Dark Angel by Jeffrey Jones

The underworld thugs are prowling, parrot the news agencies. Lives snuffed out within months, then mere days of each other.

Shattered families, unraveling the thin fabric of society, all to be blamed on the chain of events, set fourth by the ranks of the wicked.

Why the sudden thuggery? What's the trigger for this surge of casual gangsterism?

How did we arrive at this state of almost daily planned butchery?

To hell with the month of holy charity, murder for hire promises money, for that instant fix, a child's tuition fee, maybe.

Don't you dare say it's random. To dismiss it as an act of god is to trivialize it. A statement of dissidence is better suited.

Or perhaps, a form of organized distraction. But surely, these are all vapid symptoms.

A bloodied version of a call for help from the bulk of the incognito iceberg, whatever that is.

Follow the trail of money or the lack of it. Trace the forced ties conjured between society's top and the seediest bottom.

The idols and the outcasts live off of each other's blood.

If you'd just follow the path where flickering light meets deep dizzying darkness, you'll find a dank house of mirrors where everything is not as it appears to be.

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