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Chapter -12- Power Players

Mercenaries in black gear fanned out, flanking Karla and Methos.

Another man strolled through the front door with an unlit cigar. "Sit down, lady. You don't want to teleport out of here. We moved things around on the roof and outside; we decorated between the buildings using streamers - you don't want them to appear inside of you. So you'll just get yourself killed if you blip out."

Karla crossed her arms beneath the expanse of her bust. "Who the hell are you?"

"You can call me Sergeant Snipes."

She quirked her brows. "This patch on your shirt says 'W. Snipes.' Aren't you the wrong race to be Wesley Snipes?"

"Do you always make ethnic jokes at gunpoint?"

"Do you understand the difference between ethnicity and race?" Karla quipped. "And yes, making jokes is how I handle anxiety. So what the hell do you want?"

"For starters," Snipes trailed off, pointing at Methos. "I have orders from Falcon to bring him in," said the Sergeant.

"Who, Lance?" Karla shrugged. "He's nobody special."

"He has gone by 'Methos' since 1908."

Karla grimaced.

Snipes glanced around the room. "Where is the shadow wielder?"

"You've just missed him," Methos replied.

"I don't believe you."

Methos shrugged. "You're the one that broke in without giving us any warning. If I knew I was going to have company, I would have asked him to stay. Unfortunately, he's not here."

Karla nodded, adding, "So, take us to your leader. Aris Falcon, right?"

"You're not going," replied Snipes. "We've not readied the location for you. Not yet. But don't worry, girl, your time is coming soon enough."

Methos glanced to Karla and said, "Shut your eyes."

"Pardon?"

"Just close your eyes, Karla."

She flopped back onto the sofa. "Fine, whatever." Her eyes fluttered shut and she leaned back into a relaxing posture.

Snipes glanced at Methos, his interest piqued. He cut his gaze to several of the men wearing ski-masks. His eyes flitted back to Methos and Karla.

Karla folded her arms with a sigh. "Okay, now what?"

"Keep them shut, not too tight, but keep them closed." Methos stood up and gave a tug on his designer shirt. He smiled at Snipes. "You really planned this out, Wilhelm. I can't help but wondering - why are you using a faux surname?"

"I know how to keep my day job and might extra-curricular activities separate. So, what does your intel say about me?"

Methos shrugged. "It doesn't matter. I stepped right into your trap, hmm?"

"You invited friends. You've never invited people to your home before," said the sergeant. "I followed them."

"Clever, Wilhelm. Considering the fact that Karla and Donovan had no clue the other knew me, the fact you were able to follow them to me is astonishing."

"Falcon wants to see what makes you tick," said Snipes. "Then he wants me to make you talk about the artifacts."

"I don't care about Aris or his childish plans." Methos shook his head with a chuckle. "Karla, keep your eyes shut." He approached Snipes and placed his palms out. "I understand that you have been trying to catch me for quite some time, Wilhelm."

"Don't act like we're longtime friends," Wilhelm snapped.

Methos stepped back exactly two paces.

The lights went out.

"Infrared flashlights and night vision!" Snipes shouted. He pulled a pair of goggles from his gear pack. Snipes pulled them over his head and squinted.

"Open your eyes," Methos told Karla in a soft voice.

She opened her eyes, which were adjusted to the darkness.

"I still can't see anything!" Snipes shouted. "Switch to standard flashlight!" Snipes thumbed his flashlight setting from infrared to a CREE bulb.

The rifle lights from Snipes' team added no additional light to the room.

Soupy darkness covered all sources of illumination with tangible shadow.

With her eyes so well adjusted to the dimness, Karla thrust her palms out and threw the two closest gunners through the nearest wall. She tensed her forearms.

A pink glow beneath Karla's palms provided the only illumination in the room.

The four remaining soldiers sank into the floorboards to their waist.

The gloom dissipated and Donovan stood between Karla and Lance. He folded his arms over his tie, making eye contact with Snipes. "Sergeant. Allow me the honor to introduce myself. Donovan Loupe. You may continue to refer to me as 'Shadow Wielder' if you prefer."

Karla winced and spoke from the side of her lips. "Guess you heard I already knew your friend. Awkward."

Donovan side-glanced at Karla. "Yes. Since the early sixties, by the sound of things."

Karla nodded. "Yeah, sorry. I..."

"It is of no concern," said Donovan. "I do not judge you for keeping a secret." He paused. A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Also, I appreciate the fact you did not kill the attackers this time. I detest such."

Sergeant Snipes grimaced at the succubus' lack of professionalism. He turned to Methos. "You've ambushed my ambush. You're a clever old fox, but you're not invulnerable." Snipes lowered his hand to his utility belt buckle and unfastened it.

Methos offered a smile. "I saw that glare at my people, Wilhelm. Don't be discouraged just because my people have more personality than yours. A good leader knows how to inspire his team to greatness. I know how to turn flaws into merits."

Snipes lifted his hands into the air. His gear belt and his weapons dropped to the floor at his feet. "Clever. How did you know when we'd strike?"

"Common sense to me," Methos replied with a smile, "One of the simplest tricks in the book. It's called a baited ambush, Wilhelm."

"You got lucky," Snipes said. The corner of his lips twitched.

