Johan stroked the steel barrel of the shotgun with the oilrag, his index finger locked behind the trigger to keep it from firing. He had angled it in way that the stock rested on his lap, and the muzzle pointed at the surface of the river Thames.

"You hunt birds, Masser Schultz?" the canoeman said, an unbuttoned coarse shirt stretched over his lean body, ribs showing through the pale skin of his chest.

Behind Johan, Rickter snorted. He was sitting on the edge of the canoe with his feet dangling over the black waters of the Thames, a cigar clenched between his teeth as he flicked the wheel of his Zippo lighter. "Birds. Right. Yes, yes he does."

"I suppose my brother has answered the question for you," Johan told the canoeman. "I do it for the sport, but the free meat is a pleasant side effect."

The canoeman had a coarse laugh at that small jest.

As they neared their destination, the factories by the riverside became bigger and more frequent, black fumes rising from the giant chimneys at the top. The water reflected the color of the sky and looked like tar, painting the entire world in monochrome, save for the few garishly colored advertisements plastered on the walls of said factories.

Johan's finger touched the trigger of his gun. He wanted to pull it, perhaps aim the gun at the paddler. No. He couldn't kill anyone from his dimension, he knew, or people would find out.

"I don't have enough money to go huntin' everyday," the canoeman said, and Johan watched as the strokes of his paddle became slower as he became more engrossed in his words. "But when I do, I go to them Blackwoods' forest. Doves there are fine, I'm telling ya, real fine, and them Blackwoods don't care about them, so they're free to everyone. You oughtta visit Blackwoods' forest someday, Masser Schultz. Them doves make for real fine dinner."

"I suppose I might someday. Alas, this gun--" He pointed to the two barreled shotgun lying on his lap. "--is not made for hunting birds. This will probably vaporize the poor bird, which is a problem if you're thinking from the dinner angle." Inside, however, Johan felt repulsed at the thought of going to Blackwoods' forest and mingling with the proletariat masses.

The canoeman had another laugh, though, too hard for such a small joke, and his paddle strokes slowed to a snail's pace. Johan was rapidly losing his patience, and the first hint of annoyance had started to show on his otherwise placid face.

He took his hands off his gun for a moment to adjust his wire rimmed glasses, then adjusted his tie and finally his hands started to brush off invisible lint from his black coat. These were all warning actions, things that he did when his need was not fulfilled. This time it had gone unfed for over six months, owing to business travels to Germany.

Rickter noticed this, and said, "Holla there, paddler, would you mind going a bit faster? I and my brother have some important work to discuss, and we'd rather be in the Augury House than flapping about in the Thames."

Johan nodded to Rickter, his finger brushing on the metal of the trigger. His need was building. If it was delayed any longer, he'd end up shooting the paddler, he knew.

The paddler nodded, and they moved faster.

#

"Johan, slow down, brother," Rickter said.

Johan walked briskly, stepping around piles of horse feces and puddles as he barreled through the particularly smoky and begrimed street of London.

It was a strange sight, seeing two lords in expensive attires walk through this part of the city. Their pristine white shirts and spotless suits made it clear that they did not belong.

Rickter caught up to him, cigar clenched between his gritted teeth. "Why, The Machine is not running away, is it? You're attracting much more attention than we can afford, brother."

"I sometimes wish the river came up to the Augury House," Johan remarked, adjusting the strap of the shotgun slung over his shoulder, not decreasing his pace even an ounce.

"I wish, too," Rickter said, looking at the vagrants and the workers milling about. "Perhaps we should move The Machine to our house. Expenses would be saved, as well as suspicion."

Johan smiled without mirth. "How will we clean the blood, then, brother mine?"

The Augury House was a simple stone building of German heritage, a single iron door the only opening in it. That door had a padlock the size of a small child's head, and Johan couldn't contain his excitement as he took out the bronze key and put it inside the slot.

Rickter blew rings of smoke with his cigar and tried to look as nonchalant as possible, but he was vigilant, looking out for anyone who might be keeping an eye on them.

