The Once and Future King

by Richard Gray

will be illustrated by Mark Throckmorton

Chapter 1:

Horns honked, and headlights sped past through the night as the bus came to a stop. The woman waiting at the stop glared at the driver of the bus, then scowled away toward the oncoming traffic. It was her way of telling him she wasn't interested in his route without actually having to talk to him. The driver glared back at her, studied her eyes a moment, then, with a sigh of disinterest, pulled his bus back onto the main road, ignoring the honking cars he cut off along the way.

The woman continued to scowl back and forth into the night as she waited for her bus route to appear. She wasn't rich. She was a scrawny, little, black woman of about 40 years with an ugly brown coat that covered her down to her knees. She was waiting on Central Park North for her bus route to appear. To her back was the northern border of Central Park-beautiful, but in these times it was quite dangerous at night. In front of her she was sitting on the southern edge of Harlem-not so beautiful, and much more dangerous at night.

There was a subway station entrance just across the street from her. There were a few bums and pan handlers lining the staircase leading down to the subway, but she had lived in New York City for years, and had learned when to ignore them, and when to give a few coins just to get them to go away. The bums weren't a big deal, and once she got inside the subway station it tended to be much safer. But it was for a red route 2 &3 and it just wouldn't take her where she wanted to go. No, she was stuck with the bus, and since this particular route was notorious for either being a few minutes early or incredibly late, she was also stuck with waiting for it for nearly an hour in the middle of the night by herself.

The 2040's were a dangerous time in the city, everybody knew it, and as time went on everybody seemed to slowly become indifferent to the horrible stories on the news. In the 30's, she remembered, a bus driver would have shown concern for a woman in this part of town all by herself at night, may have even tried to convince her to take a longer route to where she was going just to get off the street, but now they just all scowled and shrugged-it was just too much to ask a human being to constantly live in a state of worry like that, they eventually became indifferent out of self preservation.

The woman suspected her bus would be coming soon, even though she couldn't see it. She fingered through her purse and slowly pulled out her plastic, yellow metro-card to pay the driver with. She couldn't quite remember how much money she still had on her public transportation account, it was close to the end of the month, but she was sure she had enough to get where she was going.

A group of teenagers came out of a convenience store speaking loudly, and shouting like birds of prey declaring their territory. They were three tall, strong Mexican boys wearing red bandannas around their head and they were wearing their pants around their buttocks instead of their waist like the gangst'a style of the 1990's. Like most old styles, 30 or 40 years later it was coming back with the gangs that had originally made it popular.

Mexican boys in this part of Harlem? Racially based gang violence was rising. This was black Harlem, as a black woman she was at least clinging to that comfort, but the site of three Mexican gangstas was a bad omen.

The three boys crossed the street and headed over to her. Lawd no! She cursed to herself. She took a deep breath, then tried to look indifferent, studying them from the corner of her eyes, doing her best not to make direct eye contact yet keeping track of where they were. The Mace, she thought. With a hard gulp she tucked her purse under her coat and swam her hand through it looking for her bottle of mace, just in case.

They called to her. She never knew whether it was best to ignore them, or to answer their calls, but it was easier to ignore them with a straight face, maybe they'd go away.

"Aye, I'm talking to you, Mommasita," the dominant boy growled. She tried to ignore him, but he gave her a shove. "Yeah, you." He was wiry with a thin face and a wispy goatee, his hair had been braided into the latest style, Mexican dread locks. He was wearing a black wife-beater tank top, and his white boxers showed up around his sagging jeans.

She did her best to give him an appalled, condescending look. "Don'choo touch me boy," she scolded.

He turned back to the other two teens. They were both fatter, shorter, and stocky, each wearing white, pressed shirts with the top buttons fastened, but the lower part of the shirt opened up to show the tops of their boxers. One of them was wearing a hairnet, and he laughed at the woman's response. "She funny, eh. Ain' she Paulo."

The leader replied, "Yeah, she funny." Paulo centered his eyes on her again, "You looking for work out here, Mommasita."

She wasn't sure how to reply. That bus's gotta be coming soon. "I's jus,... jus waiting for my bus. Now you boys jus'ge'along."

"C'mon Mommasita, we'll pay for it." He tugged on the top of his boxers and made a motion to loosen his pants. "Me'en ma'hommies here just looking for some ebony play. Show us was'under the coat, huh, porfavor?"

She felt like she was in serious danger now. Her eyes darted down to the oncoming traffic, and no bus in sight. She felt she had to either act, or become a victim. "Oh, I sho' you was'und'a my coat." She swept her hand out and tried to mace them, but the cat-like youth backed out of range at the first sign she was wielding a weapon.

"Dios Mio!" Paulo shouted, "'ucking hoe." He scowled at her like an angry predator, "You trying ta'mace me, Mommasita, bitch. C'mere." He swung out from his pockets a switch blade, and with a flick of his wrist let out the razor sharp steel.

In a state of panic, she kept spraying, letting it all harmlessly go out into the air, each second of it just making the gangsta's more angry and more agitated. She started backing up toward the entrance to the park, then one of the fat ones picked up a chunk of cement and hurled it at her hand.

She dropped the can of mace as the cement block broke her wrist. She cried out, but in response the passing cars just honked. The three of them grabbed her, then headed into the park with her kicking and screaming.

Paulo shouted, "Quite!" When she kept screaming, he gripped down on her broken wrist, and after her yelp of pain he hissed out, "Quite, bitch!" They yanked her coat off of her and threw it on the ground behind a group of bushes then pushed her down on it.

Everything around her buzzed away into an incomprehensible hum of sensations. She could feel hands tugging at her clothes, her body parts, and a chorus of evil laughs and comments. "She ain'too bad for an old hoe." "Get it off man." "Me first" "Ganna cum in your nappy hair, Mommasita". This wasn't supposed to happen to her. She was a scrawny, 40 year old woman wearing ugly clothes and no makeup, no attempt to do her hair. This sort of thing was supposed to happen to young, firm skanks in tube tops and mini-skirts clubbing on the weekends, not her. This couldn't be happening to her.

Suddenly the quake of thunder and the flash of lightening focused her senses back on the present, but the present was something unreal. Her shirt was off, her pants down, and Paulo was unzipping his pants while the other two held her arms. The lighting struck again, this time right behind them, splitting a nearby tree off of its trunk.

"Son of'a," Paulo screamed, distracted from his urges he turned to see what happened.

There was a humming sound, then another blast struck down near them, then another, and another. The ground started to glow, and ripples of light flowed up all around them, then another round of blinding flashes collided with the ground...

It was all quiet. Unnaturally still. Then, the sound of metal chattering against metal filled the air. It was a few moments before she could open her eyes, and when her eyes opened she couldn't believe what she saw...

There were twelve men standing around them wearing strange, shiny black armor. There were menacing looking spikes fastened to their shoulders and elbows. Their helmets covered their faces in meshes of metal. The woman had finished high-school, and remembered something about knights in shining armor. Though these men looked something like those stories they forced on her in high school, they were all sleeker and more agile looking than anything in the books.

Paulo stood up, buttoned his pants. "Where the hell you mudda's come from?" he growled.

One of the twelve men looked at Paulo. He proceeded to remove his helmet. Underneath the black armor he was a white man in his early thirties with long, white hair and an empty expression in his pale eyes.

The blond man said in a strange, almost British accent, "I am Stephen La Faye of the Tolemac Knights."

Paulo repeated, breathing deeply, sticking his chest out, and waving his knife in the air, "I said where you mudda'fuck'as come from?"

Stephen delicately swung the tip of his sword out toward Paulo and snipped off his testicles with a wave of his hand, then with another flick of his wrist completely castrated him. "I've come from Hell," Stephen said.

Paulo grabbed his crotch, trying to keep his loose genitals from falling down his pant legs, screaming as the blood spilled through his fingers. Stephen smirked, he stalked forward, bull legged like an animal. With a wild look in his eyes he swung his sword through the air and sliced through Paulo's waist and forearms. The body wobbled a bit, then the pieces of Paulo fell to the ground, his hands clutching onto his pants, and his arms sprawled out by his torso.

The woman could feel the two fat ones let go of her and try to run away. She had no idea whether or not they made it. She passed out at the sight of Paulo's dead eyes staring up at her, and just prayed that when she woke up--if she woke up--it would all be over.

Chapter 2:

She swayed into the computer lab then looked around until she saw him over in the corner. School had been out for over an hour, but she knew he'd be there. He was always in the computer lab late after school, either working on homework for their computer programming class, or playing that stupid computer game over the net, 'Knights of the Realm'. After what happened earlier that day she knew he'd be off in the far corner to hide his battle wounds.

She noticed his head stop a moment, as if he heard her come in but was too proud to look back and acknowledge she was there, then he quickly went back to his typing. She almost left, but decided she needed to try and make things right with him. Before the incident she had considered him one of her best friends. Her boyfriend was never good at talking to her about anything except the sports and who's who of school. Nick was different from all the other guys she knew, and she wanted to still be friends with him.

"Nick," she called out. He still didn't move, continuing with the silent treatment. She walked through the lines of old computers, then found a half broken chair, sat down next to him and leaned toward him.

He didn't want to look her in the eye, but couldn't help but give her a quick glance over. She was still wearing that cheer leading outfit from the pep-rally earlier in the day. She was tall, slender, well endowed with chocolate skin and she easily turned the heads of any men or boys who passed her. No matter how much he didn't want to look at her, his libido forced a peak. He was still a sixteen-year-old boy, and he just had to look at her for an instant before resuming his anger and the silent treatment.

He was Mexican, and she was black. It was a racially uneasy combination in their time, but she was so gorgeous, and she had been so nice to him he couldn't help but have a crush on her. Her only visible flaw was a pair of thick glasses that seemed to mark the fact that, despite how pretty she was, she was actually incredibly smart. She was the only girl in his computer programming class, and the only other person in the class doing as well as he was. If not for the fact that she had so many extracurricular activities she probably would have been kicking his ass on the programming tests. If it just wasn't for those damn, thick glasses she would have seemed perfect, and at that moment he completely hated her for it.

