New York Tactical Operations Unit Base, Commissioner's office

Two hours later

As I'd expected, the team was in uproar at the notion. Of course they were. They'd every right to be.

"Sir, there's no way we can allow -" "You can't, sir -" "Commander, no human being could possibly be a match for -"

"Enough," I quietly ordered.

They fell silent like the well-trained officers they were, and I was proud of them all over again.

"Your objections are valid on the face of it, but this is a situation none of us were ever trained for. All the usual rules and logic simply do not apply."

"Commander," Jocelyn addressed me quietly, "may I raise a few points of pure logic and practicality?" I nodded. "Thank you, sir. My study of the image tells me certain things. To begin with, there is the sheer size of the thing. That alone is a considerable advantage, and we already know just how fast it is despite being that size.

"From that fact, I deduce that it is likely this being comes from a world with higher gravity than Earth's. So it will be much, much stronger physically than any human being even at the peak of physical fitness - and with the greatest of respect, sir," she added with utmost sincerity, "you are not. In great shape for your age, yes, but you aren't 30 any more."

Don't I know it, I mused ruefully.

"If our theory about the hunt being a manhood ritual of some sort is correct, as seems likely, then it is by definition young, and will therefore possess all the resilience, vigour and energy of youth - all of which, again, you lack, further increasing your disadvantage.

"Its muscle and bone mass will be of greater density, rendering it tougher, harder to kill. It is entirely possible small-arms fire and/or low-calibre rounds won't even penetrate to any significant depth. Plus it is effectively invisible and possesses highly advanced, lethal weaponry. All of this, sir, adds up to one inescapable conclusion:

"You are not and cannot be any match for this creature. No human being possibly could."

"It'll KILL you, sir!" Candy sobbed. "You can't take it on, not alone! You mustn't!" She turned to Ed. "Commissioner, please!"

But I'd known Ed for 24 years and I knew what he'd say. "I gave the Commander a free hand in getting a maniac off our streets, Candy. I have not rescinded that order, and I will not. The fact that the maniac in question is from another planet and is not, technically, a maniac is irrelevant. He is killing our citizens, and that must stop. It's up to Kelly how he achieves it."

"Commander, there's no question of heroism or showboating here," Duane, a veteran Marine, rumbled. "No-one expects that of you, sir. I'm your highest-rated combat officer. I stand the best chance."

"Except you're not the leader," I pointed out neutrally, "and he knows it. Besides, there are two factors none of you seem to be taking into account:

"First, he is not invulnerable. Harrigan killed one of his kind on his own turf.

"Second...if he kills me and takes his trophy, he gets what he wants and therefore he has no further reason to stay. He'll leave. Whether I kill him or he kills me, the result is the same: this ends. That's what we want. So either way, we win."

"You don't," Marie said quietly.

I smiled gently at her and stroked her cheek, intercepting a tear trickling down it. I was absurdly touched that this waif was weeping over me of all people. "You can die and still win, Marie. There are things worth dying for. Billy understood that." I paused. "So did Julie."

Abruptly Streetcat remembered.

"Please save my baby!" Julie had screamed, her beautiful face creased with agony and terror. God, there was so much blood everywhere. Her hand was crushing Streetcat's, but she would not let go. Her love needed her, now more than ever. "Let me die if you have to, but SAVE HIM! Don't let him die! For the love of God, please, please save him!" She'd shrieked then as a doctor made a cut, no time for anaesthesia, but she took it. "Save him, let me die, SAVE HIM!"

But they didn't, they couldn't...

A dark alleyway, a sad place for anyone to die, but it was where she'd chosen. It was where that pig Mallory (she'd lied when she told the Blues she didn't know who it was, she was just desperate to get a shower and wash him from her) had put that little boy into her, so it was fitting. Julie sat on the ground and levelled the .357; its muzzle looked huge.

"Please don't do this," Streetcat tried one last time. "I love you. I need you."

