RKMBs Forums .::Important::. Writer's Block VE 2.5 : 24 Hours

{{Continued from the end of the sixth post in VANGUARD EUROPE #2: BROOD XIII}}}

"Calm down, Ian...." Paragon sighed, rolling his eyes a bit. "....I swear, you're such a girl sometimes...."

"No, I will NOT calm down, ya' bastard!" Doctor McGregor shouted, leaning in towards the monitor. "I have murderers, rapists, theives, and every other type of barmy-git coming through my hospital every day---"

"...the hospital..." Paragon interjected, his eyebrow cocking a bit.

"---AND that is more than enough, without having to dangle a breathing target for whatever deranged, meta-masonistic-society you people have pissed off today!" he continued unabated. "The fact that Baxter even has bed-space is a liability to the safety of the patients, and a danger to the doctors and nurses that work for me!"

"...for me..." the William added quickly, a dry smile reaching his lips.

"Oh, is that how it's going to be between you and me, Bill?!" McGregor barked, a viscious indignance exuding from his pores. "Is it? I'm just another money-slave for the almighty grandmaster, his lord and excellence, Doctor William Lawrence Paragon, Esquire?!"

"...Lawrence...?" Paragon wrinkled his face in a quizzical fashion.

"Well, find yer'self another 'yes-bitch'! I QUIT!" he finished, slamming his fist down on the desk.

William stretched his arm off-screen, the 'click' of a switch following...

"...time?" he asked aloud.

'Eleven minutes, forty-seven seconds...', the voice of Penny Goodweather replied.

"That's ten more dollars off your paycheck....you really should learn your lesson."

'...never...'

"Whot' the hell are you two talking about?!"

"Ms. Goodweather said it would take me at least a good three-minutes to make you quit this time..." Paragon shrugged. "...I was sure I could stretch it to nine....before I explained to you that I had plans to remove Baxter as soon as possible..."

Ian stood there, eerily silent.

William Paragon stared back over the LCD screen, trying to supress a small smile.

"...Bill...you are a complete...and utter...bahsterd..." Ian sighed with a calm rage, the red in his face beginning to fade.

"I know."

"...just so we are clear..."

"Crystal."

McGregor fell back into his seat, slumped, and pouting. He looked around a bit, sullen eyes trying not to make eye-contact with his friend.

"How soon is possible?" he finally asked in quiet, resentful tone.

"As soon as you answer the knock at your door."

Ian frowned.

"The knock at my--"

Two quick taps to his office door startled the rest of the sentence from reaching his mouth, the rest of the question getting a bit nervous, and resigned to the fate of remaining an abstract collection of words within his parietal lobe.

Ian looked at the screen, and then, at his door. Then, back to the screen. And, then, the door again. He did this for another minute, not quite sure which avenue of primal instinct he should be following at the moment. Finally, he walked from behind his desk, and towards the door, instead of fainting, screaming in a paranoid dialect, or, his favorite, flinging himself through the office window in a mad dash to the pavement twelve stories below.

He opened the door ever so slightly, peeking one eye out.

"...yes...?" he whispered.

"Hey...Jeff with FedEx...Doctorrrrrr....." the delivery man strolled out, smacking his gum and checking the name on his book-sized, digital tracking pad, "....'Eye-Yan Mack-Gregory'?"

The eye looked back at the delivery man for a moment. Then, in a sudden flurry, Ian yanked the door wide open.

"Ian! 'EE-UN MICK-GregOR', you twat!" he barked, taking the offered pad, and immediately signing his name as needed. "And what the hell's this?"

The delivery man shrugged, checking a few things on his pad.

"...I just deliver 'em..." he added with a few more smacks of gum, before leaving.

McGregor's door slammed, as he marched to the desk, examining a small, brown-papered package.

"This bettern'not be a bomb." he mumbled to Paragon, ripping the package open.

Ian pulled out a silver, disc-like device, with a couple of buttons on top. He turned it over and over, desperate to reclaim some form of superiority and hold on the situation, just so he would have something to shove in Paragon's face.

"Okay, so, it's a futuristic birth control compact..."

He had nothing.

"It's a super-conducting particle relay that can move entire molecular patterns through electron off-roads, at something-curving the speed of light."

"...or that." Ian nodded.

"Baxter's ticket out."

"And, I like that, even more." McGregor sighed, sitting back into his chair, still looking at the device.

"I thought you might."

Ian, still studying the disc, picked up his phone, tapping a single button.

"Ruby?" he murmured. "Get Baxter up here, would ya'?"

He leveled the receiver again, glancing up at Paragon's face with a sudden, and genuine confusion...

"Yur' middle name's not Lawrence....?"

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

"You know what I think?" Ozzy asked with a coy smile, leaning against the balance beam in the sizable gymnasium.

"I do not care." Nuriko replied with a muted grunt, holding herself up on two parallel bars as her shaky legs tried finding their strength.

"I think you like me." Ozzy continued, standing behind her and trying not to look at her ass. "I think you like me, and you're just too afraid to admit it."

"I do not fear you, Mr. Baxter." Nuriko sighed, her frustration with both, her legs and Ozzy, apparent.

"You know what I mean...." he said. "....you like me, and, you think there are too many complications in your life to bring me in. And, hey, that's cool, okay?"

"What sort of complications are you talking about?" Nuriko frowned, still trying to balance.

"Well, you know..." Baxter shrugged. "...the whole...you know..."

"No, I do not."

"Come on...you know..." Baxter continued, not really wanting to come out and say it.

"No, Baxter, I do not." she replied. "Enlighten me."

Ozzy sighed with a slight impatience.

"Well, I mean....you hear things, you know?"

"No."

"...and, it's not like I have a problem with it, you understand?" he assured her in utterly baffling ways. "But, I mean....I know about you and Vicki Xiang...."

Nuriko's eyes cut slowly up, her sweat-laden, flushed face gaining a hint of menace.

"...and, hey...you know...I'm not about to try and take another man's...woman...uhh...another woman's...woman....I mean--You know what I mean!" he sputtered out, probably not knowing what he even meant.

Nuriko stared out, the strain beginning to shake her arms violently.

"I won't...you know....come between you two...I won't get in the wa---"

Ozzy's reflexes kicked in, as he suddenly shot his strong arms out, catching her as her left elbow buckled.

"Got you....got you...." he assured her, his arms wrapped around her waist tightly. She struggled briefly, trying to find footing that would not come. She quickly resigned herself to be supported by the thick arms criss-crossing her stomach.

She panted with exhaustion, her eyes down. He was behind her, holding her securely. His eyes stared off past her, even as a lump seemed to form in his throat.

He was holding her for the first time. It was not an experience that he could ever put into words. Natural was a phrase that came to mind. Right was another.

"...she's dead..."

Her words came with a hushed crack of emotion, peeling the wonderful feelings away, and dousing guilt and sadness over his face.

"...dead?"

Nuriko nodded. Facing away from him, Baxter could not see the light rim of water daring to crop along her eyelids.

"When...?" he whispered, completely in shock.

"...almost two weeks ago..." she replied, regaining emotional control. "...right before you woke up..."

Ozzy pondered this a moment or two.

"Is...was it...the same thing that got you..." he began. "....was it the thing with Hearn--"

"I really do not wish to talk about this." she suddenly cut him off.

Her left arm reached down, clamping the parallel bar once more...

"And, you can put me down now."

...she clamped the other bar, beginning to rebalance again.

Ozzy released her form to her own strength, backing away a bit.

They stayed silent for the next few minutes, Ozzy clutching the blue towel still around his bare neck. He finally strolled around a bit, finding himself standing in front of her.

"Tell me about the team."

"What do you care?" she asked matter-of-factly.

And, in one of those rare instances, Baxter's eyes hardened, his tone dropping into a very serious, deep level.

"Because...I do."

Nuriko paused, as if realizing the severity of insult she had unconsciously leveled at the man. She brought her eyes up to meet his, her expression a bit more passive.

"The team is...fine. I guess." she stated honestly.

Ozzy shrugged away the frustration with a sigh.

"Okay...you guess?"

