Ghost Writer in the Machine

by Speakfire

World-altering events are taking place in Washington DC. Is it an alien invasion or a conspiracy? Teresa is about to learn the truth-whether she wants to or not. **No Prior knowledge of the Wii Game The Conduit required! Anyone can dig this story, even non-gamers! Check it out!

A/N I am aware that some of you have found yourself at this story because you have me under the Author Alert. For those of you who do not recognize the setting and fandom for this story, which takes place immediately following the events of the Wii game "The Conduit", I have great news. It won't matter. Seriously, it will make absolutely no difference at all if you haven't played the game, trust me. So keeping that in mind, I invite you to read at least a few pages of this. If you like it, fantastic! Keep reading and please leave a review! If you don't, don't worry about it! I understand. As the saying goes, "One man's meat is another's poison." Despite the fact that I am only just now posting this story, it's actually been in the works for nearly four years. My muse went into berserker writing mode last week in a way that it has never done before and I HAD to get this finished, I was literally losing sleep because it was on my mind constantly.

One final request—please, please take the time to review. Thank you!

Thank you to Mel for the Title.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Conduit, Michael Ford, Prometheus or anything else from the Wii game The Conduit, and I'm not making anything. Teresa, however, is my own creation.

GHOST WRITER IN THE MACHINE

Like pretty much everyone else in the world, I was glued to the TV, watching the devastating and literally world-altering events that were unfolding in nearby Washington, D.C. Knowing that all of this was taking place just a few miles away from my apartment in Baltimore, Maryland made it even more surreal. Mandatory evacuation orders had been issued for DC and all the surrounding areas, including Arlington and parts of Bethesda, but so far places like Baltimore and Richmond, VA, had been spared.

Even so, just to be on the safe side, a large suitcase packed and waiting by the door, my car's gas tank was full, and there was a Louisville Slugger baseball bat within arm's reach of where I was sitting on the couch, just in case any looters came a-calling, though I didn't have a lot of 'loot' to take.

When all the mayhem had first started with the attack on Reagan National Airport, the news media had called it a terrorist attack. Then insect-like creatures began to crawling up from somewhere beneath DC, pouring out into the sewers and subway systems and into the streets, and it went from being terrorists to being an alien invasion, even though there'd been no reports of space ships in the sky-so far, at least. The White House came under attack, with TV stations showing footage of the building covered in pulsing vines and alien growth that looked like something right out of a science fiction or horror movie, and President Thompson managed to escape on Marine One thanks to the help of some organization I'd never heard of before, The Trust.

News coverage got spotty from there, especially after some news and military choppers were shot down by flying variants. Some stations were saying that the President had signed Executive Power over to the Trust, which seemed both incomprehensible and illegal. Could President Thompson even do that without the approval of Congress? Maybe there were exceptions for situations in which the Government was clearly under direct attack, but it didn't really matter, because the Drudge, as the insectile aliens were being called, didn't stop there. The Pentagon was hit next, and this time news coverage showed footage of a huge armored Drudge tearing through the sides of the building and upending tanks like they were cheap plastic toys.

Right now, Channel 11 news was showing some amateur footage that someone had taken of a man who had bravely (or insanely) taken on one of the giant armored Drudge by himself. The angle was weird, as though the videographer had been on one of the upper floors of a nearby building while aiming the camcorder through the window.

The entire video lasted about ten minutes and showed the man, who was wearing some kind of combat armor, fighting the huge bug on a river bridge, taking cover behind the battered remnant of tanks and broken down vehicles while shooting at the enormous thing with his weapon. He started out with a machine gun, but when he ran out of ammo for that, instead of giving up and running for his life like any sane person would do, instead he picked up another weapon from one of the many dead bodies of fallen Army soldiers, and then another when that ran out, even going so far as to use the weapons left behind by dead Drudge that littered the ground so that he could rejoin the battle.

I'd have thought that the giant bug alone would have been bad enough with how it sprayed out the occasional energy blasts from its eyes or mouth and waved around arms the size of tree trunks, smashing them into the ground with such force that the camera would shake despite the distance, but at various times it would also shoot out some kind of flying bugs that resembled huge red gnats. Seeing them, I had an idea of exactly what had caused those choppers to crash.

Somehow, someway, this one man managed to succeed where the tanks and Army troops before him had failed. It seemed the huge Drudge had one weak spot, an iridescent orange spot on the underside of its body that, when hit by weapons fire, would make the thing scream out in agony and rage. When the soldier realized what was happening, he repeatedly attacked that one spot despite the risk, even though it required him get dangerously close to those deadly forelegs. At one point, the creature landed a glancing blow with one giant limb and it was enough to knock him into the bridge's concrete guardrail with bone-crushing force. I gasped and covered my mouth, sure he'd been killed by the impact alone but after a few moments, he shook his head, staggered to his feet and rejoined the fight.

When the thing was finally dead, he scavenged the area for more ammo, briefly examined a huge hole in the street pavement that the giant bug had likely emerged from, and then climbed down into the darkness, disappearing from view as he presumably continued in his quest to hunt down more Drudge. It was a stunning and inspiring display of bravery, and I couldn't help feeling hopeful after watching it. There were people out there fighting the Drudge, and they were winning, in spite of what seemed like impossible odds.

As the evening wore on, the news channels started recycling material from earlier, with most of the highlights centering around on the attacks on the White House, Pentagon, Library of Congress and Jefferson Memorial. They showed the clips of the man fighting the giant bug over and over, speculating as to who he was and what agency he worked for. The video quality wasn't good enough to give more than a general impression of his appearance—white male, brownish hair, wearing a visor of some sort that hid part of his face from view. The consensus seemed to be that he was with the Trust based on the unusual combat armor and weapons he was using, but no one really knew for sure.

I started to drift off, my lids drooping lower and lower, when suddenly I jolted awake to a strange noise—an electric hiss somewhat like that of a bug zapper accompanied by a low hum. Hoisting my Louisville Slugger over my shoulder, I got to my feet and slowly started to make my way to the second bedroom that served as my computer room, as it seemed to be where the sound seemed to be originating from. The light was off, but even so I could see a strange orange glow coming from the doorway. I briefly considered calling out, but nixed that idea, figuring by remaining silent I would at least have the element of surprise on my intruder.

Peeking around the corner, I found myself staring at the far wall with shock. What had once been a wall devoid of pictures or wall hangings of any kind now had a fiery swirling circle of light in the middle of it, bordered by a pink organic frame of alien origin. It looked like a gateway into Hell itself. I could scarcely believe what I was seeing. It flickered once, and then again, and the center spun even faster until it emitted a burst of light so bright that it was almost blinding-and then something came through the portal!

I screamed with surprise and fear, jerking back out of the room as whatever it was, or whoever, fell forward onto the floor with a heavy thud. Its—his—gloved hand opened at the impact, and a round metallic ball rolled out and toward me.

Grenade, was my only thought, and I dropped the bat, throwing myself away from it and covering my head with my arms to protect myself from the worst of the blast. I counted to five, and then ten. By the time I got to thirty, I was wondering if the thing was a dud. Slowly, I lowered my arms to peer at the metal ball. It didn't blow up. Instead, it did something that was somehow even more surprising—it talked.

"Michael? Michael?!" a man's voice came from the ball. "Michael, can you hear me?"

I got to my feet and stared down at the device before looking at the man who had literally appeared out of nowhere and now lay motionless on my apartment floor. The portal wasn't glowing anymore, so it didn't seem that anything would be following 'Michael' through. In fact, it wasn't doing much of anything. The only visible sign that there'd ever even been a portal was the blackened remnants of that organic frame, making it seem like the hellish frame for a broken mirror.

"Pick up the ASE and scan Michael," the metal sphere said. "I need to check his vitals."

Automatically, I looked left and right, checking to see if indeed the thing was talking to me.

"Yes, I'm talking to you. Pick up the ASE," it ordered and then spoke to the fallen man again. "Michael? Michael, are you all right?"

For some reason, the fact that the voice at the other end of the ball, or ASE I suppose, called the unconscious man in my floor by his first name was strangely reassuring. They were close enough to be on a first name basis. I had always been under the assumption that in the military, people referred to each other exclusively by their rank and last name. I shifted my attention from the ASE to Michael, edging my way to the doorway to reach around enough so that I could flip on the overhead light switch on the wall. Now I could see a dark pool of blood beneath him on the floor and two huge bloody wounds right in the middle of his back. They weren't round, like bullet wounds, instead seeming more like claw marks that went right through his body armor and into the vulnerable flesh beneath.

Fighting back a wave of nausea, I made myself speak, "He's hurt. Bad. It looks like something attacked him from behind. There's big gashes and he's not moving…" He could already be dead. I could have a dead guy right in the middle of my apartment. So much for my deposit, I thought, fighting back a hysterical giggle. "He needs to go to the hospital, but I can't call an ambulance, the phones have been out all day, I've tried to call my mom and sister and everyone I know for hours and all I get is a busy signal on the land line and no service on my cell and…"

"Listen to me…"

The voice paused, and without even thinking about it I supplied my name, figuring that's what he was waiting for. "Teresa."

"Teresa, just pick up the ASE so that I can scan Michael," the man ordered again.

I bent down, studying the metallic sphere closely. I'd never seen anything like it. It was clearly far more complex than a grenade, an intricate design of light and metal. To be honest, it actually resembled a thermal detonator from the Star Wars movies than anything else. Not the most reassuring thing to think about, I berated myself as I reached out and picked it up.

The ASE was warm to the touch and pulsed in my hand like a living thing, even though it was made of metal. There was a translucent red circle right in the middle of it and I could just barely see a design in the crimson glass. I ran my thumb over the surface, figuring perhaps there was a smudge on it that I could wipe clean, and without warning the ASE whirred and powered up, with panels clicking open all over it. I would have dropped the sphere from surprise alone had it not started hovering above my open hand. When I moved, it moved in unison with me, floating an inch or two above my palm, and now I could see that the thing was sending out a beam of light that formed a symbol on the wall. It took me a moment to realize what I was looking at.

"The All-Seeing Eye," I whispered with wonder, staring at the shimmering image of an eye floating above a pyramid. I made the connection half a second later. "ASE? All-Seeing Eye?"

"Precisely. Now point it at Michael."

Nodding to the disembodied voice, I swung my hand around, angling it so the beam of light landed on the prone shape of the man on my floor. The ASE hummed, the light growing brighter and more focused as it scanned Michael's body. It took no more than five seconds, and then the sphere powered down and settled in my palm again.

"His wounds are healing. He should be fully recovered from his injuries in approximately two hours and forty-seven minutes."

I stared at the ASE in disbelief, echoing, "Fully recovered in two hours and forty-seven minutes?"

He sounded almost apologetic, "It should not even take that long, but he has been pushing himself beyond normal physical and mental limits for the past five days so it will take longer than usual."

Giving the ASE a little shake to bring it back to this reality, I demanded, "Are you sure your scanner is working? He's got two huge friggin' holes in his back. He'd be lucky to recover in two months, and that's assuming he even survives long enough for an ambulance to get here."

"The Trust armor he is wearing does more than offer physical protection, it gives him increased speed, strength and enhances his healing factor at an exponential rate."

I leaned over to look at the gouges in Michael's back. As crazy as it was, they did seem to look a little better, even though only a few minutes had passed. "Are you are both with the Trust, then?"

The man's voice hardened. "With the Trust? No. We are not with the Trust. We are trying to stop them."

My eyebrows shot upwards. "Stop them? Why would you try to stop them, I thought they were trying to help. They saved the President-they said it on TV, even showed video of it!"

"The Trust did not save President Thompson, Michael did. The Trust has been behind this entire attack. They were the ones who created the Drudge and then released them upon the city in the hopes that it would cause the government to collapse. It very nearly did and it would have, were it not for Michael."

"And how do you know all of that?"

His response was a simply stated, "Because I was there."

I digested his words, worrying my lower lip as I thought things through. I wasn't sure who or what to believe. In fact, I wasn't even sure whom I was talking to.

"Who are you?" I asked the voice emanating from the ASE, and that question led to another. "For that matter, where are you? Somewhere in DC?"

"My name is Prometheus." There was a distinct pause before he answered the second question. "I am inside the ASE."

