As Mr. D reholstered his weapon, he wondered when the place had last been vacuumed. Probably back when it had been built.

“I’m ’fraid I have to get m’ spurs on,” he said as he stepped around the writhing slayer.

While oily black blood oozed out on the brown rug, Mr. D put his foot on the slayer’s head and pulled out the wallpaper section the Omega had burned the target’s image onto.

“I want to make sure I got y’all’s attention last night,” he said as he held the thing up. “You find this male. Or I’ma pick you off one by one and start with a new crew.”

The slayers stared at him in collective silence, like they had one brain and it was spinning to come to terms with a new world order.

"Y’all stop looking at me and look at this right chere, now.” He jogged the picture. “Bring him to me. Alive. Or I swear to my Lord and savior that I will find me some new hound dogs and feed strips of you to ’em. We all on the same page here?”

One by one, they nodded as the downed man moaned.

“Good.” Mr. D pointed the Magnum’s muzzle at the lesser ’s head and blew that fucker to smithereens. “Now let’s get movin’.”

About fifteen miles to the east, in the underground training center’s locker room, John Matthew fell in love. Which was not something he expected to happen in that particular place.

“Kicks from Ed Hardy,” Qhuinn said, as he held out a pair of sneakers. “For you.”

John reached out and took them. Okay, they were hot. Black. White soled. Skull on each one with Hardy’s siggy in rainbow colors.

“Whoa,” one of the other trainees said on his way out of the locker room. “Where’d you get those?”

Qhuinn jogged his eyebrows at the guy. “Spank, huh?” They were Qhuinn’s, John thought. Probably something he was really dying to wear and had saved up for.

“Try ’em on, John.”

They’re awesome, but really, I can’t.

As the last of their classmates filed out, the door eased shut and Qhuinn’s bravado eased off. He grabbed the sneakers, put them at John’s feet, and looked up.

“I’m sorry for busting on you last night. You know, at A and F, with that girl… I was a prick.”

It’s cool.

“No, it isn’t. I was in a bad mood and I took it out on you, and that is not cool.”

See, this was the thing with Qhuinn. He could be out there and he could let his edge get away from him, but he always came back and made you feel like you were the single most important person in the world to him and that he was truly sorry for hurting your feelings.

You’re a freak. But I really can’t accept these-

“Were you raised in a barn? Don’t be ruuuuuuuuuuuuude, my boy. They’re a gift.”

Blay shook his head. “Take them, John. You’re just going to lose this argument, and it will save us from the theatrics.”

“Theatrics?” Qhuinn leaped up and assumed a Roman oratory pose. “Whither thou knowest thy ass from thy elbow, young scribe?”

Blay blushed. “Come on-”

Qhuinn threw himself at Blay, grasping onto the guy’s shoulders and hanging his full weight off him. “Hold me. Your insult has left me breathless. I’m agasp.”

Blay grunted and scrambled to keep Qhuinn up off the floor. “That’s agape.”

“Agasp sounds better.”

Blay was trying not to smile, trying not to be delighted, but his eyes were sparkling like sapphires and his cheeks were getting red.

With a silent laugh, John sat on one of the locker room benches, shook out his pair of white socks, and pulled them on under his new old jeans.

You sure, Qhuinn? ’Cuz I have a feeling they’re going to fit and you might change your mind.

Qhuinn abruptly lifted himself off Blay and straightened his clothes with a sharp tug. “And now you offend my honor.” Facing off at John, he flipped into a fencing stance.

“Touché.”

Blay laughed. “That’s en garde, you damn fool.”

Qhuinn shot a look over his shoulder. “Ça va, Brutus?”

“Et tu!”

“That would be tutu, I believe, and you can keep the cross-dressing to yourself, ya perv.” Qhuinn flashed a brilliant smile, all twelve kinds of proud for being such an ass. “Now, put the fuckers on, John, and let’s be done with this. Before we have to put Blay in an iron lung.”

“Try sanitarium!”

“No, thanks, I had a big lunch.”

The sneakers fit perfectly and somehow made John feel taller, even though he had yet to stand up in them.

Qhuinn nodded and made like he was sizing up a master-piece. “They look tight. You know, maybe we should rough your threads up a little. Get you wearing some chains. Hey, pierce your shit like mine and add more black-”

“You know why Qhuinn likes black?”

They all whipped their heads around and looked to the shower. Lash was coming out of it, white towel held in front of his privates, water dripping off his heavy shoulders.

“It’s because Qhuinn’s color-blind, isn’t that right, cuz.” Lash sauntered over to his locker and flipped the thing open so it slapped against its neighbor. “He only knows he’s got mismatched eyes because people tell him so.”

John stood up, noting absently that the sneaks had awesome traction. Which, considering the way Qhuinn was glaring at Lash’s bare ass, might be a useful thing in about a second and a half.

“Yeah, Qhuinn’s special, aren’t you.” Lash pulled on a pair of camo pants and a muscle shirt, then made a show of sliding a gold signet ring onto his left forefinger. “Some people don’t fit in and never will. It’s sad as fuck that they keep trying to.”

Blay whispered, “Let’s go, Qhuinn.”

Qhuinn gritted his teeth. “You need to shut your hole, Lash. For real.”

John stepped into his buddy’s grille and signed, Let’s just go to Blay’s and chill, okay?

“Hey, John, a question just occurred to me. When you were raped in the stairwell by that human guy, did you scream with your hands? Or just breathe really hard?”

John went devastation-still. As did his two friends.

No one moved. No one breathed.

The locker room became so quiet that the dripping from the communal shower sounded like a snare drum.

Lash shut his locker door with a smile and looked at the two others. “I read his medical file. It’s all in there. He was sent to Havers’s for therapy because he was exhibiting symptoms of”-Lash did air quotations-“ ‘post-traumatic stress.’ So come on, John, when the guy fucked you, did you try to scream? Did you, John?”

Surely. This. Was. A. Nightmare, John thought as his balls shriveled up.

Lash laughed and shoved his feet into combat boots. “Look at you. All three of you struck stupid. It’s the cock-sucking Retardateers.”

Qhuinn’s voice took a tone it never had before. There was no bravado, no heated anger. It was stone-cold nasty. “You better pray this doesn’t get out. To anyone.”

“Or what? Come on, Qhuinn, I’m a firstborn son. My father is your father’s eldest brother. Do you really think you can touch me? Hmm… nah, not so much, my boy. Not so much.”

“Not one word, Lash.”

“Whatever. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get ghost. The bunch of you are sucking the will to live right out of me.” Lash shut his locker and walked over to the door. Naturally, he paused and looked over his shoulder, smoothing his blond hair. “Bet you didn’t scream, John. Bet you asked for more. Bet you begged the-”

John dematerialized.

For the first time in his life, he moved from one spot to another right through the air. Taking form in front of Lash and planting his body against the door to block the guy’s exit, he looked back at his friends and bared his fangs. Lash was his and his alone.

When they both nodded, the beat-down began.

Lash was ready for the first punch, all braced with his hands up and his weight on his thighs. So instead of throwing a fist, John ducked, lunged forward, and bear-hugged the bastard’s waist, crashing him back into a wall of lockers.