________ ____ _ _____ _ _ ____ _ | | | | | | | | | | | | BLiP | | | | | | -|-- | | o | | | | |--| |--| |---| | | |--~ |--| |--| |--- ---- | #41 | | | | | | | | | | | \ | | | | | | |___ | | | | | |~~~ | | | | _ | | | | | |~~~ | | ~~~~~~~~ ~ ~ ~ ~~~~ ~ ~ ~~ ~~~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~ ~~~~ [The picture on the postcard is of the world. The text reads "Bet you wish we weren't here, the Alt.Riders"] -------------------------------------------------------------------------- "What I Did On My Holidays" "The Alt.Riders" "Keep It Together" Peter closed his eyes as the switch was closed. Contacts clicked, and electricity flowed. Peter could almost hear it, traveling along the wires, rushing towards him, threatening to swamp him out, wash away everything- Nothing. Peter's eyes slammed open. Nothing. No light. No power. No sound. Nothing. And no death. _Marsha?_ _Yes, Peter,_ Marsha's thought resounded in his head. _It looks like I'm not going to die after all._ _What? What are you talking about?_ _I need to become you, but that will drop my powers. And you've got to shrink immediately._ _What? Peter, I don't understand..._ _Now!_ Sight and sound returned, but Peter didn't notice it as he was quickly replaced by Marsha who, although confused, concentrated and *shrunk*. It wasn't a power she used often, mostly because it left her feeling oddly bloated afterwards, but in extreme cases, she could shrink herself down until she resembled the small confectionery after which she took her name. Whereas previously she had used this ability to escape the police in San Francisco, she had no idea what they were escaping this time, but if Peter's death (what!?) was involved, it couldn't be good. One unfortunate side-effect of being like this was that she couldn't tell what was happening out in the real world. Even the passage of time became subjective, leaving Marsha with the small problem of determining when it would be safe to normal- _Change back now!_ _But I only-_ _Now!_ To everyone else, it must surely appear as it Peter sprang from nowhere, suddenly existing on the same chair he was supposed to die on. And, worse, he was free of his bindings. Peter knew he didn't have much time in which to act, and unfortunately (unfortunate at the moment) his powers were more defense than offensive, but he had picked up a few tactics. The first step was to silence everything in the room. Nothing could be more disorienting that suddenly finding you couldn't rely on one of your senses. (He could have silenced the light, but he did need to see himself.) Then, as the first guard reached him, Peter lashed out, touched the man's head, and silenced his brain. Only for a moment. Only enough to send the man unconscious. Peter had no wish to kill anyone, but a new found need for life wasn't going to let anyone stop him. He grabbed the baton the guard dropped, and spun, ready for the next attack. There was another guard coming for him, there was the governor by the switch (who wasn't looking at all interested in participating), and there was one more guard by the door. While he could handle the oncoming guard, and indeed was already in motion to take him out, the one by the door had a gun, and was getting ready to use it. What he had to do to get out of this would take a lot of energy, and was something he'd prefer to have time to prepare for, but that wasn't to be. As the guard before him fell out of the way, Peter took a deep breath, and *silenced*. If this was a movie, no doubt time would have slowed down, and the camera would have zoomed in until you could see individual molecules, and watch them slow down and eventually stop moving, then the camera would zoom back out until you saw this almost funnel of silence overwhelm the guard's gun. As it was, the air grew heavy and crystalised as heat energy was quietened, then, effectively, the guard's gun froze. With a gasp of pain at the iciness, the guard let the gun drop, where it shattered into thousands of pieces, before staring at Peter in awe. "This...this won't be treated lightly, young man!" the governor stammered. Peter was too drained at the moment to keep the silence up. "I...We...won't put up with this sort of treatment!" Peter spun around, knowing he wouldn't get out easily that way, and saw the only exit left. Before him was a floor to ceiling glass plate, behind which sat a limited audience, all currently viewing him with differing degrees of shock. Peter ran at the glass. Normally, the plate glass would resist such attempts, but not when the heat energy was silenced enough to make it extremely brittle. It shattered as his body mass crashed into, and then through, it. Screams greeted him as Peter arrived, but his momentum carried him forwards and past the shocked and outraged participants, and through the door on the other side. This part of the prison wasn't as well guarded as the other sections. Although there were guards, the doors weren't locked, and Peter sent several people flying as he crashed through them. There were a few shots, but Peter ignored them, determined to get as far as he could. He could see the main doors, and the car park beyond. He wasn't quite sure if he could hot-wire a car while running towards it, but at this point it was the best plan he