Former hitman takes on THE TRUE icon.

Quinn stepped forward, his hands held up. He had a look of forced peacefulness on his face, the kind that one would wear while trying to soothe an angry dog. "Ok, nice and calm," he began. Quinn pointed at the floor. "Put the couch down, ok?"

There was a tense pause for a moment, but Breed finally relented. He had been holding the heavy, leather sofa over his head, but he carefully placed it on the floor. "Do...wn," he added.

Quinn wiped a bead of sweat from his brow and looked over at Lupelli and Valentina, who were getting the last of their things together. "I don't suppose ye can hurry up before 'e decides to bench-press the refrigerator?"

Valentina let loose with a laugh as Lupelli shut and locked her suitcase. "Is the big man too much for you, Quinn?" she asked, grinning.

Quinn's reply was non-verbal and in the form of a middle finger. Lupelli set the suitcase on the floor beside the other two. "Breed," he said loudly.

The leviathan slowly turned his metal head to face the former hitman.

"Could you pick these up for us?" Lupelli asked.

Breed lumbered over and lifted all three heavy suitcases with ease.

"Thanks, Breed!" Valentina said sweetly, giving him a pat on the arm.

There was a metallic gurgling sound that they took (hopefully, for their sake) to be a good-natured laugh. Being led by Quinn, who never turned his back on him, Breed moved out of the door and down to the car waiting outside to take them to the airport.

"Nabe. Rus. You two coming?" Lupelli hollered into the adjacent room and the enigmatic duo hurried out, holding their bags.

"Sorry, there was a fascinating report on the effects of sexual music on youth," Rus said.

"Tell us about it on the plane," Lupelli answered, pointing at the door. The four of them proceeded into the hall and made their way through the lobby. Outside, there was a limousine and, behind that, a beat-up, rented pick-up truck.

"'Ey! Thanks fer rentin' a nice truck," Quinn said, irritated. To further showcase his annoyance, he gave the side of the truck a swift kick. Breed stood silently beside him like a massive, blue wall.

"It'll serve its purpose, which is to get us to the airport. Besides, do you want to fit him in a limo?" Lupelli asked, pointing at the blue giant.

"I don't see ye driving ya fuckin---" The rest of Quinn's mutterings trailed off as he moved to the back of the truck and pulled down the tailgate. He pointed at the bed of the truck. "Get in," he said. Breed turned slowly and lifted a giant leg, foregoing the back and just stepping into the bed from the side. The truck gave a groan and sagged down in the back. Quinn slammed the gate shut and moved around to the driver's door. He paused a moment and looked at Breed, now sitting in the back, not moving a muscle. "Stay," he said loudly, motioning with his hands.

"Have fun in the truck!" Nabe said.

"Hope you don't get a flat!" Rus added.

"You're going with him," Lupelli said.

"Why do ye hate me?" Quinn said.

Nabe and Rus begrudgingly slid into the truck. It was made to fit three people, but barely. As a result, all three were crammed tightly together, the stick shift poking Nabe in certain non-pokable areas. "So Quinn, tell us, what do you think about Paris Hilton's vow to become celibate for a year?"

Lupelli and Valentina watched the truck drive off. They could hear Quinn's angry cursing fade into the distance and the towering profile of Breed was the last thing to vanish. Finally, Lupelli opened the door to the limo and motioned for Valentina to enter. They slid into the comfortable back seat and he motioned for the driver to take them to the airport. There, a private plane, with a cargo opening large enough to admit Breed, was waiting.

Puerto Rico...

The plane touched down and taxied to a stop. The sun was nearly setting on the island as the doors opened. Lupelli leaped out and positioned the steps below the door. Valentina stepped out, grasping Lupelli's hand for balance as she descended the stairs.

"It's beautiful," she said, looking out at the sunset. The sky was ablaze with oranges, reds and deep rose colors. She continued looking out at the sky while Lupelli and the others got their items off of the plane. Last to come off was Breed, whose helmet got stuck on the ceiling.

"One! Two! THREE!"

Valentina turned in time to see the four men pull and push Breed out of the plane. Finally, his helmet cleared and he was able to step off on his own power. The other four quickly scrambled out of the way, lest the massive feet step on theirs. She emitted an amused laugh and reached out a hand for Lupelli. "Remember the last time we came here?" she asked.

Lupelli grinned and nodded. It had been an amazing two weeks. Nothing, but them on the beach, swimming, sun-bathing, relaxing and being with each other. He gave her a kiss on the lips and motioned to the limo. "Shall we go to the hotel?" he asked.

Valentina shook her head and motioned the other direction, where she knew there was a white beach, just out of view from their current position. "I want to walk on the beach."

Quinn strolled up. "I hate t' break up yer sappy moment, but whadda ye want me t' do with big blue and the idiot twins?" He jerked a thumb back at Nabe and Rus, who were trying to get Breed to participate in a game of rock/paper/scissors with them. So far, Breed had only made a fist and kept it sticking out in the air.

"You three keep working on getting him ready," Lupelli said. He motioned to another truck, this one a new one with a large cab and an extended bed. "I got you another truck. Take him to the safe house. We'll be along later."

Quinn sighed and moved over to the other three, relaying orders. Lupelli turned back to the smiling Valentina. Her lips looked even more full and red in the diminishing light. "Shall we walk to the beach?"

