Two weeks had passed since Stamford had tasted the metallic coppery tang of bird blood on his lips. He hungered for that taste again. His stomach was empty, bloated from lack of food. He moaned in pain. His captors- his tormentors- had refused to feed him or to allow him to sleep for many nights. Tired, ravenous, his mind swimming in a sea of disorientation and hallucination, Stamford found himself on the very precipice of insanity. With a final push, his mind had fractured and splintered into thousands of pieces. His mind began to spin out of control. At its center a sinkhole opened up and pulled him down. That was when the pain had begun, a dull throbbing at first, and then it spread, growing into a hot burning agony. The skin on his fingers, he was sure was being systematically stripped away, each finger de-gloved. The only way he could stop the excruciating pain burrowing into his mind, was to do as the faceless voice commanded. Very deep, in a hidden corner of Stamford's mind, a piece of himself was safe, a piece that watched and waited.

'Kill? Why kill?' he murmured. 'Kill who?'

The pain increased and would not stop. He Screamed.

'Yes, yes, I'll kill her, I'll kill her. Please stop.' he begged

The pain ceased, and he was allowed to climb back out from the hole in his mind. Somehow he managed to find the blurred edges of his sanity.

The sound of metal on metal echoed once again down the corridor, making the already deserted wing of the prison seem even emptier. Stepping back from the door, Henry couldn't help but smile as Victor- leaving Stamford's unconscious body strapped to the bloodied chair- exited the cell.

The doctor smiled proudly at his achievement 'Well, Henry, you can have exactly what you want. I believe Stamford will perform admirably.'

Henry nodded, encouraged by what he had seen 'Good. Well done, Victor. It's a shame you can't write a paper on your latest project. I'm sure it would be a sensation.'

Henry cared little for Victor's need for notoriety and given what he had planned for Stamford, Henry needed absolute secrecy.

'And the item, Victor, did he reveal its location?' Henry asked eagerly.

The doctor shook his head.

'I'm afraid not. Have heart, Henry. Give me a little more time. I will make him talk.'

Victor walked Henry out into the shadows of the yard. Bidding the Governor good night Victor returned to his laboratory in the mortuary and back to his experiment with the latest corpse from the gallows.

Alone, Stamford sat staring out through the small cell window. He watched the crescent moon slowly disappear behind black angry clouds. His wrists and ankles were still painfully strapped to the chair. Stamford sank into the depths of troubled unconsciousness.

Bob Coal, formally Frank Gregory, groaned. His head pounded, his stomach churned as he lay sprawled out across the grimy and splintered floorboards of prison Officer Peter Stiles hovel of a two up, two down. There was a very real possibility, Bob thought, that the boards were about to get a good deal dirtier if he couldn't make his legs wake and carry him into the piss soaked alleyway outside. Crawling to the door and pulling himself to his unsteady feet, Bob staggered down the stairs and along the dim hallway, and colliding with the far wall, spun round and fell out the doorway into the small square backyard. Gaining his knees, he wretched and launched the beer soaked contents of his stomach across the concrete. 'Aaagh' He felt much better. Slapping his lips together and running his arm across his mouth, Bob pushed himself back up and made his way back into the house to collapse back asleep in the hallway.

Bob had spent the night celebrating his surviving the hangman's noose, as he had done for the previous couple of weeks. In a short space of time he had acquired a new name, a new life and a new job. Luck had swooped down and saved his worthless hide. Luck had given him many new opportunities. Luck had a name, and that name was, Governor Henry, and as far as Bob was concerned, Governor Henry was God. Officer Stiles kicked Bob awake, telling him that God had summoned him back to his kingdom. So, it was back to prison, this time it was as an employee, from prisoner to prison guard in less than a fortnight. Worse for wear, covered in vomit and stinking to high heaven, Bob had to smile as he headed for the washroom. God's a callin' 'n' I'm a runnin'. Apprehensive, Bob returned to prison to start his first duty as Borden prison's newest guard.

That evening, Dr Gently held up an opiate filled syringe. Its point wept. He indicated to the newly appointed prison guard, Bob Coal to hold the gibbering prisoner still. The needle sank into Stamford's straining neck muscle. Victor pressed in the plunger and released its chemical concoction into Stamford's blood stream. Within seconds his body relaxed and he sank down onto the shackled chair. Now compliant, Stamford's torment would begin for the umpteenth night running. He had no idea how long this had been happening to him. His mind knew nothing other than the torment. The torment was the beginning and he desperately wished for it to be the end. Bob grasped a handful of Stamford's matted hair, pulled the moaning prisoner's head back painfully and strapped it to the reclined headrest, so as to make it easier for the doctor to pour torrents of water down his throat. Unable to breathe through the cascade, Stamford was subjected to the constant recitation of one solitary command.

