"Angel!?"

Mirrored in the reflection of my eyes is Agent Johnson of the FBI. He still calls me by that name. This is the same type of incompetent bumbler as the Madam Speaker. Johnson can't even find the person he's searching for even if they're staring him in the face. Can't hit the broad side of the barn. In no way is he qualified for his position. He only reached his level of authority by playing sides and making connections. Politics. Someone so out of his league could never benefit me.

I stand from my seat, sliding my gloves into my pocket, and try to leave. Johnson grabs my sleeved arm and holds me at bay. I guess he still has something he has to say.

"Where's Lucifael?"

What a joke.

"You're looking at him, idiot. I am Lucifael." This development leaves him in a state of frozen shock. I shake my arm loose. "I refuse protection from the FBI and I have no further knowledge of those terrorist activities." This was a big fat lie, but coupling the truth I had spoken earlier with this act should free me of any legal matters involving the incident. My official refusal of protection means they have to officially leave me alone.

As I exit the buffet I tell the hostess that my friend will pay, he's a well-paid agent of the FBI after all. Looking at me somewhat funny the girl nods and takes a look back at my table. Johnson's still sitting there in disbelief. You messed up good, buddy. Just like a certain someone else. Let's see you put me under observation, or even disclose my identity, knowing it could cost you your position. I can play politics too.

"Wait."

The two agents waiting outside approach. They extend their arms not to grab me, but to stop me. I bat them away and walk passed them. Unsure the situation, one turns to confer with Johnson while the other watches me. Two new red stars are born. I put my gloves back on.

I'm so pissed that I might just kill the three out of irritation, but I know not how to control this thing inside me. Besides, it's probably better that they stay alive. The connection between me and Ostrava would become so blazingly apparent that all of Las Vegas might be nuked just to get me. A bit of an exaggeration, but the sentiment is dead on. Me or a nuke? I begin to wonder which of the two are deadlier.

As I walk through the Paris Casino I notice very few at the slots. In fact, no one is playing the games. There is a very large group huddled around one of the island bars. They seem to be watching something that's on the TV monitors. My stomach feels like it's turning, and there's a phantom pain emanating from the scar on my left hand.

Something bad is going to happen.

I approach and notice that every TV I can see, not only at the bar, are all tuned on the same channel. There a woman is speaking with the graphical banner "Special Report" streaming underneath her. I recognize the woman as a reporter on a local station. As I step closer I can hear.

"...under quarantine for eight hours. After which my crew and myself were released."

"And then the video tape," a man I recognize from the national circuit asks the woman, "this is your first time seeing it, am I correct?" She nods. "Walk us through your experience."

"Yes. We were first to arrive at the hospital. Initially nobody knew what was going on, but everyone had been locked inside and the police were keeping everyone away. When the CDC arrived we were filming only for B-Roll, that's extra shots that may or may not be used purely as fillers, so we caught this footage of the incident. I remember the cops pushing us back because we were too close to the infection zone. While we were moving our equipment I could hear someone yelling something and a large group of officers started running." The events she's describing begin to play on the broadcast. "There were two men. One was, who I later discovered, Dr. Petrovich Ostrava from the CDC. He was crawling away from the other man shouting 'shoot him, shoot him.' As we were struggling to get that on camera, we saw him perish in a..." she pauses, she's clearly disturbed, "an explosion of blood." The gruesome scene has been censored by a checkerboard mosaic. "There was that man, it was dark so..."

...

...

...

...

DAMN!

That's me! On the TV, standing behind the exploded brains of Dr. Ostrava, is me dressed in the clothes that are resting in my motel room. The picture is dark and I'm standing a good distance away, but I can tell that that is me. Maybe so could the others if they turned around.

Without waiting to hear any more, I turn and exit at a hurried pace. This is bad! If they haven't discovered my identity yet, it's only a matter of time. Just like that I have turned into America's (The World's, probably) Most Wanted. No, I must still have some time. I had just spoken to an agent of the FBI, someone who's hunting (not searching) for me. Seeing as those other agents haven't shot me in the back means they haven't made the connection just yet. Thank God for the incompetent.