"What are you doing?" She asked, trying to edge him into conversation.

"What the hell does it look like I'm doing?" Nick grumbled as he redirected the digital troops on the computer screen, trying to close off the armies of his opponent who was somewhere on the other side of the internet.

She sighed, sad. "You always playing that stupid game, Nick."

"Whad'you want," he hissed, keeping his eyes on finishing off his opponent on the screen.

"I just want you to talk to me."

"I'm busy," he grumbled.

"Stupid game." She glared over his shoulder at the computer screen. Just like all the other times, Nick's Knights surrounded the last surviving men of the opposing army, beat them down, then sliced off their heads. The speakers on the old machine let out a victory tune as digital blood splashed on the screen. Nick always won the war games... always.

"Well you're not busy now, will you just talk to me."

"Why don't you just go talk to your damn, chink boyfriend?"

She leaned back, "I'm not talking to Lance right now... Look, Nick, I didn't know, okay." She turned his chair toward her. He was so thin and light that she could overpower him without much strain. He had bruises all over his thin face and he had a black eye that was starting to swell up. "Damn boy, why didn't you go to the school nurse? Ya need'ta put something on that."

Nick flinched as she touched the gash on the side of his face. The edges of the skin were curling up and out all the way down the side of his triangular shaped head, framing a pool of dried blood and flowing plasma. "I don't need to go to some damn nurse." He growled, then turned away from her again toward the computer screen.

"You need stiches."

"I don't need a damn thing."

"I didn't know it was you, Nick," she said. "I didn't mean what I said."

"What the hell did you mean then?"

"Nick."

"Damn it, Gwen. You think it's okay when your chink boy uses his black belt to beat the shit out of people who are smaller than he is? You think it's funny when Lance beats on someone?"

"I'm not talking to Lance right now, okay."

He glared back, his swelling eye condemning her. "Would you be talking to him if you hadn't of realized that the 'little pussy' he was beating up was me?"

"Nick."

"Fuck it, Gwen. You pretend to be all nice to people, pretend to be all perfect, but when it comes right down to it you're just as much of a bitchy snob as anyone else."

"Look, I pulled him back when I saw it was you."

"And you cheered him on when you thought I was just some random, scrawny guy." He logged out of the computer, stood up and walked away from her.

She pulled on his arm. Now she was pissed. "Why you diss'ing me? You know, guys fight all the time around here. It's not my fault if you can't take care of yourself."

He shook his head at her. He couldn't believe that he had actually had a crush on her. "Just go to hell, Gwen."

He pulled away and she stayed back in the computer lab as he went down the halls toward his locker. School had been out for a long time, but there were still a number of kids lining the halls. As he walked, doing his best to stare straight ahead, he could feel every single one of those kids watching him. Gwen was right, many of the guys in the school did fight all the time. However, the days of meeting by the flag pole seemed to end in the two-thousand-thirties when most schools in the New York area were swarming with rental cops to try and beat down the growing gang problems. Now, all the fights happened late at night on street corners well away from school. Not only was it unusual to have fights during a school pep-rally, but fights were seldom so mismatched as they had been when Nick got his ass kicked. The concept of a school bully was more or less outdated, and most of the fights were usually against rival gang members or muscled thugs from different races.

Lance Phawn, Gwen's current boyfriend, was a regular Bruce Lee. He was a Senior, a second degree black belt in taekwondo, packed with muscles, and for an Asian guy he was quite tall. Nick, on the other hand, was only average height, and he was one of the scrawniest Mexican kids in the entire school. Even his face was lean-it was shaped like an upside down triangle with his chin coming to a delicate point.

Though Nick was a brilliant strategist in any sort of war simulation on the computer, he was anything but a fighter in the real world. When the fight broke and Lance took a swing, Nick didn't even attempt to fight back. No blocking, no running away, no crying or screaming--Nick just took it. He kept getting back up each time he was beaten down, and his face held a stern, proud expression regardless of how much the punches and kicks hurt. The only instant that Nick's rock-like demeanor wavered during the beating was when he saw Gwen step up beside Lance and heard her say with a giggle, "Lance, would you stop wasting your time with the little pussy. He won't even fight back. C'mon baby, before the principal comes."

He would have expected that from just about anyone but her. For a moment his heart broke, then he looked into her eyes and he decided that he didn't care. It only made Nick more angry at her when the flash of recognition entered her eyes as she realized the 'little pussy' was actually him. He wanted to spit in her face when she started pulling Lance away. It looked like she was just suddenly trying to make a show of innocence in front of someone she actually knew. What if it was just some other kid who her boyfriend was beating on? Would she have just giggled, told Lance to stop wasting his time, then went on with being a perfect little cheer leader?

He got his books out of his locker, slammed it shut, then looked back. Gwen was coming out of the computer lab. She looked at him. He couldn't tell if she was sad or if she was pissed, but he told himself he didn't care.

He walked out of the school, passed the basketball courts, went down a block, then walked down the stairs to the underground subway station. He slid his metro card through the side of the revolving gate entrance, then stood on the cement platform and waited for his train. In the ghostly lighting of the subway tunnel, Nick's swollen and beaten face made him look like some zombie out of a horror movie. Everyone else on the subway platform seemed to be staring at him. He just tried to keep his cool, and focused his attention on the filthy train tracks to the side of him rather than look at any of the others. The pain was getting to him by the time the train actually came. His left eye was still swelling up, and the gash down his cheek burned. He did everything he could to just show some dignity and ignore the pain, but he couldn't help but slouch in the train seat and lean his throbbing head against the window. As the train took off, his cheek seemed to throb with the same 'thump-de-thump, thump-de-thump, thump-de-thump' that the train made as it went over the tracks.

Though he didn't live that far from school it seemed like it took forever for the train to let him off at his stop. He lived just a block away from the entrance to the underground subway platform that took him to school. He just wanted to take some ibuprofen and go to bed. He practically crawled up the steps to his apartment, then came in and slouched down on the living room futon.

Nick was alone. His older brother, John, was probably out gang'banging with the local Mexican gang. His younger sister spent most of her time at her boyfriend's house. And Nick's Mom was at work. His Mom wrote add copy and commercials for some big business in downtown Manhattan. They were actually pretty well off, but they wanted a four bedroom apartment, so they could each have their own room, and they wanted something that would allow for pets. Even with his Mom making pretty good money, the type of apartment they wanted was just way too expensive anywhere in New York City except for the areas where the gang influences were growing. So, that's where they ended up, and it wasn't long before John started gang banging.

There was a familiar mew, then a fluffy, gray mass plopped down on Nick's stomach and started licking his face. "Eh, Runt," Nick said slowly. He stroked the cat's head. "You come to beat the shit out of me too, eh boy... Yeah." Runt meowed, then stretched out and started retracting and extending his claws into Nick's T-shirt. Nick sighed as his cat inadvertently scratched him, "We should'a declawed you, man. You really are trying to beat the shit out of me."

Nick had a few moments of peace, stroking Runt, before the door to the apartment shook, then his brother John and five of his gangsta' friends came barging in. They were all wearing wife-beater under shirts, except for the chubby ones that had pressed shirts only buttoned from the middle up, with the lower half dangling back on the sides to show their undershirt and their boxers. They each had a few chains on them, and they wore a black, yellow, and green band around their wrists to show which gang they were from.

Nick hated John's gang'bang'a friends, and hated John when he was with them. He thought they were all just a bunch of ignorant thugs with nothing better to do with their lives but beat the shit out of other people over a cement block of territory. He closed his eyes, half hoping they would be gone when he opened them again.

One of the chubbier ones, they called him Gordo, spoke up from the back of the group. "See, Homes," Gordo said, "tha'Chink'motha'fucker beat da'shit outta ya bro with some'a'dat damn gook shit.."

Nick kept his eyes closed, he was really wishing they would just go away and leave him in peace.

John angrily plopped down on the futon, then grabbed Nick by the chin and forced his head from side to the side so that he could examine the bruises and wounds.

"Fuck," Nick shouted, straining his chin against John's meaty hand as Runt scurried away. "Get your damn hand off me, John." Nick opened his eyes to see John scowling down at him.

"You tell me the fucking truth, Wart," John said. Nick had a wart on his chin when he was six years old, it went away and he never had another one again, but ever since then John had always called him Wart when he was pissed at him.

John clamped his hand down even tighter on Nick's chin, and pushed up on it, choking him. "I hear you picked a fight with some damn little gook, then just stood their and let him beat the shit outt'a you."

"Get your damn hand off me," Nick hissed through his teeth, unable to move his thin jaw against his brother's body weight.

John slapped him with his free hand. "Don't you fucking lie to me, Wart!"

Gordo spoke up from the back, "I saw'em man. I saw'da'whole damn mudd'a fucking thing. The chink was jawing on'bout'is bitch's pussy, and talking all like how he was ganna bitch slap her and force her to give'ed'up. Then ya'liddle bro come up and is all up to make'da chink stop dissing'da bitch. Then they's all fighten, but your bro jus' standing there'na'mov'in, and the chink starts doing'dem gook kicks and shit, and your bro did'en even try to represent. Like he was jus' fronting'bout the bitch."

John let out a stern growl. "He telling the truth, Wart?"

"I don't even know what the ignorant fucker just said," Nick said through his teeth. John pushed down harder, "Go to hell, John."

John slapped Nick across the face again, opening up the gash that ran down Nick's cheek. "You make us all look like fucking pussies, Wart. If a Mexican starts a fight, we finish the damn fight; don't you make us look like we'all a bunch a little pussies like you. You don'start nuttin' you ain't ganna finish, or I'm gonna finish it for you." With a growl John stood up, then glared down at him.

John took out his cell phone from a chain around his neck, then growled into the credit card sized box, "get me Rico." He glared down at Nick as the dial tones sounded off, then he looked at the wall as he got connected. "You still tailing the Chink, Rico.... Bueno. Donde? Tell me where he is, Rico. We ganna come take care a'him." Nick couldn't hear what Rico was saying on the other side of the telephone line, but as he chattered over the phone Nick could see a determined glare wash over John's face.

