my latest. GRAPHIC SUBJECT MATTER.

[WhoaitsZ]

so, i had to let Z sleep awhile. i think I'm going to merge him into this and break the old writings up to produce 40-50 page short stories of Z, the vigilante.

this is my latest.... startted it Wed.

remember...... i haven't edited or reread. no gramma criticism would be appreciative.

oh and i kinda write this in honor of all who've supported my usage of words. especially Plummie, Redraven40, Yourneverthere, Wrkime. Shalali and Yzer . My self esteem on my ability is LOW. i would quit without you.

this is fucked writing at times. when i write about criminal activities i do not write CNN's little picture perfect but evil bad guys. i post what happens behind the sceenes. the sick, real shit that evil people do.


[b]
Prologue




“I never imagined in my life that some human being would take my life away from me.”, thought Peter Craigh.

He wavered slightly and was quickly supported by two guards that herded him to his dying room. Pete was not positive be he’d swear one of the guards were actually misty eyed.

“This I so fucked up”, he said to no one in particular. “Well, at least I get to leave this lie of a home. I love American ideals, I love most of the people, but God how I will not miss the lies and bullshit!.”

Naturally, the guards said not a word until time to enter, at which they simply instructed him in. as if he was unsure how to enter a door!

“Hello, Pete.”, spoke a preacher. Peter was not Catholic and his pastor said he’d be there when it was time for him to die. The state had little trouble accepting the change.

“Well hello and good day to you, Walt. How are you?” Pete asked.

Walter looked sad in a happy way. He smiled. “I have been better, my brethren.”

Peter laughed. Walt felt a tad bit silly, but he knew Pete wasn’t being crude.

“When I sleep, will you and the others continue to fix the shithole?”

“We will always do what we can until Christ returns, Pete. We have more protests coming up and a few other things that should be interesting.”

‘Should be interesting’. Pete smiled. Good. That meant unrest. ‘Should be interesting’ meant disobedience, protest, possible war even. Good.

An old man in white walked in looking like a man trying so hard to appear calloused and cold to his job that he betrayed his self. The man swabbed Pete’s arm. God knows there is no fate worse than an infection in one’s arm after death!

“Are the Dealers here, Walt?” Pete asked in a more serious tone.

“No, Pete. God I wish I could force people to take responsibility. They want their money and to sleep at night. Bastards.”

“Well, I’m fixin’ to sleep.” Pete sighed. “I am sorry, I j-“

“Son, you are on your way to meet God. Do not feel bad, do not feel guilty, do not feel like you did the wrong thing. For all I know I will be in here soon, too, God forbid. We do wonders in the outside; in here we…” Walt didn’t finish. Pete didn’t care.

The Dealers were what Peter and his ilk called the FDA people who willingly prepared death for people who could no longer fatten their pockets. When Pete was sentenced to death he was offered the chance to speak to the US for one minute since the whole mess was so political.

He had asked that the Dealers come watch his execution since it was their political powers that put him to death. He told American citizens ‘if you support my death, I pray you have the spine to watch it. The FDA should be required to watch it; it is for them I am to be murdered. Good day’.

He was asked if he wished to address his accusers once more. Although he had no remorse whatsoever for the sick fucks he murdered, he did feel bad for the families. He spoke:

“I am sorry you hurt. I hope you do not hate me entirely. If you do, it is okay. I hope you see the evil that they committed against millions of people. I am sorry for your loss and have lost my only baby girl, myself. All apologizes beside, I would gladly murder them again. I am so sorry your family members enjoyed profiting off of other people’s woes.” Peter said this and looked peaceful.

One guard quickly killed the intercom before Peter said anything else that could possibly upset the families.

Once Brother Walt was out of eyesight of the spectators he laughed loudly and then wept.

“I am sorry, Walt.”

“So am I, son. So am I.”

The acting brooder in practice returned to the cell wearing gloves and holding instruments of destruction. Perfectly good devices to help, heal, cure, comfort people used to kill.

After seeing this, Peter felt much better about leaving this planet. The hypocrisy of the human race was killing him inside. Die with a little love. Die honorably; a martyr.

“You’ll feel a sting.”

Pete laughed and quickly stopped.

“12:31 PM”.

Pete would never watch another innocent suffer. If only he could had know such peace before his death.





