textfiles/magazines/FUCK/fuck0348.txt

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=   F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K.   =
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                                Identity
                                --------

                            1 : The Becoming

        The man arrived at his destination.

        He watched the stream of light escaping the crack from the building.
        He heard the low bass of hushed voices.
        He felt the comforting steel in his palms.
        He smelled the acrid burning of drugs.
        He tasted the cool night air.

        Stepping in the snow, he watched his breath curl up into fog, a
light mist laced with frost, that dissipated into the air, curling into
ribbons. The stark whiteness of the falling snow appeared almost like
headlights pointed at his face against the night sky backdrop. The man
edged closer to the warehouse, and then pressed up against it, the
comforting feel of brick against his flesh reminding him of the mission
at hand. He pulled the hammers back on each of his pistols, the clack
silenced by the covering of his gloved hands. Sliding a clip into the
weapon, he savored the click that told him it had been successfully loaded.
He lowered his eyes, kissing the nozzle of each gun, blessing them with his
death-giving touch. Flattening up against the wall, he turned, for one
brief, tranquil moment, feeling the winter's air rush across his face in
a blur, caressing his face with it's icy kiss, and then he spun, kicking
out his leg and shattering the glass that held him out of that faded
warehouse.

        He felt all attention on him, as he turned, facing the first
obstacle that would try to keep him from surmounting his ultimate goal.
This obstacle, the man already noticed, had the devil's powder running
in his system, slits of adrenaline flashing in his eyes, spit sliding out
of one of his eyes as he spat ravings at the man in uncontrolled bursts.
The man raised the pistols, already firing the second he had broken the
window. Time was being elongated and manipulated, as the obstacle took two
shells of lead in it's heart, and the man vaulted through the window even
as the obstacle fell back, already in his death throes.
        The second obstacle was allowing the devil's powder to possess him
already, the man was watching him let it into his system, sliding up his
left nostril and flowing into his mind, already he could see the grim
effects as the obstacle tripped, falling back and bringing a rifle into
the current situation. His aim was off, his mind was being ravaged by the
drug, and still did not have time to shoot as the man squeezed the triggers
simultaneously, bringing salvation to the tortured soul, quickly and loudly.
He fell back. The drug slid across the floor, resting by the cracked wall.
Two obstacle overcome. The man leaped over one table. A table, he noticed,
that had packages of the devil's powder resting on it, tightly wrapped up
in bundles, undoubtedly worth large amounts of money. The man noticed all
of this in flight, and landed on the soles of his feet, feeling the shock
of the concrete revert in his legs but already crouching in a stance and
firing at the legs he had seen when at level with the cold, gritty floor.

        There was a cry, and then the obstacle fell, dropping the pistol
with him. The man slid under the second table, via the powdered-littered
ground, passing by the third obstacle and pulling the trigger, delivering
him to a quick exit from his sin-ridden world. The man stood, whirling
around and glancing for any other circumstances that might come in between
him. The man was, for once, too late. Already, a bullet was streaking
through the air at him. The man saw it, saw his reflection off the object,
saw it pass over table and table with startling speed. He had never been on
this end of death, he realized. And then it struck his neck, and he fell
back onto another table littered with mind-altering powder. He saw his
blood rise, spraying upward like a crimson rain.

        He heard the splintering of wood underneath his shoulder blades.
        He felt a numbness overtake his body.
        He smelled the scent of fresh gunpowder, mixed with gasoline.
        He tasted his blood within his mouth, shutting his eyes, he falls
        into infinite blackness, screaming all the way down...

        Down...
        Down...

        It is at this moment in which the man emerges from this state of
mind, the spectre's illusions tormenting his mind ceasing, although only
temporary. He is aware of his surroundings sharply, as he feels the bonds
the place has put on him, as the straightjacket is entwined with him. Feels
himself cowering in the corner of the cell, feels too much...
        "It is a very interesting case, ladies and gentlemen. The fact of
the matter is, this man in Cell 576 here is victim of sudden flashbacks of
when he was ridden with anger against a small drug trading operation that
was near his apartment, and, in fits of delusion, killed everyone within
the trade and burnt the area to the ground. He was found in the snow,
outside the building, as it was burning. Within his belt he had two
revolvers, and numerous matches. Empty jugs of gasoline were located in
the wreckage." The Professor spoke to the crown of analysts, as they
scribbled down the doctor's words.
        One female doctor spoke up. "What mental problem is there? Is he
angry still?" The Professor shook his head. "No. Instead, he states the he
died while fighting, and is constantly a host of flashbacks of his 'death'.
Right now, we assume that he is caught by the fact that he thinks he is
dead, while still on earth. We are, frankly, baffled by this case, which
is why it is one of out more interesting subjects. If you will, ladies and
gentlemen, walk this way..."
        The man still cowered in his cell. He still heard. He still
understood. Partially. But he was not like all the rest of them. They only
knew part of the story...if only they could understand that he -finish the
job- was sane...the man paused in mid-thought. There...that voice...the man
concentrated fiercely upon hearing it again. For hours he sat there,
listening intently. No avail. Nothing was revealed. No more voices...for
now. For now. The man sat in the cell, glancing around.
        All of a sudden, he felt the taste of gunpowder wash into his mouth.
He spat, trying to expel it...his vision began to swirl, his senses taken
over by the flashbacks...the man screamed. No...he thought. Not now...not
again... It was the night again. The man was back again. So it goes. It was,
of course, always the same scenario. The same area, the same mindless
actions still drilling a monotonous indention in his consciousness...



                       2 : The Drawing Of The Two  
     
        Julie Reynolds heard the annoying buzz of her doorbell, getting up
lazily from her couch, striding to the door. She was in the process of
reading a good news headline and sipping some tea when her doorbell so
rudely awakened her from her contentment. Looking through the rusted
peephole, she glanced at the warped image of a man, dressed in a long
trenchcoat, with black sunglasses that hid his expressions. Julie stared 
quizzically at the man, twisting the doorknob. As she opened the door, she
was greeted with a sincere smile, and a mouth full of gleaming white teeth.