They hooked arms and proceeded across the runway to the adjacent road that led to the small beach...

Elsewhere...

MacAvoy lowered the match listing, his eyes narrowed to slits. Lupelli. He had known that it would only be a matter of time before they crossed paths again. They had, after all, had a monetary alliance a long time ago. MacAvoy had vanished shortly thereafter, but he had known that Lupelli would collect his debt sooner or later. A man like Lupelli always did. He held the match listing in the air and let the ocean breeze catch it. His fingers relaxed and the paper was snatched free, driven on strong currents of air. It finally landed in the nearby water, becoming water-logged as it drifted out of view. MacAvoy looked out at the waves. He had recently arrived here in Puerto Rico, but had decided not to check into his hotel yet. He didn't feel like it at the moment. He had spotted the small beach and had decided to go down and clear his head as best as he could. As he sat on the rocks, still warm from the sun that had beat down upon them over the day, he listened to the hypnotic sound of the waves lapping over the sand. Gulls still cried out overhead and the breeze whipped by his face. Then he heard the laugh. His eyes snapped open and, in the failing light, he spotted two figures coming toward him. So far, they were unalerted to his presence. They were far too busy staring at each other. One was a woman, her long hair blew gracefully in the wind. Even from this far away and in light as weak as it was, he could see that she was beautiful. Then, there was the man. A massive mountain of muscle. Bald. MacAvoy's eyes narrowed again.

"Lupelli," he said.

Previously

He had decided that the most direct route was a sensible course to take when your walking. The momentary monetary incentives he had received due to gainful employment, the salary that had dragged his lowly self off the streets was now a thing of the past again. God, he'd paid for that boat incident, and he was still paying. The court of arbitration had arbitrarily taken a bloody large percentage of his TCW payslip in order to replace Infinity's most prized maritime possesion. God he hated those pictures. Pictures are what had sunk him. Lovely little snapshots of him placing the explosives. He remembered something his mentor Acid had told him.

Acid : You'll never win anything with pictures, son.

He hated when Acid called him son, and he hated even more when Acid was right on the money.

So anyway, he had decided to take the most direct route to Miami International Airport. TCW paid for the flight but they sure as hell weren't gonna stretch to anything approaching cab fare. It had been advised to him before that walking on the freeway, even the side of the freeway, even on the outer verge of the freeway, was not the safety concious way of perambulating yourself.

To be honest, Mac Avoy didn't fear for his safety. It was the dust...............it penetrated you and violated you like that time you got way too drunk, and she was all like, come on baby, it'll only hurt a little bit, I won't even switch it on, look your not tied up too tight, RIDE 'EM COWBOY, how do you like it you little bitch, how do you like it, how do............emmmmmmm, yeah, so, violated.

And it had a taste, the foul dried earth thrown up by the passing traffic, it was like 30% gasoline, 40% roadkill, 25% sweat and with just the vaguest hint of southern arrogance.

He reached the airport sometime just before dusk.

He considered fans a nessecary evil. He was vaguely aware that they where nessecary for him to get his money that he could use to repair a seafaring craft, but he tried to have as little contact with them as possible. There was never much love lost on either side. Problem was Mac Avoy had never stood for something before. Never but his neck on the line for a cause not his own. He was about to find out however that people who lay it on the line get mown down by a passing metaphorical 18-wheeler by the name of shattered dreams.

Its not the first time it had happened. Spittle was a daily hazard to those who lived and begged upon the mean streets of Atlanta. People don't take too kindly to you invading they're personal bubbles, leaving the chance of a hot meal pretty much squarely off the table. But this was different. It was hot a wet like normal spit, but it burned. It scarred his fuckin' soul. He'd never seen sauch virulent hatred in the eyes of a 14 year old. No. Not since his own 15th birthday. He father berated him but Mac Avoy deserved no such defence.

The normal anger and derision that Mac Avoy would feel at such an impudent act, off someone spitting on him, would have called for somebody to get whacked all upside da' head. Mac Avoy was there, he was so there, he was gonna kill this kid. Then he say what the kid was wearing and heard what the kid said, and he couldn't get out of there quick enough. As a man, Mac Avoy wasn't really blessed with qualities becoming, well, anyone, but he new he'd never been so afraid to look into the eyes of person. He could not face that kid. That kid wore an old attered ECF t-shirt and that kid said....

Kid : You made me believe, you bastard, but you couldn't do it. What did you really want? Glory? Revenge?Grabbing the shirt. You'll never understand what this means.

It was then he realised that standing for something, something like ECF, meant more than talking trash and sinking ships.

Too late though.

Always too late of MacAvoy.

He needed to inflict some pain.

Currently

He didn't wash his face before the flight, he didn't wash his face during the flight, he didn't wash his face on the walk from the airport. He just sat on the beach, dried spit caked on his face, trying to forget those damned eyes. That damned kid. He needed blood to wash away this stain. He pulled out the match listings. Serendipity was something he had just learned not to question any more, so that when he read Lupelli on the sheet, he heard Lupelli in the distance, he saw Lupelli oblvious to his presence, he knew that it was bad mojo to question it and he snarled Lupelli at the top of his lungs.

He charged him, but anger is a poor, poor substitute for years of being the one of the most gifted weaponless combatants in the world of professional fighting and Lupelli easily grounded him. The dull thud as his skull lost a match of momentum with the wet sand knocked Mac Avoy out cold. Lupelli rested his boot on the neck on Mac Avoy, slowly cutting off the flow of oxygen until he caught a glance of Valentina.

