CHAPTER 1

            "Table six, order up!" Flappy rang the bell. No one came. "J! I have limited counter space!"

            A slender red-head emerged from the bathroom, re tying her apron, "Geez Flappy, keep your hairnet on," She gracefully swooped by the counter and grabbed the tray. Same boring shit, every boring day...ugh.

            The Middle of Nowhere Diner sat along a stretch of highway about 45 minutes out of Silicon Valley. The place was a little dumpy, but clean, and as the door stated, they had The Best Damn Food in All of North California!

            She got a second or two to herself, and busied herself with the newspaper. She crossed her long, slender legs. She was pretty by anyones standards, reddish-brown hair that fell to the middle of her back, and a small patch or freckles on her nose, the only distinction on her otherwise flawless skin. She was about 5'5" and slim, with green, mischievous eyes. She gave off a toughness, a courage that could be felt by others.

            She was occupied by the Arts section of the paper, and didnt see the battered Cadillac arrive. Didnt see the man weakly pad into the diner, and sit at the farthest table.

            A spatula lowered the paper in front of her, it was Flappy, "Now I know I promised your Dad that you'd have a job, but if you don't move your little ass, Ill can you. I don't pay slackers," he was pissed, "Now you have a customer, table 9."

            Although she was a respectable young adult of 18, she allowed herself the privilege of sticking her tongue out at him, and making a rude hand gesture. She tried to re-fold the paper, decided it wasnt worth the trouble, and went to table 9.

            "What'll it be?" she said, the routine started...

            "Coffee, black," the man said, weakly.

            "Regular or Decaf?" the routine continued.

            "Strongest you got..." the man said, still staring at his own hands.

            As she was getting him his coffee, she studied him, "Never seen this guy before," she muttered to herself, "and what's with the metal on his hands?"

            She brought him his coffee, looked around and saw that the coast was clear, then sat down across from him. "Don't mean to be nosy, but whats with the metal on your hands?" she asked, never to be one for subtlety.

            His hands still held his rapt attention.

            She snapped her fingers in front of his face, "Hello?"

            Quietly, "You really want to know?" he looked up from his hands. She saw that his left eye had no pupil, but instead looked mirrored, like sunglasses, silver. It had the same kind of metal coming out of it that was on his hands, it went down his neck and back into his hair, which was gelled up in spikes, but seemed to be losing its hold. She, for some reason, was not frightened...That was soon to change.

            As he began to tell the story, he noticed three black unmarked cars pull up in front, and saw the men in black suits emerge.

            "Do you enjoy life?" he asked suddenly.

            "I guess so, why?" She looked puzzled.

            "Then trust me, and dont squirm."

            "What?" she said as he grabbed her arm and nearly wrenched it out of its socket as he bolted for the kitchen. As they got to the door, the sound of automatic weapons was heard, along with shattering glass and screams. He threw her down and dropped over her, protecting her from the debris. Flappy emerged from the kitchen and said "What the f---" and was promptly gunned down.

            "Flappy!" she screamed, then the man picked himself up, grabbed her and ran.

            "Get out of here, GO!" Flappy shouted weakly at her. "Now!"

            As they ran, bullets punctured the wall on their side, showering them with plaster and other assorted nasty things, they got to the back door, and the man whipped it open.

            As he stared down the barrel of the machine gun, he heard the man on the other side chuckle, "You're on the business end of an automatic weapon, don't even try to fight back," He got to about the word Don't when the girl spun around and planted a roundhouse kick right to his jaw. The man in the suit dropped.

            The man just stared at her. She shrugged, "Kick-boxing since I was nine."

            He shook himself out of the shock, and grabbed the mans machine gun. He asked, "You ever fired a gun?"

            She shook her head. "It's easy, point it at the target, pull the trigger, here," he handed her the machine gun, "You have this one." He searched the fallen man, and removed his sidearm, a colt magnum, one of the new ones, loaded with clips. Nice.

            He stood at the side of the building, "These guys travel two to a car, you dropped one, so that leaves five to deal with, and they will most likely be inside already, on three, we run to my car."

            "Okay," she said, still sort of freaked out about what had happened in the last 5 minutes.

            "THREE!" he shouted as he heard the men bust out of the back door and shout, "Over there!"

            They raced the 50 feet to his car, and jumped in, as he tried to hot-wire the car, the girl stood with the car as cover, waited for the men to reveal themselves around the building, and opened fire.

            She dropped three of them when the man screamed, "We dont want them dead!"

            The engine roared to life, drowning out her cries of, "You killed my uncle you assholes!!"

            "GET IN!" She got in, and as they drove off, she leaned out the window to fire at the men. She caught a bullet in the shoulder. She shouted in pain, dropped the gun, and nearly fell out of the car, but the man grabbed her belt and pulled her back in. Her shoulder bled enthusiastically.

            "Shit..." she looked at the wound.

            "Keep pressure on it, here," he grabbed a blanket from the backseat, "Tie it off with this."

            "I need a doctor..." she said, in pain.

            "I am a doctor, and when we get far enough away, I'll patch you up," She looked at him through a haze of pain. "Trust me, I got you out of there, right?"

            "But, won't they follow?" she said weakly.

            "Not without air in their tires," he said and grinned.

            "I have a request..." she said, "let's never do that again."

            "I wish I could promise you that, but what I can promise, is that I'll never let you be hurt," she looked at him, "well, you know what I mean." he looked forward, but his hand dropped to grip hers.

            "Hang in there, we're almost home."

            Hargenson stepped over a body laying with a sheet over it and into the kitchen. Their quarry had gotten away. His superiors were not going to like this. He came across a skinny man still wearing a chefs cap lying on the floor, body riddled with bullets. Surprisingly, the guy was still alive. Had spunk. Hargenson hated spunk.

            The man trembled and looked at him. "Y..YyY...You'll nev...neverr get her, I swear it," The man turned on his side and vomited blood.