Chapter 5: The Living Nightmare

Part 1 of 2: Political Justice

November 1st, 2015

"Are you gonna keep jerking off, or are you going to fucking hit me already?" Dash taunted her opponent. Tara was breathing heavily, trying to keep focus through the horrible pain in her abdomen. Dash was staying light on her toes, never keeping her feet in one place as she bounced around the struggling girl. The girls were in the Camelot training chamber, sparring, as Fiona and AJ watched from afar. Dash stopped moving, and leaned forwards, hands clasped behind her back. She smiled brightly.

"Okay, I know this might be hard for you Spark, but I am going to stand completely still, and let you hit me in the face. You can land a hit, right? I mean, if hitting a nonmoving target at really fucking close range is too challenging…"

Tara let out a jab, trying to strike Dash square in the jaw. She didn't feel comfortable hitting her friends, but the taunting was starting to get a little excessive. Luckily, for Tara's moral standings, Dash suddenly moved out of the way, grabbing on to Tara's outstretched limb, and, using the girl's momentum, swung Tara to the ground. Tara groaned, clutching her side, and slowly rose to her feet.

Meanwhile, Fiona looked over at AJ. Fiona did not feel entirely comfortable watching the painful training, and she imagined that AJ would feel quite the same. But Fiona saw AJ watching intently, showing no remorse as Dash practically skipped around the wounded girl.

"Um, AJ," Fiona questioned. "Are you sure that-"

"Fiona," AJ said sternly, never taking her eyes off of the fighters. "If you ask me one more time about whether letting Dash take over Tara's physical therapy is a good idea, I swear to God I will lose my damn mind."

"Well," Fiona said shyly. "It's just that… I used to sometimes take care of wounded animals in my childhood. And they required a lot of tenderness to heal. And, well, Dash is sort of…"

"Jesus, Spark, you got to move faster than that!" Dash yelled as she bounced about "You suck so hard, I bet dicks are getting pulled at your face like a fucking vacuum cleaner!"

"Um… you know," Fiona said finishing her thoughts. AJ understood Fiona's concern, but she didn't budge, and continued to stare at the training ladies.

"Look, Dash may be crazy mean sometimes, but she is more fit than all of us," AJ explained. "I've been doing this for over a decade, but I have no idea what kind of crazy shit she does to get healthy. Whatever it is, we are on the hunt for a terrorist, and if pushing Tara like this is what Dash thinks will help most, then I'll let her do it."

Fiona sighed and continued watching the girls spar. Every time that Tara attempted to throw a punch, Dash would easily bound out of the way, and then insult Tara more. Tara knew that Dash didn't mean most of the things that she said, but they did drive her to do better, even if just to silence the annoying girl.

"Come on, Spark, where's your drive?" Dash asked. "I mean, think about it. You're trying to hit me. Think of all of the stuff I hate that you love. Society, the government, science, wizard shit. Fight harder, you wounded bitch." Tara was panting as she desperately tried to keep up with Dash. Her chest was killing her, and she felt like she was going to die.

"How (pant) are you (pant) not tired?" Tara asked, sinking to her knees and accepting defeat. Dash stopped bouncing on her toes, and came to a stop. Despite jumping around for at least ninety minutes, she had yet to break a sweat. Dash flashed a cocky grin, as she kneeled down beside Tara.

"Sorry, but my workout regimen is strictly confidential," Dash said. "Don't worry; I'm sure if this is too much, then you can just learn from Pinky. I mean, I hear crack really slims you down."

As if on cue, the door opened, and Pinky entered the room, her cheery disposition unwavering. Rachel walked behind her, although in stark contrast, her mood was anything but pleasant. Dash looked over and saw Rachel's disgruntled mood, and noticed her outfit might have caused it. Never in her life had Dash seen Rachel wear anything other than needlessly expensive and extravagant clothing, but today, she was wearing nothing but tan pants and a long sweater.

"Why do you look so bitchy?" Dash asked. Rachel groaned.

"I've been searching for days, but there is nothing!" Rachel exclaimed, clearly very frustrated. She pulled up the sleeve on her right arm, and revealed a long, ugly scar tracing its way up her arm, just past her bicep. "You would think there would be something I could use to cover this… this mess, but there's bugger all in this bloody city!"

"You could just wear, you know, a long-sleeve shirt," AJ suggested. Rachel gasped in great shock.

"A long-sleeve shirt?" Rachel questioned, offended that such an idea was brought up. "That's not fashionable at all! A lady of my stature shouldn't limit herself to such mediocre outfits. No, I must wear something glamorous, or wear nothing at all."

"Good, wear nothing," Dash snickered. "You please enough motherfuckers in this town as it is. Why not just strip it all off for 'em?" Tara reached over and smacked Dash in the arm, silencing the other girl.

"Didn't Pinky help you find anything?" Tara asked, finding enough energy to slowly rise to her feet. Pinky shook her head, although she never stopped smiling.

"Nope," Pinky explained. "I mean, there were lots of cute little outfits there, like shirts with pink bunnies, and pink ponies, and pink people, and pink tigers, and shirts that were just pink all over! But Rachel didn't want any of them."

"I can't wear pink clothes," Rachel said. She grabbed a lock of her own violet hair, and tugged on it, showing it off. "It would completely clash against this shade of violet." Pinky shrugged.

"But how could you not buy them anyway?" Pinky asked. "I mean, just to have. Even if you didn't wear them, you could have looked at them. And then, looking at them would make you want to wear them, but you'd be too busy looking at them to wear them, so you'd just look and wish and look and wish and look-"

"We get it, Pinky," Rachel rolled her eyes. "Anyway, enough about me. Tara, how's the recovery coming along?" Tara walked over to Fiona, and sat down beside her friend.

"Well, I don't feel like death when I move anymore," Tara said. "But I doubt I'm going to be back in the loop for a while. I still haven't been able to last more than a few minutes in a fight against someone; an hour most if I don't have to move that much."

"Well, you did nearly die," Rachel said. "I wouldn't expect much more."

"Yeah," Tara sighed, stretching out her arms. "But I wish I could do more. I mean, we haven't accomplished anything in almost two weeks weeks."

"That's cuz there aint been any trouble in the last two weeks," AJ claimed. "Discord's done and dealt with, crime's at the lowest point in years, and all is good. Besides, the rest of us could take care of any major threats that come our way."

"Yeah, we're bad-asses," Dash said. "Calm your tits, Spark."

Tara sighed again, taking some comfort out of her friends' words. It was rather true that the others were more than capable of handling themselves. In truth, Tara didn't really do much other than make sure everyone was well coordinated. But yet, it didn't make Tara feel a sense of ease. The fact that Discord got away really bothered her. Sure, he only had one arm left, from what she heard, but it didn't mean that he wasn't still dangerous. The last time they thought that the Smiling Dragons were finished off, they came back with a fury, and Tara did not feel safe knowing that psychopath was out there somewhere. It also didn't calm her that The Unknown was a completely real threat, and that he was able to take down their entire team without much effort. The fear of the threat drove her more, though. She was incredibly determined to make sure she was back out on the field of battle as soon as possible, even if that meant rushing out when not fully recovered.

Suddenly, the door to the training area swung open, and Wilson walked in, a serious look on his face.