Valentina : No. Its bad business. Pick him up. We're going to take him back to the hotel room.

Lupelli : Forgive me for asking, but why would we waat to do that?

Valentina : Keep your friends close.......you enemies closer.

Mac Avoy's eyes fluttered open. A momentary blur of his vision gave way to a series of dim movements. A series of dim movements morphed into rapidly focusing shapes. Rapidly focusing shapes became a radiant angel, hovering over him. A damp cloth touched down on his forehead, sending a comforting chill down his spine. Cool drops of water ran down his head, sliding over his temple like tiny fingers made of ice, before pooling beneath his head on the pillow. His eyes never left the face of the angel as she diligently checked on the tiny wound on the side of his head, a result of the fall. She had stopped the bleeding and cleaned the wound. She had even applied a bandage, but it would remain sore and tender for several more days.

"Is he awake?"

The voice came from elsewhere in the room. Mac Avoy's eyes drifted toward the sound, but the movement caused his head to swim. The room began to spin and so did his stomach. He dry heaved and settled back down, ignoring the voice for the time being. With some effort, he tried to move his arms, but they felt heavy, like they were tied down. He glanced back up at the angel and then the peacefulness of sleep overtook him.

Valentina looked over at Lupelli. "He was, but not anymore. He might have a bit of a concussion."

Lupelli shrugged, not bothered by the news. He moved over and checked on the restraints. They still were tightly secured to both Mac Avoy's wrists and ankles. Valentina had seen it necessary to bring him to their safehouse, but he had not seen it nescessary to take risks, especially with someone that he knew from experience to be a bit of a wild card. until Mac Avoy regained consciousness and the two could have a heart to heart, he was staying tied to the bed.

"Keep watching him, I'm going to check on the boys." Lupelli left Valentina in the room, watching as she dipped the cold cloth into some fresh water. He smiled at her, admiring her compassion. It was something that he lacked. Without a sound, he pulled the door to, keeping it open just enough that, should Mac Avoy awaken and start trouble, he'd be alerted.

His thoughts were torn away from Valentina as soon as he heard a crash, followed by a "Jesus!" Lupelli hurried through the hallway and wrenched open the door to the garage. It had been converted into a combination gym/bedroom for Breed. He wasn't sure what to expect upon entering, but this was not it. No one was in any danger, on the contrary, Quinn, Nabe and Rus all looked amazed. He followed the trajectory of their gaze and felt himself equally impressed. Breed lay on a weight bench, his arms stretched toward the ceiling. In his blue hands, he clutched a barbell with every bit of weight that they had, over 500 pounds.

Quinn looked over at Lupelli. "Can ye do that?" He grinned and watched Breed bust out several more reps of the weight.

Lupelli left them again, happy with Breed's progress. It wouldn't be long before he could relax somewhat with the thought of leaving Valentina's side. With Breed protecting her, no one in their right mind would dare try to use her to get to him. It would make his jobs considerably easier without that constant nagging worry. No sooner had he turned from the garage door than he saw Valentina walking down the hallway toward him.

"Is everything alright?" he asked.

She nodded. "He's still asleep." She glanced toward the door as she heard Rus holler "Do it again!" Her eyes turned up to the bald man beside her. "I want to talk to you."

Lupelli eyed her a moment before gesturing for her to move into the living room. She slid down onto the sofa and he followed, sitting beside her with his arm around her. She rested her head against him and settled in, letting her body mold against his. He gave her a kiss on the top of her head. "What is it?"

"I don't want you to hurt him, Tony."

Lupelli's eyebrows arched in surprise, but he otherwise showed no reaction. "Got a crush?" he asked, joking.

Valentina responded with a playful elbow in his rib. "You know better. It's just--" She trailed off.

"Just what?"

"You're burning bridges. It's bad business to eliminate any chance of ever getting allies."

"What are you talking about? We've got Nabe and Rus with us."

They paused a second, long enough to hear Rus holler out, "Pick me up with one hand!" and Nabe to follow that with a "Sweet!"

Lupelli's hand slid up Valentina's arm and moved to her head, brushing her hair away from her eyes. She shifted slightly to look directly at him. Those eyes. Lupelli could never say no. She cupped his massive hand with both of hers and pulled it to her mouth, giving it a kiss. "Nabe and Rus are the exception, not the rule. There are too many what ifs in TCW right now. You've got Infinity, who gets stronger everyday. They even pulled The Titanium Insomniac back from where ever he had been hiding."

Lupelli scoffed. "I'm not worried about any of them. I've destroyed over half of Infinity myself. The Titanium Insomniac is nothing more than a frightened child, hiding behind silver paint. I'll crush him."

Valentina was silent for a moment, not quite as confident. "They reformed the Hellfire Club, too. Dante, Darkness and Acolyte-- again, it's numbers are against you."

"None of them have had the pleasure of facing me mano a mano. I'm not worried about them either."

Valentina sat up, her eyes sad. "Dammit, Tony! Don't you see what's happening? We've got some strange man who knows everything about us pulling strings. We've got some of your biggest rivals and most hated enemies surrounding themselves with allies. You're strong Tony, maybe the strongest, but no one is strong enough to face everyone."

