Matt awakened to the familiar ringing of his phone. After a few rings, he groaned and started feeling for his phone on the cluttered wasteland that was the floor. Several rings later he found it and answered. "Hello," he said groggily. His greeting was answered with another ring. That was when he realized that he had picked up an empty forty-ounce bottle of malt liqueur and mistaken it for his phone. He had a good chuckle at that, then found the phone and answered it properly. He couldn't believe his ears.

"I know what you did last night," said a man's voice on the phone. Matt felt his heart sink into his stomach, his pulse raced, his body was engulfed in a cold sweat, he could feel the hairs on the back of his neck dig into his shirt collar, and his vision narrowed to a vortex of swirling purple haze. "What? What? What do you mean?" Matt answered, his voice shaking as he struggling to gain control. "I KNOW what you DID last night," the voice, strong, accent less, and menacing, repeated. Matt's mind raced as he tried to fathom the situation. "Think, think," Matt said to himself. "Don't panic. Whatever you do don't panic. Don't go blood simple," he told himself. "Who is this," Matt asked, trying desperately to control himself. "I KNOW WHAT YOU DID LAST NIGHT," the voice repeated forcefully. "I don't know what you are talking about," Matt replied, slamming down the phone. He lifted himself off the bed, stumbled over the empty bottle of malt, and clutched the edge of his desk to steady himself. "Oh my God," he cried to himself. "How could anyone know? Who could have seen him?"

He was assailed by memories of the night before. It had been a rugby practice session, they'd trained hard, and afterwards, they'd relaxed hard as well - they drank as much as they would normally do after a full match. Matt caught a taxi back from the club with his second-row partner, Jeremy, and had accepted Jeremy's invitation to come in for a nightcap. Half an hour later, on Jeremy's sofa, Matt found himself naked, with both hands on the back of Jeremy's head, and Jeremy's warm mouth . . . the feelings of doubt and guilt returned, wrapped around each other as closely as he had been wrapped around his friend the night before. He'd never even suspected himself of having the capacity for homosexual love which he'd so patently displayed last night. It had seemed like the most natural thing in the world. Perhaps it was inevitable, he thought: in the furnace of the rugby scrum, bound tightly to other men, working as one, perhaps it was unavoidable that secret desires would find fertile ground there, would lie dormant like seeds, and then grow later, suddenly, blooming like desert flowers that open at the first drops of water. But, who could possibly have known what he and Jeremy had done? Matt was seized by an overwhelming need to speak with Jeremy, and as he reached for the handset, the phone began to ring again . . .

Matt was momentarily irked by the ringing of the phone, but he forced himself to ignore the coincidence and he picked up the Phone and hesitantly answered. "Hello?", Matt said cautiously. "I hope YOU weren't trying to CALL JEREMY!". Matt's heart skipped when he recognized the arrogant and pretentious voice that had originally called. "Why... why not?" Matt asked. The response was a moment of silence followed by three simple but terrifying words. "Jeremy is DEAD!" This time, the cryptic caller slammed his phone down and Matt was left struggling for words...

Matt's eye's were stinging with perspiration. He could feel his heart beating in his throat. His lungs struggled for more oxygen. Dazed by the caller's revelation, he lurched into the kitchen. A cockroach was sitting on the rim of a dirty frying pan on the stove. Matt could feel it watching him. "What the fuck are you looking at," he shouted, as he snatched the pan and flung it across the kitchen. He staggered to the sink, splashed water on his face, then retrieved the bottle of whisky he kept for emergencies in the cupboard beneath the sink. He took several liberal gulps, and clutching the bottle, made for the bedroom where he slumped face down on the bed, burying his face in the pillow. "Calm down, try to think straight, don't panic," he begged himself as he lay there. The whisky soon began to work its calming effect, and Matt tried to run the night's events through his head. He remembered rugger practice....then a taxi ride with Jeremy.....then an invitation up to Jeremy's flat for a quick drink. And then? Nothing he could make much sense out of. Matt tried desperately to piece together the seemingly unrelated fragments of memory. He recalled a head bobbing up and down.....a little red light.....and a big balloon in the shape of a pig floating in the sky above a huge, four chimneyed power station. Matt's mind flooded with questions: "What did all those memory fragments mean? Who killed Jeremy? And why? Who was that man on the phone?" And then the big question: "What did I, harmless, insignificant Matt, have to do with it all?"

An overpowering paranoia now overcame Matt. He bolted to his feet, and went around his place shutting every window, drawing every vertical blind, locking every door. He was too shaken up to call Jeremy now. He just wanted to cower in a corner, get drunk, maybe have a few rugby fantasies that would probably end in sweet visions of necrophelia, and then pass out. The the doorbell rang. He decided if this had anything to do with the strange incidents of late, he might as well answer the door. It was better than feeling creeped out. The doorbell rang again. But first he grabbed a revolver from the bottom of his underwear drawer. The doorbell rang again. More insistantly this time. And it was creepy, if ever a doorbell ringing had ever sounded such. Matt tucked the revolver snugly into the front region of his boxers and made toward the door with a grim resolution. "If this was the fucker on the phone" he thought "I'll ask him what this is all about. I'll ask him what he...or they...did to Jeremy. They won't get me without a fight. I know who I am now. I'm willing to die to avenge him..." The doorbell again. He looked through the peephole, timidly, gingerly. There was a creepy man standing there, with a monsterous bulbous head, dressed in a black suit, holding what appeared to be a bible, leering in at Matt. Matt screamed. The bulbous head...the horror! Then he remembered how weird everyone looks through peepholes. He realized he was probably just being called-on by one of those damn mormons. They had called him early yesterday, asking if they could come by and 'share' their beliefs that would make his life peachy keen. Great. That's all he needed now. But he was still so creeped out by the mysterious phone calls. He wanted to be in the presence of someone....anyone...who wasn't connected with the strange events, some semblance of normalcy. He let the mormon in, and greeted him with a cheery 'hallo'! He invited him into the living room. The mormon introduced himself, and they shook hands. Then the mormon guy mumbled something about 'sodom and gommorah' and wrath or somesuch and shot poor matt right in the balls with a revolver.....

Matt fell to floor in intense pain. He let out no cry. His vision became blurred and red and Matt shut his eyes tightly. He reached down to clutch his newly orifaced scrotum and felt something metal. His own revolver. Matt opened his eyes and tried to focus. He saw a blurry shape standing over him. Gradually he could make out what it was doing. It was the supposed door·to·door supposed salvation salesman with his Bible open. Matt's assailant was now reading something in the Bible. Matt used what energy he had left and gripped his own firearm, aimed up as well he could, and spoke: "That wasn't very 'love thy neighbor' of you!" Matt fired. Once. Twice. Matt slipped from consciousness.

