Hi, everyone. The plot thickens; but I felt this chapter was a little weak, so I rewrote some of it. Enjoy!

Disclaimer : The city of Metropolis, the Black Dogs and most of the Keepers belong to me. The other characters belong to their respective creators.

The moonlight wasn't much in the way of illumination, but it provided Mike with just enough light to examine the schematic on her PDA. She was crouching behind a grassy ridge that overlooked the Black Dogs' compound, with her back pressed right up against it. From a few cursory glances over the top, she'd cross-referenced it with the plan and discerned that she was on the east side of the bunker. Both the front and back entrances were almost equidistant from where she was; however, the one at the front would be heavily guarded. The one at the back was a little more concealed, but getting to it was a hell of a lot easier. The pathway that snaked around the outside of the building was bordered on its right-hand side by a steep embankment, but once she was past that, all she had to do was follow it and steal in through that back door.

It all sounds so easy, she thought wryly, and she removed the clip from her gun to check it was loaded; no worries there. She heard it click into place as she slid it back in, and then fitted the silencer over the muzzle. She hoped, a little myopically, that she wouldn't need to use her weapon, but the more realistic Mike Masinski told her that it was a 'survival of the fittest' scenario, and that troubled her. Contrary to what many inside Division thought, she wasn't some trigger-happy psycho who'd happily open fire on anyone in sight. At the actual moment where she was forced to take someone's life, she wouldn't immediately regret it, but that would come much later, after the action had died down. Adams in Medical attributed it to some form of delayed reaction, one that would improve over time, but she hoped that wouldn't be necessary. She was morally opposed to killing people, no matter what justification was given, and she heavily resented being forced to do it, but in her line of work, she rarely had much choice.

A quick look at her watch told her that it was 6:13pm; time to move in.

She'd heard around Division that the Black Dogs sometimes posted snipers in the wood around their base to pick off potential intruders, so she edged her way up as carefully and as quietly as she could. Once she was back on her feet, she headed over towards the chain-link fence, slipped her fingers between the lattices and tested how strong it was. It wasn't too high to scale and climb over, but that might draw too much attention to her. She tried doing the same near the bottom of the fence, and managed to create a gap large enough for her to slip through. Attempting not to rattle it too much, she swiftly hauled the fence upward and edged under it. For a few seconds she lay motionless on the ground, listening out for approaching soldiers or the rustle underfoot of leaves in the undergrowth behind her. When she was satisfied it was safe, she crept over towards the edge of the bank and scanned it from left to right to ensure that it was deserted. Keeping the sight of the gun fixed on anyone who might come round the corner, Mike slowly slid down the slope until she reached the bottom. As soon as her feet touched solid concrete, she pressed herself tightly up against the wall of the compound before inching along it towards the corner. No-one came around from the side, so she crouched down and peered round. The door lay about forty feet away and she could see that there was only one soldier guarding it. Slowly she began to slink along the path, but she had barely made one step before the soldier's head whipped round and he noticed her. She fired before he could react, and caught him neatly in the leg. The soldier yelled and clutched his wound before collapsing on the ground, and she hurried over to his side. His shouts would've undoubtedly alerted other soldiers on patrol, and they'd be here soon.

Mike pressed the barrel beneath his jaw and clamped her other hand firmly over his mouth. "If you try to call for help, I will kill you," she whispered threateningly into his ear. Hesitantly she took her hand away from his mouth and withdrew her PDA from her pocket. The schematic of the compound was still on its display and she showed it to him. "I know you're holding a little kid hostage inside here. Point to the room he's in." The soldier stared blankly up at her but didn't respond, so she pressed harder with the gun. "Do it!" she ordered quietly. He tapped a point on the screen with his finger, and she quickly looked at what the location was. Mac was supposedly being kept in a large room near the far end of the compound.

She thought, Great, when suddenly she heard other men approaching, so she quickly opened the back door and stepped inside. There was no electronic lock on this door, but that didn't help her much. The guy guarding the door was only their first line of defence; the compound would conceal many more. Raising her gun so it was level with her head, she backed into a corridor on the left side of the entrance. When his comrades managed to reach him, he'd tell them where she'd gone in, and that meant they would follow her. She didn't dare even to breathe as she waited in the darkness, hoping that it was dark enough to obscure her from view, until suddenly the door flew open and about five or six soldiers entered. One muttered something to the others, and each went in a different direction. Mike held her breath as one of them sailed past without noticing her, and waited until his footsteps had faded before she re-emerged.

