The Displaced Detective - Part 6 free porn video

The Displaced Detective - Part 6 by Limbo's Mistress Awareness of the world came back to me in a pace so agonizingly slow I actually considered for a moment I had died on the living room floor of that farmhouse and was now trapped in a gray, formless Purgatory. Eventually, I became more aware of my surroundings, like the lens of a telescope gradually being adjusted into focus. Or maybe a radio broadcast of a far-away station that steadily grows stronger and clearer the closer you get to its tower. I was lying down, on something a whole lot softer than a floor. A bed, if I had to guess. The realization brought back a recent memory, one where I woke up in a bed only to discover that I was no longer me. Right on the heels of that, however, was a recollection which was far more frightening, though not at clear. Perhaps because it was formed while my brain was fighting the powerful sedative that bitch Signe had dosed me with. An open door before me, my passageway to freedom. However, it was filled with the form of a tall, older gentleman wearing mirrored sunglasses and a smile that could make Hannibal Lecter's blood grow cold. A man who called me by a name which no longer fit my appearance. The Order of the Dawn had found us. Fully alert, I focused on keeping my eyes closed, reaching out with my other senses before daring to give away the fact that I was finally awake. My wrists and ankles were not restrained. Nor did I detect any straps across my torso. The only thing I could feel was a light blanket draped over my stomach and legs. Either my captors felt a single teenaged girl, no matter who she used to be, wasn't an actual threat, or the door to the room was locked. Probably with trained security stationed outside. I attempted to listen harder, despite the ever-increasing beat of my heart. After a few seconds, I realized that I could hear someone breathing softly a few feet away on my left. It wasn't the steady rhythmic pace of someone unconscious, or sleeping. No, this was more the uneven breaths of someone awake and relaxed. Someone waiting patiently for something to happen. I pondered cracking open my eyelids to see if I could identify my companion. Even though I sincerely doubted it was Matthew, I could at least be hopeful. However, before I could begin to peel back my closed lids, the person spoke. "I know you're awake, Detective," a soft, deep voice said from beside me. "I noticed the moment your snoring stopped." A small wave of annoyance rolled through me. It actually took a second for me to understand, with a great deal of unease, my ire was due to his accusation that I snored. Pretending that he was mistaken was out. I might be good at bluffing, but even I knew that pretending you have a full house when the other player has put down a straight flush was just stupid. Besides, I wanted answers and I wasn't going to get them by sulking like a ... well, teenage girl. Slowly, I opened my eyes, lifting one arm to shield them from the brilliance of the overhead lights. Fuzziness swam across my vision, making me blink several times in order to clear it away. I turned my head to see the tall man from the farmhouse doorway. He sat in an comfortable-looking chair close to the bed, one leg crossed over the other at the knee. He was still wearing the dark slacks and gray turtleneck sweater from before, but this time sans the jacket. The holster strapped around his shoulders was empty. There was no sign of the pistol I'd noticed right before passing out. Guess he felt safe enough wherever we were that he didn't think he needed it. Too bad. I would have, like, totally enjoyed taking it away from him now that I wasn't loopy and disoriented. His steel blue eyes remained focused on my own, and it took me a moment to realize he wasn't wearing those mirrored glasses from before. He must have noticed my surprise, because his mouth curled into a small, smug smile. "You're not a Body Hopper, Detective," he explained. "So, no need for protection. Besides, I felt you might be more at ease if you could see my eyes. Know that I'm telling you the truth. Given your expertise at reading people." He leaned forward and picked up a glass of water from the table beside the bed, holding it out to me. As soon as my eyes fell on the glass, my throat spoke up and exclaimed that it was rather parched and would like to have something cold and wet to soothe it. I sat up, giving the offered beverage a dubious glance. After all, the last time I'd enjoyed someone's hospitality, I'd been given a Mickey. Sighing, I took the glass from the man. "I'm going to assume if you wanted me to remain unconscious, you'd have more delicate methods of doing it besides drugging my water." My voice cracked from dryness, and I quickly took a long sip from the glass. "Quite so," he said, leaning back in his seat. From his back pocket, he pulled out a small notebook, similar in style to the one I usually carried, and flipped it open. "Detective Jack Cater Hamilton. Born February 1, 1963 in Decatur, Illinois. Attended Woodbury High School, Class of 1981. Two tours in Iraq with the United States Army. Honorable discharge. From there, it was B.A in Criminal Justice from UMass, Class of 1990. Graduated from the Police Academy at the top of your class. Four years as a patrolman before taking the Detective's Examination. Aced it, too. Most impressive. Then you spent five years working with Vice before requesting a transfer to Homicide. Three commendations over the past ten years. Two for Heroism and one for Merit. Both parents deceased, and no siblings or spouse." He glanced back over to me, his smile widening as