DEAR JULIE - I wish you all the best for your birthday today - this is for you because you're a true friend, you always listen to me bitch and whine and laugh about cornholing. I don't know what I would do without you, and I hope this little fic here helps brighten your day. ahem. You might have heard about the outline somewhere ...

DEAR CHRISSY - I know I'm a few months late but back in january I wasn't ready to write you anything - so you'll have to share with Julie now! Thank you for being my always enthusiastic fangirl, sharing my love for unloved characters, and you know how NOT to picture as the male lead in this tale!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY GIRLS!

Thank you L and A for being my pre-readers and strengthening my belief in this story. You're awesome, I love you both, and yes, I want to live in wild sin with you!

THIS IS A WARNING! PLEASE READ WITH CAUTION!

This story was thought up for the Mentalward contest back in December. I wasn't in the right mind to write it then, and as you probably see if you look at the word count - 40040 - it would have been a little too long. I typed my fingers bloody over the last 5 days to make this happen. It's sick, twisted, raw, crass, and without a doubt the best thing I've ever written.

IF YOU ARE OFFENDED BY THE GRAPHIC DEPICTION AND/OR MENTION OF EXCESSIVE VIOLENCE, ANY KIND OF FLUID IN THE HUMAN BODY, RAPE, TORTURE, DISMEMBERMENT - DO NOT READ THIS STORY!

You have been warned. All the mentioned characters and plots belong to their copyright holders. Please enjoy.

Bend me

Break me

Any way you need me

As long as I want you baby it's all right.

- Garbage - I think I'm paranoid

*flash

The echoes of the gun shots are loud in my ears. Death and confusion surround me. I'm afraid. No, terrified, in fact, I think I'm about to piss my pants. The straps of the harness the packs of C-4 are affixed to are digging into my shoulders. The barrel of the gun near my temple is so hot that I feel like my hair is getting singed.

*flash

I stare across the room, where I see my boyfriend stand. And my mom. God, what is she doing here? I can't believe they've dragged her into this! They are both shouting, and my mom is crying, and for a moment I falter. I see my life pass in front my eyes, and a single question stands out – how did this happen? How did it come so far?

###

When I was a child I loved banks. The grand buildings with the sky high rooms, everything tidy and open, the granite fronts, the perky employees - and I had never quite grasped why so many people who left the golden gates looked less than ecstatic. Of course now, two decades later, I could relate.

"Are you sure that you can't give me just one more week? You know that I've never missed a payment on my mortgage before, and I will pay the others on time, too, but just this once, please let me pay five days later?"

I hated having to beg, and I could tell that the lovely elder lady at the counter wanted nothing more than to give in to my pleading, but it was clearly not up to her. Just when she wanted to reply with what I was sure were some words of comfort, her supervisor made the round and intruded into our little bubble.

"Is there any problem, Mrs. Perkins?"

She hurriedly shook her head.

"No, of course not, Mr. Lloyd."

"Then why are you still occupied with this customer when there is a veritable line behind her?"

The 'veritable line' were only four people, and none of them looked even remotely impatient yet.

"This young lady here was inquiring if it is possible to extend the due date of her next mortgage rate for a week, and I was just about to ask you about that -"

"Certainly not!" he spit out, then fixed me with his cold glare. "I see in your details here that you not only have the mortgage of your house, but also the lease of your car and your college loans with our institute? Maybe you should have considered in the first place if you can afford to live that high above your standards?"

I was not surprised that they wouldn't grant me an additional week without any securities, but his hostility rubbed me the wrong way.

"Excuse me, but I got laid off this week and my previous employer hasn't yet been able to give me my last paycheck. I already arranged with my boyfriend that he will take over the mortgage rates starting next month, but I need a few additional days so I can get this month's payments together. And I've never failed to pay a single time in over ten years now!"

He just kept glaring at me, all pompous.

"Living from your hand to your mouth doesn't seem to be working for the likes of you, either. Now I have to ask you to leave. If you are unable to come up with your payments by the day they are due, we will hand over the case to the authorities."

His own employee was staring at him now, and while I tried to remain calm, I felt my anger slowly bubble to the surface.

"Do you ever think about why our country is going down? Because of people like you! I always wondered how it came to be that perfectly normal people snapped, but you make me see how that's possible!"

"Security, please escort her outside before she can cause even more of a scene!"

The guard didn't even look our way, and I left it at a scathing look at Mr. Lloyd.

"That won't be necessary, thank you."

I sent what I hoped was an apologetic smile to the nice lady, then I turned around and stalked towards the exit, grumbling under my breath what I thought of society and how it backed assholes like this one.

"An interesting point you make there. Reminds me of Alain Badiou when he said that 'Liberal capitalism is not at all the Good of humanity. Quite the contrary; it is the vehicle of savage, destructive nihilism.' Don't you agree?"

I slowly turned to the source of the voice talking to me, and felt my breath catch in my throat. The man behind those words was simply stunning - tall, tanned, slightly defined muscles making the suit he was wearing look tailored on him - but it was his eyes that captivated me, no, ensnared me. They were bright and of the weirdest olive green color with flecks of gold scattered across the iris. I had never before seen eyes like that, but contrary to his black hair and goatee they seems real behind the black rimmed glasses.

Irritation pushed back the stunned fascination, and after only a moment of gawking I was able to gather my wits again.

"Sounds like the justification of someone about to run amok. Or as Timothy Leary would say, 'Civilization is unbearable, but it is less unbearable at the top.'"

He looked perplexed, before a slight frown appeared on his forehead

"I think you are right again."

"Why, you about to pull out a gun and start shooting people at random?"

He pursed his lips, but then a cocky grin spread on his face.

"You know how you sometimes look back and think something like 'why did I have to say that'? For the record, don't."

I was still wondering what he meant with that when he reached into his jacket, and then drew out a gun, effectively shutting down all thought processes in my head as I stared at it with wide eyes. Turning his attention to the crowd he raised the gun and sent a whole burst of shots into the ceiling.

The resulting roar was deafening, and I was clutching my hands over my ears before I realized I had moved at all, as was nearly everyone around me.

"Ladies and Gentleman, may I please have your attention?" my previous conversation partner said, his voice carrying through the now quiet room.

"As you may have guessed, this is in fact a bank robbery. I would like to point your awareness to the fact that banks are very highly insured, so it is unnecessary, and even discouraged, for anyone of you to believe that you need to be a hero today. Do yourself a favor and lie down on the floor with your hands behind your head.

"We are not here to hurt anyone, nor to take your possessions. Stay calm and this will be over before you know it. If no one acts up, this disturbance of your bland every day life will be over in just a few minutes."

People all around the room started dropping to their knees to lie down with disconcertingly practiced ease, while the only thing I felt was my heart thumping in my throat while my body shed adrenaline into my bloodstream. The guy then turned back to me, his previous grin still on his face, and gave a quick nod with his head while mouthing the word 'down'. The intensity in his weird green eyes was so entrancing that I needed a moment to comply, but when I finally did I felt my mind slowly escape the braces shock had clenched around it.

Oh my God, this couldn't be happening. A real bank robbery?

The moment my face was down near the granite floor I saw his feet leave my field of vision. I noticed that he wasn't wearing dress shoes to match the suit, but black combat boots instead. For some reason that reminded me of Jeremy Irons in Die Hard 3. Only a lot more attractive. And real.

I still couldn't believe this was happening, but my curiosity got the better of me, and I turned my head to follow his movement. I just had to see.

During my short hesitation spell he had moved to the other side of the room, closer to the part that I figured must be leading to the vault. One of his companions was unloading something from a gym bag, his motions slow and deliberate. Then I realized that the grey packages he was handling with so much care were some kind of explosive, and a new boost of adrenaline surged through my now slightly trembling body.

"Fuck, they sealed the vault!"

One of the security guards came in from the back room, and I realized that the reason why none of them had reacted to the call of the unfriendly Mr. Lloyd before was because they weren't real guards.

Suit Guy blinked in irritation for a moment, then shrugged silently and turned to the bank staff who were all still huddling behind the counters. His gaze zoomed over them, then settled on the man who had given me so much grief before.

"You're the manager here?"

"I am," came the squealed answer that should probably have sounded dignified, but he looked ready to piss his pants. I felt a little bit elated because of that, oddly satisfied even.

"You just engaged the locks on the vault?"

I didn't know how he guessed that, maybe practice. The manager nodded, then added in a bout of what was probably his idea of chivalry, "And I will not disengage them! No one else knows the combination, and you will only get inside over my cold, dead body!"

It was the worst Charlton Heston impersonation ever, but my mirth lasted only for a second. Suit Guy smirked and let out a derisive snort.

"Guess who cares?" And then he emptied the gun into his head, spraying blood and brains everywhere.

Like everyone else I recoiled from the sound of the gunshots, but I couldn't tear my eyes from the now lifeless form sagging onto the floor, a pool of blood rapidly forming around his upper body. Seconds passed until I was able to inhale again, and I felt my whole body grow cold with shock.

Suit Guy didn't even look down at the man he had just killed, and instead turned to the now quivering bunch of bank employees. Meanwhile one of the other guys disappeared into the back room with the previously unpacked explosives.

"I take it he told the truth in his unfounded arrogance and none of you knows the combination?"

They fell over themselves in haste to shake their heads, clearly afraid of what that answer would bring, but his only reaction was a shrug.

"Then please be so kind and hand over the money from the draw so our efforts are not completely in vain. And it bears repeating, there really is no reason for hero antics today. But trust me, I really don't give a shit either way."

The scary thing was, I believed every word he said. So did the employees, and before long a very scared looking, pimply faced intern handed over a black plastic bag. One of Suit Guy's flunkies accepted it, just as the other one returned from the vault, sans the explosives.

"I've rigged the door, but I don't think it will do any real damage. Except maybe to the building, if they fucked up their statics like the last one. If we really want into the vault, we need to cut our way through and that will blow up our time frame."

Suit Guy shrugged again.

"Detonator is set?"

"T minus ten after you hit the trigger."

"Perfect."

He was just about to go on when one of the robbers disguised as a security guard cursed, then raised his gun and shot one of the people lying on the floor. Panic instantly gripped me hard and I pressed my cheek against the cold floor, missing what happened next until Suit Guy was talking again.

"Did you really think you could take us out with a measly Beretta? Your magazine's not even full."

Breathing in deeply, I turned my head in their direction, just in time when he shot the would be vigilante again. My eyes registered the carnage but my brain simply froze, and I was left unable to look again once more.

"How many?" This from one of the flunkies.

"Make it ten, we ran out too fast of 'em last time," came Suit Guy's ominous reply.

I couldn't say why, but for some reason his words made my skin itch with apprehension. Ten what? And what was that about bringing the building down on us? He also seemed eerily calm considering that they must have made a lot less loot than they initially expected, with the vault now sealed and apparently impenetrable.

My sense of foreboding increased when I watched them pick up people from the floor to gather them like a small flock of sheep in the middle of the room. I wasn't even that surprised when strong fingers closed around my upper arm and I was hauled to my feet, but I couldn't keep a frightened whimper from escaping me. Those mesmerizing green eyes bored into mine, and even if I hadn't been paralysed with fear, I couldn't have evaded his gaze.

"Don't be afraid, you're a smart girl, smart enough to fling quotes around when you're upset, you should be smart enough not to fuck up. In five days it will be over for you, and I'm even sure they'll suspend your mortgage payment for a few extra days now that you've been so utterly traumatized by a bunch of freaks."

I didn't know what to reply but felt that he was expecting some sort of reaction from me, yet all I could manage was a shaky nod. He looked a little disappointed, and for a second or two I was even hoping he would just let me go, but then he smirked and pushed me towards the others.

And all just because I hadn't been able to shut up for once in my life. Talk about getting myself into trouble.

I was way too frightened to do anything but stare and huddle together with Mrs. Perkins, who had the bad fortune of being a selectee, too, when Suit Guy spoke up to the rest of the room again.

"I am very sorry to have inconvenienced you with my little undertaking here, but I hope you can somehow move on with your insignificant, boring lives. I would like to inform you that in nine minutes and forty seconds the C-4 we have placed on the doors of the vault will detonate, so for the sake of survival I would run if I were you. Have a nice day, and a less meaningless rest of your life."

With that he turned to his troops and nodded towards a side exit. "Let's go!"

I was still too shocked to put up any kind of protest, and the other nine hostages didn't react differently. Behind us the remaining people scrambled to their feet and started to panic, and my addled brain could see the congeniality of the move. Even if anyone had alerted the police, with nearly a hundred people running around scared shitless it would be impossible to either get to the explosives to disarm them, nor find someone coherent enough to help them hunt down the bank robbers.

Of course that didn't bode well at all for us, but shock made it easy to accept the helplessness of my situation with a morbid kind of finality.

The exit led down a long corridor and into some kind of loading bay where several cars and trucks were parked, some of them probably belonging to the bank employees. We were left standing in the middle for a moment, then two of the robbers got some plastic cable binders and duct tape out while Suit Guy turned to us.

"If you're lucky and don't mess up, all of you will be free by the end of the week. My advice to you is simple - don't act up. We will proceed now to make sure that you can't get away, and bring you to a secure location. Any resistance on your part will be met with severe brutality. I think you all got a demonstration of how little I value your lives, so for your own sake, don't make me prove my point again."

If this had been some kind of cheap action movie, this would have been the moment where the courageous hero would have spoken up or something, but I was pretty sure that all of us were, quite frankly, scared right out of our minds and in no condition to pull such a stunt. Only the smallest whimper threatened to come from me when they put a thick strip of duct tape over my mouth, then secured my hands with the cable binders behind my back, before more duct tape was wound around my arms and legs to immobilize me completely.

The last thing I saw before they put a dark jute sack over my head was Suit Guy sizing me up again, then everything was dark. I was picked up and thrown into what I presumed was the trunk of one of the SUVs parked in the loading bay, together with what felt like two other people.

Shortly thereafter the vehicle came to life underneath me, but my mind was still incapable of thought. It even took me a while to realize just how helpless my situation was, and that I had no idea if I would even survive the next few hours. The only thing that was certain was that I found myself at the mercy of a bunch of psychopaths.

###

I had no idea how long the drive was, or where they drove us to. It was hot and claustrophobic under the jute sack and wedged between other bodies in the trunk, and I couldn't say if I had dozed off or simply fainted a few times or not. I was hot and sweaty, and after a while the need to pee became overwhelming. How I managed not to give in every time the car rocked over some obstacle on the road, I had now idea.

The car came to a halt some time later, and when the engine was shut off I was momentarily happy that maybe this uncomfortable journey was over. But then my pulse surged with new fear thrumming through my body as I really dreaded what would happen next.

Hot air surged into the trunk as the hatch was opened, and I figured we must have been somewhere in the desert, far outside the city. A muffled cry came from next to me as whoever had been lying there suddenly disappeared, then I was picked up and set onto my feet. A hand on my shoulder steadied me until someone cut through the duct tape keeping my legs together. The shuffling sounds around me made me realize that the other hostages were also being 'unloaded'.

A heavy hand settled on my shoulder and pushed me forward none too gently, and I obediently started walking although I nearly fell over my own feet after three steps. It would have been a lot easier to navigate without the sack over my head, but as that was clearly the purpose of it I didn't even think about complaining to myself, let alone them.

Heat changed to a cool draft just as the ground turned from dirt to uneven paved stones, and if not for the duct tape over my mouth I would have sighed with relief. I was led further into the building, up several flights of stairs and down enough corridors that I was sure I wouldn't have found my way back outside even if I had seen where we were going. The shuffling of feet was loud all around me so I figured they were leading our whole group inside together.

A hard squeeze on my shoulder made me stop, then I was pushed down into a kneeling position. I was surprised when the duct tape and cable binders were removed from my arms, but I was too bewildered to even move, let alone fight. Another nudge had me sitting down until I was leaning with my back against a cool stone wall. My pulse spiked for a moment when I felt a hand grab my ankle and push the rough denim of my jeans upwards, but they didn't touch me anywhere else so I remained immobile. Something hard and cold closed around my lower leg, followed by a irritating beeping sound that made my hair stand on end.

Before I could make up my mind what exactly they had fastened around my ankle the jute sack was pulled from my head, and I had to blink furiously to keep my eyes from tearing up in the gloom surrounding me. Slowly I could make out the shapes of the other hostages, cowering against the walls of the room just as I was, and the four men standing watch over us.

I looked around, taking in the room. Everything looked old and filthy, reminding me of a prison cell with no furniture except a bucket at the other side of the room. High up near the ceiling there was a small window with iron bars welded before it, adding to the jail look. Outside the sun was blazing down into what looked like the atrium of a huge building, as derelict and old as the inside.

My attention was drawn back to the room when another figure entered, and after a moment I recognized him as Suit Guy. Only that he had gotten rid of the glasses and jacket and had left the shirt unbuttoned enough that the white tee underneath was peeking out at the collar. He had ditched the black wig, which incidentally explained why his hair had looked so weird. The sweaty shock of unruly spikes that was sticking up at weird angles was of a burnished bronze color that stood out as much as his eyes, and just then he was busy peeling the false beard from his chin.

He was striking in a rugged sort of way, and I couldn't help feeling a weird sort of attraction towards him. His eyes were still the most stunning feature, intelligent but cold and without compassion, making me freeze inside despite of the warm air.

For a moment he fixed me with his glare and I had to look away, feeling as if he had caught me doing something I shouldn't have done, although that was clearly not the case. When I looked up he was taxing the other prisoners, and for a split second I was annoyed that he didn't show more interest in me. Then it dawned on me exactly what I was thinking, and I swallowed thickly around the lump in my throat.

Great. Less than half a day and I was about to go insane already. Certainly boded well for what was up ahead.

Suit Guy straightened and looked us over once again before he started speaking.

"If you wonder why there are only nine of you left, let's say resistance is futile and will be punished swiftly. For the hopeless romantics of you that means a bullet between the eyes. It's in your best interest not to provoke me, but I never tire of telling you that I simply don't give a shit about your antics. We only need four of you alive by Tuesday, so if you want to live, you better keep quiet and do as you're told."

The fact that he sounded more amused than threatening only made the meaning of his words worse.

"Don't worry, those five days will be over fast. It might seem like a long time, but it's not like you're missing much anyway. The shackles on your ankles are rigged with a trigger that gets turned on if you walk through the sensors at the door of your cell here. Two yards into the corridor and a chemical reaction none of you will quite understand will blow up everything within a short radius of the shackle, amputating your leg at the knee. I don't recommend trying to escape this way."

He let his unsettling gaze sweep over the whole line of us huddling at his feet before he went on.

"You will be provided with water aplenty and two meals a day that should keep you sufficiently nourished for your stay in this establishment. I don't think I need to explain the purpose of the bucket and old newspaper over there, you will have to make do without the luxuries of privacy or lavish personal hygiene. Which brings me to another point."

Briefly nodding at the indicated lousy excuse for a toilet, he then fixed one of the men sitting closer to the door with his glare.

"It's in your own best interest to try to uphold the standards of civilization you all were brought up with. We have no intention of breaching any of them unless you provoke us. We will not beat you, we will not torture you, we will not rape any of you."

The way he said that while he kept staring at the guy I got the feeling that he wasn't just implying the shaking woman at my side and me with that statement. A second later he turned back to all of us, the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Every morning we will select two of you to empty your toilet and bring in new supplies, obviously disengaging the trigger on the shackles. We will be watching your every movement with weapons drawn, and it goes without saying that we will shoot if you even look at us strangely. At all other times you will be left here alone, with only a guard posted outside in the corridor. I advise you to keep low and try to make the following days as easy on yourself and your fellow inmates as possible. If we feel the need to bring order back into this cell, it will happen at a toll. Don't provoke us."

He let that settle in for a moment.

"Any questions?"

When no one spoke up, he jerked his chin in a harsh nod.

"Good. Then if you're the praying sort, ask your God to deliver reason onto your fellow comrades here, because they will more likely be the cause for your demise than any of us."

With that he turned around and without another glance in my direction left the room, closely followed by the other three men. The sound of the thick wooden door being locked with bolts from the outside rang through the cell, before a heavy silence settled over us.

My breath rushed out of me in what should have been a loud gasp but was muffled by my throat closing down, giving me a moment of pause. I knew the signs well enough - the first pangs of a full-on panic attack. My first impulse should have been to scramble for deliverance in the form of my anti-anxiety meds in my purse, but of course that had been left at the bank with all other personal belongings. It was only a matter of time until my exhale would turn into a whimper and I would feel cold sweat breaking out all over my palms.

I knew I should have been scared, hell, I was, but instead of snapping, I felt a nearly catatonic calm take hold of me.

"Oh, sweetie, don't worry, you heard him, in a few days this will be over and they'll let us go, unharmed!"

The words coming from next to me threatened to turn into gibberish, but I forced myself to listen to the kind voice, letting the tone rather than content register with me. I felt myself being hugged against a small, soft body, the scent of sweet perfume tickling my nose for a moment. I closed my eyes and just listened - and still, my breaths came in an even rhythm, while my mind stayed blank. Looking up, I found Mrs. Perkins still holding and rocking me, her forehead creased with worry and compassion but her eyes without fear, just as if she was using taking care of me as a means to ignore what was going on. Maybe she was. I couldn't bring myself to care in my bubble of calm.