Chapter 1

Not many sights could ever compare to the wonder and beauty held by the earth’s natural landscapes. Oceans, lakes, trees, mountains, flowers. The earth is beautiful and some areas in south Mississippi certainly did not lack such sites.

Pine trees galore, sitting next to their brethren oaks and pecan trees. These three trees in particular glow with a natural beauty that is impossible to make any true person frown.

Quince trees here and there waiting for late fall to produce huge fruits that are hard as a rock and taste downright weird. It is like God did to the quince what he did to the platypus; he through spared bits together to produce one. . . thing.

Peach trees were all over the area, too. Home grown peaches are nothing short of a delicacy for most southerners and the trees make all trees in the south look ugly, if only for a few weeks, with their pink blossoms.

Peter loved this land. Sometimes he despised the people and fucked up politics that surrounded the Hattiesburg area of Mississippi, but he loved the land and constantly breathed in the life of the area around him. Fresh. Natural. Beautiful. Cleansing.


In the early seventies Peter was born in Jackson, MS. He never liked home much and when he was able to walk he’d always go straight to the woods. Jackson was too busy for him. The noise of the city was fine for him, but the recent stench and ugliness deformities growing around the city turned his stomach.

The beautiful land of Jackson was raped by man to build factories to kill the sky. Peter always saw such events with such passion and he loved it. A lot of people live, but Peter lived.

He enjoyed life. He enjoyed nature and his friends and his family and pets. He enjoyed life.

He grew up to be a fairly popular kid; neither a true follower or leader. He kind of did his own thing and most people respected it.

Pete was the kind of guy that older folks would say ‘ahh, he was a good boy.’ And then frown.

When he was about fifteen he got tricked by a friend pulling a supposedly harmless prank on him.

“Pete, try this man.”

Peering at the home grown and rolled joint, Pete took a hit and coughed.

“Dude, that shit is strong.”

His friend just grinned.

Pete was not a quote unquote druggie. He just did things here and there. He had occasional beers, a joint here and there. It never too over him and his parents knew.

Lately most of Pete’s friends were getting into some bad shit. Heroin was the rage and it seemed like God had unleashed a disease to rid the earth of needle sharers; yet so many other people died also.

Pete was disoriented. “Here.” Pete felt the blunt pushed against his lips and he inhaled deeply. He heard giggling and ‘no more, okay?’.

Hours later Pete learn that he had had some LSD soaked into it. He liked it. He did LSD and a few other low key drugs for a few years, hoping against hope that he’d not fuck up his brain wiring.

In the late eighties Peter had gotten a job as a school counselor to help console kids who were in bad homes and what not. He had the knack to get people to open up and he was simply a good listener.

He also kept his mouth shut. Nothing short of a supena would get him to mention anything someone confided in him.

Sometimes dealing with this hurt. Then he met a girl named Mandy.


Chapter 2

Mandy was a thirteen year old Latina. Short, plump, feisty, smart, and an early bloomer. She came from a shit home.

Her father pimped her at age nine until twelve; someone knew someone who knew someone who heard about it. The DoHS picked her up, the dad went to jail and the mother flew the coup.

Despite this, Mandy was a sweetheart unless you fucked with her. She could outfight anyone, anywhere, anytime.

“One time this guy. . . he” Mandy cleared his throat, her his eyes blinking with a misty haze trying to escape, “he.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything, Mandy. This is for you. If you want to stop do so, if you wish to say it in hopes of putting it behind you, then say it. Do not get uncomfortable. Legally I am your counsilor, off the job I am your friend. Go slow.”

Her arms seem to bulge like the Incredible Hulk and her face contorted fiercely. “He brought this-“ she wept. I held her awhile and I told of some silly news I heard Paul Harvey speak of.

Ten or so minutes later she left. I stayed, for a long time. I dwelled. A very long time.



Chapter 3

I didn’t see Mandy as a ‘patient’ for several weeks until I heard a ruckus.

Mandy was fighting off three other Latinas and she was barely holding here own. I was pissed and went to stop the fight when I saw another teacher watching, obviously fascinated.

I didn’t slow down but I was heard. “What in the fuck are you watching for? Call the cops, asshole!” I screamed at the teacher who, though quite black skinned, grew s white as Casper and ran off.

“Stop!”

Surprisingly they did stop. I always kept a clean vocabulary in the school, but it shattered after this.

