---

Nikita was at Walter's station. They were arguing over movies. Walter had convinced Nikita to go out to see a movie with him, but it was on her terms. And the terms were simple enough. Nikita got to pick the movie, only Walter didn't like her choice. So Nikita picked another, which he also refused. So now they were arguing the merits of foreign films over domestic. Art over action. Science Fiction over romance...and so on. But Nikita's words dribbled to a halt when she caught sight of Michael walking towards them.

He was dressed totally out of character, so Nikita assumed that he was preparing to go out on a mission, and she could only imagine what the mission might be, considering his wardrobe. Michael was wearing formfitting, leopardskin, leather pants with a black, mesh, tank top. The pants outlined the hard, curved, muscles of his long legs, and tight butt. And the tank top revealed rock-solid biceps, broad shoulders and offered tantalizing glimpses of a well developed chest and abdomen. Nikita expelled a deep breath as her eyes moved from Michael's booted feet, up over his legs, lingering at the bulge of his sex, that was blatanly displayed, then upward to his angel's face, framed by dark-auburn curls. Even his hair was wild tonight, and Nikita found herself wondering if those curls were as soft as they looked.

Michael could feel the heat of Nikita's gaze upon him but ignored it. He didn't want to go there, not tonight. The mission he was assigned to was too important to let his feelings for Nikita interfere. So Michael addressed Walter. "Do you have what I need?" he queried.

Walter nodded, reaching under his work table but keeping his eyes on Michael. He grinned, for he had watched Nikita's expression upon seeing the young operative, and he could guess what she was thinking. Actually he didn't have to guess, it was written all over her face. But Walter wiped off the grin as he approached Michael. He knew that the mission was important, even if it were amusing on a personal level. "This contains your CD's," Walter explained as he wrapped a gold belt, made of thick, two-inch wide links that looked like coins, around Michael's waist. Next he held out a gold, link watch. "This has the digital camera."

"Good," Michael approved, as he let Walter fasten it around his wrist. "What about the jacket?"

"Right," Walter replied, heading towards the hooks lining the back wall. "Almost forgot." He plucked a short, black suede jacket, with fringe, down from a hook and brought it over to Michael. "There are retractable blades in both sleeves," he said, demonstrating. Thin, silver blades popped out when he pressed on a certain spot, which he carefully revealed to Michael. Then he helped the young man slip on the jacket.

Michael offered a slight smile. "Good work, Walter," he complimented, then he turned on his heel and walked away.

Nikita found herself releasing a breath she hadn't realized she was holding as she watched Michael stride off. The jacket he was wearing didn't cover his butt, and he had a sensual grace when he moved that made her tingle deep inside. "Damn.." Nikita muttered, having forgotten Walter's presence, until she heard him chuckle.

"Michael looks..hot," Walter commented, his eyes on Nikita's face.

"He looks like a whore," she shot back, her eyes flashing. "A male whore." Nikita grimaced as memories of her life on the streets washed over her like a tidal wave.

Walter nodded. "Exactly," he confirmed. "That's his cover. A hustler."

Nikita shook her head. "He's going to cause a sensation," she warned, knowing that John's would be all over Michael with his looks and in that attire.

"That's the idea," Walter replied, reaching out to pat Nikita's shoulder. "Michael has to grab the attention of someone in particular, so he needs to stand out in a crowd."

"Oh...he will," Nikita confirmed, trying to shake off her sense of foreboding.

Walter knew she was worried. "Don't worry about, Michael," he told her with a grin. "We both know he can take care of himself.

Nikita shrugged, regretting the fact that her emotions were so obvious. Forcing a smile she said, "Come on, Walter. Let's go see a movie. You can pick." All NIkita wanted right now was a distraction. Taking Walter by the hand, she led him towards the exit.

*************

Michael played his part well. From the moment he had set foot on Seventh Ave, which local cops referred to as the Red zone, he captured attention. Now he was leaning up against the wall of one building, lighting up a cigarrette and blowing smoke rings while he studied the people who passed by. He could feel eyes watching him, from couples strolling by, to John's on the make. Then there were the pimps, and the drunks, male and female prostitutes and various others who filled the street. For the past two hours Michael had fended off the advances of both men and women. He had a ready excuse for them all. They couldn't afford him. One guy tried to get forceful and he was still unconscious, by the dumpster, in the alley Michael had tossed him in. He'd have one hell of a headache when he woke up.

Glancing at his watch, Michael saw that it was near midnight. The witching hour, or so he hoped. The intel on Carter William claimed that the judge liked to make the rounds through the Red zone at Midnight on the dot. He appeared in a black limosine, and made his choice while studying the goods through tinted glass. A man who could see, but not be seen. Or so he believed.

Carter William was a federal Judge who was extremely wealthy, due to a family inheritance. Old money. He was fifty-two years old, highly respected, married for twenty years. Had four children and was loved by one and all. But he had a dirty little secret, a lust for male whores. But Carter was particular. The men he picked to sleep with had to be clean, at least what he could convince himself was clean, and preferably with dark hair and a muscular build. Carter didn't want teenage boys, he wanted men. Whenver his wife and kids went out of town, which was one weekend every month to visit her parents, Carter headed for the Red Zone. This was one of those weekends. The servants would have the weekend off.

It was Michael's job to get chosen by Carter and invited to his home. Then he was to take pictures of the house to get a schematic layout as well as make copies of a few files that could be used for blackmail purposes down the road. In Michael's jacket pocket was a small vial of knockout juice. Just to make things easier. But, first things first, Carter Williams had yet to make an appearance. Even as the thought occurred, Michael smiled. A black limosine was pulling over to the curb. After a few minutes, the front, passenger door opened, and a man in an italian suit stepped out. It was Carter Williams' aide. Michael was able to identify him from the intel.

The aide, Jack Daley, headed straight for Michael. He smiled then said, "My boss would like to invite you to his house for the evening," he said formally. "Three hundred dollars." For most of the hustlers in the Red Zone, that would be a fortune.

Michael shook his head. "Not interested."

"What?" Jack countered, surprised by the refusal. The offer had never been refused before. He peered intently at the young man. "How much?" Jack made the counteroffer because he knew how badly the judge wanted this one.

"One thousand," Michael replied, tossing the butt of his cigarrette onto the pavement, then crunching it out with the toe of his boot.

Jack heaved a sigh, scratched his head, then nodded. "Deal. Come on." He gestured for Michael to proceed him.

A smile curving his lips, Michael did so. But even as he reached for the door handle, Jack was there to open it for him. flicking the man a glance, Michael then turned to slide into the car. THe door closed behind him and he found himself facing Carter Williams.

The judge smiled as he offered a glass of champagne in expensive crystal. "You're very expensive," he commented, his tone betrayal a sense of curiousity.

"And worth every penny," Michael drawled, accepting the glass.

"I'll bet you are," the judge whispered, as he sat back with his own glass, his eyes roving over the young hustler in a slow appraisal. "What's your name?" he asked, suddenly.

Michael grinned. "That'll cost you extra," he countered, teasingly.

Carter laughed, then reached into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a thick wad of bills, all of them hundreds, peeled one off and held it out. "Will this do?" he asked.

"For a start," Michael allowed, then he said," What would you like my name to be?"

"Angel," Carter replied.

Michael felt the heat of Carter Williams' lust burn into him. He hated doing this, but was able to detach himself from it emotionally to play his part. He followed Madeline's advice to toy with the man. Raising his glass, as if in a toast, he whispered, "Dark angel."

*************

By the time they reached Carter Williams' manor house, Michael had learned that it would be empty of servants and he and the judge would be completely alone. He had also been asked to stay until dawn, which Michael agreed to, for an extra two thousand. To his amazement, Carter Williams peeled three thousand dollars off the wad of cash and tucked it into Michael's belt. Other than that, he had kept his hands to himself.

