THE CODE OF DIMACK
A Highlander/Kung Fu The Legend Continues Crossover
By Henry Wyckoff and Scott Vodvarka
January 22, 1996



Chapter 6

Jin Ming's sword flashed like a blur of light as he made short work of three armed ninjas. Within minutes, he had bested them all.

"I really must get better sparring partners if I'm ever to make any progress."

The three ninjas picked up their weapons and departed the chamber, each of them hanging his or her head in shame.

Despite his considerable skills in the black arts of Dimack sorcery, Jin Ming wasn't fool enough to let himself rest on his laurels. He knew there might come a time when his magic would fail him, leaving him all but defenseless against another Immortal. No, ultimately, it was swordsmanship that would keep him from losing his head. His magic was just an additional bonus, one that had served him well against Immortals many hundreds of years older than himself. Though he had only been an Immortal for a little over 50 years, Jin Ming's magic gave him an edge against even the most seasoned adversary. Right now, his mind was on one adversary in particular. The latest victim of the Dimack poison hand - Amanda!

*I do believe the end has nearly come.* he thought to himself. A mere mortal could only withstand the poison for about 12 hours at the most. An Immortal would take considerably longer, usually 24 hours in most cases depending on willpower. And Amanda's will was strong, indeed. Nearly 900 years strong. But, ultimately, even she would succumb to the serpent's strike. It was inevitable.

"I shall end this little cat and mouse affair this very night. One way or the other. If Amanda is not dead by midnight tonight, I shall take her head and be done with it," said Jin Ming to one of his followers.

"But, Master," said the young female cult member. "She remains under the protection of the priest Kwai Chang Caine."

A cruel, mischievous smile crossed Jin Ming's lips. "Ah, yes. Kwai Chang Caine. He and I have...unfinished business. In addition to his previous effrontery, he is also a sworn enemy of the Dimack. It was he, was it not, who vanquished our Master Holmes?" The student nodded an affirmative reply.

"Then we shall pay the Shaolin a visit, my dear," said Jin Ming. Then, without warning, he swung his sword in an arc and cut off the head of a statue he had been standing next to. The stone head hit the floor and shattered into a gray and silver shower as Jin Ming roared in maniacal laughter.

* * *


"So, why did you leave the Watchers?" Richie asked Kermit bluntly. Mac would've slapped him upside the head for his lack of finesse. Then again, maybe not. Time was of the essence and there wasn't any left to be tactful. And, anyway, Mac was preoccupied with more pressing matters at the moment.

"Will you two clowns stop arguing and help me find my clothes!!??" interjected the Highlander. "I'd like to be out of here before our friend the coroner wakes up!"

Kermit ignored the remark and proceeded to answer Richie's question - in his own roundabout way.

"That's my own business!" Kermit snapped. "Didn't your mother teach you any manners, kid?"

"Okay, fine." said Richie. He quickly changed the subject, deciding another approach was in order. "Can you tell me who it was that you Watched?"

Kermit seemed to be taking advantage of the fact that he was the cop, after all. And his answers continued to reflect that sentiment. "He's dead, kid! So leave it alone!"

"Okay, can you at least tell me who the resident Immortals in this city are?"

"You got a death wish? I don't lead Immortals to their deaths!"

*Yup, he's a Watcher, all right,* thought Richie. "Okay, Kermit," he said, starting to get a bit annoyed. "I'll come to the point! Who..."

Duncan finished the sentence for him, in HIS way. He grabbed Kermit by the lapels and slammed him against the wall. "Who poisoned Amanda!" demanded Duncan.

Richie held his breath as the two men locked eyes. He hoped Mac wouldn't do anything rash. The last thing they needed was a dead cop on their hands.

Kermit refused to be intimidated. The mercenary in him wouldn't allow it. "I already TOLD your friend here the answer. Get a hearing aid, Highlander!"

Exasperated, Duncan released Kermit. "Come on, Richie! Let's get out of here!" he said. "It's obvious he's not going to tell us anything. We're wasting our time. I've already got the address of this Caine fellow we're supposed to meet. Maybe he can give us some answers."

Kermit's eyes widened beneath his shades at the mention of Caine's name. "Did you say Caine? As in Kwai Chang Caine?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," said Duncan sarcastically. "Did you want to join the conversation? And to think, I mistook you for a cop."