This credit card of mine with the million bucks on it will soon become trash. I need to pull as much cash off it as possible before the United States decides to cease funding a murderer. But it's just that, a credit card, not a bank card. I can spend as much as I want until that million's run dry, but if I want cash, it's a no go. Not only is God trying to get rid of me, but so is EVERYTHING else. How could this possibly get any worse?

"Low on debit, pull off your credit card at a higher fee." Or so did the sign say on the ATM I happen pass. It also says, right underneath that message, "When is it no longer a game?"

I completely forgot about this! I've seen this many times before, but I had never actually tried to use it. Never before had I the need. I just hope it works now with this card. Following the instructions I run this just as I would with debit. Until I see the fee they charge I wonder why nobody had done this yet. There's no limit mentioned on the machine, so I aim for $50,000. I figure I couldn't possibly need any more for a life on the run. When I see that's an acceptable amount, I go back and try $100,000. That fee's a stingy bastard, but I'll never see another cent from the Government's pocketbook, so what the heck. My recite prints and tells me to pick up the money at the casino cashier.

Of course.

They also want me to show a valid ID and all that hoopla. Well, I just made a scene back at the buffet with a federal agent, so I might as well stop trying to hide. The world will know I'm a very bad guy in a matter of time anyway. As of right now there is no longer a point in pretending I'm not me. As instructed by the small piece of paper I head to the cashier.

"Are you really that Lucifael!?"

It's the invisible hand. Of all the counters I could have approached, I meet with the one woman who vehemently follows all news stories on the national level. She probably recognized me even before I came to her. By the excited expression on her face she doesn't know that I'm a killer. Or maybe she does and is just a freak. I can't tell.

"Yes, that's me."

"I heard you were still in the hospital."

The hospital that blew up? Wait, she doesn't even know about that. In fact, now that I think about it, nobody did. Johnson thought I had been kidnapped. He seemed certain of it. If those kinds of assumptions had trickled down through the chain of command, then they won't connect the dots until way later. Also, with the risk of a potential scandal, they might not even care right now. I might once again be doing something completely unnecessary.

That's just wishful thinking. I can't let myself become careless. But why didn't anybody seem to know about the explosion at a major hospital? Why is that incident receiving the least amount of attention?

"I snuck out of there. Don't tell anybody."

"Oh, sure. I got cha. But, will you let me touch it? The stigmata, I mean."

Noblesse oblige, and she seems like a nice enough old lady, but, "Sorry, I'd rather you not. But," I slide my left glove off my hand and raise my long black bangs, revealing both scars in question. She covers both hands as she gasps, lowers her head, and then begins a silent prayer. After she's finished she motions the Catholic's symbol of the cross.

Can I have my cash now?

Afterwords she did her job and got my money. She handles herself so naturally that it makes me think this isn't the first time she's held a massive amount of money in her hands. I guess taking it off credit wasn't that strange a deal after all. One-thousand hundred-dollar bills are piled before me. She uses the machine to count them into stacks of one hundred and then uses those paper bands to indicate it's ten thousand in total. Ten stacks are made.

"Here you go." She pushes it my direction. "Have fun out there."

"Thank you. I will."

I wonder when was the last time I had fun.

Everything gets pushed into my backpack. Surprisingly that vast amount of money leaves plenty more room for things. I almost want to count it all over again to make sure. Fighting back those urges I graciously take my leave.

Okay, what now? I'm a soon-to-be enemy of humanity so what's my next step? My brush with Johnson had informed me just how dangerous those terrorists were, and also how dangerous the government can be. Honestly, I can't find a solution other then me running for my life. If I had served their purpose they wouldn't care about my death anymore, but they will want me for what's inside if they discover the truth. If it's all a matter of time I should take the biggest head start possible. Forget retaliating. It will take my everything just to stay alive and out of captivity.

I guess I'll take a Greyhound to wherever and begin my journey. A life of constantly being on the move doesn't seem so bad. I'll be the prophet walking the Earth. I'll be the American Jesus.

"Heh," I can't help but laugh.

Geh, finally the end of chapter 1. What was that? All this was only chapter 1? Yeah, and now that the introduction phase has ended the story will really pick up. If it wasn't bad enough before, this is where it really gets crazy. Not to mention Lucy's Mother makes her grand appearance (in flashbacks) so there's a lot to be excited about. I just love everything about her, but I'll let you see that for yourself when the time comes (and it's very soon)

~Kyle Castorena