Matt had what might be called a moment of lucidity; that call from the subconscious which says "Hello. Hello. This is a nightmare. This is not actually happening. You'll wake up shortly." "Well, thats a relief," Matt assured himself. "That bible-basher didn't just blow off my balls. And I didn't just blow away a Christian nutter while writheing in intense pain on the floor. In fact, there isn't even a religious kook with a bible and revolver." Matt stirred awkwardly in his bed and realised that he was soaked in sweat, and that the sheets were a crumpled pile at the bottom of the bed. "Wow, what a nightmare. I'm glad that's over," Matt thought to himself. His eyes opened tentatively, and through the blur he began to take in the room. There was the reassuring presence of his alarm clock on the bed side table, and he was relieved to see his desk and computer with his beloved blue ergonomic computer chair tucked comfortably underneath. Matt gently rolled on to his back and began to scan the other side of the room. There was the door with his ragged old coat hanging on its hook, there was the overflowing bookcase, and then the old chair in the corner. And in that chair sat a man in dark clothing, bible clenched firmly in one hand, and the other nursing a revolver on his knee. Matt grasped his balls, seeking reassurance that they were still there. They were. Wiping the sleep from his eyes and gingerly sitting up in his bed, Matt stared at the bible-carrying gunman in the chair. "And who might you be?" Matt asked nervously.

"I'm Jim. Hee hee hee." Jim's laugh was slow and sounded as though Jim were halfway to insane. "And who might you be?" Jim began snickering, almost gasping in the process. "I'm Matt. What are you doing here?" Matt felt an intense nervousness. "Well, what are you doing here?" Jim responded. Some of Matt's nervousness faded. What was this Jim talking about Matt wondered. What was he doing here? He lived here. "I live here. This is my place. So what ARE YOU doing here?" "Oh uh..." A momentary pause. Then a brief snicker from Jim. He resumes speaking thereafter "I guess I live here too." Jim's face now bore an idiotic grin.

Just then, the phone began ringing. Still flummoxed by his recent dream, Matt wondered if the original phone calls were part of that very same nightmare. Perhaps Jeremy was still alive and everything was back to normal. Except, of course, for the giggling wonder sitting in the corner. Matt picked up the phone and was not at all suprised when he heard the repugnant, now-familiar voice on the other end. "I see you have met... JIM!" The man's repellent overly dramatic voice was getting on Matt's nerves. "Yeah, I've met your retarded little friend, what the hell does he have to with anything?" "YOU will just have to... FIND OUT!" Frustrated, Matt slammed the phone down. "Hee hee hee, what do you have to do with anything?" Jim asked with a giggle. Matt slowly walked over to Jim, "I don't know..." In one fluid movement Matt reached down, grabbed Jim's gun, and smacked the Bible out of his hands. "But you're gonna tell me..." Jim's moronic grin faded.

"Damn it, Lisa, if you'd stop pestering him so much maybe he'd actually call back!" shouted Dan angrily. "Look, you know it and I know it. We need to get in touch with Jeremy ASAP! This is important." replied Lisa. Dan quickly spoke; "But he doesn't know that, Lisa. He probably thinks you're just getting obsessive or something." "Why would he think that?" asked Lisa confused. "How many times have you called him in the past two hours?" Dan said matter·of·factly. "Okay, I see." Lisa said, understanding. Dan and Lisa had been roommates for six months. During that time their relationship remained platonic. When they'd first met, Lisa, a thin attractive blonde from an insipid San Francisco suburb had showed some interest in pursuing a more personal relationship with Dan. That all ended when Dan finally announced to the world (or at least the three people in the room at the time) that he was a homosexual. When this had happened, Lisa felt more relieved than disappointed. She never figured out why, but then, Lisa wasn't much into introspection. The pair had moved into their current apartment only a week earlier, hearing that it was a much nicer place than their previous abode and indeed it was. "Well, here's what I think..." Dan began, but was silenced himself when he heard shouting from through the wall. "Now you're going to tell me what the hell is up with this or I'm going to get real nasty with this here firearm!" came through the wall. "Oh my..." Lisa blurt out.

Lisa sighed deeply. "Does he never stop?" she asked. Dan and Lisa were kept awake by loud banging coming from the other side of the wall the night before. At first they were alarmed that something was amiss with their neighbor, but then the once muffled noise of voices became coherent as they became louder, and it became obvious that Matt wasn't in trouble at all. He was having a grand ol' time. Lisa thought maybe he had several ladies in there with all the commotion; Dan, even though without any substantial proof, wondered if Matt's companion was indeed female. It wasn't that Matt had any feminine qualities; he was in fact overly masculine, and that's percisely why Dan suspected an un-nurtured homosexual personality within Matt. That and Matt had a nice ass. "Just when you thought it couldn't get any stranger over there. I never would have guessed that Matt was into the kinkier, violent sex. I figured he wasted all his money on alcohol, but maybe he's got some sort of bondage collection going too." Lisa remarked. "Sweetie, if you knew what I knew you wouldn't be so surpri--" An explosion came from behind Lisa, from the direction of the lovers in the other apartment. She had been sitting in her rocker/recliner with the phone in her lap. Dan, who had been slightly resting against the exquisitely trimmed arm of the loveseat opposite Lisa with his arms folded across his chest, was thrown over the furniture. Lisa had let out a scream but she didn't panic; she was in too much shock. Blood was splattered all over the expensive designer curtains; she remembered that Dan had been fussy over their color, but he was greatly satisfied in the fabric that she chose. Lisa bolted from the chair and over to where Dan had been standing. A streak of blood painted the exposed wall underneath the window and between the curtains; its richness of color such an outstanding contrast to the light and vivacious hues of the room that Lisa was snatched back into the reality of the situation. An explosion? Not exactly, it must have been a gun Lisa thought. Dan, half against the wall, half crumpled on the floor in twisting pain, was clenching his left shoulder as blood seeped out between his fingers and down his wrist and arm like a waterfall. Lisa turned around to see a jagged hole blasted through the wall; drywall and the shredded remains of a oil painting, were strewn across the olive green carpeting. (At the same time in Matt's apartment....) "Oh FUCK!" The words were fired almost simultaneously with the gun. He hadn't meant to pull the trigger, honestly. The man had risen from the chair and in response, Matt stepped back with his left foot so as to fully extend his arm in order for the revolver's mouth to come level with the funny man's brow. He wasn't about to let this Bible freak intimidate him. Instead, Matt tripped over an empty bottle of wine and let his finger clench down on the trigger like an idiot. A thousand questions, thoughts and emotions raced through Matt as the bullet raced through the other man's head and the wall behind him. *Oh my god, I just murdered someone.* *This simple revolver shouldn't have carried such a powerful recoil or damage.* *At least I don't have to listen to that incessant laughing anymore* *I'm going to have to find a clean pair of undershorts, if that's possible.* Then nothing. He stopped thinking and feeling all at once, and everything was silent. From the other side of the reddened hole before him came a hysterical crying and pleas for help. Matt was brought back to his senses. His first impulse was to check on his neighbors, but he noticed the bible the man had been clutching lay open and upside down on the floor. Underneath and around it lay numerous folded papers that had been tucked amongst he pages. One was enclosed in a very small envelope (like the kind you put those cheesy valentines in) with "Matt" written on the front in very frantic, scribbled penmanship.