When she felt that I wasn't about to lose it, the woman let go of me again, and I got my chance to really look over my fellow hostages for the first time. We were a truly mixed lot, diverse in age and heritage alike, the most distinct fact that we were only two women. I would have figured that taking more females would have been a good choice - from the cold-hearted bastard's point of view - as everyone always harbored more sympathy for the fairer sex.

Letting my eyes roam over the haphazard bunch of people, I tried to assess them as well as I could.

There was Mrs. Perkins of course, right now fidgeting with the tissue she had had tucked up her sleeve. She was in her early sixties, I judged, a kind soul of a woman and without a doubt in the wrong job at the bank. I could see her tending flowers or herding children, but not tell people like me that she had no qualms squashing their hopes of toughing out the economic crisis.

Next to her, a younger Asian looking guy and what my mind immediately titled 'elder gentleman' huddled on the dirty floor. The Geek and the Gent both looked a lot more agitated than us women, but I could understand them being flustered, angry and scared. I probably should have reacted the same.

On my other side, the remaining five hostages were harder to categorize. Two of them were hispanic, one black, the other two non-descript white guys, all of them wearing the business man uniform of dress slacks and jackets with conservative ties and shirts. Ranging from about thirty to forty, only the second of the caucasians, right next to the door, stood out to me. He was the one Suit Guy had been glaring at, and his level stare held an uncommon amount of anger that I shied away from instinctively.

Even at a glance, I knew he was trouble. I couldn't say why, but I just knew it.

All the others I could see succumb to the same stupor I was locked in at the moment, maybe sheep to the slaughter, but considering our captor's policy that might just save our lives. None of the others seemed like they would try to provoke anyone, and from the way they shied away from Mrs. Perkins and me I could tell that while the last vestiges of their honor and upbringing might move them to protect us, they wouldn't do anything stupid. They would leave us in peace, they would do what they were told, and with luck, we'd all survive.

But that guy? He looked respectable enough, but he had a gleam in his eyes that made it easy to picture him on the other side of the prison door. And when he glanced over at me as if my inquisitive look had drawn his attention, I certainly didn't like the leer he was taxing me with. However sick, when Suit Guy had regarded me in a similar way it had been embarrassingly hot. But he just creeped me the fuck out.

Minutes passed in which no one moved, or even said a word. I really didn't want to be the first one to break the spell, but my bladder felt ready to burst any second, and I knew that sooner or later I would have to use that damn bucket. As we were lacking a way to wash our clothes, and sitting around in just my underwear wasn't a real improvement, I decided that now was the moment rather than later.

I could feel eight pairs of eyes zoom to me when I came to my feet, groaning softly as my muscles stretched and protested. Swallowing hard, I stared at the dusty floor in front of the bucket, avoiding looking at anyone as heat shot into my cheeks.

"I'm sorry but I really have to -" I exhaled, briefly scrunching my eyes shut. "I really have to pee."

Not waiting for an answer I walked across the room, my stomach clenching hard enough to make me regret my decision already. Around me I heard the others shuffle as they uniformly turned away, giving me as much privacy as they could. I still picked up the bucket and took it over to the corner closest to the door, the farthest I could get away from where the others huddled.

My fingers shook as I undid first my belt, then the buttons on my jeans. I was immensely glad that I hadn't work a skirt like Mrs. Perkins, but right then it would have been a blessing. Throat burning with unshed tears of humiliation I hooked my fingers into my pants and underwear alike and pushed both down, letting my blouse be the only thing that protected my naked butt. Barely.

"Just my luck, locked in with a single hot girl, and of course she has to wear granny panties!"

A violent cramp ran through my abdomen as I stopped in mid-motion, fuelling the anger inside of me enough to make me forgot about my obvious state of undress for a moment. Fuming, I looked over my shoulder, my pants still wedged around my knees, meeting his stare head on.

"Excuse me?"

Of course it had been that guy, and he was the only one even remotely looking into my direction now. I was vibrating with the need to get in his face, but my mind was again wiped clean, this time from rage and embarrassment both. The other men next to him had the grace to look slightly abashed and clear their throats, but in the end it was the Gent who reprimanded him.

"Young man, I think this is by far no appropriate behavior from you! Would you at least have the good manners to give the lady some privacy?"

Troublemaker just snickered and shook his head, but then glanced at the door instead of me, a small improvement.

"I'm sure they have the whole room under video surveillance. Guess I just have to wait until I get out of here to see the whole in close-up on YouTube anyway."

I would have loved to punch him in the mouth until that broad grin disappeared, but as it was, nature wouldn't be denied any longer. After taking a shaky breath I scrambled to hunch over the bucket and did my best to survive the tide of mortification trying to drown me. No further comments followed, but I still felt dirty and soiled as I sat down next to Mrs. Perkins again. Good soul that she was she reached for my hand and squeezed it, trying to lend me what little comfort she could.

###

And so time went by. Very, very slowly.

Eventually I dozed off, and the next time I looked up, the light in the room had dimmed further. Outside the last rays of the sun where bathing the atrium in a fiery orange glow. At first I didn't know what had roused me, but then I heard the noise again - the bolts at the door being disengaged. The thick wood swung open just as I sat up, admitting two of our captors, a lanky blond guy who wouldn't have stood out at any college, and a burly man with a dark buzz cut, his bulging arms easily thicker than my legs. They unceremoniously dumped several bags sporting the logo of a local fast food chain onto the floor and left after depositing a new tray with water bottles next to the door.

For several seconds no one moved, before several of the men lept at the food. The elder gentleman was one of the last to get up, and he brought a pack of fries and a wrapped burger each for Mrs. Perkins and me that he handed us with a handful of napkins. I thought about declining right away but then accepted the food with a slight smile and a husky "thank you". Listlessly picking at the fries I tried to make myself eat, but I just couldn't. When I noticed the hungry look the guy next to me was casting at my barely touched food I handed both the fries and burger to him, and he devoured them as if he had been starving for weeks, not hours. Troublemaker was watching me with an unreadable look on his face, but I'd have dumped everything into the bucket rather than give it to him.

Before real darkness settled over our little cell I forced myself to use the makeshift toilet again, grateful when no scathing comments came flying my way this time. I was thirsty enough to devour the whole pack of bottles they had left for us but held myself back, still nipping at my first one when everyone else fell asleep.

Thus passed the first day of our captivity, with four more to go.

Not long after dawn broke the others woke up. I had spent most of the night awake, or at least aware of my surroundings, small pangs of anxiety keeping me too alert to find any kind of rest. I longed to get up and stretch my legs, and the skin all over my body was itching from where the sweat had dried into a dusty salt layer, but I tried to disregard both urges. Most of the others took care of their morning 'business', and then it was back to waiting.

"I thought he said he wouldn't starve us to death!"

Of course it had to be Troublemaker who spoke up barely an hour after sunrise, looking as angry and petulant as before.

"They are probably still asleep. No wonder, if I had a mattress instead of the freaking cold floor I'd sleep in, too."

I briefly looked at the black guy three people down from Troublemaker. I didn't know what he was complaining about, after all he had had his jacket to keep him warm in the night while I had shivered in my blouse.

"I'm sure they will eventually bring us something. It wouldn't do them any good to starve us."

That from the Gent. Even though he had been very slow in his movements when he had lucrated a new bottle for himself earlier, he sounded untouched by the circumstances, making me wonder if he was putting on a show just for us ladies. Suit Guy's words about upholding the rules of civilization echoed through my mind again, and I couldn't deny that I wished the others were at least trying for that, and not discarding the wrappers from our dinner all over the floor. At least there hadn't been any leftovers.

"Says who? I hope you're not stupid enough to believe the bullshit that lunatic fed us?"

The Gent shrugged.

"To me it doesn't seem like they have any reason to lie to us. And as far as I know, they haven't given us a reason to disbelieve their rules."

"Are you serious?"

Troublemaker came to his feet with a light chuckle that bordered on insane.

"Listen you old geezer, those are a bunch of psychotic, trigger-happy freaks. You ever wonder what happened to the tenth guy they packed up who didn't make it? They shot him in the middle of the desert because he had a panic attack and couldn't calm down all tied up in that damn trunk. Just heaved him out, held the gun to his temple and executed him at point-blank range. Made me watch, too, probably to prove their point or something. I don't trust a word they say, and you're a fool if you do. You really think they'll just let us go in four days? Not tap that juicy bit of ass huddled over there with the hag? Oh you just watch."

Mrs. Perkins bristled at his little speech, but the Gent was the only one who actually had the courage to speak up.

"And who says that you're telling the truth? For all we know you're just making this up and project your own shortcomings onto others?" He then seemed to realize that he was defending a group of cold-blooded killers, his mouth compressed into a hard line. "I'm not saying we should trust them," he verified. "They just haven't gone back on anything their leader told us. So shut up, you'll get your breakfast soon enough!"

Troublemaker laughed and shook his head as he turned his back on us, then strode over to the bucket to relieve himself. It seemed more of a statement than an act of following nature's call, but I couldn't care less. The quick exchange had shown me two things - I agreed with the elder gentleman in our captors being more trustworthy than that guy at least, although that was probably not saying much. And second, the Gent was the only one of these fine specimen around me who had even a twinge of civic courage. Somehow that realization was more disheartening than anything else about what had happened since I walked into that stupid bank.

It was another two hours - estimate, as none of us had a watch or cell phone, naturally - until the door was unlocked again. The two men from last night and one other, his dirty blond hair caught in a ponytail at the nape of his neck, came inside. The lanky one nodded towards where the bucket still sat in the opposite corner from me.

"Any volunteers?"

No one moved, causing a derisive smirk to come to his face, but before he could turn back to us I raised my hand.

"I'll do it."

Lanky Guy seemed surprised but nodded, looking not even unfriendly as he held his hand out to help me up. I hesitated for a moment, then took it, remaining still while he bent down and swiped some kind of device over the metal band at my ankle. It beeped loudly, and he nodded.

"You're good to go, bathroom's down the corridor to your left."

Walking slowly, I picked up the iron handle, holding my breath in an attempt to ignore what I had just volunteered to do. Burly Guy meanwhile picked the Geek and the Gent to bring in and distribute sandwiches, apples, and bottles of orange juice, while Lanky Guy followed me along but kept his distance.

The corridor was short and the indicated room looked like it had once been a community shower, strengthening my believe that we were inside a derelict prison or something like that, iron bars present over every window I passed. There was a conventional toilet and a sink there, and after a look at my guard I carefully dumped the disgusting contents of the bucket into the toilet, then flushed repeatedly. I could only fathom how much worse this would be in the coming days, considering how many residues still clung to the bucket walls.

"Uhm, do you mind if I clean that up a bit?"

Lanky Guy shook his head and nodded towards the sink.

"Go ahead, there's some detergent in the cupboard."

It was an immense relief to find exactly what I needed there, although the three canisters of bleach disturbed me a little. For the blood, I figured, feeling my gorge rise for a moment.

"Any gloves, too?"

"Sorry, you'll have to make do with what's there," my guard said, even sounding truthfully chagrin. Why not, killing people was one thing, making them clean shit-covered buckets with their bare hands quite another.

In the end several rounds of squirting the cleaning agent inside, then vigorously swirling it around with some water did the trick well enough, although I spent at least another minute scrubbing my hands with first the bleach, then the detergent. Just as I turned around to leave my eyes were drawn to the toilet again, and I bit my lip as I tried to decide whether it was worth asking if I could use it or not.

Lanky Guy chuckled, then nodded.

"Go ahead, but you better not try to hit me with something while I turn my back on you."

He didn't have to put his right hand onto the gun at his hip to make his point, and I hurried to nod before he stepped out of the room. I felt like weeping in gratitude for a moment but instead went about my business quickly, afterwards adding another round of washing my hands. It was a small mercy but I still felt like I had just been given back part of my dignity, and the fact that Lanky Guy had neither peeked inside nor acknowledged what had happened by leer or remark, but instead made a flourish to indicate I should get back to the others rattled me even more.

The sound of the bolts engaging was still loud in my ears when I heard Troublemaker's voice sneer at my back.

"Makes me wonder what took you so long to empty a single bucket. Tried to up your chances of survival with a quick blowjob or two, eh?"

Heat surged into my cheeks, but it was anger that made my spine go rigid. Turning slowly, I did my best to stare the idiot down.

"I cleaned the fucking bucket, you dimwit! And just so you know, that guy didn't even look at me the wrong way, all of them are a whole lot more polite than you!"

Of course my words had no effect on him except that he was leering again.

"Sure, princess, whatever. But if you need to relieve some of that stress of yours, I'm more than happy to help you there, if you get rid of those granny panties first. Heck, maybe even with them, can't be too picky right now, eh?"

He even winked at me, but I did my best to ignore that as I turned around and stalked back to where my breakfast was waiting for me. Ignoring the sandwich I tried to eat the apple, but in the end gave up, letting the others have my meal instead except for the OJ. I figured I had to get my vitamins and sustenance from somewhere, and the 13.5 oz seemed like enough liquid to get me through most of the day without forcing me to use the bucket every two hours or so.

The day passed uneventfully, minute after dragging minute running by. Unlike before, silence didn't last, although conversations were short and sounded forced. The fact that Troublemaker kept adding snide remarks to pretty much everything any of us said didn't help, either, but I was too tired to argue with him, and the Gent gave up reprimanding him after a while.

Evening came, bringing us cold Chinese takeout this time, and again I refused to eat anything although the hole in my stomach seemed to border on the size of Texas. Still, the scent alone made me want to retch, and by then the bucket had developed its own stench once again, and I was glad that no one attempted to talk some sense into me.

The second night turned out to be worse than the first. Hunger and thirst kept me awake, but I refused to drink anything until the sky lightened again. My timing was good, and Lanky Guy let me go through the same ritual as the day before without comment. He seemed happy that he didn't have to force anyone to do the job, and I figured it didn't matter to him whether I used the toilet once a day or not as long as I didn't try to pull any stunts.

By the end of day three hope was stirring in me that maybe, just maybe I would really survive this relatively unscathed. I knew the images of seeing Suit Guy execute the douchebag of a bank manager would haunt me all my life, but they had shown no signs of doing the same to any of us. In fact, he seemed to hold himself to the rules he had imposed, he and his accomplices ignoring us for the most part. When he had brought our dinner that night his eyes had stayed on me for a moment longer when he briefly taxed us all, but that had been the extent of our interaction. His gaze still made heat surge through my whole body, try as I might to ignore it.

That night my congenial plan to keep the moments of humiliation to a minimum had its revenge on me. The headache that hadn't been doing away since day two got worse, until nausea made my already hurting stomach clench. I barely made it to the bucket before I started vomiting bile, unable to hold even sips of water down for the subsequent hours. Mrs. Perkins tried to fuss over me but there was nothing she could do, and a few hours later I was finally exhausted enough to faint.

Something cold and wet hit my face, yanking me back into what state of alertness my body was capable of, which wasn't much. Weird sounds assaulted my ears, then pain as someone slapped my cheek. My eyes finally focused on a shock of bronze hair and my heart lept into my throat, followed by my stomach clenching. I had barely enough sense to roll onto my belly and away from Suit Guy before my stomach emptied itself violently once more, narrowly missing his combat boots as he stepped back to give me some room. It occurred to me that puking into his lap would very likely have been my last deed on Earth, but as it was he sounded more concerned than angry as he barked at Mrs. Perkins.

"She's completely dehydrated, when was the last time she drank something and actually held it down?"

"I ... I don't know, yesterday evening probably?"

"Probably? Haven't you spent the last sixty hours next to her?"

"I -" Mrs. Perkins cut off after she couldn't bring out more than a stammer, tears starting to roll down her cheeks as Suit Guy kept staring at her with his unsettling eyes. I let my head hang for another second, then forced myself back into a sitting position, the wall harsh and cool at my back.

"I'm okay, just some stomach bug or something."

Now that gaze swiveled over to me, and for a moment I saw something else than anger there. It was gone before I could make it out, and our eye contact broke when he thrust a bottle of OJ into my face.

"Here, drink that, I'll bring another one in three hours and one for dinner, too. And you," he indicated Mrs. Perkins and the guy sitting on my other side, "better make sure she drinks enough, or we'll only need seven rations for breakfast tomorrow."

Waiting barely long enough to see both nod in fright he rounded on Troublemaker.

"You, get the bucket, about time you made yourself useful, too."

I let my head rest against the wall as I unscrewed the bottle and took a hesitant sip, averting my eyes as I saw Troublemaker silently sneer at me. If I hadn't been delirious I might have been afraid of that gaze, too, but as it was keeping the juice down took up all the attention I could muster.

It became clear that both took their new charge serious, and they practically force-fed me the bagel and banana cookie and only left me alone after I had finished not only the OJ but also a bottle of water. My stomach roiled and cramps wrecked my body, but as I fought the urge to puke again it slowly subsided. True to his word Suit Guy returned with another bottle a while later, only leaving again after he watched me drink half of it.

The sound of the door closing behind him when he left was strangely ominous, and my eyes automatically zoomed to where Troublemaker was glaring at me.

"Happy now, you sneaky little attention whore?"

Tired and sick as I was, my temper was rather easy to snap.

"Just what is your problem with me?"

His eyes narrowed and he leaned forward, fixing me with his baleful stare.

"We don't need a faking whore here who's just out to stir up trouble when she's not even letting anyone fuck her?"

"Are you serious? I'm not faking this! Shit, he was probably a step away from blowing my head off and you stupid motherfucker accuse me of faking?"

I couldn't help feeling a little guilty - after all I was partly responsible for the state I was in right now, but if he could have kept his trap shut I wouldn't have felt the need for my actions. At least at the time it had seemed like a good idea.

"Sure, princess, whatever. Fact is, you're trouble. We should just get rid of you, you're just trouble.."

"Excuse me?"

"Young man, now you are really out of line!"

Even though he had interrupted me, I was glad that at least the Gent spoke up for me, but that only seemed to amuse the idiot cackling next to the door more.

"Oh, you getting off on defending young girls? Probably hope that she'll be grateful enough and offer you a handjob later tonight?"

"Don't you have any decency?" That from a very unnerved Mrs. Perkins, who got only a leer in return.

"No, why should I? Raised by shrews with you, I've fucked cunts like that one for years, and I know they're only good for that one thing - getting fucked. That's all. Although this one here might also get us killed."

The elder man opened his mouth to reply, but then succumbed to a coughing fit, causing Mrs. Perkins to turn her attention to him as she slapped his back and tried to get him to drink something. The moment they were both occupied Troublemaker snickered, and leaning even closer to me uttered a growled, "You're so going to pay, Missy!"

Things quieted down soon when Troublemaker pretended to have fallen asleep, but whenever I glanced in his direction I caught him watching me, sick intensity burning in his gaze. I tried to ignore it but of course didn't succeed, and it only got worse when I had to relieve myself again.

The long hours of the afternoon dragged by slower than any stretch of time before them, and my growling stomach didn't help things. At least to me it felt like our dinner was long overdue, but as much as I strained my ears, I didn't hear anyone outside in the corridor.

"Why so itchy? Can't wait for your psycho sweetheart to come with your OJ? Maybe if you ask him nicely he'll finally fuck you so you can stop drawing his attention to yourself."

I tried to ignore the idiot, but of course that only made me hyper aware of my once again screaming bladder, and what felt like a small eternity later I gave in and got up once more.

"Christ, I miss the internet, they could at least have left me my phone so I could watch some porn. Although watching you like that helps a little, I have a thing for cute girls pissing themselves on camera."

I tried to stay calm but my frayed nerves were once again ready to crack, and when he kept throwing insults my way without any of the others even looking up from where they were studying the floor, something in me snapped. Again. I really should have known better, but I just couldn't take it anymore.

Turning around once my clothes were back in place I did my best to look menacing, but Troublemaker only grinned up at me.

"What is it, princess? Ready to finally worship my cock?"

I narrowed my eyes at him.

"So you like scat and watersports so much? I think I have something for you then."

Before he could say anything else I kicked the bucket hard, sending it rolling across the floor towards him. Just my luck that in my seething I had missed the sounds I had been yearning for the whole time already. The door opened just as my uncanny projectile made it's way towards the suddenly overtly alert captives, everyone in the room surging to their feet at once. The bucket hit the door with a loud thump, its contents splashing onto the dirty floor.

"What the fuck?"

It was Ponytail Guy who had opened the door, narrowly avoiding the urine seeping towards his boots, and who was now glowering into the room, his gun drawn.

"I'll fucking kill you all if you don't tell me this very second who did that!" he shouted, gray eyes scanning nine frightened but mostly blank faces. My heart beat so hard I was sure he must have heard it but he only briefly glanced at where I had huddled down next to Mrs. Perkins, who once again was clutching me with her protecting vice grip.

"You!" he went on, holding the gun into the Geek's face. "Tell me who kicked the bucket or you'll be the first one choking on your blood!"