“Cops are on their way. What the fuck are you idiots doing fighting!? Three on one!? Were you raised by jackals?”

“We don’t allow dog fuckers to live”, one of the attackers said, pulling out a knife.

Before I knew what I was doing I had the hoodlum face first into a locker. The knife was on the ground and she screamed; I had accidently broke her arm. I backed up, leaving the would-be assassin crying like the bitch she was.

Rage. Children fighting violently. Not only a violent fight but possible murder! And that bitch teacher just watching.

Peter suddenly awoke to a room he never knew. “What is going on?” I asked, trying to sit up. Something held me down. I felt a small hand lay on my arm. “It is okay, Mr. Craigh.”

“Mandy?”

“Yes sir. Rest a bit. You passed out. They said something about trauma.”

I sighed and wondered why they tied me down. Mandy stood up and told me she was supposed to tell the nurse when I came to.

He had never blacked out before. It was distressing at best.

God… that girl had a knife.

“Mr. Craigh?” spoke a frighteningly ugly nurse.

“Yes?”

“Do you know why you are here?”

“I had sensory overload or some such. I blacked out, right?”

“The doctor will have to say.”

Peter blinked and asked “Why the hell do you ask me what I did when you won’t comfirm it?”

“What is the date?”

I was boggled at such rudeness.

“1987, unfortunately.”

“Why unfortunately?”

“I’d prefer to be hospitalized when women nurses had manners or couldn’t work.”

Mandy giggled and the nurse blinked.

“Who is the president?”

“Mickey Mouse.”

“Mr. Craigh, please.”

“You got me, sorry. The president is actually Ron Jeremy, which pisses me of. We voted for him because he swore all hospitals would be rid of ugly nurses.”

I immediately realized that was just wrong. “I apologize, ma’am. This is weird.”

“Ma’am? Accept my apology?”

“Who is the president?”

My anger returned.

“Reagan.”

“Thanks”, the nurse said while actually smiling.

“I really am sorry.”

“I know. It is okay. I’m use to it, I deal with jerks hourly.” She smiled. Evil, evil smile. She left.

“That was weird.” Said Mandy.

“Dully noted.”

After five or so minutes of ackward silence Pete asked what happened.

Mandy said some local gangs wanted her. She explain without an ego about how much the gangs would benefit from having her around.

According to Mandy she had exactly what the gangs needed. She was very young, so snagging attention of pervs would be very easy. She had the body of a sixteen year old and she could fight.

Pete nodded. It did make sense. A sad, sick sense.

“So if they couldn’t recruit you they had plans to insure you didn’t join someone else, either. Right?”

Mandy nodded.

“Would you care to explain what the issue was this morning?”

Mandy sighed deeply and looked rather lost and hopeless.

“One night my mom and pop hit some crack. They raped me for about two hours. Dad couldn’t get it up anymore and mom was tired. . . There is a big dog next door. They, he, uh he”

Peter cut her off. “I had no clue it was that bad, Mandy. I am beyond sorry.”

Peter almost blacked out again. This shit would kill him one day, he knew it.

“Where are they now? Prison?”

“Dad is. Mom got off. Apparently jurors do not believe moms can be evil.”

“Any other events?”

“The normal, but lighter. Rape, little slap here and there.”

Just a little rape, Pete said to himself. Rage ensued.

“You’ve reported this?”

“Yes. Twice. The first time she got back at me by making me. . . please her. The second time her friends joined in. I figured I’d die that night. I wish I would had.”

My heart tore. “I know how to fix it.” Pete said.

“Good. I won’t miss her.”

Chapter 4

Living in Jackson, MS never satisfied Pete’s soul. He hate Jackson with a passion.

Pete summed it up best one day while ranting. “Jackson, MS is my LA to TOOL. I fucking loathe the dump.

Go to Jackson and you feel a transparent film of evil pass through and for a moment your soul screams in horror; it thinks it can’t get out. Sometimes you believe your soul is correct…”

Pete had a friend long ago who stupidly decided to rob a little gas station. Frank Van was his name. It had been quite some time, five, six years?, since they spoke. He hoped Frank hadn’t changed much.

Frank. What a laugh. He was a great guy, a loyal friend, always kind. But Frank didn’t care about anything other than friends and family. He respected most rules. . . if he agreed. Other times, forget it.