at first Matt put the identity of mystery dialer down to an asthmatic pervert who had mistaken his number for that of a single young girl's. Yet the calls kept coming despite Matt adopting a booming Barry White phone manner to scare him off. The dialer wasn't a gay pervert either. When Matt begun to listen to the content of his whisperings, he discovered not the expected sexual rantings of a madman, but something far more sinister. This person seemed hellbent on delivering some sort of punishment to Matt for all the crimes he had committed against him. These so called crimes were...

Continuity errors! Thats right! Matt not only managed to ruin the current story with his incoherent dreamscapes, but he also ruined the Ghost Town story, leaving it to wither and die... When Matt thought about it, there was really only one person who could be calling him. The phone rang again. Matt was very confused for a moment because the scenery had subtly changed. There was no gun, nor any Bible toting idiot, yet there was an envelope on the ground with his name typed neatly on the front. And his neighbors, Dan and Lisa, were there, though Dan no longer had any bullet holes in his shoulder. Oddly, Matt overcame this confusion quickly and answered the phone... That familiar voice boomed from the phones speakers once more saying...

"Matt, is that you Matt?!" the voice was desperate, and pleading... "Matt, It's Spence, you've got to help me!" Matt looked from the envelope on the floor, to his neighbors, to the phone in his hands... what the hell was going on here? Continuity errors, shifting landscapes, strange phonecalls, annoying neighbors... nothing was making any sense... why was he having so much trouble keeping a PLOT running? Everything had been easy before... before what? A vague image of hamsters and fire alarms floated through his brain. "Damnit" he muttered to himself, "Another cameo appearance?" Turning his attention back on the phone, he asked the question that had been bothering him sense before this story had even started... "Spence? Where the *hell* were you in the Ghost Town? And why do we keep breaking the fourth wall?! Where is this story going? Why am I getting all these crazy images, and why can't the freakin' landscape stay where it is?!" At that moment, as if in response to his inquiries, the room seemed to be morhping yet again. Matt looked again, and realized that, in fact, the room hadn't changed at all, but that Dan and Lisa, in response to his lunatic like ravings, had decided that maybe they'd be safer waiting in the hall. "Matt? Are you still there?" Spences voice drifted over the phone line. "MATT GET A HOLD OF YOURSELF!! THIS IS TOO IMPORTANT TO GET LOST ON NOW!!! YOU'VE GOT TO TIE IT ALL TOGETHER! PLEASE! FOR ALL OF OUR SAKES!!" Her voice was getting distant, as though the conection were slowly losing its power... "tie it together Matt, we're counting on you!" Then... she was gone.

Matt walked out into the hall, where Dan and Lisa awaited. Matt was more confused at this moment than ever before in his life. Reality (termed loosely), or at least what he still thought was reality, seemed to be tearing apart around him, then hastily repaired in a half·assed manner. It was as though some diety's rambunctious companion had chewed through Matt's perception of the universe, and to try and fix it, the diety had used a staple gun. Dan and Lisa talked amongst themselves in the hall, glancing expectantly at Matt between sentences. Matt looked back at them, focusing on Dan. Muffled sounds entered his consciousness. Matt had classified himself as an audio learner. That is, he learned best by listening (as opposed to watching or doing). Usually he remembered things first and foremost in a crisp, clear, digital surround sound manner. THX would've loved to use his brain as a speaker system. This time however, the audio came in muffled, as a speaker phone might sound from across a hall. Something about Dan being homosexual. Matt closed his eyes and shook his head. Nothing was any clearer to him. 'Is Dan actually gay or did my mind make that up?' More half remembered events flooded Matt's consciousness. A drunken homosexual experience with Jeremy. Then more confusion... who was Jeremy? Was he real? "Matt!" a voice shouted. Matt opened his eyes. Lisa and Dan were standing right in front of him. 'It would be odd for Lisa and Dan to live together if they were not romantically involved. So there is a good chance he is gay...' Matt's thoughts blurred again. A faint image. Appeared to be Dan and Lisa kissing passionately. "Matt!" Lisa shouted, then hit Matt on the shoulder.

Lisa's strike was sufficient to knock reality back into Matt's confused life. Was Dan gay, was he gay? These things no longer mattered now, they were hallucinations, voices in his head - understandable side effects following such a traumatic chain of events. Coffee coffee coffee. Matt's brain felt like a piece of chewed and spat out meat. Making coffee was the first sane thought that had entered Matt's head for ages. He burnt his tongue and winced. The burn reminded him of the letter - being a logical sort Matt acknowledged to himself that tongues and stationary are in fact largely unrelated. Caffeine took Matt back to the THX he was of old. He downed the last of it, ignoring the pain, his tongue was already burnt, so being cautious was now fruitless. As he approached the brilliant white envelope, he felt himself reach a new level of clarity. His brain was now fully kitted out with the latest Dolby Digital DTS system. With a surge of confidence he snatched it up the envelope and frantically ripped it open as if time was of the essence. Matt had expected a cliche, something from a horror movie or low budget thriller, but instead received a clear emotionless instruction. With creased brow he muttered the words aloud: I do know your movements, bear this in mind - leave the building and enter 'Scruffy Murphy's'. No later than 6:00 please. Matt was not sure if he liked the inclusion of 'please' at the end of such a conspiracy-immenent danger-style instruction. It merely confused Matt further. He studied his watch. It was now 5:50, he had been in a blur for far too long. 'Scruffy Murphy's' was a bar, needless to say an Irish bar, and contrary to its name it was far from scruffy. It was not the dingy haunt for inadequates or criminals as the name might suggest, far from it, 'Scruffy Murphy's was a nice clean, trendy and thus expensive bar.