"I can't live with it, sweetheart," Julie answered in the tone of one who has accepted imminent death. "Remember me. Remember him. I wanted to call him Tom, after my Grandad."

"Tom," Streetcat nodded, "I'll remember. I'll always remember you."

They kissed one last time, Julie's lips tasting of cherry as always.

Then the shot, and her love fell back and never moved again. At a distance the other Bloods, standing vigil, watched silently.

They swore revenge. He'd gone to ground, but they'd find him. He'd pay...

For the first time since Julie's suicide, Marie understood why her love was willing to die for her baby. And now she understood why Billy was willing to die for the Bloods.

Why Kelly was willing to die for his city, its people.

It wasn't the dying that mattered. It was the why. There were things more important than your own life.

She realised in that moment she'd have changed places with Julie or Billy if she could, died in their place. It was what you did for people you...loved. She didn't love Kelly, but she knew she didn't want him to die.

He was a cop who really cared. Fuck knew there were too few of them in the Big Apple.

The hug was spontaneous, I knew, but I accepted it. I'd read Marie's thoughts from her face; I was abruptly sure she was present when Julie died by her own hand. But she'd tell me in her own time one day, maybe. I hugged her back, stroking her beautiful black hair. Amazing how she could live on the streets and still have hair in such beautiful condition.

"Please don't do it," she whispered, tears falling now. "New York needs you."

"That's exactly why I have to," I gently told her, and her sob told me she understood. Fourteen or not, she was no child any more.

Fuck the regs. I'd find a way to get her signed up to the Unit Academy. Maybe we could lie about her age. Perhaps we could "discover" one or two "clerical errors" in Marie's records, and "correct" them, so it would transpire that come the next cadet intake, her 16th birthday would fall on that date and thus she would, just barely, be old enough to be recruited (it's a three-year course, there's a lot to learn), so that would account for her looking too young. I would of course inform the Commandant - in the strictest confidence - of her true age and the reasons for the deception.

Denny was good at that sort of thing, I reflected.

Again, there's the legal thing, and then there's the right thing.

New York Tactical Operations Unit Base, Squad Room

Half an hour later

I found out later that Candy tried to foment a mutiny of sorts: she tried to persuade the others to tool up from the armoury, eschewing the standard non-lethal ordnance, and follow me to wherever this epic interstellar smackdown was going to happen, so as to provide backup and/or intervention.

Now don't get me wrong, I entirely understand where she was coming from on this...which is why I forgave her for this little faux pas. In a true team the strongest characteristics are loyalty to one's teammates, and concern for them when things go pear-shaped. I'm very proud to say that the Unit excelled in these areas. We were colleagues and friends and brothers/sisters in arms, all at once. Candy possesses a high degree of empathy, and intense personal loyalty to me, and so she was worried for me. Any team member was expected to be willing to die for another if need be; that's what teamwork is all about.

But this was different. Trying to tackle this hunter, this Predator, as a team would most likely achieve nothing but their slaughter, one at a time, and only then would he turn his attention to me - which came to the same result as my plan in the end. The only difference was that my plan would result in only one death: mine...or, hopefully, his.

Or both.

But even that would be a win.

In fact Duane torpedoed the entire mutiny anyway by refusing to go along with it - and since he was the only Unit member apart from Ed and myself who had access, if he vetoed it then it wasn't going to happen.

"But -" she protested.

Duane shook his head, sighing, as he realised he was going to have to explain the Commander's logic. "Look, Candy, why do you think this bastard hasn't hit us yet?" She looked shocked; the thought clearly hadn't occurred to her. "He's expecting us to come gunning for him, with Kelly in the lead, because we're the best at what we do - but going up against the best is what he lives for! This fucker wants us to go after him, dammit!

"If we play his game he'll kill us all, Kelly last. This way, Kelly's putting him off-guard by doing something unexpected. Plus he's keeping us out of the firing line, as well as minimising any possible civilian casualties. And I think he's right about what this creep will do if he wins: he's gained his trophy, honour's satisfied, he's a man or whatever. He leaves."