The urge to step forward and explain that it had been an accident, as least as far as attempting to hit the guards with the dirty bomb, was swiftly overridden by the fright gripping me when I saw the Geek glance in my direction. Although he was hesitating, he was probably just too scared to find his voice, and I knew he would rat me out.

"I ... it was -"

"It was me."

My heart skipped a beat when I heard the elder gentleman speak up with an eerily calm voice, stepping around, and incidentally in front of me as all eyes turned to him. Ponytail Guy frowned, but his gun never wavered as he pointed it towards the Gent.

"Care to tell me why you'd do something so insanely stupid?"

Still using that strong, measured tone, the other man answered.

"To show you exactly how enticing it is to be locked up in this shithole."

Ponytail Guy snorted, and briefly looked over his shoulder to his companions. Suit Guy never hesitated to give the order. "Kill him."

I think I started screaming when the first bullets made the body in front of me jerk, falling to my feet which probably saved my life. The sound of the shots was still ringing in my ears when he sagged to the floor, a sick gurgling sound coming straight from his chest where the bullets had ripped open his torso so the air could escape right from his lungs.

Vomiting for what felt like the thousandth time that day I remained crouching next to him as the other guards filed into the room, taking care to avoid the puddle of piss partly obstructing the free space in front of the door.

"Anyone else who wants to complain about the conditions? I'm all ears."

Suit Guy had taken over talking, his combat boots next to my face making me feel like I was caught in a horrible kind of deja-vu. I didn't dare look up, instead stared at the spreading blood oozing towards me, until I felt hard metal nudge my shoulder. Scrambling back I came face to face with the muzzle of the shotgun he was holding, instantly sure he would blow my head clear off my shoulders. As I glanced up to his face I realized that he wasn't even looking at me, instead studying the fecal matter by the door.

"Three days and you're already behaving like no animal ever will unless it's absolutely forced to. I can't say I'm surprised, but certainly disappointed."

Bringing the gun up he handed it to one of the other guards, instead accepting a bucket and sponge cloth, dumping both right in front of me.

"You, clean that mess up. You'll only vomit from the stench anyway, might as well make yourself useful."

Our gazes met, and in that moment I realized that he knew it had been me behind the kick that sent the events in motion. There was no reproach in his eyes, only a dark kind of amusement, and I scrambled for the cloth just to avoid seeing any more of that. My brain pretty much shut down from the horror of the one person who had been ready to defend me sacrificing himself for me losing it - and I didn't even know his name.

Two of our captors dragged the body outside while Suit Guy kept watching me work, a fucking smile plastered on his face as if I were collecting stones on the beach. That freaked me out more than what I was occupied with, which was probably for the best. It took me quite some time until I was done, then another ten minutes of scrubbing nearly the whole floor with bleach until I felt pretty light-headed. Our captors had meanwhile distributed dinner - burgers again - and Suit Guy seemed delighted to hand me my portion of dead cow.

"Here. Eat."

"I'm really not hungry," I tried to evade what seemed inevitable, and the way his gaze hardened made me grow cold.

"I said eat. I'm not going anywhere until you've finished that burger, and I better not find any vomit tomorrow morning." Leaning closer as he put the bottle of OJ down next to me he added in a light murmur that only I could hear, "Get a grip on yourself, and fast. I'd really hate to paint the walls with your brain matter, you're more fun to me alive than dead. Although in your case, I might even make an exception."

Let's just say that his words didn't make the task of swallowing the burger any easier.

But I managed. The same as I had managed to mop up all the piss and shit, the same as I had stopped screaming when he shot the Gent, the same as I would somehow survive all this. That I swore to myself as I forced myself to chew and swallow, chew and swallow.

Then I was finally done and he left, the sound of the door ominous as it closed. I returned to my usual place, feeling weariness like lead in my muscles - only to discover that both my previous neighbors had taken great pains to distance themselves from me. I couldn't really blame them, but suddenly my stretch of personal space seemed awfully large.

I had never thought such a thing possible, but I was soundly asleep, for the first time since I had become a hostage, within ten minutes. The mixture of exhaustion, heat stroke, dehydration, and what felt like a ton of adrenaline slowly draining from my bloodstream knocked me out cold before I had time to dwell on the evenings of the recent hour. Probably for the better.

The sound of heavy breathing made me jolt wide awake what felt like an instant - but was probably hours - later. I got out only a gasp, then a strong hand was over my mouth, silencing me, while the weight of a taller, heavier body pressed me into the wall.

"Hello princess, so good of you to finally wake up."

My brain needed another second to catch up, and only then did I feel myself growing cold all over when I recognized Troublemaker's voice. He probably felt me tensing, because his low chuckle sounded definitely delighted.

"Oh, don't worry, I'm just here to make conversation, nothing more. To see how things unfolded tonight was just too good not to come over here for a quick chat, don't you think?"

I briefly thought about biting his hand but then refrained from it, telling myself that I would bide my time until he did anything but try to make me mad.

"You don't think so? Ah, but the look on your face when he opened the door, priceless! Well, not as good as the one when he shot your Knight in Shining Armor - but still a moment to behold. If I had planned things to go that well someone would have fucked it up, but you did a perfect job. Congratulation."

It dawned on me then that for some reason, the psychotic weirdos outside of the cell seemed a lot less prone to do me harm than those inside. Not that I had doubted the latter before, but his words made me grow cold in a sense Suit Guy's actions hadn't.

Seemingly unrattled by my lack of reaction, or maybe even delighted thereof, Troublemaker went on.

"You can't be oblivious to the pull you have on me. And trust me, girl, if it's the last thing I will do before I die, I will fuck that sweet tight cunt of yours. But after seeing the fire in you today and the disregard for all our lives, I want you to suffer first. I don't know how I'll get it done, but that hag will die, as anyone else who should take up the role of your protector. You know that guy's death is your fault alone, don't you? And when I fuck you, your hands will be slick with not only his blood, but all the others, too."

And with that he was gone, leaving me sitting there not daring to make a sound, while I was screaming inside. Sleep was an impossibly long way from coming now.

###

As the last full day of our captivity dawned, I was no longer sure if I could still be considered sane. My hopes to survive this were pretty much squashed, and I was sure that even if I didn't get myself killed, Troublemaker would. It seemed senseless to yearn for tomorrow evening when my torment should have been over - but for some reason that didn't really make me sad, only angry.

Outside I felt dead, a step away from catatonic, unwilling to react to the stimuli around me - the sun coming up, the people rousing, Troublemaker trying to goad the Geek with a few snide comments - but inside, my mind was racing. Hopelessness so thick it nearly chocked me was gripping me hard, but underneath I could feel rage boiling hot enough to keep me warm all through the night. It actually took the lack of fear at the door opening again for me to fully grasp what had changed - panic had slowly given way to recklessness.

I wasn't surprised to see Suit Guy and his shotgun step into the room, and I got up to take out the bucket without having to be ordered to. He followed me, and unlike Lanky Guy stepped into the bathroom, watching me clean our makeshift toilet. I waited for him to at least turn his back when I was done but those unsettling eyes remained trained on me.

"Would you mind giving a lady some privacy?"

He snorted at my quipped request.

"I don't see a lady anywhere in this room."

I pointedly looked down at my rumbled clothes, the sweat-stained blouse sticking clearly to the evidence of my ladyhood.

"Why, did some errant blood spatter blind you?"

His laugh took on a dark note, but his amusement remained as he leaned against the frame of the door.

"Ah, not quite. Let me rephrase that, I don't think a woman kicking buckets full of shit and piss around can still expect anyone to think of her as a lady."

"I see. Well I guess then it's good I don't regard gun toting killers as gentlemen, either?"

Suit Guy inclined his head, not a hint of chagrin on his features.

"Touché, madame."

I paused for a moment, then crossed my arms over my chest, wondering how long it would take for my mind to dissolve once this unnatural spell of cockiness left me.

"And would you mind lending a raving mad, shit bucket toppling woman some privacy?"

"As you asked me so nicely, of course."

With that he stepped out of the room.

Our banter didn't stop there, but resumed when I had settled back with the others and he held the usual bottle of OJ right in my face.

"Here, drink. You seem much better today, but I'm not going to let you thirst yourself into a new delirium again."

Silently I accepted the bottle and drained it in a few swallows, handing the empty container back to him.

"Thank you. I appreciate your concern, truly it would be bad for your rep as merciless killer if your frail hostages just did away with themselves under your tender care."

He smirked but his eyes were still sparkling with the same laughter as before, making him even more attractive than he already was. For whatever reason that wicked sense of humor was a dead ringer for a turn-on, if one happened to disregard the whole murderous bastard thing.

"That's such a relief to hear. I hope you enjoyed your dinner last night?"

"Nothing beats being force-fed at gun point. I'm so glad you hand-picked me as your captive, or else I would never have felt such tender care at the hands of anyone in my miserable, boring life."

"Good for you," he replied, then left the room while shaking his head in what seemed like true wonder. The door hadn't yet fully closed behind him when I felt laughter bubble up in my chest, and within a few minutes I sat there, snickering and sobbing at the same time as hysteria had me in her iron grasp. It was weirdly amusing to see the others shy away even more from me until I sat alone near my corner, shunned by everyone.

"Just what the fuck is wrong with you?"

The sounds leaving my chest cut off suddenly as one of the men who hadn't spoken ten words to me before regarded me with a level stare, and I replied with an imitation thereof.

"Oh, I don't know, seems like I'm, how do you say, deranged? Unhinged? Maybe I figured that if none of us is trying to behave like actual people I might as well leave my sanity behind and spend the last hours of my life trying to make the best of it?"

"Yeah, sounds like a really great plan," Troublemaker scoffed, but I only had a serene smile left for him.

"It is. You should read the script for the grand finale, the plot twist is absolutely murderous."

At least he left me alone after that, and I did my best to keep myself from falling into pieces. It was easy enough, I found out, as for some insane reason my brief conversation with Suit Guy had actually calmed me instead of the opposite reaction it seemed to have had on everyone else. I still had no illusions that he would just shoot me if I stepped out of line, but unlike before that didn't frighten me so much anymore. It would be fast and he wouldn't let me suffer, that I was sure of, and that was more than I could say about my lovely companions here.

As the day went on I went through several stages of emotional turmoil - twice I felt like screaming, usually before a phase of intense grief as sobs shook me hard. There was so much I had wanted to do in my life, but now it all seemed so far away - and most of it quite pointless, even if I had had the chance to just get up and leave here to fulfill all those dreams. Suit Guy's words from the bank came back to haunt me - I really had led an insignificant life until now, always the responsible daughter, the good girl, nothing remarkable had ever happened to me, and I doubted that once I was gone I would leave much of an impression in the grand scheme of things. I wasn't even sure if that was a bad thing.

At other times, my thoughts were a little less morose. I remembered the good times - moving away from home to go to college, first love, first job, building an existence on my own. I felt dearly for my boyfriend - fiancé, really - and it saddened me that I would never get the chance to say good-bye to him. Things had gotten a little strained between us of late, but I had been sure that we would tough it out. Now at least our relationship would end in a way that would let him move on once I wasn't like a klutz on his leg any longer.

Afternoon approached, and with it came trouble. I knew it when I looked up and caught Troublemaker's feverish glare fixed on me for god knew how long already. We were sitting in opposite corners now, nothing obstructing our view of each other, and the way he was raking me with his eyes made me beyond uneasy. His words from last night were still vivid in my mind, but I figured he wouldn't make a move until later, probably next morning. Like with all conventional monsters, I would be safe while the sun was up, keeping the darkness at bay.

Oh, but I was soon proven wrong in that assessment.

I guessed it must have been around seven - at least an hour before sundown - when something in Troublemaker's posture changed. It was subtle at first, but while he had been seemingly relaxed throughout the day, he got more agitated by the minute. Finally he leaned forward, his eyes trained on me as if he were a lion and I a baby antelope a.k.a. his helpless prey, and the sneer on his face startled me out of my stupor.

"Last twenty-four hours, huh? Already got your lines ready how you'll throw yourself at our oh so merciful captor so you can blow yourself into his good graces?"

I tried to ignore him, but when he threw a sandwich wrapper at me I had enough of avoidance. Suddenly it felt as if I had been avoiding difficult situations all of my life, which in the end had gotten me into this place.

"You know what? I should probably do that. Maybe even in front of you so you can jerk off one last time before I ask him oh so nicely to spray your brain matter all over this stinking prison cell. It's marvelous what a guy will do if you suck him off well enough. For you, I'll probably don't even have to put out any further than that."

I more felt than saw the disapproving stares of the others rest on me, not for the first time angry that they seemed to think I was the one stirring up trouble instead of the cretin yanking on my chains.

"Huh, so sorry to disappoint you, Missy, but I don't think so. Don't you wonder why no one is taking your side? It's because they know I'm important while you're just some lazy cunt they picked up, probably to keep us all quiet out of some sense of chivalry. Worked really well for that geezer, don't you think? But I'm pretty sure that as they haven't even reprimanded me yet, they don't really care what happens to you. Hell, maybe they even lugged you along for me, I have a certain history of liking brunettes."

For a moment I tried to weigh his words, but for the love of everything holy, he just sounded so full of shit that I had to stop soon. I honestly didn't think our captors had put much thought into who they grabbed, except for us matching a certain set of demographics. And while I couldn't quite place their accent, they didn't seem like a local gang, instead hailing from somewhere further north. Whatever he meant with him being 'someone important', I doubted they were aware of it when they snatched him up.

"That's so nice to know! And there I was already feeling like you'd probably lose interest in me because I wasn't a natural blond."

"You're certainly dense enough to be one."

I wondered if he really thought that to be a real insult.

"Look, buddy, whoever you think you are, I don't give a shit. You've been a pain in the ass ever since we got here, and I don't doubt anything will change about that. So why don't you just shut up and let us all sit out our last hours here without proving how much of a dick you can be? I know, must be hard for you, but I'm really not into you. I know guys like you, you're all ego and nothing to match that in your pants."

Why I added the last, I didn't know. Later I would wonder if it was a trigger for him, or if he had just grasped the first excuse he got, but one moment he was still across the room, the next he was on top of me. Not prepared for an actual assault I was still stunned when he bashed my head back against the wall hard, making me see stars, before he dragged me onto the floor and started tearing at my clothes in an attempt to get them off me.

Incredulity that he really had the audacity to try to rape me in broad daylight in front of everyone kept my muscles locked for another second, while the only thing I could move were my eyes. The others were all looked away and discreetly shrinking back from us, a silent, embarrassed wall coming down to shield them from what they didn't want to see. Mrs. Perkins was the only one who caught my gaze briefly but her eyes were empty, and then she turned away like the others, sobbing quietly. I didn't know if they all actually thought that I deserved what was coming to me, but it sure felt like that.

I just couldn't let that happen.

If nothing else, being an overtly protective Police Chief's daughter had one advantage - before Charlie had let me go off to college he insisted I take a self defense course the local police department offered every once in a while. Back then I had laughed, then groaned when he had paired me off with Deputy Williams, one of the rookie officers fresh from Police Academy. I had been embarrassed because I had found him to be rather cute, and certainly hadn't protested when he touched me - that is until he had me in a headlock and was actually putting pressure on my shoulders hard enough to make them pop. Unlike the others, he had felt the need to prove to his superior that he was a good officer and not out to grope the Chief's daughter, and while I had hated him then, now I sent a quick prayer of thanks to wherever life and rotation had delivered him.

Troublemaker clearly saw me as a fragile, small woman who had next to no physical strength and way too much decency to fight dirty. He even let out a triumphant grunt when he felt me relax under him so he could wedge his leg between my thighs, feeling like I was already spreading them ready for the taking. Too bad he disregarded the fact that this in turn put my knee between his legs, also.

Good timing and a lot of luck helped me coordinate shoving my knee into his 'nads with the ball of my hand punching into his cheek bone, my fingers searching frantically for his nostrils and eyes. He howled with pain and hunched over, giving me an opening to wriggle out from under him that might have been enough under different circumstances - only there was nowhere to flee inside a fifteen-by-fifteen ft. cell. Before I knew it he had jumped me from behind, throwing me face-first into the floor, and this time he payed attention to any natural weapons I could use against him.

Lying on my stomach made things harder for him but eventually he rolled me over, a few hard slaps making me taste blood and stunning me for seconds at a time. I still bit, spit and clawed at everything I could reach, tearing clumps of his hair out and leaving bloody trails with my ragged fingernails. It was a losing battle, but at least trying to defend myself gave me something to do so I didn't even get tempted to just lie there like a dead fish and let it happen.

Eventually he succeeded in ripping my blouse open and yanking my jeans and panties down to my knees, the rigid fabric trapping my legs. My arms were also pinned down under one of his hands, and he leered down at me with insanity burning in his eyes.

"You think you've won already?" I pressed out, spitting at him one last time - before I bit my lip and forced my bladder and bowels to empty themselves. Thinking of Deputy Williams one last time, I thanked him again for the most disgusting advice ever - rape is about power, and there's only so much extra humiliation you can deal to a woman who goes that far to keep you from doing the deed.

"You fucking cunt!"

A punch to my jaw snapped my head back, then I felt his hands shove my jeans further down so he could wrench my thighs open. The realization that he was still hell-bent on raping me was swimming through my head like a fluffy cloud, at least until I felt the tip of his cock hard against my pussy. My whole body seized up and I didn't know if I should try to relax so it would hurt less, or keep as much tension up as possible to make it harder for him. No one ever tells you stuff like that, after all. I hadn't yet made up my mind when I heard him grunt with satisfaction, and I knew that every second now the thought would be moot anyway. I lost. He won.

Only that the moment never came.

He was just about to thrust forward with his hips as his body was yanked off me, from my perspective flying backwards up towards the ceiling and then across the room. A shock of bronze hair and a set of swirling green eyes replaced the image that would remain frozen in my brain forever, but after a second Suit Guy turned away from me to where two of the other guards were busy holding Troublemaker's thrashing body down on the floor.

With a comically slow motion Suit Guy crouched down over him after he kicked his legs apart, then sat on his thighs with his knees digging deep into the bunching muscles, immobilizing my would-be rapist in turn. The others each pressed down on his spread arms and shoulders, leaving just his head, and now flaccid cock, the only parts of his body that he could still move. Why I noticed the latter, I didn't know, but right then my brain wasn't capable of forming a single coherent thought. I didn't even possess the urge to cover myself, remaining half lying on the floor in just my bra and with my soiled jeans tangled around my calves and ankles.

"You know, one thing about situations like this is how it brings people together," he mused, smiling down at the man underneath him as if he were telling tales to a child. "There I spend my time collecting intelligent quotes about nihilism and anarchy, but the only thing that comes to my mind now are three simple words. What. The. Fuck."

He cleared his throat but never took his eyes off the other man's face as he went on.

"I've often wondered just what makes a guy want to rape a woman. Or a man. Or a goat, for all I care. I just don't get it, and trust me, I understand a hell of a lot of motivations for violent behavior out there. As for sex, I get why you'd want to seduce a married woman. Or turn a shy virgin into a wanton slut. The rush of being the driving force behind an event of that magnitude is clear to me. There are only a few things more powerful than having a willing woman writhe underneath you, to make her forget who she is in the throes of passion, that I understand. But what's the merit of sticking your prick into a girl who just fucking shit herself just to keep you from violating her? That's unless you're into scat, I mean, but that aside, please, do enlighten me."

Unsurprisingly, Troublemaker remained silent while he glared up at Suit Guy with a mixture of baleful hate and obvious fear. A whole minute ticked by before Suit Guy sighed, the sound more telling than a hundred words.

"Thought so. Tell me, do you like Tarantino movies?"

The question came so out of the blue that Troublemaker even answered. "Sure. Who doesn't?"

"What's your favorite?"

Realizing that he had been made to talk against his will he shut up again, but that didn't vex Suit Guy in the least.

"Let me guess, it's 'Kill Bill'. Because all you sleazy guys who have never in their entire life held a weapon that needs you to get up close and personal with someone love that movie. Don't get me wrong, it's great, and that knife fight at the beginning, phew, gets me harder than most porn flicks on the net every time I see it, while you have to google for 'Brazilian fart porn' or 'Asian girls puking into each other's mouth' to get hard."

If I hadn't been so utterly out of my mind, I might have laughed at that quote. Suit Guy meanwhile went on, now sporting a rather nasty grin.

"Because, you should know, I have a thing for knives."

As he uttered the words he reached back to his left calf and withdrew a wicked looking knife from a sheath hidden under his cargo pants. He looked at it with something very close to adoration, turning it so that the dull metal of the partially serrated edged blade was clearly visible in all its seven inch long glory.

"My baby, a SOG SEAL team knife. A trusty companion for the longest part of my journey," he mused. Turning his attention back to Troublemaker, he went on conversationally.

"See, my favorite Tarantino movie is 'Inglourious Basterds'. Christoph Waltz as Col. Hans Landa is a revelation, and the film itself is next to perfect. But now that you know of my proclivity for edged weapons, you might hazard a guess why I'm telling you this. I'll help you a little, let's pretend I have a real fondness for the character of Lt. Aldo Raine, the dashing leader of the Basterds."