"Ah! Scruffy Murphy's", Matt thought to himself. It had been in Scruffy Murphy's that Matt had met Angela. There he'd been, slouched against the bar sipping a Guinness, quietly gleeful at the sight of all the smart-arse dot com tossers drunk to a stupour over the plummeting value of their share options, when he'd first seen her. With glistening, shoulder-length blonde hair and an amber-coloured skin that glowed like the finest single malt whisky, he'd watched her glide across the room with the nose up, sprocket-hipped model-girl gait calculated to provoke wonder among men and jealous resentment among women. She had been wearing a tight-fitting jet-black shirt and a white silk blouse with just the right amount of slack to affirm the aesthetic perfection of what lay beneath. Matt had been spellbound. Then he had realised that she was headed straight towards him, and he had shuffled nervously on his feet and made a graceless stab at his Guinness. But before he could steady himself, she had been beside him. Immediately, Matt had been overcome by her scent. He had experienced nothing like it. Ambrosial was the word. He had pretended not to notice her, but his mouth had gone dry and his loins had twitched uncontrollably. "Hi. I'm Angela", she had announced. "You must be Matt". "Ah. Um. Ur. Yeah. Matt. Um. Ur. Yeah, Matt. That me", Matt had sputtered, directing his reply to Angela's breasts. "How did you know my name?" Matt had asked nervously, still focused on the breasts. "I have come to warn you, Matt", Angela had declared. "Warn me", Matt had asked nervously. "Yes. Warn You", Angela had replied. "Very shortly", she had continued, "a very evil man will contact you. He will play a game with your life. He will play a game with your mind. He is very clever. Be wary of all events in your life from this moment on, Matt", Angela had warned. "Im wary already", Matt had replied, still tranfixed by Angela's pert breasts. "So who is this evil chap, and what exactly is this game?" Matt had asked. "I can't tell you that", Angela had declared. "So, if I'm going play a game with this chap, what's the winner's prize?", Matt had asked Angela. "Well, its simple, Matt", Angela announced. "If the evil man wins, you die." "But if, by some chance, you win, Matt, then I AM your prize. You can have me any way you want for as long as you want". Matt had been contemplating this ever since that night at Scruffy Murphy's. And he was still comtemplating it as he sat on his bed clutching the brilliant white envelope with its instruction to go to Scruffy Murphy's at 6:00. "So", Matt thought, "the game has begun. All that has happened---Jeremy, the gay thing, the man with the gun and the bible, Lisa and Dan---maybe that was just the evil man playing with my mind". Matt rose from the bed and slipped on his coat. As he headed out the door, he ran it through his mind: "the evil man wants to play a game. Well, I'll give him a game, alright. And I'll claim my prize! Angela! Now she is a fine incentive for a man to play his best".

"The best part," the man could barely contain his laughter, "was that look on his face when it was over. That! That was classic!" The man burst into hysterical laughter, while another man sitting across the small door·side table sat silently irritated. The two men were dressed in suits that looked as expensive as the rent Matt paid. The amused one had inch long dark brown hair and a gold watch that occasionally vanished from sight into his sleeve as he convulsed with laughter. Matt didn't get a good look at the other. He was blonde. That was all he cared to see as he turned his head further into the interior of Scruffy Murphy's. They didn't look like they were part of the game. There were only about seven people, Matt included, in the bar at this time. Matt scanned about the room and its occupants, looking for someone who looked like a likely participant in this game. More than that however, Matt hoped to find Angela. Everyone looked rather bland, including the now quietly chuckling man to his side. Matt's surveyance eventually found an analogue clock secured to the far wall. 5:59. One minute to spare. A sudden thought shook through Matt's mind. Six AM or PM?! Matt calmed himself took a seat at the bar. "Be right with you." Matt heard from the direction of the bartender. Matt didn't bother to glance up. He was too preoccupied with thoughts of what could possibly come next, if he was even at the bar at the right time. If he wasn't, he wondered, did that mean he lost already? Was he doomed? Then again, the note did say please. Perhaps it was a request, not a demand. If the blur of the day earlier was any sign of what was to come, Matt didn't know if he could win this game, much less even know if he had won. There was a slapping sound in front of Matt. A gloved hand was there and when it retracted to its owner's side, a small white envelope remained with "don't loo k atm e as i leave" typed upon it. "Typos." Matt whispered quietly to himself, trying not to look up. "See you later, Mr. Nansuen." the bartender said in the direction of the door. Matt heard the door open then close. Matt glanced around him. No one was taking any notice of him. He took the envelope with him to a corner table and tore it open. There was a white business card inside with one word, printed in small type, on it. Matt didn't know what to make of it at first. He whispered the word quietly to himself. "Riot."

As Matt sat and pondered his note, he sipped a beer. "This has got to be just a bad dream," he thought to himself. Indeed, it did seem like a dream, with all the continuity errors and erratic scene changes. What other explaination was there? He was suddenly overtaken by a dead calm, his mind reverting back to the Sony Dynamic Digital Sound (SDDS) of old. On the bar's sound system, a Pink Floyd song began to play... "Harmlessly passing your time in the grassland away // Only dimly aware of a certain unease in the air..." The song, which Matt recognized as "Sheep", continued on, seeming to provide an uncanny description of Matt's situation. "Now things are really what they seem // No, this is no bad dream" Matt was pondering the coincidence when the expensively dressed blond yuppie he had seen earlier reached over his table and punched his laughing friend. A woman at the bar screamed, but was silenced by someone's fist. Pandemonium ensued... "A Riot!" Matt exclaimed with comprehension. But then, what did a riot have to do with anything? Matt was about to find out...

