For those of you who saw this story before its brief hiatus, welcome to the continuation from where ovolamp left off.

For those of you didn't;

The talented ovolamp felt that she would not be able to continue this lovely story for her own reasons. So she put it up for adoption.

I'm glad to have been given the privilege to adopt it and perhaps continue it acceptably to all of your expectation.

I'm currently trying to better synchronize my writing style with ovolamp's so that the transition from her work to mine is less stark.

For the most part I'm having trouble with the tenses. Any constructive feed back will be much appreciated. And of course praise is welcome as well. :)

These first two chapters are her original work with minimal changes.

Chapter three is the beginning of mine.

As I said feedback is much appreciated

It's not like war; Wolf would know, he's seen war, experienced it – and he knew that when he took a life in combat, it was only to protect the ones he loved most.

It was justified.

…

It's not like assassination; Wolf has never killed a man in cold blood, only in the heat of battle – but he knew that to be assassinated was to be murdered.

In this instance, murder would have been more merciful.

…

It's not like torture; Wolf hasn't been tortured, but he's seen what it can do to a person – and he knew that it could shatter a hardened soldier into pieces.

Because even though it was like torture, it was much, much worse.

…

This was pure, unadulterated evil.

Cub's body is perfectly preserved. There aren't any marks except for the life leeching slits on his wrists that are still weeping from where they are submerged in the bathtub. The water is a bright red and has a thicker consistency that it should. It's still lukewarm to the touch, but the kid, the kid is unbearably cold.

Dead.

It's his face that Wolf can't look away from.

Where his body had remained relatively untouched, his youthful face had suffered.

The kid's nostrils, his lips, his eyes had been… sutured shut. And the dried blood crusted on the white string used to do it, indicated that the kid had been alive when the bastard had done it – alive and aware that he was about to be slaughtered.

Wolf briefly wondered what the teenager had felt as it happened.

Probably fear, he decided vaguely, reaching up and gingerly swiping the wetness from his eyes. He hoped it was resignation, hoped that the kid hadn't been holding out for someone to save him. Then, in his final moments, realized no one was coming.

God, Wolf hoped that the kid knew it was over.

He moved as though to go to the vulnerable figure of his fifth teammate, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. Wolf glanced up and met the misty gaze of Snake, "The detectives don't want us fucking up the crime scene, Wolf."

Wolf nodded.

Snake jerked his head towards the door, "Let's get out of here."

His voice is cracked and filled with remorse.

So is Wolf's entire sense of being.

They move out.

…

'I'm not dead.