"We think it says: BROOD, Lieutenant" One of the forensic crew spoke, his face as white as his overalls, and his eyes tear-filled behind the protective goggles.

Despite his own resilience and experiences, it was all the SWAT commander could do to nod in understanding. What mad men were these? How could they have done...this?

It was a news sensation, but paperwork, rebuilding and investigation was what had to be done by the ordinary folks. One of the Lieutenant's two brothers, Paul, came to the devastated building, he was a mason under contract to the city, and was needed to figure out how to repair and replace the ornately carved entrance and some of the statuary in the grounds. They ate burgers and swapped proffessional yarns while the forensic squad were still picking bits of shrapnel out of trees around them. They were very different men in most regards, Paul being gregarious and down to earth, where as his brother was serious and thoughtful, yet they enjoyed each other's company, perhaps because of those differences. Paul's wife, Maricia, was expecting again, so now he'd have two nephews, or a nephew and a niece. It was good news to the weary policeman's ears.

Using his portable computer sure helped cut down on the reports, but Blade also had to liase with the Murder Squad, who were in charge of the investigation. Having worked with them before some years ago, when they and Narcotics had needed an unknown face and a tough individual to deal with some drug gangs, he got on well with them. From surveillance tapes it became apparent the cultists--no longer "terrorists", definately cultists of some type--had been after "The Princess Of Death", one of the highlights of the Mayor's gathering. A unique, an extremely ancient piece of primitive scuplture, it was made of rare metals and set with sapphire eyes, which was something of an enigma considering its antiquity. It had been found recently in a survey of the Titanic, and was the center of a furious controversy over ancient societies and their technical skills, which was the prime reason it had been brought to the States, as well as the effort to determine it's origin: the staue was known to have come from Egypt originally and had been smuggled out secretly back in 1912. At a conservative estimate it was worth more than any work by Picasso or Van Gogh, quite a prize for a gang of thieves, but those...lunatics, there was no other word suitable for them, had been after it, Why? The Cult section of the FBI was already investigating.

Another big headache was that 5 incidents of violence, if you could call setting yourself on fire in a gas station, smiling and then taking out fifty people with the ensuing fireball, or hacking shoppers in a conveniance store to death with a machete, "incidents" rather than "appalling slaughter", and in each case, the perpetrator had chanted "The Brood Comes!"

By the third day the investigation settled into routine, rather than total chaos. Having a little time, Blade left the still-occupied luxury hotel across from the museum, and left to go to a chapel nearby. While he wasn't Catholic, he needed a place of spirtuality, some place to relieve his inner turmoil, and this old building had a calm and beautiful atmosphere, a true gem in this turbulent and frenetic city.

"John! Och, it's good to see you lad!" Father Anderson, a Scotman, elderly, but still full of life and joviality, was an old friend, and greeted Blade as soon as he recognized him. He was one of the few people to call the SWAT commander by his first name, and they often talked and played chess together, especially at times like these.

It was a form of confession of sorts, the Father knew his friend was a deeply honourable and decent man, he had no like of killing, even of scum, and whenever he had been forced to resort to violence, they would chat. And the Father regarded it in the same respect as a true confession, deeply private and of great import. Contrary to what was thought, SWAT officers weren't chosen for being bloodthirsty or violent, in fact, those properties were not wanted, they had to be skilled, dedicated police officers, and that meant giving a damn about people. Psychopaths weren't wanted by a force who dealt with the ordinary citizen everyday.

While they talked, and argued as they always did of politics and religion, and played a slow game of chess while drinking some fine Drambuie, one vice the priest did indulge in, or that was how he put it.

"I've never heard the like! Were they on drugs, John? I've seen the death pits in Bosnia and the leavings of the murder squads in Brazil, but this..." Shaking his head in sorrow and disgust, the priest took a good swallow of the fiery liquer.

"Aye," depsite being born in America, Blade's Scottish parentage and his friend's accent often worked it's way into his own speech. "It was truly one of the worst things I've ever seen! It wasn't as if it was one nutcase, like that man who ate those old folks last year? There was was dozen men and women, women? How could a woman do that to a child!?"

"Evil, that's what it is, though the new-fangled church may downplay it, it's something real and not to be taken lightly or ignored!" The priest wasn't a great fan of the politicking and changes that had wracked his church lately.

Despite his knowledge of psychology, and the many subtle influences background, peers and substance abuse could have on people, Blade wasn't about to disagree. Most people who caused trouble were just "bad": screwed up one way or another, often ingnorant or lacking compassion, they really did need treatment, not jail and the gas chamber, not very correct views for a cop perhaps, but that's what he'd come to believe. But a few..a few were different, they knew what they were doing and enjoyed it, and didn't have a disturbed background. Were they born like that? Evil, yes, there was no other word for it, evil...

"Padre, help, Maria is not well!" One of Anderson's paritioners, and old Italian carpenter, totally unlike his quiet, respectful self, had entered the priest's study unnannounced, and he looked frightened.

"Certainly my friend!" Surprise turned to worry on Anderson's face as he realised the unusual anxiousness of the request. Mainly out of curiosity, Blade followed and brought out his mobile phone in case medical aid needed to be arranged. He knew the priest was also a licensed doctor, skills he'd put to use in his missions across the world, his paritioners were familiar with this as well.

The carpenter's wife was running a high fever, and she'd several large welts on her face, it was surprising she'd managed to walk to the chapel at all. After a few minutes of privacy, the priest asked Blade to call for Paramedics, and calmly explained to Franco that his wife was in serious need of more attention than he could give. His kindly ways helped calm Franco's nerves, and shortly he and his wife were on their way to the nearby hospital.