"Angry you lost?"

"Angry you're not dead, you goddamn freak of nature."

Methos rolled his eyes. "Tch." He folded his hands behind his back. "As Jon Parker always says, 'Luck runs out; skill doesn't.' Try your best to remember that."

"You cocky bastard."

Methos sighed. "I haven't lived this long on luck."

The sergeant ground his teeth together. "No, you _are_lucky. You're lucky things played out the way they did."

Karla turned to Methos. "You had a backup plan, though, right?"

"I always have multiple contingencies," Methos replied. "You know how I operate by now."

Karla studied Methos' face for a moment. "I'm not sure I like your new name, L-Word, but I like knowing you're leading the resistance."

Snipes clenched his right hand into a fist. "And to think I nearly went with my initial plan - rocket propelled grenade. I'd sure like to know how you would have handled things if I didn't try to ambush you."

Methos folded his arms across his chest. "I gave my backup plan a name - Patrick."

Snipes tilted his head. "Excuse me?"

One of the men in the floor groaned, drawing attention to himself. His forehead creased and his brows furrowed up a bit. His cheeks shifted, seeming to lift while the flesh thinned out.

The rapid transition gave the soldier's eyes a sunken look. Some of his bangs grew down over his face; his hair grew longer. Some of it came to rest on his shoulders. The man appeared to be in pain.

Snipes blinked. "What're you doing to him? I thought you didn't have any active powers!"

"I don't," Methos replied with a shrug. "Just watch the demonstration, Wilhelm."

Donovan appeared somewhat pale. "More like a 'demon' -stration. This isn't necessary, La- ... Methos. No one needs to die."

Methos offered a shrug. "It's out of my hands for the moment."

The soldier half-stuck in the floor groaned again. His voice sounded frail compared to earlier. His neck thinned out. His face greyed. His lengthy hair fell from his head, pooling on the floor around his waist. His eyes glazed over with milky cataracts. His lips thinned.

"What the hell is happening to him?" asked Karla.

Again, Methos replied with a shrug. "He's aging rapidly."

Snipes pursed his lips together in aggravation. "I took off my weapons. This isn't necessary! I don't need the demonstration!"

"No, Sergeant." Methos moved towards Snipes with narrowed eyes. "Wilhelm, you need to see this. You need to know what you're up against. You need to know your 'enemy'."

"You goddamn bastard," Snipes muttered.

Methos shook his head. "We are a very slim number of people when compared to the seven-plus billion like you."

"You keep acting like this, Methos. This is why we hunt down the supernatural community. Because you're all freaks and killers."

Methos arched his brows. "The supernatural community comes in all flavors."

"And to think Falcon told me to spare your life. You goddamn sadistic asshole."

Methos scoffed. "Do you know what Doctor Aris Falcon wants with me? I'll tell you if you wish."

Snipes was unable to take his eyes off the man in the floor.

The mercenary continued to age until his body expired.

Snipes glared helplessly as the dead man decomposed in rapid fashion.

The accelerated rate of decay left almost no smell nor did it draw any insects. The rest of the victim's hair fell away from his head as the skull became revealed.

Sargent shuddered with disgust. "What does Falcon want with you people?"

"You narrow-minded man." Methos sighed. "Falcon wants to understand people like myself. He wants to emulate our genetics and apply the stolen genetic code to himself. You hate supernaturals, yet you work for someone who is becoming one."

Snipes narrowed his gaze.

Karla glanced at Wilhelm Snipes. Her gaze panned to Donovan, and finally she turned back to Methos. She faced Wilhelm again. "So you kill Specials?"

"We're also searching for things for Dr. Falcon."

Karla eyed Snipes. She moved closer to him. "Like what?"

"Ancient technology. The Nazis were rumored to search for Ultimate Thule. The Greeks had Crete but dreamed of Atlantis. Some call it Mu, some called it El Dorado."

Karla scoffed. "If advanced human civilizations had futuristic technology, why are there no clues to them now?" She kept her eyes away from the near-skeleton in the floor. "Sorry, I just don't..." She shook her head. "I've seen some wild stuff in my life, but that's a little over-the-top."

Methos offered a polite smile. "Oh, Karla, let's be real - we both know the world is only six or seven thousand years old. Dinosaurs are just one of the many creatures created during Genesis and they lasted for a day or two."

Karla chuckled. She shook her head and ran her hand up through her blond locks. "Nice."

"So are you going to kill the rest of us?" asked Wilhelm.

"Of course not. I might have you committed if you talk about what you saw, though." Methos folded his hands behind his back. "Sergeant, the ability you witnessed doesn't cause you to age rapidly. Not the way you're thinking."

Snipes glared at the skeletal remains, slumped in the hole of the floor. "Go on, Methos."

"It simply accelerates your body on a microcellular level. It's akin to placing an ice cube in a hot room. The molecules speed up in a process known as entropy. Fascinating isn't it?"

The sergeant sneered. "People like you shouldn't be allowed to exist."

"And when you can't protect yourself, who else will step up for this race of bigots and racists and idiots?"

Snipes looked back up at Methos. "What?"

