Sometimes you just don't know what kind of curve ball life is going to throw you. And sometimes, there's going to be curve balls that will put you right over the edge.
 Welcome to Mac Hudson's life.
 He's officially given up every dream he's ever owned, for one more glass of stinging liquid to numb his pain. Here, no one knows Mac for who he is. This is just how he wants it. Perhaps forever, if he could have his way. Here, no one knew him, so no one could betray him. No one could leave him. There were no friends here, only strangers. Funny, he told himself as he sipped another drink. Isn't that what we really are to one another? We all keep secrets from one another. Even from those we love and trust the most. Why is that? He didn't care to think the answer through. He only wanted one more drink, time and time again, to take away every ounce of pain in his heart.
 "… I want a divorce Mac…"
 Another drink now!
 "… I know I should have got a divorce before this happened…"
 The pain was racking his heart.
 "… but Puck and I… we…"
 He slammed the glass down and it shattered upon the bar, fragments of glass flying about like meteors… dangerous with their sharp edges.
 He looked at his hand… it bled heavily.
 Red. Red blood. Warm. Red... Red Rum...
 But there was no pain. The alcohol numbed that.
 He sat back and laughed as he never did before.
 He felt, perhaps for the first time, as though he were truly free.
 No Department H. No aliens. No team. No obligations. No responsibilities.
 No more Alpha Flight.
 If Heather wanted to lead… it was all hers for all he cared.
 He wanted nothing to do with Department H, or Alpha Flight, and least of all Heather…

 Shaman held Snowbird closely. "Nayra, are you all right?"
 "It was Pestilence," Snowbird wept. "He's come back."
 "I know," Shaman replied, looking into her eyes. "I sensed his presence at the last possible moment."
 "How? Why?" Snowbird asked.
 "Magic was involved," Shaman answered shortly. "That is how I sensed his presence. A deep and terrible magic… and something tells me it may have to do something with the Children of the Great Beasts… though we have not heard from them, I do believe Traction and Devolution remain at large…" He paused. "It would not surprise me if they sought your child.
His innocense and intense magic could easily be used as a portal, to perhaps open a dark gate."
 "A dark gate?" Snowbird asked. "A dark gate to what?"
 "To that I do not know yet," Shaman said, looking off in the distance. "But I do believe the loss of Walter's power has something to also do with the Great Beasts. When we were captured in a magical sphere, that's when Walter's body began to act strangely. It was shortly after, he realized he could not transform into Sasquatch."
 "But I thought Walter's transforming powers were more a science accident rather than magic?" Snowbird asked, puzzled.
 "Perhaps in the beginning," Shaman answered. "He was exposed to Gamma Rays much like Bruce Banner, who you know is, or was, the Incredible Hulk. But when Walter was exposed, the explosion also caused a small friction between realities, which allowed the great beast known as Sasquatch to slip through and it sought out the first host it could find…"
 "Walter?"
 "Exactly," Shaman whispered. "Exactly… that is why you had to kill him so long ago, when you tore his heart from his chest."
 "Please do not remind me of that time, Michael," Snowbird whispered. "I feel terrible for what I did."
 "You did what had to be done," Michael replied. "The same reason Heather had to originally slay you," Michael finished, not knowing how Snowbird would take the words spoken.
 If she was upset, or any other emotion, she did a wonderful job hiding it.
 In hushed tones, she whispered, "I understand… Sometimes we must do what we know may feel wrong…"

 "Well," Traction hissed. "Your little minion failed you."
 "Do not be so sure of yourself," Devolution chuckled insanely.
"Disease can be passed by touch alone…"
 "What are you saying?" Traction growled, changing into Sasquatch's form.
 "My furry friend," Devolution cackled. "That child of the insolent Snowbird is dying slowly, as of right now… And there ain't nothing in this pretty little world that can save him, except for you and I…"
 "Why would we save the child?" Traction growled.
 "For a price we would."
 "What price?"
 "To save the child's life, we demand that he use his powers to open the gate so our father can pass into the earth realm."
 "They will never go for it."
 "Then the child will die."
 "So we still wouldn't have the portal open…"
 "But with the child dead, the prophesy spoken can never be completed, and you and I will reign supreme here on Earth while our fathers and cousins remain locked away in a portal that they can't get through…!"

