Perkins struggled against his bonds, but the rope bit through his skin, burning him. How many times, he thought, was it me who peered over a fella who struggled in a chair under the hot lights. I knew it would eventually be my turn in the chair, but not so soon.

And this woman, he thought. Which side was she on? How much did she know? Or was this whole affair yet another exercise to test his loyalties? The questions brought on a piercing stab at his brain and he winced slightly.

"That's quite a lump you've got there," the female voice continued. "I use much gentler submission techniques, but apparently we didn't all study at the same school." Perkins heard a clothes shuffle and footsteps approaching. "I think it's time to get that blindfold off you now. Time's a wasting."

Panicking, he lurched against the bonds that tied him to the chair, trying to jump to his feet. He felt the chair lean backwards and sideways, teetering on one or two legs for a moment before finally submitting to gravity. Perkin's stomach lurched sickeningly as his body unwittingly flipped around and crashed against a cold floor. Metal floor, metal walls, Perkins assumed, hearing the echo bounce all around him shrilly.

"Relax Gerkins," the female voice soothed. "I'm not going to hurt you, but you might hurt yourself if you don't calm down." Perkins felt strong hands wrap themselves around his shoulders, setting him back level with the chair. Judging by their size and texture, they didn't belong to the woman who spoke. So they were at least three in this room.

"I suggest you close your eyes. The lights--"

"Are bright in here. I guessed that part," Perkins growled. He closed his eyes as he felt a pair of delicate hands gently lift the blind fold. He slowly opened his eyes.

The room swam before his eyes, everything was blurry and out-of-focus. Not that there was much in the room to focus on, he thought. He could make out a woman sitting on a table before him, her legs crossed and she was peering at him intently. Glancing to the left, he could make out a man that seemed to be staring out into space, stock still.

"That'll be all Clancy," the woman gestured lazily towards the man. "Go wait out in the hall until I require your... services."

"Yesssss," the man slurred. Perkins' vision cleared up enough to see that Clancy's eyes were wide and unseeing, but he had no trouble finding the door and slipping through it. Craning his neck, Perkins glanced out the door, but all he could see was another door across the hall marked as SB26. Where the hell am I, he fumed.

"Let's get to business then 'cause I haven't got all day," Perkins noticed that the woman fidgeted nervously, glancing out the window in the door every few seconds. "Why were you following me?"

"I wasn't," Perkins grunted. "I was just going to pick up a package from a frie--"

"In a dead end street? Come now," the woman snorted, crossing her arms and leaning back. "We both know that you were tailing me. I spotted you 15 minutes before I went down that alleyway. I'll ask you again: why were you following me?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. Where am I anyways? I want to talk to my lawyer."

"You think this is a cop station? Ha! You're funny... In a cop station, you'd be safe. But here," she glanced out the window again. "Let's take a different tack... what do you know about the Horrap's Collective Project?"

Perkins tried to hide his recognition, but it was no good because she had already spotted it. The woman hopped down from the table and rushed towards him, leaning into him with her hands braced up on the armrests. "Aha! You do know something about it. Tell me and I'll get you out of here safely. Tit for tat. Even trade. Whaddya say?"

"You're crazy," he gasped, twisting away from her gaze. "I've never heard of such a thing. Let me go."

"Not my decision," she replied. "You may not believe this, but I'm not your captor." She pushed away from him and turned back to the table, risking another quick glance out the window. Perkins heard two clicks and the hiss of a vaccuum seal that was broken. She reached forward and turned suddenly, thrusting a package onto his lap.

One look at it and Perkins knew. He knew what she suspected and it filled him with horror. The see-through package contained a sweater that seemed stained with a liquid. But even though he was protected from it with the plastic, Perkins struggled, shaking his legs, hoping that the package would fall to the floor. A low gurgle of a scream erupted from his throat as he screeched "Get it away from me!"

The woman deftly snatched the package from his lap and covered his mouth with the other hand. "Shhhh Gerkins... So, you know, don't you? You know all about this!" She thrust the package towards him so that it was only an inch from his face. Perkins twisted away again, clenching his eyes shut, but not before he caught sight of the tiny black mandibles that were already spawning, reaching up from the sweater's material, pressing against the plastic, reaching for his skin.

Heavy footfalls resounded outside, approaching swiftly. The woman looked up in shock and cursed. She tossed the package back into the suitcase upon the table clicking it shut. She stood in the corner of the room next to the door and put a finger to her lips, telling Perkins to be quiet.

