"We need that catalyst," Jack reaffirmed adamantly. "How much more time would you need?"

"I can go through it along with the forensic team and have them keep checking catalyst listings in the database, but I've got to tell you guys, it doesn't look promising," he relayed with disappointment. "This is an extremely advanced operation. I'd say they're using something we haven't heard of before."

"Please tell me there's no more bad news," Preston sighed.

"Only if they find a way to produce this faster," Jason said. "Here, this is the last graph I found in the files." The bar graph on the screen offered a narrowed down timeframe, focusing exclusively on the last six months. Based on the size of the graphs, even Preston and Jack could see that in that time alone, the presence of Particle N in the atmosphere had more than doubled. "I think the process of manufacturing Bloodstrife is actually increasing the amount of Particle N, if you can believe it," Jason stated, highlighting a few of the graphs. "The supply has always been there in spades. If they managed to develop enough processing units, they may be able to take this thing global soon."

"Chicago is the testing ground," Preston said, looking at his partner, "but not to see if it's profitable. . ."

"But whether or not it's sustainable," Jack concluded, picking up on his partner's line of thinking. They continued to share a worried glance as they processed the impact of their discovery.

"I think we all know the answer to that now," Jason said matter-of-factly.

"What else could they use Particle N for?" Jack asked quickly as Jason began powering down the workstation and turned the lights back on. It took a moment for their eyes to readjust.

"That part, Detectives," Jason replied, "I'll have to leave to you."

Knowing that Jack wouldn't have wanted to be within a mile of Argosi if it wasn't required of him, Preston had offered to question the newly appointed CEO of hospital room 426 alone. Upon leaving the station, he would have liked to tell his partner that he owed him a favor, but the battle in Gluttony's factory was far too fresh in both of their minds. Preston knew he'd be paying his partner back with drinks and courtesies for a long time to come.

In any case, dealing with Argosi would no doubt be the low point of his already bad day.

If there was to be any consolation at all, Preston would make a point to track down Doctor Morrissey. In that respect, he supposed he'd be better off alone. He still hadn't managed to tell Jack about their session in the soundproof office, isolated from the world outside, then the tears. Perhaps when the case wrapped, he'd find the courage or else choose to forget it happened at all.

The increasingly fatigued detective made his way through the automatic sliding doors of Chicago General and flashed his badge at the check-in desk. After getting off the overly cramped elevator and finding the directions to Argosi's room from a far too busy nurse at a random desk, he proceeded down the hall and turned the corner, seeing two Unis from the precinct stationed outside the CEO's door.

"He's a little cranky today, Detective," the Uni offered, recognizing Preston immediately.

"Well, if I'm not out in ten minutes, I'll expect you to be by backup," Preston said, too tired to smile. Immediately, he wished he hadn't tried to make a joke. It was too out of character. The Uni noticeably picked up on the mild tension, offering a miniscule, off-putting smile as he opened the door for him.

Inside, the shades were drawn, dimming the afternoon sun. A small fan had been propped up in the open window, bringing a slight breeze in to the heated room. Every so often, an additional gust of wind would blow through, offering an annoying rustle in the thin material of the blinds.

The room was actually modest considering its tenant. Argosi looked out of place in such a plain, confined s.p.a.ce, as if he were a mismatched piece of furniture sticking out like a sore thumb.

The officer outside pulled the door closed after Preston entered, more than likely already too fed up with Argosi's exquisite personality to see him one second longer.

Argosi was propped up in the adjustable hospital bed, awake, but barely having noticed the presence of a visitor. The woman, Alexandra, was asleep in a chair in the corner.

Both looked terrible. Having been used to seeing Argosi as an overworked, sweaty mess, Preston was astonished that he managed to look even worse than normal, burned out and fragile in the bed.

His hair was lighter and disheveled. The once dark and over-styled mane was interspersed with random strains of white. It was as if he'd always worn a wig, and Preston was now viewing his real fading hairline for the first time.

