I guess it was only a matter of time until they showed up again in our affairs. We had been hearing rumours of their activities, though always shrouded in mere speculation, for months, and it was perhaps two months or so after our excursions in the tunnels that they re-appeared.

I wouldn't be so bold as to lie and say that I had some kind of pre-cognition, some strangely prophetic dream, that the Red Rose gang would reappear, because I think that everyone at Dirty Work knew that they had unfinished business with us. Most people that come into contact with the secondary layer of business that happens at Dirty Work come back again, for good or for ill. The Red Rose gang, it would seem, were part of the latter.

To further prove that I had had no prophetic dreams on the subject, I'll tell you that I didn't get any sleep at all the night it all started. I had been down at one of the shooting ranges practicing my aim. The boss made us go once a week to keep us in top condition, all expenses for two hours solid practice on him. At first I was awful, I've got to say. I'd taken out the guys on my initial escapade with Markro and the business of the letter that never was, but that was more by luck than judgement. Markro, Ashrore and others have noted that my shooting abilities, while I may have some, have been more in the heat of the moment luck. The boss was scared that one day my luck would run out.

And so after work that Tuesday I had headed to the range and put some holes in some targets. The place was quiet, as it usually was when I went down there, cold and sterile. I checked in with the receptionist and went down to the range, taking up a 52 Alpha. Old school, but I like the feel of it. The 52 sits nicely in my hand. I know the boss has given me the 58, and don't get me wrong it's beautiful to use, but whenever I get the chance I like to use a 52. There's just something about it that I really love.

After switching through the 52 to a 58 and then to a 40 Beta, the favourite of the Kakr guards outside the boss' room, I had decided to call it a day. My hands were shaking from the constant recoil by that time and my aim was worse than it had been since months beforehand. I wasn't feeling too good that day, probably something I had eaten, or something in the smoke that usually fills the air of the main stage area of Dirty Work. More than likely the latter.

I mention this because as I was turning to leave, placing the Beta in the rack by the side, I looked back out at the paper silhouettes, riddled with blast holes. And in the moments before my eyes focused properly, between the moments of stationary vision, I saw the holes bleeding. I saw the paper silhouettes dripping scarlet as if they were alive, real people that I had shot over and over again.

By the time my vision settled again the blood was gone and everything was normal.

I don't want to say that I had some kind of drug-induced vision, but the memory of the man down in the tunnels came to me then and a sense of dread filled me. Who knew if someone had gotten a hold of a powdered version of that drug that we had taken down underneath Celestria, and it had gotten into the air, and I had inhaled it? I didn't know what it was, but it scared me badly. My hands were shaking badly now so that the shivers began to run up my arms and as I fled into the streets I was becoming a nervous wreck.

It was as I stood there in the cold of the night, the hairs standing up on my arms shivering with my nerves as much as the cold, that I decided to head home and, if possible, get the next day off. I hadn't called in sick since I started working for the boss, and I was severely hoping that he would let me off for the day.

Upon arriving home, walking slowly to take in as much fresh air (or what is considered 'fresh' at the very least) as possible, I slumped onto my bed and pulled out my Halo-Core. I was about to contact the boss when the thing shook in my hands and Markro's face shot out of the screen and into my face.

'Whoa,' I shouted as I thrust the Halo-Core away from me, 'give me a warning, will ya?'

'Sorry,' Markro apologised. 'The boss told me to let you know that he wants you in early tomorrow.'

Internally, as you can imagine, I groaned. Very loudly. In fact I was screaming curses and the best hatred-filled phrases the poet in me I could create.

'What does he want?' I asked.

Markro raised his eyebrows and shrugged. 'No clue. Something solo I guess. He just told me to let you know.'

'Ok,' I said, rubbing my eyebrows. 'Thanks man.'

'You ok, Xayne?' Markro asked. 'You look a little off.'

'I'm fine,' I lied. 'Completely fine. Just a little wiped from target practice.'

Markro frowned but didn't say anything. A second later his face dissolved into pixels and I was left in silence again.

I sat there for a second mourning the chances for a day off. The streets were quietening outside, something it only did in the hour or so before the early morning risers wandered out into the world rubbing sleep from their eyes. I took the opportunity to try to drift off to sleep, but it took me at least two hours before it took me.