"Prometheus?" I sort of recognized the name. He was some Greek god who brought fire to humans, and the other gods got so mad they chained him to a rock and made him hold up the world for eternity and…. no, no it was Atlas who held up the world. I'd have to Google it. Raising the ASE to get a better look at it, I asked, "You're inside this? So what, you're like an A.I.? Artificial intelligence?"

"I am not an artificial intelligence. I was alive, but when I died, I uploaded my consciousness into the ASE so that I could continue to help Michael."

This day was getting stranger by the minute. Morbid curiosity made me ask, "How long ago did you die?"

"Nine hours, four minutes, and fifty-three seconds ago," Prometheus replied.

I hardly even knew how to respond to that. Finally I said, "So, you're like a literal ghost in the machine."

There was a slight hesitation before Prometheus answered, "That is an accurate analogy. Now use the ASE to scan the wall with the closed conduit."

The closed conduit? Oh, the portal thingy that was currently gracing my wall. Swinging my hand around, I thumbed the power for the ASE a second time. Again it floated above my palm as the beam swept over the round organic 'frame'. "What are you scanning it for?"

"To see if I can find a way to reopen the conduit."

"Reopen it? Are you kidding? One half-dead guy coming through it was quite enough for me, thank you very much."

Prometheus patiently explained, "Michael was following the leader of the Trust when he reopened the conduit from the other end. Adams must have rerouted the conduit to open at a random location at some point after he entered, but before we did."

"That random location being here in my computer room?" Of all the bad luck to have…

"So it would seem. Michael was attacked just prior to entering the conduit by a Drudge Scarab, hence the wounds you see on him now. Fortunately he was able to kill it and I closed the other end before we came through. Otherwise it might have followed us here and you would have far worse things than a 'half-dead guy' in your computer room. In order to continue our mission and stop the Trust once and for all, I must reconfigure this conduit to take us to Adams, wherever he is."

Sometimes, ignorance was bliss. I wish I hadn't asked. I looked away from the ASE toward Michael, who was still laying face down on the floor and felt a slight tinge of guilt for leaving him like that. "Is it ok if I try to turn Michael over? No, wait, with his injuries being so bad, he should probably just stay where he is. You should never move someone with a head or spine injury, it seems like I heard that somewhere…"

"The Trust armor accelerates his healing regardless of whether he is standing, moving, or laying down. You can turn him over if you wish."

I stared down at the ASE and then at the armored man on my floor. I am five eight, weigh about one forty-five and am in decent shape, but there's no way I was going to be able to flip Michael without putting some serious muscle into it. I made my way over to my computer desk, saying, "I'm going to set you down here while I try to help him. Will you be ok?"

Prometheus didn't answer.

Of course he didn't answer, it was a stupid question. He was already dead. "Alrighty then." I set the metallic orb down on the edge of the desk and wiped my sweaty palms together, trying to decide how to proceed from here. I figure I needed a pillow for sure, blankets in case he went into shock, and a bucket of warm water and a crap ton of rags to clean up the blood before it dried and stained the hardwood floors. At least I didn't have carpet, that'd be a nightmare cleanup job. My aluminum baseball bat was still in the hallway from when I'd jumped away from the 'grenade', so I picked it up and tossed it on the couch.

It took me a few minutes to gather everything together, and I admit it, when I returned to the computer room I halfway expected that all of this would turn out to be one of the weirdest and most memorable nightmares I'd ever had. No such luck. There was still an unconscious man in combat armor in the middle of the floor and a thermal detonator look-alike on my desk.

I kneeled down and took another close look at Michael's back. It really was healing, almost before my very eyes. The gouges were still horrible looking, deep and edged with drying blood but along the very edge I could see pink new flesh forming. Not only that, the armor seemed... less damaged than I had remembered. "Is the armor self-repairing too?"

"Of course. If it didn't, any prior hit would leave the wearer even more vulnerable should he sustain further damage."

Nodding, I picked up a rag and dipped it into the bucket's warm water. I figured I may as well try to clean up Michael's wound before I flipped him over. "Here goes nothing," I muttered under my breath and lifted the cloth when suddenly I heard a loud rumble in the distance. The power flickered and went out, silencing the television, and that deep thunderous sound approaching from outside was even more terrifying in the darkness.

"Prometheus?" I whispered, not really expecting a response, and then the entire apartment building shook with such violence that if I hadn't already been on the floor, I'd have been knocked off my feet. I heard both of the windows in my apartment burst with explosive force and without thinking, I threw myself over Michael's body to protect him from further harm, though in retrospect with his armor and healing factor, he was probably in far less danger than I was. The floor literally lurched beneath us, and I could hear dishes and glasses shattering in the kitchen as they landed.

A huge crack ran up the wall by the desk, rocking it and causing the flat screen monitor to tip backwards into the wood paneling of the hutch shelf. The ASE bounced around in the desk cubby like a pinball in a machine that had just hit Tilt in the worst way imaginable and then rolled forward. Again, my reflexes took over and the fear-induced adrenaline rush was powerful enough that I somehow managed to catch the silver ball that contained Prometheus' essence in my outstretched hand. I immediately tucked it against my chest, where my heart was pounding so hard it very nearly drowned out the rumbles from the earthquake.

As suddenly as it had started, it stopped. The air was filled with the white dust, plaster from the walls and ceiling. I could hear car alarms blaring in the street and my neighbors—the handful who hadn't already left town—talking excitedly to each other from outside.

"Prometheus? Are you ok? Is Michael Ok?" Hell, was I ok? I examined myself, and aside from shaking hands, knocking knees and a nervous tic in my left eyelid, I seemed to have come out unscathed. Thank God the computer room didn't have any windows or it could have been much worse!

"I was never in any danger," Prometheus informed me.

Flushing, I said, "I knew that. I just... you know, was trying to make sure you didn't get lost. You know, again. If you had an apartment building land on top of you, how would I explain that to Michael?" I crawled over to the 'junk drawer' on my desk and pulled out the large Magnum flashlight I kept stashed in there, flicking it on and shining it around to survey the damage. This room wasn't in horrible shape. I had a feeling that the living room and kitchen had not fared so well.

He was quiet for a moment. "Your point is taken. He would be most displeased if the ASE were to disappear, especially after everything he went through to retrieve it."

"The ASE? But not you?"

"The ASE is far more important than I am. If Michael is to have any chance of ending the Trust's vile machinations, he will require the ASE to do so. I would gladly give my life again—such as it is—to help him achieve that end."

I blinked at his sobering words, staring down at the metal sphere. I'd never seen anything like it, sure, but clearly it was something extraordinarily rare. "Prometheus, what IS the ASE? I mean, what makes it so important? Where did it come from?"

Prometheus replied, "To put it bluntly, it's an alien artifact."

My eyes just about bugged out of my head. "Get out! For real?" I could hardly believe I was holding alien technology in the palm of my hand! But after the events of the last five days, and aliens crawling through the streets of DC, somehow it really wasn't as crazy sounding now as it might have been a week ago. "What makes it so important? You know, aside from the fact that it's, you know, alien."

He seemed to choose his response with caution. "It is a key."

My nose wrinkled at that and I regarded the ASE dubiously. "A key." It didn't look like any key I'd ever seen. "What does it unlock?"

"Everything."

I opened my mouth to ask something else, but he interrupted me. "Enough questions, I've said far too much as it is. Now let me scan Michael again to make sure the explosion did not cause any setbacks to his recovery."

Once again, I thumbed the red screen to activate the ASE. It was about two seconds into the scan when my brain caught up with what he'd said. "Wait, explosion? There was an explosion? I thought it was just an earthquake!"

"His condition continues to improve at the accelerated rate," Prometheus continued as though I had not said anything. "The earthquake was caused by a massive underground explosion that occurred 35.6 miles southeast of our current location. Epicenter: Georgetown, Washington, D.C.-at The Trust Headquarters. It must be the result of the self-destruct mechanism."

"Oh my God. Oh my God." I could feel the hysteria welling up in my chest again, and I staggered to my feet, rushing through the wrecked apartment to throw open the front door. It was almost dawn, but the sky was alight with a ruddy glow coming from D.C. Even in the darkness I could still see the huge mushroom cloud rising above our nation's capital, and I could only cry silently at the sight. All those people, even though they'd issued mandatory evacuations, there still had to be thousands, possibly millions, of people who had not yet left the area and now they were all gone.

"Teresa." Dimly I registered Prometheus's voice, talking to me through the ASE I still had clutched in my hand. "Teresa, I'm very sorry. The northwesterly wind is blowing the radiation southeast toward the Atlantic Ocean which will lessen the immediate effects of fallout."

Wiping my eyes with the back of my hand, I asked in a quavering voice, "You say the Trust is behind all of this?"

"Yes. Teresa, I promise you, we will do everything we can to stop them. As you can see, the alternative is… unthinkable."

I choked back another sob, not trusting myself to speak as I turned and went back inside. The kitchen and living room were a disaster. One of the kitchen cupboards had come open during the quake, and it looked like every dinner plate and glass I owned was now in pieces on the floor. Thank God I was wearing house shoes, or I could have been bleeding even worse than Michael was.

Somehow, the combination of window screens along with the Venetian blinds on my front and kitchen windows had caused almost all the glass to fall outside the apartment rather than inside on my floor. I felt like an automaton as I stuffed the ASE in my pajama bottoms pocket, went to the linen closet to grab a set of bed sheets and hung them over the windows. It wasn't really cold outside, but the sheets helped obscure that unholy glow coming from what was left of D.C.

That still made it pretty dark inside the apartment, but I had a pile of candles leftover from last year when a Category 1 hurricane had come up the East coast. I placed two of the bigger ones on the edges of my desk and used a lighter to get them going. The candles lit things up quite nicely and as an added bonus, they smelled like cinnamon, which helped cut the coppery scent of blood.

By that time I'd composed myself enough that I thought I could follow through with cleaning up Michael's wounds. The water in the bucket was borderline tepid so I emptied it in the tub and filled it up again. The apartment complex had a gas heater, so we still had running hot water, for now at least. When I set the bucket back down on the floor, Prometheus spoke to me from my pocket, "Teresa, when Michael wakes up, don't tell him about what has become of Washington, D.C."

It seemed like a strange request, because it seemed like it wasn't exactly something I would be able to keep a secret. I dug the orb out of my pocket and regarded it curiously. "Why? It's not like he won't hear about it."

"I am aware of that but I would prefer to spare him that knowledge for at least a little while longer, if we can. He has family in Bethesda and news of their passing would be…most distressing."

Shit, the poor guy. I started crying again, unable to imagine what it'd be like to lose my mom and sister in such a way. Most of my family lived out in Missouri, which I presumed was safe enough, for now anyway. "Which of his family members lived there? They had issued mandatory evacuations for Bethesda I thought, did they not get out in time?"

"His parents and a younger brother, but the evacuations were not extended to the part of Bethesda they resided in. They may have remained because they knew he was still in the area, and did not want to leave him behind if they could avoid it," he explained.

"Alright," I sniffled, wiping my nose on my sleeve. "I'll try." Leaning over, I set the ASE down on the edge of my desk and shook my finger at it with wry humor. "Now don't go anywhere this time, ok?" Then I dipped the rag into the bucket, wrung some of the excess water out and touched it to Michael's back.

The next thing I knew, I was flat on my back with a very agitated man straddling my chest to pin me to the ground, and as an added bonus, he'd pulled a pistol from who knows where and was holding it an inch away from my face. "What were you doing to me?" he grated out, his bloodied face hard as stone beneath the visor. "Who are you? Where's the ASE? Are you with Adams?"

He fired the questions off so quickly I would have been hard pressed to figure out which one to answer first, even if I didn't have a gun pointed at me. I could only whimper with fear, my eyes fixated on the round opening at the end of the barrel.

"Michael," Prometheus said in a clipped tone, "release her. Teresa is trying to help you."

His head jerked up at the familiar voice, and he sounded dazed when he responded, "Prometheus?" Michael looked from the ASE to me again and finally, pulled the gun away from my face before holstering it. I remembered to breathe again right about the same time his face turned ashen gray and he swayed over me, blinking from a sudden bout of vertigo. "What...what's happening?" he asked and then keeled over to the side, landing on the floor with a thud.

