I don't know about you, but if one of my coworkers stumbled into the office, soaked in blood with half his leg blown off, and was screaming the plant's General Manager was on his way with a stack of pink slips in hand and was perma-firing anyone that looked at him funny...I think I'd cash out then and there. Alas, Cole and Company are determined to learn some things the hard way. Also in today's chapter: N.O. and it's application, chemistry and how it effects you, and the Seven Dirty Words you can't say on TV or the radio. Lucky for us, this is neither. Enjoy!

. . .

Patrolman Hynen had asked if he could put his arms down. Blood flow to them was getting low and his shoulders were beginning to ache. The three others in his corner concurred and beseeched their guard. He jerked the barrel of his UMP-45 at the ceiling.

"You'll put 'em down when I say so, and not a second sooner. Your hands drop more'n your ears and I'll blow your fuckin' head off." While at the moment annoyed, in retrospect Hynen realized having his hands up probably saved his life.

Ten UMP-45's opened up outside with their suppressed chatter, punctuated first with an un-suppressed pistol, then agonizing screams of dying police. The front doors flew off their hinges, showering the lobby with glass. The frames smashed into the front desk and the heavy steel caved in an M.C.C.'s face. Through the gap blew a black blur. The Blur swarmed the first pair of M.C.C. officers, dispatching one with a cracking pistol shot to the temple, and beheading the other with a swing of its arm; both before either officer could get off a shot. A third officer was shoulder checked with a rib and sternum crushing crunch, and was launched across the room and out through a window; getting slashed to ribbons on the broken glass. His partner's right arm detached surgically at the shoulder in a spray of blood, while his weapon fired because shocked nerves had clenched his trigger finger. The burst put seven rounds into a fifth officer, his partner receiving a perfectly placed 0.357 between the eyes. Officer Seven only realized the knife wounds in both his armpits and kidneys as he hit the ground, his eye's last recording was Officer Eight's skull popping as a 0.357 mushroomed inside it. The Blur closed on Officer Nine, the one guarding the prisoners. A single shot was all he got off, harmlessly into the floor. There was a depressurizing whoosh when the Officer's torso was cleaved open from groin to chin, succeeded by a hammered pair of shots; both connecting with Officer Ten perfectly in his center of mass. Then, in its haste, The Blur fired an immediate third shot at the fleeing Officer Eleven. Pulling the trigger on a still cycling pistol, while swinging it from left to right, The Man in Black got the shot off but hit low; and stove-pipe jammed the Coonan. Then, Hynen blinked again.

"Bah! Curses of The Priests…" The Man swore while watching Officer Eleven hop away into the building, his right lower leg dangling with the foot facing the wrong way. "I was too excited, fired too soon. Oh, my apologies! Are any of you injured? With your hands already above your heads, I assumed you to be prisoners."

"Thank you for doing so." Hynen still kept his hands firmly on his head. He couldn't decide what to focus on. The Coonan 0.357 on his left, or the double-edged Applegate-Fairbairn on his right. "I don't believe you need any assistance, but we'll offer ours if you want it."

"I'll note the offer, but I'm in a hurry. I'm afraid you'll only slow me down."

"We figured as much." One of the officers behind Hynen said. "How…how did you, y'know…DO that just now?"

"There is no way for me to teach you, if that's what you desire. I was born with these abilities, gifted to me in The Priest's wisdom, and Red Star's engineering."

"I see…" Hynen felt the creeping sign of eyeroll and fought to keep it internal. The Man's praises of his Priests and mysterious Syrinx sounded to Hynen a load of hinky religious mumbo-jumbo. "What do we do now?"

"Tell me your names." They did. "I will remember them when I have finished with my duties. Turn yourselves over to Sergeant Simmons, just across the front door. He will process you, follow his orders to the letter."

"Yes, Sir." Hynen lead his fellow prisoners outside. They were besieged with questions of what they'd seen inside. None of them could offer anything beyond either magic, or something truly not of their world.

. . .

"I don't know if he'll be able to handle it. I mean, yeah, he's his father's son and all. Emory could handle N.O. but compared to a Liberas, his grasp was rudimentary. For a rube like me, it's taken a lifetime to get used to."

