FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

A/N - I apologize for the delay. I was trying to figure out how to write these two chapters well to conform to regs. The next ones should be up much sooner. Please read and review if you find this interesting.

Also, all characters and events are fictional. Some interactions have been dramatized for more effective storytelling.

Finally, this chapter does have a few dark and descriptive moments. There is death and torture in short bursts of this piece. If you are disturbed by any of this, please contact via PM and do not read this version.

Chapter 1 - Scars of the Past

"It has been said that time heals all wounds. I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue, and the pain lessens, but it is never gone."

Rose Kennedy

The world surrounded me in a soft, cotton blanket. It was real, but not real. Yeah, I know that makes no real sense, but I don't know how else to describe all of this. Looking around I saw the dull, drab grey interior of the room that had been my cell for the past nine months. I fully expected it would be my crypt. I could see my surroundings, but my ability to focus was completely gone. The details of the room were there, but I just couldn't pick them out.

My body on the other hand was perfectly fluent in its ability to cuss me out. I could still feel the dull aching from the beating my captors had inflicted on me. The thin slivers of flesh peeled from the soles of my feet, the burning welts across my back, and the brutal, generic beating. Well, generic, except they seemed to enjoy almost superhuman strength and speed. The beatings were excruciating. Every day. For three months straight. My legs had never healed from the torture.

It wasn't just physical torment that my captors enjoyed. My mouth was beyond parched with almost no liquids for the past two days, dry to the point of painful cracks not only on my lips but also my tongue and cheeks. My emaciated body, now a far cry from its powerful, toned look just nine months ago, was gaunt and pitiful, encapsulated only in a dirty pair of once white boxers and black tee-shirt.

The loud thunk as the door in the featureless grey wall ahead of me, brought me away from my little pity trip. Through that door strode a mountain of a man, well groomed, and dressed impeccably in his blue jeans and tan button-up shirt. He strode forward, out of the mist that was the hallway behind him, and my eyes focused on the implement in his hand.

An old Webley revolver.

'Oh Please. Let this be it,' I thought silently, not allowing my disturbingly joyous thoughts to cloud my stoic face.

"Good morning, my little cur," he intoned. "Your overseers will not admit that you are theirs, and you will not submit to our simple requests. I mean, really, is a little TV statement too much to ask?"

A quick grunt was the only way I deigned to dignify that comment. Yeah, a statement of falsehoods and lies.

"In that vein," he continued, "You have been deemed disposable. With everything you have put up with, well, you surprised me. Even our bravest warriors don't have that sort of stamina. You will be able to see death coming. And I shall be the one to deliver it," he finalized, producing a single round, glinting in the dim light filtering in from...somewhere above...a skylight maybe?

'Goodbye, everyone.'

"Goodbye, cur."

I tried to focus on his face, but couldn't. The grey mist that seemed to surround us allowed me to see only his dim outline. The only thing I could clearly identify was the revolver, inches from my forehead. I spoke my final words.

"Fuck you."

Rather than the flash I was expecting, I saw nothing. I heard a tiny, chuff from somewhere high above me and felt the splash of warm, coppery blood flow onto my face. It wasn't mine. I tried to command my hands to grab the revolver that had dropped into my lap, almost like some stay of sentence from God Himself, but my body refused. My confused mind had absolutely no clue what was going on.

The series of thumps around me, only served to amplify the confusion. Six towering pillars landed softly but quickly around me.

"Shepherd, We're leaving. Now."

'Hold on. What is going on. How do they now my identifier? Who are these guys?' My mind was racing as I tried to look closer at them, but my bleary eyes were unable to focus. All I saw was a sea of desert tan and khaki.

"Woah," I grunted as I was hoisted effortlessly onto a shoulder. Something was definitely weird. I don't know what that is, however. Something just felt wrong. That feeling kept nagging me for the precious few seconds of consciousness I had left as a needle was shoved into my thigh and something injected into me.

My last visual as I left the conscious world was the most confusing part of the encounter. I saw a patch on the shoulder, where most operators would carry a flag or unit insignia. All that was there was blackness with a pair of blood red eyes looking out. The words below made no sense. Nex ut monasteriense. Death to monsters.

'What is that about? Who are these guys? What is...'

My eyes burst open, rapidly searching the darkness for any possible bearing to try to position myself. I felt the cold, clinging sensation of a cold sweat covering my almost nude body. My hands, reaching out, slammed full force into a table by my current position.

"Son of a Brahh. That fucking hurt."