Methos shook his head with a frown. "Individually, we are intelligent. In small groups, we are productive. In several small groups, we are competitively brilliant. However, en mass, the human race is still savage and immature."

"Go back to the part about how you think you protect my race."

Methos glared at the sergeant. "Our race, you moron. If an asteroid fell to the planet there would be chaos and panic. Who would protect you from that threat?"

Wilhelm crinkled his nose in disgust. "Mathematically it's only a matter of time. The bible has called for the end of the world, so have many other religions."

Methos folded his arms. "Make your case, Wilhelm."

"Most of its main history begins twenty-five hundred years before the time of Christ, Jesus. He came at the meridian of time. Another two thousand years have passed, and the calendar has changed so we're due for the Book of Revelations to be our guide. The people have been ready for it for ages. The Norse mythology called it Ragnarök, the..."

"Be quiet, piss ant," Methos snapped. "You're ignorant. Yes, there is a higher power than ourselves in the universe. However there is no interaction with Earth. If there ever was, they have stopped or died out, or they're exploring a different corner of the galaxy."

"You're a goddamn loon, Methos. You know that?"

Methos turned to Snipes and stepped close. "Homo Sapiens-sapiens has a fraction of people with abilities to protect this world. It's already happened. Without specials, the end would have happened by now." He saw the look of confusion in Snipes' eyes and smirked. "Are you really that dense?"

"I don't like what you're suggesting."

Methos shook his head with a sigh. "I'm telling you that one of those 'statistical probabilities' has already been deflected quite some time ago."

Wilhelm ground his teeth together in aggravation and frustration. "If that were true, and if your kind of people have been around as long as you claim, we would worship you as demigods and would know about your abilities publicly."

Donovan blinked. "Sergeant, are you really that naïve? There are movies and books and pieces of art depicting people with abilities throughout time. Also, there were ...are demigods. There are groups of people who devoted themselves to believing in people who could throw lightning. They thought Zeus created the cosmos just because he could conjure lightning at will."

"The meek will inherit the Earth," said Snipes. "It all makes sense now. We rise up and slay your kind. We inherit the Earth to protect it from our over-powered masters. Now is that time."

Karla groaned. "Jesus, you're dramatic. In case you haven't noticed, humans without abilities attacked Specials throughout history. Witch trails. Crusades. Inquisitions. That's certainly not the first time it's happened in history, just the most famous because it's the most recent."

Methos nodded in agreement to Karla. He stepped away from Snipes and paced the living room floor, mindful of the holes with people trapped in the broken floorboards. "We're all hardwired to fear what we don't understand. It's a self-preservation mechanism. All myth is based in some measure of truth, and if you don't understand it, you're likely to fear it, Wilhelm."

"Don't misunderstand me," Snipes snapped. "I know your people exist. You speak of God's campaign to rid the world of heathens. I've traced my lineage back to crusaders who initiated witch trails. They knew witches and warlocks existed and that's why I hunt you people. To kill the ones my ancestors missed. You think I'm in over my head, but I know... fighting your types is in my blood."

Karla ran her fingers back through her hair. "Christ, we have a winner here. Bible-thumping 'warrior of God.' What a crock of shit." She huffed with indignation and approached Wilhelm. "So, you're one of those types, huh?"

"You'll die soon enough, wench."

Karla replied with silvery peals of laughter. "Wench? Holy shit, there's one I haven't heard in ages. You're hysterical, you know that? You're also corny as hell."

Snipes ground his molars together. "I don't care how old you are, I doubt you'll live to see the rebirth of Christ. Just like the harlot of Babylon, you'll die soon enough."

"And, like Ishtar, I'll be reborn." Karla preened before him. "And, like Ishtar, there were a few other 'gods' that rose from the dead. Let's see, Dionysus did. ... He had an awful lot in common with Christ. So did Krishna. He was a divine conception, a shepherd of cattle, he went on a sabbatical to meditate on answers, and his physical body died. Hare Krishna!" She continued, circling about him. "Although his death seems to bite off of the Greek Achilles, doesn't it? Oh, if you wanna go back a little further - Mithra! Let's see, he's un-deceivable, infallible, and when he finished his earth mission, he 'returned' to the sky. I admit, that sounds like it bites off of Elijah in the Book of Kings. And, finally, good old Horus ... he had disciples, he also..."

"Enough," Methos grumbled.

Karla kept her eyes on Snipes. She continued. "And, hey, wasn't the whore of Babylon still alive, playing her harp when the end of the world begins? Guess I'll outlive you, too, moron. I'll tell the Anti-Christ you said 'hello' dear."

Donovan rolled his eyes at Karla. "Are you finished?"

Methos turned to Karla. "Zeitgeist? Really? Please tell me you're not quoting that nonsense."

"I know they got their Jesus argument wrong, but I didn't exactly quote that stuff. But the meaning behind their argument was sound." Karla walked away from the sergeant, waving her hands about in a mock-dramatic way. "But that movie got a lot right. The writer didn't outright say it, but he came to the conclusion that the Esoteric Council exists. Plus I believe a lot of the deity myths plagiarize one another to some degree."

"Are you finished?" asked Donovan once more.

Snipes grimaced. "Do your own research, succubus. These gods have some things in common with one another, but they certainly do not plagiarize one another in the way you're suggesting."