"We are without the luxury of options or time. I have to meet up with The Seven Bosses, Josh hasn't gotten their guys set-up with radio encryption yet, there's still gunfire popping off with Haruko probably in the thick of it, she needs dealt with permanently, and you cannot move your arm. And then a thousand other things still."

"And we still have to eventually get Naota too; if he made it out to Black Moshannon." Tommy and Shifty had started the meeting without me. I'd been told to change into what's referred to as my 'stage outfit' and there I was, with bells on and everything.

"Oh, right! Of course, I'd almost forgotten." Tommy shook his head and winced. His rib was still digging at him. "But you told him we'd be there in twelve hours, so we've still got plenty of time."

"Right. And, I'm not saying 'if' just because there's always that off-chance, y'know, not that I'm saying he didn't make it…I'm going in circles, what's up?"

"Jeff, do you swear by everything Piddles reported to you, and you relayed to us, yesterday evening?" Tommy's voice had a strange cut to it, and it wasn't rib induced.

"That she met with a Man in Black at Grizzly's, so we placed a call to the I.I.B. saying we need them to come and pick her up, and then a few hours later, she conveniently vanishes when the Blue Goon Platoon from Doom Lagoon comes knocking, and the county goes full-retard; and is still nowhere to be found? That everything? Yes I do. I trust Piddles: The Wonder Dog with my life. He has never let me down, lied, or given me any reason to doubt him yet." I could sense I was being led up to something. There were bases being covered, or a checklist being marked off. A suspicion I already had, but I had dismissed it as outlandish. Last time I'll do that.

"Then, as your acting commanding officer, I am ordering you, Staff Sergeant Jeff Carson, to apprehend Space Patrol Officer Haruko Haruhara, and bring her here so she can be transferred to the I.I.B. and sent to stand trial; alive if possible. If that is not possible, you are authorized any means available of deadly force. Either way, she is to cease being a threat to this station, its personnel, and its area of operations; two hours ago. Do you understand this order as I have given it to you?"

"…Y-Yes." My throat had closed on me. "Yes, Captain Carson. I do."

"Good. Master Sergeant Shaufner." Now it was Shifty's turn for formal talk. I could tell he was having an inner eye roll at the whole thing. "As you cannot fulfill your duty as Hunter to assist Jeff, I request one of your Vials for his use."

"Captain Carson, I must remind you and Staff Sergeant Carson of the risks involved." Rank and assignments are a funny couple. While Tommy is an O-3 grade and Shifty an E-8 grade, Shifty had complete control over his case of Vials. Tommy, or an Overwatch General, an I.I.B. Admiral, even a G.S.P.B. Commandant, all could order him 'till they were blue in the face to open his case and hand out the contents, and Shifty could (and certainly would) tell all of them to get bent. "While Jeff has a genetic predisposition to better handling N.O.'s effects, he is not his father. Major Emory Carson was once a G.S.P.B. officer in his prime yes, but his grasp on N.O.'s power was tenuous at best. Jeff has expressed no such characteristics except for the basic benchmark of no immediate allergic reaction. This does not make for any guarantee with a full application. At best, he will have one hell of a crash once it works through his system. This is assuming his body does not reject the Surge outright and shut down."

"She is my mess. I didn't follow the orders to keep my distance and observe and report only. I walked right up to her and said hello. So now, I've got to clean my mess up. Shifty, you're the expert on Men in Black and Liberas. Is this the only way I will stand any kind of chance against her?"

"…Yes. Without it, she will have you for breakfast." Shifty's eyes betrayed his mind. He was furious with himself for getting shot and not being able to help me. "Alright. Come here, hold the case up for me will yah? Ahem…Echelon. Nine. Eight. Eleven. Seventeen. One. Seven. Eighteen. Twenty-four. One. Zero. Nineteen. Eighteen. Five." Shifty unlocked his case, pulling free a Vial, syringe, and fresh needle.

"Okay, okay, so….so, uh, left, left arm? Or right?" We had helped Shifty set everything up, drawing a syringe full from the Vial. Now he eyed my arms.

