The handcuffs are tight, tighter than usual, but... I mean, come on, giving the circumstances, they have to take all the necessary Hathian precautions. Boy, there would be an absolute hell to pay if
anything happened to this one.

"I want you to tell me how it all started," the voice, so official, so important-sounding, simply states, as if a direct approach would be the best approach.

Leaning back in the metallic chair, Pia's green mohawk was meticulously sculpted tonight, spiky, vibrant color, easily seen in the dimly lit room. Taking a deep, methodical breath, Mr. Coffee
exhales, green eyes looking down, fixated on the center of the metallic table. His outfit tonight is the same outfit he's been wearing every night for the past couple of weeks. A tight, dark, Kashmir,
fitted shirt, coming down to his wrists, the very wrists being squeezed by the ridiculously tight handcuffs. Dark pants, cargo in nature, pockets once full of all kinds of equipment, now emptied, literally
turned inside out upon his arrival. The outfit was complete with a pair of black combat boots, laced very tightly; after all, the tighter they were a more secure they were. At one time this evening, he
also had a black trench coat, the kind that came down to his knees, concealing the entirety of his body, just like a dark knight.

Maybe Batman had the right idea with a cape.

"Did you hear me? I want you to start from the beginning," the voice insists, bringing another slow, methodical breath from the man in handcuffs. Why do they always want to know about the
beginning? Why don't they ever want to know about the ending. Really, he should've asked about the ending.

"The beginning... Well, that would have to be the hardware store..." Pia, after much deliberation, finally answers.

***

The little bell at the top of the hardware store's door jingles as it's opened, and from the very first step inside, those eyes, so green, so curious, always taking in the world around him as if he could see it in such a way that nobody else was even capable of fathoming. Somehow, he ends up walking down the third aisle, sneakers carrying him with the occasional squeak, as eyes scan the shelves.

"Can I help you, sir?" The voice, coming from behind him, giving a hint of age behind the words, turns the young coffee shop manager around, revealing the site of a stocky, slightly older than
middle-aged man, complete with coveralls and a flannel shirt.

"Uh, yeah... I'm looking for a few things. I've been put in charge of a youth group." A lie, but the man would never know.

Obviously, hearing this pleases the man, as a smile comes forth, followed by a gentle nod of the head. "I see. Well, what kinds of activities were you thinking about doing with these youngsters?
And, I must say, it really is a surprise to hear that this generation hasn't given up on the next. It saddens me, day after day, to see so many adults losing hope. They have no idea that they have an
active part in shaping the future."

Understanding, more than the old man would never know, Pia just smiles, reaching into his back pocket, taking out his leather wallet, to pull out a simple list, scribbled on a sheet of notepaper.
"Oh, just a short list, really," Pia says, extending the list to the man.

Taking the note from the green-haired customer, cloudy eyes, from behind bifocals, begin reading. "An aluminum baseball bat, three reels of SpiderWire fishing line, and a framing hammer. You
teaching them how to play ball, go bass fishing, and the ways of Jesus all in one, son?"

A slight smile, a mixture between a smile and a smirk really, but there was also a rapid shake of the head. "You guessed it! Nothing quite like helping today's youth with the teaches of Jesus and a
little outdoorsmanship." Another lie.

The elderly man knows his store, and it's only about 3 1/2 minutes before all of the requested items are on the checkout counter, being rung up with a very traditional, almost antique cash register.
The bill was less than Pia had expected. Already, this plan was under budget.

***

"No," the voice of the detective interjects, bringing the two of them back to the moment, back to the dank interrogation room. "I said tell me about the beginning, not shopping with some old man."

Exhaling rather noisily, Pia tilts his head to the right, still staring at the center of the table. Why were the handcuffs so tight? The cold metal was beginning to cut into the flesh of his
wrists.

"The beginning... oh, well, in that case, that would have to be a couple nights later, behind the Grind. You see, I heard some noise, some struggling, as I was taking out the trash to the
dumpster..."

***

Really, it was more than a sound of struggling. It was a woman's voice, briefly cut off. Now was his chance. Now was the time! The very reason of his conception, his very existence, his la raison
d'être, everything that was the culmination of his life, leading to this moment of greatness. He had to act fast.

Slipping inside the coffee shop, quickly behind the counter, quickly finding exactly what he is looking for. Purposefully putting it there for this very reason. The aluminum baseball bat is pulled out of a protective shroud, a beach towel, from the last time he went to the beach with his mother. In a flash, he is outside, baseball bat hanging from his right hand. Again, he hears the woman's voice, more sounds of struggling, and the unmistakable sound of drunken laughter.

