A/N: Since it is Halloween, I decieded to put little treats throughout this chapter for all those who are as obssessed of this holiday as I am. If you watch the movies of the season, you may be able to point to find them. Some of them are easy, others are not. Can you find them all?

Also just as a fair warning, there is a lot of humans in this chapter, there will be more Nemesis events later.

THE POVEGLIAN VENDETTA

Chapter 22

"Tubular Bells"

Morricone Park
Torrington, Connecticut

Fall winds in Connecticut were always crisp, but the scenery the season provided overshadowed the cold temperatures. It was one of the main reasons Gabriel Myers had decided to make a personal home in Torrington, the other was purely professional.

A decade of his life had been dedicated to the study of the supernatural in New England as well as the issue with what he called 'underground exorcisms'.

Only half of his work had been dedicated to book-work research while the other was a more hands-on experience: getting his name around the religious community, interviews and things of that nature. His goal was to publish a book; what had turned into a college paper turned into an obsession. He was fascinated of the 'speedy-exorcism service' and in his opinion, the seemed more useful than a traditional Vatican approved one. His goal was to tell the world the benefits of an unofficial exorcist and why they should not be ostracized by the sterner folks of the religious community.

He sat in the park, his long steno notebook placed over his lap but void of any wet ink. He was waiting for his strange late phone call; someone who was interested and wanted to ask questions about his research. Hell, he couldn't turn it down; it was his first fan.

He was always early so didn't mind the wait, beside's it gave him the opportunity to plan out his next chapter. Although he was more focused on the blonde in the black tights, pushing a baby stroller. He sighed and adjusted his wedding band.

"Gabriel Myers."

The voice made him jump. The slender, brown haired man turned to his left to greet the man that snuck up on him. His brown eyes studied him surprise. He was tall but built like a redwood tree, handsome in nature but his demeanor made him imposing. He was serious and his dark sunglasses stared down at Gabriel with indifference.

What surprised Gabriel the most however was how cleanly he was dressed; a dark blue suit was hidden underneath a black trench coat, his dark red tie was perfectly done and Gabriel could see his very reflection in his polished shoes. The guy didn't fit anywhere outside of a law firm, especially since the he decided to bring a leather suitcase with him. Gabriel felt like a hobo in his dark jeans and green button shirt.

Gabriel forced himself to recover and nodded his hello, "Sorry, yes. I'm Gabriel. You must be Mr. Smith?"

"Correct."

Gabriel couldn't help but furrow his brows uncomfortably; Mr. Smith was certinaly not the life of the party. "Would you like to walk?" suggested Gabriel, "It's a nice park for that sort of thing."

Mr. Smith nodded his answer and Gabriel immediately stood up, feeling blood rushing through his short legs. As they walked on the pathway, auburn and yellow birches flanking them on each side, Gabriel swallowed the lump in his throat and started the conversation. "So Mr. Smith, what can I interest you with?"

Mr. Smith turned to him, his dark sunglasses giving Gabriel an unreadable expression. "Exorcisms; those who perform them and the procedure for acquiring one."

Gabriel shrugged, "Well acquiring one is never an easy process. You see, the ironic thing about exorcists is that they aren't always the jump-to-the-chance kind of soldier against Satan like most people believe. They are the most skeptical about the supernatural than anyone on the face of the Earth; they have to sort out all the paranoids that think their hamster is demonically possessed."

"You see," Gabriel continued. "They are the hardest to convince that Satan has taken over your body and wants to lick the frosting off your cupcake. They have to have evidence of undeniable proof before they'll even consider it."

"Defy proof," Smith asked.

"Well proof such as speaking in tongues the victim could never know, supernatural evidence around the house happening anything out of the ordinary— stuff that makes a poltergeist blush, that's usually enough to convince them. And after all that, a by-the-book Exorcist has to gain approval from their superior and then they have to gain approval from the Vatican. However, some can't wait along that long and that's where it starts to get illegal and where my research comes in."