Lupelli didn't say a word for awhile. He just sat on the sofa, letting her words sink in. Finally, he reached out a hand. Valentina smiled and took it, letting him draw her back to the sofa. She slid back down onto the leather seat and nestled back against him. The two sat for awhile, in silence. It was broken only by the occasional thump and cheer from the garage.

"Ok," he said.

"Ok, what?" Valentina asked.

"I won't hurt Mac Avoy until the match. All bets are off once we're in the ring." He waited and extra second before adding, "And I'm still going to have a chat with him when he wakes up. He did come after me, after all."

"Deal," she said, "and what about the rest of what I said? About needing allies?"

Lupelli stared across the room, at nothing in particular, before responding. "I'll think about it."

"That's fair enough," Valentina said.

They lapsed into another silence, this one a lot more comfortable than before. It was just the two of them, lost in each other, the way it should have been. The silence was broken by two sounds. One was a muffled moan from the room where Mac Avoy was, the other was a scream from the garage, followed by a "My arm!" Lupelli sighed and sat up. He looked at Valentina. "I'll go have my talk with Mac Avoy now. You check on the boys." Valentina nodded and started to move off. Lupelli stopped her, grabbing her wrist and turning her toward him again. He lowered his face to hers and they shared a kiss. For a split second, it was just the two of them again, nothing else mattered, but the second passed and the kiss broke. Lupelli let her move toward the garage as he inhaled and made his way to Mac Avoy's room.

"Why can't I move my fucking arms?" Mac Avoy shouted.

Lupelli entered the room, causing the angry man to do his best to adjust in the bed, trying to see him. "You! I should have kicked your fucking ass when I had the chance!"

Lupelli tensed for a moment, but stopped, remembering his promise to Valentina. Instead, he pulled a chair by the bed and sat down in it. "Let's have a talk, Mac Avoy."

"I'll talk when you untie my fucking hands!"

"First," Lupelli began, ignoring the demand, "I want to make it clear that I made a promise not to hurt you. However, if you continue to swear, I very well might break that," he paused, "and your arms."

Mac Avoy bristled, not intimidated. However, seeing that he could not move and was virtually helpless, he decided to humor that Sicilian. "All right. What do you want, Lupelli?"

"I want to talk about 50,000 dollars that I loaned you some time ago in exchange for a favor. Do you remember that, Mac Avoy?" Lupelli waited, his eyes boring into the angry eyes of the man on the bed.

"Yeah, I remember. What about it? You want me to throw the match? Is that what you want?"

"No, no, not at all. In fact, consider the deal off."

"What?" Lupelli's comment took Mac Avoy completely by surprise. Still, he was no stranger to double-crosses. If Lupelli was pulling something, he was going to find out. "What do you mean?"

Lupelli waved his hand. "50,000 dollars is nothing to me. I can get ten times that from my suitcase in the next room."

Mac Avoy looked at him, his eyes narrowed with distrust. "So, that's it? I can just think of it as a gift?"

"Not exactly," Lupelli said, adjusting his position in the seat.

Mac Avoy scoffed. "I knew you wanted something, Lupelli. Spill it."

"Consider it a purchase."

"And what did you buy?"

"Nothing more or less than a promise. From you." Lupelli looked down at him.

Mac Avoy returned the gaze, undaunted. "What promise?"

"It has been brought to my attention that I am critically short of allies. Even worse is the fact that I am even more starved for options. So what I want, in exchange for erasing your debt with me, is the promise that if I need your help in the future, for any reason, you'll give it, no questions asked. Agree to that and everything from here on out will be professional rivalry only. Say no and it will be much, much more personal."

Mac Avoy lay in contemplative silence. "I'm going to have to think about it."

"I would expect nothing less," Lupelli replied. "Now, if I was to untie you and let you go, will you try anything?"

"Probably not," Mac Avoy said.

Lupelli removed Mac Avoy's restraints and stepped back from the bed, motioning to the door. "Straight down the hall and to the left is the front door. I will give you twenty-four hours to reach your decision. After that, the deal is off of the table and I'll take that 50,000 out of your hide."

Mac Avoy straightened up, his teeth clenched, but a stabbing pain in the side of his head prevented him from doing what he wanted to do quite badly. Instead, he relented, turning his back on Lupelli and heading down the hall. He paused at the front door, listening to a conversation taking place from the other side of the nearby garage door.

"Did you see that? He just lifted the back-end of that truck!"

"He didn't even lean down to do it!"

"Man, I'm glad he's on our side, Valentina! I don't know what would happen if he wasn't!"

"I dunno if Tony could even stand up t' 'im!"

Mac Avoy filed that intriguing fact into his memory and opened the front door, stepping out into the daylight. He walked away from the safehouse.

Fin

Can a memory exist with no one left to remember it? Can a past, linked to such a memory, truly be the past with no knowledge of it? Such a puzzling question, one which would have various answers, depending on your philosophy. Still, if no one knew where you had come from; if no one could remember your childhood, your parents, where you were born, favorite colors, schools, friends... If no one could remember such trivialities, then they were rendered moot. Useless and having no meaning. They were, in essence, not there. So it could be said that the past of Breed did not exist. He was a conundrum trapped in the husk of a great, blue giant. A mass of muscle, nearly mindless, pumping a strange, glowing liquid throughout his body. Did he have a face? If so, it too, like his past, was nothing more than speculation. A mystery within a mystery, trapped within a metal mask, the horrific nightmare twin of Alexander Dumas' hero. Who was he? Where did he come from? Such questions are best left in the dirt, buried by forgotten knowledge, too far in the past to dig up again.