"So we just let him go? Without answering for anything he's done?!" Candy cried in distress. "How is that justice?"

"How can our justice apply to him, Candy? He's a fuckin' alien!"

She sighed as she saw his point. You couldn't ascribe human morality to something that wasn't human. But she persisted, "Duane, we can't let this happen. Look, what if - what if we went all-out to find him, comb the city, maybe even ask the Blues for some extra manpower, then just, I don't know, hit his lair or whatever with a few heatseekers? Shoot at anything that moves or tries to escape?"

Duane shook his head. "I guarantee you Kelly will already have thought of that. For a start, what if he sees us coming?"

"We'll use IR baffle suits to mask our heat signatures," Candy tried, "so he -"

"It's been tried," Duane told her, "that op in '97, remember. Didn't work then, why should it now?"

"We have to do something, anything!" she sobbed, and Duane sighed again and just took her in his arms. She was a good kid, but didn't really get combat. Kelly was no soldier and never had been, but he understood tactics well enough. They simply could not employ any standard tactic against this thing; its sheer strength, its likely invulnerability to most weapons fire, and maybe most of all that damn stealth screen negated most of their standard options.

Kelly knew that. He wasn't playing Rambo here, wasn't showboating, wasn't trying to go out in a blaze of glory.

No. He was doing the only thing that would work.

Besides, he might win. Stranger things had happened...

Sword Class NYC, 1944 Madison Ave., New York

Midnight

"May I ask why you're here, Commander?" Tristan Zukowski, Head Instructor, asked curiously. It was a rare police officer indeed who came to sword class, and for such a high-ranking officer to do so...

"For pretty much the same reason anyone comes here," I answered blandly, "to learn how to use a katana. I understand it's very different from most swords, what with the two-handed grip, and even the Unit Academy hardly teaches more than fencing. I need more than that."

That last was a calculated slip. "'Need'?" he wondered.

"Another, bigger problem is that I need to learn as much as possible in the next 24 hours at most. What's worse, I need to learn at the level required not just for practice, sport or a hobby, but for real, to-the-death combat. I realise that may be entirely beyond your purview," I conceded.

"It might not even be possible, Commander," he warned, frowning. "And surely it's against police regulations to engage in lethal combat."

"Under normal circumstances it certainly is," I agreed, "but my circumstances are as far from normal as you can get without going into orbit."

Zukowski's frown deepened. "Actually we do have a visiting guest instructor from Japan, Hirohito Yoshimoto; he's a direct descendant of a Samurai warrior."

Which I already knew, of course. That was why I'd chosen Sword Class NYC. I asked to see him.

He greeted me with tea and a merry smile, neither of which lasted long when I told him what I needed. "To teach the ancient art of the Samurai is not an easy thing, nor is learning it. What you ask is a monumental task, Kelly-San."

"Of this I am well aware, Hirohito-San," I returned his formality as a gesture of respect, "but my need is equally monumental, I assure you. I must ask you to treat what I am about to tell you as absolutely confidential," now I smiled wryly, "not that many people would believe it anyway."

I told him everything I knew about the creature, including its apparent penchant for honourable combat and its habit of taking trophies. He was silent for a while; I assumed he was absorbing what he'd heard, and doubtless he was. But then he surprised me by sighing, "Shimabara."

"I'm sorry?"

Hirohito looked solemn. "There is a Samurai legend of an epic battle at Shimabara, many centuries ago. The legend is seldom spoken of, even among we Samurai descendants. It tells of a great and terrible demon who came and demanded to face the greatest Samurai, and the master of the village, as it was then, accepted his challenge. They fought for many hours, but the demon was victorious and counted coup on his defeated opponent - his death alone was not enough to appease the demon.

"The warrior's friends were enraged by this lack of respect, as they saw it, and demanded challenge in turn. But the demon denied them, saying he had defeated the most worthy prey and that was enough. There came a whirlwind which bore the demon into the sky, from which he never returned."