Smith replied with nothing but a blank stare; Gabriel decided to clarify. "You see it takes a long time to get an Exorcism approved and by the time the family gets help the situation is at its peak — when time is against them. See... demon's objectives are to kill you and the stronger and longer they are in the victim, more powerful they get because the victim are getting weaker. So illegal exorcists investigate and can be ready to perform the ritual within a week or so — they don't have to wait for approval — mail travels slow from the Vatican. The only problem with illegal exorcists is that there are a lot of them, and not all of them are genuine."

"Explain."

"Well most of them are nut cases — and like I said so are most of the so called 'victims'," Gabriel chuckled lightly. "I've interviewed a lot of them. Ever sit in an Evangelical mass exorcism? You wonder why you're the only one in the church not on the floor foaming at the mouth, waiting for the priest to walk by and heal you. Never felt so awkward in my life!"

Gabriel smirked, turning to him with almost a satisfied disposition, "The most genuine I've found are here in New England and Europe. Except one... err name's Kelly. Lyman Kelly, I think. Lives in the south. Guy's tough as nails. He's good but rumor is that he has to have his clients fill out liability forms ever since he lost a victim— the family sued him. Guy got lucky too, the prosecutor was just a kid fresh out of law school. He also won't do a case without help of his nephew, supposed to be some sort of clairvoyant."

Smith head lifted, too quickly. Gabriel caught his interest in the clairvoyant. "Yup," Gabriel smirked, pulling his best Haley-Joel impression, "He see's dead people."

Smith said nothing and Gabriel shrugged, continuing. "The best exorcist, and the reason I got started on my project. Rudolph Mastrandrea. Haven't interviewed him yet; keeps declining. Word is that he is clairescence. That's why they call him the Roman Shark... they say he can smell a demon from a mile away."

Gabriel couldn't help but notice Smith's calculating disposition, which caused the man to furrow his eyebrow in suspicion. "By the way, I got to ask. You're not from some newspaper or a rival of mine, trying to steal my information are you? I don't really have any time for that if you are trying to swindle me."

"Negative," replied Smith. "Information will not be used for print."

"Sorry, I'm just paranoid and I have to ask. I'm already taking shots for being a rip-off to Michael Cuneo and the last thing I need is someone copying me."

"Only interested in the information to satisfy curiosity. It will not be used for publication of any sort," Smith answered.

"Alrighty," Gabriel said, giving an unconfident nod. "Just want to make sure. Anything else you want to know?"

"Do you possess any further information about Lyman Kelly or Rudolph Mastrandrea?"

Decepticon Headqaurters

John studied the cube with worry as it bathed him the glow of its multicolored ray in Soundwave's dark quarters. To him it was one giant puzzle-piece lying right in front of him. He was surprised he didn't think of the Energon cubes as a power source earlier, since the Decepticons made them from Earth's natural resources.

The most powerful ghosts and demons he had encountered came from places where there was natrual anomalies in the Earth or from factories; places where ghosts could draw extra energy from and have a power feast with it. It answered how the demon was so strong and how he could throw the Cons around like ragdolls.

John couldn't help but let out an uncomfortable sigh.

It also meant that the odds were in the demon's favor. If he was drawing energy from the cubes, the base, the Cons anything in the base that was electrical and full of energy— which was everything in the base—. How was it going to be exercised if it had so much strength?

It would either have to remain in the salt circle or— if the demon believed in it— trap it in the Key of Solomon... but the Key 9 times out of 10 it never worked; he either drew the tedious symbol wrong or the demon knew better than to believe in pretty drawings.

As Rumble continued to talk to his fellow cassettes, John suddenly felt the cogs in his brain start to go into motion. An idea formed...

Georgia
Near Savannah

Night had already fallen on the house when Mr. Smith arrived to the farm house of Dr. Lyman Kelly. Darkness hid the approaching man as he walked up the long driveway under the threads from the Spanish moss hanging from the trees like snags in clothing. The full moon broke the fence of the twisted tree branches to expose Mr. Smith for what he really was; a hunter in the dark, finding the perfect specimen for his needs. And he didn't care if his prey had any objections. Soundwave would not fail in getting what he came for.

According to Myers, he was one of many to reach the breaking point and natural seek out faster means of expelling the plague in the Nemesis. Weither they were the most appropriate was concern he had.

