At Whitney University Entomology Lab, an order came in. An innocuous order yes, but one that held great significance. It was an order for 1,000 North American deer ticks, from a Mr. J.M. Lewis. The order was duly processed, and soon 1,000 North American deer ticks were in a sealed container headed for the address given in the order.

It was a fairly isolated large house, out in the forests several miles from Whitney University. The university truck drove in, in front of the house. After five minutes, a blond woman of medium height walked out.

"A Mr. J.M. Lewis ordered 1,000 North American deer ticks. Are you his wife?" the driver asked. He was middle-aged, with gray hair and a beer belly.

"No."

"His girlfriend?"

"No. I'm a business associate. I have the $50 it costs, in cash. Do I have to sign any forms?"

"Just these." He pulled out several releases of liability and insurance forms, which the woman deftly signed.

"Does Mr. Lewis authorize this?"

She produced a note. It read: I authorize Lisa Johnson to sign for the deer ticks. It was signed J.M. Lewis.

"Good" the driver said. Then he drove off. Lisa brought the box inside.

"Good job Lisa" a bearded, gray-haired man said. "You've done well."

At the Whitney University Genetics Lab, Dr. Ed Tate was working on dissecting and summarizing information he had received on the whereabouts of a recently identified assassin for the new species. There had been reports of a coffee-colored-haired man who had been taking out reporters who had gotten too good of information about killings attributed to Tom Daniels, Randall Lynch, or a mysterious blond-haired female assassin. He had been seen in downtown Los Angeles on the same day of the death of Jason Brigenson, who had written the brilliant series on a dark-brown/gray-haired assassin who turned out to be their now-ally Tom Daniels. Then in South Central on day of Sara Hoffman's hit-and-run death. Sara Hoffman chronicled the exploits of Randall Lynch. Finally, he had been seen in the dockyard area where Kelly Himmel had been found drowned in a dry-dock. He had written about the incident in which a blond assassin had killed two people who were dead ringers for Dr. Walter Attwood, his boss, and Grace Peterson, the wife of Detective Ray Peterson.

This meant a new assassin was in town, and this one seemed hell-bent on destroying public record of the new species's assassinations.

Attwood interrupted Ed. "Is your summary ready yet?"

"Almost, Dr. Attwood."

"Well hurry. We need to know the number of assassins in the city of Los Angeles so we can protect our people."

"I know that."

"Good. I'll be back in five minutes."

Then, Dr. Attwood left.

In a laboratory, Lisa, the gray-haired man, and two other assassins worked in protective gear with the ticks. They were using long, thin needles to inject DNA of the new species into the ticks. The DNA would mutate the ticks, so that the DNA of the new species would be present in the ticks in all future generations, and when the tick bit someone, then the DNA would be injected into the host and would mutate the host, making its DNA different from the rest of humankind by 1.6%. Another thing they would do is be attracted to vibrations at a frequency of .566. The ticks would also infect other creatures, so there would be a rash of animal attacks as well.

"When do you think the ticks would be ready for dispersal, Lewis?" one of the assassins asked.

"In a couple of weeks. Don't use my name," the gray-haired man said.

"Fine."

In a businesslike tone, Lisa spoke. "We've finished with the ticks. Now we just have to let them breed."

"Excellent. Now transfer them into the breeding enclosure" Lewis said.

The breeding enclosure was a hermetically sealed room about 3,000 square feet where oxygen was pumped in. It was full of plants, trees, and deer. The box with the ticks was inserted into the ingress slot, and the box was open. The mutated deer ticks swarmed into the enclosure. The rest of them left the room. That was all they could do until the ticks had bred to large enough numbers.

Back at Whitney University Genetics laboratory, Ed finished giving his report to Attwood.

"Good and bad Ed. You presented the report quite well, but the bad part is we're dealing with a new assassin. That's not a good thing. We had enough trouble with the blonde."

"Damn right."

"My sentiments exactly."

Dr. Sloan Parker sat on her sofa in her slip, reading the Whitney University Times. She had finished reading about student protests and budgetary surpluses, and had gotten to the part about 1,000 deer ticks being bought by J.M. Lewis from the entomology lab. That was odd, she thought. Who would want 1,000 deer ticks?

Someone knocked on the door. "Hello?" she asked.

"Good morning, Sloan." It was Tom Daniels. "You're needed at the lab immediately. Someone cut the phone lines."