"Your non-trigger hand, so your left." I'd already rolled up my sleeves, and with years of practice, Shifty found a vein easily. "Here goes…"

A warm syrup flowed into my arm. The first sensation, besides the heat, was immense weight pulling at my elbow. It seemed when exposed outside a Vial's vacuum, N.O. is denser still. It spread down to my fingers and up my shoulder, sloshing down through my heart and then radiating outward. Soreness and sharp pains from earlier wounds I'd taken melted away. A giddy euphoria lit up my face, the weight of my equipment left me, and a restless urgency started me wanting to fidget. I could feel my pupils dilate, seeing everything perfectly crystalline clear without glasses or contacts for the first time in my life. My heart's beat grew robust, lungs doubled in capacity, and senses adjusted to twice, thrice their baseline. A drunken invulnerability was sitting on my shoulder, telling me I was now capable of anything. Sprint a mile in a minute. Bench press a truck. Fly by merely wishing it. Blue, shining lines winked in the peripheral of my vision. When I could catch glances of them, they seemed to be part of a web or grid, some parts thicker and brighter than others. I was so awestruck by just the injection, I didn't think to ask about any drawbacks.

"Oh shit, his eyes turned blue!" Tommy was peering at me for any sudden signs of side-effects or rejection. "Is that normal? They supposed to look like that? I've never seen you use the stuff, so I don't know."

"Mmm-hmm. Perfectly normal. I'd be surprised if they didn't turn color. And he hasn't rejected the N.O.'s Surge, he's not in a drooling, shitting seizure on the floor. Now, side-effects on the other hand. 'Kay Jeff. We're gonna do a quick exam, then you'll be on your way. Ready?"

"Yep!" I sounded like some over-sugared kid on Halloween night.

"Stand up straight, head level, eyes forward." He put the back of his hand to my forehead, then two fingers tight against my jugular. "Temperature feels normal, pulse is normal; a little fast but we'll discount that. Touch your chin to your chest. Pain? No, good. Raise your left leg, straight out, to your waist. Pain? No, good. Right leg same. Same? Same. Read the bottom line, left eye only." Shifty produced an index card from his case. It was stamped with random letters. "Perfect. Other eye. Perfect. Okay, cover your right eye. Say 'now' when you see Tommy's hands." He had Tommy stand a foot away, arms outstretched and brought them in. Shifty observed over Tommy's shoulder. "Good. Again." And repeated the maneuver for both eyes and in 45-degree angles to my vision. "Alright, now follow my finger…good, good. Bite down hard. Open your mouth. Close it. Raise your eyebrows. Good. Smile with teeth. Frown. Puff up your cheeks…all good. Close your eyes. Say either 'sharp' or 'dull' if you feel something. A needle-point and pencil eraser touched my temples, edges of my eyes, sides of my nose, and chin. "Perfect. Repeat this string of numbers to me in reverse order. Ten. Two. Four. Seven. Forty-Nine."

"Forty-Nine. Seven. Four. Two. Ten."

"Stick out your tongue. Move it left, center, right. Put it back. What were those numbers again?"

"Forty-Nine. Seven. Four. Two. Ten."

"All your lights are green. None of your nerves broke, and your brain didn't fry." Shifty declared me fit for duty. "Since you have not built up a tolerance like me, it's gonna move through you pretty quick. You have…about an hour; give or take five minutes. Don't over-extend yourself, don't try anything you wouldn't normally do, and no, you cannot fly; even though it feels like it."

"Roger that. Anything else I should know?" The clock was running now, and I had only one idea where to start. I looked down to see my carabiner was beginning to pull against my belt; pointed northeast and away from King Coal. It was bearing instead, on Voyze's Quarry. That was one problem that solved itself.

"It's pointless to order you to do this, but do really try to not get killed." Tommy said. "You're much more fun this way."

"I'll run it by the committee, see what we can do for you."

"Smartass. I've got nothing to add, or anything inspirational. This morning's been all kinds of too screwed up to think of anything. Just be sure the smack that smirk of hers right off her face. Also, I know you and Emory, your Dad, didn't get along. But please remember everything your Dad taught you about Backbreaker. You're going up against a Liberas carrying a double-neck, and that's no joke. Okay, got that, got everything you need? Then time's wasting! Dismissed!"

The Ought-Too was waiting for me outside. It started like it had N.O. in its tank instead of gasoline, sensing my urgency. After I made sure my guitar was secure across my back, I dropped into gear and was off.

. . .

