"Dad?"

The hand reached down and gently shook the slightly-over-middle aged man's shoulder. The man, his hair, once long, now cut short and greying around the temples looked up with a start.

"Hmm?" he said.

"What are you working on?" the handsome young man asked his father.

"Oh, nothing much," the older man said, "just workin' on old Blue."

The young man shook his head.

"You've worked on that thing for twenty years, rebuilding it over and over," he said with a soft smile, "when are you gonna upgrade to something a little more-"

"Blue serves our purposes," he said, "now you respect your pop, boy."

"Yes Dad," the young man said, rolling his eyes slightly.

Tall, like his father, with dark blue eyes, the handsome young man ran his hand through his wavy hair.

"Where's Mom?" he asked, glancing around.

"Out," his father said, "and I would ask the same of you, Brian, I've got work to do."

"Right Dad," he said with a smile, "I'll leave you two alone."

He left the loft, full of three decades worth of movie paraphanalia, and walked into the light of the New York day.

"What the-"

Brian Tyler had returned to the loft, after running a few errands, to find a buzz of police activity. Two firetrucks sat outside the house, which was a blaze.

Slamming on the brakes of the van, he leaped out and ran forward, to be stopped by a policeman.

"That's my house!" he cried, "My Dad's in there!"

The policeman led him through and he watched in horror as the firemen tried to put out the blaze. The inferno wouldn't die, though, and suddenly a mammoth explosion ripped through the sky. Brian and several others ducked as firemen were blown back by the sheer force of the blow.

He looked up to see a huge section of the loft had collapsed, the rest completely lost in flames.

"Dad," he whispered, "no."

Angela Tyler wept bitterly, and there was nothing Brian, her only son, could do to console her. Her cries came from a deep, deep place in heart, a place in the human heart Brian hadn't realized existed.

There was no body to recover. Firemen told him that the body would have been incinerated, turned to ashes. That didn't help matters.

What also didn't help matters, was that the police believed it was a bomb. Arson. Murder. Brian's mother couldn't believe it.

"Who?" she kept muttering, "Rollie hadn't worked with the police for almost twenty years. Not since Loubar-"

"Who?" Brian asked.

Angie shook her head.

"An old enemy," she said softly.

Francis and Sarah Gatti came to the hospital quickly. The one Gatti girl still in New York, Lisa, also came. Francis, all grey, and Sarah, all shakes, sat next to Angie. Angie cried in Sarah's arms and Francis, "Uncle Francis" as Brian had used to call him, talked softly to him. But Brian didn't hear the words, he could only think that somewhere out there, was the person who'd killed his father.

"Mom?"

Angie sat, holding a letter in her hand, trembling.

"Mom, what is it?" Brian said, walking up.

Angie looked up, startled, tears streaming down her face. She appeared to be in shock as she stared at her son. Brian sat down slowly next to her, and took the paper from her hand.

"No, no it can't be," she muttered.

On the paper, scrawled in huge handwriting, was written: "Mother. I have returned. Father and you are to be together, and so I was forced to free you from your bondage. Be free. Be happy. We are coming. We will be a family. I will be your only son."

"Mom, what is this?" Brian asked, "What does this mean?"

"It means," Angie croaked, "it means. Oh God, it means-"

"What?" Brian said, a little too loudly, as his mother jumped.

He put his arm around her.

"What?" he said again, softer.

"Brian, there's something your father and I kept from you," Angie said, "something big. Something serious. Twenty four years ago, two years before you were born, I-"

Angie took a deep breath.

"I was raped by an old enemy of your father's," she said slowly, "a man by the name of Victor Loubar. A crazed, sick man."

Angie turned to look at her son.

"I got pregnant from that," she said, "and had the baby. A boy. A boy whom Victor Loubar then kidnapped. We searched for him. Have been searching for him all this time. We never found him."

Brian's head reeled at the sudden information.

"What?" he said, trying to comprehend, "you mean I have a brother-"

"Half-brother," Angie said forcefully, "half brother. During the first year of searching, your father and I decided to marry. A year later, you were born, and it helped to take some of the pain away. We decided never to tell you. I wouldn't. I couldn't. But I never stopped hoping, never stopped-"

Angie stopped again in mid sentence, and muffled a sob.

"So you're saying," Brian said slowly.

"I'm saying he murdered your father!" Angie yelled, "He and Victor Loubar! We never found Loubar! He never showed up again! But we both knew, we both knew someday he might. But as the years went by, we both thought, we both hoped. Oh, we stopped worrying, became to lax!"

"Mom," Brian said, "this wasn't your fault."

"It isn't?" Angie said, "My son. My son! Murdered my husband! He and that thing he calls a father, that thing that he has been trained by from birth, murdered your father! And now he's going to come after you!"

"What?" Brian said.

"Read the letter!" Angie yelled, "I will be your only son! What does that mean?"

"I," Brian stammered, "I don't know."

"He wants a family," Angie said, "Loubar, he, and I. He had to murder your father to get him out of the way. And he sees you as competition. I can't believe this, I can't believe this. I can't believe this is happening-"

Angie fell into crying again, and Brian took his mother into his arms, his mind working a mile a minute, much like his fathers did. No, Brian corrected himself, used to.

"Sssh," Brian whispered, "it's ok. It'll be ok."

Brian glanced at the letter again, as he held his mother.

'We are coming.'

"Any ID on him?"

"No," the nurse replied to the doctor, as they stood over the middle aged man on the bed, "he was found by a jogger. He was messed up pretty bad."

"Looks like his jumped out of a window," the doctor said, leaning in and examining the cuts from glass shards they had removed.

The nurse nodded.

"He was disoriented when he was brought in," the nurse said, "in and out of consciousness. He suffered some sort of blow to the head. He wasn't coherent by any means."

"Well, we can treat the injuries," the doctor said, "but he'll have to come back to consciousness on his own. Whatever trauma he's had, we have to give it time to heal."

The nurse nodded.

"He looks like he's a nice man," she said with a slight smile, looking at the soft face, slightly marred by a few wrinkles and a splash of gray around the temples.

"I'm sure," the doctor said, "let's leave him be."

"I can't believe this Uncle Frank," Brian said softly.

He and soon-to-retire homicide detective Francis Gatti walked slowly through the rubble that had once been the loft, Brian's home for twenty two years.

"I know," Frank said, shaking his head, "it's unbelieveable. We've all been through a lot, and this place has always been there-"

Francis face tightened slightly, and he sighed.

"Brian, your Dad was the best man I'd ever known," he said, "the best. One of the best, anyway. I've known two."

The light from the setting sun shone across the rubble and reflected a shadow across Brian's tall, thin frame. Francis could have sworn Rollie was standing next to him, until Brian turned Angie's eyes onto him.

"I just wish-" Brian paused, "I just wish I could have straightened everything out before-"

Francis walked up closer to him.

"Straightened what out?" he asked.

"Things," Brian said, "with my folks."

He looked up at the sky, taking a deep breath.

"They'd been arguing Uncle Frank," he said, "a lot, lately. It was over something I'd done, I wanted to do. They were at odds. Then that argument would spring into other ones. They'd just had an argument before-"

Brian looked down.

"It's my fault," he muttered, "that Mom's last memory of Dad was an argument."

Brian sat down amongst the clutter. Francis sat next to him.

"Brian," he said slowly, "that isn't your fault. Your Mom and Dad would argue sometimes because-"

"You don't understand, Uncle Frank," Brian said, "they would yell things. About, about wanting things back 'the way they were', like, before I was born. I messed things up-"

"Brian!" Francis said, "That is not-"

"I heard them talking about it!" he said, "When they thought I wasn't listening. I was a mistake. An accident. I was conceived before they were married, and they got married because of me. Right? Right?"

Francis looked away, and then nodded slowly.

"I ruined their lives," he muttered.

"No," Francis said, "you gave their lives fullness. You don't know what happened those years trying to find Loubar, and-"

"And my brother?" Brian said, "Mom told me."

Francis took that in for a moment, then continued.

"Your Mom was tortured inside," Francis said, "we all knew it. Rollie knew it. He tried to protect her, tried to console her. But she was filled with one purpose, getting her son and getting revenge on Victor Loubar. It nearly destroyed her. One night, emotions took control, and they did what they did, and you were the result, yes. But they loved you dearly. Your birth gave your Mom new life."

"They wouldn't have married if it wasn't for me," Brian said, "they didn't love each other. Not that way. I heard them talking. They were friends, only friends."

"Maybe so," Francis said, "but it is from friendship the best relationships grow. Your Mom and Dad were closer than any two people I've ever known. And with you, you brought them even closer. They wouldn't have changed what happened for the world. Sure they'd get angry with each other sometimes, over a lot of stupid things, you're talking about two strong willed people, but they wouldn't have taken anything over you."

Brian looked at Francis finally, and their eyes locked.

"Thanks Uncle Frank," he said after a long pause.

Francis nodded.

"But now," Brian said heavily, "Loubar's back. And so is my brother."

"Half-brother," Francis said, "blood only. Not spirit. Remember that."

