Dancer was still in his element.

"Alright. Jackson, start constructing some explosives out of anything you possibly can in this store. Mi-kyeong, you do your thing. Colton, survey the room and see if there are any hidden entryways in here. Also, collect any guns or ammo we could use off the greens."

He posted himself up near the doorway, sitting with his handgun out, ready to jump if anything happened.

This was going to be the longest hour of his life.

The wait was over. Mi-Kyeong announced she had cracked the files, and all the information was there. She said that there weren't any specifics, but a list of locations. No explanation as to why those locations are important. There's moscow, NYC, Ukraine, London, Paris, Hong-Kong, Tyoko. Dancer looked and thought of something.

"Jackson. We did fight a zombie in NYC, right? And look at Moscow. And I've heard strange reports of cannibalism from France and England. SH*T! Those are all testing grounds for these experiments! That means Erkovitch could be anywhere!" Dancer punched the wall nearest to him, and he felt the skin over his knuckles break.

ANd the noise brought hell. He heard the shuffling and smelled the decay before he saw them. Wave after wave walking towards the door. "Everybody, time to move. Mi-Kyeong, wrap it up. I'll guard you."

Dancer shot two rounds through to door, bringing one creature down. They were going to have their hands full.

Mi-Kyeong jumped at the sudden blasts, and realized it was her cue to pack up.

Mi-Kyeong converted the files to a series of texts for Dancer's phone, and sent them via the link she had previously established. She then removed the disc, powered down and packed her computer as carefully as she could, given the time allowed her. Luckily, her computer was easy to pack up, and she had it on her back within about ninety seconds from power down.

Mi-Kyeong then pulled her gun from her holster, and checked her clip. Good, there were still six in the clip, and one in the chamber.

Mi-Kyeong spotted something she hadn't seen before. It looked like a half-rotted snake, about the size of a midsized python, and took a moment to take in the shape of its head. Great, she thought. Its head was triangular, and it was then that she noticed a rattle on its tail.

S**T! thought Mi-Kyeong. She unloaded wildly, not wanting to find out whether or not it was still venomous. She managed to get one shot into the head, but it looked as if she had only stunned it momentarily. Quickly, and without regard for saving the clip, she dropped it, and reloaded it before firing the last shot in the chamber, cutting down the need to chamber it again before firing. It used that two to three seconds to charge the door, rearing its head for a strike at Jackson, who seemed to already have his weapon trained on it.

Mi-Kyeong owed Jackson for earlier, and she liked to pay up quickly. She took as careful aim as she dared, and fired at its mouth.

Through some bizarre fluke, the angle she fired at knocked off the front half of its upper jaw, and the venom sacs sprayed straight at Jackson. Mi-Kyeong dashed forward as she saw the jaw fly free, and used her shoulder bag as an umbrella to shield his head.

It seemed to work, as the snake's head dropped before any of the venom could reach him.

When she dared put the bag down, Mi-Kyeong noticed she had been sprayed instead. Her face was dry, but the venom had sprayed her arm.

"Dancer!" she screamed. "The poison got my arm! I need antivenin, now!" If it's not one thing it was three others, Mi-Kyeong thought as she slumped against the wall beside Jackson.

Mi-Kyeong remembered her belt. It would make a decent tourniquet until she could get something for the venom. She handed Jackson her belt, and managed a weak smiling grimace as she quipped "I try to even the score, and I still come out owing you. It figures."

Mi-Kyeong's vision started to swim, and she thought she saw someone familiar...

"Father?" She asked aloud. That was impossible. He had been dead for eight years. He was a detective, killed on duty.

The figure approached, and her vision focused for a moment. It was her father. He had come to her now, to tell her that she was not going to give up. She had to get home. Her mother was waiting. He would kick Mi-Kyeong's ass all the way back to Seoul if she died without saying goodbye to her mother.

Mi-Kyeong screwed her eyes shut and shook her head. Her vision cleared a bit, and she realized her belt was there on her arm. She did still owe Jackson one. Mi-Kyeong remembered the silica gel one found in the bottom of a backpack. That was it! She pulled it out, and unwrapped her arm. This would hurt, but not much choice. If she could draw out the bulk of the poison, she would only be nauseous, rather than dead.

Mi-Kyeong opened the packet, and sprinkled it on her arm, right over the scars. It worked. The liquid still on Mi-Kyeong's arm had puffed up the silica, indicating it had drawn enough poison away that her body could metabolize it, given a few hours rest.