The door clicked open and Johan rushed inside, adjusting his wire rimmed glasses frantically to adjust to the darkness. There was a certain desperation in his actions now. His need had grown to the maximum extent, and it had to be released.

The Machine was kept in a basement connected to an abandoned sewage tunnel, a giant metal boiler-esque keg, with circuitry and electrodes fitted on its top and bottom. It was large enough for an average sized man to stand comfortably inside. A single porthole on the grey hatch allowed view inside the interior. The electric cables which emerged from it were the girth of a man's arm, and plugged directly to the mains.

"I don't know why," Rickter said. "But this machine never ceases to mystify me. How does a metal keg stored in a basement rip a hole in the fabric of the dimensions?"

Johan crouched in front of it, fiddling with the two dials on The Machine's base. "I'm not sure, Rickter. They say Nikola Tesla built this. Ever heard of him?"

"No," Rickter admitted. "Are you certain in what you're doing with those dials, though? I haven't ever seen you do that."

"I am certain," he said. "This dial on the right, this moves the figurative reticle around space. Remember the equine creature we had received?"

"You didn't like it," Rickter said.

"Yes, because the screams of an equine are not comparable to the screams of a human," Johan said. "But the point being, this dial changes the target. And the other dial moves the reticle through time."

Rickter gazed at the left wall of the basement, where a low sloshing sound was coming from. "So what are you trying to achieve?"

"Why, I am summoning a creature from the future." Johan had a smirk on his face. "I'm quite sure Nikola Tesla would've wanted the same use from his creation, although not quite in this fashion."

Rickter took off his hat, hanging it on a peg on the left wall. He then kept a hand on the coarse brick, feeling for the sloshing sounds and the minuscule tremors. "Does this wall connect us to the sewers?"

"Yes it does," Johan said, rotating the dial on the right in anticipation for the small click that was accompanied with every change of decade. "You never noticed it before?"

"No," Rickter said. "I shall go and sit upstairs while you do your job, yes?"

He started to go towards the stairs.

"You must find my practices abhorrent, do you not, Rickter?" Johan said.

"Why?" he said carefully, one hand on the bannister.

"Most of the 'civilized' society does," Johan said. The click came, and he stood up.

He took off his gun from his shoulder, backing away from The Machine. "I am sure you do too. But frankly, Rickter, if you were in my shoes, you'd also see that this is the greatest catharsis a man could ask for. Hunting is a man's game. The deadlier the prey, the harder and more cathartic the hunt. And who better to hunt than humans? We are, after all, the apex predators."

"Right," Rickter said. There was a hint of fear on his face. "Well, I wish you luck in your hunt."

Rickter left Johan alone in the basement, the iron door clanging shut behind him as he bolted through it.

It was okay.

Johan wouldn't be alone for much longer.

#

James sat on one of the seats in the massive auditorium of the Department of Justice, dressed in his finest parade dress uniform, white fabric encrusted with red, the blue insignia of the Republic of Lower Earth on his shoulder.

"....and what I am saying is, red is better than pink. Julie likes pink but...." his wife was saying over a com link plugged directly into his neural stream.

"But what?" James said, clapping as another soldier won an award. He didn't recognize this one. Maybe he was from the Mars Division.

The dark skinned soldier saluted with a disciplined confidence as the president pinned the golden medal on his forest green uniform.

"But her whole room is pink!" Alyce exclaimed. There were some metallic clangs, as if she was loading up the dishwasher. "Julie only likes pink right now because she's three. Think about it. Is a girl of sixteen gonna like a hot pink bag?"

James chuckled a bit. "The problem seems to be--"

The blond soldier sitting to his right gave him a sharp look. "Will you keep it down?"

This soldier had a white uniform similar to him, but the colors were all wrong. Instead of red, he had gold encrustations, with a different blue insignia on his shoulder. A soldier from the High Earth. His name tag said David Brooks.

"Okay," he said carefully.

