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Jimmy departed his bungalow on the corner of Stewart & McGraw for what he feared would be the last time. Although such evening departures kindled memories of all nighters on the strip, he shook his head with a sigh and latched the door. It was getting too dangerous to visit his favorite haunts. He knew that if he wasn't more careful he might find the unfriendly end of a compass lodged in his back.

Occasional gusts of wind whipped leaves in circles around his feet as he treaded through the park nearby. He calculated, with no small measure of precision, that he should arrive at the safe house in a half hour. Some might consider it was overkill to factor in the expected drag of the wind on his body's cross sectional area. However, one just couldn't be too careful these days.

The path grew dim as the canopy of trees blocked out the moonlight, leaving swaying patches of light and dark. Hearing the near imperceptible snap of a twig behind him, Jimmy froze. In one swift motion, he ducked, spun around, and planted his fist square upon the solar plexus of his attacker. Eli took the hit hard, toppling over onto his back. Roshan leaped onto Jimmy's back, wrapping his arms around Jimmy's neck. Choking, Jimmy thrust Roshan back against a nearby tree, repeatedly smashing him against his assailant against the wood. With one violent thrust, Jimmy's elbow plunged back to meet Roshan's kidney evoking a painful groan. Roshan released his quarry. Staggering away, but regaining his balance quickly, Jimmy barely missed the swinging fist of Eli. Breaking into a spring, Jimmy plowed into the thicket beside the road briefly wondering what law of the universe mandated thorns in thickets.

Jimmy stumbled down the rocky hillside, sending rocks skittering down the embankment. He kept moving knowing his pursuers couldn't be far behind. Leaping from rock to boulder, he shimmied down the slope toward the road below, only blocked by a chain link fence. Chancing a glance back over his shoulder, Jimmy slipped on moss, sending him tumbling. His kneel fell hard onto a rock with a sickening crunch. Though he hoped it was the rock which had yielded, the shooting pain coming from his knee indicated otherwise. Swearing liberally under his breath, he grasped his now bleeding knee. With great duress, he trudged on. He'd be a sitting duck on the barren hillside. With determination, Jimmy reminded himself that he could not be caught, not even with an injured leg.

"There he is!" Jimmy heard shouted behind him.

Jimmy turned to see Eli pointing at him from the edge of the thicket above. Barely ten feet away, the freedom beyond the fence beckoned.Five feet now, Jimmy saw a black lexus pull up along side the fence and stop. Jimmy skidded to a stop on the loose gravel, the increased pressure on his leg causing his knee to throb. If it was the Kingpin in that car, the game was over.

Frozen with nowhere to go, Jimmy saw the window slide down and heard a voice yell out, "Get in you fool!" With no further delay, he leaped onto the fence, scaling it in seconds despite the growing agony. With a considerable lack of grace, he descended the other side of the fence face first earning a fresh bruise to his noggin'. "Well, at least you landed on your head, no loss there." Henry chuckled despite himself as Jimmy dove through the window of the car. A scant second later, the car sped away, sensibly avoiding any burning rubber.

"Damnit, you're bleeding all over my fine Corinthian faux-leather!"

"Good to see you too Henry." Jimmy replied appreciatively, and passed out.

Kingpin Bierman hissed as he slammed down the phone with a final, "Shit!" Obviously he was surrounded by complete morons who couldn't swat a fly let alone an interloper on his wife. He peered out the window of his penthouse, regarding the city that he owned, or darn close to owned. Meditation is highly overrated he mused. Power, now that was calming, to have so many lives in the palm of his hand, to allow to prosper or crush at his whim. If only he wasn't distracted and hampered at every turn by such ingrates, fools, and bumbling idiots, then he'd be the undisputed owner of this town.

Jimmy Cornea was becoming more than a mere distraction, but an obsession. The Kingpin's calculating mind even admitted to himself that his jealous reactions seemed to create more problems than solutions. And yet, he needed to take Jimmy down as a reminder to others, a signal to his new era of absolute control. He couldn't have simpletons fouling up his plans anymore. Eying his address book on his desk, a sudden seed of a glorious idea brought a smile to his lips.

Tossing the book open, he leafed through to the name he had loathed, but that he could never forget. Of course, through time, the name itself had even become obsolete. No, nowadays that man would be called by the title 'Cardinal' with a capital C. Many would hesitate to use his title at all, preferring to refer to him as 'he who must be not be enumerated." Still, Bierman liked to call him by his real name, if only to remind him of his humanity. Looking at the number again, Bierman chuckled. This little slip of paper with a scribbled name and number did little justice to the person. On the dark streets of this town, if one presented this phone number, no attacker would dare continue his assault. That is, unless they'd been sent by the Cardinal himself.

Bierman's fingers drummed on the desk as he stared at the phone. Years prior, his quest for power drove a schism between his generation and the Cardinal's. However, the true bifurcation came when the Manuscript of Truth went missing from the Museum of Natural Math in downtown. As a child he'd marveled at the at the gilded cover and the legends of the manuscript.

Discovered buried deep in the ruins of the library of Alexandria itself, the Manuscript of Truth contained what scientists believed was the mathematical proof to end all proofs, a proof that would explain our existence, the meaning of life. It was a proof that would give the bearer extreme and unquestionable power. However, as Bierman slammed his fist to the desk, he knew the proof had never been decrypted and still remained shrouded in mystery. Worst of all, he manuscript had been stolen. Initially this had not been a problem. After all, he'd stolen it.

Teams of scientists poured over the ancient paper. The lead associate Steven assured him that the manuscript's secrets would soon be laid bare for the world.

"To hell with the world, the secrets will be mine!" the Kingpin had responded with an appropriate amount of maniacal laughter.

Alas, both the scientist and the manuscript had vanished without a trace. In one blinding flash on the security cameras, both had disappeared. Private detectives, the police, the feds all tried in vain to locate them, but turned up nothing, not even a partial fingerprint. "Damnit all," Bierman seethed. Normally he liked seething, but not on this subject. He was quite good at it, practicing ever night in the mirror. Each day he made it a point to seethe at half a dozen employees. He really didn't consider it a good day unless he'd made at least two secretaries burst into tears. Sure, employee turnover was a tad high, but it was good for the ego.

He wanted that manuscript, the power that had been denied to him all these years. Of course, Bierman snorted, the "Cardinal" denied any knowledge of the whereabouts of the manuscript and even had the gall to accuse Bierman of secreting it away.

In the following years, both sides worked to solidify their power bases, but it ended in stalemate and became a prolonged trench warfare. Only with the Manuscript of Truth's secrets, Bierman knew in his heart, would a champion arise and all opposition be crushed or willed into submission. Bierman lifted a large round goblet from his mini-bar and turned it delicately and slowly imagining he held the whole world in his hands. A world to build into his image, or crush and destroy at his will. Though, as the chilled glass left his fingers cold, he grew tired with this mere fantasy. Bierman sauntered over to the window and cranked it open a foot. The winds howled at this, the hundredth floor. Glancing down with loathing at the people milling about like ants, he dropped the goblet with glee, hoping it would strike someone.

Closing the window, and returning to his desk, Bierman once again stared at the number for the Cardinal. "Why not," he mused to himself and dialed the number.