One night he go scared bad due to his baby brother owing money. The local dealers knew Frank well so they just kidnapped John.

It worked.

The gang told Frank that his brother would be fine if he got the cash ASAP.

Poor Frank. The gang made him pay interest also, and to get it he had to rob.

He had already gotten two digits that had John’s signature tatt on them.

The robbery went well. He got the money, not a soul was hurt. In, out, drive away, abandon car, walk. He did it.

He also came prepared.

No man born off the streets thought it wise to do such things without tons of backup plans.

Frank pulled into a old garage that had a couple of old, old cars. He walked out of it and flicked a switch for insurance.

A black car pulled around and drove by him. Frank’s heart was screaming, yet he stayed cool.

It wasn’t a drive by.

The car stopped and two generic looking bodyguards came out.

“Frank?” one of the guards asked.

“Yes sir. How do I do this? This is brand new to me.” Frank lied so easily.

“Just put the cash down, back away slowly, we check it and if we’re satisfied you get your brother back.”

Frank did as he was told and was unnerved when he noice the other guard aiming a glock in his face. Extra insurance.

The first guard confirmed the money was there and sent John out.

John looked healthy. Too healthy. He grinned.

“Thanks Frank, I knew you’d show.”

Frank asked why he’d been betrayed. John told him that this gang decided what test a person would take and you did it or died. So his task was to kill Frank.

“Motherfucker, lower than a snail in hell!” Frank growled.

John said he was sorry, ,truly, but they required a brother. Frank told him they were not brothers any longer.

John actually frowned. “Kil-“

“Wait. Let me see the pic of my girl before I die.” They allowed it.

He walked to his car and quickly flung himself underneath it and he prayed his suspicion of a car bomb not blowing out the bottom of the automobile was true. Frank heard an ungodly noise, saw fire and passed out.

Frank’s eyes opened slowly. It looked like someone called an air strike. Three corpses, multiple parts. His brother was humoresly thrown yards away from the corpse. Frank sighed heavily. His own brother. For a gang.

Frank walked half a mile or so and found a car to hijack. After doing so he went to the place he robbed, apologized, sat down and waited for his arrest.

Yes, Frank would do well for Peter’s problem.

Chapter 5

“Number 3829-C3, you have a phone call. Hurry up; you have one minute.”

Frank hurried to the phone.

“We have less than a minute so here. Someone I know had a slut argument with a close relative. The relative was pleased to carry the argument out. For some reason he is in jail now. A Mr. Steve Burk. He deserves a very big welcome party. Make sure he knows we will be happy out here when we hear of his back. Goodbye, Frank.”

Maybe that would do. It had to be simple enough to decipher without the cops.

Three days later Pete found out he was right. Mr. Steve Burk had been shanked in the spine. He still lives, but is a quad. The assault suggests a racial disagreement.

Beautiful.

[TaiModan]

great stuff, showing some real potential to become a good story (or stories as may be)

[J.R.V.A.]

You never cease to amaze me. Please keep sharing your work, it is very good.

[losthellhound]

great stuff. a very good montage of vengance and the consequences.. You're really good at showing raw emotion, I cant wait to read more

[WhoaitsZ]

thanks for the thumbs up, guys/

here is the last bit i've written. some of it is watery but the core is what i want. i'll work it out later

enjoy and comment if you wish!

Chapter 6


The mother was another story altogether. He knew not what to do or how to do it; and worse of all, where would Mandy go?

Mandy was 13. she’s be an awful kid in an orphanage, if her relatives even resemble her parents. . . what to do, what to do.

During these days after the black out he had to do some major explaining about the girls’ broken arm.

Unfortunately most authority figures have their jobs because they enjoy abusing their power. This was the case with the staff of the school. They never gave him a clap or smile or word of encouragement. The ‘child’ was only 13. How dare he break her arm?

The knife? She couldn’t use a knife!

One night in his sleep he awoke suddenly with clarity. Z. Call Z!

Getting a hold of Z took three weeks and numerous channels. A Brother was almost impossible to find; especially one that was legendary and destined to become a Father.

Peter was smart, though. He got some newspapers nd read any downright fucking weird story he could find. After that he looked for a misdeed fixed. Especially fixed in a violent manner.

What finally caught his eye was a bizarre story regarding a pet shop.