David soldier didn't look away, so James had to. He shifted a bit away from him, whispering to the subdermal microphone. "The problem seems to be the room. Don't worry, we'll repaint it. And the school bag ain't gonna last till she's sixteen."

"But James....we don't have that much money. The house mortgage is already leeching off most of your income and...."

As another Mars Division soldier came up on the stage, a light flickered above him. At first the soldier didn't notice, but then the stage lights started flickering in a unified frequency.

A wave of murmurs passed through the audience.

"Subsonic interference, maybe," David said. He shifted in his seat, looking at a moderator flying down the aisle to handle the problem.

"What's that?" James blurted.

David gave him another disdainful look, then said, "Someone could be interfering with the lighting system with low speed waves, like a hacker or something."

The president gestured towards some of the moderators, and two of his bodyguards stepped onstage to escort him out of there.

Murmurs grew.

"Is something happening there?" Alyce's voice burst in.

"They are escorting the president out," James said. "But why?"

David mistook it for a conversation with him. "How should I know? But it's not a case of simple hacking if they are escorting the president to a Faraday cage...." His eyes followed the president and his team of bodyguards as they left through a side exit instead of going backstage, which would've been closer.

A Faraday cage. James knew what that was. It stopped radiowaves and other communication signals from going in or out, but more importantly, it stopped interdimensional rifts from being created inside it. Banks used Faraday cages to secure their gold from teleporting criminals.

"Faraday cage? Oh my god, James," Alyce said. "Is this an invasion? Please tell me it's not an invasion."

"No one has appeared yet...." James said.

Lights flickered as the moderators flew around in their jetpacks, prepared to fight anyone with their gamma rifles.

"This is a room full of soldiers," James said. "Who the hell is gonna open a portal here?"

"Someone who thinks he can fight all of us," David said.

He pulled out his pistol, and James followed his example, pulling out his gamma pistol and activating his Kronos field. Data floated up in his vision field, mostly useless info but which could come handy in the unlikeliest of times.

"Attention all soldiers," a moderator announced, his computerized voice booming through the auditorium. "We have detected an interdimensional rift of the covert variety. Please evacuate immediately. We repeat..."

"Covert variety?" James asked. He was sort of embarrassed to ask this many questions, but his education had never been completed, and he hadn't faced something like this before.

"They really don't train you Lower Earth soldiers, do they?" David said. "A covert variety means instead of them teleporting here, you..."

His voice trailed off as he squinted at James.

"What?" he said.

"You're disappearing," he said.

"What?" He was not sure if he had heard him right.

"You're disappearing," he repeated. "You're the target." He stood up, and hollered to a passing moderator. "Hey you, flying jackass, the rift is here!"

As the soldier waved down the moderator, James looked at his left hand. He was right. The hand wasn't there.

He could feel it. He could even move the fingers, but he couldn't see the hand, just a stump which ended at his elbows, and was disappearing further. It was as if someone was cutting off his limbs, but without the pain or loss of feeling or blood.

"What is happening there, James?" Alyce said.

"I don't know," James said. "I don't know. Alyce, stay safe. If I don't...."

The com link disconnected, along with all the lights in the auditorium, and James disappeared completely, his gamma pistol lying in his seat.

#

Johan sat on the stairs, his shotgun cradled between his knees, pointing towards the dark concrete roof of the basement.

The Machine was whirring, steam filling its inside, hissing out from an open valve on one side. Sparks flew off the wires where they connected to its terminals. All of this was accompanied by a strange rumbling static-like noise Johan had never heard anywhere else.

His small eyes were fixed on the porthole on the hatch of the pod. He found himself humming a merry tune as he waited, his excitement growing, blooming. His fingers tapped on the gunmetal softly.

A hand smacked on the glass from the inside as The Machine trembled on its rusty foundations, the static dying down as a new noise filled the air: the struggle of a prey. The Machine shook roughly as the prey inside it struggled violently, the door slamming open with a swoosh, steam spilling out along with a man in fancy clothes.

