Disclaimer: I don't own Primeval. If I did, I would be producing more episodes and working on a movie, instead of leaving the show to gather dust and the movie to burn in Development Hell.

This episode is dedicated to Michael Dorn, because I want to be Worf more than anything else in the world, and to Sir Patrick Stewart, because he is simply the most awesome person in the world.

Prologue:

Kansas, United States. Undisclosed location.

Villette Madeline Tcherine's lungs were burning from lack of oxygen. Her legs, specially altered for leaping and climbing, were not well suited to cross-country, and she was low on energy anyway after missing three straight nights of sleep.

Of course, resting now wasn't an option, not with a fully-grown fifteen-foot-long fleshreaver with an armor-plated back and septic growths of reeking bacteria coating its reptilian body on her tail. One bite from a fleshreaver, and you were dead in twenty-four hours. The bacteria that had a symbiosis with the vicious crocs were resistant to all conventional therapies, incredibly aggressive, and released cytotoxic chemicals that literally melted flesh.

Villette (CIA agent number A52-GMHX-7, codename Sabertooth) noted rather sarcastically to herself that she had been an augment for a grand total of six months now, and it would be a real shame to die at the teeth of a fleshreaver now.

Davis's voice sounded in her earpiece.

"Right, Jake just called in from base. I need you to head due east—oh, wait, you're already doing that. Handy things these locators…"

"Fleshreaver on my tail!" gasped Villette.

"Sorry, sorry. We need you to lead it to the anomaly. We've evacuated everyone back a hundred yards, and Stephanie's prepping her helmet. If it's still fifty feet or so behind you…"

"It's maybe…twenty feet back! How much…further do I…have to…run?"

"Only a quarter-mile. Try to not go too fast—we don't want it to lose interest."

"I'm…barely…keeping…pace…with it. Ian, you…said this was…an ambush…predator!"

The team nerd's voice was a rather unique mixture of terror and embarrassment.

"Well, I…it looks like an ambush predator! It's got all sorts of classic ambush predator features! How was I supposed to know that it could run cross-country?"

"Let me handle this," said Stephanie briskly. "Sabertooth, I have my helmet on and primed. You get that thing through, and get back. I'll close the anomaly as soon as you're through. OK?"

"Got…it. Just…Don't…"

"Heh, don't worry. I won't close it on you."

"Good…to…know!"

The fleshreaver snarled behind her. Villette didn't need to look back—she already knew what she would see. Fangs, horns, and reeking yellow bacterial film, reeking of sepsis and malodorous toxins. Hooked temporomandibular horns used in mating fights, the inch-thick scute that protected the braincase from conventional weapons, and teeth. Far too many teeth, of all vaguely triangular shapes and sizes, including a set of extra jaws inside the main upper set.

Just thinking about the teeth lent Villette extra speed.

Part 1:

April's apartment.

"You're sure about this?"

August was pacing the small living room area. Her flaming red hair was loose, which April found to be mildly distracting.

"One hundred percent. I smelled her. She got away."

"The modifications necessary for her augments…"

"Are impressive, I know. We all know. Do you have the video, by the way?"

August pulled an SD card out of her pocket and tossed it to April, who caught it deftly.

"Thirty minutes of torture vid. He was tough. Normally I'd charge you four bucks a minute for that, but we're all friends here."

"Did you have fun?"

"Yeah," sighed the other augment blissfully. "Best I've had since my first time."

"Nice. Right. Back to business."

"Alright. So the higher-ups have you stuck in a holding pattern?"

"Unfortunately. I can't go after Agent Raven now, and I don't know her actual identity. Would you…"

"Sure. You owe me a hot date in Paris, with a victim for the night, though."

"Of course. I might need backup soon, by the way—I think the ARC team is suspicious."

"Oh, dearie me—had a slip-up?"

"Accent broke. Just a little, Muscovite instead of Urals. Becker may have caught it, though."

"Sucks. Hey, you're going to tape it, right?"

"I have spare cameras set up. Devil of a time putting 'em in, let me tell you."

"Sweet. Hope you enjoy Maitland."

August picked up her coat and threw it on.

"I'll go hunt Raven. Try to enjoy your holding pattern, eh?"

"Sure."

April's phone rang as August left. Becker.

"Da, anglitsz tovarishch?"

"We have another. It's up in Scotland, middle of nowhere. We're airlifting out. Meet us at Heathrow."

"Understood."

Abby Maitland's apartment. London, England.

Connor Temple had everything set up by the time Abby stumbled sleepily out of bed. Toast—sans socks, this time—cereal, and two cups of hot tea. The official Star Trek: The Next Generation Klingon mug was his, and the perfectly ordinary white one Abby's. She would not be happy if it were the other way 'round.

"Morning," Abby yawned as she stumbled blearily into the kitchen.

"Morning, luv," said Connor, pouring some milk for his cereal. "Toast on the table, and I can cook us some eggs if you like."

"Aaw—shouldn't have."

She sat down anyway, still in her pajamas—not that Connor was any better; he was in a Darth Vader bathrobe and his lucky Captain Kirk boxers—and dug in anyway.

"Me swelling's all gone."

"That's nice."

"Becker said that he'd love to be best man. For our wedding, and all. And Lester said that he would marry us. Said it was his genuine pleasure."

"Lester said that?"

