "The good news is, I didn't have to look far to find people who don't like you. Even with less than a day's notice, I had more volunteers than I knew what to do with. Nik!"

From the darkness of the harbor approached another large group of men and women. Nikolas Papadous, flanked by Peter Russo, led a group of twenty union dockworkers. Of the three groups, this one looked the most dangerous ? the most eager to take Rooney apart.

"You murdered or ordered the murder of a dozen of my closest friends and colleagues," Nik said, his voice low. "Everyone here lost a friend or family member to your reign of terror. The union nearly died because of you. It ends here, tonight."

Rooney, now surrounded by forty-seven opponents, turned slowly in a circle. He appeared to be looking at their faces, testing their resolve. Everyone there was prepared to kill him with their bare hands. The empty warehouse filled with a din of mumbles and whispers.?

"If you want to beg for your life," Devon offered simply, "we're prepared to listen."

Rooney turned towards Devon and smiled. "Beg? My life? This makes no difference. A hundred ? a thousand of you would not frighten me." He again turned towards the crowd, addressing all those assembled. "Don't you understand? You are nothing to me. You mean nothing to me."

"Take him!" Nik commanded.

The union dockworkers charged forward but Rooney stopped them in mid-attack, forcing them all backwards. The bodyguards and mobsters attacked next, but Rooney turned and forced them back as well. As the attacks became more uncoordinated, Rooney began to gesticulate wildly. As each group tried to jump on top of him he'd stop them and force them down to the ground.?

Devon, unable to put up a fight due to his weakened condition, stepped back and tried to coordinate. Sanch?z merely watched quietly.

Despite the ferocity of the attack, no one could get through to Rooney. Eventually it looked as though he were conducting them ? an orchestra of humanity, moving them around at his whim like a shaman commanding the elements themselves. The crowd of men and women attacking him were pushed and turned and forced about unnaturally ? a sea of people directed and controlled with precision.

With one final downstroke of Rooney's arms, the entire group sat down around him like children preparing for story time.?

Devon, still standing back, looked with frustration at his opponent. Rooney was panting and appeared to be soaked in sweat. He was struggling to maintain control over such a large group of people. Slowly, but surely, his plan was working.?

"You can't keep this up," Devon said, hobbling forward. "Give up and we'll make it quick."

Rooney sneered. "Never."

With a waive of his hand he parted the crowd like Moses parting the Red Sea. He then began running towards the docks.

"Stop him!" Devon shouted.

It was several seconds before Rooney's grip on his victims was released by distance. They all jumped up and the entire mass gave chase. But Rooney had quite the lead, and as he reached the edge of the docks he leapt into the harbor below. For several seconds there was silence, then a loud splash of his body hitting the water.

By the time the crowd reached the edge, there was no sign of The Wraith in the blackness below. No one had any flashlights due to the restriction on weapons, so no one could see anything. Devon pushed his way through the group and strained his eyes to see. There was no sound of swimming or drowning ? just the meager waves crashing against the cement foundation.

"There's no way he survives that fall," Xander observed. "It's got to be thirty feet down to the water's edge."

"It's cold down there, too," Muscles added. "He's got to be dead."

"Even if he survived," Peter noted, "the currents in the harbor are crazy. Suck a grown man under and never let him up."

Devon and Nik exchanged knowing glances. "He's not dead until we have a body," Devon said.

Nik nodded. "We'll get boats down here and start searching. No one sleeps until we have him, dead or alive."

"We're all at risk until we finish this," Devon warned. "No one will be safe."

"Then we get to work," Nik acknowledged. "This has to be The Wraith's last stand."

Devon Goral · Date: 2015-03-07 00:39 EST

Cameron McRae stood at the brass and glass bar in the living room of his well-appointed downtown condominium, perusing his ample selection of alcohol. After tapping his finger on several of the bottles in turn, he selected an expensive bottle of bourbon and slid it off the shelf.

"I have a meeting with Gloria scheduled for Tuesday," he explained. "I've already had a couple of preliminary conversations with her people, and so-far so-good. But I'm being careful not to get too excited, there's still plenty of room for her to break bad on me."

Cameron unscrewed the bottle and poured the liquid slowly over the fresh ice in the tumbler he'd prepared, watching how the cubes began to melt upon coming into contact with the warm, smooth booze.