According to the news there was a pet shop that burned to the ground by questionable means. The owners were not prosecuted, though, and they moved with their insurance money to a remote place well away from people.

The shop lost four hundred twenty three fish, twenty eight lizards, forty three rodents, and ten or so birds. The reason it was suspicious is due to some removals that they decided to keep. Fr some odd reason almost every exotic bird and reptile touched their heart. If they wouldn’t had been removed there would had been at least $20-30k more of damage.

After the courts let the owners off without charges there was a protest of people wanting blood. The people knew there was foul play involved and their degree of love for animals didn’t matter. They were a strong community that stood up for right.

The legal system ignored them.

That is when a paper arrived to the courthouse, the newspaper said, that was completely traceless. All it said was “Take action or we will.”

They didn’t, Z did. A week after deying further investigation a man ad woman were found crucified to a barn with their necks slit. A sign said “You should had done your job. You didn’t. Someone had to.”

The public had no idea what to think. Sure, they wanted justice, but they did not know it would be so brutal. The people had to realize that for a point to be made, extreme measures had to be used.

Sometime people believe Z enjoys dealing punishment, but most know that he does not particularly enjoy dealing out torture or brutality; he just did what would work best.

In the end, if you had something ultimately fucked up and the cops/authorities quit caring you would find a Brother or some sort. Most likely it’d be Z.

It took two or so weeks to contact someone who may know him. Peter’s recollection of the phone call he made was vivid:

“Hello, I am calling about some security issues.”

“Security?”

“Security.”

“Well, the only kind of security we do are investments. Do you own stocks?”

Pete’s eyes rolled. “Look. Ah. Hell. Insurance for children in case of injury?”

“Children’s insurance runs hi-“

“Lady, please. I need help. Where can we speak in person?”

“Business hours are-“

“I must be mistaken. I apo-“

“Sir,” the woman on the other line said in an odd tone, “we can surely assist you. But you have to play by the rules; come see me at one PM. Alright? Insurance is tricky, especially child insurance, but it is possible if important.”

Pete let out a huge, poisoned breath and said thanks and hung up.

“Especially child insurance”, she had told him. Yes. She would help.

[SSJwrestler]

im liking this stroy, keep me updated

[WhoaitsZ]

boo! sorry this took so long. i'm currently losing my mind!

if you like what you read please comment. motivation dies fast when there seems to be nobody listening

(thanks a lot to those who have commented!)

............. starting where we stopped above. this will look kinda silly but bear with me



Chapter 6


The mother was another story altogether. He knew not what to do or how to do it; and worse of all, where would Mandy go?

Mandy was 13. she’s be an awful kid in an orphanage, if her relatives even resemble her parents. . . what to do, what to do.

During these days after the black out he had to do some major explaining about the girls’ broken arm.

Unfortunately most authority figures have their jobs because they enjoy abusing their power. This was the case with the staff of the school. They never gave him a clap or smile or word of encouragement. The ‘child’ was only 13. How dare he break her arm?

The knife? She couldn’t use a knife!

One night in his sleep he awoke suddenly with clarity. Z. Call Z!

Getting a hold of Z took three weeks and numerous channels. A Brother was almost impossible to find; especially one that was legendary and destined to become a Father.

Peter was smart, though. He got some newspapers nd read any downright fucking weird story he could find. After that he looked for a misdeed fixed. Especially fixed in a violent manner.

What finally caught his eye was a bizarre story regarding a pet shop.

According to the news there was a pet shop that burned to the ground by questionable means. The owners were not prosecuted, though, and they moved with their insurance money to a remote place well away from people.

The shop lost four hundred twenty three fish, twenty eight lizards, forty three rodents, and ten or so birds. The reason it was suspicious is due to some removals that they decided to keep. Fr some odd reason almost every exotic bird and reptile touched their heart. If they wouldn’t had been removed there would had been at least $20-30k more of damage.

After the courts let the owners off without charges there was a protest of people wanting blood. The people knew there was foul play involved and their degree of love for animals didn’t matter. They were a strong community that stood up for right.

The legal system ignored them.

That is when a paper arrived to the courthouse, the newspaper said, that was completely traceless. All it said was “Take action or we will.”

They didn’t, Z did. A week after deying further investigation a man ad woman were found crucified to a barn with their necks slit. A sign said “You should had done your job. You didn’t. Someone had to.”