Brian nodded.

"I'll try."

Angie sat in the bedroom. She had cried for what seemed and endless amount of time. Rollie was gone. Her boy was back. But what was her boy? A monster, no doubt, just like-

Angie grimaced at the thought.

Just like his father. Father. She could remember Rollie's faces all of those times. When she'd told him about the rape, about it not really being rape until afterward--

She could remember his face when she'd told him she was pregnant. They had agreed weeks before that it was a mistake, what they'd done, and they'd put it behind them. Then this-

She remembered his face when Brian had been born. The love. The hope. A part of her heart coming back, though the void made by her first boy would never be completely filled.

Angie hugged the family picture they'd had taken a year ago to her tightly. She lay again on the bed. And sobbed.

A tall, thin young man, with blonde hair and a gap in his teeth walked into the gun shop.

"Can I help you?" drawled the beer bellied, scruffy clerk.

"I'd like to see what you have in the way of hand guns," he said.

The man walked over to a glass counter.

"What kind are you looking for?" he asked.

"The big kind," he said with a smile.

A while later he walked back to his car and got inside. He reached up and pulled off a wig, and took out the fake teeth. He stared at himself in the rear view mirror, staring back was a young man, with light wavy hair and features, bold, tense, but slightly smoothed by some unknown heritage, and sparkling blue eyes.

"Get one?" the man, with large shards of gray through his hair, asked.

"Yup," the young man said, pulling the gun out of pocket, "took a little extra dough to get around the formalities. But you know, money talks."

The older man nodded with a smile, glancing around.

"Ah, New York," he said, "still the same."

The young man grinned, putting the car into gear.

"Gotta love it."

"We'll give you all the protection possible, Angie, I promise."

Angie nodded slowly. Police commissioner Marvin Van Duran sat opposite Angie, Brian, and Francis in his office, a high level office with a large window overlooking New York.

"Knowing Loubar," Francis said, "and it seems he hasn't changed much, we'll have to be a hundred times more cautious than usual. We can't take anything for granted."

"Agreed," Van Duran said, nodding slowly, "goodness knows we learned the hard way."

Francis looked down and Angie's face tightened. On that long period where they had searched for Loubar, Detective Mira Sanchez had been shot and killed, by the man, while pursuing him. He had escaped after shooting her. That had been the closest they'd been to catching him. They never got that close again. Soon after, Angie found out about the pregnancy, and they gave up the search. Francis had lost yet another partner, and was never quite the same. Rollie and Angie never helped the police again. But the commissioner hadn't forgotten the good they'd done before

"You and Rollie did a lot for this city," the commissioner said, "we won't let anything happen to you."

"'Something' already happened to Rollie," Angie said hoarsely, "and I don't care about myself. I just want my son protected. Protected from-"

Angie stopped in midsentence, though everyone could finish for her. Protected from her other son. Her other son and the evil man who was his father. The commissioner nodded.

"We'll be putting you in a safehouse," he said, "with round-the-clock security. Every possible entrance will be guarded twenty four hours a day, and we'll keep surveillance on the house and surrounding streets. If Loubar so much as breaths near that area, we'll get him."

"If you can recognize him," Angie said, "we couldn't detect him twenty years ago, and technology has come a long way in the past twenty years. Who knows what kinds of disguises he might have."

"Whatever he has," Francis said, "doesn't matter. No one will get near the house anyway. We'll have a specific regiment of officers allowed in, and we'll show you all of their faces, introduce you. We'll also have a password only you and they will know, just to be certain."

"We could have used some stuff in the loft," Brian said softly, "but that's gone now."

He reached for his mother's hand, and she took it firmly.

"That doesn't matter," Angie said to him, "what matters is that we stay safe. That you don't try anything stupid."

"Mom-" Brian started.

"I know you, Brian," she said, "you're just like your father. I can see what your planning in your eyes. You are not, I repeat, not going to get involved with tracking, or stopping Loubar. That is the police's job."

"Your mother's right, Brian," Van Duran said, "you two just sit tight. We'll do the rest."

Brian looked at his mother for a long moment, then sighed and nodded. He looked down at his shoes, but inside his thoughts were moving at a mile a minute. Sit tight indeed.

"No! No! No!"

Two orderlies stood over the man, as he thrashed wildly in his bed. The doctor rushed in, being ushered in by a nurse.

"He started going crazy!" she cried, "I don't know what's happened!"

"Sedative," the doctor said.

"Sir! Sir!" the doctor leaned over him, "Please, try to calm down!"

The man stopped thrashing somewhat.

"An-, Ang-" he muttered, sweat pouring off of his brow, "Brian!"

"Family members?" the nurse said.

"Maybe," the doctor said, pulling back the man's eyelids and shining a light into his pupils.

"What is your name?" the doctor asked.

The man didn't answer, but only moaned in response.

"I hate this place."

Victor Loubar looked up at his son, who sat gloomily in a dirty wooden chair.

"I didn't have time to get a house," Victor said, "I don't have all the contacts I used to have."

"Right," he muttered.

They were hiding out in a grungy bug infested motel. Victor cleaned his small but effective black assault gun.

"You know," he said, "it's amazing the strides technology takes when making weapons. The biggest steps in the technological revolution, have always been for weapons. Take this for example."

He lifted the gun.

"A foot and a half long," he said, "light weight, and shoots one hundred bullets in two seconds if you want. Or you can lower the setting to one bullet per second. Recoil dampener. Silencer. Infrared laser scope. Amazingly, absolutely amazing."

"Can it fry up a steak?"

"Stefan," Victor said, "we ate only a little while ago."

"I'm still hungry," Stefan said, leaning back in the chair.

"I'm hungry too," Victor said, "but not for the same thing you are."

"Oh? What's that?" Stefan asked.

"Revenge, my boy, revenge," Victor said, "revenge against those who would stand against us. Revenge against those who took our family, what should have been our lives, away."

"I know, father," Stefan said, nodding.

"Mercy is weakness," Victor started.

"You must take what you want," Stefan recited, "and pity those who stand in your way."

"Never forget," Victor said, going back to cleaning the gun, "Never forget."

"I won't father. I won't."

"Oh, he's beautiful."

Rollie nodded.

"That he is," he said, "he is your son."

"Yeah, my son," Angie muttered.

She held Andrew James Tyler gently, his sparkling blue eyes looking up at her. Innocence. The very image of innocence. He knew nothing of evil, of pain, of his father....

"How am I going to do this Rollie?"

The question hung in the air for a long moment.

"You'll do it because you have more love in your heart than any person I've known, Ang," Rollie said, "it took a lot to decide to have this baby. He's getting the best mother a bloke could ask for."

Angie smiled down at her son. Her son, and hers alone. For, she pledged silently, the legacy of Loubar would never touch him.

The light surrounded them, enveloped them, and they moved forward in time....

"Andrew! Andrew! Rollie!"

Rollie Tyler ran from his bedroom, throwing on his robe. Angie was in the hall, screaming frantically.

"Andrew, he's gone! Rollie he's gone!"

"What? Love slow down. What happened?"

"He's not in his crib! I can't find him! Oh god..."

Rollie ran to the room. Andrew was no where in sight. He ran downstairs. The loft door was closed, but the security system...

"It's been deactivated," Rollie muttered.

Angie lept to the security console and called up the video recording from last night. She fast forwarded as quickly as possible. Soon it showed a figure entering the loft, going up the stairs. Moments later, the figure came back down, Andrew cradled in his arms. The figure turned, purposely, and smiled at the camera. And then winked. Winked. Victor Loubar winked at her.

"No!"

The light surrounded them. Haze. Fog. Terror. Time moved forward.....

"We'll find him Angie," Mira said.

"We'll find him Angie," Francis said.

"We'll find him Angie," the Captain said.

"We'll find him Angie," Elena said.

"We'll find him Angie," Rollie said, slowly, purposely.

"We'll find him Angie. We'll find him Angie. We'll find him Angie."

The words echoed. Endlessly. Her baby hovered just out of reach.

"Mama. Find me."

Angie woke up breathless, her heart racing, sweat pouring off of her face. The nightmare was back. It hadn't been back for a while. All the memories, they were flooding into her now. It was just like twenty four years ago. When she'd lost him. Over a year of searching before she'd become pregnant with Brian. Over a year...nothing. Leads, dangers, horrors, wondering, waiting. So many things they'd been through that year, wandering the globe. Rollie had sold the equipment, siphoned out all the savings. They searched and searched. To no avail. They had been near him once, just when Loubar had taken him, before he could leave New York. Mira........

Angie fell back into her pillow. She swallowed hard and tried to control herself. The safehouse felt cold. The bed felt cold. Her life felt cold.

"Help me."

A faceless person drifted before him. Then two. Then three. Then a dozen. Then a hundred dozen. Soon there were too many. All saying the same words.

"Help me."

The words echoed around him, the fog of people, of faceless minds encircled him.

"Who are you?" he called, "How can I help?"

"Help me."

"I-I can't! I don't know how!"