Oxygen tubes had been placed in his nose, and an IV was situated in his left arm.

Alexandra, although asleep, had huge bags under her eyes. She breathed in labored and annoying mild snores. Almost as if struggling, her body continued to gasp without interruption, brought on by the odd cramped angle in which she slept. Preston thought to wake her, hoping to come up with some trivial question just to silence the noise.

"Shh," Argosi said, finally noticing the detective's presence. "I don't want to wake her."

"They tell me that was the reason why you didn't call your security guards in until it was almost too late," Preston stated bluntly at normal volume. He was in no mood for pleasantries, and in reality, still wanted to wake Argosi's lover. Although, admittedly, she wasn't much less aggravating when awake.

"Thanks," Argosi said mockingly, his voice no longer a whisper. "I think she'll be able to sleep through it anyway. What do you want?" Using the remote control near his hand, the CEO moved the bed forward slightly, propping himself up to meet Preston at eye level as the detective moved toward him.

"You know, the usual detective stuff," Preston offered absently, finding a vacant visitor's seat a few feet from the bed.

"That other detective you sent to my house already came by. He said he was in charge of me. Detective Louis, I believe? I was shocked, Detective Burroughs," Argosi said seriously. "Really, I was-after all we've been through." Argosi offered his words with a weak temperament that showcased his lack of patience and frustration for the current accommodations.

"Who attacked you?" Preston instigated, taking out a small notebook while trying to ignore the snoring. It continued to emanate from behind him. Alexandra was unaffected by the conversation.

"I already told that other guy-" Argosi said.

"I know what you told him," Preston said, cutting him off. "The thing is, people like you don't get attacked in their castles unless they've done something to p.i.s.s off the peasants," Preston said, staring the man down. "What was he? A former employee maybe? Are you into something we don't know about?"

"Detective, please," Argosi said with what little strength he had. The thin oxygen tubes in his nose appeared to be the only things keeping him conscious.

Although wearing a hospital gown, the detective could see a thick bulge in his chest where the bandages covered the wound. He imagined the morphine that they probably had flowing into him wasn't enough.

"I had the doctors check you out for tattoos when you were brought in here. I just want you to know that," Preston said, lacking patience. His expression had turned to one of intimidation, but the tone of his voice had remained collected, without a hint of hostility.

"I don't have any," Argosi stated flatly without missing a beat.

"I know," Preston said, relenting as he pretended to write something down. "The hospital staff already informed me. What about her?" he asked, gesturing to Alexandra with the tip of his pencil.

"Feel free to check her out," Argosi muttered back with obvious discomfort, none of it physical. "She'd probably like it."

"You guys have kind of an open relationship, don't you?" Preston said, mildly perplexed.

"You could say that," Argosi answered back, managing to gain a little inflection in his voice. "Still, it's all legal. Despite your tone, I think I still want to help you in the future."

"Share price isn't going back up as fast as you hoped?"

"Not even close," Argosi admitted. His eyes continued to stare at Alexandra as she shifted position in her sleep. The snoring continued.

"I'll be in touch," Preston said, rising from the chair.

"You know Detective," the CEO whispered. "If they're coming after me, then-"

"Save it," he said, cutting him off. Forcefully, he put the notepad back into his pocket and walked away without looking back. "I'll be in touch. We'll need to set up security when they release you."

Argosi nodded in reply.

Leaving the room, Preston walked past the guards outside the door.

"Cranky?" the man asked the detective as he moved past them. Preston kept moving without acknowledging them. "I guess so."

Immediately, he took the elevator back down to the first floor, almost leaving without seeing Shannon. He'd been so conflicted about Argosi's involvement in the case that he would have been well on his way before remembering, but it was the distant sounds of screaming that broke his trance.

He wandered for a few minutes, following the noise, and soon found himself in the general vicinity of the Bloodstrife wing. Knowing where he was going, he made headway through the bustling halls, hoping to catch a glimpse of Shannon.