"Mr. Montag called yesterday." she continued. "He wanted to check up on us. We didn't really talk about the team very much..."

Ozzy nodded, running his hand through his sweat-rimmed flock of stark white.

"Although..." Nuriko added, her voice dropping to a secretive hush. "...he did tell me that he and Ms. Finoghaula are 'hooking up', as he calls it."

Baxter broke into an amused smile.

"Griss and Bri? Really?" he asked with an almost chuckle. "Bizzare."

"Why?"

"Just never saw it like that." he shrugged. "Montag seems too much of the playboy for a sweet girl like Bri."

"Are you jealous, perhaps?"

"Oh, puh-leeze." he rolled his eyes. "Bri's young enough to be my kid sister."

Nuriko grunted more in amusement, than from her shaking arms.

"Besides...." he continued, looking away. "....I've got my eyes set on someone else."

"Anyone I know?" she replied, staring at the ground.

He finally looked at her, even as she did him.

"...maybe..." he smiled.

And, in a personally significant moment for Baxter's life, Nuriko.....smiled, as well.

"Mr. Baxter?"

Ozzy turned to the voice, Nurse Piper standing in the doorway.

"Doctor McGregor would like to see you, please."

Ozzy paused, looking back at Nuriko.

They remained silent, the moment needing no words to convey the emotion.

And, with that, Ozzy headed for the door.

"Two floors up, main office..." Ruby advised as he passed. "...I'll take over for you here..."

He nodded, leaving, as the head nurse walked over near Nuriko, watching her struggle.

"How are you today?" she asked, studying Nuriko's slightly wiggling toes.

"Better." she replied, still staring at the swinging doors...

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

"Get out."

Ozzy paused, still holding the open door.

"But...that nurse told me that you wanted to see me..."

"I do." McGregor stated very pointedly. "I wanted to see you so that I could tell you to get out."

Baxter, still a bit confused, stared at the doctor, and over to a deeply sighing face on a computer screen.

"...Ian..." Paragon shook his head.

Baxter slammed the door shut with a single swing, his expression beginning to become habitually annoyed today.

"Look...what's going--"

"Dr. Ian McGregor." the doctor stated, holding his hand out.

Baxter took the brief handshake after a moments pause.

"I saved your life."

A light coughing from the computer screen caught both men's attention.

"Over-selling it a bit there, aren't you Ian?"

"Don't listen to him, Baxter. He's a heathen." McGregor interjected. "You werth' a bit on the burnt side of toast until I got ahold'a'you. You're welcome."

"Yeah, okay...thanks?" he shrugged.

"I require more than your thanks. I require you to leave my hospital." Ian replied, hands clutched firmly behind his back.

Before Ozzy could say anything, a knocking came at the door, Ian turning sharply towards the monitor.

"Stop doing that!"

"This one isn't me..." Paragon grinned.

The door quickly opened, Nurse______ peeking her head in.

"Doctor?"

"Yes?" Ian and Paragon both answered simultaneously.

Ian, staring at the doorway, flipped Paragon off behind his back.

"Uhh...McGregor...the cultures you ordered on Mr. Sandinez just came back from the lab...Doctor Holloway said you would want to know---"

"I'm off, Bill..." Ian quickly stated to the screen, grabbing some folders from his desk and heading for the door.

"...deal with this." he said, thumbing towards Baxter.

The door closed with another slam. Baxter looked around the empty office, finally settling on the smiling face on the wide screen.

The door quickly re-opened...

"Here. Take." Ian said, handing the silver-disc device to Baxter, before closing the door again.

A moment lapsed, and the door suddenly flung back open, Ian peeking his head in one last time.

"...oh, pleasure to meet you...get out..." he added, before disappearing once again with the slamming of the door.

Baxter just looked back and forth, from the screen to the door, and back again.

"...is he done?" Ozzy asked.

"I think we're safe." Paragon replied. "Have a seat."

Ozzy nodded, taking a spot on the leather sofa.

"Ozzy, I am Doctor William Paragon, and I represent a grouping of very special people, like yourself."

"Boxers?" Ozzy asked dryly.

"Metahumans." Paragon replied. "A team of field agents that explore, investigate, and, if need be, oppose the forces of this strange, new superhuman-century that broadens before us. And, I think you would be an incredible asset for us."

"Thanks, but, I already have a team..." Baxter replied. "...maybe you've heard of Vanguard?"

"I have, yes." William nodded with a slight smile. "I have heard of them so much, that I found myself investing money into their company."

"So...you're, what? A stockholder?"

"Something like that." Paragon said.

"I don't understand. What is this team you're talking about then?"

"Ozzy....may I call you Ozzy?"

"...everyone does..."

"Ozzy...I am unsure of how much you knew about Vanguard before finding yourself forcibly employeed with them. But, suffice it to say, they have always had their share of troubles."

Ozzy crossed his arms, leaning back to take in Paragon's words.

"They are this planet's primary metahuman legend." he continued. "They are internationally known....applauded by some....reviled by most. To the common man on the street, Vanguard is another word for 'metahuman menace'. People don't understand what they do, and don't wish to know. All they know is what they get from the conflicting reports being fed to them by their governments, their media, and socio-political interest groups."

"That much I've gotten while being with them."

"I am sure. And, I'm as equally sure that you have noticed how the world's bureaucracies love to shine their constant spotlight on your little group of La Perditian hellraiser's, whether as examples of what they hate, or, what their constituents should fear."

"You're describing the shallow-end of the pool, Doc."

"Then, let's get deep, shall we?" he replied. "Vanguard cannot so much as sneeze, or the world is on them, watching like hawks. Studying their every move and nuiance. This, by sheer nature, severly limits their function as a team, and as an operational business."

"I'll buy that." he nodded, becoming more and more intrigued.

"That's where we come in." the doctor revealed. "My field agents have been handpicked to be the best at what they do. They are an ecclectic grouping, to be sure. But, as far as professionals go, these guys...and gal...are rock-solid."

"And...you want me to fortify their solidarity...how?"

"They need a core, Baxter. An anchor." he explained. "We have some great people here...and some pretty great egos, as well. They aren't always going to know how to get along. How to mesh. How to work together without their extreme idealogies getting in the way."

"Listen...I'm not leader material..."

"Who's talking about leading?" Paragon frowned. "I have a leader. I need a soldier. I need someone who can bring these guys down to earth. To keep their footing steady. I need someone who is without ego. Without precedence. Someone who can intermingle on the ground-level, and let them see theirselves through common eyes. I need the every man."

Baxter thought silently for a moment.

"I think that was the nicest way I have ever heard anyone call me a blue-collar-schmuck..."

"I would agree with that, if that's all you are getting out of what I am saying." the doctor countered.

"Listen, Doc, let's cut to the chase here, okay? You want me to join up with your team...that's not Vanguard...but, is yet, related somehow. You want me for some personality profile you seem to think I have, instead of strictly for my abilities. And, you won't take no for an answer. Right?"

Paragon studied him across the screen, seemingly observing some personality trait that he found the most interesting.

"You won't give me 'No' for an answer." he finally replied.

"I won't?" Ozzy frowned.

"No."

"Why?"

"Well, for one thing...you still owe the Xiang Foundation quite a large sum of money..."

Baxter's face went sullen, that eternal albatross rearing its ugly, vengeful head.

"...I knew it..." he sighed.

"However..." William quickly added. "....I do not believe in holding a man prisoner for his past sins. That's why I have already compensated the Foundation from my personal account."

"So, you bought me now, eh?" Baxter asked dryly.

"No. I have set you free."

Ozzy stared at the screen uncertain of the words.

"Free?"

"Yes. Free. You no longer have any debts with Vanguard, The Xiang Foundation, and, especially not me."

"You...paid...all that money....and you don't want anything in return?"

"I don't want you, Ozzy." he said evenly. "I want you to want to work for me. Because, any other way, and you would simply not be the man that I need."

Ozzy stared at the face, pondering the meaning behind Paragon's last statement.

"...you're good..." he finally sighed.

"I know." William replied honestly.

