Jocelyn let herself cry again once he'd left, savouring her lost love's delectable scent one last time; then she pulled herself together, resolved anew to be less of a slob and changed the sheets. She'd have been ashamed of me for leaving it so long. Sorry, my love, won't happen again. Mmm, I did enjoy that. He's a pretty good fuck. Hopefully he's learned something from this, so he'll be less inclined towards rape. We can but hope -

- what was that?

A sound had caught her attention from outside the open window. It had sounded vaguely like a rattlesnake.

Or castanets.

She paled and nearly wet herself as she recognised it. She'd heard it before.

Dear God, no. Please, no. I'm naked. I'm unarmed.

Wait, they don't touch you if -

The window abruptly caved in as the plasma bolt hit. Now she did wet herself.

Can I make it to the phone? Will it do me any good if I do?

God, is it already in here? Can't see anything -

Then she felt unyielding fingers gripping her throat, stopping just short of lethal pressure. Of course they knew exactly how much pressure a human throat could take. She was hauled effortlessly into the air.

Now, she saw, her nemesis was all too visible. He was bigger than she remembered Young Blood to be, more Swift Kill's size.

"Please don't kill me," she husked in terror, her pee dribbling down one bare leg, not that she had the luxury of caring about that right now. "You can't. I'm not armed." She'd never sweated in fear before, but now her armpits badly needed deodorant.

"Not you," the Predator growled in a harsh electronic-sounding voice. Translator, the ever-active analytical part of her deduced, correctly. "Not yet. One is dead. Another will follow. Then him. Then all of his allies...oomans." She could hear the hate even in the artificial voice.

It - he - loosened the grip on her throat. With dread and horror, she understood why. He was going to hurt her, perhaps badly...and he wanted to hear her scream.

She was right.

With a claw the Predator jabbed her right breast. The point penetrated, and he leaned in. She couldn't stop the scream of agony as three centimetres of claw sank into her fatty tissue, nearly reaching her upper lung. So much for female tolerance for pain. Or is that just women who have had kids -

Oh, God help me, that HURTS!

Jocelyn screamed again as he rotated the claw. Deciding she had nothing to lose but her pride, she pleaded, "Please stop. Please!"

"This is nothing," he sneered. "Knives are next."

"No! No! Please, no! What kind of monster ARE you?!"

He jerked the claw out of her breast. Blood began to flow, the Predator tracing it with the claw. "This is no worse than what your kind do to each other, ooman. We are better than that."

"We call this torture," Jocelyn screamed, as much in fury as in agony. "We have laws! What you're talking about is a time long past! Yes, once we did hurt each other like that and worse, I admit it, but we have moved on from that. Now, that behaviour is against our code. You are breaking your code by attacking unarmed prey! Unarmed? I'm not even dressed!" She spat; he correctly interpreted this as a sign of contempt and growled angrily. "I will tell Swift Kill about this! He'll deal with you!"

It was a bluff, because she had no idea if Swift Kill was even on Earth. But clearly he was, as the Predator's next words proved.

"He will not know," he snarled, "for you will not tell. Tell, and I kill another. The next chamber? One ooman, female. She has a knife. Speak, and she dies. You will watch."

Ginny, Jocelyn realised in horror. She was just 17 and routinely carried a jack-knife just barely of legal blade length. "She's just a kid!"

"She is armed. She knows you. It is enough."

With that, he released her and smashed through the plasterboard wall into the next apartment. Ginny, who'd heard Jocelyn's screams, was already expecting trouble and had her knife ready. Of course, she wasn't expecting anything remotely like this. She was utterly helpless in his grip as he hauled her in front of Jocelyn. The knife Ginny was still holding looked like a toy next to his massive bulk.

"Please don't hurt her," Jocelyn begged.

"She lives until you talk. Then she dies. I will take this bone," he jabbed Ginny in her hip; she screamed in pain and horror.

But Jocelyn knew he had to be stopped. Only Swift Kill could or would do that.

Right now, there was nothing she could do.