When the limo pulled into the drive, Michael was pleased when the judge ordered the driver to take off until dawn, at which point he was to return and take Michael home. Of course, none of them knew that Michael would be long gone by then. Jack Daley was also given the night off. He exited the limo and stepped over to a red Corvette. A moment later he was gone.

"Would you like a drink, Angel?" Williams asked, as he led Michael into the house. He headed straight for the stairs and the blue suite. The judge had too much class to have his *affairs* in the master bedroom that he shared with his wife.

"Wine would be nice," Michael allowed, as he followed Williams into the room and looked around. "Nice house," he commented, turning his back to the judge, but attuned to the other man's movements. Michael didn't want any surprise attacks. First thing he was supposed to do is find out what he could about the judges' business contacts, and see if he would let slip any vital information. Beyond what was on his computer. That was information Section already knew about.

Williams was pleased that Angel asked for wine. For all that this young man was a prostitute, he was obviously cultured. Perhaps someone from a well to do family that had fallen on hard times. Whatever the reason, Carter was entranced. "What's your real name?" he questioned, as he poured two glasses of red wine.

Michael shrugged. "Does it matter? It's not as if we'll be seeing each other again," he countered, smiling as he accepted the glass of wine. He sipped at it and nodded. "Very nice."

"Maybe we will see each other again," the judge replied, taking a gulp of his own wine, then setting down the glass. "You're not like the other hustlers, Angel. You're different."

"Isn't that redundant?" Michael remarked, laughing softly as he moved to the window and gazed out over the lawn. He frowned as he thought he detected a movement in the shadows, then decided it was nothing. Still, his instincts were aroused. But those thoughts vanished as he felt a hand on his behind. Carter Williams was a large man and it was a big, strong, hand that kneading his hard muscles.

Michael closed his eyes, reminding himself to stay in character, then he turned, breaking the judges' grasp on his buttocks. He was smiling as he turned to face the other man. "Uh huh, Judge," Michael drawled, shaking a finger. "You can look...but don't touch. Not yet." Madeline had suggested that he tease the Judge, taunt him with sexual tension. That would allow him to put off having to drug him too soon, before they could talk. It would also prevent Michael from having to carry out the charade to it's completion, as in sleeping with the judge. That was something that Michael was not prepared to do.

The Judge pouted. "I've paid good money to touch you, Angel," he whined. "God you're beautiful..."

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder," Michael countered, feeling extremely uncomfortable, so he decided now would be a good time to distract Williams with business. He gestured about him. "Your house is a mansion, I didn't know Judges made such good money."

"I inherited my wealth," Williams admitted, readily enough. He kept his eyes glued on the younger man, who was gliding about the room. Angel moved with a sensual grace that made the judge painfully hard just watching him. "I also have good business sense," he offered. "I've invested well."

Michael nodded. "Got any advice as to how to invest my money?" he queried, as he offered a sensual smile. When the judge cut him off and attempted to kiss him, Michael sidestepped and grabbed Williams' glass off the table and moved to the wine bottle. "Let's make a toast," he suggested as he poured more wine and added the knockout juice. Michael knew he had to slow the judge down, and fast. His libido was on high. He was about to pick up the glasses when he felt heavy hands on his shoulders, tugging at his jacket.

The judges' breath was hot in Michael's ear as he whispered, "I wanna see you." He pulled off the jacket then held his breath as the young man's muscles were revealed to his lascivious gaze. "Beautiful.." Williams breathed, as he stroked one finger over a rock-hard bicep.

"Remember...no touching," Michael chided, as he turned to face the judge. He felt safer that way. It would be so easy to break the man's grabby fingers, but Michael knew that wasn't an option, so he gritted his teeth, then put on a smile. But the smile faded when he found himself backed up against the wall and a rough hand fondling his crotch. Michael's reflexes kicked in and it took a concentrated effort on his part not to react and break the Judge's neck. Instead he gripped the thick wrist in his iron fingers and applied pressure. Williams' cried out and jerked his hand away.

"That hurt!" he moaned, rubbing his wrist and glaring at Michael, balefully.

Michael feigned regret. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean to hurt you. But you're not playing by the rules." He crossed the room to retrieve the wine glasses and held one out to the judge. "Let's toast to a night of...passion."

Williams accepted the glass and a smile returned to his face. "To animal passion," he allowed, clinking his glass against Michael's. Then he emptied his in two gulps. Thirty seconds later he hit the floor with a thud.

"Finally.." Michael muttered, setting his own glass aside. Reaching down, he heaved the Judge over his shoulder and carried him over to the bed. He mussed up the pillows and the covers, then removed Williams' clothes. When the judge woke up he would think he had one hell of a good time. Now that he was able to apply himself to business, Michael took pictures of the room, grabbed his jacket, then headed down the hall. He took more pictures, then descended the stairs to the first floor. Once there he made the rounds, finishing out the roll of film. Forty-eight shots in all.

Michael had ended up in the Judge's office. He went to the PC and turned it on, then he booted up and spent five minutes trying various passwords. SEX granted him access to Williams' encrypted files. Michael made the copies that Section needed, then he closed down and prepared to leave. But as he headed for the door, something made him stop and peer out the window. He saw shadows moving again, only this time he was able to identify them as men. At least three, moving swiftly towards the house.

"Damn..." Michael muttered, as he moved behind the curtain. He wished he had his gun on him, but would have to improvise. He stole out of the office and towards the side of the house. He had a feeling that the intruders would chose to enter there. He would in their position. Sure enough, Michael had no sooner secreted himself when the first man entered through the window. Michael realized that the judge had never set the alarm system, and had therefore made it easy for the bad guys to invade his home. Just as the man stepped into the room, Michael reacted. He took him out and snagged his gun. The second man died before he was all the way inside. But he slumped forward, so Michael grabbed his gun too, then he peeked out. The others, and he guessed there would be several more, had chosen different routes.

Moving with the stealth of a shadow, Michael headed for the rear of the house. He was certain he could intercept there for he could guess what the intruders wanted...the Judge's files. With deadly precision, Michael took out three more men. The one remaining he left alive. Section would want to question him. Moving to the phone, Michael put in a call to housekeeping. He waited for them to arrive and sanitize the area, then he and the others left in a black van, leaving behind no trace of any intruders. The judge would never know what happened.

*************

As the van drove away, they were unaware of the man on the third floor. He was in the security room, sitting in front of a row of monitors. A smile crossed his face as he hit the rewind button and watched Michael take out the intruders, one by one. He felt his heart beat like a drum as man after man fell silent and swift to his death. His breathing became labored with excitement. After watching the tape at least a dozen times, the young man pulled it out and clutched it to his chest. Then he began to laugh. It wasn't hysterical laughter, nor maniacal. Rather it was sheer delight, and it echoed throughout the room.

*************

After returning to Section from Carter Williams' house, Michael reported directly to Madeline for debriefing. He took the opportunity to change back into his own clothes while she questioned him, and after slipping on his form-fitting pants, a pair of black socks and boots, Michael emerged from the dressing area, sans shirt. It wasn't laid out with the rest of the clothes.

Madeline smiled at Michael, realizing what had happened. "I'll get you a shirt," she said, pausing for a moment to admire Michael's sculptured physique. She was heading for the wardrobe dresser when Nikita came bursting through the doors. Madeline almost laughed outloud when the beautiful blond skidded to a halt, her eyes glued on Michael.

Nikita had never seen Michael barechested before and she was stunned by the sight of smooth skin over hard muscles. Each curve of his arms, chest, shoulders and abdomen were well defined. Michael reminded Nikita of the marble statues of Romans and Greeks that she had seen in museums. He was beautiful. So enraptured was she of him that it took her a moment to realize that Madeline was calling her name. Swallowing hard Nikita replied, "What?"