"I...I need to think about things...first....can I have some time?"

"See that device you are holding?"

Baxter looked at the disc.

"That's a transport device." he explained. "With the touch of a button, you can be here at the complex in Munich, Germany."

Ozzy studied the device.

"Throw it away."

Baxter looked up at the man's face.

"...what?"

"Throw it away. In the trash. I'll send a remote signal that will fry all circuitry...can't have a remote control teleportation control lying around for just anyone, now can we?"

"But, I thought you said..."

"Go to the main train station, there." he said, beginning to punch in a few keys on a hand-held Palm Pilot. "I've just purchased you a ticket."

"A ticket? To where?"

"Anywhere you want to go." Paragon replied. "It's my gift to you for listening to my proposal."

"So...that's it?"

"That's it." Paragon smiled. "We're done. Good luck with your life, Mr. Baxter."

"Wait...you..uhh...didn't even tell me the name of your group?"

"Vanguard, Ozzy. Vanguard Europe."

The screen went dark, as the room fell silent again.

The disc immediately began sizzling, as the destruct signal reached its destination. Ozzy tossed it into the trash, looking around the silent office.

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

"I'm going..." Ozzy offered, walking out onto the balcony.

The evening sunlight broke over the courtyard, four stories below. Nuriko sat motionless in her wheelchair, staring out over the manicured green.

"Now?" she finally asked, never turning to look at him.

"Yeah..." he nodded, slinging a single backpack over his shoulder. "...they're kicking me out."

"I see." she replied simply.

"The staff gave me some clothes they picked up from Goodwill..." he added. "...a little cash for food."

"They are very generous."

"Yeah...nice people....except that McGregor guy...."

"Hmm." she acknowledged.

A moment or two passed in silence, as they both quietly drank in the evening peace. The birds sang along the breeze, a few horns in the distance, and nothing more disrupting the orange glow of the setting sunlight.

"Where are you going?" Nuriko finally spoke up, still looking out.

Ozzy pulled a dark blue baseball cap tight onto his head, pointing at the emblem embroidered on the front.

"New York, baby." he grinned.

"You might find that quite impossible." she added.

"Why?" he frowned.

"Manhatten has been taken over by a metahuman extremist group called 'The MBL'. No one goes in or out."

Ozzy thought about this, wide-eyed a bit.

"...okay..." he finally sighed. "Then...I don't know...guess I might visit Mandelovia, and see how that place is shaping up..."

"Mmmmmm...." she shook her head lightly, back and forth. "...not a good idea."

"...why?" he asked, his voice dropping into a low tone.

"More or less the same thing, different name..."

Baxter just stared at the back of her head for a moment, a very miffed expression covering his face.

"Fine." he sighed deeply. "Is there anywhere that's NOT claimed?"

"There's always La Perdita..."

"True." he admitted. "I need to check up on that silly alien..."

"Mr. Different is not there."

"What?"

"Montag said he left."

"When?"

"After they brought you back in a coma..."

"Where did he go?"

"Montag did not say."

"...I'm beginning to dislike Montag..." Ozzy wrinkled his lips in a pouty demeanor, dragging his foot against the stone aimlessly. "Well...fine...I'll drop in on Drake..."

"Today really isn't your day, is it?" Nuriko added.

"OH, what?!" Baxter huffed. "HE'S gone too?"

"I'm afraid so."

Ozzy looked around, getting aggitated.

"Dammit!" he barked, absently bumping the banister with his fist. Small chips of stone broke away unnoticed.

He walked over, finally coming up next to her. Leaning forward, he slumped against the railing, staring off with her at the glowing embers that glinted over the east wing. They remained silent, Nuriko forever internalizing her emotions, and Ozzy, forever dealing with his.

"Well, guess I'll just go..." he finally said. "...and, let life wash me onto the next shore..."

She simply nodded, never making eye contact with him.

After a moment, he stood up, looking over at her.

"Bye, 'niko." he said. "I'll...I'll get in touch with you soon. Let you know where I'm going to be staying."

She continued to stare out at the sun. He waited only briefly, never expecting anything remotely sentimental from her. And, with that, turned, walking towards the doorway.

"Good luck, Ozzy."

He stopped, turning to look back at her. She remained turned away, motionless.

"I'll see you soon." he replied, and promptly left.

It wasn't until ten minutes later, during his taxi ride, as he ignored the driver who felt the need to make small-talk, that he suddenly realized something.

Something that made him smile.

"...she called me Ozzy..."

It was midnight on the Orient Express, and Oswald Baxter was gambling.

Or, rather, it was around 10:37pm, Greenwich Mean Time, on a 337-Eurostar Express Rail, headed for Edinburgh, and Ozzy was losing his shirt.

"...dammit..."

Literally.

He sighed, pulling the thick, woolen sweater over his shoulders, and handed it to Ethel.

"I don't want that..." she waved away dismissively. "...that smells like cat piss. I want the tee-shirt."

Ozzy rolled his eyes, pulling his gray tee-shirt off, and trading it to her for the sweater.

"Wooo-eeee!" she squealed, the other three hens around her cackling with glee at the sight of his bare chest.

Ethel was a retiree from Pensacola, Florida. She was seventy-nine, and liked goldfish.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah..." Baxter mumbled, pulling the sweater back on.

She also, as it turned out, held the championship trophy for her bridge club. And, she and three of her closest gal-pals had decided to tour Europe.

"Don't get too used to it, ladies..." Ozzy added, grabbing the cards for a shuffle.

"Please, young man..." Norma-the-retired-librarian chimed in, "...Ethel's beating you senseless."

"WHAT'S ETHEL EATING?"

That was Patty. She was Norma's sister. Norma's older, deafer sister.

"SHE'S BEATING HIM." Norma said, raising her voice a few octaves.

"I think loverboy's distracted..." Suzanne, who was of no relation whatsoever to Patty, smirked through thick bifocals.

"Oh, hush, Susie!" Norma scolded.

"I'm just teasing the dear!"

"...I'd like to do more than tease..." Ethel gave Ozzy a dirty smile, Norma turning away with an 'Oh my'; her delicate senses frazzled.

"Ethel!" Suzanne gasped in a mock shock, a small giggle following.

"HE'S ALLERGIC TO BEES?" Patty screeched.

"NO ONE'S ALLERGIC TO BEES, PATTY..." Norma patted her arm.

Baxter just tossed his third shot back, leveling the glass and his eyes at a simultaneous rate.

"No...no...Suz' is right..." Ozzy nodded. "...I am distracted..."

"Do you love her?" Norma leaned in with a soft voice.

"Norma!" Suzanne interjected.

"What? I was just asking--"

"It's none of your busi--"

"He said he was distr--"

"I know, but you don't just--"

"You called him loverb--"

"Oh, that's completely differ--"

"LADIES, ladies, ladies!" Ozzy soothed them, motioning his palms downwards. "I'm right here...no one was offended...I brought it up....everything's cool, okay?"

"Cool." Ethel smiled with a devious glint, her good eye never leaving Ozzy. "I love how the young people talk..."

Ozzy wrinkled his nose quizically, with a silent '...young people...?'

"...what Norma's trying to ask, Ozzy...do you love this Nerita-gal, or are you just interested in 'getting the jiggy with it'?"

"The what?" Norma half-shrieked.

"What?" Ethel shrieked back.

"...the jig-what?" Suzanne shook her head.

"I watch that Music Television..." Ethel insisted. "...that's how kids talk these days..."

"ERROL FLYNN HAS PARKINSON'S DISEASE?"

"What?" Norma shook her head at Patty unbelievably. "Errol Flynn's dead, Patty!"

"I heard he was gay, you kno--" Ethel started.

"Ethel! Don't you dare call Errol--" Norma interjected.

"Well, look at Rock Huds--" Suzanne chimed in as well.

Ozzy just buried his face into his hands, as the ladies argued over each other.

"Refill anyone?" he finally asked, standing up, whiskey glass in hand.

"Just a shot of your sweet package, sexy!" Ethel cackled, quickly flashing him.

"Ethel!" Norma gasped, Suzanne breaking out into a loud laughter.