        "Hi," the man said. His breath smelled of an acrid pungency, but
Julie could not put her finger on it..."Could I step in for a moment? I have
to discuss something with you...it's urgent." The man's fingers were laced
nervously in front of him, his foot tapping. Julie opened the door further,
allowing him to enter her apartment. She shut the door behind her, crossing
her arms. She was mildly perturbed by this entry, and yet intrigued by what
news he supposedly had. The man turned, flicking the blade out from the
switchblade's black sheath, whipping around, his trenchcoat flailing behind
him. He ramming into Julie, pressing her up against the doorway. The man
pressed his face close to hers, the glasses showing no emotion.
        "I've had my eye on your for some time, Julie," He hissed. His mouth
was contorted to something between a frown and a grimace. "You seem to be
fairly wealthy. I'm sure when you die, you won't need that money." He
laughed, and little bits of spittle hit Julie's face. Julie finally
recognized what that smell on his breath was. Cocaine. Julie rammed a fist
into the man's stomach, as he fell, gasping. Julie grabbed his arm that held
the knife, twisting it behind his back. The switchblade clattered out of his
hand, as he growled. Julie kneed him in the temple, and he let out a
steadily decreasing groan as he slumped to the floor, his body falling slowly
over Julie's knee and meeting the tile. Julie glared angrily at the man,
brushing a hand through her dark, brown hair. Men. Still think they're on
top.
        She checked him for identification, and then hefted him up. Although
fairly small, Julie was muscular due to her...profession. As she hoisted the
man up, her eye fell upon her wedding ring on her finger. She smiled. Her
husband was probably "working" right now. Her eyes traveled up to the watch
on her wrist. The digital readout said 9:45. Enough time to drop this man
off at the police station, and then..."pick up" her husband.

        Frank Reynolds fingers busily tapped on the keyboard, as his eyes
scanned the steadily scrolling text and binary code across the computer
screen. Finding the necessary information, he jammed a disk into the drive,
loading the data onto it. He glimpsed the security camera he had tapped.
His man, Simon Holton, was winding his way up the staircase, briefcase in
hand, on the black and white monitor. Frank cursed slightly. Working late?
Frank would have to speed his job up quickly...
        Finally getting the disk, Frank ejected it, ramming it into his
black backpack, erasing all evidence of him being there, and also uploading
a virus that he had put into the system. A fairly homegrown virii, it could
narrow down whatever he wanted, and pinpoint a file, exactly, within a very
short amount of time. Any conflicting programs that tried to stop it, such
as ICE, were destroyed. He worriedly looked at the monitor again, sweat
trickling down his brow. Simon was completely off camera now, which meant
one thing. He was in the main hallway, on his way to his office, which Frank
was currently occupying. Frank switched off the computer, getting up and
waiting by the oaken door. He was not sure what else to do with such little
time, but it sure was better than sitting there, with his back to Simon as
he walked in, copying illegal data files from his computer, and making a
perfect target for Simon to pump his body with round after round of bullets,
until his bloody body jerked as the bullets sprayed...

        Frank came back to attention, as the door swung open. The oaken
surface came closer, closer, until the cold wood was actually pressing up
against Frank's nose. He grimaced, his muscles tense. The door stopped, as
Simon strode in. He sat down at the computer, already eager to view his
material. Frank slipped out from behind the door, his nerves tingling, as
he silently tried to slip out. And knocked over a tin of pencils. 
        Frank's body shot into a run, as he heard the squeak of Simon's
chair as he turned, and then: "YOU! STOP!" Frank knew that Simon was already
rapidly tapping the Alarm button under his desk, summoning the security
guards to intercept him on the staircase or elevator, whichever he took. 
It was a good thing that Frank wasn't taking any of those ways. Frank decided
all was haywire as it could be right now, so he pulled out the long, evilly
grappled rapelling hook he had, digging it into the side of the office
hallway, digging a large gouge in the flaking plaster. Rearing back and
kicking the window, it shattered into a million pieces, the shards raining 
down 13 stories down onto the black parking lot, shattering. Frank grabbed
the rope that was attached to the hook, twisting and rappeling down the side
of the building.
        The cool night air hit him, as he gasped, his eyes watering, and
almost flew down the side of the building. Finally touching ground, he
jerked the rope, gathering it and stuffing it into his backpack. Looking 
around frantically, he saw, with relief, the dark blue van he was looking
for. The door slid open as Frank sprinted to it, as Julie gunned the engine.
Frank leapt in, glancing at the broken window to see the dark silhouette of
the guards looking down his escape route. Julie turned to face him while
speeding out of the parking lot.

        "Did you get the files?"

        "Yeah." breathed Frank, still slightly winded from his sprint
across the parking lot.

        The horizon dipped and swayed through the van's windshield, as the
duo sped out of the parking lot, hitting a curb and skidding onto the
highway. It was a good thing it was late out; any earlier and the highway
would be filled with cars. Now, however, the peaceful line pavement was
black and dark, vacant of all automobiles. Julie and Frank sighed in relief,
smiling. Another "job" well done. Now for their favorite part. The payoff. 



                          3 : Confrontation 
     
        Sweat dripped from the man's brow, as he blinked rapidly to rid his
eyes of the sting. The moonlight was creeping through the main hallway of
the asylum, resting on the marble in the hallway and making a mirror image
of the asylum's dark hallways in the floor. All the man could hear, for now,
was the occasional heavy footfall of a guard, the click of heels echoing
along the dark hallways. The man slowly reached under his mattress,
constantly glancing out his cell, as he gripped the small, metallic prong 
in-between his fingers. It was his only way out.
        Sliding the lockpick into the cell's lock, he silently worked the
metal until there was an audible click. The man put the lockpick into his
shirt pocket, and tentavily opened the door. There was no sound. He stowed
out into the hall, feverishly glancing left and right. Nothing. Creeping
left, he made sure to remain in shadows, and rounded the corner. There was
a guard, but the man was far from surprised. He had planned this for months,
and knew the guard would be there. The guards back was to him, as he silently
crept behind him, then swiftly and silently, deftly leaped and wrapped his
arms around the guard's neck, muffling his mouth. The man jerked his arms.

        Amidst mouthfuls of coffee, the two guards discussed various topics
while peering through the dim haze of cigarette smoke wafting in the lounge
at their playing cards.

        "Three Aces. Beat that, Sheffler."

        "Eh...ya won again. Lucky punk."

        They both laughed, hacking a little, as they took sips of coffee
between conversation. All of a sudden, the larger of the two guards waved
his hand, dismissing any noise from his partner.

        "Sh. Wait...didja hear sumthin'?"

        The other guard listened cautiously, then shook his head.

        "Nope. Whadya hear?"

        "Eh, sounded like, like a crack. A little bump, too. Ah, prolly
another inmate tryin ta destroy his room, heh."

        The other nodded, laughing, and they dealt out the cards again.