"Did you want something?" Madeline asked, a smile curving her lips as she found a black, mock-turtle neck and handed it to Michael. She watched him slip it over his head, seemingly unaware of Nikita's unblinking gaze, but Madeline was certain he could feel the heat of it. Nikita's own expression was amusing. As Michael pulled the shirt over his torso, the beautiful blond frowned with disappointment. "Nikita, I'm debriefing Michael," she stated firmly. "Was there something you needed?"

"Oh," Nikita countered, shaking herself to awareness. Reluctantly, she shifted her gaze from Michael to Madeline. "Here," she said, holding out a CD. Birkhoff asked me to give this to you."

Madeline accepted it with a nod and a thanks. "You're here late," she pointed out.

Nikita shrugged. "Walter and I went to a double feature, then out for pizza," she explained.

"Did you have a good time?" Madeline inquired.

"Yeah," Nikita replied, but her focus was back on Michael. He had tucked in his shirt and was now perched on the corner of Madeline's desk, watching her. Of course, he was always watching her with his intense gaze. Yet those beautiful eyes never gave away his thoughts. She wondered what he was thinking when he looked at her. What did he see? But before Nikita's introspective could run it's course, Operations entered the room. Nikita saw him glare at her, then signal that she should leave. With a toss of her pale hair, Nikita bid everyone *goodnight* then sauntered from the room.

The moment the doors were closed behind her, Operations addressed Michael and Madeline. "Our...guest...has been quite informative," Operations revealed, a smirk on his face. He had interrogated the man personally. The lone survivor from the attempted seige on Judge Williams' estate.

"What did you learn?" Madeline prompted, moving to perch beside Michael at her desk.

"That they were after the same thing we were," Operations replied, as he paced in a semi-circle. "They were hired by a private party, he doesn't know who. They were paid in a cash pickup. But he gave us enough for Birkhoff to run with. We'll have what we need soon enough."

Michael rubbed his chin then asked, "What do we do next?"

Operations shrugged. "We move on to the next assignment," he replied. "You're work is done, Michael. Good job." With that, Operations strode out of the room.

"He's right," Madeline confirmed, as she turned to study Michael. She could see that he was slightly stunned by the praise. Operations handed out compliments sparingly. A lock of his cinnamon-brown hair fell over his forehead and Madeline smooth it back, tucking it neatly behind one ear. "You go home," she said soflty. "Get some rest."

"I have reports to write," Michael countered, with a shake of his head. He pushed away from the desk and headed for the door. Only to stopped when he was called back.

Madeline smiled at him. "Go home," she said firmly, letting him know that it was an order, not a request.

With a nod of confirmation, Michael glided out of the room.

************* TWO MONTHS LATER *************

Michael was sitting on a park bench, pretending interest in the ice cream cone he was eating. In truth he was keeping an eye out for a woman named Deborah Forbes. She was the sister of an industrialist whom Section believed was in possession of top secret, government documents, dealing with hi-tech defense weaponry that was in the experimental stage. It was believed that Kenneth Forbes intended to sell the documents to a freelance mercenary who had once been associated with Mossad. That could not be allowed to happen. Intel suggested that Deborah was the actual brains behind the family business. She was in her late forties, had never married, and Madeline believed that she would not be immune to Michael's, persuasive, charms.

So he was sitting on the bench waiting for her to jog by. She usually made her run through the park, three times a week, just before noon. It was ten minutes after and she was a no show. Michael was getting ready to call in the team when a young girl, maybe twelve, came running over to him. She smiled as she held out a manila envelope. Michael simply looked at her, he didn't touch it. "What's this?" he asked, letting a smile curve his lips.

The girl shrugged. "Don't know," she replied. "Some lady with blond hair gave me ten bucks to deliver it to you."

"Where is this lady?" Michael asked, his eyes tracking the area and seeing at least a dozen, blond women.

"She drove off," the girl replied. Shaking the envelope she asked, "Aren't you going to take it?"

Gingerly, Michael did so. The moment it was in his hand, the girl ran off. Michael studied the envelope. There was nothing written on it and it was flat. He sighed then opened it. Using two fingers he pulled out an eight by ten photograph and a small, white card. Michael stared at them both for a moment, then shoved them back inside. "Abort," he ordered his team. "Take seperate routes back to Section." Tapping his comunit, Michael switched to a private channel, speaking directly to Birkhoff, who was in the van. "Pick me up on sixth street," he ordered, as he rose to his feet then headed west.

*************

Operations was in Madeline's office when Michael entered. He had the manila envelope in his hand and his expression was carefully blank. But he was feeling grim. Without waiting for his superiors to acknowledge his presence, Michael interjected, "I may have been compromised."

Madeline's eyes mirrored surprise. "How so?" she questioned, curiously. She could sense that Michael was anxious, but he he hid it behind a mask of neutrality. However, his silver-green eyes reflected shadows.

"Take a look at this," Michael replied, handing Madeline the envelope. He watched her open it, then she and Operations studied the contents. The photo was of a dead body, lying on it's back, throat cut. Across the man's forehead were the numbers *666* written in what looked like his own blood.

"It's Judge Williams," Madeline commented, her eyes glancing over at Operations.

His expression was grim. "What is the meaning of this, Michael?" Operations demanded.

Michael repressed the urge to sigh and explained. "I had Birkhoff do some checking. It appears that the Judge is the fourth victim of a serial killer that the local police are calling the Revelations killer."

"Because of the 666," Madeline commented.

"That's right," Michael confirmed.

Operations stabbed a finger at the picture. "So who sent this to you, and why?"

Michael shook his head. "I don't know. What's interesting is that this picture was taken before the police arrived. My guess is right after the murder. The blood is still wet on the Judges' forehead."

"So the killer sent it to you?" Operations guessed.

"Seems likely," Michael allowed. He looked at Madeline who was studying the card that had also been in the envelope. Written in blood were the words *Dark Angel*.

Madeline tapped a nail against a bloodstained letter. "Proabably belongs to the judge as well," she commented. When Michael didn't comment she asked, "What does Dark Angel mean?"

Michael pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers, he could feel a tension headache forming and it promised to be a killer. No pun intended. "Dark Angel was the name Judge Williams called me," he said softly.

For a long moment there was a hushed silence, as Operations and Madeline absorbed this new information. They both came to the same conclusion. Madeline spoke. "Who would have known that besides you and the judge?"

"Jack Daley and the limousine driver," Michael replied, promptly. He had already considered all possibilities.

"We need to pick up Mr. Daley," Operations hissed.

Michael was one step ahead of him. "I already sent a team out," he replied. "Daley should be here within two hours."

Madeline nodded approvingly. "What about the limo driver?"

"I don't know," Michael countered, regretfully. "I didn't get a good look at him. My back was to him during the drive, and he never left the car."

"Dammit!" Operations hissed, his fist slamming down on Madeline's desk top. "What the hell does a serial killer want from you, Michael?"

Madeline responded to the question, her eyes on Michael as she spoke. "We need to remember that by the evidence before us, either Mr. Daley, or the limosine driver is the killer." Her eyes locked on Michael. "Did you ask Birkhoff to run a profile on Daley?"

Michael nodded. "He's an unlikely suspect. My guess is that the limo driver is the killer or, somehow, connected to him. At the very least, Mr. Daley can give us the his name."

"Thank you, Michael," Madeline said softly, dismissing him. "Why don't you work on your tactical for the Forbes assignment. I understand she was a no-show so we'll have to go again day after tomorrow."

"There's one more thing you need to know," Michael said, feeling a bit surprised that no one had brought up this factor.

Operations glared at him. "Now what?"

Michael held the other man's fierce gaze without flinching. "Whoever the killer is, he's been following me. He knew I would be at the park." Michael explained about the little girl and the blond woman.

"Could she be the killer's girlfriend?" Operations asked, directing the question at Madeline.

"Unlikely," she replied. "This killer has a religious bond. I doubt that he's ever had a girlfriend. She would more likely be his sister. Maybe his mother. It's rare, but not impossible."

Michael turned and headed for the door. There was nothing more to tell. "I'll let you know when Mr. Daley arrives," he said softly, then he was gone.

