The wild hunt begins with an individual crime, the simple extortion of effort over fact, the base mistrust of deed over worth. Christian Langford smiled, tonight he ached for the thrill of the hunt, the desire it budded and built in him, no less than the sweet rapture of pure sex. The entropy of reason suspended and denied to his fevered mind by dreams of avarice and obstruction.

Never would they understand this need, this joy, this life. He smiled again; the hunger grew by degrees as he stalked the mean streets of city London. Logic told him it was too soon for another killing, but like all addictions he had no control over the craving. A small part of his rational mind told him that his actions were getting out of control, that same small part rationalized that he would no longer be safe, but it meant nothing to the rest of the creature Christian had become. The creature wanted to hear them beg, to plead as he tore their souls from them, in that perfect moment before they died. He craved the eternal existence of knowing that no one ever would forget him or his cause. That by his random acts of violence people would strive to understand what forced him, what drove him onwards and from that they would analyse his reasons, his motives and in the plethora of rational argument would find his cause. That alone justified what little doubt he may have once held, once when he considered himself a normal man. Now he was a crusader, what were the lives of a few innocents when millions would benefit?

He knew well his prey, knew what would draw them out and he dressed to lure them. Encasing his lean body in the finest Irish linen, he stalked the mean streets. Punters eyed him critically and smiled low and feral as they drifted past him. He slowly spiralled his way down to the seedier side of town. His smile was pure malice and he exuded an aura of adventure. Tonight he was for himself; he would find someone to play with then kill. Tonight he needed nothing more than the thrill of the hunt to inspire him. The danse macabre to lead him on and tonight he would confound them and assuage the need for a moment. He closed his eyes against the darkness and drew breath to steady the wild cadence of his heart. Instead, he listened to the steady thrum of the voices that passed him by.

One stopped and he leaned against the cold brick and looked out from under hooded eyes. The long lashes pale against his cheek's as he smiled at the child who approached.

Wide-eyed with tousled hair, no more than ten years old and the hunter shuddered. Even he would not stoop to tender prey so young. Even he could not understand the desire that drove those to seek the flesh so young and rendered so old by their attentions. He closed his eyes again, dismissed the girl before she could tout her wares and after a while resumed his wanderings.

He stopped. What he wanted would not be found here amongst the child prostitutes and petty amateurs who would rob him a swiftly as they would lay him. With infinite patience he turned his attentions darker still, to the private clubs the police said didn't exist. To the place he knew with certainty he would find what he wanted. The blank canvasses to draw his own pretty picture upon and in the canvass itself leave his nemesis a message. One too dark and too brutal for them to ever forget him.

There in the dim street lamp, down a dirty old street was a single door. A man outside, hired for size and strength with limited imagination, nodded as he approached.

Christian pulled a card from out of his pocket and slipped the doorman a hundred pound note before he stepped back into the sickly light cast by the single lamp. With careful and deliberate movements he pulled out a cigarette and blew lazy wreaths of sweet smoke as he waited for the doorman to make his decision.

The hunter could almost see the wheels turning behind the low brow, and after several interminable minutes the big man opened the door.

"You know the conditions, sir?" the doorman asked in a decidedly educated voice. That alone startled the hunter as he stopped in the doorway. Close enough to feel the other man's heat.

"But of course. Your establishment comes highly recommended."

"I doubt that, sir. You were never here." The doorman smiled as he pulled the door shut and went back to his lonely vigil.

What secrets such an innocuous door could hold? Christian wondered how many knew of the secret delights this place held as he wound he way down several flights of stairs into the main club.

Boys lay prone and semi-naked amongst smiling gilt cherubs. Christian took a closer look, the boys were patrons and older than expected on closer examination. He declined the offer of a willing slave and moved to the back of the room, taking only a glass of water from the tray as it passed.

The next door led into another room. Here sat a man of indeterminate age, his long dark hair pulled into a tight pony tail, the expensive leather wrapped his slightly overweight form like some kind of armour as he took the measure of the man who came to his door.

Another man appeared from nowhere and stood close to his master. The high back chair was moved away from the desk as he waited for the hunter to sit.

"I have special needs," Christian said simply, his arrogance and bearing intimidated the man with a simple tone of voice. A dangerous aura surrounded him as he came so close to his final goal this night.