Karla started a new rant, which went largely ignored by the rest of the room.

Donovan and Methos exchanged glances, appearing to have a brief conversation with their eyebrows.

Methos chuckled and shook his head. "I know, Donovan. She's grown increasingly more eccentric since I've met her." He returned his attention to the sergeant and said, "Wilhelm. I have a surprise for you."

"You're dragging this out far too long," said the man, adjusting the lay of his black flak jacket. "Either kill us or do whatever it is that you planned."

"Patience is a virtue." Methos turned towards Karla and motioned to one of the men still half-wedged into the floor. "This is Patrick. Help him out of that hole, please."

"But...?"

"Please?"

She waved a hand. The man in the north corner of the house appeared standing on his feet adjacent to Methos.

The mercenary dusted himself off.

Patrick nodded in appreciation to Karla. He folded his arms and narrowed his gaze at Wilhelm Snipes. "Sergeant. It was my ability that you witnessed a few moments ago."

Methos smiled at the sergeant and unfolded his hands from behind his back. "You see, Wilhelm, we have people in place all over the world. We have people working at the Vatican. We have people in the upper echelon of human society ... bank owners, money printers, government intelligence groups..."

Karls scoffed. "See? Those Zeitgeist films weren't completely wrong."

Methos kept his eyes on Snipes. "There are thousands upon thousands of us still alive." He turned and nodded to Karla. "Put them on the roof. If they were bluffing about those teleportation traps meant for you, well, then they'll live."

"With pleasure." Karla snapped her fingers in Snipes' face. Five guards, two of which were critically injured, disappeared. She snapped her fingers again, sending Wilhelm to the rooftop.

Silence.

Karla turned back to Methos. "Thousands upon thousands of us, huh, Lance?"

A shrug and a smile was Methos' reply. "Disinformation and subterfuge are nothing new, Karla." He turned to Patrick and pated the man on the shoulder. "Change out of that uniform and gear. We'll hold off, for now, on what to do about Wilhelm Snipes."

"Very well." Patrick turned about and walked into the next room.

"Change of plans for the Sergeant?" asked Donovan.

Methos smiled. "I was going to inject Wilhelm with cancer cells and have Patrick speed up their growth exponentially. I could have Wilhelm dead by tomorrow if I felt he was still a threat. But I'd like to observe him for now."

Karla and Donovan exchanged glances and frowns.

Methos continued. "It goes both ways, though. Patrick can stop the molecules and freeze liquid - cryokinesis. He can accelerate molecules and boil your blood. His ability is impressive - it's not just a trick for aging people or things."

"What's his range?" asked Karla.

"Just a few feet. Very limited." Methos settled back in his chair and adjusted the lay of his designer shirt. "Now, we need a plan going forward." He turned to face the pretty blond. "Karla, earlier we were talking about the Parker family."

Karla fidgeted. "Parker's kids are my project. I'll take care of it. Just like Donnie, here, is going to focus on modernized speech patterns."

"Then get started on that." Methos sighed. "I fear things will get difficult in the coming days, weeks, and months. I want you prepared."

Donovan frowned and nodded. "I'll take my leave, now. I'm impressed by your trap, Lance. I don't understand why you let them go, however."

"I'm sending a message. Farewell, Donovan." Methos turned to Karla and looked her over. "You can stay if you like but something tells me you have other plans."

"I need to digest all of this," she said. "In over four hundred years, I've not seen such madness and convoluted conspiracy. I just need to clear my head. See you soon." She turned to Donovan and hugged him gingerly. "Thanks for coming back. Take care of yourself."

"And you. Fare thee well."

She smirked at Donovan, fixed his tie for him and said, "Seriously, Don, you need to get rid of that archaic speak. It draws attention unless you're working at a renascence festival."

"Verily," he replied with a hint of a smirk.

"Wow, was that ... humor?" She offered a brilliant smile. In playful reply, she added, "I shall pray to see thee anon, good sir. Health be with thee." Karla opened the front door, peered outside and glanced back at them over her shoulder.

"Well?" Methos furrowed his brows.

Karla scoffed. "They were just shitting us. Everything is fine out here." She eased her head out the doorway and looked up in the air. "Obstacle-traps my ass." She disappeared, leaving the door open.

Several seconds later, a telekinetic wave struck the door from afar, causing it to swing on its hinges. Methos winced in anticipation of it slamming. However, the door latched into place, quietly.

Methos shook his head and frowned at Donovan. "I take it she fed earlier?"

"I believe so."

"No need to stow your personality, Donovan."

"I am reserved, that is my personality."

"I understand that," Methos said with a nod. "Most would assume because of my advanced age, I would be too old for small talk. Prattle, banter, drivel - it's an art form. You can use small talk to find out information about people by relaxing them into offering up whatever it is that one needs to know. Information is power. Power is control. Control is everything."

"With all due respect, what is your point?"

Methos shook his head with a slight chuckle. "Pep up your personality, that's where it all begins. Life is a fact finding mission, Donovan. A personable conversation can have a profound psychological effect on others. Learning to disarm them is how you can learn whatever it is you need to know."

"Mm. So you want me to 'pep up.' I see."