That would have to wait, though. There were still zombies out there. She saw at least four that the snake had knocked over on its path to Jackson, and she kept two of them down.

The other two got up, and Mi-Kyeong did likewise, rather sluggishly compared to her earlier speed. She moved into the back, and continued to provide backup fire. The others had enough to worry about without carrying a wounded, unconscious woman with them.

Mi-Kyeong said to Dancer in between shots "I'm going to need a new bandage, when we get a chance.

Maybe Mi-Kyeong was starting to break even.

Dancer nodded at Mi-Kyeong, putting a round into the chest of a near zombie. It caved in, and the thing fell to the floor. Off in the distance, he heard something.

thud. Thud. Thud.

It kept getting closer, and speeding up, and Jackson recognized it. Dancer yelled it first. "Is that a helicopter?" After a few minutes, it came into view. He realized it was a US chopper, and he felt elated. We're saved, he thought. But it never landed. After hovering for a length of time, all the blood drained from Dancer's face.

"You might need more than just a bandage in a minute...GET DOWN!" Colton and Jackson dove behind some cover, and Dancer tackled Mi-Kyeong onto her stomach, to protect the computer. The chopper fired a missle directly towards them, but the dives saved them from the worst of the blast. Dancer felt heat all around him, and smelled burned flesh and he saw pieces of the zombies littering the ground everywhere. He stayed still a minute, not daring to move, until he heard the chopper fly off.

What the hell was that about?

Mi-Kyeong, without saying a word, grabbed and powered on Dancer's phone. The link she established ran both ways, and she didn't have time to power on her computer. She pulled out a stiff piece of foil, blew a few odd notes, and began working. This would be difficult. She acquired the chopper's GPS signal, and its orders, saving them to the phone.

What she found stunned her in disbelief. "Those arrogant bastards! How the hell do they think they're going to get away with this?"

Unable to say much more through her anger, she thrust the display screen of Dancer's phone in front of his face, and showed him the orders.

As an afterthought, Mi-Kyeong used her foil again. The four notes she blew into the mic of the phone, along with the numeric code she typed would ensure that she was the only one who could access his phone via a computer. They didn't need the military getting ideas from her.

With one last note, she disabled the GPS on his phone, as well. No more homing beacons for strikes like this, unless Dancer relayed the coordinates to someone he trusted.

Mi-Kyeong handed Dancer back his phone, and told him what she had done.

"I can track any vehicle or ground movement that uses that signal, now. They probably know about the orders being grabbed, though. I didn't have time to finesse it. I used my own custom brute force flood attack, so they probably know they got worked. Oh, and...3...2...1..."

The helicopter got almost out of sight, and started to spin, the back blade having seized. It spun to the ground, and the blade sheared itself off.

"You won't have to worry about that again, for a while." Mi-Kyeong said with an evil smile.

"I don't think they're dead, though. I say we should grab the one in charge and feed the rest to these bastards. How does the saying go? 'Turn about is fair play?' That works twice."

Dancer raised an eyebrow at her. "Nice work. But we're not killing them. That's what seperates us from them." Dancer gathered his things that were dropped, and gave Colton and Jackson a hand up. "Come on, fellas. Let's go to the chopper."

After a short, uneventful trek, they arrived at the crash site. Dancer approached with caution, with Jackson right behind him, covering his back. He pushed open the door, and found two dead soldiers with rpgs. The pilot was unconcsious. As he pulled him out, the pilot began to have a seizure, which resulted in him biting his own tongue off.

damn, we're not getting anything from him. He can still write what we need to know.

As he recovered, Jackson pulled a man out who was kicking and screaming. He looked no older than 19, and very scared. He wore the stripes of Private, and of combat medic. These men were US Army. Dancer remembered his first mission, and how he'd almost soiled himself when the gun fire started. He walked over the boy.

"Calm down, we're here to help you. Now come with us under some cover." He carried the boy due to a wounded leg, and Colton hefted the pilot. They moved into a nearby school, and sat him down in the hallway.

"Now, why did you guys fire on us?"

Jackson half carried, half dragged the soldier into the vacant school. He was tired, had God knew what covering most of his jacket and pants, to say nothing of his boots, and it wasn't even lunchtime yet. This was certainly turning out to be a hell of a day.

He trained his gun on the soldier, still not trusting him, after getting him wedged into a chair.