Operations heaved a sigh, then he looked at Madeline. "I've got a bad feeling about this," he admitted.

"So do I," Madeline countered, moving around the desk to drop into her chair. "I want Michael under 24 hour observation, just to be on the safe side. We can't afford to lose him." Her concern for Michael's well being was genuine.

"Any suggestions who to assign?" Operations queried, but he wore a smirk for he could guess who Madeline was thinking of.

The dark-haired woman saw the glint of humor in Operations' pale eyes and nodded confirmation. "Nikita," she said, then she reached for the phone.

*************

After spending only a few minutes with Jack Daley, Madeline knew he wasn't the killer. He was, however, able to give them the name of the limosine driver. Tom Whittaker. Madeline passed along the information to Birkhoff who ran it a profile check. But there was no match. Tom Whittaker did not exist.

Michael paced in front of Madeline's desk, long fingers rubbing his chin and betraying the anxiety he refused to let show on his face. He was certain now that the limo driver was the killer, what he didn't understand was why the man was following him. "I don't want to compromise Section," Michael stated. "I can take a leave of absence. Disassociate myself and catch the guy."

Madeline shook her head. "I don't think that's a good idea, Michael," she countered, firmly, letting him know that she appreciated the gesture, but it was not an option. "We need you here, and active. We're still depleted after the War with Red Cell. Simply put, we can't spare you."

"But if I am being followed," Michael protested, locking eyes with Madeline. They both knew that he was. Had to be. "We don't know what this guy wants, or how the woman fits in. I don't think we should risk infiltration."

"We won't," Madeline replied. "Just do your job, Michael," she said softly. "Let me worry about the rest."

Michael took her words as a dismissal. He nodded, then turned and left the room. He was surprised to find Nikita waiting for him, right outside the double doors. "Is something wrong?" Michael queried, thinking that it was an ironic question to ask, given his current situation.

Nikita shook her head. "No," she replied, offering a gamine grin. "I was just bored. Got an hour to kill before the briefing, so I thought I'd see what you were doing? Walter chased me out of his station, and Birkhoff's too busy for games."

"I have work to do," Michael replied, shortly. He regretted his cool tone, but he wasn't one for idle pasttimes, and Nikita knew it.

"All work and no play makes Mikey a very dull boy," Nikita drawled. She was trying to bait a reaction out of him, and very nearly succeeded. A fact which surprised Nikita and made her realize just how stressed he was. Madeline had told her about the serial killings and that the killer had contacted Michael. Nikita's job was to watch over him, but without his knowledge. It seemed unlikely to Nikita that he wouldn't realize what she was doing, but that didn't matter. As far as she was concerned, her mission was to stick to Michael like glue, whether he liked it or not. She already knew he would not.

Michael was very much aware that Nikita was assigned to watch over him. He knew how Section operated, knew that Madeline would want him protected. They did him. As a Cold op and Team leader, Michael knew he was valuable to them. Especially after their ranks had been depleted by the War, as Madeline had mentioned. As much as Michael enjoyed Nikita's company, he didn't want her as a shadow. Not now. Not when there was a killer stalking him, and Michael had no idea why. But he knew that it was out of his hands, so he might as well make the best of it. Pinning Nikita with a cool glare, Michael countered her taunt with a suggestion, "How about a work out?"

Nikita was stunned. "A work out.." she repeated, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. "Like...sparring...or something?"

"Whatever your usual routine," Michael countered, hiding a smile. He knew that Nikita didn't trust his invitation, but he was being sincere. Michael could feel that his stress level was high, and a work out would help relieve some of his tension. "I like to spar with whomever is available, and work with weights."

"We could that," Nikita agreed, feeling herself relax. She realized that he meant for them to work out in the exercise arena, and that would be other operatives around. "Let me change and I'll meet you there in about ten."

Michael nodded. "See you then." He watched Nikita walk away, then he headed for his own quarters to change.

*************

Nikita was at the arena in about five minutes, but twenty had passed before Michael appeared. She was just about ready to hunt him down when he appeared before her.

"Sorry I'm late," Michael was quick to apologize. "Business to take care of."

"S'all right..." Nikita mumbled. She was surprised at being capable of speech. For her workout she had dressed in comfortable sweats and a sports bra. Michael, on the other hand, was wearing black, spandex biker shorts and a white, muscle, tank top that was cut low in the front and sides, revealing the sleek, sculptured, lines of his incredible physique. Nikita tried not to stare, but couldn't help it. This was the second time she had seen Michael half naked, and she wasn't complaining. In fact, she was enjoying it. It was rather a role reversal for them. A grin replaced Nikita's stunned expression as she let her eyes linger on the bulge between Michael's legs, then the smile threatened to split her face when Michael turned away from her to fiddle with the weight bench. The man had the most awesome behind.

Michael could feel the heat of Nikita's gaze and chose to ignore it. He would not give her the satisfaction of seeing him embarrassed. Besides which, it took a lot more than the heated glance from a beautiful woman to rattle Michael. Madeline had taught him to use his looks as a weapon. Other than that, Michael was oblivious to them. "Do you work with weights?" he asked, as he reached for a set of dumbells. They weighed twenty pounds each and Michael used them to do bicep curls.

Nikita nodded. "A couple times a week," she allowed, as she reached for a weight bar and used it to do some stretches. Her eyes never left Michael for the next twenty-five minutes as he used various free weights to work on his muscle groups. After he was through, Nikita watched him pat his face with a towel, then challenge one of the martial arts instructors to a take down.

As Nikita watched Michael win every time, she was reminded of a wild cat. He had the same strong, fluid grace. No wasted energy, just poetry in motion. The competition became interesting when two other instructors joined it, so it was three against one. But no matter what they threw at him, Michael countered them and put them down. Nikita felt like cheering as Michael bowed to his opponents, then glided over to her. She handed him a towel so he could wipe his face. His hair was a halo of damp curls. "You can't be beaten, can you?" Nikita commented, her remark meant as a compliment.

"The minute I believe that, I lose!" Michael hissed, his voice sharp as a razor blade and his eyes flashing.

"Whoa...back off!" Nikita countered, her own eyes flashing. "Don't cop an attitude with me," she warned him.

Michael backed off, immediately. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean to snap at you." He realized that the work out hadn't been effective in lessening his anxiety. He was wound tighter than a coiled spring. As he was about to apologize again, Walter appeared, his expression grim.

He focused on Michael. "Madeline wants to see you. We've got movement on Forbes," Walter informed him.

"Thank you," Michael replied. He glanced over at Nikita, but there was nothing more he could say. In his present state he would only do more damage. So Michael stepped past Walter and strode out of the room.

"Thanks for the workout..." Nikita called out after him, facetiously. Then she turned to Walter, who was grinning at her. "What are you so happy about?" she demanded, bending to retrieve her towel from the weight bench. Keeping an eye on Michael was not going to be as simple as she had thought.

Walter shrugged. "Nothing, sugar," he replied, but his eyes glinted with merriment. As Nikita headed for the door, he followed her. Once he'd caught up to her in the corridor he asked, "So....good work out?"

Nikita glared at Walter, knowing what he was up to. She felt he deserved payback for his teasing so she reached behind him and pinched his bum, hard. When he yelped, Nikita grinned. "Hmmmmmmm....feels to me like you could use a good work out, Walter. Buns of steel make me...hot." As she spoke, Nikita found herself envisioning Michael's tight butt. A flush of heat made her realize that she was heading for dangerous waters, so she winked at Walter then quickened her pace, leaving him behind as she ducked into the showers. She needed a cold one to extinguish her libido.

*************

Madeline had received Intel from Birkhoff that Deborah Forbes would be attending the charity gala at the Remington arms. It was for the coalition of Women against prejudice. It was a last minute decision on her part to go, so Madeline already had a tuxedo laid out for Michael. She told him a limo would be ready in twenty minutes, then sent him to shower and change.