"Just ... don't become as 'pepped up' as Karla. She's obviously 'fed' recently."

"Quite so." Donovan shook his head. "Mm, due to her boisterousness, and the scent of recently applied perfume, one can assume it was within the past hour."

"She's right, though," said Methos with a wan smile. "You need to learn how to be a bit more modern to better fit in. Karla does it well, just look at her. Attractive, intelligent and charismatic. Although she's also wildly energetic."

"Indeed. No one is perfect." Donovan stopped in front of a small wall mirror and lifted his chin, gazing down his nose at the front of his blazer. "Good with a tie, however."

A smile crept across Lance's lips. "You're developing feelings for her, aren't you?"

"Be not ridiculous." Donovan stepped back from the mirror. "I've not known her long enough to even consider such things. Besides, we are not compatible."

"There is more to a relationship than having traits in common, Donovan."

"She's sexual; I am not. She is a lady at times; without warning she becomes obnoxious. By contrast, I try to mind my posturing and mannerisms ... at all times."

"Yes, yes, you're eloquent and elegant." Methos made his way around one of the holes in the floor and approached a window. He gazed outside. "Many have fallen in love with her. She's a rare breed of woman. Passionate, graceful, beautiful, intelligent, and sexual. Everything a woman should be. Except..." Methos trailed off.

Both men spoke in unison. "...Obnoxious."

Donovan adjusted the knot of his Windsor. "I'll be out of town for the next few days. If you need me, I'll be in the Baltic Sea."

"You travel?" Methos tilted his head.

"Indeed. I'm working with the only other immortal supernatural I know of. Like you, he changes his first name every so often."

"Sounds like an old friend of mine," Methos replied, his grin created a dimple on his left cheek. "If he's who I think he is ... do your best to help him and travel when he asks you. He's all about fixing important problems in the world. But he doesn't have my charming personality."

"I like feeling as though I can make a difference, my friend. And you're right; he's a very, very serious man. Be well, Lance Patterson. I shall see thee anon." Donovan's body sank into the sofa's shadow, opposite of a lamp.

Methos leaned up to watch the shadow move across the floor.

Silence.

Methos settled back in his seat with a chuckle.

Moments later, Patrick returned from the door at the back of the room. He wore plain denim pants and a V-neck t-shirt. "I've gotta go. Now that you've blown my cover with Dr. Falcon's mercenaries, and allowed those men to go free..."

"Are you angry, Patrick?"

"I have a great deal of free time and I wanna fill it. Somewhere other than California, now that Falcon will want me in his lab."

"Oh, don't be upset," said Methos with a smile.

"Why did you do that to me, Mr. Patterson?"

"I'm sending a message. If I expose one person out of two, they'll think that their ranks are full of supernatural infiltrators. Besides, it was only a matter of time before Falcon's secret weapon would have found you out."

"Pardon?"

"Haven't you met Krys Monroe?"

"Nope."

Methos shrugged, crossing one ankle over the other. "Monroe senses supernatural people. Even those who haven't yet manifested."

Patrick blinked. "Then you've probably just sentenced the other infiltrator to their death."

Methos smirked and propped his head with his hands. "No, part of today's 'message' to Falcon involved the other infiltrator destroying a warehouse that Falcon owns. I ordered the other person to fake their own death and disappear."

"Your risking our lives, Mr. Patterson. We're not chess pieces for you to sacrifice for some greater good."

"Patrick, just call me Lance."

"Mr. Patterson, you're not a war general anymore. You do not have enough pawns; it's time to change your strategy."

"Falcon's side does not know how many chess pieces I have left. Regardless, my other spy will not be caught."

"How can you be sure? Who was it?"

"They wanted to stay anonymous."

"Male or female?"

Methos offered a brilliant smile. "Ranma is both."

"Excuse me?"

"Ranma, that is what I call my agent as an inside joke."

"How can this agent be both male and female?"

"Ranma has the ability to change back and forth at will."

"How is that even possible?"

Methos folded his hands and relaxed back in his chair. "Save for the hair, eyes and teeth structure, Ranma can manipulate physical features to look more masculine or effeminate. Just ... please, never call this agent 'Ranma' if the two of you should meet. The joke does not sit well when others use it."

Patrick grimaced. "I'm not sure why, but I'm disgusted at the thought of a he-she."

Methos sighed through his nose. "That's your problem, young man. Ranma is a beautiful human being, inside and out."

"I'm straight, and the thought of a girl turning into a guy ... it really bothers me."

Methos scoffed. "Orientation has nothing to do with acceptance of others. I have no powers - do you judge me for being different from you?"

"No..."

"Then what is the difference?"

"Someone who has sex with both genders. Someone who changes their own gender at will. A woman with a penis. It's disturbing."

"When she is a woman, she has no penis. She can even conceive; the womb and the uterus stay within at all times. When she changes to a man, her testicles simply ... drop. Her clitoris grows into a penis."

"Stop," Patrick said, visually annoyed. "That's disgusting."

Methos shook his head. "I'm disappointed. You of all people should know how emotionally difficult it can be to feel different from other people. Our differences are what makes us unique and beautiful."

I have to go, Mr. Patterson. I have a meeting tonight. A supernatural convention."