 They say it's wrong.
 But sometimes you have to go with the gut feeling of what you believe to be right.
 Even if it's against the law.
 Welcome Donavon Walker, and his strange female companion.
 Donavon Walker made short work of a cloning facility that was cloning human beings for war, and other purposes. It was an impressive explosion if anything else.
 Somewhere else, at the same time the facility exploded, Roger Boches doubled over in sheer pain, letting out a terrible scream.
 "Roger?" Northstar inquired, running into the room. "I heard you scream."
 Roger was twisting and turning on the floor as if some alien were inside of him trying to break free of its prison. His face was twisted beyond pain. "Roger," Northstar shouted, and bolted through the hall.
Half way through, he met with Alex.
 "What is it?" Alex asked, grabbing Northstar.
 "It's Roger. He looks terribly ill," Northstar replied, his face ashen white. "I must get to Shaman!" With that, a small boom was all that was left of Jean-Paul's presence. Alex crumbled to the ground. His face fell into his hands. "Jean, if you only knew how sick I was… and that I am HIV positive…"

 Northstar ran into Snowbird's room where Shaman was looking after Snowbird and her child. Northstar noticed a worried glance on Shaman's face. Shaman looked up, it seemed each day aged him another year. "Yes Jean-Paul?"
 "Shaman, you must come with me. It's Roger. He screamed. I found him and he looks terribly ill!"
 "No!" Shaman whispered. With his magic, he teleported to Roger, arriving even before the speedster. Northstar.
 Shaman placed his hand on Roger's forehead. "He's burning up with a fever." Immediately he cast magic over Roger…
 It radiated a cool, soft blue. Good, he told himself. He had feared that Pestilence was still alive and was now using Roger as a host; but such was not the case. He immediately had Jean-Paul carry Roger to the intensive care - a teleport with magic might be too much of a strain on Roger's body…

 Darkness.
 This is what he liked.
 "You might as well come out of hiding boy," his chilling voice called out into the moonless night. "Sooner or later I will find you. And when I do I will have a bullet ready to pierce your flesh, and go through your heart, ripping everything inside of you out, as the bullet exits the back of your body."
 His name is Scalphunter. He's a part of what is known as the Marauders. He is after a mutant by the name of Vincent Hall, also known as Minaret in the circus life he once led. "You make have caked over a few of my team members, but your weakness is you don't kill. I do.
Without a second thought. I live for it. I drink the blood of the innocent I spill, just to get to know them as their dying eyes look up at me." He looked around. "Canada, huh? Interesting place to run. Too bad we don't run under United States laws. We kill wherever we might be. So running to Canada won't save you, little boy. As a matter of fact, I have some unfinished business here myself… maybe I should give the ol' chap a call on the … 'wyre'… and tell him that Sinister says hello… and goodbye…" *

* For more on Vincent Hall (Minaret) and his deal with the Marauders, check out the current fanfic spin off of BoND written by me, called "Next Flight." It can be found on Net Alpha's Fan Fic site.
 
 