"Help me."

The man staggered through the fog. A man who knew not his own name, but knew that, somewhere, someone needed his help. Someone would always need his help.

"Dream."

A soft voice came. A mere whisper. Under the calls of others. He couldn't find the source. But then, he couldn't find himself.

In a hospital bed, the sleeping man's face twitched.

Brian was seething inside. He couldn't contain himself. To sit here, in a 'safehouse' while others did what was rightfully his job! To find the murderers. To bring them to justice. To kill those....

Brian shook his head. If there was one thing he had learned. If there was one thing he had had engrained into his psyche by both his father and mother, it was the abhorrance of killing. The abhorrance of all things made for killing, and soully for killing. He would not defame his father's memory now, by disobeying the one rule he held dearest, and most important.

But he could bring them to justice. He could. If he could find them. If he could get out of this house! Night had come. He had a chance now.

Brian stood up. He hadn't undressed. He had sat, fuming. His mother had gone to bed, pleading with him once more not to do anything. But she didn't understand. No one understood. He could not, would not, sit by and do nothing. He would do something. Why?

"Because," Brian muttered to himself, "I can."

"How many men have you killed?"

"Including Tyler? Seven."

"How many face to face?"

"One."

"That is not enough."

Victor Loubar turned to his son.

"I have taught you much, my son," he said, "but nothing teaches like experience. To kill from afar, while away, with a bomb is one thing. But to kill face to face. To feel the power course from the weapon to your body. To see the fear in a man's eyes, and to see the knowledge, the knowledge of who takes his life from him. It is the most frightening, and most incredible experience imaginable. You must be prepared."

"How?"

"You must kill another man face to face first. I cannot let you do so to your rival, the bastard son of your mother, till you have proven you can with any other."

"Who?"

"The best way to get at a person, is to attack their friends, loved ones. You have studied Brian Tyler, no?"

Stefan nodded, gesturing at the multitude of surveillance photos on the wall. Brian at work. Brian at home. Brian at play.

"I know him better than he knows himself," he said.

Victor nodded.

"Who is his best friend?" he asked.

"A boy," Stefan said, "named Walter Gatti. The son of Francis Gatti, Tyler's friend. They call him 'Wally.'"

Loubar nodded.

"You are to kill him," Victor said, "face to face."

Stefan nodded, and Victor handed him a weapon.

"And you are not to fail."

"Have I ever?"

Brian Tyler glanced around the hallway. The police were all downstairs, two officers inside, four outside in two cars at either end of the street. They were being well protected, all right. But, for Brian, that wasn't a good thing right now.

He crept down the stairs, tip toeing on the outer edges so as not to cause creaking, and softly padded his way past the living room where the officers sat, and into the kitchen. His father had taught him much about his Australian heritage, including things he'd learned while traveling through the outback and from Mangela. He knew how to move without being heard, that was for certain, and, though he wasn't quite as good with his father when it came to the more surreal things, no did he believe as much, he respected the talents and skills he'd been taught.

Brian thought for a moment. The house had an excellent security system. He couldn't open any doors or windows without sending off the alarm. He'd have to get one of the officers to do it for him. He could see no way of doing that, however.

Brian tiptoed out of the living room towards the dining room, which then led to the front door. The front door was the only one not on the security system, but it was locked and only the officers had keys. The front door was being watched at all times, of course, by the patrolmen outside.

He considered his options. He could try to knock out a guard, and use the key on the front door. That would be dangerous, though, and he didn't want to hurt an officer. He had to get away without anyone knowing about it. If he disarmed the security system, though, he'd put his mother in danger.

Decoy. His father had always taught him, the best way to get something done in a nonviolent way, was use a decoy. Brian tip toed back upstairs, grabbed his binoculars, set them on the stairs, and then came down normally.

"Officer Brewer?" he said.

The blonde haired middle aged man looked up.

"Yeah?" he said.

"I-I thought I saw some movement in the backyard, from my window," he said, "you think you could check it out?"

Officer Brewer glanced at his partner and nodded. He picked up his radio.

"Possible movement in the backyard," he reported, "I'm going to check it out."

He turned to Brian.

"You get back upstairs," he said.

Brian nodded. He went to the stairs, and grabbed his binoculars. There was a mirror on the far wall of the living room. He moved slowly down the stairs until he could see Officer Brewer in the kitchen, at the door which led to the backyard. Brian put the binoculars to his eyes and zoomed in on the mirror. He watched as the officer punched in the code.

"774A3," Brian recited softly, "Gotcha."

The officer went outside, his gun out. Several minutes later he came back inside.

"Nothing out there, son," he said, "you get to bed."

Brian nodded.

"Thanks," he said, sounding relieved.

He went upstairs and waited for a few minutes. Then he silently went back downstairs. The only obstacle now was the noise of the security system Pressing the buttons caused them to beep, and that would alert the officers. Brian reached in his pocket, and pulled out the mini tool kit his mother had bought him years ago. With a tiny screwdriver he pried open the security system box, and then opened the keypad itself. With a delicate snip he disconnected the tiny speaker which gave the beeps. Then he silently entered in the code, and a green light came on as the door disarmed.

Brian opened it gently, only far enough to let him slip out, and slid through it. He closed it again, silently, and the door automatically rearmed. He smiled, and then broke out into a run, leaping over the back fence, through the neighbors yard, and out into an adjacent street. A taxi cab drove by, and Brian flagged it down, getting inside.

"Where to kid?" the man asked.

Brian thought for a moment.

"214 Bradley street," he said.

The cabby nodded, and they drove off.

Wally Gatti inserted the key into his apartment, Apartment C12, the Brandingburg apartments, 214 Bradley Street. He had just moved in a month ago, after graduating from college just two months prior. At twenty one, Wally was a smart kid, who had gotten a good job at an architectural firm. He had considered being a cop when he was a kid, but after seeing the pain it had caused his parents, he had opted for something less dangerouts. His mother had agreed whole heartedly.

"What kind of danger could an architect get into?" he would say jovially, "A horrible spout of paper cuts and pencil marks?"

He looked much like his father, but he had his mother's eyes, as everyone told him. With a perpetual smile on his face, a permanent good mood, and a sharp sense of humor, everyone liked Wally Gatti. He had been out of town for a month, training at the firm's main building in Seattle, and had just arrived home. The night summer air was cool, but not too cool, as he had walked from the parking lot to the building, carefully watching for muggers.

He opened the door to his apartment, and went in. He closed the door, locked it, and sighed. It was good to be home.

The janitor pushed his cart quickly. Wearing a blue uniform, blue hat, and black shoes, the man's red hair fell out from under his hat crazily. He kept his head low, and pushed his cart full of cleaning equipment quickly. He pushed past a man and slid into an elevator just about to close. The woman inside smiled at him nervously, and he nodded back.

They climbed to the third floor, and he got off. He pushed down the rest of the aisle.

"Hey you!" a voice yelled, "Janitor!"

The man stopped and turned around.

"Over here!" a man was yelling from his apartment, "Can you lend a guy a hand? My wife just got real sick over here!"

The man frowned.

"I have a few things I have to finish-" he started to say in a gruff voice.

"Please," the man said, "it's all over the hallway. You're gonna get called anyway, unless you want me to call your supervisor."

The man grimaced, his blue eyes shimmering in the light. He pushed hastily towards the man.

"I hate delays," he muttered.

The clouds rolled by quickly. Angie sat on the plane, silently, Rollie next to her. They were on their way to Spain, where Loubar had last been spotted. Elena Serrano sat behind them.

"Penny for your thoughts," Rollie said.

Angie didn't turn to him, but sighed.

"He's out there somewhere," she said, "we've been searching for a month. We know he's out there. But he's always one step ahead of us."

"We'll catch up with him," Rollie said, "he can't run forever."

"He can try," Angie said, "but I'll follow him wherever he goes. That's a promise."

"We'll follow him Ang," Rollie said, "we will. Together. He is a Tyler after all."

Angie smiled at him. They had agreed to pretend Andrew was she and Rollie's child. She didn't want to have to explain to others about, everything. He would have made a great father....

The plane faded away, to be replaced by a crib. Angie sat looking down at her baby.

"He looks like you when he's sleeping," she said softly.

Rollie came up behind her, and put his hand on her shoulder.

"Yeah," he said, "drooling."

Angie laughed softly. She looked up at Rollie, and then looked back down. She gasped. Brian was gone.

"Brian!" she screamed, "Brian no! No, not again!"

She ran out of the room, and found herself in the middle of a long desert, the wind and sand howling and swirling around her.

"Brian!" she screamed, "Brian!"

The wind only howled in return.

"Brian!"

Angie sat up in bed, her heart beating frantically. She threw on a robe and ran to the next room. She saw a lump in the bed, and ran up to it, a dread she couldn't explain welling up inside of her. She threw back the blankets to find a bunch of pillows.

"Brian."

Victor Loubar sat waiting. He had confidence in his son. The utmost confidence. Yet, he had to be there just in case anything went wrong. He waited across the street from the apartment building, waiting to watch his son come out, the mission accomplished. Stefan wasn't aware that he'd followed him, of course, but a father had to protect his child. It was only moral.