Well, this was new. The man wore white, tight fitting clothes, his face flushed. He looked around the dingy basement with unfocused eyes, until it stopped on Johan.

"Hey, you," he said, straining to look at him, his eyes bloodshot. "What's this place? Where am I?"

"Johan Schultz," he said, a small smile appearing on his face. "Where do you come from, young man?"

The man didn't say anything, and although his chest was heaving up and down, his breathing was stabilizing. "James MacIntyre, peacekeeper of the Lower Earth Division by the law of the Inter-Planetary Treaty of 2089." His eyes flicked to the the single door at the top of the stairs, then at the shotgun cradled in Johan's arms. "I'm gonna have to ask you again, sir. What's this place?"

"I'm afraid I don't know what any of those words mean," Johan said. He stood up, his gun dangling by his side with its shoulder strap. "Could you please explain what's Lower Earth, or the Inter-Planetary Treaty?"

This man, he looked fast and agile. Although Johan was telling the truth about not understanding what he meant by Inter-Planetary Treaty, he could see that his built was of a soldier. He imagined himself running after him, shotgun in hand, him hiding in the shadows, his fervour growing as the familiar thrill of the hunt gripped him....

The man had sensed something. He tensed, taking a step back. "I'm going to ask you again, sir, what's this place? Which planet am I on?"

This was enough foreplay, Johan decided, pulling up his shotgun to angle it towards him.

#

James staggered back, his hands half in the air, mouth open in shock. "What...what is this?"

Aiming at the spot just above his shoulder to scare him, the old man pulled the trigger. There was a loud bang, sparks flying too close to Johan's face as the bullets ricocheted off the Kronos field in front of him to hit the ceiling, a cloud of cement dust forming up there.

James lunged at him, grabbing hold of his gun and yanking it away. Johan struggled against his immense strength, then slammed his head on his nose.

James doubled back, leaving the gun to instinctively bring his hand to his bleeding nose.

The old man in Victorian clothes had a manic smirk on his face as he swung the barrel of the gun at his face.

James stepped back, the barrel hitting the hatch of the strange machine with a metallic bang.

James took a moment to assess the situation, his eyes flicking away from his attacker for an instant.

Wrong move.

The barrel caught him on his cheek-- the Kronos field only worked on high velocity projectiles.

Reeling sideways, James swung his fist at the old man, catching him at the jaw.

Johan's head slammed against the strange machine.

But Johan was not as weak or slow as he seemed. His hand went inside his coat pocket, and before James could back away, he felt cold steel thrust inside his abdomen.

He screamed, grabbing his hand and wrenching it away.

The knife flew off his hand, and James grabbed on to his gun.

#

Teeth clenched, Johan struggled to hold on to his gun against the man's immense strength.

The muzzle pointed to the left wall.

The man kneed him, the hard plastic projections on his knee catching Johan in the soft tissue of his crotch.

Johan cried out in pain, his finger tightening on the trigger.

Explosion.

The recoil made them both careen to the side, James holding on to his balance much better than Johan.

The left wall had a section blown off in a dust cloud, brown water spraying inside from the underground sewage system now showing through the wall.

Johan had collapsed on the ground, his warm blood coursing its way from his temple to his neck and chest.

"Shit," the man cursed, seeing the blood splattered on his abdomen, oozing out of the cut, and ran towards the stairs.

His feet pounded on the wooden stairs, the creaks of the iron door indicating that he had left.

Johan lay on the floor with his back to The Machine, winded, brown sewage water filling up the floor of the room, its coldness seeping in through the fabric of his pants.

His chest heaved up and down as he unbuttoned his collar with trembling hands.

His shotgun lay on the ground, now unloaded, and beside it, his glasses. His dagger lay a few feet away from both of those objects.

He picked them up, putting them on even though one of the lenses was cracked and the frame slightly bent.

The brown water was ruining his clothes, the dark stain growing on the black satin, but he paid no heed to it. He was looking at his hand, manicured, blue veins showing through the skin. Veins through which no doubt adrenaline was coursing, giving it the small but noticeable tremor.