The main hallway was clear so she stepped out, pointing her gun down every diverging corridor as she advanced along it. Her heart was beating so loudly that it threatened to mask any other noise; infiltrating buildings like this was familiar territory for her, but that didn't make it any less terrifying. The room where Mac was imprisoned lay off to the left, so she turned the corner at the end of the corridor and headed that way.

However she was greeted by a hail of bullets as a lone soldier caught sight of her and opened fire. She flung herself back behind the corner, hearing ricochets and gunshots echo off the walls. Panting for breath, Mike counted to three before she leaned around and shot at him twice. The soldier's body jerked then crumpled and lay still on the ground. Before any others got to him first, she hurried past his lifeless body and through the compound in the direction of Mac's cell, frequently ducking into any hiding space she could whenever the sound of men shouting or running reached her ears.

Eventually she glanced at her PDA and guessed that the room lay just around the next corner. Looking behind her, she stepped out into the corridor, only to discover that there was another soldier standing between her and the door, and that his pistol was aiming straight for her. For a split second she stood still, paralysed with fear, but just as the gunman fired, she snapped out of her trance. The bullet embedded itself in the wall just two inches above her head as she ducked back behind the corner, and peering as far around it as she dared, she saw him take aim again. At the same time she levelled her own weapon at him and pulled the trigger. A small crimson patch instantly appeared in the middle of the soldier's forehead; blood began to trickle down the side of his nose and his eyes rolled back in their sockets before he hit the floor with a dull thud.

Mike crept furtively towards the door and leaned on her shoulder against it, then turned the handle and pushed. The door wouldn't budge – it was locked. The hope that had risen within the last few seconds swiftly vanished. At that moment she glimpsed the body lying about twenty feet away from her and thought that he must have some sort of key. First, however, she had to check if Mac was all right.

On the other side of the door, Mac suddenly straightened up when he heard Mike's voice call faintly to him from the darkness and ask, "Mac? Are you in there?" He couldn't quite convince himself that he wasn't imagining things until the disembodied voice hissed more urgently, "Mac? Can you hear me? Mac?" He tried to respond but with his mouth taped shut, the only sound that he manage was muffled and unclear.

Trying not to draw attention to herself, Mike tried again but her attempt still elicited no response. "Mac, if you can hear me," she said, "it's me, Mike. I'm right outside the door, OK? I'm gonna open it and get you out of here, don't worry…" Having said that, she went back over to the dead soldier and hurriedly searched his pockets for anything that might unlock the door. Three of them came up empty but as she reached into another, she felt the distinctive shape of a key nestled in it. Breathing a sigh of relief, her fingers closed around it, but suddenly she froze when she heard the sound of a gun being armed from behind her.

"Put your hands up," a man's voice commanded. Mike obeyed, and as she stole a brief look over her shoulder, she noticed that he was coming closer. She turned back to look at the floor and it suddenly occurred to her that to let herself be captured was her best option, and by now her only option. The Dogs knew she'd be coming – after all, they'd told her to – and she figured that that would mean they wouldn't kill her, and she'd have a better chance of helping Mac escape.

The soldier paused and recognised the girl as the one that Moore was expecting. He obviously wanted her for something, and she'd be no use to him dead. "Don't move," he warned, and he raised the butt of his rifle and struck Mike in the back of the head with it. Mike yelled and slumped forwards, feeling her head throb before she lapsed into unconsciousness. The soldier slung her body over his shoulder and slowly began to wander back down the corridor.

From inside his cell, Mac heard a sharp yell as Mike was hit and he desperately cried out to her, but all that returned to him was the echo of his own voice.