"Yeah, I'm kinda curious about that one, too. Why did you fire on us?"

The private began to write down his name, rank and serial number before Jackson pistol whipped him across the face when he realized what he was doing.

"Look, we're not the bad guys here. We're human, like you. Me and Dancer here are ex-Army, so we know how you're trained to operate. If you cooperate with us, you may just get out of this alive. Now, why did you fire on us?"

The private gulped and wiped blood from the cut across his face before beginning to write again.

"I'm Chris Tyson, we were flying in on some mission to destroy the building you were in, they didn't give us many details, only that it was the former headquarters of a doctor that's been spreading some super-virus across Europe. That's all I know, man, I swear!"

Jackson thought about that for a moment...a doctor, huh?

"What was the doctor's name? Do you remember?"

The private began to write.

"Erkovich"

Dancer motioned Jackson aside, where they could speak in private.

"I believe the kid about not getting told much. You remember what being a grunt was like. But I also remember POW training. You let on what you want them to believe, and die before betrayal. There has to be something he's not mentioning. Hang on, I have an idea."

Dancer walked up to the boy, and looking at his lip. "Here, take this. It's salt water, so it'll burn. But it'll clean out that cut. I was a combat medic, just like you. I want to ask you about a name. What do you know of an Agnes Eisig-Kalt?"

The boy looked up at him. "She dealt with various agencies, and she sometimes acts as an informant. Or, well, did. We found her in Helsinki with a sniper round wound, straight through her heart. Her phone had a history with someone named Seth Dancer, and that's who they're looking into as the killer."

Dancer took two steps backwards. "Well, you tell them this. Seth Dancer is innocent, and currently in Moscow. In case you hadn't realized, I am Seth Dancer."

Mi-Kyeong was seething. These bastards had tried to kill the entire group, and (most importantly, in her eyes) her. She wanted her "pound of flesh," figuratively speaking, and she wanted the zombies to have their pounds of flesh, not so figuratively speaking.

No helping it though. These men who would not let her kill these bastards had also saved her ass, one of them less than an hour ago, so Mi-Kyeong wouldn't try to gainsay them. She would, however, vocally disagree with Dancer, once the perceived command structure would not be threatened. Mi-Kyeong stewed on this through the whole conversation with the private, then decided to let go.

The pilot had answered for his part, and would never answer anyone again. The private was just along for the ride, and looked ready to drop a brick in his skivvies. Mi-Kyeong decided to ask the private a few questions of her own.

"Private...Tyson, was it? I see your medic's cross. I need to know what you can do for this." She showed her injured arm. "Do you have any moleskin bandages? Something to clean this out? A snakebite kit, maybe? My head is pounding, and I'm nauseous as hell, all after I got sprayed with venom from a snake the size of an anaconda."

The private was still tense. Mi-Kyeong decided to mess with him a bit.

"How far does your knowledge of the human body go, Private?" Mi-Kyeong stood back, and gave the private a pretty good look. Mi-Kyeong was not your average geek, even to look at. at 5'6", she was built to turn heads.

Mi-Kyeong let out a laugh at the pun she had just made, and saw the soldier color a little, though he hid his embarrassment well. She couldn't bring herself to torture him more than that.

"Just messing with you, Soldier. Now, seriously. The moleskin? Antivenin?"

Mi-Kyeong waited for the private to get out his kit. The first to be administered was the antivenin, straight into her carotid, with a very small needle. She barely felt the sting, but the injection burned intensely.

Next came the less painful part. The moleskin. Tyson knew his trade, she had to give him that. He wrapped it in a cloth bandage afterward, with a cushion bandage. Proper equipment would go a long way.

Tyson, looking a little more relaxed, told Mi-Kyeong "That should hold, but keep the belt there for about another two hours. Otherwise, you'll be fine, considering the circumstances."

Mi-Kyeong replied "Oh, about that...Sorry, private. You seem like a nice kid, and you didn't really do anything. Sorry for crashing your ride out of here."

The soldier looked dumbfounded. Mi-Kyeong elaborated "I brought your chopper down with his," she motioned to Dancer "phone, using a few keys on the pad and a gum wrapper. I gave the hydraulics a signal to overload on the back blade." She turned to Dancer. "By the way, let me see that phone again, and I can show you how to track on that frequency, so as to avoid any more surprises."

Dancer sighed and tossed his phone to Mi-Kyeong. He kept checking the door to make sure the coast was clear. He looked at Tyson for a second.