The public had no idea what to think. Sure, they wanted justice, but they did not know it would be so brutal. The people had to realize that for a point to be made, extreme measures had to be used.

Sometime people believe Z enjoys dealing punishment, but most know that he does not particularly enjoy dealing out torture or brutality; he just did what would work best.

In the end, if you had something ultimately fucked up and the cops/authorities quit caring you would find a Brother or some sort. Most likely it’d be Z.

It took two or so weeks to contact someone who may know him. Peter’s recollection of the phone call he made was vivid:

“Hello, I am calling about some security issues.”

“Security?”

“Security.”

“Well, the only kind of security we do are investments. Do you own stocks?”

Pete’s eyes rolled. “Look. Ah. Hell. Insurance for children in case of injury?”

“Children’s insurance runs hi-“

“Lady, please. I need help. Where can we speak in person?”

“Business hours are-“

“I must be mistaken. I apo-“

“Sir,” the woman on the other line said in an odd tone, “we can surely assist you. But you have to play by the rules; come see me at one PM. Alright? Insurance is tricky, especially child insurance, but it is possible if important.”

Pete let out a huge, poisoned breath and said thanks and hung up.

“Especially child insurance”, she had told him. Yes. She would help.


Chapter 7


He walked into what appeared to be a completely legit insurance company. Pete went through the steps of meeting an agent, including filling out countless forms of information.

“This is a pretty smart gig, really”, Pete thought. If you signed this shit without thinking you could not possibly just tell someone ‘nevermind’. He was tempted to leave. He nervously jotted down some random numbers for his social security number, made up an alias, and turned in the forms. The lady who gave him the forms told him she’d be back in a gif!

“Mr. Williams, this way please.”

He followed the girl to the back and she gestured for him to enter a cubicle that was identical to the others in all ways except one little bulb out of twenty yellows was green. He wouldn’t had noticed or paid it any mind if he were not seeking the unuasaul.

A unbelievably ugly woman walked in offering him her hand and smile. He shook her hand when she put it in a grip that could easily break it at anytime. “Mr. ‘Phillips? I thought so.” Her hand tightened. Pete was shaking and starting to sweat quite fiercely.

“I am a fun loving gal, but this has to do with a serious issue. I take this seriously, Mr. Craigh, so let me inform you. I am the only Sister anywhere near around, yet we have a few civilians who work with us also. They know me and what I do. I’m hiding nothing at the moment, so cut the bullshit and tell me what’s going on.” Her hand released. “I apologize, but the first impression needed to carry a punch. Sit, discuss.”

Pete sat. “At least I know you’re real” he said in a low, sarcastic tone.

She laughed a quite pleasant last that simply sounded weird coming from such an ugly face.

“So, the mother is still in their home, yes? This is kind of a difficult position. If she worked she could have envious coworkers, or if she were out spending cash or what have you. I guess a mock robbery is in order.”

Pete didn’t say a word. This was so fucking wrong. Who had given him this power? He started sweating again.

“If it makes a difference, know that this will happen regardless of your current state of mind. Kids, elderly, disabled. . . animals now that Z did his dogfight stunt. . . all defensely are defended by us regardless of law or consequence. She will die. She will never molest anyone again.”

“So. Like a machine or a nest of ants, you guys simply do what is needed?” Pete asked.

“Kind of. A lot of us work with passion, a lot do it as if thinning the herd of evil men. Some even seem to. . . enjoy it. They are watched closely, the ones who get into their work. But in the end it comes down to this: they are wiped out. Never to harm another creature again.”

“How do you guys dispose?”

“As in what do we use to kill?”

“Yes.”

“Depends on several issues. Every single Brother, Sister, Uncle, Aunt and Shepherd is different. We frown on torture, but allow it in special cases. Most of us carry firearms or poisons. One of the Uncles was named “Slasher” due to his habit of striking with two axes he kept close by. He did it for a good reason, though. If he were ever caught he would get the heat of over a dozen murders, thus highly lessening the chance of someone else being imprisoned due to his work.” She smiled a smirk.

[WhoaitsZ]

i have no clue to why this stopped. lemme see if i can breath life back in it

[Angel]

Glad you bumped it Z as I have been scarce here.
This is an amazing piece that has me captured. I look forward to more!
~Angel~