From the driver's seat, Clay Bailey looked up from the dashboard. He recognised where they were and pulled into a lay-by on the right-hand side of the road. Cicatriz wasn't far-removed from the centre of Metropolis, but it was very well hidden. After all, it was to the Keepers what Los Alamos had been to Robert Oppenheimer and the Manhattan Project: quiet, remote, and more importantly, the home of their secret weapon. Fortunately, unlike Oppenheimer, the Keepers hadn't managed to get squat out of theirs yet. And hopefully they won't get the opportunity, either, Clay thought as he killed the engine. "OK, you guys," he said over his shoulder, "this is where I end and you begin."

Sam paused hesitantly before she grabbed her weapon and followed Tucker out of the back of the van. Tucker took a brief minute to collect up his PDA and then slipped it into his pocket. As he shut the door, Sam looked out along the dirt road that appeared to taper off into the distance. Cicatriz was two to three miles due north of where they were now, but they would have to do the last bit of this journey on foot; it was too risky and conspicuous to transport them right up to the entrance.

A sudden chill blew past her, forcing her to fold her arms across her chest. It was approaching nightfall now, and the path ahead lay barely visible amongst the shadows. But that path would take them to Danny, she remembered, and then everything would start to make more sense…

"Sam?" Clay asked, and she turned to face him. "You all set?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

"OK," he acknowledged. "Good luck, I'll see you back at Division." With that, he revved up the engine again and turned the van around before driving back the way they'd come. His taillights gradually diminished in size until they vanished into the darkness. Sam watched him depart for a few seconds before she continued with Tucker up the path towards Cicatriz. Walking the remaining distance would take them at least an hour. She sighed and, knowing that Tucker would be doing the same, she silently promised Danny that soon he'd be free. All he had to do was wait. Please, Danny, just hold out for a little longer, she urged him, I couldn't bear to lose you…not like this.

Mike was unsure how long she'd been left out cold for. Time ceased to pass by in its usual manner, but instead she and her surroundings were caught in an almost blissful state of suspended animation. All she was aware of was her own presence within this interstitial realm, where she was simultaneously floating and falling through both everything and nothing. Her senses failed to give her any better idea of where she actually was – she couldn't see or hear or even feel anything. This is a dream, she told herself, I must be dreaming –

Suddenly she received a stark jolt back to reality as she felt a body of ice-cold water strike her full on. Her eyes snapped open and she yelled aloud with the sudden shock to her system. Her wrists were bound together and tied to the back of the chair she was seated in, and despite her efforts, the knots held fast. Cold water began to seep through her clothing and come into contact with her skin, and she shivered. She gave her head a sharp flick to try and dispel the matted strands of hair that were now straggling over her eyes, and she was able to see the room she was in, although not with much ease. Bleak concrete walls adjoined the equally bleak concrete floor, and apart from a few lightbulbs that hung crudely from the ceiling, most of the room was hidden by a vague, wavering veil of shadow. To her right, a soldier was grinning maliciously at her, evidently doing little to try and contain his amusement.

"I'm sorry that it's not much to look at," a deep voice said from the gloom, the same one she'd heard over the phone, "but then, that's not really what we have it for."

Mike scoured the room as the voice was speaking, but she failed to find its originator. "Where are you?"

There was a soft laugh, followed by the sound of footsteps, and a man stepped forward into the dim light. She guessed instantly that she was looking upon the face of Marcus Moore. "It's gratifying to finally meet you in person."

The question of what exactly he wanted her for was one that buzzed incessantly around Mike's mind, but for the moment it turned to something far more pressing. "Where's Mac?"

Moore chose to ignore her question. "I'm impressed by your progress. It's just unfortunate that it came to an end a little prematurely –"

"Where the hell is he?" she demanded fiercely, "Damn it, tell me!"

"Calm yourself, Mike," Moore eased. "You arrived with time to spare, and I'm keeping my word. Your little amigo is safe and unharmed, and I assure you, he will stay that way." He paused, returning her angry stare with a thoroughly composed one, and then turned to face away from her. "But the transaction is not yet complete."

"What are you talking about?" Mike snapped, her voice growing louder with her rising fury. "You told me to come here within three hours of hanging up the phone, and you'd let me have him back, and I did. I did everything you said, now let me talk to him!"

Moore regarded her over his shoulder and continued regardless of her outburst. "There is something still outstanding." He began to approach her again, and added, "And you're going to help me get it."

