KASANGI heard the gunfire. And screaming. Holding her two pistols. her Glock 17L

and her Colt 45, one in each hand and she ran towards the noise.

Hoping she was not too late.

STRIDJOM got up painfully, holding a smoking pistol. Most of Jones's hits connected with

his chest. A bullet tore off part of his ear, and grazed his skull. But, he was alive.

He walked over to Jones. The kaffir was lying, facedown, motionless in a pool of his own blood. Stridjom's pistol was empty. He dropped it. He bent down and checked Jones' pulse.

No pulse.

"Heh...No, Jones, the pleasure was all mine."

And he got up, unsteadily, and was limping towards the door when-

"STRIDJOM!"

He froze. And turned around. And Jones was standing. Bleeding, but his eyes,cold, focused

and determined.

"We. Are. Not. Done." Jones said.

The South African's eyes saw the man standing there, but his mind was saying. "He is dead. He had no pulse."

Stridjom screamed like a barbarian and rushed Jones and tackled him, shoulders first and rammed him against a wall repeatedly, ramming his shoulders in the vigilante’s ribs.

Then snapped his head up, the back of his head connecting with Jones' chin, then a move

Stridjom borrowed from Thai boxing, an elbow on the side of Jones' head, then his thick

forearm against Jones neck. Stridjom was as strong as Jones. Jones was choking.

"I'll kill you, you fuck! You'll die! You'll die!"

JONES WAS BEGINNING to black out. The abuse of the last few minutes was beginning

to take its toll on the Sentencer. The man was big and berserker strong. Muscle alone

would not get him out of this.

So...he would have to get...nasty.

The Sentencer's hand's were free, so he used one of them. The right. And grabbed hold

of Stridjom's testicles. Stridjom's eyes went wide with absolute agony. Pain obliterated

rational thought, he let go off the choke hold, trying to break the vice like grip on his

genitals. He twisted as much as his wrist would allow him. Then, formed a claw with

left hand and brought it down into Stridjom's throat. Closed his fist and ripped out his

Adam's apple. And let go of the man's groin.

Stridjom made a strange gurgling noise, fell on his knees, and then fell face first on the

ground. Immobile.

Jones walked over to a dead man, pulled a ka-bar knife from a sheath, walked over

to Stridjom and stuck the knife behind the man's head.

It never hurt to make sure.

Jones felt like...hell. He hurt everywhere. But he stood and started walking. He closed

his eyes and grimaced while holding his ribs and-

The gunshot hit his chest and it was enough to knock the vigilante on his back. And

he recognized the voice at one when his assailant spoke.

"Peek-a-boo, Jigaboo." Paulson said, holding a smoking Sig Saur. "Center of mass.

Not bad for a non com, huh?"

He fired three times in rapid fire in Jones chest. Jones was trying to breathe.

"Hurts with the Kevlar doesn't it?" Paulson said. "Ah, you people...you people...

You see, the way I look at it, you've lost. See, I fight a war of ideas. And you..."

He shot Jones in the chest again.

"You fight with violence. Sure I have my skinheads and my militians, but I am

first and foremost a man of ideas. This gun I'm using right now, as so..."

A bullet smacked Jones' thigh. Paulson walked over to Jones.

"Incredible. Not one scream." Paulson said. "Amazing. Anyway, as I was saying,

This gun, I am using in self defence, for I am a man of ideas, and since you could

not defeat me on that field, you chose violence, which besides dancing and sports,

is all you and your kind are good for anyway. Oh, I almost forgot..."

Paulson kicked Jones in the ribs.

"You people excel in self loathing and self destruction. Look at the crime in your neighbourhoods...Which was the idea behind the Ballistic. The Klan had it all wrong

lynching you...In fact, freeing the slaves was the best thing that could have

happened. Once free, you revealed yourselves as savages and degenerates.

So, by creating the Ballistic, all I did was provide you with a catalyst for your

own self demise. You are well on your way anyway, but I wanted to help it a

little and make money off of it. Noticed that all the ODs where restricted to your

'hood's as you say so distastefully. All right, not that you have the brains to

understand a single word I have said, but just thought I would let you know.

So, Say Goodbye, loser." Paulson said lowering the gun.

"Goodbye, loser."

Paulson turned towards the voice and soon his upper body was perforated

with 25 bullets and he collapsed next to Jones. The vigilante was hearing the footsteps

in his direction. They were light and graceful.

"Luther..."

"Rei..."Jones groaned.

"You don't look so good, big man."

"I don't...feel...so...good...either."

Soon, Rochenoire and Ryker joined her.

"Holy fuckin' Wlid Bunch final scene, Batman!" Rochenoire said looking at all the carnage.

"Help me" Rei said.

Soon, they were outside and got aboard the chopper.

"The lab is toast" Priest said.

"Good..."Jones said. "Thank...you..."

"No sweat, brother." Chuck said.

"Anytime." Ryker said.

"If you don't mind..."Jones said. "I will pass out now..."

And Jones let blackness take over him.

SOME TIME LATER, a small army of federal agents-FBI, ATF, USMS, were

on the Compound scene.

Keaton and Sullivan were at the compound.

"Christ..."Keaton said looking at the desolation.

"Was he alone, you think?" Sullivan said.

"No way. He had help. Some other place was hit at the same time.

Quintanez is there now... Jesus...I...The bodies, Sullivan..."

"I know Keaton..."She said patting his back." Even considering who they were,

the volume is...staggering."

Keaton noticed that Sullivan had taken her profiler voice, cold, detached, rational.

It was a shield against the sheer horror of this...She was right.

"Agents! We found Paulson inside!"

"Humph. It's over. He got away. Again." Keaton said.

"We'll get another chance, you know that."

"Yeah, I know, I know."

In a way, part of Keaton was relieved for two reasons: Not only was Jones not a cop killer, he'd nailed those who were. Still.

"Next time, Jones, next time."

TYNESIDE, ENGLAND

Three weeks later

After three weeks of hard work, Jones was almost 100 which was not enough,

but better than that night at the compound. The most violent incident on US soil

in recent history, about 400 dead.

But, the past three weeks, the cries had quitted down some. Some.

He was on top of Ryker's castle, breathing some fresh air. Ryker had been kind

enough to harbour him...Though Jones was a fugitive. Ryker said he knew what

it was like to be alone and have no one there for you.

And helping Rochenoire like he had in New York, was like helping Ryker and

the entire GUARD. Snce they were a family.

They were.

"Nice view." Rei said.

"Nice sunset." Jones said, watching as the sky was crimson-orange over the high tree

tops. Times like this, Jones could almost believe that there was no evil out there

in the world. That earth was Eden. Almost believe.

"You have to go, do you?" Rei asked.

"Yes. I have work to do. Back home. I am healed up. I need to get to it."

Rei just nodded. Jones thought he saw sadness in her eyes. But whatever question

or objection she could have had, she kept to herself.

"Will you have dinner tonight, one last time? With us?" She asked.

"It would be my pleasure."

Rei smiled and extended her hand. Jones took it and together they went, both knowing

that death and danger would be calling on them soon enough, on the GUARD

and on the Sentencer.

But for now...life.

THE END.