It felt good.

#

James made his way out of the small building, the shit water which had sprayed on him soiling his pants up to his shins.

When he bust outside the iron door, he realised he had been in a basement. The room was small, with no furniture of any kind, only thick wires coming from the basement plugged into the mains. There was a faint smell in the air, as if from urine.

He wasn't too surprised, seeing what had happened in the basement.

He pushed the door open, and limped outside, hand pressed on the abdomen as the warm liquid oozed from it.

There was a man outside, leaning against the wall of the building, cigar between his lips and dark red hair brushed under a glossy black top hat. He looked casual at first, but as soon as he saw James, his expression contorted. "What are you doing outside?"

James wasn't in his peak mental condition right now, the disorientation of interdimensional travel jumbling up his thoughts, but the first thing he noticed was the revolver holstered at the man's waist, and him reaching for it.

James jabbed at his throat, a quick but strong attack at his Adam's apple just as his hand touched the butt of the revolver.

He made a choking sound and stumbled back, and grabbing his throat.

"I'm gonna have to take this," James said, snatching the revolver before kicking him in the stomach.

He kept the revolver in his empty holster. Pain throbbed at his abdomen, and his hand returned to hold it as he limped away from the building.

#

People were watching James.

Women stared at him from their carriages. People frowned at him through the windows of the few houses that populated the place.

The street was filled with workers in greasy beige uniforms, each of them staring at him as he passed by them, taking their gaze away the moment he looked back.

"Which circus did you 'scape from?" A white man on a carriage hollered at him, and James hurried his pace.

Forget the place, he thought. Which era am I in?

Pain reminded him that he had a wound to take care of, a wound that could kill him if he didn't stop the blood flow.

He would have to take off his uniform to properly bandage it, but he wasn't eager to do that in a place like this, with horseshit splattered everywhere on the street (that he tried desperately to avoid) and the people staring at him like he was some kind of escaped animal. Even the air felt toxic, and James could see why. The sprawling factories that appeared at every turn were all releasing nebulous black fumes into the air, probably violating every air pollution law at the same time.

James's vision was deteriorating, black spots blooming like flowers. The buzzing at the back of his head was growing louder.

He stopped near a shop, his hand pressed hard against the wound. This uniform was just for show purposes. It had no anti-stressor or biosecurity. In other words, it wouldn't help him at all.

The way he was losing blood, he'd die here.

He tapped at the back of his neck, trying to activate the com link to his wife. It buzzed but didn't connect.

His face was covered in sweat, and his heartbeats irregular. People were still staring at him, but no one offered to help him.

He tapped at the com link again, desperately wishing it would connect, but everytime he was greeted with the same buzz.

There was an emergency button on his wrist, which could keep him alive for a while longer. But what was the point?

This was it. He would die here, in an unknown world in a different dimension. He had known the risks when he had taken this job, but he hadn't quite expected it all to end this way.

He fell on his knees, realizing that one of them had turned completely crimson with his blood. His Kronos field displayed CHANCES OF FATALITY: 67% when he looked at his wound.

The buzzing was growing, disturbing his thoughts, like a constant unwanted background noise.

He fell on his knees, resting against the wall. He closed his eyes, switching off the Kronos field, and with it, the buzzing.

People walked past him, more of a blur than alive. The dark grey sky looked like it was going to rain, or maybe it was just evening.

He closed his eyes.

And then his com link connected.

#

Rickter gasped for his breath, his palms wrapped around his neck. His face was red, his eyes bulging. The man who had jabbed him in his throat had been majorly strong.

A few people had gathered around him, their silhouettes screening him from whatever bit of light the cloud -covered sun gave.

"Go away," he said, wheezing, picking up his hat. "Don't you people have work to do? I said go away!"

The workers slowly shuffled away from him, murmuring among themselves. Rickter didn't think about that. He had his brother to take care of.

He put on his hat and bolted inside.

