For He, the One who has no other name but this, owns me as surely as He owns the lowliest slave who scrubs fresh blood from the grates of the dungeon drains. He calls me His General, but only because it amuses Him. He tries to make me believe He tells me all, but what I am witnessing now with my own eyes, from the shadows of the great statues in the Hall, reveal that He has told me nothing.

For He raises His hands into the air and utters words in English that I do not know. I recognize but one word that seems foreign to that language; a word that is spat from His lips as though each syllable were distasteful to Him.

He hates so many, both within the walls of this great temple, and without. Until now, I thought there were none He hated more than those which operate as International Rescue, for He covets all they possess. Yet here and now, as the air becomes thick with more than incense, as I struggle to breathe, I watch the beaded curtain part. Unseen hands brush it aside almost gently. They rattle in harmony with the blood in my lungs.

As Life drains from me, I wonder if I will be reunited with my beloved father when I die. If I will see my mother weeping from the joy of seeing me again, or from the sorrow of having lost me to Master's Evil.

My name is Jianyu. Not General. Not any one of the multiple names Master has called me these past three years, since he took me from my proud post at the Chinese Embassy in Pyongyang. Master's voice rises, commanding as always, demanding something from the darkened bronze statue behind the beads. I remember the day I was appointed, the day my government came to transport me to my new North Korean home.

I remember the day Master, in full disguise, whisked me away to become His ambassador to Kim Kang-Dae. I wonder if my parents were ever told that I was gone. I wonder if they only thought I had stopped calling; if they thought me a bad son.

My vision begins to fade as His voice rises in volume; I can hear aggravation and silently beg whoever is represented by that statue to be strong and defy Him. For the keris plunged between my ribs speaks of how merciless Master is. A keris I brought upon myself by refusing to send the slave girl Nana to her death.

But she will be dead soon. And in a few moments, so will I. I don't know why I chose to try and help this girl above all others I've seen him torture, maim and kill. Except perhaps that's why…because I've seen it too many times before, and couldn't bear it any longer.

Or perhaps the only reason is because it was my fate.

Master's voice fades to a strange loud buzzing sound. The last of my vision pinpoints on the statue's face...a face that seems kind and good. I wonder if the name He keeps saying, Kyrano, is the name of that man.

I wonder if he will beat Him.

I wonder...if I will see my father and mother, now. Free at last, from the evil grip of the man they call the Hood.

Point-of-view: Nana

I have never been more frightened in my life. Not even when I was removed from the orphanage in Tokyo, along with Akira and Kaori. Men with guns took us when we were only five. I have been serving the Master these eleven years, without question and without fail, because I have known little else.

Until today.

Our handler Beru ordered me away from my sisters. I had been given the honor of hand-waxing the floor of this great hall. I had but eight hours to complete the task, and was told if I didn't, it would mean my death. This threat was not new; the punishment for all infractions here is death, it has been so since our arrival. We were always girls of the kitchen, there to cook and clean and skin the live animals brought to us for slaughter. I was gutting cattle and lambs that were larger than I from the second week of my arrival.

Yes, we always knew that the slightest misstep would mean our end. But this task, this impossible task of smoothing and waxing the floor of the massive Great Hall, I knew I could achieve if I put my mind to it.

Yet when the Master arrived, he immediately pointed out a small piece of floor two inches wide at the base of a garish jade statue which had been overlooked. I protested, for I remembered well how I had smoothed and waxed carefully around all edges of each statue, of the Master's chair, of the walls. Yet my protests drew only the glare of eyes so black they seemed endless. And yet how they glittered. I was mesmerized.

And even if it hadn't been the Master's opinion that I missed those two inches of floor, Death would have come for me, for I committed the one cardinal sin that no one in this place has ever dared that I'm aware of: I looked him in the eyes.

I couldn't look away.

Jianyu, his ambassador, tried to intervene on my behalf and took a keris for his troubles. For me. My heart cries for a man I hardly knew, who sacrificed himself to save me. I can barely see his body from where I'm hiding just beyond the dais, but I can see the Master's face. It is puckered into a scowl that displays the depth of his anger and, dare I say, frustration.