The gala was in full swing when Michael arrived. It was his job to *bump* into Deborah Forbes and garner her interest. Then work his way into her affections so that she would invite him home. Next step would be an introduction to her brother, then the hope that she would take the bait that he dangled about being a translator for the Ambassador of Markesh. A connection that Section knew the Forbes' were interested in making. They would make a killing by selling the defense documents they had stolen to the Middle East.

Birkhoff and Nikita were in the van. Michael was wearing a comunit so they would be able to hear what happened. It didn't take him long to spot Deborah Forbes. She was chatting with a small group in the far corner of the ball room. Michael accepted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, then strolled across the room. "I'm about to make contact," he said softly.

"Good luck," Nikita offered, knowing how important this mission was.

Three hours later, Michael escorted Deborah Forbes home in his limosine. He invited her out to dinner the following evening, but she countered the offer by inviting him to dine in her home. Michael accepted, kissed her on the cheek, then returned to the limo. "I'm coming in," he informed Nikita.

"Right behind you," she replied. "Nice work."

"Thanks," Michael replied, absently. His thoughts weren't on Deborah Forbes. The image of Judge Williams' dead body in the photographed seemed to haunt him day and night. And the numbers 666 seemed to be imprinted in his brain.

*************

Four days later the mission involving Deborah Forbes and her brother reached it's climax. Michael convinced her that his attentions were sincere, as were his connections to the Markesh ambassador. A meet was set up to exchange goods, meaning money for the defense documents. Deborah Forbes kept her end of the bargain, but was in for a surprise. A team of Section operatives appeared behind Michael, who explained that the ambassador couldn't come. He then pulled out a gun and ordered Deborah to hand over the documents. Her brother pulled a gun out as well, along with their two body guards, and gunfire was exchanged. In the end, Michael had been forced to shoot Deborah when she took aim at the back of Nikita's head. He felt no remorse as he stepped over Deborah's dead body to make certain that Nikita was all right.

Upon returning to Section, Michael debriefed, then typed up his report. He was about to deliver it to Operations when Madeline called him into her office. Michael found himself stifling a yawn as the double doors opened. As he entered the room, he was surprised to see Nikita there. "Is anything wrong?" Michael questioned, unable to completely nuetralize his anxiety.

"Everything is fine," Madeline replied. She didn't bother to mention what was on all of their minds. No further Revelations killings had been reported, and they were no closer to discovering who had sent Michael the photograph. That it weighed on his mind was obvious. Madeline knew he barely ate and didn't sleep. The latter part was going to change. "I want you to go home, Michael," she said firmly. "Nikita will drive you and keep watch."

"I'd don't want to go home," Michael protested, realizing that he sounded like a petulant child, but unable to stop himself.

Madeline pulled a slim black case out of a desk drawer, then stood up and went to Michael, taking his arm and guiding him to sit in a nearby chair. "You're going home," she repeated, all the while rolling up his left sleeve. Once his forearm was bared she removed a syring from the black case, as well as a small vial of clear liquid. "The sedative I'm giving you will take full effect in about thirty minutes. Which will give Nikita just enough time to get you home and into bed before you collapse."

Nikita had been listening to Madeline with interest. She was intrigued by the thought of getting to see Michael's home. A part of her had been convinced that he lived in Section, as Birkhoff did. "Where do you live, Michael?" she asked, her eyes on the needle as Madeline slid it into a vein. Michael, of course, didn't flinch.

"I can drive myself home," Michael insisted. He hadn't put up a fight about the sedative, for he knew that Madeline wouldn't back down and any resistance on his part would land him in Medlab. An occurance that had happened twice before in the past, and Michael had vowed it would never happen again.

"Nikita will drive you," Madeline said firmly. "You're exhausted, Michael, so the sedative might take effect faster than expected and I don't want you going off the road." She replaced the syringe in the black case and zipped it up. Then she took a set of car keys out of her jacket pocket, along with a folded slip of paper, and handed them to Nikita. "Here are the keys to Michael's car, and house, and his address in on the paper. In case he conks out on you before you get there." But Madeline doubted that would happen, for Michael had a high tolerance for all drugs.

Nikita snatched up the keys and the paper, then turned to smile at Michael, who had risen from his chair. "Let's hit the road," she said, reaching for his arm.

Michael sidestepped her and headed for the door. His thoughts were chaotic and blurred, and it had nothing to do with the drug pumping through his veins. The thought of Nikita staying in his house....of being there while he slept.....frightened him. What bothered Michael the most was that he didn't know why.

"I'll take good care of him," Nikita promised Madeline, even as she ran to catch up to Michael. With a wave of one hand she was gone.

"I know you will," Madeline whispered, as the doors closed and she was once again alone

*************

Nikita chattered, non-stop, the entire drive to Michael's home. Following his directions, which was the only time he contributed to the conversation, Nikita turned onto his private lane twenty minutes after leaving Section One. She fell silent as they pulled up to the house. It was nestled between a grove of elm trees and since there was a full moon, Nikita could see it clearly. A place made of rustic wood and lots of glass. "It's beautiful..." she whispered, as she turned off the key and opened her door.

Michael was a few steps ahead of her. He could feel the sedative starting to kick in and he wanted to at least be near his bed when it hit him. Madeline's stuff always packed a punch. With Nikita trailing behind him and muttering beneath her breath, Michael climbed the front steps and pulled out his keys. He unlocked the door, but didn't step inside.

"What's wrong?" Nikita asked, as she joined him. Michael had an odd expression on his face. It was as if he were listening very hard to something that wasn't there.

"Intruders!" he hissed, moving back off the porch and running over to his car. From the trunk he removed two Glocks. He handed one to Nikita, who had followed him. In synch they checked the clips then racked a bullet into the chamber.

Nikita felt a chill ripple up her spine and one look at Michael's face and she knew he was thinking the same thing she was. "The serial killer?" she whispered.

He shrugged, not wanting to second guess himself. "Play it safe, Nikita," Michael whispered back. A part of him wanted to order her to take the car and get out of there, but he didn't waste his breath. He knew wouldn't listen. Michael paused long enough to brush his knuckles against Nikita's soft cheek, then he felt himself slipping into machine-mode. But he could also feel a warm lethargy spreading through him. Damn Madeline and her sedative, Michael cursed, silently.

"You too," Nikita replied, her own expression grim. In the back of her mind was the thought that, any moment now, Michael was going to collapse on her. If that happened, Nikita was prepared to protect him with her life. She was at his shoulder as they approached the house.

"Take the front and search the first floor," Michael directed. "I'll go in the back and track upstairs."

Nikita nodded. "Be careful, Michael." Her eyes searched his face for a moment and was relieved to see that he was still clear-eyed and alert. Thank the lord for his incredible tolerance for both pain and drugs. With that final thought, Nikita reached for the doorknob. A quick glance over her shoulder revealed Michael slipping around the side of the house. He moved with the silent stealth of a shadow. Nikita was determined to do the same as she pushed open the door and stepped inside.

Michael tried to concentrate on the task at hand, and to not worry about Nikita as he unlocked the back door and glided into the living room. To his right were the stairs and he ran up them, thankful for the thick carpeting that rendered his footfall silent. From the top of the stairs he looked down and could see Nikita slipping into the hallway. She disappeared into his office.

There was a stillness in the air that Michael could almost hear. A hush that was eerie and sent prickles of dischord rippling over his skin. He took a step down the hallway towards the bedroom, but had to stop to lean against the wall when a wave of darkness washed over him. The sedative at work. Michael willed away the darkness and continued on with grim determination. He was just at the bedroom door when he heard a cry, then a thump. "Nikita..." he breathed, turning to head back down the stairs. Instinct, and training, made him move with caution.