        The man dragged the guard into the closet, after he had taken the
gun and his nightstick. He was full of apprehension, his veins seemed to be
pouring liquid fire into his body; he felt so tense; coiled even. He gazed
out the window silently, the moon rich and full over the asylum's crowned
peaks of rooftops. He clicked the revolver back, hearing a satisfying snap
as the gun loaded. He switched the safety off, glancing left and right
through the halls. The man stumbled down the stairs, regarding the light
from the exit sign to illuminate his way.
        Suddenly, his mind picked up the dim shadow of a guard crossing over
the walkway above him. His mind reacted suddenly, as the man whipped the
revolver upwards, squeezing the trigger rapidly. Bullets spinged and spanged
among showers of sparks, and the guard clattered onto the walkway. The man
looked around, sure that more guards would rush out any moment. He had no
doubt that they would. Finally seeing an exit, he ran over to the glass
doors. Grabbing the door, he struggled with the handle. Locked! All of a
sudden, a guard ran from the corner, almost running into the man. Once
again, his mind reacted. Grabbing the guard, he heaved him through the
window. Glass splayed outward in a spider's web of cracks, and then
shattered, the moon illuminating the shards as they skittered across the
concrete walkway. The man reached over, outside and around the window,
grabbing the door and turning the handle. The door creaked open, and the
cool night air rushed into his face, as he sprinted outside, away from his
house of deceptions...

        Julie and Frank were now fully relaxed, as they drove steadily. All
of a sudden, there was a sillowhete from the moon, and a man was in front of
the car. Julie cursed out loud, as Frank turned to look out the window.
Julie slammed on the brakes, the car skidding in a wild flurry of squeals
and burning rubber, but there was a dull thud as they impacted with the
person. The interior of the car rocked and swayed, as the car finally came
to a stop. Frank opened the sliding door, hurriedly leaping out and over to
the body.
        The man was not in too bad of shape, there was a stream of blood
running from his forehead, and a gash in one of his arms. Frank checked for
possible things that might result in fatal comas if left unnoticed, then
rested his fingers on the man's neck. "There's a pulse." Frank yelled to
Julie. "He's alive!" Julie looked to the van, then to Frank. "...we have 
room." Frank looked at the man. He looked at Julie. He looked at the van. 

        The man slowly regained his vision, glancing around the interior of a
metal shell he was enclosed within. The skyline was scrolling above him like
a spectre screaming toward a destination, and he was instantly aware of his
surroundings. The floor was vibrating, and the hum of an engine was whirring
nearby. A worried woman looked at him suddenly, and yelled out to the front
of the room, "Frank! He's alive!" The man sat up, and his vision swam. The
room tilted crazily, then swirled together in a mess of color and pallets
of chaos.

        Julie and Frank sipped tea, watching the steam curl and rise, as
they anxiously paced back and forth in Julie's apartment, the man on the
couch not moving since he had passed out in the van. Frank was muttering
under his breath.

        "It's all my fault. Damn. Watch the road, always watch the road.
Oh God, he's gonna die..."

        Julie interrupted him.

        "Frank...Frank, stop it."

        "It was all me, I know it was, it-"

        "Frank, it wasn't your fault. This guy was probably just a bit
drunk, happened to be on the road at the wrong time, ah, you know."

        "Right, Julie. I don't think so. Oh god...what if this guy has a
lawyer? What if he sues? We don't have the money! I mean, if we even get
one good lawyer on us-"

        "Frank, that's far enough. Relax. He'll be alright, and I'm sure
we can resolve this with him once he..ah..once he wakes up." Frank looked
at her. She was right..no problem at all.



                           4 : The Pursuit

        The car swerved, the men in the back loading the automatic
weapons hurriedly, the clips slamming into place, turning the entire back
of the van into an orchestra of "click"s. The men looked at each other, and
passed around a picture of the Escaped Prisoner. Too valuable to have
wandering around. Jobs like these were a little messy, but always effective.
The lead man, Dr. Jacobs, leaned over, the pale light from the computer
illuminating his face, and glanced at the onboard map. The screen was a mess
of lines, with labels such as "22nd" and "SouthGlenn". It was a map of
streets, and the blinking dot that had circulating spheres coming from it
was the location of their little prisoner. They were going to...help him.
Yes. The man kept repeating that in his mind, as the van swerved again.

        Groggily, the man looked around the room he was in. Was he back
within his cell, at the asylum? No, he realized, the bed he was in was too
soft, the lighting too dim. He sat up, and his head swam. He regained his
senses, looking around a bit more slowly. As he focused, the dim outline of
another couch and a lamp emerged from the darkness. He swung his legs over
the side of his bed, looking around. Then, he noticed a man on the couch
across from him, in a jumble of blankets. He was snoring lightly, the
blankets rising and falling. The man stood up, walking over to the sleeping
figure. He moved him gently, and the man groggily muttered, then sat up with
a start, the blankets falling away. The man looked to the left, as a woman
ran from the outside hall to the same room. The man looked back at the
recently-awakened figure. In the raspiest of voices, he spoke. "Where am I?"

        After a few long and confused discussions and conversations, Julie
and Frank hadn't learned very much about this figure. He had no wallet or
name, so they could not justify who he was. The man didn't know his own
name. They were stuck at an impasse. Julie and Frank had talked privately,
and had decided that this man seemed nice, and a bit confused. He had no
family, and the only recollection of memory was when he was in an
"As-eye-lem," as he called it. Julie and Frank were a bit precautionary, 
however. An asylum? They didn't want a nut in their house, they knew that
much. They were about to talk to the man about this matter, when he promptly
jumped out the window.



                                 5 : flip

        Speed. Velocity. Coming fast. Must move. Twist. Dive. Use instincts. 
The man caught the banister of the outside stairwell very well, flipping
over, his feet clomping on the grate. Looking above him, he saw the sky,
grey, clouds rolling, and above that, his hunters. He leapt into the
burnt-out husk of the tower he was by, shutting the window behind him. He
looked around. There were a few beeping lights, flickering in the darkness
like specters, some meters flickering, and torn cloth, flapping in the dark
room from some unseen breeze.
        The man reached to his right and left holsters, feeling the
comforting feel of steel. He drew his weapons, aiming them around the room
in sync with each other. Glancing left and right, he hurriedly found a place
to hide, behind a splintered doorway. Kneeling in the darkened alcove of
wood, he glared out the window. The moon was full, a pale sphere glowing in
the heavens.
        Movement. A shadow...? The glass broke, shattering into a dozen
shards as the window blew inward. The man shielded his eyes from the
incoming glass, simultaneously drawing the hammers back on his guns. He
waited. There. A person, dressed in black, leaping into the pitch blackness.
And another. The man kissed the muzzles of his guns quickly. Father...
protect me.
        He stood, running for another shelter, swiveling his waist and
squeezing the triggers three times each, the roaring blast sparking chaos
and fear to the ensuing hunters. Through the bright glares from his guns,
he could see one of them fall, thrown backwards, hitting the wall and
leaving a crimson mark that seeped down. Ducking behind a large, metal
plate, he narrowly missed dying, as a few bullets panged off of the plate.
He stood, emptying both chambers into the area of the second hunter.
        He/she/it screamed, falling back onto a table that gave beneath
him/her/it. A crackling of wood. A moan. The man watched the smoke waft
off of his pistols, sliding in front of the pale moon like twin transparent
strands of silk, weaving their way toward the sky.

