*PokingFun...she tells me things I need to hear*

*The Sniper, the Bodyguard, the Genius and the Student - you know who you are and I thank you*

*Sorry, no sex this time around. In fact, I don't think there is any sex in Chapter 8 either. There is some in Nine, so if you can hold out...*

*If you save a thousand, you are soon forgotten. If you save one, you are always remembered*

I picked up the phone and made the call.

"Eloise, you still want your comment?" I said bitterly.

"Of course, Israel," she responded calmly.

"A cop in China murdered six men today," I told her.

"It looks more like assisted suicide," Eloise countered.

"No – absolutely not," my voice shook. "Had those men been able to defend themselves, they would not have been there in the first place. They would have never agreed to go. They wouldn't have even plotted this tragedy out."

"They were utterly defenseless. Society rendered them this way. That cop was only the last in a long line of aggressors they couldn't fend off," I was clearly shaking now. "Saying they were suicides implies they had a choice in the matter – they didn't. Her brother had no chance of doing something like this – none."

"She found out what he wished for and she made the only real choice to be made – to live or die and she chose from them to die. Those men had a final word alright – it was 'Help!' It is the worst kind of cruelty to blame the victims for the crime. Tomorrow the press is going to say it was suicide because they sat there and were slaughtered like sheep."

"Well – duh! You raised us to be sheep. How dare you blame us for acting like sheep when it was suddenly inconvenient for you!" I was screaming. "Their choices were to sit there or fight back but you don't want us fighting back, so they did what you trained them to do. They sat there, exactly like you taught them to."

"This time it was a murderess with a knife, instead of a grabby co-worker, a horny cop, or a gang of women looking to party. You certainly didn't want them saying 'no' those last three times, so why are you surprised they couldn't say 'no' to the former? It isn't a matter of scale. It is a matter of learning to make choices and men aren't given that luxury."

"Is that all?" Eloise said after a long pause.

"Yeah, that's me venting," I sighed.

"'Chinese Policewoman murders brother, five others'," she stated. "That is the headline I'm showing my editor. I like the sheep metaphor. I'll use it. Thank you, Israel."

"Well, shit," Seneca mumbled. "Tomorrow is going to be ten kinds of messed up. I had better get going."

"Yeah," Angel said as she stood to see Seneca to the door. I tagged along until we were all out in the public walkway.

"Sorry about that, Seneca," I apologized.

"Israel, the public is already unhappy with the police's handling of this Vanisher controversy. Now you want them to think that cops are murdering men too," Seneca stated wearily.

"Did we watch the same video?" I grumbled. "She killed all of them, then herself."

"They wanted to die," Seneca countered. I held Angel back. Seneca was her partner.

"Seneca, were they clinically depressed men off their meds – all of them?" I pointed out.

"What about the daycare in Denver? They committed suicide," Seneca reposed.

"Exactly!" I declared. "They struck back. What did those Chinese men do? How did they strike back?"

"Enough," Angel separated us. "Tomorrow is probably going to be a long day for us, so let's get some sleep." Seneca nodded, doubled-back to hug Angel – then offered to shake my hand.

"You make her happy," Seneca explained as I did so.

"It is accidental, believe me," I grinned. Seneca snickered, shook her head then left.

"Everyone, time to go," Angel announced as we stepped back into my condo. It was my place, but Angel was my girlfriend so it was normal for her to make decisions like this. For all the battles I had won during this long day, I would let this one go. Angel was Angel, I wanted my company to go, and I'd get revenge on her in the bedroom.

"Kuiko, you and I are going to have a chat during lunch tomorrow," Angel slipped in there. Oh, hell no, that wasn't going to happen. After people left, I tapped Angel.

"Have you thought about getting some of your things and bringing them over here? Toothbrush and stuff like that – maybe a change of clothes," I suggested.

"Are you sure?" Angel studied me.

"Last time you had to run back to your place I was tuned up by your buddy's buddy," I pointed out. Angel didn't like my explanation but she couldn't deny its validity.

"I'll get some things and tell Roni," Angel struggled to sound upbeat.

The second Angel was across the hall, I called Kuiko and begged her to come back over. She arrived a minute before Angel returned with an armful of things.

"Hey..." Angel began then caught sight of Kuiko.

"Put your things in our bedroom and then we can all talk," I directed.

Now I was making the calls and was daring Angel to be pissy about my rights in my own home. She returned a minute later. Kuiko was in the comfy chair, I was on the floor with my back to the TV screen so Angel took the sofa.

"So, what do you want to talk to Kuiko about?" I dove in.

"Something I think two women need to discuss – just between us," Angel evaded. I was not having that. I knew women very well. Angel would steamroll over Kuiko out of instinct, not reason. I wasn't angry with Angel as much as determined to put my stamp on our relationship.

"Has Kuiko insulted you?" I started.

"No, that's not..." Angel got out.

"Has she left her hallway a mess?" I persisted.

"No..." she grumbled.

"Has she failed to put away her trash properly in the bins?" I glared.

"I get it, Israel. You are no Kinsey Millhone, so you can stop now," Angel allowed. "I want to talk to Kuiko about you." This was not a revelation to Kuiko or me. I had no clue who Kinsey Millhone was, but I had to assume whoever she was, she was a better interrogator than me.

"Let's talk then," I breathed a sigh of relief.

"It is still girl-talk," Angel insisted. I was screwed by her intransience. I wasn't going to hold our affection hostage. That would cheapen what we had. I couldn't give in – that would undercut what little bliss I had accumulated. I had the worst option of all – trust.

"Angel, what can I tell you to convince you to accept Kuiko's place in my life?" I pleaded.

That wasn't what either expected. Angel mulled over her response. Kuiko eyed the door.

"Have less impressive sex!" Capri screamed from the back bedroom. That cut through some of the tension.

"Israel, I become upset when any woman talks about having sex with you – when they trumpet to the World how much they liked it...and want more," Angel confessed.

"Sorry," Kuiko meeped.

"It is not just you," Angel turned on Kuiko. "It is going to be the next girl and the next. Goddess, I hate sounding like some whiney, selfish cunt."

"You are not," I comforted her. "I love you and I think you love me, but that doesn't mean I am going to surrender myself to you."

"No attachments – no marriage on their terms. For me, your declaration is all I need," I said.

"Israel...how often are you going to have sex with other women?" Angel groaned. The emotional shoe was really on the other foot.

"Inside, or outside the coterie?" I responded. Angel mulled that over.

"Israel, I really, really want to ask you to not have sex with anyone else but me," Angel murmured. Kuiko nearly burst into tears. "But I'm not. I have to trust you as much as you've trusted me. Considering how much I've betrayed that trust – I'm glad you've been patient."

"Love – it does NOT make your life better," I sighed.

"It is easier for me," I added, "because I already have so many other psychoses to deal with, this is nothing new."

"Not funny, Israel," Angel looked me over. "Aaaarrghhhh..." she growled as she stood up. She did her best venting when she stood, I was discovering.

"I'm trying to give you permission to sleep around – wait," she held up her hand, "but I know it is not my permission to give. I'm struggling to accept this...helplessness."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," Kuiko threw herself on her knees and hugged Angel's waist. "I would have given him up, but I truly didn't want to."

For a second, I was afraid Angel was going to yank Kuiko up by the hair and whirl her around the room like some archaic weapon. Angel feigned anger well – she wasn't as out of control as she would lead people to believe.

"Kuiko," Angel sighed, "couldn't you have simply typed 'he was good' and left it at that?"

Angel hesitantly reached down and patted Kuiko's head.

"Angel, I apologize, but it really was the best sex I've ever had – or even read about. I've been such a disaster until Israel. It wasn't just good sex – it was unbelievably good sex," she bubbled. "He made it fun and he made me feel I gave good sex as well."

"I – know," Angel reluctantly nodded. "We had sex too."

"Damn right," Kuiko smiled up at Angel. "You got FIVE hours. I only got one." Then Kuiko stuck her tongue out at Angel and gave her a raspberry. Angel drank in that defiant display.

"You stay right there," she told Kuiko. "I'm going to get my taser and light up your little ass."

"He likes my little ass!" Kuiko declared proudly.

"You are not helping your case," I muttered.

"Kuiko, you do realize when you stood up to those two police officers to protect Israel, you could have been tased?" she asked her kneeling compatriot.

"Yes. You would have too," Kuiko stated. If only she knew. On second thought, being closely acquainted with violence wasn't doing me any good at all.

"I'm a police officer," Angel reminded her. "I've been tased – it is part of our training. It is not a pleasant experience, believe me."

"I'd still do it," Kuiko pledged.

"I know you would – Crazy K. Now that nickname makes sense," Angel smirked. "Still, I think Israel's battle plan has as few of us getting tased as possible."

"Are we going to fucking bed?" Capri yelled out from the back again.

"Give us a second," Angel yelled back. "Kuiko, what is this about nipple torture?" Whoops.

"Oh," Kuiko replied gleefully. "Since I'm naughty, Israel punishes me by suckling on my whole breast whenever we are alone or with our group. I think I'm supposed to learn a lesson."

"What lesson would that be?" Angel regarded me suspiciously.

"Don't know – don't care," Kuiko beamed. "All I know is his lips, mouth and tongue feel fantastic."

"Trust me, I know how good they feel," Angel sighed. "Go home, Kuiko. Just go home."

"Okay," Kuiko hopped up. "See you tomorrow, Israel." Off she went.

"What am I going to do with you?" Angel regarded me. At least she wasn't angry.

"Have less impressive sex!" Capri chimed in. "Can we go to bed now?" Angel looked back toward the bedrooms then padded that way quietly. I stood and followed. We found Capri in pajama shorts, face down on my bed. She had brought her own pillow.

There were a host of problems. For starters, my bed was a double. It held two people without too much difficulty. Angel and I were above average sized people, if not overly so. Capri was small – in stature. There was nothing wrong with the width of her hips. Capri was in the middle of the bed so Angel and I couldn't have casual, flirtatious contact.

We'd have to reach over her. Angel had just grappled with her 'sharing' issues with Kuiko. Capri's position had no forewarning for either of us, but I was shocked that I was shocked. After all, I had invited a girl into my house. Of course she was going to end up having intercourse with me. I had been so fatigued that I had missed this. It was a scary revelation.

Angel took her taser off the top of the dresser.

"This one I AM going to shoot," Angel announced.

"Carpi, what are you doing in my bed?" I intervened.

"Oh? Am I annoying you two?" Capri muttered from her pillow. "Forgive me. The continents drifted so much while I was waiting, I thought this was now my bedroom."

"Goddess, give me one good reason not to spark her snarky ass up?" Angel half-joked.

"I – I can't do this," I muttered then slumped against the door. Capri's head immediately popped up.

"Israel, I'm sorry," Capri murmured. She sat up, got off the bed and slipped over to Angel.