All that was certain about Breed was that Lupelli had known where to find him, a tip from a mysterious figure. That was all that was necessary to know about Breed. Originally, he had been found locked in a tomb in a graveyard. Currently, he was standing still, like some ancient statue, alone in the darkness of the garage. Were someone to come into the room, not expecting to find him, they might almost think he wasn't alive. He did not move, he did not make a sound. The only hint of life, were someone brave enough to venture close enough, would have been the miniscule movement of his chest as he breathed. It would be hard to see in the dim light, provided only from the glowing tubes sticking randomly from his flesh before sinking back in like some demonic, parasitic worm. Seeing him would bring to mind only one more question. Was he human? The answer to that question, like all of the others, had been lost to the past.

It would have taken a brave heart and a mind capable of drowning out the questions and warnings to intrude upon him. Only those sleeping soundly in the safe house dared to be in his presence. Fear kept all others away. But fear, like the leviathan himself, could be controlled. It could be channelled and directed outward like the beacon of a lighthouse, projected in front of it and lighting the path. There was a man approaching the house at that moment. He had fear in his heart, like all men do, but not for Breed. Breed was not the cause of his nightmares. He was the root of his plans.

He who controls the giant wins the battle.

The juggernaut.

The unstoppable force.

The man reached out a hand, grasping the door handle that led into the garage. He braced himself for the sound of an alarm, but, like the plans said, that part of the house had not been wired. Why should it be? One would only have to take one look at the guard inside and they would think better of intruding. Without a sound, the door slid open on well-oiled hinges. Looking around in the dark room, his eyes adjusted enough to make out the towering silhouette before him. Glowing tubes showed him muscular, blue skin. Above it all, blacker than usual in the darkness, was the solid metallic helmet. It stared straight ahead, not acknowledging his presence. For a split second, he hesitated. It was always a dangerous proposition to awaken a slumbering dragon. Should Breed take poorly to his presence, he would have no chance in a fight. Fleeing would be his only option. Again, he shoved the fear aside. He had a plan and he was not going to be swayed by such trivial things as possible pain. He drew nearer, reaching out a tentative hand. He placed it gently on Breed's arm, feeling the massive muscles underneath the blue skin, coiled like the muscles of an anaconda, prepared to lash out and crush with ease. What little fear he had left gave way to fascination. It was like seeing Dr. Frankenstein's monster in the flesh. A creature, not human, but in the shape of a man. More powerful than anyone could ever be. If there was one thing that he enjoyed, it was power.

Mac Avoy lifted himself up on his tip-toes and brought his face as close as he could to the metallic helmet above him.

"Breed. Wake up," he whispered.

The leviathan stirred.

The next morning, Lupelli opened his eyes, bringing up a hand to cover his mouth as he yawned. A glance beside him showed him that Valentina was still fast asleep. He grinned, remembering how much they had tired each other out the night before. As carefully and quietly as he could, he sat up and pushed himself out of bed. He walked stealthily over to his closet and removed his bathrobe, pulling it over his massive shoulders. Sparing one final glance at the angelic beauty slumbering in the bed, Lupelli walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. Down the hall, he stopped at the kitchen and helped himself to a cup of coffee. He knew that either Nabe or Rus must have made it for him. He hadn't seen them sleep, so he assumed they were out and about somewhere. Nearby, in a small room, he heard Quinn's rumbling snore, followed by random mutterings in his sleep, often eclipsed with a groggy "fuck" or "shit." Lupelli smiled and moved to the garage. Quietly, he opened the door connecting the garage with the house and looked out at Breed, who was still standing silently in the center of the room.

"Good morning, Breed," Lupelli said.

Breed's head slowly turned to face him. "MOR....ING."

Lupelli stepped out into the garage and looked at the make-shift bed they had made for him. It was two mattresses shoved together and covered with several blankets. It looked undisturbed.

"Didn't you sleep?" Lupelli asked, pointing toward the bed.

Breed continued to face him, not answering. Lupelli found the silence unsettling and took a sip of coffee before turning around and moving back to the door. He paused in the doorway and looked back at Breed. "Why don't you exercise some? Lift some weights." Silently, Breed turned away and moved over to the weight bench, sitting down on it. The metal groaned slightly under his weight. Breed settled back on the bench and began to press the 500+ pounds of weight with ease. Lupelli watched him for a moment before stepping back into the house. He drew the door shut behind him.

Lupelli settled down at the kitchen table, cradling the hot coffee mug in his hands. He took another sip, letting the hot liquid warm his insides. He leaned back in the chair, letting his eyes drift up to the clock. In only a few more hours, he would be going to find Mac Avoy. He needed an answer. His mind drifted back to his conversation with Valentina the previous day. Pride from the previous day had finally started to give way to the logic in her words. She was right. Allies were in short supply.