'You must kill this woman. The woman must die. She is an evil despicable sinner. The woman must die. You must kill the woman.'

Victor administered another dose of opiates, and continued to rant into his choking subject's ear. With a hand on Stamford's forehead, Victor lifted an eyelid and noted the fully dilated pupil and the complete emptiness of the returning gaze. Victor was satisfied that Stamford was completely open to suggestion. Reaching into his pocket, Victor removed the sepia photograph of a beautiful young woman wearing a flowing dress; she was leaning on a delicate cane umbrella. The photograph supplied by Henry. Nodding at Officer Coal and then over at Stamford, Victor held out the picture. Bob reached around and with his thumbs forced open both Stamford's vacant eyes, giving him no option but to stare blankly at the picture held before him.

'This woman must die.' the voice commanded. 'You must stop her. She will kill again. You must kill her'

Stamford glanced out the barred window of his cell as another jolt of pain shot through his body. Up in the clear night sky the half silver moon magically floated past his world. He blinked cold sweat from his vision and the moon was gone. Stamford's eyes closed and the black night swallowed him whole. Time no longer had any meaning to him as the weeks of torment passed by.

A creature, animalistic by action, if not by nature, scraped the last of the food off the tin plate. His filthy hand rammed food between cracked lips. Sucking and licking every possible speck of food from each finger in turn. Stamford nibbled under the nail on his little finger and then stopped. He could hear the sounds of other inmates across the way. Like him they moaned and prayed for release. Many not caring what kind of release they may be granted, just so long as they were free of this place. People here wished for their own deaths. He wished too. It would be a welcome end to this unending torment. A loud knocking brought Stamford's mind to sharp focus. Doctor Gently rapped his knuckles on the metal door and opened its integral hatch. He held out the familiar photograph of a woman for Stamford to study, his forthcoming target.

'He has been trained- brain washed you could say- to pay attention when I rap a certain tune.' Victor tapped out the tune again.

'Stamford. Please explain who this is and what must be done about her.' Victor shook the photograph to emphasize its importance.

Dropping the scoured tin plate noisily to the floor Stamford glanced at the object poking through the hatch, and just as quickly returned his attention to the sounds of the lost. Without looking back at the doctor, Stamford couldn't help but whisper, 'She's beautiful. She is evil. She must die before she kills again.'

As he spoke the words tears appeared at the corners of his eyes. Wiping them away he wondered for whom he cried.

Henry smiled with satisfaction. Victor had done his job well and with a little luck he might even pull this off. Victor withdrew the picture and closed the hatch. Seeing the pleased look on Henry's face he grinned and clapped him on the back.

'You see, Henry, anything can be achieved with the right approach. Are you ready for a trial run?'

Henry's smile broadened and he gripped Victor by the shoulders.

'Victor, you're a miracle worker.'

Henry nodded towards Stamford's cell door.

'You see here, Victor, this is the new age of weaponry.'

A manic gleam lit Henry's eyes. He could see his future. He would become a powerful man, both in business and in the political arena.

'Victor, can you imagine never having to commit an army to warfare? Never having to muster the resources of an entire country to build that army? Here we have the first tactical weapon, an army of men who can infiltrate into key positions of the enemy's command structures years in advance, and then strike simultaneously. Whole countries would crumble without a single battle being fought.'

The doctor stared blankly at Henry. It interested him little.

Henry chuckled at Victor's less than enthusiastic reaction.

'Victor, we will be rich and powerful men. You would be able to perform any experiment you wanted regardless of the cost or resources.'

Victor's face brightened as he grasped what Henry was saying. Raising his fist victoriously he began to rant. 'Imagine what I could achieve Henry, if I had the facilities, the equipment, the bodies. I could change the medical establishment. I would rise among my peers and exceed their expectations. I would be the talk of the medical town. I would become one of the greats.'

Victor lowered his arm smoothed his jacket and cleared his throat and asked Henry, 'When do we begin?'

Henry slapped the grinning doctor's back and guided him by his elbow down the dismally grey corridor.

'We shall begin soon, Victor. First we test Stamford. In two days' time you need to have him ready to act upon the photograph.'

Henry stepped out into the fresh cool night air and took a deep cleansing breath. With a sigh of satisfaction, smiling, he mounted his horse and spurred it towards the prison gates. He never noticed the luminous disc of the full moon that owned the night sky, nor did he hear the lunatic inmates of the prison baying wildly in their cells as he rode out of the gates, onward towards his home and to his waiting wife. All he heard as he rode on was gentle laughter deep down, somewhere inside.

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