Why did Elizabeth come? Why didn’t she stay in Australia, where it was safe? Sure, all the Americans would talk about Australia about either how beautiful or how deadly it was, but from Steven’s perspective, even the wild outback was safer than the hellhole Liz had followed him into. With each step, his pace quickened, weaving his way through the boatyard. He had no clue if Justin, Kyle, or even Natalie was following him anymore, and even if they were, he wouldn’t have cared. All that ran through the dingo’s mind was the imminent danger his long time friend was surely in.
	He ducked and ran through warehouse fourteen, but not with precision. He stumbled over a pipe on the ground, hobbling a few steps before regaining footing and finding the energy to continue running on his injured foot. Steven ducked between two containers, tearing his shirt, vest, and skin in one flow. Red began to stain his white and sandy fur, but the dingo never noticed. His mind sought only one goal, a goal who’s completion would be in one of two ways.
	Skidding on the hells of his work boots, the dingo scanned his surroundings, breathing in quick sessions barely a second in length. His eyes scanned every inch before his mouth found the voice to cry out. “Liz!” He yelled, ears turning and twisting and turning radars, honing in on their target. “Lizbeth!”
	“Stevie!” came a feminine cry, the dingo’s ears pinpointing their direction from behind a stack of cargo containers. Steve saw a crate with an opened door, but as he ran inside to the other end, he found his route blocked by a heavy steel door, impenetrable by most means. 
	The Designers had never taken in the anxiety--borderline rage--of a mentalist dingo, however. Rearing his arm back, finger’s clenching, blue clouds of psychic energy formed around his arm and eyes. With one quick motion, his arm was outstretched, a wave of psychic blast hurting the doors clear off the container and into the other side of the warehouse, implanting themselves into the wall.
	His movements now slowed, each step taken with deliberation, Steven moved through the opened crate, his arm still coated by the swirling blue psychic energy. His bush hat, a trademark his friends had come to know him by, no longer sat between his ears, the force of psychic energy blowing it farther back into the warehouse. Steven stopped and faced Elizabeth and her kidnapper, an Italian greyhound with a very formal coat and dress shirt. For a moment, Steven scoffed at the greyhound, looking as though he had come from a business meeting.
	In fact, Steven had just arrived to the meeting. “Took you long enough,” the greyhound said, smoothing his hair and taking careful pains to keep his right arm hidden within his coat. Beside him was Elizabeth, her hands tied and bound by rope. The female dingo stood still, visibly shaking in her green button up shirt and red shorts. Her long red hair, typically braided in one large strand, was let out to hang. It flowed over her shoulders in just such a way that, if Steven were in his normal state of mind, he might make a flirtatious joke about her, hoping to bed her the same night. 
	“What do you want?” Steven growled through his teeth, his white fangs barred. Elizabeth’s face was filled with shock, having never seen him flash his teeth in such a way before. Steven’s hand twitched, muscles across his arm tensing.
	“To teach you a lesson about not interfering in the ways of our business,” The greyhound said, his Boston-Italian ascent flowing with every word. In one swift movement, he removed his hand from his coat. Steven saw the glint of a pistol, 22 caliber if Justin had taught him correctly, and the sight of it sent Steven into a panic. He feared he would shoot Elizabeth, feared the worst. He was relieved when all he did was take the butt of the gun to Elizabeth, but the shock of still seeing her cringe, then fall to the floor face first, caused all psychic energy around his arm to disappear.
	“Lizzy!” He cried out, watching her face hit the hard concrete with enough force to not only knock her out, but produce a head trauma wound big enough to begin leaking blood in a matter of seconds. Her body was still, her red hair mixing with the red blood on the concrete, a sea of red that melted together in Steven’s eyes into a red world. His eyes went from Elizabeth to the greyhound, images flashing through his head as the world spun around him. He began to feel dizzy, nauseous, and angry at the same time. The mix was not pleasing, and had he a weaker stomach, the dingo was sure he’d have released it’s contents right then and there. Instead, he saw in his mind the images of his childhood, hanging out with not just Elizabeth, but all their friends. Who would be next? Jessie? Greg? Lucky? None of them mattered though. All that mattered was Elizabeth. All that ever mattered was Elizabeth. He knew that he if stayed around her, he’d kill her, much like he’d almost done ten years ago. He left Australia to protect her from himself, and instead, he caused what was no doubt in his mind going to be her early death.