"Ladies," the general stated with concern. "We have a major problem. We need you in the Briefing Room. Now." He walked back through the door, and the P.O.N.Y's followed suit. They walked down the long corridors of Camelot, before they arrived at the Briefing Room. Celestia was already there, hovering over a computer, fiddling around with the keys. She backed away from the computer when the girls entered, and pointed at the screen.

"Any of you recognize this man?" Celestia asked. Tara took a look at the monitor. A still image of a man in a blue suit, waving at a crowd of people, was frozen on the screen. He was middle-aged, with many wrinkles on his face as he forced a smile. His comb-over hair was graying, and his nose was rather too wide for his face, making his whole face look flattened out. It was actually a face that Tara had seen quite often from some of her late night high-school study sessions. During those days, she used to keep her TV tuned to the news, watching the politics and economic standards of America act as sufficient background noise for her work. But she tried to keep somewhat of attention on the actual programming (as she was, of course, able to divide her attention properly), and as such she knew this man instantly from many political deals and scandals.

"That's George Hammonick," Tara stated factually. "Head of WMH Enterprises, which is-"

"-the lead provider of petroleum fuel to the United States of America," Celestia finished Tara's thoughts. "Not to mention one of the richest men on the planet. Worth nearly 20 billion dollars."

"Damn," Dash said in astonishment. "That's a lot of fucking cash."

"That's not the point," Wilson joined in on the conversation. "Later today, he will be holding a press conference outside of the WMH Enterprises building to discuss some rather crucial business. Your assignment is to attend the press conference and add extra security, in case someone tries to assassinate him."

"Wait, hold up," AJ interrupted. "Why would someone want to kill this guy?"

"It's complicated," Celestia said. "A large series of political bullshit and angry taxpayers. Nothing unusual for an event like this." However, her answer did not satisfy AJ, who pressed on.

"That aint exactly answer my question," AJ said sternly. "If we are going to protect this guy, we should at least know why." Celestia sighed and looked at Wilson, as if asking him to explain everything. Wilson took a deep breath.

"Okay, here are the details," Wilson explained. "WMH Enterprises is the main source of natural fuel stemming from this country. The public believes they just sell more gas for pumping stations, but really, it's a lot worse. WMH Enterprises has been processing oxidized liquid fuel for the United States for years now, one of the only things used to power long range missiles."

"Like… nuclear?" AJ asked. Wilson nodded.

"Of course. The military has been privately contracting WMH to prevent them from outsourcing costs. The problem lies in this, however. About a week ago, it was leaked that the government was spending taxpayer money to privately fund WMH. A lot of people weren't happy with this, especially when they found out the hundreds of millions that were being spent to line Mr. Hammonick's pockets."

"So… he's a greedy corporate motherfucker?" Dash tried to confirm. "Just like every other rich asshole on Earth." Tara glared at Dash, who paid no mind to the girl's stares.

"Somewhat," Celestia chimed in. "Only when he wants to be. He has greatly helped this nation in supporting the defense program, but he also has had tendencies to fire people over race, religion, sexuality, etc."

"Um, isn't that illegal in this country?" Rachel questioned.

"Very," Celestia noted. "But every time a claim has been filed, his legal staff has shot it down. And if anything did get past, Mr. Hammonick would have the United States government on his side. With what he's got, he's practically untouchable."

"Anyway," Wilson stated, getting back to the original topic. "George's company has been under a lot of fire recently. It turns out people aren't happy when one of the most hated Americans is receiving half of your tax dollars, especially when they think the only thing he sells is 10% ethanol. So to pass off some of the heat, Mr. Hammonick is holding a press conference today to discuss outsourcing his products to other countries. And truthfully, we think he might do it."

"So your job has two portions, really," Celestia finished. "One: protect Mr. Hammonick from any crazed gunmen looking to make national headlines. And two: put his faith back in the United States of America. Hopefully, the security job you do will make him feel like the US still supports him."

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait," Dash shook her head. "So you're telling me that the only reason we keep this asshole alive is so he can continue to rob people and launch fucking a-bombs?"

"In layman's terms, yes," Celestia said bluntly. A rather shocked feeling quickly spread among the girls. When put in a certain way, suddenly their motives became a lot more questionable. Dash raised her hand.

"Uh, follow up question," Dash requested. "Uh, let's see. How to put this… WHY ARE WE BOTHERING TO KEEP THIS FUCKER ALIVE, ANYWAY?!"

"Dawson, calm yourself," Wilson ordered. "We all agree that this is shady, low-brow business. But we need the resources that George Hammonick is offering. If he decides to outsource, there's no telling who will be able to buy this fuel. In this time of tension, the last thing we need is a group of terrorists in the middle east buying rocket fuel."

"Besides," Celestia added. "If he dies, then the company goes to his son, who has been looking to outsource materials for years. We can't let that happen." Yet Dash continued to protest, looking around to her squad mates for support.

"Come on, don't tell me everybody is okay with this," Dash questioned aloud. It seemed quite apparent to her through the downwards glances and uncomfortable tension that everyone in the room was not comfortable with their assignment. Dash even looked to Tara for support. Tara was deep in thought about whether to challenge the authority or not. She wasn't supportive of Hammonick's government funding, or the cruel firing of his workforce. But she did understand where Wilson and Celestia were coming from. There primary goal at P.O.N.Y was to stop terrorist threats, and if Hammonick started giving away rocket fuel uncontrollably, then it could lead to a major international issue. Reluctantly, Tara came to a conclusion.

"Alright, we'll get it done," Tara said, much to the surprise of her teammates. Tara turned to face them. "Look, odds are that his private security is going to take care of all threats anyway, so there's no reason not to show up and at least look like we are helping. Besides, there are too many factors to take in. we might as well follow the chain of command, even if we do somewhat disagree with it." Celestia smirked.

"Good," Celestia said, leaving the room along with General Wilson. "The press conference is at two-thirty. Protect that man with your life." As soon as the door closed, Dash immediately turned towards Tara in rage.

"What the fuck, Spark!" Dash shouted. "You don't really want to keep this prick alive do you?"

"Look, personal feelings shouldn't matter on an assignment," Tara stated. "I know you have trouble following orders, but I don't. If we're being told to protect this man, then there are probably good intentions behind it, even if it may not seem that way."

Dash groaned, and marched towards the door. She considered throwing out an insult or two, but her conscience got the better of her. Since Tara had been shot, Dash had been trying to be more cooperative than she was previously being. And if that meant having to save a corrupt business man's life, then she supposed she would have to suck it up and do the job. With another groan, Dash left the room, and went to lie down on her bed to think.

__________

It was with feelings of slight shame that the girls drove up to WMH Headquarters. The building was much taller than Tara had expected, seeming to tear though the sky. According to the original founder of WMH, William Mitchell Hammonick, the building was instructed to be built in Philadelphia rather than New York. It was William's belief that Philadelphia was a much safer place than New York City, yet he wanted to be close enough to the prime action of Wall Street, nonetheless. Because of its unnatural positioning, the WMH Headquarters towered over every other building in the area.

After taking a right turn through the main gates, they parked at a large parking complex, and exited their vehicles. Tara casually led the girls to the front of the building, where they were immediately halted by two large men in suits. The man on the left was dark-skinned and bald, a scowl permanently plastered on his face. The man on the left was incredibly pale, with buzzed red hair. They both had sunglasses on because of the bright weather, and they had earpieces on to communicate to their superiors.

