Linny was drawing a nice bath and searching for her bath salts. Opening one of the cabinets in the bathroom she jumped at the creature she discovered waiting for her...a realistic plastic snake planted just for her enjoyment. Or Ryan's. That bastard! The young woman swallowed her heart back down to her chest, stooped and tossed the idiotic toy across the room. Doffing her bathrobe she started to adjust the faucet when a voice boomed in her head urgently, knocking her off her feet and into the bathtub.

Sweetcheeks, my boy's in trouble! Something's really wrong, I can't track him.

"Mother love bone! Jim? That you," she spoke to no one, sitting up in the tub and sloshing more water in the floor.

Course it's me. It's takin' a lot outta me to talk to you this far away, so get goin! I can tell you where that agency chick last picked up patterns from him.

"Ok, ok," Linny said, stepping carefully out of the bathtub onto the swamped bathroom tile. "Time to TCB."

Hail to the King, baby!, chuckled Ryan's foster-father.

Slowly he prised his eyelids open, smacked his lips, and wondered if somebody had slipped something in his drink. Then it started to come back to him. Sitting up from the low cot he'd been placed he found he wasn't shackled, which was what he expected. However he was in a secure room with no immediate way out upon first inspection. All his weapons had been removed but all his clothes and other posessions were undisturbed. The room he was inhabiting was simply furnished, a table and chairs, cot, a few shelves with books, no windows. He attempted mindlinking with Mary, then Linny, and finally Jim, to no avail. He was being shielded by some powerful force, and for once it felt strange hearing nothing else but his own thoughts in his head. It made him feel...ordinary.

It wasn't long before the stout door was unlocked and several guards filed in, followed by a nondescript fortysomething man who nonetheless carried the air of authority. Dark grey eyes regarded him earnestly, seeming to hold him where he stood. Then he smiled, a genuine warmth spreading over his nonextraordinary face. "What a pleasant, handsome young man you are, Tommy," he spoke at last. "It's too bad we couldn't meet in better circumstances," he said with regret. He had a clear annunciation and nearly no accent, but Ryan detected a faint trace of a Michigan nasal tone.

He decided playing dumb wouldn't work, so he merely asked how he knew who he was.

"I have my ways. The Good Deity is good to me," he responded matter-of-factly. He was aware of the young man's psyche brushing against his own, and smiled. "I intend to kill you, Mr. Robins, to save the world. Does that cure your curiosity?"

"What if he's not the only devilspawn," interjected one of the guards, obviously agitated. He was short with dark skin and hair.

"I'm sure he's the last of his line, Omar. Oh, there are relatives, kin-folk," he singsonged, affecting an exaggerated southern accent. "But no more direct descendants of the killers of old."

"Why in the hell would you need to kill me?"

"To bring about the rebirth of the world."

Ryan stared at Brother Eric Logan, and saw that he was quite serious. "You're fucking crazy," the young man spat.

"The All works in mysterious ways," came the simple reply.

Let-me-in...

Fuck off! Ryan mindspoke. He fought the man psychically, keeping parts of his memories locked from Logan's reach.

What are you hiding? I already know all about you, Tommy Driftwood, Ryan Baker, Thomas Robins, murderer!

"ARRGH," went Ryan, his head in his hands. It seemed the reverend had finally reached the limit of his power, the only sign a twitching of his thin lips with the strain. To an outsider it would appear that the two men simply stared intently at one another, but it was a contest of wills. The young man found he'd never been so sorely tested, but he wouldn't give up the location of his mother and father or even that they still lived. He was brought to his knees, the pain like sharp knives in his skull just twisting-twisting...

Blood oozed from his nostrils as he toppled over.

Eric clutched at Omar, his aide, to keep from falling himself. "Brother? Are you ok?"

"I'm fine," he assured him. He suddenly wasn't so sure that killing the man was the answer, but he was dangerous left alive.

The young man's consciousness seeped slowly back to him as he heard someone being admitted in his room, followed by chuckles. He woke up in the position he had fallen on the floor and he rubbed his sore head. His visitor was the hulking blonde woman who came forward and hit him square in the face, adding to his discomfort. "Just returning the favor" she responded to his bewildered expression. He realized the men watching the holding room exit had been laughing at her expense.