…but not before being taken to right to the limit. ‘Riot’… Riot! His mind was working overtime to decode any meaning from the pandemonium in the bar and the message he had received before it had even happened. How does this person know the future, or were they creating it, and if so why? Matt was so disgusted he nearly shouted the word out loud. What is with these people! They weren’t beating around the bush, they were lightly tapping at it with a flimsy stick. Matt was tired of the intimidation: the ambiguous one word messages, the instructions to act on ‘their’ terms, who were they? Matt downed the last of his beer the flat, warm, salivary taste reminding him that he hadn’t bought one. He got up, eyes scanning for any rightful owners. No frowns, no dot com tossers shaking nerdy little heads. Satisfied he was still being ignored, Matt strolled outside. He took in some cool air and stretched his arms, glancing at his apartment block as he did so. His heart missed a beat. “Christ” he blasphemed, one of the windows was illuminated. “Please don’t be mine” Matt chanted to himself, shakily running his finger down the block in an effort to locate his window. His stomach churned, he knew that it was his apartment. Fear and excitement quickly turned into plain panic in the space of a single gunshot. There followed a few obligatory female cries and then nothing. Now this took things a stage further. Matt assumed the light flicker and the trigger squeezer was the same person, or at least connected, he could hardly go back to the flat. Anyway guns turned Matt to jelly. Prior events, imagined or otherwise, had confirmed that. But Matt didn’t need to think, because just then his saviour appeared. Angela could, on this occasion, have been mistaken for his guardian angel - she looked more beautiful than ever, dressed in white. Not a cliché in the world could do her justice that night. It was all too much; Matt hung his head and began to sob like a little boy. Through fat, cumbersome tears he could make out her pristine shoes. How could her outfit remain so unblemished when the street was so dirty and covered in puddles? Angela was one of those beautiful people who never seemed to suffer those little problematic issues concerning appearance, never a laddered tight or creased top in sight. Taking pity on his helplessness she murmured some inaudible words of comfort and took Matt in her arms. Despite having far weightier issues for his brain to deal with, the blood flowed elsewhere as his felt her wondrous figure pressed against him. Aware of his transformation, Angela withdrew, her face slightly flushed. She gripped his shoulders tilted her head forward and looked straight into his eyes. “Do you understand Matt, this is serious”, she shook him aggressively. Matt sobered himself, “No I don’t understand, what’s going on, why are they doing this and what does Riot mean”. ‘Riot?’ Angela repeated, her eyes widening. ‘Oh my god Matt its started, we’ve gotta leave now!’ Matt resisted ‘But what does riot…’ but evidently she didn’t have time to dawdle, she grabbed Matt’s arm aggressively, ‘look, I’ll explain on the way, come on!’

...Matt's own apartment, Venice, Rome, Paris, an apartment in Paris, the top of the Eiffel Tower, the first Starbucks founded in Seattle, Mount Rushmore, the view from the centre of the helmet of the Statue of Liberty, within an ancient Egyptian sarcophogus (without mummy), Rome again (this time circa the time of Pax Romana), his mother's bedroom in 1974, before Adolf Hitler at a public burning of books sometime in Nazi Germany, the court of William the Duke/Bastard of Normandy (proir to his British rule), the first presidential inaguration of William Jefferson Clinton in the United States' capital city... These images flew in and out of Matt's vision just long enough for him to comprehend seeing them but not have much chance to act in them. Where was Angela taking him? How was Angela taking him? Was that really just a beer Matt had drank? .? ..? ...the stone heads of Easter Island, the burning of Nazi Berlin near the close of WWII in Europe, the set of a scene in Pulp Fiction during filming (the restaurant robbery), Matt's high school graduation ceremony...

Memory fragments, lots of memory fragments, and not all of them were his own. Matt's mind was like one of those 1960s experimental films: split screen, random meaningless words flashed in hippy fonts, bizarre strobing effects, psychodelic colours spinning into ink blot patterns---and like a 1960s experimental film it had no real meaning or purpose. Or did it? It was the soundtrack to the hallucination that intrigued Matt: "There may be dogs about//Things are not what they seem//A look of terminal shock in your eyes//Now things are really what they seem//No, this is no bad dream." Pink Floyd's "Sheep". Great album, Matt thought to himself, and a classic album cover. The album cover! It all started to make sense. Matt recalled a previous episode of flooding memory fragments, the one he had shortly after the supposed night with Jeremy, the one with recurring images of a big balloon in the shape of a pig floating in the sky above a huge, four chimneyed power station. That was the album cover from Pink Floyd's "Animals", the album with "Sheep" on it. "That's the key!" Matt shouted. "This all has something to do with Battersea Power Station!" "Angela! Angela!" Matt shouted as he sprung from the bed. But there was no Angela. And the room he was in, a dingy one room flat with peeling wallpaper and rotting carpet, was not one he had been in before. "Where am I? How did I get here? Where is Angela?" These questions raced through Matt's mind. He scanned the room. It was a shit hole, even worse than his own. Matt walked over to the small window and pulled aside the grimy curtains. "Oh my God!" Matt gasped, as he stared at the immense, towering, terrifying, yet in its way beautiful, structure before him. It was Battersea Power Station.

Despite the apparent sense in this turn of events, Matt had had enough. He was sick of being lost and confused. He immediately exited the room, walked down the filthy steps, and out towards Battersea Power Station. He hopped the fence and started towards the door. A few seconds later he was accosted by two security guards. "Who are you? What are you doing here?" they demanded. Matt calmly responded, "I'm Matt, and I'm here to see Mr. Nansuen." This obviously struck a cord with the security guards. "We'll see about that." the other guard said. They placed Matt in handcuffs and brought him inside...

Matt was lead into a small white room with a white rectangular table in the center and three white folding metal chairs. One chair was situated at the head of the table. The other two on either of the lengthier sides of the table. The guards sat Matt down in the chair at the table head. "I know all about it." Matt told the guards. They didn't seem to hear him. One left the room. The other sat in one of the other chairs and began to study Matt. Matt stared the guard right in the eyes. Matt spoke: "I do, you know. I know." "We'll see," the guard responded. The door opened. The man who entered was strangely familiar to Matt, though at first he remember who exactly this man was. Then it dawned on him.