Lyman Kelly had been his first choice ever since Myers mentioned that John Lancaster and Kelly worked in a team. He knew of Kelly ever since Rumble had been interested in the clairvoyant but found him unnecessary and thought the ghost hunter would have been the answer. He was wrong. He needed more than one human in the base. Despite that he was a rational, patient and composed mech, he like every intelligent life form had a certain breaking point.

He didn't care that he was bringing another human into the base without Megatron's authority, he knew his leader would undoubtly despise another insect but would find it's worth. An exorcism would rid them of the entity and he needed the human to perform one.

As Soundwave's hologram approached the home, reaching the stairs and the end of the driveway that lead to the dark green door of the white two-story historic home.

Suddenly his audio receptors picked up the sound of a string instrument playing inside, muffled by the walls but not for Soundwave. Curiosity overtook him, and found that it was a violin playing the Swan Lake Suite, OP.20: scene.

What struck Soundwave as odd was that the human was choosing to play in the dark of his home; there wasn't a single light on in the home and he knew that humans only shut off electricity when they were in their state of recharge.

As he reached the end of the walkway and stepped onto the warn floor of the aged deck and as he heard the scratch of the violin's playing ending abruptly.

There was no warning that Soundwave should be alarmed, although he did find it curious that although his hologram produced no footsteps, that the human inside the house seemed to know that he had a late night visitor at his door.

Soundwave decided to do away with the masquerade and entered the home uninvited, the door surprisingly unlocked for him.

Moonlight spilled through the small oval window over the window of the door and gently lighted the entrance of the house, in front of him stood a basic staircase, a hallway with closets lined against the wall, separated by the living room area.

Soundwave's hologram form stepped into the seemingly empty home and entered the living area. It was common by human standards, if not a touch more lavish than others. The rug was gold and red trimmed under a dark wood coffee table with several religious books sprawled over the top of it, books that had been pulled from the shelves of the glass cabinets that lined the outer wall by the window. Outside the window in the distance showed a tree line and a forest beyond the grassy field separating the house and the woods.

Soundwave sensors were however more interested in the violin that sat neatly on the old leather chair with a stand and sheet music opened.

Even though Soundwave's knowledge of human musical instruments was limited, he could tell by the flimsy and poorly maintained structure of the instrument that nobody could have played on it. The wood was dirty and fragile with clear indication that it had suffered water damaged, the strings were broken and twirled at the base of the rotten and moldy bridge.

Soundwave decided to ignore it; it was not what he was looking for. He could see a dining room area in the next room and beyond that a kitchen area, so he thought logical to investigate upstairs for bedrooms.

As Soundwave stepped back into the entrance area he stopped dead at the stairs. The violinist had been discovered and the only way that Soundwave could have come to that conclusion was that the curly, red-headed gentlemen was holding the bow, the hair on the bow almost non-existant. He softly used it as a cane while he rested the majority of his bodyweight on the stairs rail at the top of the stairs.

"I apologize if I startled you. I seldom forget that I do to almost all folks no matter how many years in my situation," began the smooth, accented voiced gentlemen.

Soundwave didn't reply, his warning sensors starting to come alive.

He knew that it wasn't Lyman Kelly despite that the dark hid his face from him. Soundwave couldn't help but find it odd that it was only his face that appeared to have a blotchy and perfect circle of a shadow, his hair and neck was clearly visible but not the rest of his features.

He also knew that the way the gentlemen was dressed was not accurate to the times. The navy blue and silver velveteen frock coat and breeches, the black and silver waistcoat, the white knee high socks, and black shoes were more appropriate in the early 18th century and not the 21st. Also that the gentleman gave off the same energy waves as the demon was a clear indication that whatever he was talking to was no longer alive.

"Location of Lyman Kelly," demanded Soundwave in an almost annoyed hum. Another demon was far from what Soundwave had expected and wanted to find.

"I'm afraid I drove the poor Lyman out of his home once again— well, my home actually. He despises when I possess him. I believe he has come to conclusion that our relationship is soemthing hostile," replied the faceless demon.

Soundwave didn't reply.