"Faster, Pia! Faster! Get out there and save that girl!" Only, it wasn't his voice that was talking, but the unmistakable, ever-encouraging, voice of his dead friend. Aiko, looking as perky as
ever, strides right along beside the armed man, strolling towards their destiny.

"Please! Stop! I don't want this!" Her voice was so full of desperation, so full of fear, he just had to get there before it was too late.

"Faster, Pia! Go! Now!" Aiko continues her encouragement.

Finally, they are upon them, and then it becomes perfectly clear just why he was doing this. The girl's panties are already pulled around her knees, a forceful right hand busy between her thighs.
As one teenage thug does what he wants, another does the same, and with the girl's jacket ripped open, bra pulled beneath her breasts, his large, grubby hands squeeze and play.

"Get... the...fuck...OFF her!" Like some kind of clichéd battle cry, Pia rushes at the grouping of bodies, already raising a bat with both hands.

One of them makes a mistake, a fatal mistake, and with a curious look that anyone would take, young thug #1 turns his head, looking over his right shoulder, just as the tip of the bad, swung full force, catches the right side of his face. The follow-through of the swing sends a beautiful splattering of blood and teeth, shimmering under the moonlight, arching through the air, splattering onto the absolutely startled face of the woman being attacked.

Thug #2 backs away, dropping the young girl, just as his friend face-plants on the pavement, like a sack of flour, dropped on the floor by a frustrated house wife.

"Yo, man, what da fuck?!" Thug #2 was obviously panicked and quick to pull a pocket knife.

"Yesss, indeed... what... the...fuck?" Another swing of the bat, this time lower, making contact with the outside of thug #2's right knee, and with a crunch that actually echoes throughout the
alleyway, he drops to his knees.

Instantly, Mr. Coffee is behind the man, baseball bat held parallel to his chest, held tightly to the Adam's apple of thug #2, cutting off his breathing. "Get out of here! Go! Now!" he calls to
the woman, who, by now, despite having the startle of her life, was busy pulling up her panties. Not even bothered to fix her swinging breasts, she is gone, like a flash of lightning, leaving Pia alone with
her assailants.

"Guh...!" Thug #2 tries to speak, already going quite slack, testament to just how necessary oxygen really is to the human body, but with enough adrenaline still pumping through the young man he
wasn't finished resisting yet.

"Finish the fucker, Pia!" Aiko screams, quickly jabbing her tiny, right fist at the belly of thug #2. Of course, he doesn't feel it. But what he does feel is a tightening of the baseball bat across
his throat, utterly shattering his voice box.

In the struggle, thug #2 drops to his hands and knees, struggling for breath, blood dribbling from his mouth. This time, Aiko kicks the young kid in the left side; at least, that's how Pia sees it.
When, in reality, it's he who is kicking the young delinquent. Just like it's he who is straddling his chest, knees pressing down on either side of the baseball bat, forcing the metal shaft tighter and
tighter against the kid's throat.

"Buugh..." are the last things thug #2 will ever say on this plane of existence, and with a few slight twinges of his entire body, the young kid goes slack.

Just like that, it has happened. The very promise Pia made himself nearly six years ago was not only broken, it was shattered, to pieces, and with a cheap baseball bat.

"Excellent job, Pia," Aiko's voice rises through the alleyway, followed by the gentle clapping of her hands. Well, at least somebody was pleased. Getting to his feet again, he just stares at the
young, dead kid. The sight of death, no matter how often it was witnessed, never gets any easier, despite the circumstances surrounding it. "But, ummm... I think you are forgetting something, ahem."

Green eyes slide up and to the right, looking in the direction his dead friend is pointing, which, of course, just so happens to be to the still-breathing body of thug #1. She was right. The job
was not finished. Sloppy, sloppy, Mr. Divine Retribution. Stepping over one dead body to go make another happen, there was nothing much about how this next young man is condemned. Another raise of the
baseball bat before it comes crashing down across the base of his skull, snuffing his life out like the snap of a finger.

"Now that's how Divine Intervention does it! High five, partner!"

But there is no high five, just a somber look down, to the blood, the destroyed face, the carnage that he has wrought.

"Come on, kid... let's get out of here," Aiko encourages, already reaching into her pocket to pull out and light a smoke.

"In a minute," Pia simply answers, hands rummaging through his pockets, finally pulling out several packets of sugar. After ripping them open, his sprinkles the sweet stuff over both bodies.