"Waitaminute!" said Richie. "Kermit, is this Caine a friend of yours?"

Kermit adjusted his signature green sun glasses. "Oh, yeah."

* * *


When Duncan and Richie got to Caine's home, they were in no way prepared for the threefold surprise in store for them.

As they climbed the stairs, they could feel Amanda's presence. But it was tainted, as if some unknown power was clouding her aura. Connor's words rang in the recesses of Duncan's mind. "The sensation you're feeling...is The Quickening."

Richie stopped halfway up the stairs, as if frightened to go on. "Mac, did you feel that?"

"Yeah. I don't know what it is, though. I've never felt such a strange Quickening before. It feels so...cold! It must be the poison. I don't know how, but that's what we're here to find out."

When they got to the door, they found it unlocked. Duncan grabbed the hilt of his Katana in sudden alarm.

"I think there's another Immortal inside there besides Amanda!" whispered Duncan. "I'm not sure, but I think your friend Kermit may have set us up."

"I told you from the start that this was a trap!! The other Immortal has been using Amanda as bait all this time! All that talk of poison was a ruse!"

"Shut up, Richie!"

Swords drawn, they entered the apartment and were greeted by surprise number one.

An elderly gentleman of mixed Chinese and American heritage greeted them at the door with a warm smile.

"Duncan MacLeod, I presume," said the man looking directly at Duncan as if he didn't need any confirmation. "Welcome to my home. I am Caine. You will not need your weapons here."

Duncan's jaw dropped open. That voice, that hat, those tattoos on his forearms, and most of all, those EYES, triggered a flashback. Another place, a time long ago...and a name he was ashamed to have forgotten...

*


Sioux Indian Camp, Lakota, 1872.


For the first time in ages, Duncan MacLeod had found some small measure of peace in his life. Having joined a Sioux Indian tribe, he had married the woman known as Little Deer, a widow, and subsequently took to raising her son, Kahani, as his own.

On a brisk autumn evening, Duncan found himself by the river, brooding. Back in the camp, young Kahani lay dying of Scarlet Fever in the shaman's tent. And despite all his Immortal powers, there wasn't anything Duncan could do to save him. Never before had he felt so helpless, so useless! The disease was an enemy Duncan could not fight. No sword or spear or arrow could vanquish this unseen threat.

He knew in his heart that he should be by his son's side, to comfort him in his final hours. But he couldn't rally himself to the task. Tomorrow would have been Kahani's 9th birthday. The bitter irony of this fact was more than Duncan could bear. If Kahani was to die, Duncan was certain he'd never recover from the emotional scars.

As Duncan sulked by the river, he failed to notice the wandering stranger who approached, playing a flute as he walked.

Apparently, the stranger had the uncanny ability to see into men's hearts. Either that, or Duncan's misery was extremely obvious. "You look saddened," said the stranger very matter-of-factly without so much as an introduction. "What troubles you?"

Duncan looked up. The drifter was of mixed Chinese/American heritage, dressed in faded denim pants, an old, tattered flannel jacket, and a dusty, well worn hat. Two large pouches hung on either side of his torso, and a bedroll was swung casually over his back.

"It is my son. He has the Scarlet Fever and will soon die. There is no help for it." He didn't know WHY he felt so compelled to tell the stranger this. He just did. Perhaps something in his eyes seemed to offer solace to an otherwise troubled spirit. Vaguely, Duncan recalled the Indian legends of the spirit helpers.

The drifter kneeled beside Duncan and laid a strong, reassuring hand on his arm. "Do not lose heart. Where there is life, there is still hope."

For the past several days, Duncan had hardened himself to such vain words of comfort. But, somehow, this man had dissolved the walls of doubt within a matter of seconds. Duncan stared into the man's empathic eyes, a curious blend of power and compassion which Duncan swore he would never forget, and suddenly, he was filled with a renewed sense of faith.

"Where is the boy now?" asked the man.

"Back at the camp. Why?"

"If you will permit me to examine him, I will do what I can to heal him."

"Are you a doctor?"

"No, a priest."

Had it been anyone else, Duncan would have sent the man away. What could a priest do that the medicine man could not? But, the man's almost hypnotic gaze beckoned him otherwise. *Trust this man!* Duncan's inner voice insisted. *If ANYONE can help, HE can!* Twenty minutes later, they were both in the Shaman's tent at the Sioux camp on either side of Kahani's comatose body, which lay limply on a cot.