        Wind. Coldness. World swimming.
        Fade. Fade.
        Darkness.

        Julie and Frank frantically ran down the fire escape, rushing down
the steps. Seeing an open window, they glanced in. An empty room, a broken
table, and a pair of feet visible from the bed. Jumping in, Frank landed on
the plush carpeting, walked past the TV, and saw the man. Curled on his side,
trembling violently. Frank's blood ran cold. There were two twin pistols
lying by the man's form. For a freakish moment, Frank swore that the man
had committed suicide. It was changed when the man sat up screaming. 

        Dead? DEAD? No...gunsmoke. Smelt. Tasted.
        Person in front of him. Name Frank. 
        Time to go now.



                                 6 : flip

        Frank jumped back, his lower back ramming into the closet. He
cursed, looking at the man. After one staccato burst from him, he seemed to
be ok, if not a bit flustered. His knees a bit weak, the man stood, using
the bed for support. He saw Frank's face, the jaw hanging, as he looked
around. He hurriedly grabbed his pistols, looked around nervously.

        "Where...how did I get here?"

        Julie stepped in the room, as Frank looked at her in desperation,
then back at the man.

        "I wish I knew."

        "Let's, ah...get back to the apartment, awright?"

        Beep. Beep. Like a heartbeat in his little machine, the doctor
smiled. Soon now. Very soon. The spheres escalating from the monitor were
lessening in radius. Very, very close. There. steady beep.

        They had found him.

        Frank and Julie had reached a conclusion. "You need an identity.
You can't get anywhere without one, much less in a condition you are in.
Some things are going on inside you that even we don't know about." He gave
a glance at Julie. His mouth was dry.

        "We..ah, we've decided to get you your identity..." The man cocked
his head. What sort of curios talk was this? An identify was not a tangible
thing. "It's backed up on a...a machine. A really big machine." Frank and
Julie looked at each other, quietly contemplating what they were about to do.

        "Ten-Five, I got that." Officer DeGoye looked at his partner,
Emmerson. "Seems like that computer whiz, whazzhisname, Simon, Simon Holten,
got a lead on those people that robbed his computer or something...seems
that they're a couple. Wanted big."

        Emmerson sighed. "Where have the days gone where the crooked folks
just stole from a house? I can't imagine someone tryin' ta steal from a
computer."

        "Strange times we in, pal." DeGoye radioed into dispatch. "Can we
have a repeat on that address?"

        The scientists pulled up, already loading a few weapons they had
brought with them, guaranteeing the secure capture of their experiment. As
the apartment came into view, there were two police cars outside the
vinicity. "Interesting", one of the scientists stated. Perhaps the police
had beat them to the man?



                            7 : Collision

        The policemen looked at the record that the suspects had. Mostly
computer hacking, divulging into information unlawfully, nothing gigantic.
As they got out, they noticed a faint whiff of gunpowder. They glanced at
each other.

        "These...records aren't up to date? They could do arms smuggling,
right?"

        "Not that I know of...ahm..." They opened the trunk, removing their
shotguns. People with a record this long could be very dangerous. Walking
up the steps, they made their trek up the stairs to room 113.

        Julie and Frank finally agreed on an idea so ludicrous that they
could only pull it off with extreme planning. The man, having no real
knowledge of computers, nevertheless decided that it was a good idea. They
were both in the middle of making the main outline when they saw a white van
pull up behind two police cars.  Julie and Frank were immediately nervous
about the recently-spotted police. The man, however, had yet to see the
van.
        The policemen huddled outside the final interior-stairwell to room
113. They armed themselves, and glanced down the hallway at the door. No
movement. No indication that they knew they were there. DeGoye decided that
it was time to crack down on the criminals, as he slowly loaded the shotgun. 
        The scientists, rather, four of them, decided for themselves that a
pistol would be good enough for the capture of the man. Four pistols against
one man. Simple. As they rounded the final stairwell, they were faced with
the backs of two policemen.
        Frank and Julie rushed around the apartment, gathering their things
and stuffing them into their backpacks, apparently for their final leave.
The man looked at each of his pistols, regarding their beauty, as he also
prepared. Then, they heard a faint noise a the top of their stairway.

        "What are you all doing here?," the scientist hissed angrily
at the police.

        "What are you doing here?" the policeman said, just as sharp.

        "We happened to be in the process of tryin' ta get a few perps in
that room, and I'll be damned if you lab-boys are gonna screw this one up.
We gotta couple of real criminals in there," DeGoye said.

        The scientist was puzzeled. "Room 113? We happen to be, ah, getting
someone there, too...now, in fact." The scientist took the policeman off
guard, shoving his way past him and running to the door, throwing it open. 

        The blast shook the walls, flaking bits of plaster around the hall. 

        Julie, the man, and Frank covered their ears as a figure stormed
into the room, stumbled onto the wire they had set, and triggered the bomb
that was lodged onto the upper doorway frame. They were temporarily blinded
by the rain of plaster and smoke that bombarded them, and then a barrage of
gunshots were fired from the hallway. The man judged them to be pistols, but
there was a blast with much more bass, maybe a shotgun. They were safe to
the left of the door, behind the kitchen counter, but what if the cops were
to storm in? Now that Julie thought about it, the shots fired sounded like
much more than one cop. A lot more. She waved some of the smoke away,
glancing down the building. Still two cars, and a few panicked citizens of
the apartment complex running into the street. But still, two cop cars. What
was going on?
        The scientists gaped at the blast, light streaming through the broken
door, sparkling through the thick layer of smoke dominating the hallway.
Both the scientist and the policeman were taken back, and they all fired at
the doorway, practically in unity, but with no visible results. They backed
down. One of the policeman glared at the scientist. "Nice job there, pal.
You guys have a clue as to whatcha all are doing?" One of the scientists
muttered under his breath. "A lot more that you, officer. A lot more that
you."
        The man smelt the air. Gunpowder. He could feel the alternate part
of him sliding around, washing his insides with its black fluid, growling
like an animal. Wanting to get out. The man contained it, sweating. Then,
he saw the van. Gunpower... Taste it..