Methos tugged at the hem of his fashion-forward shirt. "A convention?"

"We're meeting to discuss our future as a people. Yes, a convention."

"Oh, Patrick, it's more like a 'hang out' or a 'board meeting'. There's so few of us in the world that the term 'convention' seems laughable. Go on. Thank you for stopping by and helping me to create a bit of discourse in Dr. Falcon's ranks. I appreciate it."

"Yeah. Sure, any time. I have one question before I leave."

"Ask your question, Patrick."

"You were talking about the relics, earlier. Snipes and his team was listening from outside. Was any of that crap about ancient technology really true?"

Methos' smile broadened. "Yes. It was. It's different than the stories of, say, Atlantis, though."

"How so?"

Methos shrugged. "With something that old, even the legends and myths have recorded many details with a measure of inaccuracy. This is compounded by translation errors, which happen each time a myth is printed in a new language."

"I see." Patrick withdrew a burn-phone and glanced at the clock on the display. "I gotta go."

Methos nodded. "Take care."

"And you." Patrick left the living room, careful not to trip on one of the holes in the wood floor. He shut the front door behind himself.

Methos sighed and picked up an iPad from his coffee table. He angled it, keeping the display 'off'. He smiled at the mirror image of Karla Howard sitting atop the dining room table, behind him.

She withdrew a hairbrush from her handbag and touched up her long blond locks.

Methos studied her posture in the reflection of the glass screen. "Something told me you weren't going anywhere. You had too many questions."

"Yeah, like ... why haven't I ever heard of a person who can change their gender at will? Seriously, I would have an absolute blast with your friend. You should introduce us some time."

"I thought you might like that," he mused thumbed the screen on his iPad. "What brings you back?"

"You're horny," she replied in a matter-of-fact tone. "You've been looking at me like meat since I walked in that door."

"Was I?"

A grin tugged at the corner of her pink-painted lips. "You're probably remembering what I looked like the last time we had sex."

"You're perceptive, Karla."

"It's been a while. And do you really think Donovan is developing feelings for me?"

He offered a firm nod. "I do."

"I'm sure it's just a brief, passing fancy. He's a good guy, though. So ... you wanna?"

Methos eased up on an elbow and glanced back at her with a smirk. His eyes danced over her curvaceous figure and the dimple returned to his left cheek as a grin spread across his face.

She grinned at his expression.

He set the iPad back on the coffee table and unfastened his belt. "I'd be delighted."

She put her hairbrush back into her handbag. "Good." Karla slid off the table and straddled his lap in the large cushioned chair. She slanted her lips over his and unbuttoned his shirt.

X

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Friday, September 8 - 9:40 am PDT San Francisco, California ... *

"What do we have, Inspector Nevada?"

Reno Nevada glanced up from where he knelt over a crime scene in an alley. He stood, brushed dirt from his knee, and turned to face an approaching man.

A young man with a suit and tie stood in the alley, with a badge on his hip. Rounding out the young inspector, he had plain brown hair, plain brown eyes, and a plain, average face. His only memorable feature was his youth.

Reno Nevada flipped open his case file folder. "So, you're the kid who's taking the case from me, huh?"

"I'm just following orders. I understand that you're off the job, pending an investigation. You shouldn't have started working this crime scene."

Reno glanced at his watch. "I got here three hours ago. I already processed the crime scene. The job is done. A little late to the party, aren't you, kid?"

The young investigator took the case file from Reno. "Inspector, my name is Ray Jones. I'm relieving you."

"What a relief."

"Don't be a smart ass, Inspector Nevada."

"Kid, relief pitchers don't win the game, okay? They just take the credit for a save."

Jones narrowed his gaze. "Your job was to finish out a case from a week ago, turn in the file, and go on vacation. That's the operative phrase, here - you need to finish out your case from a week ago."

"That's what I did?"

"What?"

Reno smirked. "I think this crime scene is related to my case from a week ago. This is the third convicted rapist to wind up dead in an alley this summer. All of them have priors - this one had a juvenile record for sexual assault. All three attackers wound up dead, with more questions than answers about their deaths."

"Well, then I'll be taking over your old case, as well. Frank Sanders wants you off the job, pending the investigation for your screw up the other day."

Reno's smirk broadened until it became a sort of mocking grin. "Is that so?"

Ray returned the smirk. "Walk me through the cases, including what you have on this one so far. After that, you can go home and get an early start on your very, very long weekend."

"You're a dick, you know that? You shouldn't be a dick, Ray Jones. I'm recommending you for sensitivity training."

"They told me you're an over-confident hot shot. I came into this conversation prepared, Nevada."

"Is that so?" Reno walked towards the back of the alley.

Jones followed. "So what do we have, here?"

Reno pointed to the ground. There was a plastic placard on the concrete. "Found a brick here. It had blood and hair. It was used to smash in the back of the rapist's head, but not hard enough to kill him. It was bagged and is on its way to the lab."

Jones put the folder under his left arm. He pulled out his cell phone and started thumbing the screen.

"You're going to text while I'm going over the crime scene with you?"

Jones smirked. "No, Nevada. I'm a fast texter - I'm taking notes. What the hell kind of name is Reno Nevada anyhow? Your parents hate you or something?"