"Now who would do that?" Sloan asked as she put on a shirt and a pair of slacks.

"Apparently a member of my kind who wanted to take you out. Ed discovered that there's a new assassin lose in LA."

His kind. Tom had originally appeared as a FBI agent, but acted suspicious enough to spur Sloan into investigating. She tracked down the FBI agent whose identity Tom had borrowed, and discovered he was a fraud, just as she had found her late friend and mentor Dr. Ann Coulter's discovery of a new species of man. Tom had discovered this and tracked her to her apartment. In the resulting confrontation, Tom, overcome with human emotions, had spared her life and crossed sides to fight his own people, a new member of the Homo genus that evolved the equatorial region as the result of climate changes. "I'm coming!" Sloan yelled through the door.

She walked with Tom to the lab.

"Is it ready yet?" Lewis shouted. "We need to disperse those ticks as soon as possible."

"Not yet. We have 3,000 ticks, but in order to infest a city the size of Los Angeles, we need about 20,000. The good thing about these goddamn things is that they reproduce exponentially," Lisa shouted back.

In the 24 hours since they had mutated and began breeding the ticks, they had tripled their numbers, and were set to triple again. In 48 hours, they would have the right number of ticks to infest the city with. "We will reign in the kingdom of Man."

"So we have a new assassin running loose in LA?" Sloan asked. "How are we going to catch him?"

"I don't intend to catch him" Tom said, lock-and-loading his M-209 (M-16 with a grenade launcher). "I intend to kill him."

"Don't get all vengeful, Tom. You've killed more people then he has" Ed chided.

"Yes. But that was my mistake. If someone doesn't take him out, he'll kill again. I'm going to end it."

"Don't we need to plan this?" Attwood half-asked half-said. "I mean, going out half-cocked like this is liable to get someone killed."

"Fine" Tom said, putting the gun down.

"Where did you get that gun anyway?"

"The storeroom."

"Alright. Now the pattern of sightings of this coffee-haired assassin is in a pentagon-shape. If Peterson deploys security teams in the pentagonal area, and perhaps we can catch him."

They argued for a long while.

"How many ticks are there now?" Lewis asked.

"12,000. We need to wait another day in order to have enough to infect Los Angeles" Lisa said.

"Damn" Lewis hissed. "On a more positive note, how is our reporter-killer doing?"

"We've taken out three of the reporters who'd chronicled our assassinations, but there were many. Peterson's security teams are closing in. He needs to lie low for awhile."

"Well duh, if they catch him..."

"We're screwed."

"Couldn't have said it better myself."

Three government agents stood on a fire escape that was attached to the famous art museum. They were all armed with specially configured sniper rifles, and were on the hunt for the assassin, or anyone matching the composite drawings collected by the police.

There, there he was. He was walking down the street, and from their vantage point, they could see a sawed-off shotgun peeking out from under his coat. They took aim at his head, and opened fire.

The streets erupted in chaos as bullets ricocheted off walls and cars. Two people fell, one dead and the other wounded. The assassin disappeared in the milling crowds. The agents looked around, hid their rifles in their suit jackets, and climbed down to the streets.

"My agents have all called in," Ray Peterson said sadly. "They tried to take out the assassin, but killed a bystander by mistake." He was adapting well to his new job as the Whitney University Project (Attwood's term for the battle against the new species) Security Chief. Once he was a newly unemployed detective asked by a mysterious government agent to work for him. Now he had power and a larger salary.

"Regrettable" Attwood said. "Now he knows we're onto him. Maybe we SHOULD sic Tom on him. That would be a horrible way to die."

His target was near. He had been contacted by Lewis recently and ordered to take out a new target and temporarily stop his hit-string on the reporters. Instead, he was sent to take out Dr. Sloan Parker and preferably Tom Daniels as well. Time for revenge; he was the avatar for Lewis's vengeance.

"How many assassins do you think Lewis has?" Sloan asked Tom. They were both sitting on the couch in her apartment and talking about the latest twists and turns in the case."

"He's trained thousands, but they're scattered all over the world. There just aren't that many members of the new species who have the skills to train other members of their kind to kill for some idea of evolutionary superiority or race war. If Lewis is captured or killed, then we'd be doing a great service for the human race."

Sloan started say something but the door crumpled inward and a man with yellow-brown hair burst in.

"You will all die!" he screamed.