had. *Thunk* *Thunkthunkthunk* Peter stumbled, suddenly aware of several pricks in his back. Staggering on his feet, he reached behind him, and managed to snag something as he slowly spun around. His vision blurring, he focussed on a dart, which had been stuck in him, vaguely making the connection between that, what was happening to him, and the large blobs that were coming towards him. "He's going to put up a fight. Put him with the other two." _-~-_ Peter awoke to the sensation of metal on his body. Or rather, on parts on his body, and cool air on other parts. His sense of awareness told him he was lying down, but he couldn't do more than twitch his fingers and toes. Opening his eyes, he stared upwards at a white ceiling, and opened his mouth to take in a deep breath. Then spent a few moments having his body wracked by coughing. Various muscles spasmed as he did this, but the sensation was all the more painful as the metal parts of whatever it was held him down, making him fight against the bonds as well as shake him. After the coughing, and then a small dizzy spell, Peter finally got enough of a grip on himself to raise his head and looked down enough to see the problem. He was lying on a table, completely naked except for the metal straps that covered various parts of his body. Tugging at his arm produced no give, and Peter slowly realised that it wasn't just the metal holding him down, but that his limbs were also inside some kind of kinetic retardant field that resisted any force he produced. Ha! He was being silenced! It would be ironic if it wasn't annoying. _Marsha, you're going to have to take over again._ _What's happening this time?_ _I'm naked and strapped onto a table._ _Hah! Now you know how exposed I am._ _The table's built to comics code standards, so I'm not that exposed._ _So, you want me to take over and get us out of the restraints._ _More or less. Although, from the looks of this table, it would stop even you from squeezing out. There's an interesting silencing type field in effect that would stop your arms from-_ _So what do you expect me to do then?_ _Well, when you last became me, you were in marshmallow form, and that wasn't planned for in this table._ _So I would already be small enough to not be in the restraints. I like it._ It was no sooner said (or rather, thought) than it was done. Instead of Peter, on the table was a small marshmallow, sitting right in the middle, which then stretched in wildly improbable ways to reveal Marsha, with arms and legs crossed in a way to preserve her dignity. Although any sense of propriorty went out the window as Marsha leapt off the table, and landed on the floor, worrying less about her lack of clothes and more about getting the hell out of the room. The room was small, barely containing more than the table. There was also a door, of course, but nothing else. Certainly nothing Marsha could use to cover herself with. Attacking the table, Marsha managed to wrench one of the restraints off, the force fields not intending to stop anyone from trying to damage it from the outside, and thus armed, she went for the door. She turned the knob, which did surprisingly turn easily, and threw the door open in one smooth motion. There was a guard on the other side, but he clearly wasn't expecting anyone from inside to be making a break for it. And, moreover, wasn't expecting that someone to be a naked shapely black-skinned young woman, and his eyes roved downwards almost by instinct. "Pervert," Marsha muttered, but took full advantage of the situation to knock the guard unconscious with her makeshift club. Glancing out to make sure no-one else was about (there wasn't), Marsha hauled the guard inside. A few minutes later, the guard exited the room. At least, a white male exited the room in a guard uniform (which didn't fit exactly, but as long as no-one looked too closely they wouldn't notice the rolled up trouser cuffs tucked into the slightly loose shoes, nor the belt which was done up rather more tightly than usual, nor the extremely rolled up sleeves), and inside there was a white male also lying on the table, just as one would expect (and again, not looking too closely would allow the restraint that was just placed there, rather than being properly attached, to be overlooked). Peter walked quickly through the corridors, and there were a lot of corridors, putting into practice the concept of "if you look like you belong, you won't be questioned". The few people he saw seemed to accept his presence readily enough, so it looked like it was working perfectly. The main problem was that, of course, he didn't know where he was, or where he was going. But he did know how buildings worked, and the general sort of things most buildings had to have. Quickly locating a stairwell, he ducked inside, and looked on the back of the door. Sure enough, there was a fire escape plan, telling him where he was and how to get out. Currently he was on the third floor. Looking up the inside of the stair well, he saw a few more floors above, and several below. Basements, he presumed. Could be where all the interesting rooms were. Not sure on where best to try, Peter checked through the pockets he had appropriated. First there was the wallet. Mike Wallace, huh? Then there were a few keys. And two pass