"Shut up, Ray." Nevada pointed to another placard. "Slight blood spatter, here," he pointed to another spot, adding, "and here."

"Did we have anyone out here from Forensics?"

"Yeah, Wilfred Greg was here earlier. He said the spatter was caused by the direction of travel from when the brick struck." Reno stopped and pivoted, facing the other end of the alley.

Jones stopped and turned the direction that Reno faced. "Go on."

"Attacker came down the alley. Launched the brick."

"That's inconsistent with self-defense," said Jones. "Why throw the brick at him from far away, unless she got away, picked up the brick, and turned around to throw it."

Reno rolled his eyes. "Then the brick would have hit the attacker head on - face, chest, or his hands if he tried to block it."

Jones glanced in the file folder. He tucked it back under his arm and started texting notations into his phone again.

Reno leaned forward and glanced at the wording on the screen. "No, Ray. The attacker was hit from behind."

"Unless he turned away from the brick when he saw it..."

"It was the middle of the night," Reno said. "The brick was dark red. Okay, wait." Reno turned to face Jones. "Look, man, I'm not trying to argue with you tit-for-tat. I have a theory based on evidence of the past two attacks."

"Alright, I'm listening." Ray thumbed his cell phone, typing in his notations.

"The second attack - the one from Tuesday, August 29, involved two guys attacking a girl."

"I'm listening, Nevada."

"There was one survivor, he came forward as a witness. Initially, our witness was a suspect in the other guy's murder. But the way he tells it, he and his buddy were harassing some girl in an alley, right? Then another girl comes into the alley attacked the two guys."

Reno snatched the folder out from beneath Ray's arm. He opened it up and found a page at the center of the file. "Here we go." He pointed to a spot where he'd written "Vigilante?" in the margin. "I take meticulous notes, kid."

Ray furrowed his brows. "August 29 - how did that attacker die?"

Reno handed the folder back to Jones. "M.E. report showed it was a bullet. First, the attacker was hit in the face with his own gun. No prints on the weapon. The other guy - the witness ... he said this girl made it happen without touching the gun. He also said she wasn't wearing gloves, but there are no prints on the weapon."

"I'm listening."

Reno grinned. "This is where it gets weird. The guy claims the girl was magic. He said that she threw the attacker against the wall, which is consistent with injuries sustained to the attacker's body. Then the witness claims the girl took the gun apart and somehow threw one of the bullets at the attacker, which killed him."

Ray scoffed. "Threw the bullet, huh?"

"It's weird, I know. But the whole bullet is inside the guy's head."

"Entire. 'Entire' bullet, Nevada."

"The bullet, with the jacket - the shell casing. The whole-damn-thing was in the guy's head."

Ray eyed Reno.

Reno smirked again. "So you tell me - how did the bullet get in the skull of another human being without going off? The lab techs can't explain it. Sanders gave you a weird one, Ray. I have a solve-rate to consider. I have a great batting average. I don't mind handing over a case like this."

"So the gun wasn't fired?"

Reno shook his head. "No. No GSR on the rapist, either. No powder burns; the gun wasn't fired. We did find it in parts, though. No prints, except the rapist's thumb partials on each of the bullets in the magazine. His DNA identified him as a guy with priors, all sexual assault."

"So what are we dealing with, here? A vigilante woman?"

"C'mere." Reno led Jones back down the alley, to a nearby dumpster.

The dumpster had two large dents in the side.

Reno pointed to the deep indent in the metal. "See this? These two dents were impressions made by our vic. His legs were both broken from when he impacted with the side of this dumpster."

Ray thumbed his screen, briefly. "He would have had to be thrown against the dumpster from someone tall."

Reno shrugged. "He flipped over the siding, hit his head on the back, and went into the dumpster. Follow me, Ray?"

"Go on."

"It broke both of his legs, but he probably never felt it. The M.E. claims our rapist hit his head so hard on the rim of the dumpster that it killed him instantly. Also, he had an enormous mark on his forehead."

"What kind of mark? Was he hit with something, like a bat? That might account for him being thrown backwards, over the lip of the dumpster, I suppose."

"No, Ray. Something small. Like, the size of a finger or thumb. But this guy was hit so hard, that it caved in the front of his skull. The best I can guess is something like a Bo staff - it hit him square between his brows." Reno snatched the file from beneath Jones' arm again. He opened it to photographs of the second attacker. A bullet hit this guy in the same place as rapist-asshole-victim number three, from last night. Difference is, this guy didn't take a bullet in the forehead."

"Jesus."

Reno nodded in agreement. "Yeah. Anyway, the attack was straight on, not something that would have lifted the attacker up. That rules out an uppercut, a baseball bat being swung upwards - anything like that."

"Anything else, Nevada?"

"Yeah, the rapist vic's dick was hanging out the front of his pants." Reno turned and pointed back up the alleyway. "Also, the blood spatter is down there. There's no evidence that an altercation happened this close to the dumpster."

"What could hit someone hard enough to send them flying thirty feet down an alley, into a dumpster?"

"The terminator," Reno replied flatly. "Maybe a pneumatic or hydraulic piston to the forehead? But the small size of the mark on this guy's forehead would be more likely to puncture his skull than to send him flying."