Atomsk had been at King Coal; that much was obvious. The jingle-jangle on her wrist was enough for Haruko. There was no way the Pirate King was still hanging around though. The facility was swarming with workers, even at the early weekend hour. And, Haruko recognized a distinct model of rifle some were carrying.

'That mystery's solved.' She thought, seeing fully-assembled products of her handiwork. 'G&R's definitely a front for some organization. Which one though?' King Coal was a dry well, and full of nervous, armed miners. So she mounted up to pursue another lead. 'They're nowhere well-equipped or mobile enough for G.S.P.B.; and at least when I was in, we never did the work and train the natives dance. They're much too informal and non-regulation to be I.I.B. Although, seeing Amarao assigned out here in the sticks, far from his creature comforts, would be hilarious. No…they have to be…gotta be…Overwatch. Oh, that's just too much! Little baby Overwatch, trying to play with the big kids!'

King Coal was far behind now. Ahead loomed the plateau Voyze's Quarry had taken upon the duty of boring into. It too had transformed into an armed camp, with surly guards prowling the gates. She took roads and paths much, much less traveled to slowly work her way around to the back of the property. Her chain link clinked increasingly frequent as she crept along.

'But now, of course NOW, it makes perfect sense! Surely, I should've seen it sooner. Well, in a way, I did, didn't I? I had Rig nailed from day one. But that explains why Naota and his family are here, live up the road, why Naota actually knows some non-boring stuff now, he's actually…anyway. And that guitar of Rig's, I knew there was something off about it. Still can't say what that exactly is. But it's strange…very, very strange…At least I don't have to worry about any of them coming after me. It's not like Overwatch, and certainly not G&R, has anyone capable to catching yours truly!'

She'd reached the property fence again. Here it was reduced to a few strands of rusting barbed wire strung between the trees. Finding a gap worn by rust and age, she pushed on up the hill. A flash in the corner of her eye caught her breath in her throat. She leaped off her Vespa and had her guitar halfway off her back, ready to fight. The remains of a POSTED: NO TRESPASSING sign rattled on its nail. The old metal shimmered where paint had flaked off, looking like a pair of sunglasses twinkling in the coming dawn.

"Paranoid, much?" She asked as she put her guitar back in place. "Jumping at signs, get it together. You're just imagining things…you've got nothing to worry about." Finally atop the hill, the ground plunged straight down. A yawning column bored in the rock beckoned. From its edge, it looked to be a bottomless pit; or at least 1,000 feet down. It was from there the N.O. signal was coming. So back down, down, down she went, hoping for an end to her pursuit at the bottom.

. . .

A blur was smashing, slashing, and shooting its way towards him. This Blur waltzed its way between the tracers of a picked up M240, the orange flashes lighting up the narrow hallway. The gunner's arms were cut off at the elbows and a 0.357 round blew his helmet off. Two UMP-45's in the same hall couldn't track this Blur. It pin-balled from wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling, and launched itself downward. A gurgling cry burst from the hallway as The Man in Black lead with his left arm, double-edged blade first, and stabbed through a trooper's chest clean up to his elbow. Without pausing to reflect on finding his arm stuck in a woman's chest, The Man simply continued forward while holding the body upright. His new shield took a burst of 0.45 rounds while he used its shoulder as a rest for his pistol. All the while Cole stared in disbelieving horror. Only when one of his Lieutenant's took a bullet to the nose, and the brain evacuating via the Lieutenant's right ear spattered itself on Cole's face, did he come to his senses.

"Ah…Cole!" The Man saw him through the smoke, haze, and floating red mist. A flick and straightening of his arm threw off the impaled trooper, her body casually tossed against the wall. "There you are. A bit of advice. If you are going to go around calling yourself 'Captain', and act as if you command this station, your hospitality needs a complete rethinking. I have been here for…one minute and thirty-six seconds…" The Man consulted his pocketwatch, evidently timing himself. "And not once have I been offered a cup of that delicious stuff you Humans call coffee. Your first day on the job has gotten off to a bad start. Just what kind of organization are you commanding? I expected much more from you."

"You got here just in time, Sir!" One of Cole's surviving Lieutenants was brave (or foolish) enough to give their rehearsed story a go. "We found Captain Chojnacki in his office, dead as a hamm-." BAMN! The Man shot him in the mouth. Broken teeth spilled out of the bloody hole, widened by the jaw becoming dislocated. The man crumpled, choking on his own tongue and incisors.

