Chapter 19

London, England, UK- June 23, 2006

The rain pounded on the window outside the apartment building, smashing against the glass like pellets of hail. A massive gust of wind rattled the rickety frames in their places; a massive bolt of lightning crackled the dark night sky, followed by a large clap of thunder.

From the inside of the room, Asher walked slowly towards the window. His black leather outfit fit in well with the dark interior of the apartment; not a single light was lit in the entire unit. Perhaps it was better this way; he was not a person who desired to attract more attention to himself than necessary- until he was ready.

And still the other occupant of the apartment continued rattling on, his voice becoming more and more agitated and bitter as the rambling progressed.

"The Hellstorm team was never supposed to be about protecting the free world from existential threats. It was a one giant test tube; a blender to see which of the lucky cadets got to be the one to experience hell on earth and whether they could survive it. Hellstorm could create a new, super breed of humans, free to act as they see fit in order to keep their beloved state's secrets far from the public eyes. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, they could collapse from the inside out and it wouldn't matter; all that would be important was that they could continue without restrictions and without fear of reprisals."

Asher stopped in front of the window. Without looking back, he asked in a rather uninterested tone, "How could you possibly know about all this? The whole purpose of Hellstorm was to ensure that the least amount of people possible would even be aware of its existence. The last time I checked, you were not a viable candidate for it."

He heard a low chuckle come from the chair near the centre of the room behind him. "That's what everybody thought. And yet you'd be surprised what you'll learn when you meet the bugger responsible for the whole bloody mess drowning his sorrows in a pub, killing himself over what he's done to the world by his work. Old Goldstein wasn't nearly as tight-lipped as he was back when Hellstorm was a unit, which was pretty ballsy of him considering how the CIA is watching him like a suspected terrorist.

"The Hellstorm team was formed with only the most superior soldiers in the democratic world, comprising five individuals who had endless abilities and potential. Why do you think that was so? Do you really honesty believe that we were the only ones who were observed to see if Hellstorm could be applied to us? Not a chance in hell. The CIA had been experimenting with people for months before we were even knew about the existence of this clandestine group we were to become a part of. Candidates were subjected to the drug even in its early stages to test whether they were suitable enough to survive the procedure; of all of them, only one survived." There was a momentary pause, and then with an intake of breath the haggard British tone spoke out again. "You…"

Asher slowly turned his head halfway around in the direction of the voice behind him. Though his tone remained largely emotionless, there was a hint of interest in it when he responded. "Are you saying I was…selected?"

There was a noise from the chair which sounded somewhat like a cross between a chuckle and a wheeze. "Selected? Who gets to select who becomes an immortal? A god among humans? Who gets to choose who is and who is not worthy to take up the mantle of being a super being?" The man coughed. "A being capable of making choices as they see fit? Oh yes, Hellstorm selected you alright; though considering how mentally unstable you were prior to the process it is damn lucky for you that David quit the team after your little encounter in Africa."

Asher said slowly, "Ziva?"

"Yeah. Mossad's little girl was apparently Goldstein's first choice as a test subject. He said she was far more stable than you were; the risk of her going rogue was much less. But since you scared her away with your remorseless attitude, Goldstein had no choice but to test it out on the only other team member deemed strong enough; an outright sociopath."

Asher murmured, far more to himself than to his companion, "Ziva could have been selected…"

"It's all utter rubbish!" The man said with a new hoarse attempt at energy. "I could have been that immortal! I should have been the god you are now, able to create a new advanced generation of people capable of taking care of this world!" He breathed in heavily. "However, that is no longer a possibility- thanks to you…"

Asher slowly and tightly clenched his right fist. Looking out of the window, he watched a streak of lightning flash across the sky. The illumination temporarily penetrated through his sunglasses; anyone who was watching would have caught the bright orange tint flash across his irises…

"Nevertheless, despite what might or might not have been, your own survival holds tremendous meaning. You are still a ruthless, sociopathic bastard, but you can truly say now you are superior to most of the rest of the global population. The world is virtually yours to do with as you please."