"You have a big imagination, Nevada. This guy was hit in the forehead, and then he was either launched or somehow hurled into the dumpster. Our vigilante probably had help."

"Or an arm-cannon."

Jones rolled his eyes. "What do you have from the witness of the last crime?"

"I always do, Ray. Anyhow, the attacker's buddy claimed the killer was a 'hot blond in a skirt - young. She held pink glow-sticks in her hands, or possibly glow-in-the-dark paint on her palms.' That case was Tuesday, August 29, around quarter after nine, give or take a few minutes."

"Anything else?"

"Yeah, all three attacks were within two miles of one another. I think our vigilante vixen lives close by."

"Cut the conjecture, Nevada. If I want your opinion, I'll ask for it."

"I can do 'just the facts,' like Joe Friday from Dragnet. But believe me, you want to ask my opinion on how they're tied together."

"Fine," Jones said. "So you think this is tied to _another_attack on a rapist?"

"Yeah, about a month ago, I was assigned to a dead guy in an alley, just like these last two. No witnesses. He was thrown through the wall of the building. I've been following this for a month. It would be stupid to just hand it off to you."

Ray thumbed his cell screen. He cradled the phone differently and performed a gesture above the screen. The note app closed.

Reno crossed his arms over his chest.

Jones switched to the phone dialer app. He thumbed a speed dial, and brought the phone to his ear. "Lieutenant, Nevada has been on this case for a month. It looks like a female might be going around attacking rapists. It's possible she's working with someone, possibly to act as bait to lure out victims. It's likely the second person is male, strong, and attacks from behind. That would explain why the witness didn't see him during the August 29 attack."

Nevada shook his head. "At least my conjecture didn't involve making up people."

Jones glared at Reno but didn't reply. Instead, he spoke into his cellphone. "Do you want Nevada to stay on this or...?"

Nevada tilted his head.

Ray handed the phone to Reno. "He wants to talk to you."

Reno brought the phone to his ear. "Lou, what's up?"

"Nevada, you shouldn't have responded to that case this morning. That was a dick move. You know better."

"With all due respect, Lieutenant, I disagree. I heard about the call on the police scanner and I went to check it out. It was in my jurisdiction, the details sounded like my past two cases. I saw the crime scene and I realized it's the same person. I had a gut feeling when I heard the scanner, and it paid off. This is my case."

"Not anymore, Nevada. Sanders wants you to hand it over to Ray Jones. This isn't your case anymore. No more cases until you've been cleared for active duty. You were in a shooting, and there are protocols. You want this be how your career ends, Nevada?"

"This is the third time you've threatened me about my job. You got a problem with me, Lieutenant?"

"Nevada, you run your mouth and you pretend like you're a goddamn TV show inspector. Cases are assigned. You don't just show up and start working a scene. That's not how this shit works and you KNOW that."

"I showed up three hours before Ray. So, homicide inspectors are supposed to show up whenever they decide to roll out of bed, now?"

"You showed up, flashed your badge, and started working the goddamn scene! You know better. Jones would have showed up hours ago, if the patrolmen knew you were suspended."

"The captain told me to finish out this alley-attacker case. I was following orders."

"Go home, Nevada."

"Sure, now that I'm finished."

"No, it's not finished! If this really is the third attack, and all your cases are related, then we have a goddamn serial! You should have called me, so I could call the FBI. They have profilers and investigators for this sort of thing!"

"Whatever. You know what I meant - the scene is already processed. I already did my job. _Hours_ago, actually. Now I can go home. You guys are paying me, so I don't see what the fuss is about."

"You are such a cocky little asshole, Nevada."

"Am I? That's real professional, Lieutenant."

"Don't make this personal."

"You have several times in the past. You don't like me, I get it. But if you have a problem with me, you settle it with me like a man."

"Oh, you want to go a few rounds with ME, Nevada?"

Reno smirked. "Hey, any time you want. There's a boxing ring in the precinct gym. I'm available anytime you want." Reno thumbed the screen and ended the call.

Ray blinked. "Did you just...?"

"Yup. I called him out on his threats. Let's see if he's got some bite to back up his bark."

"I meant, did you just hang up on him?"

"Yeah, I did that, too." Reno handed the phone to Ray. "Enjoy the case. I'm going to take my fiancée on vacation." He turned away from Ray and walked towards the mouth of the alley.

"Your conviction ratio doesn't matter, Nevada. You have a chip on your shoulder and everyone knows it." Jones voice faded. "When you get fired, just remember that you're the asshole here!"

Reno held his left hand up, gesturing with the middle finger. He turned at the end of the alley and headed down the sidewalk.

Jones shouted from back in the alley. "There's no 'I' in TEAM, Nevada!"

Reno chuckled with a shake of his head. He continued down the sidewalk to where he parked his car two blocks up. "But there's an 'I' in Inspector." He approached his Monte Carlo, unlocked the door and dropped into the driver seat.

He started the engine and pulled out onto the street. Reno passed the alley. He slowed down and opened the passenger window. He thought about flipping off Jones in passing, but decided against it.

Instead, he put down both windows and turned up the radio.

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