"Oh my god." Baxter turned away, eyes slammed shut, trying to claw the horrifying image of seventy-nine-year-old bossoms from his mind.

He passed across to the far side of the lounge car. Only himself, his four newfound friends, the bartender, and a few lone passengers drinking by themselves at random tables near the windows, populated the bar tonight. The lighting was that low, burgandy wood-glow that seemed to match the soothing bite of the liquor that shone just as sweetly in his glass.

"Five more?" the bartender asked, pulling shot glasses out and beginning to line them up.

"One more..." Baxter corrected, holding a wry finger up. "...unless I'm sleeping here?"

The bartender chuckled, pouring another bourbon shot.

"You wouldn't be the first."

"Heh..." Ozzy grinned, throwing the shot back. He set the glass back down, looking around as his body decided to accept the alcoholic punch. Finally, he turned, facing the leering ensemble of age across the way.

"Once more unto the breach?" he sighed with a grin, glancing back at the bartender. He paused, realizing for the first time, that the unremarkable employee was wearing a pair of black sunglasses.

"Is this a dagger I see before me?" the man countered with a smile.

He was blind.

Ozzy remained speechless, finding himself staring unconsciously.

"You can wave your hands in front of my face, if that will make you feel better..." the bartender finally said with a smile, constantly wiping down glasses.

"No...no...I'm sorry." Baxter shook his head. "My bad. You're just...well...damn good at what you do...with the drinks and all..."

"Given my obvious disability?"

"No. I didn't mean it like that...what I meant--"

"The human condition is like a box of Crackerjacks, wouldn't you say?" the man suddenly asked.

Ozzy stoppped, frowning a bit.

"I...guess..."

"Pretty standard, candy-coated bits of sugary air..." he continued. "...same as everyone else...but, there's always a surprise lurking inside, you know? Oh, it might the same surprise for someone else, but, what it means to them will always be different."

Baxter stared at him, puzzled by this sudden in-rush of lucid conversation.

"Sure..." he finally shrugged. "...but, if the surprise is a lump of rabbit feces, tied-up nicely in a pink bow...well...it's still shit."

"Ah. A nihilist, eh?" the man grinned.

"Who are you, Forrest Gump?" Baxter shook his head, accepting another poured shot.

"Just a muse, my friend..." he replied.

"Degree in philosophy?"

"With a minor in Poli-sci, yeah..." the man laughed. "...how'd you guess?"

"I went to college, too..." Oswald shrugged with a grin, throwing the shot back. "...woouh...biology, lit, journalism...I tried them all..."

"Not mathematics, I take it?" he asked, pouring another shot.

"Why d'ya say that?" Ozzy replied, throwing the shot back.

"How many shots is that?" the man grinned.

Baxter paused, staring at the shot glass perplexed.

"Damn, you're good!" Ozzy laughed.

"And, thus, my point."

"Which was?"

"That everyone can do something well, surprises come in small packages, and, wisdom can come from complete strangers..."

Ozzy stared at him.

"If I tip you again, will you stop flexing your diploma?"

"Most definitely." the man grinned.

"Yeah, here..." Ozzy mumbled, throwing a twenty-pound note onto the bar. "...go find a girl to make out with and leave me alone..."

"I'll tell my wife you said that." the bartender replied, sliding the money off the bar.

"Heh..." Ozzy chuckled, surprisingly still holding another shot. He turned, leaning with his back against the bar.

A few of the patrons had already made their way to bed, the elderly group waving at him from across the way. Ozzy threw the shot back, slamming it back to the bar.

"...okay..." he mumbled, heading back into the gambling fray.

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

Three hours later...

Ozzy sat in the corner window booth, watching the dark blur of the night go by. A cool glass sat almost completely empty, nestled in his grasp. The ladies had cleaned him out, leaving his sweater, jeans, and sneakers as charity. He glanced around the bar, noticing only one figure still sitting across the room. The man was dressed in brown corteroys, and what looked to be a white button-up long sleeve. His face hidden by a magazine, Baxter made no real notice of his presence, turning back to the window.

Suddenly, the man slid into the adjacent booth seat, facing him. Ozzy looked up at him, across the room to an empty booth, and back again.

"Hey...how did..." he began, confused. "...you were just over--"

"Hello Ozzy Baxter."

Ozzy stopped, peering through bourbon-soaked eyes.

"...Ta...Tom...Tony...Tayden...Tayden, right?" Baxter struggled, recognizing the blonde man sitting directly across from him.

"Pleasure to see you again." Tayden smiled. "It's been a little while."

"Yeah, yeah...hey, shit....man, what are you doing here?" he livened up a bit, finally getting a comfortable grip on the moment.

"Oh, just...you know...passing through..." Tayden shrugged in that relaxed candor that so defined his life.

"Passing through...here?" Ozzy asked in a disbelieving tone. "In this particular country...on this particular train...at this particular time...running into me in this particular bar...totally by accident?"

Tayden shrugged with a grin.

"I work in mysterious ways." he offered.

"I've heard that about you..."

"It's all true."

"Even the part about wings and a halo?"

"Especially the part about wings and a halo."

Ozzy sighed, eyes still on Tayden. He sat fully back, studying the former teammate.

"Okay...so...how's life?" he finally asked.

"Pleasant, actually." Tayden replied, nonchalantly looking around the bar. "Haven is rather idyllic. Pefect for relaxing, catching up on reading, a little water polo....holding back temporal invasions..."

"Haven? Is that like a resort?" Ozzy asked. "I haven't been over on the eastern shore yet...heard they have some nice restaurants..."

"Haven, Ozzy, is a dimensional hub, that is the central nexus for our Multiverse..." the ex-seraphim explained.

"Oh." Ozzy stopped, nodding with no real understanding. "Okay. So...you aren't on La Perdita anymore?"

"No. My time with Vanguard is finished, for the moment." he explained. "I have higher responsibilities now."

"Yeah? Doing what?"

"I hold the guardpost of The Gates of Eden."

Baxter stared at him.

"Aren't they like...a cult, or something?"

"You're thinking of the Heaven's Gate cult that killed themselves a few years ago..."

"No, no...it was this group...in California, I think..."

"Yes, that killed themselves over some UFO nonsense."

"No...no..what were they called?" Ozzy argued, trying to remember. "They killed themselves...mass suicide..."

"Heaven's Gate?"

"Yes!" Ozzy suddenly slapped his palm on the table, nodding. "Yes, Heaven's Gate. Right. Yes, that's it."

"Right."

"...so, you're with them now?"

"No, different thing."

"Different thing?"

"Totally different."

"Totally?"

"Not in any way, shape, or form connected to anything I have been saying."

"Ah...different..."

"Mmm-hmmm." Tayden nodded.

Ozzy thought for a moment.

"So, does it come with dental?"

"...I really should have started this when you were a bit more sober, shouldn't I?" the ex-seraphim mumbled with an amused sigh. "Ozzy, I work for The Order now."

"The who?"

"The Order. A cross-multiverse grouping of agents that watch over the borders of reality."

"Oh, that 'The Order'!" Ozzy nodded, with sarcastic nod. "Why didn't you say so?"

"Are you going with me on this conversation?"

"I'll try, but, looks like I might be more of an innocent bystander..."

"I can understand that." Tayden assured him.

"Right. So." Ozzy sighed. "This...Order...it's a defense group of some kind?"

"Yes, they have two main functions." Tayden explained. "One is to watch over and provide solace for the avatars of existence."

"...avatars..." Ozzy nodded.

"The physical, living manifestations of the universe's primal building blocks..." Tayden continued. "...time, space, life, and death. They are the keys to, what you call, the Big Bang..."

Ozzy just nodded, giving up on hoping to even add to this particular exchange.

"The other function is to provide defensive support against any encroaching powers from outside the confines of the universe's main timeline. This support comes in the form of agents...gifted individuals, handpicked by the Scion himself."

"The..."

"Scion. The founder of The Order, and head of Haven." Tayden explained. "A very, very good man."

"Well, he'd have to be, now wouldn't he?" Baxter agreed with absolutely no hold on this conversation whatsoever.

