Another installment tonight. I've been a busy writer during the past few days, eh?

Enjoy.

Once they leave the confines of the office building, Marx places his left arm behind his back, resting the back of the wrist at his waist, against his spine. He again gets the image of Skerrit, a faint smile teasing the corners of his mouth as he speaks, quietly. "So, Matthew, what is this really about? You don't want the ears of Big Brother listening in. Talk to me." A distant look comes to Thomas' eyes as he walks beside his trusted Colonel. As the young man begins to speak, his tone quiet, his expression schooled into absense, Marx's heart beat punctuates each word.

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"I understand you've had some negative happenings over there, Stratfield." The mellow voice practically crackled with glee, hanging like static in the background. George pulls back a sigh before it can find voice, staring at the phone as if it were animate and propelling itself toward him. Choosing his words carefully, George responds with light tones. "Ahh, nothing we can't handle. What can I do for ya, Daniel?" For half a moment the man on the other end of the line seems to lose a little strength, although he recovers quickly. "Oh, I was just wondering if you'd looked over that prospectus yet." Again George stifles the natural reaction to the baiting of his competitor. "Nope, sorry Daniel, I haven't seen it yet. You sure your messenger service brought it over?"

Well, technically that was true. He hadn't seen the prospectus yet. Hell, he hadn't even opened the envelope. There was a chance, tho slim, that he might unnerve Daniel Branson enough to make the hot-head move before he was really ready. And then, George would sweep in to cut off retreat: with a nice, fat lawsuit. Perhaps Stratfield could talk the police into letting him get his huge hands around Branson's throat. Just once. Maybe.

Stratfield looks at the phone again, almost laughing at the confusion evident in the other man's voice. "But... well... I'll messenger another copy out to you ASAP. You'll have it by tomorrow morning." Again the slight note of condescention slips into Branson's voice. "You might want to tell your receptionist to expect it." This time George doesn't stifle the laughter, his tone bright and jovial. "Oh, she'll be expecting it, never you worry about that, Daniel."

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"Well, Sir... I just don't like the project they've got me working on." Thomas pauses a moment, putting a hand on his Colonel's shoulder without thought to rules and regulations. His voice drops to a near whisper. "They've been makin me take this syrum. They said it's supposed to make me stronger. But Colonel..." Yet again Thomas scans the open area, knowing deep in his brain that no one can hear them, yet feeling the opressive paranoia bubbling up from the pit of his stomach. "Strange things are going on, Sir. Real strange. I can feel things, and hear things, and......" Suddenly Thomas shudders violently, his entire body wracked with movement in every direction simultainiously.

Marx turns, dropping the folders to the ground without care as he reaches for Thomas' shoulders. In a whisper so faint no human would be able to hear a thing, Marx speaks. The command is there regardless as to the volume. "You WILL control yourself, Soldier." Thomas hears and responds immediately, snapping to attention, then bending to gather the file folders. His young man's fingers brush against Marx's, feeling the miniature piece of metal, the key, which Marx passes to the Lieutenant.

The Colonel's voice pushes from his throat, yet again it is so soft Thomas shouldn't be able to hear him. "Get out. Get only what you need and get out. Now. Hide out. Go. I'll throw them off. But go! Now!" Thomas stands, pockets the key via sleight of hand, hands the files back to his Colonel and speaks softly. "Thanks Colonel Marx. I needed the advice. Can I get a week extension on my pass so I can visit her father and ask for her hand?" Marx nods, his voice louder. "Yes, Lieutenant. I'll push the papers through. We've got down time and you've got a month on the books. Go on and pack, your pass is good." Thomas nods, then jumps to a sharp salute, holding it until Marx dismisses him with his own. No one hears the look in Thomas' eyes. He turns then double-times it to his barracks to pack his duffle.

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"Well, you see here?" Kyra points to a line hi-lighted in blue. "And here?" She points to another folder with a line also hi-lighted in blue. "These men went through a specific training school in the military. Same school, location and year." Michael nods, standing behind Kyra, reading over her shoulder as she points to five more folders. As she speaks again an idea occurs to him. "There's more work I need to do with these, but... if the problem is inside..." Kyra pauses, looking over her shoulder to Michael as he takes a step back. "I don't trust the company network. We need a secure comp."

With a slow nod, Michael moves to pick up the bottle of Scotch, putting it back on the mini-bar, he disposes of the glasses too, speaking only after he finishes the task. "Then we've done all the work we can here at the office." Kyra nods her agreement, adding her thoughts softly. "Is it paranoia to say I don't feel comfortable using my computer from home?" For a brief moment, the look in Kyra's eyes shows the true depth of her fear: a look of the hunted as the hunt draws to a close.

Something at the base of Michael's spine lurches and he moves forward, pulling Kyra up into a close and tight hug. The need to protect her and keep her safe is so strong Michael can barely breathe. His soft whisper astonishes him completely; more because he says it rather than who he says it to. "I will do anything to keep you safe. I can't afford to lose you, Kyra Lynn Jameson." A mocking tone rises from Michael's memory, the biting words of a woman so cold. "You're not a man, you're a flea." Michael shakes his head almost vehemently as if he could banish the demons with that simple motion. He fights back the bitter words, the bile, the masculine voice which commands him to give up the hope of a true and real woman's love.

As Kyra moves slightly, not pulling back, but wrapping her arms tightly around Michael's waist, he presses his lips to the top of her head, whispering against her hair. "I will not lose you, Kyra. I will not." Michael can feel a soft shudder race through Kyra's body. The sound of a faint, stiffled sniffle reaches his ears and his heart breaks. This time in empathy.

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His vision blurs again as talon-like fingers slowly depress the keys. Words fade into and out of form, his awkward body shaking with a continual tremor. I must get this down. Something is happening to me. I am being re-created, reformed into something new and marvelous. Supliment K is the answer. I can hear the wind sighing through the trees outside the complex. No one can touch me now. The obfuscation works. No one can see me. They watch through their cameras and I have disappeared.

Dempsey pauses in his typing to cackle madly into the air, the psychotic sound giving way to a wracking cough. They're closing in, I can feel them. I can feel the earth. I can hear the flecks of dust as they land on my skin. Jameson was never capable of understanding. He shouldn't have stumbled across my camp in the desert. But he was never aware of what I found. The elixer. The syrum. The Formula! I am my own god.

As he enters the carriage return, something snaps at his back. His skin begins to shift, as if it were growing looser with every exhalation of breath. Dempsey continues to type, a frenzy settling into his mind.

Never could they understand. They can not evolve. I am the dawn of a new age. I am the man everyone wants to be. I can live on nothing and I grow stronger with their hate. I am my own god. I am my own god. I am my own god. I am my own god. I am my own god. I am my own god. I am my own god. I am my own god. I am my own god. I am my own god. I am my own god. I am my own god. I am my own god. I am my own god. I am my own god. I am my own god. I am my own god. I am my own god. I am my own god. I am my own god. I am my own god. I am my own god. I am my own god. I am my own god. I am my own god. I am my own god. I am my own god. I am my own god. I am my own god. I am my own god. I am my own god. I am my own god. I am my own god. I am my own god.....

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