Michael stepped into the livingroom and saw a dark form near the fireplace, pale hair spread over the carpet. As he moved towards her, another figure appeared. A slim man who held his arms up, as if in surrender. "Who are you?" Michael demanded, his gun pointed at the man's chest. In the darkness it was impossible to make out any features, besides which Michael's vision was becoming blurred. So were his senses, for it was too late when he realized a presence behind him. He felt a pinprick in his neck then he fell into darkness.

*************

Lt. Laura Riley stared at the four files on her desk. The Revelations murders. The first killing had occurred a month and a half ago. Right from the start she had known it was a serial killing. All the signs were there, the most obvious being the 666 written across the victims forehead in her own blood. What set these murders apart was that each victim was different. They had nothing in common that she could discover. Not gender, age, appearance. They didn't share interests, hobbies, jobs or acquaintances. Heaving a sigh of frustration, Laura swallowed the last of her lukewarm coffee then tossed the files in her desk drawer. It was almost dawn and her shift had ended three hours ago.

As she headed for the door, waving goodnight to the day shift, Laura knew that going home was useless. She wouldn't be able to sleep. Not until she could put her finger on the pulse of what was troubling her. Something about the murders didn't feel right. Not just the seperate MO's, it was something else. Not to mention the fact that if the killer stuck to the same time schedule as before, another murder would occur in three days. "Something to look forward too," Laura muttered beneath her breath, as she shrugged on her jacket and stepped into the cold, gray, dawn.

*************

Michael had been awake for over an hour but had lain still, his eyes closed, while he listened to the voices that echoed around him. One male, the other female. He learned their names, Harold and Valerie, but not much else of use. Shifting his body, imperceptably, Michael also became aware of the fact that he was handcuffed to the head board of the bed he was lying on. Both wrists. He was about to debate whether or not he should alert his captors that he was awake when the decision was taken out of his hands. The woman, Valerie, came over to Michael and sat down beside him. She let her fingers slide into his hair, then kissed him. Her lips were warm and wet and Michael reacted by trying to pull away.

Valerie tightened her fingers in his thick hair, pulling back so that she could see his face. "Hello, Angel.." she whispered, one hand untangling itself so that she could trail a long, blood-red, fingernail down his cheek. "How do you feel?"

Ignoring the question, Michael countered, "Where's my friend?"

"The pretty blond?" Valerie countered, with a shake of her inky black hair. At Michael's nod she replied, "She's dead."

One look in the cold, dark, eyes and Michael believed her. There was a ripple of pain and a feeling as if he were suffocating, but then Michael wrapped his detachment about him like a cloak and was able to hold Valerie's gaze without flinching. His silver-green eyes matched the cold, emptiness reflected in hers. "Who are you?" he questioned, his voice barely a whisper.

It was Harold who answered, in a fashion. "We've waited so long for you, Michael. I thought this time would never come!" Harold's voice was high pitched with excitemen as he paced, back and forth, at the foot of the bed.

"What time?" Michael countered, probing for answers. Nikita was dead, and it was his fault. If nothing else he would avenge her death by killing Harold and Valerie. But first he wanted to understand why she had died. What purpose had Nikita's death served.

"It's the time of sanctification," Harold replied, a smile curving his thin lips. He was not an attractive man. Although only in his mid-thirties, he looked ten years older, and his features seemed as if they were all the wrong size and shape. Not one of them seemed to fit with the others. He moved to stand next to Valerie, one hand reaching out to touch Michael's face. "I saw you," he whispered, his eyes glowing with an odd light. "Dark angel...angel of death...sent down to us from above. It's you that we have been waiting for. You're the one who will help us to wipe out the evil and purify the blood."

Listening to Harold's words, Michael felt as if cold fingers were tickling up his spine, but he didn't let what he was feeling show. His expression remained shuttered as he questioned, "Where did you see me?"

"At Judge Williams' house," Harold replied, laughing. "I drove you there. But you didn't see me. It wasn't time yet. But I saw you in your silent wrath. You moved like a shadow in the darkness and you killed with silence, the blood of the dead staining the floor, but never touching your hands."

"Mmmmmmmmm.." Valerie murmurred, as she listened to Harold's dark poetry. She felt herself growing hot at the talk of blood, for it was her one, true obsession. That, and sex. Valerie was wearing a silk blouse and she popped open the buttons to reveal her breasts, then she kneaded them in her hands, her eyes on Michael's face. That he showed no interest, no reaction at all, enraged her. The pinky nail on her left hand was 24K gold and the tip was razor sharp. She traced it over her right palm, drawing blood, which she then licked off with her tongue. Her lips were scarlet now as she bent her head to kiss Michael. She was pleased that he didn't pull away, but annoyed that he didn't respond either. Pulling back, Valerie grasped handfuls of the shirt he was wearing and ripped it open, sending buttons flying. His bared chest was beautiful, smooth skin over sculptured muscle. Smiling, Valerie pressed her nail to the center of his collarbone then, applying pressure, she drew a line down to his naval, a trail of red spring up and beading.

Harold felt his heartbeat quicken as he watched. As Valerie drew blood he knew it had to hurt, yet Michael never flinched. Nor was there even a glimmer of pain in the other man's eyes. More than ever, Harold was certain that Michael was the one he had been waiting for. He was even named for the arch angel. He did not feel pain as mortal men do and he was not afraid of blood, or death. The time had come. Reaching out to touch Valerie's shoulder, Harold whispered, "Come. It's time to find the next one."

Without argument, Valerie rose from the bed, rebuttoning her shirt, and not even sparing Michael another glance. The door closed behind them and Michael was alone. He didn't need to ask what Harold had meant by the *next one*. He and Valerie were searching for their next victim.

*************

Nikita was surprised to see Madeline smiling at her when she opened her eyes. A glance about the room and she knew she was in MedLab. "Michael?" she asked, in a voice that was barely a whisper.

Madeline reached for a glass of water and supported Nikita's head while she took a sip. "He was taken," she replied, returning the glass to the bedside table.

"Dead?" Nikita countered, believing that Madeline was sparring her the truth.

"I don't think so," Madeline replied. She had told Operations, Walter and Birkhoff the same thing. Her instincts told her that Michael was alive. That the killer didn't intend for Michael to be a victim. But what he wanted from him, that she didn't know.

Nikita closed her eyes against sudden tears of relief. She could see that Madeline was telling her the truth, and her heart was telling her the same. Michael was still alive. Nikita tried to sit up but was pushed back by a strong hand. "I have to find Michael!" Nikita protested.

Madeline shook her head. "You need to rest. We almost lost you. If I hadn't called to check on you, you would have died. As it was we barely got to you in time."

"What happened?" Nikita questioned, for she remembered only the sense of a presence, then a burst of pain and darkness.

"You were poisoned," Madeline replied, her hands now smoothing the covers, then one lifting to tuck a strand of pale hair behind Nikita's ear. "Sleep," she said soflty. "We'll find Michael." With that, Madeline left the room. Although she was desperately worried about Michael, Nikita found herself drifting back to sleep. And in her dreams she was dancing in Michael's arms, beneath a red sky.

*************

Birkhoff rubbed one hand, back and forth, over his head as he tried to concentrate on his monitor screen. But it was difficult to do so with Walter jabbering at him. "Don't you have something to do?" Birkhoff hissed, lifting his head long enough to glare at the older man.

Walter shrugged. "Sure I do," he allowed. "But right now I'm more concerned about catching the son of a bitch who killed Michael!"

"Madeline doesn't think he's dead," Birkhoff shot back, as he swallowed a sigh of frustration. His fingers flew over his keyboard, typing in another name. Birkhoff was surfing the IRC, on the off chance that he might learn something about the serial killer. The 666 he had used seemed to be imprinted in Birkhoff's brain, and something told him to hit the chat rooms. So now he was doing a search for any room that used 666 in any variation. He had entered over a dozen so far and had discovered only that there were some truly sick, and twisted, people in this world, and too many of them had access to computers.

"What does Madeline know!" Walter hissed, his eyes flashing. He was partially irritated at Birkhoff as well, for being so blase about the fact that Michael, if not dead yet, probably soon would be. And Nikita had been poisoned and had nearly died herself.

