Hey everyone! I'm finally back with a new Angels of Death fanfic! Definitely an AU but I hope ya'll will like it. Not every chapter will have both Rachel's and Zack's point of view but this one does to help set this story.

Staring in morbid fascination as blood spiraled down her arm from her raised hand, the young girl blinked and swallowed hard, forcing the bile that rose in her throat back into her stomach as the reek of death filled her nose. `Curious, really,' she thought as she cocked her head to the side; as she gazed at his body, askew on the bed. She thought there would be more of a feeling of completion, didn't she? She thought she'd feel something more than the hollowness of nothing. No pity, no sorrow, no despair . . . Nothing . . .

Raising her hand in front of her face again, she sighed softly. Blood as deep as scarlet; glistening on her fingertips like stars in the night sky . . .

He hadn't cried out, had he? He hadn't made a sound when she'd stared into his eyes, when she cut his throat with a flick of her deadly-sharp nails. His blood had flowed over her like a macabre flood, and she hadn't shoved his body aside until the flow had slowed to a drip. The pool of crimson on the white sheets . . . She'd remember it forever. Insanity, perhaps? Divine retribution . . . Maybe she was as much of a monster as he was. Maybe that was why she hadn't felt a damn thing.

The opulent apartment solidified in her line of vision, and she smiled almost sadly. She wouldn't miss it; not at all. The trinkets and baubles . . . he had thought he owned her, didn't he? It was all a charade; a well-played deception, and she was absolutely, unequivocally an expert on deception . . .

With a sigh, she slipped into the adjacent bathroom, turned on the shower taps and stepped into the frigid cold. Closing her eyes against the sight of the watery streaks of red that washed down her body under the unrelenting flow, she stood there for what could have been hours. The water warmed, washing away the remnants of a terrible dream; of a dim shadow of life that sustained her.

Would the nightmares stop now? Would they leave her alone? The contorted beasts of distorted memory that had haunted her sleep . . . They'd tormented her for longer than she could recall; the demons of a night that would never let her go.

There should have been a sense of finality. There should have been some sort of recognition; a sense of completion to something that had begun so long ago. There was nothing, really. No peace, no happiness . . . not even self-loathing at the things she had done. She'd bided her time, waited for her chance, struggled to live in a world that hadn't even noticed her; fading in and out of the shadows that had offered her a strange sort of solace only to emerge into the light that blinded her . . .

It was nearly over, wasn't it? The end was so close she could feel it. She was tired; tired of running, tired of hiding, tired of living the charade in her world—a hall of mirrors. Good and bad had become a matter of perception, and maybe that was the truest evil of them all.

Shutting off the taps and stepping out of the shower, she dried herself off with curiously steady hands as her mind clicked over into habit. `Dress . . . brush your hair . . . remember, you have to get out of here. Don't fall apart . . .'

Hand pausing with the brush in mid-stroke, Rachel Gardner suddenly smiled. `Fall apart?' she mused as she resumed the brushing. `Fall apart . . .'

Catching the odd sparkle in her deep blue eyes, she wondered why she looked so calm, so nonchalant. She'd killed someone—premeditated murder. Funny. She didn't look like a killer, did she?

Dropping the brush onto the counter, she wrenched the door open and slipped back into the filmy light of the bedroom. The coppery scent of his blood was already fading, shifting into something darker, more rancid, something deeper and uglier . . . an odor she couldn't forget . . .

The flicker of memories that she knew only too well shot to life and flared up like the flames of a fire. Another time, another place . . . a run-down building where no one could possibly live . . . Another body left broken and bloody, and in the darkest corner . . .

Impossible, wasn't it? Images and memories combined in her head. Muffled screams, cries for mercy . . . Rachel shook her head and drew a deep breath.

`Get out of here. You've done what you came to do. Don't get caught; not yet. Get out of here because they're coming. They'll hunt you, and they'll find you, and they'll kill you . . .'

She knew that. Of course they would. They'd come with the wrath of God on their side, and they'd be right, wouldn't they? She expected no mercy, no quarter. It wouldn't matter in the end. It was a game, and it was still her move. She'd see it through till the end. They always sent out hunters to track down people like her...killers.

Sparing a moment to gaze around the room, committing the scene to memory, Rachel didn't smile as she blinked, staring at the disheveled bed, the blood soaked linens . . . His arm hung limply, knuckles scraping the floor. An edgy laugh welled inside her. Knuckle dragger? Somehow fitting, wasn't it? Clothes strewn haphazardly—he'd been in a hurry to get them off . . . She'd played her part well. He hadn't realized a thing until it was too late to do a damn thing . . .

`One more, Rachel . . . just one more . . .'

Digging through his wallet, she took his cash—cheap bastard. Pocketing the hundred dollars she found, Rachel turned toward the window and pushed it open. Into the night, into the shadows, blending into the darkness that she knew so well, she didn't look back. Somewhere in her mind, she wondered if the sense of accomplishment would come with the other. `New York City . . . That's where he is . . .'

Just one more, and she'd be free . . .

