He's around here somewhere, he thought. Michael tracked him this far.

Amon pulled his pistol from its holster beneath his jacket. He felt the familiar weight of the Orbo hanging from his neck. He eased his eye around the corner, looking down the corridor. He slipped down, staying low enough that even if spotted, it would take them a second longer to draw a bead on him.

He heard the muted sobs of a man ahead of him. He peaked through a storage shelf and saw the witch kneeling, tears streaming down his face. He prepared to step out from cover and fire when he had an unconscious flash, a view from behind him. He spun, firing even as he spied the figure behind him.

The witch fell to the ground, and the sobbing died out as the illusion faded. He pulled his cell from his pocket, calling in the Factory.

As he kept an eye on the senseless form in front of him, he held the Orbo in his palm. It still hadn't suppressed his power. He still got warnings, flashes of intent from other people. It wasn't that he objected to being warned about being hit over the head with a lead pipe.

It was just that the side effects were more than he wanted to deal with. Even now he could feel the pain drifting up from the body where he hand landed, the bruises forming even as he felt them. The tiny sting from where his shot had impacted pulsed with each heartbeat.

The Factory workers arrived and sealed the witch into the truck and drove off. As the distance between him and the witch increased, the pain faded. His cell rang, Michael on the other end.

"Amon, the Chief wants you back at HQ now. Apparently the new hunter is supposed to be coming in today."

Amon tucked the phone away, climbing into his car.

Why did he have a bad feeling about this?

The beginning.