A flicker of a thought tried to form in my mind but was quickly squashed by the avalanche of emotions trying to break free, but even so I felt a satisfied fluster start in my stomach. Troublemaker either had no idea what Suit Guy was talking about or refused to show anything.

"You were right before when you told her you're someone important, you know? Too bad, really, but negotiations with your father have been going very well, I'm afraid to say. So well indeed that I can't bring it over myself to do what I really want, but have to let you live. Not being independently wealthy sucks sometimes."

A dramatic sigh, and he went on.

"Our little killing spree across the country turned out to eat the budget of a small banana republic, so you're too valueable for me to have some real fun with you. I'm just burning to sink my knife into your body, eviscerate you so I can strangle you with your intestines."

He let that sink in.

"I think that's a terrible death, evisceration. It could take hours, really, maybe even days to bleed out, and I imagine the agony to be staggering. It's what I think you deserve, and I've been looking forward to it since you first started harassing her. Too bad I won't get the chance now."

Troublemaker was sporting a rather stupid smirk once the other man fell silent, going from afraid for his life to sure of his victory in less than thirty seconds.

"Really too bad, I could cry. Now get off me, you jerk!"

"Not so fast, I only said I couldn't kill you, I didn't say I was done with you already."

Suit Guy looked at his knife, then back at his victim.

"I never thought I'd get into a situation where I could apply anything from that movie. I normally don't bash people's skulls in with baseball batts, and I have no use for taking scalps. But you, my friend, are in a situation quite similar to that of Col. Landa, pointedly so, even. Do you know what I mean?"

Silence.

"To jog up your memory, let me recount the part of the movie I meant. You see, the Basterds - the Jewish Allies commando troop - were out to hunt and kill Nazis. But every once in a while they would let one of their captives free to spread the tale of their deeds, usually after the lucky boy had seen the wrong in his ways and promised to lay down his weapons and never, ever spread the ideology of the National Socialist German Workers Party again. But as Lt. Raine put it, therein lies the problem, as even without his weapons and uniform and insignia a Nazi still remains a Nazi, only that now no one would see him for that any longer. Subsequently he let the captive go after giving him a very special gift. A gift he also bestowed upon Col. Landa who, in a truly cunning plan, turned against his former associates and helped to assassinate the whole Nazi high command in this most refreshing fantasy. But Raine felt that he like any German soldier they let go, was still a Nazi at heart even if he lived in the US henceforth."

During his recount his eyes had lit up with glee, the emotion now plastered all over his face.

"Can you guess what said gift was? No? Ah, too bad, I have to remedy that lack of imagination. To make sure that everyone knew they'd been Nazis, he carved a swastika into their foreheads. Obviously, that won't do for you, because whatever your faults are, I don't think you're a Nazi. Although I figure you'll soon wish you were, because it only takes six cuts to finish a swastika, while 'rapist' has six whole letters.'

Looking up to Burly Guy, who had just entered the room looking grim, he jerked his chin down in one quick nod.

"Would you be so kind to hold his head, I really don't want to mess this up. Maybe it's going to be my masterpiece, too."

Troublemaker let out a cry and heightened his efforts to get away, but to no avail. Suit Guy gave him several minutes to realize the futility of his struggling before he changed the grip on his knife and got down to business. No one even tried to shut Troublemaker up as he started to shriek and curse at the top of his lungs, and while Suit Guy's forehead was creased in concentration, he sure looked quite satisfied with the reaction he got.

The thought that I should maybe feel sorry for Troublemaker crossed my still addled mind, but I couldn't find an ounce of compassion inside me. Hell, if anyone asked me, he more than deserved what he got.

Endless minutes later that after a while started to drag on my very soul Suit Guy was done, and he leaned back a little to admire his work.

"Maybe not a masterpiece, but good enough. I know, first thing when you're out of here you'll go to your daddy and ask him to pay for the plastic surgeon like the spoiled princess you are, but I'm sure the picture won't disappear from the tabloids."

He then grabbed his victim's hair and yanked his head up so that I got a first good look at his blood stained forehead, the letters spelled out in deep, red cuts. Looking over his shoulder at me, Suit Guy grinned.

"Like it?"

Blinking, I forced the fog from my mind so I could at least answer. Thankfully, my nod seemed enough for him.

"Ah, I like it, too. Think it's enough?"

I pondered that question, tried to figure out what I should say and whether I could live with the consequences, but the answer was easy enough.

"No."

Suit Guy flashed me an even brighter grin before he turned back to study his handywork again.

"Neither do I." Now speaking again to Troublemaker, he went on. "Say, do you like the movie 'Fight Club'? Not quite as good as the novel, which is a true piece of art, but still, Brad Pitt, Edward Norton, Helena Bonham Carter, they couldn't have found a better cast. I hate to live up to stereotypes, but in my devotion to Chuck Palahnuik's work I have to abide by the clichée."

He waited a few seconds for a reply that didn't come, then shrugged.

"Okay, be like that, I really don't care. I'm sure you've seen the film, though probably never read the book, because you're just the guy who gets a kick out of it. There is that one scene where the dutiful members of Project Mayhem grab Commissioner Jacobs and threaten to cut off his balls and send them to the news papers - I always loved that scene. Now who has a rubber band for me?"

Burly Guy produced two from somewhere, not only surprising me.

"Dude, you actually carry fucking rubber bands around with you? Why?"

Burly Guy shrugged.

"Thought they might come in handy, you never know, right? You can fix everything with rubber bands."

Suit Guy shook his head and sighed loudly.

"Duct tape, man, you can fix everything with duct tape! But whatever, hand 'em over."

Laying the still bloody knife down on Troublemaker's stomach he accepted the rubber bands, then snapped them around Troublemaker's genitalia, seemingly not intimidated by touching another guy's cock. Getting more nervous by the second, Troublemaker finally deigned to speak up, his voice harsh from screaming before.

"Okay, okay, I get it, you're the one in charge, you're a fucking hero and all that jazz, and you glorify stupid films like the sixteen year old geek you were when you first read that stinking book. You think that stupid bitch will let you fuck her if you carve me up and threaten to cut off my junk, be my guest. But that skank's so not worth it, you'll just get a shit-load of diseases from her! But I see where you don't care as you'll be dead tomorrow evening anyway!"

He didn't seem to impress anyone with his tantrum.

"You really think I'm doing that to impress her? Gee, where are we, high school? No, my dear friend, I'm doing this because I can." He took up the knife again and held it closer to Troublemaker's face, smirking down at him. "Because I'm a fucking psychopathic control freak and this is the ride of my life, and you stupid mongrel just don't know when to shut up."

Still grinning he leaned back and experimentally poked his victim's penis with the tip, but didn't break the skin as far as I could see. He still got a gasp and rather girly whine in response, both clearly suiting him.

"Living up to the stereotype, you probably think I will now play it all like in 'Fight Club' and spare your less than impressive dick, being content that every time you will stick it into some unlucky bitch you'll think of me?" He thought about his own words, even struck a thinking pose. "You know, I like that idea. Makes me wonder if you'll get a single hard-on ever. I guess it's too bad for you that I'm an even bigger Frank Miller fan."

Contrary to Troublemaker I got the reference to 'Sin City', but I was too slow to turn my head away, or even close my eyes. Maybe my sub-conscience even wanted me to see, regardless of the way my stomach lurged.

Still smiling nearly benignly, Suit Guy grabbed Troublemaker's cock, and then cut it off a good inch away from the rubber bands at the base.

Time stood still for a moment of silence, the split second it took for pain to register and triumph to bloom, and strangely enough, it was Suit Guy who was the faster to react. Shoving the limp, blood-dripping penis into Troublemaker's mouth, he clamped his hand down over his lips before the other man could start screaming. And scream he did, even muffled this way, a sound that cut right down to the deepest layers of my soul.

Already in shock, my mind fled right back to the cozy, white place where nothing could happen to me and I was safe from all the bad and psychotic people my life was filled with at the moment. Too bad for her, Mrs. Perkins didn't have the same luxury, and instead of falling into a stupor she started crying, loud sobs shaking her whole body. A note of vexation intruded into my Happy Place as I felt a little insulted that watching me about to get raped hadn't drawn any such reaction from her, but that evaporated the moment Lanky Guy aimed his gun and shot her right between the eyes. I felt the wet splatters hit my cheeks but didn't even blink, torn between watching one fountain of blood over the other.

A hand grabbed my arm and tugged me to my feet, and for a moment rising panic pushed the cotton haze of shock away from my thoughts. I barely cut off the rising scream before it could leave my lips as my eyes met those unsettling green orbs, before Suit Guy started dragging me towards the door, ignoring that I couldn't exactly walk with my jeans still entangled around my legs. Just inside the door he reached down and tore the shackle from around my ankle, leaving it for one of the others to collect as he dragged me on into the corridor.

A single sob that was more a gasp of pain from him nearly wrenching my shoulder escaped me, and he stopped, rounding on me with an unreadable look on his face.

"Not you, too. I really didn't do this for you, but it would be a waste if I'd had to shoot you if you lost it now. I'm not him, I'm not going to violate you, but if I don't lock you up somewhere else, you won't survive the night. Okay?"

Running on auto pilot more than actual thought I nodded, even acknowledged his words with a hollow, "Okay." He turned away from me and continued on, still more lugging me along than letting me stumble after him. Down a flight of stairs and several corridors later he stopped and pushed me inside another derelict, tiled community bathroom, this one even housing a few showers. Without his support I fell onto the hard floor, tasting blood in my mouth as I bit down hard on my tongue.

"Strip."

My throat tightened at the simple command and I felt my fingers grow numb, but then I slowly flopped over so I could look back up at him. Suit Guy hadn't followed me into the room. The evident fear on my face seemed to disgust him if anything, and he went on a little less harshly.

"If you haven't noticed, your clothes are either torn or soiled from your vain attempt to save what's left of your dignity. Take them off and clean yourself, I'll throw them in the washer and bring you something to wear until they're dry. You can be afraid of me because of many things, but not that."

I didn't know why but I actually believed him as I started to undress, although my main motive to speed up was still self preservation as I watched him clean up his knife and put it back into its sheath. When he held out his hand I wrapped the bundle of filthy clothes around each other in an attempt to keep him from touching anything really disgusting but he didn't even flinch, just nodded towards the sink.

"There's a bar of soap that you can use, but you'll have to make do with cold water only. I'll be back shortly."

I was still standing where he had left me when the door swung shut and I heard the bolt engaging, but a second later what was left of my strength waned as I fell to my knees, clutching myself as inaudible sobs burst from my body.

Two minutes I allowed myself to lose it, alone on the cold tiles, my chest tight with panic and my thoughts full of despair. But then I forced myself to calm, and while I still couldn't really think, it was enough to drag myself over to grab the soap and start one of the showers.

I didn't feel the cold of the water even though I broke out into goose bumps immediately, and once I started scrubbing at every inch of skin I didn't care about anything except getting clean again once more. Of course the stains I tried to get off myself were none any kind of detergent could get rid off, but that only spurned me on further.

I couldn't say how long I had been under the icy spray, but I was shivering all over, my teeth clattering hard when the door opened again, admitting just a hand holding a towel out to me. I appreciated the gesture and quickly hobbled over the floor to take it, wrapping myself into the dingy fabric as well as I could. It didn't seem to do a good job soaking up the water but it was better than nothing, and it was large enough to cover most of my body from between my arm pits to my knees when Suit Guy opened the door fully and gestured for me to step out into the hall. Not touching me this time he led me down another corridor, then on into a room not much smaller than the cell I had been in for the last few days. There was even a similar bucket there, although the ratty mattress on the floor was definitely an improvement, as was the small stack of clothes resting on it.

They turned out to be a pair of lace panties still sealed in cellophane, sweat pants and a tank top, all slightly too small for me but due to the nature of the garments that wasn't really an issue. I hurried to put them on, semi-conscious of the man still in the same room with me, but when I turned to face him once I had tugged down the top, I saw him studying some stains on the walls that I really hoped were mold and water instead of me.

"Fit?"

"Perfectly."

He gave a curt nod but didn't even stare at where my nipples were poking at the cotton of the tank top, and reached for the door.

"I'll be back with your dinner in a few. You can use the time to settle in into your new home."

I didn't miss the smile that tugged his lips up as he turned away, and hastily blurted out a "Thank you!"

He stopped in mid-motion, then shot me a side-long glance.

"You're welcome."

Then he was gone, and I was alone again. With nothing else to do, I sat down on the mattress, trying to ignore the stains present there, too - and waited.

It took him longer to return than I had anticipated, but at least that gave me time to collect myself further. I still felt numb, so utterly numb as if someone had pushed the purge button of my soul and flushed all my emotions own the drain. I had expected for my mind to succumb to more nothingness, but I could think relatively clear, albeit my head pounded with a light ache lack of sleep had likely caused. But I wasn't afraid or horrified, not even repulsed by what I had seen. I still felt like my skin was coated with a layer of filth from where that asshole had been touching me, but that was the extent of it.

Disturbingly enough I felt my pulse speed up with something else than fear when the door opened and Suit Guy returned, carrying two wrapped up subs from Subway and a sixpack of water bottles. He handed me one of the sandwiches and took the other one and a bottle with him across the room where he settled onto the floor Indian style, before he tore into his meal.

"I hope you don't mind me staying here for my dinner? But after seeing those mongrels nonstop for days, the company's getting a little stale."

"Suit yourself," I replied, then nearly snickered at the play on the nickname I had given him inside of my head. He stopped chewing for a moment as he regarded me levelly, but then shrugged and went on. Turning to my own meal, I was surprised that I could even think of eating, let alone feel hunger gnawing on my insides, but the moment the scent of fresh tomatoes and salad hit my nostrils my body started claimoring for sustenance. Hesitant at first as I expected to puke almost instantly I started eating, but soon chewed with nearly the same enthusiasm as my uncanny companion for this meal.

"Ah, nothing like castrating idiots to stir up a good appetite."

The next bite was a little hard to swallow but I managed.

"Observing that happening has the same effect, surprisingly."

He grinned at my answer and took a deep drag from the bottle.

"It does, huh? At least I don't have to force-feed you at gun point again."

His recount of our previous conversation made my heart flutter, and this time I couldn't deny the reason for it. I wasn't even that embarrassed when I admitted to myself that on some level I enjoyed flirting with him - and I quickly told myself that in any case I could always claim Stockholm Syndrome as a plausible reason.

"A penny for your thoughts? Not that you don't have enough reason to frown like that, but I always find it fascinating what strange and unbefitting things the human mind comes up with when confronted with severe emotional trauma."

Instead of answering right away I took another bite, then picked up a piece of bacon from inside the sandwich to nibble at.

"Do you think I should feel guilty, or at least some sympathy for him?"

Suit Guy grunted, then leaned closer as he fixed me with an intense stare.

"Do you think you should?"

"Society would dictate it, right? I mean that's what they always say in movies and books, every rape victim feels like she somehow deserved it, or at least called it down upon herself. Shows what a kind soul she is, even then. And surely I should be scandalized that you cut his dick off, there must be other ways of exerting justice. Know what I mean?"

"I guess I do. But your tone tells me that you don't agree."

I shook my head.

"I don't feel guilty. Yes, I talked back to him, but that doesn't justify rape. Nothing does. If you ask me if he deserved it - again - I think my answer is a simple yes, he did. No remorse, no excuses."

My reply clearly amused him.

"So no hard feelings that I let him live? No begging me to off him for good so you can sleep well at night again?"

"I don't think killing him would help me sleep, and in a way, letting him live isn't really an act of mercy." Balling up the sandwich wrapper in my hands I studied my still filthy nails for a moment, then looked up at him again, seeking eye contact.

"You are really going to let him live, then? Like you said, get the ransom money and he goes free. What about the rest of us? Is it really going to be that simple?"

He weighed his answer for a while before he shook his head.

"Not that simple, no. I hate having to go back on my word as I generally try hard to uphold my promises, but I gave that before ... circumstances changed."

"Meaning?"

"Before we learned just who we had accidentally snatched up, which complicates things."

I was surprised that he was answering me so openly, but didn't protest, of course.

"You didn't strike me as someone who would corrupt their own principles for money."

He laughed at that, ending with a lopsided grin.

"I didn't expect naive idealism from you after all that."

"Not naive idealism," I clarified, trying hard to explain a hunch I didn't fully understand myself. "I get that your killing spree, as you defined it, uses a lot of finances. But it simply doesn't fit, if anything I would understand you letting him live so he could wallow in his misery for the next decades, but not because his dad hands over the big bucks."

"Somewhere a Hollywood screenwriter cries right now, for the person who seems to understand me best is a random girl I snatched up in a bank robbery," he mused, the intensity in his stare nearly too much for me to bear.

"Random, my ass. You took me with you because I sassed off to you before you drew your gun."

His laugh confirmed my guess.

"As I said, cheesy coincidence, wouldn't you say?"

I wisely kept my mouth shut, only this time he didn't let it slide.

"Which brings me to another point. Why aren't you afraid of me?"

His question nearly caused me to choke on the last bit of water.

"Excuse me? I'm scared out of my wits because of you!"

"But there's a difference between because of me, and of me."

My laugh sounded a little too close to derisive for his liking, I could see that in his eyes, and that look sobered me up fast.

"Don't worry, I'm afraid of you, too, if that's what you wanted to hear. But you're predictable to a certain point, I mean you don't act like a fucking lunatic, and that in turn makes you kind of makes you trustworthy."

"Nice save," he jibed, then scratched his chin. "Why didn't you answer my question earlier? You must know that evading me might anger me enough to make me get violent."

"True," I admitted, then briefly closed my eyes hoping it wasn't the last thing I'd ever do. "But you didn't answer mine, either. An answer for an answer?"

He seemed to weigh the merrit of that, before he laughed. "You've got guts, I give you that. Okay, an answer for an answer. I'll go first, so that means you owe me when I'm done."

I didn't know if the glint in his eyes was just playful malice or something more, but he went on before I could figure it out.

"You were right, if it were just about the money I would have carved that asshole up from navel to neck, but as it is, I'm not alone in this endeavor. You probably don't know, or just like me don't care, who he is, but the authorities do. You see, we've been doing this a little over two years now, and I'm proud to say that our last stunt before this one got me into the FBI's Top Ten Most Wanted list. Suffice it to say, our little exchange tomorrow will not only draw a lot of attention from the media. Ever since we accidentally offed a representative of the Senate in Ohio we've had some US Marshals breathing down our neck, and as it is, one of my compatriots has a thing for the gorgeous Marshal Barbie."

It didn't surprise me to hear that this was by far not their first crime, but the rest was astaunding - particularly the last part.

"Don't tell me you're doing this to impress a girl? I mean, seriously?"

He chuckled.

"Not me, and not really to impress her, but my friend insists that they have a connection, and as our dear would-be rapist won't leave the premises unscathed I'd say it's a deal I can live with. With a lot of luck he'll even live to see the disappointment in his daddy's eyes."

"Luck?"

"As I said, can't let you go just like that."

For one reason or another, I was sure he meant me, personally, with that instead of all the hostages. My heart did another one of those unsettling double-thumps, and I was also sure he wasn't oblivious of the effect his words had on me.

"Care to elaborate?"

"Hm, not now, maybe later. Now, what about you?"

Catching my lip between my teeth I debated with myself what I should say, but I didn't really dare lie to him. And considering what he had rescued me from, I was sure that my most embarrassing moment of the day already lay behind me.

"I was thinking that, uh, I find you weirdly attractive."

"Attractive, huh?"

It was either breaking into cold sweat at the feral look he sent me or try to overplay it, and like before I chose sass over fright.

"Yeah, now go on make fun of the stupid girl who's so predictable that she even rocks some nice Stockholm Syndrome, I can take it. It's not like you don't get that every other round of hostages."

"Surprisingly, the whole executing people keeps most women uninterested in me, whatever psychological malfunctions their minds might be succumbing to otherwise. But it's quite remarkable that the feeling is mutual."

Again I knew the last sentence was about me, and that didn't help me one bit, even though my traitorous heart had to do that flutter thing again.

"Oh, really? Somehow I doubt you're mitten with some gun-toting anarchist who might or might not put a bullet between your eyes if you mouth off too much to him."

His resounding laugh seemed to caress over the goose bumps springing up all over my body, but he sobered quickly.

"Who knows? I think given the chance you'd be lethal with a gun, too." I couldn't hold his gaze after that, partially because I couldn't deny that my reluctance to defend my life at all cost had been greatly decreased over the course of the last few days. He continued talking after it became apparent that I had no intention of looking at him any time soon.

"I know it sounds terribly cliché, and you should know by now how much I hate being put into metaphorical boxes, but I felt something like a spark jump between us in the bank. You know, before I pulled my gun and rained bloody murder onto the hallmark of consumerism, and all that."

Biting my tongue I tried to come up with a witty answer instead of a stupid grin, but failed. I still gasped in surprise when I felt the mattress under me tilt slightly as he sat down on the other end of it, distant enough not to crowd me, but close enough that when he leaned towards me, his fingers could ghost lightly over my cheek. I winced at the pain coming from the blooming bruises my valiant attempt to fend of that idiot had brought me, but still reveled in the gesture.