"I work hard, and I take pride in what I've accomplished," he continued. "But without my family connections, I'd probably still be managing the gym on Rose street like I did during college. I'm not naive, I know that. And sometimes I think that Gloria and Daveon are never going to trust me."?

He turned towards his guest, drink in hand. "But I'm going to make this work. I'm confident that we're all going to make each other a lot of money." He smiled, then tilted his head. "Sure I can't get you a drink? At least something to toast with?"

Albert Rooney shook his head stiffly. "I don't drink alcohol."

Cameron furrowed his brow. "Never?"

"Never."

"How about some coffee?" Cameron pressed, stifling a yawn. "I know it's early."

"No caffeine, either," Albert said. "No stimulants of any kind."

"I suppose I admire your self-control," Cameron said with a chuckle, "but I could never do that. I believe in enjoying the finer things in life. Fine friends, fine women, fine drink." He raised his bourbon in the air. "To new beginnings."

Albert remained motionless, so Cameron waited no longer to take a sip from his drink. It burned going down ? a good burn, the kind that makes you feel alive in the morning.

It was still early by his standards ? just past nine in the morning. After a few days of foggy, dreary weather, the sun finally emerged today to light up the city. Cameron's living room windows looked out over downtown RhyDin, a gleaming city of both modernity and antiquity.?

Albert showed up with very little warning, requesting an urgent meeting about the alliance with Gloria Sanch?z. When he arrived, Cameron observed that he looked even more pale and frail than normal ? something Cameron didn't think possible. Yet his normally vacant and dead eyes darted about with surprising agility and seemed barely able to contain a previously-unseen fire in his soul.?

Cameron had very few dealings with Albert over their years together serving the same master. But that was about to change.

"I put together a plan that explains how I think we can split up the business," Cameron continued, taking a seat on his couch. "Daveon still gets to keep most of what he has now, but we're both going to expand in different directions. I have some amazing ideas of how we can really kick things off with a bang. And once they look over what I prepared, I'm certain they'll shake off any doubts about my qualifications."

Albert walked slowly across the room, almost floating above the floor. He peered at a series of framed photographs on the wall of Cameron with various celebrities ? mostly actors and actresses, royalty and debutants. Cameron had made just short of a career of being seen with the right people. Forging relationships was his strongest talent.

"But father really impressed upon me how important it will be to have you on the team as well, Albert,"?Cameron said before taking sip of his bourbon and setting the glass down on the coffee table. "Business acumen only gets you so far these days. You also have to command respect and fear. I think you and I, sitting at Gloria's table, will make an impressive force. No one's going to mess with us. And we're both going to be very wealthy."

Albert turned towards Cameron, still standing near the wall. "So you approve of your father's decision to retire?"

Cameron shrugged. "Of course not, but what choice do I have? I can't be my father's upstart son my whole life. I'm thirty-two years old and no one looks at me without seeing him. It's time for me to come into my own. I certainly appreciate what he's trying to do, and I love the idea of him getting closer to Annalynne."

"I see."

"I understand your loyalty to father. But he wants you to do this. He wants us to do this. Gloria's in a strong position right now and she's up for it. So I say let's give it a shot and see what happens. In a year or two, if we're not happy with how Gloria runs things, maybe we can look into other options."

Albert's face soured. "With your father, there was consistency. He rose above the petty squabbles that are so common in this line of work. He built an empire."

"And we're going to continue it!" Cameron exclaimed enthusiastically. "Gloria will give us enough room under her umbrella to really excel. It's an opportunity we cant ignore. But I need you in order to make it happen. Father says so, and I agree."

"And how does Sanch?z feel about me? Has the topic come up?"

"Well, I haven't talked to her directly, but my understanding is that we're a package deal. That's the condition that father set for naming Gloria as his successor."

"Really?" Albert asked, his tone dubious.

Cameron jumped up, still brimming with excitement. He stuck out his hand in Albert's direction. "Tell me we're doing this. Tell me we're going to rule this town."

Albert looked down at Cameron's hand before looking back up. His expression flooded with disdain. It was an expression that Cameron had seen many times before, and the light went out of him.

"I have a gift for you," Albert finally said, still refusing Cameron's hand. "To celebrate our new alliance."

Cameron raised a brow at the strange reaction. "A gift?"