The coming of New York night. The lights came on and the summer sky had a thin layer of clouds masking the sky. Time seemed to drag on and Victor's mind wandered...

"They mock me!"

Victor threw the newspaper across the room. It flew and landed on the floor, the page lying open. On it was a brief article entitled "Special Effects Artists Create the Greatest Effect of All." The article told of Rollie and Angie, how Angie had desperately wanted to have a baby, and had decided to go to a sperm bank, but her best and closest friend Rollie Tyler had offered his own heredity for her. The article mentioned the slight shock of friends, but Rollie was quoted as saying: "Angie's the closest person in the world to me. Having a child, a child from the both of us, just brings us closer. Our relationship has changed, yes, it has to in this situation. I agreed to be the father, because I didn't want this child to go without one. I knew Angie would be the greatest mother in the world..."

Victor had had to strain to read more. The article pointed out the slight strangeness to the event, but also remarked of the uniqueness of those in the movie industry. He had not been able to take it any longer.

"That is my son! My son!"

The light shimmered, washed, painfully over him. It faded.

"Come, my son. You do not belong here."

Victor lifted the sleeping child. He could feel the connection. A bond. He walked down the stairs and a sadistic urge rushed through him. He could kill them both, now. Be done with it at last. But no, they had mocked him, he would mock them in the worst way.

Victor turned to the security camera he knew was there and winked. Slowly.

The light washed over him again.

"Your name is Stefan Loubar. This is the name I have given you, for it is truly my right to do so."

Victor stood over the baby, changing it's diaper.

"You will grow up to be strong. Sure. Powerful. You shall finish what I have started-"

The light shifted again.

Victor ran, Stefan cradled in his arms. They were close. Too close. They had been tailing him for almost a year now. Would they ever stop? It didn't matter, though. They would not catch him. He would not allow it. For if they did, they would take from him the most precious thing he had in his possession. Revenge.

"I will kill us both first," Victor muttered to his infant son, who looked up at him with wide eyes, "this I promise."

The light shifted, shimmered, faded.

"Watch me, father!" Stefan called.

"I'm watching son!" Loubar called back.

He laughed as the boy ran, the kite trailing behind him. At last it lifted high into the air. They had moved about much. The boy was eight now. He had lived in Mexico, England, now Australia. Ironic, yes, but somehow appropriate. He would let his son live, where Tyler's son could not, though he was sure Tyler wished his son to trace his heritage. Tyler's son.

Loubar watched his son run. A good boy. A strong boy. The light reflecting off of his blue eyes. Tyler's son was nothing compared to his. History would repeat itself. The circle would be complete. The boy would finish what he started...

The light flashed.

Loubar blinked. He checked his watch. His son should be close now.

"Take care, boy," Victor muttered, "Take care."

"He's gone!" Angie screamed, "Brian's gone!"

The policemen met her at the bottom of the stairs.

"What?" the one said, "That's impossible! No one has been in or out!"

"Well, somehow he got out!" Angie yelled, "we have to find him!"

"Ok, ok," the officer said slowly, "first try to calm down. Where might he have gone, Mrs. Tyler?"

Angie put her hand to her head and tugged on her hair in frustration.

"I don't know!" she said, "To try and find Loubar! I know it!"

"Not straight away," a policeman said, "does he have any friends? Relatives?"

Angie's eyes shot open.

"Wally!"

Wally Gatti's phone rang. He went to pick it up. The urgent voice of Angie Tyler replied.

"Wally," she said, "had Brian been by?"

"No, ma'am," Wally said, "I just got home myself. Why? Something wrong?"

"If he comes by," Angie said, "let him stay, but call me. He's in trouble. Serious trouble. Ok? Please? You have to trust me on this."

"O-Ok, Mrs. Tyler," Wally said, "if you say so."

Wally put down the phone, and removed the fingers he had crossed from behind his back. Friends didn't rat out friends until they knew what was going on. If Brian was in trouble, he'd probably head over. Wally frowned and put his hand to his chin. What in the world could be going on?

Brian reached Wally's apartment quickly, his heart racing. He knocked frantically. A moment later the door opened.

"Brian!" Wally said, "Come in! What's going on? Your mother just called!"

"What?" Brian said, "Oh no. She found out."

"What's going on, Bri?" Wally asked.

Brian walked into the living room and sat down heavily on the couch, leaning over and burying his face in his hands. Wally sat down next to him.

"Bri? What happened?" he asked.

"Oh God, man, my Dad's dead," Brian said, shaking his head in disbelief, "my Dad was murdered."

"What?" Wally breathed, "By who? Why?"

Brian looked up at his friend.

"You're not going to believe this."

Stefan quickened his pace. That foolish delay. He had wanted to kill the man and woman, but that would have served no purpose and possibly been damaging. No, he would fulfill his father's request first, before all else. As he also did.

"That-that's unbelieveable," Wally said, "my Dad's mentioned Victor Loubar. He killed his old partner."

"Leo?" Brian said with a frown.

"No, Mira," Wally said, "Dad hasn't had a partner since. He never talked much, just said he was the most evil guy he'd ever come across. Got this look in his eye when he talked about him. Scared me a little."

Brian nodded.

"I know why I never heard of him till now, at least," Brian said, "I can't imagine what Mom and Dad must've gone through."

Wally sighed, and shook his head.

"So now, this guy, and your half-brother are after you?" Wally said.

Brian nodded slowly.

"Looks that way," he said.

He slammed his hand down on the couch.

"I've got to do something!" he cried.

"Cool it, bud," Wally said, "think this through first. The police, my Dad and them, they can do a lot more-"

"No," Brian said, turning to his friend, a coldness, the same look Wally had seen in his father, in his eye, "no, this is my job. I'm going to bring these, these men down."

"What about your Mom?" Wally asked.

"She'll be all right," Brian said, "they don't want to hurt her, and she's got police protection."

"Well," Wally said, "what's our first move?"

"Our?" Brian said, lifting an eyebrow, "no, no. I can't get you involved in this, it's too dangerous. I just came to take a rest before I leave."

"Yeah, right," Wally said, "like I'm gonna let you do this alone. I've got a car. I know a few people around town. You could use some help."

Brian smiled slightly.

"You know I won't take no for an answer," Wally said.

"Yeah," Brian said, "I know."

"What use is a best friend if he can't go kick bad guy butt with you, anyway?" Wally said, "You know- what are pals for? Pal."

Brian chuckled. Wally said that all the time. Something he'd picked up from his Dad once, never stopped saying it. It would also make his Dad, and Brian's Dad, laugh.

"My Dad and everyone fought Loubar before," Brian said, "and beat him. History's just going to have to repeat itself."

Wally nodded.

"Right," he said, "whatever this is this guy started, he and his son that is, we'll finish."

They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Brian ran into a bedroom and Wally went to answer it.

"Sir," a man outside said, "we've got a plumbing problem on this floor. I need to take a look at your toilet."

"One sec," Wally said, "gotta love these new high maintenance, high service apartments."

"Answer it," Brian said from the bedroom, "but be careful."

Wally slowly opened the door. A red haired man stood outside. Brian closed the bedroom door to just a crack. He watched as the man walked in. Brian closed the door further, allowing one eye to peer out, the blue reflecting only a small portion of light. The man turned, taking in the apartment, the light reflecting off of his eyes, equally strikingly blue.

"The bathroom's this way," Wally said, having glanced at his ID card.

The man followed Wally out of Brian's line of sight. Brian breathed slowly, waiting.

"Come on, come on," he muttered.

That was when he heard a sound. A muffled sound, barely a whisper. Like a high pressure air hose being turned on for a split second. It registered immediately. A silencer. He'd heard the sound in one of his Dad's movies, the best silencer there was, muffling the gun shot to barely hearable. Someone had fired a gun.

The man's eyes shot open. He writhed in bed, and then stood straight upright.

"No!" he screamed.

A nurse and doctor ran in.

"Sir!" the nurse started.

"Where am I?" the man asked.

The doctor and nurse looked at eachother, as the man's eyes glazed slightly and he fell roughly back into the pillow.

"Oh," he moaned, holding his bandaged head, "what happened?"

The doctor took a glance at the vital readings from the Personal Monitoring Device, or PMD. The small diodes attached to his head and chest fed back information.

"His heart is steadying," the doctor said, "so are his brain wave patterns. Looks good. Sir, what is your name?"

The man took a moment, breathing hard. His eyes, at last, focused on the doctor.

"My name is Tyler," he said unsteadily, "Rollie Tyler."

"Wally!" Brian screamed, racing out of the bedroom.

He stopped as the fix-it man came careening out of the bathroom, his gun flying across the room. Brian glanced inside to see Wally just coming out of a karate kick stance.

"Saw the gun in the mirror," Wally said, rushing forward.

The young red haired man was up on his feet in an instant, a knife appearing in his hand as if by magic. Brian and Wally spread apart, as the young man began to back up, a snarl across his face and his blue eyes shining with anger. He eyed them both, in a strange way.