The man pulled small sacks of various herbs, roots, leaves and powders from his pouches. He dissolved them in a cauldron of boiling water and held a cupful of the brew to Kahani's pale lips. The dosage was repeated once every hour for the next several days, the boy's condition improving each time. Eventually, Kahani was able to drink on his own. To Duncan's overjoyed amazement, Kahani was well on his way to complete recovery. Two weeks later, the boy was cured!

As the wandering priest, whose name was Caine, prepared to take his leave, Duncan swore to him an oath of eternal gratitude.

"How can I ever repay you for what you have done, my brother? You need only ask!"

"You owe me nothing," said Caine.

Duncan would have none of that. "Nay! I am in your debt! I will not rest until I have repaid that debt. If not to you, then to your heirs. To do less would be dishonorable!"

"No debt is needed for honorable deeds or healing wounds. You have no debt to me."

As Caine walked off into the sunset, Duncan watched him go. Once again, he played his flute, just as he had when they first met.

"Caine," Duncan muttered to himself. "I'll never forget you, my brother. Never!"

*


...Kwai Chang Caine stared back at Duncan MacLeod, as if he knew exactly what his guest was thinking.

"I...remind you of someone?"

Before Duncan could reply, he was confronted by surprise number two.

"It's about time you got here, MacLeod!"

"Kenny?! Nnnghh - what are you doing here!?!" Duncan immediately began to sense foul play. And that Caine was a part of it, whether he realized it or not.

"So, THIS is the rat you smelled, Mac," said Richie as he and Duncan began stalking Kenny from either side.

Duncan turned to Caine, his face flushed with rage. "What's HE doing here?" demanded Duncan, pointing at Kenny.

"He is my guest," answered Caine. "Why does this anger you?"

"Guest, eh?" growled Richie. "Not for long!" Rapier in hand, he lunged at the Immortal urchin who calmly and deftly stepped out of the way, which caused Richie to crash headlong into Caine's wall.

Richie sat up and cleared his head. He then pointed an accusing finger at Caine, who looked genuinely perplexed at the turn of events. "You've been training him, haven't you?"

Caine merely shrugged his shoulders in reply.

Richie prepared to lunge again but this time, Caine was ready for him. Faster then Richie could blink, the priest was now in front of him, his iron grip holding Richie's wrist like a vise as he twisted it until Richie was forced to drop his sword. He then struck Richie with his open palm, throwing him against the wall with enough force to have dazed even Mac.

"Leave him, Richie! He's mine!" shouted Duncan from across the room where he had Kenny cornered.

"MacLeod! Stop it! I can explain everything!" pleaded Kenny.

Duncan seized Kenny by the throat and held his flailing body high overhead as he began to crush the boy's windpipe.

"It was YOU who called me on the phone! YOU poisoned Amanda to get to me! You..."

Suddenly, a bolt of energy struck Duncan. He dropped Kenny, who ran off into the next room. Duncan sank to his knees and began writhing in agony as the black energy ripped through him. Too late, he realized his mistake. This was Caine's home! Caine was a priest, like his grandfather before him. Therefore, this house was consecrated! Duncan had just committed what he believed to be a Holy Ground violation...and THIS was the apparent penalty!

As Richie looked on in horror, Caine strode calmly to Duncan's side. "I will not allow you to bring violence into my home!" With that, Caine waved both his hands in the air. As if on cue, the energy dissolved. Now Duncan was no longer certain if the whole incident was truly a violation of the Holy Ground rule, or Caine's doing, or perhaps a little of each. It was a mystery he'd have to ponder some other time. He would certainly have to remember to ask Connor about this.

Duncan struggled to catch his breath, every muscle in his body aching with a pain he had never known before. It took all his effort just to stand. He took one step, then stumbled. Caine caught him.

"Your anger has clouded your judgment. Perhaps now you would care to explain what this was about?"

"Why don't...you ask...Kenny? You and he...seem to be...such bosom buddies!"

Caine shot Duncan a puzzled look. " "Bosom...buddies?" "

"Never mind," panted Duncan as Caine helped him to a sofa. Duncan noticed it was one of the few pieces of furniture Caine had in his simple abode. "I suppose Kenny told you all about US!"

"Ah! He told me...some of it."