Albert walked back towards the foyer, retrieving a small cardboard box he'd brought in with him. Cameron barely noticed the box at the time and had already forgotten about it. Left hanging at the awkward moment, he lowered his hand and instead took a sip of his bourbon.

Albert brought the box over to Cameron and extended it forward. His expression was strange and Cameron couldn't quite read the man.

"Open it," Albert insisted.

Cameron took the box, which turned out to be much heavier than he'd anticipated. He set it down on the coffee table and peeled open the flaps. Inside there was some crumpled newspaper than he pulled away.

Finally, Cameron revealed the contents of the box ? a large handgun. With his brow furrowed he hefted the weapon into the air to look at it. It was huge ? almost comically so ? and quite heavy. Specs of dirt and blood on the weapon made it clear that it was not brand new ? in fact it looked to have seen quite a bit of use.

Cameron looked up at Albert, puzzled. "Uh, thank you, Albert. This is, uh, very nice. I have to admit, I've never fired a gun in my life. But I bet I can get it mounted and hang it on the wall." He began to glance around the condominium for a place to put the ridiculous thing.

Albert shook his head. "This is not a weapon for displaying. This weapon kills."

Cameron chuckled, taking a step back from his compatriot. "That may well be, but if anyone we know needs to be killed, I'll be referring that task to you." Again he glanced at the weapon. "Thank you, Albert. This is very kind."

"For years I've stood by, silent and loyal, as your father told me what a disappointment you were to him," Albert explained, as if repeating a well-practiced speech. "How he could never trust you to run his operation. How he needed someone like me to take the reins if anything ever happened to him."

Cameron blanched, and he took another step back from Albert.

A tiny, twisted smile came across Albert's face as if remembering a happy occasion. "Once, he even suggested ? just a hint, mind you ? that I was like a son to him. It was the happiest I've ever felt."

Cameron frowned. "Look, Albert, my father and I haven't always seen eye-to-eye on how to handle business. Over the years, I've said things about him that I regret, and I'm sure he'd say the same thing. But we're family. Family comes first."

Albert took a menacing step towards Cameron, his eyes flashing. "Your father is my family."

Cameron narrowed his eyes, holding his ground. "My father is leaving. You deal with me now."

His forcefulness seemed to catch Albert off-guard, and he stopped his approach. His nostrils flared but his lips curled into an even wider smile.

"Maybe it's best we have this meeting with my father," Cameron suggested. "Perhaps he can explain to you where he sees us all fitting in together."

"That won't be necessary," Albert said. "I recently experienced great trials, both physical and mental, which resulted in a revelation. I see everything clearly now. I understand."

"Good."

Albert nodded his head towards the pistol. "You know, it took me a while to find ammunition for that. The gun is called a Predator, manufactured by Ares Arms on a far-away world. The bullets are only sold at specialty shops, and they were quite expensive, too."

Cameron looked down at the handgun ? he'd almost forgotten he was holding it. He grunted something in response, not really understanding what Albert was going on about.

"It has been my pride and pleasure to serve Mister McRae for all these years," Albert continued, his cadence even and slow. "We've become very close over that time. Occasionally I've had to step in and fix his mistakes, which I do selflessly out of love and respect. It appears that this is one of those incidents."

"I don't like your tone, Mister Rooney," Cameron warned.?

"And I don't like what you represent," Albert snapped. "And if Mister McRae only has room in his heart for one son, I'll make sure he chooses the correct one."

Cameron's eyes went wide. "You can't choose your family."

"Watch me," Albert responded bluntly.

Cameron felt a chill run down his spine and his knees went week. A feeling of panic flooded over him as he watched his own hand grip the pistol and turn it inward until the muzzle was pressed tightly against his own chest. He looked up at Albert, his face flushing with rage. "How dare you?" he demanded. "Leave here at once."

Albert paled to the point of near translucency as he focused his attention. "Mister McRae has been ashamed of you your whole life. You are an embarrassment to him. A disappointment. A mistake."

"You can't do this," Cameron demanded. "What would he say?"

"I think he'll be relieved. A great burden lifted from his chest."

"You're insane," Cameron growled. "Release me you freak."

"I'm no freak," Albert answered calmly. "Just a son ? performing a necessary task ? on behalf of his beloved father."

Cameron opened his mouth to argue, but he instead became aware of a thundering crack as the handgun discharged.