It was cold here in H's medi-lab. Roger Bochs fought hard to suppress the anxiety that threatened to overwhelm him. Lying prone on the gurney, subjected to the unrelenting glare of the light above and the scrutiny of H's team of medicos, he felt exposed, vulnerable, a sentiment that he had long banished since acquiring the mobility that came with his ability to phase into the Box armour. The fact that he was almost naked -- clad in nothing but a pair of boxers -- did nothing to improve his mindset.
"Bio-scans reveal nothing out of the ordinary," one of the white-coats noted, his voice distant, detached.
The doctor nodded in agreement. He turned to Bochs. "Our examinations indicate that you're in the pink of health for a man your age and size, Roger," he said, his voice warmer than the other's. "For the life of me, I cannot account for what happened to you last night. The attack you experienced was severe, and you had a temperature, but that all vanished an hour or so after you were admitted to intensive care."
Bochs shrugged as much as he could in his position. "I dunno, Dr. Twoyoungmen. For a moment, it was as if my insides were on fire, and this pain in my chest, in my heart."
"Your cardiovascular system checks out okay-"
"Okay for a pudgy paraplegic in a wheelchair, you mean?" Bochs retorted with some humour.
"You could always get a little more exercise into you, Roger," Michael Twoyoungmen berated gently. "It'll do you a world of good."
"I'll make sure I do that, once I'm out of this examination table. Scout's honour."
Michael Twoyoungmen turned to the medic. "I see no reason to keep Roger here." The other man nodded.
"You make sure you take things easy for a while," Twoyoungmen said. "And keep out of that Box robot too... until you're feeling better."
"Will do." Bochs gave a mock-salute and grinned. And I feel better already, he told himself.
Bochs dressed quickly and, with the medic's aid, regained his wheelchair.
"Remember what I told you, Roger," Michael Twoyoungmen reminded as the stocky man wheeled himself out of the room. "Don't over-exert yourself."
But Bochs was already gone.

He returned to his quarters and spent long minutes gazing at the Box robot. The behemoth stood stock still against the wall, its red and chrome body glistening as though newly polished. Why can't I remember, he thought. Last thing on my mind was the fight we had with Deadly Ernest. But according to the others, that was years ago. Old friend, where have the both of us been since then, and why can't I remember anything? He edged the wheelchair closer to the robot. Dr. Twoyoungmen said not to use the robot until I'm certain I'm okay, he thought. But I feel fine now. No pain. No fever. Nothing abnormal.
He reached out, his fingers brushing against the smooth surface of the robot's leg. A snap of static traveled up his arm, seductive, tantalising. It's better than sex, he mused. Not that I'd know what sex was since.. well, since that happened, he though, looking briefly at the stumps of his legs. 
There are answers to my questions, he thought, and you and I are going to find them, old friend. He pressed his fingers hard against the alloy of the robot's frame. A single though, a command, crossed his mind.
"Phase in!"

Two voices spoke in the shadows of the laboratory hidden underground in a government sponsored facility few knew existed. Only a faint light suffused the darkness, its source, five vats of clear blue fluid through which effervescent bubbles coursed.
"Our Saskatchewan facility has been compromised," the first, a dry voice, male, rasped. "Agent Walker has gone rogue. There's no telling what he might do. This place may be his next target."
"If he knew of its existence, which he doesn't," the second speaker said. Her voice too was husky, the strident gravel-voice of a long time smoker. "And Division H will be alerted to his activities. He will be stopped before he can do more damage to the Project."
"We've been at this too long to see it all go up in flames," the man said, moving closer to study the contents of the first vat. Suspended in the blue solution was a naked man. He was short, bald, compact, with a hirsute, heavily muscled body. Tubes extended from his mouth and nostrils to complex machinery above the vat. More tubes and wiring were attached to his body, inserted into his arms and legs.
The next vat held a full-figured young woman, her black-tresses dancing in the phosphorescent solution that surrounded her. The one after held another woman, though this one was clearly not human. The hue of her skin, the translucent film between her digits, the deep viridian of her hair marked her as some otherworldly being. And beyond the strange, alien woman, two more figures floated in blue solution.
"That makes two we've lost," he said, somewhat wistfully.
"We have these five yet. All is not lost. Don't be such a pessimist."
"A pessimist?" the man forced out a hoarse chuckle. "No. Not a pessimist. A realist. We cannot risk exposure, Helen," he said.
"No. You're right, Richard. Whatever the cost, we must make sure that Walker doesn't go public with his findings."