John pushed a button to hang up, then let go of the phone and let it hang around his neck. John ran to his room for a few minutes, then came back carrying a hand gun. "We all packing now?" Gordo flashed a pistol and so did the other four. John glared at Nick, "We ganna show the gook that Mexicans finish what they start. Even if the one that starts it is a little pussy."

"Fuck," Nick shouted. "Put the fucking guns away, John."

"You make all us Mexicans look like fucking shit holes, and I'm ganna go show the chink tha'ain't so."

Nick stood up. "We have different opinions about what makes someone a fucking shit hole, John. Stop being a fucking idiot and put your damn guns away!"

John slugged Nick as hard as he could. Nick crumpled to the ground, moaned, then spit out some blood. He did everything he could to keep himself from crying from the pain.

John, Gordo, and the other gang members stuffed their guns into their pants. John glared down at his younger brother. "Fucking pussy," he grumbled. All the gang bangers trailed out of the apartment and slammed the door behind them. They were on their way to gun down Lance.

Chapter 3:

"Hey!" the black security guard shouted from across the room. He put his palm toward the little Japanese woman that was asking him about the public tours of the world trade center, then ran toward the twelve men who had just rushed passed him. "Hey, you all, get back here. No one gets in without showing ID."

The twelve men stopped in unison, then turned toward the security guard. They were all tall and muscular, wearing all black Armani suits, with sunglasses and long hair tied back into pony tails. Their leader, a pale blond, stepped toward the guard, looked down at the guard's name tag. "What seems to be the problem, Officer Sikes," the man said with a posh, British accent.

Sikes was a huge, bald, black man who didn't particularly care for the way the rich, white business men always seemed to look at him when he forced them to stop at the World Trade Center doors for the security check. They always seemed to think they should be treated differently than everyone else coming in and out of the building. Just because someone was wearing Armani, didn't mean they weren't possible threats.

The Center had a history of strict security ever since it was rebuilt in 2007 after being destroyed in the 2001 terrorist attacks, and the security became even tighter in 2020 when a small section of the Center was destroyed by a terrorist bomb. .

Sikes towered over the group of British men and glared down at them. "Sirs, you need to go back, show ID, and wait for the security check just like everyone else."

"We're late for a meeting with Ms. La Faye."

"I don'care who'ya late for, you go and you wait for the security check just like everyone else."

The man grumbled, but Sikes wouldn't bend. Finally, the man pulled an ID card out from his black suit. "My name is Stephen La Faye. I am Ms. La Faye's son." He raised his arms up to be checked, and Sikes began to pat him down. Stephen motioned to the others behind him, "These are all my associates, and I can vouch for all of them."

"I'll check all of them," Sikes said with an unimpressed grumble. He took out his metal detector and it went off as he swept it past Stephen's chest. "What'chu got under there, Sir?"

Stephen grudgingly pulled a metal chain out from around his neck. There was a credit card sized cell phone... and a gold, metal pentagram hanging from the chain.

"What's that?" Sikes said as he pointed to the medallion.

"We all have them," Stephen said, and with a wave of his hand all of his men pulled out similar gold chains with similar pentagrams hanging from them.

Sikes glared at them all. "You all in some kind of cult or something, isn't that some sort of devil worship sign."

Stephen chuckled and gave a sly smile. He said sarcastically, "Yes Officer Sikes, I'm the son of the devil, and these are some of his minions." The other eleven men began to chuckle and laugh too.

"So what is it then?"

Stephen sighed. "It they were gifts from my mother, I think she thought they were pretty. Don't you think they're pretty, Officer Sikes?"

Sikes didn't say anything else. He patted down the rest of them, one by one, then with a smug smile Stephen glared up at him. "Convinced, Officer Sikes?"

"I thought you were late to a meeting."

Stephen smiled, then swung around and led his men across the shiny marble floor to the elevator on the other side of the room. Sikes watched them leave.

"Saw, mis'ta Saw, wha'do de'taw gwoup'sta," the little Japanese woman said, poking Sikes in the side with the top of her cane. Her tour group was starting soon.

Sikes glared at her, pointed to the tour-bot robot that was waiting by the front desk, then looked back toward the elevator shaft. The number above the elevator entrance kept decreasing as the car went lower and lower, down to the restricted zone. Only certain people could go down that way. Sikes himself had only been there once before with an engineer escort. Sikes didn't know how it all worked, but that plasma generator in the basement of the trade center was currently powering all of Manhattan, and supposedly could have done much more if there were already substations to send the power out to upstate NY or to Canada. Sikes was old enough to remember the 2020 bombing of the Center, and it scared the hell out of him to know that all of New York City was currently dependant on the power that was being generated in the belly of the World Trade Center. It was stupid, and it made him nervous. The only thing that made him more nervous was there were people like Ms. La Faye and her Son in control of it. He just didn't trust them.

The elevator doors slid open and Stephen and his men came out into a metallic hallway. There was a short security robot, much like the tour-bots at the reception center, that met them as the elevator slid open. The robot was about four and a half feet tall, it had a humanoid body and it was wearing a metallic jumpsuit. The head was a glass sphere with a holographic image of a man's head inside. "This is a restricted zone," the robot said in a monotone voice. "If you do not have clearance please leave now. If you have clearance, please give the proper response." Stephen ignored it and continued on. The robot sped up, moving in a very human way, then reached out and gave him a painful shock. The robot continued, "Please sir, please give proper response or leave."

Stephen glared down at the mechanical man.

"If you do not comply, I will be forced to increase the shock level to induce temporary paralysis. Please comply."

With a growl, Stephen placed his palm on the glassy surface of the robots round head, then said, "Stephen La Fay. Authorization, 066600."

The holographic face inside the sphere seemed to study Stephen's palm as a red laser line scanned his finger prints. The face smiled, "You have been granted clearance to be on this restricted level. You may now remove your hand."

Stephen growled, then pushed the robot to the ground and his men kicked it as they went on their way down the hall. "Thank you for your cooperation," it said as it finally got back up to its feet. Stephen hated the toy men, and if it wasn't for how upset his mother got when he beheaded the last one, this one would have suffered a similar fate.

One end of the hall led to the plasma generator control room, the other to the executive and engineering offices. Stephen marched down, used his palm print to go through several doors, then finally found his mother's office.

She was sitting with her back to them, all he could see was her curly, fire red hair streaming down the back of her leather, office chair. The room was decorated with black marble and leather furniture with glass sculptures accenting the layout. In the center of the room was his mother's desk, and it was impossible to tell by looking whether it was made of metal, darkened glass, or obsidian rock.

Stephen sighed, "You called, Mother."

She still didn't turn around. "How are you adjusting to this modern way of life, Stephen?"

Stephen grumbled then looked down at his Armani suit. "It's too comfortable for a proper warrior... I miss my sword, and my armor."

He could tell she smiled by the way her head tilted position, even though all he could still see was the back of her head. "Your armor and your sword will come back to you when they're needed.... "

"And I hate those annoying, tin men. And too many rules," Stephen added, "far too many rules that I don't make. One of those 'negro' security guards, an Officer Sikes, actually had the audacity to tell me what to do again--and in this 'modern' world it's permitted... I should have sliced his shiny black head right off." Stephen put his hand to his side and clenched his fingers as if looking for the handle of a sword that wasn't there.

Morgana finally swung around to face her son and his men. Though she had the voice of an old woman, and a mature scowl in her green eyes, she looked like she couldn't possibly have been more than twenty years old. She was wearing a black suit jacket over a white, silk blouse, a black skirt and nylons. She had smooth fair skin and red lips that seemed to match the shade of her hair.

"For the time being you will refrain from slicing the head off of both the tin men and the humans here... Don't worry, my Son," she said in her old voice. "Soon, you'll be making all the rules." She added, "And you'll be able to slice the head off of anyone you bloody well like." She pulled a glass sphere from her suit jacket, then rolled it across the desk toward her son. "We found Arthur's spirit. Just kill the body it lives in, then nothing will be able to stand in our way."

Stephen gave her a cautious glance, grabbed the orb, then looked into it. A mist formed in the center of the sphere, then twisted into a picture telling him where he needed to be, and just who he needed to kill. He laughed. "One of these Moorish looking boys? Arthur's'in there? That's it?"

"Don't forget the Wizard," Morgana said.

"Moriund," Stephen said the name with a mocking laugh. "That wizard wouldn't dare cross to this realm."

Morgana shook her head. "The Wizard is coming, Stephen. He has already begun the rituals and rites that will take him from Avalon to this world."

Stephen bowed his head in contemplation. Translating from hell to the mortal realm was not an easy task, but the cost to oneself was small. The same was not so for a translation from Avalon. He understood the task was far more difficult, and the price much higher. Stephen grumbled to himself, "So he was willing to make the sacrifice?" Stephen stood up then clutched the pentagram pendant that hung around his neck.

Morgana smiled, then turned away from them. "You know what you have to do. Go now."

Chapter 4

Nick tried to catch his breath. It took a few minutes, but he eventually got onto his knees, then onto his feet. His brother and his gang'banga friends were long gone, and they were off somewhere intending to shoot down poor Lance. Lance may have been a chink, dip shit, and he may have beaten the shit out of Nick earlier, but that didn't mean he deserved to die. Nick had to stop it from happening, and there was only one person he could think of who would know where Lance would probably be.

Gwen only lived about a mile away from him. He had been to her house a number of times before and studied with her for their Trigonometry and Computer Programming classes in her bedroom. He couldn't count the number of times he went home at night and had fantasized about those study sessions suddenly turning into something more. Now, he didn't even want to look at her. His thoughts grew black as he ran. It suddenly occurred to him that the reason Gwen's family and Lance were never upset about their frequent study sessions was because none of them saw him as a threat-he was just a scrawny spic--and this thought made him want to throw a brick through her window more than anything.

By the time he got to her apartment he was panting, and the throbbing in his head from his wounds made him want to vomit. He clung to the rail as he walked up a flight of stairs, then began pounding on her door. No answer came, but he could see someone turn the lights off inside and hear some rustling through the door.