Devon Goral · Date: 2015-07-03 00:58 EST

Devon Goral passed through the doorways of Julius McRae's downtown RhyDin offices. It was dark, and stillness hung heavily in the air. Even the brilliant lights of the downtown skyline through the office windows did little to punctuate the blackness inside.

From the doorway, Devon saw McRae seated at his desk. A solitary lamp shone down on the surface of the desk, illuminating a closed bottle of premium scotch and an empty glass. McRae himself was motionless, staring at ? or perhaps past ? the bottle.?

Devon paused a moment, ?before finally clearing his throat and rapping his knuckles gently against the open door. "Sir?" He asked softly.

McRae grunted in response. Perhaps permission to enter, perhaps a demand to depart. Devon paused again, before deciding it was the former. He took several steps into the office but maintained his distance.

"I came as soon as I could," Devon continued. He'd practiced the next part but could never decide exactly what to say. Deepest condolences? So very sorry? Regret? None of that seemed appropriate. Respecting McRae's status as a businessman, he decided to keep it simple. "I'm sorry, sir."

McRae showed no reaction.

"Where are your guards?" Devon asked. "I was able to walk up here without even being asked my name."

"I sent them to protect my daughter," McRae answered, his voice dry. "All of them. I am not in danger. No one would dare come after me."

"This morning I was interviewed by some private investigators," Devon explained. "That's how I found out."

McRae nodded, gesturing at his phone. "I have a dozen messages from every P.I. and rent-a-cop in RhyDin. They think that because I have money, I'll pay handsomely to have my son's murder investigated."

"Well the ones who found me pieced it together quickly," Devon explained. "Cameron was shot with a kind of pistol that is rare in these parts, and I am well known as owning a similar model. The weapon wasn't found at the scene but they must have expedited ballistics tests. Which brought them to me."

"I'm sure that was the plan, no?"

"To point a finger at me," Devon noted solemnly. He left out the fact that it actually was his Predator used in the shooting, and the circumstances behind how he lost it.

McRae nodded.?

"Sir?"

"I know you didn't murder my son, Mister Goral," McRae said, looking up for the first time. "And we both know who did."

Devon fought the urge to look down. McRae had a powerful gaze and piercing eyes, and they burned into Devon's soul.

"My actions contributed to this," Devon answered. "I share responsibility."

McRae narrowed his eyes. He then gestured at the chair across the desk from him. "Please have a seat, Mister Goral. I was just about to enjoy a glass of scotch, would you care to join me?"

Devon took the seat as offered. "Thank you, sir, but I'm not currently drinking."

McRae grunted. "I'm well aware that you've been drunk every time we've met. I accepted it because you are obviously high-functioning and it's not my place to judge you. Whatever journey you find yourself on, God speed."

Devon didn't know how to react to that, so he remained silent.?

"I've had a wild ride, Mister Goral. I was a made man at the age of seventeen. Captain at twenty three. Boss at thirty one. I peaked early ? too early. By my fortieth birthday I had half the city trying to kill me and divide up my territory. And they almost did. So I realized I needed to step back, 'retire,' and move more slowly. That's when I met Albert."

"The Wraith," Devon observed.

McRae smiled. "He wasn't called that back then. When I met him, he was part of a gang pulling petty robberies. I immediately realized his potential even though he did not. I brought him into my organization, let him act as my enforcer, and told the world ? and my family ? that I was out of the game. By that point I'd built up enough respect that my enemies ? those still alive ? left me alone.

"Albert was hungry. He'd spent a lifetime being abused and mistreated by people who were afraid of him. He was an orphan and experienced unspeakable horrors in group and foster homes. A life of crime was the only option for him. The only place he could excel. But even there, he needed someone to believe in him. To let him stretch his legs.

"What I didn't realize at the time was how badly damaged he was. Once he began to prey on peoples' fear, it empowered him to become more and more cruel. I tried to teach him that crime is just another kind of business. There are rules and standards for us just like anyone else. But he saw himself as being above the rules. I didn't imagine that a man with no apparent self esteem could rise into a megalomaniac. Apparently I wasn't reading the right books.

