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FOX Academy:

Book I - The New Breed

Book II - The Werewolf of Odessa

Book II.5 - The Love who Spied Me

Book III - The Curse of the Yellow Monkey

Chapter 6 - I've Been Burned Before

Tancred Williams sat at one of the outdoor tables in front of a café with a view of the Arc de Triumph in Paris sipping at a bad coffee and chewing on a good croissant, but not enjoying it. The previous afternoon, Ottawa time, all four of the agents he had sent to Europe to find the missing Vikki Beausoleil had disappeared within hours of each other. FOX had immediately gone on high alert; all resident agents were calling in their contacts and all friendly intelligence agencies were working their resources. Williams, as Chief of Staff would normally be in the headquarters operations room directing the effort, but he had flown here to activate their deepest asset, a contact the like of which even the most secretive and ruthless of nationally-mandated agencies could call upon as a last resort.

Williams had come himself because he was one of the only two members of FOX who knew the identity of the asset. The other, the senior agent Silver, was amongst the missing. Williams had hitched a ride with the Canadian Air force, and would return by the same plane if he could conclude his business here soon enough to catch them on their return trip, but it wasn't looking good. There was only minutes left in the time set aside for this rendezvous then Williams would have to move to the next location, the Tuileries, and wait again. The sniper team that the French government had lent him as backup would have to relocate also, so the meetings were scheduled fairly far apart.

Finishing his croissant and leaving the rest of the coffee, Williams signalled the waiter to bring the bill by raising his arm and rubbing his digits together, which was also the signal for the sniper team to change locations. The waiter, a different one from the one that had served him, he noticed, dropped the tray with the bill in it on the table and stood impatiently while Williams dug out his wallet. He reached for the bill to confirm the amount and discovered that it was being held down not by mint, but by a bullet. Without looking up at the waiter, Williams picked up the bullet and examined it. It was a 7.62 mm rifle bullet of French manufacture, the same type used by the French sniper team. He replaced it on the tray, added the money for the food and an acceptable tip, and raised his eyes to those of the Perfect Stalker. He cocked his eyebrows in enquiry.

"They're alive. The Stalker reassured him, pointing across the traffic circle that surrounded the Arc de Triumph. "You'll find them on the roof of that office building over there. So what do you need me for Gold?" The Stalker addressed him, using Tancred's Academy codename.

Williams kept a neutral expression, although part of him wanted to smile at the audacity of the Stalker's removing his cover team while another part wanted to cringe because now he would have to smooth things over with the Director of the DGSE before he left. He wasn't surprised by the cheeky act. Silver had come up with the idea of replacing the world's premier assassin-for-hire with someone they controlled after parboiling the original Stalker and one of the reasons they had chosen this particular person was that attitude, that and other considerations.

"We have a mission for you." He told the Stalker, reaching under the table to pull an unmarked envelope from the tourist backpack he had put there.

"What kind of mission?" The Stalker took the envelope and looked around before opening it.

"We have a leak. We lost four agents yesterday because of it. They have disappeared and we believe that they have been captured."

The Stalker was examining the contents of the envelope. There was a satellite phone, a sheet of data, and the photos of the missing agents. The assassin grunted at those of Vikki, Marcel, Silver and Kain Algorath, but laughed at the image of Geno.

"I see that you've finally integrated FOX Academy, and with a female feline no less!"

"She's more of an analyst, but she wasn't the first." Gold said.

"I'm surprised you hired her after what happened the last time." The stalker returned the photos to the envelope but kept the data sheet and the phone. "Rescuing lost agents is not what I was trained to do; you should call in the Calvary."

"Your primary mission is to find the leak and plug it, with this." He handed the bullet over. "If you can, I'd like you to trace the leak from its source to whoever the information went to. We'll take it from there."

"Take it with whom? You seem to be all out of agents."

"I'll have to arrange something." Williams face did show his concern now. What the stalker had said was true, there was not a single experienced field agent left except for Gold himself, and taking out an organization that could simultaneously snatch his best agent and three others was a formidable prospect.

"That may take too long." The Stalker tapped the envelope with the photographs inside for emphasis.

"Like you said," William's shrugged, "it's not your job to rescue lost agents. It may be too late for them already. Find out where they are and we'll see what we can do, if anything." He stared into the Stalkers eyes as he continued. "They knew the risks when they took this job." The Stalker picked up the tray with the bill and his payment and nodded.

"That is true; it is a hard cruel world we operate in." Before Williams could say more, the Stalker turned and disappeared into the café. Williams waited a few more minutes to see if the Stalker would come out the front or the back, but saw no one. The place probably had an old tunnel connecting to the catacombs from the days of the French resistance he reflected.

Williams sealed the plastic-lined envelope and broke a capsule of acid inside before dropping it into the nearest trashcan. The acid would react with chemicals built into the paper that the photos were printed on and reduce them to dust within minutes. Had he bothered to check first though, he would have discovered that one photo was missing.

* * * * * * * *

At first there was just light, a pinpoint that grew until it pushed most of the shadows out of his head. Then sound started coming through, distorted and incomprehensible in the beginning, but eventually becoming clear enough to identify as a female voice. When all that was left of the darkness was a ragged halo of black on the edges of his vision something came into the light, blocking it. The voice was coming from the object. Marcel felt sure that if he could focus on it, it would turn out to be his mother telling him to get up for school.

Marcel tried to raise his paws to his eyes to rub the sleep out of them, but his arms wouldn't move for some reason. He shook his head instead to clear it. Doing so only made him dizzy and that made the light and sound fade away. He tried taking deep breaths and that seemed to help a bit, at least he could think now.

He remembered that he had not seen his mother or gone to school since he ran away at age fourteen, some eight years ago. He had been living on the streets ever since, or had he? He seemed to recall something about a fox. No, not a fox, something called FOX; but there was a fox there, several of them. Images of pistols and bombs and a tall elegant vixen with stunning red fur slipped through his head. I must be coming off some bad shit, he thought, for a second there I was dreaming that I was a spy. Weird.

Then Marcel remembered that he didn't take drugs, he couldn't afford to let his guard down on the street. So why do I feel like this, he wondered? He tried a few more deep breaths, holding them in for several seconds and emptying his lungs completely as he had been taught. Who taught me that? Time for that later, his vision was starting to clear.

Marcel could make out that the object in front of him was a face, a female face. Something was different about it, out of place. It's the eyes he realized, they are too close together, wait, that's not it. Was the right one a brighter pink than the left, he pondered? No matter, it would come to him. The voice was coming from the face, talking to him.