"Is anyone else going to waste my time with flimsy lies, or will I receive the truth?" The Man looked down at his Coonan. The slide was locked open, and he had no more spare magazines. Stowing it in his holster, he added: "And I am out of ammunition. The next liar will have their tongue cut. Well?"

"T-this is ridiculous!" Cole forced himself to protest. "I am the new, rightful Captain of the State Patrol, and will be addressed as su-." The Man interrupted by heel-kicking Cole deep in the solar plexus, and using his foot to shove Cole ten feet backwards into the wall.

"You are nothing but a Traitor. That shall forever be your rank and name. Addressing you by any other word is too kind. You." The knife's blade came inches from the third Lieutenant's nose. "I want to hear the truth." This man, terrified and desperate, spilled his guts.

"The, the officers set us up! We got the shit shot outta us this morning; there's no way that could've happened unless someone told them we were coming! But Cole put it all together, and lead us here to take back control, and stop Chojnacki and the Chiefs from getting more guys killed! And now we're the new leadership. Chojnacki, Strong, Sarabyn, Warburg, they're the real traitors!"

"Have you even the slightest idea how indescribably vacuous that fairy-tale sounds? Which of your number devoted his entire two brain cells to concoct such a farce? Please, please tell me it wasn't him, Traitor?" The Man gestured at Cole, who was still wheezing and gasping on the floor. "Go ahead. I'll allow you to lie just this once. Say it was the genius of any of the dead behind me. They're already dead, so what does it matter? No? May The Priests grant me their patience…" The Man reached up under his sunglasses to rub his eyes. Morning had arrived and he was missing his now daily cup of coffee. He was already in a foul mood and this did not help.

"Cole, run!" Seeing this small distraction as their only chance, the last two Lieutenants charged. Rooted in place, The Man backhanded one, fracturing and dislocating his jaw, breaking three teeth, crushing his left eye socket and cheekbone, rupturing the left eardrum, and cracking his skull's temporal region. That Lieutenant thudded to the floor and The Man left him there to expire in agony. The other Lieutenant meanwhile howled in pain, holding up a right hand filled with shattered knuckles. His blow to The Man's abdomen may's well have been against a brick wall. A leather-gloved hand clenched hard around the Lieutenant's neck, cutting off first the scream and then fading pleading. The Man squeezed and squeezed until he felt veins popping and bones crackling, and then at last, a pulpy squish. Cole regained his feet and disappeared down a different hallway, still doubled over. The Man dropped the throttled Lieutenant, stepped over the others, and pursued Cole at a leisurely walk.

Cole's vision throbbed, black at the edges. His gut was on fire and breathing was a series of knife stabs to his navel. Now he was completely disoriented, stumbling along and navigating by fear and touch. A door yielded to his weight and he collapsed into the room. The cool tiles on his cheek meant this was the forensic laboratory. He dragged himself forward, reaching out to a table to haul himself up.

"No, you stay down there where you belong." A voice above commanded. Shooting pain radiated through his right hand. The Man had thrown down his knife, pinning Cole's hand to the floor. Try as he might, he couldn't budge the blade. Meanwhile, The Man was browsing the shelves and reading the labels on the many jars and buckets.

"Formaldehyde, no. Iodine, certainly not. Silver nitrate, luminol…no, and no. Hydrogen peroxide, ninhydrin, come now…bleach? Perhaps…ahhh…this'll be perfect." The Man pulled a five gallon bucket off a lower shelf and walked back to Cole. He bent to pull the radio off Cole's belt and called upon Sergeant Simmons.

"Sergeant Simmons, is the rest of the building clear? It's become rather quiet in here."

"Yessir. We had to gas out the cell block, pumped it full of CS. We took two dead, four wounded; nothing serious. We have eleven prisoners, and four dead M.C.C. that wouldn't come quietly."

"Excellent. I have Cole, and his inner cadre have been dealt with. Marshall everyone on the parade field. Use the basketball court's fence as a stockade for the prisoners. I need to make an announcement, so have everyone in formation and at attention!" His orders given, The Man retrieved his knife. Then he took the bucket in one hand, Cole's shirt collar in the other, and began dragging Cole outside.