If Angel had any animosity toward Capri, it evaporated. Angel did that for me – put aside her own emotions when I needed her the most. Capri had seen me collapse before, but she associated that with some kind of pressure. Like most people, she associated mental trauma with its physical counterpart. If the person began acting healthier, he/she was getting better – recovering.

I didn't have a single knife wound – I had not been thrown under a lawnmower. Figuring out what would flip me out was a nightmare my friends were now sharing in. I had surrendered my safeguards for hope. Even as I was starting to trust others once more, I was trusting myself less and less. I felt those lifeless eyes staring at me, crying out for help and it all felt like too much.

(Tuesday Morning)

"Wake up, Israel," Capri said through my closed door. "Eloise Granger called and she wants you to stop by the Sentinel offices at eight. I'm coming along because I have jack-all job opportunities."

"I'm on the floor," Angel called out from the space between the bed and dresser. She probably been afraid that me waking up next to her in bed would send my mind tumbling again, but hadn't wanted to totally abandon my space.

She let that warning sink in before she sat up. I didn't even know how any of this had worked out. The last thing I recalled was leaning against my door. Here I was trying to make a statement about male dignity and I had to be put to bed like an infant.

"I'm okay, Angel," I told my lover. "Capri, let me slap some clothes on. Any idea what Granger wanted?"

"Yeah, I went to law school so I could be a personal assistant, you jerk," Capri chuckled. "She wouldn't tell me so it must be something subversive. That's another reason I want to come along."

"Cop listening," Angel grunted. "Israel, good dreams?"

"No dreams," I responded. "None I can recall anyway."

"Ah – I don't have a pet name for you," Angel realized.

"Jerk works for me," Capri intruded.

"Shut up!" Angel snapped. "Israel, take a shower."

"When do you have to go in?" I asked Angel as I stood, worked around her and began picking out something to wear. She whipped out her phone and dialed her workplace.

"Regular time in, but I'm working late – there is a MAL rally tonight at Blazer Arena," she informed me.

"That's bizarrely fast," I worried. Angel met my gaze and nodded. I had no clue if the Blazer Arena was scheduled for something that night, but the Federation could easily wield the pressure to make the owner give up the slot. Getting men to show up wasn't too difficult. They simply downloaded the invitations to our phones, along with the metro routes to take from home or work.

With my clothes laid out, I trundled off to take my shower. Had I not kept one fearful eye, and ear, on the door, I would have been happier. I dried off, got dressed and went to the kitchen where Angel and Capri were standing around, not talking. I checked my messages. There was my MAL invitation along with the date for my Civilian Affairs review – my termination hearing.

After several agonizing minutes in silence, Capri finally spoke up.

"What's the plan?" she asked.

"For starters," Angel broke in, "always assume they are listening in."

"As Angel said and right now, we wait," I answered.

"I'm hardly the guy who is going to bring society crashing down. Our goal remains the same – escape. Escape implies there not being enough resources around to run us down."

"This is so wonderful," Capri remarked sarcastically. "Last week I could happily consider all of this a paranoid fantasy. Yesterday I saw a Writ of Exclusion and I have to admit, it scared the hell out of me."

A Writ of Exclusion was the legal vehicle that voided all of a person's civil rights. It was normally used in cases of Treason and Espionage, but in the heyday of the Male Retribution Army, the government had used it broadly to break that terrorist organization. In the decade following the Great Die-out, there had been a small number of men around with police and military training who were now denied their chosen profession.

They organized; the government countered with a plethora of legal means to break those groups then some of those frustrated men went underground. The second time around, the men used all sort of legal means to stymie investigations and being former law enforcement, they knew so many tricks of the trade.

I doubted I would ever know what really happened – whether the proto-MRA turned militant first, or if the introduction of the Writs of Exclusion turned them that way. What few people remember is that over half of the first sheaf of Writs were against women. They were supporting the proto-MRA legally, morally and financially – mothers, sisters, friends and wives.

Eventually, the women were released because the purpose had been to remove them from the equation until the Federation could deal with the men. A whole new regimen of drugs were introduced and the men were 'corrected'. A few of the survivors lashed out violently against Federation agents and buildings and most fell horribly, or were rounded up.

Had the MRA ever been right, that's when it went off the rails. In Spokane Washington, a (girl's) soccer team was coming back from a match when its bus blew up. The footage of firewomen pulling the burnt bodies of high school athletes out of the wreckage is what would forever be in the forefront of women's minds when they thought of men resisting.

"Israel has had that happen to him twice," Angel sighed.

"What – oh, the whole court-required therapy," Capri noted. During that time, I was always treated with respect, but I could never say 'no' to any part of my schedule. Drugs, therapy, or education – I never had a choice, reprieve, or recourse. I had been a ward of the state.

I cleaned my bowl, stuck it in the dishwasher – I'd run it tomorrow. After that, I quietly gathered a few more dowels and my satchel and stopped to stare at the door.

"I'm with you, Israel," Capri assured me from my side.

"Israel, I could..." Angel started.

"Get some sleep. Tonight is likely to suck and Seneca will need you at your best," I said. I turned and kissed Angel good-bye, took a deep breath...and started whistling. I kept it up all the way to the metro station. I knew they would be waiting for me, my fellow commuters, but I did have an unexpected surprise.

As I went from the sidewalk to the metro station itself, two men joined me, complete with some sort of carrying device and a handle-wrapped dowel. I had no idea who they were. I couldn't. Had we communicated, the cops most likely would have preempted us.

"Kenny," the shorter, stockier man introduced himself. "Luanga," he tapped the chest of his African-American companion.

"I guess you know who I am," I said. I was still cautious. Men were hardly a universal brotherhood. "This is Capri, my lawyer and a good friend. How are you two doing today?"

"Kenny and I were thinking," Luanga smiled, "that today might be a little rough for you and that maybe a little solidarity was in order – peaceful, of course," he added while smacking his baton in his palm.

Both men were older than me, a bit shorter and by no means bulky; hardly what classic hulking male bodyguards were supposed to look like. They both worked at a ceramics factory on the far side of the district – second shift. They had no real plan other than some vague idea that I'd be safer with three batons instead of one. They assured me they had no ideas about 'kicking ass'.

The cops came a few minutes later.

"What do we have here?" the first patrolwoman mocked us.

"A perfectly legal gathering," Capri stepped forward. The woman shot Capri a dirty look.

"Hand over the batons, boys," the second patrolwoman extended her hand. It occurred to me that my two sudden allies had never openly confronted the police before. Like all men, you knuckled under and took what they were dishing out.

"Why?" I asked.

"Yeah, why?" Kenny joined in.

"They are perfectly legal," Luanga pointed out.

"Menacing and Public Disturbance," she smiled.

"What a load of crap," Capri hissed under her breath.

"Hand them over," I advised my comrades as I gave my stick up. They flashed me a quick, worried look before complying.

"Now hand over your bags and work box (Kenny's)," the first cop insisted.

"On what grounds?" Capri grumbled. "This is an illegal search."

"We are asking them to do it voluntarily," the first cop smiled at Capri.

"If we don't comply?" I decided to ask.

"Then we take you to the precinct until we get the District Attorney to give us a warrant, Mr. Jensen," she snorted derisively.

"Do either one of you understand that when law fails, anarchy reigns?" Capri said. "Translated over to your pre-school level of intelligence – if you break the law, why should anyone obey it?"

The cop got ready to tune Capri up, but I saw it coming. I yanked Capri back into me, the cop stumbled forward. The cop turned on me, punched me right beneath the ribcage and then...the world cracked a little bit more.

Kenny shoved the first cop away from me. I doubt he thought that action through. They were about the same height, he had maybe fifty pounds on her, but she was a cop. She grabbed his arm, twisted it then bore him to the ground.

"Back!" the second patrolwoman yelled at us.

Luanga hesitated, so I put a palm to his chest.

"Step back, otherwise they win," I cautioned him. "Kenny, don't resist." Kenny wasn't resisting, but got a knee to the kidney anyway. That's when the second cop noticed Capri's phone in her hand.

"Give me that," the second officer demanded. Capri's fingers flew over the buttons.

"Here you go," Capri smiled. "Uploaded and everything. Don't worry, I got a good shot of your face and badge number."

"Bitch," the cop threw Capri's phone on the ground but it bounced instead of breaking.

We had a break in the intimidation as the two police officers had to pick Kenny up. The second officer propelled Kenny away, Capri scooped up her phone and ran after them, leaving the first officer to deal with us.

"You, I know," Cop one indicated me. "You – ID and Metro Pass," she indicated Luanga.

He handed them over reluctantly.

"Northwest Metro," she commented. "This is not your scheduled line. I suggest you get to it."

"This pass if good for the whole city," Luanga protested. She laughed at him.

"Do you want me run you in for Metro Pass fraud?" she taunted him.

"But, you know that's genuine," Luanga blurted.

"Go," I tapped his arm. "We will do this again tomorrow."

"Do it and I'll run you in for conspiracy to create a public disturbance," the cop turned her smile on me. I shrugged and took a step back. Luanga walked away.

When he looked forlornly over his shoulder, I grinned and winked. He looked momentarily surprised then winked and left.

"You think I didn't catch that little exchange?" the cop smirked.

"I don't think it matters," I sighed. "You didn't listen to my lawyer and there is going to be a price for that."

"Are you threatening me?" the cop couldn't believe her good fortune.

"Oh, no," I put my hands behind my back to be as non-threatening as possible. "The number of assaults on males and male rapes is going to skyrocket because of your little display and the actions of other patrolwomen all across the city like you."

"How do you figure that?" she laughed.

"The police are no longer 'not protecting men', you are now actively attacking us," I grinned," in gross violation of the law. What's to stop those eighty-some women behind me from doing whatever they want to me now that the law clearly no longer applies to men?"

She stopped laughing, but she didn't seem overly upset.

"Good luck ladies," she shouted over her shoulder. "You are getting what you deserve," she sneered at me. It was her turn to exit the stage. For me, I had to face the next hurdle. At least the world did not revolve around me and my struggle.

Many of the commuters were reading their tablets, on the phone, or chatting with acquaintances. A sizable minority was looking my way despite the domestic distractions and as the cop receded back to the surface, they started closing in. I almost missed a panting Capri returning to my side.

"Sorry about that; had to..." Capri noted her changing surroundings. "What's all this?"

"The price of freedom," I whispered in return. If law enforcement ran a tight ship, I couldn't get away. Men had next to nothing to fight with. Our sexuality and our ability to exploit that en masse for profit had been removed long ago. Many young men thought a cock was the quick road to power, except women didn't share. No matter how good you were in the sack, it didn't translate over to real power.

Powerful husbands 'advised' their spouses, but without the wife, the women could afford to exclude him from decision making bodies. See, you had to perform eventually. Did men want to organize some sort of Male Sex Union? Sure they did: refer to the proto-MRA. Women weren't stupid. When men threatened a basic necessity, women put a stop to it.