With his weight gone from my chest, I raised myself up to a sitting position and looked over at him, taking note of his slack features and disoriented expression. "What happening is you're doing your damnedest to pass out on my floor again," I grumbled when I found my voice.

"Again?" Michael's gaze shifted over to me in chagrin. I lifted my chin and gave him a hard look. There was no way I was letting him get off that easy, not after he put a gun in my face.

Prometheus explained, "A Drudge Scarab attacked you right before you went into the conduit, and it seems that it's claws went clear through your Trust armor from back to front. The injuries were grievous enough that they pushed the armor's regenerative effects to the very limit. You were unconscious when you emerged from the conduit here in Baltimore, Maryland."

"Adams?" was Michael's only question.

"I am sorry Michael, but he got away."

"Son of a bitch. How?"

"At some point after we rerouted power from the stasis tubes but before you went in, he reconfigured the conduit to drop you in a random location."

"Said random location being here, in my apartment," I interjected and picked up the rag off of the floor again. I felt cold all of a sudden and looking down, I realized why-my shirt was darkened with Michael's blood. The back felt wet too, probably because when he'd flipped me, I'd ended up right in the middle of what had leaked out of him earlier. "Shit," was all I could muster, and even that took some effort. It'd just been a hell of a day, what was one more thing piled on at this point? It was just a good thing that the sight of blood didn't bother me or I'd have been totally screwed.

When he saw my shirt front, his eyes widened with alarm and genuine dismay. "Did I hurt you?" he demanded, and tried to sit up.

Immediately, I put my hand on his armored shoulder and pushed him back to the floor, insisting, "No, I'm fine, stay right where you are. It's not my blood, it's yours." It was hard not to be touched by his concern, after how bad his own injuries were.

"It's mine?" He looked down, staring at the two puncture holes in his chest. The glossy metallic blue and black sheen of his Trust armor was all but obscured by congealing blood. It didn't take a medical background to figure out that he'd lost far more blood than a human could lose and still live, especially once you included what was on the floor. "Jesus. How am I still alive?"

"You think those two wounds on your chest look bad, you should see the two on your back. They're big enough to drive a truck through. I've been asking that same question ever since you showed up half an hour ago and face-planted onto my floor," I told him.

Michael didn't say anything for a moment, and then asked, "Is that why my face hurts?"

I almost smiled at that. "Probably, though I'm surprised you'd even notice that pain when compared to what's going on with your chest. I was trying to get some of the blood wiped away when you woke up." Retrieving the pillow I'd brought in from the pile of blankets and rags on the floor, I showed it to him. "Raise your head up a little."

He obliged and I tucked it beneath his head. Even though he still had the visor on that blocked his eyes from view, I could still tell he was looking at me and his close attention made me blush a little. "Thank you," he murmured and this time I did smile, acknowledging his words. Once he was settled, I grabbed a large, tattered blanket from the pile and spread it out over the large smear on the floor, determined to get at least some of it wiped up.

Prometheus chimed in, "The Trust armor both releases endorphins and inhibits the pain receptors in your nervous system during the healing process. However, as I said before, your injuries have pushed the boundaries of the armor's limitations so it can't do everything at once. It will take far longer than normal for you to heal, especially given the extensive blood loss. You would do well to limit your activity until your body has manufactured enough blood to replace what was lost. Drinking nutritive fluids will help."

At that, I said, "I'll see what I've got in the fridge."

"How long a wait are we talking here?" he asked the ASE.

"You will be fully recovered in two hours and thirteen minutes."

Michael perused the room, and when he saw the closed conduit portal in my wall, his voice hardened. "What're you doing to track down Adams in the mean time?"

I busied myself with cleaning up while the two talked, and found that it took me two blankets, three towels, and the entire bucket of water to get the majority of the blood off the floor. It was after dawn by now, and even with the sheets over the windows, some light was peeking in through the edges of the window, which was good, because there was no telling how long the power would be out and I didn't want to waste the candles. Wadding up the dirty linens into a ball, I gathered them into my arms and carried them into the hall while trying to decide what to do with them. No power meant no washing machine. I finally decided to put the soiled towels and blankets into a trash bag, figuring that maybe my luck would take a turn for the better and the power would come back on in a few hours. Then again, with what had happened with D.C., I think it was time for me to reconsider hanging around Baltimore. Meanwhile, I kept half an ear on the conversation taking place in the other room.

"I had Teresa use the ASE to scan the closed conduit. I'm using the data gathered in the scan to extrapolate where the previous conduit would have taken him as well as determine a way to reactivate this conduit so that it will take us directly to him."

"Wait, you told her how to use the ASE? Are you sure that was a good idea?" Michael asked in a lowered voice. I tried not to eavesdrop but it was impossible—the walls were paper thin. So I decided I'd go ahead and change out of my current blood-stained clothing into a pair of jeans and a clean t-shirt.

"You were unconscious and I am unable to physically manipulate the ASE in my current state. I had no choice," Prometheus replied. "Actually I have found her to be quite resilient. It is a source of endless amazement to me, how for some humans-not all of them, but a handful, including you and now Teresa—when things are at their worst, you are at your best."

Michael snorted. "Well, it's not like I have a lot of choice, do I? What would you expect me to do? Just quit fighting? Give up?"

"Most humans would." Prometheus' choice of words seemed strange, but I could not quite put my finger on why.

"Yeah, well I'm like most humans then."

"I am aware of that, and it is what makes you so extraordinary."

"So what'd you tell her about yourself? I bet that conversation was an interesting one."

Prometheus agreed, "It was, quite so. I gave her a very rudimentary explanation—that I had uploaded my consciousness to the ASE when I died. She said I was a literal 'the ghost in the machine'."

I figured that it was as safe a time as any to rejoin them and I walked back into the room, carrying a plastic cup of orange juice and a large bottle of blue Gatorade. Michael let lose with a short bark of laughter and then gasped with sudden pain. "Ouch. Ok, that hurt," he wheezed.

I couldn't help myself. "Oh, so you're saying it only hurts when you laugh?" I quipped, and then made a face while I set the cup and Gatorade down on the desk. "Wow, talk about the worst joke ever at a time like this..."

He didn't laugh again, but his lips twitched with the effort not to smile. "That... was a terrible joke."

There was no arguing with that. "It totally was. I'm sorry. So much for laughter being the best medicine."

"Apparently it depends on the wound," he said with dry humor.

We smiled at each other for a moment and I was struck by how familiar he seemed all of a sudden. My forehead wrinkled in a frown of concentration as I tried to remember where I would have seen him before.

Michael saw my expression and asked, "Is something wrong? Have I got something on my face?"

"What? No." Actually, he had a long cut across his forehead right at his hairline that had already scabbed over, so I corrected myself, "Well, you do have a big slash right here," I brushed my fingertips across my own face to show him where it was, "but… well nevermind. Here, let me clean it up some." I got a wash cloth, dipped it into the lukewarm water in the bucket, and raised it to wipe across his face. To my surprise, the laceration and scab scrubbed away completely after a few swipes with the cloth. I could just see the white line of a faint scar on his skin. "Ok, well, you had a cut on your face but I guess the armor already healed it."

I started to pull the cloth away but he took it from me, lifting the visor to the top of his head. He ran the cooling fabric over his face, wiping most of the dirt and grime off in the process. "Damn that feels good," he exhaled. "Please don't take this the wrong way but I could really use a shower."

Shrugging, I said, "Who would blame you? Trust me, you're quite the mess right now."

"That bad, eh?"

"Worse, probably." Now that his visor was gone, I could see that he had blue eyes to go with the brown hair. He was about thirty years old, and a comfortable combination of attractive without being striking; I could appreciate him because he happened to be right in front of me, but in a room full of people he probably would not draw my eye. It was weird, I was positive I'd never met him, but at the same time I knew I'd seen him somewhere before, like a kind of déjà vu.

"There you go frowning at me again," he remarked, offering me the washcloth.

"What?" I flushed with embarrassment at being caught staring again, "Oh, I'm sorry it's just that you seem really familiar for some reason."

Michael's eyebrows lifted. "I do?" He studied me carefully, and I tried not to think about how I looked, with my straight dark hair pulled back into a pony tail, brown eyes and nose with just the slightest upward tilt. Plain girl in her mid-twenties in plain clothes. Nothing special here. "I don't think we've met. I'm Michael Ford." He held out his gloved hand and after a moment's hesitation I clasped it with my own.

"Teresa Stadler." The texture of his glove armor really caught my attention for some reason as I shook hands with him and felt it against my skin for the first time. It blended metallic blue resin-like plates and black mesh fabric in a way that perfectly conformed to his every movement. The standard issue camouflage pants he wore seemed to be an anachronism in comparison to the futuristic chest piece that protected his torso and arms.

Suddenly, it clicked into place where I'd seen him before. "Oh my God, you're him! You're the guy!"

"I'm the guy?" he echoed with amusement and no small amount of confusion.

"Yes! The guy on the bridge, the one who fought that giant bug!"

"It was actually a Drudge Green Invader," Prometheus helpfully supplied.

Michael was taken aback. "You saw that?"

"Are you kidding me? Everyone's seen it, they said it's got more than ten million hits on Youtube! They've been showing the video clip nonstop on TV for freaking hours, hell, one station even brought on an ex-SEAL expert to dissect the strategy you used to kill the damn thing! You're like a for real hero!"

He frowned. "I'm no hero."

Even Prometheus must have disagreed with that, because he started in, "Actually, by definition a 'hero' is someone who..."

"Shut up, Prometheus," Michael growled. "And for the record, I had no idea there was a giant alien on the bridge when I started to cross it because someone neglected to mention it," he slanted a hard look at the ASE.

Fascinated, I looked between the two before asking, "Would you have still crossed the bridge if you had known in advance?"

The man shifted on the floor, grimacing. "Well..." His answer was as good as a yes, and everyone knew it.

"Hero!" I gave him a broad grin before sobering, "Seriously, all kidding aside, I'm glad that, you know, you got it dead before it could hurt anyone else. A lot of people died to that thing..." I wrung the washcloth in my hands as that made start thinking too much about all the people who had died today and felt on the verge of blubbering again.

Shifting his eyes away from me, he muttered, "I know. Believe me, I know."

"And then the one at the Pentagon was just flipping cars and tearing through buildings like they were made of paper and..." By this time I couldn't hold it back anymore and like the flood gates had opened as I started sobbing in earnest, pressing the wet cloth to my face to muffle the sound.

"Hey, hey, hey...Oh hell, don't cry..." Michael took my other hand in his, giving it an awkward squeeze, which of course made me cry even harder. He must have believed himself to be the cause for additional waterworks because he tried to pull his hand away, but by then I was clinging to it for dear life. Figuring out that I wasn't going to be letting go of it any time soon, he just squeezed my hand, wordlessly offering what comfort he could.

It wasn't much, but it helped, and after a few minutes my tears had subsided to hiccups and sniffles, and I was mortified by my total breakdown. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I mumbled, freeing his hand so that I could use my own to wipe my face with the wash cloth. "It's ridiculous...that I'm here crying...about how bad things... are when you're laying there... with holes in your chest," I got out in ragged gasps as I struggled to regain control of my emotions.

"Hey, don't worry about me." He patted my hand again, seeming quite relieved I'd finally stopped crying. "I'll be fine and out of your life soon enough, remember?"

I nodded and gave him a watery smile, trying not to dwell on what might happen to him after he left. "Off to fight the good fight again?"

Michael returned it with a rueful, "So I keep telling myself."

The sun was rising high in the sky because there was enough light shining in from the other room that the candles weren't necessary. I moved away from him to blow them out and retrieved the orange juice and 32 oz Gatorade bottle that I'd brought into the room earlier. "Thirsty?"

"Parched, actually."

I set the OJ down again and unscrewed the cap from the plastic energy drink bottle, then gave Michael's torso a dubious look. "If you drink this it's not going to leak out through the holes in your chest, is it?"

Prometheus, who had wisely remained silent during my crying episode, spoke up, "It is safe for him to drink. The Scarab claws penetrated his thoracic cavity but somehow bypassed all parts of his gastrointestinal system. You are likely quite dehydrated, Michael. The Trust armor can absorb water molecules from the air, but it still would have had to process a significant amount of fluid drawn from your skin and tissue to replace the liquid volume of the blood you lost."