There was another fit of coughing and choking. Asher turned towards the direction of the chair and observed its occupant stumble out of it; William Raynes, a scraggly broken shell of his former self, struggled to bring himself to full height, still facing away from Ballack. The Canadian slowly started to walk towards his former Hellstorm teammate.

"And now look at me." Raynes spat out in a strained voice. "A weak outer cast of what I used to be. Very ironic, don't you think, for one who could have been selected to become a real-life god?" The Briton slowly turned to face Asher, who was now stopped right in front of him. His bloodshot eyes stared wildly like that of a wild animal. "To be trapped in a cage of virtual, hell-on-earth mortality, facing what he begrudgingly call, his deity…"

Asher's largely expressionless face tilted ever so slightly to the side. Though his eyes were still hidden from sight, his seemingly indifferent tone appeared to reflect a much more thoughtful mindset. He said slowly, "Selected to become a god…"

There was a split-second pause. Then, with a sudden and abrupt movement, he struck. Asher's right fist slammed into Raynes' chest and immediately penetrated throughout his torso. His heart exploded upon impact along with one of his lungs. Half a second after entering Raynes' chest, his fist rammed itself out of the Briton's back, the attack being so sudden and unexpected that for a second or two Raynes had no possible reaction. As the Englishman fell forwards towards Asher, the Canadian caught him with his other hand, leaned in closely to his ear and murmured; "Only a true god decides who lives in this world…"

He ripped his arm out from Raynes' torso. The Briton, choking on his own blood, gave a shocked and pained gasp of air. Stumbling back just a few metres, he seemed to sway on his feet for half a moment. Then, with a final choked attempt to breathe, he fell backwards onto the ground, a trickle of blood running out of the side of his semi-open mouth.

Asher looked down upon him pitifully. "Selected to become a god?" He gave a slight scoff. "You?" He shook his head. "Still arrogant after all this time. Only someone worthy of godhood is able to be selected. Anyone else who actually believes in their own superiority has no place in the proper world. And yet," he raised his eyebrows a fraction of an inch, "what you say has given me all the knowledge required to do what must be done for the good of humanity…"

***

Asher leaned back in his chair, the coldness in his face replaced by his usual cool and indifferent expression. "Hellstorm is the ultimate equalizer Agent Gibbs. Not only does it eradicate the weak in order to stop them from overrunning the planet and creating more chaos, but it also seeks out the false power-holders; those people who believe themselves to be superior to everyone else just because they possess some sort of material power- wealth, authority, religious influence. Hellstorm doesn't discriminate; it's unbiased and judges everyone equally. The only reason you would seek to stop it from occurring is if you fear that you would lose your grip on the power you have now. That's the effect of Hellstorm- that's the result of fairness."

Gibbs stared at him in an unbelieving, furious way. "Fairness?" He repeated incredulously. "And I suppose it was out of complete and utter fairness that you killed three junior field agents and then brutalized one of my team members as a sort of calling card to Ziva?"

"Hmm." Asher put on an expression of mock thoughtfulness. "You must mean McGee."

"That's Agent McGee to you." Gibbs growled at the rogue soldier. "You showed him absolutely no mercy and no respect yesterday so now you're not going to get any from me. Why did you attack him?"

"I needed to send Ziva a message," Asher responded indifferently. "Agent McGee was convenient; he was simply in the wrong place at the wrong place at the wrong time. If it had been you that came down to the path, you would have been the one lying in the hospital right now- not that I'd doubt you'd switch places with him in a second if you could. Under that rough exterior, you're just a pathetic, paranoid power-freak. But that's beside the point; McGee was a close colleague of Ziva's, so he wasn't exempt from being targeted. It was a purely tactical move on my part. And besides…"

"Besides what?" Gibbs prompted at the Canadian's pause.