Seeing this, the petite Asian simply rolls her eyes, blows her smoke into the sky, and turns around to leave. "Christ, you and your imagery... Let's GOOOO!"

***

The detective brings them, once again, back to the here and now, first by clearing his throat, then by sliding a simple plastic bag across the table. "You mean these?"

Leaning forward, green mohawk slightly hanging, Pia's green eyes behold the three sugar packets he had left on the bodies. A smirk briefly flashes across his face.

These handcuffs really are freaking tight.

Sliding the bag of evidence away from the suspect being interrogated, the detective simply folds his arms over his chest, looking across the metallic table, as if he was expecting something. "Why
don't you tell me what happened next? After the teenagers in the alley.

Again, Pia leans back in his chair to think. Green eyes looking down and slightly to the right, a hazy, fragmented mind pulling shards of neuron impulses to form a congealed memory.

"What happened next? Well, you see, I was browsing the net, right? And I stumbled upon this news article about a local drug dealer who was accused of shooting a 14-year-old boy who used to work for
him, because he lost a couple rocks running from the police. So, finally, the police nab him, but because of some technical error," Pia says sarcastically, finger quotes included. "The scumbag walks..."

***

The plan was simple. Pia and Aiko had gone over it extensively on the walk from the coffee shop. When you think about it, it says an awful lot about a city to have a graveyard in the center of town, but such was the urban planning of Hathian and such was the known stomping grounds of one Antonio Gonzalez.

Tonight was different. Tonight wasn't just blindly stumbling upon the devious shenanigans of some hormonally driven teenagers. No. Tonight, it was a hunt.

It's a well-known fact that the scum of the earth doesn't come out until after dark, giving Pia plenty of time to prepare. Not surprisingly, not after the line of work Mr. Coffee had been in
before becoming Mr. Coffee, cemeteries no longer fazed him; in fact, the last time a cemetery really shook him up was the day his mother was buried. Ever since that day, in his mind, a cemetery was nothing
but a long-term storage facility. Bodies are nothing but old shoes we don't quite want to throw away, in the hopes that, someday, we will fit into a size 4 once again.

The first task of the afternoon was to find a grave, but just not any grave, a fresh grave, which, considering the health care system in this town, wasn't too difficult to find.

Strong arms pull Pia out of the 6 foot deep hole, getting to his knees, just as his cell phone was beginning to beep within his pocket. An alarm he had set. Crap, it was getting late. Antonio
would be here soon. Taking a deep breath, the would-be vigilante wipes a white, creamy substance from his boots, obviously something he had been standing in, in the grave.

The sun was setting. His breath was beginning to show. With a pounding heart, he stands, within the darkness, just within the gates of the cemetery. Now it was time to wait, but something in his
gut told him he wouldn't have to wait long, because if there was one thing you could count on in this world it was that drug dealers had to sell their product. Their product. It was only as his mind
settles onto the idea that both of them were selling addictive substances to the same crowd, that he gets the signal from his dead friend, across the street.

Antonio was coming, so said Aiko's hand gesture, as she, nonchalantly, leans against a parked, burgundy Buick. It was strange, but even a ghost's nipples got perky in this cold weather.

A man of habit, just after Pia's heart, well, somewhat, Antonio immediately lights a cigarette, puffing away to his death. Oh, so ignorant to the fact that this would be his last cigarette.

Held in his hands, the SpiderWire fishing line had been fashioned into an interesting tool, a pair of bicycle handles on either end of a thick length of the fishing line. Why had this particular brand of fishing line been chosen? Simple. The stuff was strong; such a beautiful, scientific blend of mono-filament that if you tried to pull this stuff apart your hands would be ripped to shreds.

Taking a deep breath, he was ready. Right foot first, Mr. Coffee steps out of the shadows, raising his homemade garrotte wire, and just as Antonio takes one last drag from his cigarette, Pia
strikes.

The length is quickly pulled around the large throat of his target, instantly pulling the slack taught, and with every ounce of strength the young, mohawk-ed man has, he pulls Antonio with him into
the shadows.

"Gwa...wk!" Antonio tries to speak, tries to call for help, even tries to resist, but without that precious, precious flow of oxygen, not much resistance would be had. Further and further he is
pulled into the cemetery, hands flailing, legs kicking, pathetic, guttural sounds coming forth, as rivers of saliva dribble out of his mouth. Already, the man was slipping into the darkness of
unconsciousness, which is just about the point when he is thrown to the ground.