"Gwen!" He shouted. "Gwen, open the door! I need to talk to you."

The lights inside flicked back on. He could hear the sound of the three dead bolts being slid back, then the door opened a little bit, the chain was still in place and holding it back.

"What chu'want," Gwen said. It sounded like she had been crying and was now doing her best to hide it. "You here to apologize for what you said to me?"

Nick patted the burning wounds on the side of his face. "Like hell," he said, and she slammed the door shut.

Nick pounded down again. "Gwen, for the love of God, Gwen, you need to open this damn door... Lance is in trouble Gwen, I need you to tell me where he is. Don't make me shout it, Gwen."

Gwen cracked open the door again. "What's wrong with Lance?"

He was almost infuriated by the fact that the mention of Lance being in trouble made her open the door again. He caught himself before making a snide remark, then told her. "John and his Mexican gang'banga's are going to go gun down Lance. They had someone following him. I need you to tell me where he is, Gwen."

Gwen glared at him. "Whad'you say to them, Nick!"

"I didn't say a damn thing." He pointed to his ghoulish looking face. "Everyone in the whole damn school saw the fight. It got back to John, now he's out to show Mexican's ain't 'little pussies'."

She finally let down the chain and let him in. The apartments in her neighborhood were much more expensive than the building Nick lived in. Her carpet and living area were almost the same has his, but this building had its own underground parking garage. Most of the tenants, including Gwen's parents, had cars, which was an expensive luxury in the deep city where the subways and busses suited most people.

He stumbled, almost fell over, then sat on her couch and put his head in his hands.

"How long ago did they leave?"

With a gasp, he looked up to her and shook his head. "Half hour ago."

She headed to her kitchen and Nick painfully hurried after her. As she put her hand on her telephone Nick kept her from lifting the receiver from the hook. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm calling the cops," Gwen hissed.

"By the time the cops are finished taking your report and filing it away Lance will be dead. Do you understand, dead?" He looked around and grabbed her parents car keys off the wall and forced them into her hand.

"I only have a student license, I'm not allowed to drive without an adult in the car."

Nick shook in frustration. The damn little cheerleader didn't seem to catch onto the gravity of the situation. Gangbanga's didn't think rationally. Gangbangas didn't realize they could leave the city, that a block of concrete wasn't worth dying for, and that it wasn't worth killing someone just because they humiliated a brother in a fight. To them, this was all they had, and they had no intention of living to be old men, or that anyone else should be planning on it either.

"Dead, Gwen... He'll be dead!"

The hot and humid afternoon was starting to cool off as the sun fell from the noon apex of its journey. The rancid smell of rotting seafood, poultry blood and human urine spilled over from nearby Chinatown and swam through the air at Columbus Park. The air may have been foul, and the humidity may have made his body feel sticky, but the surrounding trees and greenery helped to put Lance at ease. The fight earlier in the day had set him off balance.

"Why wouldn't tha' damn little spic stay down?" Lance thought. No matter how much Lance hurt him, the little bastard just kept getting back up again, and he didn't even try to fight back. What was the little fuckers problem?

Lance hurried over to the outdoor sparring ring with his friends: Joe Chow, and Alfred Lee. When Columbus Park was renovated a few years ago, the workers and residents of Chinatown asked for a sparing ring to be put in, instead of a basketball court. Rather than having their children throw the black man's ball into a hoop, the business men thought it would be closer to their cultural heritage to have a place for them to practice martial arts. Not only that, but they thought it might bring in more tourists if there were martial arts competitions going on in the park.

Lance walked up to the side of the sparing ring to prepare for his fight with some guy who had challenged him the day before. He didn't know who the guy was, and he didn't care. Lance just wanted to make sure everyone knew that he was the best, and that meant putting down every challenger that came up.

Joe put his hand through his wiry, Chinese hair then tapped Lance on the shoulder. "You ready to take this fucker down, Lance." Lance glared at his opponent who was getting ready on the other side of the sparing ring. The guy was chubby and as he put on his black belt he looked more arrogant than intimidating. "The fat bastard proly' got his black belt from one of those bubble gum dojos for those little, rich, white kids who get beat up after school." Lance nodded with a stern expression and Joe laughed. He said, "Yeah man, tha' fucker's going down, just like that lil' spic you took care of earlier."

Alfred nudged them both in the sides. "Guys," he said, "I think that Mexican guy followed us on the subway." They turned and he pointed to Rico sitting just outside the forming crowds. Rico was fiddling with his cellular, card phone. "What's da'spic doing in Chinatown?"

Lance tightened the strap on his sparing gloves with his teeth. "Probably just wants to watch me kick this guys teeth in," he said. Joe laughed like the lackey he was, but Alfred wasn't so sure and he turned back several times to check on him.

An old man stepped into the ring, glanced at Lance, then at Lance's challenger. "Ready!"

Lance stepped into the ring as did the chubby kid on the other side.

The old man continued. "The reigning Columbus park champion, Lance Phawn, defending against challenger Yoshi Lee... We want clean fight."

Lance and Yoshi looked into one another's eyes. Just before the referee could say, "go" Yoshi took a swing at Lance and sent him staggering back. The old man referring either didn't notice the early attack, or he didn't care. Yoshi scuttled forward and took a few more swings and a kick to Lance before he could regain his balance. Lance backed off, out of the ring, and the referee cut in and paused the match. Lance took a few points loss for stepping out of the ring, then the referee had them start again.

Yoshi smiled smugly as the circled one another and parried back and forth. Lance was still dizzy, and as Yoshi went in for another quick attack he got a few more punches off. Yoshi leaned in and whispered, "You ain't shit, Chink."

Without thinking Lance head butted Yoshi and sent him backing off. Head butting was illegal, but the referee either didn't notice or didn't care. "Fucking, fat ass, jap," Lance grumbled to himself. As Yoshi staggered Lance took a moment to center himself, push his dizziness away, then he waited patiently for Yoshi to get mad and come at him. Lance blocked Yoshi's strikes, then Lance landed a few punches at Yoshi's sides, stomach, then face. With a front kick to Yoshi's face blood splattered onto the matt and the crowd cheered as if red rubies had been thrown into the air.

At the blood, the referee stopped the match. Yoshi wiped his bleeding nose, then asserted that he'd continue with the match. "Just like that spic," Lance thought. Then, he looked into the mean expression souring Yoshi's face. "No." Yoshi didn't care about honor, Yoshi had no more reason than ego to fight, but that spic had some sort of honor in him. Lance changed his mind, "Not a damn thing like that spic."

The match continued, and again Lance waited for Yoshi to come at him, then Lance let him have it. He kept Yoshi's attack from making contact, then when they got close Lance gave an uppercut to Yoshi's chin, then a round house, and forward punch. Side kick to the gut, front kick to the chest, side kick to the face and Yoshi went down.

The crowds cheered as their champion remained undefeated. Lance didn't hear them and he didn't see them. As the referee held up his arm to declare him the victor, Lance took a second look at Rico, the Mexican that had followed them from the subway. Now, there were seven spics out there, watching him, and he recognized one of them, John Rey, as a known gang'banga' and the older brother of Nick Rey, the spic he had beaten the shit out of earlier that day. Lance whispered to himself, "Oh shit."

John patted Rico on the shoulder. "Where is he?"

Rico greeted his homies. They banged the front of their fists together, banged each side, then finally shook hands. He pointed toward the match with his head. "Chink's up there. Looks like he just won."

John showed his homey the gun tucked into his pants. "Fucker only thinks he just won." Rico laughed, then they started to march together toward Lance, Joe and Alfred.

Gwen was nervous as she drove and it didn't help when Nick constantly yelled at her to "hurry the hell up". She still wasn't a very good driver, and the maddening NY city traffic that always seemed so trivial when headed for a subway station, combined with the fact that Lance's life was on the line, was putting her on the verge of a panic attack.

The car in front of her suddenly came to a stop, then signaled to parallel park to the spot behind Gwen's car. Gwen slammed on her brakes, temporarily panicked.

"Hurry," Nick shouted, "just get in the other lane!"

Gwen growled then gave Nick a look that could have killed. "Chill, you can't even drive."

"Go already."

"Shut up!"

"John's proly'already there."

"So'er'we."

"You sure?" Nick asked for the twelfth time.

"I know where I'm going," she shouted, snarling back. She knew exactly where Lance would be. He had told her earlier that day that he was going down to Columbus Park to put down a challenger to his title. She used to go with him all the time, but she was glad when cheerleading practices gave her an excuse to get out of going. It seemed like every time Lance put his arm around her people would stare at the black/Asian interracial couple. No one ever seemed to care at school, and in many places in the city interracial couples were common place, but not in the gang infested areas, and there seemed to be a lot of gang members at the matches. Still, just because they knew where he was going to be, that didn't mean they had any idea what to do when they got there. She mumbled to herself, "We should'da just called the cops."

John and his passe put up a front around Lance and his friends. "What'up Chink?"

Lance motioned his head to the sparing ring and the predominantly Chinese crowd around it. They were near the curb next Bayard Street, but they were still less than 20 yards away from a crowd of Chinese gang members. "I wouldn't be saying the word 'chink' around here, Spic. It might not go over to well."

"You telling me what to do, Chink?"

Lance snarled a little under his breath, but he knew they were outnumbered two to one, and that, despite all their mouthing off, Alfred and Joe couldn't handle a fight. "Just giving some friendly advice."

John growled, "We friendly, Chink?"

Alfred and Joe slowly backed up and stood behind Lance. "Sure, Spic. We can be friendly."

"Friendly, huh?" John gave a sadistic grin. "You real good with that Gook Shit up there. You beat the shit outt'a that fat bastard up there." Lance only nodded. "C'mon man, you good with those Gook moves. Just say yer'good'a'it." Lance didn't answer at first. "Say it!"

"I'm good at it," Lance grumbled.

"Say ya' fucking good add'it... Say it!"