Asher looked coolly into Gibbs' eyes. "I wanted to cause Ziva pain…"

Gibbs felt a sudden rush of anger and rage go through him. He suddenly recalled his confrontation with Ari a couple of years prior; the rogue Mossad agent had killed Kate- sniped her from afar like an animal to be hunted- and why? "I wanted to cause you pain…"

Swallowing his fury, he listened as Asher continued nonchalantly. "So," the ex-JTF2 operative said, "when I say that what happened to your junior field agent was nothing personal," he nodded and gave a small smile, "you know I'm speaking the truth."

"You can start speaking the truth about your plans for the Hellstorm you've had in your possession." Gibbs said lowly and dangerously. "Where is it? What are you planning to do with it?"

Asher merely stared at the team leader indifferently. Gibbs suddenly brought his hands up and slammed them down onto the table, the noise echoing throughout the room. Under normal circumstances, this well-utilized tactic of his would have caused a suspect to nearly jump out of their chair and start spilling information like a broken faucet. But Asher didn't so much as bat an eyelid. Instead, he merely raised an eyebrow. "What?" he asked in a bored tone. "Was that supposed to scare me? Your tactics are getting a little dated."

"Believe me," Gibbs said through gritted teeth, "I have a collection of tactics that are just dying to add your name to them."

Asher gave a small smirk. "I spent most of my life growing up between summers in East Vancouver and winters in northern Manitoba." He raised his eyebrows. "You want to intimidate me? You're going to have to do a hell of a lot better than that."

"Oh I will." Gibbs got out of his chair and leaned in close. "You're not going anywhere- we have plenty of time…"

Turning abruptly away from the Canadian, he walked brusquely out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Marching past Tony, he wasn't overly surprised when the senior field agent jogged up beside him. "Boss where are you going?"

"To either get a cup of coffee or commit a grand felony DiNozzo." He stared at Tony. "I'm not sure you'd want to be around when my mind is made up."

"Uh, boss, with all due respect, do you think we should just leave him there unwatched?"

"No one's forcing you to come along DiNozzo; you can stay behind if you like. Ziva's going to be along shortly; I think she plans on using her own method of interrogation. You may get in her way between her and Ballack though, if you decide to remain behind."

"Coming along for a cup of coffee, boss." Tony's answer was immediate and prompt. He quickly followed Gibbs towards the direction of the stairs.

Behind them, from behind the other corner, Abby peered out from her place of concealment. She waited until the two men were out of sight around the corner, and then promptly marched straight into the Interrogation Room.

Asher looked up towards her, a look of mild interest on his face. Abby, her eyes burning into his own came over to the desk and sat down across from him, never breaking her glare. In a slightly more-than-interested tone, he remarked casually, "Well, well, well. The exclusive Abigail Scuito makes her appearance."

Speaking in a low tone that literally pulsated with rage, Abby said, "You're the one who hurt McGee." Her face was filled with malice and hatred. "I should kill you right here and now."

Asher merely gave a casual smile. "You are more than welcome to try. Of course," he continued, "a good many people- so-called 'professionals'- have been trying the same thing for the last three years, and as you can see, I'm still very much alive. I wouldn't expect much more if I were you; you'll only do harm to yourself. And anyway, what would it be over? Some weak and unimportant technophile whose importance to humanity is absolutely nothing?"

Abby's eyes filled with white-hot rage. "Don't you dare speak that way about McGee! He's a million times more of a man than you could ever be!"

"Considering the fact that one must actually feel emotion to be considered a male human," Asher responded coolly, "I'm inclined to agree with you. However, that does not change the fact that his place in this world is worthless. He matters to you- so what? What are you a part of? A corrupt organization who's trying to mask its own fear and paranoia? Not the best grounds for defending someone who's also part of that."

"There's no one watching from outside." Abby's said dangerously. "No one to bear witness to what goes on here. I'm very capable of killing someone and leaving no forensic evidence behind." She leaned in closer to him. "What's to say I won't do that to you."

Asher merely stared at her impassively for a moment. "Would you like to know," he said- slowly and surgically, "why I left your MIT graduate alive?"

