The night before the room had been filled with darkness, both of light and of character. But now all that was left is light, a dawn light that made the crime seem as peaceful and calm as could be. This picture lied a thousand words. Mixed in with the golden light of the new day, was blinding lights of police photographer cameras.

As each Officer left the room they spoke no external words, inside they could not believe it and all asked Why ? This is not a familiar question for a cop in Dublin to ask, here, now, crime has little reason, crime for crimes sake. And those who were on the front line, never asked that question aloud, they knew better, they knew the answer would not facilitate the severity the deed. Each Officer left, leaving Davida McCormack to her peace.

Davida McCormack, aged 23, raven hair and ruby lips, the daughter of Thomas McCormack, a well off business man who carried weight with politicians from these isles, due to his less lawful associates that knew too much about the non-political 'Hobbies' of the politicians, which kept Thomas in their good books. Thomas always believing in the benefit of both sides of the law, knew how to play his hand. Davida had turned her back on her father, believing that his work, his pursuit of money and power, showing the perfect family, had turned her into a spiteful creature, fighting all that her father believed in, including his money, that is why she lived here.

The tenants of the Iveagh apartments were your a-typical scum of the earth, druggies, thieves, pedo's and other extreme characters that shall not make it to their later years. The extent of low life that lies in these apartments echoed in the length of time it took for the police to arrive, it was past dawn, the call went in about the screams just after twelve. Mrs. Bennett, in the apartment underneath was old and hard of hearing, but Davida screamed and screamed, her killer took his time, patience and dedication are the only things that the police knew about him.

She was left alone now. The police had done everything that they could. This killer had made some of the police smile. This was his third kill, and with that score of three the responsibility changed hands. Now the V.C.U. would take over, the Violent Crimes Unit, dedicated detectives who pulled out all the stops and worked with no boundaries like the normal detectives, and we accountable only to the courts. Basically put they needed a Judges permission to enter a premises, but nothing else. The V.C.U. has been criticised in recent times for their heavy handedness in matters, they can hold people for two weeks without charging them, and a certain amount of prisoners have alleged abuse suffered at the hands of the detectives. Political power would play in this investigation, warrants to enter premises had already been issued, giving them free reign to go and search any building at any time for any purpose, once it was relating to this set of murders.

November in Dublin is a strange time. Halloween had passed, Christmas is coming and the weather is terrible. The city streets are busy and people are going bust starting to pay for presents. Anger flares over the slightest of hic-ups in the day. Two murders give conversation a boost, three gives caution, and more would give terror.

A cold rain beat the street down, now and again there would come a sheet of rain, so cold it would cut through your body heat.

A metallic black Ford Saloon car pulled up right outside the Iveagh buildings, to meet a huddle of police officers. Two men sat in the front, two in the back. The two in the back got out and rushed into the so called lobby.

Fred Wilson and Alan Walsh, both shook off the rain on their overcoats like shaggy dogs, except Fred's shake bounced a little more, the extra years meant a few extra pounds on the waist. Alan however was the picture of health that the V.C.U. placed on it's web page, giving the thought that they were as physically fit as they were mentally. Alan has the body and the eagerness to please, Fred has the brain and experience of on the job. Together they made a team that worked on the field. There was an odd respect from both of them towards each other.

They reached the room, Davida had placed cartoon of Satan on the door for Halloween and thought she liked it there so left it up. Alan could just stare at it, showing some reluctance to remove the police tape crossing the door. Alan seemed fixed on the image.

"The Devil has been and gone, we can go in now." Fred's tone was relaxed but firm. He knew that Alan believed in matters of religion, Fred liked the idea of God, but God in his mind never lived in Dublin.

"Sorry, late night last night." Alan shook his head and ripped the police tape off the door. Before entering the room they both placed on the surgical gloves that they carried with them. Fred opened the door.

Blood had seeped through the floor of Davida's apartment and through to the ceiling of Mrs. Bennett's apartment, leaving a dark red spot on the ceiling, which Mrs. Bennett said she would never clean up. She would.

Fred looked at his watch and then removed a small tape recorder from his inside pocket.

"7am Friday the fourteenth of November 2000. This tape is to compliment the report that will be filed on this date." Fred spoke in a slow mono toned voice, not changing even for the murder description.

"Davida McCormack, aged 23, nailed to the floor in a crucifixion style similar to those who were found over the last two Fridays. Forensics have already dusted and took all usable fibre samples from the body. Victim shows signs that she up a fight. Other analysis will be determined once outside operative has arrived."