Birkhoff rolled his eyes. He understood Walter's concerns and could sympathize with them, but he didn't believe in letting the things he couldn't do anything about bother his time. "Go bitch at Madeline," he ordered, making a shooing motion with his hand. "I'm busy."

Pinning Birkhoff with a glare that the kid didn't even notice, Walter then turned on his heel and stomped off, muttering beneath his breath. He would pay a visit to Nikita, no doubt she would be in need of comforting right now. Walter was no fool. He knew that the beautfiul blond had strong feelings for Michael, feelings that she hadn't come to terms with yet, but that didn't make them any less significant. And, truth be told, Walter was feeling in need of comforting himself.

The part of him that hadn't become sectionized, cared deeply for Michael. The love of an Uncle for a favorite nephew. Walter loved Nikita too, and he felt a heaviness in his heart for the buden of pain and sorrow those two, young, people were forced to bear. But life in the real world was never fair. In Section One, life was like a loaded gun, and each day was another game of Russian Roulette. For the past three years, Michael and Nikita had defied the odds. But, someday, their luck would run out. Walter feared that, for Michael, the day had come.

*************

Birkhoff was relieved when Walter stalked off. He had just logged into a new chat room, named WhisperRed666. At the start of his search he had decided to pick a nickname that was theme related...Lucifer. So he joined the room and discovered two other people chatting, Cain and Scarlet. Shaking his head Birkhoff typed in, *HELLO*.

Scarlett responded with, *Hello, Lucifer. Wanna play with me?*

"What game to you want to play?" Birkhoff muttered outloud, as he typed in the same thing.

*The ultimate game* Scarlet replied. *The game of life and....death*

*************

Birkhoff didn't respond for a moment to Scarlet's invitation to join in the game of life and death. It didn't surprise him, for all the 666 sites were related to darkness, evil and death. But something prickled in the back of his neck. After a moment Birkhoff shrugged off the feeling and typed. *I'm good at games. How do we play?*

Cain answered. *We all play the game....all the time. It's very simple.*

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Birkhoff muttered to himself as he typed back a reply. He was quickly becoming bored. But he stayed for another ten minutes, simply to amuse himelf by trying to shock Cain and Scarlet. He did this by using their own lingo of blood, pureness and evil. Birkhoff was smirking as he typed. *No one knows more about evil than I. I am the dark one. I have shed the blood of innocents. I have tasted their purity. There is no one who can defeat me, for I am death.* "Take that!" Birkhoff chuckled as he sat back to wait for a response.

*We know death* Scarlet replied.

*He is with us.* Cain added. *The DARK ANGEL*

Birkhoff snapped forward in his chair as he studied his screen. Dark Angel was the name the killer had used to refer to Michael. Feeling a chill ripple up his spine, Birkhoff typed back, *Who is DARK ANGEL?*

Cain replied. *MICHAEL, of course*

*I fear no one* Birkhoff sent back, keeping in character. Then he reached for the communications button. He buzzed Operations. When the other man answered Birkhoff said, "Sir, I think I found the killer."

*************

Harold and Valerie looked at each other. They were sitting next to each other in front of the PC while Valerie typed their messages in the Chat rooms. It was possible for them to have multiple handles which allowed them both to be in their at the same time. They also had several windows open and four other channels.

"Lucifer is evil," Valerie whispered. "I can feel it."

"Yes," Harold agreed. He could feel it too. "But we must be certain that he is the one. Once we have fully joined with Michael he will be ready to purify the blood of evil. This Lucifer may be the one he must kill."

Valerie turned her attention back to the computer. She sighed with disappointment as she realized that Lucifer had signed off. "He's gone," she announced.

Harold wasn't worried. "He'll be back," he said with certainty. "How can he resist the game?" Rising from his chair Harold declared, "It's time to prepare, Scarlet. We've found the next one and his blood must be spilled before the dawn of the next day. Lead him to her salvation."

"Yes, Cain," Valerie replied, as she closed out the WHISPERRED666 channel and devoted her attention to the woman who called himself Satan.

*************

By the time Birkhoff had explained to Operations and Madeline what he had found and why he thought it might be connected to Michael, and was able to convince them that he it was worth checking out, he discovered that he had been kicked out of chat, server disconnected. Birkhoff reconnected only to discover that WHISPERRED666 was empty. He did a search for Cain and Scarlet, but they had signed off. "They're gone," Birkhoff annoucned, feeling defeated.

Madeline smiled at him. "That's all right. If you're correct in your assumptions, and they are the one's who have Michael, they'll be back. Keep trying."

"Will you be able to track down a location?" Operations questioned.

"That depends," Birkhoff countered, turning to face the older man. "If they use a legit email addy, it'll be a piece of cake. But most people in IRC use fake ones. Tracking them will be next to impossible."

Operations was not interested in hearing that. "Do the impossible!" he snapped, then he strode off.

Madeline reached out to squeeze Birkhoff's shoulder. "Do your best," she said softly, then she turned and walked away.

"When has that ever been good enough?" Birkhoff muttered to himself, as he turned his attention back to his screen and began searching the chat rooms once more. Maybe he could find some others who had chatted with Scarlet and Cain.

*************

Another day passed for Nikita in Medlab. She cursed her weakness as she tried to slip out of bed and her knees buckled, dumping her on the floor. It was Walter who found her and helped her back into bed, tucking the covers around her.

"You need to rest, sugar," he chided her, with a kindly shake of his head.

"I need to help find Michael," Nikita protested, blinking back unbidden tears.

Walter sighed. "I know how you feel, Nikita. I feel helpless too. But we're doing what we can. And you know Michael, he can rescue himself. He'll be okay." Walter was speaking as much for his own benefit as Nikita's.

Nikita shifted her head on the pillow, feeling both listless and restless. "I couldn't protect him," she whispered. "He's always protecting me...from the Section and myself. But the one time Michael really needed me...I wasn't there for him."

"You're wrong, sugar," Walter replied, his tone sharp. He wasn't about to let Nikita indulge in self pity. "When Simone died, for real, you helped him get through it. Without you I think he would have given up. We'd have lost him."

"Michael's stronger than that," Nikita argued, refusing to be comforted. She locked eyes with Walter and asked, "Do you really think he'll be okay? I mean...will Section really try to find him? To rescue him. The last time they cared only about Petrosian and bringing him back into the fold. Or is the only reason they're even bothering because they don't want to risk him going free? I mean..if he escapes the killer, Michael could go free."

Walter was quiet for a moment, considering his reply. He couldn't deny the possibility of what Nikita was saying, but he had his own ideas. "I think they want him back, sugar. Michael is more important to Section than you realize. But, more than that, I think he'll want to come back. Even if he could go free...he wouldn't."

Nikita frowned, intrigued by the certainty with which Walter spoke. "Why do you say that?" she prompted, shifting a bit on the bed.

"Because you're here, sugar," Walter replied, grinning at her. "I gotta go back to work." Turning, he headed for the door, knowing that he was leaving Nikita with alot to think about.

Sliding down deeper beneath the covers, Nikita curled up on her side and drifted off to sleep with a smile on her face.

Laura studied the room of the fifth victim, a college kid by the name of Christoper Wybern. His roommate, Jeff Logan watched her. He was pale and glassy-eyed with shock, but he was willing to answer all her questions. So far Laura had learned that Christopher was quiet and reserved, as well as being a loner. He was number two on the Dean's list and striving for the top spot. His passion was physics, followed closely by the internet. According to Jeff, when Christopher wasn't studying in was hooked into IRC. His hobby was horror movies, the posters of which wallpapered his dorm room.