Abby stared at him without saying anything. Without waiting for more than a moment after this sentence, he went on, "Death is too easy for some purposes. You can't get the same…" he gestured with his hand, "…sense of panic and hopelessness that one feels if you merely end of a life. It has to be drained from them, bit by bit."

Abby didn't say anything. Though there was no sadism or pleasure in Ballack's voice, the cool indifference of his intonations was somehow even worse. "You see," Asher raised his eyebrows, "even the most hard-hearted individuals will lose their focus when a member of their inner circle is in danger. And you want to know what I noticed? If that member is already dead, then the individual in question has a renewed strength to retaliate. There's nothing further to worry about; their friend is dead and there's nothing more they can do for them. There is however something they can do for them, and that is get revenge." He leaned forward. "But when that member is hovering between life and death, it is then that the individual loses their ability to act efficiently. Because, it's that level of uncertainty. What's to say that friend of theirs won't die the second they leave them? What if they suffer further along the way? What can they do, if anything?" He gave a curt nod. "That was the point behind your boy-toy's suffering."

He waited for a second before going on. "And you want to know what else I noticed? When people are nearing the brink of death, their hypocritical mask is exposed, and they end up showing you who exactly they are underneath." He raised his eyebrows. "So, technically, I knew your geek better than you could ever possible know him." He seemed to stare off into space for a few moments. Then he shrugged and turned back to her. "Would you like to know just how much blood that he lost was tinted with the stench of a coward?"

Abby's eyes darkened over. With a sudden movement, she tore the spiked collar from around her neck and delivered a vicious blow with it to the side of Asher's face. "You bastard!" She swung her collar back and forth, delivering blow after blow to the Canadian's head. She didn't care about anything else; all she wanted to do was hurt him in the most painful way possible.

The door to the room burst open. "Abby!" Tony raced forward and grabbed the Goth by the arms, trying to avoid getting hit by the crazed scientist. "Abby , stop!"

"Let me go!" Abby fought furiously to free herself from his grasp. "He hurt McGee!"

Asher merely stared at them with a look of contentment. The bloody puncture wounds on his face instantly healed, leaving not so much as a scar behind. "You know if McGee had given half the fight you just gave, maybe he'd actually be somewhat useful in the field."

Tony forced a struggling Abby out of the room, closing the door behind him. "Tony, get off of me or I swear to God, you will be the next one who feels my wrath!"

"Abby, listen to me!" Tony spun her around to face him, though keeping a grasp on her shoulders. "What did you think you were doing? That guy's not some scumbag off the street; he's a professional assassin! You can't just go in there alone with him!"

"He's the cause of everything that's happened to us!" Abby shouted back. "He's the reason Ziva was almost killed! He's the reason my Timmy's in the hospital on life support! You expect me to just sit back and watch him casually run circles around us?!"

"And a lot of good it would do if you ended up alongside McGee in the hospital or worse because of your own blind hatred!" Tony retorted. "Gibbs would first resurrect you just so he could read you the Riot Act for it. And then he'd kill me for letting you go in there. Which he may still do if I don't get you back to your lab. Come on. And behave yourself!"

The senior field agent guided a protesting Abby down the hallway. He just hoped Gibbs wouldn't find out about this little incident. If he did, Tony would never have to worry about being head-slapped ever again.

***

Asher discreetly looked down towards his hand. Slowly, he unravelled it and examined his palm and the object within it; a sharp pointy spike from Abby's collar. Such a small object, and yet it could be put to so many uses.

His thoughts were cut short by the sound of footsteps approaching; slow, deliberate footsteps. He knew who they belonged to perfectly well. Quickly and discreetly, he slipped the piece of metal under the cuff between his right wrist and the metal.

The door slowly opened, and Asher looked up to see Ziva slowly walk into the room, her eyes locked on his face. She kept facing him until the door closed behind her, after which she slowly turned around. Carefully and deliberately, she brought her hand up towards the handle and slowly turned the lock…

Asher watched her with an expression of moderate interest. Slowly and directly she walked up to the table opposite of him.

"So," she said, putting her hands on the table and leaning down slightly towards him, "let's talk…"

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