"Private, gather your s**t. Your coming with us for a little ways. I'm a little rusty on my medic skills. You can ask the lady about that one."

"Well, you could have used better equipment, but I don't think your local department store carries most of the stuff you need." Mi-Kyeong told him after she caught the phone.

Mi-Kyeong brought up the frequency code the chopper used, and its GPS location algorithm. She worked them into a text-based notification program, and keyed it to the combination 411.

"Dancer." She got his attention. "Here. Any time you even think something from the government is near you, hit 411. I know, bad joke. Easiest way to remember the code. 411 brings up the program. It'll track anything using that frequency, and you will have clearance just short of NSA. There's a catch. You won't be able to fly it blind. This isn't a computer, so you'll need exact details, down to spelling. Otherwise, the search is too primitive to look it up. If you text in x/y, you'll get your current position, since I disabled your proprietary GPS. I didn't want any more surprises, so I did it permanently."

Mi-Kyeong decided to demonstrate. She dialed 411, then texted x/y. Their co-ordinates came up, displaying lat/long and registered location. She typed in Agnes Eisig-Kalt, to demonstrate for him how the rest functioned. She read a few lines, simple personnel info. Nothing big. Then, a red flag flew up. Her death was classified. Why?

She gave the phone to Dancer with all the info still on it.

"What the hell is this? You said she was taken out by a sniper. Her death is classified by your government. Someone is in on this sh*t!"

Dancer turned quick.

"Why am I not surprised? That's why I didn't stay 20 in the Army. They're always pulling s**t."

He picked up Tyson.

"Come on. It's time to go. Someone grab the pilot. Mi-kyeong, I'll need you to watch him. Make sure he doesn't try to run. Everybody, move out."

He watched the medic check his gun and nod. The boy seemed to know what he was doing.

At least he did, until the dog ripped his face off. Four canines leaped from gutters in the street, one tackling Tyson and tearing at his face. The screams lasted about two seconds, and then he was dead. Dancer put two beretta rounds into the beast, sending it sprawling, and turned to run.

The reporter sighed and put his pen down, his glasses following shortly. His assignment had been to interview Seth Dancer about the Moscow incident, but it was clear to him he wouldn't get far. Dancer couldn't remember much. It seemed after Tyson was killed, Dancer blacked out, and didn't wake up until they "borrowed" a plain to take them out of the country. After landing in Rammstein, they boarded a flight heading to Washington DC.

Mi-Kyeong ended up flying back to Seoul, and that's all Dancer knew. Colton returned home to his daughter and retired from the Mercenary life. Jackson didn't make it. He died in Erkovitch's personal laboratory. Dancer barely made it out, having ushered Colton and Mi-kyeong out, also reluctant to leave his closest friend's side as he lay dying.

The journalist looked over the last part of his notes.

"It is clear to me that Seth Dancer, former US Army Combat Medic, is now insane. He insists on having a gun within reach at all times. He smells like nothing but alcohlol and cigarette smoke, and he lacks motivation of any kind. His eyes, though. Though they were once vibrant, they are now devoid of any emotion, and it's clear that they relive the horrors that were displayed in front of them every day."

After nodding to Dancer and shaking his hand, he left the small apartment, feeling glad just to be alive. He didn't feel any pity for the group that went through Hell in Russia. Why should he? They made the choice. He also didn't notice Dancer watching him through his window. It had been 7 years since that incident. Why would a reporter with a clearly Russian accent ask him about it now?

Mi-Kyeong sat bolt upright in bed, in a cold sweat, still remembering the horrors of Moscow those seven years ago. Her quick wits, always on the edge of fraying then, weren't enough to get her out alive, but, thanks to Dancer and his team, she at least made it to thirty.

Her best friend, having fallen victim to those grisly creatures, was not so lucky, and today was they day Mi-Kyeong paid her monthly visit to the family of her fallen friend's family, who, this month, were upkeeping her grave.

Mi-Kyeong felt a surge of guilt at both her own survival, and the fact that she had forgotten the half of the necklace she had worn since. She hadn't yet been to the grave, on the Ha family's property, having not had the courage to face down the death of her best friend.

Today, Mi-Kyeong decided, she had finally worked up the courage, and, after work, she would visit Ji-Soo's grave, finally hanging the other half of her necklace in a place of respect.

Work was uneventful, aside from a few complaining clients, and questions about the Moscow incident had mercifully stopped assaulting her day after day.