"Did he happen to mention that he's tried to kill me on more than one occasion?"

Caine glanced off to the side, as if looking for Kenny. Then, turned back to Duncan. "No, he did not. But he hinted that you might be somewhat...displeased to see him when you arrived."

Duncan snorted. "Ha! That's an understatement!"

Richie then came to stand behind Duncan, never taking his eyes of Caine. "Look, Mr. Caine. We apologize for what just happened here. But none of this has anything to do with you. There's no reason for you to get involved in something that's not your concern."

"He's right," agreed Duncan.

"I have heard that before," said Caine. "From an Immortal named Jin Ming. Had I complied, your friend Amanda would have been consumed by the Dimack poison hours ago, despite her Immortal powers."

"Dimack?" said Richie and Duncan in unison.

"Yes. The Immortal who poisoned your friend is a member of the Dimack, a cult of dark sorcerers."

Realization began to dawn on Duncan. "So, that's what Kenny meant about this Immortal breaking the rules! This Jin Ming has been using his poison to cheat his way through the Game. And Amanda's his current victim."

Richie was still confused. "But, what kinda poison can kill an Immortal?"

"It is not her body that has been poisoned," replied Caine. "It is her chi!"

"Actually, in her case, I'd say it was her Quickening," corrected Duncan.

"Woah! Waitaminute, guys!", said Richie. "What's a chi? "

Caine took a deep breath before giving his explanation. "The chi is a person's source of vital energy or life force. It is...the inner strength that makes us what we are. All beings have this. Though some may call it by different names."

"You mean like a soul?" asked Richie.

"Yes."

"That's why we felt that strange disturbance in Amanda's aura when we got here," said Duncan. "The poison is effecting her Quickening somehow."

Caine shrugged his shoulders. "Call it...a kind of magic." Duncan and Richie exchanged meaningful glances and Caine wondered if he was missing something.

"As it happens, my son and I have had previous altercations with the Dimack."

"Your son?" asked Duncan, suddenly feeling a rising sense of dread.

"Yes. He is a police officer here in this city."

*Oh, no!*, thought Duncan. *I thought that cop in the alley looked familiar. Please tell me I'm wrong.*

Just then, surprise number three walked through the door.

"Hi, Pop," said Peter. "I see you've got company." Duncan was still on the couch, his back facing the door. Richie walked over and extended his hand to Peter as Duncan hid his face in embarrassment.

"Richie Ryan," said Richie, introducing himself.

"Peter Caine," said Peter, shaking Richie's hand. "Nice to meet..." His voice trailed off as Duncan rose from the couch and turned to face Peter.

Peter's face turned white, as if he had just a ghost. "YOU!!!"

Caine looked back and forth from Duncan to Peter. "You have already met?"

Duncan gave a sheepish grin, not knowing what to say. But Peter did. Reflexively, he drew his gun.

"Duncan MacLeod! But, you're DEAD! I SAW you die!"

"Peter, put your gun away," Caine ordered his son sternly. "All will be explained."

"Pop, stand away from him! This guy's an international serial killer! I saw him kill a man in cold blood just this afternoon!"

Caine glared at Duncan, but said nothing. His eyes spoke for him, demanding an explanation.

"Detective Caine, what you saw was self defense," said Duncan.

"Yeah, right! The jury's really gonna buy THAT one! You cut the guy's arm off with that sword! Then you chopped off his head!"

"Please, I can explain everything," begged Duncan.

"I'm not interested in your explanations, pal! Hands against the wall! You're coming with me! Downtown!" For a moment, it looked like another showdown between the two was imminent. It was!

"I'm sorry. I can't let you do that," said Duncan, firm and resolute. Peter grabbed his arm and was quickly pushed away effortlessly. A scuffle ensued, each man fighting for possession of the gun. Duncan won and the firearm was tossed out the window.

*Shit! Not again!* groaned Peter inwardly.

"Peter!" bellowed Caine. "Don't do this! There is more to this than what appears to be!"

But Peter wasn't listening. A quick slug to the jaw caught Duncan completely offguard and sent him staggering back. Peter didn't give him the chance to recover, pressing his brief advantage with a series of blows that seemed impossible to shrug off. Yet Duncan did just that. After 10 punches and a roundhouse kick, Duncan was still standing...much to Peter's chagrin.