                                 8 : flip

        The man felt a storm rush through his veins. The bad men were here.
Here now. And in his hands he held the death-giving steel, two metallic
weapons, that delivered the gift of death to all that opposed him. Rising
from behind the couch, he simultaneously loaded both pistols, leaping in
front of the door. In a roll, he fired off both clips of the pistol, pumping
bullets into the hallway. He heard screams. Return fire. But not enough to
catch him. He hid in the trench of the fireplace, awaiting the next barrage. 
        Frank and Julie watched, gaping, at the quiet man they previously
knew fired madly at the pursuers. What the hell were lab-boys doing there?
As far as Frank and Julie knew, they didn't want them..Julie and Frank both
saw the open window, and they motioned to the man, who acknowledged their
signs. The window. An escape. As Frank ran to the window, he tried to look
brave for Julie. Only he knew that, in fact, he was about to faint from fear.
        The man poked both nozzles of the pistols into the hallway, squeezing
off another round at the Hunters and Bad Men. He heard more screams, and saw
the escape route. He knew that he must protect the lives of Julie and Frank.
He did, after all, owe them gratitude. Firing again, he ran backwards,
leaping out the window, twisting his body in midair, spinning before he
twisted his body and landed, on his feet, on the outside fire escape.

        Julie was stammering. "What..where do we.." The man spoke quickly.

        "The car. We don't have much time." Together, the threesome ran down
the stairwell, just as the upper floor blew up in a rosy fireball.  

        The scientist watched as his partner loaded his weapon. "Where
did the prototype get weapons?", of them spat angrily. He was about to turn
around to his partner, and give him a good lecture, when a bullet passed
through his head, interrupting his thoughts and passing on whatever
information he was just going to say right onto the wall, in a pulpy,
crimson mess. He slid down to the floor, as the other scientist, shocked,
loaded his pistol and fired a few shots into the room. Not hitting anything,
he nevertheless felt better. A yell interrupted his thought, as two policemen
fell, thrown backwards, spurting blood. "Fire in the hull!" The scientist
ducked, just before he remembered that a policeman had snuck into the
apartment. The rocket flew past him, down the hall, to room 113.
        The policeman perked his ears up. What was that noise? Sounded like
a lit fuse...it got closer. His eyes involuntarily trailed across the rocket
as it flew past him and into the wall two feet from him.
        The entire hallway was flooded with fire, as the policeman and labmen
huddled into the stairway. The acrid smell of smoke, both fire and gunfire,
filled the hallway. As the smoke wafted away, they saw the open window, the
drapes, although burnt, were flapping in the open breeze. The policeman
commenced to running down the stairs as fast as they could, while the two
scientists stood in a daze. They expected a minor gunfight. Minor. As they
looked at the blackened hallway, and bullet holes riddling the woodwork,
they glanced at each other. Then followed the policeman.

        Julie and Frank watched the cop run out of the building, followed
by a few more, as they sped away in one of their cars. The others, they
would find, had the tires slashed. Just then, the SWAT van pulled up,
screeching to a halt. The policemen jammed themselves inside, and, after
waving their arms dramatically, and yelling a few unheard obscenities, they
sped after the police car holding the threesome.



                             9 : Countdown 

        As the car drove along, they noticed that the man still had not
regained his...his sense. Loading the pistols, he looked at the sunroof.
Frank, still a bit shaken, looked at the man. His voice was carried a bit
by the wind.

        "What??...what are you looking for? You crazy nut, you almost
got us killed, we just wasted about half a squad of policeman!" Frank
turned himself in his seat, facing the man.

        "What are you thinking, huh?? Think we can just kill off cops,
and drive off into the sunset??" Frank was practically screaming. "Death
isn't like that! You can't sit there and kill humans like this! No matter
what they do!" The man's voice was a bit faint, but still hardened.

        "Right now, we cannot be bothered with such trivial matters. As you
will see momentarily, the Hunters have located us and are following us in
some method of transportation, apparently with more Hunters, and a rather
large quantity of ammunition. You may give that moving speech later. Right
now I suggest you open the sunroof." Frank looked in horror as the SWAT van
weaved out of traffic, following them. Frank looked to Julie.

        "Where are we going?" Julie shook her head.

        "I don't know...I suggest the CIA. It's only a small ways away."
Frank looked at her. They had about 20 cops on their tail, and they were
going to hack the CIA computers? Frank looked at the plans they had made,
jammed in the glove compartment.  He glanced at Julie in disbelief.

        "No. Absolutely not. Forget it."

        Julie looked at him. "Right now, we don't have many options left."
They looked at each other. "Frank!"

        Frank jumped, turning to the man. The man looked at him. "Open
the sunroof.", he growled. Frank fumbled with the release, and finally
opened it. Julie and Frank, weaving in and out of traffic, discussing the
plans, almost didn't notice the man climb on top of the car, and crouch on
the trunk.

        The cop driving stared in disbelief as the man emerged from the top
of the car, his wild hair flying in the wind, and pushed himself out,
climbing down the car and crouching on the trunk. The cop was even more in
denial when the man pointed two pistols at the truck. Squeezing both
triggers, the glass spiderwebbed into pieces, but did not break. The
policeman yelled to the back. "The show's on! Get 'im!" The side doors
opened, and the SWAT team leaned out. Their rifles were pointed at the man. 
        Team Leader Rick Lowes grinned at this man that had supposedly
killed a squad of policemen. No bulletproof vest, even. He laughed. This was
going to be easier than he thought. He changed his mind when the pistols
that the man had flared, spitting out bullets and, one by one, taking down
all the other SWAT members before they could aim. They screamed, their blood
splattering the wall of the van. At least two fell out and were crushed
underneath following cars. Rick looked at the nozzle of the man's pistol,
a half-smile still on his face. His attitude faded. Reacting quick, he
whipped up the rifle he had. Crack. Rick Lowes fell before he could even
put his finger on the trigger. 
        Frank glanced at the man in disbelief. He had actually stood up on
the trunk of the moving car, firing round after round at the SWAT van. Shells
flying, he would reload in the blink of an eye, firing again and again. It
was almost as if he were possessed. Then, he did something even more
outrageous. As Frank drove, he leapt off the trunk, landing on the hood of
the speeding van, pumping round after round into the interior of the van. 
        The man felt free, as he leapt through the air, his feet pounding
on the hood, as he noticed several other shapes in the interior. Firing off
his weapons, he felt the wind in his hair as he shot round after round into
the cab. Sliding through the now- broken windshield, he finished off any
other Hunters that would be in this carriage of death. The walls were made
of bone, he noticed, as the blood of the guilty flooded the floor. He looked
around, noting that the driver was slumped over, spilling blood from his
mouth. The man quickly moved, grabbing the wheel and driving behind Julie
and Frank, shoving the corpse aside. They must get to this information
palace. This "See-eye-aye".
        As the car sped, Julie and Frank worked out what they were going to
do. It was crazy. And extremely risky. Just the way they liked it. Frank
looked in the rearview mirror. The man had taken control of the truck, and
was driving behind them. They looked on the map. 23 miles to go, and they
would be there. Frank wiped a hand across his sweaty brow. Good God. How
did they get into this?