his eyes twinkled with an air of smug satisfaction. "Did I happen leave anything out?" While he was recounting my life's story, I glanced disinterestedly around me. I was in a small bedroom that contained only the bed I occupied, the folding chair the man sat in, and a tall, wooden bureau that stood against the far wall, doors hanging open to reveal empty storage space. The room was lit by a combination of a dingy yellow chandelier hanging from the ceiling and a large window on the other side of the bed. The dark shadow of bars vertically sliced the view of outside. "You forgot to mention that I've got, like, a wicked awesome tennis backhand," I responded sarcastically. I hated to admit that this guy and his group had certainly done their homework on me. It also appeared my chances of escape would depend on how crafty I could be. The smile never faltered. In fact, it grew a bit brighter. "Yes. Well, we tried to stick to just the relevant facts." "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage Mister ...?" "Armitage. Herman Armitage. You can call me 'Harry'." I took another drink of water, set the glass down, and crossed my arms over my chest. "So, Herman, why are we sitting here talking? As you succinctly put it, I am not a Hopper. So why the hell am I still alive? Why not just take Matthew and execute the worthless girl?" He frowned. "Because we are not savages, Detective. Or vile monsters. Despite whatever exaggerated horror stories your friend may have told you, our organization isn't some evil empire." I tossed him a skeptical look. Which was probably a bit more severe than usual. Even before my encounter with Matthew, I knew from experience that no one could express disbelief better than a teenage girl. "Really? Was it benevolence that sent your goons to the hospital after me? Or concocted a cute narrative so that every officer in the state would be hunting us?" A wry smile replaced the frown. "Yes, I can see how that would seem so from your perspective. I suppose it would do no good to assure you that the situation is not a bleak as you might believe?" "So, I should take your word that everything will be okay? Being held prisoner might present, like, a bit of an obstacle to that." "Prisoner?" He held out his hands in a supplicating gesture. "I prefer to think of you as my guest. Hopefully a temporary one." He waited a second or two before continuing. "Let me present you with this inquiry, Detective. What have we done that would make us the bad guys? While I am sure that your travelling companion has expounded upon how terrible the Order is, what proof have they provided? Or are you simply willing to blindly take the word of the very person who stole your body in the first place?" I crossed my arms over my chest, staring at him as I pondered his words. True, the thug on the street's gun had been filled with darts, not bullets. Even if the drug they contained was designed to keep Hoppers secured, it wasn't a lethal weapon. Plus, it was obvious the Order knew we were heading to Signe's farm. They could have simply ambushed us when we arrived. Which would have likely ended with people getting hurt. Or killed. "I see the lawman's brain whirling around in that adolescent's head," Herman said in an amused tone. "So, any sort of proof at all?" I turned to stare at the far wall, trying to think logically rather than emotionally. Was there anything to show that I should believe Matthew's assessment? Perhaps his fear of the Order was something he concocted to convince me to help him. Though, he could have abandoned me at any time. It would have been easier. It was then that I noticed I had begun to absentmindedly twirl my hair around my finger. Which provided me with the answer to his question. "Sasha Dellinger," I said as I untwisted the crimson strands from my finger and turned to look at him. "A young girl is effectively dead because of your organization's hunt for Matthew." That conceited smile never faltered for a second. "I'm afraid you are quite mistaken, Detective. Miss Dellinger is not dead." "What?" I flinched inside as the surprised tone of my voice sounded more feminine and youthful than normal. As if I'd just been asked to take the S.A.T. blindfolded. Of all the things he might have said, I hadn't expected that. His head moved up and down in a small, affirmative nod. "Sasha Dellinger is not dead. And soon, she won't even be missing anymore. She will be right back at home, safe and sound." I sat there for a few moments, feeling the weight that had been pressing on my conscience for the past twenty-four hours lessen. Even though I hadn't had anything to do with the teen's situation, other than get stuck in her body, I still felt responsible for her fate. Learning that at least her life might be saved when this was over went a long way to helping me deal with that strange form of survivor's guilt. "I ... are you sure? Matthew was convinced your men had killed when you learned he'd traded places with her." "An understandable mistake. Cornelius' ... Matthew's knowledge of our organization has obviously been through the venomous words of his associates. People like Signe." My mind flew back to the woman who'd betrayed us with a smile and a warm meal. Even though I entertained the notion Armitage was dealing with me straight, I still harbored resentment toward her and her deceit. "If she hates you guys so much, why help you capture us?" "She needed our assistance. The price of which was working with us to bring in you and Cornelius." I nodded, giving him a sideways glance. "So, what you're telling me is that a woman who has hated and hid from your group for years finally changed her mind