"Which one of you wishes to die first?" he asked in a heavy voice.

"Why don't you," Brian spat, not relaxing his defensive stance.

The man growled and lunged at Brian. Brian reached up and grabbed the man's wrist, wrestling for the knife. Wally came forward but the man caught him with a side-kick of his own, sending Wally flying back into a wall. He then took his other hand and backhanded Brian, sending him flying back as well.

He turned and began to flee towards the door, but Brian was up in an instant, and lept onto the couch then onto the man's back. The man's elbow came up and caught Brian in the stomach. The wind rushed out of his lungs and he was thrown off, dropping to the floor. With a heave the man threw the knife at Wally, who ducked as it embedded itself in the wall an inch above his head.

As he looked up again, the man was gone.

"After him!" Brian coughed.

Wally threw open the door, and they both rushed out. The man was nowhere in sight.

"Just call us the Hardy Boys," Wally said, turning to Brian, "who was that, anyway, Mr. Fantastic, a friend of yours?"

Brian crossed his arms and frowned.

"I think," he said, "we're in more trouble than I thought."

Victor watched as his son exited the building. Wearing a well tailored suit and a blonde wig he walked leisurely, as if nothing was wrong. Loubar could tell from his face, though. He had felt that same way, when beaten by a Tyler. Loubar sighed. He started the car and moved forward, swinging around in a U-turn to pick up his son. Stefan stepped inside. He sighed heavily.

"Father-" he started.

"It's all right, son," Victor said, "I know. It's happened to me. The Tyler boy was there, wasn't he."

Stefan nodded.

"Don't worry," he said, patting him on the knee, "I have had setbacks before, myself. It is far from over."

Rollie Tyler lay, breathing slowly, purposely. He was having trouble recalling recent events. Short term memory loss. The doctors had tried to call the loft, but the line had been disconnected. Worry surged through his body like fire. He closed his eyes tight, trying to remember. The memories were there, on the tip, dangling, just out of reach. He stretched into his mind, digging. His head started to hurt again, but the memories were there...

The light flashed over Rollie. He was sitting at the workstation. An e-mail had just come through from an anonymous source, it read simply: "Get out now. A bomb."

He heard a noise. A noise he'd heard before. The engaging of a timing device, one of the newest in incineration technology. He ran to the window, lept through it head first. The explosion was enormous. He lost consciousness...

The light flashed over him again. His eyes fluttered open. He was laying in the back seat of a car. His vision was blurred. A face was over him. He felt a pain in his arm, like a needle digging into his skin. A blurred voice was speaking, a voice he vaguely recognized-

"...undetectable drug, Tyler. You'll be unconscious for quite some time. I must feed it to you slowly, though, or else you'll die. I'll deal with you myself once my son..."

He had blacked out for a moment. He awoke a moment later. The face was gone. He turned his head with a great effort, it felt as if water was slooshing around in his brain. He couldn't focus. A device was over him. Some sort of I.V. He was being fed some drug. He reached with his hand and grabbed the needle. With an enormous effort of will, he squinted his eyes, concentrated. His body felt so heavy. He wanted to sleep. He pulled the needle out, pressed on the bag, squeezed out the fluid onto the ground.

The darkness was taking him. He could feel it. With his last ounce of will he pushed the needle back into his arm. Then darkness took him.

"Loubar!" Rollie yelled.

That was the face. That was the voice. The loft, the line disconnected.

Rollie lept up, ignoring the blast of cold air that hit his exposed backside in the hospital gown. The room began to spin. He tried to steady himself, grabbing the bed post and standing up unsteadily. Gritting his teeth, he began to take a few shuffling steps. His limbs still felt heavy, too heavy. He toppled over with a yell taking a cart full of equipment with him. A nurse came running in.

"Mr. Tyler!" she yelled.

"A phone!" he cried, "I need a phone! I need to contact-"

Rollie's eyes rolled back in his head. The darkness was still on the fringe of his mind. He so wanted to sleep. He fought the urge.

"Midtown South Precinct," Rollie growled, fighting the waves of exhaustion, "I need to speak to homicide Detective Francis Gat-"

Rollie lost consciousness.

Angie paced. She paced quickly, her arms crossed in front of her, her brow creased. Francis stood watching her.

"Hang on Angie," he said, "just hang on. I'm sure he's fine. We'll find him."

Angie spun to Francis, fire in her eyes. She hated those words. They had said that to her about Andrew, all those years ago. The words were empty, for they never found the son she drove away with her stupidity and fear of humiliation. The boy that had been stolen from her. They hadn't been able to find him, and now he had found her. And Brian. What of Brian? She would not fail another son.

"Angie," Francis said softly, "he's a smart man. And he is a man. He'll be all right. I'm sure he'll call."

Angie turned away with speaking. She looked out of the window of the safehouse.

"I'm going to go look for him," Angie said.

"Angie, that's not a good idea-" Francis started.

Angie spun back around.

"I'm going to look for him!" she said firmly, "And I will find him!"

"Angie if he calls," Francis said, "we need-"

"You can call me via my PDA," Angie said, "my husband is dead. I will not lose my son. Not another one. Not without doing something, and not while making the same mistakes twice."

"You should call your Mom," Wally said.

They sat in his apartment, both with worried looks on their faces.

"I put her in enough danger," Brian said, "she'll want me back. If I go back, she's in danger. The farther away I am from her, the safer she is."

"I don't know," Wally said, "I mean-"

"Wal, think about it!" Brian said, "They're after me! Not just me, my friends! That guy tried to kill you! Anyone near me is in danger. I've got to get out of here."

"Oh no you don't," Wally said, "you're not getting away that easy. I'm coming with you, wherever you're going."

"We've got to warn to Lauren and Tom," Brian said heavily, "they're probably in danger too."

Wally patted Brian on the shoulder, nodding.

"Don't worry, mate," Wally said with a smile, "the Fantastic Four will get through this."

"I'm sorry father," Stefan said again.

"Stop saying your sorry," Victor said, "apologizing does nothing. To rectify a mistake requires action. We must now decide what course of action to take. Tell me more about Brian and his friends."

Stefan took a picture that was pinned to the wall. It showed four teenagers having fun in the park. Brian, Wally, and a dark-skinned, muscular young man, along with a pretty girl with short blonde hair.

"Lauren Richards," Stefan said, "and Thomas Blake. The other two of the Fantastic Four."

"Excuse me?" Loubar said.

"That's what they call themselves," Stefan said, "they've been inseparable, those four, since they were children. Each of their attributes, intelligence, speed, strength, and emotional awareness, correspond with the comic book characters the Fantastic Four. They even call eachother by those names, the Tyler boy they call 'Mr. Fantastic', the Gatti son, 'The Human Torch'-"

"I get the idea," Victor interrupted, and examined the picture closely, "tell me, does Brian have any romantic involvements?"

"None currently," Stefan said, "he's had very few girlfriends, nothing lasted, according to my research."

"What about the girl, Lauren?" Victor asked, "The way she is smiling at him. Does she have any romantic feelings for him?"

"None have been explored," Stefan said, scratching his chin, "I don't know."

"She does," Victor said with a nod and a smile, "I can tell these things. Hm."

"So?" Stefan said.

"So, my son," Victor said, "in order to truly beat an opponent, you must do more than just kill the body, you must kill the spirit. An enemy such as Tyler's spawn must be dealt with in this way. Only then can you prove that you are better than he, that you are a more worthy son to your mother. You are the firstborn, after all."

"Will I get to see mother soon?" Stefan asked, crossing his arms in front of him.

"Soon," Victor said, "very soon. But first, you must destroy Tyler."

"Mother will be displeased," he said with a slight hesitation, uncrossing his arms.

"Once she sees you, he will be forgotten," Victor said, "remember, you are the child of love. You have the true place in her heart."

Stefan nodded.

"So what of this Lauren girl?" he said, "She has feelings for Brian? What of it?"

Victor chuckled.

"Get the mask equipment out of storage," he said.

"But-" Stefan started.

"Go!" Victor said, pointing to the door.

Stefan nodded and walked off. Victor studied the picture with a slight smile.

"History repeating itself, indeed."

"I still don't think this is a good idea, Angie," Francis said, "the commish will have my head for this."

"You can't hold me in protective custody," Angie said shaking her head, "I won't have it."

Francis sighed.

"Ang," he said, "Rollie was my best friend. I've lost three good friends now, two of which to the same man. I want to catch Loubar as much as anyone. But I don't want to see my best friend's son, or his wife, injured or worse trying to do the police's job."

"No one ever worried about us doing the police's job twenty years ago!" Angie snapped.

Francis head lowered, a pain in his eyes. Angie sighed.

"I-I'm sorry, Frank," she said in a low voice, "I didn't mean to-"

"Forget it," Francis said, quickly, "what is it that you're planning to do?"

"My son is going after Loubar," Angie said, "so-"

"So if we find Loubar we find Brian?" Francis said, raising an eyebrow, "I don't know about that."