"All right, tough guy," barked Peter. "Show me just how much it takes - to break you!!" With that he doubled his attack. Fists and feet flew in a blinding frenzy but the battle remained a stalemate at best. Until Duncan landed a kick to Peter's face that sent him literally sailing halfway across the room, knocking over what little furniture Caine had.

Duncan pounced on the floored detective, holding his head against the floor with one hand while strangling him with the other. Peter tried desperately to shake off his attacker, the two combatants rolling on the floor going tooth and nail at each other as the blood began to flow.

"Fine! Have it your way, then!" snarled Duncan.

"STOP!" cried Caine. He attempted to separate them, but was coldcocked by a stray blow from Duncan that was intended for Peter. Richie suffered a similar fate at Peter's hands.

The younger Caine called upon every ounce of power and knowledge his father had ever bestowed upon him during his days at the temple. Focus...focus...FOCUS!! Become one with your enemy, see through his eyes, feel what he feels, know what he knows, anticipate his next move and do what he least expects! Instinctively, Peter rolled backward, monkey flipping Duncan. The Highlander soared head first into the leg of a table, stunning him for the briefest of instants. That was all the time Peter needed to grab a chair and bring it crashing down across the back of Duncan's head. The wooden chair shattered to pieces.

Duncan stood up as if the chair had been made of foam, and drew his sword. Peter could not believe his eyes. "My God! What ARE you?"

"I am Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod! I was born in 1592 in the village of Glenfinnan upon the shores of Loch Shiel! I cannot die! But YOU can! So, I strongly suggest that you back off now before you REALLY start to piss me off! You're not taking me in and that's final! There are far more important things at stake here than your petty mortal laws! Things that are beyond your comprehension!"

"You're fucking crazy!!!" screamed Peter. He ran to the wall and grabbed one the ancient weapons his father had collected over the years but never used, a pike, and brandished it.

"PETER, NO!!" yelled his father. But Caine's pleas fell on deaf ears. *He always was stubborn! Even as a child!*

Duncan had pulled out his katana as an intimidation tactic. He'd never intended to actually use it on Peter. Now, too late, he realized his mistake. This young man was a relentless martyr, too proud and foolish to know when he was outmatched. Duncan chided himself for not realizing this sooner, from their first encounter.

"Peter..." said Duncan lowering his weapon. "Don't do this! I'm not you're enemy! I don't want to have to kill you! Please don't force me to use this!"

"No problem," said Peter, slowly edging his way closer to Duncan. "Just drop the sword and come along quietly."

"That's not going to happen!" With that, Duncan swung his blade at Peter's pike with the intent of cutting the weapon in half, thereby disarming the young detective. The move failed, the old weapon being stronger than Duncan had thought. Now he was committed to the duel he had hoped not to start.

Richie grabbed Caine's shoulder, panicking. "Do something! Before they kill each other!"

"They are both stubborn, and must learn their lesson. I cannot learn it for them."

Duncan was surprised at the amount of skill Peter had with the old weapon. Then again, he WAS the son of a Shaolin priest. Certainly he had underestimated him. *But, after 400 years, no cop is going to kick my butt!*

Duncan's sword cut Peter's arm deep, deeper than Duncan had intended, and blood gushed forth. Peter winced in pain and covered his wound with his free hand. A heartbeat later, his left leg was lacerated. For a moment, his grip on the pike loosened. Duncan capitalized, dislodging the pike from Peter's grip. Before Peter could retrieve the pike, he found the tip of Duncan's katana at his throat, the razor sharp blade just barely piercing his flesh. Peter went numb all over. He saw what MacLeod had done to the Chinese man in the alley, a man who'd borne a strange resemblance to Bon Bon Hai. He grimaced, preparing for what he felt certain was to follow. *Should've called for backup when I had the chance! Where the blazes is Alan?!!*

"You won't get away with this, MacLeod! Your Dimack is finished! We've stopped you before and we'll do it again! If you kill me - "

"I'm not with the Dimack, you young fool!" interrupted Duncan. He leaned closer until his face was just inches away from Peter's. He could almost taste the sweat on Peter's brow. "And if I wanted you dead, you'd be dead! But like I said, I'm not your enemy!"

"ENOUGH!" a voice shouted. A voice that meant business. Caine's voice. "Mr. MacLeod! Need I remind you that you are a guest in my home!? And that this is my son!?" he declared.

