Possibly last chapter for today. I apologize for leaving you hanging there but I have lots to stuff to do yet before the weather changes for the worse in the coming days. Enjoy!

The ordeal had ended as fast as it began, and both detectives found themselves lying face to face on the cold floor, a sense of defeat hanging heavily in the air.

After he disappeared back in his little surgery suite, the man had left Danny to keep watch over them, while they ran blood tests.

What might seem as a drawback was turning into a benefactor Mike had every intention of taking advantage of. Sensing that out of the trio, the young man might be the only one swayed by logic and humanity, he'd spent the last few minutes watching him intently, encouraged when Danny avoided eye contact.

Across from him, Steve had fallen quiet, visibly struggling with their current predicament, while trying to put on a brave face.

"I guess they're going to come to a rude awakening when they find out my blood type isn't 0 positive…", the young Inspector breathed, trying to shift to a more comfortable position, even though his feet were still tied together.

"Not them…", Mike answered somberly, his eyes drifting from his partner to the young man sitting on the wooden stairwell, "You, Steve. Because they're going to kill you if you don't have what they need. They're going to kill you because you're the wrong blood type. Isn't that right, Danny?"

At the mentioning of his name, the young man glanced up at him dreadfully, before biting his lip, unwilling to answer.

"How many innocent people have died like this so far, Danny, hm? A dozen? Or more? And how many people have died after their organs were harvested for profit? How much money have you made off that?"

"It's not that easy."

Danny's quiet answer raised both detectives' interest and Mike briefly nodded at his partner, a sign that a small measure of hope might be returning after all.

"Murder never is, Danny.", the Lieutenant continued and slowly shook his head as much as the grain bag allowed, "You see, we're Homicide Detectives. We work murders every single day. And there are always a multitude of factors that come into play when one human being kills another one. Sometimes it's for profit. Sometimes it's out of revenge. Misguided love. Anger. It's never easy to explain. But in the end, murder is still murder and innocent people are dead…And now you guys are planning on killing two cops."

He could tell that the young man was fighting an internal battle, when he didn't answer right away. Meeting Steve's glance, Mike cocked his head before winking at his partner, causing the young Inspector to acknowledge him with an imperceptible nod.

"What do you need all that money for, that you are willing to sell your soul like this, Danny? Hm?"

Mike knew he was on the right track, when the young man's head shot up instantly, almost dropping the 12-gauge rifle in his lap.

"You're not the type of kid who would do something so cruel and heartless just to make a few bucks. You could find easier vices to get rich of. No, this is something far bigger, isn't it?"

He watched him bite his lip, then nervously play with the shotgun in his hands, before shaking his head again.

"It was the only way."

Encouraged by the developing dialogue, Mike leaned up onto his elbow despite the pain coming from his injured and bleeding shoulder that was quickly robbing him of all clear thought. At least that way he had a clear shot at looking the young man in his eyes.

"The only way for what, Danny? What did you need that money for?"

"You wouldn't understand it."

"Try me."

His passionate plea caused the young man to look straight at him for the first time since their awkward conversation started. Forcing himself to contain his emotions to keep a handle on a situation that could make a difference between life and death for both detectives; Mike clenched his jaw, before trying a different angle altogether, when his suspect remained quiet.

"It's somebody in your family, isn't it? What do they need the money for? Medical bills? Some surgery? What is it, Danny?"

"My mother has stage four breast cancer.", the young man replied, his voice beginning to tremble, "I need that money to save her life."

Intrigued by Danny's sudden willingness to open up, Mike pursed his lips, before clearing his throat again.

"I take it the insurance doesn't cover many of the bills?"

"Almost none of them. My father died when I was only a kid. I can't let my mother die too."

"And you think that helping with this…this project is the right way to go about it?"

"I was running out of time!", Danny explained, his voice growing more agitated, as he put the shotgun off to the side, before walking up to the two detectives, "Cancer…cancer doesn't wait until you can afford treatment. This was the only choice."

"Being that you care so much about your mother…", Steve began, when the young man stopped right behind him, "How do you think the family and friends of those you helped murder feel about things now? Was that fair? Was that the right thing to do? What about their families, hm?"

"I don't care what you think, or anybody else!", Danny countered and Mike could see his eyes turning cold, as he crossed his arms in front of his chest and leaned against the concrete wall nearby.

Sharing a worried glance with his partner, Mike covertly shook his head to quiet him down, trying to keep the situation from escalating.

"You're what, twenty-four, twenty-five maybe? How old is your mother?"

His soothing voice seemed to help pull Danny back from his emotional outburst and Mike watched him stare at the floor for a moment, before shrugging.

"She'll be fifty-two in May."

"She's so young still. Say, does she know how you are coming up with all that money for her treatment?"

"Of course not…"

Pushing himself away from the wall once again, Danny came closer and crouched down in front of Mike.

From that distance he could see old scars on the young man's face, wounds from a lifetime of battles. There were bags under his blue eyes from many sleepless nights and his short brown hair was unkempt, signs that he was worrying more about his dying mother than himself. And Mike just knew that somewhere deep inside was a conscience resenting everything he was doing here, regardless of the monetary benefits.

"Then what are you going to tell her when she asks?"

Their private conversation was disrupted when the door to the surgery room opened once again. Carrying an assortment of filled syringes in one hand and a set of keys to their handcuffs in the other, the approaching surgeon smiled.

Mike knew instantly that their time had finally ran out.