"He's his father's son, Frank," Angie said, "he's smart. Rollie could beat Loubar, if anyone else could it would be Brian. He hung around you and the police enough to find out a few tricks of the trade."

Francis nodded. Angie was right. Unlike his own son, Brian had been interested in police work. He had gone to college for computer science and engineering, with a minor in graphic arts, but the interest was there, no matter how much Angie had tried to smother it.

"He always did love playing cops and robbers," Francis said with a sideways smile.

"Yeah," Angie said, shaking her head, "and you and Rollie always encouraged him."

"Hey, we were just playing," Francis said.

"Uh-huh," Angie said, "the citizen ride along was just playing."

Angie shook her head.

"Well," she said, "maybe it'll come in handy now. But I know one thing. We have to find Loubar first."

She and Francis looked at each other for a long moment.

"I tracked Loubar for over a year," Angie said crossing her arms, "with Rollie. If anyone can find him faster than Brian, it's me."

Francis paused, then nodded slowly.

"All right," Francis said, "all right. Let's get him."

"So, where to?" Wally asked.

"Neither Lauren nor Tom were at home," Brian said, scratching his chin.

They sat in Wally's new silver convertible concept car. The company he was working for gave it to him. Brian ran his finger across the dash.

"Guess we'll be able to get there fast, though," he said with a slight smile.

"She'll do 210, if need be," Wally said with a smile, "zero to sixty in four and half seconds."

"The perks of being an architectural genius," Brian said, smiling wider.

"Ah," Wally said with a wave of his hand, "just caught a good break."

"Right," Brian said.

"So," Wally said, "about where we're going."

"Loubar hasn't been back in New York in quite a while, I'm sure," Brian said, "which means he'd have very few contacts left. We need to find out who Loubar was dealing with before, and then who's still here."

"How do we do that?" Wally asked, "And what about Lauren and Tom?"

"Lauren's probably at work," Brian said, "Tom's probably at the gym. As for finding out Loubar's old acquaintances-"

Brian turned slowly to Wally with a slight smile.

"You're a detective's son," Brian said.

"So?" Wally said, then his eyes got wide, "hold on! Oh no! I can't just-"

"You can get us into the police station, right?" Brian said, "Captain Rizzo knows you. All I need is access to a computer terminal, I can hack my way through the rest."

Wally sat back, his hands on the wheel.

"That could be dangerous," he said, "everyone will be looking for you."

"You forget who you're talking to," Brian said with a dangerous smile, "I'm a Tyler. Disguises are our business."

Wally started the car.

"I'll need to borrow a few pieces of equipment," Brian said, "first a quick stop at Laslo Effects, Inc. I'm sure Eldon wouldn't mind..."

"Put in the vocal modulator," Victor said.

Stefan put a tiny black chip behind his front tooth. It stuck and he opened his mouth to speak.

"How's this?" he said, sounding exactly like Brian Tyler.

"Perfect," Victor said with an approving nod, "you sound just like him."

"This thing is something else," Stefan said, taking out, his voice returning to it's normal deep tone.

"Takes your sound waves," Victor said, "analyzes and either dampenes or increases frequency and amplification peaks to match those of whomever it's programmed for. The latest in sound technology."

"I love the mask, too," Stefan said, "a lot more comfortable than the old one."

"Try it out," Victor said, looking up from the laptop computer he worked on.

Stefan picked up what looked like a rolled up piece of cellophane. He took off his shirt and put it close to his face. He placed it on his forehead, and began to roll it down his face. It adhered to his face perfectly, contracting till it hugged his face and neck like another layer of skin. He rolled it down the rest of his neck, torso, and waist. It ended at his hips.. Looking in the mirror, he adjusted a few wrinkled places, and nodded to his father. Victor hit a button and the thin plastic rippled like a pool being stirred up by a pebble, a thin sparkle of blue electricity coursing across Stefan's upper body. A moment later, his features were replaced by that of Brian Tyler.

Stefan stuck the vocal modulator back in.

"Well father?" he said.

Victor smiled.

"I can't tell the difference," Victor said, "you're the same height and build, roughly, so no need for change there. You match exactly to the pictures you took at the beach."

Victor stood up and poked Stefan in the chest.

"Feels real," he said, "good. It's perfect."

"Father," Stefan said with a bit of hesitation, "is all of this really necessary? I mean, it serves no purpose-"

"It serves a great purpose!" Victor said, fire coming into his eyes.

Stefan stared back at him with the one feature that troubled Victor. His eyes. Every so often they would stare out at him, with a look, a look he'd seen in another pair of eyes. A pair of eyes he'd looked deeply into before. When his son was confused, they took on the same look. It was, disturbing.

"Son," Victor said, "you remember the story of how this started? Why we are here? Why we are doing this?"

Stefan nodded.

"Yes, father," he said.

"I don't think you do," Victor said, sitting down, "sit down, boy."

Stefan sat across from him, and Victor turned off the artificial skin suit.

"Twenty four years ago," Victor said, "I was married to the most beautiful, most wonderful woman in the world. Her name, was Angela Ramirez. They greatest day of my life, was when we found out she was pregnant. We rejoiced."

Stefan sat back, having heard the story numerous times.

"But there was a dark cloud over our lives," Loubar said, "a cloud by the name of Rollie Tyler. The terrible things he did, which I won't go into, forced us to retaliate in force. We stopped him once, from assassinating an important ambassador, and since then he followed us, made our lives miserable. I was forced to do terrible things, just to save my family. You have killed men to save us, Stefan, I have killed many more to save us before you could remember."

Loubar paused, sighing.

"The final blow came," he said, "after you were born. He kidnapped you and I. He told my beloved, that if she did not marry him, he would kill us both. My dear Angela, she loved us both too much. I managed to escape, got to her before she could make her decision, but we were followed. For the first year of your life we were chased by Rollie Tyler. Always fleeing, always running. Tyler managed to get Angela, but he wanted me, and you. I ran with you, and Tyler would always bring Angela with him, to keep me from hurting him. Eventually I managed to get to Angela, one time when we had been followed. She wouldn't come with us. She feared too much for us. She gave up her life, for us. We fled, lived out our lives. But I promised her that day, that I would return, and free her from Tyler's claws."

Loubar took a deep breath.

"And that day has come," Loubar said, "he illegally married her, saying I was dead. He had a child with her. But she is not willing, has not been willing all of these years. No doubt, he has brainwashed her. And that child, the child of Tyler, Brian Tyler, is dangerous, for he has the woman we both wish to be with, on a horrible chain. You have done away with Tyler, but it is the child that is the most to be feared. To simply kill him may not bring our Angela back to us. We must show that you are her son, her true son. You must best him in every way, first. Only then, can we be reunited."

Stefan nodded.

"I shall, father," he said, "I shall."

The stuff wasn't our of Rollie's system. He could open his eyes, but he couldn't move. The doctors couldn't detect it, and he couldn't tell them. His getting excited, the adrenaline and heart rate, it must have increased the rate of the drug to his brain. It was a strange drug, that. Paralyzed him, but he wasn't asleep. Slowly he would regain. He had to calm down. He had to slow the beating of his heart, for the drug had a grip on him, inside and out. He had to remain calm.

He concentrated on his breathing. Slow and steady. He could hear the beating of his heart. He would be all right. He had to calm down. The drug was engineered to do this, to react when the body got excited, timed to let out bursts of the sedative over a period of time. But Loubar hadn't been able to give him the full amount. He had come to too quickly, before the next burst had been released. Soon it would wear off. If he could remain calm.

Rollie's heart rate slowed, he breathed methodically. Slowly, torturously, his right index finger began to move.

Francis drove silently. Angie sat next to him in the front seat, looking out of the passenger window as the trees on the tree lawns whisked by. The engine hummed almost silently. They passed a cemetary and Francis watched as a small group of black clad mourners watched a casket being lowered into the ground. His thoughts drifted to another funeral...

"....and she died as she always told me she would. In the line of duty. Protecting others. Helping others. Doing her job. That's the way she wanted it. We can all think back on her, and be proud, because she lived her life as she wanted. She was a good cop, one of the best. And I'll miss her."

Francis walked slowly from in front of the casket, back to the group assembled. He stood next to Sarah, who put her arm in his. Rollie stood next to him, Angie after that, then Tony Rizzo, and the then Captain Van Duran. There was a long moment of silence, then the priest gestured to the small group of relatives who had been able to make it to the funeral. Francis lifted his eyes and spotted a long figure watching from afar, on top of the hill overlooking the cemetary. Michael.

Francis turn came, and, trying to ignore the muffled sobs from Angie and Mira's relatives, they processed slowly, each taking a small rose and placing on top of the shining black casket. Francis stared at his face for a brief moment, reflected, somewhat skewed, in the glossy finish. A man without a partner. A man who would never have a partner again. It was too painful.

Detective Francis Gatti walked on, and away, saying goodbye to yet another friend. No toasts this time. No picnics by the grave. There was no finality, no closure, until the man who had done this was caught. Until Victor Loubar was rotting in prison, or rotting in the grave, whichever Francis felt like when he caught him....