. . .

Only at the bottom of the borehole did Haruko realize how dead-bone dry this new well was. A single feather the length of her leg was the source of her chain link's jangling. That was it. A feather. A red, luminescent, leg-long feather. But it was a useless, fucking stupid, useless, gods-damned, piece of shit, piss, fuck, cunt, cock-sucker, mother-fucker, tits, FEATHER!

"Huuhhhggg…huhhggg…huuhhhggg…okay…ooo-kay. It's just a minor setback. The place is layered with shale, it's probably messing with the signal…yeah, that's it. This wasn't your fault, you didn't know any better…this was the strongest signal…it's okay, it's…Oh…Kay…" Haruko talked herself down from a stratospherical blood pressure. She was on the right path. Atomsk had been there, the feather of his was proof. Where he would go, was the question. He couldn't have left the planet, such a feat would require a large burst of N.O. and she hadn't felt one. She didn't believe he knew she too was on Earth, so most likely he was merely finding a new place to hide. Somewhere even father out of the way, somewhere less attention grabbing and less accessible.

"West." Remembering the vast, empty plains of America's Middle from her flyover months ago, it seemed obvious. "He's gone west to those plains, and then probably to the mountains past them. Isn't that just too perfect? Welp. No time to hang around this popscicle stand. I. Am. Outta. Here." With improved spirits she swung her leg over her Vespa and started up. The slight off sound of the engine's usual rhythm reminded her: she was still minus a Gundam Module.

'There'll be one along the way. How could there not be?' She convinced herself, then looked up at the borehole's skyline. A silhouette stood backlight against the morning sun. Even from this distance, she could see the dirtbike's orange paint, and just barely made out the headstock of a six string over the rider's shoulder.

"You can't be serious."

. . .

Where he had once stood proudly before the M.C.C., Cole now knelt before the surviving State Patrol. Blood flowed freely from his right hand, both were shackled behind his back, with a chain running to another set of shackles on his feet. No effort was made to bandage his hand, or stem the bleeding. His abdomen ached and he'd just had a coughing fit, hacking up a disturbingly large wad of bloody gunk. Back and to his left, out of sight but fully in mind, stood The Man. He and The Man were at center court, facing the home basket. The rest of the force was under and around the home basket, and on the left and right sidelines. Behind Cole, handcuffed and tied upright to the fence, were the surviving eleven mutineers. Just outside the fence, on the parade ground, the ground was carpeted with full body bags.

"It would bring me no greater pleasure than to congratulate each and every one of you, for a hard-fought, hard-won battle this morning. I say 'it would', because I cannot in good conscience bring myself to form the words. Disappointment does not describe your department's sorry state. An entire fifty-six man platoon vanishes without a trace, hardly one of twenty of your targets were actually engaged, let alone apprehended…and then…and then, I personally have to put down an improvised, on-the-spot, MUTINY." The Man was exercising his uncanny ability to hold everyone's ear with a conversational volume; while flawlessly concealing a seething rage.

"This morning was to be celebratory. It was to be your christening, I believe is the word, under fire. Proof of worthiness to enter the ranks of, as is called in The Federation: Inser Bertoningwis. Military Police. Now I see, that wasn't good enough! Some of you…" A grip that pressed the plates of Cole's skull against each other, took his head and rotated it up to face the crowd. His face was on display for the entire department. Everyone had a good, long, uninterrupted look. The Man was making sure everyone knew exactly who this was. "Forgot your place, and are to serve in a new capacity to your fellows: As Reminders."

"If…if you're expecting me to plead forgiveness or leniency, you'll get no such satisfaction." Cole straightened his back as far as his diaphragm allowed. "And there'll be no apologies forthcoming either. My only regret is getting caught."

"That is just as well. I have no patience, nor use, for excuses. All I want to know, and want everyone else to know, is Why. Tell your brothers in arms why you turned on them, shot them, tortured them, why you bit the kindest hand that's ever been extended in your entire life?"