I caught Capri reaching into her purse/uber-bag.

"What are you getting?" I hissed.

"My stun gun," she hissed back.

"Put it away. It won't do any good," I sighed softly. If Capri had one, half the crowd coming my way had one too.

"They are going to kick the crap out of you – and me," Capri muttered. She was thinking about the subway ride home yesterday. This was a totally different situation.

"No, they are not. They want something totally different," I tried to explain as we were 'absorbed' into their group.

It was completely obvious. One of my old tormentors (as in a week old) came up and put her hand on my crotch and kept it there. I lashed out – at Capri to keep her from attacking the woman.

"You really curled that Kuiko-girl's toes last night," she purred.

"Ambrosia (in a crisis situation, it paid to know your aggressor's name – most of the time), Kuiko made me feel really great last night. I'm glad she had a good time as well."

"Are you ever going to see her again?" this was Fatima.

"Absolutely. I'm in her coterie now," I smiled cautiously. It was Kuiko's coterie because there was no way they would believe it was mine.

"How did that happen?" a girl whose name I think was Amelia said with some despair.

Ambrosia scanned my bracelet.

"You don't read as attached," she announced.

"Vanishers don't take men who are attached," I informed them.

"You really do WANT to be vanished?" Fatima gasped. Here was why I wasn't going to be dragged off and raped: blame someone else for your aggressors' misfortunes; preferably people you hate.

"When the alternative is to be dragged off by some patrolwoman with a false warrant, put in a dark room and then murdered with a few other guys – yeah, I want to live, so I need to escape. You just saw how the cops aren't going to protect me," I explained. That's right ladies, you aren't getting dick because the cops are assholes. That's what public relations are all about.

We flowed into the metro-train when it arrived. I was vigorously felt up the entire time – we were past groping. I was afraid Capri was going to lose it, but she kept it together despite the dry-humping going on. We exited at our stop. I was tucking my shirt back into my pants when Capri tapped my elbow.

"I've changed my mind," she announced.

"About what?" I said rather absently.

"I want to have children with you," she mused as if it was nothing big. I coughed.

"Ugh - why?" I sighed.

"Our kids will be fucking brilliant. Mostly because of me, of course, but you are no shirker in the brain's department either," she enlightened me.

"How did you come by this prognostication?" I queried.

"Dowels," she began. "Dowels lead to police crackdown which leads to police beating the crap out of some poor soul which makes the internet which creates a female versus cop crisis."

"Congratulations, you have given me a front seat to a civil war," she muttered ruefully. "The whole China thing was a Gift from Goddess – not demeaning their loss, Israel, but it was."

"Capri, what are you going to do if things do get really bad? I mean, with your mother and your sisters? They are your family. I don't have one anymore...except my children," I glanced her way.

"You knew about most of your children before you started down this path. What do you plan to do?" Capri reposed.

"I'd like to tell you that once I am free I'd figure a way to get them too, but I think I've pretty much written them off," I confessed.

"Ah..." Capri murmured. "You simply aren't crazy enough yet. You'll figure a way, wait and see."

"Your faith in my disintegrating sanity is not really as comforting as it might have sounded in your head," I pointed out.

"Israel, have you really come to grips with the possibility that the children you have right now and will have over the next two decades may be the only genetic strain of humans left on Earth in two centuries?" Capri blithely bantered as we walked down the crowded sidewalk.

"Actually, I try not to," I replied. "What about your family?"

"I'll try to save them. I hate them and they've made over twenty years of my life psychologically hellish, but isn't that what family is for – to make you realize that you have it better anywhere else?" Capri answered. The offices of the Sentinel rose before us. Security consisted of an ID scanner – no personnel.

Like most news sources, the Sentinel was primarily on-line, but it still published over a 100,000 daily paper copies for dedicated readers. The presses were in the basement. The first five stories of the building were the newspaper's offices. After that, it was rented office space just like every other building in this district.

The third floor was devoted to City Affairs and that's where the directory informed us Eloise Granger had her office. I received several looks, differing in length, but uniform in their displeasure of me. Only Eloise appeared happy to see my smiling face – I was even twenty minutes early.

I spotted Eloise outside of her glass-walled office. She was hovering over five other female reporters. I did spot one other male on this floor. He looked up from his works, realized who I was then snapped his head down. My toxicity was contagious by proximity alone.

"Hello, Israel," Eloise greeted me warmly. "Ladies, you know Israel Jensen. This is his lawyer and companion, Ms. Capri O'Hara, soon to be a former member of the Public Defender's Office."

The five mumbled some kind of greeting, but clearly didn't like me. It took a second for that attitude to be clarified.

"Eloise, we are up to 290 detentions in the greater metro area," one of the five sitting women announced. She was speaking to her boss, but looking at me.

"Any hospitalizations?" I inquired. That's when they jumped me.

"A man was tased to death in New York," one glared at me.

"Two men on a subway in Montreal bludgeoned eighteen women so badly they had to go to the hospital," a third added her distaste of my presence.

"Fourteen men stormed a metro in Mexico City and drove the women from the car. The police had to use tasers and stun batons to get them out," the fourth added.

"A man in Salt Lake City was taken down for using a fire extinguisher on a public bus," the last completed the misery. "The West Coast incidents are still coming in."

"Why are you all looking at me?" I asked. I pretty much knew the answer but I was feeling pugnacious – real feisty.

"After that little 'Call to Arms' you made yesterday, every death, broken bone, and criminal proceeding in this mess is your fault."

I was glad she had volunteered. I would have hated this to appear random. I snatched her tablet off her desk, half-turned and hurled it like a discus across the entire office space – maybe 20 meters – and watched it shatter against the wall. I faced forward right on time to see her hand coming for my face. My left arm lashed out and grabbed her wrist...huh?

There was a hush, and not just in Eloise's little group. I felt it – the guilt, the shame, the hopeless rage – the levee was spilling over, the sand was turning to mush and I was fresh out of fingers to plug the holes. Help – the final word. I blinked and realized I had cocked my fist back and was about to pound the face of the woman who had tried to slap me.

She looked terrified. I had nearly a foot and eighty pounds on her. Whatever light aerobics she begged off from half the time was nothing compared to the weight lifting and 5 kilometer run I had to do five days a week. I was clearly the youngest person present. The closest a taser or pepper spray could be brought to bear was fifteen seconds.

She was about to receive five years of pent up fury directly to the face and she knew it. I couldn't let them win with hope finally rekindled.

"What makes you think you can slap me?" I asked quietly as I lowered my fist.

"You...you threw my tablet. You broke it," she struggled to resume he poise.

"Do you blame me for breaking your tablet?" I let her arm go.

"Yes, you threw it, damn you," she grumbled.

"Do you blame me for the incidents this morning?" I persisted.

"Yes, your speech," she was starting to get suspicious.

"Why didn't I punch you a few seconds ago, when you so richly deserved it?" I stared intently.

"Ah – I – you would have gone to jail – which you also so richly deserve," she countered.

"Got it in one!" I shouted. "Now, if I'm smart enough to know that if I hit you, I go to jail, why do you think thousands of men across the country have magically become criminals?"

I noticed both Eloise and Capri sitting back, both slightly smug, watching this play out.

"Your opinion seems to be that I opened my mouth and nation-wide, men's IQ's dropped thirty points. Trust me, that didn't happen. Let me give you an example to help prove my point. You see me throwing the tablet, men being the tablet and the wall being the police. You are wrong."

"You – female society – threw the tablet forty years ago. Men are, in fact, the tablet. I'm the wall. Had the tablet missed me, it would have hit someone else along the flight path, but it would have hit something and it would have shattered. That was decided forty years ago. Somewhere around the Fashion desk was your last chance to stop it – they missed."

"I'm a freaking twenty-one year old Bowden graduate with a bachelor's degree in Public Relations," I explained.

"You were top of your class," another woman interrupted. I turned on her, eyes wide.

"You are the first women, not in the Bowden faculty, that has acknowledged that," I gasped.

"It is something I am inordinately proud of and no women has given a fuck about it," I blathered. "I was the first male valedictorian since before the Plague – sixty years. Thank you. Now anyway, you can decide, despite all reason, that I'm a magician and caused all of this to happen – to make people I don't know, didn't know existed, and who I've never seen go collectively nuts..."

"Or you can wonder what was so wrong with this machine of yours – this society – that they got off work yesterday and decided to stand up for themselves for the first time in their lives. I doubt those guys in Mexico City were trying to hurt women. Trust me, if they had been in a solid group as they appear to have been in, throwing women in front of the metro would have been a much more affective statement."

"That would have been murder," the girl covering the city's crime statistics pointed out.

"Exactly! They didn't want to murder anyone. They had this massive weapon to use, but what did they do? They crowded into one section of one car on the metro and they waited patiently for the cops to come and blast them out. Why the fuck would they do that?"

There was silence. There were a dozen answers they could use but those were starting to ring hollow in their hearts.

"Women, the final word wasn't 'death', it was 'help'," I looked them over. "Men cannot win this struggle for dignity without you. There is no other victory to be had. The Human Race is gone."

"All you can do is make the final word something like 'love' instead," I tried to get my point across.

"Yesterday you said there was a cure – this Carabolix 37," the one without a tablet said, "or was that a lie?"

"There is a cure, but it won't help you or your friends. It won't save most of mankind. It is a cure for only a few and that is all I will say at this time," I reiterated sadly.

"Enough," Eloise separated us. "Carabolix is owned by Augsburg Pharmaceuticals yet they aren't returning our calls. Same for the Food and Drug Administration."

"Israel, Ms. O'Hara – this way," Eloise led us into her office and shut the door. "Mirabel Cartwright would like you to be on a GNN talk show this morning at ten."

"Why didn't she call Israel, if that was the case?" Capri intervened.

"I think we can assume that Mr. Jensen isn't the most popular man at GNN corporate headquarters," Eloise winked.

"If I happen to bring Israel over to chat with Maribel right before the show and she has this 'brainstorm' to include him – then they can't stop her," Eloise explained.

"Oh," Capri grimaced. "Newscast by ambush and here I thought Israel would get paid – or something silly like that."

"Guest commentators are paid $7800," Eloise smirked.

"We are in," Capri extended her hand to Eloise.

"Whoa, now," I waved off. "What am I expected to do? I had a woman reach into my pants and stroke my dick. Not my hard-on, my cock – under my underwear. It has not been a good morning and I nearly clocked a reporter less than a minute ago."

Oh yeah, it had just occurred to Eloise that I might turn into a blithering idiot, or a zombie. Capri had a different approach.

"If you sit still, the Beast eats you. If you run, it still eats you, but you live longer," Capri teased me. "Let's go create some consequences we can live with."

"Israel, I've seen you space out, collapse, babble incoherently and laugh uncontrollably," she propped me up, "but you always rebound. Stay on target. It is not like you have a plethora of options anyway."