"Yes. Which is why I am here."

Ozzy paused.

"And that is....?"

"The Scion wants you." Tayden stated with a warm smile.

"He wants...me?"

"He sees potential in you. He thinks you would be an incredible addition to the agents." the ex-Vanguardian explained. "That's why he has sent me here to make you this offer."

"To become an agent?"

"Join The Order." Tayden nodded. "Help defend the bigger picture."

Ozzy thought about this for a moment, watching the man's face to convince himself of the seriousness of the offer.

"I...I don't know, Tayden..." the boxer began. "...I mean, good show on this Scion's part for sending you to make the pitch...'A'-for-effort, and all of that..."

"Well, it was either me, or Grimm." Tayden shrugged. "They decided I would be more congenial."

"Skully's there with you?"

"Did you not hear me rattle off the word 'Death'?"

"Ah...good point..." Ozzy nodded. "Man, is anyone left on La Perdita...jeez..."

The two men sat there, as Ozzy pondered the notion silently.

Join The Order. Make a difference.

But, for the bigger picture?

"I...I need some time...I don't know if..."

Tayden nodded, finishing his drink.

"I thought you might." he added, reaching into his pocket. He handed Ozzy a small, palm-sized object. "Take this. If you decide it's something you want to do...you can reach me through this."

Baxter examined it. A small, circular mirror sat in his palm, silver trim lining the edges.

"A mirror?"

"Trust me." Tayden stated, standing up. "Works like a cellphone."

"...riiiiiight..." Baxter mumbled.

"Baxter, it was great to see you again." Tayden said, offering his hand. "I hope you will at least consider this offer. I would love to work with you again."

"Thanks, Tayden...it's been good catching up with you, too..." Ozzy replied, standing and accepting the handshake. "...and hey...please man...I know you dig it...but, lay off the weed for awhile, okay? You get this kind-of-crazy-thing going on, and...I don't know..."

Tayden just laughed.

"Call me." Tayden smiled. And, with that, he turned, leaving the rail car...

Ozzy studied the mirror for another moment, finally tucking it into his pocket, and headed for bed.

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

Ozzy made his way down the corridor of the railcar, lightly bouncing back and forth off the walls with every few steps. It wasn't so much the alcohol, as the alcohol mixed with trying to walk down the corridor of a train moving at over two-hundred-miles-an-hour. He hummed to himself quietly, trying to get a crappy song that had been playing as muzak in lounge, out of his head. Fumbling in his pockets, he pulled a keycard out, unlocking his room.

He opened the door, quickly coming to a dead halt.

Sitting in his room, facing him, was a stranger.

A man, draped by a leather, rawhide cloak, with matching vest, pants and boots. All that dark, thick, caramel-color of weathered leather, finishing in a wide, almost-droopy-brimmed fedora. A smile whiter than Ozzy's hair lit up, even as Baxter noticed a thumb cock the brown-and-gold, 18th century single-shot revolver that was currently leveled at him.

"Evening." the husky voice said.

"This is the weirdest fucking train I have ever been on!" Ozzy exclaimed.

The man pulled the trigger, a resultant crack of what-should-be simple gunpowder exploding on cue. However, the impact of the shot slammed into Ozzy's chest, blowing him straight through the wall, and into the passing hillside.

His body landed in a roll, tumbling haphazardly from the speed of the train, and the force of the blast that had thrown him through the steel walls of a railcar. He finally slammed into the side of a small hill, chunks of thick, grassy dirt popping up from impact.

The railcar continued to zoom by in the night, as Ozzy started pulling himself free from the grassy knoll that was well over thirty-feet away from the tracks. The only light, a bright, full moon, breathing an oft-glow over the lands, Baxter noticed a figure running on top of the railcars at full speed. The billowing leather in the wind, the figure leapt from speeding train, landing in a calculated roll back onto his feet.

A crack in the distance, and the blast blew Ozzy from the clutches of the ground, flinging him end-over-end through the air. He tumbled to a stop again, immediately vaulting onto his knees, and then feet. His face was contorted with a sheer anger, as he scanned the horizon to see the man coming towards him, leveling two of the archaeic pistols at him again.

The boxer threw his right foot back, digging his heel into the ground, as the first shot slammed into his chest. The force dug his heel back a couple of feet, but, he remained standing. The second shot caught the very leg he was bracing with, causing him to collide face-first with the ground. The leather-clad assassin ran up to put a shot into his head. With a sudden roar of just being really pissed off, Ozzy came up with an uppercut, clipping the assailant's chin.

The man landed on his back, startled by the shot. Before Ozzy could move in, he quickly leveled the pistols at the boxers face, pulling both triggers simultaneously. The resultant blast rocketed Ozzy into the night air, flailing wildly as he tumbled to the ground twenty feet away.

He slapped his palms into the grass, finding a steady brace, as he readied to push himself up, when he felt the sizzling barrels of the revolvers pressing against the back of his head.

"Time out." the hoarse voice stated quickly. "I just want to talk now."

Ozzy's teeth were grinding back and forth with irritation, as he panted forcefully.

"I know I can't hurt you, really." the man continued. "But, I could sit here and toss you around all night with the impacts. Doesn't sound like much fun for either one of us."

Baxter slowly lifted his eyes, the gunman holstering his weapons.

"What makes you think I won't stand up and break your face?" Baxter growled.

"...because that would be pointless at this juncture..." a female voice cut in.

Ozzy turned to see another figure approaching.

"Preston, here, just wanted to see if it were really true..." the woman continued, walking up to the pair.

"If WHAT was really true?" Ozzy barked.

"If you were really, truly indestructible." she finished, coming into the proper moonlight.

She had extremely black hair, running down her shoulders. Tendrils that shown against the silver of the moonlight. Strands that almost....writhed...

"Why don't we find out, and finish this..." Baxter breathed, cutting his eyes over at the haughty features of his gunslinging adversary.

"First, we talk." the woman stated directly, coming between them. "I am Lucidia Granzine. And, I have a very important offer to make you, Oswald Baxter."

"...what IS it with people making me offers today...?" the boxer sighed, folding his arms. He quickly noticed that the chest of his sweater was completely burned away from the gunplay.

This just pissed him off a bit more.

"My associate is one Preston Antonious Gothe, III." she offered, indicating the gunman that bowed slightly, with a flair of the wrist. "We represent an organization called The Syndicate."

"I see..." Baxter replied, narrowing his eyes.

"We recently sent two of our men...Gudheim and Moote'...to find you....make contact with you in a much quieter, civilized way..." she continued. "...of course, you were inexplicably comatose at the time. And that leaves us here..."

"And what does this Syndicate want with me?" Baxter asked, almost knowing the answer.

"Why, we want you to join us, Ozzy..." Lucidia explained.

"Of course you do..." Ozzy sighed deeply.

"Our employer believes that--"

"--I would be a great asset to the team, with powers to amaze, and laughs-a-plenty, right?" Ozzy interrupted. "Save it! I've heard more than enough today about what I have to offer others!"

"More money than you could want...a respected position of leadership on the battlefield..." she explained. "...the promise of real, true power..."

Ozzy listened, some of the words actually flirting with his darker desires.

"...and...what would I have to do?" he asked carefully.

"All you do is obey our employer to the last detail." Lucidia shrugged. "Follow his orders. Help him achieve his dream."

"What's his dream?"

She smiled, her eyes glinting with the moonlight in a superbly creepy fashion.

"Some questions are better left for a later time..."

Ozzy nodded, looking at the ground for a moment. And, then, he began chuckling.

"What's....funny?" she asked, starting to feel greatly insulted.

"That's it? That's the best deal you can make me?" he began. "Money...a position in a group, that I don't know anything about...that does things that I cannot have answered...and, maybe...maybe...some power?! That's your offer?"

"Yes." she answered pointedly.

"Ha!" he laughed. "Oh, well, let me think about it----no."

"But...you don't understand, Ozzy..." Lucidia replied honestly. "...you don't have a choice."

Baxter went stonefaced, staring at her and the gunman.