Her shoulders trembled a little.
"What's wrong?" Judd whispered, edging against her back, letting the bristles of his beard rub against her skin. It tickled her, he knew, and she liked it. "Thinking about your blow-out with Mac?"
She shook her head. "No. It was his decision to make: leaving the Flight. He's a grown man. He can live with its consequences. No, I was just thinking that we'd just got back together and already we're falling apart. So little has changed."
"The more things change, the more they stay the same, eh," Judd murmured into her ear. He reached around and wrapped his thick arms around her belly. "That's got to be the motto for this team." He grinned in spite of himself, extended one nubby index finger and traced a ticklish circle around her belly button.
She squirmed. "Stop that," she said, disengaging and rising out of bed. "This is no time for fooling around. Clarke has hit the roof with this most recent revelation and it threatening to withdraw support for the Flight."
"So what else is new, eh?" Judd grunted, reaching for his briefs and pulling them on under the bedsheets. "But H can't afford to pull the plug now. Not with what's been happening around here. The Beastlings. Pestilence."
"Yes," Heather said, slipping on her t-shirt and shorts. "It's a good thing we have Michael and Elizabeth. Lord knows what we'd do without them in a situation like this."
"Speaking of Pestilence, how's Birdie and the kid, eh?"
Heather shrugged. "It's a bit hard to say with Narya. She's fine, physically, as is Richard. But she keeps a lot to herself. Seeing Doug again after all this time, only to have him revealed as Pestilence... she may be part goddess, but she has mortal feelings... mortal cravings."
"Like us, eh?" Judd said with a wink. He clambered out of the warmth of the bed and gathered his discarded clothes. "So, we finished for the night?" he asked, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Should I put these on?" He held up his shirt and jeans.
"Ummm," Heather mused, grinning. "Hold that thought-"

They lay together, warmed by the heat of their bodies. Under the covers, this close to the other, each felt safe, secure in the fact that he had the other nearby.
Jean-Paul Beaubier was the first to stir. Emerging out of the slumber, he reached out to touch the shoulder of the man beside him. His fingers traced a gentle line down Alex's cheek, making a tender pirouette along his jawline. Beaubier leaned closer and lay his lips on the back of Alex's neck.
With a half-whispered murmur, Alex turned. Jean-Paul reacted instinctively, gently drawing the other man close, feeling himself react even before their bodies touched.
He was fully unprepared for Alex's reaction.
"No," Alex gasped groggily, pulling himself with a savagery that surprised the young mutant.
"What is wrong?" Jean-Paul asked, bewilderment, anger, frustration and fear flashing in his eyes.
Alex rolled out of bed. Rose on shaky legs and pulled on his shorts. "I'm sorry, Jean-Paul," he muttered, leaning against the bedpost. "I- just- don't-"
"Feel like it?" Jean-Paul finished for him.
Helplessly, Alex nodded, suddenly aware at how contrived and deliberate his lie must sound to Jean-Paul.
"It's not-" he began.
"Not me? But you?" Jean Paul too rose and drew on a bath robe. "I have heard that before. But not from you," he said. "Something is wrong."
I can't lie, Alex thought. Not to him. It'd make it worse.
"I-" he began, then sensed that if he were to continue, his voice would falter and his emotions would get the better of him.
Jean-Paul walked around the bed and enfolded him in his arms. "Whatever it is, we will deal with it together," he whispered into Alex's ear.
"I don't know, Jean-Paul. Don't know if we can."
"We will," Jean-Paul said firmly.
Alex stepped back. "Okay. But I'll tell you that it's going to hurt both of us in a bad way."
"What is it?" Jean Paul asked, perplexed.
Alex fidgeted. "When you were gone -- with Alpha --" He paused, thinking through the thousands of ways he could phrase what came next to blunt the hurt. But there were none. "When you were away, I had slept with another." There. It was out.
He looked way, suddenly shamed, feeling a pain much worse than the fear and rejection he had felt from his parents on his outing. For them, it was a speaking out of the truth, of what he was. For Jean-Paul, it was the articulation of a betrayal that he had sworn he would never initiate.
The look in Jean-Paul's eyes intensified the pain.
"I do not know what to say," Jean Paul finally uttered.
"Neither do I. But there's more..."
"More?" Jean Paul laughed, a coarse, strained sound that was totally devoid of humour. "What more can there be?"
Alex flinched, taken aback by the barb in Jean-Paul's tone.
"When we- uh- we didn't use any kind of-- protection, and he told me the day after, this man," he said. "Told me that he was HIV positive. I- I went for a test. The results aren't in yet, but I'm almost certain that- that-" His voice broke. He felt the flush of heat rise up his face to his eyes, squeezing tears from him. "I- I'm sorry. I was stupid not to have insisted that he used a condom. But that's the reason why I can't make love with you. I don't want the same thing to happen to you if I-- I mean, if he-- "
Jean-Paul laughed again, the same awful cackle that drove deep into Alex's heart. "Too late, my friend. You've already brought me into this when we decided that we'd remain... a couple."
"I won't make excuses for myself," Alex said.
"Good. Because I'm not looking to excuse you." Jean-Paul snapped. "And I'm not looking to forgive you either." His voice softened, and his expression, then cold and hard with anger, grew more tender. "But I love you. So if you're expecting me to get bitter and resentful and leave, you are going to be disappointed."
"I- I-" Alex stammered.
"When will the results be known?" Jean-Paul asked.
"Um- not until... um... next week."
Jean-Paul nodded. "And this man. Who is he?"
"Why?" For a moment, he envisaged Jean-Paul bearing down in a furious rage on the offender.
"So we can talk to him. Find out more about why he did what he did. Speak to his doctor or the police if we must."
"Oh."
"I'm not leaving you alone in this, Alex. God knows I've lived alone long enough myself to know how awful the bite of loneliness can be. So for good or ill, I am in this with you."
"You're not angry?"
"Angry? Oh, you bet I am. At you? Definitely. Furious? For sure. But do I hate you, Alex? No. How can I hate someone for whom I feel so much. When this is all over, God help me, I will kill you. But until then..." He let his cheek brush against Alex's, sensing the dampness of spilled tears there. "Until then, we're in this together," he murmured.