"Damn, Ms. O'Hara, remind me to never let you coach a sports team. That was the worst inspirational speech I've ever heard," Eloise shook her head.

"If I was sane," I shrugged, "I'd agree with you. In the end, the world will come crashing in. When, not if. I might as well keep running and make that Beast know it was in a footrace before I'm done."

"While we are still all onboard, let's get some more news updates before sneaking over to the competition," Eloise made for the door.

"Israel, Mirabel is going to be talking about the Plague and any possible cure. Do you have anything that might back up your claim from yesterday?" she asked. I had to think about that. With this level of indignation from women over the audacity of menfolk, I had to push back.

"Sure, get your best virologist in the city," I gritted my teeth.

"Get a blood sample from me and from Kuiko Sano – I'll call her – and get the quickest results possible," I gathered my psychic battle armor around me. "That should give you the secret of Carabolix-37."

"What are they going to find out?" Eloise whispered.

"Carabolix-37 is a genetically modified version of the Gender Plague that destroys the rival virus," Capri said. "Unfortunately, it killed ten test subjects, eight had their nuts removed to save their lives and one survived. You are looking at the sole survivor."

"The only two people who know why I am alive are both insane," I added. Eloise rolled her eyes.

The City Beat reporters weren't converts by any means but they had stopped trying to verbally beat me up. The West Coast was chaos. The cops were learning, but the men were too. In San Francisco, four guys hid their batons up their pants legs then drew them out once on their metro system. Not to be outdone, the women pulled out their stun guns, Tasers and pepper spray, not truly understanding what that would do in a confined space.

In Vancouver, one man used Crazy-Glue to attach both his hands to the wall of the monorail. The cops had pried him off but his screams went viral. To add insult to injury, as they dragged him away you could finally make out what he was screaming the entire time - 'the un-bonder is in my pocket'.

In Hawaii, the Governor took the extraordinary step to ban men from public transportation from 4am until noon. In Guadalajara, the men had figured a way around the police crackdown. They took ornamental cacti to work. Apparently the local variety had really big spines. It was an explosion of male frustration and creativity.

It was also a painful reminder of how low we stood in the opinions of our counterparts. Not only did the police beat on us, hundreds of men had to be rescued from mobs of pissed off women. It wasn't all bad. In New Orleans, two off-duty firewomen took a beating rescuing a man from a trolley.

Early accounts suggested he used a baton on a woman. She counteracted with her stun gun, but forgot to cut it on. He wrested it from her grasp, cut it on and showed her how it worked. It seems he was employed in the factory where hers was made. Fellow commuters proceeded to knock him down and kick him until the firewomen pulled him free. Then he was taken to jail. The poor, stupid bastard had attacked a woman after all.

Eloise gathered us up and ushered us out the doors about fifteen minutes before ten. GNN's regional HQ were only three blocks away and due to the hour, the walkways were pretty empty. Unlike the Sentinel Building, which only required a computer to scan your ID, there was physical security at the GNN building.

Eloise was known to them, as was I. They nodded to her. They were getting ready for my strip search when Eloise jumped in and not in a way I would have suspected.

"Scan him," she chortled. "Read his last review and then decide if you want to piss his girl posse off." They read Kuiko's work of historical fiction which somehow included me.

"Oh, this is crap," one of the two guards commented. "No man does this."

"How many orgasms did you give her?" the other one asked. "One? Did she even have one?"

I had to believe Eloise had set me on this path for a reason, so I gulped down my embarrassment and answered to the best of my recollection.

"Four – but the first one didn't count," I sighed unhappily.

"Four?"

"One didn't count?"

"Well, there were two on the sofa and two more in the bedroom, but the first one on the sofa doesn't really count because she was so worked up by the expectation of my arrival," I confessed.

"All I did was sample her – ah – juices and she hit orgasm," I finished. The guards blinked.

"See, his mother died shortly after his birth, so he was raised by his aunt at a Sapphic nunnery," Capri recited my tale of imaginary woe. "There they taught him the arts of how a woman pleases another woman. Eventually he become so skilled they renamed him Israel which means 'the Promised Land'."

The guards' eyes shifted from Capri, to Eloise, to my crotch then back to Eloise.

"We need to be going – meeting and all," Eloise took me by the arm and edged around the security. They didn't stop us. Capri hurriedly caught up.

"Sapphic nunnery – Promised Land – where does this stuff come from?" I muttered.

"Israel, absent male company, women read tons of porn," Eloise enlightened me. That had actually never occurred to me. Oh, I knew that most pornography was female oriented, but that it had a major impact on how women wanted men to be? Wow. How totally unrealistic.

"I keep telling you – 'have less impressive sex'," Capri chortled.

"How about I do something I love to do and you women lie about it?" I suggested.

"Lie about one of the most important truths of the century? Why Israel, that would make us politicians," Eloise huffed. Heaven forbid that.

"Eloise, what do you have against Isobel Diaz?" I requested. I hardly expected the truth but maybe a lie with enough of the truth to give me a clue as to why she was on my side.

"She murdered my brother," Eloise's look lost all is mirth. "She murdered him and Maria Keverich covered it up and made Isobel her bitch until the evidence went missing. Isobel helped put Maria away so I thought the evidence was destroyed – but then Magdalena popped up at Isobel's party with you and that makes me think it wasn't destroyed."

"Magdalena must have stolen it from her mother. Isobel put Maria away and Magdalena came out on top of the Keverich crime family. Now Maria is coming home and those two have to be worried."

"And you want Israel to step into the middle of that," Capri growled. "Have you lost your damn mind? They will chew him up and spit him out. You know what shape 'Little M' left him in last time."

"Quid Pro Quo," Eloise stuck to her guns. "I make sure Israel remains in the spotlight so he doesn't end up on a man-farm in Manitoba or New Mexico. He operates as a conduit between me and Magdalena. I don't want to bring Magdalena down, just Isobel and Maria. I think as the crunch sets in, she might make a deal."

"And she very well might ventilate Israel!" Capri hissed as the elevator doors began to open.

"I'm having lunch with her anyway," I shrugged. "What can it hurt to ask?"

"Says the man whose body is a map of the Painted Desert," Carpi mumbled.

"Try to be subtle," Eloise advised.

"Sure. I'll wait until we are making out in a bathroom stall before popping the question," I groaned.

"I was thinking more of befriending her and poking around her place," Eloise scoffed.

"Ugh," Capri groaned. "Israel, respond to the next text message with 'Now!'"

Eloise wanted to question that declaration, but was cut off by us stepping onto the eighth floor and the noise of the GNN production floor bombarding us. Our guide steered us to what had to be the 'gatekeeper' of the studio we wanted to get to.

"Ms. Granger – and guests, come this way," the man said.

I had to wonder what he thought of all this mess. As he led us toward our destiny, I saw the dowel sticking out of his back pocket. The rest was a whirlwind of people and equipment, voices and movements all around me, too much for me to adequately identify as peripheral disturbances or actual threats.

We passed through another series of doors. The world died down to a few hushed voices and Maribel Cartwright.

"Oh, my," Maribel seemed surprise. "Eloise, is that Israel Jensen with you? I wish you had warned me." If I didn't have confidence in Eloise, I would have believed Maribel's act.

Maribel walked the few steps from her spotlighted area to where her assistant had deposited us. She shook Eloise's hand, then mine and finally stopped in front of Capri. How could I handle this? I was a nut, but that wasn't important. What was important was they thought I was a nut.

"This is Capri O'Hara, my some-times lawyer and full-time boon companion," I introduced my russet-haired defender.

Maribel shook Capri's hand then turned back to me.

"Boon companion? What exactly does that entail?"

"It is a small group of us who have pledged to fight and, if necessary, die at Israel's side so that Wickedness does not prevail and the Light of Sentiency is not extinguished by the oncoming darkness," Capri explained. She would have kicked ass as a trial lawyer.

"You sound as crazy as he does," Maribel noted.

"Cool, isn't it?" Capri grinned.

"Cool wasn't the word I was searching for," Maribel looked somewhat amused by Capri. "Anyway, I'm about to host a special on the growing dilemma concerning the lack of male productivity."

"Mr. Jensen, would you like to contribute – if not as an expert then as someone with some insight to the current quandary?" Maribel politely invited me in.

"You may want to contact this person," I handed Maribel a name, profession and number. She looked it over, nodded and said,

"I'll put someone right on it," she grinned.

"Thank you," I took a deep breath. I had to keep it together. I had to – then I spotted her. She was kind of a beanpole, with narrow hips and small breasts. That didn't matter because what she had on was this red t-shirt with the backside of some prancing girl swinging a wicker basket.

There were two sets of eyes looking out of the blackness of that basket and the caption read: 'Where are we going and why are we in a hand basket?' I turned to Maribel and smiled.

"Let's do this," I declared heartily. The sound technicians had me wired up in seconds while some frantic make-up artists attacked me on stage.

A speech writer tugged my arm.

"Mr. Jensen, you cannot use the words crisis, catastrophe, or disaster in this discussion," she grinned in a rather distracted fashion.

"What are you going to do? Spank me for each violation?" I blathered while outwardly looking sane.

Oh, God, I was making jokes about violent sex. Speaking of violence...

"Capri, get us an exit strategy. When this goes down, we aren't going to want to wait around for the handcuffs to come out," I called to my friend. The script-girl blanched then blushed.

"I have a riding crop," she whispered to me. More than I wanted to know!

That group was exiting when the first of the big screens came to life and we could see the other members of this little debate coming on-line. The screens were all active when the first 'expert' suddenly noticed me standing there.

"What's he doing here?" the woman addressed Maribel.

"He showed up accidently and I decided it was newsworthy to invite Mr. Jensen in for a discussion," Maribel supplied the plausible lie. The three went after Maribel in a heated, bitter exchange. My fate being discussed while I was being completely ignored – old hat. It wasn't until one of the ladies became indignant and announced,

"I'm not doing this. I have my credibility to think about," she said. My turn.

"Credibility? What credibility?" I challenged her. "Lady, I don't know who you are and I'm pretty sure eight million men are right there with me."

"Mr. Jensen, I am the Health Policy Advisor for the Province of Ontario," she filled me in.

"I have a Public Relations degree from Bowden," I kept paddling. "What is your background?"

"I have a doctorate in Sociology from Charleston University," she sighed with exaggerated patience.

"Nice rack," I grinned. "I bet they are not silicon, either."

"What does that have to do with anything?" the second expert snapped.

"It means you are women; most likely successful women," I kept going. "That means you may have husbands and you definitely have children. Since you are all raving prima donnas, I'm willing to bet you don't have sons."

"What?" all the experts, Maribel and half of the GNN staff said, or whispered.

"How do you come up with that delusional thinking?" Ms. Ontario glared.