                                 10 : Flip 

        The car and the SWAT van swerved into a small diner, as Frank and
Julie got out. They jogged over to the side of the van, as the bewildered
man stepped out. The threesome went into the diner, selecting a secluded
booth to discuss their intentions. Julie leaned to Frank. Her hands were
shaking.

        "Frank...I don't know if we can do this. The possibility of failure
is too great. I mean..the CIA? THE CIA? What were we thinking in the first
place to even believe that we could hack it? We just do small jobs, that was
our promise, we just do minor hacks, that's it..." Julie was babbling, and
Frank touched her hand.

        "Julie, whatever this man is going through is not natural. The man
seems to have...I don't know...multiple personalities. Or something. I'm no
psychologist, but I'd say that this guy, whoever he is, is in desperate need
of some identification."

        Julie looked around the diner. The people here seemed so peaceful...
so oblivion to what was going on. "We have probably the whole state's police
on our trail. We have nothing left to do. We've gotten this far. Let's keep
going."

        No one ever thinks they will do what they do later on in life.
        They find it far too ludicrous to comprehend. 
        But people's wills are made to surprise. 
        Three people found that statement very true.

        Waiting outside the massive complex of the CIA, the moon a full,
white orb hovering in the sky, Frank sat with his CB, ready for Julie to
signal. She was supposed to be wired into the communications bracket of the
CIA's mainframe, from a remote location on a CIA outlet near the building,
high up, via satellite and modem uplinks. Their plan was, supposedly, to
enter the CIA's computer mainframe, and get this man's identification. It
was insane. But Frank went with it, even as his shaking fingers activated
the laptop. The man was by him, looking around for any guards. Between a
slight hiss of static, he heard Julie's voice.

        "I've got the upl...k, but it's going t...ake some time." Frank
acknowledged, as he feverishly looked around the complex. Then, he looked
behind him. The man was gone. 



                                 11 : flip

        Fog drifted across the landscape, as the towering monstrosity
that was called the "see-eye-aye". He glared at it through bloodshot eyes.
The name was obviously of some forgien tongue, and he hated it even more
for that. Flicking the hammers back on the pistol, he approached the gate. 

        Julie, through her perch, suddenly saw the man running across the
moonlit yard, approaching the CIA sub-building. "Oh hell..." Julie muttered,
quickly entering the mainframe database again, desperately looking for the
console that would let her disarm security. 

                 ________________________________
                 |                              |
                 |    CIA SECURITY DATABASE     |
                 |  WARNING: Any unauthorized   |
                 |  access to this database is  |
                 |______________________________|

        Julie pressed a key, bypassing the drivel that she had read thousand
times over, hopelessly pushing the icons, trying to find a grid image, a
prompt, anything to allow the man to gain access to the CIA endurance
without him being shot first. She subliminally noticed the sound of an
airplane flying over her, high up in the sky, overshadowing the moon for an
instant and leaving a trail. Analyzing the monitor, she noticed a button.

                MainFrame .34.35.677-a

        Julie selected it, clicking on it. The HD whirred a few times, and
then the images flowed upon the screen:

                MainFrame Control Sequences and Options -.34.35.677-b Main

        There were rows of symbols. One caught Julie's eye. It was an
image of a lighting bolt, with a triangle around it. Julie selected it. 

                MainFrame Control Sequences and Options -.34.35.677-b Main
                |_MainElec Control -.34.35.678-a
                [Select Grid]

        It was self-explanatory. Julie roamed the images until she identified
a grid called [Grid: Front Sector Alarm (Constat B)]. Two Icons were below,
"Arm" and "Disarm", and Arm was currently highlighted.
        The man rushed further. The entrance was in sight. He noticed a
blinking red light outside the door; apparently the Hunters had gained
electronic information. No matter. Nothing could stand his death-giving
twin barrels. He aimed.

        Julie highlighted "Disarm".

        He fired.

        Julie clicked. There was a noticeable hum.

        The man watched the console disappear in a blaze of sparks and
spurts of fire. He huffed. Systems were nothing these days. 
        Julie breathed a sigh of release as she saw the security system
blow up, with no flashing lights or sirens. She was just in time. Then, she
heard the distant barking of dogs, and saw that 5 or 6 security men were
running around the corner. And the man was wide out in the open. 
        Frank watched in awe as the man shot the door, and shut his eyes
as he prepared to hear the wild flurry of sub-machine guns. Surprisingly,
there was none. Then, as the watched the man jog across the lawn, the
distant sound of dogs barking caught his ears. He looked back at the man.
In the few seconds Frank had turned his head, he was gone.
        Julie saw the man from high up, and watched as he retreated to
the shadows of the building. The security men with the dogs rounded the
corner, yelling orders and looking around.

        *crackcrack*

        *crackcrack*

        Julie winced. She saw four of the men fall, crimson rising from
their chests, apparently their vests of no avail to them. The dogs, yapping
wildly, turned tail and fled. The last man, standing still, dropped the gun,
as his dog ran away, as well. He didn't notice the absence of the animal.
His eyes were transfixed on a darkened corner, as a man emerged, with two
smoking pistols. The an strode up to him, grabbing his collar, the security
man making no objections. From where Julie was, there were harsh words
delivered by the man, very hushed, but peaked in some seemingly urgent
parts of his voice, as parts of it carried over to Julie. The guard was
released, took a step back, and apparently was instructed to sit, and stay
there. The security guard began to sit, then whipped out his radio, speaking
rapidly into it. The man's eyes went wide, as he aimed his pistol with a
fluid motion. 

        *crack*

        The guard fell onto his back from where he was sitting, flung to
the ground, already dead but still bleeding. Now the man acted faster.
Reaching down, he snapped an access card from the guard's body, looking
back at Frank. Frank understood. They had to move.
        Julie gasped, realizing that the man had probably called for
reinforcements, and they were in a very precarious position. The man looked
up at Julie, gesturing for her to stay there. Julie understood, but
something disagreed inside of her. Their plans were going haywire, and
something bad was bound to happen.
        Frank ran across the lawn, arriving with the man inside the
shadowed doorway, as the man, wordless, pulled out the card he had stolen
from the guard. He entered it into the glowing slot, as a distant clicking
was heard, then a sharp snap on the door. The man took the card, taking it,
and then gripped the doorknob. It turned. Frank and the man entered into
the depths.