"Andrew, Andrew?" The face asked. "Are you alright Andrew?"

Andrew? That's not right is it? Marcel asked himself. No, my name is ... Ant ... Aunt Tony ... Anthony, or Marcel, one of the two. Marcel tried to tell the face that he was not Andrew but his attempts to shake his head vigorously only resulted in a feeble bobbing.

"You are okay? Oh, thank God! I was afraid that I'd overdosed you. You were never a big guy, but you're solid, so I added a little extra and I thought ... never mind what I thought. You're going to be fine."

Marcel could tell that the face was canine now, a husky with black and white markings, a pink stripe on her nose and ...pink eyes? Marcel had seen huskies with blue, brown grey, black and those spooky off-white eyes, some even with two different colours, but never pink. Should he mention it? He decided that he better not, but he couldn't help but stare at them.

The Husky didn't seem to mind, even smiled at him. "I knew you'd recognize me Andrew. Yes! It's me, Amber!"

Marcel didn't remember her, but he remembered something about a husky. A fox had told him about a husky. The husky had taken another fox away. Marcel was supposed to find the other fox. The kidnapped fox was special. Special because ... because ... why can't I remember? He tried a few more deep breaths. The silver fox had taught him how to breathe. The fox he was after was red. He could see her in his mind's eye now, getting more distinct. She, yes a vixen, she was very tall and had only one paw, how strange. She was fat. No, not fat, pregnant. The baby was Silver's, not Marcel's ... Holy Shit! Vikki!

The memories came flooding back. The way his heart had pounded at his first sight of her out on the grounds of the Academy while she waited for the morning run to start. How he had tried to talk to her and they ended up in shouting match because he unwittingly interfered with one of Silver's schemes. The days spent sitting by her hospital bed after they rescued her, her left paw lost to a bear trap. How watching her and Silver making love in the garden gazebo had almost broken his heart. Marcel's eyes filled with tears at the memory, temporarily overwhelmed by emotion. The Husky wiped them away and sucked the moisture off her paw.

"It's okay Andrew." She was crying too now. "I've missed you too."

The husky seemed to be filling in the missing side of their conversation with no trouble, Marcel saw. While she went on about how long it had been and how little he had changed, he did a quick physical inventory. No scrapes or bruises. No aches in the joints. Head still fuzzy, mouth dry, hungry. Marcel concluded that he had been drugged; remembered sipping an herbal tea. His limbs would still not move; there was something around his arms and legs. Strapped to a bed, no doubt. He looked around quickly, saw chrome bars on both sides of him. A hospital bed.

The husky had seen him straining against his bonds. "Don't panic Andrew. It's for your own safety. They don't know you, and until they're sure that you're okay we have to keep you restrained."

Why does she keep calling me Andrew, he wondered, who does she have me confused with? The way she was looking at him and holding his paw, it must be a lover. Could he use that to his advantage? What have I got to lose? Marcel cleared his throat and spoke.

"Amber?" Isn't that what she had called herself? "Amber, is that you?"

"Yes Andrew. Don't you recognize me?" Her expression clouded.

"It's hard Amber. I ... I can hardly think. My head ... where am I?"

"You are in Brussels Andrew. You came into the spa where I work. What were you doing here Andrew?"

"I don't remember." Marcel wondered how long he could go on faking drug-induced amnesia. "You work in a spa? What do you do?"

"Oh, don't worry. It's not one of 'those' places, not like the ones in St John's when we were kids." She continued to talk while Marcel processed the information. St John's, was that the city in New Brunswick or Newfoundland? One was St John and the other was St John's, but which was which? They were so damned similar. She did have a slight maritime accent, but Marcel was a Toronto boy and couldn't tell a Cape Breton Scot from an Acadian. He decided to try the direct approach.

"I remember that I came here to look for someone."

"For me?" Her face lit up again.

"Nooo," He saw her face fall. "That was just a ... a happy accident, finding you, after ... all these years." Marcel watched her face intently, reading the clues in her expression like a carnival psychic. "And you can't believe how happy I am to have finally found you, uh, Amber. But, I was actually looking for someone else when I came in. You can help me, can't you? It's very, very important." Marcel was aware that he had started talking to her like she was a child or an idiot, and tried to bring it up a notch before she noticed.

"I was looking for a red fox, a vixen, with only one paw."

It was like the weather had changed suddenly, for the worse. Amber's brows furrowed until her eyes were two blazing pink slits. Her lips drew back from a set of fangs that put his own dentition to shame.

"What's she to you?"

"She's a ... cousin ... a second cousin. I hardly know her. Her mom called my mom and mentioned that she might have been visiting the Eden's Oasis spa in Ogunquit, the one that caught fire?" Marcel was going to continue but stopped when he saw her eyes lose focus at the mention of the fire. He waited, watching her carefully for a clue as to how to proceed.

"Nooo," she said slowly, "you came here to find me." Her eyes cleared, but she didn't look any happier. She turned and strode over to a nearby table where she picked a syringe off a stainless steel tray. "You came to look for me and you want to work with me, for the boss." She sounded more certain now. Turning back to him, she began to fill the syringe from a small glass vial.

"Sure Amber." Marcel changed tack again. "I want us to work together for the yellow monkey."

"I don't work for the monkey." She scoffed. "I work for the big boss, the one who's bankrolling all this." Ejecting the air bubble out of the needle, she approached Marcel and pulled the sheet down from his upper arm. "But you are going to have to decide where your loyalties lie, Andrew, to me or to your cousin stumpy." She plunged the needle into his bicep.

Marcel tried to pull away but he was strapped down to tight. He felt the tissue of his arm swell as she injected the solution. Within seconds, the blackness began returning. He was feeling relaxed and warm, sleepy actually.

"Why ... why did you do that?"

"We are going on a little trip Andrew, but you are going as luggage."

* * * * * * * *

Amber left the little black fox for the contractor who would package him for the trip. He would be shipped most of the way in the false compartment of a coffin, underneath the partial remains of a burn victim. Amber would accompany the coffin as the grieving widow, making the trip home now that her own burns had healed. She would leave her scars uncovered for once; they were so vivid, the customs and immigration officials involved were unlikely to notice that they had actually been healed for some years. The final touch would be a religious affiliation that did not permit preservatives in corpse preparation. Andrew would need a good bath when they arrived to get the smell out of his fur before meeting the boss.