The demon raised his violin bow, pointing it at the Decepticon as if it was a pointer. "Your odor is the same as that muscular fellow that visited Lancaster. You must be a machine as well."

Soundwave didn't reply; honestly slightly stunned.

The demon's head tilted. "Yes... I can smell that the suitcase is not made of leather."

A silence drifted over the room as the demon stepped loudly down the stairs. "I know what you must think of me, machine. I'm like the other one troubling you. Alas I'm not. I differ from those religious goons. No magic circle is strong enough to contain me, nor incantation can drive me back to Hell. I do not believe in all that nonsense, therefore it has no effect. But I'm sure that Lancaster himself could have told you that if he ever dared to tell you about me."

Soundwave narrowed his holographic optic bridges. How did he know that Soundwave had contact with Lancaster?

"I'm good at reading minds, machine," the demon replied. "There is no secret you can hide from me no matter how many defenses you use. I am old and experienced. Not to mention intelligent."

Soundwave replied with nothing, only recalling that the other entity was as good as reading his mind as well. Their strong ability appalled him, making him feel vulnerable. He despised vulnerability.

"If you are thinking of abducting the poor doctor, I strongly suggest you venture away from that idea," the demon sighed. "Lyman and Lancaster are as compatible as your faction and the Autobots. I always do enjoy watching your altercations on the television."

Soundwave felt a distrusting wave wash over him.

"I recommend Mastrandrea. He's much more suitable I think for the fellow you have roaming inside your headquarters," the demon continued, almost a chuckle in his voice. "Almost convinced me that I could be exorcised from this property. No easy task— I'm very stubborn."

Soundwave disliked the abomination on the stairs, he disliked the tone of the calm and professional manner of the demon; the same species that had been causing him nothing but problems over the past year. However rationality was far more credible than his feelings and if the demon was right about the relationship between Lancaster and Kelly, than he would be no closer to solving his crisis, just creating more unnecessary problems he did not need.

"Personal gain for information," Soundwave asked. These situations usually contained a catch.

Soundwave could feel the demon's smirk in the dark. "John and I have a very... ironic relationship. I've known him inside and out since he was a child. We have a compromise Lancaster and I. I tend to find myself rather bored in this limbo. He brings me sheet music so I don't go mad like the others around my property. It is the reason why Lyman is so angry with John. John is smart enough to know that I cannot be exorcised and Lyman thinks I can. The only reason I would go through all that trouble to posses Lyman was to retrieve my music. In exchange, I do not bother John. "

Soundwave didn't reply. He wasn't sure what to reply with. Dispite his enternal distrust for the creature, he felt as if it had been genuinine to him and told him the truth about Lancaster and Kelly's relationship. He grudingly accepted, he just hoped that there were no demons to sway his decision of Mastrandrea or he would find himself with nothing but a useless clairvoyant.

Soundwave turned to leave, his holographic trench coat swinging swiftly as he marched to the door. He was halted from a voice from the stairs.

"Oh and please be fragile with my dear clairvoyant," the demon smiled in the dark. "I desire my Danse Macabre notes and if I do not get them, I may take them out of your metal hide. I am a demon afterall... I'm not reluctant to act prehistoric to achieve what I want."

Soundwave looked over his shoulder, his holographic features flashing the entity with an equally malignant stare. His challenge was meant to frighten but Soundwave knew it was nothing more than a pathetic bluff. Still, the fact the demon had the tiniest trace of compassion for Lancaster, a supposedly natural enemy to a demon, was amusing.

"Taunt: vapid," replied Soundwave.

The demon laughed, throwing his curly red head back in show. "I admire you Soundwave. Pass along a message if you could? Tell him his good friend Wilcox wishes him the best in his endeavor."

Soundwave narrowed his optics and managed to compose himself from storming out the door. As he set foot onto the road, he prevented his feeling from crashing over him. The most frustrating thing he found about the creatures was their arrogance. Harsh words directed at him were meaningless but it was their arrogance that they knew that Soundwave could not hurt him Defenseless was not a comfortable position he liked to be forced into.

It was sometimes difficult not to be convicted by his emotions, especially when he was as guarded. But he knew that like all mechs he had a breaking point as well, his bar far higher above motives were always directed by logic and not by feelings and he disliked when he was forced to use the latter.