        The first thing that came to Frank's mind when he entered was
hallways. There were so many of them...Frank brushed it off. His friend,
Simon, was a disgruntled, fired CIA employee, and more than happy to provide
Frank and Julie with maps to the interior of the building, at least
everywhere that he had been. Frank unfolded the map, looking at the broad
pictures and identifying where he had entered. He looked up. "Left here. We
keep going, and there should be an acceptable database or console we can
use in the 5th room." The man nodded, reloaded the pistols, and sprinted
down the hall. Frank wiped the sweat from his brow, and held the map with
trembling hands. This would be rather difficult.

        After reaching the room, a sigh was plastered to the front. It was
concerning access to the room, and when Frank arrived behind the man, the
man's expression was troubled as he read the sign. Frank swallowed.

        "What? What is it?" The man extended the ID card, and ran his finger
across the barcode on it, then gestured to the door.

        |SCIENTIST AND COMPUTER TECHNICIAN ACCESS ONLY|

        Damn. The access they currently had was too low. Frank suddenly
heard footsteps echo around the hallway, and felt the man grab at his
collar, moving him to another doorway, in front of it, facing the sound.
The man wordlessly slipped into a doorway in front of him. Frank's mind
raced with a plan. It found one. Frank only hoped that the man knew what
he was going to do.

        Timothy McBride walked down the hall, taking a right at the hallway,
mainly to fetch some papers and pick up some coffee from the machine. As he
walked, shifting through papers he was carrying, he looked out of the corner
of his eye, and saw a rather nervous, average-dressed man. He stood there,
smiled weakly. Timothy gave a slight glare.

        "Excuse me. Are you authorized in this area?"

        "Ah...I didn't know where to go, really. I'm supposed to fix the
ventilation here? Someone had called yesterday saying that they would let
me in here to fix it. I was just escorted by 2 men in here, and, ah, but
they left."

        Timothy's face suggested disbelief. "What? Where's your suit? Your
identification?" Frank eyed the card on Timothys shirt. "Oh! Ah, it's right
here, let me get my card out..." Timothy walked closer in order to see
proper identification. As he came beside the man, he saw a movement in one
of the dark doorways. What the...?
        "Uhf!" Timothy McBride dropped as a pistol butt made contact with
the back of his head. The man came out of the shadows, ripped the access
card from the man's shirt, and strode to the aligning doorway, sliding the
card through it.

        *crack*

        The door became unlocked. They entered.

        The room was somewhat bare, with no one in it, thank god. Dragging
Timothy McBride into the room, the man shut the door silently behind them.
The room was flooded with a dim glow of a monitor, as Frank turned on the
lights. A desk with papers strewn about, a pencil tin, the computer, and a
lamp and a bookcase decorated the mediocre room. Frank clicked the CB on.

        "Julie, we're in." He heard a sigh of relief through the CB, crackly
and distorted. "-nk god, Frank. I-ght you were gone. Ne-structions?"
Frank agreed, and the man watched as Julie's crackly voice guided him to
the keyboard, and he typed a flurry of characters in the password prompt.
The CIA logo flashed on the screen, and then millions of lines of text
appeared on the screen, scrolling down fast. "We're in", Frank breathed
hoarsely.

        Julie felt warm despite the cool night air. "OK, take out the PhotoCD
you have, with the man's picture on it. The computers should be fast enough
that you can match a face with a name in a matter of minutes. If he's not
in the base, he doesn't exist." Julie heard a muffled "OK", and a CD drive
whirring in the background. "OK, load the picture from the CD-ROM drive." 

        "Got it"

        "OK, now there should be a set of parameters that you can mark.
For now, just put Male. That's all we know." 

        "Awright. Done. Now scan?"

        "Yes."

        "...it's scanning."

        Frank watched the lines of text disappear, scrolling over and out
on the screen, the hard disk clicking. The CD-ROM light flashed a few times,
and then the line narrowed down to one line. The silence in the room was
awkward, as the cursor blinked steadily on one line. They had found it. Frank
looked at the man as his finger rested on the Enter key. "Want me to...?" The
man nodded quickly. Frank pressed enter, and Jeffrey Adams McGuire's entire
life poured over the screen.

        Julie heard Frank breath "We got it. It's his info-ion. All-f it."
Julie grinned. They had done it. Just then, sirens shrieked all over the
complex.

        Frank leapt up, looking around. Timothy McBride had accessed his
CB, painstakingly slow, and hoarsely yelled. "Broken into...Code 5!" The
man whipped out the pistol. "No!" Frank yelled. McBride's head splattered
out upon the door. The hand still clutched the Transmit button on the CB.
Whoever was listening had heard everything. 

        Sirens broke out upon the CIA complex. Frank jammed a disk into
the drive, copying Jeffrey's information. They were cutting it close. The
man stood by the door, sweating, both pistols armed, two fresh clips loaded
in them. Sirens shrieked as the info transferred from the CIA databases to
the disk. Frank tapped his fingers impatiently upon the desk. "Come on,
come on..." Julie's voice broke over the CB. "Frank, get the hell out of
there!"

        "I'm getting the information!" Frank snapped back, watching the
data transmit. Then, his blood ran cold. 

        |ILLEGAL DATABASE TRANSFER/ACCESS. THIS SESSION IS TERMINATED|

        The data status bar jumped suddenly, and Frank ejected the disk
out of the drive quickly, leaving the A drive clicking and searching for a
disk. They snagged the PhotoCD, and opened the door, running into the
hallway. Sprinting left, they headed toward the way they entered. Frank
heard the sound of heavy boots clomping on the hallway, much too close for
comfort. Jeffrey armed the pistols, twisting while running and firing back
at the impending armada. Frank heard screams, as well as returned gunfire.
A bullet ricocheted near his left leg, and he cried out and ran faster. Too
close. Almost there. Jeffrey turned the corner before him, pressing against
the wall and peeking the barrels of the pistols own the hallway, the muzzles
erupting fire. Shells clattered on the floor, as Frank ran past him, the
door in sight. Almost there. The man was running alongside him now.

        A bullet caught Frank just below the shoulderblades, driving
through his back and coming out the front of him, his blood spraying. Frank
dropped, pitching to the floor, landing on his back. Jeffrey stopped,
(notnowpleaseno) mouth agape, then ran a step in front of Frank, firing
off the remaining rounds at the guards. The last few remaining fell. Jeffrey
sprinted back to Frank. Frank was looking at Jeffrey with weak eye contact
and a trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth. Jeffrey bend
closer, looking at Frank's wound. Definitely terminal. Frank coughed.

        "Jeffrey...gotta go with...Julie. Find the..." Frank paused, coughing
up a slight amount of blood. "...the truth." A tear slid out of the corner
of his eye, as he weakly whispered out a few more words. "Make sure...Julie
knows that I...love her." Jeffrey nodded quickly, still in shock. He stirred
slightly, and then Frank Reynolds died.

