"Miss Fielding? Can you hear me? Blaze…?"

The blurry images came into better focus, despite the bright halogen lights from above what had to be her hospital bed. Blaze could barely make out what could only be medical equipment, as she heard the hustling of doctors, nurses, and anyone in between just outside her room. As she felt the cotton sheets and pillowcase, Blaze began to feel more relaxed, but could only wonder whom the man that sat beside her was. In her laid position, she could only see the man from the waist up, who had designer street wear on, with bright skin, short, dirty blonde hair to the top of his ears, and brown eyes that looked young. Blaze, still in wonder, decided to answer his question first, as the young man repeated, "Can you hear me?"

"Yeah," she said, "where am I?"

"St. Dara's Medical, a couple blocks from your old precinct. Miss it much?"

"Yeah, right," Blaze replied, "It's easy to continue loving what was being controlled by what we were paid to fight against." The young man took a drink from his brand name coffee cup, before he said, "Those days are over, Miss Fielding."

"How am I supposed to believe that?"

"Whether you do or not, the truth still stands," he continued, "those crooked cops were, and still are an embarrassment that had to be dealt with in swift ways. Your former captain, David Somerset, was the biggest example."

"I know," she reminisced, "prisoners have few similarities, and one of 'em is hatred towards crooked cops. However, no matter how much they say they hate 'em, criminals have closet respect for the law that stopped 'em cold." Blaze sat up from her bed, and looked around the room of white and shades of blue, as she continued her speech. "For them, to see a bent cop is like a kid seeing their childhood hero do something against their morals. Like Captain Liberty supporting Communism. They must be having a field day with him in the 'brig'."

"If only you knew."

Silence came between the two, as the man thoroughly looked at Blaze in her smock, while she looked down at her bandaged arm, as she saw the scarlet bloodstains from where the bullet was removed. She finally looked towards him, when she asked one of many important questions.

"Who are you?"

"Detective Terry Scotton," he introduced, "I transferred from Carpenter a couple of hours ago, and already I got a case here. Who knew it'd involve a surviving legend like you?"

"Surviving," Blaze repeated in awe, when the immediate flashback made her ask, "Axle…where is he?"

"He…he was…"

"What?"

"DOA."

"No…" Blaze shook a little, a sign of holding back her tears. She continued to look down as she took glances at Terry, who talked just a little more.

"We looked over the murder weapon. It's an undistinguished semi-auto popper gunrunners are calling Stingrays. They're powered with some illegal parts all over and, get this, fueled by razor-tipped bullets."

"The hell?"

"Exactly. The bullets match those that have been uprisin' around here since last year, way before I realized this precinct would be cursed by my debut. Gangs of all shapes and sizes are trying to get their hands all over 'em, since the Stingrays are supposedly lightweight, and stealthy on metal detectors, bullets too. The combo of that weapon, and those bullets being fired at so close of range, 'point blank' doesn't describe it…your partner…he didn't stand a chance. I'm sorry."

Blaze looked at him with iniquity.

"Did you kill him?"

Terry asked, "Excuse me?"

"You didn't kill 'em, so save your apologies for the perps that piss your trigger finger off."

Blaze tried to hold the tears even more, but some drops seeped out enough to let Terry give her a soft tissue to wipe them away. "I read a lot about you guys when I was a little younger," Terry started, "it was fun to see that there were people openly going in to take out those guys that made life rough for those families trying to earn their mark in this fucked up town. It's why I joined academy, to feel that sense of justice, to get into the game while it was still clean…or so I thought. To read about your exploits, status, and other things…I treated you guys like freakin' rock starts an'…shit. Hell, I even used to dress up like Axle, y'know? White Tee shirt, tight ass blue jeans, the whole thing. " Blaze was caught smiling as Terry did the same. Blaze then began to talk about him as well.

"H…he was such a comedian, sometimes. Always looking at the bright side of any situation. Adam an' I…we weren't too cool on it, but it eventually rubbed off. However, when…when it came to the Syndicate War, he was there on all levels. He made sure ass was kicked and names were taken. I swear he loved it…the thrill of being a vigilant legend. No, I remember him saying that he did love it…as much as he used to say he loved me…" More silence filled the room, minus the medical staff and telephones from the reception desk, until Terry brought up something else.

"We also checked out Mister Stone's ID. Glad to know he moved up. With this situation, those G-Dicks are gonna' tear us apart. For now, the only thing I'm concerned about is why you were there?"

Just then, the door to Blaze's room opened, revealing a small man in police uniform with tanned skin and a thin moustache, possibly Hispanic.

"Scottie," he said, "hate to break your wedding up, but captain wants you on the phone." "I'll be back to that question later," he said after a sigh. As he got up, Blaze didn't realize how tall he was, at least 6'2". Just before the squeaking door closed, the uniformed one took a quick glance at her one more time. Blaze knew where he was really looking, as she groaned in anger while lying down, "I look like shit and I'm still getting looks? That's it, I need a reduction."

"What you need is to get out of here," spoke a deep, calm voice.

Blaze shot up, despite the pain that came from doing so, and saw someone new in her room. He was tall, with a small Goatee that was trimmed to match with his this moustache, almost like the Hispanic cop from earlier. The stranger was also slightly built, mulatto skin tone, and he wore a leather jacket, black denim pants, with a blue velvet shirt that almost glistened in the halogen lights. As he rubbed his head through his dreads, the towering figure was about to speak. "Who are you," Blaze asked. "Don't be afraid, I'm not the enemy. But if it were a couple of months back…"

"What do you want," she asked.

"Your help. The only way we can stop 'em is to get there before the next sunrise. Otherwise, we won't have to worry about this city's cold winters anymore. Shit…I'll talk with you later."

"Wait, who are you," she yelled, as he ran out the room seconds before a male nurse came in to give her food. As the nurse greeted Blaze, she sunk back into her sheets and prayed for a fast sleep.

Rain began to trickle down the sky, as it was the only noise heard within an alley just minutes away from the St. Dara's. At an intersection of the alleyway stood three people, each with similar black hats and overcoats, as they partially embraced the disturbingly pleasant cold. The height of each one was clearly different, where the shortest was the 5'6" male, and the tallest was a 6'4"female. Without any more time to waste, the leader, who stood in-between at 5"10, broke the silence.

"So, he made contact with her, right?" "He's been exposed for days now. I wouldn't be surprised if he did," answered the short one. The female asked in her British accent, "What of the prototype?" "We'll let him live for now," replied the leader, "It hasn't told her anything yet, if they met already." "And what do we do with the ninja," asked the short one. The leader was silent for a moment, until he said, "We'll deal with him later, but if he becomes a problem, bets are off. Right now, we need those disks back before the deadline. 'Til then, you got your methods of mayhem. Use 'em, but don't kill the girl. Not yet." "Got it," said the female, as she threw her hand into the air, and a black thread came from within her sleeve. Once it got hold of a rooftop closest to the ground, she was pulled away.

"Sometimes, I hate it when she shows off," said the leader. "Come on, Eien. She's just glad to have a new chance at life. Even if it is as a machine." "LaVey, are you damning your re-birthright," Eien asked. "No, not until I die like this, and it may not be for a long time," LaVey remarked, as he jumped away into the darkness, leaving his boss behind in the rain, which was to his advantage.

"Boss, did you hear all that," Eien asked.

"Yes, of course," answered a rougher British voice from a communicator link, "and I gather all the actors are set?" "Yes, sir," he answered with joy, "and if all goes well, the curtains to this divine comedy will close as soon as they were opened."