and willingly betrayed an old associate in exchange for a favor? But, that's not really that big of a deal, because it turns out the Order isn't the bad guys in this scenario. They're actually on the side of right. That about sum it up?" Armitage laughed softly. "I'm sorry," he said, recomposing himself. "It's just a bit jolting to hear such a mature and insightful summation broadcast from the mouth of a girl who doesn't even look old enough to have her license." "Glad to be as source of entertainment, Herman," I said, feeling extremely annoyed at being laughed at. Which was so not a Jack Hamilton response. One of his graying eyebrows arched. "Fair enough. Answer me this, Detective. Are you the kind of man who willingly accepts what he is told. Or are you the kind of person who would prefer to review the evidence before making up his own mind?" "I think you know the answer to that," I said dryly. "Excellent!" The man rose to his feet, gesturing at the door. "Then why don't you take a walk with me while we hammer out the details?" "Details?" "Yes. About our organization, our purpose, and, most importantly, our plan to get you back to your life." I thought about all the trouble I was sure was waiting for me when I returned home. Either Herman was blowing smoke up my skirt, or his group had some really powerful influences. Regardless, there wasn't much I could do about my situation lying in bed all day. "A walk sounds nice," I said as I slid off the bed. Even though I still wore the jeans and sweater I'd taken from Karen's closet, someone had been thoughtful enough to remove my tennis shoes and place them on the floor beside the bed. I slipped my feet into them, adjusted the laces, and then followed Herman over to the door. He paused before opening it, turning to look back at me over his shoulder. "Though I really think this needs to be said, Detective. However, I feel I must say it regardless. Please do not try to escape. I sincerely have no desire to hurt you, but I cannot allow you to take off on your own. Of course, I don't think you care to leave before we fix your disjointed situation." His eyes flicked down over my feminine body. I opened my mouth to remind him that he wasn't dealing with a teenager, despite what my appearance seemed. Instead, I nodded my head and did my best to look impatient. Which, apparently, came with an eerily practiced ease. Herman frowned for a moment, then turned the knob and opened the door. Hell, the damned thing hadn't even been locked. We emerged into a darkened hallway with hardwood floors and a curved ceiling beset with recessed lighting. Several closed doors branched off along the corridor, which ended in what appeared to be a T-junction. Several paintings hung on the wall. As we passed, I noticed they were all of stern-looking men. "The Founding Fathers?" I asked sarcastically. Herman smiled. "In a way. The Order itself has been around since the early Twelfth Century, though there has been a group such as ours for almost as long as there have been those with special abilities." I nodded. "Hoppers." "They are a danger, Detective. To be sure. The ability to swap souls with someone, taking their body and life, is detestable. Surely you can empathize. However, they are not the worst type of anomaly out there. There are others with more ... sinister abilities." We turned the corner at the end, continuing down another hall that was almost identical to the previous. With the exception of perhaps a few less paintings and doors. "Such as?" I asked. "Let's see," he said, pausing as if in thought. "There are ones we call 'Drainers'. Rather than take others' bodies, they steal their vitality. Their years. For example, while I'm sure you've not found it fun being stuck as a fifteen-year-old girl, try to imagine being a fifteen-year- old girl who just had someone steal sixty years of your life away? One day, you're cheering at the Homecoming Game and looking forward to the Winter Formal; the next you're in a nursing home, wearing adult diapers and eating through a straw." I stopped walking for a moment, staring up at him with my mouth slightly agape. I honestly couldn't seem to get my mind to fathom the horror that might create. The shiver that passed through me carried the terror of both myself and Sasha. He stopped as well, looking at me before nodding. As if reading my thoughts. "Unfortunately, that is a true story. We never managed to capture the Drainer so we could make them return the stolen years. Poor girl passed away of a heart attack at the ripe old age of eighteen." He turned and began walking again. "There are also beings out there who can rearrange people's memories as easily as you or I might rearrange books on a shelf. As well as a few who can completely rewrite their local reality to suit their whims. The Laws of Physics be damned." "Shit," I breathed. Matthew hadn't told me anything other than there were people out there with powers different than his own. Someone who could control reality? Control thoughts? How would a normal person even begin to defend against someone like that? For that matter, how could the government? At the end of the corridor, a wide staircase with ornately-carved handrails descended down into a large open room with four hallways branching off in opposite directions. A smaller side room, directly across from the bottom of the steps, revealed a darkened foyer and a thick wooden door. A beam of brilliant sunlight drifted in through the windows running along the top of the door. I turned to look up at Herman. "So, the Order's goal is to stop these sorts of people from using their abilities on others? It's not to recruit them for its own