January 12th, 2000 - Break of Dawn
Headquarters

The crackle of a bulb, the dull hum of light that flashed over his lids. A splatter of color over closed eyes. Spotted vision. His eyes snapped open, instantly awake and alert. A flare of sterling, an explosion from pupils to the edges of gunpowder rimmed irises.

His palms placed to the mattress, all but vaulting off the mattress to the table that lined the far wall. Silver to silver, he eyed the metallic array of blades that lined the table in perfect parallels. They were arranged by his systematic arming methods. He took a moment to admire them, fingers dusting over the cold metals until they paused at two blades. His favorites. Dual ulaks. Fingertips traced the ridged curves that bled into the smooth sheet of the thick blades. To cut, to rend.

Sterling pools disappeared behind blonde lash as he closed his eyes, his head rolling in a circle as vertebrae cracked and echoed through the room. When they resurfaced, he dressed himself and began his rhythmic system of arming himself.

One Hour Later

Ready for the progressively long trek ahead of him; in jeans fit snug to his legs, combat boots, a loose tank top that hung off his frame, a thin cloak looking jacket with a scarf-like hood to cover the brightness of his hair. Something that would surely make him stick out, yet he found ways around it. Against Jackson's request, he refused to dye it to it's natural color.

Hooking his spindly fingers around the strap of his backpack, he slung it over his shoulder and slipped out the door. Down the hospital fashioned hallway, fluorescent lights reflecting over the sterling irises and making them flicker with iridescent color with each passing. It wasn't until he reached the final door at the hallway, his hand on the cold metal that he paused to the sounds of steps behind him. A twitch of nostril, a scent drawn in. A sigh extinguished.

"...Jackson. Here to see me off?" Amusement laced a voice far too deep for Hyde's appearance rolled off his tongue as he turned to glance over his shoulder.

"On the contrary, I have something for you." A less grating voice with the same touch of depth came from Jackson, a smile far less menacing yet still just as sharp presented. He held up a small device between nimble fingers, his brows lifting expectantly. "It's an implant. For contacting me."

Hyde's eyes narrowed to the man. "For contacting you... or tracking me?" A knowing smile spread, less mirth than it was a sneer.

"Both. After your last assignment, I don't trust you not to get... distracted." Jackson's own stormy gaze settled on Hyde's, his own smile wide.

"All work and no play makes for a dull boy, Jacky," he cackled, humoring the man as he turned around to face him, his hand falling away from the door with a sigh. "Alright, but," lifting one finger, he cut a sly smirk and tilting his head slightly. "No probing unless you take me for a drink first," he requested, his tone sing song.

"Jackson or Jack," he corrected with a crinkle of a narrow nose. "You know I hate that nickname. --"

"That's why I used it," informative in nature, it was mixed with a toothy crocodile smile.

"I'm aware," Jack deadpanned, holding out his hand with a flicker of fingers toward his palm. "Give me your forearm. I don't probe, you already know this," he scowled. His sense of humor was far more dry than Hyde's.

Sighing, his shoulders shifted as he feigned disappointment. "Well there goes my afternoon.." He teased, plucking at the sleeve of the thin coat to pull it up, sticking his forearm out toward him with the inside of his wrist up.

Taking the extended limb in his fingers, he pulled a gun-like device from the large pocket of his lab jacket. "Sorry to disappoint," he mumbled distractedly, fitting the barrel against the upper section of Hyde's forearm just below the elbow. There was a sound of infusion, a sound of metal slipping below flesh that only Hyde could hear apart from the feel.

A crinkle of nose. Nothing more. "Now are we done? You know, you're being quite the distraction for me right now," he raised his brows, giving Jack a pointed look. "Keep me much longer you'll have to pay me overtime."

"I don't pay you at all," Jack snorted, shaking his head as he put the gun away.

Plucking the sleeve down over his arm, he shook it out with a twist of wrist. His brows furrowed, eyes lifting to the ceiling as he breathed the words. "Ah, that's right.. Well," he sighed, a coy smirk hooking the corner of his mouth. "We'll have a chat about that when I get back."

He didn't wait for a response from Jack, only turned on a heel and pushed through the metal door to the elevator room leading to the surface.

January 15th, 2000 - Dawn
Pamplona, Colombia


A painting in red and white: pale flesh smeared with caked blood. Sprawled limbs and even breaths.

It was the first break of light over the horizon revealing the damage of the room. Tipped furniture, broken glass from a lamp knocked off the nightstand that had shattered on the floor. The mattress' sheets weren't made of fabric but a thin coating of blood. It painted the narrow arch of his cheek as it laid on a smeared pillow. A twitch of nostril, a deep inhale. The room smelled of death and copper. Dried blood and pallid flesh, split with sterling like a blade as his eyes snapped open at the first hint of sunlight that brushed his skin with warmth.

Inhaling that decrepit scent, the corner of his mouth had hooked. Last night had been a good night. And he should've expected a particular someone to ruin the blessed moment.

You got distracted again, I see.

Hyde scowled, a curl of lip that split the dried blood on his face with an articulate spider web of lines. All work and no play, Jack. You're making me feel like a broken record at this point. Even his internal monologue was dry, groggy from sleep and last night's endeavors.

What was it this time? Indulgence of entertainment or a meal? Curiosity that always touched upon Hyde's annoyance, the studies of him that never seemed to cease. He was tired of feeling like a lab rat.

Lifting himself on his forearms, he propped himself to turn his head to the mangled mess on the floor. That crocodile smile showed a dual set of pearly teeth as he cackled under his breath, raspy from sleep. Bit of both, I'd say. Starkly nude in all his morbid glory, he climbed to his feet on the mattress that sunk under his weight before he dropped off it. So what do I owe this morning call, Jacky boy? His mood was lightened from the night before, making it easier to handle his very own living pet peeve.