"First off, none of you are crowing about me being wrong," I explained. "Secondly, if you had sons, you would be interested in a cure, but you are not."

"Take your dollhouses, Ladies, and go home because none of you can afford to be seen with the likes of me. Your so called 'credibility' is the most crucial factor here after all."

"Three – two – one," the set director got the show rolling. Maribel did her introductory spiel, the discussion began and I stood there like a good little boy, keeping my mouth shut because no one would direct anything my way. The first commercial break came at last.

"Your person will be ready in twelve minutes," Maribel whispered. "What is this about?"

"Not a clue," I whispered back. I was now familiar with the look Maribel shot my way.

"That was a dirty trick," Ontario interrupted.

"Don't look at me," Maribel pointed a thumb my way. "It took me a few seconds to figure out what he was up to." I had kept them on-screen. Leaving once the show started would have made them look petulant.

"Is there any truth to this rumor you have been spreading about a cure?" the physician with the Department of Corrections for Southern District asked. She was from Guatemala City. The Southern states were what used to be Latin America; everything south of the old Mexican frontier though Panama beyond the Canal was something of a crap shoot.

"End of commercial in three..."

"Yes," I answered.

"Two – one."

"Welcome back," Maribel began. "Mr. Jensen, what are your views on the current dilemma facing the Administration and male feelings of alienation?"

"Thank you, Maribel. I would like to say that this is an epically, catastrophic crisis of disastrous dimensions," I smiled. "Damn it. Now that cute script-girl is going to have to spank me with her riding crop. See, the network doesn't want us to use the words catastrophic, crisis, or disastrous for reasons I can't begin to fathom. Whoops, that looks like six blows."

"Epic is a freebie. Anyway, instead of seeking the truth, people are covering their asses and blaming the best target of opportunity – men. We are easy targets. What are we going to do? Get 12-inch wooden sticks and try to get to work with our dignity intact – oh, good move with the gift cacti, guys. Classic case of misdirection."

"Well, we did take our sticks to work today and we were slaughtered. We were beaten down in droves. It was a freaking massacre. We never stood a chance. It is also unlikely that the women watching this can appreciate the courage those men on the West Coast had to have, defying the brutal hatred of womankind, witnessing the cosmic whoop-ass their brothers in the East and Central areas were receiving, yet still they tried to take their sticks to work."

"I understand the concerns of women. After all, men walking around with foot long dowels totally compensates for you having all the warships, tanks, planes, helicopters, artillery, guns, water cannons, Tasers, stun guns, pepper spray and – oh yeah, being OUTNUMBERED 25 to 2." I paused.

"I'm sorry. I lied. I DO NOT understand," I looked at the screens.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I was sure the fuck got bleeped out. They were on to me now. "You murdered us over sticks. Two guys I have never had any contact with whatsoever came to my metro today – with sticks. The cops showed up, disarmed us and in the process of doing an illegal search, tried to punch a female friend."

"I know what cops are like, so I saw the blow coming and pulled her out of the way. The cop then punched me. This man, Kenny, shoved the cop away from me – to stop her from beating me up. She threw him to the ground. He didn't resist but she put a knee to his kidney anyway. He went to lock-up. The cop then told my other newfound friend that she would trump up charges on him if he didn't leave immediately."

"If he meets me tomorrow, we have both been threatened with conspiracy to commit a public disturbance – if that is even a crime. I plan to go to the metro tomorrow, if I'm still free and at large, and I think I'll bring...two sticks. The Metropolitan police had better bring the water cannon because then I'll be twice as dangerous."

"Luanga, if you stay away tomorrow I will not be upset; I'll applaud your common sense. For the rest of my brothers; if you go out tomorrow, it will be worse. You will suffer pain, humiliation, shame and most likely the loss of free will. Sadly, this is the same outcome for us if we do nothing."

"Did you just tell the men of our nation to rebel?" Ontario grumbled. "That is certainly what it sounded like to me, you traitor."

"What!" I gasped. "Haven't you been listening? What are we going to fight you with? We have nothing. There were six incidents of male-on-female violence that I saw reported on before coming in today – no deaths."

"Three men were beaten or Tasered to death. Do the math. Your society isn't going to need the Vanishers or the Gender Plague getting worse to lose it all. One year of this and women will do the job quite nicely themselves. All the men will be dead, or so stoned they are past caring."

"The Gender Inequality Act needs to be enforced in order to survive," Guatemala insisted.

"Oh My (bleep)ing God," I raised up my hands in frustration. "You have been beating men up with that thing for the past forty years. It was meant to stave off extinction. Forty years later, we are closer to extinction than ever."

"There is no conclusive proof of that," injected the third commentator, a Social Scientist from Memphis.

"That's easy enough," I countered. "Women, go out into your neighborhoods and knock on the doors of all your male neighbors. Having done that, call up your local Housing Authority and ask them how many men they think live in your neighborhood. Compare notes with all your friends. Let's see who is right." Chaos and confusion.

Maribel got a flash from the production manager. She made the normal 'we'll be right back' bit and we cut to commercial again.

"I'm calling the Federal District Attorney and having your ass arrested," Ontario snapped.

"What for?" I shot back.

"You are inciting males to large-scale acts of civil disobedience and criminal activity," she growled. I was about to say something in my defense then sighed.

"I'd keep arguing, but you are clearly too stupid to learn," I shrugged.

"You'll learn, you pipsqueak," she glared.

"I don't care," I looked toward Capri, my friend. "You have already killed me. If you want to steal what little time I have left, so be it. I won't be quiet though. I'm not afraid of any of you anymore. I have taken back my dignity and I'll make my escape if you aren't careful."

"That is another reason you need to seek treatment," Guatemala said.

"It is telling that you cannot let me go," I regarded them. "I am one man and all I want to be is free, yet you would rather see me dead. It is the real face of this society laid bare. This is no longer striving for some higher purpose – this is fear. I believe it is the fear that you have doomed us all with your arrogance."

"You have squandered the last years of the Human Race with cruelty, oppression and a blind acceptance that this world, no matter how screwed up, was not your problem. You would pass the responsibility to someone else, another generation, anyone but you," I looked around the room, "and you and you."

Then I realized all that had gone out live.

Maribel had tricked me.

"Mr. Jensen, are men totally blameless in this situation?" she asked me.

"Absolutely not," I stated. I was pretty sure most of the room expected me to evade. "We shouldn't have surrendered forty years ago."

"We shouldn't have left our partners to shoulder the burden alone, abdicating our futures. We surrendered to the tyranny of numbers. We lied to ourselves because to be truthful would have meant we had no one else to blame but us. We should have insisted responsibility equal to our culpability."

"Yes, that would have meant men, the vast minority, had disproportional power compared to women. That isn't a matter of greed, or arrogance. It is a matter of reality. Men are half the equation to the future of the Human Race – and we left that entire burden in your hands because it was momentarily convenient for us."

"In a way, we are still those men from forty years ago. We are numb to the fate of our culture. Forty years ago, we let the plague do it to us. Can you imagine being the last boy in a school's tenth grade class knowing every other boy he had known since kindergarten had died? We were traumatized because death was stalking us."

"Now we are numb because that's all you will give us. We don't have the power to alter our surroundings so we smile and take out whatever you dish out. We have learned to settle for less of everything because to reach beyond those choices – well, this morning exhibited your reaction to that. What happens next for female-male relations is totally in the hands of women."

"It is darkly romantic in its own way," I said softly. "In the end, men have the only thing that should be of value to womankind. We will have the ability to forgive. You may pass us in years, but all you will have are ashes, dust and oblivion as companions. In two hundred years, all your genetic lines will have passed into the realm of evolutionary failures."

"We don't need you, or your forgiveness," Ms. Ontario sneered.

"We will see about that," Maribel preempted me. "Dr. Vasco is a well-known virologist at St. Eligius Research Hospital nearby. Dr. Vasco, welcome."

"Ah – welcome," Dr. Vasco stumbled. She wasn't made for TV.

"I understand you did a quick research project for some colleagues of mine this morning. What are your results?" Maribel prodded.

"Oh! Fascinating – completely unexpected and – well – fascinating," she blathered.

"What have you found out?" Maribel prodded once more.

"Oh, yes," Vasco seemed bewildered. "We had two blood samples. Patient Zero – a healthy young male, and Patient One – a healthy young female."

"Yes?"

"Oh, yes," Vasco's face came alive. "Patient Zero's blood has no signs of the T1-Gender Plague. None whatsoever. I've never see that before."

That was right. No one had seen it in almost fifty years. It wasn't what I was expecting. It clearly wasn't what anyone else was expecting either.

"That's not possible," Guatemala gulped.

"That's what I thought, too!" Vasco bubbled. "We did a variety of tests and no T1 anywhere."

Hush.

"There was another virus similar to the T1 though," she continued. Everyone breathed. "But it's not the T1. In fact, its sole purpose seems to be to kill the T1."

"How – how did that happen? That can't happen," Ontario muttered.

"We all thought so too, so we've been sicking those little bastards on every kind of infected tissue we have on hand and – Oh, Goddess – they go right after the T1 – kills them deader than hell!" Vasco giggled. I couldn't blame her unprofessionalism – this was the Virology Holy Grail fifty years in the making.

Hush.

"You mean you have a cure?" Maribel whispered.

"Yes, but there is a downside," she shrugged. "Once they find infected tissue or free floating T1's, they don't last very long."

"Also, Patient One, the woman, had far fewer in parts per billion of this new, unidentified virus," Vasco added.

"Who are these people?" Memphis asked. She seemed a little slow on the uptake.

"Oh, Goddess," Ontario stared at me fearfully. "It's him."

"Yep," I confessed, "and Patient One is someone I had sex with. I let you figure it out because I think this is my cue to leave."

"You can't just go," Guatemala gasped.

"Israel, what are you going to do now?" Maribel seemed truly curious.

"Yes, I can go and I am. I haven't broken the law and nothing requires me to do anything about this," I grinned. "For the rest of your audience, I am not giving you the cure. Before you think about simply stealing this from me, let me give you this warning. If I am grabbed by anybody, I request the Vanishers come get me. I'll be ready to go."

"In case you ladies missed it, the Vanishers are around 2500 and 0 in making men disappear – fuck with me and you'll never know if I decided to change my mind," I proclaimed. "If you want to know why I'm so irate today, you let law enforcement nationwide beat my brethren bloody, and be degraded."

"Two of my LOLE's disarmed me then threw me on a metro where several women reached inside my pants and played with my cock. Inside of ten years, 99 out of 100 of your sons are going to die in screaming agony as you watch helplessly. Make sure you hug a cop and thank them for that privilege."

"Good-bye, but before I go, the final word for today is 'Hope'," I bowed slightly, dropped my back-up lapel microphone and quick-stepped it to Capri.

"They really should let you have a gun," Capri snickered softly. "You would do less damage that way." We turned, Capri started guiding me out by a different path, but I stopped her for a second.