He caught Judd outside the corridor of the mess hall. Within, he heard the Betans in cacophanic play: Whit, and Kara, Laura and Goblyn, their voices raised above the broadcast from the radio.
"A word with you if I may, friend Judd," he said.
The dwarf stopped in his tracks, looked up at Michael Twoyoungmen, and sensed that the Shaman had something important that he needed to say.
"What is it?" he asked, his thick brows furrowing as he contemplated the sobriety on Shaman's face. "You sense the Beastlings stirring, eh? Or it is Pestilence."
"None of either," Michael Twoyoungmen said. "I was going to speak to you before, but Snowbird's incident took my mind off it. Now that some modicum of sanity has been restored, I can finally get back to it. It's about your relationship with Heather."
Here goes, Judd thought. I knew it was coming. Not everyone's gonna approve of it. Inwardly, he steeled himself for the lecture from Michael Twoyoungmen, MD and Shaman, one of the most senior member of the Flight. "What of it?" Judd said, almost as if it was an invitation to a challenge. "It's Heather's and my business, eh? Not anyone else's."
Twoyoungmen shook his head. "You misread my intentions, Judd." A wry smile creased his lips. "Years ago, when we thought Mac dead, I spoke to you about the feelings you had for Heather."
"I remember. We were at Heather's parents' place... that was when Elizabeth had just put on the talisman."
"You remember the gist of the conversation?"
Judd nodded. "Yeah. Sorry, Michael. I guess I was shooting from the hip, eh?"
"Apology accepted. I just wanted to- ah- how can I ask this delicately?"
Judd settled back. It was discomfiting seeing this usually stoic and calm man struggle to find words.
"You and Heather... are the both of you..."
"Are we sleeping together?" Judd offered helpfully. "You bet'cha." Then: was it a blush creeping over Shaman's cheeks? Judd thought, bemused.
"Ah- no, that was not what-" Michael Twoyoungmen smiled. "There's no easy way to say this. I'm a doctor and a father, and I thought to tell you that, well, given your - and take no offense at this - respective ages, perhaps you'd have need of..." his voice trailed. Finally, and with an exasperated sigh, he dug into the pocket of his coat and drew out a handful of packets. "Here. Take this. And enjoy."
Judd accepted the dozen of so packets of condoms that Michael dropped into his hand. He grinned.
"It's not like I'm, you know, a first-timer," he commented with a sly smile.
Twoyoungmen cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Well, I thought- er-" He looked at his watch. "I have to be going. I told Narya that I'd see to Richard..."
Judd watched as the Shaman, medicine man of the Sarcee tribe, and world-renowned surgeon, hurry down the corridor. His grin remained with him for the rest of the morning. That night, he put Michael's gifts to good use.