Lifting the bottle a little, I asked, "So how do you want to do this? You ok to sit up long enough to drink?"

He responded by twisting his body just enough to raise himself up onto one elbow. Even in the dim light I could see the effort it took. He took the Gatorade bottle, but was only able to hold it to his lips for a few seconds before his hand started shaking so bad that he almost dropped it. I reached out to help him hold the bottle until, little by little, he drained it completely. Lying back with a quiet groan, he rasped, "That made me feel better and worse at the same time."

"Yeah, well, the fact that you're laying on the floor probably isn't helping. Maybe when you've recovered a little more we can move you to the couch. It'll be lighter in there too."

"What time is it anyway?" he asked, his eyes closed and still breathing with exertion.

Glancing at my watch, I answered, "About quarter to seven in the morning."

"How long's the power been out?"

I caught myself right on the verge telling him that it'd been out since the explosion, and opted for the vaguer, "A couple of hours." Chewing on my lower lip for a moment, I added, "It went out when the earthquake hit. Remember that one that cracked the National Cathedral and the Washington Monument? It was even stronger than that."

His blue eyes flew open at that. "There was an earthquake? Geez. Alien invasions, shady corporate conspiracies, and now an earthquake. What next?"

"Well, before the power went out, they said on the news that there's a hurricane brewing off the coast of Florida. Since you asked..."

"When it rains, it pours. Literally, in this case. Ok, I think I'm ready for that orange juice now." He levered himself up again, but this time was only able to drink about half of the cup before he collapsed. "I think that's... going to do it... for now..." he panted.

"I've never felt so guilty for not owning a bendy straw," I admitted with a frown and set the cup down. The smell of the orange juice was making my stomach growl, so I said, "I'm going to go into the kitchen and see what I can scrounge up for breakfast. That may help just as much as the fluids."

"Sounds good. I'll just lay here and hold the floor down until it stops spinning," Michael responded faintly, his eyes already closed.

I made it to the door and remembered to tell him, "There's a bunch of broken glass on the floor from the earthquake that I need to clean up, so don't worry about it if you hear it moving around."

"Mmhmm..." He sounded like he was falling asleep, and I decided a little more rest would do him good while he finished healing up.

It took me about fifteen minutes to pick up all the broken glass, which really wasn't that bad, all things considered. Most of my plates and glasses were heavy and durable enough that they just split into two or three pieces instead of completely shattering like the windows had. It was a lot harder to get the tiny pieces of glass out of my sink. In the end I ended up just washing most of it down the drain. If I had to call a plumber further down the road, so be it.

After setting a pot of coffee to brewing, I started gathering things together for breakfast. The refrigerator still had a good chill to it for the time being. I had to return to the computer room to retrieve the matches to light the stove and Michael must have fallen asleep because he didn't move when I tiptoed past him to reach them. The gas oven in my apartment was even older than me, so I had no trouble using the matches to light both the oven and one of the burners. A short time later, the air was filled with the scent of breakfast sausage and croissants (from the can). While cooking the sausage, I peeked out the sink window. The skies were a little overcast, but the mushroom cloud over D.C. had already been dissipated by the wind, so there was no indication that less than an hour ago, our nation's capitol had been devastated by a massive blast.

When the rolls were a light golden brown, I pulled them out of the oven and set them on a paper plate to cool, and then removed the sausage from the pan to lie on top of paper towels to drain a little. There were some voices coming from outside but I didn't really think much of it as I scrambled some eggs in the sausage grease.

Then the doorbell rang about three times before someone banged a fist on the door, calling, "Hey, that smells great and we're hungry too. Let us in!"

I tensed as I could hear a man snicker with amusement, but did my best to ignore it and moved the eggs around in the frying pan. Hopefully, they would give up when no one responded.

"Come on, we know someone's in there, open the door," the man shouted again, irritated by the lack of response, and then twisted the doorknob, but it was locked. "The window's already broken, Jimmy. Look in and see who's home."

Crap, I'd forgotten all about the window. A bed sheet curtain and Venetian blinds weren't going to do a damn thing to keep anyone from looking in. "Just a minute!" I called, turning off the stove burner and moving the frying pan over to cool. After making a brief detour by the couch to pick up my Louisville Slugger again, I held it in my right hand behind the door while I took a deep breath, trying to quell my increasing fear. Twisting the lock on the doorknob and sliding back the deadbolt, I opened it with my free hand just enough so that the door security chain caught, giving me a narrow gap to look peer outside. "Yes?"

There were three of them out there on my landing. Two had brown hair, one was a familiar looking blonde, and all seemed to be about the same age in the twenty-ish range. There was something in their bearing, a showy swagger and arrogance in the tilt of their chins, that thing where insecure guys are out to prove to each other how badass they really are that makes any woman who has a lick of sense nervous. I don't know if there's an official name for it, but for the first time since my roommate had moved out a year ago, I was genuinely afraid.

The tall brown haired guy closest to the door gave me what he probably thought was a charming smile, but there was a predatory gleam in his eyes that I didn't like. "Hey there, Chica."

That almost made me laugh, because if this guy was a Latino, then I was Irish enough to be a leprechaun. My voice was surprisingly calm when I answered with a brief, "Hello."

He leaned toward the opening in the doorway and now I could smell the alcohol on his breath. "Breakfast sure smells good. I'm hoping you made enough to share with me and my buddies. We're mmm pretty hungry," he almost purred, and I could see him trying to get a better look at me.

Automatically, I shifted even more of my body behind the door and out of his line of sight. "I'm sorry but I don't have extra food. There's just enough for me and my, uh, boyfriend," I tacked the last on in the hopes that if they thought I wasn't alone, maybe they'd go away. Anyway I wasn't alone, and even though I'd only known him for a short time, I didn't think Michael would mind the white lie.

At my words, he drew back his head with surprise and shot a glare at the blonde guy standing behind him. "Dammit Zach, I thought you said she lived by herself?"

Now I knew why Blondie looked familiar—he lived in the same apartment complex, but a couple of buildings over. He had one of those souped up little foreign cars that looked like it was used for street racing and he was always outside, washing it, waxing it, polishing the wheels. I swear, he took better care of it than most people did their children. I occasionally passed him when I was out and about running errands, and considered him one of my 'nodder neighbors', you know, the neighbors you don't really know by name but you nod a greeting when you pass each other. "She does! I ain't ever seen a guy at her place and she's lived here for a couple of years! I'm telling you, Danno, she's bullshitting you."

What the hell, he watched who was coming and going from my place? This just got worse and worse.

Danno swung back around to face me, and for some reason it seemed like he was trying to hide something from my view behind his back, and succeeding given my narrow field of vision. "You know, Chica, there's nothing that pisses me off more than being lied to," he growled and that brief veneer of charm had faded to something more threatening.

I swallowed and tried to keep my voice even, "I'm not lying. I do have a boyfriend, he got in just last night." My best friend Lisbeth has always told me that the best lies are backed up by some truths.

"Oh yeah? Well then where's his car?" my spying blonde neighbor Zach demanded.

Shit, he had me there. The apartment parking lot was half empty and even I recognized all of the cars in nearby buildings. "I swear to you, I really do have a boyfriend. He's still asleep, we were up pretty last night," I said quickly, figuring that was a question better off ignored anyway.

The third guy whined, "Aw come on, this is bullshit, let's just bust down the damn door and let's get what we came here for. We can have breakfast and some coffee afterwards," he leered, giving Zach a playful elbow to the ribs.

That was enough for me. I tried to slam the door shut on them but Danno blocked it with his foot and even though I threw all of my weight against it, I still couldn't get it closed. "Ooo, I like a girl who has some fight in her, it livens things up when the fun really gets going," he smirked.

So I did the only thing I could do—I shifted, putting my back against the door while I pushed, and then jammed the baseball bat downward, right into the top of his shoe.

He cursed and yanked his foot out the way, spewing obscenities. "You bitch, I'll make you wish you were never born!"

My hands were shaking enough that I dropped the bat, I was so scared, but somehow I managed to get the deadbolt turned to secure the door again. "Just go away and leave me alone," I shouted, bracing the door with my shoulder.

"Jesus Christ, just go through the damn window," Jimmy suggested.

"See? She said leave me alone, not leave us alone. I told you she was the only one there," Zach sneered.

"With all that glass everywhere, are you freaking kidding? I'll tell you what though, I'm going get some of that glass and cut her up good. Here, hold this Jimmy. You hear me, you stupid bitch?" he yelled and then he rammed the door with his shoulder. He only hit it one time, but even with the dead bolt, the apartment building was old, and the door frame was probably the original framework, so the wood cracked, but didn't break—not yet.

"You hear that? These doors are practically made of cardboard. One more good shot should do it," Zach said. "On the count of three. One-two-..."

Right as they got to three, I shrieked when the door jolted with such force, it actually knocked me backwards into something hard and unyielding—but somehow, the door still held. The reason why became obvious as I realized that Michael had come up behind me and put his hands on either side of me to help bar the door.

"Shit, I thought we had it," Danno said. "Do it again."

Thirty minutes ago, the mere act of drinking Gatorade had been enough to nearly wipe him out, but I'd never know that to look at him now. The front of his chest armor had completely sealed itself over and he was no longer pale and shaky. He'd pulled the visor back down over his eyes and under any other circumstances it probably would have made him seem more menacing, but I'd never been so happy to see someone in my entire life. After giving me a gesture with his chin to move out of the way, he slid in to take my place, leaning into the door with his larger frame to bolster it.

I stood in silence, literally wringing my hands with nervousness as the thugs outside battered at the door over and over, but with Michael there blocking it, it held firm. Prometheus' words earlier came to me: The Trust armor he is wearing does more than offer physical protection, it gives him increased speed, strength and enhances his healing factor at an exponential rate. He didn't even seem to be putting a lot of effort into it.

"Dammit! What the hell!" There was a solid thud as someone, presumably Danno, kicked the door. "Enough of this shit. Here, gimme that." The next thing I heard was the unmistakable sound of someone pumping a shotgun shell into the chamber. "You here that, bitch? I'm going to give you to the count of three to open this damn door, and if you don't...well let's just say some glass shards will be the least of your worries. One!"

Michael lifted his chin like he was considering his options, looked over at me, then moved his hand to the thumb slide for the dead bolt. Then he mouthed the words, "Tell them you're opening the door."

I could only stare at him like he was crazy. If we let them in, they could kill us both! Or as an unpleasant alternative, they could shoot us through the door and accomplish the same thing.

"Two!"

"Do it!" he ordered silently, and I could only throw up my hands in surrender. What choice did I really have?

Outside, Danno was saying, "This is your last chance, bitch."

"Ok, ok, stop, please, wait," my voice shook with fear, and I wasn't faking it. "I'm opening the door."

Michael used one hand to move me behind him and out of the line of fire while he turned the knob to unlock the dead bolt, removed the security chain, and then opened the door.

The trio of thugs gaped at the man filling the doorway with shock, while I peeked at them from beneath my self-appointed protector's arm. Michael was a good five inches taller than me, and Danno was the only one of the three who was taller than him. But it wasn't the difference in height that made them hesitate, it was his confidence and presence, making him truly seem like a man among insecure boys.

"Who the hell are you?" the head lowlife demanded when he found his voice, hefting the shotgun in his hands.

"Who the hell are you?" Michael returned, completely unfazed by the fact that he was facing down an armed man.

Zach and Jimmy had no weapons, so were more concerned about this new variable in their plan. "Dude, he's wearing some serious body armor. That's like, some kind of futuristic military grade shit. Hey... is that... is that dried blood on his chest?" the blonde kid asked in a loud whisper.

They stared at his chest and I did the same to his back, where the gaping wounds were still healing over. By now they were nothing more than hideous sunken red patches on his skin, all encrusted with dried blood, while the black mesh of his armor crept in to cover it all up.

Danno gestured at Michael's torso, "What's all that shit on your chest?"

"Blood from the last guy who tried to bust down my girlfriend's apartment door." He said it with the barest hint of irritation and I almost believed him myself.

Jimmy and Zach shot each other concerned glances and took a step back.

