Alex Krycek comes out of the alley with a newspaper in his hand. The headline reads, "U.N. Embassy Bombed in Baghdad." He glances at the paper and then throws it on the ground, content to watch it drift away in the light summer breeze. 

Terrorism is the least of the world's troubles in the years ahead and he's come back for the ride, two arms where there once was one, dressed in black. He looks up at the summer sky, overcast and gray, feels hot air against his skin, his pores opening up, the film of sweat starting to form on his forehead. He's alive again and it feels grand.



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