Albert Rothchilde felt incredible.

He thought he knew power. Rothchilde grew up ordering servants around. He was a corporate hot shot who planned hostile takeovers for the thrill of it. A wall street maverick, with long term investors from around the world following his lead time and again. A man to be feared, by his competitors, his employees, the prostitutes he beat up.

But he hadn’t known true power until today.

Firing people, hurting people, crippling them financially, all of that was child’s play.

Murder was the ultimate rush.

It made everything pale next to it, the feeling of taking someone’s life. Better than sex and money and drugs. Better even that the billions of dollars he’d earn with N-Som.

His gun, a 9mm Sig-Sauer that he’d only previously used to shoot targets at firing ranges, felt like an extension of his body. Killing Halloran was just a taste. Shooting Manny and Carlos made him realize what an intoxicating addiction this had so quickly become.

Now, crouched behind the counter in the lab, in an actual gun fight, Rothchilde felt like a god.

He was caught completely by surprise when Theena jumped in front of him and fired.

Missing.

The bullet passed so close to his face he felt the breeze. The sound was thunderous, both terrifying and exhilarating. He sat there, transfixed, as Theena pulled the trigger again and again, the gun clicking harmlessly, her expression changing from anger, to confusion, to fear.

The smile slithered across Rothchilde’s mouth like a snake.

“Out of bullets?”

Theena raised the gun to strike him with it, but she was a mere mortal. Rothchilde was a greater deity. He gave her a firm punch in the nose and she fell backwards, her black mane falling over her face when she landed.

There was blood on his knuckles. Her blood. He anointed his forehead with it, and then stood up.

“Come out, Dr. May. Or I kill her.”

“Don’t do it, Bill!”

Rothchilde reared his hand back to strike her. She stared at him defiantly, her jaw thrust outward, her eyebrows furrowed in anger. It turned him on a great deal.

“Okay, Rothchilde. You win.”

Bill stood up from behind the counter, his hands over his head. The look on his face was pure defeat. This was a man with no hope left.

Delicious.

He wanted to feel Bill’s fear, know his defeat at the hands of a superior male. A chest shot should do it. Or perhaps he should shoot his legs first, have him crawl around and beg for his life.

Rothchilde brought the gun around.

“No!”

He glanced at Theena, amused.

“Don’t tell me you have a little crush on Dr. May. I didn’t think you were capable of feelings.”

“You kill him, I won’t help you.”

“I think I’ll be able to convince you.”

“I can’t make N-Som by myself, Albert. It’s a two person job.”

Rothchilde hesitated. He knew nothing about the manufacturing process of drugs, and had no idea if she was lying of not. If he killed Bill now, he’d be able to relive the whole gun battle. But if Theena really needed two people…

Rothchilde stared hard at Bill. Shooting him would be so sweet. He’d heard the term ‘itchy trigger finger’ in countless old westerns, and fully understood what it meant.

“I can still push N-Som through CDER. You’d have approval in a few days.”

The President of American Products frowned. He normally didn’t deny himself pleasure, but the hassle he’d save himself if the FDA accepted N-Som was greater than his bloodlust.

“Fine.” He lowered the weapon, exercising his absolute self control. “I have a head in this bag. How many doses can you extract from it?”

His little wench had gone submissive, pouting. “Ten to twelve.”

That was perfect. Rothchilde could envision an N-Som cabinet next to his wine cellar, vintage Cabernets alongside the last thoughts of the dozens of people he would kill. Like a personal collection of snuff films that he alone could savor.

“Get started. I don’t have all day.”

He tossed the garbage bag to Theena. Her repulsion was priceless.

Rothchilde sat in a chair and kept a bored eye on the doctors while they set Halloran’s head in a vice.

They were all too busy to notice the EEG machine sitting on a table in the back.

Manny’s EEG machine, scribbling down a continuous jagged line of Beta waves on an endless ream of paper.