Disclaimer: I own nothing in this chapter. If someone tries to tell you otherwise, he or she is an international spy trying to trick you into buying large amounts of Cheetos from an obscure foreign country.

Dedication: This chapter is dedicated to the fictional Abigail DeNoel and her equally fictional sisters, who were the great Inspiration for this fic. (Yay oatmeal! Yay blackberries and mashed potatoes!) And of course to Ais, who was the other half of the great Inspiration that inspired the fictional Abigail DeNoel (and her equally fictional sisters of course).

Hyde A/N: Hello all. As you probably noticed, I have started a new thing: dedications! Yay Dedications!

Anyways, let the fun begin! (I have a feeling this is going to be a very fun chapter.) Please keep your hands inside the vehicle at all times and turn off all cell phones, pagers, and small children.

Ha! I crack myself up.

………………

The morning after the attack Amon, slightly high on Kylenol, strode purposefully toward his black Audi. As soon as he had woken up he had called for Robin and for Kylenol. Once his massive headache had receded, he had closeted himself in a cramped cubicle and spent an hour clattering away on his computer. The results of his searched had turned up little but an address, and it was toward said address that he directed his macho black Audi.

He left the other STN-J members puzzled. The prevailing theory was that he had suffered brain damage, but he could not be persuaded to go to the hospital. Even Robin's pleas fell on deaf ears. Now Robin was wandering sadly around headquarters, wondering and worrying. Amon had been so strange lately.

Oblivious to Robin's sufferings on his part (and to the many pedestrians that he was nearly mowing down) Amon finally came to a stop a few blocks away from his destination. He darkly consulted a high-tech handheld GPS device. Satisfied, he placed his hand on his orbo gun to reassure himself and stalked the last few blocks.

The high-tech handheld GPS device and the number above the door confirmed that the anonymous brick building in front of him was indeed the one he was looking for. He concealed himself in the bushes and watched. After a few minutes, a large quantity of little old ladies began showing up. Some chatted among themselves, others merely stalked by, glaring at the world in general. Fifteen minutes later, they stopped coming.

Looking around cautiously, Amon slunk out of the bushes and approached the door. A small discrete sign at the top of it said "AADOM Headquarters." He opened it a crack and peered inside at the dim hallway. There seemed to be no one there. In the distance he heard the high-pitched cadence of little old voices. He slipped inside as smoothly as an eel holding an orbo gun at the ready might have. The hallway was deserted. At the end of the hall, a door was open with a light shining from within. Flattening himself against the wall, he slowly crept toward it, for it was also the source of the little old voices.

He approached the door and hid behind it, as it was swung out towards him. On the door he could barely read a sign declaring "AADOM" and under it, something in fine print. The light was poor, so Amon was forced to whip out his sleek discrete magnifying-glass-disguised-as-a-cigarette-lighter. Peering through its lens, he could barely make out "Association Against Dark Ominous Men."

Were he not Amon and had he not been within hearing of the little old ladies, Amon no doubt would have said, "Ah-ha!" As it was, he confined himself to a slight raising of the macho left eyebrow and a slight twitching of the macho nose. He then gave the sign a Sullen Glare That Reduces To Cinders All Offending Signs Declaring Sentiments Against Dark Ominous Individuals. The sign seemed to shudder, but it might have just been a passing breeze.

Amon then turned his attention to the voices inside, which up to that point he had been blocking from his mind in order to focus all his finely honed witch hunter senses on the door. Now he sent the door to the oblivion in the back of his mind and began to listen intently.

"Any sightings or encounters to report?" inquired a screechy old lady's voice, which seemed to be in charge.

There was a pause. "Hilda, you may have the floor," said the screechy voice.

Hilda took the floor and made her report in a distinguished old lady's voice. "I was on patrol in Sector 5 when I spotted a pair of furtive-looking men. I followed them for three blocks, but I lost in the warehouse district. They are to be considered Suspects At Large."

"Thank you, Hilda. Mildred, Marge, you may have the floor," said the screechy voice.

A lower, more nasally one took its place. "Marge and I were on patrol in Sector 17 when we spotted an obviously dark ominous man…grinding something under his heel, wasn't he, Marge?"

Marge, a medium rasping voice, replied, "I believe he was."

"So we moved in and gave him a pretty severe beating," continued Mildred. "He is to be considered Severely Injured to Dead."

"Thank you, Mildred and Marge," resumed the screechy voice. "Anyone else? No? Alrighty then, your patrol assignments are on the bulletin board. We will reconvene as usual the day after tomorrow, same time, same place. And now, before we leave, let us all join together in saying the Oath."

There was a prolonged rustling and scraping of chairs as the AADOM members stood. When they had finally all gotten to their feet, the screechy voice led a barely intelligible cacophony to the following effect:

"I, as a member of the Association Against Dark Ominous Men, pledge my services in the effort to rid the world of those unfortunate creatures. I will not rest until I have fulfilled my oath to the best of my abilities. I declare dark ominous men to be menaces to society" (here a few vicious growls were heard from those most passionate members) "and fully deserving of death, maiming, and/or severe dismemberment." (even more vicious growls from those most passionate members) "I ask no reward for my noble task, but undergo my service to society faithfully and without complaint, until my dying breath."