"What did the demon take from him?" I asked softly, knowing the answer.

"His entire skull and spine...as you are well aware," Hirohito replied quietly. "So...the demon has returned, then? And is not, truly, a demon?"

"Well, I would debate that last point," I said wryly, "and I doubt it's the same one, but...yes, New York has one now. It falls to me, as the leader of my team, to challenge him. But he needs the challenge to be honourable, to maximise the value of the trophy and so complete the hunt. We're pretty sure he'll leave then. He most respects anyone willing to take him on with just a blade, and he meets them in kind. Hence my interest in the katana."

He looked carefully at me. "You understand the risk? The enormity of the challenge?"

"Only too well, I promise you," I answered feelingly.

"And still, knowing this, you intend to meet him blade to blade?"

"I must. It is the only way, Hirohito-San, I swear to you on the Badge. Any alternative is unacceptable to me. It's this, or he goes on killing our citizens - and he may well strike at my team, too. This I cannot permit. I am sworn to stop him. I must, whatever the personal cost. He must be stopped...even if I have to die to do it."

He stood and gave me a deep, deep bow. "Yours is the true spirit of the Samurai, Kelly-San." Then the solemnity slipped as he chuckled. "Either that, or you're out of your mind."

"Both, probably," I admitted, grinning.

"So be it." He opened the office door. "Tristan, my honoured guest and I will be training in the small dojo. We must not be disturbed for any reason whatsoever for the next twenty-four hours." Naturally Tristan looked startled at this, but bowed and nodded.

"Let us begin, then," Hirohito led the way. I bowed, student to master, and followed him. I was sure the next 24 hours - all the time I believed and feared I could spare before our resident alien killing machine went on the prowl again - would be the most intense of my life.

I was right, too. Dear God, was I right...

"I assume you have a blade of your own?" he inquired as we entered the dojo and he closed and locked the door.

"Oh, yeah," I answered with relish, and took it out of the long case I was carrying. "Our boys and girls in R & D fabricated this for me in their forge. It's a very modern blade, a bit longer and heavier than the usual, with a longer edge and a shallower curve...and it isn't steel, there isn't a milligram of iron or carbon in it. TiCrIr, we call it, after its component elements: titanium, chromium and iridium. It's the toughest alloy in the world." I snorted. "Against this bastard, it'll need to be!"

He took it respectfully to inspect it, fascinated, and well he might be. Everyone who's seen it or worked with it agrees: somehow, TiCrIr even looks interesting. There's just something about that smooth chrome sheen with just a hint of blue. Anything made of it looks the business and no mistake. It was developed by our in-house R & D team originally with armour plating in mind - they wanted an alloy with the optimum mix to maximise tensile, compression and impact strength while keeping it relatively light.

One problem is it's bloody expensive because iridium is very rare and the alloy's very hard to make (ridiculously high melting point, for a start: 2,446°C just to melt the iridium, by which time the other two metals are already molten, then a further heating to 3,278°C is required to prepare the alloy for crystallisation). A bigger problem is that you can only work it effectively whilst it's molten - because once the alloy cools and the three metals cohere into their beautiful, elegant crystalline structure, that's the way they stay.

It's just a shade softer than diamond (9.97 on the Mohs Scale of 10) and can't be worked except with nanotech, and the nanites need diamond or, better, Lonsdaleite, in their manipulators at that. You can't physically saw it, cut it, drill it - tools go to pieces on it, even if they're made of it; the induced stress and torque are just too much. Laser or plasma torches, or high-temp Thermite in a pinch, will cut it, but it's still a hell of a job. It's the real-world equivalent of Adamantium which, as X-Men Origins: Wolverine showed, can't cut itself.

Last I heard, the military were very interested in buying the patent. We're thinking about it.