Alan's ears pricked up.

"Other operative ?" Alan never heard anything about this before. "What other operative ?"

Fred lowered his head, he hadn't had Alan long as a partner but knew him well enough to know he was not going to like this.

"We are getting help from an outside agency, by request of the Taosoich himself, this man will be a temporary deputy of the V.C.U. and will have all powers and freedom to everything we know." Fred looked down at the ground. Alan was impressed.

"So, this guy from the States ? He a FED ?" Alan asked expectantly.

"No, he's from a private company, called Psytech."

Alan's face dropped, he knew the company, he disliked the company and he knew he hated this.

"God, no, those freaks are coming here ?" Alan felt as though he was reasoning with his father back on his first day of school, trying to make him see the sense of the folly, but Fred, as Alan's father, didn't care.

"We've got no choice, the Victim is the Daughter of Thomas McCormack, so this comes right from the top, I'd list the names of the politician's that are behind this, but what would be the point, He is coming and there is not a thing that we can do about that" The stress that was in Fred's voice was patted down with his knowledge that Alan had a point.

The company in Question was Psytech, created by Donald O'Brien in 1982 to meet the need for a place that those with extreme telepathic abilities could nurture the gifts that they were given and also to turn a profit. Profit has not been their only interest. The world over, the company was known for criminal investigations, using their Telepath's to help authorities catch criminals. Though on Irish soil this would be their first excursion. Lately Psytech had come under scruntiny for their tactics.

Two months ago an operative in London was called into search for the serial killer Norman Scott, who had killed fourteen women. Scott was on number thirteen of his work when Psytech got the call. Scott was called the critic, he would mimic the killings of the American serial killers, Bundy, Dahmer, and others. Though his crimes were about the act of killing and not the sexual aspect that they were. His perfection in crime was unrivalled. When the call came in to Psytech, Donald chose tha agent personally. Scott's intelligence, which was gathered from a profile, was high, he had eluded police for over five years. Donald believed that to catch this intellect he would have to send an intellect of equal capability.

So Ronin Jones was sent to investigate. Ronin was 18 years old and worked for Psytech for two years, both his parents were founding telepath's in the organisation, and were pleased that Ronin had decided to follow in their footsteps. He was in London for two weeks, visited all the crime scenes and knew the in's and out's of Scott's mind. In the course of his delving into Scott's grey matter, Ronin gave the police the directions to Scott's house, where countless weapons were found, most with the blood of the victims dried into them. But Scott was no where to be found. That night, Ronin made his way back to the hotel. On checking at reception he was told that his father was waiting in his room. This pleased Ronin, who was feeling the effects of being so deep into the mind of the killer. Ronin's guest was not who he thought.

Scott sat in the room and smiled when he saw Ronin come through. Ronin was surprised, even coming up in the elevator he could not sense his father. Scott through a small metallic disk onto the floor in front of Ronin, who knew exactly what it was. An Inhibitor. Scott knew that Ronin was a telepath. Ronin was able to kick the disk through the window and out of range.

Scott through himself at Ronin, tackling them down to the ground. Scott manged to get on top of Ronin and begin to strangle him. Ronin reached to Scott's head and held tightly. Scott fell to the ground, his eyes lifeless though his body was still functioning. Police were quick to the scene. They found Scott braindead and Ronin was unconscious beside him.

Ronin was returned to Ireland in a MediCopter, while still out cold it had been determined that he had, taken all of that was Norman Scott in order to save himself, he absorbed all of Scott's passion for killing, as well as keeping his own judgement. The two could be a conflict. Donald, while consulting Ronin's parents, placed Ronin into a room, similar to a padded cell, that would stop his poisoned thoughts from spreading to the others, and to stop the killer inside getting to the outside. It would take time but Donald would try to sieve the mind of Ronin until all that was Scott was gone.

A newspaper had gotten this information. And the publicity that followed made life difficult for Psytech to operate. The Victim's families in the Critic killings were outraged, believing that the most dangerous part of the killer was still alive.

Donald knew that he had to have an operative similar to Ronin stop this killer. After all their were profits to maintain, and the is nothing that wil effect a share price worse than bad publicity.

Nathanual Norstrum, got the call at 7am that morning and was on his way to the crime scene as Fred broke the news to Alan. There was something that Nathanual could feel, even on his way to the crime scene, that this would not end well.

Fred and Alan took a seat in the apartment. The body was starting to smell. And Nathanual was about to knock.