Face down, gasping for breath, Antonio barely gets his eyes open before Pia is on his back, straddling him, and slipping the garrotte wire around his throat again.

Running across the street, just barely getting hit by a car that couldn't see her, Aiko bursts onto the scene, tiny sneakers crunching along the grass, until she stands directly to Pia's left.

"Do it, Pia. Do it now!" More words of encouragement, but it wasn't exactly like the meticulous coffee man needed much more encouraging. "Do it, Pia!"

That was it, all of the encouragement he needed to hear, and bringing his right foot, to the center of Antonio's shoulder blades, strong arms begin pulling back. This was another reason for the choice in fishing accoutrements. With enough force, this stuff, literally, would cut through anything, and that's exactly what begins to happen. Pulling, pulling, and more pulling, blood begins spilling from a deeper and deeper cut in Antonio's throat, as the fishing line is pulled through his skin, his esophagus, his carotid artery, like a wire through soft cheese, until it gets stuck on the spinal column. With one, final, jerk of the arms, Antonio's head simply rolls off, rolling down the slight hill.

"I'll get it," Aiko shouts, taking off like a child chasing after a soccer ball.

Still crunching over the now beheaded body, Pia softly chuckles, bringing the back of his right hand to cover his mouth. His dead friend was just too much, running around, giggling, kicking the
former drug dealer's head from one foot to the other.

But there was still work to be done, and after dragging the decapitated corpse to the fresh grave, it's simply tossed in.

"You know, you probably spent about a day's salary filling this grave full of creamer. I mean, what was the point? What are you getting at? Are you trying to allude to something?
Seriously, what's with all of these coffee-related serial killer clichés? Remember, you are Divine Intervention, not some self-righteous, whack-job, all right? Just do your job and move on."

Yeah, he was listening, but there was just something about this job, something about the duty he was the filling, something screamed that he should leave a calling card. Shrugging his shoulders, Pia
reaches for the head, resting by his feet, picking it up by the long, greasy, bloody hair, before dropping it into the grave of creamer.

"Come on..." Aiko's voice proceeds the clinking of her Zippo, lighting the tip of her cigarette before blowing a puff of smoke into the air. "We should get going. We don't need Chester the night
watchman stumbling upon our handiwork, yeah?"

And, just like that, the petite Asian slips away, still puffing away in her cigarette, as she departs from the gates of the cemetery, leaving Pia alone and with his thoughts. Looking back into the
grave, the face of Antonio partially concealed in the creamer, he just gives another shrug, before turning to follow his friend.

***

This time, the detective simply slides a trio of photos across the table, those same curious, green eyes of Pia's taking in the lovely, almost artistic shots taken by the forensics team. The
pictures, quite clearly, show the headless corpse of Antonio, floating in a grave of creamer. A slight smirk spreads across Pia's face.

"So... you beheaded a known drug dealer. Why, Mr. Hax? What would you do such a thing? You have a great job, beautiful girls surrounding you, and you want to throw all of that away over some
drug dealer? I just... I just don't get it."

Still smirking, Pia's eyes slide upward, locking on to the face of his interrogator. "No, I don't expect you will, as you say, get it. You see..." he stops, momentarily, tilting his head forward,
scooting closer to the table. "I have a purpose. I am filling my destiny. You see, this is what I've been put on the earth to do. This is why I'm here. This is my calling. Not selling coffee..." he
trails off again, a look of disgust filling his face as he leans back in his chair.

Christ, the handcuffs were so tight.

"Well," the detective simply says, visibly at a loss for words. "Why don't we talk about what happened next, yeah? I think that would be a better place to go next."

"Well," Pia starts, sounding a lot like the detective, trying his best to question. "I guess that would have to be at the sorority party..."

***

Thanks to a few successful gigs at the community college, Pia had been, once again, procured by one of the local sorority houses for his musical playing talents. It was your typical venue, his booth
set up just outside the three-story building, coeds of every age, color, and creed mingling around, one hand or the other holding a cheap plastic cup filled with cheap beer.

But tonight wasn't just about music. Tonight, once again, there was purpose, there was determination behind each of Mr. Coffee's actions. Vinyl spins, one of the few DJs to still use the medium,
but only a true music aficionado could hear the subtle warmth behind a vinyl pressing, something that was just missing with a piece of plastic known as a compact disc. Still, that didn't mean he wasn't
encompassing all sorts of technology with his repertoire, and between the two turntables, a rather cheap laptop, fully loaded with a music collection, waits to take over should the need arise.

