<strong>Carol Neathawk</strong><br/><br/>Damned little light in the building, the minimal safety lights required by building codes, nothing more.  No security system obviously.  She thought she heard a voice, pivoted in place, then heard another voice,  young woman, louder, starined.   Hurt, scared, both maybe.  too loud, though.  Too many echos to get a fix.  The softer voice again, but a little louder this time.  that way.  She slid forward.  Heard the young woman again, caught the word "weapons", and started moving quite a bit faster.  She fished out her cell and of course there was no signal.  Older building, iron girders, thick walls, bad section of town so coverage was spotty anyway.<em> Shit.</em><br/><br/>She was much closer now, creeping along.<em>My kind, your kind. lab experiments, what the hell?</em>Carol could pick up most of the conversation, for the little good it did her.<br/><br/>Very close now, probably right around this next corner.  Buildings, she hated building sweeps.  A girl could get killed that way.  10mm in hand, .380 backup at the small of her back, knives in boot and belt sheathes, a decade of experience, she was ready for trouble.   But all it took was some crazed kid with a cheap .22 and you got a nice official funeral.<br/><br/>She stopped at the turn in the hall, listening intently.<br/><br/>