"I would have brought you some ice but we don't have any. Blame whoever invented the portable electric cooler for that."

His snarky remark made me laugh and look up, a mistake as I couldn't look away from his mesmerizing eyes once our gazes had locked.

"Tell me, if I hadn't started all this, if I had just been any other guy who was there to whine for some loans rate extension, would you have gone on a coffee date with me?"

The answer was surprisingly hard to come by, and I decided to follow the nagging voice of my conscience.

"No, I wouldn't. I've got -"

"A boyfriend, I know, the trustworthy young man so eager to help you tide over your recent loss of employment. Still, if I'd been persistent, and trust me, I can be a hell of a lot persistent, would you have let me buy you a Latte or whatever girly foamy abomination you'd chosen and try to talk you into seeing me again?"

I mulled that over in my mind for nearly a minute, but the answer didn't come any easier to me. I knew I should remain with my denial, but at the same time my mind started constructing a whole fantasy based on his words. First a date, then some kisses stolen from each other where no one would see - we'd exchange phone numbers, write emails, meet in dingy hotels to have a hot, passionate affair that left me crashing and burning in the end - because eventually my sense of right and wrong would force me to choose, and my parents had raised me to be a good girl. I would chose the trustworthy, faithful husband-to-be who had proposed to me three years ago with the romantic candle light dinner routine, instead of taking off with the ruggedly handsome stranger I knew nothing about.

Being the good girl really sucked.

"There, you do it again, all those thoughts that run across your face and I have no idea what they mean but am dying to find out. I wish I could read your mind so I could see them all right inside your head."

The smile that came unbidden to my face was wry, but nevertheless real.

"Just played through that scenario."

"Scenario?"

"Yeah, what you just said, coffee date, affair, getting locked unhappily inside a marriage I can't really stand with a man who's so bland that my parents both love him, that whole thing."

"So I'd be just that, an affair? Rough and tumble between motel sheets before you leave me standing in the rain for some guy you feel obliged to because he pays your rent? And that's what you want?"

"Not what I want," I admitted with something between a scoff and a chuckle. "But it would be what I'd choose. What my parents raised me to choose. I'd do the right thing."

"Who tells you what the right thing is? Shouldn't you be following your heart or something? Isn't that what all the love songs are always about? Love at first sight, everlasting love, true love overcomes all obstacles?"

"Yeah, I don't think they meant running off with a murdering criminal who happens to be one of the most intelligent guys I've ever met, but still goes around killing people who make it their mission in life to ruin my day. Although that might have been considered romantic in times long gone, I guess. But as you didn't do it for me, the point is moot."

His answering grin stunned me a little, and only when I felt his knee bump against my leg did I notice that he had moved a little closer.

"Romance is dead, anyway. The only guys who believe in that are those emasculated fools who buy roses and sing love songs because their mommies later wished they'd been wooed that way, but would never have fallen for that shit themselves. You don't really strike me as a woman who falls for that shit."

It was hard to really think with him so close, but I did my best as I cast around for a good reply.

"Maybe you're wrong then. Maybe I'm a Mary Sue like all the other girls who'd sell the keys to their chastity belt to the first guy who'd pay them in flowers."

My words clearly suited him.

"I don't think so. Maybe you go around pretending to be like that, but inside you're screaming, trying to break out of the cage of conventions and just be yourself for once in your life."

"And you think I should do that by throwing myself at you now, confessing my undying devotion and letting you fuck me into oblivion?"

As it seemed, my brain had taken greater damage than I though, as I couldn't explain why I said that even after the words spilled over my lips. He obviously found the idea amusing, judging from the smirk he graced me with.

"I don't know, I think it's a little early for such oaths, don't you? And if you really launch yourself at me I do expect a little more enthusiasm and participation from you."

The weight of his gaze threatened to choke me, and finally I was able to look away, instead inspecting the threadbare mattress cover.

"Forget I said that. I think I hurt my head harder when he bashed my skull against the wall than I thought."

At the edge of my vision I saw him first go still, then tense a little, but his voice had lost nothing of the silky quality when he answered.

"No, I won't, but as I said before, I don't go where I'm not invited. You should probably re-think that plan anyway, after all I am the murdering psychopath I seem to be. Not quite prime material to live out your Ikea nesting instinct with."

"So you don't have the glass dishes with the enclosed bubbles handcrafted by the indigenous peoples of wherever at home? Now I'm so disappointed."

I had barely enough time to look up to grin at him as his face was suddenly right in front of mine, his eyes too close for me to really focus on them anymore. And then we were kissing, not a tender, loving, slow kiss, but full of need, hunger, passion, and at least on my part, desperation. The bruises on my cheek and jaw hurt and I think I cut the barely scabbed over wound on my tongue open against his teeth, but none of that mattered. He was there, and suddenly I needed to feel his touch, needed to bleed off all the fear and dread coiled up deep in my stomach that had been festering there for the last few hours - but that wasn't the whole truth, as the kiss roused something from years of slumber that I had thought lost a long time ago.

We both stared at each other panting heavily as we broke the kiss and came up for air, his fingers still threaded through my hair at the back of my head while mine were bunching up the front of his t-shirt. I couldn't read the look on his face but was sure he saw everything plain on mine, and it was like a punch to my gut when he extricated himself from my grasp and came to his feet.

"I'm not saying no," he offered as he saw the pain in my eyes. "I just really need a drink. And so do you, or you will once you hear what I have to tell you."

He was only gone for a few minutes, but that time was enough for me to have not one but three major crises of faith. To sum it up, I was sure I had lost my mind, and it felt surprisingly good to admit that. Shirk all responsibility, pretend not to be able to think, and no one can hold you responsible for your actions. At least that was the mantra that won over the urge to bash my head repeatedly against the stained walls.

Then he was back with a bottle of Johnny Walker and two mismatched glasses, pouring one for him, and at my nod the second for me. The whiskey burned my throat on the way down but I welcomed it, settling against the cool wall at my back while he did the same opposite me. I didn't know whether to be glad or hurt that he kept his distance, but when he set the glass down and started rubbing the knife down with the Scotch he'd brought I opted not to give the question any more thought.

"So what is it that you have to tell me?" I finally ventured, the way he seemed to be caressing the weapon unsettling me. He still ignored me for a moment, turning the knife so that the light of the setting sun outside glinted along its sharp edge.

"It's a story about me, my knife, and my sister. Or the day I like to think of my birthday, rather than that random date when the whore that conceived me unleashed me onto this hellhole."

That was enough for me to know that I didn't want to listen to what he had to tell me, but he was probably right in his assessment that I really needed to hear it nevertheless.

"And it's exactly what you think it is," he added, sounding as calm as if he were reciting a grocery shopping list to me, while he winked. "The first time I cut someone up was my sister, and girl, she had it coming, that bitch."

I didn't know what to make of that so I remained silent, and he was quick to launch into his tale, the knife balanced loosely between his fingertips.

"You see, it's everything a younger brother can be cursed with. Three years my senior, captain of the cheerleading squad, dating the star quarterback who was such a jerk that even at fourteen I couldn't look up to him. Every day I had to suffer through her incessant squeals, exuberant speeches about how shiney her blond hair was and how gorgeous her boob job. Destined to be a mindless trophy wife, even at seventeen there was nothing real about her any more, just an endless display of artificial glamour."

By then his eyes had taken on a faraway look, while he kept twirling the knife around his fingers with practised ease.

"She was a real bitch to me, all the time. Actually thought she was better than me, because she was Dad's favorite. Whatever she did, I always ended up getting blamed for it. So one day I had enough, and decided to deliver onto her what she really deserved."

The knife stopped and he curled his fingers around the hilt, again admiring the blade before he looked back over to me.

"Our parents were out, at the opera, La Traviata. My sister should have been babysitting me, but of course she was out with her boyfriend. I was actually glad to be on my own, at least I could read undisturbed by her constant blathering. But an hour after curfew she came home and brought that imbecile of a jerk with her, and I had to listen to them getting it on in her room, with her moaning and shouting like an over-enthusiastic porn star. Even if she hadn't been my sister, just hearing that would have kept me from jerking off for weeks. Then again his grunting and "yeah, baby, yeah, you're so sexy!" did their own thing to unbalance me.

"But stamina he had, I think they were going at it for over an hour when I snapped and got out the hunting knife my grandpa had gotten for my thirteenth birthday. It looked a lot like this one, only without the matte finish, and it was smaller, only 4.75 inch blade. Ideal for me then. Dad had promised to take me hunting so I might use it, but of course the only excursion we made was to a fucking beauty pageant for my sister. I thought it was well deserved I'd christen it with her blood then."

Again he admired the knife, but as he went on, his eyes were boring into mine as I suppressed a shiver.

"I'll spare you the gory details. They're somehow ... private to me, probably like an innocent girl's first wet dream. Suffice it to say, she screamed like a stuck pig, fighting so much that she literally impaled herself several times on the blade. It was weird to see the gelatinous silicone leak out of her tits, but oddly fascinating. Seems like Daddy didn't get his girl the best there is to have for money after all, they shouldn't have ruptured so easily. Still, paled compared to the divine visual of her skin just parting under my knife, muscles as easily sliced through as tendons. Skin is surprisingly durable, if you just press the edge of the blade into it, it's flexible to a point. Then there's blood welling into the cut, fresh and red, but if you cut at an angle and don't press down too much, it won't spill over so quickly ..."

He trailed off there, probably because he marvelled at how white I had gotten in the face, but I refused to let the whimper that was clawing at my throat spill forth.

"Either way, I killed him first, he was too strong - physically - for me to best him so I had to make sure that he wouldn't get in the way. Then I tortured her, took my time until I heard my parents come up the gravel driveway. I left everything as it was, just went over to my room, hid the blood-stained clothes, then showered and locked myself in my closet. Where they found me, endless forty-five minutes later after they'd called the police, and one of the detectives asked whether there had been someone else in the house. See, my own parents forgot about me, and I had time aplenty to work out the kinks of the story I was about to tell.

"Everyone believed that it was a break-in gone wrong. The idiots had climbed in through the window when they got home, torn down half of my mother's priced roses, so there was even a trail to follow. Audacious they called it; the tabloids were very fond of the word. It was all over the news, and they even found the killer, some meth addict named Jimbo. Added rape to the charges, too, called the evidence overwhelming. No one suspected me for even a second, but my mother stopped speaking to me nevertheless. They'd taken her little girl from her and left a bloody mess, to her, both her children had died."

His head sank back against the wall as he briefly looked up at the ceiling, then through his lashes over to me.

"I'm a monster, and I've always embraced it. But that's been the only hate crime on my tab, unless you count that stupid fucker upstairs, too. Very few of my victims ever deserved it. I'm no vigilante, I'm a killer, and I don't kill for money, I kill because I can. Because I enjoy it. More often than not I don't even want the people dead, I just want to be the one to end their life. See that fleeting look on their faces, that hope for something better to come - and then the light in their eyes dies, they become these hard, unseeing orbs inside a body that's not quite given up yet - very poetic if you consider it. The windows to the soul, the first thing to change. Of course shooting people is a lot less satisfying than letting them bleed out or strangling them, it's so sudden they usually don't see it coming, and if anything only look surprised. Too bad you can't really accumulate a proper headcount any other way than with a gun."

Draining the rest of the whiskey in his glass he sat it down on the floor, then took a deep gulp from the bottle.

"Does my little tale disgust you? Make you want to run screaming from me? Am I really someone who you'd like to touch you?"

I thought about his acerbic remarks, but didn't really find a good answer.

"Disgust? Maybe a little, but it's nothing I couldn't have come up with on my own. Run screaming? Not very likely, I'd just become the next faceless body in a probably really long line. Are you someone who I'd like to be touched by? I don't know, but nothing you've just told me has changed my mind about that. To me, it just doesn't feel connected. I know it should, but it doesn't."

"What if it's connected for me?"

I blinked at the question, not quite understanding it. He was only too happy to elaborate.

"To me, cutting someone is sexually arousing to a point. Can't deny the idea of taking it a step farther doesn't give me a hard-on."

Way to squash a girl's romantic daydreams.

"You mean you want to carve me up while you fuck me?"

For some reason he found that incredibly funny.

"Ah, no, and before you go there, I'm so not into necrophilia, either. But cut you a little, a few shallow lacerations, just enough to bleed, maybe not even enough to scar, why not?"

The idea was so out there for me that I had a really hard time wrapping my head around it.

"Is that kind of a condition for you? You only have sex with a woman if she's so blindly devoted to you that she doesn't care what happens to her?"

Another one of those laughs, although this one was darker, and embarrassingly enough incredibly arousing.

"No. I want you aware, fully aware even, of what I'm doing. I want you to see, and I want you to know what I'm doing. I want you afraid and maybe even freaked out, quivering under my touch but keeping yourself from bolting. Not a stupid cunt who will impale herself just to get away, but someone with enough sense to lay still until I'm done. And after that I'm going to fuck you, not before, could get a little too tricky not to seriously hurt you. Would be bad for my track record, accidentally killing the only woman who's ever held my interest for more than a single second."

I tried to give the idea some thought, but my mind was pretty adamant about not letting me consider even the possibility of participating in what he was proposing. Apparently my silence had gone on too long because he took another swig from the bottle and closed his eyes in defeat.

"I knew you'd say no. See, not that different after all." He got to his feet then, still avoiding looking at me, instead staring at the window high up on the wall. "Guess it was worth a try, though."

"Wait, I haven't said no yet!" I heard myself press out, then swallowed thickly as he turned back to me and raised one eyebrow.

"Is that so? No, I guess you haven't, come to think of it. So is that a yes?"

"It's a maybe. It's - fuck, how can you expect me to make decisions like that now?"

"Do you really expect sympathy from me because some prick tried to rape you? I don't know what sympathy is, or compassion. The only thing I can offer you is admiration for your courage or contempt for your cowardice."

"I didn't mean it like that, I -" Cutting off, I pulled my fingers through my hair, frustrated. "Look, until we met I had a life. Not the best, and it got pretty boring over the last years, I admit that without hesitation, but I was happy. Or I thought I was. But ever since I met you my whole world has become unhinged, and I really don't know what to think anymore!"

Surging to my feet, I faced him fully, not flinching when he stepped closer to me.

"I don't think I've ever felt the same for anyone else as I feel for you. I have a million reasons why I should hate you, be disgusted or disturbed or whatever, and you keep adding to them, but somehow that doesn't change anything! I know you're bad for me, and dangerous, and I know that you'll have no qualms killing me if I lose it. It doesn't matter. My mind keeps screaming at me to back down, to close my eyes and stay passive and wait until you bundle me up tomorrow and lead me like a sheep to the slaughter, but I just can't. For once In my life I won't let things just happen, not when I have a chance to change them. Which I really can't, but the one thing I still have control over is my body."

Taking a deep breath, I closed the distance between us, having to let my head fall into my neck so I could look into his eyes.

"I have every reason in the world to say no, and none to say yes. But I want you. And I want you to want me. I just -"

"You need a reason for love? Lust? What else but obsession and an insane drive for satisfaction, a craving that can never be fulfilled and thus makes us want more and more is love in the end? Love by definition is the ultimate negation of reason. If you really need a reason, then it can't be real, right?"

His words seemed to scorch me, stab into me like a metaphorical knife, but the pain they inflicted inside of me was cleansing. They cut right through the web of pretense and propriety, leaving me raw and wanting, needing.

"Okay."

That single word was all I was capable of, a husky whisper I poured all those emotions into that I could not put in words. A playful look appeared on his face as he seemed ready to mock me, but my eyes must have told him to what I was consenting to, because no taunt left his lips, not even a smirk. His features evened out as his eyes began to burn, and when he reached up to gently cup my aching cheek it was a gesture that spoke of more tenderness than I thought him capable of, or expected to receive.

"It doesn't have to end tonight. This doesn't have to be your last night on Earth, you don't have to throw yourself recklessly into a last wildfire before your flames are forever doused."

Right then I hated him for forcing me to think with his teasing tone and mock-romantic words, to keep me from abandoning all reason and just act. But I could see why he wanted me focused, to take the next step with my eyes wide open.

"What do you mean? Are you asking me to come with you? Because even if I survive and return to my life as it was, I know there will be no flames any more. But right now I'm burning, brightly."

He didn't answer for a long time, the only indication that he was anything but made of stone his thumb rubbing over my cheek.

"I don't have a lot to offer. Only violence and death. I won't grow old to die in bed surrounded by my loved ones. Sometimes I'm surprised that I'm still alive. Is that what you want?"

"Truth and honesty, you offer that, too. And I'm so sick of all the lies, all the roles I have to play each day just to be normal - what is that even, normal?" I took a deep breath, then went on, shutting down the clamoring noise inside my head. "Society dictates that I'm disgusted by your offer, by what you want to do to me, to my body, but honestly? It is as terrifying as it is fascinating. It's sick and depraved and like nothing I ever thought of craving, but why not? You say you want me in a way you never wanted another woman - and I like hearing that. It appeals to my vanity, and fucking right, it's good to be wanted, craved. Fuck society, modesty, rules - you want me, I need you, there's no sense in saying no."

Reaching up to run my fingers over his hand still on my face, I pressed down until pain radiated from the contact. For a moment I reveled in it, as it made me feel alive.

"I want you. Please don't make me beg."

Mirth lit up his eyes and he moved his hand away from under mine until he was stroking the back of my neck, the pressure just a little too much to be considered gentle.

"You'll never have to beg, not for this, not for anything. You take what you want, just as I do. And now I'm going to take you."

He crushed me to him, his lips seeking mine just as my own hands drew him closer, my whole body screaming for his touch. Thought fled me as need took over and I attacked his mouth with a fervor I hadn't known I had within me until then. Like before the kiss was hot and needy, but now we didn't stop there. Hands tugging at clothes, skin needing skin, we made haphazard yet quick process of our clothes, soon standing there naked in the shadowy dusk. I knew I should have felt ashamed, I knew I should be blushing and cringing away, trying to cover my nakedness, but instead I welcomed it.

Somehow we ended up on the mattress, me on my back with him towering over me, and when he moved to kneel upright between my feet, I stretched out before him, letting him look unhindered at my body. His eyes seemed to drink me in, the quality if his gaze a little too clinical to fit a romance novel moment, but I didn't care, instead arched my body into his hands as he let them drift up from my knees to my torso. He leaned forward, his semi-erect cock brushing my thigh, but once again his eyes held me captivated.

"You're so god damn beautiful."

The words were so unexpected that I laughed, and he rewarded me with a wry grin.

"I don't think you need to use flattery to make me spread my legs, they are wide open already as it is."

"Not flattery, a statement. Call it an observation. But you are beautiful, your skin unblemished, your body soft where it should be, inviting, pleasing."

He leaned further down to lightly kiss the swell of my breast, causing streaks of heat to zoom through my body from where his lips pressed against my skin.

I hadn't realized that my eyes had drifted shut but they opened on their own account as I heard a metallic sound as he slid his knife free of the holster that lay discarded with all the other clothes. My pulse sped up as my throat went tight, but I forced my muscles to relax, my hands on the mattress, palms up, right next to my face. I didn't even try to focus on him when he leaned over me again, the weapon held in his left hand, but when I briefly glanced at his face I saw him smile down at me.

"Don't move. I'd hate to hurt you - much."

Then his lips were back on my skin, kissing, nibbling, biting, and the need inside of me mingled with the fear. The moment his mouth left my skin I felt myself yearn for the contact again, enough so that I barely flinched when the cold, hard edge of the blade touched me instead. A little pressure and I gasped, the shallow cut burning. I focused on him instead of the single drop of blood welling up, but seeing him so fascinated was weirding me out. Doubt and dread alike started clawing at my heart but I made myself go slack again - until I felt the same burn again at my other breast, now intensified as he cut a little deeper, a little farther. And just when I thought I had reached my breaking point he moved closer, and lapped up the small trickle of blood running from the last cut.

A violent shiver ran through my body as I tried to remain silent, but the sensation of his tongue teasing the fresh wound made it so hard not to respond. Another cut and I whimpered slightly, then louder at the next. Every fiber of my being screamed for me to run, flee, mindless and fast to save myself, but his previous words kept me rooted in the spot. Every once in a while he would look up at my face, drinking in my fear, and I was sure he liked what he saw. Then he moved on, alternating sweet kisses with marring my skin, leaving twin trails of heat - one pain, the other desire - all over my body.

I had thought before I had a good grasp on what it felt to lose my mind, but my brief breakdown in the shower was nothing compared to the maelstrom of conflicting emotions that warred inside of me now. And the more I got turned on the worse it got, my mind incapable of taking any more. But still he went on, now kneading my thigh absentmindedly which drove me completely wild, while the inches long wound on my hip wept red tears into the crease between my torso and leg.

"Stop, please, I can't -" I panted out, trying to slide further up the mattress to put a little distance between us, but his fingers digging into my hips held me securely in place. I felt the tip of the knife nick the skin over my ribs as he hadn't put it away when he had reached for me, but then his tongue was suddenly between my legs, licking my clit in exactly the right way. The protest died on my lips.