"No one is allowed to enter the complex without strict higher authority," stated the guard on the left. Without any warning, Pinky jumped up right in his face, a look of intense frustration upon her.

"Do you know who we are?!" Pinky yelled at him. The man was briefly taken back by Pinky's sudden movement, but quickly readjusted himself.

"You are a group of teenagers," he said without emotion in his voice. Pinky quickly grabbed onto the collar of his suit, and pulled him down to her face, meeting his gaze with a deadly glare.

"No!" Pinky shouted. The other guard was so surprised by Pinky's hostility that he failed to react, simply watching Pinky slowly choke his partner with his own suit. "We are the teenagers. Don't you know how famous we are?! How crucial we are to everything?! You ought to be ashamed of yourselves! If I were you, I'd simply walk off into a desert somewhere and never come back!" Tara hastily placed her hand on Pinky's shoulder, removing her friend from the guard.

"I think that's enough, Pinky," Tara said calmly. She looked at the guard, who was now adjusting the collar of his suit, which had been shuffled out of place. "We're supposed to speak to someone named McCarther. General Wilson sent us. We're the extra guard."

The guard on the right looked skeptical, examining her appearance before stating,

"How do you know about General Wilson and the call for extra guard?"

"He told us to do it," AJ explained. She pulled a card of identification out of her pocket. "I'm Agent Balle. Me and my team here have been assigned to this mission by orders of the United States government." The guard looked at her ID, and with sudden realization, he looked back at the rest of the girls.

"Wait, you're the 'top-notch super soldiers' that Wilson sent us?" the guard stated in disbelief. AJ nodded. The guard was still quite stunned. "So, that means…"

"You were the crew who took down the Smiling Dragons," the other guard stated, his face never showing any hint of surprise. Tara rubbed the back of her head.

"Uh…yeah. Sorta," Tara said sheepishly. She did not expect to hear the news of their fight against Discord spread so rapidly. She didn't think anyone would actually know about. Yet, it seemed that Wilson added some extra information, in order to make sure Hammonick bought the idea of necessary security. The guard on the left bowed his head.

"My apologies," he said. "I didn't know what prestigious positions you held. If you would follow me, I can take you to McCarther."

The guard opened the door, allowing the girls to pass inside. On the way, Pinky made sure to glare at him, a warning never to mess with her again. But the guard took it with a shrug, as he and the other guard entered the building as well, and lead the girls through the main hall. The main hall itself was very elegant, showing off all of the money WMH Enterprises had earned over the years. The walls were painted gold, and a long violet carpet had been laid out to the end of the hall. A chandelier, about two and a half meters across, was hanging from the ceiling, illuminating the room in a dim, golden glow. To the right, many pictures of both William and George Hammonick lined the walls, engorged in size to demonstrate their power. Several were just portraits of the men, created to idolize them in history, while others were blown-up photographs of important business proceedings. On the far left, past a miniature model of a WMH oil rig, was a set of three elevators, and at the end of the hall was the receptionist desk. A young woman, whose brunette hair was tied back in a bun, greeted the guards as they made their way towards the elevators.

"Hello, Brutus. Tiny. Who are the visitors?" she asked. The red-haired guard hit the button near the elevator, calling for a ride.

"Important guests for Mr. McCarther," he responded.

"Okay, I'll call up and let him know that his guests have arrived," the receptionist said. As the elevator arrived and the group entered, they saw the receptionist pick up her phone and call up her boss. The door closed, and the gang moved upwards to the 27th floor, where McCarther was waiting. The ride was mostly in silence; the girls huddled in the back as the large guards stood by the door. Rachel attempted to break the ice, though, turning to the red-haired guard.

"So… why do they call you 'Tiny'?" Rachel asked. However, it was the other guard that responded, never looking away from the doors.

"Because some jackass thought it would be hilarious to give me that as a codename once I got rid of my old one," he explained. He said it with anger, yet he was still attempting to remain emotionless. The result sounded like a growl, and Rachel decided that it would be best not to ask any more questions.

"What was your old name?" Pinky suddenly spoke up. Rachel glared at her, but Pinky didn't understand the reason why. Luckily, instead of ripping Pinky in half (which, based on his stature, seemed possible), he simply let out a grunt.

"Thunderball," he said with disdain. Pinky giggled, which resulted in Rachel slapping her in the back of the head. Pinky winced and rubbed her wound, still looking at Rachel, confused. For the rest of the ride, no one spoke, and for this, Rachel was rather thankful.

The doors opened, and the girls stepped out into a very small hallway. It was only three meters in length, and it abruptly ended with two large wooden doors. Brutus gently rapped on the door, and after a few seconds, a clicking sound was heard, and the door was unlocked. Brutus opened the door, revealing an office, and an aging man walking towards his desk.

"Ah, come in, come in," the man said. The room was crowded with many trivial belongings, most of which had no purpose in an office. In the center of the room was a mahogany desk, stacked high with papers and files on all fronts. The desk barely had room to hold a computer system, that of which look like something from 2006. Behind the desk were glass panels, revealing the vast city in which they were. To the right was a set of golf clubs, and a miniature green, complete with a red and white flag sticking out of the hole. To the left, another desk, this time piled high with trophies, sports paraphernalia, pictures of family, and movie posters. The man, who was now believed to be McCarther, sat behind his desk and stretched. He was a short man, balding white hair pointed out at the side. Wrinkles covered his face. His suit, which had once seemed very formal, was now left mostly unbuttoned, and the sleeves were rolled up past his elbows. He spoke everything with a grin, as if he ran the entire world and nothing could ever change it.

"So, you gals are Wilson's soldiers?" McCarther asked, leaning his feet against the table. His voice was high and scratchy, as if something had been scraping against his throat for years. Tara stepped forward.

"Yes, sir," Tara spoke respectfully. "We are the extra protection that was requested for this afternoon." McCarther chuckled.

"Well, I can't say I expected such beautiful young ladies to do the job," McCarther spoke loudly, exaggerating all of his words. "I'm McCarther, Mr. Hammonick's top advisor. Pleasure to meet you."

McCarther reached across his desk, his open palm outstretched. Tara grabbed hold of his hand, and experienced one of the weakest handshakes she had ever known. Tara let go, and awkwardly took a step back.

"So, uh, what's the plan for today?" Tara asked. McCarther clasped his hands together, got up from his desk, and walked over to his golf clubs.

"Ah, it's really quite simple actually," McCarther stated, selectively choosing a club and a ball. "So, Ol' George-y is going to be standing right outside this building here at one, security guys on all sides of him. That's just in case some shmuck tries to smack him in the face." McCarther placed the ball on the green, and then removed the flag from the hole. "But see, our main concerns are either people in the crowd, or a sniper on the roof. That's where you girls come in. See, the large crowd is going to gather round in front of the building, and we're going to put you girls inside." McCarther took aim with his putter. "You'll act like your part of the civilians, but really, you'll keep a watch out for trouble. You'll get headsets to tell us if you see something weird. Someone on the roof, person with a gun, things like that."

"Wait," said Dash. "You do know who we are, right? We took out Discord. I even cut his damn arm off. But despite that, you're going to just hide us in the crowd?" McCarther swung his club, and the ball rolled down the green, just barely turning to the left and missing the hole.

"That's the plan!" McCarther said as he grabbed another ball. Dash crossed her arms.