However, his instinct told him that although that the demon 'Wilcox' purpose was to toy with him emotionally, that he was telling the truth; he could tell that the demon wasn't lying. He was more interested in Lyman and Lancaster than giving Soundwave lies.

If Mastrandrea was what was needed, than Mastrandrea is the exorcist he would find.

Bronx
New York City, New York

After three minutes of rain, the owner of his jean jacket found himself cold and wet as the water bled through the material over his head and soaked his hair underneath.

There had been taxis that passed but declined them, he was waiting for one in particular. One that the Father had said to call. It was an unorthodox way of setting up an appointment but he accepted it for the sake of his mother.

Finally a yellow cab marked 217 pulled into view around the corner of Arthur Avenue and headed in his direction. Without hesitating the tan skinned gentlemen through up his hand and signaled the taxi down.

Victor lifted the collar of his jacket over his head to get a better look at the gentlemen driving, well he expected a gentlemen anyway...

A young black woman was the driver; petite and bony but a kind hearted looking soul at first glance who acknowledged him with a blank nod and pushed her square rimmed glassed back onto her face.

Victor had his doubts, he expected a gentleman. He tried to wave her off but instead the woman rolled down the passenger side window, leaned forward and said over the noise of the rain, "Victor Torres? I'm here to fetch you."

After a small moment of acceptance and realization. Victor muttered."Fine, fine," Victor muttered with the wave of his hand; now that he was sure it was the right driver he was more interested in the cab's interior dryness and warmth. He opened the door and climbed inside, the wetness of his clothes sticking to his skin and squealing against the vinyl black seats.

Within a short moment the cab accelerated and joined the other vehicles on the street, heading to a location unknown to Victor.

The whole adventure seemed cinematic to him and he wasn't quite sure what to make of it. When he approached his church for help he didn't expect to be given instructions to a location to meet a man who was supposedly the answer to his problems. He almost expected that he was supposed to be followed, as if to tie the whole cliché together.

Unknowingly to him, he was right.

However Soundwave wasn't interested in Victor's ordeal, he was interested where the cab was taking him. He too had found the Father at the chruch...

Soundwave walked through the streets of the neighborhood, a mental lock on the vehicle. He turned into an alley, to avoid human eyes on his hologram and why rain seemed to have no effect on him.

With no witnesses nearby in the trash ridden nook, his hologram disientrageted, along with the suitcase mirage covering his boom-box form. His anti- gravity switched on and the boombox followed the cab, high above.

Victor found it ironic the meeting place was a location he often visited.

The Bronx Library Center. A modern architectural metallic building with large windows and a rooftop that swept downward like the curve of a hockey stick. He enjoyed the solitude of the building, it was visited but people still honored the universal rule of silence.

A strange twinge of embarrassment ran through him, as if as he should have known this was the place the meeting was being held, and wondering which regulars was going to be his savoir.

"Go to the check desk and ask for a book by William Peter Blatty, the librarian will give you the number," instructed the woman whose name he had learned was 'Jillian'. "You're total is on the house."

Victor nodded his 'thank you' and stepped out of the cab, the rain settling on his damp clothes once again. Cab 217 took off into the fury of the traffic again, red taillights blinking periodically from the heavy commute.

Victor raced up the stairs of the library until he reached the large glass doors and entered, a gentleman wearing a trench coat following him inside.

Victor crossed the white floors to the pine lobby desk where an elderly attendant stood by scanning books into the computer, the Hispanic gentlemen almost colliding with a young boy chasing a girl, his hands mirroring a sock puppet and teasing her by saying 'Feed Me!'

Victor approached the woman with reluctance, unsure if she was even the right librarian to ask. "Umm... I am looking for a book by William Blatty?"

The ebony woman looked up at him, her glasses blocked by her salted hair. Her eyes were sympathetic towards him and he could tell that by her heartbroken expression that she was the librarian he was supposed to ask.

She reached into her jean pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, "First floor, fiction."