	The Greyhound that stood twenty feet in front of him was no longer worthy of being called anything but a monster in Steven’s eyes, eyes that flashed a brilliant electric blue. Energy flowed forth, coursing over his body. His veins became wires, his heart the battery. His mind was the control switch, gradually controlling the flow of psychic energy within him. At the very moment Steven saw the greyhound as little more than a monster, the most crucial fuse blew out, unrestrained psychic currents flowing over his body. Patterns emerged on his fur, coating his entire body. His face, once filled with shock, now showed nothing. No emotion crossed his lips, no sign of his inner thoughts was visible in his eyes. In fact, no sign of any thoughts were present at all, because Steven no longer thought. Now, Steven only acted.
	No sound passed between the Greyhound and the Dingo, both staring at one another. Steven slowly moved his head, raising his left arm just slightly to look at the small wooden boomerang in it’s clutches. The boomerang, most believed, was a simple trinket Steven had brought to America with him, something to remind him of the home he left behind. Few knew that it was the last gift Elizabeth had given him before he left. She had called it a symbol of their friendship, a promise they would do their best to keep in touch. He had done his absolute best to treasure this trinket, never leaving it out of sight. On the plane, he had promised himself that as long as he held this boomerang in hand, he would never harm another soul by his own hands or mind.
	His fist closed, the boomerang splintering and falling in two. Both halves fell to the floor, falling with a low ring.
	In what was for the Greyhound a blink of an eye, Steven had reared back his right arm and thrust it forward, a blast of pure, untapped psychic energy with gale force winds blasting him black, but not allowing him to touch ground. He flailed in the psychic wind as it took a sharp turn, turning into a small-scale tornado. Objects flew into the tornado by the sheer pulling force, the energy beginning to flash and boom. Few men had ever been able to witness a psychic storm and live. Fewer still could say what truly progressed within one. As the single Italian Greyhound flailed and cried within the tornado, Steven stood still in the center of it all. He watched from below, expressionless arms held outstretched above him and shaking. His clothes flappped about uncontrollably, wanting to tear themselves free from the unmovable form. His one free article, his trademark bush hat, found its way into the storm, floating about freely within the tornado.
	When the Greyhound was ready to cry out apologies for angering the dingo, unable to take the force of the storm and the beatings he received from debris crashing into him, The storm halted, dissipating. The greyhound still floated for a moment, long enough to realize that he was not being held aloof by any wind. Instead, he felt a force crushing his ribcage and organs. It felt as though a giant hand had grabbed him and was now slowly tightening it’s grip, uncaring if it broke a few ribs on it’s way to making a fist. He saw Steven, holding out an arm and his own fist slowly tightening. He could swear he saw a smirk on the dingo’s face as he threw his arm down, bringing the greyhound down with the same force and trajectory. He felt himself hit the concrete ground hard, his face bloodied and bruised. Bones had snapped in his arms and legs, but adrenaline kept him going, kept him crying or mercy.
	That’s when he felt the hand move from his chest, to his neck, closing around his windpipe. He struggled for aur, at the same time struggling to scream out any words of mercy he could. The most he could get was a few hoarse gasps before the dingo’s emotionless face finally twitched, a scowl forming. The energy coursing through the dingo’s body went from electric blue to a fiery red, and Steven’s hand clenched into a tight, closed fist. An audible snap was heard as the Greyhound went limp. 
	Steven reopened his fist, letting the body release to the floor in a lump, and releasing both psychic energy, and a strange sound. The energy pulsing around Steven created an audible noise, not unlike the sound of a didgeridoo being played. The Dingo made no notion of the noise being audible or even notice to him as he stood still and silent, psychic energy continually pulsing off him in red and blue waves.