"I'm sorry, Ginny. But I have to tell. You have to be stopped," she told Blood Fire.

"Your final word?"

She nodded. God forgive me.

Immediately Blood Fire's wrist blades shot out. Ginny had time for one shriek of terror as she realised this - thing - was going to kill her, then another, of pure agony, as the blades plunged into her belly and were used to act as levers so as to bodily rip out her entire pelvis. The only saving grace was that it was quick (but only because she wasn't involved in his Quest). She died in mid-scream. A stream of urine spurted out as she wet herself.

Her body fell apart, each leg falling away as the connecting tissue holding it in her pelvis was torn out. As her entrails and now-loose genitalia flopped wetly onto the floor, Jocelyn was splashed with Ginny's blood as it sprayed, and she fainted, unable to take any more. Even a forensic scientist had her limits when it came to witnessing brutal, horrible, bloody death, and Jocelyn's had been far exceeded.

Blood Fire laughed in contempt, gathered his trophy and leapt out of the window.

What was left of Ginny was sprawled on the floor next to the unconscious Jocelyn.

Her green eyes were still open.

Ten minutes later Jocelyn roused herself. The room stank of blood, piss and entrails. The first thing she saw was Ginny's accusing stare. Repulsed, she jerked upright. God, I'm sorry. Right. Briggs, Ginevra, deceased. Leave her be, you know she's dead. The Unit will take care of her.

The Unit. Gotta go there. I'm naked. Get clothes - no, there's no time, just go already! Find a cab driver who'll take you! MOVE IT, BITCH!

Shortly afterwards Felix McAfee got the most unusual fare of his life: a naked woman who looked like she'd come straight off the set of the latest Friday 13th movie or something, covered in blood. She screamed, "Taxi!"

He stopped and leaned out. "Lady, you okay? You want to go to the hospital?"

"No," she sobbed, "Unit HQ. Now. Please!"

Was there a smell of urine? There was, he was sure. Had the poor woman wet herself? Why?

What the fuck had happened?

"You sure? Hey, are you hurt -?"

Jocelyn leaned in close enough to kiss him, not that she had any such intention. There was blood (not hers, but Felix had no way of knowing that) trickling down the side of her face; he couldn't look away. "Please!" she begged him.

The desperation he could clearly see in her wild eyes touched him beyond measure. Wordlessly he nodded. He couldn't think of anything to do but grant her plea. Sure, she hadn't a stitch on, so she hadn't any cash or even a card on her, but he figured that she must be a Unit cop if she wanted to go there, so if he contacted the Unit Citizen Liaison Office and uploaded his cab's CCTV footage (a legal requirement for all Yellows from 2026 on), they'd reimburse him.

Unit Regulation 53 (Reimbursement For A Citizen's Voluntary Assistance With A Current Or Pending Criminal Case, Subsection 1 [Travelling Expenses]) had been inaugurated to deal with precisely this scenario: an officer required immediate transportation to the Unit, but for some reason was unable to pay immediately.

But a citizen deserved to be paid if s/he was willing to help; all s/he had to do was to prove definitively that s/he had come to the aid of the Unit officer in question.

This was true even for prostitutes, for whom Mayor Sheena Wright (who'd succeeded Eric Adams) had the utmost respect - under her aegis New York had followed L.A.'s lead and legalised prostitution. She introduced legislation to further protect them, and elevated prostitution in all its forms, however exotic or, frankly, perverted, to the level of legitimate profession, like teaching or gardening or firefighting.

Or police work.

Prostitution still wasn't safe, to be sure; the inherent risks still existed. But it was a hell of a lot safer now. Whores had legal protection, unions, actual salaries - and they were entitled to free sexual health checks. There were still a few STIs, but they were now far from being the epidemic they once were and no new ones had appeared. In fact, 'sexual liaison with a prostitute without a condom and without the prostitute's consent' was now a criminal offence.

In other words, a john could fuck a whore without a condom...but only if s/he said so, and if s/he and the client signed a consent form (even if neither wanted to spoil the mood and they decided to sign after they'd fucked). Doing it without doubled the price. If a client refused to pay it before or after, then the sex act, if it took place, was judged to have become rape, and the whore was fully entitled to press criminal charges.