"Because I deserve better, no, I demand better. I'd like to see you, any of you, growing up as the oldest in my house! With six younger brothers, all looking to you as their surrogate father; and also looking at any chance to take over the family as their own. I was the smartest of the seven of us. I was the cleverest. I was the one who held everyone together. Why shouldn't I then get what's owed to me? The newest clothes that everyone else got to grow into. The second helping at dinner while everyone else went to bed still slightly hungry. The first crack at any job offering or work that came our way. After all, like I said, I was the best of the bunch. And just the same as it was for Mister Solomon. And just the same as it is now. Everyone else…" He jerked his head at the commissioned officer corps that had survived; a wretchedly small number.

"Only saw my strengths as a threat. Don't you have any idea how real police selection works? Selflessness, patience, service to others, all applications with those words go straight in the trash. It's about control, and it's about power. That's all. It's the best high there is, holding someone's life in your hand. My brothers were just a practice set, but here I could really shine! But even with a record arrest tally, the tons of drugs seized, the assets impounded, hundreds of thousands of dollars in cash confiscated, still confined me to a mere Patrolman! Can you imagine how it burns me still, the injustice of it all? And then! Then the disaster of this morning. Set-up to fail by scheming political hacks. I had no other choice but to move on, and move up. What else was I supposed to do? Maintain my station in some fatalist sense of duty; go down with the ship when it was a faulty design to begin with? No thank you! And you know what?" Cole was truly on a roll, loving the sound of his own voice; even now. No one made any motion to stop him, and along he went.

"Even the precious few minutes, that moment before you threw me into the sun, was the first time I felt content. I'd gotten exactly what I wanted; and all on my own. The son of the county drunk: Captain of The Pennsylvania State Patrol; even if for only five minutes. So go ahead. Put me against the fence with the others and shoot me already."

"Oh…Cole. You know I can't do that. You're much better serving right where you are." The Man picked up the bucket he'd carried out from the forensic laboratory. "Listen! Listen all, and listen well! The Red Star of The Solar Federation has extended you the open hand of comradeship. Grasping it secures your place in the Brotherhood of Man! A fraternity across the stars, that is one for all, and all for one; each member working together as Common Sons. All are welcome, accepted, our stock in trade the highest quality…all the Gifts of Life held within our walls. But nothing is without cost, even as small as one that I asked once before, and now ask again." The Man dipped his voice back to conversational. He had no need to be forceful with his audience captured.

"And that is to be Meek. For only then will you inherit this Earth. Be grateful to have been offered a place at our table as an equal; rather than abandoned to starve in the snow. Be contented in your role as a brick of millions, to form an everlasting foundation of this new civilization. Be thankful for the opportunity to showcase what a motivated soldier of Syrinx can accomplish. For Syrinx, and his envoys The Priests, and I theirs, will not, cannot forgive what has been allowed to fester here: unchecked Avarice. We have asked of you little except that you listen, and this is how we are repaid?! Stinging acid thrown in our face would have been kinder. So you power-hungry, you sniveling, clawing, sneaking thieves, ungrateful usurpers, allow me, the Fist of The Priests, the Conduit of Syrinx's Wrath, to repay you in kind! Traitor! A stain upon this house you have become, and as a stain, you will be washed away. To Traitors, only the cruelest of ends!"

Upended, the bucket's contents doused Cole head to toe, and soaked into his uniform. In shock and anticipation, he fell to his side and curled into a ball. Nothing happened. No pain, burning, nothing. Blinking out the drops in his eyelashes, he caught a glimpse of the bucket's label. The blue, red, yellow, and white diamond showed a '4' in the blue quadrant, and blank elsewhere. Two letters next to the diamond read 'HF'. This meant nothing, and everything, to him.

"What was that? After all that wailing and preaching you just did…THAT was it?!" Cole felt a gallows laugh coming on. "You splashed me, got me wet did you? Am I clean now? Can we stop this now and act serious?"

"You have…" The Man, unamused and unfazed, consulted his pocketwatch. "Thirty seconds. Enjoy it, while it lasts."

"Thirty seconds? Thirty seconds until what? You splash me again?"

"Twenty."

"Really, I'm more embarrassed than scared now. If you expect me to die laughing, you might be on to something."

"Ten."

"Are you really just going to stand there?"

