-"So listen to this..." -Randall started. -"This Paul Allen guy is the son of Pier DePleur, the right hand man of pastor Andrew Applewhite. "- Randall concluded notoriously more excited than before, as one becomes when making a great revelation.

-"Am I supposed to know who any of these people are?" -Fusco asked unenthusiastically.

-"No, not at all boss, that's what we are here to brief you about." -Continued Randall... -"In the late 80's Applewhite, then a pastor from New York moved to south America, more specifically to the country of Benadir, something to do with a personal, unresolved matter he had with the I.R.S. Anyway he moved his congregation there, and became very popular, even going as far as to creating his own religion, this was the classic cult-style type of deal, and this man was revered by the local as some sort of gringo-messiah. After many years evading taxes, he decides New York is too cold for him, and he wants to spend the rest of his days sipping margaritas in the Caribbean, so he renounces his American citizenship, and forms a political party down there, garnishing a lot of support, enough to where they let him run for president. In any case this man becomes one of the most brutal dictators in modern history, and I am talking: torturing, political assassinations, illegal expropriation of private property, you name it. After a while the economy of the already poor country collapses, and people start to starve and die from lack of medicines, etc... Now, this man was evil sure, but his right hand man Pier was held by some of the locals as the most feared figure in the whole regime, they nicknamed him the butcher, as he personally was in charge of the torturing and killing of political dissidents, members of opposing political parties or just poor families who happen to get in the way of the dictator. He even had his own torture chamber in the presidential palace called the house of pain. Eventually the regime collapses, when they were overthrown by a angry mob of nationalist determined to retake the country, helped by the C.I.A, and some rogue members of the military that turned on the dictator. Now, the families of Applewhite, and DePleur all made it out of the country before things got nasty, they all pretty much came here to Miami, with the exception of the son of one of the top generals in the regimes force, who lived in L.A and...

-"And he was also found dead two weeks ago." -The police woman added.

-"Do you think there is any connection to this?" Fusco asked.

-"Check this out!" -Randall said as he stretched out his arm and showed Fusco the cellphone he was holding, it was displaying a Facebook page, which profile's photo showed a hooded figure in the dark, accompanied on both sides by the slogan: "Never forget, never forgive."

-"This Facebook page belongs to a group who call themselves the sons of Benadir, they do mostly political activism, until about two weeks ago when they posted this..." -Randall said before playing the video. In the video they showed a man tied up on the floor, gagged, bloody and dirty, with clear signs of torture and exhaustion. In the video the man appeared to be too tired and to hurt to fight back. The hand of the man holding the camera appears in the frame as it grabs the man by the hair raising his head, forcing him to look at the camera, then it pans out to show the tortured man surrounded by other hooded figures. The hooded figures were all holding blades, and once the camera man gave the signal, they all began the carnage. They started to cut the man to pieces, having to chop and slash many of his body parts repeatedly until they fully came off.

-"Ok I have seen enough!" -Fusco said as he shrouded the obvious disgust that the whole scene had caused him.

-"So how are we going to pursue this chief?" -Randall asked.

-"We are not."-Fusco replied.

-"What do you mean?" -The police woman asked.

-"I am not about to stick my hands into this shit-hole, let the feds deal with it. This is a foreign terrorist group targeting American citizens, definitely not something we are prepared for."-He concluded.

As Fusco finished his statement someone knocked on his office's door, they opened it and it was another police man.

-"Detective Fusco, sir, the sister of Paul Allen is outside and wants to talk to you." -The police man exclaimed with the visible discomfort that a rookie police man gets, for having to bother his superiors while they are in a meeting.

-"I'll go see what she wants, don't call the F.B.I yet." -Fusco said as he sprung up from his seat and walked outside.

As Fusco walked through the busy hallways of the precinct, he observed in the distance a very pleasant sight. He would have never suspected Paul Allen's sister could look so hot, especially since the only memory he had of Paul, was with his brains splattered all over the pavement. But this was a hot girl, no question about it. And somehow managed to look sexy even as she grieved.

-"Hello, I am detective Fusco." -He said as he shook the woman's hand, and tenderly put his hand on her shoulder. -"I am very sorry about your loss." -He exclaimed with the usual fake sincerity detectives and doctors use when delivering that line. Not being able to contain the tears anymore, the woman threw herself at the detective, and hugged him hard as she cried. He tenderly put his arm around her slim body, and comforted her the best he could.

-"Come with me to my office please, we can talk in private there." -Fusco said to the woman.

Fusco and Allen's sister must have spent what felt like an hour or so locked in his office. Randall who still wanted confirmation in the way they were going to proceed, continuously checked to see if she had left already. And when she finally did, he ran to Fusco's office impatiently.

-"So, do I turn this evidence over or what? -He asked excitedly.

-"Not yet, I am meeting with Paul Allen's sister tomorrow in the afternoon, I still have to see some more evidence she said she could give me. She fears she might be next, and she is right to feel that way." -Fusco concluded.

-"Where are you meeting her?" -Randall asked.

-"At her house. With a little bit of luck, these terrorist might just show up."

-"Who are you taking with you?" -Randall insisted.

-"I'm going by myself." -Fusco responded.