"Logan doesn't know you're in here," Ryan observed, rubbing his now-sore cheek. "Not that it really matters since he's gonna kill me anyway."

She seemed a bit taken aback since she'd been secure in her master's shielding her mind from enemies-however, the BPI gentleman was still skilled in reading people, even without his telepathy. "Have you no faith in anything," she asked him, genuinely curious. She'd also always been secure in her beliefs.

"I have faith in my own abilities and my teammates'."

"Haven't you ever thought of a higher power that supercedes all else? Have you never thought of the afterlife, or had to rely on someone other than yourself or your companions? It will happen sometime, you know," she studied him as one would a museum exhibit.

"Are you trying to convert me," he mocked. "You better save your breath, lady. I'm descended from Attila the Hun and Jack the Ripper and all that jazz. I'm not a lizard and you're not a little girl, so stop poking me with a stick."

Her brown eyes flashed in anger. "Godless little freak. I want...I want to understand you. Even the Devil believes in God and does His work, however unintentionally."

"Understand this: I will fight you and your master as long as I have breath, and my teammates won't stop until they find me or avenge my death. You can have faith in that."

Engraged, Electra left him, stomping down the hall. Ryan laughed at her back, pleased with himself.

The screams bothered him the most, even above the crushing of bones and moans of the animated dead. He attempted to shut it out as he ran but something, perhaps morbid curiosity, made him turn his head to see a seasoned police officer put several rounds into the ghouls surrounding him. A few went down with bullets in the head, the others kept on coming, reaching for him. The cop didn't give up even when a zombie pulled his arm off with a tearing crack, fluids and blood dousing the neighboring corpses who licked their jaws hungrily. Only after they rent his flesh and yanked out his entrails did he finally let loose a moist, hopeless scream. Ryan felt like such a shit, leaving like this, but his mother had given him a chance to escape and try again, and more for her than anything else he took it. The teenager reached the truck moments before his newly appointed protector Jim did, but there were no keys in the ignition. Zombies moved closer, ravaging anything living in their path. Fuckballs!

He jerked awake, breathing and sweating profusely-God, was he dreaming again? Rubbing his two-toned hair he was suddenly worried that his dreams were being watched. He didn't figure that that dream would show the All anything that would endanger his family or the Bureau; he had that section of his brain locked down pretty tight. His finely chiseled face was pensive as he searched his surroundings another time. Same room, still no visible exit.

Electra observed him on the hidden cameras. She was more fascinated with him than she let on, one of the reasons being he was completely outside her whole life's experience. All she'd ever known was Eric and the Church, and here was this Outsider that she could get close to. Not only an Outsider though, one of the demonspawn they intended to sacrifice to the Deity. Unknowing the tall, broad-shouldered man looked right at one of the cameras as he poked about his prison. Ryan had his mother Stacy's beautiful golden eyes and endearing smile and his father's pale coloring, only not as severe. His strong nose and full lips also came from his dad, a backwoods sociopathic maniac who also passed to his son the passion and rage that fueled the legends of monsters that wore a human shape. What Electra beheld when she looked at him was a male all at once dangerous, desirable, mysterious and repulsive.

"Keeping an eye on him, eh," came Eric's pleasant voice behind her. She whirled guiltily and completely surprised. Logan watched the monitors a few moments, turned back to his lieutenant and informed her he would be slain the next new moon, which was two nights from now, all the better to harness the energies to be released. Electra bowed her head in obedience and stood unmoving and staring after him after he departed the room.

"But aren't you concerned about your soul? If you die unbelieving you will face terrible punishment," argued Electra. The muscular woman was trying to sound reasonable.

"Jeez you're persistant," declared Ryan, sitting across the table from the blonde. "If you were out in the street you'd have nearly everyone converted to your wacky religion."

"You still haven't answered my question."

"Why do YOU care? I'm your enemy, my very DNA marks me as a tool of evil according to your precious Brother Logan."

It was midafternoon and he'd been fighting sleep to keep his dreams from giving anything away. Tomorrow night was his scheduled execution. It was a cheery thought. Oddly enough he'd been fed, which he ate even though imminent death was not conducive to a hearty appetite. And to top it all off, Amazon Woman was tormenting him again. He really missed Linny and a change of clothes, he was still wearing the jeans, boots and shirt he'd been wearing since day before yesterday.