"What Rome wants, Rome gets." she continued menacingly.

Ozzy looked back and forth at them, sizing up the situation.

"And, Rome wants you."

"I see..." Baxter nodded.

His right fist suddenly jabbed out, catching Preston straight in the face, knocking the gunman flat on his back. Lucidia immediately roared in a bizarre, unearthly shriek, grabbing Ozzy by the shoulders. Her grip was insanely tight, as she jerked the boxer off his feet. He quickly punched her a couple of times in the face, with no effect. His eyes widened, as her expression began to contort with her shriek. Cheekbones began moving, as her eyes went a pale black, and her hair...

...her hair came alive!

"Who do you think you are little man?!" she shrieked, her skin growing pale and grey, snakes writhing along her head. "You cannot comprehend the forces that you are dealing with! You cannot possibly grasp the power that you are facing!"

Ozzy caught a glimpse of her darkened eyes, a sudden chill building along his face, around his eyes. And, bit-by-bit, stone began to crawl along his features, as his skin started...hardening...

"Aggh!" he grunted, jerking his eyes from hers.

"Oh no! No, you WILL get a full sight, my little boy! You WILL LOOK ME IN THE EYES!" the Medusa-like creature yelled with an echoed voice of hell. "Preston! Force him to gaze upon my beauty!"

Gothe wiped blood from his mouth, quickly reaching around Ozzy's head to grab him into a chokehold position. He stretched his free arm over, beginning to pry Ozzy's eyelids open.

"Pleasure!" Gothe remarked, sufficently angered.

Baxter struggled in the grasp, twisting and grunting, his feet flailing about trying to find solid footing. Preston's rough hands pulled harder and harder, slowly peeling his eyes open.

"Yes! Yes! That's it! Drink my lovely presence!" Lucidia cackled, as Gothe twisted Ozzy's head around to meet her face.

Baxter yelled, trying one final gambit at struggling against the gang-up, but, couldn't find enough strength. And, so, he finally fell back on his final, last-ditch effort.

He looked to his brain to come up with an immediate solution.

His brain, for once, stopped reading the Sunday newspaper, or scratching its' ass, or whatever it was that unused brains do, and decided to actually give him a hand. In one single movement, Ozzy's hand dove into his jeans pocket, and yanked Tayden's mirror out, sticking it straight in front of Lucidia's eyes.

She suddenly screamed...and screamed...and screamed a bit more, before allowing it to fall into a wide, venomous laughter.

"Nice...but don't believe everything you read in books, Ozzy! Ha! Ha! Ha!" she mocked him, the reflection of her own eyes having no effect whatsoever.

"...fair...enough..." Ozzy choked out from Preston's tight grip, and immediately crushed the mirror in his palm.

Lucidia's face suddenly grew very serious, as Baxter quickly rammed the shards of glass straight into her eye sockets.

And, this time, she screamed for real.

Blood poured from her shredded eyeballs, as she stumbled back clawing at the protruding glass. Preston, caught off-guard by the moment, found three of his ribs fractured by an indestructible elbow. He crumpled off Baxter, as Ozzy leaned-in, slamming Lucidia in the jaw with a full right-cross. The woman crumpled to the ground, even as Baxter rammed his elbow back into Gothe's nose, breaking it.

Both figures were on the ground now, as a low sound began to rattle Baxter's back-teeth. He looked around, expecting another attack. It was a moment before he realized that the sound was coming....from the skies above.

A sudden spotlight hit him in the face, blinding him instantly, as waves of bass caused him to clamp his ears. Before he could ever see what it was that was hovering behind the light, the bass altered frequency, and, quite suddenly, dragged the spotlight off into the night.

Everything went silent again, Ozzy never actually being able to make out the object from above. And, now realizing that both Preston, and Lucidia, were gone.....he simply fell to the ground, sitting flat against the cool grass.

It was a moment or two before he remembered that he had drank bourbon all night, and was now about to see every bit of it again...

"...sixteen-tons and whadda-ya-get...another day older and deeper in debt..."

The words faded into a low hum, Baxter's constant trudge in-step with the imagined beat. His sneakers probably still waiting to enter the cabin on the train, bare feet met the cool pavement without notice. The lyrics to a song, that he could not remember, swam loosely in his head, and would abruptly go from low-hum to off-key word-blurting at the sign of any extra physical exertion. Like hopping. Skipping. Jumping.

None of which he was currently doing.

"...and then one day he was shooting at some...uhhh... fool...and up from the ground came-ah bubbling crude..."

Okay, so he hopped over a small, intersecting ditch. Big deal.

The point was, no one would ever be able to identify the mish-mash of songs, and lyrics. No theologian, no scholar...not even an archaeologist in the forty-second-century, should Baxter ever feel the need to try and write them down. This was Ozzy's specialty. Murdering perfectly good, and relatively innocent songs.

"...oil, that is...black gold...Texas-tea-bagging-chokeslam..."

The highway was bustling with activity...small, little European cars whizzing to and fro at speeds that would make U.S. traffic laws vomit. The morning air was brisk, and fresh, yet, hinting at a textile plant not too terribly far away.

It wasn't the first time Baxter had ever hitchhiked. And, let's be honest....it wouldn't be the last. The first time, around nineteen, he made his Spring Break trip from Harvard to Florida in under two days. All due to the very simple theory that he lived by concerning hitchhiking...

If you can figure out where most people are heading, then, decide to go in that direction.

And, given that he could see the tip-top edges of city buildings in the distance, he was currently headed with the massive flow of the morning rush hour, thumb constantly extended.

"...don't call it a comeback...I've been here for years..."

Bits of grass still here and there, dotting his cranial landscape of white, Ozzy didn't exactly look his best. Still, the more telling was the shredded sweater...a gaping, burned hole exposing his bare chest...that continued to hang from his body more out of spite, than, it seemed, anything else. Dark green stains all over his frayed-edged-jeans, he looked like someone that had gotten the shit kicked out of him by a really nasty pile of wet grass, and then slept it off in an old English farmhouse. Or, like someone that had gotten blown out the side of a train at speeds reaching two-ten.

"...making fun of your momma, through blood, sweat, and tears..."

You would think that given his doubtful appearance, and murderous singing tendencies, that he wouldn't be able to catch a ride this morning. And, given that he had been walking for the last six hours, you would be right.

Up until now, of course.

A small blue compact swerved from the traffic, sliding to a quick stop on the side of the road. Baxter stopped singing, suddenly amazed that a car had stopped for him. He quickly glanced at his still extended thumb with an expression that would lead you to believe he was so impressed with the power of his opposable digit that he had considered taking pictures of it, and then, half-sprinted to the car.

"Bonsieur..." the quite lovely lady extended from her open window.

"Morning..." Ozzy smiled, jogging up to the car. "...heading to the city?"

"Ze city?" she asked with coy eyes. "No, no...I am just cruising for dirty strangers on ze side of ze highway..."

"Ah...okay..." Baxter nodded with a smirk, accepting that he had walked into that one.

"I juz enjoy the dangerous notion of involving myzelf with people zat I have no relation to..." she continued, her breath fogging a bit in the cool air.

"Okay, okay...I get it.." Baxter sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Get in, silly..." she motioned.

Baxter slid into the passenger seat, closing the smallframed door. The compact was exactly that: compact. His knees against the dashboard, Baxter made no mention of any discomfort, finding this much improved over walking and singing to himself.

"I appreciate this..." he began as the car merged quickly back into the flow.

"From ze looks of things, I would think you would appreciate a great many things..." she replied, noticing his ripped clothing. "...zuch as, a tailor?"

"Oh, these...yeah..." he nodded, thumbing his sweater. "...wild night..."

"Zounds fun."

"Trust me...the word 'fun' never entered my vocabulary." he smiled.

She just grunted a laugh, eyes constantly watching the speedy pace of the traffic around her.

"My name's Ozzy, by the way. Ozzy Baxter."

She glanced at him, a small smile coming to her face.

"Polly."

"Polly. Nice." he nodded. "Is that short for anything?"