purposes?" He arched a brow at me. "We do recruit people with abilities. After all, to protect the innocent, we have to have some power of our own." "Sounds like a slippery slope to me." He smiled. "You carried a gun in the line of duty, did you not? In case you needed it to protect yourself or others. It is the same with us. We find individuals who have abilities we need, and the temperament to follow our code. Otherwise, we would be completely ineffective against those who would truly do harm." I must have still been wearing my skeptical face because he sighed and shook his head. "Tell me, Detective, have you any inkling what the aftermath of a petty spat between a pair of Reality Benders looks like?" "Can't say that I do." "You wouldn't sleep for a week. Bodies grossly altered to mind-boggling degrees of perversion. Entire identities and personalities lost forever to the void. Survivors stuck with the memories of acts and incidents of such obscenity they defy rational comprehension." He pointed at me, his voice turning stern. Like a teacher reprimanding a student. "Allow me to assure you, Detective, for the victims of something like that, simply getting trapped in a younger body of the opposite sex would be a pleasant vacation." I crossed my arms over my chest. What he said made sense, I just didn't care for the way he said it. Plus, the part of me that was still Jack Hamilton noticed he had deflected my original question. "That's horrible, to be sure," I said. "However, that still doesn't answer my question. Is the Order putting people with dangerous powers away for the common good? Or simply stockpiling weapons for its own use." I held up a hand before he could answer. "I mean, you have to totally admit having one of these Reality Benders on the payroll would be, like, a total game changer." "Everything we do is for the common good, Detective Hamilton." Motion out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. When I turned, I saw a young man, probably in his early twenties, striding down one of the hallways toward us. He had a concerned look on his pimply and several sheets of paper gripped tightly in one hand. He walked right up to us, gave me a brief glance, then looked at Herman. "Director Armitage? Sorry to interrupt, sir, but this report just came in from the Atlanta Division." He held out the sheaf of paper. "Analytics thought you should see it immediately." A look of annoyance momentarily passed over Herman's face, but he took the offered pages and began flipping through them. While he did, the younger man turned his attention back toward me, the dark brown eyes behind the thick lenses perched on his nose traveled up and down my body in a slow, obviously ogling, manner. His brown hair was greasy, hanging limply down over his ears while standing up haphazardly in several spots in the back. The smattering of acne was more prevalent on one side of his face, giving his skin an uneven, splotchy appearance. While not grossly obese, I could see the flabby belly protruding against his dark blue t-shirt. Both the front of the shirt and the upper thighs of the faded jeans he wore were splattered with greasy streaks. As if he'd used them to wipe his hands after eating potato chips or something. All in all, he was not someone who would have warranted a second look from most females However, it was the smell rolling off of him that really had my attention. It was a woody, musky scent that seemed to surge right up my nostrils and into my brain like a dozen Federal agents breaking down a terrorist's door. With each breath I took, the overwhelming aroma wafting off him permeated my senses. And my thoughts. I continued to stare up at the boy. No, not boy. The man. I had a man standing there next to me. Looking at me. Appreciating me. At little smile formed on my face as I shifted my weight and posture to display my feminine assets to the best of my ability. Which wasn't all that much, considering my boring, practically asexual attire. A dark cloud rolled through my thoughts. Why had I chosen to dress in the plainest items from Karen's whole wardrobe? I kicked myself for not having grabbed a miniskirt instead of jeans. Or even that slinky black dress that I was sure would have really looked totally hot on me. I might not have a chest as impressive as some, but these legs I'd inherited were definitely worthy of attention. The gorgeous young man leering at me smiled ever so slightly, indicating his appreciation for what he saw. His desirous gaze immediately set my loins on fire. My breathing switched between a deep inhale through my nose alternating with a quickened gasp from between my trembling lips. It was as if I simply could not get enough of his body's delicious fragrance. I shuffled a half a step closer to him, reaching out to place my hand on one of his thick, pasty arms. Contact sent an electric current up my arm, down my spine, through my middle, and shocked me right in the va- jay-jay. The dampness already present in my panties surged into a torrent. It brought forth a soft moan that dribbled out from between my lips. A sound of lust ... need ... want. Yes, I wanted him. Wanted the unnamed bastion of manhood standing next to me in the most womanly way possible. The boy at the convenience store had been a blip. A passing moment. What I'd felt looking at him had been nothing more than the curious impulse of a girl. In contrast, my longing for the manly stud I touched was a sexually religious experience I hadn't known possible. I licked my lips as I drank in every divine morsel of his being, and my thoughts drifted to the bedroom not all that far away. It would be a perfect place for me to give