Sensing the declining faith of his comrades and determined to prove his macho prowess their erstwhile leader straightened, exclaiming, "Bullshit. That's bullshit, that ain't blood."

"I dunno, Danno, it looks like blood to me," Jimmy said nervously.

"Yeah well I say it ain't, and I'm the one with the damn shotgun, so what I say, goes, capiche? And since your bitch of a girlfriend hit me with a damn baseball bat, I think I'm due a little compensation. What you got to say to that?" Danno jabbed Michael in the chest with the barrel of the shotgun.

Sparing a brief glance at the loaded weapon, he spoke in an even tone, "I say I think if she hit you with a baseball bat, you probably deserved it."

Danno's face turned a mottled shade of red and he shoved Michael with the barrel again. "You shut the hell up!"

I couldn't believe he was goading the guy like this, he was going to get one of us killed! Possibly even both of us! And he sounded so calm and in control, that if I didn't know better, he was trying to get a rise out of the younger man on purpose.

"Don't do that," Michael's voice was ice cold.

"Do what?" Danno sneered. "This?" He prodded him again, even harder. "Oh you don't like that, do you? How about this, then, hunh?" This time, he jammed the shotgun's long barrel right up into Michael's face. "How you feel about that? How bout me and my buddies take you and your girlfriend inside, tie you up, and make you watch while we show her what it's like to be with a real man."

I began shaking so hard, I could hardly stand and I had to reach out to grab onto Michael's shoulder to keep myself from doubling over and being violently ill. The waves of rage emanating from him were so intense I almost feel them. "How bout no way in Hell?" he snarled, all composure gone. His shoulder shifted beneath my hand as he moved with unnatural speed, and between one breath and the next he had knocked the shotgun barrel aside before wrapping his hand around the stock and yanking it with such brutal force that the thug's finger got caught in the trigger guard. There was a bone-shattering crunch of sound and then Danno started screaming.

"You broke it!" the young man bawled, clutching his bloody broken finger to his chest.

His two buddies were white-faced with fear because now they had not one, but two weapons pointed at them—the procured shotgun and that black pistol that Michael threatened me with what seemed like ages ago. I much preferred being on this end of the gun.

"I did break it, yes," he readily agreed with that assessment. "Compound fracture too, from the look of it. Hurts like a son of a bitch, doesn't it? How's your foot?"

"My... my foot?" Danno blubbered with confusion and his face streaked with tears.

Michael lowered the pistol and I gave a tiny shriek of surprise when he shot the would-be rapist in the same foot I'd tried to crush with the baseball bat earlier. "Yeah, your foot. I bet it hurts even worse than your hand, doesn't it?"

Danno couldn't even talk, only howled in agony, Jimmy and Zach looked as though they were about to faint.

Crouching down, Michael pressed the gun barrel hard against the fallen man's crotch and said conversationally, "I think we all know where I really want to shoot you, don't we? Seriously, you think your hand and your foot hurt? Imagine how much pain you'd be in if I shot you here."

I really thought he might do it because he was so calm and serious. I'm not even sure I would have minded, because I think that's what every woman wants to see happen to rapists.

Terrified, Danno started babbling, "No, no please, please don't, oh God, please, please, don't, please..."

Michael stood back up, "Now that I have your attention, I'll tell you what's going to happen. You two," he gestured at them with the gun, "are going to pick up your buddy and get him out of here. I don't care where you take him, I just know that if I see any of you around here again, harassing anyone or anything, well, let's just say that what I've done to Danno here seem like a mercy shooting. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

Danno broke into wracking sobs of relief when the gun was pulled away from his groin. The other two nodded so hard I thought their heads might bobble right off of their necks, and bent down to pick up their injured friend so they could carry him down the steps.

I was still shaking like a leaf, one hand still on Michael's shoulder and the other one balled up into a fist and pressed against my mouth. I vaguely realized I was so tense I had started gnawing on my knuckles while we watched the three pile into Zach's car and peel out of the parking lot.

When they were out of sight, Michael shut the door, turning the dead bolt and sliding the security chain back into place. Then he set the shotgun in the corner behind the doorjam, holstered his pistol, and eventually turned to face me.

My hand dropped from him so I crossed my arms, though I kept worrying the back of my hand, and my eyes were burning with the effort it was taking remain composed as I looked up to meet his concerned gaze.

"Are you all right?"

Not trusting myself to speak, I bobbed my head in quick jerky motions a few times.

Michael studied my face and then asked with apprehension, "Are you going to cry again?"

"Probably."

"Well, shit." He sounded resigned, like facing the sight of me crying was a hundred times worse than going up against those three jerkwads on my front doorstop had been. In fact it was so ridiculously at odds with the complete aplomb he had shown in moments of real danger that I couldn't help laughing and crying at once.

When he gave my shoulder an awkward squeeze of support, I moved into his arms, resting my cheek on his armored chest as I suffered through my third meltdown of the day, though this one wasn't as bad as the previous one at least. "You may find this… hard to believe," I sniffled, "but I'm really not the crying type."

"Uh huh, sure you're not." His chin brushed against the top of my head when he spoke.

I couldn't help smiling at his skepticism, "No, I'm serious….I've only ever cried in two movies—Schindler's List and The Iron Giant."

Snorting, he said, "Everyone cries at the end of The Iron Giant, that shouldn't even count." Color me impressed that he even recognized the latter, most people I knew had never even heard of The Iron Giant, much less seen it. "Did you cry when Mufasa died?"

"Maybe a sniffle or two."

"Liar."

I couldn't help laughing because he had nailed it, I'd cried like a baby in The Lion King, like pretty much everyone else in the theater. Drawing away from him, I wiped my face on my sleeves. "Ok, that was the last time, I swear."

"You promise?" he asked, raising one eyebrow beneath his visor.

"Cross my heart," I smiled and made an X in the air just over my heart. My face felt all puffy and swollen, so I said, "I'm going to go clean myself up. I cooked breakfast, help yourself to anything you want. There's more Gatorade and orange juice in the fridge and some coffee on the burner."

"I know, it smells really good. Thank you."

"No, thank you. If you hadn't been here…" If he hadn't been here, well, I really didn't want to think about what might have happened.

Michael frowned at me, "Hey, you promised, remember?"

"Ok, ok," I recovered my fraying composure and chuckled a little. "I'll be right back."

When I emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later, I walked into the kitchen to see that Michael had taken my suggestion to help himself to heart. He was sitting at my small kitchen table, polishing away a croissant, and downing it with some coffee. An empty bottle of Gatorade was on the table along side the OJ carton. He'd divided the food almost exactly in half, there were still four croissants left along with a goodly sized portion of sausage and eggs. "Did you get enough?" I asked as I served myself a couple of the rolls and a couple of pieces of sausage to go with the eggs. Pouring a cup of coffee, I added my usual tablespoon of sugar, a dollop of milk, and joined him.

His visor was pushed back up onto his forehead and he watched me sit across the table from him. I also noticed that he'd cleaned most of the dried blood off the front of his armor. "Enough to knock the edge off, at least. I was hungrier than I thought. Hell, I'm still hungry."

"Even with the Trust armor's help, your body has expended an enormous amount of energy during the healing process," Prometheus said and now I noticed that the ASE was resting on the table near Michael's coffee mug. "You must eat a significant amount to replace the calories you have burned."

Smiling at the artifact, I said lightly, "Hey, if it isn't the Ghost in the Machine. You missed all the excitement earlier," while buttering my croissant. "Michael, just take the rest of the food up there, this is plenty for me. Besides, with the power out, there's no sense in letting the food go to waste. If you want, I can cook some more eggs and sausage for you. There's also some Fruit Loops in the cupboard and some leftover stroganoff."

"Thank you," Michael responded, looking relieved by my offering of more food. "I can cook it myself though, you can just stay where you are. Prometheus, how's the effort to repower the conduit coming along?"

"I am making excellent progress. I estimate that I will have Adams' destination pinpointed in two hours, twenty-three minutes and thirteen seconds, which will be more than enough time for your injuries to finish healing. Which will be for the best, since we do not know what, or who, will be waiting for you at the other end."

I nibbled the edge of my roll, watching Michael stuff the remainder of the scrambled eggs and sausage into the last two croissants to make them into breakfast sandwiches.

"Keep me apprised of the situation, and let me know if anything changes," he said, biting into one.

"Of course."

We both ate in silence. After the second sandwich was gone he opened the refrigerator and studied the contents. "You sure you're ok with me eating your food? I don't want to be a bother."

I gave him an incredulous look and giggled over the edge of my coffee mug. "You don't want to be a bother? It's a little late for that, isn't it? Mi casa es tu casa. Help yourself." I shot a glance over at the packed suitcase that had been sitting by the door for two days now. "Honestly, I'm thinking of getting the hell out of Dodge anyway so there's no sense in the food going to waste. Most of my neighbors have already made a break for it." Running my fingernail down a chip in my kitchen table, I admitted, "I guess I was hoping things would get better before they got worse, but now I'm not so sure."

"I have to say, I'm glad to hear you say that. In fact, I was trying to think of a way to bring it up, even though it's not really my business," he confessed, casting a glance back at me he cut the rest of the breakfast sausage into chunks before tossing them into the frying pan. Somewhere in the bowels of my fridge he'd found a sorry looking onion, but once the dried outer layers were peeled off, he diced it with surprising expertise and added it to the sausage. He turned on the burner and waited a fraction of a second, and then turned it off. "Forgot the power was out. Matches?"

I had just taken a bite of cold scrambled eggs so pointed at the counter on the opposite side of the stove.

"Thanks. Anyway I just don't think its safe around here, and at risk of coming across like a macho male pig, it's especially not safe for a woman living alone, not with everything else going on." He struck a match and lit the burner, adjusting the flame.

Shrugging, I could not argue with him on that, not after what'd happened earlier. "I'm not sure it's safe for anyone, if what Prometheus told me about the Trust is true."

"It is true, and no, it's not. You got an idea of where you'll go from here?"

"Yeah, my mom and sister have been asking me to come visit for months, I figure now's as good time as any. It's a long drive to Missouri, but Branson is far enough away from everything that I am hoping the worst of the troubles will pass it by."

Michael cracked eggs into a bowl—all six of them that were left in the egg carton—and mixed them with a fork before flipping the sausage. "Most of my family lives here in Maryland. My parents and baby brother live out in Bethesda. Both my grandmas migrated south to Florida a few years back, said they were tired of winter."

At mention of his family, I wiped my face with a paper towel, dry-mouthed from being reminded that there was a good chance his family had been killed in the bomb that destroyed D.C. "Bethesda? They had to evacuate that and Arlington along with D.C., right? Mandatory evacuations for that whole area, I think they said on TV."

"Yeah, well, they live in west Bethesda so were right on the edge of where it went from mandatory to recommended. Hopefully between my mom's nagging and all the news on TV, he took the hint."

"I bet they're safe and sound on some beach in Florida with the rest of your family," I said, wrapping my suddenly cold fingers around my coffee mug for warmth.

"I hope so. With everything going on, I didn't really get a chance to call them and tell them how serious things were, though to hear you talk the news had been getting at least some of the reports right."

"So just the immediate family worrying about you? No girlfriend or wife?" It was incredibly nosy but I was curious.

"Yeah, just the family. Have you always lived here by yourself?"

I shook my head, "When I moved in, I had a roommate, a girlfriend from college. Then she met the man of her dreams, got married, all that hooplah. She moved out about a year ago and I've been living alone ever since. It's actually been a decent neighborhood. Well, up until today, that is." It occurred to me that I had no idea what exactly Michael Ford did for a living. "So, what do you do? For a job, I mean? You know, when you're not out there fighting shady corporation lackeys and killing giant bugs. Are you in the military?"

"I was, before I was asked to be an agent with United States Secret Service. Then all Hell broke loose in D.C. Now, it's a little complicated. How 'bout you?"

"Seriously? You're a Secret Service agent?" I couldn't help being a little awestruck. "Wait a minute, how can you tell me that if you're in the Secret Service? That's not very secretive."

Michael gave me a grim look, "I could tell you, but well, then I'd have to kill you."

I groaned at the joke, "I really should have seen that coming."

