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Branches and shrubbery swung behind him like saloon doors with dew covered foliage catching the moonlight.  He ran.  There were deep scratches upon his ankle, and thick fur matted from where the bothersome device used to be.

He hurdled a low fence and kept running, sometimes on four legs, sometimes on two.  But he ran beyond a sprinter’s pace north through Jackson Park.

So far he’d only come upon three people, even though he’d been running for well over fifteen minutes.  The reputation for crime in Chicago’s south side, especially by night, kept most of the people away.

There were still no living witnesses now anyway…

The warmth of fresh meat and viscera in his belly seemed to redouble his strength.

By day’s break, furry haunches turned to a man’s bare legs and started to slow.  He found cover in an abandoned building near Douglas.  He fashioned himself a makeshift toga from a sheet as he was too exhausted to do anything else about his nudity.  He passed out leaning into a stack of empty cardboard boxes.

One day down and he was now free.  If he could cross the border to Canada—if he could just make it through the next few days, maybe he could even keep that freedom.

[Center]🌕 🌕 🌕 [/center]

A jew, a blonde and a frenchman are trying to buy a plane ticket out of the desert.

This is not how a joke starts, although it could very well be…

Marlene and Marc are looking up at the departure board and trying to figure out which is the best flight to connect back to the U.S of A.

[b]“So we’ve got Cairo, Cairo, Kuwait, Cairo, Jeddah, Cairo, Brussels for some reason… Hurghada or Cairo.”[/b]

[color=ed1c24]“I think they want us to go to Cairo…”[/color]

[b]“Seems that way…”[/b]

Marc picked his bag up, gingerly trying to make sure not to pop his stitches as he slung it over his shoulder, and started to make his way to the line to buy tickets.

[color=0072bc]“Wait!  My friends, wait!”[/color] DuChamp came running over.

[color=0072bc]“I have found us one better.  A charter via Charles De Gaulle!”[/color]

[b]“Of course you did…”[/b] Marc sardonically replied.

[color=ed1c24]“Well, a charter probably sounds better than via Cairo wiiith… what do you know about EgyptAir?”[/color]

[color=0072bc]“I know that they’re a four star airline… and that the flight you’re looking at is an Airbus 321-200… and that those aircraft have not had the best of luck in the Sinai region where we are.”[/color]

[color=ed1c24]“Not the best of luck how?”[/color]

[color=0072bc]“I know over 220 people died when a Russian Metrojet Airbus A321-231 broke apart leaving Sharm el-Sheikh International…”[/color]

[color=ed1c24]“Marc, I think we should get the charter.”[/color]

Marc looked at Jean-Paul in irritation.  [b]“Why did you tell her that?  You’re going to give her a complex about flying.  And a charter’s going to cost a fortune.”[/b]

[color=0072bc]“Ms Alraune, flying is still the safest form of travel.  Especially, when at the hands of a well trained professional,”[/color] with this he did a little bow with a flourish, [color=0072bc]“but some airlines and planes are indeed less safe than others.”[/color]

[b]“Isn’t it true that commercial airliners are FAR safer that private and corporate chartered jets.”[/b]  Marc said with a smirk.  [b]“I know I lost my memory, but I’m pretty sure that’s still true.”[/b]

DuChamp scowled at Spector, and then admitted defeat.

[color=0072bc]“This—is true.  I would however like to see Paree again, even if it is only a flyover, because I don’t know when I shall see her next.”[/color]

Laying it on a bit thick.

[color=0072bc]“If you are both okay with it, I will pay for the whole charter.  I can comfortably afford it, I do not spend my money very often.  You’ll just have to both come over and fill in your details in the manifest…”[/color]

[Center]🌓 🌓 🌓 [/center]

[h3]RIIIIIIING!  RIIIIIIING![/h3]

A hand with the bright glint of cufflinks pressed a button on the phone to activate the speaker.

[color=a2d39c]“Speak.”[/color]  The bullish voice of Carruthers barked plainly into the mouthpiece.

The voice on the other end came in crisp and precise, the voice of a woman very much accustomed to being in control.

[color=8882be]“I thought you’d want to know.  Spector is on the move.  It appears he’s going to be returning stateside.  He’s been pinged booking a flight out of Luxor International.”[/color]

[color=a2d39c]“Waller.”[/color]  Carruthers growled.  [color=a2d39c]“I’m pretty sure the reason this part of your responsibilities were privatized was so that taxpayers wouldn’t have to waste any more money dealing with your failed matters.”[/color]

The reply came venomous, but with no change in tone, [color=8882be]“Carruthers, I fail to see how it’s in taxpayers interests to wait and watch as you once again send stable, controllable situations FUBAR and then throw ridiculous amounts of money at my division to put out your fires.”[/color]

[color=8882be]“He’s on the move again.  Free tip.  Do with it what you will.”[/color]

The cufflinked wrist moved forward and tapped the disconnect button.