"Do you have that riding crop handy?" I asked the script-girl.

"I have it at home," she blurted out then flushed with embarrassment.

"Maybe next time," I grinned. Capri dragged me away hurriedly. In a dark recess of the studio, Maribel's male assistant motioned us through a blacked-out door.

"Second door on the left, then to the door marked stairs, and I suggest going to the basement parking lot," he said dispassionately. I mouthed a 'thank you' as we sped by. Three flights down, there was someone waiting for us – a women in technician overalls and a baseball cap. At the last second, she looked up from her work.

"Damn it, Bitch," Capri squeaked. "Are you a clone or a stalker?" It was Zara.

"Hello, Israel," Zara smiled. "We need to get going." Oh crap. Capri was right. She really did like me. The three of us went lickety-split down the stairs, Zara in the lead.

"Zara, do you like me?" I broke down and asked. She held up her hand.

She swiped a card, accessing the second floor. We slipped inside. Zara motioned for silence. We heard another door open and footsteps racing up to us, then past us, heading up. Three seconds later, Zara led us back into the hallway and down.

"Yes," Zara answered.

"Did you pick me?" She had said I was 'chosen,' but I wasn't sure.

"It doesn't work that way," she kept her senses on edge while talking.

"How does it work?" Capri murmured. Zara stopped us again for a few seconds before opening the basement door and motioning for us to follow. She stashed us behind a car then began stripping out of her coveralls and cap, revealing non-descript street clothes.

As she finished, Zara shot me that warm glow.

"Command makes the selections, but the men choose us," Zara smiled my way.

"Uh...how does that work?" Capri looked rapidly back and forth between Zara and me. My mind was a whirl of passions – both good and bad – and data.

"It is called courtship," Zara informed us. Capri's eyes bugged.

"Wait – you want this madman?" Capri wondered. Zara had shoved her clothes under the car, squirted something on them and was now leading us somewhere that wasn't the street exit.

"He has intense, honest eyes," she replied. "He's courageous."

"When we first met, I was terrified," I muttered.

"Yet you persevered," Zara responded. "Blind, stupid courage is dangerous, but conquering your fears when you are needed is something far better." She led us to an emergency exit, hesitated a moment before popping it and motioning us quickly through to an alley.

There was no alarm blaring, so something must have happened. A moment later, we exited the alley, onto the main sidewalk and were briskly walking away.

"Thank you, Zara," I regarded our new – companion didn't seem quite right.

"It was good to see you in person, Israel," she smiled yet again.

"So – Zara, do you spy on Israel in the shower too?" Capri inquired.

"Of course," Zara admitted. I turned and abruptly walked into the wall of the closest building. I hadn't intended to. Some irresistible impulse had taken over. Having an unknown number of women seeing me naked was soul grinding.

Had my life been a comedy, I would have bumped my noise, looked sheepishly over my shoulder and given a weak smile. I had experienced an infantile urge to run away from the shame, violation and the pain Zara's information brought. My hands had instinctively come up to save my face from impact. My fingers were trying to dig into the stone until my tips felt as if I was tearing the skin off.

I loved sex. I loved the pleasure it let me share. What I didn't love was the romantic mystique I tried to weave around that act being torn away, shredded for the entertainment of people I didn't know. How could I protect myself if any woman looking at me had seen me naked, in coquitos? How could I tell who was really a threat if I couldn't see behind their eyes?

Step...Capri and Zara were not talking. They were not closing in on me.

Step...people passed by. The scuff of their footfalls told me they were looking my way, but not stopping.

Step...I had to get out of here. The authorities would come looking and we all had to leave.

Gears contacted gears and the machine that was my mind lurched forward once more. I had things to do. People were taking incredible risks on my behalf. Capri and Zara understood what had happened and let me heal – just enough to get my feet back under me.

"Let's go," I muttered and we moved down the sidewalk once more.

We covered two blocks in silence.

"Zara, you are with the government, aren't you?" I began. She gave me a quick look, but didn't respond. "Let me rephrase: you are still an active duty soldier, aren't you?" Now Capri stumbled.

"Yes," Zara whispered.

"Shit," Capri groaned.

"Okay, I understand now," I nodded. We traversed another block.

"Fine, what do you understand?" Capri nudged me.

"I know who the Vanishers are," I leaned in and replied quietly. Zara's eyes flickered my way again.

"You do, don't you?" Zara's eyes blazed with pride in me and wonder.

"Either one of you care to enlighten me?" Capri grumbled.

"I need to get you off the street," Zara intervened. "The FBI is on its way. I can deal with the cameras and your phones, but not the bracelet." She steered us into a café where the early lunch crowd as only starting to come in.

"How do you know he's right?" Capri prodded Zara.

"The last two questions he asked," she seemed almost sad to leave us – me.

"Zara, take off and stay safe," I told her. "I don't think I would want to do this without you." Zara had a twinkle in her eye, nodded then left. Capri and I moved to a nice corner table. I took the seat that would allow me to watch the door and most of the café.

"Okay, what's going on?" Capri leaned in.

"You start off with two guiding principles. No large organization creates only one plan to choose from. Bureaucracies throw away NOTHING. So, twenty years ago, when the Federation and/or the UN figured that the current system wasn't working, they planned out various contingencies."

"One of those proposals was the 'Vanisher' conspiracy. It was most likely advanced by a small cadre of mid- and low-level functionaries brought in to work on the forecasted collapse. Their idea was obviously rejected because we stayed the course and are now in the fucked up situation we are in now."

"The thing was, those planners didn't die and didn't give up on their plan. At the start, they were powerless to do anything. Besides, they had to believe all their idea was doing was postponing the end, not solving the extinction problem. So, they worked on that dilemma..." I said.

"And that's you?" Capri doubted.

"No. They didn't know about me until five years ago at the earliest and that's highly unlikely. Odds are they found about what Carabolix-37 did to me when everyone else did," I replied. "What happened, happened eight years ago while the WHO was combing over Central Asia building a genetic database."

"What they found was the Warlord of Kwaziristan – the last bastion of male rule on the planet." No, the Warlord wasn't some kind of John Carter of Mars. By all accounts he was a castrated, obese, mostly bald and very old man. During the collapse that Plague engendered, Central Asia went under – their political systems, economies and infrastructures broke down.

In those last few, chaotic years, a recovering soldier and a small detachment of troops found themselves guarding an orphanage. With the city burning down around them, this man was ordered to take the boys and flee. He went to the only place he figured they could hide out until the fighting died down and the authorities could come rescue him.

He went to an old 17th century palace/fortress complex outside his home town in remote Kwaziristan and there he held up while his nation died. Eventually, hope faded and the 'Warlord' began to raid the recovering female tribes for supplies. He had to feed his people. Somewhere along the way, the female tribal leaders figured out he had a large number of young men under his charge.

They struck a deal. The Warlord was worried that the women would steal his men. The women wouldn't storm the place because all those men had guns and killing them all would accomplish nothing, except to stop the raiding. The agreement they reached changed everything, though it wasn't immediately obvious.

The tribal leaders would send young women up to the fortress. In exchange for making the young women pregnant (or one year to pass), the tribes would pay tribute to the Warlord. The catch? The men inside the fortress chose which woman they would mate with and by mate, they meant live together in the same dwelling for months at a time.

It was courtship. It wasn't a plastic romance; it was practical. The men needed the goodwill of the tribeswomen that inhabited the land in all directions. Building up affections and bonds with their female mates was necessary for the survival of the male community. Conversely, the women lived in a mostly male world – from the beginning, the Warlord did have a few female soldiers.

Men were lovers, providers, protectors and housemates. They shared in chores, but compared to what the women had to do in their own tribe, it was nearly paradise. Men still had their military duty, but when you had a mate, you were given quarters in the dungeon of the fortress. Carved out from the depths of the hill the fortress sat on, it was much cooler than the baking heat above during the summers and warmer in the winters.

Enter the WHO eight years ago doing their survey. They ran across a serious problem. Kwaziristan's population was 24% above projections (they were supposed to be dying out) and 2% over their previous level. Kwaziristan was 'surviving'. Sure, their tiny population was one Black Death away from annihilation, but their numbers where slowly growing – very slowly.

This was great news right up until they found out about the Warlord and his contract with the local towns and tribes. Was the UN really going to say that some old fat eunuch in a clay fortress on a dusty hill in the middle of nowhere was the savior of all mankind? The answer was obvious.

The UN sent in advisors and film crews to show the world how barbaric and primitive the Warlord was. He certainly wasn't photogenic. The men seemed enthusiastic enough. They even slept with some of the film crew. They also became very irate when the women picked up and left. After all, hadn't the women agreed to mate with them?

Why else would women come to the fortress if not to mate? The local women were a bit peeved too – those were their men those floozies were poaching. The UN began fishing around, seeking to convince some of the local leaders to call in the UN to deal with the Warlord. When the Kwaziri women figured that out they got REALLY pissed.

They may have herded goats and sheep, woven wool into fabric and scratched some crops out of the semi-arid soil for a living, but they also knew they had more daughters in this generation than last. They couldn't fight off the UN – there were only a few thousand of them and they lived in near-desert conditions, but they did everything to let those foreign women know they were unwelcome.

In one antidotal tale, a UN soldier guarding the mission found a lost lamb and brought it to a local tribeswoman. The woman promptly beat the lamb to death with a stone, explaining to the horrified soldier that the lamb had been contaminated. In the end, the Kwaziri got what they wanted – the outside world left them alone.

The WHO took gene, blood, air, water, and soil samples and found absolutely nothing that explained this abnormality. The Big Lie was only starting to sink in. Discovery World devoted a portion of a documentary to the Warlord. A fourteen year old boy saw it and regurgitated that memory to a twenty-one year old man in search of understanding.

"I know you are not advocating male rule," Capri studied me. "So what is it?"

"A colossal gamble," I sighed. "I am freaking liberal arts major. I'm not a scientist, certainly not a doctor and definitely not a virologist, but what if...if stress strengthens the Plague, what if the reverse is also true?" Capri mulled that over.

"You mean, what if love, compassion and respect – as viewed by the male – weakens the Plague?" Capri mused. "Damn right you are not a scientist."

"It was the word Zara used and I believe it was intentional," I persisted. "She said 'courtship'. She also mentioned men choosing their mates. That's what clicked in my mind."

"So this cockamamie scheme of the Vanishers is based on 'love conquering all'? Crap, we are all going to die," Capri muttered.

"Hey, I'm not saying I'm a convert, but it is the current idea I'm running with. I'm willing to bet Zara's people studied the Kwaziri for some time too," I countered.

"With no cure looming on the horizon, they began recruiting young women from various agencies and branches of service into their plan. Heck, some of the 'Vanishers' may still be thinking this is a sanctioned covert operation. Even those women will want onboard when they understand this society is going down the toilet."