        After getting the disk and the PhotoCD, the man shut his eyes,
already hearing more people coming, and decided he should leave the building.
But not yet. The man seemed to have something bothering him that made him,
he found, very, very angry. He loaded both pistols again, standing over
Frank's body. The guards came. The man reacted. The guards died.

        Julie was nervous. No action except gunfire. Suddenly, light poured
across the lawn, as the man ran across the lawn. Julie quickly dismounted
where she was, heading toward the same van that the man was, putting the CB
away and disconnecting the laptop. Where was Frank?

        The man leapt in the van, sliding to the driver's seat, gunning
the engine. Julie entered the back, slamming the door. The tires squealed as
the van sped away from the building, bullets punching holes in the side of
the van. One window shattered. Julie dropped to the floor of the van, hugging
the floor. She looked up, screaming over the bullets. "Where's Frank?!?" The
man clenched his jaw, speeding from the building. He was leaving part of
him behind.



                                 12 : flip

        The sun slowly rose over the road, barren and grey, no one driving
yet. The van was still speeding, Julie now driving. Her eyes were wet, tears
glistening. Suddenly, the van stopped, and pulled over to the side of the
road. Julie Reynolds leaned her head against the wheel, and cried for a long
while. The man shut his eyes, a lock of hair drifting over his eyes, as he
listened to Julie sob. This was all wrong. It shouldn't have to be like
this, he thought. He shook his head. Standing, he moved to the driver's
side, putting an arm around Julie's shaking frame. They stayed like that
for almost the whole morning.

        The laptop booted. Julie and Jeffrey had eaten lunch at a roadside
cafe, and now were by the side of the road. Jeffrey gave Julie the disk.
There were spots of blood on it, and Julie quickly put the disk into the
drive, shutting her eyes. Accessing it, the man got up and paced, looking
at the skyline. It was too much. It was his life. He bowed his head, waiting
for the disk to finish loading. 

        Julie swallowed. "Jeffrey..." Jeffrey turned when he noticed the
waver in Julie's voice. She looked up at him with wet eyes. "It...it didn't
finish." Jeffrey's brow furrowed, as he looked at the data. Halfway through
the file, the text turned into jumble signals.

        ...is currently enrolled at an asylum under ground
        tha_<61>- + <20>_<EFBFBD>|hj[%<25>j&.

        It continued like that for almost 6 pages. Jeffrey smiled. This
is what it was. This was his search, his dream, only to be stopped by a
death and an interrupted transfer. The irony of it all. He let a tear come
out of his eye. What now...Jeffrey looked at the monitor.

        "Go up. My address, we could..." Julie scrolled up. It was there.
Julie looked up at Jeffrey. There was a silence as they both contemplated
what the stakes would be if they continued the mission. Julie thought.

        "Well...we'll need more gas."

        After nerve-wracking announcements on the radio of the recent CIA
break-in resulting in 23 deaths, including one suspect, the van arrived in
Arizona, in front of a house. The man nodded. "This is it." The paint was
cracking, the lumber rotting slightly, and it was a rather small home. They
tromped up the porch, their footsteps echoing hollowley, as they entered the
house. The door was unlocked. The man seemed to know where he was going.
        The inside of the house was mediocre, with a couch, a small kitchen,
and a few other little things. Jeffrey went up the stairs. Julie followed,
and finally found Jeffrey in a room that faced the back of the house. He
was kneeling. Julie went next to him, a lock of brown hair falling over her
left eye as she knelt, looking at what the man was looking at. A gasoline
jug, still full. Julie was confused. The man looked up, his eyes brimming
with tears. He stood, looked out the window, and then dropped his head.
        The area in back of his house was rather normal, except for one
thing. There was a small pile of lumber, charred, blackened, and a few gas
jugs beside it, melted. The ground was scorched. The man had come to terms.

        It was all true.

        He clenched his teeth. There were no hunters. The drug dealers
were all true. He had killed them. He had killed guards. He was living in
two different worlds. Julie's eyes looked up at him.

        "Jeffrey?...Jeffrey?? Jeffrey, look at me. Please." He looked at
her. Her eyes were blue, he realized. He had never noticed that at all. She
smiled.

        "It's time for your medication."

        Jeffrey clenched his eyes, looking again at her. They weren't in
his house anymore. Clean white walls surrounded them. Julie began shimmering.
Jeffrey reached out to touch her; found that he couldn't. A straightjacket
surrounded him. He cried as she slipped away, her image giving way to a
nurse. She held a syringe. "Come on now." 
        The man kicked out, thrashing as she injected him. He cried, cried
for everyone, cried for himself, cried for everything, cried for all the
unborn souls that would have to live. The nurse stood by him, as the doctor
and the crowd of spectators looked in. "It's a sad state. The man really
knows no literary skills, except for what is shown here." He gestured to
the walls of the room the man was in.

        From six feet all the way to the floor, in black ink, were the
words FRANK and JULIE scrawled over and over. The crowd ooh'd and ahh'd.
The doctor spoke through the intercom. "Nurse." He looked back at the crowd.

        "That isn't all." The nurse lifted the slightly-sedated man's
straightjacket up a bit, and his shirt lifted to show his bare midsection.
The words WHO AM I were scarred into his chest. The audience was shocked,
drawing back a bit, madly taking notes. The crowd advanced as the nurse
exited, closing the door. The crowd moved forward except for one person.
A blue-eyes, brown-haired woman looked through the window, at the man. She
touched the glass. The man's dark eyes, almost shut, made contact with
the womans gaze. He saw her smile, and the corners of his mouth tugged up,
as well, smiling back, accepting as his world slowly closed, a tear
trickling out of his eye as his body accepted his world for what it was.    

        Sunlight streamed through the windows of the asylum, as it
illuminated the marble floor. The willow tree's branches wistfully flowed
in the breeze, sending a rustling sound through the windows. The sun rose
up higher, almost high enough to touch the heavens, as rays shone own upon
the earth, as it tilted on it's axis and continued to rotate, sending people
through day after day. 

                           
                             The       End

                         


                                Epilogue

I was thinking of quite a few different endings. One would be that they
would gain the information from the CIA, and find that the man was actually
a key role in something. It could be good, it could be bad. Or that they
would actually have to rely on the information of a drug lord. Jeffrey
would naturally be in a rage about that, and after they had all they needed
from the drug lord, Jeffrey would kill him in rage. In any way, this story
balances on the borderline of reality, sanity, and what is true and what's
not. I hope you enjoyed it.

                               --Flood '96

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