Okay. So I was at home. Another damn nightmare. They had been getting more frequent over the past few weeks. I slewed my eyes to the left, seeing the glowing green numerals stoically staring at me from the floor where my clock had ended up after my unintentional masochism.

4:44 AM

October 11, 2011

'How do I do that? I always manage to wake up before the alarm now. No matter, it's close enough,' I think as I stumble toward the bathroom for a nice shower to wake up with.

My thoughts continue to rebound through my skull as I shower. 'It's been six years since that operation went completely to hell. It was four years since I was "miraculously found" by that border guard. The doc's said that the blackout was not unheard of and could be of almost innumerable causes... Are these dreams memories? Is that what I can't remember? Is that what happened?'

I had spent a decade in the navy, much of the latter portion of that in divisions that were not really known by the public. Oh, yeah, they knew of the SEALS, but the stuff my team did, well, apparently never happened. That was where I had a mission go pear shaped and well, I ended up as the long term guest of a pretty depraved group of people. I was found nine months later at an Austrian border crossing, with no memory of how I had gotten there, as well as a host of pretty damaging injuries. Injuries that told me that I probably did not get there on my own.

That ended my naval career. My face ended up on various newspapers as the "Missing Man." The injuries I had sustained were recoverable, but I could no longer do anything as well as I had previously. Add to that that I learned on my return that my family had been killed. My parents had apparently fallen off the trail in Thompson state park, near where I grew up, and landed in the Widowmaker. My father's body was found, devoured, by what, the zoologists and pathologists never stated. My mother's body was nothing more than a drag mark through the snow, quickly disappearing in the granite ground of the area.

Yeah. That homecoming sucked. Accident, my ass. Something was going on up there. Not only did my parents die, but the three rangers on duty died in, what the local police called a "freak propane explosion and fire" at the ranger station.

Finishing the shower and walking to the mirror, I remembered the gaunt and disfigured sack of skin that I had been when I was first found. Well, at least that had healed. A week in an ICU to revitalize me, multiple surgeries to rebreak and reset poorly mending legs and arms, multiple skin grafts, and more shrink visits than anyone since Charles Manson. I had gotten myself back, at least. I was still keeping my black hair short and well groomed. Nightly runs and swimming kept my body toned and slightly tan, although not buff. The scars on my back and legs were still there, but nowhere near prominent, thankfully. The scars across my mind...well, they're not scars right now...Hell, they're apparently still bleeding.

Getting dressed, I grabbed a conservative suit out of the closet, black and slate grey today, with a black tie. I slipped my credentials into my inner breast pocket, my wallet in the back pocket. I slid my Springfield Armory .45 onto my belt at my right hip and looked quickly at the clock.

5:23

'Okay, time enough to grab a bagel and go.'

The drive into the federal building was uneventful, although my mind was running well in excess of the speed limit. After my exit from the Navy, on the suggestion from my former CO, I applied for, and entered the bureau. I had enough real world history to get in, and well, knowing who to talk to was a great asset. I spent two years working out of Quantico, focusing on counter-terror, but also participating in various investigations, primarily with regard to bombings or attempted bombings.

Parking the Suburban, I strode to the door under the grey, dreary sky of a Boston fall. That was one thing I missed from the North Country, the view of the leaves and mountains as I just drove. Here, well, there wasn't much in the way of trees. Once again the sky seemed to be threatening to rain, but wasn't.

"Morning, Mike." The friendly greeting shook me out of my reverie. It was Paul, one of the agents who had been assigned here just out of training. Basically he got the joyous tasks of paperwork and follow-up. He was a short, but eager kid, just out of school, who still looked as if he was wearing his father's suits given how the arms were overshadowed by his sleeves.

"Morning, Paul. Having fun yet?"

"Yeah. Tons," he replied, his cocky smirk never leaving his face. "The boss-man want you, by the way."

"Yeah? What's he want?" With a set of shrugged shoulders my only response, I replied, "I'll go corner him then."

'Great. What now. I already have to go over that Maine bombing case. What bull does he need now?' Already mentally grumbling, I started over to the section chief's office. Stark was a decent guy but he obsessed over paperwork so much that it was almost a flipping fetish for him. Must have started in white collar.

Approaching Stark's door, I saw another body in the room. Pausing to knock on the doorjamb, I was quickly waved into the room and Stark motioned for me to shut the door.