"We've got him," Mira whispered.

Francis nodded. The small, run down apartment building was completely cut off. Police were at every exit. Every window was being watched. Trained marksmen stood on rooftops, waiting. Victor Loubar had stolen Andrew Tyler, but he hadn't been able to move quickly enough, and they had caught him before he could leave town. It was three o'clock in the afternoon, the sun was covered by gray clouds, and the scent of rain was in the air.

Mira held her gun like it was a part of her, as she waited for the S.W.A.T. team to position themselves around the building and on various floors. Victor Loubar was somewhere in that building, they knew it. They'd check each and every room until they found him, and the child. They would return Angie's son to her, and put the slime in prison, where he belonged.

Orders were given. Move in. The well trained men went quickly to every room, frightening tenants, and rustling through the rooms causing babies to cry and protective mothers to yell in anger. Mira and Francis went into one apartment. Four dirty, runny nosed children played on the floor while a small yellow mut ran around licking their ears. The mother ran to the baby's room, a tiny child with a large tuft of black hair on the top of his head, who immediately began to cry as the two detectives and another officer searched the small two bedroom apartment.

The mother lifted the child, shooting glares at them and yelling in Spanish. Mira responded in the same language, apologizing and casting a quick sorrowful glance at the conditions of the place.

Every room was searched. Every room. Rollie had set up a way to test for masks, in particular the kind used by Victor Loubar. But they also could take no chances so a few men who matched his build had the unfortuante experience of being tested on whether their faces were real.

As the search ended, they coordinated, and Mira swore vehemently.

"Where is he?" she cried, "No one has left the building, right?"

An officer shook his head.

"Not one," he said, "we've got men searching for hidden exits, or hiding places, but frankly I don't think he's in there."

"He's in there," Mira said, "we had a witness. We know. He's just doing what he does best, hiding-"

Mira frowned, her brow furrowing.

"Hiding in plain sight," she muttered.

"What?" Francis said, not hearing her.

"Nothing," she said quickly, "keep checking."

Mira walked off and Francis watched her. He knew his partner. She was up to something. He tailed her quickly, staying a ways behind as she began walking amongst the various officers. A troop came out of the apartment, and headed in one direction. But one officer didn't. Another slipped behind a car, and began walking towards the side of the building. Mira was the only one who saw him. She and Francis, that was.

Mira darted forward, following him. Francis hesitated for a second, then called to a few officers. They'd need back up. A few seconds later, they were sprinting around the corner. A gun shot went off as Francis rounded the corner of the building. He turned just in time to see Mira fall. She was falling backwards, thrown backwards, her arms loose and lifeless. It was as if time had slowed down.

"No!" Francis yelled, his voice long and hideous.

He saw Loubar. He was standing, holding a duffel back in one hand and a gun in the other. He was dressed like a cop. He was wearing some sort of disguise, yes, different color hair, a different nose, a moustache. But it was Loubar. No doubt about it. The gun was out. He dropped his arm and ran. The officers raised their guns.

"Wait!" Francis said, as he ran forward, "he's got the baby!"

The baby was in the duffel. Victor ran with it and it bounced around in his hand. Francis gritted his teeth and slid down next to Mira.

"Get him!" Francis yelled.

The officers sprinted past. Francis yelled for an ambulance. For help. For anything. Mira lay, blood everywhere, blending in with her red blouse. Her head lolled lifelessly. Francis cradled her head in his hands. There was no pulse. There was no Mira.

"No, no, no," he muttered into her hair, "not again. Please, not again."

He heard footsteps behind him. A medic. Two medics, in fact. But as they leaned over, gently pulling him away, it was already obvious. Loubar's aim was perfect, shooting her with a high caliber hand gun, the bullet piercing her chest, her heart, rattling around inside her like a deadly pinball, then coming out of the middle of her back. Blood was all over Francis. On his hands, on his shirt, on his pants.

He stood up slowly. The medic looked up and shook his head. Anger welled inside Francis and he let out a gutteral yell. His fist struck the hard brick of the building, bursting open three of his knuckles, his blood mingling with Mira's. He leaned against the wall.

An officer walked up next to him.

"Tell me you got him, Lou," Francis said.

Lou sighed.

"I-I'm sorry Frank," he said, "we've lost him."

The hardest part had been telling Rollie and Angie. Francis glanced at Angie, who stared out of the window still. She had cried so much that week, that first week, that her tear ducts soon ran out of tears to fall. Rollie tried his best to console her, but he was filled with such seething anger that he couldn't see straight. After Mira's death, he and Rollie vowed together that they would find Victor Loubar. No matter how long it took, one day they would find him.

That was when the quest began. The quest for a killer, and the quest for a son. The quest still wasn't over, only the prey had come to the predator. He was twenty years late, yes. But better late than never.

Francis felt his gun at his side, and thought of his wife, children, Leo, Mira. He thought of the face of Victor Loubar, and wondered what he would do, when he finally faced the man.

Rollie was feeling better. He could move his arms and legs again, but he couldn't talk, his mouth wouldn't work. Loubar had done a number on him no doubt, but he could get through this. He just had to keep calm. The nurse talked to him now, soothingly.

"Hello, Mr. Tyler," she said, "are we feeling a bit better?"

Rollie nodded weakly. His overly excited state had kicked the drug into overdrive. It was taking longer than he had thought to regain full control.

"We tried to contact your home," she said, "found you in the yellow pages. But no one was there, only got a recording."

The nurse glanced at the clipboard she held, and Rollie moaned slightly. She looked at him and raised an eyebrow. Rollie slowly moved his arm towards her, twitching his fingers.

"You want to write something?" she asked.

Rollie nodded again, slowly, jerkily. The nurse placed a pencil in his hand, and pulled his arm up.

"Ok," she said, "what is it you want to write?"

She put the pencil to paper. Rollie squinted, concentrating. He tried to will his hand to cooperate. Slowly a line was made on the paper, then another, then another. The first letter was done, an F. Rollie almost smiled, all he had to do was concentrate. He began to form an R. The doctor walked in.

"Nurse," the doctor whispered, beckoning to her with his finger.

She walked over. He whispered to her for a moment. She nodded with a frown, and walked back over to Rollie.

"I'm sorry," she said, "but I'll have to take that pencil now."

She pulled the pencil away from Rollie, along with the pad. Rollie moaned, and she apologized again. He followed her with his eyes as she and the doctor stepped outside of the door.

"I'm sorry doctor," she said, "I didn't realize."

"That's ok," the doctor said, "but a mental patient of his condition, well, we don't allow any objects that could become weapons. His doctor told us that in those brief spurts of crazed behavior, he can become quite violent, despite his almost normal behavior at other times. We can't be too careful."

The nurse nodded.

"I'm not used to dealing with patients in this ward yet," she said, "I've had the training, but dealing with them-"

"Is a whole other experience," the doctor said with a smile, "I know. Don't worry, no harm done."

The doctor and nurse walked away.

'Doctor?' Rollie thought, 'what doctor of mine?'

The name Loubar rang through his head like a church bell. What had he told them about him? Had they just been playing with him? Going along with the delusions of a madman? Rollie's heart rate began to quicken.

'No' he thought to himself quickly, 'I can't get excited. I must calm down. I must get to my family...'

Lauren Richards, a pretty young blonde whose hair always seemed to be bouncing, called encouragement to her grade school student.

"That's it, Amy!" she called, "Good going!"

She helped little brown pig-tailed Amy Harper off the balance beam. Lauren Richards was a talented gymnast, and taught during the summer at the local gymnastics center.

"Lauren!" someone called, "You've got a call!"

Lauren turned and smiled down to Amy.

"Be right back," she said.

Amy nodded and ran over to where a few other students were practicing tumbling. Lauren walked to the back and picked up the phone.

"Hey L!" a familiar voice said, "You busy?"

"Well, I'm at work Bri," Lauren said, unable to stop herself from smiling at the voice, "what's up?"

"Can you meet me afterwards?" he said, "I need to talk to you about something."

"Where?" she asked.

"You know where the Rodam Hotel is?" he asked, "There's a little cafe in the lobby, they serve great subs, and salads."

"Ok," Lauren said with a shrug, "what do you want to talk about?"

"It's a surprise," he said, "just be there."

"Ok," Lauren said again.

The phone was hung up, and Lauren frowned into the reciever. That was rather unlike Brian. She shrugged again. He was always up to something, though. Who knew. She always went along with it, though.

Lauren headed back to her students. Only a few minutes left anyway.

Eldon hadn't asked questions. The F/X man, now owner of his own company, had remained friends with the Tylers. Very good friends. When Rollie and Angie had run out of funds, they often told Brian, after selling all of their equipment to Eldon, he had given it all back to them. All of it. Eldon, during the year or so of their absence, had made a big name for himself and a very, very hefty profit producing a sci-fi movie which was now hitting it's third sequel. He often told Rollie he owed him everything.