The door flew open with a crack and a hulking figure clad in black exploded through it. He glared at Perkins, looming over him, his hands outstetched heading for his throat. Perkins could just make out the expression of shock and rage on this newcomer's face when it suddenly went slack and the man-mountain pitched forward moaning "Not agaaaiiiinnnnn..."

The woman reached down to the man and removed the syringe from his neck, pocketing it carefully. "Like I said, I've got gentler means of submission at my disposal." She looked at the unconscious form and mused "That dose really should've lasted longer. I'll have to talk to the lab boys about it."

She turned to Perkins and pulled a knife from her pocket and held it before his nose. The sweat poured down his forehead. "I assume you know what this is for, right? We'll talk again Gerkins." She reached back behind the chair and placed the knife in his hands. Perkins nearly dropped the knife in shock.

"Stay or go, it's your choice. But I estimate that Boob In Black will be out for about 15 minutes. Then again, as you've seen, my estimates are sometimes off. Don't dally Gerkins... Get out while you still can." With a wink, she disappeared through the door. Perkins could still see Clancy standing and staring out into space, oblivious to all that had just occurred.

"That's Perkins. My name is Perkins," he muttered, as he desperately sliced through the rope threads.

Once upon a time, in a land not that far away called Grandville, there was big man with a naughty scar over his left eye. This man's name was Officer Balsam and he was searching for someone, several someones in fact. He searched high and he searched low. He asked many questions to some of the local people, but he received precious few answers.

One night, the big man with the naughty scar trotted his way over to another man's house. This man's name was Martin and Officer Balsam had a few questions for him that only Martin could answer. He hoped that Martin would be as helpful with his answers as the last few people he interviewed. He hoped he wouldn't have to kill this man too. Killing was always so naughty, but sometimes necessary.

Martin was home when Officer Balsam paid him a visit, and although he looked slightly nervous and alarmed at his arrival, Martin invited the officer in and sat him down in the living room.

"If you'll excuse me for just one minute," Martin stammered, "I need to just turn something off on the stove. I don't want an overflowing pot interrupting us. Be right back!" And he very calmly rushed from the room.

Balsam knew how to recognize a man with something to hide, but he decided he wouldn't pursue it just yet. Still... Keeping an eye on the kitchen door, which still swung silently on its well-oiled hinges, he quickly retreived a miniscule device from his inside coat pocket and carefully placed it underneath the coffee table in front of him. Tapping it twice, it whined softly and fell silent.

At that moment, Martin strolled back into the living room, looking more (but not perfectly) relaxed. "So what can I do for you Officer," he asked, wiping his wet hands on his jeans.

Balsam looked up slightly from his chair, smiling slightly. He was going to enjoying playing on this man's fears. It was one of the perks of the job, as far as he was concerned. He pulled the notepad from his pocket and purred, "So... Have you ever heard of Luiz Ayala?"

"I'm sorry... who?" Martin's blank stare was well rehearsed and sat on his face like an old relative. "I'm afraid I don't know that name."

"Luiz Ayala. The Fuscia Menace as he's know in other circles. Heard of him?" Balsam's pen sat at attention on the notepad, anxious to record what Balsam wanted to hear.

"Nope... Fuscia Menace? Is that a nickname?" Martin chuckled lightly. "I don't think I'd want other people to call me that, in any circle!"

"Very well," Balsam jotted a few notes down. "How about Andrea Robinson? Isn't she a friend of yours?"

"Andrea, yes. She's an old friend of mine from my school days. I just saw her today. Is she is some kind of trouble?" Martin fidgetted with his sleeves absentmindedly.

"No, no," Balsam smiled reassuringly. "We're just following up on a few leads for a case. I'm afraid I can't really talk about it to much right now, you understand." Martin nodded that he did.

"So... let me just check this for a second," Balsam flipped the back pages of his notebook. "What do you know about the Horrap's Collective Project."

At these words, a strange transformation overtook Martin. It looked like he was having a battle with himself. Although he tried to look calm, yet slightly confused, his body went rigid for a moment. A flash of panic crossed his eyes, but he said nothing.

Right then, Balsam knew he had him. He knew he had found his connection. Now... how would he best exploit it?