Wandering on their own accord, my hands moved down to his head, and even though I felt the knife dig deeper, I couldn't keep from grinding my hips up against his face. I more felt than heard him chuckle, the vibrations driving me crazy, and I was already feeling the familiar tightening low in my body when he pushed away from me to once again crawl over my body.

Our eyes met and I was taken aback by the lust I saw in his, all previous traces of mirth gone. When he was sure he had my attention, he dipped his head to the cut I had more or less inflicted myself, and languidly licked up the blood, clearly savoring the taste. Some of it remained as a smudge on his bottom lip, and before I knew what was happening I was rearing up so I could reach his face and licked it off, gingerly.

The metallic taste of my own blood was both familiar and exotic, and I nearly didn't recognize the groan that I let out as my own. He pulled back from me just far enough that he could study my face, something close to reverence on his, before a light smile tugged the corners of his mouth up.

"I think we should stop with this, or you'll need stitches."

I didn't protest when he kissed me, deep and full of need, pushing me back into the mattress once more. And then I felt him thrust into me. Wrapping my arms around his neck I moaned against his lips, gasping when he started to move in and out of me. His lips traveled down to my neck, kissing and licking until he found that one sweet spot that drove me wild. I let my head fall to the side to give him better access, and only then noticed that he had laid the knife exactly where my right hand had been before.

I was sure that it wasn't pure coincidence but a deliberate gesture. It was then that I realized that I could just pick up the knife and plunge it into his neck – not much finesse required for that in my current position, and from the way he was blatantly disregarding the possible danger, I knew that he either trusted me not to do it – or he was secretly hoping I was at least going to try. As it was, I wasn't about to do either.

Nudging his chin up with my fingers he kissed me on the mouth again while I brought my arms down to caress his back. Letting out a low groan he slid his hands under my ass and heaved up until he was kneeling with me straddling his lap, giving me a lot more room to move. Still clinging to him I deepened our kiss until it was nearly frantic, and moved my hips against his.

As the last tendrils of fear left my conscience, vivid images started to come up in my mind. I tried shutting them out because they were a distraction, and right then I didn't want to concentrate on anything but the hot body moving against mine, but slowly I lost the battle.

It was a weird collage without order or timeline, as if all the significant moments of my life were coming back to haunt me. Graduation, my first kiss, my mom laughing in the sunshine, my dad teaching me to ride my bike, my first day at work, watching my boyfriend smile in his sleep while I lay awake next to him.

My boyfriend. Fiancé even, as I so often seemed to neglect. Who I was just cheating on with a guy who shot people without even blinking and who cut me up enough that my sweat stung all over my torso, arms and legs. Only that it didn't feel like cheating. As weird and frightening as it was, this just felt so right.

I must have tensed up more than I wanted to as those thoughts drifted though my mind, as I felt his arms come up to my shoulder blades so that he could pry me off his chest and look at me again.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"You just sobbed, that's not nothing."

Had I? I really couldn't say, and right now I didn't really care.

"It's really nothing. Not important, not now, not ever."

I could tell that he didn't like my answer, but when I swiveled my hips suggestively he closed his eyes and emitted a low moan that was so incredibly arousing that it cleared all those thoughts away. One of his hands moved up until he was cupping my head again so he could kiss me better, and we resumed where we had left off, only with a lot more desperation on my part.

Before long I was moaning and gasping constantly, and just before I let go I yanked my head to the side and bit into his shoulder, hard enough to draw blood. It felt like a kind of payback, and judging from the way he cursed during his last three thrusts he didn't protest.

I felt as if I crashed right back into my own body when I finally calmed down, leaning heavily against him as his fingers ran up and down my back. I had never been into casual sex, had never slept with anyone before going on many dates and learning everything I could about a possible lover – but I had never felt so close to someone before – and belatedly I realized that I didn't even know his name.

"Shit, I need to get going."

Those were definitely not the words I expected to hear from him first thing as he started to entangle himself from me, and I couldn't keep a hurt look from my face. Around us, darkness had fallen and there was just enough light left that I could make out his features, but no longer any colors. In this light, his eyes looked nearly normal.

He sighed when he saw my disappointment, then reached for me again and took my head into his hands, kissing me softly and gently as never before.

"I wish I could stay, but we really didn't time this well. I spent the last two days waiting for that idiot to make a move at you, but of course he had to wait until the evening when I have to go out and prep things."

"Prep things? And does that mean you really had our cell under video surveillance?"

He grinned, then took a nib at my chin.

"Don't worry, that feed won't go online anywhere. Although one of my associates proposed compiling a best of vid of your would-be rapist to send to the press. We'll see. And yes, I need to set up things. Get-away cars, scout out possible escape routes, plant a few explosives, the usual."

After another, deeper kiss he let go of me and got up, starting to dress. First came the knife in its calf holster. I wasn't really surprised. Instead of dressing myself, I remained sitting where I was, watching him as I let my eyes roam over his body. My first assessment of him hadn't been right when we had met in the bank, he was quite muscular, but not in a regular gym goer way. There certainly wasn't any bunching of biceps unless he flexed his muscles, and I had to admit, I was more interested in looking at the scars marring his body. Most of them were what I presumed to be bullet wounds, with a few straight lines that must have been lacerations from a knife or sharp edge. His words about him marveling to be still alive came to my mind again, and I had to agree. He certainly didn't know how to dodge bullets, and he didn't seem to be invincible, either.

"Like what you see?"

"Does it matter?"

That made him laugh, and he crouched down before me again after he had pulled on his t-shirt.

"I guess not, but shouldn't you be stroking my ego now? Women usually do that, they ohh and ahh at my hair, my abs, my eyes, my chiseled chin, stuff like that."

"And there I was about to complement the nicely healed bullet holes on your ass. Glad I didn't say anything."

He flashed me a grin, but then sobered up again, the intensity in his gaze increasing.

"You have a choice."

"Now do I?" I replied in a mocking tone, but then shut up when his eyes lost the last trace of humor.

"Tomorrow I mean. You can help me, or you can trust the SWAT team to get you out of there. One of these options will very likely get you killed. The other will probably force you to kill someone. You have to decide yourself what you can take, and with which decision you can life for the rest of your life, however long that might be."

With that he got up and walked over to the door, too fast for me to ask even one of the million questions that his words brought up. Already halfway out he stopped, and I heard him exhale loudly before he turned to me again.

"For what it's worth, if I die tomorrow, it will be the first time I won't feel like my life was a waste of resources."

Then he was gone for good, leaving me in the dark alone and cold, with only my raging mind for comfort.

###

He didn't return, and no one else dropped by my room during the night. I got up twice to use the bucket, and once checked the door. Of course it was locked, and I didn't even try to see if I could get out. Where would I have gone? And it wasn't as if I really wanted to flee. Not anymore. That thought both scared and elated me, and only added to all the questions I couldn't find an answer to.

I dozed off a few times but real sleep didn't come, although I felt like I could finally relax. Every time I roused I found my heart racing and my skin slick with sweat, and I didn't need to remember my dreams to know what they were about. I never had a wet dream in my whole life, and nearly getting raped didn't change that.

When the sky finally lightened I heard something outside, waking me up fully within seconds, and I was relieved to see him return. He looked tired but smelled of water, probably had showered before he came to me. I half hoped for a repetition of our tryst from last night but he just handed me a styrofoam cup of coffee and a bag with two bagels inside and sat down at the opposite wall, nearly as if nothing had happened. I didn't know if he harbored any regrets or was trying to steel himself for a rebuke from me, and even then I didn't know what I was going to say.

"Reached a decision yet?"

"Honestly? No."

He smiled, which surprised me.

"Doesn't matter. I'll ask you again before we go, and a last time before the big showdown. You know you shouldn't trust me, and even less want to stay with me. Your life will be over, and there's no going back. Why should you go with me?"

"I don't know. Why do you do the things you do?"

Thinking about my question for a moment, he shrugged.

"Because I can. No trigger, no terrible childhood, even though I feel my parents neglected me. I'm a spoiled rich kid that grew tired of everything around him. I don't even have a mission statement, and I'm not in it for the money. I guess you could even accuse me of a kind of decadence in my little crusade. But that's not the point, we were talking about what you should do."

"I don't even know your name," I offered. "Provided I chose to return to my life as it was, what shall I tell my grandchildren when they ask me who held me hostage for five days back before we colonized Mars and went to Venus on vacation?"

His lips thinned into a hard line, and I wondered what it was that he disapproved of so much.

"Names are just tags, labels. Made in China, buy for 4.99 at Walmart. A name doesn't tell you anything about a person."

"I'm not asking because I think it tells me anything about you. I just want to know your name."

My words did little to assuage him.

"Let's say my name was Thomas Brown. My mother would always have called me her little Tommy Boy. My friends from high school would know me as Tom. College guys would remember me as Thomas Brown the Fifth, Destroyer of Beer Kegs in Under Ten Minutes. And the news would always use my full name, in those insipid documentary style features. 'What can drive a man to commit such atrocities? What went through Thomas Brown's mind when he eviscerated his first victim? What would a childhood friend of Thomas Brown say about him?' One name, and it describes four different people, and none of them have anything to do with who I really am."

"So shall I call you Tom now? The part about the beer keg is a little rough on the ease of conversation. Or do I have to make do with what I've been calling you inside my head for the last few days?"

"Which would be?" He seemed vaguely amused by the notion that I'd given him a nickname.

I halted for a moment, trying to decide if I should really tell him, but then figured it didn't matter as he didn't seem to care about names in the first place.

"Suit Guy."

"Very inventive. Particularly since I didn't wear a suit since we got here."

"But you wore one in the bank and it's shorter than Weird Eyed Murderous Killer Bee."

Just as I had intended that made him laugh, and he was still grinning when he answered.

"I guess then I should repay that in kind. Although Suit Guy and Bucket Girl just doesn't have the same ring to it as Bonnie and Clyde."

"Or Boris and Natasha," I offered helpfully, then frowned. "Although I can't say I'm too happy about that nickname, either."

"Guess that's another reason for you not to help me."

"That you don't have much imagination when it comes to names? Nah, I think I can overlook that. But maybe leave that part to me, I can do better with a little time to come up with something good."

Again he laughed, the sound still a little at odds with the look in his eyes.

"But why would you want to come with me? Not that it doesn't flatter me, but you don't strike me as the adventurous type. I wonder if you've ever willingly risked something in your whole life."

"I let you cut me, remember?"

His eyes darkened at the mention.

"True, and I'm unlikely to ever forget that. Still, it wasn't really your decision, and certainly not your idea. I'm sure you do everything in your life with deliberate planning, think over your options until you know just what to do, never let anything up to fate."

"You believe in fate?"

"Let me phrase that differently – unprecedented circumstance. Like the fat old security guard returning early from his smoke break for the first time in ten years. Or the scared mother turning out to be a martial arts fanatic. Changing schedules, traffic congestion, accidents. I don't remember the last time I planned something and it worked perfectly. There's not an ounce of security left in my life, and that's exactly what I can offer you. The question remains, what do you prefer, a dull safe haven of delusion or the stark reality of anarchic crime?"

I gave the question some thought, although I already knew the answer.

"I can't go back. Even if I didn't feel like leaving you equaled cutting my own heart out, I don't think I can do this anymore. Pretend to be content in my happy little cotton fluff filled box."

"So what you really say is you're head over heels in love with me, and you'd rather die in a rain of bullets than spend the rest of your miserable life tied to a man who you don't love and who cannot satisfy your needs?"

His tone made me grin for a moment, but I tried to ignore the intensity of his stare.

"Why not? Would you say that staying passive for the rest of my life is any better than that?"

"Certainly not. I was just wondering if that would sound just as insane spoken out loud than it does inside my head."

"Sometimes insanity is the only option."

"True enough," he conceded, then sat up straight.

"I still won't take your answer for final, because having loaded guns pointed at you might change your mind again. But as you don't seem averse to actually be of some use in our coup, I should probably tell you what we're up to."

My stomach clenched at the thought, but I forced myself to remain calm.

"Isn't it kind of stupid to let me in on the plan when you're not sure yet that I won't tattle to the authorities?"

"Trust me, should you chose not to come with me you'll be very busy running for your life and won't have time to tip anyone off. It's really a fail safe plan, either it works, or we'll end up dead within a few minutes."

Seeing me swallow hard, he launched into his explanation.

"I told you before we need four hostages minimum. That was a lie, we need exactly four hostages, one meat shield for each of us. It goes without saying that more people than me and my three companions you've had to work with during your stay here are involved in this, but like always, we'll be at the front and center of the commotion that will hopefully earn us twenty-seven million dollars, tax free of course."

I whistled at the number.

"So corrupting your ideals is worth more than that?"

"Let's just say my ideas can't really be bought," he admitted. "Although your offer yesterday came close enough to make me second-guess some of them." He didn't explain what he meant with that, but instead returned to sketch out his plan.

"As I said, four meat shields. The exchange will happen at the Central Station at High Noon, very dramatic, I know. We plan on detonating enough charges to destabilize the building; to further our chance of getting away each hostage will be rigged with a harness carrying enough C-4 to blow up everything inside a thirty foot radius, set to detonate in a sequence of 15 second lags between each charge, starting at T plus 15 from when I press the trigger."

He paused just long enough for me to pale slightly.

"Now you have a choice, a quite interesting one to bout. You can choose to either trust me, or trust some random Good Samaritan of the bomb squad who might or might not endanger his own life by trying to get you out of that contraption before it spray-paints the walls with your half vaporized tissues.

"Your chances of survival aren't too bad. As using explosives is kind of our thing we've had our very own Explosive Ordnance Disposal team for the last six months or so, following with the train of FBI, US Marshals, homeland security and whatnot that's until now never quite managed to get a hold on us. The EOD team leader is a true egomaniac and proclaimed fan of 'The Hurt Locker', and never hesitates to re-enact his own SFC William James stunts, so if you're lucky, he'll throw himself at you and he might be skilled enough to either defuse the bomb you're carrying, or get you out of the harness in time. Suffice it to say, we sadly have to keep the last charge for our dear friend to keep the firing squad at bay until he's either safe or vaporized, so you have forty-five seconds from click to boom."

Briefly staring down at where his hands played with the empty styrofoam cup, he then glanced back up to me, the same unreadable look in his eyes I had seen a few times before.

"Obviously, it takes time for you to run away from me, for him to assess the harness and decide what to so, forty-five seconds can be a very short time. Might not be enough, in fact. On the other hand, if you side with me, I doubt it'll take me more than fifteen seconds to cut that thing off you and throw it into the assembled mass of cops and soldiers to cause even more of a commotion. Might also be the safer option as I don't know who our bomb squad hero will chose to save, the damsel in distress or the rich kid he gets paid double to protect. His team members might be a little less reckless, hesitate more, and boom, there goes your chance at telling your grand tale to your grandchildren."

"Where from do you even know about that bomb guy's ambitions?"

"Fucking facebook, of course, where else?"

I didn't know if I should laugh or cry at that.

"So, let me sum this up to see if I get this right," I snorted. "Either I believe in the good of humanity that's based on naivité, a social network site, and the hope that my gender will invoke some age-old code of morality that says 'save the woman over personal monetary gain', or I put my trust into the guy who has no problems fixing a fucking detonator to my body and thinks no one will take a shot at him while he tries to cut the explosives off me?"

"Oh, no, I'm sure the moment they realize I try to help you, effectively making you one of the bad guys, they'll start shooting. As I said, meat shield. I'll give you my gun before I get my knife out and it's your job to defend me while I work on setting you free."

Inhaling sharply, I felt like letting out a scream to vent the despair and frustration coming up inside of me, but I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek until the need to break down ebbed away again. He seemed amused by my inner struggle, and it wouldn't have surprised me if he got a kick out of confronting me with that dilemma.

His next words, uttered as he was leaning towards me, pretty much confirmed that.

"Choose wisely, because whatever you do, this defines how your life will go on from there. You're at a cross-roads, facing the ultimate question – what side do you chose, good or evil? As always, evil is easier, more tempting, but once you're out of that building, you'll be hunted for the rest of your life. If you choose good there's no guarantee you will make it, but you'll forever be the traumatized victim if you want to. If you're clever you can live off the alimony from selling your story to the tabloids and talk shows for a few decades, write a book, found some charity and you're done for life. The question remains, which of the two ways can you live with, and which one will sooner or later make you blow your head off yourself?"

And there I had thought the dilemma that I had been working over and over inside my head during the night had been an unsolvable one. Unable to make up my mind so fast, I tried to focus on the details instead of the great picture.

"Hypothetically, if I throw my lot in with you, would you just let me go if one day I decided I didn't want to be part of all this anymore?"

He pursed his lip, clearly displeased with the implication – me walking away from him – but gave a curt nod without much hesitation.

"I would. If you'd want to, even directly after the thing goes down. As you helped me you'd get a cut from what we could make, probably one to two mil. Maybe you could claim your aforementioned Stockholm Syndrome, but they'd still lock you up in a psychic ward for a while. But I wouldn't hunt you down and kill you, if it's that what you're worried about. You'll never be obliged to stay with me, if we don't work, we don't work, end of story. Can you say the same about your boyfriend you're so concerned about as you cheated on him? After all if he takes over paying for your loans you'll have an obligation to him. Doesn't that make playing house and marrying him all the sweeter?"

I tried not to react to his mocking tone, but it was hard. I still felt guilty, although it was the kind of guilt you talk yourself into rather than believe in with your heart. Society's shackles, all over again.

"How high are the chances that we get away?"

"Pretty good, I'd say," he guessed. "We had time aplenty to plan things, even if everything goes to hell the moment we enter the building we have a good chance to escape. As we don't necessarily depend on the money we could be a little less reckless, but where's the fun in that? I'd say sixty percent for you if you come with me, forty for our whole team getting away alive. We're close enough to the border to attempt a clean getaway, so we'll even get a vacation after a job well done, that's always good to boost morale."

"You should have planned for your heist to end on a Friday, that would have furthered that long weekend feeling."

Snickering at my comment, he then got up.

"First but not yet final decision, what's it gonna be? Me or some do-gooder?"

Again I tried to think things through, but I was a little too upset for that to work.

"You."

"Ah, I see. A wise decision, even if you change your mind later, it's the safer position to take. Wait here, I'll be right back."

"As if I'd just go anywhere," I grumbled after him, then sighed and let my head sink against the wall. Whatever I would do, neither of the options seemed really better than the other, and for once I didn't think the voice of my conscience was the one I wanted to listen to.

True to his word Suit Guy returned a few minutes later with a stack of clothes, and while some of them looked like the ones I had been wearing for the last few days, only the underwear turned out to be mine. The jeans and dark blouse looked close enough but were of a different label and two sizes larger, and I thought I would have remembered a yellow sun dress had I been wearing it.

"What's that?"

He grinned as he sat everything own, then drew out another unfamiliar piece.

"That's an Aramid Kevlar vest designed for concealed wear. It holds off most bullets well enough but if you get hit, the blunt force trauma will be a bitch. Still better than nothing, trust me." Nodding at the rest, he went on explaining.

"The idea is that once the charges detonate, we try to blend in with the crowd. That means camouflage, and as we have less than a minute to change, we simply wear those clothes underneath. So you get in your underwear, then the sun dress, over that the ballistic vest, and the blouse as outer layer. It won't be too comfortable to have the dress all bunched up in your jeans but obviously with the larger size clothes it should work. Drink enough now to prevent dehydrating during the next hours because you'll sweat like a pig with all those layers. Might even distract you a little from being scared right out of your mind the whole time."

He only waited for me to nod, then got up again and left me to my own thoughts. I dressed quickly, happy to don a few more layers of clothes in the chilly morning air while I tried to ignore the stinging cuts and smears of blood haphazardly covering my body. I guessed they should have given me enough reason to sway my conflicted mind towards the 'good' option, but had the contrary effect for the most part.

If I was about to lose my life very likely either way, I might as well go out with my sanity compromised along the way.

Once I had donned everything except the blouse I forced myself to heed his advice and finished off the three water bottles I had left, while I tried hard to think of anything but our frantic lovemaking last night. The term rankled even in my mind as there was no love in this, nor any of the gentle gestures associated with the word, but I didn't know how else to describe what we had done. Just fucking didn't fit, as it had felt like so much more than that. You 'just fuck' someone in a dark alley, drunk and too uncoordinated to really make it worth your while, but something so intense should be regarded as more.

At least the musing kept me from growing really frightened until Suit Guy returned, carrying a roll of duct tape and some plastic cable binders in his hand. Like I remembered from the day we met he had donned the black framed glasses, wig and fake goatee again, and was back in his Suit-and-Combat-Boots attire. He offered me his hand to help me up, then checked the velcro straps of the ballistic vest and tightened those around my chest and waist, before he stepped back to let me slip into the blouse.

"You're way too clean, roll around in the dirt so you don't look too pampered."

Feeling a little stupid I did what he told me, although I doubted that I looked 'pampered'. Half of my face was swollen and tender, probably visibly bruised, too, and my hair could have doubled for a bird's nest.