myself completely to my new god. If I could wait that long. Already the fire burning out of control within me was soaking my underwear and making my bra tight and uncomfortable. It would be okay, though. All I had to do was get a moment's privacy with the object of my worship and I could bask in all of his glory. Even if it was around the corner in one of the side corridors. Then I could show him what a devout follower such as myself could do. In my mind, I saw myself completely naked, kneeling at his feet, as I rested my head dutifully on his knee. I would service his manhood at any time, in any position. I only wanted to please him. Make him happy. Worship him. A pleasant, dull aching sensation emanated from just above, and to the side, of my pelvic bone. With it came another wonderful thought. Perhaps my god would breed me. Fill me with his seed and make my womb the birthplace of his progeny. Now the mental image of myself, who still knelt before her master, possessed a swollen belly. Gravid to the point of bursting. Yes, that's what I needed. To abscond with my lord and find a place where he could take possession of me and my fertile body. Another cooing moan came from my mouth, and I leaned closer, pressing myself against the arm of the person who had become my entire world. Then, a rough hand encircled my bicep and pulled, yanking me away from Nirvana. "Goddammit, Jerry!" Armitage snarled, immediately pushing me behind him as he faced the stunned young man. "Reign that shit in right now or you're going back in the Box!" The object of my adoration blinked wildly, stepping back several feet from us with a look of utter terror on his handsome face. His retreat away from me was like a punch in the gut. I reached out with one hand, fingers spread wide, and willed him to come back. To take me. "I'm sorry, sir," the stud said, looking from me to the man keeping us apart. "I didn't mean to ... I just lost control. Honest. It was just for a second." Herman continued to keep me from advancing toward Jerry. Jerry. Jerry the Almighty. I would sing the praises of that name for the rest of my life. "Whatever," the older man growled. "Get the hell out of here. Tell Analytics to move in and secure the subject. Got it?" He shoved the papers back at the other man, practically pressing them into his chest. Jerry's head bobbed up and down rapidly. For a moment, his gaze turned back to me, and I sighed wistfully. Then he spun around to jog, rather quickly, back down the hallway from where he'd come. I watched him run away, my heart breaking into a million pieces. "Jerry...," I whimpered softly as the first couple of tears ran down my cheek. Armitage turned around at my moan. His face, already a mask of anger, grew even stormier. He grumbled something imperceptible, took a single step back, then slapped me soundly across the face. The impact of flesh on flesh echoed in the large room. I stumbled backward, one hand clutching my scorching face, and blinked rapidly through the tears filling my eyes. For a brief moment, there were two of me. One was Sasha, the love-struck fifteen-year-old girl who was still daydreaming about being Jerry's broodmare. The other was Jack Hamilton, a detective who was still trying to figure out exactly what the hell had just happened. Armitage's face softened a bit, though he still looked rather displeased. "I apologize for slapping you, Detective," he said in a slightly contrite tone. "We've found that a quick blast of pain is the fastest way to overcome the pheromone's effects. I trust you are thinking a bit more clearly now?" I glared at him, still holding my stinging cheek. "What ... the fuck ... was that?" My heart continued hammering in my chest, and the alien thoughts of sex and procreation continued to linger in my mind like smoke hanging in the air. "Jerry is what we have labeled a 'Harem Master'." "Harem Master?" I glanced to the empty hallway, happy to see that Jerry was long out of sight. Herman nodded. "Their ability makes members of the opposite sex adore them. To a maniacal degree. It's primarily an ability we find in males, but we have encountered a few woman with it. No matter the target's age, race, marital status, sexual orientation, or relationship to their controller, they become virtual slaves. Completely and totally in love." I swallowed the lump in my throat as the realization that I'd been completely ready to give my entire self to Jerry hit me. I would have been completely content to belong to him until my dying breath. "Jesus," I said, shaking my head before looking back to Armitage. "And he works for you?" "Jerry's a special case, Detective. His ability stems from the pheromones his body produces, rather than some form of mental control. He didn't even know what he was doing until we caught him and brought him in. He just thought he was a really popular guy." I thought about how quickly I'd succumbed to the urges Jerry's power had spurned within me. Was it because I was still a man mentally, struggling with a body full of feminine hormones? I thought about the way I'd felt about the boy with the truck. That was how it had been with Jerry, only cranked up a million times. "What was the damage?" I asked. "Before you managed to get him off the streets?" "One hundred twelve total victims. The majority were female classmates from his high school." "The majority?" I asked, trying to wrap my still-addled mind around the number. As well as fight against the twinge of jealousy it sparked deep within me. "There were also several teachers, a police officer, and a barista. As well as his two step-sisters and their mother." "Jesus," I breathed again. Then my hands automatically