She was frowning as she prepared her own small bag. Doubts were pulling at the edges of her mind. Was the fox Andrew or wasn't he? Why would Andrew be here, in this spa, or in Brussels at all for that matter? The manager had said that he was some kind of sports celebrity. Well, Andrew always was very athletic, despite his stature, but what happened to his dream of becoming a marine biologist? Maybe he gave it up when your parents forced him to go away, a small voice inside her said.

Amber sat on the edge of the bed. She was wearing only panties and she leaned forward so her crossed arms and bust would block the view of her ruined left leg. Looking down at her feet, she remembered the time that she and Andrew had together before ... before ... what?

* * * * * * * *

It had been the best time of her life, that autumn of her fifteenth year. Andrew, just seventeen and starting his freshman year at the university, had asked her out to dance at that first accidental meeting. Intrigued by the bravery of the little black fox, and the adroit manner in which he had handled her would-be boyfriend, she had accepted. Andrew had taken her to a hall frequented by the locals' offspring. Their friendliness, warmth and fun-loving attitude was infectious; Amber even discovered that she had a talent for clog dancing.

As Andrew had predicted, he and she did make perfect dance partners, and more. Much to the chagrin of her off-island parents, she began to spend more and more time with the young Newfoundlander. They spent hours wading in the surf as Andrew explained the local marine life. He took her out in his father's boat and taught her how to fish. Amber showed him her sketches and her poems, something no male had seen before, and he seemed to understand them. She helped him to illustrate his assignments and when there was no homework to do, they went dancing.

Her parents saw no future in the relationship, reminding Amber that soon they would be due to rotate back to Ottawa, where she would go to university. They urged her to break it off now, before she got too involved with what they saw as an infatuation. They even threatened to call the Royal Newfoundland Constabulary because she was still a minor, but so was Andrew so the threat was empty. Their parental advice sessions turned into arguments, which usually ended with Amber locking herself in her room in tears.

Her parents began to prepare for the family's return to Ottawa as another snowy, blowy Newfoundland winter set in. Amber continued to see Andrew, although he was no longer allowed to visit her at her home. Technically she was not allowed to visit his home either but she defied her parents and simply stopped telling them where she was going; they were too caught up in their careers to enforce their own rules.

Christmas and New Year's passed with no pleasure in her house, although she did find some joy celebrating it with Andrew's extended family. By February, she had not spoken directly to her parents for almost a month. In another few weeks she would turn sixteen, just two days before Andrew's eighteenth birthday. She wanted to have a joint celebration the day in-between the two, but was unsure how to approach her parents with an idea they were sure to hate.

To her relief her parents announced that they would both be going to Ottawa that week to purchase a house for when they moved back in the summer. Amber was unable to go because she could not miss her mid-term exams. They told her that they would bring her back a nice birthday present.

They had arranged for her to stay at the home of one of her mother's coworkers while they were gone. She had to report there after school each day and be back there by ten o'clock each night, but other than that, she was free to go where she wanted. Their only other rule was that she not associate with that local fox. Amber answered honestly that she would not associate with Andrew, well, fairly honestly; she did not want to associate with him, she had something else entirely in mind.

Their relationship had progressed slowly but steadily, to the point where most males would be begging to go further, but not Andrew. Even when she asked him if he wanted to, he pulled away from her, lip trembling and paws shaking with the effort to control himself, and declined.

"When we do, it will be the right time in the right place." He told her. "Not five minutes in behind the Legion Hall or in some back alley." He would usually take her chin in his paw at that point and tell her, "You deserve better than that."

Amber had decided that their birthday celebration, the day after she was sixteen and his last day as seventeen, would be the perfect time and place.

For the first few days after her parents left she was the ideal guest; always at the sitter's house right after school, never going out without them, in bed by ten each night. On her birthday, they brought home a small cake and she took a call from her parents. She innocently mentioned that she would be at their house after school the next day; she needed to access some files on the home computer for a term assignment. Her parents conferred with her hosts and determined that it was okay.

The next day Amber left school early with a bogus note. She cleaned the house, arranged the kitchen to suit her plan, and put away anything that looked girlish in her room. She even borrowed a red silk scarf from her mother's closet and draped it over her bedside lamp, for later.

Andrew showed up at four o'clock as instructed, somewhat mystified. Amber greeted him at the door in a pair of shorts that had fit two tears before but were skin-tight now, and a tee shirt tied in a knot under her breasts, nothing else. Andrew had been speechless. Amber led him in by the paw and striped his coat off him. She had intended to bring him to kitchen for supper first but she could not resist kissing him as soon as the door was closed and his coat was off. Her paws went behind his back, his went down to grip her buttocks, and they pressed each other close.

Her plan had been to eat first, and retire to her bedroom afterwards, but the kiss lingered and deepened. Andrew ran his paws along the exposed stretches of her fur, letting his little claws make parallel furrows. She pressed her mouth harder against his and drove her tongue deeper. When his paws undid the knot in her shirt she didn't protest; not even when he lifted it over her shoulders. Instead, she brought her arms back down to his chest and started to undo the buttons of the flannel shirt he wore, tickling the sensitive flesh underneath teasingly as she went.

They were still standing in the foyer of her parent's house, chests bared to exploring paws. Wary of the neighbours, Amber stepped back and pulled Andrew into the safety of the hallway. Halfway to the kitchen entrance she stopped to kiss him again. This time she was more aggressive, pulling his head against hers and driving her tongue down his throat as soon as they came into contact. Her nipples were standing out now, digging into his chest as they embraced. Maybe Andrew sensed what she had in mind; maybe he had made similar plans. Whatever the reason, Andrew did not hold back. He responded by undoing the button at the top of her shorts and sliding them down her legs until she could step out of them. Amber was naked against him.

The imbalance of their attire did not last for long. Amber undid his belt and the fly on his jeans. She hooked her thumbs into his shorts and bent down at the knees to bring his clothing to his ankles, kissing his chest and stomach as she went. When she was on her knees she stopped, leaving him trapped with his pants pooled on top of the work boots he wore.

Still on her knees, she rubbed his thigh as she regarded his penis. It hung between his legs, not yet engorged enough to overcome gravity, but darkening and thickening as blood rushed into it. It was not the first time that she had seen it, she had even touched it before, with her paw, but only after their fondling had already made it erect. It twitched as she watched, rising a millimetre off his thigh. She took it in her paw and squeezed it gently, and was rewarded by another throb. Fascinated, she felt it come to life in her paw as she stroked it tenderly.