Tom reached for his gun but the assassin had his pistol out and pointed at his head. "Go ahead. Pick it up."

"Who the hell are you?" Sloan asked.

"The avatar of the vengeance of Lewis. Against you and the traitor!"

"Oh, now I have a proper title. Whoopee."

"Your attempts at amusement are banal at best. I think I'll make Sloan watch you die, then kill her slowly." He began to squeeze the trigger...

Tom's left hand moved like lightning, snatching the pistol from the assassin's hand and pointing it at his face.

"I'd like to ask you a few questions, you bastard. What is your name?"

"Jim Patrick."

"Thank you. Did Lewis send you to kill Sloan and I, or is this some extra-curricular activity?"

"Lewis sent me for some revenge-getting. I'm going to kill you all!"

"Stop that. I think I'm going to kill you, and keep your pistol as a souvenir."

The assassin's hands flicked out and hurled the gun from Tom's hand. Then, he dove for the gun.

Tom stuck out his foot into the assassin's face as he slid along the floor, bloodying his nose. Then, he grabbed the man and pulled him up.

"Big mistake. Now we're going for a little jaunt." Tom pulled a pair of handcuffs from his pocket and slapped it on one of his wrists. Jim yelped and whipped the other cuff into his face. Tom yelled and began chasing him; out Sloan's busted door, out the hallway, up to the roof.

Tom came up there and found him standing on the ledge, about 60 feet off the ground. "What are you trying to do this time?"

"I'm not going quietly."

"Now stop that. Just because you're going to get arrested doesn't mean you're going to die. You've killed 3 people, broke into Sloan's apartment, stuck a gun to my head, punched me a couple of times; with our criminal justice system, I think that you'll get maybe two years in the cooler. Now don't you...HOLY SHIT!!"

Jim had stuck out his arms and leaned out, falling down. He hit the ground with a sickening crunch, and blood flowed out his mouth.

Tom was already running down the hallway, past a befuddled Sloan who was wondering what happened, and down to the street.

Jim was barely alive, and he looked up at Tom and said a few words. "Mankind will die, and so will you." Then, he was gone.

"Go to hell, you freak."

"Oh shoot" Lewis said. "We just lost our favorite reporter-killer. To make it worst, he killed himself. At least he didn't get captured."

"Can you detect any other of our kind in the city" Lisa asked.

"Only Tom" he said, reaching out with his telepathy. "Only Tom."

"Well, we got rid of the reporter-killer" Ed said, boredly. "Now what?"

"What about the others" Tom said. "There are others in the city, and they're planning something. They always are. They've got to be here somewhere..."

"Wait a minute" Sloan said. "I have a plan..."

They worked out the details of the plan for hours.

"The ticks are ready, Lewis" Lisa said. "How shall we deliver them?"

"Perhaps by a low-flying aircraft. Do you think FedEx had a spare cargo plane we could 'borrow'" Lewis said menacingly.

"Yes sir" Lisa said evilly.

One of the other assassins brought in a printed-out E-mail. "It may be of interest to you, sir."

He read it intently, a smile growing on his face.

"Lisa, read this" he said, handing it to the female assassin.

It read:

To Mr. Lewis,

Dr. Sloan Parker will be going home by herself tonight early from the lab. If you want to catch her, this is your chance.

We will reign in the kingdom of Man,

Jack Himmel.

"Jack? I thought he died when we tried to take out the Secretary-General?"

"I guess not" Lisa suggested. "I think we have a golden opportunity."

According to the plan, Sloan left the laboratory early on her bicycle, which had somehow gotten from her apartment to the university. It was either Tom or Ed's doing, for the plan.

She rode along slower then normal, daring Lewis and his gang to pull something off.

The roar of a motorcycle. Then several others roared. Three bikers came up, one on either side of her and another behind. They were driving her somewhere, part of the plan. She fingered the transponder under her lab coat. The plan was going into action.

She was driven into an alley, with a van waiting. The bikers went into action quickly. She was thrown off her bike and into the van. The van drove off.

It arrived at a mansion in the woods several miles from LA. She was escorted in by the bikers, which turned out to be the blond assassin and two of her minions.

"Good evening, Dr. Parker" Lewis. "May I introduce myself."

"We've got her location," Tom said. "It's at that mansion outside of town where Lewis trains his thugs." Where he trained me, Tom thought. "Into the chopper."