But R & D discovered by accident that with some very clever manipulation of lasers and extremely strong complex magnetic fields, it's possible to create a true monomolecular edge. Doesn't last long (though they're working on it), but while it lasts it can cut through anything. Even semi-blunted, relatively speaking, it's what a scalpel wants to be when it grows up. I suspected the Predator's blades were fashioned of an improved version of the alloy, to create a non-wearing edge. R & D were certain such an edge was theoretically possible; they almost had it now.

He wouldn't be expecting that. Nor would he be expecting me to be skilled with a katana, a blade with which I was sure his people were familiar, if my interpretation of that Samurai legend was correct.

Providing, of course, I mused wryly, I can acquire those skills quickly enough!

In fact Hirohito was an amazing instructor, and I turned out to have a surprising degree of natural skill with a two-handed sword - 'surprising' because I've never been more than a mediocre fencer. Maybe, I speculated, fencing wasn't intense enough to suit me.

Katana training definitely was.

Hirohito wasn't kidding; I was halfway convinced he actually was trying to kill me. When I mentioned this, joking, he replied solemnly, "But that is precisely what you asked for: training at the level of true combat. For me to perform at a lesser level would be to defeat the stated object."

I gaped. "You mean you are trying to kill me?"

He nodded. "Just as your opponent will attempt to do. Just as you must respond in kind, Kelly-San."

Oh, now he tells me.

I returned to the combat with fresh resolve.

We didn't take a break for nearly two hours - Hirohito because he didn't need it, superbly toned and conditioned as he was, and me because I was too stubborn to quit and didn't dare spare the time. But in the end the flesh proved weaker than the spirit, and we had to rest...briefly.

I had to admit, "Hell fire, I haven't been this beat since the last NYPD Charity Athletics. How'm I doing?"

I said it lightly, but Hirohito knew full well the question was serious. "An excellent beginning," he nodded. "Your style of defence is now quite adequate. Now we shall work on attack. I must advise you, Kelly-San: you must not hold back. Your strikes must be as lethal as they are swift. Do not concern yourself with my safety." A gallows smile. "Should you kill me, however inadvertently, that would conclusively prove both your prowess and my incompetence...however, I have not lost even a combat-level bout in thirty-two years."

The question had to be asked and I did so, quietly: "I need to forget that this is just training, don't I?"

He nodded solemnly. "Your combat against this demon will be for real. You must therefore regard this combat as equally real. That is the only way you will survive against it."

I also nodded - and attacked.

This time we went three hours without a break. I honestly don't know where I found the stamina.

No, that's not true; I do know.

It came purely from fear for my team and, moreover, my citizens. I absolutely had to give the Predator the best fight I could, for as long as I could manage, else he wouldn't be satisfied - and the thought of Duane's skull and/or spinal column decorating his trophy wall (of which Mike had given me a chilling description) was more than I could bear.

Or Jerry's.

Or, God help her, Candy's.

And we couldn't be sure he wouldn't go after Marie at some point, even if she wasn't armed. We had no proof that unarmed = safe from him. Anecdotal and existential evidence, yes, but not proof. She was one of the bravest kids I've ever known, but bravery didn't mean squat when it came to this creature. The thought of that little girl's pelvis on that wall...

No, I swore silently, furiously. NOT ON MY WATCH!

And so it went on for several hours. We both sustained minor injuries, mine slightly worse, and I was proud of the fact that I'd been able to get through Hirohito's guard even to that small extent. He was impressed, and said so. "The fastest student I have ever trained," he bowed, "quick of mind and body, a swift learner...and perhaps most importantly, the most highly-motivated. I am confident you will at the very least be able to hold your own against the demon. His victory is now no longer assured."

I accepted the praise with a deep bow of gratitude and respect to my most worthy teacher, and took it at face value...while knowing full well the odds were still stacked against me. But at least I could give him a run for his money - maybe take advantage of his surprise.

If it was possible to surprise him.

I'd have to see.