Hm. Of course. The tone dry as Hyde informed him of his indulgences. A slow sigh. Jack. The feeling was mutual. Now I feel like a broken record. Never mind. As Jackson talked, Hyde moved to the jacket that was draped in a chair in the far corner of the room. Rifling through pockets, he found what he was seeking: a pack of smokes and a lighter. Striking one to life with the sizzle of flame to tobacco, he drew in a lungful of the smoke. I hate that you do that. It smells terrible, it has many drawbacks on your health, your senses-

Are you telling me that the Madman can't fix something? Hyde's mental tone feigned sarcasm and even a gasp to spice it up.

I'm not here to fix your recklessness, Beast.

Call it me challenging your intelligence and ability. Tit for tat, right? It's only fair. Bitter. That was the acid in his tone. He made a point by inhaling another lungful of the putrid smoke, his chest expanding with the effort. His nails scratched at some of the caked blood on his jawline, his nose crinkling as it was growing uncomfortable at this point.

I suppose it's-- A pause. I'll have to get back to you on that. Some of them just don't know when to quit. A sigh.

That made him smirk, his eyes circling around to that lump on the floor. Give 'em hell, Jack. A hollowing of cheeks that amplified the apples of his cheekbones, he inhaled deeply one last time before dropping the rest of the cigarette on a particularly blood soaked portion of the carpet. There was a sizzle as the paper and cherry absorbed the liquid and he stalked casually toward the shower. The pads of his fingers brushed where he'd felt the implant a few days before, the bump of what he'd assumed to be metal beneath his flesh. Now, it was as smooth as could be with no hint of the foreign object in his arm. Frowning deeply, he made a mental note to ask Jack about that next time.

January 17th, 2000 - Late Night
Cerrito, Colombia


A non-stop run from the mid-point to Cerrito, with anger the fuel to keep him pushing forward. By the time he reached the skirts of the city his muscles sang with pain and exhaustion, feeling as though he was ready to collapse to his knees. Each breath was a stab of pins and needles to his lungs with the effort it took for his rib cage to expand. Bent forward with his hands on his knees, his head hung forward. Platinum bangs stuck to his forehead with sweat as he struggled for air in short gulps. His eyes closed and for a moment, sleep was feeling like a grand idea.

It was the not-so-distant sounds of the bustling city at night that drifted over the wind to find his ears. The smells of the living; of food, flesh and the city itself. It found his nostrils when he managed to get a full expansion of air into his lungs. It forced the swirling of liquid mercury in his irises to surface from closed lids and tangled lashes. To turn them on the nearby streets where shadows of passing bodies danced over the pavement like a beacon of a lighthouse. That ocean of anger bubbled to the surface, for Jackson, for what he didn't know. For being a wild animal with a tag implanted in his skin... somehow... some way... to an extent that he didn't know the outcome. For being lied to, kept in the dark. For lacking choice and freedom.

That heavy threat of anger bubbled to the surface of his throat and spilled between his clenched and bared teeth in a thick, wet hiss. Rage pumping adrenaline through his veins dulled the pain of aching bones and muscle. It straightened his spine and forced one foot in front of the other. He was mislead, misdirected and he had no set path in front of him tonight. He'd pave his own way and line the streets with blood.

I am my own animal.

You keep telling yourself that, beast. A response from the Madman himself not a second after the thought had swept through his mind. It curled the edges of Hyde's sharp lips into a grin, the condescending words that he was waiting for Jackson to return to him with. His very own personal fuel, and something to blame for his own actions.

Then...

The sounds of a small party of humans staggering in an alley. Alone. Out of sight from the crowds of the city. Unguarded.

A crocodile's smile. A jackal's laughter. And streets painted with blood.

February 3rd, 2000 - After Midnight
Villa De Leyva, Colombia


You're hesitating. The Madman's voice reverberated through his mind as he stared at the church ahead.

Rolling his eyes, the Beast snickered under his breath. I'm calculating. Liquid mercury pools drifted over the empty streets, the silence nearly deafening other than the soft hum of the wind that carried through the air.

You're not one for calculations. Jackson scoffed. You move on impulse. You don't think, you just do.

I hate it when you analyze me. The deadpanned thoughts come from Hyde as he started his approach toward the church.

You just hate that I'm right. The maddening cackle made Hyde grit his teeth as he climbed the stairs to the building, slipping inside without effort and no less than silent.

If we're finished, I have a job to do. His mental tone was bland, lacking any hint of emotion as he carried through the nave, past the sanctuary and carried on through the living quarters of the church.

Get it done. Nearly condescending, as if it was his idea to begin with. Hyde couldn't help but scowl.

Reaching the hallway, he stood between two doors. A look to the left and a moment of quiet listening told him that there was soft whining coming from the room. Refraining from rolling his eyes, he turned his attention to the door on the right. Soft snoring was what came from that room.

He chose the door on the right, steps as quiet as a murmur as he turned the door handle slowly to let himself slip in. Turning, he closed the door with his hand pressed to the edge of the door to muffle the process. Glancing over his shoulder as the moonlight reflected off those silver hues, illuminating them like the flash of a blade, he eyed the slumbering form of the priest.

You're sure he won't wake? He breached the connection to the Madman once more.

I'm certain of it.

Good. That smile spread wider into a malicious display as he approached the bed. Tilting his head as he peered down to the old man, he chuckled. Where's your God now, Priest?

A jackal's laughter.

Dark eyes springing wide.

A thick and rolling hiss, followed by a flash of rendering teeth to flesh.

A wet and bloody scream.