This time of winter, even this far south, the air had a certain crisp feeling about it, the kind of feeling that made each word spoke outside that much more punctuated. Maybe, or maybe it's just the
fact that Pia was on the prowl, he has hunter's ears and eyes, scanning the crowd. Who was he looking for tonight? Well, the one, and only, Billy Dickerson. Dickerson, his last name fully expressed the kind of personality you'd get from this corn-feed, meat-head of a jock. Dickerson, the guy had quite the record on the field, and if he played his cards right he would be going pro just after graduation. Dickerson, he had a record all right, a record of drinking and driving but you won't find anything about that in a police report.

Billy's daddy, Daddy Dickerson, was often known to swoop in after Little Billy had done wrong, sweeping up the mess that his little boy had made, and making sure everything was nice and neat,
ensuring his family name would not be tarnished. And what had Daddy Dickerson cleaned up most recently? Well, let's just say the buzz around campus was that Little Billy, once again, had a little bit too much to drink, and after taking out his sports car for a midnight drive, ended up running over poor little Molly Singer.

Of course, nobody really knew about Molly. She wasn't on the cheerleading team, she wasn't on any of the so-called important councils or committees that kept the mindless Greek followers so
engrossed with their nonsense lives. Molly Singer didn't even get a proper funeral. Both parents having died just before she started coming to school. There was only a grief-stricken roommate to
verify her remains.

Tonight, Molly Singer might not be remembered, but her killer would certainly rue the day he went out for a drunken joyride, so carefree, so careless about the world around him.

Tonight, Billy Dickerson would come face-to-face with Divine Retribution.

The music spun, the people danced, got drunk, groped each other, and more than one couple snuck off upstairs to do things that would make their parents cry. In fact, the only one who hadn't gotten
any play tonight, except for Mr. Coffee, of course, was Billy Dickerson, but it would seem he was quite busy laying the groundwork to solve that problem, standing next to a perky-titted redhead, trying his best to blow her mind because he could talk about Heisenberg. Pfft, every first-year with access to Wikipedia could talk about Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle. But, despite the gentle shake of his head, standing, like the loner he is, like he will forever be, Pia watches as the girl takes the bait, leaning against Billy.

Yeah, baby, he'll blow your mind, use your body, and toss you out like a torn condom wrapper.

"We need to get going, Pia." The voice comes from behind him. Instantly, he knows who it is. She was here already. Right on time. "Come on..." Aiko says, right hand shaking his left shoulder.

The tip of his index finger glides across the square touchpad of his laptop, quickly queuing up enough music to last him a good 25 minutes. Yes, they needed to hurry. Billy would be taking his
latest floozy up to his room at any moment now and the divine duo still needed to prepare.

From behind the booth, Pia snatches a gym bag, pulling the strap over his shoulder, and slips from behind the booth, just as The Dust Brothers' Jack's Smirking Revenge begins playing. A rather
fitting song considering what was about to happen.

Of course, nobody pays any attention to the mohawk-ed man as he ascends the staircase, turning left, before making his way down the hallway. Yes, he knew exactly which room was Billy's. As the song
begins to mellow out, just after the little freak out, right about the time in the movie when Edward Norton was flapping around his boss's office, Billy's door is breached.

In a hurry, the gym bag is unzipped, hands reaching in, pulling out paper pants, a paper smock, and a splatter face shield, all courtesy of a midnight detour into the local hospital. Covered in disposable, sanitary garb, tonight's weapon of choice is, finally, removed from the bag.

A framing hammer was certainly going to make a mess.

The music outside continues, while Pia and pal stand, side by side, in the darkness of Billy's closet.

"This is never going to work," Pia whispers his negativity.

Hearing this, his dead friend merely rolls her eyes, looking between the slits of the closet door, petite body covered in a paper shroud. "You are so negative, Mr. Hax. Just relax... have faith...sheesh."

Just then, the little pep talk is interrupted by the bedroom door being swung open, letting in a burst of music and a cloud of smoke. In stumbles in Billy, floozy under his arm, giggling, drunken
laughter, hands going every which way, groping, squeezing, even stroking. The door is closed, shutting out the music, shutting out the light from the hallway. Still giggling, still groping, the two bodies
drop to the bed, Billy, of course, on top.

"Mmm, God, you're beautiful..." Billy mumbles into the girl's cleavage.

Aiko rolls her eyes and sticks out her tongue. It was disgusting, really, watching these two college kids getting ready to hump. Taking a deep breath, she points to her left wrist, pointing to an
imaginary watch. "We don't have time for this...!"