When Beru moved to take me away, I heard a strange sliding, hissing sound, and from somewhere in the temple a gong sounded, reverberating against the stone walls. I don't suppose the Master cares that I used Beru's own dagger to end his life, but I wasn't about to let Jianyu's death be for nothing. I resolved in the moment when he went down, to escape my fate here at the hands of one so ruthless and uncaring once I saw what he did to Jianyu. But I could not go without my sisters.

And so I retraced my steps, intending to make my way back through the Great Hall to the passageway that would lead me to our cell. But seeing the Master in full ceremonial dress stopped me in my tracks. And now, his face takes my breath away.

I rarely saw him before today. Only glimpses, or quickly-moving shadows of his retreating form. Today is the first time I have looked so fully upon his face and as terrible a twisted soul as it portrays, it's something I cannot seem to look away from.

His voice rises as though he's proceeding to the next level of whatever it is he's doing. I cannot see what he's focused on, but I know it must be that large statue hiding behind a beaded curtain which I saw upon the dais while I worked all night on the floor. Glowing candles cast an eerie light across his face and when his eyes begin glowing yellow I have to clap my hand to my mouth to keep my gasp from being heard.

He is evil. And he's calling out to one named Kyrano.

It's a name I've never heard before. Whoever this Kyrano is, he's in grave danger, as surely as I am. I must get to Akira and Kaori now. The Master's attention is diverted by this Kyrano, to whom he seems to be speaking. And so I take the chance and run as quickly and silently as my bare feet on the smooth, waxed floor will allow.

If we escape, I think I will try to find Kyrano. To thank him. For if the Master weren't so intent on whatever he's trying to do to, or get from, that man, my sisters and I wouldn't stand a chance.

I vow, Kyrano, that one day...I will find you.

Assuming all of us survive.

Point-of-view: Jeff Tracy

Here we are talking about his daughter coming to her new home, and the next thing I know, my best friend is on the floor.

He's never been anything but strong. His half-brother chased him around the world and back again for years; he's even been captured and tortured and made his escape, and still I have never known anything but a stalwart calm to surround him.

In his younger years, or so he says, he wasn't like this at all. But time and learning the error of your ways changes a man. I suppose he's right on that count. After all, look at me.

And so I stood there in that split second with nothing but disbelief and shock as my companions. He seemed to drop in slow motion with a soft cry that, coming from him, was deafening. It felt like forever until I moved, sliding across the floor half on my knees, my insides screaming out with everything I had for him not to go.

When he went down, I thought he was dying.

But then, through calling his name and trying to rouse him, I realized this couldn't be a heart attack, or even an epileptic fit. Because while he was writhing on the floor and sweating, there was something else he was doing that just didn't ring true with your standard medical emergency.

He was saying, "No." Repeating it. Over and over and over again.

I took his hand, thinking maybe the contact combined with me calling out to him would bring him out of it, but it didn't. And then, as though the intensity of whatever was happening to him increased, he stiffened, his whole body jerked and his mouth and eyes flew wide open. "No!" he yelled, like he was facing someone down, someone who threatened his very existence.

And then his body went slack except for the slight tremor I could feel where I had his hand in mine. Sweat poured down his temples, his neck, soaked his hair. His mouth clamped shut and a high-pitched whine emerged from what I would swear were the very depths of his being.

It was as if, for a few moments, this unseen attacker had won.

I had hit the SOS button on my watch as soon as Kyrano fell, and as my mind puzzled over who or what could be attacking him – and how such a thing could be possible – I prayed for my sons to get here faster than they ever had before.

Could Kyrano be under attack?

"No, no, no, no!"

But if yes, then by who?

I don't know; this is so beyond me I can't even fathom who, how, why. But if he is under attack, I swear on the heads of my sons that I will get to the bottom of I ask is that he lives. I don't know if I could do this International Rescue business without him. I just...he's my...I can't...