His cock was the size and the consistency of the hot Polish sausage they sold at the local deli by then and Amber had the urge to kiss it. She lifted it up, although it hardly needed her help anymore, and placed her lips on its side. It was warm and throbbed slightly. She opened her mouth a little and sealed her lips against it while she pressed her tongue to it. It was a little salty, a little sweaty. She opened her mouth further and swayed her head back and forth like a cobra to the snake charmer's flute, spreading moisture along it. It continued to swell and stiffen. She heard him gasp as her lips brushed the head of his cock.

Amber shifted slightly and took the head in her mouth. She held it there, her lips closed around it, wondering what to do next; this was all new to her. Should I suck on it, she wondered, or blow on it? Her former girlfriends had given conflicting accounts of the act. Andrew solved the dilemma by putting one paw behind her head and pushing slightly with his hips then pulling back again. She matched his motion and more of his shaft disappeared into her mouth with each repetition.

It got harder and slid smoother as they continued. Amber had little to compare him to, but recalled one girlfriend saying that anything you could hold in one paw was not worth the effort. As surreptitiously as she could she wrapped one paw around the base, then she placed the second against it and closed it around the shaft. To her delight, the head still stuck out enough for her to keep it in her mouth and tease it with the top of her tongue. Andrew's moans told her that he was liking what she was doing just fine.

She released his prick, moving one paw to caress him between his thighs while she held him steady with the other. She forgot about what she had heard and just started kissing it the same way she kissed his mouth, feverantly, with passion and hunger. She felt herself responding, and she discovered that she liked the sensation of his pulsing cock on her mouth, on her lips, against her tongue. She sucked and swallowed it greedily.

Amber took the time to glance up at Andrew. His arms were by his sides, the paws clenched so hard that she could see white flesh through the fur on his knuckles. His head was thrown back, so she couldn't tell if his eyes were closed or open. His breathing was fast and shallow, like a wounded animal. His reaction just made her want to take more of his cock in her mouth.

She could feel the moisture between her legs now, seeping out of her, like sweat but more pungent. She could tell when the smell hit him, because he snorted and his hips jerked against her instinctively. She let him drive his shaft into her mouth, relishing the sensation of his cock filling her throat. Her juices began to flow more freely, and she put a paw between her legs, not to staunch the flow but to encourage it. She found that she was swollen too, and her clit was as hard as his cock. Driven by her fantasy come to life, she pressed down hard on it in tight circles, plunging her digit inside at intervals as much for the sensation as for the lubrication

They continued like that for a time, him driving his hips forward and she driving her head against him. She almost choked with laughter thinking that she must look like some demented woodpecker, but was lost in passion again a moment later. She was moaning in time with him now as she savoured his prick and the caress of her own digit. She heard his breath catch, like he had stopped breathing altogether, and felt his body tense and stiffen. She wrapped her free paw around the base of his shaft and continued to slide her lips back and forth until it jumped in her paw. Pulling back until just the head was left inside, she ran her tongue in circles around it to match the circles her paw was making around her clit. With a cry, Andrew exploded in her mouth.

The hot splash against the back of her throat, the sensation of something alive in her mouth, the desperate plunge of digits into her vagina, it all combined to make her come like she had never come before when she was alone in her bed at night, imagining scenes like this. The metallic smell of her cum rose as she savoured the salty, slightly fishy taste of Andrew's cum. She drank it down as fast as it spurted into her mouth, then pressed her lips hard around it and tried to suck more out of it when it stopped.

Taking her wet paw from between her legs, she put both on Andrew's buttocks and pressed his cock into her, coddling it in her mouth like she was nurturing a baby bird. It became softer, and shrank a bit as localized blood pressure decreased. Finally, she released it and let it drop against his thighs. She looked up as she ran her tongue around her lips, finding every drop of his cum, and saw that he was gazing back down at her, a pleased, if exhausted, expression on his face.

She had hugged him then, her head against his crotch, her arms around his hips. It was not a pose that she would have considered romantic before that day, but now she understood so much more than she had just an hour ago. She had felt a sensation that she could not have imagined, and tonight, she thought I'll get to feel it again, in a whole new way, in a whole new hole, she snorted at her joke.

Hearing her suppressed chuckle, Andrew thought that she might be sobbing, and he lifted her up to clutch her to his chest. By then she had regained control of herself and he was reassured by the loving smile she had gave him. After just standing there, holding each other for a few minutes, she helped him pull his pants and underwear back up and he helped her put her shirt back on, but she stayed pant-less as they entered the kitchen.

Amber had everything ready for the combined birthday diner she had planned. The two layers for the birthday cake were in their pans, ready to pop into the oven to bake while they cooked on the gas range. The deep pan was already filled with a layer of oil and the meat and vegetables for the stir-fry she wanted to do for Andrew were already cut and in individual bowls, ready to throw in. The table was set, and a bottle of wine stood open between their place settings. Andrew poured them each a glass and they drank while gazing happily into each other's eyes. So far it had been a perfect birthday celebration and they had yet to say two words to each other.

Amber started the oven to pre-heat it and turned on the big gas burner to warm up the oil for the stir-fry. They each drank another glass of wine. Amber opened another bottle; they had already finished the first one. They were talking now, chatting about their days, discussing the best way to prepare stir-fry, debating the proper consistency for cake, saying anything except how wonderful the experience in the hallway had been and how marvellous they felt, but the expressions on their faces said all that for them.

Fidgety with joy and expectation, Andrew had gotten up to chop the cubes of meat into smaller chunks. Turning back to her as he finished, he didn't notice when the large cleaver he had put down on the edge of the counter tilted downwards, the point of balance too far off the solid surface to prevent it from tipping. Amber didn't see it either, Andrew was blocking her view and her pink eyes were locked on his golden ones in any event. He raised his voice to describe the way the meat would sizzle as it stuck the pan and that covered up the sound of the cleaver falling between the counter and the stove. It also covered the sound of the blade slicing the short section of rubber tube that her father had installed, against regulations, when he discovered that the gas fittings were not in the proper place for the new appliances they had purchased. The escaping gas made no sound at all.

The smell of the bitter scent the gas company added to alert customers of leaks might have warned her, if she was not so used to smelling it whenever she lit the stove, but she might have noticed if she had another minute, or less to drink, but she didn't, and she approached the stove to start the stir-fry just as the heavy gas reached the level of the burners. When she lifted the pan to swirl the oil around the gas found the flame and ignited.