Moaning, groaning, pelvises grinding against each other, and then Billy's true talents are revealed. With hands like a magician, the girl's top is pulled over her head, hurled to the floor,
followed by the clasp of her bra being popped open, young, perky breasts falling forward, the left taken into Billy's hungry mouth. So, it would seem he was a tit man.

More moaning, and that's when Billy's fly is popped open. Both Pia and Aiko tilt their heads to the left, watching as the young girl displays something she learned not in class, but definitely
while away at college. With her head bobbing up and down, Billy makes all kinds of gross, guttural, clichéd noises, fingers running through her hair.

"Dude, we really don't have time..." Aiko reminds him.

But then it would seem that fate, as that spiteful bitch has a way of doing, steps onto the scene. As the passionate fellatio continues, suddenly the young girl starts gagging, coughing, before
pulling away, and covering her mouth.

"Oh, fuck, I'm gonna be sick!" Little floozy looks quite green around the gills, as if she was about ready to pop at any moment. Snatching her top and bra from the floor, she bolts out of the
bedroom in a flash, probably on her way to the closest bathroom to puke her little brains out.

This, of course, leaves Little Billy with something far worse than a sore thumb... a throbbing hard-on that won't get taken care of.

"Now, Pia! Now!"

The closet doors slide open, just as Black Sabbath's kick drum starts thumping from the large speakers outside, and as paper-covered Pia steps from the shadows, the almost-robotic voice announces, "I
am Ironmaaaan!" With wide, rather confused eyes, Billy sits on the edge of the bed, almost calm, that is, however, until Mr. Coffee's rather large framing hammer catches a glimmer of moonlight as it's
raised above his head. The guitar starts playing, and in a flash, the mohawk-ed man is on top of the college boy, straddling him on the bed, left arm holding him down.

"Do it, Pia! Do it now!"

"What the fuck, man?! Get off me!"

"Shut your mouth, you filthy monster," Pia says menacingly, completely ignorant of the fact that this is, by far, the worst case scenario of the pot calling the cattle black, but, incidentally
enough, it's also the last thing Billy Dickerson will ever hear.

No more hesitating, no more lingering, and no more idle threats, the hammer is pulled back before being swung, the waffle texture of the hammerhead catching the young boy just above the left
eyebrow, a sick crunching filling the room.

"Heavy boots of lead, fills his victims full of dread! Running as fast as they can, Ironman lives again!" The song goes on and on, the hammer comes down again and again, metal smashing against
skull, sending beautiful spurts and splatters of blood every which way. But it's when the epic guitar solo comes on that the tempo of bludgeoning really increases, and Pia starts using the claw of the hammer, utterly destroying the once handsome face of Billy Dickerson.

Standing over the boy, bloody hammer, bloody smock, bloody face shield, Pia relishes in the fact that, once again, he has just filled his grand destiny. Divine Retribution strikes again and strikes
hard.

Ironman comes to an end and Aiko bolts out of the closet. "Dude, your playlist! We need to get out of here! Fast!"

She was right, and in a flash, Pia begins peeling off the protective layers that kept him clean, stuffing all of the dirty evidence into the gym bag. In 10 seconds flat, nobody would be able to tell
that this mild-mannered coffee manager had just committed a horrific crime. One foot in front of the other, carrying him down the stairs, past more drunken coeds, and by the time he is outside, briskly
walking across grass, the final song of his playlist was already well underway.

Old-school Metallica booms, Creeping Death was always a fan favorite; Aiko playfully headbanging as she walks alongside her partner in crime. With no time to spare, Pia jumps behind the booth, making it look like he had just gone for a simple smoke break. Queuing up a couple more songs, the party soon begins to wind down. Curious, green eyes look towards Billy's window. The thought of how
long it would take for his body to be discovered crosses the meticulous man's mind, and a subtle, satisfied grin stretches across his face.

***

Once again, the awkward silence after another confession is shattered by a piece of evidence being slid across the table. This time, it's a bloody framing hammer, left at the scene of the crime.

Another gentle smirk stretches across Pia's face.

"So, I guess the only thing left to talk about now is... why? Why have you done this? And, more importantly, why have you chosen now to turn yourself in?" So many questions from the detective.
You would think he would be the one with all the answers, considering it was his job to collect the pieces of the puzzle.

There is quite the serious look on Pia's face, as if he was trying to find just the right answer for all of these questions. Looking up, tilting his head back slightly, the man takes a breath,
slowly letting it out, before leaning forward, locking his green eyes on to the police officer.