Christopher didn't have a girl friend and so Jeff had been stunned when last night, his roommate had gotten dressed up to meet a girl at a downtown bar called Vampire's Kiss. Laura found two things intriguing. First the IRC chat rooms and the woman. She ordered her partner to hit the PC and surf the CHATROOMS to see if he could find any IRC friends of Christopher's. Jeff informed them that Christopher's handle was Satan. Laura's next step would be to talk to the parent's or friends of the first, four, victims to see if they used IRC as well. If so, then she had her connection. The other factor that Laura found intriguing was the woman that Christopher was going to meet. Right from the beginning something had told her that these killings were different and she had a feeling it was because their were two killers, instead of one. Serial killers always worked alone, but this time two had come together to work as one, and that thought gave her the creeps.

"Thank you, Jeff," Laura said, shaking the young man's hand. "Call me if you can think of anything else that might be important." She gave him her card then had a uniformed officer escort him to a room down the hall. His room would be taped off for a few days while they continued searching through Christopher's belongings. Laura took one last look around then headed out herself. She had some calls to make. It was going to be an all nighter, but she didn't care. This was the first break Laura had gotten on the case and she was going to run with it.

*************

Michael kept his expression blank and his eyes cold as Valerie and Harold entered his room. They were both euphoric as they told him about their kill. How Satan's eyes had shimmered with fear just before the knife had slit his throat from ear to ear. Valerie enjoyed watching the light of life fade from her victims' eyes and described the sensation to Michael. He merely looked at her, giving away no reaction as to what he was feeling. In truth he felt sickened by what he heard.

Harold was eager to explain how he felt as well. What it was like to feel the warm blood flow over his hands. How powerful it made him....how strong. He moved to kneel beside the bed, his eyes intent on Michael's face. "It's almost time," he said soflty. "The triad is complete and you will make the final kill."

"The Triad?" Michael questioned, curious in spite of himself.

"Three must come together to purify the blood," Harold explained. "Purity, hunger and death. Don't you see? Don't YOU understand?"

Michael shook his head. "No..I don't," he replied. "Explain to me."

Harold touched his fingertips to his own chest. "I am the purity," he said softly. "Untouched by carnal lust or pleasures. I have abstained from women and uclean practices. I don't smoke or drink or curse."

"And Valerie?" Michael prompted, his gaze shifting to the dark-haired woman who was moving about the room in a sensual dance, her hands running over her body.

She stopped dancing and moved to the foot of the bed. "I am the hunger," Valerie answered. She caressed her own breasts her eyes glowing with lust as she looked at Michael. "I hunger for passion and lust for the carnal things. I live for pleasure. I smoke and drink and curse and I burn with desire when touched by blood." As she spoke, Valerie stripped off her shirt and pants. She was naked beneath them and now she climbed onto the bed and straddled Michael's thighs. Bending her head she licked her way up from his naval to his collarbone.

Harold watched, his eyes glimmering. "You're death," he explained, feeling himself grow hard as Valerie's hands caressed Michael's body. Harold would not indulge in sex, but he was a voyuer at heart and indulged himself in carnal pleasures vicariously. And Valerie was always hot for sex after a kill. But this time her mating with Michael was symbolic. Purity, hunger and death would unite and become one body, one soul. After Michael's kill, they would become one blood. Harold explained all of that as Valerie made love to Michael.

Detaching himself from what Valerie was doing, Michael asked, "Who am I to kill?"

"The evil one," Harold replied. He found himself panting as Valerie joined her body to Michael's and he could feel the beating of her heart in his head.

Michael clung to images of Nikita as his body reacted to Valerie's expert ministrations. He remembered Nikita smiling and filled with passion for life. He would never think of her as dead. Gone, perhaps, but eternal in life. Once Valerie had slumped over him, her passion spent, Michael looked at Harold and asked, "When is the kill?" He realized that in agreeing to join with Harold and Valerie, that he would be released from his restraints. They expected him to murder what would be the sixth victim and once free, Michael could stop the killing. Then he could cancel Harold and Valerie, and thereby avenge Nikita's death.

Harold was thrilled that Michael was so eager. "We're searching for him now," he replied, rising up from the floor. "Come Scarlet," Harold commanded to Valerie. "Let us find the evil one."

"Lucifer is waiting," Valerie whispered, as she claimed a final kiss from Michael's sweet lips. Then she slid off him and sauntered off into the other room, unmindful of her nakedness.

The moment the door was closed and Michael was alone again, he found himself swallowing back bile. His skin crawled and he could still feel Valerie's hands moving over him. Michael would have given his right arm for a hot shower, but knew better than to ask for what would be refused. So he forced himself to focus on what mattered. The future. Soon he would truly be the Dark Angel of death, when the blood of Nikita's killers would stain his hands. And for the moment, that was all that Michael lived for.

*************

Birkoff was back in IRC with Scarlet and Cain. Madeline and Operations were breathing over his shoulder as he played up being Lucifer. He talked about his love of death and blood and darkness. And he let it be known that he feared no one. Cain brought up Michael, the Dark Angel, and Birkhoff blew him off, at which point Scarlet asked if he would like to meet Michael.

Madeline and Operations traded glances, then Operations nodded to Birkhoff. The computer whiz typed in *When and where?*

Scarlet replied. *Tomorrow night. Vampire's Kiss Klub. Midnight.*

*I'll be there," Birkhoff promised.

*Sit in the booth in the back corner, second level. By the bar* Scarlet told him. Then she said that she and Cain had to go and they signed off. At which point Operations told Madeline to find a cold op to take the meet as Lucifer.

Birkhoff interjected. "I want to take the meet," he said, firmly.

"You're not a cold op," Operations shot back. He didn't want anything to go wrong.

"Scarlet and Cain are smart," Birkhoff countered, rising from his chair to face the head of Section One. "They'll know if you send a fake. It has to be me or we risk losing Michael."

Madeline was in agreement. "Birkhoff should go," she replied, locking eyes with Operation. With a look she let him know that it was for the best.

Operations nodded. "Fine," he drawled, then he said to Birkhoff, "No margin for error," before striding off.

"You'll do fine," Madeline told the computer whiz, offering a smile. Then she went off to talk to Nikita.

*************

Nikita was still confined to Medlab, but would be released in a few hours. Madeline brought her up to date on their progress in finding Michael. And their hope that he was the Dark Angel that Birkhoff would be meeting at the Vampire's Kiss Klub. Nikita asked about back up and Madeline explained that four cold ops would be positioned at the club as patrons. If Michael showed up they would get him out.

"I want to be at the club," Nikita requested, her eyes pleading at they locked with other woman's.

"Not a good idea," Madeline replied, with a shake of her head. "You know I'm right," she continued, her voice kind. "In your present condition you could do more harm than good."

Nikita knew that Madeline was right, but she conceded defeat, reluctantly. Only because she didn't want to put Michael at risk. "Do you really think it's him, Madeline?" she questioned, as she toyed with the edging on the blanket that covered her.

Madeline nodded. "I do. Twenty-four hours from now, Michael will be back home," she said soflty. Then, offering a warm smile, Madeline turned and walked out of the room.

*************

Laura was sitting in her bath tub, bubble up to her ears, and the latest updated reports on the Revelation murders in one hand. In the other hand was a glass of white wine. She took a sip as she read the files.

Her partner had learned that the first four victims had all been IRC junkies and into the dark forces in one form or another, be it the occult, or vampirism, even voodoo. The other common denominato was that they had all used handles that were related to the devil. Such as the reversal..L.I.V.E.D. Satan, Satan's minion and Beelzebub. Laura knew now that that was the connection. The killers were murdering those who they judged to be satan's disciples. Or so she was guessing. The other connection she made was to the club, the Vampire's Kiss. Two of the victims had gone there. So, since she had the night off, Laura decided she would go there and check things out. Maybe ask some questions, unofficially.

To that end she finished her glass of wine, set aside the reports then got out of the tub. It was nearly eleven o'clock and time to get ready. All the murders occurred after midnight. Not that Laura was expecting to get lucky enough to run into the killers tonight, but like and itch she couldn't scratch, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was going to happen tonight.