August 24th, 2029 7:35 PM.

Seattle, Washington Nick sat across from her and couldn't stop the hammer in his chest from making him tremble. He looked at the beautiful young woman who appeared to be entirely calm, controlled, and well aware of Nick's distress.

"Relax," she told him with a smile.

Nick let out a nervous chuckle and admitted, "Th-This is my f-first d-date, so"

She stopped him, "Really?" He nodded and felt his face redden. "How'd a good looking guy like you manage that?"

Nick saw through the compliment but thanked her anyway.

The two already ordered; he chose prawn yakisoba and Amy selected chicken teriyaki. Nick remembered eating at the small shop a few times with Drake and their friends and recalled Drake cla.s.sifying it as 'a hole.' Nick however liked it each of the times he'd gone there and as it was inexpensive he hoped it would be an acceptable place to take Amy.

He wore navy jeans, a Silversun Pickups shirt he'd inherited from his brother months before Victor's death, and his black leather jacket. Amy wore a white blouse, blue jeans, and a pair of flats which would have gone along well with Nick's Converse, had his shoes looked at all presentable.

"How are you doing?" she asked.

"G-Good. How about y-you?"

"Better."

He didn't know what to say. Small talk wasn't his strongest suit by any means. Nick believed she knew it as well when she asked him about school.

"Are you excited for September?"

"Why?"

"Because of school."

"S-Sort of. I-I find it boring."

"Why?"

"It doesn't interest m-me."

Amy nodded, "Then what does interest you?"

Nick didn't have an answer. He never believed he'd amount to much, so that's what he'd believed in watching his stepfather Paul work aimlessly for nearly two decades. It became something he never doubted would be for him, something inevitable, and the reason was simply because he wasn't overly interested in anything to pursue anything. He thought about learning how to take care of cars, to fix them, change tires, inspect engines, but once he began learning it a year ago in high school he lost whatever enthusiasm he had for it. He gave thought to computers but couldn't memorize all of the codes needed to create or edit anything, he pondered a career in food but soon found he couldn't cook beyond saving himself from starvation, and it seemed every other avenue led to another cul-de-sac to merely return him to the empty s.p.a.ce where he made his last choice to try it all over again.

He often believed that there were individuals who were not cut out for anything beyond the bottom of society. Nick didn't feel like he'd done anything to deserve the bottom rung of society, unlike his stepfather, who rejected a formal education and was one who couldn't hold down a job as a garbage man, or a janitor, or even a construction worker. His stepfather's poor choice in habits didn't help at all either. Nick recalled two occasions where Paul's drinking cost him full time employment and nearly ruined their family on multiple occasions. If Nick was destined for mediocrity, he vowed to never follow in Paul's ways.

Nick made something up and told her, "I-I like m-music, s-so I thought I m-might open a r-retro music store."

"That sounds interesting."

"What about you?"

"I'm thinking about journalism."

"R-Really?"

She nodded, "But I have no idea about what field of journalism I'd want to cover or focus on..." Amy trailed off, "It's a ways away so I've got time to figure it out."

Their food arrived and the conversation met another lull. Nick wanted to reignite it, but wasn't sure how. In the end he simply picked up his fork asked her what sort of movies she liked.

11:40 PM.

Baltimore, Maryland Detective Sage tacked up a small handwritten note card labeled 'suspects' next to the list of casualties of the Cladis investigation. There were a total of ten losses and one pending judgment in their building. Sage pinned a rough sketch of Agent Ryuzaki Miyaza up under the note card as their first and only suspect. Sage and Felton spent a great deal of time in search of the man through the bureau but merely learned that the man didn't exist. More specifically, he lived and breathed, just simply was not ever a government agent. The detectives forwarded footage of the alleged agent to the Federal Bureau of Investigations to see whether they knew who the man truly was. The detectives had yet to receive an answer.

The mysterious man did give Sage one clue though about the rain in the security footage of the car accident. Sage looked again after things calmed down at the station and found that Miyaza hadn't lied. A silhouette of a man could be seen in the rain as he shoved Angela's car into the next lane and into Evanston's taxi. She travelled at nearly forty miles an hour and the silhouette, presumed to be Cladis, moved the vehicle with ease and very little resistance.