It was Barney! Mr Nansuen was Barney! Barney had installed Matt's DSL connection. "That damn DSL connection was a right cock-up," Matt screamed at Barney/Mr Nansuen as he entered the room. "Damn thing keeps dropping every ten minutes, and its no faster than a dial-up. I want my money back," Matt screamed in indignation. "I don't doubt that it was a cock-up," Barney/Mr Nansuen replied slyly. "I don't know the first thing about DSL. I infiltrated the connection provider so I could have a good look around your flat and install some devices to keep an eye on you. You never suspected a thing," Barney/Mr Nansuen informed Matt. "You bastard!" Matt yelled at Barney/Mr Nansuen. "Yep. I'm a bastard alright," Barney/Mr Nansuen replied laughing. Matt settled in his chair, looked Barney/Mr Nansuen in the eye and declared: "I'm starting to get the hang of this game. I figured out the Pink Floyd Animals thing. Now, tell me where Angela is?" Barney/Mr Nansuen nodded towards a large white door behind Matt. "She's through that door, up the long spiral metal staircase behind it, first door on your right at the top. She's in a big king size bed with silk sheets. She's completely naked, waiting for you to go up there and make passionate love to her," Barney/Mr Nansuen matter of factly informed Matt. Matt turned and stared at the door. He was thinking pretty hard now. It sounded so simple. Just walk through that door, climb the stairs and *bliss*. Matt didn't like the silk sheets bit, though. Impossible to get a decent toe grip on them. Still, he was mighty tempted. But for all his eagerness to have Angela, he suspected a trap. Was Angela really naked in a bed upstairs? What was really behind the door? Gingerly, Matt climbed out of his chair...

and made way for the stairs. His heart beating faster with every step he took. Matt wore a devilish grin that insured him even more that he was about to get some. His mind traveled back to the previous nights when he made love to her sweet memory. He pulled out a peice of blue gum and chewed it fast to rid of any harsh breath. Matt was prepared. The first step on the spiral staircase was only a couple feet away. He caught a draft and turned to find the open window, but instead tripped over his freinds favorite Pink Floyd Bong, spilling the water, the contents of the bowl, and himself onto the hard tiled kitchen floor.

Perhaps it was the physical jolt of pain, or the bong water that splashed on his face, or the pungent smell the broken bong emitted, but Matt suddenly realized the gravity of what he had almost done. He had almost walked into a trap, mesmerized by the mere notion of Angela's pleasures... Mr. Nansuen was a clever one, and he knew the hypnotic power Angela exerted over her subjects, so he used that as leverage. Nansuen must have noticed that Matt wasn't buying it anymore because he yelled, "Seize him you fools!" Two guards came running and Matt somehow managed to pick himself up and run through an open doorway on the other side of the room. He moved deftly through the byzantine hallways and rooms of Battersea Power Station, but he could always hear the footfalls of his pursuers. Finally, Matt decided to make a stand. He stopped in an abandoned maintenance room, filled with rotting toilet paper and various cleaning implements. The henchmen entered the room cautiously enough to avoid Matt's first attack and thier counter attack brought Matt to his knees. "So this is the end..." Matt thought to himself. Then he heard two loud bangs, and the two henchmen collapsed in front of him revealing the gunman. "Jeremy!" Matt exclaimed...

Matt felt that crippling sense of nausea and confusion enter his body again. Realities conflicted and interchanged with one another. He was in a bar, having a beer, he was in his cluttered but comfortable apartment, sleeping off his latest binge, and he was here, at Battersea power station, looking at two dead men, and his friend Jeremy, with a deadly looking gun, and a strange glint in his eyes. With an enormous effort of willpower, Matt brought himself back into his present time and place. Those other things, memories, dreams, fantasies, they would only confuse him now. "Jeremy," he stuttered "what....wha....why...who..." "There's no time for that now," Jeremy said. "We have little time as it is. We must get you out of here at once." Out of here turned out to be outside the Battersea station, in a cloudy and curious country Matt was vaguely able to identify as England, mostly because people here insisted upn driving on the wrong side of the road. As Jeremy conversed with him, Matt began to notice a bit of a Britich accent creeping into his voice. Jeremy didn't seem to notice it himself. Onward they drove, and Matt dozed in and out of sleep, until Jeremy stopped the car, and said, his accent almost completely reverted to public shcool British, "We're here." Matt looked out the window at London, in the rain and fog, and saw...

...Angela standing there wrapped in a dull grey trenchcoat. Her face huddled in the collar of the trenchcoat and her bright flowing blonde hair was all he could see of her. He was once again taken in momentarily by her beauty, but was suspicious enough of a great many things not to let it go to his head for long. Matt and Jeremy both got out of the car. Angela remained where she was, staring at Jeremy as though she were trying to read his thoughts. Matt staring back, trying to read her thoughts and trying to figure out what this was all about. "It's done, my dear." Jeremy told Angela in a fully British accent, though Matt was unsure of which dialect. Angela's gaze remained fixed on Matt. "What is to be done with him?" Angela finally spoke, not removing her look from Matt. "I'd prefer he be let go unharmed. As always, it is up to you—" Jeremy was interrupted. "Of course it's always up to me." Angela snapped, quite irate sounding. "It never would be any other way, though at times... well, what is to be done with you, Matthew? Tell me, what do you think we should do with you." Matt's heart felt like it was about to leap out of his throat.

"Perhaps a sauna? Followed by full on sex?" Alright, Matt appreciated that the chances were slim, but what had his father always told him? "If you don`t ask, you don`t get!" Strangely Matt had always found that what you didn`t get was often better than what you did. In this case his theory was once again proven accurate as Jeremy smacked him in the face. "OW!" Matt said nonchalently, uncowed by the aggression. That earned him another smack. Looking about him Matt realised that London was really not a very nice place, it was very grey and it had an unwholesome odour of filth about it. In many ways it reminded him of home. Even as Matt`s dazed mind pondered fact that had nothin whatsoever to do with the fate of his life he realised there was a reason that his captors did not intimidate him. Matt remembered the riot that had only existed for him, he remembered reading the word, and of being confused. This time his mind was sharp as he looked up at the giant Camera shop and eagerly read the word "Cannon". Alright, it was spelt incorrectly for his means, but maybe, just maybe, it would work.