cards. One was green, no clues to where it was used, and the other was red, with "4.2" printed on it. Tapping the red card against his fingers, Peter considered its significance. The mostly likely answer was that it was a room reference, and given that there weren't forty-two floors, that meant somewhere upstairs. Running up the stairs, he arrived at the fourth floor and grinned as he saw the floor plan. There was room 4.2, plainly marked, and only a few corridors away. Checking the way was clear, Peter set on his path, not sure what the result would be. In truth, he probably should have gotten out of the building, but if someone had gone to all this trouble to bring him here, he wanted to see what else was worth troubling over. A few minutes brought him to the door in question, and indeed there was a card reader right beside it. Unfortunately, there was also a keypad attached to it. Still, that didn't necessarily mean you have to type in a code as well as have a keycard. Seeing there were little other options, Peter put the card in the reader, getting the right way around on the second try. A red light came up, blinking, but nothing further happened. *That* meant you had to type in something on the keypad. Completely without any clue, Peter hit a couple of the buttons, and the machine made a beeping sound before spitting the card back out. Wondering if it was three times a loser, Peter tried another random sequence. Still nothing. He was about to go for a third, when the door opened, revealing an extremely irate looking woman in a white coat. "I've told you before, you enter the code *before* putting the card in...who the hell are you?" Recovering only slightly quicker than the woman, Peter's reaction wasn't exactly a subtle manipulation of people and events as much as it was a quick sucker punch to the woman's throat. She staggered back, gasping for air, and Peter slipped inside after her. A quick check made sure there was no-one else in the room, then Peter reached out and touched her head, despite the woman's feeble attempts at fending him off, and silenced her into unconsciousness. _Looks like I've found you some clothing,_ he thought to Marsha. _About time! What's going on out there?_ _We're in a laboratory of some kind. Tables with science stuff on them, and..._ _Science stuff? Could you be a little more vague?_ _I think you should have a look at this._ When Marsha could see, she was looking directly at what had caught Peter's attention, and she stared grimly for a moment. However, she did have a few other priorities at the moment, and turned to the woman and began to strip her. _What are we going to do about him?_ she asked Peter. _Can we get him out?_ _I'm not sure if he's even alive. Damn._ _What?_ _She's a size six. I can fit, but there's going to be some unusual stretch marks in the morning._ Slipping on the coat as the last piece of the outfit, Marsha left the woman in her underwear, but secured her with some handy clamps she found near some Bunsen burners. It wasn't perfect but it would do. Then, she finally let herself look at the other end of the room again. It was basically a large tank, filled up with ice, but so completely clear that the only way you knew the ice was there was because of the mist rising from the top of it. And inside the ice, encased in it, was the body of Agent. And, er, yes, very average looking. Marsha walked up to the tank. On the side closest to her were a set of controls, and Marsha examined them carefully. Most looked to be various surgical controls that could extract tissue samples through the ice, but another set of controls regulated the temperature. Slowly Marsha increased the temperature. At this point, it was unlikely that Agent was still alive, but Marsha wasn't exactly discounting any possibility when Agent was involved. The rest of the team pretty much knew he wasn't exactly human, but having already known Missy by that point, that wasn't exactly a huge revelation. Speaking of Missy... Marsha wondered if she was thinking of returning back from her holiday. It would be nice to see the Chub again. Someone actually stable on the team for a change. The ice didn't look to be melting particularly quickly, so following Peter's cue, Marsha starting looking through the pockets of her coat. No wallet, but a whole rainbow collection of pass cards. There was the green one, the red one for "4.2", a set of blue ones marked "B.1" through to "B.4" (for the basement), and a yellow one with simply "5" on it. But it was quite likely that they would all be useless without accompanying number codes, and that meant they would need a source of information. Marsha looked over at the woman. Time for some interrogation... _-~-_ "I can keep this up all day, you know. It doesn't bother me," Marsha said, as she watched the woman squirming on the chair, facing away from her. "The hair is technically dead matter," she said conversationally, "which is why you can cut it. And, as I'm sure you're realising right now, can burn it." Marsha bent down to be right beside the woman's ear. "You can smell it, can't you? That creepy crawling feeling going right up your nose, and pressing down on your scalp. The flame is getting closer, you can feel it on the back of your neck. All you need to do is promise to tell