"Agent Hart, this is Agent Dalis," Stark started, pausing as the two of us shook. This agent Dalis was just a little shorter than me, maybe six foot and a bit younger, maybe thirty. "He's from violent crime and has been tracking a set of bank robberies across southern New Hampshire. It seems your cases are connected."

'Huh? How is that possible?'

"Sir, my current case was an idiotic 16 year old in Maine building pipe bombs, very badly might I add, and stupidly storing them in school. It's been handed off to the locals and ATF. There's no connection to New Hampshire."

"Wrong case, although I do want that report. No. This is the Lupa's Lullaby Daycare case," he paused, seeing my gaze change from confusion to anger. "We found a similar device."

"Where?"

With that statement, I had gone from annoyed and ambivalent to completely attentive. This case was one of the most disturbing and confusing cases I had ever worked on. I knew that if there was more information, I needed to get it. If I got my wish, these bastards were never going to see the inside of a prison. Hell, they would never again see anything at all.

The question seemed to spark Dalis from his reverie. Heck, I had forgotten he was there.

"As SSA Stark stated, there have been a series of bank robberies across southern New Hampshire and northern Massachusetts. 'The squad' the media calls them. Very smart, and well organized, albeit a little strange. They seem to be almost set up as a military squad, but they don't seem to utilize any standard tactics. They've hit various banks in Nashua, Milford, Hudson, Burlington, Lowell, and Chelmsford without leaving anything we can follow. Until now."

"So they made a mistake?"

"Yes, and no. I think they are trying to go to some sort of end game. They hit the Ocean Credit Union in New London three times now. It was their first strike, so the first assumption was that they may be circuiting, but they struck twice in a row. The second time they left a device. Local law enforcement flagged it and kicked it over to us."

"Okay." This was interesting, but how do you know it is similar to the one from Lupa's? The remains of that device were very generic. The only signature was..."

"The shrapnel, yes," Dalis interrupted me. "It was silver. That's what caught me. The detonator failed and the new device has been made safe. The New London Police are evaluating it now. BATFE is about two days away. It's our ballgame. Here's a quick synopsis of the history. I'm heading north immediately. Grab your bags and meet me there."

I grabbed the offered folder as he swept out of the door. Any questions I had for Dalis were answered by the closing of the office door. I guess he wanted to leave. Turning to leave, I was stopped by Stark with the soft grunt of a throat clearing. Apparently something was still amiss.

"Michael," he began, "I know your history in New London. You have not been back in what... five years?"

"Yeah. Really not a fan of that town. Something strange goes on but no one wants to admit it. That 'something strange' is what killed my parents, so I do want answers. Add to this the strange, cloistered behavior of the town and...well...it's unique."

The town may have been unique. This line of grumbling was not, at least from me. I had not been to the town in years. My December sojourns to the site of my parents deaths, a pilgrimage not known by my co-workers, was one I willingly undertook each year, but I had never set foot in the town after my parent's death. I had missed the funeral, but my sister had scattered the ashes of my father across his first love, a small park in upstate New York where I had been born and where he had first worked. I made it a point to go there every year as well.

The townsfolk in New London tended to be very reclusive with outsiders, people not born to town families. I had grown up there but felt no kinship with them. They apparently felt no kinship with me, either. The one person who I had any feelings for...well...that was complicated.

My reminiscence was broken as I remembered that I was standing in my supervisor's office reminiscing. If it would not have made me look insane, a facepalm would have been completely appropriate. As it was, I quickly composed myself.

"This is work, not pleasure. I'll go and do my job. If you expected anything different...well...that's your mistake."

Stark knew enough of my history to know that I was lying, but also knew enough not to probe. He was a good supervisor, and he had time in field. He also knew why I was so focused on this case. He had been on that scene too. He had seen it. He had smelled it. He had tasted it.

"Mike," he began calmly. "You know that you have the full backing of this office for this case. Agent Thomas has been advised about the development, and his tactical team is ready to go. I also took the liberty of telling him that you're the one he's backing up. I think he still owes you a couple. If you need anything, call. Also, take this."

With that command he threw a small receiver at me. Looking at it I saw it was a small bail-out beacon. This would allow me to pinpoint my position to the GPS receivers of any following personnel.

"Mike, introduce these bastards to hell for me. I have already spoken to the sheriff in town. You are expected to be up there in an hour and a half."

An hour and a half? It was rush hour in Boston and it was a ninety minute drive at midnight with no-one else on the road.

"Sir?" I questioned.

"Drive fast" was his only reply.