-"It might get dangerous."

-"My friend, you have no idea."

Fusco arrived a little bit later than they had accorded. As he approached the house, the door opened like if someone had been waiting for him standing on the other side.

-"Detective Fusco, I was wondering if you were gonna come or not." -The woman said.

-"Yeah I was wondering the same, but you know how it is driving in this damn town." -Fusco added.

-"Please come in, I'll make some coffee if you want." -She said.

-"Sure, thanks."

Fusco entered the house, and as soon as he did, he switched to detective-mode, scanning the place up and down, not leaving out a single detail.

-"Beautiful home you got here." -He praised.

-"Yes we have lived here for like ten years already, I love this neighborhood!"

-"We?" -Fusco asked.

-"Yes, it's me and my husband. well... I mean we are not legally married, but we have been cohabiting for a while now." -The woman replied.

-"I see. Where is he now?" -Fusco asked as he sat on the couch and tried to look comfortable, and not disappointed by the fact that she was married.

-"He is on a business trip with his business partner, the husband of the girl I told you about... my friend, the daughter of Reverend Applewhite." -She concluded.

-"You mean the brutal dictator?" -Fusco said lacking any prudence.

-"You know? for many years, I have lived with that, many people accused our parents of being evil men, I even had to endure seeing how they were lynched and killed by an angry mob in T.V. But to us, they were just dad, and uncle, loving fathers, family men, men of faith even." -She said with a chastising tone of voice.

-"I am very sorry, I meant no offense." -He apologized as he noticed how annoyed she was by his comment.

-"None taken." -She replied. -"Well how do you take your coffee?

-"Dark, two of sugar please." -Fusco said.

-"You know? in Benadir we have the most delicious coffee, I think you are going to like it."

-"I thought you were an American?"

-"American mom, French dad as you already know, but me, born and raised in paradise." -She said as she walked away and into the kitchen. Once she was out of sight, Fusco could begin to recognize the delicious smell of freshly-brewed coffee. It relaxed him, it put his mind at ease. And just as he was beginning to forget all the blood he had to see in the past couple of days, his eyes were clouded as they bathed in the red of his blood pouring down from the top of his head. He slowly began to die, no pain, no control over his movement, he simply slipped away into the afterlife, softly, like a feather floating in the air. The machete had penetrated his skull from the top side, and had gone in very deep, the death was swift, sudden, calculated. Once the killers made sure he was dead, they grabbed him carefully, and dragged him inside a closet in the living room, as they hid in there with him.

She came back to the living room with the coffee. Was surprised to not see the detective there, she wondered if he had gone to the restroom, or if he had simply decided to walk away. But that's not what cops do, it's not professional I guess you could say. She took out her phone, and began calling his number. The faint sound of the ringing and vibrating was heard nearby, she looked around confused for a while, until her ear was able to pinpoint the location of the sound. It disturbed her a little to hear the sound coming from inside the closet. What kind of game was this? She called out to him but there was no answer. After putting down the coffee, she began walking slowly and hesitantly towards the closet door. She gulped loudly, her heart was racing out of control. She called out once more, no answer.

As she stood in front of the closet, the call failed, then the ringtone faded away into the nothingness. The whole house was silent like a graveyard. She lifted her trebling hand with a slow a movement, unlocked her phone, and was ready to call him again, and confirm that for some odd reason, Fusco had decided to hide inside her closet. Just as she was about to call, the notification sound on her phone went off, startling her so much that she dropped it. She picked it up, and saw that she had a message from Fusco, and it read: "Come upstairs, I found something I have to discuss with you about."

She was hesitant, but decided to follow the detective's direction. She called out to him, but still no answer. Regardless she went upstairs. Once she entered her room, a warm leathery glove wrapped it's long fingers around her mouth covering it fully. She tried to scream, she tried to fight, but she was being held with force.

-"Hello Lucy, I have been wanting to see you for a while." -A deep synthetic voice said behind her before pushing her off to the bed.

Once Lucy had fallen , she was able to turn around, and see a disfigured man, with dark skin, big goggles, and purple hair who had his mouth covered by some sort of a gas-mask.

-"Am I supposed to be scared of the mask?" -Lucy said defiantly.

-"You mock my scars, but I wear them proudly. They are a testament." -The masked man replied.

-"A testament to what?" -Lucy asked.

-"The suffering that my people endured at the hands of your evil family. My father refused to sell his lands to the government, one night the government's goons entered our house illegally and took me with them. They took me to your daddy, to the house of pain." -He continued. -"You know, out of all the surviving relatives of that dictatorship I have hated you the most all of this time, your brother was too little when it all happened, so I couldn't fault him too much. But you, you were old enough, you accompanied your daddy on his little torturing sprees, you stood there and watch many times, as he killed and maim many."

-"I was just a kid, and I don't remember any of it." -She replied.

-"But I remember you. Oh yes, very clearly, I remember you were across the hallway, sitting at your little table, drawing, or coloring or something, while your dad poured acid on my face, leaving me like this, almost making me fully blind. And I remember thinking: how could she let them do this to me? How could she just sit there, and watch as they torture me? And now, I will return the favor, I will sit here and watch, as they do to you... well, what you deserve.