Johan was not in the room; rather, Rickter found him sitting on the top stair, staring at the void of the basement's tunnel, his gun lying across his lap.

The floor of the basement was submerged in grimy brown water, sinking half of the stairs. The Machine was almost completely submerged, only the top showing jutting out from the brown surface.

"That man," Rickter said. "The one who ran out. He was the prey, wasn't he?"

Johan nodded, still staring ahead.

"Heavens." Rickter sunk down beside him. "What are we to do now?"

Johan didn't say anything. His hand reached inside his breast pocket, and he pulled out two bullets. He snapped open his shotgun and loaded them inside the compartment.

"We should go back," Rickter said. "Sell off the Augury House before that man has a chance to tell anyone. I know a lawyer in Westminster who can arrange for an anonymous transaction. If we just--"

"We're not going back, Rickter," Johan said.

"What?"

"Yes," he said. He stood up, gun dangling in his left hand, his knees cracking like gunshots. Dusting off invisible lint from his suit, he said, "We're not going anywhere right now. I have to catch him. I've never felt an emotion so strong in my life. I have to catch him, for he is a worthy opponent."

"People will know," Rickter said. "The very reason you didn't kill anyone from our own dimension was because people would know! You cannot go out and besmirch your reputation and life like this."

Johan smiled, but like always, it didn't reach his eyes. "Go back, Rickter."

Slinging his gun over his shoulder, Johan walked away.

#

"James MacIntyre...." Static. "....hear us? I repeat, can you hear..." Static. "....if yes, please respond. James MacIntyre, can you hear us?"

James's eyes snapped open, and the world came back to view. His mind was spinning.

He looked at his abdomen and his bloody hand. The wound was still there, but the blood flow was almost cut off. Blood had clotted, a dark red layer caked on his wound.

So blood could clot without a coagulating agent or biosecurity. Still, this was not enough. But he was happy to hear familiar voices again.

"This is peacekeeper James MacIntyre," he said to his subdermal microphone. "I can hear you."

"Good," The voice said. "We've located you in an alternate dimension about three hundred years behind us..." Static, but it was improving. "...we're sending one of our own there. It is impossible to pinpoint your location, but...." Static. "...and your bio signatures are not very good. What is your condition, Mr. MacIntyre?"

James struggled to stand up, his knees weak. He took the support of the wall like a diseased man, taking slow painful steps ahead. "Penetrating trauma in the abdomen region. Lost a lot of blood."

"Have you used your emergency enhancements yet?"

"No."

"Good. I suppose we can permit you to use them now. Stay alive till the time our extractor finds you."

James stopped by a lamppost, looking down at the bloodstained uniform. The abdomen was completely red, along with the left thigh and knee. A lot of blood. "Can I talk to my wife?"

He had expected them to disconnect, but no, they were still on. "Unfortunately no, Mr. MacIntyre. Given the strenuous political situation here at Lower Earth, only the Department of Ethical Interdimensional Travel and Extraction is allowed to communicate with you. Until you get back here, that is."

"That's...." James sighed.

They were placing an absurd amount of trust in him making it out alive, even though he suspected the "chances of fatality" that his Kronos field showed were visible to them too.

"Okay. I understand," he said finally.

Maybe he could do this.

#

It wasn't hard to track down the prey.

Johan had at first thought that perhaps he could track him down by the blood trail he must be leaving.

Seeing the dark muddy streets, still wet from rain in the morning, he knew he was wrong.

That didn't stop him, though.

All he had to do was ask the people if they had seen a man in a flamboyant white dress, and they answered.

A few people noticed that he had a shotgun slung across his shoulder, and one of them even had the audacity to ask, "What's that for, good man?"

Under normal conditions Johan would've responded just as politely, but this wasn't a normal condition.

And quite soon, he found the man cowering near a lamppost, his left leg drenched in his own blood, the dark red color standing out against the pristine whiteness of the rest of his clothes.

His back was to him, and for some reason he was mumbling to himself, so he didn't notice when Johan walked up behind him and said, "James MacIntyre, wasn't it?"