The chief and Detective Felton joined him in his office. The chief took a seat and asked, "Agent Miyaza's a suspect at this point, right?"

Sage nodded, "Though I'm not sure we should though."

"Why?" asked Felton.

Sage played the security video and paused it when the silhouette was clear. "The figure here must be easily a head taller than Miyaza. But more importantly, why would Cladis waltz right into the station, completely visible, and give us this clue without killing all of us and Evanston in the process?"

"Then we still have nothing..."

Chief Johnson looked at all of the data Sage kept pinned up on his wall and asked, "Isn't this getting to be a bit excessive detective?"

Sage shrugged, "Yes, but it isn't like I can keep all of my notes catalogued in my computer since REFOIA's apparently monitoring us."

"Could they be tied into this?" Felton asked.

"It's doubtful."

"Anyway," Johnson changed the subject, "What are we going to do about Evanston?"

"What can we do?" Felton asked rhetorically. "The guy's a walking target; we can't exactly take him anywhere."

"And he isn't exactly safe here," muttered Johnson. "When Cladis does show up to try to kill him what level of havoc do you think he's going to shepherd with him?"

"Do you want to move him?" Sage inquired as he wrote single numbers on small cards.

"I think it'd be in the best interest of the station and our fellow man to get his a.s.s out of here," Johnson told them. "What we need to think of is where to though."

"Would he be safe in a high security holding facility?"

"The guy can shove a car moving at forty miles an hour into another lane," Felton reminded them, "He could probably just break through walls or whatever else stood in his path."

"Then what are we supposed to do?" Johnson asked.

Sage pinned the numbers he wrote next to the corresponding victims. Felton asked what the numbers represented and Sage told him they were the lengths of days between the murders. He pinned a six, five, and five next to the second, third, and fourth victims. All of the victim's pictures were pinned up in one vertical line that started with Red Irons and ended with Angela Walsh. Evanston's photo was pinned below Angela's.

"Why is that important?" Felton asked.

"It's probably not important at all," he admitted as he put an eight, two, and one adjacent to the next three photos, "But I'm still hoping that there is some sort of pattern in all of this, and I'd like to cover every angle."

"Hey," Johnson stopped their momentary deviation and tried to return to the matter at hand, "What are we going to do about Evanston?"

Felton shrugged, "What can we do? What day is it again Sage?"

"Day five"

"The fifth day," Felton repeated, "Which means his time's just about up and so is ours. We need to figure this out."

Chief Johnson frowned while he contemplated their next move. "What if we try to get him out of the city?"

"What would that do?"

"All of the murders take place here in Baltimore," Chief Johnson began, "If we get him outside of the city then Evanston won't fit his method of operation. Serial killers are specific about everything they do, right? If we get him out of Baltimore then we can save him and disrupt Cladis' killing spree."

"What if it's not Evanston though," Felton asked. "What if we've got the wrong person and we take him away and miss that it was someone else?"

"Then they're dead anyway because we couldn't find them," Sage answered. "I agree that this is probably the best plan that we've got."

"Alright, so how are we going to go about transporting him?" Johnson asked.

"We wouldn't want to be too obvious about it," Felton began, "Otherwise Cladis could discover our ploy and stop us."

"So average police vehicles..."

"We should take other officers if we could get them as well," Sage added. "If we have a car trailing behind and one ahead we could better defend if Cladis does attack."

Johnson agreed. "Who do you think we should ask?"

Sage sighed, "Whoever we can convince I guess."

8:43 PM.

Seattle, Washington Jordan and Rachel sat near the end of a bus past a couple of other riders. Jordan sat asleep near the aisle while Rachel sat by the window as the lookout for their destination. He wore a black unb.u.t.toned shirt with a silvery-gray undershirt and a pair of black slacks, while she wore a warm gray blouse she covered with a brown hoodie and a skirt that matched the hoodie as well. Rachel peered through the window and found they had arrived. She signaled that they wanted off and woke Jordan. The two ran off the bus, through the rain and to the club Drake booked out of Seattle.