He had checked into a cheap motel on the highway, seeking to retain his anonymity amid the turbulence that crowded his mind. Without the suit, without the flag, he was just another regular Joe, a nameless, faceless traveler on the road to nowhere. Which was why he was surprised by the knock on his door near midnight.
"Who is it?" James Hudson croaked, his mind half-deluded with sleep and whisky, as he struggled out of bed.
"James, it is me," came a familiar female voice.
"H-Heather?" he drawled, struggling into a pair of jeans and a shirt. He rubbed his chin: he hadn't shaved for three days and the stubble growth was fast approaching a dull beard. "Hang on."
He flicked open the lock, pulled the door in.
"James..."
"Y-you?" Mac stumbled back, surprised.
"It is me," Narya said as she stepped into the room. Her heightened senses were almost overwhelmed with the stench of sweat and alcohol.
"What're you doing here?" Mac asked, winding his way to the bed. "How did you find me?"
"My post-cognitive sight. I used it once before, a long time ago, to find Alpha Flight when we first confronted the Master of the World."
"Oh, yeah. Guess I forgot about that." He shook his head, trying to clear  his mind. "Man, how long did it take you to get here?"
"A few hours," Snowbird said nonchalantly. "Distance means little to one such as I."
Mac nodded. "Alright. You're here. What do you want? Did they send you to get me back?" he added  with a note of surliness.
Snowbird shook her head. "No. I came of my own accord. I was... concerned... about you."
"Yeah. Well. You can go back to H. I'm fine." He turned his back to her and fiddled with a bottle cap he found next to the bed.
"I needed to see you. To speak to you. The incident with Dou- I mean Pestilence, troubled me. Still troubles me. And Richard too suffers nightmares from it."
"What has all of this got to do with me?" Mac barked. "Look, the Flight and I are quits, alright? Heather is a capable leader. Hell, she's probably a better leader than I would ever make." He slumped down, wallowing in his own grief. Suddenly, he felt her hand on his shoulder. It was oddly warm, the abrupt contact with another human strangely comforting.
"Do you remember the time. Years ago, during the early days of the Flight programme. When I- I showed you my feelings about you?"
Mac shifted uneasily. "Uh- you mean. Yeah, I do."
There was a pause before her voice resumed, this time huskier, more laden with emotion. "I came tonight to tell you that I still have those... feelings for you."
He turned this time, slowly, and gazed into her dark eyes. A fellow could get lost in there, he thought. "But - what - about - Doug?"
"I love Doug. He was the first mortal I wed. He is the father of my son. But you, James MacDonald Hudson, you are the first man I loved. Love," she corrected.
I should get up. Get her out of here before things get worse. It'd kill any chance I have of getting back with Heather.
But he thought instead of Heather and Judd, and of seeing them partly unclad three nights ago.
He reached for Snowbird's proffered hand. Clasped it in his own. Rose slowly to his feet.
And pressed his lips to hers.
Slowly, lyrically, they sank to his bed.