Activist groups had queried and even protested these measures. But Mayor Wright had snapped, "Paying for health checks is a fuck sight cheaper than paying for sexual health care! We have a chance to stamp out STIs! It starts with addressing their sources, of which prostitution is one!"

She'd won her election in a landslide. The new Hookers' Union of New York supported her wholeheartedly; she was their saint and mentor. The first time a female elementary student was asked what she wanted to be when she grew up and said, "A hooker", the reaction was less shocked than it would once have been. Her mother - who'd been a hooker herself - burst into tears as she realised her daughter knew of her past and was not ashamed of her.

For, e.g., a taxi cab driver, submission of his/her CCTV footage (as New York was a progressive city under Mayor Wright, there were at least a few female cabbies) to the UCLO was sufficient. On receiving it, the UCLO checked with the Unit; Bishop remotely scanned the woman's DNA and hormone levels, confirmed that a) she was one of theirs and b) she was clearly in distress, and paid Felix 3x the fare he was theoretically owed, automatically thanking him for his assistance and his commendable civic-mindedness.

It took him a while to get the blood out of the rear seat, though. God, I hope she's okay.

Unit HQ, Front Desk

Frankie gasped in shock and horror as Dr. Barton stumbled, almost fell, into the room. There were a few appreciative murmurs on seeing her stark naked...though the bloodstains were something else again. "Dr. Barton, what - what happened?!"

Jocelyn clutched the edge of Frankie's desk to stay upright and rasped, "Kelly. Where? Where?!"

The girl was too stunned to do anything other than answer, "Um, Main Briefing, he's giving an address. Jocelyn -"

But Jocelyn wasn't listening. She stumbled out, onlookers too busy gaping to stop her. She was leaving a trail of blood and bloody footprints...

Main Briefing Room

"I'm reminded," Kelly somehow smiled, "of the night after we finished setting up the Unit. We all met at Jocelyn's place for beers and pizza. Someone asked why we wanted to be cops. Everyone gave a different answer. Jocelyn," he chuckled, "said it was a tax dodge." There was laughter, because Unit cops did pay less income tax. "Duane said he needed something to do after his discharge. Denny saw it as a challenge. I told 'em I couldn't imagine doing anything else. But Jerry suggested, joking, that Candy was a cop's daughter, so naturally she was a cop.

"But she very solemnly shook her head. ‛No,' she told us, ‛it didn't work like that. Everyone had a free choice - they could do whatever they wanted, be whatever they wanted. Being a cop - or a teacher, or a firefighter, or a prostitute, or a soldier - was our choice. We were always free to do whatever. Sure, Dad taught me stuff about self-defence, firearms, police stuff, but he taught me about poetry and woodwork, too. But we all, every one of us, even before we left England in 1607, chose to Protect And Serve. Every...last...one. We have always been cops. We're proud to be.'

"Everyone was struck dumb, she sounded so serious. I was the first to work it out. I said softly to her, ‛You don't just believe that, do you? You live it.' She agreed.

"That's why we must NOT look for revenge," Commander McAllister declared solemnly to the assembled Unit, "however much we might want to. Candy was the sweetest, warmest-hearted woman I have ever had the privilege of knowing, and I know she would not want us to avenge her - though she would fully understand the desire for it. Some of you knew her personally. A few of you knew, or found out, that she was bisexual, but leaning mostly towards women." He barely smiled again. "One or two of you knew her well enough to have seen the birthmark near her pussy before you made love with her."

A few rueful chuckles. He only knew about it because he'd once had to examine her, stark naked, for a temporary tattoo an informant had placed on her regarding a drugs deal; she'd been sedated at the time and so had had no idea exactly where it had been placed (inside her vulva, as it turned out!).

What a weird case that was, he mused. Probably the first time an officer stripped naked in the line of duty...