"You walked right into it, I couldn't resist." Chuckling, he moved the mammoth omelet he'd created from the frying pan to his plate and carried it over to the table, rejoining me. "The Secret Service was actually created by Abraham Lincoln on April 15, 1865, the same day he was assassinated. At that time, it was really a secret, the 'Secret Services Division' of the US Treasury Department, created to help stop all the counterfeiting that was going on during and after the Civil War. When President William McKinley was assassinated in 1901, Congress requested that the Secret Service also start providing presidential protection. For the most part, the agency is still focused on stopping counterfeiting and fraud. There are more than three thousand agents and most of us have nothing to do with protecting the President and his family, or the White House. And that's it for the history lesson, now it's your turn. What do you do for a living?"

His omelet smelled amazing, I have to say. What's not to like about a man who knows his way around the kitchen? "Well, I'm actually a writer." I have no idea why but I always felt a little embarrassed when I told people my occupation.

"Really? Have you been published?" He caught sight of me drooling over his omelet and cut me off a portion, scraping it onto my plate before he returned to eating.

"Yes, twice now. I write fiction, but it's kind of modern futuristic fiction thriller. With a touch of romance. Not really science fiction, because it takes place in the here and now, or the very near future. I'm actually supposed to be working on a new manuscript but my muse has been on strike for about three months now, which is driving my agent crazy." I sighed and took a bite of his omelet. "This is really good!"

"Thanks, glad you like it. So?"

I blinked at him in mild confusion. "So what?"

"So what're the names of the books you've written? Anything that made it to the best seller list?"

"Hah. I wish. Catch A Tiger and Ouroboros." I always dreaded that moment where I told people the names of my books, because I couldn't help hoping that they had read them, and couldn't help feeling disappointed if they hadn't.

"Ouroborus. The dragon who eats its own tail," Prometheus suddenly spoke up. "The living being had no need of eyes because there was nothing outside of him to be seen; nor of ears because there was nothing to be heard; and there was no surrounding atmosphere to be breathed; nor would there have been any use of organs by the help of which he might receive his food or get rid of what he had already digested, since there was nothing which went from him or came into him, for there was nothing beside him."

Surprised, both of us stared at the ASE. "You know your Plato, don't you?" I commented. "That was the opening of my book, actually. Right before the prologue on the title page."

"Plato did not say that."

"Yes he did," I countered. "In his work, Timaeus." Catching sight of Michael's bewildered expression, I explained, "Timaeus was one of Plato's dialogues, basically a written dialogue of a conversation between four philosophers: Timaeus, Socrates, Hermocrates and Critias. They sit around discussing the nature of the physical world and human beings."

"Sounds fascinating," Michael said, and from his tone he thought it would be anything but.

Prometheus said firmly, "Timaeus is who said it. Not Plato."

I rolled my eyes, "Fine, ok, Timaeus said it, but Plato quoted him and wrote it down so that people like you and I could read it some day. So he at least deserves some of the credit. Anyway, back to what I was saying, I've had a bit of writer's block. I can't tell you how many times I've just sat at the computer, staring at the blank screen without writing a word. Or distracting myself playing Facebook games, which is probably worse."

"Ouch, yeah, you know you've hit rock bottom when it's come to that," Michael teased.

"Oh ha-ha, you laugh, but really, this is kind of serious to me. I love writing, the scene-setting, the characters, the plot, every bit of it. When I write, it's kind of like, well when someone reads one of my books, I want everything to be so clear, so vivid, that each scene plays out like a movie reel in your imagination, you know? Movies are great, but the printed word can have so much power. I love that more than anything else, when I read a good book."

Michael had finished eating his mega omelet and was just staring at me, which made me redden with embarrassment and duck my head, murmuring, "Sorry about that, as you can see, I'm kind of passionate about my writing."

"No, there's nothing to apologize for. It's refreshing to hear someone talk about their occupation with genuine enthusiasm. You're very lucky that writing gives you a medium in which you can share that exuberance with others. I almost envy you." He pushed his plate aside and went to the refrigerator again, this time emerging with some aluminum foil wrapped pizza from a few nights ago.

"I take it you're not so keen on your own job?" I said with sympathy. It made me sad, that so many people seemed to be trapped in careers they hated. I couldn't imagine a more miserable way to make money.

Lifting his shoulder in a shrug, he confessed, "I used to be. I loved that my job had meaning, that I always felt like I was accomplishing something, doing something for the greater good of this country. And then…." He fell silent and his blue eyes shifted to the side.

"And then what?"

"I was given a special assignment by President Thomas to help an organization called the Trust track down a terrorist named Prometheus. My handler was a man by the name of John Adams." His smile was bitter, "Things kind of went to Hell in a hand basket from there."

I gawked at him, "Wait… a terrorist named Prometheus? As in…?"

"Yes. He was sent to kill me," Prometheus said.

"What?! Why?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Prometheus was a terrorist? No, no he couldn't be. Because that would mean Michael was helping protect a felon, and even though I had only known him a matter of hours, I refused to believe that he was a bad guy.

"I was told that Prometheus was responsible for the release of a chemical weapon at the Reagan National Airport and the theft of an incredibly rare and highly advanced technological device."

"The ASE," I breathed.

Michael nodded and took a bite of the cold pizza. "Anyway it turned out that I was being played. Adams was pulling the strings all along, like I was some damn puppet, and the chemical weapon had actually been developed by the Trust, who released it into the airport."

"What exactly did it do? I know it wasn't a poison, like that Sarin gas attack in Tokyo."

Prometheus explained, "It was a neurotoxin, a mind altering drug that made anyone affected completely susceptible to even the most outrageous of suggestions. In this case, Adams used it on both his own Trust and the National Guard. Each considered the other, and any person not a member of their own faction, be it civilian, police, even members of their own family a mortal enemy, someone to be killed on sight."

I was horrified. "Oh my God! So then when they were saying on the news that there were reports of police and National Guard soldiers firing on each other and civilians, it was true?"

"Yes. And then it got worse," Michael grimaced. "I recovered the ASE from one of Adams' Trust agents. And then the bastard released the Drudge on the Jefferson Memorial and then sent me in—alone—to take them on. It was a suicide mission, one he had no intention of letting me survive. Once I was dead, he'd just recover the ASE from my body. Drudge Drones were pouring out of those conduits like giant pissed off fire ants and I knew I was dead for sure."

"But…but the Trust armor would have helped increase your odds, right?"

"I didn't even have the armor at that time. Anyway, that's when Prometheus contacted me." Leaning toward me, his blue eyes held mine when he told me, "I would find out that Adams had been lying all along about exactly who—and what—Prometheus was."

I couldn't quite grasp what he was trying to say, and shifted my gaze between the ASE and the man sitting across the table from me. "What do you mean by that? I mean, what was Prometheus? Not a terrorist, I get that, but… something else?"

Michael straightened and leaned back in his chair without answering right away, instead focusing on eating the rest of the pepperoni pizza. Finally he inquired, "Teresa, how many humans do you know that can upload their consciousness into anything after they die?"

My mind flashed back to the conversation I'd overheard Prometheus and Michael having earlier, when the 'ghost in the machine' had commented on the admirable qualities some humans had when things were at their worst, how I'd thought there was something off when he said but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Now I knew why, because Prometheus had referred to humans from the perspective of someone who was not one of us. "Prometheus is an alien." And as soon as I said it, everything just clicked into place.

"Teresa, he wasn't just an alien. He was the alien. The Drudge, every single damn one of them, were reverse engineered and tank-bred from his DNA. The Trust kept him prisoner in a holding tank while they used his body as a genetic blueprint. Adams' ultimate plan was to use the chaos caused by the neurotoxin, the mysterious flu-bug that knocked out so many government workers, and the alien attack, to take over the government. And President Thomas fell for it. He signed over executive power to the Trust immediately after the Drudge assault on the White House."

I was completely floored by what he was telling me. The level of collusion and misrepresentation, the sheer volume of planning that it would all entail to set this devastating series of events into motion, was mind-boggling. "I don't think I could even make up a story as fantastic as this," I said faintly.

Michael went still. "You know what? I think that's an excellent idea."

There was a moment of silence and then Prometheus asked, "Michael, are you suggesting what I think you are?"

"Yes. Will I have time to explain the whole thing from beginning to end?"

"Yes, provided you do not go into extensive detail when describing combat against lesser foes like Mites and Trust agents," the Alien replied. "In fact, I was about to tell you that I must to redo my calculations. I discovered a mathematical anomaly in the initial data scan. It was subtle but quite deliberate. I have resolved it but unfortunately it took time to do so. I am starting over at that point but it means that it will be an additional three hours and forty-six minutes before I will be able to determine where the conduit took Adams."

"Dammit," he cursed and then heaved a sigh. "Well, I guess it works out to our advantage right now."

"Indeed."

I followed their conversation like a spectator at a tennis match, and when Michael turned his attention back to me, I closed my eyes and held out up my hands, "Wait, wait, let me see if I'm getting this right. You want me to write a story about all of this? I can't do that, it would be like, stealing someone else's material."

"Only you won't be stealing it—I'll be giving it to you. Hell, just write it for me. People need to know what really happened, and this is as good a way as any."

"But you could just as easily write it yourself. I'm sure I could talk to my agent, she's great. I could maybe pull a few strings and…"

Shaking his head, Michael interrupted, "That's not an option, there's just no time. Once we get the conduit powered up, I've got to go after Adams, and there's no guarantee that I'll make it back alive anyway."

I inhaled a quick breath at his words. I didn't want him to die, not when… My mind shied away from that impossible path and I considered our options. There weren't a lot to choose from. "I guess could write it for you. Be, like, your ghostwriter, submit it in your name to my publisher, maybe, like it's an autobiography centered around the events of the last two days. It'd still be my manuscript, and just from what you've told me the story will be so bizarre that it'll be regarded as fiction, not non-fiction….Maybe if we present it as being 'the true story about the Crisis in Washington, D.C." The more I thought about it, the more I was starting to see ways to make it work. "I've got to find a way to record this—my memory is good but it's not that good. Maybe the batteries in my camcorder aren't completely drained… shit. If only the power hadn't gone out!"

"I can record him using the ASE," Prometheus offered. "Do you have a laptop or tablet that I can transfer the voice file when we are through?"

"Are you kidding?" I almost laughed at the question. "I've got a laptop, Ipad or Kindle—take your pick. I do my writing on my desktop and laptop though. Let me go get it."

When I returned with my laptop, Michael had finished the pizza and now was pouring himself a bowl of Fruit Loops. The man had one hell of an appetite.

Opening the top of the notebook computer, I was about to turn it on when Prometheus said, "Conserve the battery power for now. When his story is finished, you can turn it on and I'll transfer the file for you."

Nodding at the logic of that idea, I settled back in my chair. I had a feeling I was about to hear a story like nothing I'd ever heard or imagined before. "Ok, so, I guess just give your name, and then tell the whole thing from the beginning."

He squared his shoulders, his attractive face both calm and determined, and then started in on his tale. "My name is Michael Ford. I'm probably the only one left that knows the truth. I know it… because I was there."

By the time he was finished, I felt both physically and emotionally drained. I'd also broken my promise not to cry upon learning the circumstances surrounding Prometheus' death. "That was…." I struggled to find an appropriate word to describe it and had to give up, just shook my head in disbelief.

"Prometheus, are we still on schedule?" Michael asked and drank some water. He was clearly unused to talking so much and for so long. I suspected that if he didn't have the Trust armor, he would have talked himself hoarse.

"Forty-two minutes to spare. There is another issue now, but I am working to resolve it. It will not affect our deadline. Teresa, turn on your laptop so that I can transfer the file."

"Oh!" While we waited for the little computer to boot up, I asked curiously, "How do you feel, now that you've gotten it all out?"

"Like there's ten-ton weight that's been taken off my shoulders. Relieved." He leaned forward to put his forearms on the table, his blue eyes resting on me. "Worried."

I frowned, "Look, if you're worried that I won't tell your story right, I want you to know…"

He made a slashing gesture with his hand and cut me off, "That's not what I'm worried about. I'm worried that if you write all this and publish it, it'll put you in danger. If I found out that something had happened to you because of what I told you, I wouldn't be able to forgive myself."