moved down to my abdomen, the yearning throb from earlier gone but not forgotten. "How many resulted in pregnancies?" "Seventy-five," Armitage answered. I nearly fell on my ass. This kid had enslaved, apparently by accident, over a hundred women and girls, including members of his own family. Knocking up seventy-five of them. The numbers would have been comical. Unbelievable. If I hadn't been overwhelming eager to be Number Seventy-Six. I shook my head, pushing against that thought. "So, the Order nabbed him and made him an employee? What about the lives he ruined? Even if it was unintentional, there had to be repercussions. I mean, between the teachers and his family, the scandals alone would be ... attention grabbing." Armitage didn?t answer me for several long seconds. There was a look on his face, one of internal debate. As if he were weighing the pros and cons of how much information he was willing to share with me. After a few moments, he nodded. "Quite. Fortunately, for us and the people involved, we were able to mitigate the aftereffects surprisingly well. I believe I already mentioned there are individuals who can affect memories. We were able to edit the recollections of the affected women, and any possible witnesses, removing all traces of their trysts with Jerry from their minds." I snorted derisively. Now that the over-encompassing desire to fornicate with the disgusting boy had vanished completely, I was left with a hollow anger that roiled in my belly. "So, you left behind a whole gaggle of girls who were, like, all mysteriously pregnant? I?m sure that didn?t raise any eyebrows." Those hard eyes narrowed at me ruefully. "Don?t be absurd. That would cause just as many problems. Fortunately, at least from our perspective, many of those impregnated were already in a relationship. We just transferred the memories of conception from Jerry to another. As for the handful or so who did not have a partner, we made additional adjustments to provide them with a suitable candidate." Another short, sarcastic laugh jumped out of my mouth. I couldn?t believe how self-assured the man was about what his organization had done. Perhaps I would have been more inclined to acknowledge his handling of the situation if I hadn?t nearly been one of those victims. However, my new perspective made his words sound arrogant and boastful. If he?d followed up by puffing out his chest, I wouldn?t have been the least bit surprised. "So, not only did you make, like, a jillion cuckolded men think they had impregnated their girls, you forced others into a relationship?" I rolled my eyes, shifting my weight as I put one hand on my hip. "You talk about the common good and try to explain why the Order is needed. But it seems to me you?re as bad, or worse, than the people you hunt." Armitage?s jaw clenched very visibly, breaking that haughty, superior fa?ade. "Our motives and machinations are beyond your understanding, Detective. We do what needs to be done to protect the world. For better or worse." I nodded. "That?s a totally noble sentiment, Harry. Unless, of course, you?re the one getting the worse." He sighed and shook his head. "I had hoped I was wrong about you, Detective. I actually thought you might understand what we were doing here. How important our work is to the safety of the world." He slipped his left hand into the front pocket of his slacks. "Alas," he continued, sounded more resigned than disappointed. "Now it is painfully clear you are unwilling to see past your own narrow views of what is right and wrong." The concealed hand moved slightly beneath the fabric. As if he?d pressed something tucked inside the pocket. I wasn?t not completely sure what he was doing, but that didn?t stop me from listening to my gut instinct. The situation had changed, and not in my favor. If I was going to make any sort of move, it would have to be now. Back in the hospital, Matthew had been wary about removing my cuffs, as he worried I might try to use my training against him. At the time, I?d made it a point to explain that Sasha?s body was smaller and weaker. Therefore, I was not the danger I might have been. I had, of course, been lying my cute little ass off. Both the Army and the Academy had provided me with thousands of hours of hand-to-hand combat training. One of the first lessons I learned was that size and strength mattered very little when someone had years of practiced training. The second after Armitage?s hand had twitched inside his pocket, I swung my right arm around in an uppercut, putting every bit of Sasha?s strength behind the blow. Given our differences in height, the punch would have done little more than glance off his chin. Which is why I aimed my attack at a much lower portion of his anatomy. My fist slammed up between his legs, the impact sending shockwaves up my arm. The air whooshed out of his body as his testicles were pummeled. He bent at the waste, blood draining from his face, as he yanked the hand from his pocket and put it, with its partner, over his crotch. A plastic fob, like used to unlock a car, dropped to the floor between us. I didn?t pause long enough for him to recover. Twisting at the waist, I brought up my right leg into a chambered position, then drove the heel of my foot down into the side of his left knee. Standing bent over as he was, when the joint collapsed with a loud pop, Armitage toppled face- first onto the wooden floor. I might have struck him again, but the sound of people running down the surrounding hallways in my direction spurred me into motion. I from the prone, groaning man and bolted across the floor to the door in the foyer. It was locked, of course, but the latch