Unit HQ, Medical Centre

1st July, 2030

"So you've got the tattoo?" Kelly inquired as a matter of course. Candy nodded. "Okay. Where is it?"

"Um, I don't actually know, sir," she admitted. "For the sake of security, the guy insisted on me being sedated while he applied it. He didn't tell me where he put it."

"Hmm," Kelly mused. He paused. "Candy...we need that tattoo. We need the info on it."

Candy nodded again. "I know."

"Which means we need to find it," he continued. He sighed. "And since it's coded in a way only I can read, that means I have to find it. I, uh, hope you don't have modesty issues."

He soon found out that not only did she lack such issues, she actually liked to be naked. Unselfconsciously she stripped there and then, lying naked on a table. He kept the examination as professional as possible (while reflecting on how gorgeous she was), restraining himself to a visual inspection. Unfortunately the tattoo didn't show up, even when he checked her scalp. "Where the hell did he put it?" Kelly wondered, frustrated.

Candy tried not to smile as she realised where it could be. "Sir...there's at least one place on my body you haven't checked." She opened her legs and tried to look innocent.

Kelly got it immediately. He sighed. "You have to be kidding."

"He must've put it somewhere, sir," she pointed out. "Remember, it's his life on the line too."

He sighed again. "Candy...talk about ‛above and beyond'. Are you okay with it? I can call a chaperone..."

Candy giggled. "Most likely you'd get Jocelyn, and on duty or not, she'd be too busy going down on me to check for tattoos, sir!"

Tiredly Kelly conceded her point, and opened her labia and vulva as gently as possible using a warm speculum. He soon found and read the temporary tattoo via a forehead-mounted magnifying glass, while admiring the skill the guy had brought to the job - and managing to ignore Candy's scent and beauty. He couldn't help but notice she had a birthmark near her pussy, a small brown spot. Talk about a beauty spot. The lucky guy who popped her cherry probably liked it. I bet Jocelyn did. Does.

"Something we didn't know about him beforehand, sir, he told me as I was going under," Candy told him when he remarked on this. "He's gay. Women like me don't do a thing for him. That's why he trusted himself to put it there without abusing my trust - to him, it was just a job."

"Oh," Kelly noted, surprised, while decoding the tattoo and recording the resulting data; he was soon finished. On receiving his nod she got off the table and dressed unhurriedly.

He knew she was taking her time just to tease him.

God, she was a little beauty. Such skimpy, sexy Newlon knickers. Her dimples showed nicely. If she didn't do a thing for the gay tattooist, she sure as hell did for him, and she damn well knew it, too.

He wished she wouldn't giggle in so sexy a way, and that she wouldn't wiggle that delectable ass like that. Once again he debated the merits of creating a Unit regulation about spanking cheeky female personnel.

By all accounts (mostly from Jocelyn, a keen BDSM fan), Candy liked to be spanked, so she would likely be an enthusiast.

I wish. How the hell can a cop be so sexy and cute?

The information stored in the tattoo led directly to the conviction of a drug dealer and the smashing of an entire drugs ring - and high commendations for every Unit cop on the case, especially Candy. The guy received a promotion of sorts in the gay community for his civic-mindedness; several people came to him for tattoos and piercings of all kinds. He was the person who'd pierced Candy's left nipple.

Kelly was a fan of female nipple piercings, and he thought it looked very pretty. It suited her.

With a mental effort he returned to his farewell speech.

"I call upon those people now to tell us all, in one word, what she would want."

The response was as instant as it was unanimous and heartfelt:

"JUSTICE!"

"Exactly right," Kelly agreed quietly. "Most cops, even in the Unit, just follow the Code. Candy lived it. This, to her, was not a job but a calling, a vocation. She loved her work, her life, her family, friends and colleagues, and a few," he smiled gently at Jerry, "were all three of those last. I believe, I am honoured to believe, she saw me as the father she lost before she was two. He was a cop, and died saving two little girls from a burning building. She grew up on stories of him and decided, to no-one's surprise, to follow in his footsteps. He was a good cop.