Once he was satisfied with my effort to look about as grimy as I felt he fixed my wrists together behind my back with the cable binder, strengthening the restraints with a few feet of the tape around my lower arms. Looking me deep in the eyes he briefly cradled my face, for once taking care not to touch any of the bruises, and kissed me, slow and gentle – before he gagged me with a strip of duct tape over my mouth. I tried to sneer which made him laugh, even place a quick peck on my nose. Then he took my arm and drew me after him into the corridor, neither his touch nor pace gentle anymore.

Outside the sun was already glaring from the sky, and I instantly started to sweat as we stepped out of the shade. The other three guards were already waiting, guns drawn at the remaining hostages, all made up like me – all five of them.

"Consider me confused. Weren't there seven hostages left this morning when I went out to get breakfast?" Suit Guy observed dryly, before he brought me to a halt next to a seething Troublemaker. His clothes still blood-stained, the cuts on his forehead had started to heal but were right now a vivid, partly inflamed red, spelling out the letters like a neon ad. Suit Guy shot me a look and winked, both clearly translating into 'go ahead'.

I was surprised at my own reaction over meeting my would-be rapist again. I had expected fear, lots of it, but I only felt hot, burning rage inside of me, churning in my stomach and making my whole body ache to hurt him, retaliate and take revenge. I wouldn't have acted upon that impulse but Suit Guy's intention to give me a free pass this once was clear enough, and I didn't even have to think about it before I shifted my balance onto one foot, and kicked out hard with the other. My aim was true, the dark brown stains at the crotch of his khakis acting like a bull's eye.

Apparently it hadn't even occurred to Troublemaker that I might try to attack him, and the way he screamed into his duct tape gag was most satisfying. More for effect I kicked at him again where he was hunched over in the dirt, but strong arms gripping my torso like a vice hauled me back soon enough. The sound of a gun's safety being disengaged right next to my temple made me go limp instantly, but I could have sworn Suit Guy was mouthing a 'well done' at me before his grin turned into a smirk.

"Oh, come on, don't make me shoot you now, honey, you were showing so much progress yesterday!"

Lanky Guy then let go of me, and I could have sworn that the other two shared meaningful looks before Burly Guy raised a brow at Suit Guy. He ignored the silent question but instead turned to the other hostages, leaving the gun's safety off.

"Well, well, who would have thought that five days could pass so quickly! To me it feels like yesterday that we herded you together in the bank, wouldn't you say? But enough with the small talk, I know that my pleasant banter must seem like superficial small talk to you. Congratulations, the six of you made it so far alive, if not quite unscathed."

Smirking at Troublemaker who refused to look away, he went on.

"The sad news, for you at least, is that we really only need four of you. It pains me to decide which two of you I should off, so I'll let you do the choosing. Sadly, I can't let it be an open vote without restrictions as one of our charges here has to survive a little longer, but the other five of you, go ahead, talk it out between each other."

The duct tape hurt my chapped lips as it came off but I refused to do more than wince slightly, and try as I might, Suit Guy wouldn't catch my eye. I didn't know what to make of this new development, and I had to admit, I was a little hurt that he didn't exclude my from the vote also.

Turning to the others, I tried to read on their faces who they would chose. None of them seemed ready to sacrifice themselves, and all except one we belonged to minorities – the Geek being Asian-American, then the Hispanic guy who had helped me when I was sick, the black business guy, and me as a woman. Right now none of that seemed to matter, and as it was, no one seemed to want to be the first to speak up.

"Make up your mind now, or I'll shoot all of you and wait who bleeds out first. We have a deadline to make, but I'm sure they'll wait for us even if we're an hour or two late."

Surprisingly, it was the white guy who spoke up, after quickly glancing over to Troublemaker.

"I say you off the girl and the chink, they're both most likely to cause trouble."

"And they're least valuable to you, too", added the Hispanic, probably believing he was being helpful.

In a way he even was, as Suit Guy smirked – and shot both him and the Caucasian without further hesitation.

"Thank you for your cooperation, I'm sure your fellow hostages will forever be grateful for your pointed observations."

With that he turned back to his companions.

"Gag them again and throw them into the back, we better get going."

The shots were still ringing in my ears as Lanky Guy put more tape over my mouth and pulled one of those ghastly black jute sacks over my head, before he pushed me towards the waiting van, where I was the first to be loaded into the large converted cargo hold. Not being able to see what was going on I couldn't be sure, but as the vehicle started moving, I heard two of our captors talk from above and behind me, so they must have been in the back with the rest of the hostages.

The adrenaline rush from my quick not-quite brush with death was leaking out of me fast, leaving me shivering on the floor although I was sweating hard enough that everything I smelled was my own not quite ladylike stink. Suddenly all the things Suit Guy and I had talked about seemed to mean nothing, disappearing in the face of the all-too real danger I knew was about to come. Within minutes I felt the urge to use the toilet, and every bump in the road became like a spike driving deep into my flesh as I burned in the own hell of my raving mad mind.

Way too soon the level of noise around us increased as we got closer to a city, and I guessed also our destination. I didn't know where we were going, didn't know if we were even still in the same state, but I didn't really matter. I had never before been this far south, and quite frankly didn't give a shit about the where, anyway. I just wanted to get away, survive, and while every minute brought the possibility of that closer, certain death was also looming ahead.

"That's it, boys, make yourself ready for the fun!"

I felt the car come to a stop, then strong hands pulled me up into a kneeling position and the restraints around my arms were removed. Even though I tried to remain still a loud whimper escaped me, making whoever was strapping me into the harness around my upper body pause for a moment.

"Hold it together, he might not let you choose if you spoil his fun now," Lanky Guy's voice whispered into my ear, before he picked up working again. His words calmed me a little, but not because of the threat they held but of the sheer fact that he clearly knew what Suit Guy and I had been talking about. That the others were in on him divulging the details of their plan to me must be meaning something, I figured. As much as I was unable to fight the dread rise in me as I felt the additional weight of the harness and explosives on my body, the thought that he wouldn't just change his mind and let me get killed made my heart flutter. Guess to a point I was starting to trust him after all.

Once he was done the cable binder came onto my wrists, and minutes later the van started moving again.

"Is the helicopter still following us?"

"Yup. Tell me when I shall call Grace."

"Two minutes," Suit Guy answered from somewhere in the front. "After all we don't want to be too early for our own party."

More sounds of traffic, though muted as if coming from farther away, washed over me, until Lanky Guy's voice drew my attention to him again.

"WICC? Yeah, please patch me through to Grace On Air right away. Yes, I'm a very special friend. Uh uh, yeah, I thought she was waiting for my call already."

Silence followed.

"Hi Grace, it is so good to see you, it's really been too long! Five weeks I think. What, six already? Wow, time flies! Yeah, I know, as much as I'd like this to be a social call, we both are aware that it isn't so. I think it will interest your listeners that contrary to the warnings the FBI has been issuing, we won't show up at the mall today. Central Station instead. Love what the city did to the facade, it looks so flashy with all the new glass panes. Well, I have to go, the job's calling. But don't worry, you'll get another call in an hour. Yeah, same as every time! Bye! Oh, and people, keep listening to Grace On Air at your favorite radio station, WICC!"

I think it was Burly Guy who chuckled, but I could have been wrong. Then the car lunged forward and shook as we apparently drove up a short flight of stairs, jostling me around hard.

"Lady and gents, we've reached our final destination, please prepare to be unloaded," Ponytail Guy laughed. I heard doors sliding open, then muffled sounds until I was picked up and set onto my feet. The first thing I noticed was the increasing din around us – people shouting, things toppling over – before I could see for myself as the jute sack was yanked from my head.

Suit Guy didn't leave me any time to adjust but instead grabbed my arm and shoved me into motion, keeping close as he made me walk away from the car. The jostling before had apparently been when they had driven right up through the foyer into the main hall of the train station where the black van now stood, parked against one of the thick marble columns that went through the whole room.

The other three teams of hostage and captor placed themselves in a similar way as us, about twenty yards away from the car building a semi circle with enough distance between everyone to stay out of what my screaming mind came up as the blast radius of the C-4 charges. All around us, people were fleeing from the station, but just as many clogged up the connective hallways and stairs in an attempt to get a good look at the show that was about to go down. Once we had stopped moving, I felt Suit Guy lightly press the barrel of his gun against my temple, before he cut through the plastic binder holding my wrists.

"Keep your hands at your sides until I tell you otherwise. And don't scream, or I'll gag you again."

The duct tape coming off my lips hurt just as much as the last one, and before I knew it my frantic intakes of breath were bordering on hyperventilating. That realization only furthered the panic surging up inside of me, and for a moment I was about to succumb to the hysterics my mind was driving me into.

"Don't lose it."

He bit off every single word, talking low but with a tone of authority that worked like the proverbial slap in the face. I didn't know how but I managed to get a grip on myself, while I stared out blindly into the mass of faces that looked our way. I briefly wondered how many of them would die just because they were stupid enough to stay behind to gawk.

"That's much better," he conceded, and for a moment I felt his lips brush against my ear as he leaned close. "I know you're afraid, but we have another five to ten minutes until the whole posse arrives from where they've taken up their stand at the mall. It's just two blocks down this road, and today's the first time we ever switched locations, so you have a few moments to collect yourself and consider again what you're going to do now."

He left it at that and got a second gun out, this one a H&K MP5 submachine gun that he held loosely with his arm across my stomach. I knew the weapon because Charlie once showed me a similar one at the station, and I had always wondered how weird it looked, like a normal hand-gun with part of a rifle set at the top. It was even stranger that those details flitted through my mind just then, when I should have been more concerned with deciding about my future.

By then I should have been used to minutes taking forever to pass, but as we waited, I felt like it was the forced passiveness of being unable to do anything that would make me go insane, and less the fear that was still clawing at me.

Then I heard new shouting and the sea of anonymous faces parted as streams of armed and armored soldiers cut through the onlookers, securing their position and trying – in vain – to secure the perimeter. Suit Guy started pointing the different units out to me – the local SWAT response team, the Hostage Rescue Team, normal FBI troops, and finally the bomb squad, easily recognizable in their thick Blast Suits. It was disheartening to see how none of them even glanced in my direction, but who I figured was their team leader kept staring at where Burly Guy had Troublemaker pinned against him, a little to our right.

"Reached a decision yet? Can't say that their lack of attention bodes well for you. Although you can always run to them and force them to deal with you, either way that might solve your problem."

I didn't like his taunting tone, but consoled myself with the guess that he simply didn't want me not to chose him.

"What do I have to do? While you're cutting the damn harness off me, I mean."

My voice was awfully high and squeaky, but at least I got the words out, my decision hardening as I heard myself utter them. I wouldn't die here today, and I certainly wouldn't go out without fighting for my life. But just as the last word tumbled from my lips my eyes latched onto two newcomers to the scene, and my heart instantly sank.

"Ah, seems like the profilers in Quantico had a field day with this one. Let me guess, the youthful appearing woman in her best years is your mom, so the anxious looking guy next to her must be the unlucky bastard you cheated on yesterday."

I felt like I had turned into a salt pillar, unable to speak or even react, as their eyes found me. I tried to look away, tried to ignore the way my mom gasped and started to cry, without a doubt happy to see me but at the same time horrified what her little girl had been dragged into.

Only that I didn't think that little girl was really standing here.

I could only imagine how I must have looked to her – disheveled, dirty, battered and bruised, with my hair sticking to my sweaty face and neck, my eyes wide with fear. I realized that if I went with Suit Guy, I'd probably never see her again, couldn't even say good-bye to her. The fact that I only mourned her loss, and not really that of the man standing next to her, told me I had already given up on wanting to resume my former life. I didn't even feel sorry about it.

"Tell me what I have to do," I finally repeated, and now my voice sounded entirely different. Dull but steady, and even a little frightening. Suit Guy chuckled when he heard that.

"I see. Can't say I blame you, I think if I were you I wouldn't want to go back to that guy, either. Have I mentioned that intelligent women who make sensible choices are a huge turn-on for me? But I digress. What you have to do is simple. After the first detonation the good, well-meaning soldiers will open fire, the remaining hostages be damned. Well, maybe except for him over there, but you'll be expendable. I will fire the whole magazine of my gun into the mass, then drop it and reach for the knife to cut you free. In the meantime you take the MP5 -" he quickly pressed it harder into my stomach, "aim it right in front of you, and pull the trigger if anyone so much as looks as if he were to shoot at us. Which means you should do that the moment you have your finger on said trigger as they will be shooting, I guarantee you that. Once you're free we run, and hope that they don't gun us down. Easy peasy."

I was well aware of the fact that there were a lot of unspoken conditions that kept the plan from being anything short of suicidal, but I wasn't in the position to protest. So we kept waiting, and I was a little amused to see the TV crews – who had arrived even before the first unit – had finished setting up camp and were now all reporting live from the scene. Most of them were standing right between us and the mass of kevlar wearing troops, like a protective layer of media coverage.

"US Marshals, get the fuck out of my way!"

My head whipped around at the loud shout, and a moment later the crowd parted to let two figures pass through. The first one was the woman the voice belonged to, her gun already drawn and her eyes covered with yellow tinted shooting glasses. Under different circumstances she might have been described as a true bomb shell – tall, thick, long blond hair now caught in a ponytail at her neck, her voluptuous figure hidden by a blue ballistic vest spelling 'U.S. MARSHAL' in white letters across her chest. She looked business and ready to shoot anything that got in her way, and I didn't need to glance to my right where Burly Guy just blew her a kiss to know that she was the one Suit Guy had told me about.

The man following her couldn't have been more different, at least if one disregarded his good looks and equally blond hair, although they didn't look related. Although indoors, he still had his sun glasses on, and actually waited for the cameras to zoom in on him before he took them off, in a slow, deliberate gesture that should probably have been meaningful. He was clearly basking in the media attention, and I couldn't even see whether he was armed or not.

A single, hysteric bout of laughter bubbled up in my throat, and try as I might, I couldn't hold it in. If not for the gun pressed into my abdomen I would have doubled over, but as it was, the sound echoed through the hall, drawing everyone's attention at me.

"Hush, he really doesn't like being laughed at!" Suit Guy shouted, loud enough that everyone could hear him. "After all I've been taunting him for years, if you start now, too, that might destroy his fragile ego."

Gulping down air I forced myself to shut up, but not before I caught a really nasty glare from the male Marshal, and a frustrated look from his partner. I could tell that his antics were seriously getting on her nerves, but being his junior in rank, she probably had to tough it out.

"And so we meet again," Ego Marshal retorted once he was composed again, drawing everyone's attention back to him. Suit Guy snorted, laughing softly into my ear.

"You should know, he was running for Governor of New Mexico when I blew up the UNM Library. It was a really shitty library for a college, deserved to burn. Instead of gaining more power, he was scrutinized by everyone, and after his party withdrew their support actually had to take up his old job with the US Marshal Service again to wash his hands clean of guilt. Which reminds me, nice new sunglasses, Dad, so sorry your last ones got shot off your nose in Tampa!"

For a moment I thought he was joking, but the grim look on the older man's face was enough of a confirmation.

"That's your father?" I panted out, a little louder than I intended, but no one was paying me any attention.

"Yup, in the flesh. He was so disappointed when I didn't graduate summa cum laude from college, but I guess that was just the start. Or are you proud of me today, Dad? Not everyone has a son who made it into the FBI's Top Ten!"

Again there was no answer, but Suit Guy had already turned to a balding guy, flanked by two security guards, who had appeared next to the Marshals.

"And this must be the man of the hour, or at least the brave representative of the coward who fathered the bastard who's going to make us rich! May I presume that the bag you're carrying is holding the laptop that will be used for the transaction?"

The guy he spoke to nodded, looking a little green around the nose.

"Very well. As I assume that you don't trust me and I don't trust you, please prepare your end of the deal. When you're done it would be outstanding if the lovely lady Marshal would carry the laptop over to my associate here, he has the numbers for the accounts we want the money transferred to."

She didn't look happy but dutifully held her gun out to Suit Guy's father when the balding man had the laptop prepped a few seconds later.

Everyone seemed to hold their collective breath as she made her way over to Burly Guy, her face set in a grim mask that could have been made of stone. He still beamed at her as if she were greeting him with open arms and welcoming kisses, which only furthered her grumpiness.

"Type in your account number and details." When he didn't let go of neither troublemaker nor his gun, she added a disgruntled "Please."

"Oh, I would love to, honey, but as you can see I don't have a hand free. I'm sure you'll gladly do that for me if I just ask nicely, right?"

I thought I could hear her teeth gnash from here, but she then gave a curt nod and at his whispered instructions started typing. He must have said a few other things, too, as her face was slowly turning red with anger, and she exhaled loudly when Suit Guy's phone in his pocket started to ring. While he fiddled with his gun to get it out the female Marshal looked at me intently, either trying to convey something with her eyes or scanning me for a way to get me out of my current situation. I even felt something like gratitude towards her, as she seemed to be the only one except for my mother and former boyfriend who cared for me.

"Okay;" was the only thing Suit Guy said into the phone after listening for a moment, then he put it back and glared at the Marshal who was still taxing me.

"Don't get any stupid ideas, you won't get her away from me unless I let her go. We've got the money, you can bring that little toy back to its owner. And thank you for your cooperation, Marshal."

She acknowledged him with a curt nod, then walked at a measured pace back to the others, a clear show of her confidence as she wasn't afraid to turn her back on the bad guys. She still seemed glad to exchange the laptop for her gun, and a moment later she was the image of the professional Ice Queen once again.

"Now let the hostages go, we've done our half of the deal, now you do yours!"

Suit Guy emitted something that I thought was a sigh, but then recognized as a quick breathing exercise.

"Last chance to change your mind. As I said, if you don't want to come with me, I'll let you go now."

I waited for him to say something else – either some sarcastic statement about how I could throw my life in with the side considered to be good but who'd likely let me die in favor of the man who had taken all but a handful of minutes to turn into a savage beast to the point where he tried to rape me – or maybe even a simply 'please come with me'. But nothing followed, so after a few fast heart beats I inclined my head slightly.

"Not changing my mind. Looks like you're stuck with me."

He chuckled low under his breath, the air fanning across my neck and making me shiver.

"Too bad for me. Bad guy gets the money and the girl. Somehow I don't see Hollywood interested in buying that script."

I felt him fidget for a moment, and when I glanced at where his gun was a little farther away from my head I saw that he now held what must have been the detonation device in his hand together with the gun. It looked a little awkward, but I figured he could drop it easily enough.

"Not so fast," he then shouted, turning heads and cameras in his direction. "Shouldn't I say something at this point, like a mission statement?"

"You never do that," came his father's answer.

"Yeah, but I feel like change is coming. I'm slowly growing weary of the ever same routine, I think I should jog things up a little bit. Don't you think so, too?"

"The only change will be that you won't get away this time! There are more than fifty guns pointed right at your head, do you think you can just disappear again?"

"Ah, I don't think so," Suit Guy shot back, and I imagined him grinning behind me. "Fifty guns, several targets. There are also a lot of civilians here, and don't forget the charges we set up all over the building. Or did you think we accidentally ended up at the wrong address?"

While the Marshal remained smiling overtly confident, his partner frowned, and the bomb squad members started talking animatedly amongst themselves.

"Yes, that's right, we set charges. And we brought our own, in the car, and our lovely four hostages are each carrying enough C-4 to blow up the better part of your fifty guns if we send them running right at you. So take a breath and let me make my statement, will you? You never were one to listen to me, maybe that's going to change now."

"By all means, then, give your statement!"

Suit Guy laughed derisively, then lowered his voice again.

"Any statement come to your mind, oh Goddess of Inventive Nicknames? Because I seriously can't think of anything except a quote those idiots won't understand."

Swallowing hard, I tried to come up with something but my mind was blank.

"Do they have to understand it? I'd figure you'd think you were demeaning yourself by lowering your statements to their intellectual level."

His amused laugh was so out of place in this context, it nearly brought my hysteria back, but for some reason I felt a little calmer now that the end seemed near.

"You're right. I'm indeed a very lucky man."

Pitching his voice to carry across the room, he then went on.

"A very wise man once said that 'we must act, act perpetually in order to be human, in order to possess real awareness of ourselves' – this man was Mikhail Bakunin. I doubt any of you imbeciles have ever heard of him, but that doesn't make his words any less true. You think I'm a monster, but I say in taking actions, in doing what has to be done to cleanse our society of the garbage it has been accumulating for centuries I am the one who is human, while all of you just follow orders. You're sheep, unaware of who you are or why you are here. If you possess even a shred of self-awareness, you will lay down your guns and go. Let this be your first action, break out, be someone!"

Of course there was an utter lack of reaction to his words, making him laugh softly.

"Oh I think that went quite well. Anyway, the hostages, right."

Raising the hand he held the gun and detonator with, he turned it so that everyone could see the device in his palm. My heart started to race, my body shaking slightly as adrenaline came back coursing through my veins and making me itch to just do something, a little like he had just said in his speech.

"This detonator is remotely linked to its counterparts on the explosive harnesses each of the hostages is wearing. Once I activate it, they will go off one after the other, set at a fifteen seconds interval. You have no way of knowing in which order they will detonate, but with the second and forth we will also let the charges set inside the building structure go off. Good luck trying to disable any one of them, but three separate ones are inside the van, in the garbage disposal area in the foyer, and near the soda vending machine. They didn't have any Pepsi," he added, as if that made sense.