me what I want to know, and then all this will be over." The woman struggled in her chair, trying to get away, but to no avail. Marsha made sure the woman wasn't moving any closer to the flame that was near, but otherwise let her make whatever movements she wanted to. "Just a simple nod," said Marsha, bringing more hair over the flame, letting the sound and smell permeate the room. "And then we're done." A noise from the other end of the room drew her attention to the tank. A gasp announced Agent's return from wherever he had been, and he slowly and painfully crawled over the side of the tank to flop down on the ground. Marsha crossed over to him, helped him get to his knees, then quickly looked away as Agent vomited on the floor. "Eww. Gross." Agent remained on his hands and knees for the moment, just breathing carefully. Slowly he brought one hand to the pink mess he had made, and picked up a piece of metal, inspecting it casually. In one move, he threw the piece of metal away and leapt to his feet, the moment only slightly spoiled as he nearly went too far and fell over again. "Right, what's going on?" he asked, his voice raspy. "And I warn you to keep to words of only two syllables." Without waiting for an answer, he quickly went to a nearby sink, ran the cold water, then stuck his head underneath the stream, alternatively taking long gulps and let it wash over his face. With both hands, he scooped water over his head to wash the tank gunk away and smooth down his hair. Turning the water off, he shook his head clear, then turned to face Marsha. The drops still hanging on his face did nothing to take away the danger in his eyes. "You were in that tank," Marsha said, speaking slowly and cautiously, not exactly sure what Agent's reaction would be. "I have no idea why, or how you got there." Agent merely nodded. "And you?" "I'm being hunted for bombing a building in San Francesco," Marsha continued after a moment. "Peter sort of escaped the electric chair after killing some woman and a detective." Agent considered this. "Right. And now we're going to find out why." "We didn't do those things," Marsha added, still not quite sure where Agent was going. "I know," Agent replied, before heading for the tied up woman. Marsha took a moment to smile before following him. It was nice to know that after all this time working together, her teammates were willing to take her innocence as read. It gave her a warm, fuzzy feeling. Which didn't entirely last as she saw Agent examining how she was torturing the woman. The woman was tied to a chair, true. There was a Bunsen burner near the back of her head, true. Marsha was burning her hair, true. But the hair had been cut from the woman's head whilst she was unconscious, so there wasn't any real danger. But clearly Marsha was betting on the woman not knowing that. But all that didn't matter now. Agent was standing in front of the woman, who was staring at him as a frog stared into the light from a torch. Agent bent down, and with one hand, removed the gag from the woman's mouth. "You're...you're dead," the woman murmured. "You were shot." Marsha half-expected Agent to reply with something like "But I'm feeling much better now", but Agent was clearly beyond playing any kind of game. All he said was "Tell me." And she did. Numbers, floors and doors all came tumbling out of her, faster than Marsha could follow. Agent stood up. "Right. Come on, we're ending this now." "Um, what?" "You've got a card for 5?" Marsha blinked, then looked through her pocket for the yellow card and handed it over. "Take the blue ones, go to the basement, find Rick and Barry." "You think they're here?" "We are," Agent pointed out, before heading for the door. "You're going out like that?" Agent paused, and for the first time looked a little disconcerted at his nude state. "I'll...pick something up on the way," he said. As he opened the door, Marsha had one last question. "What's the combination for these then?" she asked, holding the blue cards up. _-~-_ "I want to strangle their parents." Marsha muttered. "Very funny, I don't think," she continued as she reached the end of the stairwell and stared at the door marked "B3". "I'll strangle *his* parents." Marsha punched in the code she had been repeating, then pushed the card in. The card reader beeped green, and Marsha heard the click of the lock opening. Yanking the door open, Marsha stomped inside, and nearly tripped and fell in shock. She was standing on a metal gangway that stretched out before her and to the sides. Far down below was the floor, far, far down. It was sectioned off, with cubicals erected, but all with glass roofs to allow observers to see what was being done inside. And there were a range of activities. Blue sparks flew around one room, another room held a huge centrifuge, yet another room looked to contain test tubes of almost any chemical Marsha could name. And in every room, sometimes just by itself, was a little jar on pink fluid. It was pink fluid Marsha recognised, having seen it before whenever Rick was shot or stabbed. It *was* Rick, and he was now spread out over this entire floor, and being experimented on in every conceivable way. More to the point, was currently being experimented on, which meant a lot of people. Fortunately, none of