Preston slowed his stride as the lingering screams, haunting and malevolent, continued to churn the air.

As he approached the nurses' station bordering the outside of the wing, the same one where he attempted to speak with the overworked nurse three days earlier, the soundproof double doors came into view.

Although muted, he could tell the number of addicts had multiplied significantly since his last visit. The screams formed a cohesive ma.s.s of pain, riled and vicious, almost as if alive. They were growling behind the door, waiting to break free.

Preston flinched as the doors swung open violently, flooding the room. A nurse ran out into the lobby, tears running down her face. Although shaken, she appeared uninjured. Two more nurses followed soon after attempting to console their co-worker as she sprinted down the hall. Preston hoped she was heading for a bathroom rather than an open window upstairs.

Cautiously, he began walking toward the double doors, hoping they wouldn't swing back open with the frenzied flight of another nurse or doctor.

On the contrary, one of the doors was gradually nudged open, cautiously aware that someone may be standing in front as he approached. After a moment, Preston glimpsed the wheelchair-bound figure of Shannon Morrissey as she emerged from the wing.

Although not as seriously shaken as the previous hospital worker, she did appear drained. Locking eyes, it took a few moments to process who he was before a look of recognition covered her face. She quietly made her way over.

"Oh," she said humbly, "Detective Burroughs; good to see you. Are you here researching the case?" Her voice was distant, as if speaking to him softly from behind the soundproofed barrier to the hospital wing.

"No," Preston said meekly, trying to well up enough courage to ask her. He looked around once or twice, then, satisfied no one was listening, said, "I'd like to schedule another session."

In their mutual fatigue, the two stared at each other for a moment, oblivious to the hospital traffic around them. Absorbed, he waited for her answer and hoped it wouldn't be as difficult for her as it had for him.

"Of course," she said, kick-starting the world into motion again. Her eyes lifted slightly, but the former exuberance and caring att.i.tude from the prior visit had faded. Preston supposed even she wasn't immune to the effects.

"If it's too much trouble-" he said, growing fl.u.s.tered. He took stock of the conversation, wondering why it was so difficult.

"No, of course not," she said, painting a smile on her lips. "It's just that, today probably won't be good for me. Can we schedule a time?"

"Yes, of course," Preston answered, relieved. Immediately, he was overcome with a twinge of emotion, as if the floodgates couldn't wait for them to meet, ready to burst open in mere moments.

"You could have called," she said, developing a natural hint of interest in her eyes.

"Well," Preston said, growing bolder. "I kind of lied before. I was dealing with the case earlier, so I thought I'd stop by."

"Let me guess," she said. "You're here to see Benton Argosi, am I right?"

"I suppose he'd be too famous a patient to not be on everyone's mind." His voice was starting to gain strength, spurred by Argosi's name.

"The Dean of Medicine made sure he was a priority. You know how they are. He's brown-nosing for more money."

"Yeah," Preston said, growing on edge from the screams as they continued to permeate their conversation like rot every time the door opened. "How about two days from now, Sat.u.r.day?"

"It's a date," she said warmly.

He smiled, nodding as he turned away, offering a small wave. He felt slightly better-untouchable, surrounded by the screams.

Chapter 12.

The dull glare of the projector came to life as Preston and Jack fumbled around with the controls in the dark. They were both glad that only the two of them were present to see how poorly the middle-aged men operated a simple slideshow.

Having just come from Jason's admittedly smooth presentation in the morning and the brief interrogation of Argosi, things were already off to a bleak start.

Preston sank into one of the numerous vacant chairs, choosing to let his partner grapple with the technology, although from the look of it, he seemed to be gaining ground.

The conference room in the police station was vacant, as it usually was in the late afternoon. Primarily, the department used it for morning briefings, allowing the detectives to go about their business for the rest of the day. Jack and Preston knew they would be able to go over the case without interruption unless a monumental event occurred, like the makers of Bloodstrife walking up to the front door of the police station, begging to turn themselves in.

Preston only wished it were so easy.