"You... you really want to know, Detective Dillons? I mean... do you REALLY want to know the answer to all of those questions?"

And with a simple nod of the head, Detective Dillons seals his fate.

Leaning forward even closer, it appears as if Pia is about to spill his guts, layout his master plan, share every single minute detail with the man. "Then let me tell you a secret..." he whispers,
smiling ever so slightly. "You're an idiot. Do you, honestly, think that I would give myself so easily to you? Do you, honestly, think that I would make it this easy to catch me? Christ, Dan," he says,
using the officer's first name, which, strangely enough, was never given throughout the interrogation. "If it wasn't for me spoon feeding you the God damn evidence you would have NO idea what was happening in your little town!"

"W-what?"

"And you want to know why, of all nights, I chose tonight to turn myself in? Do ya? Simple. I knew you would be alone. I knew you would be so easy to catch with your pants around your ankles."

And, in a violent flash, Pia bolts from his chair, cuffed wrists instantly coming at the detective's throat, pulling the man, with an surprising rush of strength, out of his chair, slamming him
against the wall. In the struggle, Detective Dan Dillons manages to pull his Glock from his hip holster, squeezing off a round, which, just barely, misses Pia's face, but it's the last shot the detective
will ever fire from his side arm. A quick knee to the gut and a head butt stops the fight, dropping the detective to the ground, only to have his would-be suspect straddling his chest.

"You REALLY want to know how it started, huh?? Well, let me tell you!" Each and every word, every syllable is fortified with pure rage, handcuffed hands clenching the man's throat tighter, cutting off his breathing.

"Guh...?"

Bringing his face mere inches away from the detective's, Pia is no longer recognizable. Every facet of the gentle man has been blown away by an explosive force of violence, rage, and
destiny. All that remains now is the divine implementation of causality.

"So, let's talk about how it alllll began, shall we? It was three months ago. I was at the coffee shop, just like I ALWAYS am, and in walks this girl. She wasn't more than 23, so fresh, so full of
life, so much ahead of her, but her soul was broken! Somebody had done horrible things to her! You could see it, on her face, in her eyes, in a way she moved! She was terrified! What could I do? I gave her a cup of hot chocolate, one of my irresistible scones, and told her just to relax. Of course, she didn't tell me what happened, but I knew... I always know!"

Tighter and tighter, Pia's hands grow, watching as the detective's eyes begin to roll back into his head. "Hey, stay with me! I'm not done regaling you with stories of good deeds!" Hands release
the man's esophagus just long enough to let a few, desperate gulps of air before he continues. "So, where was I? Oh, yes! So, that night, I do a little digging... let me tell you, it's absolutely
brilliant what you can find on the Internet. Did you know the police department has quite an extensive website? You guys really are on the cutting edge of digital record-keeping, let me tell you what!
So, calling in a favor from a friend, who has leet hacker skillz, I was able to access the latest files from the sexual crimes unit. Guess what I found! Seems my little customer had just gotten out of the
hospital, after spending seven days straight locked in her apartment, being brutally raped!"

The adage of giving somebody an inch and then them taking a mile comes true, as Pia's generosity of letting the man breathe nearly comes back to haunt him. More struggling, a brush fire that is
quickly put out with another head butt. "And here we are, back to this evening. I chose this evening to turn myself in. I knew you would be all alone tonight. I knew you wouldn't call in any backup,
because you wanted to close the biggest case of your career. I knew your hubris would get the better of you! I did more digging... I found out something very, very interesting. I checked more records, and
it would seem there has been a string of sexual crimes lately, all fitting the same details as my customer!"

Taking a deep, methodical breath through his nose, Pia takes a moment to calm himself, suddenly staring off into the distance, reliving the moment he put it all together. Green eyes slide downward,
and the once blank face now holds a look of disgust. "Each victim was kept for a week. Raped repeatedly. But here's the really interesting thing..." Pia trails off, lightly tapping the tip of the
detective's nose gently.

"It would seem that each of the victims told investigators that their assailant actually took multiple urine samples from them. Now, what would be the rationale for this? Some sick fetish? Or was
it something else...? What can you learn about a person from their urine?"

Again, Detective Dan begins to go limp, the fight slowly slipping out of him. A frustrated exhale comes from Mr. Mohawk, once again releasing his grasp on the now swollen throat, right hand lightly
slapping his face. "Hey, don't you do that just yet. Let's pretend you're James Bond and I'm the mad scientist, only you will not be escaping after my master plan is unveiled."