New York Tactical Operations Unit Base, Squad Room

Three hours later

"He's been spotted, so to speak," Frankie reported when I checked in with the team after a very refreshing sleep induced via micro-currents applied directly to the sleep centre of the brain (science fact catching up with fiction again), "Drone 5 picked up air disturbance on top of the Sears building in Brooklyn. IR scan reported anomalous readings. Gotta be him. We lost contact with 2; last we saw was a blue-white flash, so it was probably shot down." She looked sheepish. "I think I went too low with it, sir; sorry."

It was as I'd feared. "He's on the move. Looking for new targets." I exhaled and drew the katana from its case. "Time to give him one he can't resist."

Looking even younger than Marie with tears streaming down her face, Candy sobbed, "Is there no way we can talk you out of this? I mean, you could be wrong. He might not be interested in you at all - but if you walk around flaunting that thing, he will be!"

I debated whether to tell them, but only briefly. They deserved to know, and my keeping this quiet until now was a mistake I now recognised. "Guys, there's something I didn't tell you, and I realise now I should have. For the last couple of nights I have been certain I was being followed home, but I couldn't see anyone, or anything. But I remembered my Unit training - let's hear it, people..." I entreated pointedly.

Sure enough, they replied in unison, just as it had been drilled into them (and me) at the Academy: "If your instincts tell you you're being followed, especially at night, then you probably are. Assume you are and act accordingly. Better to be wrong and look stupid and paranoid, than to be right, do nothing and end up dead."

"Correct," I approved. "The night before I went to Hirohito, I popped in an IR scan contact lens on the off chance, but even then I couldn't see anything. What do you want to bet that Harrigan was right and that the Predator was and is stalking me?"

"What if he knows what you've been up to, sir?" Jerry worried.

That was a legitimate concern, I conceded, but I didn't think it was all that likely. He wouldn't be interested in human social mores, and the concept of weapons training purely for recreation would be, quite literally, alien to him. Weapons were for hunting, not for fun. So it was unlikely he understood the purpose of Sword Class NYC.

"So how're you gonna do it, Commander?" Duane asked. "Go up onto the rooftops? I'd advise against it; up there all the advantages are his."

"I agree," I nodded, "and it isn't necessary anyway. All I have to do, basically, is -" I shrugged, "- call him out. He'll come. He can't not." I exhaled again. "Central Park," I decided. "I want all civilians evacuated within a two-block radius. Remember, our purpose here is to minimise civilian casualties, ideally bring the number down to zero. Meeting him in an open space means a minimum of property damage if he decides to cheat and use that plasma caster or whatever the hell it is."

"Cover story?" Jerry asked.

"Gas leak? Bomb threat?" I shrugged again. "Just get them clear, people, you know the drill."

They did. It was accomplished amazingly quickly even by Unit standards.

The activity did not escape Young Blood's notice. He was briefly puzzled as to why so many oomans were leaving their dwellings - until he looked towards the central space from which they were radiating outwards, scanned...and detected the Prime - the Final - Prey. Better, it was standing alone. It knew, it had to know, he was stalking it, Young Blood noted with pleasure - because this meant the leader of the oomans hunting him was clever and would thus be a worthy opponent.

Now, what weapons was it carrying?

He was fascinated and overjoyed to detect only a bladed weapon like the k't'nhah he'd seen displayed by a Leader. It knows my purpose! Young Blood marvelled. It knows what I seek! A prey which knows its Hunter!

This will truly be a worthy and honourable kill!

New York City, Central Park

Five minutes after completion of evacuation

"Okay, people," I addressed the Unit quietly, "I can practically feel him. He's close. Now here are your orders. Very simple:

"Stay out of this. No matter what happens, no matter what you see, do not attempt to intervene in any way whatsoever. This is and must remain between him and me. Duane, I'm appointing you as my deputy in this matter - if any Unit officer disobeys my orders, you will order their immediate dismissal from the Unit. Is that understood?"

"Under protest, sir, but...Roger Wilco," he reluctantly acknowledged.