A short while later, Lupelli gave Valentina a kiss on the top of her head and walked from the house. He made his way to their rental car, a black Mercedes, and backed out of the driveway. From across the street, two eyes, carefully concealed in the shadows, watched the car leave. Mac Avoy stood up a bit straighter to watch the can vanish from view as it turned the corner at the end of the street. With Lupelli safely out of sight, Mac Avoy turned back to the house. He wouldn't have much time. The others would be waking any minute. Still, he had a little while to continue his conversation with Breed. Like a teacher, all it would take to win him over was a little patience. Mac Avoy dashed across the street and entered the garage again.

fin

Conversations, as a rule, at least in the polite circles, that you reader, would be sure to frequent, tend to hurt a great deal less than the first half of the "discussion" that took place between Breed and MacAvoy. MacAvoy didn't really have the wear-with-all about him mentally to construct an intricate and fiendishly clever, diabolically keen plan of action. He usually just hit it till either it or himself stopped moving................and occasionally he used explosives. Has par for the course of recent weeks he had taken that last part out of the repetoire. Apparently it wasn't the best way to make friends and influnce people. Mostly his plan was to use Breed as his own personal King Kong Terminator motherf@cker. He also knew the only way he could communicate with him on his level was to partake in the only lanuage he was fluent in............a little used but easily recognised dialect called pain.

Mac Avoy lifted himself up on his tip-toes and brought his face as close as he could to the metallic helmet above him.

"Breed. Wake up," he whispered.

The leviathan stirred.

On his level, Breed would only respond to the phiscal confrontation and interaction of another like him, someone else who had that ache of deadness and grey inside them. But to MacAvoy it was merely an ache, where as to this blue ridge virginian man mountain, it was almost his entirity. Breed's ache was that of colour and the shape ofthings that had pasted. Ghosts of a previous existence.

If MacAvoy had any chance of walking out of this room with limbs intact, he would have to make a connection. A visceral connection.

Four giant fingers and a single giant blue-assed thumb wrapped themselves around what, at least in MacAvoy's current inclination, was a far too easily damagable and surprisngly delicate piece of equipment, namely his neck and that ever so usful spine that ran through it. Not that he didn't disregard that snazzy windpipe and that dramatically named jugular vein, both of which where contricting under Breed's pressure. MacAvoy's face started to turn a quite delightful shade of blue. This image upset Breed. Well, upset is such a human term to usein conjuction with an entity such as Breed, but was the most compatible that I could think to apply. Breed skudded the last true ECF icon against a solidly prodcued piece of masonry. The world can excedingly close suddenly having no true ECF icons left, has macAvoy slumped into a bloodied mess in the corner.

This seemed to happen alot to MacAvoy. Not even including matches, he had been downed in a pretty through fashion twice in the last week. Three times in the last fortnight. It was starting to cause him to wonder whether professional wrestling was really the best way to prove his father figures wrong and that perhaps, maybe, he might just follow his heart and become the greatest fashion designer the world had ever known. But it was hard to concentrate on such daydrams as his arm delved into a unique and particular form of exquisite agony. In the not too distant past macAvoy had thought it had been top notch idea to scar himself with the letters E C F on his forearm. You thought I was joking above when I said that MacAvoy was not an ideas man? The motor oil he had landed in was reacting with particular specification to the aforementioned wound. He thought back to the kid. He thought back to the eyes. He looked to the blue hulk who had returned to his statuesque pose. MacAvoy had right there and then, had what can only be described, at least when talking about someone as unimaginative as MacAvoy, well, dammit lets call a spade a spade, macAvo had an epiphany.

He slowly and gingerly pulled himself up and looked back into the gates of hell. They where man shaped and an offshade of azure. But the eyes. The eyes so easily overlooked behind the mask of iron. Windows. Windows to the soul. Did something like this even have a soul? MacAvoy brushed himself down and decided why the fuck not.

MacAvoy - Lets go to work.

Macavoy charged foreward at the man and used its own knee as leverage. He wrapped his legs around the trunk of its body, his arms around its throat and came eye to eye with a rough approximation of death. Its eyes where black. Sickly, milky black that seemed like they had been drilled into what he could make out of the face of...................well.............it. But there WAS a glint. A hint of something or a reflection in the light? MacAvoy didn't have time to go over the metsaphysical ramifications of his discovery as that was the moment the blows started to rain down upon him, rumbling like a tropical thunderstorm.

Quite unsurprisingly, Breed did not like this insect latched onto him. He clubbed with right arm, then left arm, right, left, right, left. MacAvoys internal organs started mulching. But the onslaught continued. Blood started to flow from the mouth of MacAvoy. But the onslaught continued. Breeds world became solely comprised of MacAvoy as the man would not let go and the monster could not look away. But the onslaught continued. MacAvoy starred. Breed starred. Both unblinking. Both unrelenting. Both locked in a battle of wills. macavoy could feel himself passing out from the pain. His body was starting to go limp but he fought with his instincts and kept his eyes open. He felt the final blow was coming, he sensed the arm rushing through the air, so he did the only thing he could.

MacAvoy - Stop.

A steel girder of a limb, it froze in mid-air. MacAvoy practically dripped off Breed onto the floor. He wasn't sure what he'd accomplished but he knew he'd made some sort of connection. He heard noise. The sound of a door. He dragged himself out of the garage and collpased in the bushes. He say Lupelli leave. He knew now what his answer was going to be when Lupelli asked him the question. He limped back into the garage to better understand what the connection he had just made actually meant.