"A cannon. Oh, that's clever. We didn't think of that one." Matt suddenly found himself in a bright white expanse of... white. There was a floor under him. He could feel it with his feed but he could not discern it from the walls, if there were any, of the area. All around him it was white. The voice had come from behind him. Matt twirled around, feeling very light suddenly. He almost spun too far and fell over but he managed to regain his equilibrium. Before now were three grey haired men who appeared to be sitting a desk. The desk was white, though it didn't blend in with the rest of the area. The men were wearing white robes which were discernable from the white expansive and the desk within. Matt looked at each of the men. They were seated just behind the desk, which was about four feet away from him. The one directly in front of him and the one to his right appeared to be caucasian. The one to his left appeared to be Japanese. The voice he had heard just moments ago came from the centre figure, who began to speak again. "Welcome, Matthew. I must say, I'm very impressed. I thought it would have taken you longer to reach us. It certainly took me longer to figure out what I was." The second white man spoke up, his voice raspy with age but oddly familiar. "Looks like he'll have your seat." This second man made eye contact with Matt. "Someday." His face was oddly familiar as well. It seemed as though it were someone he knew when he was younger but couldn't recognise him now. "Yes, Matthew. You know me... in some capacity. It will become clear enough soon. For now, though, you have a difficult situation to deal with." "What is this?" "Do not interrupt. You will answer your own questions soon enough. Your mind is locked but you have your ear against the door. Listen for the clicks, as you have been. You've seen your prowess with words in your hallucenations. Soon enough it will become a reality. Do not abuse this, however." The man paused to catch his breath. Matt looked at him with worry. Despite not knowing anything about anything anymore apparently, something inside Matt felt concern for this old man. Even if only a pause for breath, it seemed to be a sign of death. Matt didn't understand how. The old man weakly smiled at him, as though he knew what Matt was thinking. "In time...." Matt's mind returned to questions. "You mentioned hallucena—" The old man interrupted him and continued. "Do not abuse your commands. If you use them too often, they will use you. You will cease to have a functional mind of your own. You will be nothing more than a tool for your tools, which plot against you even now. For the moment, they are a necessary evil. When you are here, you will be safe enough. You are not here yet, however. Your presence here is merely a link. Your image before us an apparation created by our mind. Go now, you have a task before you." Matt felt his eyelids become incredibly heavy. Blackness engulfed him and he felt like he was curled up submerged in comfortably warm water like the temperature of the shower water when he got it 'just right' only all around him. He could sleep like this. He could sleep forever. He wanted to sleep forever. There was a quick movement in the water. His eyes sprang open and he saw Angela broken in half by cannon fire. The horrid vision lasted only a minute fraction of a second but his memory of it would haunt him for many lifetimes to come. There was white again but this time the room seemed normal enough. He was lying on a most uncomfortable cot with his arms wrapped around him. Upon trying to move his arms he realised he was restrained within a straight jacket. Now what was this? Had Matt been crazy for some time now? How much of what he had experienced was real? The old familiar voice whispered in his mind: "It's time to get out." Matt heard footfalls from behind him followed by the very close sound of a door opening. "Matthew Tobias? Can you hear me?" a deep, male voice asked him from behind.

"Yeah, yeah, I can hear ya." Matt said impatiently. "Good, then I expect we have a lot to talk about." came the ever-more-familiar voice. "Mr. Nansuen!" Matt exclaimed as he recoiled away from the man who had just entered the room. "Please, call me Luke. I don't think you understand my role in this, and I know a great deal more about your situation than you might think." Mr. Nansuen said calmly. Matt was hardly in a position to reject such a proposal, so he said "Yeah, sure. So what do you want?" "I want to know how far you've come in recognizing your powers. I suspect you've made it to the... er... white place with the old men, am I correct?" Matt, not sure why he suddenly trusted Nansuen, confirmed the inquiry. "Ahhh, yes," said Mr. Nansuen, as if he suddenly understood everything, "So you can see now what happened to Angela - she was a bright young girl, but she abused her powers--" "So she became a tool for her tools" Matt added. "Yes, yes, very perceptive Matthew! She did indeed use her powers too heavily, and so she opened herself up to abuse. You, on the other hand, are just becoming aware of your powers... there's still a chance for you Matt. You were wild and reckless in the beginning, before you knew what you were doing, but now that you do, you can avoid Angela's fate..." Once again, Matt was plunged into confusion. He had no doubt that what had been said about Angela was correct, but could he trust this Luke Nansuen? How did he know so much about everything? Then, something troubling happened...

He could hear it...no, no, he could, in fact, feel it...a phone was ringing somewhere outside the proximity of his room. Apparently, Mr. Nansuen noticed Matt's expression, because he stopped, and asked Matt, "What? What is it?" Little beads of presperation broke out on Matt's forhead. His lips were suddenly dry, and his pupils had dialated. The ringing of the phone had stopped, but the ringing in his head continued, and steadily increased. The whole world was throbbing, the white lights, the sounds, all intensifying into a cascading symphony of pain...pain so strong, it felt like everything inside was being ripped forcefully out, nerve end by nerve end. Mr. Nansuen, realizing what is happening, pulls out his walkie-talkie, and radios the psyche-bay. "Hurry! Get the doctors in here! Its happening again, Matt is..."