Drake always had extravagant parties. It wasn't beyond him to do something as excessive as rent out a Seattle night club for an evening. Drake's father knew a lot a people in and out of Seattle and as such Drake knew nearly as many as well. The owner of the club Drake rented out was a high school chum of his father's and after a friendly conversation and a sizable sum of money, the owner was more than willing to accept the proposal for the use of his establishment.

They only waited a moment at the door for their admittance into the party, which they found was in full swing. The place was vast and the dance floor was filled with people who danced to their own interpretations of the ba.s.s, rhythm, and rhyme that flowed through the room. Multicolored lights flashed throughout the club in twisting, twirling, and rapid patterns and formed intricate designs on the walls, crowd, and ceiling. A light smokescreen covered the area, which enhanced the lights and cloaked the people on the dance floor. The bar area was closed, (something Jordan and Rachel both guessed was Tony Winchester's request to the owner), but some people hung around there anyway, though the alcohol was moved and security lingered around to ensure none of the partygoers tried to find it.

Rachel and Jordan fought through the crowd until Jordan muttered something under his breath.

"What's wrong?"

"Look who's here," he told her as he pointed out her Romanian friend.

Vladimir stood alone near the closed bar. He watched the dance floor with an uncomfortable look on his face. Rachel guessed he wasn't accustomed to social gatherings at the caliber Drake's party was, and she felt she needed to at least talk to him to possibly help ease him into the party.

"Let's go say hi and then we can go find your friends," she told him.

Jordan tried and failed to voice his opposition in the matter. Rachel rushed away from him though and he reluctantly followed after her.

Vladimir smiled when he saw her approach him. The music was loud and he nearly missed her greeting. "Hey, I'm glad you were able to make if Vladimir."

"As am I," he replied with a smile. "I thought my host brother and I were lost for quite a while, but it seems we were able to find this party without too great of a headache."

"Is your host brother here?"

"Yes, but I know not where at the moment," he confessed. With their small talk over Vladimir changed the subject and told Rachel he'd managed to enroll and place into the advanced art cla.s.s at their school.

"Really? That's cool, what other cla.s.ses did you sign up for, Vlad?" Jordan b.u.t.ted in.

Vladimir turned to him and the smile he wore faded, "The required ones for the most part. I also took a creative writing cla.s.s, though."

"Yeah...Well, Rachel and I should get going, y'know...to the party," he said as he pointed to the dance floor.

Before they left, Vladimir quickly asked, "Ah, Rachel. Where is your bracelet?"

Rachel looked down and noticed for the first time that evening that it was missing. "Oh c.r.a.p, Jordan, did I bring that with me?" she asked.

Jordan was taken aback. "Uh, I don't remember you wearing it earlier. Maybe you left it at home?"

"What if I lost it on the bus?"

"Rachel I'm sure Jordan was correct, you may have just left it at your home."

"Yeah, don't freak out. C'mon Rachel we've got to go and see how Ian's doing."

"It was good to see you Vladimir," she said, as she let her hand hide her wrist, her gaze fell low as she tried to recount her actions and her thoughts.

"Actually Rachel," he stopped her again, "I was interested in meeting Ian, as it is his revelry and I feel it would be rude not to meet and wish him well on his impending journey."

"Sure." She saw Jordan's unpleasant expression and told him they were headed there anyway.

Rachel and Jordan peered through the crowd in search of Ian, Drake, or Nick, as they a.s.sumed the three of them would be banded together, and spotted them on the opposite end of the room. She took the two boys by the hand and led them through the crowd toward the other small group.

Drake and Ian sat around a small table with a group of people that included Coop, Wally, and a handful of others who continually came and left. Coop and Wally seemed to direct the conversation while Ian sat nervously and Drake rather unaffected by the large proceeding.

Jordan saw Ian's new haircut, one far shorter than he had before, and shouted, "What'd you do to your hair?"

The group laughed. It took Ian a moment to think of his reply, but he smirked and told him, "When you're struck by lightning, your hair and clothes are usually singed. But who knows? The doctor might just be out to give decent haircuts to decent guys."

"Decent guys who are struck by lightning?" Jordan joked.

"So who's this Rachel?" Drake asked once he noticed Vladimir (and for a change of pace in the conversation).