"I'm good at it," Lance said. He took a deep breath, trying to remain calm and not tense up. Lately he had grown into the mind set of competing and dominating, but now he was trying his best to remember his art as a means of self defense. He was trying to calm himself--ready himself for anything this gang'banga might do.

"Think you could take me?" John said. Lance just stood there. "I say, think you can take me, Chink?" He laughed, then did a mocking imitation of a taekwondo stance and a kick. At his "hiya" the other Mexicans laughed. "Huh! What's da'matter. You a fighter, you don't want to fight me." John's laugh died away, then he thumped his chest like a gorilla. "You think you can take a Mexican? You think we'all just a bunch of little pussies that'er ganna just stand there and let you beat the shit'outta them." John pulled his gun out of his pants and aimed it at Lance. "Think again, mudda'fuck'a."

In an instant Lance decided whether to act or to continue playing cool. He remembered a lesson his teacher once gave him, it was on defending against someone with a gun. If someone truly intended to kill you the instant they pulled a gun on you, your chances of being able to knock the gun out of their hands were minuscule at best. In fact, you'd probably be dead before you had the chance to react. However, if they weren't in a hurry to kill you, your chances of knocking the gun away before being shot were about 50/50. Lance figured, he wasn't dead, what the hell. He quickly swung his left leg out and deflected John's gun. As the gun went off he stepped forward and gave him a swift front kick with his right leg, pulled the gun out of John's hand as he spun around and gave him back kick.

"Run!" Lance shouted, but he was drowned out by the sound of Alfred crying out in pain. John's bullet had ripped a hole through Alfred's shoulder, and blood was spewing out of it. Lance gave Joe a swift punch to the shoulder to get him to snap out of his panic, then they pulled Alfred up and Lance swung around to aim the gun back at John's passe. John's dark face stared back at him, and a mean, damming expression entered his eyes.

"Shoot the mother fuckers," John ordered. Each of the other six Mexicans pulled their guns out of their pants and aimed them at Lance and his friends.

Nick and Gwen were headed down Bayard street when the first shot was fired and then traffic suddenly came to a halt They could see Lance disarm John, then carry his wounded friend off as they sat stuck in traffic.

"Lance!" Gwen shouted, panicking at the sight of her boyfriend under fire.

"Gun it," Nick shouted. He reached over and pulled the steering wheel hard right, then grabbed hold of her knee and pushed down on her leg so that it would hit the gas. They got up on the curb, knocked over a parking meter, then sped over the grass. Gwen pushed Nick back into his seat, then they spun to a halt on the wet sod between Lance and John's passes.

Nick and Gwen ducked and shots rang out from both sides--Lance trying to shoot at the Mexicans, and John's friends trying to shoot Lance. Glass sprayed out over them.

"Lance, get in the fucking car," Nick shouted.

Lance shot over the car toward the Mexicans again, then he and Joe threw Alfred in the back and got in themselves. Gwen got the car turned back toward Bayard but the traffic was still too tight to get anywhere. She went back down, over the lawn, and cut through the Park, people jumping out of her way, until they got to Mulberry, then as she tried to pull into traffic someone slammed into her back side, spun their vehicle onto the other side of the street where a third car slammed into the front of them. There was a flash of airbags in front of their faces, and the next thing they knew the car was totaled.

Nick slowly opened his eyes. He felt like every inch of his body was either cut or bruised. "Gwen?" She was unconscious and she had a few cuts on her beautiful face but she seemed to be breathing. "Gwen," he repeated. He patted her cheeks to rouse her.

"Lance," she sighed as she woke up. Nick hated the fact that Lance was the first thing she thought of. He looked into the backseat. All three of the others were unconscious. Alfred was bleeding from his gunshot wound. Joe's arm was hanging unnaturally and it looked like he had broken it during the collision. Lance seemed to not have any major injuries. He was breathing and starting to wake up.

"I think he's okay," Nick said. Nick looked out the car windows to see if he could still see his brother. In the heat of the moment, rather than making a break for it like they should have, John and his guys were running toward them with their guns in their hands. "Fucking morons," Nick said with a hiss.

Gwen saw the change in his expression. "What is it?"

Nick looked around the car and saw his brother's gun lying beside Alfred's feet. With a deep breath he reached down and picked it up, then stepped out of the car and waited for John.

"Nick, what is it?" Gwen pleaded, then she looked out and saw the gun toting gang bangers still coming their way.

Nick looked back to her. "Just gotta stall long enough for the cops to get here." Though he had never actually touched a gun before in his life, he had seen John play with the thing enough to know how to use it. He looked down, took the safety off, and got it ready to fire.

John came to a gasping stop a few yards away from the crashed cars. There were a number of onlookers now, but with the number of guns around no one dared to get too close to the accident.

"Go home, John," Nick said.

John shook his head as a couple of his homies came up behind him with their guns. "What the fuck you doing here, Wart!"

"Go home, John," Nick said again, this time he aimed his gun at his older brother.

Gordo grumbled, "We Ice your bro too?"

Nick limped in between John and the car. "No one needs to die, John. It was just a fucking fight over a girl. Just go home. Just go, bro."

Gordo pestered, "Do we ice ya'bro?"

John's mean and vengeful eyes slowly softened, and he looked like an animal mesmerized by a set of headlights. There was an internal struggle pulling at his mind. With a shake he took a step back, then before he could do anything else a shot rang out from across the street. A whole exploded through the side of John's head, splattering blood and brains across Nick's T-shirt. John's body crumpled to the side like unbalanced, dead weight, then fell to the ground.

"John!" Nick screamed. He looked in the direction of the shot and there were twelve white men in black suits coming at them armed with pistols.

"Cops!" Gordo shouted. He hustled his chubby body back into the streets of Chinatown and as did the rest of the ganbanga's followed. The men picked off two of the kids like they had John, but the others seemed to be able to get away.

Nick dropped his gun, then raised his hands up in the air and faced the twelve men coming toward him. "Are you guys FBI, or something!" Nick shouted.

The men ignored him. Their leader, a tall, British looking blond, waved his arm in the air directing his men to surround the car accident. "Accolon?"

One of the men with dark hair and a scar across his cheek pulled a glowing orb from his suit and studied it. "It's one of these five, Stephen," Accolon said pointed to Nick and the others in the car. "Though I doubt Arthur would choose to come back as a little, negro girl."

Stephen La Faye smiled. "Only kill as many as we have to. Start with the wounded, it will raise fewer questions."

Accolon broke away the remaining glass on the side of the car then stuck his gun in and aimed it at Alfred.

"No," Gwen screached. "Oh, God, oh God, oh God, No!"

Accolon pulled the trigger and blood splattered up from inside the car and across Gwen's face.

"Fuck," Nick shouted and Gwen cried out again. Just then, the first set of sirens from police and ambulances filled the air, they were stalled by all the traffic. Nick looked at the twelve men. 'They ain't no fucking cops,' he thought.

"Well," Stephen pestered.

Accolon looked back to the glowing orb in his other hand. "No sire, Arthur's still here."

"Then the next," Stephen sighed.

Accolon took aim at Joe's head.

Gwen screamed out again. The shot rang out, and more blood sprayed out of the car.

"What about now," Stephen.

"No," Accolon. "Must be one of these three."

With a shake, Nick ducked down, grabbed the gun he had just dropped. He spun around, took aim at Accolon and fired.

Blood splashed out of Accolon's body and he stumbled back for a moment, then his eyes began to glow and a new stomach grew from nothing and filled in the gaping hole in his body.

"Holy shit!" Nick screamed.

Stephen pointed to Nick, "Just get that one!"

Accolon growled like an animal, then took aim at Nick. Nick threw himself to the ground and dodged the bullet. Accolon jumped into the air and landed on the other side of the car with his feet next to Nick's head, then, with a smirk, aimed it down at Nick.

"Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. Holy shit!" Nick covered his eyes.

Suddenly the sky began to rumble, lightning seemed to criss cross through the wrecked cars and a wind swept through the street and knocked all twelve of the men to the ground. Nick opened his eyes as the earth shook beneath him. There was a blinding white light for a few moments, then a man in a gray robe with a long staff and a sword tied around his waist suddenly appeared in the middle of the street.

This man was tall, muscular. He had brown hair, eyes, olive skin and a dimpled chin. He raised his staff up into the air and screamed out something Nick couldn't understand. There was some kind of spark from the staff, then the gun in Nick's hand shook then flew into the air along with the guns of the twelve men in suits.

Stephen hissed, "Moriund!"

Morriund spun his staff in the air and an electric spark shot out toward each of the dark knights and left them moaning in pain.

Nick didn't wait to ask questions. He pulled Gwen out of the car, had her help him get Lance out, then they ran off into the streets of Chinatown as Morriund occupied Stephen's men.

Chapter 5:

With his elvish lover's hand in his, Morriund struggled through the thick forest toward the clearing up ahead. She stopped him at the edge of the clearing and pulled him back to her, and put her hands on his cheeks and looked up into this stern gaze with her own bright, green eyes.

"Morriund, Don't do this," Valestra said in her high pitched voice. "Make another."

He fingered the tips of her pointed ears, a show of ultimate affection among her kind, and took a long look at her face. She had a pointed nose and chin like all elvish kind but that golden hair, that smile and those eyes of hers were the most beautiful things he had ever seen in all of Avalon. He leaned down and kissed her. "I have to go... Arthur is the mortal realms only hope, and I am his only hope."

A tear streamed down her face. "I will never see you again."

He shook his head. "When Arthur is ready to fight them on his own, I will come back to you."

Suddenly, an old voice snapped out from the clearing. "Never!"

The two lovers looked into the clearing at a naked, grizzly old elf covered only by the masses of stringy gray hair that grew from his body. The man's bloodshot eyes danced as he said, "Once you leave there will be no turning back."

Valestra shivered. "He's lying," Morriund assured her.

"No!"the old elf said. "I'm not! There are prices that need to be paid, Wizard."

"And I will pay them, Arrack, but I will return to her someday."

Arrack sneered, "You will have nothing left for the journey back."