"Mommie..."
His plaintive voice carried across the darkness.
"Mommie...?" It was a soft cry, a whisper of a frightened child. "I don' feel well..."
But only silence and the ever-present darkness greeted Richard Peregrine Thompson's call.
He wiped warm tears from his face and clambered slowly out of his bed. "Mommie..." The pain was growing worse. At first he thought he was being brave withstanding the burning sensation that crept within him. Now, the fire coursed through his veins.
"It hurts, Mommie..."
Yet there was no mother, no comforting embrace, no soothing words, to chase away the pain and the fear.
He made his way to the door, the layout of the room coming clear in his god-sight.
"Mommie..."
A figure appeared before him. No, two figures.
"Hello child," the first one said.
Richard looked up to the tall, reed-thin man. He sensed that this was bad. This was a bad man. Another man stood behind the first: just as tall, but broad, powerfully muscled. This was a bad man too.
"Isn't your mummy around?" the thin man asked, his voice low and honeyed.
Richard shook his head. He was afraid. He looked at the other man -- the big one, but the brute only grinned stupidly at him. "Go away," he tried to say, but fear gripped his throat and stifled his voice.
"And daddy isn't around either, is he?" the tall man said.
Richard closed his eyes. Daddie. He pictured a kindly-faced man in his mind, an average-looking man with short-cropped hair, laughing eyes, and a warm smile. He missed his daddy.
"So you're all alone?" the thin one said. The brute behind him emitted a sound like choked laughter. Richard shrank back to his bed.
The thin one smiled. "Good."

Elizabeth Twoyoungmen opened her eyes. They're here, she thought. In a fluid motion, she bolted out of bed and rushed out of the room, careless of the fact that she wore little more than her underwear. With but a thought, she garbed herself in her chosen attire: the red and gold of the Talisman. With another thought, she sent a mystic summons to her father.

"By Hodiak!" Snowbird screeched in the midst of love-making.
Mac grunted in both pleasure and pain, the effort and exertion getting to him.
"My son!" Narya screamed, tearing herself away from him. "I should not have left him!" She spun out of his grasp, he form already flickerng, changing.
"Narya!" Mac shouted after her. "What's going on?"
"James, my son is in danger. I must go to  him." Her transformation was complete. There was a shattering of glass and the great arctic owl was through the window.
"Dammit," Mac growled, climbing into his clothes. "I thought I'd gotten away from all that." With a thought, he activated the circuits that had been fused with his system. Electromagnetic pulses lifted him off the ground and propelled  him out the same window Narya had taken.
He sped after her in the cold northern night.

"That scream!" Heather cried, rising from him.
"Huh?" Judd gasped, his body still aflame with passion. Then, he heard it too: a child's cry, a psychic knife-point to the mind, infused with fear, horror and.. pain.
"It's Richard. It's got to be!" She was out of bed and grabbing her dressing gown. He, stumbling after her as he struggled to pull on his briefs. They were out in the main corridor in moments, drawn by the sheer panic of the child's telepathic cry for help.
Elizabeth and Michael were outside Narya's room. Michael lay slumped against the far wall, perspiration drenching his pyjamas. Elizabeth, in full Talisman regalia, wove magic that sparked from her fingertips.
"What happened?" Heather asked.
"The Beastlings," Michael panted. "They're here. They have Richard." He looked wan, exhausted. "They had set a trap on the door. I tried to counter it, but they were too powerful."
"Don't lose sleep over it, pops," Elizabeth said. "I've almost got... this... " She gestured and the door collapsed inwards. "Done!"
Darkness within the room flooded out to engulf them.
"Watch out!" Elizabeth cried as dark tendrils rose out of the void towards them.

The alarms rang through Department H, summoning all Alpha and Beta personnel to an emergency. They leaped out of their beds, from each other's arms, hurrying to Corridor 6 on the Residential level. And there, they confronted the Horror.

The room was empty.
Judd blinked, hardly crediting his vision. Two seconds ago, they were about to be consumed by some black-tentacled nightmare that leaped out from the room. Then, all of it vanished.
"Where's Snowbird?" Kara asked, her voice breaking the shocked silence that followed the creature's disappearance.
Tentatively, Judd stepped into the room, entering the shadows. "Narya?" he called.
But the room was empty.
"It's gone," Elizabeth sighed. "The entity I sensed is no longer here."
"And Richard?" Heather asked.
Elizabeth shook her head. "I can't sense him either..."