them noticed her up above them, but this did present her with the problem of rescuing Rick while not getting caught. Well, maybe not *her* exactly... Peter gingerly stepped down from the gangway to stand on the top of one of the empty rooms. This wasn't from a fear of making any noise, which wasn't possible at this point, but from the simple fear of crashing straight through the glass and down to the room below. This didn't happen. In fact, as Peter strode around with more and more force, he started to wonder just how he could break through. Maybe dampen the energy again and smash the glass? Which was when the first crack appeared, although, of course, silently. This was why Peter didn't realise he was standing in a middle of a spider work of cracks until he peered closely. Which was, by then, too late. " ," Peter swore. The glass should have fallen slowly, given the eerie lack of noise, but it fell in normal time, as did Peter, who landed heavily on the floor two meters below. Fortunately, he didn't break anything, but he didn't feel inclined to move any time soon, and not just because of the glass shards around him. But move he had to, and so, being careful to avoid the shards as he did so, Peter rose up and claimed the first jar of Rick. One down, who knows how many to go? After collecting several jars it started to get easier, as Rick began being able to help. He wasn't capable of forming complex shapes, and certainly not, for example, capable of talking, but he could still fight. As Peter entered another room, he got a guard's attention, and threw a pink ball at him. The guard, by reflex, caught it, and was suddenly surprised to find the ball exploding in extremely sharp and long spikes. The silent scream was quickly ended, and Peter had yet another jar. Peter had cleared about half the rooms, as far as he could tell, when it happened. "Pe. Ter." Peter looked down at the large mass he was collecting. By this time, there was enough mass to shape itself into a small trolley with wheels so that Peter could easily push it around, but now it had a small mouth. "Rick?" "Can. Still. Think. Still. Feel." Peter blinked at this, then his eyes widened in shock. Rick had been able to feel everything they had done to him? Was that possible? Clearly so, but still... Peter's face grew dim. All the more reason to finish this quickly. The last few rooms where almost too easy. It was only Peter's presence that stopped Rick, now looking almost his old self, from killing the occupants. "They're not worth it," he said, but Rick was taking it all personally at this point, and Peter couldn't blame him. Rick held the final doctor at arm's length as he reclaimed the last of himself, and by "arm's length", this was, for Rick, holding the doctor against the ceiling. "How about I cut you into small little pieces?" Rick growled. The doctor merely quivered, terrified. "Rick, let him down," Peter said quietly. "We'll catch up with Agent and end this." For a moment Peter thought Rick would simply let the doctor drop, but finally Rick let the doctor down gently, before turning his back on the doctor and walking out contemptuously. "This ends now." _-~-_ Several floors later, Rick didn't bother waiting for Peter to enter the combination into the card reader, and simply punched the lock out with an iron fist. As Peter had the card just an inch away in his hand he found this slightly disconcerting. Inside the fifth floor, they didn't find it too hard to follow Agent's route, simply following the unconscious bodies. After a while, they heard a disturbance ahead, and sped up. Rounding a corner, they saw Agent slam two guards together, then heave them to one side. Agent glanced around, saw them, then nodded and waved them to his side, his new outfit of some guard's shirt, pants and (somehow, from somewhere) a long black coat that flowed easily around him.. "I've had a look around this floor," he said when they joined him. "And this door is the only one leading to the main interior." The door he indicated was the only one in the wall on that side of the corridor. Looking back and forth, Rick and Peter saw that the wall continued round corners far away, blocking out the side of a large square. "Allow me," Rick said, walking over to the door, and giving it a fast and furious smashing with all the force he could muster. The only result he got was to bounce off the door, and would have broken his hand if it had been a normal human one. Agent put a hand on Rick's shoulder, giving it a friendly squeeze, then shook his head. "Force is not the answer here, but don't worry, you'll get your chance." In many ways Peter would prefer not to apply force at all, but he knew the other two would be unlikely to try a more peaceful philosophy at the moment. Trying the obvious, Peter reached out, and tried to turn the door handle, but it didn't budge either. "No card reader," he said. "Not here, no," replied Agent. "But there is one on the other side of the floor. I saw it before, just placed on the wall by itself, no door nearby, and wondered about it. And this explains it." Producing the yellow card, he held it out to Peter. "If you would?" "What's the sequence?" "One flew over the cuckoo's nest," Agent replied. Peter just sighed, but set out for the card reader. It was, he