"Yet despite all his excesses, he remained fiercely loyal to me. I ? and only I ? could control him. That, combined with my desire to remain out of the spotlight, prompted me to keep him around. Even after I understood how dangerous he'd become, I let him sit at my right hand. I told him that he would succeed me. And sometimes, in moments of weakness and frustration, I told him that he was more of a son to me than my own flesh and blood."

At that, McRae took a long pause. He opened the bottle of scotch and poured a bit of it into the glass. His hand shook as he raised the glass to his lips and took a drink. He closed his eyes as he gulped down the liquid before opening them again and setting down the glass.

"Cameron's fate was sealed the moment I hired Albert Rooney. That day I set in motion a series of events that could not have ended any other way. I was never actually going to give him my empire. I could never choose Albert over Cameron. Perhaps there were moments when I thought otherwise, but those weren't rational thoughts. It could never be any other way."

McRae paused again, eyes darting between the bottle and Devon's face. "I created The Wraith. I gave him power. The blood of his victims, including my own son, is on my hands and mine alone."

Devon nodded. He didn't entirely agree with McRae, and he didn't come here seeking absolution. "So what now?" he asked.

McRae drew in a long breath. "I have one last job for you, Mister Goral. After which I believe that it would be best for us to part ways. You and I are not as compatible as I originally thought."

"Yes, sir."

"I have to take care of a few final tasks and then I will leave RhyDin forever. I'm going on tour with my daughter. I won't lose Annalynne like I lost Cameron. She's all I have left."

"I understand, sir."

"I'll make sure you're well compensated for the job, just like all the others."

"With respect, and we've had this conversation before, this is not what I do. Surely there are better equipped?"

"Assassins?"

Devon nodded.

"Probably, but you've shown yourself to be quite capable yourself."

"It's not who I am."

"It's who you'll have to be, Mister Goral. One last time, at least."

Devon narrowed his eyes.?

"Albert's decision to murder Cameron and blame it on you ? it was a desperate act by a desperate man. He still thinks he's doing what's best for me ? what's in my best interest. Now that Cameron is out of the way, he thinks there's nothing standing between him and me. It was a personal, visceral act ? a combination of his hate for Cameron and his love for me. And I need his punishment to be equally personal. He's wronged you in multiple ways, now I need you to put him down."

Devon nodded.

"That's what this was all about, right? You've wanted to kill him for well over a year."

"Yes, sir."

"So do it, Mister Goral. No one will stand in your way. In fact, this whole city will celebrate your triumph."

Devon let out a breath. "It may not be as easy as that. He has quite the defense mechanism."

McRae chuckled. "His ability?"

Devon nodded. "The Puppetmaster."

"Albert served me ? especially at the beginning ? because I'm completely immune to his ability. He can't even control the hairs on the back of my neck."

Devon blinked. "You're immune?"

McRae nodded. "Over the years, especially when I began to realize how unpredictable he could be, I needed to find out what was special about me. In case I ever needed to take action."

"And did you?"

"I have a rare genetic disorder. Electrical impulses from my brain sometimes can't find their way to my limbs. It's similar to ALS but much more mild ? and fully treatable with modern medicine. I take a very expensive pill every morning which reinforces my motor neurons. After some experimentation I confirmed that the medicine also cancels out Albert's ability to control a person by remote."

McRae reached into his top desk drawer and produced a pill bottle. He glanced briefly at the prescription label before sliding it across the desk to Devon.

"I have no idea how many pills you'll need or how long it will need to take effect. But with those pills, Albert will have no power over you."

Devon accepted the bottle, holding it firmly in his hand.

"Do you accept the job?"

Devon paused, then nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Excellent. Then there should be no need for us to ever speak again."

"Yes, sir."

"The man who raised you ? he passed?"

Devon nodded. "A few days ago."

"And do you still intend to leave RhyDin?"

"I have a ticket for a flight home for the funeral. I may not return."

"It appears we are both done with this city, Mister Goral. We will set out on new adventures. I hope that you can find ? whatever it is that this place lacked."

"Thank you, sir."

"Good luck, Mister Goral."

"And to you, sir."

Devon Goral · Date: 2015-07-03 01:00 EST

The late night air hung heavily in Devon Goral's apartment as a nearby church bell tolled midnight. It was pitch black save a tiny shaft of light streaming through a break in the living room curtain. Despite the early summer humidity outside, the environment in the apartment seemed cold and dry.