Mrs. Ha had gone insane with grief, and Mi-Kyeong decided that she would visit Mrs. Ha in the institution, but not today.

When Mi-Kyeong arrived at the Ha residence, she was surprised to find Mr. Ha already kneeling by his only daughter's grave, giving prayers for her. Mi-Kyeong faltered for a moment, her eyes beginning to tear at the sight, but she announced herself and strode for Mr. Ha.

Mr. Ha, still on his knees, beckoned Mi-Kyeong to the spot next to him. Mi-Kyeong kneeled obediently before Ji-Soo's grave. Seven years ago today, she had seen the joy at their return home on Ji-Soo's face turn to abject horror in the space of a few seconds when these things approached.

Mi-Kyeong had subsequently watched, helpless, as Ji-Soo's horror became justified, and saw her friend die. She managed to retrieve the one thing Mr. Ha would recognize, Ji-Soo's half of the paired necklaces they had saved for a year to buy in celebration of their acceptance to their exchange in Boston, Mi-Kyeong at MIT, Ji-Soo at Harvard Medical.

She willed herself to look up once more at the photo situated on top of the funerary shrine. It was Ji-Soo's Graduation photo from Harvard Medical.

"May I have a moment to speak to Ji-Soo, please, Mr. Ha?" Mi-kyeong asked, tears in her voice.

"I'll go and make lunch. Won't you stay and eat after you've said your piece?" He replied as he rose, as strain in his voice belied how long he had been kneeling there.

"Of course, Mr. Ha. Everyone knows you make the best Beef Bulgogi in South Korea." Mi-Kyeong affirmed, her hand going to her laptop bag.

Mi-Kyeong made certain that Mr. Ha. was inside, and opened the frame with Ji-Soo's Grad photo. She inserted something in front of the photo, taking care to make certain it didn't obscure the face on the picture, then replaced it as she had first found it.

Mi-Kyeong brushed back her waist-length hair, and found the clasps of their personalized necklaces. She stopped for a moment, her fingers having found Ji-Soo's clasp. She let herself look at her friend again, taking a memory of her as she was while alive. She then undid the clasps of both necklaces, and hung them on each side of the photo, then spoke to Ji-Soo.

"I wish I could say I had done my best for you, Ji-Soo. I know, though, that there was more I could have done, and more I can still do. I owe those bastards in Moscow, and I owe Dancer."

With that, Mi-Kyeong slipped an envelope on the plinth addressed to Mr. Ha, along with Ji-Soo's charm bracelet, which Ji-Soo gave her for safekeeping whenever she had lab duty.

She ate with Mr. Ha, the two swapping stories of better times, and Mi-Kyeong let herself out.

There were other things she had to do today.

Mi-Kyeong hopped a train headed for England, and got out her laptop, plugging it into the outlet in her car.

"Finally. It took me seven years to perfect this attack, and now I pay up my last debts."

Mi-Kyeong spent the two-week trip pulling all the files related to the Moscow incident, using a custom IP spoof which she had gleaned from the Russian government during the incident there. This finesse attack had been perfected along with a tactic she called "Hack-and-Fade," so that she wouldn't be found out.

She found out that the UN was still funding the investigation of the happenings in Moscow, and decided to cut her trip short in Geneva.

She made three hard copies of the information (Including footage of Dancer and his team when she had found them, as well as surveillance of some of their fighting) at the South Korean Consulate, and procured a ticket to zurich, where the truncated pennies she had managed to siphon had paid for a modest bank account, and a safe-deposit box. She deposited one copy of her files in the box, locked it, and left explicit instructions that, if she wasn't back in a year, to send copies to every press agency in Switzerland.

Now, she went to the airport. It was time to find Dancer, and get his ass moving. Unbeknownst to Dancer, they had revenge to plan, and the separation between "us" and "them" be damned this time.

When Mr. Ha next visited his daughter's grave, his eyes welled with tears. Sitting in the frame with Ji-Soo's picture was a picture of the pair celebrating their last night in Boston, Ji-Soo beaming in her lab coat, emblazoned "Dr Ha." His curiosity finally overpowered his grief, and he opened the envelope.

The letter inside told him the details of Ji-Soo's death, as best Mi-Kyeong could remember them, with an apology that she could not offer more than comfort at that time, and an admonition he would never forget.

Mr. Ha rose to his knees, got into his car, and began his drive to the hospital to bring his wife home.