"She was a better one. Sergeant Leonard White could never have imagined anything like the Unit, but he would've been proud to see his little girl Protect and Serve in it. I know we all were. Let's make her proud of us - we'll get that bastard because her murdered soul is crying out for justice, not revenge. So let's go get it, people, we've got work to do. Dismissed!"

But none of them had made it to the door before it opened and a naked, bleeding Jocelyn fell through it. She was covered in blood and, oddly, smelled of pee. Shocked as he was, Kelly didn't hesitate.

"Medical assistance, now! Wood, get her to the infirmary ASAP! Jocelyn," he addressed her gently, "try not to move, okay? We'll help you."

"Ginny...she...she's dead," Jocelyn choked out. "The...the Predator...he…"

"We'll deal with it," Kelly nodded. Luckily the rookies hadn't heard the word. "First things first. Wood?"

Wood nodded; he and Rajesh Choudhury (no relation to Manisha) took a careful hold of Jocelyn on either side of her, and on the count of three from Wood they lifted her with equal care, professionally ignoring the welling blood. But they did wonder:

What the fuck happened to her?

The Unit Hospital

Shortly after

"It was him," Jocelyn husked. "He killed Ginny. Ripped her pelvis out while she was still alive. Most horrible thing I've ever seen," she finished dully. Kelly knew that was because she was still processing, moving through the shock. Hysterics would come later, but by then she would be in the tender care of Unit psycho-analytical staff.

"Have to tell Fiona, her lover," she went on mechanically. "Can find her at the Cubbyhole."

"It's in hand," he promised gently, and he knew it would be; Karen Miller would be contacting Fiona even now and consoling the poor girl. The forensics team, headed by Vince in Jocelyn's absence, would be going over her apartment and gently removing Ginny's butchered body. Vince could handle the autopsy. "You just rest, try to get some sleep."

He was about to leave when she stopped him dead by crying:

"Marie's next!"

Near Green Acres Mall, New York

She was right. Heading home after a shopping trip, Marie heard castanets. She went pale. "Oh, no," she breathed.

Her friends got it instantly. Tom and Mike dropped the shopping and took out their .75s; Rhiannon produced the specially made 16-gauge rifle with its explosive rounds. Yvonne had grenades in her hands and more in her purse.

As she was carrying explosives and was therefore reckoned to be the most dangerous, she was the first to die. She was still looking where to throw when the three laser dots of the sight settled on her face and a plasma bolt blew her head off.

No, Marie cried in her mind.

Yvonne's jetting blood spattered Rhiannon and Marie before the headless torso collapsed. They knew with their Unit training that there was no time to grieve.

"Back to back around Marie!" Tom rapped. At the very least, he thought, they could buy time for the Unit to arrive.

Tom and Rhiannon exchanged a look. It said everything.

Though they only realised it now, both loved her.

Both would protect her to the end.

Or...To The End.

On the Badge.

Unit HQ

As Yvonne dies

"All units, all units, 10-999 near Green Acres Mall!"

Several of them were instantly on their way, both from HQ and from locations around New York. Despite the danger, all were heavily armed. Duane in particular had a MiniGun variant, which fired lower-calibre but explosive bullets...and more of them. Its fire rate was some 6,000 rounds per minute...and the backpack held not less than 12,000 rounds. No-one else in the Unit could even carry it. Duane had cheated years ago by having metal implants inserted into his legs to strengthen them.

He called the weapon ‛Payback For Blain'.

The Unit Academy, Firing Range

Two years ago

He demonstrated the use of the M137 to a class of awed cadets. "Every tenth round is a tracer bullet," he explained, "so you can see your line of fire even at night. Now you might think that using such a weapon at night advertises your position, and that's true." He grinned evilly. "But with this motherfucker, you don't need to care. Fire in the hole!"

He let loose on a target. Shortly there was nothing whatsoever left of it.

"How accurate is it?" a cadet asked feebly.

"Very," Duane answered, then grinned; the grin wouldn't have been out of place on a wolf's face. "But when it does that," he indicated the vanished target, "who the hell cares?"

Now, he thought grimly, PFB would see some action.