Moments later, an awkward fiddling came at the door before it swung open. The ?landlady stepped aside mechanically to admit The Wraith to the apartment. He closed the door behind and paused to let his eyes adjust to the darkness.

Once he had grown accustomed to the environment, he moved towards Devon's desk. He began to open the drawers and rifle through them, looking for ? something. Finally, after opening the bottom drawer, he reached behind him and produced a large pistol from his waistband ? the Ares Predator.

"Nice of you to bring that back," Devon said dryly.

Rooney spun around quickly, pointing the gun in Devon's direction. The Protector sat comfortably on his couch and had observed the entire attempted burglary.

"Best you put that down," Devon added sarcastically, "I don't think you know how to use it."

"I didn't think you were here," Rooney admitted. "I've had one of my men stationed outside all day."

"There are many ways in and out of this apartment," Devon explained. "I assumed you were having me watched and I concluded that you'd try to plant the gun on me."

Rooney glanced down at the Predator and smiled. "Every private cop in the city wants to apprehend Cameron McRae's killer. You're well known for your temper and your instability. Once I phone in an anonymous tip, it won't be long until you find yourself locked up."

"And then what?" Devon asked simply, his tone still even. "What's your endgame on this stupid plan?"

"Mister McRae doesn't want me to kill you, so this will suffice for now. I'll have you where I can keep an eye on you and where you can't cause me any trouble. Once the attention fades, then I'll finish you off." His smile widened. "When you're least expecting it."

Devon shook his head, rising to his feet. "Weak plan, Al. May I call you 'Al'? For a guy who sees himself as an heir to a criminal mastermind's empire, I find some of your work product to be lacking. Sure, you're great at scaring people and getting them to do your bidding, but we both know who the brains of the operation is. And without McRae, you'd be twisting in the wind."

Rooney narrowed his eyes, the Predator still pointed in The Protector's direction.

"Your actions have been entirely predictable. I lured you to Singh's office. I lured you down to the docks. And I anticipated that you'd come here to plant the gun on me."

Rooney fidgeted uncomfortably. "And yet with all that foreknowledge, Mister Goral, you've failed in every attempt to kill me. Even your army couldn't do worse than give me a bit of a head cold."

"All in good time, Mister Rooney," Devon said with a smile, taking a step towards The Wraith. "Our dance is nearly done."

"So it appears," Rooney answered menacingly.

"The only question remains: how do I do it?" Devon mused. "This whole thing is still new to me. Ramon liked to be at range, with his victim pictured in a scope. Me? I suppose I'm more of the visceral type. I don't mind working with my hands. I don't mind getting dirty. It's more personal that way, you know."

"Don't take another step," Rooney warned. "I see plenty of windows in this apartment to toss you out of."

"You see," Devon continued, ignoring the admonition, "it wasn't enough to kill you. I had to break you. I had to destroy everything you held dear. Now you didn't have much to lose ? no fancy house, expensive car ? just the job. Your self worth as a mob enforcer. So that meant I had to tear down your little organization." He paused to smile, remembering. "And I did."

"A minor setback," Rooney insisted. "All you did was help me cull the weak. Once you and Sanch?z are out of the way, Mister McRae and I can get back to work. Back to being on top. If anything, you've made us stronger. More resilient."

"You really don't get it, do you?" Devon asked, taking another step forward. "You murdered his son and you don't think there'll be any consequences? You don't think he'll react?

"In time he'll understand and accept," Rooney asserted. "Cameron was a playboy. A buffoon. He wasn't worthy of ? his father. Of Mister McRae."

"Family comes first," Devon said. "How many times have you heard him say that?"

"Family makes us weak," Rooney countered with a sneer. "How many abuses must a man suffer at the hands of his family? How much terror can anyone take in the night? Once the distractions are eliminated, Mister McRae can focus on what he does best. He can be a man of business. He and I will dominate."

"He hired me to kill you," Devon stated bluntly. "And he's paying me quite handsomely to do it. Not that I needed to be paid, but it's how he does business."

Rooney blinked, the small bit of emotion that had leaked through vanishing immediately.

"He wants you dead more than I do. You betrayed his trust and his love. He saved you from the gutter and you repaid him by murdering his son."

"I sa-saved him!" Rooney stammered. "Back then and again now. He will understand in time."

"At least Mister McRae has a sense of honor. Treats his foes with respect. You ? everything you do is cruel and sadistic."