"One of the saddest parts of all this is that the women who set this all in motion won't take advantage of it," I bleakly assessed. "The government will be closing in on them now."

"I wish I could disagree, but I think you are right," Capri nodded. "If you figured it out, someone who does this kind of detective work for a living has put the pieces together as well."

There was no way to hide an operation this big once various intelligence agencies started looking. They would figure out the key military and civilian players. The only thing they could do was to totally detach from the program. Now their baby was out there, running on its own power, directed by people who had already vanished themselves long before any investigation started.

"FBI," I warned Capri. Special Agents Fraklos and Vabishi had come in to our hideaway. Vabishi was showing ID to the girl at the counter while Fraklos was coming our way.

"How did you get away?" Fraklos seemed truly curious. There was a host of good answers and the truth wasn't one of them.

"Come on now," I leaned forward, "Princess Leia didn't beat Darth Ventress, the Empire and the Dark Empress with the help Ewoks alone. She had the help of Admiral Squid."

"Gial Ackbar; a Mon Calamari," Fraklos corrected me.

"Who?" I questioned.

"Gial Ackbar – that was the Admiral's name," Fraklos clarified.

"Is that really important right now?" I asked.

"Having a bad day?" Fraklos turned to Capri. She was asking if I was having a bad day.

"Yeah, pretty much," Capri nodded. "He walked right into a wall about ten minutes ago."

"We need to get him out of here," Fraklos shook her head. "Get him somewhere safe. The Capital is screaming bloody murder over his latest stunt." Vabishi had finished making a quick call and joined us.

"I can't do it," I stood. "I have a date with a VIM at 12:30."

Fraklos stared at me.

"Very Important Mobster," I explained. "If I don't show up they will probably do really bad things to Kuiko and I'm not going to let that happen."

"What is he talking about?" Vabishi worried.

"I am attracted to violent psychopaths and for the love of God, I don't know why," I sighed. "Worse, to hang out with me you have to be insane or prone to fits of brutality. It is how I roll."

"There has to be something we can give Israel to keep him on an even keel," Vabishi asked Fraklos.

"I'm not good enough at that sort of thing to take the chance," Fraklos then looked to Capri.

"Fuck you both," she stood, "I'm a lawyer."

My phone rang. 'GED' it read. I typed back 'ty' and cut the connection.

"Time to go," I announced and headed for the kitchen. My guardian angels were working overtime.

There are few things as beautiful as competence under stress. Not me. The three women tagging along with a lunatic didn't question me; they divined my intentions and moved to cushion me from the world. By the time we exited the back of the café, Fraklos was in the lead, then me, Capri and Vabishi looking back from signs of pursuit.

"Ewoks," Fraklos guffawed. "We need better code words." Ewoks meant Vanishers and Admiral Squid meant I didn't need to be brought in. Next time we would use different words. Dimples said it was a book cipher – essentially unbreakable if you didn't know the material.

"Be happy I didn't fall over laughing," Capri snickered.

"Israel, you play crazy really well," she added. "I'd feel better about it if you weren't actually crazy."

"Who are we evading?" Vabishi spoke up.

"GED," I answered.

The problem facing me and Dimples' crew was that we weren't the Vanishers. We couldn't manipulate phone and surveillance feeds. Slipping down alleyways while avoiding loading areas left us in the 'digital dark'. We were going to reemerge soon.

"We are trying to shift through the chatter and figure out who is really trying to get their hands on you," Fraklos clued me in.

"Montanyard is building such an air-tight case against you she could patch the Hindenburg," Vabishi stated. "She thinks she can hold them off a week." Shelia could hold off the full weight of the Federation Government for a week – one week. I needed a fucking miracle.

(Magdalena – Round Two)

My two FBI ladies delivered me as close to the Prometheus Club as they dared. Mobsters had eyes too, though this was actually a pointless exercise since the moment 'Little M' asked me what I was up to I would bury her in the minutia of truth instead of the real deal. Capri would stick with me. Mainly because the FBI would have to taser her to keep her from my side.

As I entered the restaurant, I was getting a whole new look. It was the 'what in the hell is this guy still doing walking around?' expression. Either I was a maniac or a national resource, or maybe both – not all of them could decide. The maître de pointed me toward the semi-curtained off area. A second later he motioned Capri to the bar. We knew this was going to happen.

On my side of the curtain were two women; one sitting, one standing. They didn't look like – well, what I though mobsters would look like. They looked normal. The standing one ran a 'wand' over me then ran her free hand over my frame quickly.

"Are you hiding anything?" she finally spoke.

I have a love affair with pain. That was all I could think of when I opened my mouth.

"I had my knee caps replaced with high explosives. Does that count?" I stated resolutely. She stared at me for a second then this smile crept over her intimidating countenance.

"Damn, you really are a nut," she snickered. "This way." She put a hand on my shoulder, I trembled and she led me into the VIP area.

Three of the tables were occupied. The closest had Flame and this woman whose face looked like it had lost a head-on collision with a truck. She also looked to be around 250 pounds. The second table, close to an exit, had two Hispanic women who had to be sisters, and pissed that they were missing out on their 'killing kittens' time.

I was dealing with being manhandled, near terror, proximity issues, and being in the company of yet more casual killers. Somehow, all of this had to be my fault. Regular men stay locked in their homes. I needed help. I shrugged off the hand on my shoulder and made a bee-line for Flame.

There was a 'whiff' behind me as my guide tried to corral me back in, but failed. Flame and her 'buddy' (I was pretty sure it was a woman – or a man with huge pecs) stood up. I extended my hands forward and just above my hips. Flame and I collided. Her hands went to my ass. My right cupped her leather clad left butt cheek while my left wrapped fully around her lower back, touching something big and hard.

We did more than kiss. Flame discovered that I had my wisdom teeth removed and I learned that she still had her tonsils. It was also revealed to me that during a French kiss, Flame likes to bite tongue – my tongue, her tongue – it doesn't seem to matter. We were both healthy adults with the experience to know that breathing through your nose is a must.

It took us a while to come up for air. I had pulled her up until she was on her toes. Her eyes were boring holes into mine.

"I need some strength," I whispered to her. Now, there is no great Gestalt among the insane. There is no shared universe, psychosis, or delusion.

What we do share is the fear and pain that comes from being trapped in our own minds. The greatest creation of man, our brains, had betrayed us. We were living a lie because our truths would destroy us. And, worst of all, we were alone. That is why crazy people lash out. It isn't to hurt others, it is to make others stop hurting us – with a reality that we see as a lie.

I breached that inky bubble that shrouded Flame's mind. It didn't make her my friend. It didn't stop her from being a beast and a sadist. We were alone together. Each alone, but knowing that the other was in the same condition. It wasn't understanding, it was kinship. Flame reached up with her right hand, made a fist, and lightly tapped me on the forehead.

"There you go," she smiled. I returned the smile and let her down. As I turned to walk away, she spanked my ass hard. I kept walking, but half-turned so I could shake a finger at her.

"Just for that, no tongue penetration during our next cunnilingus session," I threatened her.

"Oh, you love it, Bitch," she laughed. Turning to her buddy, "That guy is loads of fun."

Belatedly, I came to Magdalena's table. It was a round table, two-thirds wrapped up in a booth. To my right was this weightlifting scumbag – oily, arrogant and stupid. Sometimes people don't try to hide their ignorance. I wasn't sure this guy even knew what ignorance was, much less how to spell it.

He had too much time in a tanning booth, too much chest hair and a cultivated five o'clock shadow. He was also in a chair which suggested he wasn't someone important. Next were two women, dressed nicely – Francesca-nice, not Isobel-nice. They weren't likely to be putting any ships into orbit anytime soon, but they were clever enough to observe before commenting from their booth seats.

In the center was Magdalena in a dark blue Kashmir shirt with a plunging neckline. Damn that woman was proud of her big mammaries. Her jewelry was understated, her hair nicely done and her eyes laser-quick. Next to her was this guy – ruggedly handsome, manly, yet...missing something? It hit me. He was a gigolo and 'Little M's boyfriend/property.

Here I was thinking he'd been shot while trying to escape. Next to the Man-candy was Silent and lastly was an unknown woman, in a chair, of the same breed as the two on the left of Magdalena. Between Grease-ball and the last unknown woman was an empty chair.

"Israel," Magdalena greeted me, motioning me forward with a spoonful of sherbet.

Apparently, I had missed the food-eating part of this party.

"Thank you, Magdalena," I replied. I was pulling the chair around so I could sit when a few bad things happened. Grease Ball looked at me then flashed a look to Boy Toy who looked less than happy. Boy Toy was really good with masking his emotions, but Grease Ball was an open book.

"Please, Israel, call me Maggy," Magdalena asked nicely.

"Not happening," spilled forth from my madness. Lead – Zeppelin...or dirigible, or balloon maybe.

"Israel, why are you being mean to me?" Little M tilted her head.

"Status update: your opinion still doesn't matter to me. I'm only here because I'm afraid you will do bad things to my friends," I confessed. Maggy took another dip at her icy dessert then waved off a few of her companions – the women whom I didn't know.

"Here we are again," she stated as the other disappeared. "You being needlessly hostile and me wondering why I put up with it."

"Lady, what fantasy world do you live in?" I grumbled. "The last time I couldn't perform, you beat me half to death." Magdalena snorted and the gigolo smirked slightly.

"By the way, the man next to you is my older brother, Kenneth," she introduced the group. Her news that Grease Ball was her brother sucked big time.

"The man next to me is my companion, Eckly..." she got out.

"Silent, I know," I interrupted. I liked the name 'Silent'. I didn't want to ruin that mental image with a new name. I was starting to think Silent had all her facial muscles frozen.

"Have I said something to amuse you?" she stopped in mid-sherbet interface.

"Absolutely not," I shook my head.

"Hmmm, I don't believe you," Magdalena remarked. "Maybe we should ask your little Asian friend. She works around all kinds of equipment that makes honesty a plus."

'Blow it out your ass' seemed counter-productive, but I was saved any serious decision making by my lips.

"Can I have a gun?" I inquired politely. What the fuck was I going to do with a gun? Magdalena ground up my intentions with her eyes then nodded to Flame. I stood up as she came my way. I certainly wasn't expecting what I got. She pulled out this chrome hand cannon from behind her. That was the big metal thing I had felt earlier.

"This is a 12 mm pistol," she presented the device. 12 mm sounded so big. She did 'something'.

The clip dropped down into her left hand. Next she pulled back on the top of the pistol, ejecting a round. That round went into the top of the clip then she moved close beside me.

"Here you go," she said seductively as she gave me the gun. "The clip holds seven rounds," she slammed the clip in. "That slight click means the magazine is locked in place."

"Damn, this thing is heavy," I muttered.

"Well yeah, I use it to shoot through concrete walls and steel doors," Flame enlightened me. "If you don't know what you are doing it will rip off your thumb and knock you on your ass. In your case, let's hope it merely knocks you down."