"Dammit," Mike cursed, "I can't see anything -"

Then he ceased to see anything for all time. The arr-thk lanced into his chest and sliced into his heart. He died instantly. Marie sobbed.

Tom was trying to pick his target, but Mike had been right; nothing was visible. What could -?

Then, to Marie's horror, the dr'she slammed him against a wall and started to contract. He screamed in agony as the mesh cut into his body.

"Tom!" she screamed as he died. "No! No!"

Rhiannon had never been so focused. "Marie, back to back! Keep moving around, keep him guessing!" The two began pivoting around as Seraph, Morpheus and Trinity had in Matrix Revolutions, Rhiannon firing at random. Gotta protect her, Rhiannon thought desperately. When she was out of rounds, the electromagnetic grip pulled a new clip from her belt; it clicked smoothly into place. Duane had invented the mechanism, and was justly proud of it. She rapidly cocked the firearm and kept firing.

God, where is he?!

It was an effective tactic; Blood Fire allowed himself a brief moment of admiration. The tall one with the fiery hair was clearly a master tactician. But it would not save her. For a moment she was square in his sights.

In that moment he fired a second arr-thk.

The spear dart pierced her lung on the right-hand side. She choked as blood rushed up her throat, and tried desperately to stay upright, still trying to protect Marie. But as her vision faded to black she knew she was failing. She met Marie's eyes briefly.

Sorry, lover. I...

Then her knees buckled, her consciousness fled and she fell, dead before she hit the ground.

Marie was alone. Again.

The perfect target, Blood Fire gloated. Her kh'hli would look -

Then he was interrupted by the stream of fire from Duane, who was guessing at his target but doing so accurately. Some Unit cars were convertibles to allow Unit officers to fire heavy weapons whilst standing up in them. A number of shells caught Blood Fire, exploding as they did so.

To his astonishment the weapon actually injured him. Its shells were explosive, he realised. Even he, with his immensely strong physique and advanced armour, could not stand against such a weapon. Very well. If I cannot have a trophy, I will at least have a death!

He fired the burner, but his prey had gotten just enough warning and she ducked; the plasma bolt hit and destroyed a tree off to one side. The lethal stream of fire arced towards him as the ooman resumed fire. Blood Fire spat a curse and decided discretion was the better part of valour. He leapt for a building and began climbing.

There would, he swore, be another time.

Meanwhile a crying Marie had collapsed onto the remains of her friends and FWBs.

Duane ceased fire, pointing the weapon the way he thought the Predator had gone, but it was climbing with amazing speed. Soon it would be out of range; the M137 was a short-range gun. But it had, he saw, done its job of deterrence. There were glowing green spatters here and there; Jocelyn could analyse them, maybe come up with some sort of poison.

But for now he had to console Marie, if he could. Her four friends, two of them FWBs if the gossip had it right, were dead. There was blood everywhere. Marie was covered in it.

Not for the first time, he remembered. She looked as she had back in '27, when Billy the Knife and the other Bloods had been butchered. But past experience, he knew, would be no help here.

For Marie, it was a horrific flashback to the Metro. Then as now, her friends had been slaughtered by a Predator. Then as now, she was lost in a mire of lack of understanding. But even as she sobbed inconsolably, she knew with a gradually rising, blazing anger that back in '27 she had been just a know-nothing naïve kid. Now, though, she was an adult, and a trained Unit cop. She was no longer helpless as she had been then.

Nor was she alone. She had the Unit at her back.

"I'll kill him," she swore in a low tone, caressing Rhiannon's red hair, now redder with her blood. "I'll kill him." Now she was screaming. "I'LL KILL HIM!"

"And we'll help," Duane said gently. "For now, you need to go to the Unit for debriefing...and counselling. I'll make that an order if I have to, Rookie."

Her understandable anger dissolved into tears as she remembered that normally she'd be leaning on Yvonne, Tom, Mike and Rhiannon...and now she no longer could. Dammit, they'd been so brave. She'd tried so hard to prevent this.

But it was all for nothing.