I left quickly, grabbing the case folder off the top corner my otherwise Spartan desk, a position that it shared with only one other case file. One I had acquired from the local police purely as a favor. NL06-4110. My parent's accident investigation and missing person report. My two unsolved cases. Let's make that one.

Chapter 2- History

"Our life is made by the death of others."

Leonardo Da Vinci

The drive up I-93 was actually much quicker than I anticipated...although the lights and siren on the Suburban may have had something to do with that as I drove though the Callahan tunnel and out of the city proper. My thoughts, however were racing even faster than my vehicle was. All I could remember was that day three months ago when I first found this case.

I had been on my way back from training with Boston PD on active shooters. I was the only member of the tactical team free at the time and apparently had the most experience with these operations. I felt the concussion before I heard it.

I almost ducked. Old habits die hard.

Once I straightened up, I saw the smoke rising from a nearby block. I was only about five streets over. Fire was at least five dozen. Flipping my lights on, splattering angry hues of red and blue light, punctuated by the aggressive roar of the siren, across the early afternoon traffic and the sunswept buildings along the road, I manhandled my truck through the light traffic as I contacted Boston dispatch via cellular.

"Boston Fire. Federal B1024 enroute to possible explosion in area of Myrtle St. Start Fire, EMS and PD. Will advise further on arrival"

I arrived first, before any apparatus even made it out the door. I saw a storefront engulfed in flames standing before me. The sign above the door sent shivers through my gut as I reached for my cellular.

Lupa's Lullaby. Damn. A daycare. Kids.

"Boston Fire. Fed B1024. Fully involved structure fire. Requesting additional fire and EMS. Advise all local children's hospitals of incoming."

I moved towards the building, noting the small bodies on the street. Some were still moving. Most were not. The smell of charred plastic, and burning wood hung heavy in the air, interspersed only with the sharp, acrid tang of burnt hair and flesh. Looking in the gaily colored windows, all I saw was brightly dancing flames. More flames, and then...a shadow. Something was in there. Someone was in there. My thoughts came at me like a swarm of bees. I knew that it wasn't safe. They're probably already dead. I knew I shouldn't do it.

I didn't care.

My boot plunged through the plate glass door, sending the glass scattering across what had once been brightly colored carpet, now soot stained and partially aflame. Gasping at the sudden wave of hot gasses that surged across my face, I plunged through the doorway. I grabbed the small figure lying supine on the floor ahead of me, not moving.

Clutching the small figure to my chest, I ran back through the entrance, escaping to freedom from that physical hell. That figure, it was a small boy, no more than four. I saw the blue tinge starting to creep across his features and knew he needed help soon. I sealed my lips around is nose and mouth and exhaled.

Nothing.

I readjusted the child's head and tried again.

Nothing.

Damn it.

Once more. Readjust. And breathe.

Chest rise...and a cough.

"Oh thank God. He's breathing."

The closing wail of sirens was indescribable. It was the sound of angels coming to my rescue, but at the same time, I saw the finality of it all. There is life, and there is death. This kid was alive. The charred bodies around me were not. I just stood in the midst of the carnage... in the midst of the rubble... in the midst of the bodies, just holding this child.

This survivor.

Or so I thought. The kid died in ICU a week later. The doc's couldn't explain it. The lungs and vital organs were fine, but the kid just could not heal.

Stark showed up later, something about making sure I was alright. I acknowledged him in the affirmative, even if we both knew I was lying. The explosion was no accident. A small thermal charge at the natural gas line and small nick in the service line were all that was needed. The odd item was the shrapnel.

It was silverware. Not the cheap steel you get at Wallyworld, but actual silver. A weak, malleable metal that splattered in the explosion. A piss-poor method for wounding... so why use it?

The letter left with the globe was just as cryptic. Plenty of references to 'others,' 'freaks,' and 'monsters,' but the daycare was family owned for three generations and as normal as any other. This may have been some deranged nut, but it was too clean. My gut was simply screaming at me. This was something more than a simple nut...but what?

We got nowhere with the case. No one around the daycare saw anything out of the ordinary...well, at least until the fireball came out the front window, and the components were completely innocuous and easily purchased anywhere. I had reluctantly stepped back a month ago, waiting for leads. I wanted these bastards. I wanted a lead.

Now I had one.

Pulling into the sheriff's office, I was met outside by one of the deputies. He pointed me down the road toward the bank, saying that Dalis and the sheriff were both down there. It was a quick drive and uneventful, although the view of the burnt orange leaves starting to grace the trees brought me back.