Zack's POV

"It's not a game, you know. Hunting is serious business."

Trying not to roll his eyes at the unnecessary censure in the older man's voice, Zack Foster sat back in the chair across from his father's desk and nodded. "I know."

In truth, Gray wasn't his father but the old bastard had taken in him once he was brought in to live with the other residents of a broken down and almost deserted hotel. He claimed to be a priest but Zack couldn't say for sure whether he was the real deal or just another psycho like the rest of them.

But it kept him from off the streets. Gray taught all of them how to survive, sent them on "hunting trips" that paid the bills and let Zack release some of his tension. He liked killing, felt good when he did so.

Gray wasn't finished; not by a long shot. "I trust you, of course. You've been trained. It's dangerous, Zack, and if you're smart, you'll guard your real identity with your life."

"Yes, sir." Gray had taught him long ago to always speak with yes and no sir, though he had to clench his teeth when he did so.

Gray sighed and slouched back, dragging a hand over his face before scowling at his son. "I'm dead serious, damn it."

"I know you are. So am I. I can do this."

Staring at Zack as though he were trying to measure him up, Gray finally nodded and leaned forward, pushing a large manila envelope across the smooth desktop. "Here you go. Your first hunt. This one is kind of different, though."

"Oh?" Zack questioned, picking up the envelope and bending the tabs to open the flap, scowling at the contents of the packet. A thick stack of hundred-dollar bills, a prepaid cell-phone, a one-way ticket to Los Angeles on a flight set to depart at noon, and a very thin folder . . . "What's this?"

"Expenditures. Never use anything that can be traced; never use a phone that can be tapped. I want you on that plane. Time is of the essence right now . . . and that," he said, nodding at the file, "is the profile of the girl I want you to bring in, such as it is."

"Girl?"

Gray nodded, watching Zack's face as he opened the file and scowled at the single piece of paper that should have had all the identifying information as well as a photo attached. Most of the lines were blank. Where height should have been listed was the vague reference, `somewhere around five feet tall', which pretty much encompassed better than ninety-five percent of females, and for hair color, it said, `rumored to be blonde.' The name was actually filled in. `Rachel', it said, but didn't give a last name, either. "Huh ?" he asked dubiously. "What the . . .? Gray, there's nothing to go on here."

"We don't always have the best information," Gray remarked. "That's all we were able to get. She was apparently Raiden Delgado's girlfriend, and the last one to see him alive."

"Raiden Delgado's?" Zack echoed, eyebrows lifting in surprise. The man in question wasn't a general but he was a high ranking officer. He was murdered? Why? "This girl killed him?"

Gray sighed. "So it would seem. I don't know . . . there's something weird about it. I can't put my finger on it. Anyway, I thought it'd be best to bring her in for questioning before a real hunt is issued for her."

That gave him pause. Gray never ordered someone be brought in for questioning. Then again, unless it was dire, hunts were considered to be last-resort options . . . "What do you think is weird about it?"

"I don't know, exactly," Gray admitted. "Just a feeling, maybe . . ."

Zack hesitated, knowing the man's feelings about that particular officer, but had to ask, "Are you sure that you're not looking for more since you hated the bastard?"

Gray leveled a dark look at his son and sat back. He'd never made any bones about his feelings toward Raiden Delgado. The man had been a pain in Gray's side for years. Too cowardly to challenge him outright, Delgado had spent way too much time trying to undermine Gray's authority in hushed whispers to others "Just because I wasn't fond of Delgado doesn't mean that I wouldn't have his killer brought to justice."

Zack grimaced inwardly. "Sorry."

Gray sighed, relaxing out of his wary posture. "If you read the file, I think you'll see what I mean. There's something missing; some crucial bit of information that simply isn't there. This girl might have that answer. Bring her in, Zack."

Zack frowned as he glanced back at the pitiful document. "Age: unknown . . . rumored to be very young? Is that right?"

Gray nodded. "That's one of the things that doesn't make sense."

"I see."

"Think you can do it?"

Zack stared at the paper for a moment before tucking it back into the folder and slipping all the items into the envelope once more. "Yeah."

"We just want her for interrogation right now, but remember: if she did kill Delgado, then she's dangerous."

"Understood."

"She was last rumored to be in the Los Angeles area."

Zack nodded as he stood to leave. Gray's voice stopped him. "That cell phone . . . it's not standard to take one along. If anything goes wrong—and I do mean anything—you call me. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," he answered.

Gray stared at him for a long moment then finally nodded. "Good luck, hunter."

Zack nodded once and turned on his heel to leave.

`This feels weird, Zack . . . Gray didn't give you hardly anything to go on.' His inner voice quietly warned him.

`I know.'

`You don't suppose he wants us to fail, do you?'

`Don't be stupid. He's never wanted me to fail.'

`Can we do this? Can we, really?'

Zack's golden gaze lit with determination as he ran up the stairs to his bedroom. `Yeah,' he thought as he checked his watch. He had less than an hour to pack and to be on his way to the airport. `We can do this, or we can die trying... '

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