"I'm worried about your soul-I worry about all souls" came the reply, but Ryan sensed there was more to it than that. Her expression changed abruptly. Her master was mindspeaking with her, it seemed.

You can't hide anything from me, my daughter. He amuses you, eh? He is not for you, Electra, but you can watch him if you like. You will need experience with males to continue the All's work later on.

Brother, I don't-I didn't-

Electra, Electra! Do you think I'm mad at you? We're all human, after all. The Divine knows this, they made us the way we are. Just know that he will die at the appointed time; it has been preordained.

"What did Daddy want," Ryan asked sweetly. His manner could be most infuriating to her. She replied that Eric knew she was talking with him and didn't object. "Hooray, more torture," he chortled, eliciting a scowl from the woman. "So, he want you to do the ol' seduction thing on me or something? Cause, you don't do it for me, sorry."

"Insufferable little man," she exploded, taking the affront to her femininity hard. It was also a rare moment for Ryan to be called a 'little man' and he didn't know whether to laugh or be pissed off. Actually she wasn't unattractive, but she was large, gawky, and knew next to nothing about men. She had pretty soft brown eyes and thick blonde hair, high cheekbones and a squarish jaw, and to Ryan she needed a serious attitude adjustment. And a sense of humor. His wide mouth spread in a goofy grin and she found it hard to resist smiling in return.

Eric meanwhile sat cross-legged on the floor in his bedchamber, frustrated by his inability to See the locked-away portion of Ryan's psyche. Perhaps he should meditate.

He recalled the warm embrace of his father, hot translucent skin and the smell of must and bleach. Tossing thin platinum hair the man who sired him laughed his endearing smile and cracked open a can of beer. The cheerleader in the back of the Blazer squealed piteously-fearing what they would all do to her.

He experienced the soft yet strong arms of his mother, large rawboned redhaired provider who was always there for him. Ryan's body was like hers; broad and powerful with long arms and legs. Unlike Otis Driftwood who was a pale snake ready to strike indiscriminately like a shark, Ryan was a white tiger, restless and white-hot in his anger. The chaos and destruction bubbled close to the surface, always ready to erupt.

The man gasped himself awake, jolting the woman whose head was leaned against him. Ryan rubbed his big eyes and cursed inwardly. Electra yawned and he glared at her, wanting to punch her really really bad. They had talked and sang songs until he was exhausted, and even though she may have wanted to fuck him senseless and leave him vulnerable he nevertheless ended up tuckered out in the floor against the bookcase. She placed her hand on his chest to help herself upright and she became suddenly self-conscious. The hand slid around his side to hold him close, ample breasts squashed against him. "Ho, waitaminnit," he pushed against her but met some resistance-she was a woman to be reckoned with.

Awkwardly she put her lips on his and electricity raced through his body. She had no psychic talents of her own but there was something there, she augmented his own power. "Mmmmm," she said as they parted, obviously cherishing the contact. Ryan scrambled to his feet, backing to the other side of the room. She got to her feet as well, turning a pity-filled look to him. "I thank you for this time with you" she told him honestly. He stared uncomprehending at her, then heard footsteps from outside. "I will remember you, Nightwalker."

Ryan felt like a rabbit in a trap, glancing around wildly as the door was unlocked. They were going to murder him for their crazy religion, for that raving lunatic that led them. Electra's soft brown eyes were on him, and he could see she wanted him, but more she wanted him alive. If only he could use that.

For a split second he felt a welcoming, familiar prescence and was momentarily calmed. Jim! He felt him brush his psyche. Hang in there, Tommy. Help is on the way. Then it was jammed again, the blanket falling on him again.

"No! No," he yelped as he was hauled bodily from the chamber. The building was seemingly an unending labrynth with rooms for dining, teaching, living and sleeping. They wound their way to a vast room with high-up members of the All waiting for them. And for Ryan/Tommy, a nice cold slab in the center awaited him.

Their grey-eyed Master was there, smiling and cordial. He wasn't what you'd picture a madman or a villain to be, which was disturbing in itself. He was dressed in plain casual clothing and beckoned for the guards to place Ryan on the slab. He was jerked back in time when he woke up on a table in his father's underground lair, tubes sticking out of his arms. He grabbed one of his captor's arms and broke it, sending the man sobbing to the ground and struck another in the side of her neck. She dropped like a sack of potatoes. Scanning the place he espied four exits at each end of the room; he picked one. Ryan darted between two other surprised members when two powerful arms threaded under his shoulders and hoisted him backwards. "I'll kill you now, Ryan," Electra's voice whispered in his ear. "And it'll be messy and excruciating."