...breaking down!" Mr. Nansuen recognized the signs; Matt's brain was rejecting the knowledge of his new "power." Mr. Nansuen, also known as Luke "the Lasso" Nansuen, had experienced everything Matt was going through 20 years ago. He knew if he didn't reveal all the facts, Matt would implode. Miss Lynn wouldn't be happy with that...no sir-ee. Matt was given a mild sedative to settle him. Luke took a seat in a folding chair next to the cot, blotted his brow with his handkerchief, and formulated the entire plot in his head. Hopefully, Matt was strong... "Mr. Tobias," Luke asked calmly. "Matt? How are you feeling now? A little less dazed, no?" Indeed, Matt's head was clear and peaceful for the first time since his drunken and impassioned night with Jeremy. "I'm feeling...normal," Matt replied. *He always did respond well to drugs,* thought Luke. "Well Matt, I'm sure you probably hate me right now. Afterall, I did conspire with your ex-girlfriend to drug and lure you into our clutches. Every newbie must undergo the same treatment in order to begin the real training in our program..." "Wait wait wait," interrupted Matt, "Which ex-girlfriend? What program?" Luke took a deep breath. "Alright Matt, I'm just going to explain everything from the beginning. It's a long story. Your ex-girlfriend, Spence Lynn, is the leader of a hush-hush organization lead by the joint efforts of the American, British, Czechoslovakian, German, and Canadian governments to implant our highly trained agents in the world of politics and certain corporations—mainly Microsoft—in order to manipulate key officials so as to maintain a delicate balance of order on earth,” Luke said as he gesticulated vibrantly. “We even have operatives working close to the Pope in Rome. We are a group of men and women with a special quality. We can mold your mind to our will with a touch or fire up your libido with a simple glance. It's the most powerful force known to humankind!” Luke stopped talking and looked at Matt expectantly. “Well, what is it?!” cried Matt. “Seduction, duh. You seem surprised. Oh come on Matt! You've had a liberal sexual life ever since you were 13! I believe you know all too well what I mean," Luke said as he nudged Matt in the rib and winked at him. Although wanting to punch Luke in the face, Matt was still restrained. Well, the truth was, in his 26 years, he always thought he was hornier than most. Luke continued, "Every human has this potential, but the majority of us are too weak to handle the mind job it does. You've survived the worst—the phone calls, hallucinations, strange dreams—they’ve all been instigated and staged to test you. See, Spence Lynn saw massive potential within you and therefore pursued you as a sexual play-toy—nothing else but to explore the depth of your power of course. As you know though, your relationship was starting to grow intense. It was crazy man!” Luke exclaimed as he threw his hands up in the air. He came closer to Matt’s ear and muttered, “I know….I saw the tapes myself.” Matt blushed and tucked his chin under. “In fact Matt,” Luke said, seemingly ignoring Matt’s embarrassment, “Spence began to fall for you, and that's why she ended the whole thing before she got in over her head. However, two months after your breakup, there was an uprising within the organization. Of the 1,500 agents all over the globe, 3 of them were from Canada, until Spence told them they were no longer needed. They really weren’t though….I mean, we spent more money on sending them intelligence reports than what they could make on the street corner. They wanted to start their own organization…bring their undercover operation to the forefront and change the face of world relations as we know it, and they wanted to do it by starting with you. Spence was, obviously, opposed. She would lose all recognition, power, and wealth. Angela got to you first though; she brought Dan and Lisa in on the plan. Then Jeremy…well, you know. Therefore—“ “Whoa, hang on! Angela, my neighbors, and Jeremy?! What do you mean?” Matt already felt the truth though, even if he didn’t know it for sure. Those few people who he felt secure around had used him. “Yes Matt,” Luke confirmed, “You’re just a pawn in everybody else’s plans. Angela and Jeremy were two of the three rebellious Canadians; the third, Mark, was sucked into Hell somehow…don’t ask. Well, Spence had us begin your initiation into the program immediately. I bugged your apartment when I “installed” your DSL connection,” Luke snickered, “and put a hallucinogenic drug in your emergency bottle of whisky. Your rendezvous with Jeremy put a small snag in my plans though, so I had to begin with the mystic and annoying phone calls the morning after. Yep, that was I. Pretty good huh?” Matt recalled the quick exchange with Spence…had it been real? “You mean, you and Spence?” Matt asked. “Oh dear no! Miss Lynn made it a rule herself not to make contact with newbies during the initiation period,” Luke replied. Indeed, there was a chance Matt had dreamed the call from Spence, yet it was one of the few moments in this whole ordeal that stuck so vividly in his mind. “Anyway,” Luke continued, oblivious as to the reason behind Matt’s question, “I knew if I instilled enough fear, your only comfort would be the tainted whisky. By the time my mercenary arrived, you were well under its effects.” An expression of understanding and then panic overcame Matt’s face. “So he was real! Oh god, I murdered him!” But Luke smiled, “No Matt, don’t worry. Jim, who also runs the Church of the Dysprosium Reformed Episcopal in his spare time, is a professional. You apparently struggled with some wild imaginings; I guess your drinking from the night before enhanced the effects. Jim’s doing great though; he’s vacationing in Mexico. A little sun, surf, babes…lucky bastard.” Matt was still perplexed. “But if Jim is a mercenary, why didn’t he kill me?” he asked. “Oh we could have delivered the message to come to Scruffy Murphy’s a hundred different ways, but Jim sure added some drama and action! Wouldn’t you agree?” Matt wasn’t pleased. “Um, right,” Luke went on, “You took well to the subliminal message I gave you at the bar. Our planted operatives in the establishment really helped ruffle your feathers with all those shenanigans and goings-on. Heh, yeah, I actually trained some of them myself,” and it was Luke’s turn to blush. “But then Angela reared her ugly head again. Okay, she’s not ugly. She’s fucking gorgeous. I’d bang her, but she knows my tricks. You know, one would think you’d get some pretty outrageous action under the sheets in this organization, right? But noooooo, everybody’s trying to withstand the powers of everybody else. It’s sheer ridiculousness. I haven’t had a good fu—“ “Alright, enough,” Matt interrupted once again, ”You’re horny. I get it,” said Matt as he internally cringed at the thought of this middle-aged man getting his groove on. “What exactly are, or were, Jeremy and Angela’s plans for me though? And how could Dan and Lisa have anything to do with all this?” “Oh, Dan and Lisa were paid to keep tabs on you. Eavesdrop, pay close attention to your habits…your everyday neighbors really with a helpful kickback.” *So that’s how they paid for a personal designer,* thought Matt. “As for Jeremy and Angela…They were going to sculpt you into a figurehead for their new world order—their puppet. Plus, you would have most likely become their sex machine. Jeremy already gave you a test run…” The murderous glint in Matt’s eyes shut Luke up temporarily. Matt still had the use of his legs and teeth, even his seductive powers if only he could tap into them completely. Matt’s stomach clenched as he remembered that night with Jeremy, but then he was suddenly overcome with the memories of him and Spence together. There was one in particular…in the park on a clear Spring day by a small river. Matt could still feel the warmth of the sun on his skin and the tenderness in her eyes. Why had they gone there? It was completely out of character for their relationship. But Matt had bent down and picked a small purple flower and placed it behind her ear. His effort was rewarded by a kiss on the cheek and a squeeze of his hand. Yes, they had held hands. It was so—“…I realized how young and ignorant you were when you proceeded up those stairs,” Luke said, snapping Matt back into the present time. “Really, how could you fall for such an obvious trap? It was then that I knew you had placed your trust in Jeremy and Angela, and I had my work cut out for me. Damn I love a challenge! You’re my most anticipated present to have unwrapped since that matching lederhosen ensemble from a few years ago,” Luke finished with a wide smile on his face. “Sooo…,” Matt mused, “The two sides have been fighting over me?” “Yep.” Matt raised an eyebrow, “And who won? Where are Angela and Jeremy now?” Luke entwined his hands together; they were quite ugly. Knotted, pale, spotted…how had he ever been allowed to stay in the organization for so long with features like that? “Jeremy and Angela have been dealt with. They’ll never talk again,” Luke said. Matt flinched. Such beauty wasted, and he realized that he didn’t know to which he was referring. “But it’s up to Spence now Matt. You don’t have to worry about who to trust anymore; Spence will make that decision, forcefully if need be,” Luke stated non-chalantly as he checked his watch. “She’ll be here within the hour. It’s 7:53 AM now.”