"People feared me!" Rooney exclaimed proudly.

"For all the wrong reasons. I'll go toe-to-toe with you any time, but you went after my wife! Not that she couldn't handle herself, but you tried to use my family against me."

"And I'd do it again. Stop moving!"

Devon shook his head with a smile, "Quite frankly you're lucky it's me doing this. You're fortunate I got to you before she did." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "She'd eviscerate you alive. Bleed you out on the floor and watch you die. My only regret is that I can't tie you up in a bow and deliver you to her to finish off."

"STOP!"

Devon's smile widened. "Make me."

Rooney's eyes went wide in that moment as he realized he couldn't control Devon. He was powerless. He looked down and fumbled with the pistol, but Devon aggressively snatched it out of his hand. Taking the Predator by the grip, he whipped it into Rooney's face once, twice, three times ? before the man collapsed helplessly to the carpet.

"You pathetic ass," Devon shouted down at the floor. "Without your power you're nothing. McRae shared his secret immunity with me. I wish everyone you've hurt could see you like this, begging for your life."

"I won't beg!" Rooney cried up, clutching his face to stop the blood gushing from his broken nose.?

Devon merely shook his head, standing above his victim with the full menace of his height.

"You call me pathetic?" Rooney wailed. "No doubt you see yourself as some bad-ass in a trench coat and sunglasses. The rest of us see a staggering drunk, mumbling his way through life. You reek of booze and failure. Everyone in your life takes pity on you. How dare you judge me? You're nothing. You are nobody."

Devon narrowed his eyes down at the shrieking man. Calmly he reached over and set the bloody Predator down on the top of the desk. He then gripped Rooney's right arm and held it firmly.?

"This is for all the dockworkers you killed or terrorized. Hard-working men and women you preyed upon just because they wouldn't pay you to do their jobs." With a powerful twist of his arms and torso, Devon snapped Rooney's arm until it broke through skin.

Rooney did not scream, but his mouth hung open and he let out a guttural groan. He began to squirm on the floor, prompting Devon to step down on his chest and pin him to the floor.?

Devon then reached for Rooney's left arm, likewise holding it in a vise grip. "This is for Cameron McRae. I didn't know him, but whatever his faults he certainly didn't deserve to die because of your jealousy." With another firm twist, he broke that arm as well ? dropping it awkwardly to the floor.

Still Rooney did not scream, but he thrashed his upper body about on the carpet. Blood began to pool around him, seeping into the carpet.

Devon kneeled down on Rooney's chest, half-turning to grip his right leg. "This is for Ramon Calderon. He was a good, honourable man and he was my friend. You would have saved yourself a lot of pain and suffering if you had just let him shoot you." Devon bore all his weight down on the leg until he broke it at the knee, causing the lower half to go limp.

Rooney's eyes rolled back in his head and he flailed his broken arms about helplessly.

Devon turned the other direction, taking Rooney's left leg in his hands. "And this ? this is for Zephyer. You violated her and humiliated her. And though I don't blame you for driving her away, certainly you brought out the worst in us both."?

Devon closed his eyes, took a breath, and then used all his strength to bend Rooney's leg until it snapped loudly.

As he rose to his feet, his eyes still closed, Devon listened to the symphony of Albert Rooney's screams. With the weight on his chest released, Rooney flopped around the floor in agony, soaked in his own blood and no longer capable of independent movement.

Devon turned, opened his eyes, and looked down on what he'd done. He'd never tortured anyone before ? not like this. Yet he felt no guilt. No horror at what he'd done. Not even a tinge of regret.

"Now you're my puppet, you son of a bitch," Devon added, his voice cold and calculating.

As he began to grow numb and weak with blood loss, The Wraith stopped screaming and stopped moving. He looked up at Devon through bloodshot eyes, his mouth still hanging open.?

"No last words?" Devon asked simply.

Rooney licked his dry lips, fighting to speak through his body's death shudders. "At least I triumphed," he finally said, "for a time. I was someone." He then tilted his head and asked, "Who are you?"

Devon narrowed his eyes and placed his foot on Rooney's throat. Leaning forward, he increased the weight gradually, crushing Rooney's windpipe.?

"You're nobody," Devon corrected. "Now die."

And following a satisfying crunch, Albert Rooney finally died.