"That 'plan' sounds real fucking stupid," Dash said. Tara glared at her.

"Dash, show the man some respect," Tara commanded. But McCarther simply laughed, placing the ball back on the green.

"Haha, I love when people challenge authority!" McCarther took another shot, this one curving ever so slightly to the left once more. "That takes guts! I like you, toots!"

"Toots?" Dash asked.

"Yeah!" McCarther grabbed another ball, placed it on the green, and too another swing. This time, the ball rolled smoothly down the green, falling right into the hole. "Look, I've been seeing people riot at these press things before. Trust me, it's not a big deal that you're here. Some people will call him a socialist, he'll announce some bullshit plan to use less oil, and then we'll be on our merry way. Nothing will go wrong, and even if something did, we got a shit ton of guards ready to take care of it. They'll be in the crowds, in the buildings, and pretty much everywhere else. Now, what's most important for you is after the press conference. You got to speak to George, and make sure he knows that the good old USA has got his back."

"So, you don't want him to outsource his resources either?" Tara asked. McCarther readied another swing.

"Holy Moses, no!" McCarther said, holding his chest. "You know what kind of money that would cost? Jesus H. Christ, it would be a disaster!"

"So you're just another greedy corporate jackass, then," Dash stated factually. Tara glared at her again.

"Rebecca…" Tara said with warning. But McCarther laughed once again.

"No, she's right!" McCarther laughed out. "I mean, everyone's a greedy bastard! But the only difference, toots, is that I have money to start with!" McCarther got another good shot off, as the ball once again rolled into the hole. "Look, all you gotta do is make sure Hammonick is happy, and all will be well and good. If you do your job right, it could mean big things for all of ya! Now, if you excuse me, I got a visitor coming up in fifteen minutes named Lucy Mai, and boy, is she something!"

McCarther motioned the girls out of the room, and awkwardly, they walked away from the grinning business man. They left the room, closing the door behind them, and then they were greeted by Brutus and Tiny. They re-entered the elevator, and started their descent downwards. The waited in silence, as the elevator crawled down to floor number three. The doors opened, and the girls found themselves faced with another small passage, this time leading to a single gray, steel door. The girls entered the room, while the guards waited by the door.

"Put your gear on," Tiny instructed, before shutting the door leaving the girls alone. They started to put on their gear, and now that they were alone, they began to quietly talk to one another.

"Man, that guy was creepy," Dash stated.

"You could have been a little nicer to him," Tara scolded. Dash grunted.

"No fucking way," Dash said. "You saw that guy. He seemed like someone who would try to rape me in an alleyway."

"Well, I wouldn't say that," Fiona said softly, keeping her face hidden, from Dash, not wanting to look at her. "But I didn't like him much either."

"Yeah," Pinky said, not bothering to lower her tone much, despite those who could be listening. "He reminded me of weird Uncle Leonard. He always acted really strange around girls. I never got it. Actually, it's kind of funny. He always used to stare at them, but he made this weird face when doing it, and it was actually kind of funny-looking. Like this one time at my Bat mitzvah, I had one of my friend's there, and Uncle Leonard kept asking her to get in his car to help him find his keys, but I could see his keys in his hand, so I didn't know what he was talking about. Funny, I haven't actually seen Uncle Leonard since then. I wonder what he's doing now." Pinky was so caught up in her story that she didn't notice the disturbed stares she was receiving. She looked around and noticed her friends' faces, oblivious to their horrific thoughts. "What?" Pinky asked innocently. Rachel spoke up.

"Um, Pinky," Rachel said slowly. "I, uh, think your uncle might b-… wait, you're Jewish?"

"Look, that's not important right now," Tara interrupted. "What we have to focus now is getting our job done. We can talk about Pinky's creepy family later." Tara finished putting on her earpiece, and walked back to the door, while Pinky angrily huffed and crossed her arms over chest.

"My family's not creepy," Pinky muttered to herself, insulted. "Você quer dizer grande idiota."

__________

As the crowd of angry protesters surrounded WMH Headquarters, Tara took a deep breath. She had placed herself within the audience, surrounded by people holding signs and shouting out hate-filled words. They were positioned in front of a platform, where a podium was being placed. Security guards gathered around the platform, most of the men lined up in front, holding off the angry masses. Extra guards were gathered on the side steps to the platform, so that the entire section was sealed off from the public. Multiple cameras were set up close to the platform, with reporters getting ready to film the aftermath of the press conference. Tara looked around nervously, searching for any signs of trouble. While she did see many people holding signs, she spotted none holding any weapons. They were right inside of WMH property, after all, and anyone who did actually have a gun was most likely turned away at the gates. Tara looked above and behind herself, to the other buildings in the area. She once again did not see any suspicious activity, which did not surprise her either. And yet, despite seeing no apparent danger, Tara couldn't shake the intense feeling of paranoia out of her system. She attributed it to being undercover in amongst a group of very angry people, most of which were much larger than she was. She couldn't help but think about what would happen if they found out what she was doing. She knew that there was no way it could ever happen, but that didn't stop horrific images from seeping into her mind of what it would look like if it did. She imagined the protesters turning on her, attacking her, ripping her to pieces in a bout of unrelenting fury.

Suddenly, her thoughts were interrupted by soft words coming through her earpiece.

"Um, Tara… are you alright?" Tara heard Fiona ask. Tara shook the thoughts out of her head.

"Yeah, of course," Tara responded calmly. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, I can see you from where I'm positioned," Fiona explained. "And it looked like you were, you know, freaking out there for a minute." Tara rotated around; trying to spot Fiona through the crowd of people, yet her vision was blocked by the vast array of signs and arms flying about.

"I'm fine, Fiona," Tara insisted.

"You fucking better be," Tara heard Dash reply through the buzzing in her ear. Tara had briefly forgotten that everyone would be hearing their conversation, and momentarily felt slightly embarrassed by it. "I can see Hammonick coming now. Stay on the lookout."

True to Dash's word, Tara saw a group of security personal acting as an entourage for George Hammonick, as he approached the left side of the platform. He had his face was contorted into a scowl, giving off the feeling that he was incredibly annoyed by the entire ordeal. As he walked onto the platform, the volume of the crowd's boos and curses increased. George Hammonick paid no mind to the crowd, striding towards the podium with his head held high. He reached the podium, and pulled out a series of papers from under his arm, laying them out before him. He cleared his throat, knowing that what he said was being broadcast for all to see.

"Hello, my name is George Hammonick, CEO of William Mitchell Hammonick Enterprises," George stated. Immediately, he was met with boos from the crowd. "For the past forty years, our company has strived to guarantee that the finest oil possible is delivered to the public at the cheapest price. Recently, our company has come under fire from some 'inside sources', claiming that we are using taxpayer dollars to supply the United States military with fuel for use in ballistic and nuclear missiles. Well, today I am here to put an end to these rumors."

George paused, as numerous more screams erupted from the audience. Many disgraceful words were thrown about, and George tried to keep a straight face during the ordeal, not wanting to let his anger show.

"I am going to make this perfectly clear. The rumors that WMH Enterprises is supplying rocket fuel to the American military are false."

"You're a liar!"

Cries burst forth from the crowd. George continued talking over them, trying to keep his cool.