He kissed Valestra one last time, and whispered in her ear, "If I live, I will return. You should go now."

She shook her head, "I will stay until it is over."

Reluctantly, he left her at the edge of the clearing, then met Arrack at the center.

"There will be a price to pay, Wizard. Crossing is easy, but once you get there the cost will be high."

"Will I have my powers to defend Arthur?"

Arrack sighed, and nodded. "Aye, you'll have your powers as you have them here, I've seen to that. You'd be no use to the cause if you were unable to defend the boy. But the way you live your life, Morriund, the way you live your life will change."

"Like my father?"

Arrack grunted as he bent his old joints and sat in the middle of the clearing. "It will not be the same as your father. When Merlin crossed into the mortal realm he was forced to live his life backwards. It gave him foresight into the future, and helped the cause, but knowing one's own fate, and being unable to change it, is still a hell in and of itself.

"No Morriund. Magic is not as strong in the mortal realm as it once was. The price you will have to pay will be higher, and will not aid the cause... No Wizard may enter the mortal realm and experience time the same as the mortals. Something else... something terrible that you will have to endure."

Arrack took out a wooden staff. "Are you ready?" Morriund took one last look at Valestra, nodded, then bowed down at the old elf's feet. Arrack began to sway the staff over Morriund's body. "The boy must live, Wizard. The mortal realm is the nexus of the universe. If either Avalon, heaven, hell, or any of the other realms were to perish, the mortal realm would continue without us. But if the mortal world falls to hell, eventually, so will we all."

Morriund thought of Valestra as the portal began to open up beneath him. If he did not succeed, Valestra and her kind would likely become the slaves of hell. He knew the old elf was right, that he may never return and he may never see her again, but he still had to do this.

"Concetrate," Arrack cried.

Morriund whispered the chants and the ground beneath him began to glow.

"Concentrate!"

The white light fizzled into a busy street in New York City. He could see Gwen's car attempt to drive out of the park only to be rear-ended into oncoming traffic and totaled. A green aura formed around the car, then faded, the sign that Arthur's spirit was within one of the bodies in the car. "I think I found him," Morriund shouted.

"Good," Arrack shouted. "Good!"

Morriund could see Nick step out of the car, confront his brother, then Stephen La Fay and his dark knights of the Tolemac order entered his view. "God No!" Morriund shouted. "They found him first!"

"Go then!" Arrack screamed, "Go!"

With a cry of pain Morriund's body evaporated into the glowing ground, and as it did Valestra fell to her knees and wept.

The three of them ducked into an alley way beside a Chinese restaurant and leaned Lance up against the wall. "Alfred, Joe... they just killed them!" Gwen sobbed, "the Cops killed them for no reason!"

Nick gasped, his entire body was in pain. "Those guys were no Cops, Gwen. The sirens didn't start until after they got there."

There was an explosion and from their hiding place Nick could see a car thrown through the air and a lightning strike follow after it. "C'mon," Nick said, "I dunno what the fuck is going on, but we gotta get the hell out'ta here." The two of them each put one of Lance's arms over their shoulders and hurried through the alley to the street on the other side of the block as another explosion from the park shook the ground underneath them.

"Where are we going?" Gwen shouted over the noise.

"Just keep going."

There were crowds of people running through the streets. A few fools with cameras were trying to get closer to Columbus Park, but most were doing their best to get away from there. They got two blocks distance between them and the accident when a final explosion rocked the earth again and sent them falling to the ground.

Gwen sat up, shook her hair out of her face, then patted Lance's cheeks, "C'mon baby," she said, "we can't keep carrying you, you gotta wake up."

Nick hated seeing the concern in her eyes. Frustrated, he kicked Lance in the ribs and Lance's eyes finally fluttered open and he tried to sit up. "Come on!" Nick shouted.

"Where's Alfred," Lance said, grumbling as he tried to stand. "Where the hell's Joe."

Gwen tried to answer him, but before she could the stream of fleeing people suddenly switched directions and a running New Yorker knocked her to the ground. Nick and Lance did their best to not fall over as the screaming people swept past them.

Nick looked ahead into the flow of the crowd, and before he knew it he was staring into a completely empty street. 'Why are they running toward the park?' He wondered.

The three of them huddled together, not sure where to run. "What the hell is going on?" Lance said as he shook. "And where the fuck are Alfred and Joe?"

From the stillness eight white men in Armani suits glided onto the street toward the teens.

"Alfred and Joe are dead," Nick said as he watched his brother's murderers walking toward him. As the suits came closer, Nick looked around him for somewhere to run. He looked down the other end of the street and the other four were coming up that way. "Those guys killed them." Nick remembered that there were exactly twelve men earlier, four and eight was twelve, so if they went back into the alley there probably wasn't anyone there waiting for them, unless these guys had reinforcements coming.

Nick could see his favorite computer game in his mind, Knights of the Realm, and thought about how he would move three computerized players if they were outnumbered by an approaching group of enemies-you go some place where they can't surround you, and force them to face you one at a time and take as many of the enemies out as possible before losing the knights. But this wasn't a video game, they weren't armed knights, and losing themselves wasn't acceptable.

He remembered what the men were saying before they shot Alfred and Joe. Whoever they were looking for was a boy, and they didn't want Gwen. His mode of thinking changed. What if instead of 3 knights it was two knights and a queen? If he were playing the game in flag mode, where whoever killed or captured the other's queen first won, he would sacrifice one or both of the knights to save the queen. He would use the environment to cut off the opponent, while the queen ran away in search of reinforcements, and the two fighters would stay behind and stall the enemy. He reminded himself again: they didn't want Gwen, they wanted him or Lance. He got her into this mess, he was going to have to get her out.

Nick whispered, "We run back to the alley, you lead Gwen."

"Back to the alley, where we came? Backed into a corner?" Gwen protested with a sob.

Nick shook his head, "Look, we'll have a better chance in a narrow place, they won't be able to surround us as easily... Now, when we pass the dumpsters in the alleyway, Lance and I stay behind to push them into these guys way, but you keep running. Get back to Columbus Park."

Gwen sobbed, "The Park? You crazy, I can't leave you guys."

"The Park will be crawling with cops by now. You go and you find cops," Nick said. "And don't you fucking stick around. Your job is to find some fucking cops and to bring them up our way. Gwen! Count of three... one... two... three!"

The three of them ran back down the alley, and the 12 suits followed after them. Like they planned, as they passed the dumpsters Nick and Lance stopped and threw them down, partially blocking the alley, while Gwen continued running down calling out for police.

"Come on," Lance cried, "lets get the fuck out of here."

"No," Nick grunted. He searched the ground then snatched a metal pipe that had been in the dumpster. "We make a stand here."

"You're fucking crazy."

Nick knew that Lance was right--he was fucking crazy. But he also knew he had shot one of those guys and his stomach just grew right back. Whatever these suits were, they weren't human. If they wanted Nick or Lance, they'd eventually get them. This way, at least Gwen could escape. "We stay until they see us, then we run in the opposite direction Gwen did." Lance looked confused. "They don't want her. They want one of us."

Lance made a face of disapproval, then got in his best taekwondo stance.

As Stephen and his men began to climb over the dumpsters, Nick ran at them and slammed the metal rod into one of their faces. Lance did a round house kick into another suit's face, as he fell Nick smashed his nose in with the pipe.

"Bravo," a posh voice said behind them, then a slow, mocking clap echoed through the alley way. "A proud stand for a pair of modern boys."

In an instant Nick counted. Two men on the ground, six men in front of them, which meant... he turned, Stephen and three of his men somehow got behind them. "How?" Nick grunted. "How the fucking hell did you get behind us?"

Stephen smiled, and put up a hand, signaling his men to back off a little bit.

"I'm warning you," Nick shouted, trying to sound tough. "My Chink friend here is a fucking bruce lee, and," Nick added while banging the metal rod on the ground, "you come near me and this spic'll rip your fucking face off with my whitey'be'good stick."

Nick and Lance got closer together, each instinctively backing the other. Lance seemed to be doing some sort of controlled breathing, preparing for the fight.

Stephen pulled a small glass orb out from his suit and it started to glow. He laughed. "So it's one of you two, then. In fact, you both seem familiar from the last time I was on earth... I think, I'll enjoy personally ripping you both to pieces."

"Who the fuck are you?" Nick said, clutching onto his metal pipe.

Stephen motioned his head toward the pipe and smirked. "Your new excalibur?... Well, lets see how it handles." Stephen swayed his head back and forth then pulled out the pentagram that was hanging from around his neck. The star melted in the palm of his hand, then streams of glowing metal ran across his body and in an instant he was covered in menacing, black armor with a huge sword hanging at his waist.

"Holy shit," Lance said, wide eyed.

"Holy fucking shit," Nick added.

With a growl, Stephen swung his sword down toward them; they retreated in opposite directions and as the sword came down chunks of cement sprayed out across the alley. Lance kicked him in the back and Stephen stumbled, almost falling over. Stephen swung his sword out again, and Lance barely dodged it. Stephen seemed to center on Lance, then sheathed his sword. "I'm guessing it's you." Stephen rushed Lance, picked him up by his neck, pinned him up against the wall, then punched his stomach with his spiked, metal glove. Lance screamed out and blood was oozing from his stomach wounds.

Nick rushed up to them and slammed his metal pipe down on Stephen's wrist before he could take another swing at Lance. Stephen growled in pain, but before Nick could strike again, Stephen snatched Nick up off his feet and threw him into the brick wall on the other side of the alley. Nick felt his bones break as he collided with the brick, then he crumpled to the ground. He couldn't keep the tears of pain from swelling up around his eyes.

Stephen pulled a dagger out from the other side of his waist, buried it in Lance's stomach, then let him drop to the ground and fold up into a ball on the trash heap. "Lance," Nick shouted. Nick tried to crawl away, pulling himself along with his good arm. Nick turned away from his attacker, concentrating on just moving.'Just keep moving,' he said to himself, 'Just get the hell out of here'. As he reached his good hand out to grip down and pull himself along the cement, a heavy, metal boot stepped down on his fingers and crushed them. Nick screamed out in pain as his fingers snapped like twigs under Stephen's boot. With a laugh, Stephen twisted his heel, ripping up the flesh on Nick's hand.