"Well, depends on who you ask..." she shrugged. "...ma'mere zays it is short for 'Portia'...my father zays it is for 'Polyphenus'..."

"...yow....screwed either way, eh?"

"Perfectly."

"...well, what do you say it stands for?"

"Porn Queen, darling..." she smiled with a laugh.

Baxter chuckled a bit, his hangover finally seeming to be eaten away by his natural biology.

"Heh...yeah...my parents decided to go with 'Oswald'. Don't ask me why."

"And you call yourself Ozzy?"

"Yeah...I mean a name like 'Oswald' doesn't really go down that well in the States..." Baxter shrugged.

"Why?"

"Well, you know...with 'Lee Harvey', and all...bad karma, I guess..."

"Who iz zat?"

"Lee Harvey Oswald? The guy that shot JFK?"

"Oh, right...ze American President..." she nodded.

"Right." Ozzy replied. "Trust me, after about the twelvth beating I took because the bullies decided my name meant 'President Killer'...I decided that Ozzy was much more acceptable..."

"Because of Ozzy Osbourne?"

Baxter looked at her with narrow eyes.

"You don't know who killed President John F. Kennedy, but, you know Black Sabbath?" he asked dryly.

"Zo what?" she countered. "Who waz President of France during the 1960's, eh?"

Ozzy opened his mouth to respond, his brain supplying only a 'Boo-Dee-Deep! We're sorry. The information you are attempting recite cannot be retrieved at this time. Please check whether you slept through your history classes, and try your call again'.

"See?" she asked, a confident smile on her face.

"...that was a long time ago..." Ozzy murmured, looking away.

"Really?" she asked. "Who iz President of France, now?"

"Sooo...what do you do for a living?" he replied, absolutely ignoring her.

She laughed, turning down an off-ramp.

"I told you..." she said. "...I pick up ze strangers on the side of ze road..."

"Yeah, okay, smartass..." he nodded, sighing. "...if you don't want to tell me, fine."

"I have told you." she replied.

Ozzy looked at her with a smile.

"That you pick up strangers on the side of the road?"

"Yes."

"And, that's what you do for a living?"

"Yes."

Baxter chuckled again.

"Ha! Okay, how could you possibly make any money, picking up strangers on...the side.....of...." Ozzy's voice began to falter and trail, as obvious conclusions raced into his brain. ".....the road....?"

She smiled.

"You...you're...you are...a..."

"Prostitute?"

"I didn't say that!"

She laughed, turning her signal on.

"Well, zat is okay, because...I am..." she admitted.

Baxter stared at her, frozen for the moment.

"Are you serious?" he finally asked.

"Of course...why would I lie about zuch a thing?"

"...yeah...okay...cool..." he nodded, still wide-eyed.

She glanced at him, and back at the road.

"What?"

"...what?" he asked, shaking out of his stare.

"Does it bother you?" she asked.

"Bother me? Hell no!" he laughed. "I just can't believe my luck, is all."

"Really?"

"Yeah, you wouldn't believe the last day or so..."

"So, riding here with me is an improvement?" she cocked an eyebrow.

"Sure!"

"Why?"

"Well, because...you know...you're a prostitute!" he tried to explain.

"And that helps you how?"

He paused, actually thinking about it.

"Honestly, I'm not sure..." he finally admitted.

"Perhaps you think I would be inclined to have sex with you for free?"

He paused again, embarrassed.

"I...I didn't--I mean...you know...I..." he floundered.

"...because I will..." she added.

He stopped, looking straight over at her. It was at that moment that he realized they were pulling into a motel parking lot.

"Wait...are you for real?"

"Certainly..." she said, pulling the car to a halt, throwing it into 'Park'.

She looked over at him, and he could see her face perfectly clear for the first time. She was beautiful. A truly gorgeous specimen of the female species. And, no matter her accent, he could definitely detect a hint of Greecian by her olive complexion, and broad, eyes. Or, rather...eye.

While her right eye was a pooling, deep brown/black, her left was a light caramel. Not quite matching, really. Not quite...real.

It was glass.

Her smile dropped. He had been staring for too long.

"It's...it's the eye, isn't it?" she asked, turning away with a deep hurt.

"Oh, hey! No!" Ozzy assured her. "No, no, no, no...I swear! Eye? What eye? I don't even know what you're talking about..."

She grinned again, not really hurt at all, but, torturing him for pure pleasure.

"Come on." she added, opening the door...

"...it was my former husband...Rick...who did it..."

She flittered about him, walking back and forth around the bed in a nice, silk lingerie ensemble. The color or elegant design of the material cannot be truly described, as Ozzy was a guy, and hadn't even noticed the nice piece except to realize that it was getting in the way of seeing her completely naked.

"...he had ze temper, you know?" she continued. "Used to beat me mercilessly..."

Baxter lay in the middle of the bed, spread eagled. And unlike her, much to his chagraine, was completely naked.

"You're not really a prostitute, are you?" he asked, perfectly comfortable being naked, and wishing she would hurry up and do the same.

She paused from pulling things from her bag, looking over at him with strangest of looks.

"I thought you wanted to know about my eye..."

"That's your thing. It doesn't bother me." he reassured her. "Now, answer my question."

"No..." she admitted. "...how did you know?"

"Real prostitutes never give it away free....trust me, I know..." he grinned.

She returned the grin, a darker smile coming to her face.

"So, zat makes me...a whore?"

"What?!" he exclaimed. "No, of course not! I--"

She was already holding a finger up at him, with a 'Got You' smile. He stopped, just bursting out into laughter.

"I know you are not calling me a whore, Oswald..." she began, finally beginning to slink up onto his body. "...zat would be a silly thing to do, for a man in your position..."

"My positio--" he began, his words suddenly cut off by a small, metal 'click'. He looked up to see her handcuffing him to the bed.

"...man...you are a little kink, aren't you?" he exclaimed with a wide, naughty smile.

"I am everything you need right now..." she purred, handcuffing his other wrist. "...I am whatever you want..."

She slipped her leg around, straddling him in a sitting position.

"...I was never good enough for Rick, you know..." she began, her voice dropping a bit.

"...mmm-hmmm..." he nodded, trying unsuccessfully to lean up enough to get his mouth onto her breast.

"...I was always ze 'whore' when around other men..." she continued, tears creeping into her eyes. "...unless it was in ze bedroom...then I was not ENOUGH of a whore..."

A fragile tear crested her eyelid, and began to trail down her cheek.

"...I..I gave you my love...you know..." her voice began to crack. "...I gave up our child..."

It was the words you and our that finally caught Ozzy's attention to the building vibe.

"...uhhh..."

"...and...and...it still WASN'T GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU! WAS IT?!" her voice rose into a sudden roar.

Ozzy's eyebrows arched straight up, looking back and forth around the room for a camera, making sure he wasn't on some new reality show.

"...Polly...uhh...my name...is Ozzy..."

"I LOVED YOU RICK!!" she yelled at him, tears streaming down her flushed-crimson face. "I LOVED YOU!!"

"...Ozzy...say it with me...Ozzy..." he tried to soothe her, also testing the strength of the handcuffs.

"I LOVED YOU!!!"

Her voice suddenly rose into a high-pitched screech, her eyes widening with sheer deulsional torment. The flash of a gleaming blade glinted across his eyes, as she brought a thick hunting knife straight down into his chest.

And Ozzy moaned.

"...awwww...maaaan....we were going to have sex..." he whined, even as she rose her trembling hand eye level.

Staring at the broken blade still in her clutches.

"...you just haaaaaaad to be crazy, didn't you?" he continued, certain that he felt a deep depression creeping up faster and faster.

She quickly rammed the fractured blade into his chest, over and over a few times. Finally stopping in an exhausted pant, she stared through crazed, bloodshot eyes, at the splintered steel alloy.

".............why won't you die....................", the weak whisper escaped her lips.

"Trust me nutbag, I've been asking myself the same question for almost a decade."

Ozzy quickly kicked his legs straight up, locking them around her throat from behind. And, with a single motion, flung her off the bed, and into the wall. She was out before she hit the carpet.