"The rumors that we are stealing from the public are nothing but lies, as well!" George now stated more forcefully. The security guards ordered the crowd to quiet down. "This entire backwashed scheme that has been constructed is nothing more than our competitors trying to tear us apart. But once checked into reality, it makes no sense. Our company releases records of our products, and nowhere does it ever state that we produce rocket fuel. And while we are on the topic, it is ridiculous to assume that we at WMH Enterprises make our money from collecting taxes. We are good, honest people working for a good honest cause!"

Still, the crowd remained unconvinced. A group of people stared to chant about showing peace and love. One man shouted out hatred for the liberal media, and a woman shouted out that George Hammonick should be lynched. Despite all of this commotion, George continued his speech.

"Now, one thing that is true is our limited outsourcing to other countries," George said truthfully, and because of this, the cries died down. "And we have received quite a cry from the public to change our ways. So, after months of consideration, we at WMH Enterprises have decided to outsource our natural fuel to other nations in the world." The clamoring from the crowd stopped, and some people actually calmed down very much. Tara heard people speaking through her earpiece.

"Is he really going to start selling off resources to other countries?" Rachel asked.

"I doubt it," AJ replied. "It's just somethin' to win over the crowd. Get rid of some controversy. A few false reports, and the public will never know."

Suddenly, a cry rang forth throughout the crowd.

"He's lying!" An angry man shouted. "It's just more lies fed to us to keep us in place!" With that, the crowd grew loud again, continuing to burst forth with rage. George Hammonick watched as the people started to turn against him once more. He opened his mouth to say something, when something unexpected happened.

His head exploded.

Everyone stopped their protesting, and watched as bits of George's skull fell to the floor. No gunshot was ever heard, and no killer was ever spotted. All that happened was that time slowed down, as George's blood rained down upon the audience.

And at that moment, from over a mile away, looking through the scope of a sniper rifle, a raven-haired, pale skinned assassin smiled, as the crowd burst out into panic.

The people ran and screamed as the body of George Hammonick fell to the ground. Some security guards ran over to his body, while others tried to calm the crowd down. Tara found herself lost among the swarm of protestors, and felt many people knock into her, causing her to nearly lose her balance and fall over. As Tara tried to avoid being trampled to death, she heard confused cries coming through her earpiece.

"What the hell is going on?" Rachel shouted over the panic.

"Someone in this crowd must have had a weapon," Dash explained. Through the chaos, Tara saw Dash several yards away, pushing through the crowd towards the main gates, where people were swarming out of the area. "We have to stop them!" As Dash shoved her way along, knocking several protestors over, Tara noticed AJ pushing her way to the platform. AJ quietly slipped through the crowd, and hopped onto the platform. None of the guards took notice of her, which gave her the easy chance to hop behind the podium. AJ carefully looked around. She didn't know why, but she didn't think anyone in the crowd was the executor. Even with the intense shouting of the crowd, AJ would know the sound of a gunshot instantly. Yet, she heard none, which meant one of two things.

It was possible some form of poison was fed into George's system, which triggered a cataclysmic rupturing of his brain. But as far as AJ knew, that didn't exist, which meant that the second (and worse) choice was more likely. AJ looked at the podium carefully, calculating in her head the trajectory from the nearby buildings to where George was standing. After being fairly certain her math was accurate, AJ walked about three meters behind the podium. AJ was looking for a dark impact mark on the ground, but she couldn't find anything. She lined herself up directly with the closest buildings, holding her arm out to make sure she was exact. AJ looked around, scanning the ground as precisely as possible, and yet, there was no indication of any sort of impact.

But suddenly, something caught her eye. Another ten yards back from the podium, AJ spotted some irregularity on the ground. Running up to it, AJ finally found what she was looking for. A deep incision was placed in the ground, leaving a black smear across the pavement, gravel kicked up beside it. And then AJ noticed something else about the black smear. Right in the center of the impact, an image was faintly visible through the charred ground. And with shock, AJ recognized the insignia.

An image of a raven's skeleton was visible in the impact zone. AJ was abruptly brought out of her stupor when she heard buzzing deep in her ear.

"AJ, where are you?" Tara was calling out. "It's chaos out here. We need help controlling this crowd."

BANG BANG BANG

Suddenly, more shots rang out throughout the crowd, this time near the front gates. AJ quickly took out her weapon, and ran up onto the platform to see what was happening. However, AJ was surprised to see none other than Dash standing by the gate, shooting her pistol into the air.

"EVERYONE, STOP!" Dash was shouting to the crowd. "THIS IS A CRIME SCENE! NO ONE IS ALLOWED TO LEAVE! IF YOU REFUSE TO LISTEN, I WILL-" However, Dash was cut off when she felt Tara place her hand upon her shoulder and spin her around.

"What are you doing?!" Tara demanded to know. "You can't just threaten a hundred innocent people like that!"

"How do we know there innocent?" Dash retorted. "You saw what happened. Our contract failed! And one of these people has to be responsible."

"Calm down, Dash," Tara instructed. "You're certainly not helping the situation."

"What if one of the guys who left here was the killer?" Dash spoke defensively.

"I don't think that'll be the case, Dash," AJ suddenly said, pushing her way to the girls through the dimming crowd. "I think I know who the killer is."

"Well, who is it?" Tara asked instinctively. AJ shook her head.

"That's the thing," AJ said with concern in her voice. "If I'm right about this, then her name is the last thing you want to know."

__________

The mood at Camelot was rather somber. It wasn't uncommon for the girls to be feeling some sense of failure after a mission, but this was unlike anything they had felt before, for there was no visible source to direct their anger to. The Briefing Room wasn't filled with silence however, as three men were researching on several monitors throughput the room. AJ was trying to explain her theory to Wilson and Celestia, but they seemed doubtful.

"I'm telling ya," AJ said with confidence. "I saw the raven in the bullet shell. It has to be her."

"Let me get this straight," Wilson said. "You believe that Melanie Moon killed George Hammonick today, and the only proof you have of this was her insignia in a bullet imprint." AJ nodded.

"Look, AJ," Celestia sighed. "It's not like we don't trust you. Your expertise is substantial. But I severely doubt that Melanie Moon could even be in America, let alone kill one of the most important men in the world."

"Um, excuse me, but…" Fiona softly interjected. "Who is Melanie Moon?" Fiona, after drawing the attention of the crowd, covered her face in embarrassment. Celestia crossed her arms.

"Do you remember that political uprising in Germany a about seven years back?" Celestia asked. "Where several of the wealthiest men in Germany tried to monopolize the government. The girls looked at each other, and then collectively shook their heads and shrugged. "Of course you don't. But you probably remember a series of freak accidents where several wealthy executive class citizens died, right?"

Although most girls looked confused, Tara recalled something similar she heard on the news many years ago, about a rich man dying in a car crash, the results of which were so graphic that the images could not be shown.

"I think I remember that," Tara said, recalling more events. "I didn't really pay much attention to it, but I do remember that some people thought it was a curse on the upper class."

"Somewhat so, yes," Wilson said, turning to one of the men on a computer. "Bring up an image of Melanie Moon." Quickly following the order, the man rushed to pull up the only known image of the woman, as Wilson continued to explain. "See, a long while back, probably before you were even born, a German-born assassin named Melanie Moon started to sell her experience to the highest bidder. She made herself prominent during the Algerian Civil War, where she worked for the GIA to assassinate several prominent targets."

"So… she's a hit man," Dash summarized. Wilson shook his head.