If you had to put a sound to revenge, what would it be like? The sound of a gun, blasting in the still calm of night? Perhaps it would be the metallic swish of a sword, slicing through the air. Maybe it would be something as simple as a sinister laugh, releasing the hatred in the heart and projecting it out by hurtful laughter. On this particular day, there were two sounds dealing with revenge that are important to this tale. One was the sound of a phone ringing. The other was much louder, but we'll get to that one a bit later. For now, we'll go back to the phone.

As he had since his presence was first felt, he kept to the shadows. He had found it more fruitful in his current endeavors to work behind the scenes, watching from afar as the pieces fell into place. It was like playing a game of chess. Carefully, he was positioning certain pieces so that his opponent would have no chance once he struck. A finger, shadowed, tapped impatiently on the mahogany desk. The ringing phone was finally picked up.

"Lupelli," the voice said.

The shadowed figure leaned forward slightly, a sliver of light, having escaped between the gaps of the nearby venetian blinds illuminated a mask, but it was gone before any detail could be divulged. "Mr. Lupelli, I trust you have found Breed by now?"

On the other end of the phone, there was silence. This was to be expected. A man like Lupelli hated being used and manipulated. Worse for him was that he had no choice in the matter and he hated that even more. Finally, the deep voice belonging to the former hitman came back to him over the receiver.

"I have."

"Good," the mysterious figure said, leaning back. "I have no wish for Valentina to come to harm than you have. It was my mistake to think Valdarez would not fall back on his petty hatred of you. In return, I have provided you the means to protect Valentina at all times."

"And you expect my thanks?"

Behind a mask, shrouded in shadows, the figure's face broke into a small smile. "Of course not Mr. Lupelli. I am well aware of your dislike for me. Suffice it to say that my interest in you is for the benefit of many."

"I don't know what you are talking about. I don't even know your name."

"For now, we will keep my identity hidden. You may simply call me Mystery."

"Mystery?"

"Yes, Mystery. As for my motives, suffice it to say that there are parties operating within your federation that are growing too powerful. Forces are stirring which are requiring me to step up my impending return--"

Lupelli cut him off. "Wait, return? You've been here before?"

"Your perception does you well Mr. Lupelli. Yes, I have been there before and, in time, I will be again." The shadowed figure reached out a gloved hand and traced a sideways 8 on the desk with his finger. "It is time to tear down the walls once again. Nothing lasts forever. Not even Infinity."

On the other end of the phone, there was only silence. Perhaps Lupelli was waiting for more. Perhaps he was trying to look for clues about his identity. The shadowed figure was content that his true face would be revealed only when he was ready for it to be. His eyes had seen things that would bring even someone like Lupelli to the brink of madness. In time, they would once again look out over the federation. All in time. The shadowed figure placed the phone in the cradle and steepled his fingers, slipping into the endless chasm of his thoughts.

On the other end of the phone, Lupelli heard the dialtone and hung up, looking at the phone like it was alive. This person, this phantom who had been haunting him since he arrived in TCW, had been there before. Finally, he snapped himself from his reverie and turned his eyes to the glowing blue numbers of the car's digital clock. In front of him, obtrusive and ugly, was Mac Avoy's hotel. Another glance at the clock confirmed that it was almost time to get an answer to his question. Still, better safe than sorry. Lupelli pulled a pair of black, leather gloves from the glove box and pulled them on.

A fifteen minute car drive away, Lupelli's safe house sat calmly on a dead-end street, nestled amidst several other normal neighborhood houses. As was its function, there was nothing about it that stood out. Nothing on the outside, that is. On the inside, there was one rather large difference. Large and blue and with a massive, black helmet of metal. Breed turned as Mac Avoy entered the house again, taking a moment to listen in case Quinn or any of the others were moving about. He was still safe. They were either asleep or gone. He turned his attention to the great leviathan before him. He had been able to stop him, simply by ordering it. Was he brave enough to test his control? Could he push it to even greater limits?

Mac Avoy stood in front of Breed, his eyes boring into the solid mask. He could not see them, but he could feel the eyes staring back. It was now or never. "Breed. Pick up those weights."

For a moment, the beast did not move. In fact, the silence was more unnerving to Mac Avoy than any amount of violence would have been. Then, finally, the giant turned and lifted the bar with one hand, turning back around and facing Mac Avoy.

Time to test it a little more. "Lift it over your head," Mac Avoy ordered.

Obediently, Breed did as ordered. Mac Avoy marvelled at the strength exhibited by the colossus before him. He marvelled even more about how easily he had gained control. He had sustained many bruises, but they were superficial. A bruise was nothing to him. Mac Avoy smiled and turned his head to the door leading into the house. There was only one test left.

"Breed," Mac Avoy said, pointing at the door, "Throw the weights."

500 pounds flew through the air with a bizarre grace, smashing into the wall and, as would tend to happen with that much force and mass, through it. The door was gone, along with most of the wall around it. They were replaced with a crumbling hole of falling plaster and splinters of wooden framework, jutting out like some prehistoric forest. As Mac Avoy had figured, that much noise would wake the dead. It certainly was sufficient to waken the only two people in the house, Quinn and Valentina.

Quinn fell out of bed, his eyes wide. It had sounded like a bomb had gone off, a sound that he was all too familiar with. His hand jammed underneath his pillow and he pulled out his pistol. A moment later, his hea dpeered out of the doorway, glancing to the right and seeing the destruction where, only a few minutes ago, a wall had been. A sound to his other side drew his gaze. Valentina had started down the hall, still pulling her bathrobe tight. Her eyes were frightened as she looked at him.