had to admit, an interesting way of setting up the entrance. To get in, someone had to help you. Presumably, normally they've have a guard or someone stationed by it, but when there was an invading force, especially if there was just one person attacking the building, they'd find themselves in trouble very quickly. Finally getting around the last corner, Peter spied the card reader, and hurried towards it, then hesitated. It wasn't that he didn't trust his companions, it was just that they were a little heated at the moment, and that wasn't the best time to make rational decisions about calmly dealing with the enemy. And then he thought about Ashley, and what they did just to set him up, and he reached for the keypad with no further moral dilemmas on his mind. Punching in 344374, he put the card in, pulled it out, and turned to go. A buzz alerted him to a problem, and he turned back to see the red light lit. Typing the number more slowly, he put the card in again, and waited. Again the red light lit. What? What was wrong? He was punching in the code Agent... Peter rolled his eyes. The apostrophe, of course. Typing 344384 this time, he entered the card and this time it lit green. Pulling the card out, he ran through the corridors, hoping to get there in time for a piece of revenge of his own. When he reached the door, he didn't have any trouble getting inside, as the door had been ripped off its heavily reinforced, but now exposed, hinges. Inside, he found a few guards lying on the floor, people shouting and screaming, Rick taking on five guards at once, and Agent typing at a computer, punching out anyone who came to close. Peter's entrance drew a few people towards him, they hesitated when Peter viciously headbutted the first who came too close. "Stop them!" someone yelled. "They'll ruin everything!" Ruin everything? Peter thought. After ruining Ashley? That was... Peter let loose a roar, from deep within him, letting out all the frustration and anger he was feeling. Unfortunately, in the already loud din, no-one heard it, but those nearby all too soon felt more physical representations in the forms of fists and kicks. The rest of the fight was a blur to Peter, and it was only when Rick held him down that he came back to his senses. Staggering away from Rick's grip, he saw nearly everyone on the floor, unconscious, with only three people, all scientist-types, huddling against a spare computer terminal. Turning around, he saw Agent, calmly reading computer print-outs. "Tell me you've got them." "It's the government," Agent said, his matter-of-fact speaking tone halting Peter. "What?" "You know, the government," Agent repeated. "Those in charge. Leaders of this fair nation of yours." "But...President Luthor..." "Doesn't know anything about this. In fact, this is the same part of the government that tried to get us to kill him. I expect this is their way of trying to get rid of us." "So, all this...what happened to Marsha and me, setting us up, capturing you and Rick..." "All designed to get rid of us." "Why not...just kill us? When we were in prison, or something?" "In prison, we were under surveillance by Luthor's side of the government, making sure we submitted to the mental reinforcement program." "Hey, about that program," Rick started. "Which is the same reason they couldn't get us to kill ourselves, either, but had to go to elaborate lengths to get others to kill us. Oh, they had to use more powerful means for Rick and myself, but not you." "So, Ashley...she died for nothing?" Agent said quietly, "We know about this now. Have proof. Luthor will make sure they are properly taken care of. Ashley will see her killers brought to justice. In fact, both you and Marsha can be cleared completely with this evidence." Peter stared around the room. "You're not surprised by this, are you?" "I was told someone was after us, moreover someone in the government. It just became a matter of letting them come to light." "By shooting you?" Agent shrugged. "A means to an end." He looked over to the remaining scientists. "Your end, as it happens." Agent smiled at them unpleasantly, then turned back to Rick and Peter, then frowned. "Where's Barry?" _-~-_ Back in Sin.ci.net.ty, the trio climbed the final stairs in the building they used as their headquarters. The scientists had claimed they never managed to secure Barry, and certainly hours of fruitless searching had failed to turn him up. They were therefore more than a little surprised when they entered the cafeteria to see Barry sitting there, and beside him a small blue girl, looking to be around the age of six and wearing a plain robe. He was talking softly to her, but stopped as he heard the others enter. Looking over to them, he didn't give them time to have any reaction other than surprise before saying, "Guys, we've got trouble." -------------------------------------------------------------------------- NEXT ISSUE: Never mind the next issue! Hurry over to check out _War Without Worlds #1_ in two weeks, then be back here for the exciting tie-in! CREDITS: All mine. NOTES: So, how many times have you been on holiday and uncovered a major government conspiracy against you? Not that everything has been completely exposed yet, but I am thinking of tying up plot strands...Back to the Index.