It had been years since Marty had been through these doors. In his university days, he lived (and almost died once or twice) on the floor of this pub. Those were the carefree days, he thought. Schoolbooks by day, pints and darts at night. Bathed in the green light of the neon sign, it all came back to him in a rush and his eyes misted-over slightly.

"I was reborn in this pub. Maybe I'll find the strength to start again," he muttered. He pulled open the door and the welcoming warmth of the pub beckonned him. He peered around the corner, afraid of what he might find.

To his surprise, not very much had changed. The carpets were a bit newer, some of the artwork had changed, but the lights were warm and the conversation was lively amongst the dozen or so patrons hugging the barstools. As Marty approached the bar, a beefy man turned to face him.

"Marty," he cried out, drying his hands on his apron. "Is that really you? I haven't seen you in a dog's age! How have you been old man?" Marty pumped his outstretched hand in a firm handshake.

"Not too bad Stu," grinned Marty. "You haven't changed at all. I see the beer's keeping you pickled and well-preserved."

"Bah," he growled. "I gave the stuff up years ago. Now I only indulge now and again, when the wife's not looking."

"Good on ya, Stu." Marty cast a quick glance around the room. "Not too much has changed since my day, except where did all these kids come from? I guess you always need new recruits to spend new money. New blood keeps the circulation going."

Stu looked up suddenly, the warmth in his face suddenly replaced with suspicion. "What's that you say?" he snapped in a hiss-like whisper. Marty almost jumped back in surprise.

"For business I mean," Marty replied, holding up his hands. "You gotta keep getting new people in or the business will die off. I'm sorry... did I say something wrong?"

"Nah, nah," Stu said, his body relaxing once again and the joy returning to his eyes. "Sorry 'bout that. Things have been a little tight lately business wise and I'm a bit too stressed out about it." Stu wiped the spot on the bar in front of Marty clean with a rag. "Let me get you something... what was your favourite drink again?"

"A pint of house stuff, please." Marty said, taking off his coat.

Stu went to a beer tap that was set apart from the others and drew a pint of reddish beer, topping off the frothy pint and set it before him. "It's on the house, Marty," Stu waved the money away. "For old times sake. Besides, y'know the first hit is always free," he winked.

Marty sipped at his beer and a strange warmth coarsed through him. "I don't know why you never tried to bottle this stuff. It's just as good as I remembered it." He took another pull on the pint, a deeper one.

"Well, maybe I enjoy keeping my little secrets." Stu grinned, glanced downwards for just a second as he pulled another pint. "I have to say, I've been considering that idea for awhile now, but I need to bide my time. Soon, though. Soon."

He staightened up abruptly and removed his apron. "Can you watch the bar for a second Marty? I just need to go downstairs for a second." Marty nodded and Stu lumbered out from behind the bar and worked his way down the steps carefully, each step erupting in a loud creak as Stu disappeared from sight.

Just then, Andrea appeared framed in the doorway. She glanced around briefly, her features creased in disdain until she spotted Marty. He waved her over with a grand gesture, got off his stool, and embraced her warmly.

"Glad you could make it," he grinned. "I wasn't sure you would remember where the Usual Place was."

"I've tried to forget it, honestly," she grimaced. "I just don't know what you see in a pub called SoapBox Derby. It's dark, it's dingy, and it's dirty."

"Bah... you were alway too hoity-toity for your own good. Stu'll be back in a minute and I'll get you a pint of the house brew."

Andrea's face flushed for a second and she stammered, "S-st-Stu's still here?"

"Yeah... hard to believe isn't it? He's just gone downstairs for something, but I'm sure he'll be back up in a minute."

Meanwhile, below the bar, two voices exchanged harsh whispers as they spied on the couple at the bar through a crack in the floor. Stu fidgeted with his apron nervously, staring into the dull red eyes that hung in the darkness beside him.

"That's Marty, alright. I even tried the code word on him. He checked out. He's still under... What I can't figure out is why Emertia ain't with him. Those two were supposed to be inseparable. That was the plan."

"Silence you fool," hissed the eyes, glowing bright for a moment. "I sensed something had gone awry with him early last week. There was a disturbance, a violent one, and then all I could sense was a deep silent coldness. Something has gone wrong, but it's curious that he turns up here. Who is that girl beside him?"

"Her name is Andrea," Stu squinted through the crack in the floor. "She used to come here with Marty all those years ago, but her conversion was never completed. I never could figure out why."