"I take no pleasure in this." The Man put his pocketwatch away, knelt down and spoke only so Cole could hear. "I had such great faith in you, and you had such potential. We were going to make you a Commander in The Red Star Interior Police when everything is finished. You would have done very well for yourself, I think you would have been right at home in our City of Megadon. It's a shame you only coveted what others had and wanting them in the here and now, when you were quite capable of earning them yourself. If only you had been a little more patient. Too late now though. Farewell, Patrolman Cole Richard Kauffman."

The pain began as a dull, body-wide ache. The fluid had been a concentrated solution of Hydrofluoric Acid. It immediately began reacting with calcium and magnesium ions in Cole's blood, producing the insoluble calcium fluoride. This created an imbalance that depleted Cole's bodily reserves of calcium and magnesium, disrupting his cellular function. His cells were dying slowly at first; and then all at once. Doused in the stuff, nowhere on him was immune. Searing, prickling, stabbing agony roiled every square inch of his flesh, a thousand bee stings and needle stabs at once; inside and out. Rolling, thrashing, screaming, all useless. Pins jabbed his eyes, fire flashed in his lungs, sandpaper ran over his tongue and throat, and then he looked down.

His uniform had pulled up, exposing his stomach and hip. The skin was swelling and distorting, turning into a chalky, blistered series of gross and overlapping folds; all pressing on each other and causing ever more pain at contact. Breathing was becoming a chore. More bloody sputum hacked itself up as his nose began running and his sinuses clogged shut; denying him the ability to breathe nasally. Every cry for help came out as a wet, sputtering cough. Each was followed by more dead tissue and blood spat onto the court.

Everyone watched in silence. The Man's eyes couldn't be seen, but each trooper felt The Man's gaze was fixed only on them. He was daring them to look away, to give him the slightest eyebrow twitch of challenge or disapproval. They knew if they did, there were plenty of open space left on the fence. All had been lain perfectly clear. The Man was offering the Carrot of a Paradise, or the Stick of swift dismissal; and he was willing and capable of following through on this promise for any of them. Even his favored were not exempted. Anyone with second thoughts knew their window to get out unscathed, had closed. The only escape now was death.

Ten agonizing minutes later, Cole was still alive. Rather, what was left of him. The uniform was the only recognizable feature left. Wrapped inside it lay a disfigured, mottled, broken and bleeding abomination; human in the grossest terms of anatomy only. This thing's skin was ballooning in patches, cracking and splitting, and dissolving into a slurried gunk. And at his core, the chemical was closing in on Cole's heart. A stake of pain hammered into his chest with each increasingly desperate beat of his heart. He'd have ripped off his skin and clawed through his sternum to make the crushing weight ease, the torment end that much faster. Handcuffed and shackled, all he could do was wriggle. Slowly the struggles grew smaller, until his extremities finally failed. The lights had already gone out, his optic nerves and blood vessels filling with toxin. But someone was still stubbornly home, remaining with the suffering. Finally, Cole Kauffman's heart violently seized as his lungs topped off with fluid. It fluttered and quaked, then beat no more. It had taken him thirty one minutes to die.

. . .

And so passes from our story Cole Kauffman. Sometimes grabbing the brass ring seems too easy, and that's because it's sitting at the bottom of a raccoon fist trap. Cole stuck his hand in up to the elbow, and the hunter came along to collect. Figuring out how to work Cole into boiling oil without some incident similar to the Joker from Batman falling into a vat of acid. I think this works; and Hydrofluoric Acid is nasty. According to several sights I used for research, only 25 square inches, 160 square centimeters, of skin coverage is a fatal dose! That's just getting it ON you. Not in your eyes, swallowing it, snorting, injecting, just spilling it on your skin. Criminently! Do not look up the burns at work, or if you're planning to eat, or just ate, or have a weak stomach.

Other than that, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and at least can hum along with Cole's reasoning for what he did and how he acted. It has been a good mental exercise figuring out the WHY of characters.

We also learn a little more on how N.O. works, a little more of the Carson family; a little bit of this 'n' that here and there really ties everything together. I feel like I have neglected Naota in this recent release of chapters. I mean, he kinda is THE main character. But now there's so much else going on, so for the moment we'll let him sleep. He's had a rough morning.

Let's see...anything else? Nope, that about does it for this one. Thank you as always so very much for reading, I apologize profusely again for the long hiatus. Please let me know how I'm doing, and I'll see you over in Chapter 22!