"No, she's much, much worse than that," Wilson said. At this time, the image was found, and was quickly brought up on the large screen. It was a mug shot, although one of the most terrifying ones that Tara had ever seen.

Melanie Moon had hair that was blacker than night, and it ran down past her waist. Her skin was nearly pure white, so much so that, coupled with her bony structure, Moon looked more like a ghost than an actual person. On the left side of her neck, a tattoo of a raven was gazing up to her face, looking to her for guidance. Her right arm was covered with self-inflicted injuries, although they were not in a particularly good position if Moon had actually wished to kill herself. Taking another look at her arm, Tara suddenly understood what they were: tally marks. The markings Moon gave herself for every human life she ended. Countless groups of five ran down both sides of her arm, shoulder to wrist, cutting off at Moon's gloved hand.

And then, Tara saw her eyes. Her eyes were shaded dark, no matter how much light would be shown upon them, and two icy blue pupils stared back at Tara. If she hadn't known any better, Tara would say that Moon was piercing through her body with her gaze, looking right through her soul.

"T-that's Melanie Moon?" Tara said, trying to hide her feeling of discomfort from staring at Moon's image. Celestia nodded.

"I know, lovely, right?" Celestia remarked sarcastically. "Moon made a name for herself in the way her victims died. She became infamous because the enemy never knew she had been watching them until they were already dead. She stalked the target without ever having to move from her vantage point. The fear she spread through Algeria was legendary. So much so, they gave her the nickname of 'Living Nightmare'. Her kill count was easily over a hundred."

"It was her weapon that carried her," Wilson explained. "Moon designed herself a .75 caliber sniper rifle; the most powerful long range weapon ever devised. She could easily take out foes from two miles away. It caused devastating to the victim if they were hit. And Moon has never been known to miss her targets."

"Not to mention," interrupted AJ. "That her custom designed shells were made to separate after impact, leaving behind her insignia, so all would know she was there. Therefore, it seems pretty obvious to me that Moon was the one who killed George Hammonick today."

"Except for the one glaring flaw in that theory," Celestia stated.

"What is it?" Tara asked.

"After the assassinations in Germany, the government got worried that if the public found out they hired Melanie Moon, a huge blow to their reputation would be dealt," Celestia explained. "They called the U.S. government, and we worked out a deal. We supplied them with details about Moon's history, and a few weeks later, they arrested the Living Nightmare on account of war crimes. She's been in jail for the past seven years, and will remain there for life."

"In fact, she was placed in solitary confinement," Wilson explained. "She was viewed as a danger to other inmates, and as such they have a security camera keep watch on her at all times. If she takes a piss, we'll know about. There is no conceivable way that Moon could be in Philadelphia."

AJ groaned.

"I know what I saw," AJ said with determination. "No one else could pull off a kill like that. The entire surrounding area was checked, and no one was found with a weapon. It had to be her."

"Look, AJ, your eyes must have been mistaken," Celestia said firmly. "We are just as baffled by this whole thing as you are. We need to find the killer fast. Already, ownership of the country has shifted to George Hammonick's son, and he is in talks of outsourcing fuel. We cannot maintain the same kind of dominance if he thinks that we couldn't save George."

"Are you kidding me?" Dash suddenly spoke up. "We got a crazed assassin on the loose, and all you're thinking about is money?!"

"First of all, Moon is not 'on the loose'," Celestia said. "And second of all, this is a major problem for all of us, not just America. By the way, Rebecca, from what I've heard, you fired shots into a crowd of protesters earlier today."

"Yeah," Dash said with pride. Rachel, who hadn't heard of this, gasped.

"You fried shots at people?" Rachel said in disbelief.

"I thought the killer could've been there," Dash said, excusing herself of the vanity of the act. "I needed to get everyone under control. It made perfect sense at the time."

"It was completely unreasonable," Wilson scolded. "We certainly don't approve of shooting innocent civilians, even if one may have been a criminal. I should dismiss you from this operation right now."

"Go ahead," Dash taunted. "Do it." Tara looked at Dash, somewhat concerned.

"Dash, don't tempt them…" Tara warned. However, Wilson dismissed Tara's concerned with a wave of his hand.

"Don't worry," Wilson said. "Dawson is too valuable of an asset to let go of. Besides, I got a call from McCarther. It seems like he was very impressed with your dedication today. He said something about offering you a guard job for tomorrow night."

Naturally, Tara and Dash were both very shocked to hear this, and both replied with disdain.

"She's getting rewarded for this kind of behavior?" Tara said, disapprovingly. "I can't believe it! What kind of sicko would ever hire her?"

"You know, I actually kind of agree with Spark on this one," Dash said angrily. "That guy looked like he wanted to have his way with me. And honestly, I don't feel like getting that asshole's cock shoved down my throat tomorrow night. Tell him that I pass."

"Too late," Celestia said. "We already told him that you accepted the job."

"WHAT?!" Dash yelled furiously. "Why would you ever do that?!"

"Because we still need people on the inside," Wilson stated. "If we find out what the inner thoughts of WMH Enterprises are, then we can better plan ahead. If we can send advice through the top adviser of the company, it will leave a massive impact."

"Consider it punishment for attacking the crowd," Celestia said, unable to contain her smirk. "You are dismissed."

Dash growled, and angrily marched out of the room. The others followed her, making sure to stay a few steps back as they walked to their sleeping quarters.

Can't believe those fucking motherfuckers, Dash thought to herself. She wasn't exaggerating when she stated that McCarther creeped her out, which it took a lot to do. She couldn't shake the feeling that if she got left alone with that man, she would wake up naked in an alley way, or would find herself strapped to the tracks as a train was coming. It disturbed her that McCarther had complimented her in such a creepy fashion. "Toots" was the worst thing she had ever heard come out of an old person's mouth. She had a notion of seeing people for the worse, and all she saw in McCarther was a court case waiting to happen. Dash entered the sleeping quarters, and lied down on her bunk. She heard someone enter behind her, but didn't bother to see who it was.

"You know that nothing bad will happen tomorrow night," Dash heard Tara assuring her from behind.

"I can't believe they would send me to that creepy dick," Dash complained into her pillow.

"You need to trust Wilson with this," Tara suggested. "I'm sure he wouldn't put your life in any real danger."

"We fight terrorists, Spark," Dash groaned. "We're already in danger. A little more risk wouldn't do much to his conscience." Dash sighed into her pillow. "I don't trust authority much. All they ever seem to do is screw people over."

"Well, if you want my advice," Tara said. "Maybe you should try to be a little more trusting of others."

"And if you want my advice," Dash sneered. "Then I suggest you go slit your wrists. I'm not really interested in hearing your pro-authority speeches right now. Just leave me alone." Tara sighed.

"Fine," Tara said in defeat. "I thought it would be nice to try and calm you down a little; but clearly, you just want to be alone. And since I am trying to be your friend, I will respect that."

"Thank you," Dash said sarcastically. "Just don't forget to cut vertically. Trust me when I say that is a lot more efficient."

Tara walked out of the room, leaving Dash to lie on her bed. Tara was trying hard to improve her relationship with Dash. She had hoped that getting Dash to talk about her concerns would make the girl open up more, but clearly, Dash was still upset about Tara's disapproval of her behavior. Tara hoped that after Dash finished her job for McCarther, or after they found Hammonick's murderer, that Dash would finally take some steps forward in her trusting of others.