"What is it?" she asked.

Quinn shook his head and pulled her into his room. "I dunno. Stay 'ere an' I'll 'ave a look."

Quinn inched his way down the hall, doing his best to avoid the splinters jutting out everywhere. His gaze fell on the weights, partially buried in the floor where they had landed. He sighed. There was only one thing that could have done that. Suddenly, his pistol felt rather pointless in his hand. That would be like shooting a BB gun at a bear. Still, it was better than nothing.

As he drew closer, he finally was able to make out a faint noise: a voice. Not Breed's, not Nabe or Rus and certainly not Lupelli's. With as much stealth as he could muster, Quinn peered through the gaping hole that had once been a door and a wall and saw a figure pointing at the opposite wall of the garage.

"Make your own door," the figure said.

Quinn trained his pistol on the figure, but he was thrown off of his feet when the vibrations of Breed muscling through a wall rocked the entire house. Metal groaned, wood splintered and cracked, vinyl shrieked and tore and wires sparked and hissed. That was the second sound of revenge. Through the filtering dust and debris that was drifting down from the ceiling, Mac Avoy turned back to look at Quinn.

"Tell your friend that the answer is no." He turned and followed Breed out into the sunlight, but paused. He turned back around and looked at Quinn again. "Or, better yet, I'll tell him myself."

Quinn could only watch as Mac Avoy and Breed vanished up the street. In the distance, he heard the sound of sirens, almost certainly a result of neighbors calling the police. Without hesitating, he pushed himself to his feet and ran to his room.

"What is going on?" Valentina asked, her eyes concerned.

"No time Val. We 'ave to leave. Now!"

The two gathered what they could of everyones' belongings as quickly as they could and then ran out to the truck. They tossed everything in the back and leaped in. They had no sooner driven around the nearest turn than they saw blue lights whipping toward the house behind them. Quinn pulled the truck to the side of the road and lifted his cell phone.

"Lupelli."

"Tony? It's Quinn. We've got a wee bit of a problem."

MacAvoy dried his face with a towel and looked up and into the mirror. He had cut his hair and dyed it back to its original darkened look. It was strange seeing the real him again after hiding behind that long blonde hair for such a length. Acid had told him that was the look that would attract the attention of the big organisations. He had told him that this was business built on reputation and that reputation was build squarely on image. Acid had had little time in those days for such concepts as talent or passion or pride, as the noxious nature of the business had slowly poisoned the jackrabbit and left only the acidity. He had caught a story in the trades that Acid's precious new FWR Empire was crumbling around him. Maybe with a bit more pride, Acid, or a bit more passion. Still they're paths had diverged quite some time ago.

MacAvoy stared into the mirror again. His eyes where bloodshot from lack of sleep. It had been 48 hours since he had broken out of Lupelli's compound. Over 60 since he had actually drifted off for the last time. He looked at the reflection of his room in the mirror. Bed, minibar, giant seven foot blue skinned monster. The third item on the list took up about 46% of the available space in the room, but that wasn't the problem. Claustrophobia had never been a problem to him. No. It was hard to describe what unsettled him. A crawling, itching sensation that climb slowly all the way up his spine. The sense of something abhorrent to nature hanging like in the air like a wreath of the doorway of a wake house. Even the simple lack of movement to be found in the behemoth. The was the stillness of an inert object, but somehow combined with the sensation that you where not alone in the room. MacAvoy did not get unnerved, it just did not happen, but still, he had realised some 37 hours ago why they kept this thing in the garage. Never ever in his long and intolerably crappy life had MacAvoy wished for garage, but the benefits of such invention where finally sinking in to him. He had thought about leaving him somewhere in the hotel, however, he couldn't risk Lupelli getting his hands on Breed before the show.

It was an evil having to even be in its presence, but a necessary one. With talk spreading of burgeoning alliances and men of mystery pervasive, a trump card like Breed could be the most important thing he could have. However, it had been tortuous trying to make that first breakthrough in the garage and he hadn't had a great deal more luck since. Still, the only way he could influence him on any meaningful level was with direct eye contact. This would never be practical. However, nothing else, either auditory or visual could break down this stonewall sentry. He had tried using the sound of his voice. Even using pictures. The only one he got the remotest response from with an image of Valentina. This caused a quiet expulsion of gases through his mouth. One might almost have called it a sigh, if such a thing where possible from Breed.
MacAvoy sat down on the bed, making sure to face away from his Frankensteinian roommate (THEY@RE THE ORIGINAL ODD COUPLE!!!!!).

Something still niggled at the back of his mind. The hand of, well, not friendship, as a man such as Lupelli can never really let someone in that close. Not friendship, then, but a hand at least of convenience had been placed before him and he had swatted it away as he did with all such attempts. He had seen it as not a possibility to forge ahead in this federation, but instead to an opportunity to take something of value from another for his own personal gain. He scratched at his arm again. The ECF etched into his arm again throbbed gently beneath a skin that had started to scab and break and harden. There would be a scar on that arm that even the best dermatologist would have trouble removing. But removed it could be. As MacAvoy began preparing himself for the match, knowing he would be walking into unknown situation with an unpredictable and quite probably uncontrollable blue ally, he wondered would it ever be possible to remove the mental scars that caused him to screw up, again and again and again.