Everyone piled into the armed helicopter that Peterson had procured. Then, it lifted off. Things were going to get interesting.

"So, Dr. Parker, no tricks in which to fight? Are you surrendering that quickly?"

"Well duh, you dumbass."

Lewis suspected a trap. It was in that smug manner that she talked, in the feeling in her mind that Lewis was going to die. He walked up to her, and looked at her angrily. Then he tore open her lab coat and snatched the transponder.

Rage in his voice, Lewis began speaking. "You tricked me you little ass-crawling vermin. But, before your friends come swarming in to rescue you, I'll have the satisfaction of watching you be transformed. Become one of us. Dr. Parker, wouldn't that be such fun?" He heard the thump of chopper blades.

"Lisa! Is the plane ready?"

"Yes sir!"

"Good. We don't have much time, so we simply must hurry." He grabbed Sloan by her arm and began dragging her down to the stairs leading to his lab.

Tom and Ed burst in the door and got in a small gun-battle with Lisa and the two other assassins. One of them was killed, another severely wounded, and Lisa escaped. Tom and Ed followed.

"Sloan" Tom said. "Is down there somewhere. In a lab. We have to hurry."

They quickened their pace.

"Ah, damn it. Lisa, fetch the ticks. We have some conversion therapy to do before a certain traitor and his buddies burst in and ruin everything."

Lisa brought out a test tube with a tick in it. "Now don't be frightened, Dr. Parker. The pain will be momentary, but the lasting results will be such fun." Lisa set the tick on Sloan's arm, and just as it rushed to bite, it was shot off her arm, leaving a small burn on Sloan's skin.

"Howdy, you bastards. It's party time!" Ed yelled as he began firing his semiautomatic rifle, smashing lab equipment and destroying things.

"Run, the ticks are loaded," Lewis said, and they both began running.

"Ed, stay here. I have some unfinished business to take care of."

As Ed and Sloan ran off, Tom followed Lewis and Lisa. They had left the building and were running onto the ramp of a small cargo plane. In the back of the bay were several glass cases full of ticks. Ticks that, from what Lewis implied were full of new species DNA that would mutate anyone who contacted it. Ticks that it seemed Lewis wanted to dump on LA. As the bay closed, Tom leaped inside.

"Such bravado, Tom" Lewis said as Tom looked up into the barrel of a PP7. "It will be such fun to throw you from the plane when the rain of parasites fall on the city. While you die, you will see people mutate before your eyes, becoming more like yourself. Lisa! Take him into the corner and watch him."

Lisa roughly dragged him into the corner, next to a large tank full of ticks, then put a gun to his head. "Now stay right there."

For what seem like an eternity, the plane flew on, then the bay doors began to open, and Lisa marched Tom to the very edge, where the winds threatened to blow him off.

"Say goodbye to LA, traitor" Lewis said as he gave Lisa the signal to shove Tom out. With a sadistic gleam in her eye, she moved forward and...

Tom grabbed her by the wrist and threw her out of the plane. She flew through the air and hit a building, where she slid sickly to the ground.

Lewis jumped at him, and Tom threw him into the steel wall of the cargo plane. He bounced back and began shoving Tom back to the brink of oblivion. Tom flipped him, and Lewis flew out of the plane, grabbing onto the ramp. Tom walked over, and without pity, ground Lewis's hand with his foot.

Lewis fell, rather then flew, and was lucky to land on a building 20 feet below, where he suffered a broken ankle and nothing more.

Tom walked over the back of the cargo compartment, and looked for a way into the pilot area. It was a small door, but it was padlocked. Tom frantically searched the cargo area for the gun, and found it. He shot off the lock and kicked in the door.

The pilot rose to attack him, but Tom broke his neck and tried to fly the plane. It flew wildly around, between buildings and near-missing the new monorail. Then, it flew out over a small canal, and finally over the beaches. He was now over the water, and he guided the plane in one direction. Down.

Tom ran out of the compartment and into the cargo area, then leaped out as the plane hit the water. Then, he began to swim, wary of the suction created as the plane sank to the bottom of the ocean.

They were already planning his funerary arrangements when Tom walked in, a wet and bedraggled Tom, but he was still alive. Sloan hugged him. He didn't care.

A month later...

A child found something on the beach. He brought it to his mother. "Put that thing away," she said. "That's disgusting." It was a dead tick. But the supposedly dead tick moved slightly. It was alive, and infused with a dark mutagen.