was my side. I flipped it open, twisted the brass knob, and pulled the door open wide. A rush of cool air blew past me as I sprang through the opening and down the stone steps. The lethargy I?d experienced from Signe?s drug was long gone, and I thrilled the return of my body?s youthful energy. I felt like a supercharged battery just installed into a high-performance piece of equipment. When I hit the gravel walkway at the bottom of the steps, I paused just long enough to look around. The massive house behind me was nothing short of a mansion. Three stories, at least, above ground, and wider than an acre. It sat in the middle of a huge open field ringed by thick trees. In the distance, the bluish-purple tops of nearby mountains rose above the foliage. The pathway curved around the house, toward what seemed to be a parking area. Several black SUVs were arranged in neat rows. Ready to depart on the next hunt for powered people. I was momentarily tempted to commandeer one of the Tahoes. Even though I didn?t have a key, I knew a good deal about hotwiring a vehicle. However, considering the Order?s nature and resources, I would be surprised if they didn?t have everything low-jacked. That left me with only my legs and feet for my getaway. Which meant the woods were my only choice. I shot into a full-on sprint, tennis shoes slapping the thick grass as I ran down a gentle incline toward the trees. A few seconds later, I heard the shouts of people as they emerged from inside the house and saw me getting away. The commotion only drove me faster. My earlier assessment of Sasha?s body, particularly her legs, had obviously been correct. While this body might develop more generous curves in a few years, at the moment it was built for speed. A small grin spread itself across my face as I rocketed down the hill. I could still hear my pursuers, but their voices were getting further and further behind me. Guess the Order didn?t recruit its people based on their ability to outrun a teenage girl. Granted, I didn?t have much of a plan beyond getting to the woods. Putting as much distance between myself and that house as I could. Yeah, I felt bad for abandoning Matthew, knowing that it was pretty likely he was still being held back there somewhere. At the mercy of the Order. I also knew my actions meant I was saying goodbye to any hopes of ever being Jack Hamilton again. Without the Order, I wouldn?t get the antidote. Even if I could somehow, I still needed Matthew to swap us back. Disheartening, to say the least. However, I vowed to make the best of it. Hopefully I could disappear. Stay off their radar for a few years. Perhaps the Order might eventually stop looking for me. Then, I could start planning my revenge. When I was about fifty feet from the edge of the woods, I saw a shimmer disturb the air around me for a moment. I turned my head to look, not slowing down in the least, but didn?t see anything out of the ordinary. Writing it off as a figment of my imagination, I turned my attention forward again to see that the woods ahead of me weren?t any closer. What the hell? I was running as fast as I could, arms pumping up and down as my legs swished back and forth. And still, the distance to the tree line remained the same. I changed direction the slightest bit, shifting my approach to the woods on a diagonal. There was no change in advancement. The safety of the thick trunks and heavy foliage continued to remain far out of reach. I risked looking over my shoulder as I continued to sprint. Several dark-suited men were jogging down the hill toward me. All of them were wearing mirrored sunglasses and held a wicked-looking pistol in one hand. Right behind them, walking with a rather noticeable limp, was Armitage. Shit! Fear turned my sprint into a full-powered run. My feet slapped the grass and the air continued to whoosh by my face, tossing my short crimson hair around my face. At this rate, I should have already flown into the safety of the forest. Instead, I was no closer to its boundary than I was a minute before. It didn?t make any sense at all. A lightbulb burst into brilliance within my head, quickly followed by two words: Reality Bender. I glanced over my shoulder again. There was a woman walking beside Armitage. Like the men, she wore a black suit. But hers was paired with a business skirt and heels. She didn?t carry a weapon, nor did she wear mirrored shades. In fact, her eyes were completely visible and glowed with an unworldly silver light. They shone in my direction like a pair of mystical headlights. I couldn?t escape. Because she wasn?t going to let me. I turned back to the woods, which were still several hundred feet away, and stopped running. For a moment, I lurched forward in an off-balance stagger. Like running on a treadmill that has suddenly come to a stop. I stood there, bent over with my hands on my trembling knees, as ragged gasps surged in and out of my burning lungs. My eyes remained focused on the ground at my feet. Even as a half-dozen silent shadows surrounded me. A minute later, Armitage?s voice cut through the quiet. "A valiant attempt, Detective. Of course, I had anticipated the possibility you might attempt escape. However, I didn?t consider you might physically attack me first. An oversight on my part." I glanced up, a smirk on my face and a pithy comment on my tongue. No need to be coy or cooperative. I?d been recaptured. Even if I could get away from the men blocking my path, I couldn?t escape the woman. Sass was the only weapon I had left. However, Armitage didn?t give me the opportunity. The moment I brought my gaze up, he backhanded me across the face with a blow that made the one from