"Death.  For some it's the end... For us, it's just the beginning."
-- The Fellowship


	Upon the wall the motto of the agency was scrawled in blood.
	In the chair under the motto sat a tired, middle-aged man.
	He was not happy to be working.  He was not happy to be alive.
	He was not happy at all.  He was, however, quite drunk.

	The liquor burned it's way down into the dark pit of Barney O'Connor's
stomach.  His head swam,  his head spun, his mind drifted... yet he could
not forget.
	It would not end.  Of that he was certain.
	The fun was just beginning...

	...

	Barney O'Connor was beginning to lose his mind.
	He now lived in a netherworld of hallucinations, delusions, and intense
paranoia.  He did not know what was real and what was not.  And, frankly, he
did not care.

	The booze tasted like something had shit in his mouth.  He was hooked,
he was addicted, a prisoner in a glass jail from which he could not escape. 
He couldn't care less.  For his job was worse.  Much worse...
	It felt like somebody... something was slowly but surely hacking away at
his mind with a pick-axe.  Each time the axe fell, another part of reality
was destroyed.  He was going over the deep end... certain to drown in a
mental cesspool of illusion.
	He had never seen his employer -- even after ten years working for the
Fellowship his boss had never spoken to Barney.  Perhaps it was better that
way...
	Barney watched with boredom as a worm crawled slowly out of his palm. 
It squirmed there for a while... and then began to sizzle.  Smoke flowed
up.. up into the air.  Barney closed his hand upon nothing...

	"Barney... Time to get back to work!"
	No one was in the room.  No one was here.  Except the man.  The man in
the chair.  The chair under the blood-caked wall.

	Barney had gotten used to the hallucinations over the years... but the
voices he could not handle.  They taunted and teased... always wanting more
blood.  They used him... they abused him.  After they were done with him,
they would chew him up and spit him out.
	Barney switched on the terminal... the computer beeping as the hard
drive was initialized.  The greeting Barney had never quite gotten used to
either:
	
	"Unto Death the brave shall lead Us,
	 Where Beast and Man are One.

	 Pray not for those who leave Us,
	 For Spirit and body are One.

	 No heaven from which to keep Us,
	 For Light and Dark are One.
	 Faceless millions live among us,
	 For you and I become One.

     -- The Fellowship."
	
	

	Barney slammed down another strong shot of the JD and psyched himself up
for another day's work.  It wasn't really that difficult.  All he had to do
was think of what happened to his disobedient predecessor -- and anyone
else who refused orders from the Fellowship.  The screams echoed in his
mind... screams he would take to his grave.
	There was nothing he could do about it now.  He was helpless, as
vulnerable as a newborn.
	The database program auto-booted silently as Barney stared at the wall. 
The blood dripped onto the screen... running down in rivulets... down onto
the desk.  The blood dripped off the ceiling... landed in his hair.  The
blood ran up from the floor.  The room was red.  The room was dead.  The
blood evaporated... steaming red.
	The green-on-charcoal letters spelled out names, addresses, and other
vital information.  Barney prayed it wasn't anyone he knew:
		
		Bonner, 	Christoper	06 Falcon  Cr.	(403) 458-2654
		Collier,	James		04 Windsor Cr.	(403) 458-5478
		Logan, 		Robert		03 Pembina Pl.	(403) 459-7454
		Mitchell, 	Paul		44 Swallow Cr.	(403) 458-6547
		Moore, 		Kimberly	12 Akins   Dr.	(403) 459-4562

	He couldn't believe what he say then.  A name, staring up at him
implacably.  It was there in green and black:
	    	
	    	O'Connor,	April		32 Bishop  Dr.	(403) 458-6574
	    
	Barney began to laugh.  It was all one big joke!  The punchline came
when he murdered his own wife.
	Barney chuckled manically as he shakily opened the top drawer of the
desk.  The gun, a fully-loaded .44 Mag was ready and waiting.  Barney picked
up Dirty Harry's pet pistol and stared straight down the barrel... Death was
waiting for him inside.
	He placed the gun under his chin... the voices screaming at him to
stop... the blood dripping down the walls and caking the floor.  Every hair
on his body suddenly became a worm.  They squirmed... how they squirmed.  He
was smiling... he was laughing... he was finally happy.
	He let out one last loud chuckle and pulled the trigger.

	His head exploded.
	His grey matter splattered the monitor in front of him.

	His body fell to the floor, his atlas vertebrae protruding like a
chicken bone.  Barney was dead.  And if he still had a face... he would be
smiling.
	The computer beeped, as if in protest to being splattered with Barney's
brain, and then spelled out a message:
	
	"Death.  For some it's the end.  For Barney O'Connor... it's just the
beginning.
	--The Fellowship"

  
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