Amber screamed but held on to the pan of oil when the expanding ball of blue flame engulfed her. Had she jumped back then she probably would have only suffered singed fur and a ruined tee shirt. She didn't jump though, she saw a loose thread catch fire on the edge of her shirt where it hung over her groin and she slapped the pan against it to smother the flame, forgetting that it was filled with hot oil. Her first sensation was a sudden searing pain as the boiling oil soaked her fur and the tail of her shirt. The second was a deeper sting as the oil caught fire and melted into her flesh. She dropped the flaming pan to the floor, where it fed the fire streaming out of the melting tube, and staggered backwards into the arms of Andrew.

There was no rug to roll around her in the kitchen, and the sink with its spray hose attachment was on the far side of the flaming stove. The whole wall behind the stove was on fire now, and it was spreading across the ceiling. Andrew picked her up in his strong arms and clutched her burning body to his chest, trying to smother the flames with his own body as he staggered toward the front of the house. Halfway up the hallway the gas line exploded, knocking them to the floor and spreading tongues of fire as far as the foyer. She would never forget the look of determination on his face as he staggered to his feet and lifted her up again, turning left to enter the living room, which was still free of flame.

He carried her to the big picture window that overlooked the road. Outside there was a deep bank of late winter snow. Andrew put her down on the floor before it and picked up her mother's favourite chair, a red and black recliner done in the Queen Anne style. He lifted the chair above his head and threw it through the window. The sudden rush of escaping air drew the flames from the hallway into the living room. With the fire licking at his back, he picked her up again, trying to avoid the charred flesh on her hip and leg where the oil had burned her down to the muscle. He stepped up to the window and lifted her. Just before she followed the chair into the chilly snow bank he paused and kissed her, one last time, and then she was flying through the hole in the big window.

Landing on her stomach, she felt the sting of freezing snow on her burning wounds, reliving and excruciating at the same time. Rolling over on her back, she saw Andrew prepare to follow her. He took a short run at the window, a ball of orange-red flame chasing him across the living room, jumped into the air, and ... and ... she couldn't remember.

She remembered crawling through the snow, the soaked and tattered remains of her tee shirt barely covering her breasts, the thud as a twisted cylinder that must have been the gas water heater had landed just a meter away from her. She could still hear the knocking sound the metal made as it cooled. Tack-tack-tack it went as the chill night air worked on the overheated steel. Tack-tack-tack-tack.

* * * * * * * *

Tack-tack-tack-tack.

Amber suddenly realized that the knocking was coming from her door. She shook her self awake and called out that she was coming. The voice of the manager told her that that the contractor had arrived and was preparing the fox for shipment; Amber would soon be needed in her widow's gear.

Amber ran a digit along her scared thigh and replied that she would be right there. When the sound of footsteps receded, she tried to recall the events of that night and the subsequent months again but found that there was a blank space in her memory. She remembered the months that she had spent in the hospital, leg wrapped in exotic materials, fresh moist bandages twice daily. The pain as the ruined tissues healed, the new pain after each small operation to replace the skin that was lost and retain the mobility of the leg. She even remembered Andrew's mother crying by her bedside, but she couldn't remember why she had been crying.

Her parents had flown back as soon as they heard the news. The house in Middle Cove was gone, they told her, along with all their possessions. She had never seen them so stern, and Amber knew that they blamed her. As soon as she was well enough to travel, they had her transferred to the Ottawa General. On the drive to the airport, they passed the lot where the house had stood, and Amber was amazed by how clean and fresh the grass looked around the hole where the foundation was.

Amber had a fear of fire after that, a fear and a fascination. It burned, and it hurt, but it also cleansed, it purged. She found the old black and brass Ronson lighter of her father's and a can of lighter fluid one day while looking for a screwdriver; he must have had it in his office when the house burnt down. She spent the rest of the day lighting it and staring at the flame. When it was dry she filled it again and put it in her pocket. Her father never asked about it.

She had tried to call Andrew but all she could recall of the conversation was his mother crying on the phone. Why won't he talk to me, she wondered? She felt sorry for his mother somehow, and became convinced that her parents had done something to keep them apart. When she brought him up in conversation they would simply say that she should forget him, as she was never going to see him again, like they were certain of it. Amber came to hate her parents.

One night, after a belated graduation from high school, she dug the Ronson out from under her mattress where she had hidden it and filled it up with fresh lighter fluid. A few hours later she was in the lobby of the Ottawa General, a blanket wrapped around her shaking shoulders while a doctor told her how terribly sorry he was about not being able to save her parents; if only the battery of the fire alarm had not been removed or they had gotten to them sooner. Amber couldn't remember what had transpired in the hours between.

She had other lapses or memory. Sometimes she would come to somewhere unexpected. Other times people would tell her things that had happened involving her that she didn't recall. At first she was afraid that she may have some form of early-onset Alzheimer's disease, but her memory remained unaffected in times where there was no stress. Lately the blank periods were coming more and more often.

But despite the recent increase in memory loss, Amber felt good. Whatever it was that she couldn't recall did not matter now that Andrew had found her again.

* * * * * * * *

Vikki examined the chain that kept her from reaching the door and ambushing the attendants that brought her meals. Each link was welded shut, with no sign of a gap or a week spot that she could exploit; just like the last five times she had checked them. It was the same for the iron bed, the stainless steel sink and the toilet mounted on the floor; no removable parts to make a tool or a weapon with. Even if there were an exposed pipe or bar, unscrewing it with only one paw would be difficult.

Vikki wished that she had one of her prosthetic paws; then at least she could enjoy crushing the life out of Miko Dourado. But even that was unlikely to happen now; ever since the yellow monkey had tried to rape her when he thought that she was unconscious he was keeping his distance.

Vikki wondered where she was and how long it had been since she was taken. Had they killed Silver? Was FOX still looking for her? She had come to already chained up in this bare windowless room. The attendants were all the same breed, a type of cheetah, like the new analyst that Marcel was shacked up with, so this was probably another Eden's Oasis outlet. The only evidence to its location was the shape of the electrical outlets; they were designed for plugs with two round pins, the same as she had seen at the casino in Odessa. She must be in Europe, but which part? She had no clue, the monkey only spoke to her in English and the attendants that brought her food did not speak to her at all.