Victor nodded hesitantly before he headed towards the beige staircase against the grey art full of the bulbs of traffic lights; a modern art piece at the library. Soundwave who had overheard the conversation headed towards the elevator.

Victor looked at the number written in his hand before peering around at the rows of books on the large floor, the decimal system listed on each of the stacks to confuse him more than help him.

"Horror section," he said out loud to himself, walking from shelf to self as if he was trapped in a labyrinth.

After a couple of minutes of searching, he arrived at the end of a long shelf of fiction books, and at the other end at a table with a view of the street below, sat a man in his mid-forties reading the book that he was supposed to find.

Victor couldn't help but give a small smile at the man's sense of humor. Victor couldn't help but feel both a sense of easiness when he approached him, as if he was certain he was going to be the answer to his problem, although he also still maintained a sense of worry and doubt at the same time, even though it wasn't the dominant emotion running through his body.

The man looked up as he approached, a sharp brown eyebrow rising as his brown eyes stared at him, studying him almost with doubt. His thick walrus moustache twitching like an acknowledgment to Victor's presence. Victor couldn't help but suddenly feel uncomfortable around the slender man.

He smiled at Victor, almost like a bull smiling at a sheep. "Victor?" the exorcist addressed, his voice as baritone as thunder.

Victor nodded, feeling almost as uncomfortable as child in front of his professor.

Victor, who was expecting him to be blunt and stern, was almost taken aback when the man nodded his head in a friendly gesture, closed his book and stood up to shake Victor's hand as if he was a long lost friend. "I am Rudolph Mastrandrea. Now, I understand you wanted to meet me?"

Victor nodded, "Yes sir."

Mastrandrea smiled under his heavy scathe, "Well since that it is raining metaphorical cats and dogs, would you like to sit down and discuss your situation?"

"Alright," Victor responded with a nod.

Mastrandrea resumed his seat, straitened his tweed jacket and folded his hands on the table as if he was preparing to say grace. "Now, tell me it from the beginning. I'm the kind of man who likes every detail, no matter how insignificant."

"Well she is sick... there is something in her. Something... not human," Victor began hesitantly under his breath.

"You think it is something diabolical?" Mastrandrea's eyebrows rose. "What faith do you belong to if you don't mind my asking?"

Victor grimaced slightly. "I belong to no faith father," Victor shook his head. "My mother on the other hand is very spiritual."

"I see... and please don't call me father, makes me sound ancient," Mastrandrea joked.

Victor furrowed his eyebrows. "You're not a priest?"

The corner of Mastrandrea's eyes caught a flash of color, he had thought he had seen movement from behind the bookcase but failed to catch a full glimpse. However, the strong sulfuric smell that had been coming from that direction since Victor arrived had never left.

"Sir?"

Mastrandrea focused his attention back on his client, "I apologize I thought I saw something. And to answer your question yes I am. Now enough stalling, tell me about what has been going on."

An hour later, Victor was given with a number for another source who could help his mother, one of the mother's own faith. He was a little dissapointed that Mastrandrea himself would not perform the exorcism. "I'm Italian sir, your situation calls for someone who is more of a Conquistador."

Mastrandrea put a reassuring hand on Victor's shoulder as he led him towards the end of the bookcase. "I assure you. If there is anyone who can speak a better spanish, it's Damien."

Victor gave a small nod and headed to the stairs. Mastrandrea frowned as soon as he left, the sulfuric smell still lingering in the library after a full hour. His nostrils flared, sniffing the ole too familiar smell to its source. He looked down to see a small leather briefcase at the base of the bookcase. Mastrandrea bent to one knee and studied it with suspicion.

Mastrandrea looked over the library, as if trying to find the owner from the sea of silent folks reading at the tables in the library. He rose, giving the suitcase a once over before trusting his instincts and leaving the foul smelling thing behind. Hoping that the smell wouldn't follow him.

As Mastrandrea descended down the stairs, and soon after so did a man holding a suitcase.

Central Park
Later that Evening

The rain finally faded enough for the minimal number habitants of New York City to enjoy the patch of nature with the routine of their day. Walkers and joggers passed by him, their sneakers getting soaked as they splashed in the puddles by Mastrandrea's bench where he spent the rest of his evening reading with the librarian.