But as for now, it looked like Dash was going to continue down her path of fighting against the wishes of others, and Tara hoped that Dash would at least handle herself decently the next night.

__________

November 2nd, 2015

On the night of November 2nd, P.O.N.Y put two plans into motion. The first of which was Dash's job, which she could not say she was excited for. Granted, she had no idea what the job entailed, but she knew that if it was spent around McCarther, she would hate it. For her assignment, Dash had been requested something to make her mission at least a little more enjoyable. Dash didn't know how, but she had convinced Wilson to give her a small present during the ride over to WMH Enterprises. Dash smiled, briefly taking her eyes off the road to look at her crimson motorcycle, as she revved down empty streets. Dash had never actually rode a motorcycle before, but with some decent acting, she managed to convince Wilson to fork over the chopper to her for the night. Dash didn't even know if P.O.N.Y had a motorcycle in their inventory. She knew that they kept a large number of vehicles hidden around Wu Song's, but she could have only dreamed of something like this happening. Dash's brain was telling her to take her time, and make the ride last as long as possible. But Dash's instinct kept telling her that 60 miles per hour wasn't nearly fast enough, and Dash was always much more prone to listen to her instincts. Dash rode the bike as if she had done it every day of her life, expertly weaving around the occasional incoming traffic, and making sharp turns with ease. Dash's own desires got the better of her in the end, as she pulled up to WMH Enterprises much sooner than she would have actually liked to. Dash sighed reluctantly, and got off her bike, removing her helmet and placing it on one of the handles. She took slow steps toward the building, savoring every extra minute that she wasted outside. After slowing down to the point that it was physically uncomfortable, her feet finally managed to carry her through the front gate, and to the large double doors of the entrance, where Tiny and Brutus awaited. Tiny sneered as Dash approached.

"Took your time getting through the gate, I see," Tiny remarked. Dash spat on the ground, and then snorted.

"Blow me," Dash said in retaliation. "So, you fuckers gonna let me through, or what?"

Tiny sighed at Dash's lack of respect, and then he and Brutus opened the door. Dash once again walked through the halls of WMH Enterprises, noticing that much had not changed overnight. The paintings, plants, and chandelier were all the same. The only difference that Dash noticed was that the receptionist was much more somber than she was the other day. The three of them walked to the elevator, and then started their ascent to floor 27.

Dash couldn't help but notice that Tiny never seemed to have any sort of emotion during his work, which to Dash seemed like he wasn't enjoying himself. She was rather bored, and she was sure that he wouldn't mind the conversation, so Dash tried to put on her best "Pinky attitude", and tried to make the elevator ride more enjoyable for everyone.

"So, just out of curiosity," Dash said. "Are you guys like, lovers, or something? Cuz I'm sensing a lot of sexual frustration between you two.

"Humph," was all that Tiny said, continuing to stare at the doors.

"I don't know why," Dash continued. "But I'm getting the feeling that he's the quarterback, and you're the receiver. I'm right, right. Or do you just, like alternate every night? Is it like, you go down on him, or…"

"Stop talking," Tiny said with little emotion. Dash smiled.

"It's totally that, isn't it?" Dash smirked. "I don't know why you're so tense about it. We can all get married in this state. You don't just have to jerk each other off in a K-Mart bathroom, you know." The elevator came to a halt, and Dash strode with pride out of the doors. She put her hand on the door, before turning back to the guards. "Try not to still be blowing each other when I come back out, you here? I really don't feel like being part of an orgy tonight."

Dash walked through the doors, and found herself alone in the office with McCarther. The man of concern was sitting behind his desk, talking on the phone and remaining unaware of Dash's presence.

"No, let your people talk to my people," McCarther said. He suddenly Dash standing in the room with him, looking rather annoyed to be there. "I'll call you back, Davie." McCarther hung up the phone, and rose up from his seat. For someone who had recently lost one of his closest friends, he didn't seem to Dash like he was grieving. From what Dash saw, he looked almost glad.

"Glad you could come, toots," McCarther said happily. Dash groaned.

"Yeah, whatever," Dash rolled her eyes. "What do I have to do?" McCarther clasped his hands together.

"Oh, we'll be having so much fun tonight," McCarther assured. He pointed over to his paraphernalia-stacked desk, where a neatly-folded suit was laid about. "First, put that on. You got to look the part." Dash reluctantly walked over to the desk, and looked at the suit. It was a black business suit, and it looked like it had been tailored to fit her perfectly. Dash wasn't entirely enthusiastic about wearing such an outfit. She felt like if she were to put it on, she would become the very corporate business type she always hated. Yet she found that she didn't really have much of a choice. She had a job to do, and she supposed that she would have to play along with whatever McCarther wanted for now. And, in afterthought, Dash at least found comfort that at least she wasn't forced to dress like a catholic schoolgirl, or some sexy nurse. If that had been the case, then she would have thrown herself out of the window without a second thought. But now, as she was thinking of other perverse things she could have been doing, she realized that she had nowhere to change. She looked back at McCarther, who was sitting calmly at his desk, staring at the monitor.

"Hey, cock bite," Dash called out. "Where am I supposed to change?" McCarther seemed relatively uninterested.

"Just change wherever," McCarther said with a brief wave of his hand. "I aint looking."

Dash shuddered at the response. She didn't believe McCarther for a minute, and had the horrible thoughts of him watching her change. It genuinely creeped her out to even think of it. Still, she did have to get changed. She groaned again, and took off her white sneakers that she had worn into over three years. She placed them aside, and, while keeping a close eye on McCarther, pulled the suit over her own clothes. The suit felt uncomfortable pressing against her clothing, and it reminded her why she never wore the outfits in the first place. After her suit was put on, she slipped back on her white sneakers, and Mccarther rose from his desk.

"So, you ready to have some fun tonight?" McCarther asked excitedly.

"Ab-so-lutley!" Dash replied sarcastically with a fake grin.

"Great!" said McCarther, not picking up on the sarcasm. The two left the office, passing by Tiny and Brutus, who had not moved. They immediately entered the elevator with McCarther and Dash, and the doors closed, as the elevator descended.

"So…" Dash said, shifting in place. "Where exactly are we going?" Nobody responded, however. The guards continued to stand perfectly still, while McCarther was practically bouncing up and down in excitement. He was too engulfed in his joy to pay attention to Dash, and she rolled her eyes. "Fine, be a prick."

"Show Mr. McCarther respect," Tiny commanded without ever looking back at Dash.

"Suck my dick," Dash retorted. "It's not like something you've never done before."

Tiny groaned as the doors opened, and the four of them walked back out through the lobby. Outside, a black limousine was waiting for them, the back door already opened. A man waited by the door, and welcomed the group into the limousine. As she entered, Dash was actually amazed by what was able to fit in such a small area. Multiple television screens, a full wine shelter, and what appeared to be a shrimp bar were present inside the back of the limousine. Dash took a seat on one of the chairs, and instantly sank into it. She didn't bother to try and stay formal, opting instead to relax into the chair, and let out a deep sigh. Dash was a very big fan of self-enjoyment, and she intended to make her beliefs well-outspoken. She reached over, and grabbed a shrimp. Without a moment's hesitation, she popped it into her mouth, happy to note that it had already been peeled of its outer layers.