"....was gonna have sex...." Ozzy pouted in a low, childish voice, beginning to tug on the handcuffs. "....boobies and things...."

It would take a full ten minutes before Ozzy fully became aware that he was trapped naked in a motel room, with an unconscious psychopath.

For some reason, it didn't strike him as that odd.

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

"...lucky the maid heard ya'..." the gruff detective said.

"Yeah...a stroke of goddamn luck..." Baxter sarcastically replied.

"Yor' lady-friend's banged up a bit..." he commented, chewing on the end of an unlit cigar. "...ya' get a bit carried away in the sack, eh?"

"Carried away?!" Ozzy practically yelled. "She tried to put a Bowie knife through my sternum!"

"She would now, wouldn't she?" he replied, studying a plastic bag containing the hunting blade.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"The M.O. fits...the type of blade...the setting..." he counted off. "...we been looking for her..."

"You have?"

"Sure...she picks up drifters on the side of the road....takes 'em back to a bed...guts tha' poor Charlie's. Been finding bodies all over the place for months."

"Wonderful." Baxter drolled. "I certainly can pick them."

"Rite'...so..." the detective nodded. "...guess that leaves a few questions, still..."

"...like?"

"Like...if she tried to stab you, why aren't you dead?" he began. "And where's yor' identification?"

Ozzy stared blankfaced, and annoyed.

"All good questions. But...and I've got to be pretty clear about this...I will not, under any circumstances, persuasion, or acts of God himself, answer another question, unless you UNLOCK THESE FUCKING HANDCUFFS!!" Ozzy screamed, still chained to the bed.

Still completely naked.

The detective stepped out of the way of some of the scurrying forensics teams, and officers, making up the almost twenty people coming and going in the motel room.

"Fair enough, guv'..." he shrugged.

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

Two officers manned the main reception desk of the Manchester Police Station, filling out daily reports. She entered completely unnoticed, walking straight up the foyer, and into the main lobby. Two passing detectives nudged one another, ogling her thin, fit frame. The clicks of her heels echoed through the lobby, as she made her way up to the front desk.

"Good evening, gentlemen." she stated in a firm, crisp tone. "You are currently holding one Oswald Johann Baxter. He is to be released into my custody immediately. Please fetch him for me."

The two officers stared at her, expressionless. They paused, looking at each other, and back again.

"And...uhh...who exactly might you be, luv'?" one of them responded with a smug grin.

"I am Penny Goodweather, assistant and entourage' of Doctor William L. Paragon...chairman and founder of Paragon Industries. Mr. Baxter is Dr. Paragon's personal bodyguard, and you are unjustly holding him here in this little backwater police station of yours."

...the phone suddenly started ringing...

"You hear that sound?" Penny asked. "That's going to be the Prime Minister."

The two cops looked at the ringing phone, and back to her again.

"I would answer it, if I were you."

Five minutes later, Ozzy slipped into the fine, italian leather of a private limousine.

"How the hell did I end up in Manchester?" he asked himself, baffled at the geographical logistics.

"That's what you want to ask yourself about your day?" Penny replied sarcastically. "How you ended up in Manchester?"

He glanced over at her, the car pulling away from the curb.

"What about 'How did I cause twelve-thousand-pounds worth of damage to a 337-Eurostar?', or, 'How the hell did I end up in a motel room with a serial killer?'..."

"Penny...right?"

"Yes."

"Yeah..." he nodded, grinning. "...at what point did you and I get personal?"

"About six-seconds after I hauled your arse out of a possible five-to-ten sentence."

"...fair enough..." he murmured with a pouty shrug.

The light of the early evening came in soft waves through the tinted glass, the two silent for a moment.

"They wanted to put me away for ten years?" he finally asked.

"They told you to stay out of their country." Penny replied. "This was the second time they've busted you..."

"Mmm." Ozzy accepted.

Another moment of silence.

"How did you find me?" he asked, looking over at her.

"They ran your fingerprints." she replied.

"So?"

She looked over at him, making eye contact.

"They made the mistake of emailing them to Scotland Yard for I.D." she continued. "Flags popped up all over the place."

Baxter thought about this for a moment.

"Your boss must have some high reaches to get to the top like that."

"...about chest-level for him, really..." she casually admitted, looking back out the window.

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

Baxter slept the full six hours it took to get to Munich, arriving at the offices of Vanguard Europe as the cloak of night was beginning to overtake the city. The streets were deserted, as the limo pulled into the ramp of a private garage.

"...it's quiet..." he remarked, looking through the window, as they pulled off the street.

"Things are happening."

"What things?"

"The doctor will fill you in..."

Five minutes later, Penny was closing the door to William's main office. It was broad and elegant, holding a perfect balance of antiquated panache and advanced electronics. Holding the center of the room, a perfectly cut authentic Greek column dominated at nearly waist-heighth. Gray and ancient on the outer circumference, the top was smooth as glass. Organized, efficient, and with three large LCD-screen monitors dotting the surface, Paragon's desk looked as if it had never been touched.

"Ozzy." William said pleasantly, coming to a stand. "Good to see you again."

He made his way around the desk, shaking the boxer's hand.

"How was the trip?" he continued, motioning for Ozzy to take a seat.

"Don't ask." Baxter replied, slipping into the comfortable chair.

"I heard." William smiled, reclaiming his throne behind the desk. "Your luck, huh?"

"That's one way of putting it..." Ozzy shrugged.

There was a moment of silence, as Paragon allowed Ozzy to become comfortable in the room. The doctor, in turn, continued punching screen-commands into the monitors. Images, silent news broadcasts, and info scrolled constantly, his eyes absorbing the download with phenomenal ease.

"Why are you here, Ozzy?" the doctor finally asked point-blank, never looking up from his screens.

"Well...you did bail me out of a possible prison sentence..." Ozzy offered. "...least I could do was maybe hear some more about your offer..."

"No." Paragon shook his head, still monitoring local activity. "I have said all I am going to say. My offer is there. Take it or leave it."

"O-okay..." Baxter stuttered, a bit taken back by how definite Paragon was in the way he did things. "...I just thought...you know...maybe if you told me a little more---"

"We are currently in the middle of a crisis, Ozzy." William offered, eyes and fingers dancing across the screen. "I do not have time to hold your hand concerning the team. You either want to join up, or, you don't. Your decision."

Baxter stared at him for a moment, stuck in deep thought.

"Fine...I guess I'll let myself out..." he mumbled, beginning to stand up.

"Why are you here Ozzy?"

Baxter stopped, looking back at Paragon. William still wouldn't pause to look at him, the events on the screens dominating his attention.

"I told--"

"Why are you here?"

Ozzy frowned, trying to get annoyed. Or, to come back with a witty remark. Something that would lend itself to explaining to Paragon that he was asking the same question over and over. Except, nothing would come. Except...he wasn't asking the same question over and over. And Ozzy knew it.

"I...don't...know..."

"Why are you here?"

"I don't know!" he suddenly yelled, quickly catching himself.

Paragon finally paused long enough to look up at him.

"Why...are...you...here?"

Ozzy stared back, mouth open and silent.

Paragon just looked back at his screen.

"...I feel safe..."

Paragon looked back at the man again.

"...when I was with...Vanguard...I felt safe...for the first time in my life..." he tried to explain. "...I don't need a shoulder to cry on...or a hand to hold me....I just need to do something that matters. I just need to feel safe. Like...with friends. With a family."

William just listened as Ozzy became truly honest with him.

"...I thought maybe...this team of yours might give me that again. Like it might...I don't know...give me...a purpose..."

Ozzy finally just shrugged, having run out of explanations. The two men sat in silence for a moment.

"Why are you here?"

Ozzy looked straight into Paragon's eyes, finally admitting to himself what he wanted more than anything.

"I want to work for you." he stated confidently.

A smile blossomed on William's face.

"And those are the words I wanted to hear." he said, standing up from the desk. Ozzy did the same, as William extended his arm, shaking Ozzy's hand again.

"Welcome to Vanguard Europe, Ozzy Baxter."

{{{Continued in the eleventh post of VANGUARD EUROPE: BROOD XIII}}}