Gasping for breath, the man's the color of a tomato, but he finally has enough oxygen getting to his brain to be able to focus on the man speaking, yet can't quite talk properly.
"Ger...uff...meeg!"

Narrowing his green gaze, Pia blatantly asks, "Get off me? You think all those girls said that when they were being raped? I wonder if their attacker was thinking the same thing I am right now..."
he trails off gently, gaze sliding to his left, a curious look filling in his face.

But it would seem that the generosity given by Pia was once taken advantage of, and in one, final, burst of resistance, Dan's hands latch onto Pia's face.

Now choking the life out of the man underneath him, story time was over. It was time to cut the chase.

"It took me a while to piece it all together, Dan. None of it made any sense, until I realized one very important detail. It wasn't just one thing that the attacker was looking for in their urine, it was everything. Toxicology, body functions, and, here's the clincher... fertility. Isn't it funny that you, a man, who, at the age of 45, despite being married for 15 years, hasn't produced a single
offspring, would be assigned to every single one of these cases?"

This time, instead of going limp, Detective Dan's face flips from a look of fear to a look of shock. Seeing this, Mr. Coffee smiles instantly.

"Yes, I had the same look on my face! Brilliant!" Going silent, face going blank, Pia brings his face to the face of the man man whose life, literally, was held in his hands. "Let's cut to the chase, shall we, Dan? You've done a bad thing, you've been found guilty, and now you're gonna die..." Pia's words are cut off by actual whimpering and tears, streaking down the detective's face.

"Shhh, shhh, it's okay, it's okay... I know, you're scared, and you should be, but it's just how it is. We all have our parts to play and I'm just doing what's been asked of me." Of course, as he tries to comfort the man, he is crushing his trachea, arms flailing about violently. Brown eyes, bloodshot and tearing, are now rolled back in their sockets.

"You can't deny your destiny, Dan. Let me tell you, it took a lot of convincing from my friend Aiko that this is what needs to happen. I mean, yeah, I feel bad... but at least you'll get all of the
bagpipe police BS. People will cry at your funeral, you'll be buried a hero, and nobody will ever know that you kidnapped, raped, and tried to impregnate several women." These final words, as if some sick
epitaph, are branded upon the soul of the man as it slips away into oblivion. The first thing to go is the man's strength, arms turning into rubber bands, dropping from their futile attempts at scratching
at Pia's face.

Instantly, Pia is trifling through the dead man's pockets, in search of the handcuff key. Christ, these things were tight! The sound of mechanical clinking precedes the locked door of the
interrogation room swinging open, and as expecting, green eyes look in its direction, a look of relief flashes across his face as Pia sees the petite Asian stepping inside, hands on her hips, with a sly
smirk spread across her young face, looking at her friend standing over a dead body.

"You sly shit! You actually did it! Bravo, Pia," the mouthy delusion claps her hands several times before approaching. Now standing side by side, towering over the once powerful man, the two of
them simply stare.

"You know..." Pia is the first to break the silence. "I know it's not my first dead body, but this one... this one is different. This one feels like..."

"... fulfillment?"

"Yeah. But, also, a sense of..."

"... frustration? The overwhelming feeling that there is so much more work to be done?"

"Yeah... that..."

"You've done a good thing tonight, Pia. Don't let anybody tell you otherwise, no matter what happens. Even if no one ever knows about this evening, you'll know, I'll know, and he'll know," his
short companion reassures, before pointing to each one of them, including towards the sky, in succession.

But it was just in the man's nature, and with a deep, somber breath, he exhales with the feeling that something just isn't right. "Yeah, I guess..."

"Anyways," Aiko's turn to break the silence. "Let's get the fuck out of here, shall we?" she asks, already slipping a smoke from the pack and flipping open her Zippo. Taking a deep drag, she
exhales as she speaks, already turning towards the door. "We still need to swipe the surveillance tape from the interrogation room," is the last thing Pia hears before she is in the hallway.

Taking a final look at his handiwork, hands clenched tightly, arms hanging by his sides, a pleased smile flashes across the man's face. Yes, whether he wanted to admit to himself or not, he had done
good tonight. Now, the next time he gave that young woman a free cup of coffee, he could look into her eyes with a smile, with the satisfaction that the person responsible for breaking her soul had been
punished. Now, when she ate his scones, each bite would be so much more fulfilling, with a sense of satisfaction, at the knowledge that there is one less blotch of evil on the world. Destiny has been
served.