My arrival at the Ocean Credit Union was rather anti-climactic. I actually got there seventy minutes after leaving Boston and found it a bustle of activity, but most of that activity was technicians simply dotting all of their 't's and crossing their 'I's. I quickly parked and alighted from the truck and strode into the bank, quickly slipping my creds into my breast pocket.

The front entrance of the bank was a shambles. Glass still littered the floor, and deposit slips were still scattered across the beige marble floor. Agent Dalis and a local officer...sheriff's deputy maybe were at the other side of the bank speaking with an older, but still formidable gentleman in a grey suit. Bank manager perhaps? I looked up and saw the chewed up remains of the white ceiling tiles and was surprised.

"A takeover. Those are rare," I remarked. "Serious hardware too. That's not a shotgun."

"Try Kalashnikovs," a voice replied. A voice I recognized from my past.

Her. Why her.

Amy had been one of the few people in the town who didn't treat me as a leper just for not being born in town. We grew up together, learning to hunt and fish in the woods outside of town, going through school. Hell, I'd even taken her to prom both times. She was extremely bright and had an aggressive temperament, not being afraid to show me when I was wrong, but also willing to hear when she was wrong. She had also grown into a beautiful woman. Five foot eight, short, brown hair and the most alluring green eyes. She could have had any guy in the high school, but she choose to hang around with the reject. Me.

That had all changed on my eighteenth birthday.

We had packed our backpacks with food and a tent, planning to escape into the forest like we did every year. There was a clearing in the nearby woods where we had gone ever since we met; Amy called it her family's 'special place.' It surely was. The trees just seemed greener, the birds sang more cheerfully and the sky just more brilliant than anywhere else in the woods. It was a yearly sojourn on the eve of my birthday and hers that we would go out and just hang out.

This year was going to be different. I had a small velvet box, carefully selected and scrimped for. I planned to propose to her. I was planning on attending the local college to get my degree in criminal justice and follow in my father's footsteps watching over the park. She wanted to get a degree in chemical engineering and work for the EPA doing clean-up. We could have stayed together and started a family right here in New London. We had been such a good match throughout our childhood, I could think of no one else I wanted to spend my life with. She had been the one reason I could stomach the looks and derision from the old guard of the town. She had made my past, and I wanted to have her shape my future.

It was a beautiful starry night, right on the new moon so that the sky was not obscured by the polluting light of the moon. I knelt in the shining clearing, showing her the gleaming band and emerald I had chosen for her, finally baring my soul to her and asking for the completion I had always desired. The milky way shown above us and cast its approving nod...Or so I thought.

She turned me down. Said our families just would never allow it to work. It was then that the little bubble of hope and positivity was burst. Suddenly, I saw that she was the same as all of the other members of the town. She was just a xenophobic as all of the others. Suddenly, I realized that I had no future in this town.

I enlisted in the Navy the next morning. And I have never looked back.

Surprisingly, she never forgot me. She sent me correspondence through my parents every year on that special anniversary and letters on every Christmas. They still sat at home, envelopes sealed. If she wouldn't stand up to her family in my defense, why should I hear her out? I offered her all of myself. She offered me letters.

"Would that be single shot or 'rock and roll', deputy?" I asked as I strode forward toward the group.

"Full auto, agent. And, by the way, it's Sheriff Sullivan, not deputy", she replied, the hint of a smile playing across her impish face. "A lot can change in a decade and a half. You're counter-terror, right. I was just filling Agent Dalis in. Join in and I'll bring you to the device afterwards. We haven't moved it yet, but EOD has removed the explosive materials, so it's safe."

Between her and the other man, who I had correctly assumed was the bank manager, quickly explained the story of the heist. In short, a three man crew, all about six foot, white men and dressed in the old woodland camouflage BDU's used by the military a decade before with black ski masks. The one who was apparently the leader carried an AR-15 style rifle and the two followers, muscle from the sounds of it, carried an AKSU each. They got the attention of both the customers and employees with a pair of bursts into the ceiling and front windows as they entered. They cleared out the tellers without difficulty and ran. From Dalis's reaction, it seemed that this was no different than normal.

The difference was in two of their actions. First, they shot the security guard before he could even turn around, an action that was completely out of left field. They had never shot anyone before, but that wasn't the only odd fact. Instead of using the military hardware, witnesses and forensics stated that guard was struck by two rounds fired from a silver colored handgun carried by the leader. The second, well, that's why I was here.