"It is of little importance now. We have all that we need in this town already." Stu felt the cold clawed hands clutch his shirt and then shove him back. "Now get back up there before they suspect something is wrong. And find out what happened to Emertia! I have waited too long... sacrificed too much. Everything is almost in place."

Bowing slightly, Stu backed away, almost tripping on the stairs in his haste to get away. He emerged from the basement shakily, tying the apron around his waist, closing and locking the door behind him.

"There you are Stu," cried out Marty. "A half-pint of the house brew for Andrea! You remember her don't you?"

Casting a quick glance in their direction, Stu waved and made his way back to the bar. He carefully poured a half-pint of the home brew and approached them, his mind racing, trying to figure out what to say.

"Here you go Andrea... A half-pint of the finest brew ever poured at the SoapBox Derby." As he reached forward to hand her the pint, he glanced at Marty. "Sooooo... Marty. How's Emertia doin' thes-- Oh!"

Andrea hand had shot out suddenly towards the offered glass, knocking it from Stu's hand. The reddish liquid splashed everywhere, but mostly on Andrea's sweater. With a cry of surpise, she jumped back, he hands shaking wildly in the air.

"Andrea! I'm so sorry! I don't know what's wrong with me," Stu grabbed a rag and made a move towards Andrea, but she twisted away from him, shaking the beer from her hands.

"No no... it's my fault entirely. I have trouble judging distances sometimes. Myopic, you see," Andrea quickly removed her coat and sweater. "I've got another sweater in my car, Marty. I'll just go get it and maybe we could make our way to the restaurant?" With that, she hurried out the door of the pub.

"Well... if that don't beat all," Stu said, watching her go. "I don't understand how that happened. I hope I haven't ruined yer evening."

"No, of course not," Marty reassured him. "I should get going though. I'll see you soon, eh?"

In the parking lot outside of the SoapBox Derby pub, Andrea was grinning. The operation was proceeding without a hitch. She opened her trunk quickly and reached for the metalic briefcase in the bottom. Glancing around quickly, the punched in the access code on a keypad on the side of the briefcase and it opened with a soft hiss.

She carefully slipped the soiled sweater inside a plastic bag and the slipped the bag inside the case. She then took out the large envelope, and wrote the date and time on it, and placed it on top of the plastic bag. She closed the case again and it beeped quietly to indicate that it was sealed again.

"Ready to go?"

Andrea jumped up suddenly and spied Marty stand at the foot of her car. She swung the trunk shut, moved around the car, and took his arm in one fluid movement.

"Let's paint the town red, Marty. Just you and me."

TBC...

As the sun rose upon the sleepy town of Grandville, the air was slowly filled with the waking sounds generally associated with a Monday morning. Newspapers bouncing off doorframes, groggy hellos to neighbours, coffee percolating, perky morning news anchors forecasting the day, and the gentle whirring of cars weaving together to building into the lion's roar of morning traffic.

Coffee Clerk: Good morining sir! What can I get you?

Marty: Ummm... yes... I'll have uh--, let me think now...

Andrea: He'll have a large hot chocolate with whip cream and I'll have the same, both for here.

Marty: Andrea! I'm sorry... I didn't see you there.

Andrea: And it'll be on me, please.

Marty: Oh no... you don't have to do that, really.

Andrea: It's the least I can do, Marty, considering the circumstances. [paying the cashier] Here you are... keep the change.

Coffee Clerk: Thanks.... have a good day!

Marty: We'll do our best. How's that spot... by the window?

Andrea: We always did have the same tastes in seating arrangements.

Marty: Are you saying you haven't changed at all in the past six years?

Andrea: I'm not saying that at all... [sip] But at my age, some personality quirks are pretty much set in stone.

Marty: "At my age"... [chuckling] You're only a year older than I am.

Andrea: Less than a year... but that's still a few hundred extra days of experience. And you know me, always living life to extremes.

Marty: I guess that's why I never could keep up; I'm always living life in the slow lane.

Andrea: Don't kid yourself; you did fine. When I needed to ground myself, you were always there for me.

Marty: Still am. [sip]

Andrea: Still are. [sip]

Marty: You're still my one constant in life. When all else fails, at least I know that Andrea is living an interesting life.

[slight pause. both sip]

Andrea: So how's Emertia?

Marty: She's dead.

To be continued...