"I'm not even going to consider telling you any of what I know," Mike informed him bluntly. "And if you think Division will offer something you want in exchange for me, I can assure you they won't. I'm expendable."

"I don't want to know anything from you," Moore countered. "What you think you know is irrelevant. What I want is you yourself."

Mike gave him a look of angry confusion. "What?"

Moore stood still with his arms folded, his indifferent scowl hardly changing. The scar across his face was briefly masked by the dim light. "I underestimated you, Masinski," he said finally. "You're a tough nut to crack. You stare death in the face and yet you still stay true to your cause. Your unfailing belief is truly admirable." He drawled the last few words as he paced behind Mike's back.

"I'm prepared to die for what I believe in," she said, unconcerned by his threats.

Moore pressed his cold hands on her shoulders and leaned in close to her ear. "You might be." He turned abruptly to the individual standing sentinel at the doorway. "Bring him in," he barked.

A cold sweat began to form on Mike's forehead as his order echoed through the cavernous complex. 'Him' must have meant Mac. But was Moore reserving something else for him? Surely they wouldn't do anything to even hurt him, let alone mutilate him…would they? She struggled not to think as the guard and a companion entered the room, driving forward with them what looked like a walking jute sack. A pair of shoes was barely visible below the mouth of the sack, but she never got a closer look as one soldier grabbed a chair from by the wall and bound the prisoner's hands and feet to it while the other one held him fast. The detainee put up no fight, resigned as he was to whatever was about to happen to him.

Mike's heart skipped a beat as the guard whipped the sack off the prisoner's head and she saw Mac's face, contorted with terror and dirty with dry sweat.

"Mac!" she gasped, almost in relief, but then started at Moore. "What the hell have you done to him?"

Moore didn't answer, but sauntered over to the boy's side and looked deep into his wide, fearful, blue eyes. "I'm going to make you an offer," he said, averting his gaze from Mac's again. "I must say that I'm impressed with your diligence and determination. However, it seems to me as though your talent and skills are not being put to sufficient use. They are too valuable to simply be wasted on your clan of freedom fighters, striving for what they cannot obtain. To continue with your current mission would be utter lunacy. That's why, instead of having you killed, I had you brought to me, so that I could make this proposition. You have a tactician's brain, Masinski – the working mind of a soldier. We could use someone like you in the Black Dogs."

Mike couldn't quite comprehend what she was hearing; she just stared at Moore's chiselled face in disbelief. Moore looked over to the sentinels guarding Mac. He nodded to Jones, who drew a flick-knife from his pocket, ready to release the blade if given the signal. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"Whatever it takes to get you on my side," Moore replied.

Mike glared at him with nothing but pure hatred. "You wouldn't dare," she yelled, "he has nothing to do with this!"

At her outburst, Moore grabbed her by the throat and she struggled for breath as she felt his strong fingers dig into her neck. Mac panicked and called her name before Jones clamped his hand over his mouth and silenced him. Moore looked Mike deep in the eye and growled, "Neither did my parents. But the Keepers took them away from me anyway." Mike spluttered as he released his grip. "Come on, Mike," he continued, resuming his former calm tone of voice. "You and I both know that your fight is a lost cause, a fool's errand. But we also both share a common ground; we both want the same thing – liberty. You know my way is the only way to achieve it.

"So – are you with us, Mike? Or are you not?"

"Go to hell," Mike snarled.

Moore appeared unfazed by the venom in Mike's voice. "Jones?" he said.

"Sir?" Jones replied, stepping forward. Moore turned to face Mac again.

"Take an eye out."

At that moment, Jones released the blade from the flick-knife. Mac screamed as Jones' comrade bore down upon him and forced his eyelids open. Jones moved to plunge the blade in –

"Wait! Wait! Stop!" Mike yelled desperately, a cold chill running down her spine. Jones paused. Mac took a couple of deep, shuddering breaths, the tip of the blade quivering less than an inch from his cornea. "Don't hurt him," she pleaded, gasping for breath, "I'll do it, I'll do whatever you want, just don't hurt him."

Moore drew her chin up to face him again, his baleful expression boring into her like a drill. "Either you co-operate with me," he warned, "or I am going to make you watch him die. Do you understand?"

Mike paused, swallowing the lump in her throat, and replied, "Yes."