"Where's the device?" I was definitely intrigued. If this crime was such an aberration, it may be something that struck the group close to home. If the unease in my gut was right, it would also get me closer to the group of animals who took out the daycare.

"It's on top of the table over there," Amy replied quickly, pointing to one of the counters where customers would have filled out deposit slips Also, the customers and tellers were all forced to sit in front of the device on some sort of pressure trigger. It's only luck and these bandits's mistake that kept all these folks alive."

A quick look showed that was an understatement...and a mistake. I let out a low whistle.

"No mistake, only luck. Where's your EOD tech? I need to talk to him."

"Something wrong? Should I evacuate?" came the immediate reply.

"No. It looks like it was made safe properly, but with the explosive removed, I want to have a quick chat before I get really nervous, but this design does resemble what we know about the device I dealt with in Boston. Whoever you have is good. Very good."

The device was monstrous, but still strange. All of the standard components were there, a frangible outer case for shrapnel, large central compartment for gasoline, explosives or worse for maximum property destruction and to maximize injuries and deaths, and a power source. This bomb wasn't designed to scare or maim. With a shaped charge, it was designed to kill and slaughter. The bomb-maker was good. He scared even me.

The odd item was the silver BB's. I was able to reach in and grab one out, feeling the ductile material flattening in my fingers under some light pressure.

'Poor shrapnel,' I thought, rolling the deformed ball in my palm. 'Steel would be better...and cheaper. It must mean something to the bomber, but what?'

Looking up from my rumination, and out of the bank, I saw the sun starting to sink below the horizon, blinding reds starting to reflect off the clouds and fill the sky with the blazing fire of a dying day. I needed to start toward my hotel. The witnesses were not going to be coming to me this late at night, and I needed a couple hours to interview them. I strode over toward Amy and Dalis, planning to set up the next day's interviews.

"Sherriff", I began, "Could I speak with all of the hostages at some point tomorrow. I have a number of questions for them. There's something ideological I'm going to get a hotel in Nashua and be back tomorrow at 0800."

"No, Mike," she answered pointedly, "you are not. You'll be staying in town. I want at least one of you agents in town in case anything breaks. We don't have a very big force."

"Dalis can sta..."

"No, he cannot. He needs to go pick up some documentation from Boston regarding some older cases that are similar. Plus, you already know this town. I won't have to lead you around as I do him. You can stay at my cabin on the outskirts of town. Here," she finished, tossing a small set of keys at me. "We have to talk after this is all over."

"What makes you think I want to talk, Amy?"

"You never read my letters, did you? We'll chat after these bastards are put away." At that, she simply turned and strode out the door, never looking back, assuming, correctly, that I remembered where the cabin was.

'Well, what do I have to lose? Although, if she tries anything, I'll shoot her.'

The cabin was on the edge of town, almost a mile into the woods, just on the border of the park. Amy and I had spent many a summer here, just hanging out and killing time. It held a lot of memories...memories that stung at me, thinking of how we both just abandoned each other. Growing up we were inseparable, now we just worked in the same field and our paths had crossed in this event. Maybe I should hear her out when this is all over.

I stood on the small porch of the cabin, momentarily just enjoying the crisp winter air before I grabbed my go bag and bail-out bag from the truck. Calling Stark, I advised him that something was up, and that I was going to be in New London for the next few days. My gut screaming, I also told him to pass the word along to Thomas and a couple of my compatriots on the TAC team. These bandits had a beef with something local. They were going to strike again, particularly since they had failed with the bomb. I wanted additional men, men I trusted, behind me when we found this group.

They were not going to go down easy. And I hoped they resisted. That way I could force their brains out through a tiny hole in their skull, just as they deserved.

The growing clouds and soft patter of rain on the leaves eventually drove me inside. No stars to see, and rain was never my element. I soon retired to bed, lulled into my subliminal by the soft patter of rain, hearing the powerful peals of thunder approaching ever closer.

As I walked into the cabin, I never saw the two amber eyes peering out of the darkness, scrutinizing my every move. Nor the dark nose following the emotional rollercoaster of my scents. Nor even the two pointed ears that followed their prey as I strode quietly across the deck. Its brown fur hid it brilliantly as it lay in the dense underground, waiting for the moment where it could reveal itself, and finally corner its prey. For five years, it had waited for this. It could wait a little longer, it resignedly thought as it lay down, senses targeted on the only entrance into the cabin.

Waiting.

Again, Please read and review. I want your thoughts. The next chapters should have a lot less exposition and a lot more action. It's all just starting.