I caught sight of a bush in the distance moving as if blown by the wind...except there wasn't any. I knew only too well what that meant. "Here he comes. Radio silence from this point on."

"Good luck, Commander," every member of the Unit - and Ed, monitoring from his office - called. Candy wasn't the only one in tears.

One exception was Marie, or rather, in this context, Streetcat; she snarled, "For Billy! GET THE FUCKER! GUT HIM!"

I'll do my best, I silently replied, touched by the unity of my well-wishers.

Then I focused on what was to come.

This was the first time any of us had really seen the thing clearly; through that amazing stealth screen it looked vaguely man-shaped. Denny was right; as it moved you saw not through it, but behind it. The Predator wasn't truly invisible, it just bent ambient light around it.

When it had closed to about three metres, it stopped - and effectively vanished. The shimmer, which closely resembled heat distortion in the air - intentional, I was sure, and damn, it was especially hot tonight! - was only visible whenever the creature was in motion. Denny's theory was that even enormous computing power had to give way to physics; light was faster than computation, especially over such short distance, and so the projector couldn't 100% keep up, though the screen was still extremely effective tactically.

But once still, it was completely invisible.

That was how the '97 Predator had evaded the police at the penthouse, I understood: it had never left, simply lurking in the rafters, utterly motionless and thus utterly invisible until it grabbed and slaughtered Danny Archuleta. It was why Dmitri Gusev hadn't seen it despite his keen-eyed watchful attention as the Russians' guard man.

It was why No Change and the other Bloods had mistakenly headed towards the creature instead of away from it on the train, as the recovered and cleaned-up CCTV footage (there'd been a lot of interference) showed.

I now understood, too, why it had shown itself to Marie - a huge and uncharacteristic tactical error on the face of it, for I was entirely willing to bet these things had known war at some point in their history and so they would know the finer points of strategy and tactics. A basic war maxim is Know Thine Enemy, something they surely knew as well as we did. An enemy who showed his opponent something about himself for no tactical gain, especially something that opponent might actually be able to use against him, was, on the face of it, a fool.

It was purely a gesture of respect for her courage and leadership, especially when she wasn't armed. These creatures were all about the respect and the honour of it, I had to admit, and I honestly couldn't help but admire them for that.

Not that that would stop me from boning this motherfucker like a Goddamn fish if I could!

For a moment the rage took hold of me as I remembered what it had done to those innocent kids, to Billy. I remembered Violet's tears of despair and loss. This thing, this monster, had brutally slain New York citizens - people my Unit and I were sworn to protect! It had butchered and mutilated CHILDREN!

That was ultimately all the Bloods really were: they were kids playing on the streets, not a true gang! They'd hardly ever broken the law - hell, they even did honest work now and again for Tino Martinez at his pizza place on 79th St.! That whole business with Julie and that scumbag Mallory was very much an exception, not the norm! They just wanted to live their own lives in their own way, and by the laws of the Constitution of the United States, one of the greatest documents ever written (and I'm saying that as an ex-Brit, if you hadn't already guessed), by God they had every right to do that!

So where did this alien bastard get off deciding it was okay to butcher and defile the people of my city?! WHERE?!

For a moment I came incredibly close to committing the worst - and last - mistake of my entire life by simply rushing the thing, sword raised to strike, screaming some incoherent war cry. For a moment, I wanted to.

But only for a moment.

Unit training, deeply ingrained, kicked in and saved my life. We were in fact trained to allow such moments to occur; the idea was to give the rage an outlet instead of bottling it up and letting it use you at just the wrong time. A combatant blinded by rage would very shortly be a dead combatant. Better to let the anger rise, let it peak, then channel it so you could use it instead. As I did just that, a fiery cold calm settled over me.

I was ready. Ready to die if need be, I had accepted that distinct possibility with equanimity now, but I would of course give this fight everything I had. I could still win. If nothing else, I now knew I had nothing to lose and therefore I had nothing to fear.