They were feeding her well though, all organic natural ingredients by the look of it. Nothing appeared to have come from a package or a can; it was all fresh and tasted wonderful. Meals were served with milk or fruit juice, and when she had asked for coffee Dourado had refused, explaining that it was important for her to eat properly when pregnant, and to avoid all stimulants and depressants that could change the chemical balance of the amniotic fluids.

When the attendants came, one would have a tranquilizer gun on her to make sure Vikki behaved. She might have tried to rush them anyway, but Dourado had warned her that repeated exposure to the tranquilizer could have an effect on the baby, and that it would require several more days to flush foreign substance out of her. That would be a shame, he said, because her fluids were almost pure now that she had a few days of a healthy diet in her. Vikki wondered why he was so concerned with the health of her baby, but he refused to answer when she asked him directly.

When she heard the locks on the door turning, she knew something was up. She had eaten less than an hour ago so it could not be mealtime again so soon. Maybe the monkey wanted to chat? She stayed on the bed. If it were the monkey, he would stay by the door to avoid having his neck broken like she almost accomplished the last time she got a grip on him. But it wasn't him, it was two of the attendants, dragging a third between them. They dumped the body unceremoniously in the middle of the room and left without a word.

Vikki looked at the body for a minute, waiting to see if it would do anything, but the only sign of life was the soft snoring coming from it. She wondered what this one had done to justify being locked up. It was wearing nothing but one of the spa's bathrobes, which had fallen open, exposing the attendant's breasts and groin. Vikki noted that the hair on attendant's head was bright red. Dyed, Vikki supposed. A glance at her groin confirmed it; the tuft of pubic hair there was golden blond, like Marcel's friend Geno. Wait a second, she stood up and took a closer look at the feline on the floor. It was Marcel's friend! What the hell was she doing here?

Vikki had only talked to Geno a few times. She and Silver did not socialize much with other members of the Academy, except for Silver's visits to Tancred William's chalet. Vikki's only friend at the academy was her former fellow student Bill 'The Professor' Hanlan, now a member of Gold's planning staff. Bill spoke highly of Geno's analytical talents, and Silver thought that she had the potential to be a field agent one day, but everyone agreed that Geno was a bit, well, a bit of a slut. Not that that disqualified her from being a FOX agent, but it was driving Marcel nuts.

Silver had mentioned to Vikki that whenever she and Geno talked their body language changed drastically. It was like watching two bears circling the last honey muffin on the tray, he said. Vikki had no designs on Marcel, who she suspected might have a crush on her, in fact she was relieved that he had found someone, but this? Vikki moved over and closed the robe to cover her up, refusing to acknowledge that she might be a tiny bit jealous.

Vikki felt relieved because this meant that they were looking for her, but disappointed because Geno had obviously been found out. What was Silver thinking, sending an analyst into the field? It must have been the only way that they could infiltrate, but Silver wouldn't send a rookie in alone; she wondered who her back up was. Vikki picked the limp form up awkwardly and carried her to the bed, where she arranged her comfortably. Hoping that the attendants might have missed something useful, she went through the pockets of Geno's robe but found nothing. Maybe she could pick the lock on her chain with one of Geno's piercings? Vikki's was interrupted by the sound of the door unlocking again. What now, she thought?

It was the attendants again, with another body. It took Vikki a few seconds to recognize who it was, it was that battered.

"Silver!" She screamed and rushed toward them. The chain brought her up short of the group, and the startled attendants dropped him just inside the entrance, out of her reach. They left hurriedly and closed the door behind them, locking them in.

Vikki looked down at Silver where he lay sprawled on the floor. He was covered in blood and garbage, fresh blood and old garbage by the smell. She couldn't tell if he was alive or dead. His chest wasn't moving and his face was turned away so she couldn't see if his nostrils were flaring. She lay down on the floor at the chains limit and stretched her right arm out as far as it would go, but her paw was still several centimetres short of touching Silver. She tried to crawl closer but the chain held firm. She thought desperately about what to do.

She noticed that one of his legs was crossed over the other, making his foot stick out into the air. If she could lasso it, she might be able to pull him closer. Close enough to revive him if it was not too late. She jumped up and ran back to the bed. The robe Geno was wearing was tied with a thick belt of sturdy material. She pulled it off and made a loop with a loose knot. Returning to the middle of the room she knelt down to get as close as possible and tossed it toward Silver's foot.

It took her several tries as either she would miss his foot entirely or the loop would collapse before landing. Finally, her aim was true and the loop fell around the foot instead of on top of it. She tugged on the cloth rope gently, angling it one way then another, to make it close on his ankle rather than his foot, where it could slip off. When it seemed firm enough she pulled steadily, increasing pressure as she went. His leg came toward her until it was fully extended, then he began to roll over. She let the body settle before continuing, wrapping the excess rope around her left forearm so she could pull with both arms.

His body turned and slid closer, dragged across the floor by one ankle. Vikki wanted to hurry, but didn't dare rush. She was afraid that if she pulled to hard his shoe would come off and the loop would slip. She kept pulling and wrapping the rope around her arm until his foot was almost against her knee, well within reach. Vikki reached out, grabbed his belt, and heaved him closer, close enough so that she could slip her good arm under his shoulders and pull him up against her. His head flopped lifelessly.

Holding his limp form against her with her left arm, she sought out his carotid artery with the digits of her right. She stopped breathing and closed her eyes ... waited ... another few seconds ... there! She counted three more pulses to be sure and hugged him to her chest, crying with relief.

She was still in that position when she heard the door open a third time. She hardly looked up as the yellow monkey entered the room and closed the door. He leaned back against it and regarded the two of them.

"That must be your companion form Maine." Dourado said with confidence. "I was surprised to see him on the news that night in Boston. I was certain that he would go up in smoke with the spa. He made quite an impression though. How did he get those scars, if I may ask?"

Vikki did not answer, but the look she gave him reinforced his desire to remain out of reach. The monkey shrugged. "No matter. I could fix those for him. That's what I did to finance my research back in Brazil, cosmetic surgery; breast implants and lifts, cleft palates, old medical scars."

The last thing that Vikki wanted to do now was talk to the yellow monkey, but she saw this as a way to draw more information out of him. In a business where survival often depended on knowing some obscure fact about your opponent, you took what you could when you could.

"What is your research?" She asked, not bothering to disguise her hate and disgust for him. "Date rape drugs?"