[color=a2d39c]“So… Spector’s on the move supposedly, can we verify?”[/color]

At that moment a hurried younger woman rushed into the board meeting.

[color=a2d39c]“Let me guess… Spector is on the move?”[/color]

[color=f6989d]“Spector?  No this is about the thing in Cell C.”[/color]

[color=82ca9d]“You have an update on Russell’s whereabouts?”[/color]

[color=f6989d]“No.  Not presently.  He shrugged off the GPS anklet.  And the explosive chip in his head didn’t survive the metamorphosis.  But we know he’s on foot and that for the next three nights he’ll be forced to take his less thoughtful lycanthropic wolf form.  His presence should be easier to track over those days since it’s markedly less subtle.”[/color]

[color=a2d39c]“Miss Guilfoyle?”[/color]

[color=f6989d]“Yes, sir.”[/color]

[color=a2d39c]“Why have you just parroted back to me, exactly, word-for-word what I told some other nutless, nameless drone 4 hours ago when Jack Russell first escaped, and attempted to pass it off as a current status report?”[/color]

[color=f6989d]“I—I—I—I…”[/color]

[color=82ca9d]“I… I… I… am wasting your fucking time, Mr Carruthers, sir.  Can you people believe this?”[/color]

Carruthers opened it up to the floor.  The round board table was surrounded by a dozen figures in equally well-tailored suits.

[color=fff79a]“You…”[/color] Mrs Conway started.

[color=f6989d]“Yes, Mrs Conway?”[/color] the young Ms Guilfoyle asked earnestly, still eager to please.

[color=fff79a]“No.  That’s your name now.  As in, ‘Hey you, where’s my fucking coffee.’ Or ‘Hey you, get the fuck out of the board room, you’ve wasted enough of our time already.’”[/color]

[color=f6989d]“Yes, Mrs Conway.”[/color]

[color=fff79a]“There wasn’t any extra to that.  And the hint was in the examples.  You.  Get the fuck out.”[/color]

[color=f6989d]“Right away!”[/color]  She scarpered out of the board room.

[color=fff79a]“Talking’s not required either!  Every time you open your mouth, more fucking stupid seems to come out!”[/color]  Conway yelled after her.

Bruno DelRayne rocked back in his chair.  Deep in thought.  [color=fdc68a]“So we find out if Spector is on the move.  And where he’s going if he is.  As for Russell, he’s on foot in the Greater Chicago region since he escaped that facility.  We can’t blow his brains out by remote because Waller’s kill-chip doesn’t work…”[/color]

[color=6ecff6]“Agreed.  We need to start to spin this on Task Force X’s failure to provide a functional control device.  Spin liability for this off on Waller.”[/color] Said Blundell, looking at the issue from an accountability perspective.

[color=fdc68a]“Not my point, but yes.”[/color] Continued Bruno.  [color=fdc68a]“We’re going to need an on-site team, and adequately debriefed.”[/color]

[color=fdc68a]“That’s right.  Send for The Profile.  And if Spector really is on the playing field have him look into both files.”[/color]

Carruthers still burned from something Waller said, [color=82ca9d]“And soon.  This has the potential to turn very bad, very fast…”[/color]

[Center]🌑 🌑 🌑 [/center]

Flint sat in the precinct for Central Detectives and tapped rhythmically on the keys, playing around with the dispatcher looking at different callouts.  He checked the clock for what had apparently been the 4th time within 10 minutes, but it seemed to be toying with him.

[color=00aeef]“Flint!  Check out Oh-Four-Eight-Niner!”[/color]

Willson called out to him, seeing he was just killing time.  Flint tapped the dispatch job number in.

[color=f7941d]“You’re kidding me!”[/color]

He was looking at a homicide/possible animal bite in Jackson Park.  Officer on scene suggested maybe a bear.

[color=f7941d]“A bear got as far into the city as Jackson Park?”[/color]

[color=00aeef]“It’s not unheard of…”[/color]

[color=f7941d]“True.  But walked all the way into the city?  Into Jackson Park, and then started slaughtering people.  There’s two other deaths connected to this.”[/color]

[color=00aeef]“Well… Let them fuck around with their pet down South.  So long as he stays down there he’s their pet, their problem.“[/color]

Smells like Team Spirit in the Chicago PD…  Flint sighed to himself.  It’d been going downhill ever since Gordon got himself transferred and promoted to take that Gotham gig.

[Center] 🌗 🌗 🌗 [/center]