"Eh, he said something about us deserving some kind of reward for saving the world again. And we didn't get a pay rise, so…"

"Ah, I see. Still, it's not something that I think of Lester saying."

"True, that. Oh, and there's a Star Trek convention in town in two months. Leonard Nimoy and Patrick Stewart and William Shatner and George Takei and Wil Wheaton and Michael Dorn and all those blokes'll be in London!"

"I suppose we could go see that. How many days is it?"

"All week! Of course, Lester'd never let us go…"

"Well…Lester owes me a favor or two. I'll see what I can do."

"You're amazing, Abby!"

She blushed a little. "I know. You tell me every day, after all."

He was about to reply when their portable detectors went off.

"Ah, great. One up in Scotland."

"I'll get the car ready, you pack. Remember your airsickness pills, honey!"

"Will do, luv!"

Connor took the stairs two at a time, and Abby dug into the couch cushions for the keys.

"I've got the car keys! I'll get changed and then we leave!"

Connor hollered something unintelligible as Abby dug through her closet for her jeans.

Anomaly Research Centre.

"Becker. Black box?"

"Thanks, darling," said Captain Hilary Becker, kissing his girlfriend (!) Jess Parker on the cheek and racing for the lift door with an armload of weaponry.

That dinner date had been a resounding success. She had come back for more the next day, and the next—and yeah, that third night had been something else.

Abby was now cracking James Bond jokes at him whenever they ran into each other, but he didn't care. Besides, he knew that the jokes reflected positively on his masculinity.

The squad piled into the elevator behind him. Otis was the first to speak up.

"So…how is she, sir?"

"Otis, have you ever seen a James Bond movie?"

"Yeah, I saw Moonraker once. Piece of crap movie."

"Right. You remember the final scene?"

"Where Bond and the girl of the week are screwing in the space shuttle?"

"Yeah. That's what it was like. Only without the boss watching, of course. And Jess is much more…interesting than a Bond girl."

"Wow."

"You aren't passing around money back there, are you?"

"Er…"

"It's fine. Who bet against me?"

"Er…Smythe did, sir."

"Heh. Smythe, you can clean the armory next week. How much did you lose, anyway?"

"Twenty pounds, sir."

"Consider yourself lucky. Don't bet against my manly talents."

To Becker's eternal cosmic commendation, he kept a straight face through that comment.

Unknown location. 37,012,016 CE.

Villette Tcherine burst through the anomaly, fleshreaver hot on her tail, and promptly leaped six feet straight up into a tree.

The fleshreaver, smelling of rotting eggs and coated in oozing yellow slime, emerged below, roaring angrily. It sounded like fingernails on a blackboard, brought down by five or six octaves on a sound table.

The anomaly fluttered behind it. Oh, great. It was fading.

Then the anomaly shut spontaneously, and Villette knew that she was screwed.

Kansas.

Jason Davis, PhD (in vertebrate paleontology), saw the anomaly close and swore.

"Damn it, Stephanie! Why did you close it?"

"Davis, I'm a hundred yards back. The anomaly just closed on its own!"

"Shit. SHIT! Jake, come in!"

"Davis, you're not going to believe this. It closed, and I picked up something in England."

"Figures, we just upgraded the—wait, England?"

"Er…Scotland, actually. Middle of nowhere…"

"Shit. Concordium. They opened something..."

"It could've faultlined naturally," suggested Ian Wilson (Agent Peregrine), team geek and creature expert.

"Or the Concordium found some way to make them faultline, or this might be completely unrelated. Whatever it is, it's bad."

"This is too close to be a coincidence," mused Stephanie. "It's got to be a faultline, whether natural or artificial. And that means that Villette's in danger even if she makes it out."

"Right. Back to base and mobilize. We go in hot. Jake, call Clandestine Ops and Section 9. See what and who they can spare. Jimmy, I want you to sit this one out."

"Screw that, Davis, she's my girlfriend…"

"No. I need everyone in top form. Jake, where's Raven?"

"Workout room. She's on her weekly marathon flight."

"Shut off the fan and tell her to get prepped. We need a sniper. Joan, double meds, I can't have your hormone issues going wild on this."

"Oh, so the minor and the nympho with bad hormone augments get to go rescue my girlfriend, but I get to stay behind and stew. What's up with that?"

"Raven can shoot a man's eye out from a mile away, and Joan can be anyone. We're going in full lethal, so your augments are less useful. Besides, they might send one of the Twelve on the base, and Justin's still in his augment coma. We need you at base."

"Damn it, Davis..."

"I mean it, Jimmy! Now come on, everyone back to the copter. We need to move."

37 million CE.

Villette knew what the anomaly popping up a quarter-mile away meant. Fautline.

"Aw, shit. I hate JF protocol."

JF protocol. Contain at any cost. Life, health, and ethics are immaterial. Only shutting down the anomaly and keeping it under wraps matters. Only used in cases of faultlining anomalies and junctions.

Villette hated JF protocol. Things always went wrong when it was active—usually painful things.

Well, only one thing for it. Head for the anomaly and hope that she got back before it faultlined again, and that whoever was on the other side could kill the croc. Risky, but better than having a fleshreaver loose at one end of a faultlining anomaly.

Villette steeled herself and leaped.

And that's part 1. Coming up this episode: lots of action, Becker going badass, Becker being injured, Connor trying to go badass, Connor falling off a rock. I'd say more, but I am evil. Mwahahahahahahaaa!