Tears prickled at the corners of my eyes. After everything he'd been through and done and seen, he still was kind and decent enough to be concerned about someone he'd known for a matter of hours. "Hey," I called but he did not look at me until I reached out and placed my hand atop his clenched fist. "If you can't stop the Trust, we'll all be in danger, regardless of whether this story ever makes it to print or not, right?"

Turning his hand, he wrapped his fingers around mine and gave it a gentle squeeze. "One person can make a difference," he said like it was a mantra.

I smiled at that, giving his hand a returning squeeze. "I know. Just imagine what two could do." We stared at each other from across the table for a long moment.

When Prometheus broke the silence, I almost jumped. "Teresa, you will need to pick up the ASE and scan your computer in order for me to save the file to it. The file name will be Timaeus360. For your convenience, I will include also include reference images and photographs of Drudge Breeds."

I didn't want to pull my hand from Michael's and I liked to think that he was equally reluctant to let it go. I slowly withdrew it, my fingers sliding out of his grasp, and picked up the ASE. After thumbing the red button, it powered up and floated above my hand while transferring the data to my laptop. When it was finished, I located the document file and verified that it had saved correctly. It wasn't that I didn't trust Prometheus, it's just I'd lost files in the past and old habits die hard.

The Drudge image files were imbedded in the text and I scrolled through the different Breeds, fascinated. The Mites were the smallest and most numerous, the soldier-like Drones were larger and more humanoid. Skimmers were the flying variant of Drones, and of course, I'd already seen the Invaders. The Scarabs that had been the source of Michael's injuries looked like a walking insectile scythe, with its long finger-like talons and huge chitin blades on its forearms. "Did you put a picture of yourself in here, Prometheus?"

"Yes."

My computer flickered a new image filled the screen, a photograph that had almost certainly been taken by the ASE from Michael's point of view. I'm not sure what I had expected him to look like, even knowing how insect-like the rest of the Drudge were, I was still expecting something more human-looking. The only thing remotely human about this alien was the fact that he had two arms and two legs. He stood upright, but his legs were more like a dog's, insect thin in some places, covered with that same thick chitin as Michael's armor in others. Elongated hands seemed overlarge on his thin arms, and his torso was all ridged with heavy protective plates, while massive chitin spikes fanned out from his shoulders. His head was small in comparison to the size of his torso, long and almost bullet-shaped, and he had four eyes instead of two. They glowed the same orange shade as the conduit. If he had a mouth, I could not see it from this angle.

Even though he seemed to be frozen within the stasis tube he was encased in, there was something both beautiful and graceful in his natural form. I wished that I'd seen him alive. "Thank you. I'm very sorry for what was done to you."

After saving the file, I moved my finger to shut down the laptop when Prometheus said, "Teresa, before you power down your computer, I also have something I want to give you as well, but I will need Michael's help to do so."

"What's that?" I asked and shot Michael an inquiring look, but he seemed as mystified as I was.

Prometheus explained, "The DOD system mainframe files from the Pentagon are still inside the ASE. If we fail in defeating Adams and those codes fall into his hands…."

"We can't let that happen," Michael's face was as hard as stone. "What's your plan?"

I was starting to feel overwhelmed. "You want to give me files from the Department of Defense? Don't those files control nuclear weapons?"

"They include the encrypted keys for the United States nuclear sites, Go-codes for all military aircraft and personnel, names, locations, and security codes for every supply depot and arsenal across the globe…." Prometheus listed.

"Enough, Prometheus, and yes, Teresa, it controls that and a whole lot more. If Adams destroyed or controlled this information, our nation would be in chaos. He would have the ability to launch our nukes at any nation on the planet. He's right, we've got to get that data out of the ASE."

"And do what with it, put it on my laptop? Are you crazy?"

"No, I had no intention of putting it on your laptop. It is far too vulnerable to outside attack," Prometheus told me and I couldn't help being a little offended.

"Hey, I keep my antivirus and firewall updated!"

Michael tried to maintain the peace, "I think what he meant is that your average computer has a lot of security vulnerabilities that we need to avoid with this kind of information. Plus, if your computer got stolen, or seized—which is a distinct possibility if you write my story—we'd have no way to make sure that the data didn't fall into the wrong hands."

Feeling somewhat mollified by his words, I grumbled, "Ok, I get the point."

"What'd you have in mind?" Michael asked the Alien.

"Teresa, point the ASE at the laptop again and I will show you."

I obliged, hitting the thumb button again. The unmistakable image of Ouroboros, the dragon who eats his own tail, appeared on the monitor. I'd seen dozens, possibly even hundreds, of Ouroboros designs while doing research for my novel with the same name. What made this particular rendition unique lay in how the dragon's body encircled an emblem of the All Seeing Eye that was identical to the one I'd seen the ASE cast upon my wall. I'd never seen the two symbols combined outside of internet fanart, and yet when I saw how perfectly the two complimented each other in the design Prometheus was showing me, I couldn't help wondering why ancient and classical artists had never thought to pair them before.

The design rotated in place, like a coin turning on the thin edge.

"Is it a data disk?" Michael asked, coming around the table and standing behind me for a better view.

"It's a data implant," Prometheus countered.

It took a moment for his words to sink in. "An implant? Like something you put in my body?" I didn't care for this idea at all.

"Yes. The chitinous plates of Michael's armor were reverse-bioengineered from my body's exoskeleton. Using the ASE, I can alter a small section of Michael's armor into a thin ultra-capacity data disk that will be durable enough to hold the DOD mainframe files, but pliable enough that, once it binds with your skin and adjusts to your body temperature, to anyone else it will appear to be nothing more than a tattoo."

"A tattoo. You want to give her a tattoo." Michael tilted his head and inspected the design again in a new light. "As far as tats go, it's actually a pretty interesting design. Good detail. How do you feel about tattoos, Teresa?"

"Tattoos are ok, I guess. I actually almost got an Ouroboros tattoo to celebrate publication of my novel, believe it or not." I nibbled my bottom lip, trying to get used to the idea of having a bio-implant in my body. "Won't anyone who sees it be able to tell that it's not really part of my body? I mean, you know, what if I go through an x-ray machine or someone touches the tattoo?"

"That is the genius of my design," Prometheus sounded proud. "The exoskeleton will bind with the DNA of your skin cells. It will literally become part of you, but you will be able to remove it if you so desire. Not only that, it will mirror certain regenerative capabilities that are present in Michael's Trust armor. You will be virtually immune to all mood altering drugs, poisons and toxins that could potentially be introduced to your system, though I cannot extend that physical resistance to include physical trauma."

That intent expression was back on Michael's face. "Does that include sodium thiopental?"

"It includes sodium thiopental, amobarbital, rohipnal, and alcohol, as well as a wide variety of experimental compounds I found referenced in the DOD files in the ASE."

"Alcohol? So, what, I can't get drunk? I'm not sure if that's good or bad." I actually recognized those drugs, again, from research for my books. "I'll be immune to truth serum, is that what you're saying?"

"Among a great many other things."

"You say it's going to be removable? How will she take it off so we can access the files if the implant is part of her body? Just what, press her 'eject' button?" Michael asked with a raised eyebrow.

Press my what?! I was so not going there. I crossed my arms and gave him a Look.

"In a sense. There will be a security code embedded in the structure of the design. Teresa, all you will need to do is enter the code and the implant will lift off. The code will be locked to your DNA—you are the only one who will be able to enter it and remove the disk and in the event of your death, all the files and information on the implant would be lost as well. You can insert the implant into any computer to retrieve the files, though of course I strongly caution you against divulging that data to just anyone," Prometheus warned.

'In the event of your death'. There's a sentence no one likes to read, not even on a life insurance policy. "I hope it's an easy security code, I can barely remember the password for my debit card," I joked, but it fell rather flat. "Are you sure this is the best thing we can come up with? Can't we just hide it in an airport storage locker or something?"

"The bio-implant is the most logical course of action. If Michael and I were not going to confront Adams, this would not be an issue. But we must stop the Trust, once and for all. There is one caveat."

Michael sighed. "Of course there is."

Uh-oh, that didn't sound good. "And what's that?"

Prometheus explained, "In order to accommodate the large amount of information, the 'tattoo' will have to cover an area of skin that is three and three eighths of an inch in diameter. It also must be relatively flat. That eliminates your arms, legs, neck and buttocks. Your back would be a viable alternative but you would not be able to see the design well enough to enter the code. I would recommend your upper torso, specifically the skin above your left or right breast or even in the center of your chest, just above your cleavage."

My face turned beet red with mortification. "Thank you for the suggestions," I ground out from between clenched teeth and resisted the urge to whack the ASE against the table.

Michael turned his head, biting back a smile. After a moment, he coughed and asked, "So, what are we doing next? Scanning my armor?"

"Yes. Teresa, scan the one of the large flat armor plate on Michael's chest."

I turned on the ASE's scanner and aimed at him, keeping my head ducked down to hide my lingering embarrassment. Nothing happened for a moment and then the blue chitin rippled, seeming to come to life before my eyes. The thin dark ring of Ouroboros' serpentine shape formed just beneath the shimmering surface where the scan beam hit. I could just make out the symbol of the All Seeing Eye in the center, and then the entire translucent wafer-thin disk emerged, hovering briefly in the air between us. The ASE powered down and the bio-implant dropped into Michael's hand.

"Now Michael, take the ASE from Teresa. She will need to remove her shirt and lay down in a reclining position while you hold the implant in place on the area of her chest it is to bond to. Then you will..."

"You want me to what?" I squeaked, feeling the blood rush back into my face. "Can't I do this by myself?"

To his credit, Michael tried to remain professional. "Prometheus, I'm not sure how well read you are on interactions between human men and women, but as a general rule we avoid that kind of close physical contact with each other until we've known each other for significantly longer than a couple of hours."

There was a moment of silence, and then Prometheus said, "I see. So would this qualify as a 'Bad Touch' then? But when you were clasping hands at the table it was not a 'Bad Touch'?"

Now Michael's face reddened as well. "That was different. We were comforting each other." He shot me a glance to gauge my reaction to his assessment and I gave him a quick nod of approval. That's what we were doing, yep.

"I see," the Alien repeated, though he clearly didn't. "Teresa can bond the implant without your assistance, though it would take far less time if you were to help her."

I said firmly, "I'm sure I can get it by myself. Besides, I need to know how to do it without any help, so this will be better anyway."

Michael shook his head, sighing, "Aliens." He scratched the side of his face and then ran his fingers through his hair with a quick, nervous gesture. "Hey, is your offer to use the shower still open?"

"Of course! Your back has got to be healed up by now, turn around and let me take a look." When he turned his back to me, the only sign that he'd been injured at all was the lingering traces of dried blood on the armor. "Looks good as new, how does it feel? Maybe you can hose down the armor a bit, and get it cleaned up too."

"Feels fine. I don't even have any muscle aches." He gestured with his hand, "So which way to the restroom?"

Pointing, I said, "The first door on the right before you get to the computer room. I usually keep the door closed because I use the master bath. Towels on the rack, don't worry bout getting them dirty. I won't be taking them with me to Missouri, and with everything else that's going on, and busted front windows, I've got no idea what will be here and what will have walked away when I get back. Oh! One more thing you'll need." I disappeared into the computer room and brought out one of the candles. "No power, and it's black as pitch in there when the lights go out."

Michael took the candle and handed me the implant, "So, uh… just holler if you need me."

I blushed again. "I'm sure I can get it by myself."

He disappeared into the bathroom and had barely even shut the door before he reopened it, "Take the shotgun with you. You know how to use it?"

"It's been a while but I think I can figure it out."

Stopping by the front door, I picked up the shotgun, tucking it under my arm on the way to my room. I had to go back and get myself a candle from the other room, and by the time I shut my bedroom door, I could hear the water running when Michael started the shower, and leaned the gun against the nightstand. "Ok, let's get this over with." I quickly shucked off my t-shirt and dropped it to the floor before lying down on the coverlet.

"I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable, Teresa," Prometheus was genuinely apologetic. "Due to your prior interactions, my understanding was that you and Michael liked each other. I did not foresee that his involvement in attaching the implant would be offensive to you."

"Apology accepted. And I do like Michael, he is a hell of a guy. It wasn't so much that it was offensive as it was embarrassing. And awkward." I was already turning red again just thinking about it. "Ok, so I place it here on my chest?" Ducking my chin down, I touched it against my skin and tried to orient it to so that the dragon's head was at the top and the straight of the pyramid was parallel to the floor.