Duncan sheathed his katana, placed his fist in his open palm, and bowed to Peter. He then turned, and bowed humbly to Caine, who returned the gesture. "Forgive me, venerable sir," said Duncan. "It shames me to have shown such blatant disrespect to the heirs of Kwai Chang Caine."

Caine's eyes widened. "You knew my grandfather?"

"Yes. He did me a great service in 1872. I swore to him I'd repay the debt. If not to him directly, then to his descendants. And now, I must humbly ask for help again from the house of Caine."

"Wait a minute, buddy! How could you have known my great-grandfather?" demanded Peter.

"I TOLD you, Peter. I am Immortal! I can't die! Accept it! For now, that's ALL you need to know!"

Peter sat down as his father began to treat his wounds. "Why do I suddenly feel like I just crossed over into the Twilight Zone?"

Duncan look pleadingly at Caine and his son. "The woman, Amanda, means a great deal to me. Since you've had prior dealings with the Dimack, I need your help to undo the damage the Immortal sorcerer Jin Ming has done to her."

"Only Jin Ming himself can reverse the poison hand spell," said Caine. We must find him and bring him here to do just that."

"And, you know where to find him?" asked Richie, hopefully.

"I...do not know. But, I have an idea," answered Caine.

"That's a start," said Duncan. "Will you help me?"

Caine paused before answering. "Yes. I will help you. But first, I must ask what you will do to Jin Ming after he has reversed his spell."

"I'll kill him," said Duncan simply.

Caine looked him straight in the eye. "It would repay your debt to me if you did not." This was not a request.

"Wait!" said Peter. "You just said that you and this Jin Ming guy were Immortal and couldn't die." Then, it dawned on him. "Unless...oh, my God! That explains all beheadings and the fireworks display! And the `There can be only one!' spiel. So...the only way you guys can die is by decapitation?"

Duncan didn't answer, his expression neither confirming nor denying anything.

"So..." Peter continued with his theory, unaware just how accurate he really was. "Basically, what we've got here is a race of Immortal swordsmen who go around cutting off each other's heads and devouring their souls until there's only one left? Feel free to join the conversation any time, MacLeod."

Duncan smiled. "You've got quite an imagination, Peter."

Caine's seemingly omniscient gaze fell on Duncan. "It is pointless to deny that which I already know. Kenny has already told me about your Gathering."

"Kenny has a tendency to exaggerate," Duncan half lied. "In some ways, he's still very much a child!"

*Decapitation.* Peter made a mental note of that. *That's good to know. Oh, the chief is gonna LOVE this one!*

Caine was still waiting for Duncan's reply. "You have not answered my question, Mr. MacLeod."

"You expect me to let a monster like that live? I think your sense of mercy is sorely misplaced! If somebody like him wins the Prize..." A nudge from Richie and Duncan clamped his mouth shut, silently cursing himself for his uncharacteristically absent-minded slip of the tongue. His concern for Amanda was making him careless. What kind of an example was he setting for his young apprentice?

"The Prize?" asked Peter.

"I will endeavor to explain it later, my son," said Caine.

*Oh, great!* thought Duncan. *Kenny's told him about THAT, too!*

"Ah, I...don't think that's a good idea," Duncan objected. "You already know too much. Let's just leave it at that, shall we?" Just because Kenny had thrown everything about the Game out on the table, that didn't mean Duncan had to spell the whole thing out, too!

"You expect us to trust you, yet you seek to conceal the truth from us. Why should I endeavor to help one who is not honest and forthright?" demanded Caine.

"Forgive me," Duncan implored, though he detested groveling. {A HIGHLANDER WOULD NOT GROVEL SO! - Yes, Father.} "It's just that...our very survival depends on secrecy."

"I'll bet," said Peter, eyeing Duncan with venomous contempt. His clandestine nature didn't do much to improve the younger Caine's opinion of him.

Duncan met Peter's gaze. "Believe me. You're better off NOT knowing."

"You STILL have not answered my question, Mr. MacLeod," repeated Caine.

Duncan, deciding he didn't really have much choice about sparing Jin Ming's head, reluctantly agreed to Caine's terms, wishing with all his heart that Caine had asked him for something, ANYTHING else.

This left one missing piece to the puzzle. Why was Kenny here?

* * * *


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