"Like that?" McCarther asked joyfully, taking a seat. "That's freshly imported shrimp from the coast of Maine. Great stuff! We fill the car up with it when I decide to go out." Dash's mood immediately damped once McCarther spoke.

Oh, right, Dash unhappily thought. I have to work with this guy. So much for enjoying myself.

And then, Dash popped another shrimp into her mouth anyway, realizing that, despite the awful feeling she had that it was designed to poison her, it was still rather good shrimp.

__________

During this night, a two part plan developed by P.O.N.Y. was put into effect. As Dash was busy working with McCarther, the other five girls were in charge of investigating the murder of George Hammonick. This is how Tara found herself sitting in the back of a van, as AJ drove to the morgue, where Hammonick's body was being held. It wasn't a long drive, and Pinky at least kept her consistency of trying to keep car rides interesting by telling long stories over their duration. Soon, the girls pulled up to a small, brick building, which was left empty overnight. The van slowly pulled through the parking lot, which was completely abandoned. Despite the fact that one of the most famous corpses was currently resting here, it seemed no one cared much for what dead men did at night. Tara was actually quite surprised by this. It seemed to her that someone from WMH Enterprises would watch over the building, or at the least some basic policemen. But no one was there. As the girls exited the van, Tara still instructed them to be cautious of any threats. They walked to the side entrance, keeping a lookout for any guards they might have missed.

"AJ, are you sure you can identify this?" Tara asked quietly. AJ nodded.

"The bullet passed straight through Hammonick's skull," AJ explained to the girls once again. "The actual bullet was buried too deep in the ground for me to get. But a projectile traveling at that power would have left some sort of mark on the target. All I need is to get my hands on a piece of George's skull, and then I think I can get a sample of DNA." AJ approached the side entrance, as predicted, the door was locked. "Rachel, give me the hairpins."

"Got it," Rachel replied, taking two of her pins out of her hair, causing her violet locks to fall down past her shoulders. She gave the pins to AJ. AJ kneeled down, placing the pin within the keyhole, and after a few seconds of careful turning, a click was heard, and the door became unlocked. AJ pushed the doors open, and the girls entered the dark hallways of the morgue. There was no light switch, leaving the girls to wander around in the darkness. Luckily, AJ came prepared, taking a flashlight out of her pocket.

The girls moved hesitantly forward, a feeling of unease slowly descending upon them. Perhaps it was the sensation of being surrounded with corpses that shook their nerves, or perhaps it was the fact that they were trespassing in place that was normally heavily guarded by police. Either way, it seemed that only AJ was not shaken by their presence in the morgue. Pinky did not appear nervous either, but Tara attested that more to Pinky's overwhelming cheerful nature, not an actual testament of the girl's feelings. Fiona, in particular, seemed the most frightened, huddling rather close to the center of the group, and wrapping her arms tightly around herself. Rachel looked around cautiously for any breaks in the hall, which occupied enough of her attention to make her forget that she was stuck in a building with rotting sacks of human flesh. Tara wished she had a weapon. Of course, she did keep her sword in the trunk of the car, but the group had been instructed to leave all weapons in the van. If they would have been caught by police while sneaking in, the last thing they would want to be caught with were guns.

As he girls walked further down the halls, AJ checked in each room they passed. The first two rooms on the left were office spaces. The next one on the right was a door to the main entrance. AJ shined her flashlight into the next room on her left, and smirked.

"Here we go," AJ said as she entered the room, turning on the light. She entered a small gray room, white tiles covering the walls. In the center of the room was a gray table, two meters in length. On the table were two black bags. The first was human-shaped, and a zipper lined the top of it, which was partially opened. Inside the bag, the body of George Hammonick was visible. AJ examined the body, as the rest of the girls entered the room. Rachel turned her head away from the body, covering her mouth and nose.

"Jesus Christ, that smells rancid," Rachel said in disgust. Tara walked up to the table, and picked up the other bag, which was no bigger than her own head. She looked inside, and then frowned.

"Ugh," Tara said distastefully. "Hey AJ, I think this is what you need to be looking at. Tara handed the bag over to AJ. AJ emptied the bag's components onto the table. Bits and pieces of George Hammonick's head flopped on the table, which disturbed Rachel so much that she had to leave the room.

"That's revolting," Rachel moaned. AJ started to search through the pieces of skull flesh.

"Haven't ya killed people before?" AJ asked, confused. Rachel didn't turn back to AJ when she responded.

"That's different," Rachel explained. "I killed gang members. I didn't play around with their corpses afterwards."

"I aint playing," AJ grunted. "I'm looking for-… wait! I got it!"

AJ triumphantly held up a crescent shaped piece of skull. On the outside, blood had caked into the skin, staining it red. The inside looked the same, except for one notable detail: a black smudge on the inside of the skull.

"Great," AJ said happily. "Once we get back to Camelot, we can run a DNA test on this sucker. Hopefully, it still has traces of the killer's fingerprints from when they loaded the bullet into the clip. Now all we gotta do is get out of here."

"Finally," Fiona said with relief. "This place scares me."

"I concur," Rachel said. "I think I'm going to be sick."

AJ replaced the other pieces of brain matter back into the bag, and then shut off the light once she reentered the hall. If all went well, no one would ever even know that the girls were there. AJ turned back in her flashlight as they walked back to the side entrance. For once, Tara realized, their mission had been a complete success. They accomplished their goal rather efficiently, and they didn't run into any trouble. Tara was very thankful that she didn't have to put any more strain on her already-aching body, and was looking forward to getting back to Camelot. Tara considered taking a shower when she got back, to wash away the smell of rotting flesh. The girls reached the side entrance, and AJ opened the door.

"Okay, now let's see if I can lock this thing back up," AJ said as she walked outside. As Tara watched her leave, a sudden sense of panic rushed over her. Tara didn't know why though, as everything seemed alright. The streets were quiet, there were no guards, and they were surrounded by plenty tall buildings, enclosing them from any threats.

But perhaps, Tara realized, that was the problem. Everything was too quiet; so much so that it felt like the area had been abandoned. The tall buildings didn't give Tara any sort of safe feeling either. For example, the ten-story building directly across from the side entrance. In its many floors, most of the lights were turned on, meaning that plenty of people were around if something were to happen. But Tara had the horrible sense the people were actually watching them, staring out there windows to watch the next horrible atrocities occur. Tara wondered why some of the lights were so bright, while others so dim. It seemed trivial, but it didn't feel trivial. In fact, it made Tara fell even more uneasy. In fact, one light stood out to her. It was a small flash, and only briefly appeared when glimpsed at from the right angle. But Tara spotted it with her peripheral vision, and now found herself trying to focus on it. What was it? Tara didn't know, but it looked like it was meant to be seen from the exact point Tara was standing. In fact, it looked as it was intentionally trying to be seen.

Then Tara realized what that light was. With no hesitation, Tara grabbed onto AJ's shirt, and pulled her back inside of the morgue. AJ started to protest, until a loud bang cracked through the air, and a bullet struck where AJ formerly was standing. Tara shut the door as fast as she could, and then backed away from it.

"Holy shit!" AJ said in panic. "Ya just saved my life, girl!"

"What the hell was that?" Rachel asked, following Tara's example and backing away from the door.

"I-I, um," Tara said fearfully. "I think the Living Nightmare is trying to kill us."

To Be Continued…