"Don't worry; I have not tried to touch you since that day in Boston." Dourado said, unconsciously clutching his throat at the memory. "It was a moment of weakness, not to be repeated, but your reaction has been typical of my romantic encounters. I disgust females. I'm skinny and short and scrawny and no amount of exercise, tonic or cosmetic surgery is going to change that. I was born this way; it's in my genes, but my research will correct that."

He stood with his paws clasped behind his back like he was lecturing at university and started to expound on the social advantages that uniformity of health and physique genetic research could bring, but Vikki wasn't listening anymore. She had slipped her paw under Silver's jacket and was stealthily pulling his shirt out of his pants. When she could reach up under it, her paw sought the hollow spot just above his left hip where he carried his back-up gun. It was a small calibre, four-shot, ceramic pistol that could escape most searches and scans undetected. He kept it stuck to his fur, covered by a cleaver piece of false fur designed to match his natural coat.

She could not seem to find it. She tried further up and across his back in case it had shifted in whatever battle had left him in this state, but to no avail. Her searching must have become obvious to the yellow monkey however, because he stopped lecturing her on the rewards of genetic equality and held something out to her with one of his paws.

"Looking for this?" It was Silver's back-up gun. He snatched it back as she tensed, prepared to make a desperate leap for it. The boss had warned him about these people, that he had accidentally involved in their business by kidnapping one of them. Strangely, however, the boss didn't seem to be upset about it.

"No, no no. That would not do. If you shot me then all of this comes to an end. That would be narrow minded of you. Imagine the pain and the suffering that I will relieve when I can unlock the genetic codes that have been scrambled in so many of us. No more Down's syndrome, no more Cystic Fibrosis. Sickle Cell disease, cured. Alzheimer's, forgotten." Dourado stepped away form the door, but not close enough for her to reach him. He paced back and forth across the top of the room as he spoke with passion about his work. "No more Dwarfism, no more baldness, no more cancer!"

"No more short, bald, horny primates." Vikki interrupted.

The monkey stopped pacing and turned to face her. "Exactly! No more 'hey stick-boy', no more handing out towels to the athletes, no more rejection, no more being charged extra by the prostitutes of Rio." His eyes were wide and intense. "Imagine all the short, dumpy, clumsy females that will benefit from your DNA when I'm finished separating it from your amniotic fluids. There's enough material in your waters to start a new line of DNA that can make thousands, millions of females as beautiful and as graceful as you ... and hopefully more grateful too." His expression changed suddenly to one of enquiry. "Is this fox the father or your baby?"

Vikki's protective clutch answered the question for him. "Even better. Look at him, still strong and lithe at his age, despite suffering more damage than ten foxes should have to bear. His genes will be in the baby and the baby's genes will be in the fluid. Not enough for its own line of course, unless ..." Dourado's voice tapered off as he stared at Vikki's swollen belly. She suddenly felt very afraid. She wanted to change the subject.

"Why the spas, Dourado? Are they your way of financing your 'genetic revolution', or are you just offering your vision of perfection to those who can afford it."

"I have independent financing now, thank you very much. The spas are the boss's idea. They provide a test audience of overpaid, self-centred, overblown celebrities that actually pay for us to experiment on them." The monkey sounded delighted with this, but he became serious again. "In addition, they attract another class of people, for other purposes. The 'quid pro quo' in exchange for the freedom to pursue my research." Talking about it seemed to disturb the monkey. He shrugged and turned to leave.

Vikki let her frustration get the better of her and she shouted after him. "You'll never get my fluids or my baby you evil gnome! Not while I'm alive you won't!"

Dourado turned back and gave her a pitiful look. "We'll see about that, my dear, we'll see. In any event, we will have to wait a few more days I'm afraid. We are going on a little trip. It appears that the boss wants to meet all of you." Dourado stepped to one side to let an attendant with a tranquilizer gun enter the room. "When you wake up it will be on the boss's private island, and we can start the purification process again there. One ... last ... time."

* * * * * * * *

Kain Algorath woke only once en route, and even then not fully. He was not certain that he was really awake when he did come to, everything seemed so surreal. Nothing was holding still for one thing, lamps and clothing hung on the back of the door swayed and his stomach seemed to be going up and down independently of the rest of him. A dull throbbing noise in the distance was accompanied by a closer slapping noise, one that kept time with his heaving stomach. It took another minute for him to realize that he was on a boat.

He tried to move but couldn't; either the drugs were still too strong or he was tied down, or both. A creaking noise drew his eye to the opening door. He lay still and closed his eyes to slits, to groggy to do anything else.

A canine came into the cabin, a young male wolf from what Kain could see in his narrowed field of vision. The wolf had a syringe in one paw and a cloth in the other. It knelt beside Algorath and rubbed his exposed arm with the cloth. The smell of medical alcohol rose from it. A second later it plunged the needle into the same spot and Kain felt the fluid being forced into his muscle. In a minute it was done and the wolf stood up.

Kain felt a warm sensation spreading up his arm. His eyelids were growing heavy; it was getting hard to hold them open even the tiniest bit. He heard the cabin door creak again and peeked to see if the wolf had left, but found that another wolf had come in, a very large, very grey wolf. Kain could not see much of the newcomer. His field of view only included the area from the wolf's thighs to mid-chest, and he had his back to Kain, with his arms across his chest. Still, Kain could make out that he was very muscular and much older than the first wolf. The newcomer addressed the one with the needle in a language that Kain didn't recognize. The young wolf gestured at Algorath and responded.

Dark clouds were creeping into his vision from the sides. His eyes kept closing, cutting off the view altogether for seconds at a time. Struggling to open them again, Kain was startled to see the claws of the lobster that he had dreamt of earlier right before his eyes. Shocked awake, his eyes flew open.

In the second that his eyes were open all the way he drank in the scene and tried to burn it into his memory. The Young wolf was gesturing to the larger, older wolf. The older, muscular wolf was nodding in agreement. The Older wolf had put his arms behind his back. He was wearing a tee-shirt that exposed his bulging biceps, but the fur ended at his elbows; from that point onward Kain saw nothing but shiny metal, like a Knight's gauntlet. But these gauntlets did not end in metallic digits; they ended in two large claws. They opened and closed with a steady 'clack-clack'.

Kain was not sure if he was dreaming again or whether he was really seeing what he thought that he saw; a wolf with a pair of metal claws like giant pliers instead of paws. As his eyes closed for the final time the large wolf turned to regard him, and Kain thought that he looked familiar, but before he could reflect on it, he had drifted off again.