Around twenty empty chairs sat in varying degrees of darkness, all pointed toward the screen. The only sound was the hum of the struggling old computer as it attempted to process the program. It was an ancient piece of equipment, used only for the occasional slideshow and nothing more. As such, speed wasn't a prerequisite. It didn't matter; funding was too tight to upgrade anyway.

"Okay," Jack said with a cautious tone. His head was still lowered in front of the keyboard with hands waiting patiently. Carefully, he eyed his selection before committing and pressed one of the keys. "I've got the graphs set up here, with Jason's help," Jack said, occupied. "He emailed me a few slides to get us going."

Jack clicked the mouse, sending the first slide up on the screen. It was a mostly empty frame, only showing a picture of the earth from s.p.a.ce. Obviously, it had been pulled at random from the Internet.

"Nice," Preston said with a chuckle. "That's A-plus work right there." Jack joined him in a laugh before they continued. "Alright," Preston said, dropping his smile. "So this 'Particle N' occurs naturally in the air all over the planet. The producers of the drug have found a way to collect the molecule after it bonds with Nitrogen."

Jack put up the next slide, picking up on his partner's pause. It showcased the large vat at the top of the tower in the Gluttony factory. It was taken from far enough away to include a few more miscellaneous machines that had been set up around it.

Both detectives were instantly reminded of the smell, but managed to hold back their urge to vomit.

"Then," Jack stated, after inhaling deeply "after an unknown catalyzing process, the liquid form of the drug is transferred to Gluttony's factory." The slide flickered again. The screen now displayed a more complete layout of the factory equipment that had been found in the bas.e.m.e.nt of the warehouse. "The base liquid is then sent through a completely automated process which refines the pure black chemical into the street drug known as Bloodstrife."

Jack continued to look at the screen, mentally walking his way along the path the liquid took. "Addictive agents such as Nicotine and various other opiates are added to the mixture to ensure that the populace eats it up like candy." He stared at the screen for a moment before continuing. "However, based on the lab results, the rage-inducing agent must be a property of the pure black liquid. Nothing which is added later on has that significant effect on the human brain-not with the amount they're using."

"A significant amount of water is also added, probably because they don't want the addicts to turn into someone like Gluttony," Preston offered, crossing his arms and putting his feet up on one of the vacant chairs. "Diluted."

"Yeah," Jack said with a shake of his head, "deluded," he agreed, turning the slide. "Moving on, the completed drug is packaged into kilo sized bags and loaded onto trucks which dock outside a ramp leading to the bas.e.m.e.nt. The goods left the supposedly abandoned factory on a nightly basis. Being that it was close to the highway, it provided the perfect distribution method." Now, the slide showed a satellite picture of the factory. "That's the only evidence of the process so far."

"Right, but we can reason that the kilo-sized bags are sold to the street dealers directly on the cheap, probably for less than the cost of the containers they're shipped in," Preston offered. "They're probably the ones who cut it down to the individual hits," he said. "We've seen evidence of that first-hand from arrests. It's possible some of them step on it a little, but based on the chemical a.n.a.lysis, such a thing doesn't affect the drug at all."

"The most important thing we need to focus on is supply," Jack offered. "McGovern said this was probably a small operation. However, since we busted that factory, there hasn't been any sign of a shortage on the streets."

"Agreed; probably an increase, I'd say," Preston replied. "The number of small-time busts is still growing. Moreover, Chicago General is admitting more addicts than they reform," Preston said with a sigh. "This also means there's practically no need to keep chasing the street dealers. As with any drug war, if we can focus on cutting the supply, then that solves everything."

"In theory, this should be the easiest job we've ever had," Jack said. "With Columbian cartels, there's always more ways to ship cocaine into the city. With this, we have just a few targets, all of them in our own back yard."

"We just can't track them down, short of going door to door," Preston said, growing mildly frustrated as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"It also means they have at least one more factory," Jack said. "They might also have at least one more guy like Gluttony, maybe more."