"Ah, but we all do, Guv," The man said with something which resembled a smile on his once handsome face.

"No doubt, but not everyone can pay."

"Too true. You have a special order in mind?"

The hunter nodded. "A pigeon pair."

"Specifics?" The man asked as he came closer to the table and began to leaf through his files.

"Not too willing, one young blond, blue eyes and slender."

"Nationality?"

"Russian would be nice but not necessary, an exotic accent of some kind."

The man smiled, "And the other?"

"Tall, almost six foot, dark auburn curls not too short, and with long legs."

"Nationality?"

"British."

"Preferred background?"

"Loners, no family. Services, military, police. Strong but pliable. Willing to work for their money."

"Delivery to?"

The hunter shook his head. "I'll wait and take delivery personally."

"As you wish. This could take a little while."

"A very little while," Christian warned.

"How will you settle your account?"

"Bank draft, paid directly into your account, half on collection, half on completion."

The man handed him across the chit and sat back waiting for the price to be accepted. Christian looked down at the six-figure sum and smiled.

"So little for a human life?" he asked softly as he turned and entered the den again.

Until his toys arrived he would watch, closely and enjoy the spectacle of flesh before him.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

"'Pasha." Illya shuddered.

"Hmm?" Solo answered his hand tracing the long line of back and down to the firm buttocks.

"Water's cold," Illya muttered.

"Yes, it is. Shall we go to bed?" Napoleon smiled as Illya snuggled closer.

"Da, bed, cuddle." Illya moved out of the small bathtub, the cold causing various muscles to protest as they stretched.

Napoleon wrapped a large towel around his shoulders and pulled him close. "I love you," he said simply and Illya melted into the broad shoulder and for the first time allowed Napoleon to lift him easily in his arms. Holding him close to his chest, he padded soft footed across the hall and into their room.

~~~oooOOOooo~~~

Ray cracked open a sleepy eye as his hand groped for the RT on the bedside table.

"Four five," he said.

"Doyle, it's me - Murphy."

"Thought you and Jax were on assignment."

"We are. Your man Claude has gone to ground for the night and Jax drew the long straw."

Ray laughed as he sat up on the bed and ran his hands through the tight dark curls. "Who's on point?"

"Wilson. The cow says we are to liaise direct with you. Thought I'd let you know I was going in."

"Have Wilson check in and, Murph - keep your head down. Your wife would kill me."

From the other end of the RT came a soft laugh. "Yeah, she almost kills me at times."

"Four five out."

Ray replaced the RT. and moved across the bed into his lover’s embrace.

Bodie raised his hand and ran it through his lover's curls as he pulled his partner in for a sweet sleep drenched kiss.

"Sunshine?" Bodie asked, suddenly aware of an apprehension that rippled through Doyle's body.

"We need help on this one, Bodie."

"We have help. With the confined forces of UNCLE and CI5, we have the best there is to offer." Bodie sat up and wrapped his arms around his lover. Doyle fidgeted.

"Sunshine?" Bodie asked again.

"He's going to kill again, probably tonight."

"How do you know that? Something I missed in the files?" Bodie asked as he drew the covers down and stood up, realizing somewhat belatedly that he was still in his street clothes.

"I feel it, something is very wrong."

Bodie flicked on a light. Too many times Doyle's hunches and feelings paid off. Copper's nose, Doyle had always said. Nevertheless he could not ignore it now. "Ray?"

"I can't explain it, mate, I don't understand it myself. But I feel it, brewing like an ice storm. He's out there and tonight he will kill again."

"Hey? Would it make you feel better if we went and lent back up for Murphy?"

Ray shook his head. "The Cow has Wilson and Jax on back up. They don't need us."

"Then maybe we should put an alert out on the wire tonight, get the sergeants to beef up patrols in the known areas?"

Ray shrugged and turned back to Bodie, crawling into the warm comforting embrace as he laid his ear against the steady pounding heart.

"There was never another man I loved, Bodie, never another man I would allow myself to trust as I do you, you do know that, don't you?" Ray whispered.

"Yeah, love, I know that." Bodie closed his eyes as his hands petted Doyle gently to sleep. "I've always known that."