* * * * * * * *

Vineet Karnik had prepared his morning tea on the balcony, but was interrupted in his enjoyment of it by the distinctive ringing of the special phone that connected him to his clients. He put his cup down and went back inside to answer it. There was only a dial tone when he picked it up. That happened occasionally, his clients were impatient people.

Back on the balcony, he sat and watched the city of Mumbai come to life as he sipped his tea. It tasted just the tiniest bit to sweet; he would have to measure the sugar more carefully for the next cup. Almost as soon as he finished his first, the client's phone rang again and he hurried to answer. The line was completely dead this time. He would have to call his contact at Mahanagar Telephone Nigam Ltd. and have it checked out. It wouldn't do for someone in his line of work to be out of contact for long.

His surname, Karnik, linked him to the Kayastha caste, writers and hereditary scribes. His first name, Vineet, meant knowledgeable. He had lived up to both his names by becoming one of the world's most knowledgeable writer's of malicious code, and he specialized in hacking into communications systems. For the right amount of money, he would hack into a rival company's secure email server or a minor government's economic department records. For more, he would set up a communications intercept system that would rival that of the NSA, but the better the target the harder it was to get inside, often it needed a single accidental intercept to break the encryption; like the one Lao Huidan had sent him. Now Lao was paying him a very handsome sum for Karnik to monitor the Canadian spy agency's communications.

Much of his income went into self-protection. Elaborate fast networks and a series of remote switches ensured that no one would be able to trace him back to his base here in Mumbai. Well almost no one. There was that Australian kid but he was in jail now, and the American, Algorath, who had dropped out of sight last year, but other than them, no one else was good enough. This building also had more physical security measures than the Prime Minister's residence. Good thing, he thought, considering how many of India's Prime Ministers had been assassinated. He went in to prepare a second cup of tea.

To say that he was shocked when he entered his kitchen to find someone sitting at the table waiting for him would have been an understatement. The gun that the creature was pointing at him didn't help either. Vineet was a lesser bandicoot rat, a large species that were not easily intimidated, but any gun with a bore that large was sure to cause major damage to the uncooperative.

Still, the situation was not totally unforeseen. Vineet just needed to get to one of his panic buttons to send a silent alarm to the building guard force and ... and then he noticed the pile of plastic buttons and wires on the table. One, two three ... seven. The intruder had found them all.

Vineet sighed. "What do you want?"

"Information."

"Obviously. What information?"

"About one of your clients, and the people he associates with." The visitor indicated a sheet of data on the counter beside Vineet. He picked it up and studied it.

"I cannot give you this information. If I do these people will kill me in a most horrible manner." He sneered then. "The hidden cameras in this residence have captured your image and transmitted it to a place where you can never recover them. If you kill me your picture will be sent not only to every major news agency and security service in the world, but to my clients as well. You will be out of business and you will be hunted down and killed, or worse."

The unwanted guest merely pointed to the sink, where a pile of small black boxes with fibre tube lenses sat. "Twenty-two, right?" Vineet's air of assurance collapsed. "Besides, I'm not going to kill you."

That gave Vineet new hope. "I cannot tell you. I will not tell you, for they surely will kill me if I do."

"Oh, you'll tell me everything I want to know. You see, Vineet, I put a little something in your tea when you came in to answer the phone the first time. In a few minutes, you will start to feel hot, then light headed. Soon it will feel like you are burning up. Excruciating pain comes next. It will feel like someone has driven a spike into every one of the two hundred and thirty or so joints in your body. Then the itching begins. They tell me that the itching is the worst part, like millions of ants fighting to eat their way out of your body ... millions." The intruder held Vineet's stare for almost a minute after that.

Vineet started to feel warm, almost feverish. "And if I tell you what you want to know you will give me the antidote?"

"No." The visitor's head shook sadly. "When you tell me, then I'll leave you the gun so that you can kill yourself. Otherwise, you'll have to throw yourself off the balcony, and four stories just aren't enough of a drop to guarantee death. You could live for days."

Vineet didn't get to where he was in the underworld by being a coward. He sneered defiantly back at the assassin. "Death from you if I talk. Death from you if I don't. Piss on you! I'll never talk."

But in the end he not only talked, he shouted, screamed, swore, sung and even whistled a short audio code for the stalker to record. When enough information to track down the next link in the chain had been passed, the Stalker exited, leaving the pistol with a single bullet as promised. The sound of the gunshot came only seconds later.

The Stalker was secure in a safe house two hours before any of Karnik's security force thought to check on him, plenty of time to have gotten to the airport and out of town. But rather than leave in haste, possibly heading in the wrong direction, the Stalker wanted to digest the information Vineet had given up before moving on.

The first part of the mission had been accomplished; the leak was plugged, thanks to the data from a program by FOX's resident white-hat hacker, Kain Algorath. Algorath had written the program while recovering from his wounds after a botched assassination attempt by the original Perfect Stalker and installed it earlier this year. The true genius of the program was that it embedded a slight variation on the encryption of every message sent. If an agent went bad and sold the encryption, or someone managed to intercept the raw traffic at the terminal, the unique variation could be used to identify when and where the breach had occurred, narrowing down the search. In addition, if some hacker tried to use the encryption code to hack back into their system, they would leave a trail leading right back to them.

The Stalker pushed away from the computer console several hours later. Some of the implications in Karnik's information were obvious, like the source of the breech; others would need some time on the agency's mainframe to sort out. The Stalker recognized enough however, to know where to go next and who to talk to, but it had to be done delicately; Lao Huidan had outlived several of the assassins sent after him.

The next flight to Singapore did not leave for several hours so the Stalker used the time to clean up and relax. After a long hot shower and a good thirty minutes with the comb and blow-dryer the Stalker sat underneath a fan wrapped only in a light robe as the temperature outside climbed past thirty degrees Celsius. The Stalker picked up a portfolio from the table and from it took the photograph stolen from Gold in Paris. The stalker held it up to catch the light coming in through the window and studied the face in the image, looking for signs of the humanity that must have been there before pain and betrayal drove them away.

Taking the photo had been a severe breech of security, if caught with something like this the assassin's cover would be blown in an instant. It should be burned then flushed. Instead, the Stalker put the picture back in the portfolio. It was crazy to keep this photo, but not half as crazy as the scheme that was brewing in the Stalkers head. There was, after all, a debt to be paid, and a promise to be kept.