earlier feel like a love slap. My head snapped back as a cry of pain, rather than a sarcastic remark, leapt from my mouth. The impact staggered me sideways, and my legs tangled to send me crashing down on the soft grass. "Pick her up and take her back inside," Armitage growled to his men. "Put her in Room Five Do make sure she?s strapped in nice and tight." He walked to stand over me, the sun backlighting him into nothing more than an ominous silhouette. "Don?t worry, Detective. We?re not going to kill you. You?re far more valuable to our cause alive." He leaned down slightly, his face coming into focus. A mask of sadistic amusement stretched across his features. "Well, your body is, at least." Before I could ask what he meant by that, he turned away and began limping back up the hill toward the house. The woman, silver eyes now a shade of light green, continued to stand where she was. She watched, with some amusement, as two of the men reached down, grabbed my arms, and hauled me back to my feet. My jaw ached something fierce. There would be one hell of a bruise to show for it come nightfall. As I was turned around, I stared daggers into Armitage?s retreating back. Next time, I wouldn?t stop with punch him in the nuts. Next time, I was going to kill him. The guys holding my arms started to drag me forward, but I dug in my heels and pulled back against them. "I can walk just fine, like, on my own, assholes," I grumbled. "Release her," the woman said, taking a step toward me. "She won?t try to run or cause trouble, right?" Her smile, far colder than Signe?s, flashed in my direction. "After all, you don?t really want to see what else I can do, do you?" Part of me wanted to spit in her face. However, I was too much of a gentleman, at least on the inside, for such a thing. Instead, I merely shrugged. "Not particularly," I muttered. "Smart girl," she replied in a condescending tone. The march back up to the house was tedious. My flight down the hill had been powered by adrenaline, fear, and excitement. Trudging back, especially on spent legs, was torture. When we were a little over half- way, I asked if I could take a five minute rest. However, the look on the woman?s face told me I shouldn?t press my luck. Once inside, the rest of Armitage?s dogs off in various directions while Goon One and Goon Two escorted me down a quiet hallway with Super Bitch bringing up the rear. We stopped before an oak door similar to the rest I?d seen around the house. A bronze plate next to the frame had the number "5" engraved upon it. The dork on my right unlocked the door, opened it, then shoved me inside so hard I nearly fell on my face. "Watch it, moron," I said with a sneer. "I?m delicate." He just glared at me as he flipped on the lights. The interior of the room was practically Spartan. There were no paintings on the wall, no rugs, and no furniture besides something like a dentist?s chair situated in the center of the room. No sooner than I?d had a chance to glance around, one of the men grabbed my upper arm to drag me quickly over to the ominous-looking chair. "Sit," he commanded, pointing at the padded recliner. "Would it be too much trouble to get a ?please??" I asked, batting my eyes at him. His upper lip curled into a ferocious sneer as he drew back on arm. The woman interceded by stepping toward me, her eyes already beginning to glow. "Sit, please," she said. When I didn?t move, the shine in her eyes brightened. "I won?t say it again." Sighing as loudly and dejectedly as only a teenager could, I plopped my bottom on the thick padded seat, and huffed with an overabundance of scorn. I crossed my arms over my chest, then looked from the woman to the goons. "You assholes happy now?" I spat. "Silence," the woman whispered, her eyes flashing. I rolled my eyes and then asked if she was naturally bitchy. Or was it just that time of the month. Well, that?s what I intended to say. Instead, my mouth opened and closed, lips and tongue forming the necessary word shapes. But not so much as a whisper emerged. My eyes widened as I reached up and placed a hand at my throat, casting a shocked expression to the smiling female. "I?ve temporarily paralyzed your vocal cords." She said before nodding to the men. The pair strode quickly to either side of the chair and picked up several thick leather straps. "Now, you can either lie there and let them secure you without any fuss. Or I can paralyze your whole body. Including your bladder and bowels." Her lips curled up in an evil grin. A river of fear rolled through me, and I nodded meekly. While I wasn?t ready to roll over and give up just yet, as long as this bitch was around, I couldn?t do anything but cooperate. The men fastened the straps tightly across my head, shoulders, chest, hips, legs, and ankles. The only parts of me that could move were my hands and feet. Then they stepped back as the woman approached. Her eyes flashed again, and it felt like the bindings grew just a bit more secure. "There," she said, tossing me a wink. "Snug as a bug." She nodded to the men, who turned and filed out of the room. The woman waited until they were gone to lean in closer to me. "Not that I expect you to listen, but let me give you a bit of advice. Don?t fight with Herman. He?s not exactly known for his patience, and I believe you have exhausted all he had for you." I narrowed my eyes at her. I might not be able to say what I was thinking, but I made sure to convey my contempt nonetheless. She sighed. "I can see you intend to continue to fight. However, you won?t win. In the end, Herman will get what he wants. He always does." Then she turned around and exited the room, closing the door behind her.