He was held in her superhuman grip, her natural strength being boosted by something, probably Logan or others with Gifts such as his own. Hurry, Jim hurry. Somebody. Anybody. He couldn't break loose and went limp in her arms and allowed them to strap him to the contraption. Ryan knew what the machines and the members were there for-to collect his power and add it to their own.

After a short, stirring speech on the All and their coming glory, Eric turned the proceedings over to the executioner, who wielded a long, slim knife. Ryan would've laughed if his life wasn't about to end shortly, how perfectly cartoonish! Just like a bad movie a bunch of cultists were going to stab him, no less. Golden eyes were wide and focused on the light reflecting off the shiny blade, and time seemed to slow as adrenaline pumped through his body. The man's arm began its descent, Ryan twisted violently to the right and the knife slid down his ribs and entered his side, but not very far. Then the shit officially hit the fan.

The fever, the rage was there engulfing the agent's brain: instead of expiring he did the exact opposite. Tearing out of his bonds, blood flinging and snarling like a rabid animal he snatched the knife and opened up a not-so-happy second smile in the executioner's neck. Crimson spewed over him. The pain of his rapid healing didn't improve Ryan's demeanor one bit, on the contrary he buried the weapon in a lady's skull without a second thought, jerked it out and threw it into a guard's abdomen who was coming for him. "Come on, you fuckers," he ranted, his eyes wild with bloodlust. That killer's instinct had taken over, that power Otis and others in that line had indulged in and cultivated throughout history. Someone had opened fire with guns and Ryan dimly heard Eric ordering them to stop, that getting the evil one at his full peak was even better for them.

The high priests ran for cover, unsure of what was going on. Another servant of Eric's layed hands on him, and in the blink of an eye Ryan bit out his throat with his own teeth. Electra stared in horror at the growing carnage, ignoring Logan's attempts to get her to do something, telepathically and by shouting at her. The sarcastic, funny, witty man she spent a day with in a small room was long gone. She took up an assault rifle and aimed at him while Eric screamed at her "What are you doing? You don't need that, subdue him! You'll ruin everything!"

"That's my brothers and sisters dying, Eric! I gotta stop it." She never took her eyes off Ryan fending off dozens of the All, gore covering his mouth, chin, and front of his shirt. Not to mention his own wound which had already stopped bleeding, but left him looking like he'd went Countess Bathory and jumped in the virgin's blood with his clothes still on.

"Hold it right there," a lady's voice rang out. All heads turned to the sound, which was caused by a petite, smartly dressed brunette in a pinstriped pantsuit and jacket. She also sported a whopping gun pointed at Electra and a bad attitude. Linny stepped toward them, noticing Ryan finally after she heard the wet crack of a neck being broken, and almost lost her nerve. He tossed the body aside like a ragdoll, teeth bared in a grimace, his face twisted into something inhuman. Recovering quickly she squeezed the trigger, populating the spot the blonde had been a moment before with lead. Electra dived facedown in an ungainly heap behind some equipment, Eric behind the table intended for Ryan. The good Brother was nearly beside himself at this point.

Ancient Celts called it the Red Fog or the Battle Rage, and cautiously Ryan's psyche peered through this mist at what he was doing and was appalled but it was either that or die. He was aware of Linny dodging and shooting like some kind of Jedi master, her every move seemingly planned before she made it. He knew she was good, but that was by no means natural what she was doing. Contorting in midair and shooting, then landing on her feet. Then he could feel his mentor Santos nearby, he was contending with Eric, whose grip on the situation was slipping.

Ryan's own grip on his sanity was also slipping.

Having another entity inhabiting one's consciousness is quite unnerving, especially when one isn't used to it. Linny had did as suggested and went loose, allowing her training and reflexes to aid the person controlling her as a puppet. Jim was having a field day with her, this was the most interactive video game he'd ever played for damn sure. His old body was in no condition to perform such feats, so Linny became his legs and hands. She just hoped the crazy old veteran realized she had no reset button if she got killed.