"Ahh," Nick cried, tears pouring down his face, "oh fuck, oh shit, oh fuck."

Stephen pulled out his sword, then laughed under his breath, "The once and future King." He let the tip of his blade dance around Nick's face, cutting up his cheeks, letting his blood flow to the ground, then raised the sword to make a clean swipe right through his thin body.

Suddenly, a lightning bolt ripped through the alleyway, picking Stephen up and throwing him out into the street. Several more lightning strikes criss crossed around them, then the wail of police sirens echoed across the alley. Gwen? Nick shivered from the pain, and the world around him seemed to spin and become fuzzy. The same man who had saved him earlier that night stepped into the alley. Stephen had called him Morriund. He was different though, he looked a good ten or twenty years older than he had just a half an hour earlier. With a shake, Nick passed out and his face splashed down into a pool of his own blood.

Chapter 6:

Stephen tried to get back up to his feet, but another lightning strike from Morriund's staff brought him down again.

"Gone with you, foul creatures," Morriund shouted, his eyes glowing. "Go back to your mother and father in hell."

Accolon crawled over to Stephen, "The Wizard is too powerful, my lord. We'll have to retreat." Stephen hissed and spat in frustration. "My lord!"

Stephen put his hand to the pentagram symbol on the front of his armor and the metal melted away and flowed into his hand to recreate the medallion around his neck, leaving him back in his Armani suit. Grudgingly, he gave the order to retreat through a small radio attached to his collar.

"Don't worry," Accolon assured his master as the scuttled away. "No Wizard can come from Avalon without paying a price. He'll have a weakness, and your mother will be able to find it. Then we'll have him."

Stephen shook his head, "Only if she doesn't have us first."

Morriund watched as the dark knights retreated, then looked down to the two boys. They were both beaten within a thread of their lives. Sirens were wailing through the air, and a group of armed police officers hurried toward him. "Put your hands up," the cops said.

Morriund, now gray and tired, glanced at the police with weary eyes, put a finger to his lips to shush them, and cast a minor charm to have them neglect his presence. The Officers shook their heads, confused, then focused their attention on the two bodies on either side of the alley.

"Keep the girl back, I don't think she wants to see this," one of the cops shouted out. Lance shook and shivered, then gasped slightly. The officer cringed to himself at the site of the teen. "And get a damn ambulance out here. These guys don't have long."

Gwen shouted from outside the alleyway. "Lance, Nick! You guys okay."

"Just stay back, honey," One of the cops sighed. "You don't want to go in there."

"Lance!, baby," she bolted, slithering away from the officer, to get a good look in the alley. She gasped with tears as she saw her friends. Nick was a bloody mess, crumpled with his arm sitting so unnaturally that it was surely broken. Lance's eyes stared out at her, twisting, while his stomach was a messy pit of blood and intestines. Two police officers were standing idly, but there was a strange man, the one who appeared when they ran away from the car accident, only older looking.

Morriund glanced at Gwen, but couldn't expend anymore of his energies to turn her vision away. He leaned on his staff as it spun on its axis, then slowly let go, leaving it suspended in space, and raised a hand to each of the dying boys. The man cringed, and seemed to age a year for every second as the tips of his fingers began to glow, then the wounds covering Nick and Lance's bodies began to glow as well. Blood dripped from Morriund's eyes like tears and his limbs shook like tree branches in the wind.

"Who's he," Gwen shouted, pointing. "What's he doing?"

The officer's glared at her, then in the direction she was pointing. "Ain't nobody there, honey. You're just worked up about your friends."

Morriund's cries grew even louder and now blood was dripping from his ears and down around his finger nails.

"Look," Gwen shouted, "him, him."

The officer gave a sad shake of his head, "Boys, let get her to a grief counselor or something. She's wacking out on us."

"No look," she cried.

Another officer came up behind her and put a hand on her shoulder. She looked away for an instant, then when she looked back, or tried to look back, Morriuind was gone, and both Nick and Lance were asleep and breathing normally.

As Stephen and his men lumbered into his Mother's World Trade Center office she was leaning back in her chair, dictating a business letter to a 4 foot tall secretary robot. The Holographic face of a young woman projected inside the glass dome on the top of the machine looked over at Stephen, then said, "Ms. La faye, someone is here to see you. They do not have an appointment. Would you like me to escort them out?"

Stephen glared at the robot and it took every ounce of his restraint to keep himself from picking up one of the sculptures lining the office and throwing it at the machine.

Morgana waved her hand to dismiss her robotic assistant then glared at her son. "You failed," she said.

"The Wizard," Stephen grumbled. He went to sit down on a chair, but as he did Morgana flicked her finger in the air and the chair slid away from him. "Mother?"

She laughed. "I expected you might fail. He's much more powerful than his father ever was, I'll give him that," she slowly turned in her chair, "apparently much more powerful than you, even with all the gifts and men I've given you."

"I'll kill him," Stephen said. "Mark my words, Mother, that Wizard will die by my hands. Just tell me his weakness and I'll take him down."

Morgana sighed as if the matter didn't trouble her. "The Wizard only concerns us as far as the soul he is currently protecting. Finish him off, if you can, but not at the expense of our primary goal."

Stephen shook like a caged animal. "Just tell me how to kill the Wizard, and I'll bring you his head."

Morgana sighed. "Not now, my son. I have other things for you to do... I want you to bring me the bodies of those boys you killed before the wizard came."

"Arthur wasn't among them?"

Morgana hissed, "I am aware of your failure. I want those bodies. Bring them to me."

"I'm afraid you'll find them in many pieces, Mother."

Her eye landed on the robotic humanoid standing in front of her. "We'll just have to see what we can do about their missing pieces, then. Won't we."

Nick kept fading in and out of consciousness. Everything was a stir of echoes and faces. Police, paramedics, doctors, kept fading in and out. "This little spic is done for." "Did you see his arm" "What the hell happened to his face" "God" "Get the damn paramedics over here" "God" "Holy shit" "what" "he's breathing""Get the god damned paramedics over here" "God" He could feel himself being picked up and placed on a stretcher, he faded, then next he felt a brief moment of consciousness he was being wheeled down the calming, white halls of a hospital. "He ganna make it?" "Look at his arm." "God" "Lost a lot of blood." "What did they do to these kids?" "Damn gang members." Through all the fading and foggy senses one thing was clear to him: Morriund was always there, in the background, and he looked older and older each time Nick saw him. He was always skulking behind the doctors and paramedics, and no one ever seemed to look at him, talk to him, or even notice that he was there.

"Mom," he heard a girl's voice say as he started to flutter his eyes open. "Mom, I think he's waking up."

His vision was blurry, but in a moment he focused on his younger sister, Christine, sitting on a small couch beside his bed in a hospital room. Unlike Nick's lanky build, Christine had soft, round cheeks, full lips, and a filled in, well proportioned figure.

"Mom," Christine said, poking at her Mother who had fallen asleep beside her.

Mrs. Rey woke up in instant. She was shaped like an older version of her daughter, only instead of a mini T-shirt and jeans, she was wearing a blouse and skirt that were part of her business suit. "Nicholas?" she gasped.

"Wart's waking up Mom."

Before Nick could fully focus his eyes his Mother was leaning over him.

"Baby," she said. "You waking up?"

Nick coughed, swallowed to moisten his throat. "Ma... Where the hell am I?"

She scowled slightly, she didn't like it when he cussed in front of her. "You're in the hospital, baby."

"Lance?" Nick said with a cough.

Christine was standing on the other side of him. "Gwen's outside in the waiting room. They said Lance was going to be okay."

The image of John getting blown away in front of him shot across his mind's eye. He quivered from the image. He and John had actually been the best of friends when they were younger, before they had moved into the city, and John gradually became a gang'banger. They'd go out, play sports with John's friends, and no matter how bad Nick was, John always made sure he got to play and he wouldn't let any of his friends make fun of him. He could see John as he was nine years earlier, smiling, tossing a softball at him. Then, as Nick caught the ball in his mind, the image of the bullet penetrating John's skull flashed past him again.

"Ma," Nick said, starting to sob. "Ma, I'm sorry. I'm sorry Ma. I should'a just... I should'a.... John, Ma."

Mrs. Rey shook her head, "We don't know where John is, baby... He was out when I got word of what had happened to you. I got Christine at her boyfriend's and got right to the hospital."

"Ma," Nick sobbed, "John's dead, Ma."

Like anyone getting bad news, Mrs. Rey gasped, almost laughed, in disbelief. She shook her head, "baby, what are you talking about."

"Those guys killed him."

The pitch of her voice rose, she took a deep breath, and her bottom lip shook, "Who killed John?"

Nick took a long look at each of them as they began to crack up at the news. "Ma, the same guys who busted up my hands, and arms, and cut up my face, shot John and some of his homies, Ma. The same bastards that tried to kill me got him."

The horror on their faces changed. They were no longer concerned about the brother or son off in the city, but far more worried about the one in front of them. Christina said with a shaky voice, "Your arm's not broken, neither is your hand." Christina put her hand on his. "Your face ain't cut up neither, Nick."

Nick tore his hand away from his sister, expecting pain at her touch, then looked down at both of his hands and realized that they were perfectly normal. His arm, though sore, was also unbroken and after exploring his face with his fingertips he realized that the skin was like new. Even his injuries from the fight he had with Lance were gone.

Nick shivered, "What the hell's going on? My arm was broken when I passed out." He stroked one hand with the other. "That bastard crushed my fingers with his boot."

Mrs. Rey ran her hand down her son's forehead and slid her fingers through his black, wiry hair to try and calm him. "Honey, nobody's trying to kill you."

"If no white, jack ass in armor just tried to kill me, then why the fucking hell am I in the hospital?"