In a dark laboratory, located beneath a government sponsored installation few knew existed, two bodies lay cold on the floor.
"Delicious," the being known as Malignance hissed, licking what passed for his lips. He turned his gaze from the five vats, now empty, to five other bodies  naked and prone on the floor.  However, these bodies drew and exhaled air, their torsos rising and falling in quiet rhythm. "Such fine specimens," he admired. "Perfect."
He recognised their semblances in the mortals he had battled recently. The battle had cost the life of one of their own -- his brother Retribution -- and that of one of their thralls. The defeat had hurt. Deeply. And earned them the ire of their father: Somon the Artificer. Still, the time for retreat was over. In his brother's name, they would extract grim Retribution from the mortals.
And what better means than to turn their very selves against them?
Grinning, Malignance knelt over the two closest bodies, that of a voluptuous young woman and a burly dwarf, and pressed a hand each over their faces. Power sparked from his eyes, his hands glowed, briefly, and then the bodies stirred. Quickly, he proceeded to do the same to the remaining three.
The dwarf was the first to open his eyes. He looked into the darkness, feeling the cold prickle over his skin, sensed his own nakedness. And saw the stranger.
"Who're you," he croaked, his voice catching in his throat. His muscles felt leaden, unwieldy, as if he had been asleep too long and his own body had ceased being his. He sensed movement nearby, turned and saw the others.
"Aurora?" he gasped, reaching for her arm.
"Who? Oh-" she made a small fearful sound. "Eet ees dark!"
"Judd?" another voice called. "Where are we?"
He cast about the darkness, his eyes little able to make anything out apart from the single silent figure crouched nearby. "Don't know, Marrina," he said, carefully rising to his feet. "Maybe he can tell us something." He pointed at the figure.
"Don't know who you are, buddy," a fourth voice joined the fray. "But you have some explaining to do."
"Walt? That you?" the dwarf called.
"Yeah. And I've got Froggie next to me."
"Do not call me that," a younger, accented voice snapped. "What infernal place is this?"
"This was your prison," the figure finally spoke, its voice close to a sibilant hiss. "For the last four years, you have languished here. Now, you are free."
"Free, eh?" the dwarf growled. "And who might you be?"
"I was Dr. Alexander Malone," said the figure. "Though you will soon know me by another name."
"Well, I'm impressed, eh. Enough ta knock you silly if you don't come up with the truth soon." He fisted his hands and advanced on the figure.
Malignance raised his hand, turned it and extended a finger in the direction of the dwarf. He collapsed, squirming, gurgling with pain.
"Judd!" The alien-looking woman rushed to his side. "What have you done to him, Monster?"
"Monster?" Malignance smiled, baring his teeth.  He retracted the finger. The dwarf fell still, his hoarse breathing filling the silence that ensued.
"Know this: I can and will kill you. Mercilessly. Painfully. All of you." He clenched his fist suddenly, and the dwarf jolted again, a harsh cry torn from his lips. "See?"
"What do you want of us?" the man known as Walt demanded.
"Simple. Nothing short of utter obedience on your part."
"Northstar bows to no one," the younger man spat. His form blurred, sped towards the figure. Malignance swept up his hands, and the speedster struck an invisible wall. He collapsed with a muffled grunt, out cold on the floor.
"We waste time with futile games," the figure said. "Rise and come with me." He watched as they tottered unsteadily to their feet, the dwarf still gritting his teeth as if still in pain. "You-" he pointed at the other man. "Carry the foolish one."
The man hesitated a moment, but complied, heaving his unconscious friend over his shoulder.
"Where're we going?" the woman asked.
"You'll see," Malignance hissed. He raised his hands, and a dark wind swept about them, enshrouding them in a spiraling veil dark as a moonless night.
When it cleared, the laboratory was empty.
Save for the empty vats.
And the bodies of the dead.