My pulse sped into overdrive when I watched him push a single button on the detonator, then one at his watch, before he flung the device into the gap between us and the law enforcement teams.

"Oops, I guess that means the countdown has started. First charge going up in eleven, ten-"

He then looked over to where Ponytail Guy was holding the Geek, who seemed to have wet himself very recently.

"Fucking idiot, don't make me tell you again, pay attention!"

It was then that I realized that compared to the other three, who seemed very composed and even calm, Ponytail Guy had been fidgeting around, and was right then throwing insults at the SWAT team in front of him. At Suit Guy's shout he jumped, then quickly shoved the Geek forward.

In the same moment I saw two of the soldiers, both virtually indistinguishable from the others, raise their guns, but they weren't pointing them at us, but instead at their comrades-in-arms.

They opened fire the moment Suit Guy's watch beeped, at what I had counted a shaky five seconds before the charge would blow up. All hell broke lose, and I screamed both from the terror gripping me, but also the pain in my skull as the gun right next to my right ear went off. Then I felt something hot and wet leak down my neck, and the possibility that my ear drum got perforated flashes through my mind.

Then I heard a dull thud that was probably once a loud bang before I turned half deaf, and my eyes were drawn to the dark cloud of something expanding where moments ago the Geek had been cowering on the floor.

Time slowed down until I could nearly see the bullets ripping into people, and everything was suddenly filled with the sounds of screaming and violence and the burning scent of fire and blood. The gun right next to my face clicked empty, and I knew that was my signal. Now I should act. But for a single second that went on forever, I was frozen in place.

I could feel the barrel of the gun beside me radiating heat, enough that my skin should have started to blister and my hair get singed. I saw my mother getting swept away with the fleeing crowd, screaming for me, her hand extended as if she tried to reach for me one last time. My boyfriend – ex – stood next to her, trying to drag her along, and in this moment my heart broke for them. No, not really for them, for me, because they stood for my old life, and I could never go back there. In that moment I mourned, and in that moment I was afraid, so terribly afraid I nearly lost control of my bladder. Doubt gripped me hard, not because of the decision I had made, but whether I could follow through with it. Would I be strong enough to pull the trigger? What if I got shot, would I be able to get away with pain frying my nerve endings? Did I even want to get away? Deserve to live?

The moment passed, and with time speeding up, my mind was cleared of everything but a grim determination.

"Give me the fucking gun!"

I didn't know if he could hear me over the cacophony, but he must have gotten my meaning as a second later, he shoved the submachine gun into my hands. Bullets kept streaking by me but until then no one seemed to have aimed at me directly, a state I was afraid wouldn't hold much longer.

Fumbling with the gun for a moment I looked up, by sheer coincidence crossing gazes with the female Marshal. She had fallen into a crouched defensive stance, repeatedly shooting at where two more criminals in disguise had opened fire, but just as she was popping in another magazine she looked up at me. It only took her a moment to assess the change in situation, and her gun was already pointing in my direction when she was suddenly knocked over by a fleeing media crew. I watched her get swept up by the crowd, and was strangely relieved that she wouldn't become what was to be my first victim. After all she had been the only one trying to save me.

Then one member of the SWAT team appeared right in front of me, and more by reflex than intent I pulled the trigger. I don't think I hit him as the submachine gun had a lot more kick than I anticipating, sending my aim off immediately, but someone else shot him down in the meantime, leaving me to at least add to the mayhem.

A lot sooner than I had anticipated the second C-4 harness exploded, and I felt wet somethings hit my whole left side and face. I refused to check, and the fact that my probable lifespan had reached fifteen seconds didn't help to make me any more focused. The shockwave of the detonation had caused Suit Guy to slip, and only three seconds later – at thirteen going on twelve – did I feel the pain from the knife cutting into my skin between my shoulder blades. I gasped, but a moment later he yanked the harness down and forward, forcing me to drop the gun so he could get it off my arms.

Another gun was going off close by, and I heard Suit Guy hiss in pain, then felt two bullets slam into my ribcage from the side. It hurt, a crass and sharp pain, and for a moment I thought they had gone right through my vest. A look confirmed that he hadn't been so lucky, his pants torn high on his thigh with blood darkening the charcoal fabric. He was still clutching the harness in his hand, and just then I heard the five seconds warning beep from his watch.

Acting on instinct I grabbed the MP5, turned around, and blindly shot into the chaotic mass in front of us, not only hitting the soldier from before several times in the legs and chest, but also a few others around him. I didn't know if they'd survive, and neither did I care.

His words from much earlier ran through my head. I didn't even do it to defend him, or myself. I did it because I could.

With me providing cover for him, Suit Guy managed to get up and launched the harness into the air, and I watched it sail into the same direction I was still spraying bullets in. It exploded before it hit the ground, sending bodies flying everywhere, still close enough to knock me a few steps back. The magazine of the gun clicked empty and I dropped it for good, and a second later we were running, his hand holding mine in a death grip.

I briefly looked around to see whether Troublemaker had had any luck with his bomb squad but saw none of them, nor anyone else I recognized. A sharper tug on my hand brought my attention back to Suit Guy, and he held the five fingers of his free hand up, then balled it to a fist and extended it again, nodding over his shoulder at the van. Belatedly I got his meaning – ten seconds until the car blows up – and hastened my steps as I was running after him.

We nearly made it to the small hallway he was running towards before the shock wave of the explosion swept us off our feet. I cried out but didn't hear myself shout as I hit the wall, then the floor, my head ringing as now both of my ears refused to pick up sound. I tried to stand but my balance was completely off, and he dragged me the last few steps into a small maintenance room off the hallway.

Barely being able to stand on my own again I watched him for a moment as he sliced his pants off his leg, assessing the damage before he took a roll of gauze and bandages from a shelf and set to patch himself up. There were also several bottles of water, two pairs of shoes, and a backpack hidden amongst the cleaning supplies, and I realized someone must have planted them here.

A tug on my blouse reminded me that I had a job to do myself, and I started to peel my clothes off gingerly, trying not to move my torso too much. My ribcage was pounding all over, making every breath a small torment, but it dulled compared to the pain in my right ear.

By the time I had stripped down to the yellow sun dress Suit Guy had miraculously transformed into a sweaty, dirty, but still incredibly hot geeky guy. He had ditched the dress pants for cargos and was just tying the laces on an old pair of Chucks. His suit jacket and shirt had given way to a light blue tee spelling 'wait until you see what I can do with my d20' and a depiction of a twenty-sided die. Together with the Eastpack backpack he would have fit in at every campus in the world. I helped him get the fake goatee off after I slipped into the ballerinas that even fit the dress – and were exactly my size – before I turned to the door, but he held me back.

He said something but I couldn't hear more than a low din, and when he realized that, he kissed me instead. Looking a little apologetic he mouthed the words 'I'm sorry' before he reached for my hair, wound the long tresses once around his hand and cut right through the strands. I was a little shocked at first, but when he showed me the half melted, clumped together nest of something I let the matter drop. He trimmed the right side a little more where his gun had done quite some damage to my coiffure but left the other side long, the now chin-long bangs hiding most of my bruises easily.

As a last thing he pulled a gun from the backpack and pushed it into the back of the waistband of his trousers, then took my hand and led me outside. Down the corridor we doubled back into the main hall but closer to one of the huge exits, where chaos still reigned. We were quickly swept up by the stream of fleeing people, and although I got extremely paranoid, we didn't stick out from the bloodied, frightened mass. Escaping the building turned out to be a lot easier than I had fathomed.

And then we were outside, fresh saltwater scented air hitting my clogged up nostrils. The wind ruffled my unfamiliarly short hair and swept the skirt of my dress up, and for a moment I felt like twirling around. Suit Guy flashed me a quick grin before he hugged me close, and we made our way into the maze of cars and flashing ambulances as ever more people ran around screaming, sobbing and shouting.

A few times we were held up by someone asking if we'd seen their relatives – or whoever, I could only guess half of their words as my ears were still ringing, although my senses were slowly returning to normal. Once a cop stared long and hard at me, but he quickly lost interest when my silent companion pushed his hand against the side of my ribs closest to him, making me wallow and sob with pain. Apparently I was a good actress for the cop hastily walked off, leaving the caring boyfriend to deal with his hysteric girl.

We turned around two corners until we were on the street running parallel to the one we had exited to, where Suit Guy stopped and pulled me against him, stroking my mostly unblemished cheek while he kissed me long and deep. I tried to pull away at first to ask him why we weren't moving – surely we should get farther away from the station, as our disguise could only be so good – but he'd have none of that, and finally I melted against him. He still smelled of burned things and blood, but under that I could pick up his natural scent, and right then it was the most wonderful thing in the world.

The sound of an engine revving, followed by screeching tires as a car stopped just a few yards down from us got him to let me get some air, and following his example I turned to study the reason for our interruption. It was a baby blue BMW M5, the paint job not only terrible for such a large and powerful car, but turned even worse by the pink flower designs decorating the doors. At least the driver, a woman wearing large sunglasses and a garishly magenta hat, matching her spaghetti strap dress, wasn't so out of place in that car.

I was surprised when she suddenly pulled down the window and threw something in our direction, Suit Guy expertly snatching the keys out of the air.

"Silver Volvo, eight cars down from you. Before you start bitching, I tuned it myself, that baby could win a Formula 1 race. Bandages are under the seat, morphine and the Fat Lady in the glove compartment. Love the new hair cut, but next time, maybe use scissors. Just a thought."

I was too stunned to say anything, and when I looked up to where Suit Guy was grinning down at me, he shot me an 'I know!' look. Either this woman was on something or naturally talking twice as fast as anyone I'd ever known, but either way, she was clearly in on the whole thing.

That got confirmed a moment later when Lanky Guy walked around us, dressed like a true California Sunny Boy, until he reached the car. Leaning through the driver's side window he kissed the woman deeply, chuckling as she hugged him hard.

"Missed ya, too, babe."

He grinned at me for a moment before he walked around the car, getting into the seat beside her.

"You got to be fucking kidding me! Why did you bring the bitch with you?"

Again we turned as one as Ponytail Guy came sauntering up the street, Burly Guy trailing him until he hopped right into the back seat of the car. Ponytail Guy instead kept standing outside, glaring at me.

"Got a problem with my decision, then take it up with me," Suit Guy growled, and like when he had briefly shouted at the other man, I could feel disdain coming off in waves of him.

"It's just, eleven is an awful number to divide the money by!"

"You're so right."

Even though I stood directly beside him, I didn't see or feel him draw his gun. One moment Ponytail Guy was smirking at him, the next he dropped to the floor, jerking twice more as the bullets hit him right between the eyes. Even with my hearing nearly back to normal I barely heard anything, the silencer greatly muffling the sounds.

"Thank God you finally offed him, he's been getting on my nerves since he nearly lost it in Biloxi!" the woman exclaimed, her light laughter creeping me out a little.

"Ah, whatever," Burly Guy grunted as he got out of the car to pick up the body and drag it with him up into the back seat again.

"Take care of the roses! It's bad enough that you now get blood all over my car, but do you have any idea how hard it was to find forty yellow roses?"

Burly Guy only laughed.

"Speaking of which, she was right behind me when I left the station, if you double back we can probably still get to her before she takes off!"

And like that they were gone, the blue SUV speeding down the street. Picking up my hand again Suit Guy talked me into the other direction, stopping in front of the indicated car.

"Why does she have to torture me like that? I mean, a Soccer Mom car?"

I laughed as I slid into the passenger seat, then rued it immediately as my whole body was awash with pain. I opened my eyes again when I felt a light prick in my upper arm, looking with curiosity at the syringe he was just about to withdraw.

"Morphine, remember, she mentioned it. I can't take much because I need a clear head to drive, but doesn't mean you have to tough it out like that."

Managing a grateful smile I reached for the belt, and moments later he eased the car into the light traffic, greatly reduced by the road blocks that must have been erected over the last minutes. I felt my body relax slowly as my mind caught up with what had happened – we were both alive, relatively unscathed, and as it seemed about to get away well.

I started a little when I watched him light I cigar, the end freshly cut off, then had to laugh.

"Fat Lady, like in the movie? Sorry to tell you but I found neither Jeff Goldblum nor Will Smith very appealing in it."

"Not?" He raised his brows in a mocking frown. "Well, I guess the best part was where they blew up the White House. Worth seeing it for all the other crap every time."

"What, that your next plan?"

"Nah, I don't do political statements. Our government is fucked up enough as it is, they don't need my help to send the country spiraling into anarchy. I'll just lean back and watch, if you don't mind."

"Sounds like a plan."

We remained silent for a while as he steered to car towards the freeway. I could see the sun glinting off the ocean in the distance while the wind from the open windows made my hair dance. Everything seemed so peaceful, perfect. Strange.

I nearly jumped when he turned on the radio, skipping stations until he found the one he had apparently been looking for. Unsurprisingly the host was talking about the explosions at the train station, leaving out a few details but more or less getting most things accurate.

"Can you reach into the glove compartment and get me one of the phones out? SIM cards are in the envelope that's in there, too. Just pick one and assemble the phone, please?"

I was a little dumbfounded about his instructions until I opened the compartment, finding at least five phones with their batteries out inside. Grabbing one I had to look a bit to find the fitting other parts, then put the card in and switched it on. Handing it to him, I watched as he dialed a number seemingly from memory.

It couldn't have been coincidence when the radio host suddenly cut off, then after a moment of silence announced, "It seems as if we have a call directly to the studio."

Suit Guy grinned as I eyed him askance, then turned down the radio a little.

"Good afternoon, Grace."

I realized it must have been the same show Lanky Guy had called earlier, piquing my interest.

"Hello, I was waiting for your call already. Scuttlebutt has is you didn't make it."

He laughed, then took a deep drag from his cigar.

"They always say that. Doesn't make it any more true. Which reminds me, in about ten minutes you should get a delivery from me. Don't worry, it's just a video tape. I hope you enjoy it."

There was a pointed silence, before the woman spoke up again.

"I just hear that we have your mother on the other line, I presume you want to talk to her?"

"Please, that would be so nice of you."

Holding his hand over the receiver, he turned to me.

"It's a ritual we've developed over time. The FBI has her house bugged so I can't call directly, and WICC were happy enough to give us some time on air. You see, apparently bringing to conversations between psychopaths and their weeping mothers is good for ratings."

It was a little disturbing to see exactly how he held contact with his family, but I shouldn't have expected anything more conventional, I figured. A moment later I heard a different female voice on the radio and concentrated on listening.

"Anthony, I'm so happy to hear your voice! Your father just called ten minutes ago telling me he was sure you were killed in the explosion!"

He sighed, rolling his eyes in a gesture that was so very like my own when I talked to my mom – used to talk to her – that it made my heart ache.

"Mom, I ask you every time not to use that name anymore. You know that your little Tony died years ago."

"So you say!" she countered him, followed by a shaky sigh when he didn't answer. "Very, well. Edward, then. Although I still don't understand why you use that name."

At my questioning look he turned away from the phone.

"Edward Cullen, if you have to know."

I nearly choked on the laugh building in my throat.

"Like in -"

"Yeah, exactly like in the books. And movies." He shuddered a little at that.

"Seriously? Why?"

His grin lit up his eyes.

"I found it funny at the time when I was penning my first claim of responsibly for the library burning. It kind of stuck."

Shaking my head I tried to wrap my mind around that, but it was quite impossible.

"And what does that make me then, Bella Swan?"

"If you want to," he quipped, then turned back to his phone/radio conversation.

"Sorry, I got distracted for a moment. As I said, I'm not dead yet, and I don't intend to change anything about that state. I hope you don't have any objections."

"Of course not, sweetie! If you could just, you know, stop killing people, that would take a lot off my heart."

"Ah, did the psychiatrist make you say that again? Don't listen to them, you know I'm doing the right thing."

"Tony, please -"

He put the phone down, for a moment gnashing his teeth, but then picked it up again.

"Listen, this will maybe brighten your mood. I met the most wonderful girl. Her name's Bella. You should meet her, she's as bright as she's beautiful, and she has a hell of a good aim when she snaps."

His mother laughed then, but it was the choked, sobbing laugh of a desperate woman.

"I'm so happy that you found some to share your … interests with, honey. Maybe you want to come visit me one day? I'm sure Sheila would love to say hi to her, too. She's made so much progress since you left."

"Sheila?"

His eyes left the road for a moment to look over at me. "My sister."

"But I thought you … so you didn't kill her?"

"Nah," he shook his head. "Would have been a mercy to kill her, bitch didn't deserve it. But the severe brain damage sent her into a coma for years, and ever since she's woken up again she's reduced to senseless babbling. But if you look into her eyes, you still see the intelligence in them. I'm pretty sure she understands every word but her brain's too messed up that she can control her body anymore. Locked inside a hideous, disfigured meat suit, I found that quite fitting when I visited her the last time."

My stomach did a few flips then but I tried to ignore that, instead looked at the cars we were passing by. He was driving a little over the speed limit, fast but not fast enough to stick out. Maybe sensing that I didn't want to know more about that topic, he went back to his call.

"Anything else you wanted to say? It was fun meeting dad again, I see him so much more since I picked up bloody murder and violence. He never was home much when I went to high school and college."

"Oh don't say that, you know your father and I both love you, and -"

Just then a car behind us honked, and the baby blue beemer drew abreast with us, the three people inside waving quickly, before the hatch opened and the lifeless body of Ponytail Guy tumbled onto the highway, nearly hitting the police car in hot pursuit of them. Honking again they quickly sped up, drawing a whole slew of following cars after them.

"Mom, as much as I'd like to keep talking, we kind of have a situation here. Love you, too. Until next time!"

"Listen to me, please -"

She was cut off then when the radio host told her that they had lost the other line, after he had thrown the phone out of the window, the car behind us taking care of it. The cars and sirens all around us made me uneasy but none of them seemed to recognize us – until an unmarked car suddenly swerved into our lane from behind a truck, and I could make out the two Marshals from our stand-off.

"Ah, shit," I heard him swear succinctly, before he turned to me.

"If you reach behind you, at the back of the seat are the racing belts. Put that on instead of your normal seat belt, you'll need it."

I was too stunned to respond but scrambled to follow his order, pulling the belts forward as he already accelerated the car beyond what I thought the small vehicle capable of. I winced as I closed the belts after slipping my arms through them, the pressure on my chest uncomfortable. The car swerved a little as he did the same, the speedometer reaching one hundred and thirty miles per hour.

"Hold on to something, I'm taking that exit."

"What exi -"

Too late I realized he meant the one we were just passing. Nothing could have braced me for the agony exploding in my body as I fell into the belts, his sudden breaking maneuver sending the car spinning. How we made the exit I didn't know, but as soon as he had the car back under control he was accelerating again, down the much smaller road that wound along the coast. Moments later the other car was behind us, the female Marshal at the wheel acting as much of a stunt driver as Suit Guy. A few seconds later two SWAT vans followed, before I lost sight of them as we swerved around the next bend in the road.

Clawing at the upholstery of my seat I tried to get a good grip somewhere, but he was weaving in and out of our lane too fast for me to find a comfortable position.

"How did they find us?"

"Luck, if you ask me! It's happened once before, took me three days to shake them off."

"Three days?"

"Don't worry, I don't think that will be our problem much longer," he replied dryly.

At first I didn't understand what he meant, but when I looked ahead, I saw the road block made of police cars and vans, three vehicles deep, cutting us off the only exit we had.

The flutter of excitement that had been zooming around in my chest ever since we had made it out of the station died when I saw what was the certain end of our quick but short flight. For a moment a nearly sentimental feeling gripped hold of me, but then I exhaled and felt myself grow calm again. Deadly calm.

"So that's it? They're going to stop us, arrest us, and I'll never see you again?"

His eyes met mine for a moment, then he had to concentrate on making the next bend.

"Not if you don't want to."

"What else can we do? I'm sure that if we stop and try to reverse, they'll catch us all the same."

"That's true," he conceded. "But we don't have to be sitting ducks and let them slap their cuffs around our wrists. There's always one other option."

I thought about that for a moment, feeling the remaining seconds we still had tick away as the road block came closer and closer.

"Do you regret it? Meeting me, taking me with you I mean? Alone you might have been faster, or, I don't know, gotten away in another way."

He laughed.

"No. I'll never regret finding you. Do you?"

"No."

"So?"

"Let's do it."

Grinning, he took my left hand into his right, settling both of them on the hand break. I tried hard to commit his face to memory, what good it would do me in a minute or two.

"I love you, pumpkin."

"I love you, honey bunny," he quoted back – then yanked the steering wheel hard to the side, just as he pulled the break. The car instantly lost traction and started to spin, pressing me farther into my seat and the belts. He turned his head to face me, grinning like a little boy at a fun ride.

Then we went over the side of the cliff, and my eyes inadvertently tore from his to the screen. Sky, ocean, cliff face. Sky, ocean, cliff face. Sky -

FIN

Because of the wonderful people who supported TeamBMBM for FGB Eclipse, you can now also read his side of the story. Thanks again, guys!