"Baby, there was a gas line that blew down on Bayard," his Mom explained, and with a look to her daughter, Christine turned on the T.V. to the news so Nick could see. "You were with your friends in Columbus Park and there were some explosions. Baby, you and your friends got hurt in one of the explosions. Something hit your head. A whole lot of people got hurt really bad. You were lucky, Baby."

"John, Ma."

"Honey, none of that stuff you just said really happened. We're all worried about John, but he's probably just out with his friends. I heard on the news that some of the Subway lines are out, and some cell phone substations are out too." She took a deep breath and assured herself, "He's probably just out with his friends."

"Ma, I saw them shoot him! Why don't you believe me? God damn'it Ma!" Nick shouted, ranted, raved. "God damn it, they shot him when they were trying to kill me."

"Honey!" Mrs. Rey said sternly. "You need to calm down. It was all just a dream."

"It was not some fucking dream, Ma. We gotta find those guys. Twelve white guys. They were wearing these big business suits--I shot one and his stomach grew back--but then one of them took out a magic chain or something, and then he had one of these sword and armor things on'em. Then this other guy came, a guy named Morriund, and he shot sparks or something to get them to stop. Ma, Ma, damn it."

Mrs. Rey sadly shook her head, looked to her daughter, "Go get the doctor, Sweetie."

Christine laughed a little, "Ma, I think they gave him some weird painkillers or something."

"I'm not fucking crazy! Those bastard Brits are still out there!"

Christine was frozen, watching, half terrified, half mesmerized by her brother's ranting.

"Christine! Now!"

After the stern order she ran out of the room as fast as she could to get a nurse, but there was already one on the way to investigate Nick's screaming.

"Why don't you believe me!"

"What's wrong," said the nurse.

Mrs. Rey shook her head. "Hallucinating, he thinks someone in armor is trying to kill him. Probably that damn video game he's always playing. Can you give him something?"

"God damn it! God damn it! I don't need something. I need you to find those twelve guys who killed John and who tried to kill me! They broke my fucking arm! Why don't you believe me?"

The nurse called for more orderlies to help her restrain him.

"Hold him down."

"God damn it!"

"We got him."

"Fucking sons of bitches crushed my hand!"

"I got the needle. Let me get to his arm."

"Get your fucking hands off me! Get the fuck off me!"

"Okay, now just hold him down for a few more seconds until it takes effect."

He was getting dizzy now, and loosing sense of when and where he was. "God damn it, John. Get the fucking hell off me, John.... I ain't no little pussy.... I ain't no little pussy... We have a different idea of what it means to disgrace Mexicans... Just a fight over a girl, John. No one needs to die. No one has to die... Don't die, John... Don't die, John." His body became remote and distant and his eyes uncontrollably began to close. The orderlies backed off of him as his body relaxed, then watched as Nick stared off in the corner of the room, looked as if he was focusing on someone, but there wasn't anyone there. "Morriund," Nick whispered, "you look like shit, man." Then his eyes closed and he faded off to a drug induced sleep.

Gwen stroked his face. "I thought I was ganna loose you, boy."

The doctors said that Lance was fine, but he didn't feel fine. He could remember having his guts ripped out, then a knife stuck into what was left of his stomach. Yet, as he looked down at his own torso, he looked perfectly normal. Occasionally he'd feel some phantom pain from the memories of what he felt, or thought he had felt, after being left for dead, but otherwise he was perfectly normal.

"The doctor's said you can even go home today," Gwen said, trying to rouse him from his apparent trance and edge him into conversation. "No concussion from the explosion, or the car accident." She rubbed her own neck at the mention of the car accident.

Lance stared off at the television, watching the news describe what had happened in Columbus Park that day. The news lady said it was from a series of gas line explosions that caused cars to fly through the air, and even the appearance of lightning. They even had some scientist they scraped up at the last minute, an expert on fire and explosions they said.

The News Lady said, "So, we've had reports from witnesses of 'lightning strikes' coming out of the ground. Is this normal for an explosion like this?"

The old, bald, 'expert' pushed up his glasses, then rubbed his chubby hands together as he answered. "Well, uh... That isn't what people would usually imagine happening in a gas line explosion like this one, but there were also a number of power lines that were broken during the incident. Perhaps a few people would have seen an electrical discharge." By the time he had finished with his explanation, his pale, white cheeks were flushed the same color as his red beard, and he was staring at the camera like a zombie.

The News Lady smiled, "Thank you doctor." She turned back to the camera, "As you can see, there have been a number of car accidents here on Bayard that were caused by the explosions. A lot of people were hurt, and the public wants to know, 'could this have been prevented?' Well, that's what some city officials are saying."

The News quickly clicked to the picture of an official from the city power commission. "The gas and power lines down Bayard have been needing servicing for the last 10 years, and we just haven't been getting the money. A disaster like this was just waiting to happen."

The News lady was back, making her very best 'concerned expression'. "Tune in here at 11 for an in-depth look at what people are calling 'disaster 2043', and more information about what the city could have done to prevent this from happening."

With a dead expression in his eyes, Lance flicked a switch on the T.V. remote and turned it off. "This ain't right," Lance said.

Gwen shook. She knew that what they were saying on the news didn't make any sense, that it was incompatible with what she had seen, but the version of events on the News was one that she was more comfortable with. "Baby?"

Lance shook his head. "You saw those guys Gwen. You told me they shot Alfred and Joe. Nick told me they shot Alfred and Joe."

"Lance?"

"Where the hell are Alfred and Joe?"

Gwen shook her head. "I checked. They said that there were no bodies in the car, or near by it. That everyone they found had been accounted for."

"Where the hell are they?"

She didn't know what to say or do. She watched as that man in the Armani suit, Accolon, aimed his gun at them and blew their brains across the inside of the car. She even still had a few stains on her clothing that she knew were pieces of them. "They can't find'em."

Suddenly she could hear Nick screaming down the hall in the other room. She looked to the door, back to Lance, and he nodded that she should go check it out. As she opened the door, four hulking orderlies were piling into his room, then they each grabbed part of Nick and held him down.

"Fucking sons of bitches crushed my hand!" she could hear him scream.

All she could see from the hall was his feet struggling against the orderlies, then she could see them slowly relax after the needle went in. She was standing at the door, Mrs. Rey and Christine were holding one another, and she didn't feel like she should intrude on the family. She was about to turn and go back to Lance's room when some invisible force suddenly pushed her to the side.

She gasped, looked around, then saw, or thought she saw, the shadow of a man in a cloak walking down the hall away from the room, even though there was no one in the hall but her. She immediately thought of the man she had seen when she directed the cops to where Nick and Lance were, how he seemed to disappear, and she followed after the faint shadow. The shadow stopped a moment, seemed to turn toward her, then it sped up as if to get away from her. She could actually hear its foot steps now. It couldn't keep up its run for long, now it was limping, staggering along the hall, shuffling foot steps. A translucent figure began to materialize. It was hunched over, shaking, covering its face. With what appeared to be its last bit of strength, it threw itself into a supply room and shut the door...

She stopped and stared at the door a while, debating about whether or not she really wanted to know what it was she had just seen. With a gulp, she forced herself to step toward the door. She knocked. No answer. She could just hear heavy breathing coming from the inside. She put her hand on the door knob. What was she doing? It was probably just some dirty old man masturbating in the closet. As an incredibly beautiful young girl, going in there was probably the stupidest thing she could possibly think to do. If that was all it was, some dirty old man jacking off in the closet so the nurses wouldn't see him, then she'd probably get raped in there. She shook her head and tried to remove all of the conventional wisdom she had to adopt as a young woman. She knew it wasn't like that. She was convinced that whoever it was had somehow saved Nick and Lance, and somehow they were able to make themselves disappear.

She cracked the door open, said hello again. In response there was a violent dry heave. There was no light inside the room, but in the little light she let in from the hall, she could make out a frail figure on its knees, shaking in the corner. As she went to turn on the lights it scurried into another corner, behind a supply cabinet.

"No light," it shouted, "please no light. The light hurts. It stings. It stings. It stings."

"I'll get a nurse," she said, her voice shook.

The figure vomited on the ground. The black, blood filled liquid oozed across the floor and shimmered in the light flowing through the half open door. It laughed at her. "They can't help me," it said. "There was a price I had to pay to be here... There was a price."

"I'll get a nurse."

It shook under its own weight. "No nurse! Close the door! Whatever happens, no nurse!"

She slowly walked in, then shut the door behind her. What was she doing? Why did she trust this man, this thing? It was complete darkness, and in the time it took for her eyes to adjust the man had started vomiting again. His back arched up each time there was a gurgle, heave, and the splash of bile and blood on the ground. He shook again, but this time his arms and legs gave way and he fell into a pool of his own fluid. The rank smell of death was so strong that she thought she'd pass out.

She stepped closer, "What can I do to help."

It was coughing, preparing for another round of vomiting, but she could hear it say in a raspy voice, "Don't scream. Whatever you do.. Don't scream. Whatever happens.... Don't..." Fluid spewed out of his mouth and nostrils, then he gasped, "don't scream." She could make out the profile of his head in the dim light. He was doing his best to keep his face above the vomit. He was gasping. There was a silent moment, then, one by one, his teeth began to fall out of his mouth and she could hear the sharp, chattering sound of them colliding with the tile.

"Don't scream," was the last thing he said before his eyes plopped out of his skull and his body began to glow.

She shuttered, fell to her knees in shock and put her hands to her mouth. "Oh God," she said. "Oh God, oh God, oh God."

He looked like a glowing, mummified body pulled out of a bog. All of the vomit and blood on the floor began to flow back toward him and poured into his mouth and nostrils. Then something began to move inside the body. The flesh wriggled like something was trying to break out.

"Oh God," Gwen gasped. "Oh God!"

It stopped glowing. The room was dark again, and her eyes needed to readjust. She could hear something ripping, then something breathing. When her eyes had dilated, she could still see the bodies limbs, stiff and grotesque, but there was something or someone else who seemed to be crawling around the torso of the corpse.

She struggled to her feet, and headed for the door, but before she could get there something grabbed hold of her foot, pulled her to the ground, then put a hand over her mouth.