After 20 pages of silence into each of their books, the librarian finally broke the silence. "So was he legit?"

"Yes," replied Mastrandrea, his reading glasses never leaving the pages of 'Good Omens'. "Unfortunately I don't speak Spanish. The demon wouldn't understand a word I would be saying."

The Librarian grimaced slightly. "How much longer do you plan to do this? Have my daughter pick up strangers and take them to the library?"

"Until I am no longer a pariah," Mastrandrea answered. "Only Father Carpenter seems to approve of my methods. Otherwise I would meet folk at the church and not have to be the cheese at the end of a maze."

"Just as long as you dislike it as much as I do," the Librarian replied.

Silence lingered over them again, before she broke it once again. "I'm thinking blue curtains for the apartment. What do you think?"

When she received no reply she looked up and saw Mastrandrea staring at something in the distance. Her eyes followed his gaze to the trees and bushed across the cement path.

"Is the something there?" she asked with concern. After a long pause, as if to make sure he was positive himself Mastrandrea replied. "I'll be right back, dear."

She flinched in protest when he put down his book on the bench next to her and watched him walk towards the area he had looked at. Mastrandrea calmly walked towards the leaf-less trees and bushes, the cold wind bitter but powerless to block the overpowering sulfuric smell that had followed him from the library.

Mastrandrea lifted his leg and stepped over the bushes. He brushed his black overcoat once and continued walking to the tree line. The scent took him deeper and deeper; the bare tree's branches bunched up enough the start to conceal him as he walked deeper. He was hesitant but proceeded. His hands went to his pocket where a small revolver bounced against his leg; the other pocket contained holy water.

If something was following he would greet his stalker accordingly.

His stalker was faster.

A hand flew over his throat and whirled him until his back was to a tree, a crushing force to his throat, preventing him from calling out. Mastrandrea glared into the sunglasses of his assailant and removed one of his hands from his pocket and drew the holy water, flicked the cork with his thumb and splashed water on his happened. Nothing but an electronic static that echoed from his attacker.

Next came the revolver. The hand that held the briefcase dropped and gripped his wrist with a crushing force. Mastrandrea grimaced in pain as his wrist was twisted and the revolver fell harmlessly to the ground.

His attacker tilted his head at him as the suitcase beeped online. Soundwave's time was running out and Mastrandrea's curiosity forced him to use the opportunity no matter what attention he would earn. He was tired of waiting.

The Librarian watched with concern for Mastrandrea to return back to the bench. Her stomach churned, intuition telling her something was wrong. She was right.

Tree's snapped as they tried to feebily contain Soundwave's true form.

She watched in horror, as well as a group of teenagers and young couple who were walking under an umbrella at the time, as the Decepticon lifted his hand with Mastrandrea clasped in it, opened his chest compartment and shove the protesting man inside.

"No!" she shouted, running as if to make an attempt to save Mastrandrea. She stopped in her tracks when Soundwave's shoulder canon whirred to life.

Soundwave fired on the mice that scattered at the blasts. The woman and man fleing towards the group of teenagers who flew behind trees.

Soundwave continued until it was confirmed that all witnesses were terminated. The only evidence was the small fires smoldering in the park. With his objective complete, he powered on his anti-gravity and took off.

Finally able to return to base.

1. 'Tubular Bells' is the main theme of the Exorcist.
2. Morricone Park - Ennio Morricone is the composer for 'John Carpenter's The Thing.'
3. Gabriel Myers - Myers is the last name of the slasher from 'Halloween.'
4. Haley Joel impression 'The Sixth Sense.'
5. Swan Lake Suite - Black Swan
6. Cab number - 217 is the forbidden room in the Shinning... the book version.
7. 'A book by William Peter Blatty' - The author of the Exorcist.
8. 'Feed Me!' - quote from 'Little Shop of Horrors.'
9. Damien - name of the Anti-Christ from 'The Omen/ The priest 'Damien Karras' from 'The Exorcist'.
10. Good Omens - parody of 'The Omen'.
11. Father Carpenter - nod to the Master of Horror/ director 'John Carpenter'

I own none of these refrences...