There was still a chance. True, it was still David against Goliath, but hey, he won, didn't he?

Young Blood was fascinated. He had fully expected the prey to attack; he had seen the rush of heat to its extremities which spoke of its battle rage, a rage the yautja understood so well. The combat would have been over in a moment, but still most honourable.

But it did not attack. Instead it calmed itself and held its position. Young Blood admired it anew. This was a seasoned warrior, he knew, one who well understood the danger of unfettered rage in battle. Young Blood had seen other yautja make that mistake against the kainde amedha and pay for it with their unworthy lives, their thwei spilling bright green on the ground. This one knew better.

He would show himself - and he would do so Unmasked. This ooman deserved no less.

I'd half expected what came next, but it was still unsettling. The stealth screen vanished, and I had cause once again to admire Marie's camera eye and artistic skills, because she'd captured the thing perfectly. She would, I was sure, make one hell of a Unit officer, maybe even Commander one day. That was a worthy legacy, I decided, my equanimity increasing at the thought.

The creature began the ritual removal of its mask. That, I admit, I was less sanguine about.

Through the HD camera Jocelyn had implanted in Kelly's eye with amazing speed and deftness, the Unit watched anxiously from their vantage point on the edge of the park. A large number of SWAT troops lent by the NYPD in a rare moment of generosity, just for once overlooking the interdepartmental rivalry between the Blues and the Unit, waited behind them, armed as if for war on Duane's advice. "God, it's huge," Candy whispered in awe and terror. "It's a wonder it didn't break my neck when it hit me."

Jocelyn, still somehow maintaining her objectivity, clinically observed, "I imagine it controlled the blow, judging the precise degree of force required to incapacitate you and no more than that. Its physical discipline must be exquisite, on the close order of a Zen sensei. Probably they train for years before they ever even come to Earth."

Candy turned to her, incensed. "How can you be so calm about this, Jocelyn? For God's sake, that thing is going to -"

It was at this point, Candy later admitted ashamedly, that she realised she'd gotten the older woman all wrong from day one. Jocelyn showed she was human after all by bursting into tears.

"Candy, don't you think I know that?! Don't you think I admire that man as deeply as the rest of you? D - don't you think I know he's going to die, he doesn't really stand one single chance against that thing no matter what he's learned from Yoshimoto, and it isn't fair that he should face it alone? Do you think I want to conduct an autopsy on our Commander, our friend, after he's had his spinal column and skull ripped out bodily?! Especially after we've watched it happen?! After we've just stood by and done nothing?!

"Oh, I feel the same way, Candy, I'd take his place if I could - just as you would, or Duane, or - or any of us, because we're decent human beings who feel grief and sympathy as any decent human being should! But we can't. God help us, help him, we can't," she despaired. "This is the way it has to be...but knowing that does not make it one b - bit easier to accept." She hid her face in her hands. "Oh, God...why him? He doesn't deserve to die, why is this happening...? It isn't fair..."

For several seconds Candy just stared at the sobbing woman as if she'd never seen her before. That was the most anyone had ever heard out of Jocelyn Barton outside of a forensic or clinical context. In a much softer tone now, she answered, abashed, "No...no, it isn't. I'm sorry, Jocelyn. I'm sorry. I...I didn't know."

Jocelyn looked up then with a watery smile. "Hold on...you didn't think I was confessing to being in love with him, did you?" She managed a chuckle. "God, no. I admire and respect him and I hope to grow up to be like him, but love? Nah. He's not my type."

Candy too managed a chuckle, realising they had at last found common ground. Maybe the kinky bitch wasn't so bad after all.

She was entirely unaware of this at the time, since of course no-one could foresee the future, but they would later become the firmest of friends and even, briefly, lovers, and Jocelyn would be the midwife and godmother of the twins Candy would later bear by way of Jerry (who loved her but hadn't the faintest idea yet of how to tell her).

As for the Commander...