Brian had only been told the skeleton of the story, not truly why his parents had quit for that brief time. Now he knew. A simple morphing duraplex facial piece, or MDFP, of the larger category of morphing duraplex skins (MDS or Mids) now used quite often in higher budget films.

"I love this Mid," Brian said, holding it up.

Semi-transparent, the thing absorbed, rather than reflected, most of the light that struck it. Brian picked up the handheld composite scanner, and plugged it into the laptop. He and Wally sat in Wally's car, Brian had the laptop on his knees, the power supply plugged into the laptop power outlet the car came equipped with.

Brian held the scanner, which resembled a metallic, red and white curling iron, and slowly swiveled it around his head. It hummed very softly, and a small red line of laser light passed across Brian's face as he swirled it around. Wally looked over at the laptop, which was creating a wire frame sketch of Brian's head. A few clicks by Brian, and it added skin. Brian hit the 'Upload' link to the Mid and the mask morphed in his hand. He placed it over his face.

"A perfect fit," he said with a wide grin, the mask grinning with him, a perfect second skin.

Wally shook his head.

"So who are you becoming?" Wally asked.

"Well, I figure I'll go straight to the top," Brian said, "how about Commissioner Van Duran?"

Wally raised his eyebrows.

"Excuse me?" he said, "If you get caught-"

"I won't get caught," Brian said.

Brian called up a few pictures he had from some photos at home. He had already created a three dimensional map of the Captain's head, creating a composite from various angles of the pictures. He uploaded to the mask again, and Brian's face took on the features of Commissioner Marvin Van Duran. Brian clicked the 'Add Skin' button, which took a few seconds to match the Commissioners skin tone from the pictures, and give it a life like substance. A moment later, the mask adjusted it's own light wave reflectors to reflect only the hues of the Commissioners skin, and absorb all others.

Brian turned to look at Wally. Wally whistled.

"I never will get over that," he said, shaking his head.

Brian nodded.

"Me either," he said, "let's roll."

Angie watched out of the window, silent. They were nearing their first stop, an old snitch of Francis'. They were going to see if he was still good for information. If he wouldn't give it willingly, they'd pay. If not then, then Angie would throttle him until he would. They passed a church, it's tall towers looming over them. It reminded her of that one church, in London, where they'd tracked Loubar to...

"Loubar in a church," Rollie said, "Huh. Now that's a contradiction."

"Quiet down, Tyler," FBI Special Agent Elena Serrano said, "Garber, take your men and cut off the back exit."

They sat outside the front of the large brick building, it's huge towers, and massive, color filled windows served to contrast the gloomy sky. Agent Sal Garber, Elena's new partner, an average sized man with a large mass of wavy black hair, nodded and motioned to his men.

Loubar was holed up in this place, with Andrew. Angie could feel it. She could feel that her son was close by. They'd been tracking Loubar for four months now. First Mexico, where he'd hopped around in the jungles for a long, aggrevating time. They'd gotten close, then he'd hoped to Mexico City and caught a plane to Miami. From there he caught a flight to England. They'd lost him then, for a while, just missing him after he'd fled his last location, a run down bed and breakfast run by a spiteful old woman. Loubar hadn't paid for his stay.

Now they'd tracked him to this church, staying in the basement where the parrish housed a few homeless and less fortunate. A man with a baby, though, aroused suspicion. Kidnapping was usually the case in those circumstances. Someone had phoned. Elena had found out about it from one of the local officers, and they'd converged on the place. They'd actually seen Loubar through a basement window. They had to get in and out, without hurting the baby. Angie continually reminded them of this.

"You got those smoke bombs, Tyler?" Elena asked.

Rollie nodded, fishing three small metal spheres from his jacket pocket.

"Yeah," he said, glancing at Angie, "they'll only knock out. Andrew won't get hurt, he'll just take a nap."

Angie nodded, wrapping her arms around herself. A cold breeze brushed past them, sending a shiver down everyone's spine. Elena gritted her teeth.

"Then let's do it," she said.

"Let's do it indeed," Rollie said, fire in his eyes.

Angie watched, a sadness creeping up inside of her, and she tried to fight it down. Rollie had been a different man during these months. Before, when he'd helped Leo and Mira, it was the great man in him, the man who wanted to help for the sake of helping, that did great things. Now, four months after Mira's death, four months into this search, he had changed. Angie watched, mute, for all this time as Rollie turned into a man on a mission. A single minded, stubborn mission. To stop Victor Loubar.

Rollie had cut his way through the deepest parts of southern Mexico, had spent countless dollars, had bribed countless squealers, had tackled countless might-of-been-Loubar's, just to find Andrew. A boy that was not his, but should have been.

Angie stayed behind for the time being. The men took their positions. A window was open. Smoke bombs dropped. Screams. Doors flying open. They swarmed the place, Angie waited next to Elena's brown car anxiously. Moments passed. Slamming, running, more yelling. Not much later, Rollie came walking out of the front of the church, his head hanging. Angie knew before he got to her.

"He got away," Rollie mumbled softly, his eyes to the ground, and walked past her.

"He had an escape route," Elena explained softly to Angie, "a door, leading from the basement to the next building over. He must've gotten out over there. We'll search the neighborhood."

Angie nodded. But the search would be futile, she already knew. Loubar had escaped them yet again.

"Mr. Banks is a very strange case, I must say," the nurse said.

She sat in the hospital cafeteria, across from the doctor. The doctor nodded.

"He is indeed," the doctor said, "multiple personality syndrome, demensia, paranoid schizophrenia, you name it, he's got it."

"What did his doctor say again?" she asked.

"Well," the doctor said, popping a cube of jello into his mouth with a plastic fork, "apparently he was being kept at home. Then he jumped out of a window, bashed his head on a rock on the ground outside. His physician felt it best to put him here for the time being, until a permenant place he's setting up is ready."

"What about these normal spells he talks about?" the nurse asked.

"The way he explained it to me," the doctor said, swallowing his jello, "he has calm times where he speaks and acts normally, except usually he takes on that 'Tyler' persona. Apparently its the more adventurous personality in him, with all kinds of stories of people after him, family in danger. He's got an imagination, that's for sure."

"He have any family?" the nurse asked.

The doctor shook his head.

"None that will come and see him," he said, "one in California, his doctor, Doctor Reynolds is his name, but they're hands are full and they want nothing to do with him."

"How sad," the nurse said, pushing her thin slice of meatloaf around the plate with her knife, leaving a trail of gravy.

"Well," the doctor said, "there's not much they could do for him. For now, he's in our hands, and we'll do our best to keep him from hurting himself."

"Mr. Banks, please, lie back down," the large, bald dark skinned orderly said.

Another orderly, a large man with crew cut blonde hair, came in to assist.

"My name is Tyler," Rollie said slowly, breathing purposely, "Rollie Tyler."

Rollie had managed to get out of bed, and talk. These orderlies weren't cooperating, though.

"Please, sir," the other orderly said in a firm voice, "back in bed."

Rollie struggled a bit, but let them push him back down. His heart was pounding faster, and he closed his eyes, concentrating on his breathing.

"Please," he said softly, "I need to speak with Detective Francis Gatti of the NYPD, Midtown South Precinct, his Captain is Captain Tony Rizzo. It's urgent. If you could just contact him-"

"Ok, ok," the dark skinned orderly said, "we will. Now lie still, and stay in bed please."

Rollie nodded slowly. The orderly sighed and looked at the other. The other shook his head sadly and they left the room.

Banks. The name ran through his mind. What was Loubar doing to him? Where was Angie and Brian? They could already be-

Rollie shook that thought from his mind. No, that would only cause him more stress. He had to stay calm. He swallowed thickly, grimacing. He looked up, at the night stand next to the bed. They had taken the phone from his room. Doctor's orders no doubt. Rollie picked up the remote and flipped on the TV. The orderlies were keeping a lookout for him, he wanted the room to at least sound like someone was there.

Rollie swung his legs off the bed slowly. They'd closed the door. He shuffled slowly to it and turned the cold metal handle. It was locked.

"You want me to do what?" Stefan said.

He sat across from his father, a small desk between them.

"That's right," Victor said, nodding, "trust me, on this, son."

"But, but father," Stefan said, "isn't that a bit-"

"I said trust me," Victor said, "you do trust me don't you?"

Stefan nodded.

"Of course, father, but still, it seems a bit-"

"Silence," Victor said, leaning towards his son, "what have I taught you about obedience?"

Stefan swallowed, nodding and dropping his eyes. Victor leaned back, putting his two index fingers to his lips. Stefan was visibly shaken. This was not good. If the boy could not live up, then there would be trouble. He needed the boy to be at least close to his own equal. If he could not be as good as his father, then he would not be as good as the son of Tyler.

"No mercy," Victor said, "no mercy. Emotions are meaningless. They are a tool to be used, a weakness of others."

"They can be guided," Stefan recited, "like puppets on a string. You just have to pull the right ones."

Victor nodded, and glanced at his watch.

"You should be going," he said, "don't fail me again."

Stefan shook his head no, and left the room.