At the end, those most passionate members let out a collective screechy "Amen!"

"Now," said the screechy voice, "please join me in a moment of silence to remember those who have suffered severe beatings and/or broken limbs for the sake of the Effort, and are unable to be with us today." The moment of silence was duly undergone, and then the screechy voice dismissed the members.

As the members began to chat ear-gratingly among themselves, Amon realized that he had a problem. Upon their exiting, the members would no doubt catch sight of him, no matter how farsighted they might be. Amon hid behind the door as much as possible and held his breath as the first few sets of hobbling footsteps approached.

The first few passed by without taking note of him, but a little old lady with sharp eyes that belied her many years spotted him.

She let out a shriek and then started hysterically screaming, "I found one, I found one!" Amon was suddenly surrounded by a cluster of little old ladies screaming at him in their excitement, menacing him with umbrellas, handbags, canes, and groceries (one was even wielding a large straw hat, having nothing else of a violent nature on her person at the moment).

"It's him!" cried someone, either Marge or Mildred. "He's not dead, he's alive!" There was a large jostling in the crowd, indicating that Marge, Mildred, or both were trying to get through.

Amon, meanwhile, was weighing his options. They didn't train you to deal with mobs of little old ladies in witch hunter training. He finally decided on a course of action, and no sooner decided than done. He brandished his orbo gun, mustered his most devastating Sullen Glare That Teleports To Various Foreign Countries Mobs Of Little Old Ladies Attempting To Kill, Maim, Or Severely Dismember Dark Ominous Individuals, and made a rush for the exit. They gave way partially against this sudden onslaught, but still managed to inflict a few glancing blows on his fleeing, macho-black-coat-clad back.

(Hyde A/N: Mwahahahahaha! Severe Dismemberment! -–brandishes imaginary fuchsia umbrella with an evil smile—)

Amon burst out onto the street, closely followed by the mob. He took a smooth left turn, headed for his car. For all their littleness and oldness, they kept pace well. As he saw his car near up ahead, he glanced back. They were far too close for comfort. He decided that his macho black car was not a good battleground, or a prime place to make a stand, so he passed it by, as darkly as though he were nothing but a shadow.

It was a bit of an incongruous sight. Amon, however, refused to admit to himself the ridiculous figure he posed. He barreled down the residential streets without embarrassment. After all, if one's macho image is not spoiled in one's own eyes, that is half the battle. Amon just plain refused to feel ridiculous.

Amon glanced at a passing street sign, orientating himself with the ease of a witch hunter (it is quite important that witch hunters never get lost; it could be quite inconvenient). It took him but a moment to realize that he was going to be unable to avoid a more crowded downtown area. It did not cause him but a moment's passing concern; he refused to feel ridiculous, and he never really gave much thought to the welfare of the general populace. It did not occur to him that the chase could possibly be the cause of mass chaos in the streets.

But there was nothing he could have done about it anyway. He continued to run. The mob continued to keep pace as a whole, although some of its members with less stamina had begun to lag. Unfortunately for Amon, even those lagging members kept going, clutching their means of violence all the more tightly, hoping to get in on some of the action, however belatedly.

Amon looked up, his macho black hair trailing macho-ly behind him, and saw the first busy intersection looming ahead.

………………

In one of those interesting coincidences, Robin happened to be at the busy intersection as Amon was approaching it, waiting to cross the street. As soon as the clamor of irritated voices alerted her to his presence, all the world disappeared into the background and she saw nothing but Amon, dodging cars with the rugged smoothness of a wild stallion, his hair trailing behind like said stallion's mane. It was only when her view of his now retreating back was blocked by the mob that she was even aware of its existence.

Immediately worry struck, she pushed past those clustered around her, craning their necks for a better view of the chase, as though they were as intangible as ghosts. She followed them as they turned into an alley, a dead end alley, as it turned out. She watched anxiously from the rear as they clustered around the trapped man. Could she stop them in time, before they beat the witch hunter to a pulp?

--trilling violins indicate extreme suspense—

You'll just have to find out next time. This chapter is plenty long enough, longer than usual in fact, although still not horribly long. Oh well. I should get something posted. Otherwise the general populace will no doubt die of suspense wondering what AADOM is. :)

Mmm. I better finish this up before I fall asleep. –drifts off into a half-waking stupor—

May your hair never join a dark conspiracy to take over the world that involves mass amounts of Gorgonzola cheese (I just learned how to spell Gorgonzola the other day, isn't it fun?),

Hyde

Ais is sick, but Ais posts for Hyde anyways, partially because Ais cannot walk sucessfully. Ais has new fic in works. Sing songs of joy. May the third person and Moab's raisen cakes be with you.Ugh.