"This," she pointed to this 'thing' on the side, "is the safety. Right now," she said lovingly, "the safety is engaged." She flipped it. "Now it is disengaged and you can fire the piece." She reengaged the safety. "Hold it with both hands," she used my hands to demonstrate as she moved behind me. "Use one hand and this bear will break it. Now, hold it like this," she peeked around me.

This entire time we were pointing this monstrosity in the general direction of the Hispanic sisters who were less than pleased. When Flame got behind me, they got up and moved.

"How does it feel?" Flame asked.

"It is still heavy as hell."

"Good," Flame responded. "Look down the barrel. Match up the top and barrel sights. Take careful aim and give the trigger steady pressure. Unloading in the general direction of the enemy is for amateurs. In a fight, dive for cover, figure out where the next corpse is hiding and put this bullet down range. I don't care what they are hiding behind – this will find them."

"Ready to fire?" she teased.

"The safety is still engaged," I replied. She hugged me. Had all the bruises she gave me Saturday night not hurt like all get out, that action might have been construed as a romantic gesture.

"Please, Little M, can't I keep him?" Flame pleaded.

"Let's keep that thought in mind," Magdalena said to Flame. "Well, you have your gun; what do you plan to do with it Israel?"

"I honestly didn't believe anyone would give me one so I am at a loss for words," I mused.

"I did you a favor. Now you do one for me," Maggy prodded.

"Your brother and your boyfriend are having an affair. Your brother is gay. I imagine your boyfriend is merely an opportunist," I blurted out. Dead silence. The brother was rigid. The boyfriend masking his emotions. Finally, Magdalena began chuckling.

Then everyone was laughing. Okay, not everybody, just the women. Then I began laughing, but not at the men. I was laughing because everyone in the room with a gun was laughing at the two who didn't seem to have one and for the first time in my life, I wasn't one of those guys.

"Sis," Kenneth mumbled.

"Cool it, Ken," Magdalena held up her hand. "Mom told me you were gay when I was eight. The only one who still thinks it is a secret is you."

"But," he stammered.

"Ken, did you really think all of your boyfriends found jobs in other cities?" Maggie chastised.

Kenneth clearly was an idiot.

"This guy hadn't known you two minutes and he figured out you were gay. Come on now. Mom and I have been cleaning up your messes for years. Now beat it. I have business to take care of," Magdalena went from sister to mob boss in no seconds flat.

Kenneth took his chastisement like a well whipped dog and slunk away. Eckly was looking in a bad, bad way. The only one not on Little M's payroll was me and I would hardly make a reliable witness in the investigation of his disappearance.

"Maggy, it isn't what it looks like," Eckly began coolly.

"Just stop," Magdalena shook her head. "You clearly think I'm stupid. I mean – damn, you fucked my brother, you fucked me and you fucked me over. You are a fucking prostitute, not a criminal mastermind. I know about you and the OCT." Organized Crime Taskforce.

"They had me in a bind," Eckly began to plead. Maggy pressed her fingers to his lips.

"Israel, what would you have done?" Maggy inquired.

"With your brother or the cops?" I asked for clarification. Flame snorted.

"Both."

"Not only is homosexuality not my thing, the cops blew up the two in my neighborhood which is what I call double deterrence," I replied.

"You stick with the one you're with," I continued. "A man betraying a woman is a loser's game. I guess that means I'd roll the dice with your reaction as opposed to trusting the police. The cops are always the enemy."

"Was that so hard to understand Eckly?" Maggy regarded her now ex-boyfriend.

"It wasn't like that," he persisted.

"Eckly, you are twice the fuck in bed that Israel is, but he is ten times the man. Don't whine to me about how tough it was. Brigit beat him black and blue because he wouldn't utter a single damn phrase. He loved some cop that much," she growled. "That's when I knew you had to go."

"You wouldn't take a year stretch for me, much less a beating from Brigit. You were always a selfish prick and now you are gone," she seethed.

"What! No!" he begged. "Let me make it up to you." I thought he was going to hump her right then and there.

"Shut the fuck up," Magdalena snapped. "I'm not going to kill you. You deserve it, but you aren't worth the hassle. Rosario and Yaris are going to take you home when I'm done, you are going to pack up and leave. I don't recommend showing your face in any establishment I might frequent. Brigit's feelings might be hurt," Magdalena smiled carnivorously.

Silent shuffled out of the booth. Eckly followed reluctantly.

"Israel?" he looked my way, pleading. What was I supposed to do?

"Eckly, you have an inflated sense of your own importance. No one cares what you did because you are a whore," I pointed out.

"Hey, you did what you did to survive. I'm not holding that against you, but don't think you are all that important. You are not. Magdalena isn't going to waste a bullet on you. Flame," I motioned to Brigit to assuage his confusion, "might break a few of your bones to hear them snap, but she'd probably kick ass on a kindergarten playground to hear the kids cry, too."

That was not what Eckly wanted to hear. He didn't want to face the reality he was just another man living on his dick alone. He had gone from a Mobster's boyfriend to a street bimbo in a matter of seconds. The cops wouldn't help. Why should they? He was useless to them now. Sure, he was walking away, but there wasn't a professional escort service that would touch him with a ten foot cattle prod after this.

What woman would want a male prostitute who doubled as a police informant? That profession was still illegal after all. I'd save my worry for Kenny and Luanga. They had reached beyond themselves in an attempt to make a difference. Rosario and Yaris turned out to be the Hispanic sisters. They led Eckly out the back door then returned.

"Playground," Flame snickered. "That would be so cool." Yep, she was psychotic. A fraction of my mental and physical discomfort was this lump of metal in my hand. I took the barrel in my right hand, pivoted my body and offered the grip to Flame.

"Thank you," I told her.

"You owe me," she leered.

"For the beating or the gun?" I grinned weakly.

"Whichever leaves me fuck-stunned, staring at the ceiling for thirty minutes," she chuckled. Ah, the gift from Kuiko kept on giving.

I finished turning around, cupped Flame's jaw with both hands and stared deeply into her eyes. She was totally devoid of any understanding of the human condition. I doubted if she even cared about herself.

"Okay," brushed her lips, "you've earned it."

"Israel, you are supposed to be interested in me," Magdalena interrupted my moment with Flame.

"Flame is pure," I responded without looking away from her eyes. That brought out a new round of laughter, even from Flame.

"I said pure, not pure good," I reminded them. "You brought us together. I have more than a few screws loose, so it can't be too surprising that I picked the totally wrong woman." Flame wasn't offended.

"Damn," Maggy mused. "Brigit, are you going to let me have a crack at your boy?"

"He's not my boy, Little M," Flame said. "I'll put a good word in for ya though." We were both unhinged. The proof was me being here and Brigit for defying her boss.

"That is something to work on," Magdalena allowed. "While this is fun, it is not why I wanted to talk with you. That reason has become irrelevant over the past 24 hours, but now I want to know 'what's the deal with your blood?"

"Why do you want to know?" I asked. I wasn't offended; only curious.

"A cure for the Plague is money in the bank," she grinned. I groaned and looked at the floor.

"Magdalena," I looked up at her, "this is not something you want to do." She didn't believe me, or even feel she needed my advice.

"They came at me with a Writ of Exclusion yesterday," I continued. "They aren't going to wire-tap you, Magdalena, they are going to torture and kill you. Worse, I am Carabolix-37's only success. Every other male is nutless, or dead and no one sane knows why. Dr. Delilah Fremont has the only doses of the drug and the research notes, but she's not sharing."

"Rare is good," Maggy enlightened me.

"Rare is dead," I corrected. "Magdalena, I'm not spinning falsehoods to the World. Society is about to implode and what I have can't save it."

It hit me like a bullet to the brain. How could I have missed it?

If the Vanishers were to win, they couldn't have society running around either. They would get the men out while the situation was still stable and hide them, but then what? You couldn't keep us in a bunker forever. I was a club-footed, one-eyed hunchback playing with people who had been studying, competing in, and winning, the survival game for 100,000 years.

Who in the hell did I think I was? Did I really delude myself that I had control – that I could slip away...all I could do was take a step. If they didn't stop me, I'd take another. That was the plan.

"All the better to keep a hold of you," Maggy reasoned.

"Magdalena, I don't like you, but I'm not going to do anything that I know will make you dead," I replied. My phone rang. 'GED F/B'. I thought about my response. I typed 'ChLtBg' then hung up. I wondered if they would figure out that 'Charge of the Light Brigade' meant I was making a break for the front door.

For the life of me I couldn't figure out why I didn't type 'F' or 'FD' for front door.

"Magdalena, the police are coming around the front and back. Time for me to go," I sighed.

"What have you done wrong this time?" Maggy smirked at me.

"They don't need an excuse with me," I tiredly informed her.

I turned and walked toward the curtain. The woman who had brought me in blocked my path.

"Why do you think you can leave?" Magdalena asked.

"Staying, or running, it doesn't really matter," I shrugged. "For that matter, I might as well start screaming, because I can always rely on the sick curiosity of strangers."

I inhaled. I figured I was about to get punched, pistol whipped or kicked in the nuts (but not too hard).

"I'll keep in touch," Magdalena said. "Besides, I don't really feel like sitting around while some police officer pretends she is the next Claire Wyatt."

The character, Claire Wyatt, was a famous criminologist on a current TV drama; equal parts Laura Croft and Veronica Mars – a perfect mix of body types if there was any doubt. It wasn't bad if you could get past the boy-in-distress turned bed buddy every damn episode. Technically she was bi-sexual, but that always translated over as a three-way boy sandwich.

"Magdalena, if I make my getaway before we meet again...well...I'm not going to say anything more that might piss you off, so good-bye," I edged around my feminine barrier. I virtually sprinted to Capri, who hopped off her barstool at my approach. "Cops coming," I blurted out. She grabbed my hand as we fled out the door.

"Mr. Israel Jensen," a woman called out. I knew who it was, but looked anyway. It was Detective Somerset Trainer. She was about 7 meters away, getting out of her car, facing me. Her partner, Detective Gayle Seger was already on the sidewalk, coming my way.

"Bad news," Capri squeezed my hand.

I followed her gaze. From the other direction Detectives Kwan Po and Regina Riga, also of the GED. The limousine in front of the restaurant meant they were slightly farther away.

"Hey, Somerset," I mumbled. "What's up?"

"Stop right there," she grinned. "You are under arrest."

"What's he charged with?" Capri snapped. The cops were cautiously closing in.

"Theft," Somerset kept smiling. "It seems he has some little bugs running around inside him that belong to someone else."

"That's a load of crap," Capri shot back. Me, I was getting ready to plunge into the post-lunch traffic.

"That would require someone to confess they had the damn research," Capri seethed. Right then, I saw Flame stepped outside, Silent right behind her. Flame's eyes took in the scene. The World cracked a little more.