#

James snapped to attention at the words.

He didn't even think before pushing the emergency button on his wrist. His com link disconnected, and artificial adrenaline was released in his system.

He turned to see Johan, standing with a childishly innocent look on his face, as if he hadn't just stabbed him in the stomach.

"What are you?" James said, stepping back. "A serial killer? Why are you after me?"

The adrenaline shots were working. The pain disappeared, and his muscles regained some of the vigour they had lost. His senses sharpened. He was chemically alert.

"Serial killer? Pardon me," Johan said. "I'm not familiar with the word."

James remembered the dark stains on the floor of the basement. The splatters on the walls. The scratches at the corners.

"You are a serial killer," James said, eyes widening. "You pull people out of their dimensions just to kill them in the basement. Because..." It took only a moment to come to the logical reason. "Because killing someone of your own dimension is risky."

"As I said, I'm not familiar with the term," Johan said. "But , ah, it is probably because it hasn't been invented yet, yes?"

James's eyes fixed on the gun at his shoulder. "You can't use it here. That's why you hide in the basement, don't you?"

Johan frowned at that. "Best not to speak out of your turn, young man. Especially when you're not the one with the weapon."

"A weapon you can't use," James said.

"Oh? You think so?" Johan took it off his shoulder, leveling it at him.

"Yeah, I think so," James said. He had decided.

He had to stay alive.

#

Johan didn't make the mistake again.

He pulled back his gun just as James lunged towards it, spinning it around and bunting him in the stomach.

He cried out in pain, surprised, stumbling back.

He was now limited to using only his left hand, the right one clamped on his reopened wound.

Still, the man knew how to fight.

He had stepped close to him, too close to fire a gun with that long a barrel.

Johan swung, aiming for the barrel to hit James in the face.

But James ducked.

#

A crowd had gathered around them, effectively blocking all ways of exit. It had happened too quickly for him to take precautions, and now he was stuck.

Still, he didn't make the mistake he did last time.

When Johan swung the gun again, he ducked under it, coming back up with an uppercut.

Johan reeled back, hand clamped on his jaw.

He pulled up the gun and aimed it at his face, and James switched on his Kronos field at the last moment.

The bullet sparked off the invisible forcefield formed in front of him. The audience screamed, and people started running away.

Johan, looking James straight in the eye, smiled.

James had to run away.

The pain was spreading to his chest. Even the adrenaline could only do so much. And if Johan used his knife once more....

He gathered all his strength and started limping away.

#

His prey was trying to run.

Johan didn't like that, but he knew why he was doing that. He was immune to bullets, it seemed, but not to knives.

Well, a bullet immune prey from the future would certainly make for a nice trophy.

He took out his dagger from the pocket of his coat, still slick with his prey's blood, and smiled.

#

His com link connected again, and a voice said, "I see you, Mr. MacIntyre."

Glad. But James didn't have the strength to respond, all his focus on his escape.

Each step forward magnified the agonizing pain, and his vision was blurring again. He could no longer see the sharp lines, his world turning into a smudgy caricature of itself.

Silhouettes ran around like ghosts, the grey and black world deepening.

Footsteps.

He looked over his shoulder.

Johan's knife pierced through his shoulder blade, and he screamed.

The hard pavement hit his head as the world turned on itself.

"Your head," Johan said, leaning over him, his face close to his. "would make for a nice trophy."

James grabbed his throat, but it was no use.

Johan raised the knife.

There was a familiar squalling of a gamma pistol, and a radiant blast of light hit Johan in the back. Inhibitory neurotransmitters seeped through his clothes and into his central nervous system, and his muscles stiffened into place, the knife hovering up in the air.

With one last defiant cry, James shoved him away.

He lay on the ground, panting, hand pressed on his reopened wound, but loosely. He was close to passing out.

A man in a trenchcoat stood in Johan's place, a gamma pistol in his hand. "Found you, Mr. MacIntyre."

It was David.