"Yes. Now raise the ASE—no turn it the other way—there. Now activate it and stay as still as possible. It will sting a little when the data implant bonds with your skin, just to warn you."

I tried to keep my hand steady, but it was easier said than done. When my chest started tingling, I flinched, causing the Oourobos to shift and I barely managed to catch the ASE when it powered down and stopped hovering. "Crap. I'm sorry."

"I did not have time to bond it to you. Again."

Straightening out the design, I then turned the scanner on a second time. I was ready for the tingling sensation. However, I was not ready for, well, everything else. My skin felt flushed and hot, like my nerve endings were waking up from a long dormant nap. It wasn't unpleasant, but the exact opposite. It was nice, really nice, and so relaxing that my hand started to droop of its own accord and the ASE shut off again.

Panting, I looked downward and I admit I was expecting to see the data disk half formed and sticking out of my chest, but it was just laying there on my skin, deceptively innocuous. "That's not exactly what I'd classify as stinging," I let my head fall back and tried to regain control of myself.

"I am sorry if you are finding it unpleasant. The bonding process excites your nerve endings."

"It's exciting something, all right," I muttered, closing my eyes until my senses calmed down.

Hesitantly, Prometheus offered, "Perhaps I was mistaken and this process really will require Michael's assistance. It will only take a few seconds…"

"No!" I exclaimed in a near panic. There was no way I was going to have him in the room when this damn bonding process got me into that kind of state—what if he could tell I was becoming aroused? I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me just from thinking about it. "I swear, I can do this by myself."

"If you insist. I was almost finished that time. If you can remain still for a few more moments, we should be able to get it done."

I made a slight adjustment to the bio-implant and gritting my teeth said, "Let's do this," before turning on the ASE a third time. It lit up and a few breaths later, so did I. Fighting the urge not to squirm, I threw every ounce of my concentration into keeping my outstretched hand that supported the ASE still. Meanwhile a slow and languid heat centering around that spot on my chest spread outward like rays of sunshine. I couldn't stop myself from moaning as it tingled its way through my breasts and chest until my heart battered at my ribcage like a butterfly trapped in a mason jar. From there, it seeped downward, past my hips and throughout my groin, sliding down my thighs and toward my toes like the sweetest molten molasses.

Just when I had started crying out from the intensity, it began to subside. I was vaguely aware that that the ASE had powered down and I was clutching the thing in my hand like it was a life preserver thrown to me when I'd been drowning in sensation. My skin was slickened with a thin layer of sweat and I rolled onto my side and curled into a ball. "Please tell me you got it done that time," I groaned.

"Yes, the bonding process is complete," Prometheus reassured me. "Are you all right Teresa? Your heart rate and blood pressure are extremely elevated."

"Give me a minute and I'll get back to you," I willed my pounding heart to slow down.

There was a sudden knock at the door. "Teresa? Teresa, are you ok?"

Realizing I still hadn't put my shirt back on, I jerked upright, gasping, "I'm fine. Just a minute."

"Are you sure, because a few seconds ago it sounded like you were in some serious pain."

I yanked the shirt back over my head. "How much noise did I make?" I asked Prometheus in a loud whisper.

"You made a clear effort to refrain from vocalizing your discomfort, but on the occasions you did make noise, you were not quiet. Why?"

Could this get any worse? I answered Michael, "Yes, I'm sure. We're all done in here, just let me, uh, get myself back together."

There was a pause, but then he said, "All right, if you're sure you're ok. The sounds you were making had me a little worried."

I didn't deign that with a response, just left Prometheus on the bed while I got up and walked to the bathroom on shaky legs. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I could tell that my face was still flushed, so I splashed on some cold water and then wiped off with a towel. I actually almost forgot to check out my new 'tattoo'. It looked fantastic and the dragon's head in particular had exceptional detail, like it'd been done by a very high end tattoo artist. I ran my fingers over the surface and could feel nothing but my skin. Between that and the face splashing, I felt a lot better. I went into the other room and picked up the ASE.

"Teresa," Prometheus spoke in a low voice, as though he didn't want Michael to hear.

"What's up?"

"It's very nearly time for Michael and I to go, but I wanted you to be aware... the winds are changing. Within the next three to four hours, they will shift to blow in this direction. Do you know what I'm talking about?"

I was confused at first, and then it registered. The winds had been blowing the fallout from the D.C. blast out into the ocean. If they were changing, the radiation was heading my way. I had to get out of Baltimore, and do it fast. "Yes, I understand."

Putting the ASE in my pocket, I carried both the candle and shotgun to the door and opened it to find Michael just on the other side. His concerned expression went away when he saw I was all right. "How was your shower?" I asked lightly before I walked into the computer room, leaning the shotgun against the corner of the desk. The candle glass was getting hot so I set it down on the hutch.

"Fantastic. The armor cleaned right up and so did I. I actually feel human again," he said with a smile, finger-combing his hair with a sweep of his hand. "I could have done with some clean socks and pants, but beggars can't be choosers. How 'bout you, I could hear you through the walls and it didn't sound good. Prometheus, is she all right?"

I rolled my eyes when he asked Prometheus instead of waiting for my answer, like he didn't trust me to tell the truth. Which, well, he was right, I thought as I pulled the ASE out of my pocket.

"It took three attempts but we were able to get the data implant attached. She seemed to find the bonding process quite uncomfortable, and her heart-rate and blood pressure skyrocketed, but both are within normal parameters now that it's done."

Sighing impatiently, I waved my hand. "Hello, I'm right here. You don't have to talk about me like I'm not in the room."

Michael grinned at that. "How's it feel now?"

I thought about it for a moment, rubbing the 'tattoo' through my shirt. "It actually doesn't feel like anything. Which is great! I hear tattoos hurt, especially the first few days afterwards."

"They do hurt," he agreed. "Like a son of a bitch."

My curiosity was piqued. "You have a tattoo? Of what?"

His grin broadened. "I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

"I keep walking into those, don't I?" I gave a long suffering sigh and handed him the ASE.

"Yep. Prometheus, how's our time?"

"I will be able to open the portal in fourteen minutes."

Michael turned back to me, sobering. "I really would like to see it, if you don't mind."

I hesitated a fraction of a second before nodding. How could I say no when the bio-implant was of such critical importance. "Of course. Let's go in the living room where there's more light." When we got into the living room, I faced him and pulled down the collar of my t-shirt with my hand to reveal the Ouroboros/All Seeing Eye tattoo. I could feel myself blushing a little when he stepped forward and leaned down for a closer look.

Remembering my own curiosity when it came to the texture of the marks on my skin, I offered, "You can touch it."

His blue eyes shifted up to meet mine. "You're sure?"

I gave a quick nod. His fingers brushed a gentle swath across my skin and I bit my lip, trying to be as composed as possible.

"Fascinating," he murmured. "I can't tell that it's anything other than a tattoo. You do good work, Prometheus. When we get finished taking care of Adams, you may want to consider opening a Tattoo Parlor."

"I shall take that under advisement," the Alien responded. "Teresa, let me give you the code to unlock it. You remember earlier, when I quoted Timaeus?"

"Of course."

"It's very simple, if you know that quote. Start at the center, with the Eye. Then touch the dragon's body in the order given."

I quoted Timaeus under my breath as I moved my finger over the 'tattoo' and touched each component of the dragon's body as I said it. "It had no need of eyes...or ears... no surrounding atmosphere, so, what, nose?" I touched the tiny nose, and then shifted my finger straight down to where the stomach would be, and finally where the tail went into the mouth. When my fingertip touched that last spot, I gasped when the thin, transparent disk came right off into my hand. Being told it would work was one thing—actually seeing it was something else. I handed it to Michael, who inspected it briefly.

"How does she put it back on? Or in?"

What if putting it back onto the surface of my skin caused the same reaction that bonding it had? "Prometheus, I won't get that, uh, same discomfort that I got when we first bonded it, will I?" I demanded, trying to quell my panic.

"No, when you touch it to the skin, it settles back into place."

Michael looked at me, "May I?"

When I agreed, he pressed it to my skin. There was the slightest hint of tingling, but nothing more, thank goodness. Resting one hand on my hip, I asked, "Ok, now here's my question. Who am I supposed to give this thing to? I mean, who do we know that we can trust? Anyone? Is there some General or something that has a reputation for being incorruptible and I can just hand it off to him?"

"I don't know yet," Michael admitted. "Right now, things are so crazy that I have no idea who to trust. Prometheus?"

"I think for now, Teresa, you will just have to hold it in safekeeping. Michael, we have nine minutes before the calculations are done and we have Adam's destination, but we still need to rig the AVR Backup Battery supply for Teresa's personal computer to jump start the conduit."

"It'll give us enough power?" he asked with surprise.

"Only just, and it will only keep the conduit open for fifty-seven seconds before the inverter overloads."

All business now, Michael told Prometheus, "You should have told me how we were reactivating the conduit earlier. We should have finished working on this hours ago."

Things seemed to be moving along very fast now, and I had a hard time believing that in just over ten minutes, Michael would be gone from my life just as quickly as he had entered it. I followed them into my computer room, watching him kneel down under my desk to pull out my computer's battery backup. After I fried two motherboards (and lost one manuscript) because of the frequent brownouts my apartment complex was subject to, I'd invested money in a high end voltage regulator and the thing weighed a ton.

"It is a very simple procedure," the Alien was saying.

I leaned against the wall beside the door, watching in silence while Michael used a pocket knife to cut the wire cover off of the power supply for my computer and fray out the twisted copper wire. Then he touched it to blackened remnant of the conduit frame before activating the ASE to focus the beam where the two were connected. The organic portal pulsed and twitched like a living thing as it melded with the copper wire. Then he used the artifact a second time on the AVR itself.

"Teresa, we will need you to plug it into one of the battery-supported outlets on the back. Michael needs to be in front of the conduit so that if anything comes through, he will be in the best position to kill it.

I paled. "What do you mean if anything comes through?"

"The conduit is like a long hallway with doors at both ends. When we unlock our end, Michael will be able to go in, but it is also possible that something can enter through the other end and come out here. I've already configured the AVR to do the rest, Michael."

And then there was nothing to do but wait until the last few minutes ticked down. Michael came over and leaned against the doorjamb a few inches away from me. We both stared at the dark organic ring of the closed conduit.

"What's it like when you go through?" I wondered.

He thought about it and said, "It's like being sucked through one of those twisted super bendy straws. An orange one. Dizzying. When I come out, it's all I can do not to throw up."

That was a vivid enough imagination that my nose wrinkled. It did not sound like a fun way to travel.

Eventually, he said, "It's been a Hell of a day, hasn't it?"

"Definitely one for the books," I agreed with a rueful smile.

Neither of us spoke for a moment, then he nudged my arm, "Here, I want you to have this."

When I turned, he was offering me his holstered pistol, butt first. I didn't take it. "Won't you need it when you go through?"

"I'll take the shotgun. It's better close range, and the conduits usually drop me in closed quarters, not an open space. Besides, once I show up and the party starts, I shouldn't have any trouble finding other weapons to use. After the visitors we had earlier, there's no way I'm leaving you here without a weapon to defend yourself. You know how to use that?"

I accepted the USP45, double checking to make sure the safety was on. "I took basic weapons training at a local gun range when I was working on Catch A Tiger. Some of the characters in my story use firearms, and I didn't want to be ignorant on how to use them as a result."

"Take it with you wherever you go, even if you're just going to the bathroom. When you leave for Missouri, keep it on the seat beside you. The roads probably aren't much safer, not on the East Coast anyway." He gave me a small frown, "When are you heading out? Soon, I hope?"

"I'm leaving today. In a couple hours, actually, as soon as I can get the important things loaded in the car."

"Good. Just keep in mind, things can be replaced. You can't."

Examining the holster to see if there was a way to attach it to my belt, all I could think about was how ridiculous this all was. I might never see him again, and he was leaving me a gun, of all things. Oh, and a data implant that happened to hold mainframe files for the Department of Defense. I didn't know what to think, and I certainly didn't know what to say. So I did the only thing I could do—shut my brain off and let my heart do the talking. "So, here it is, our first date, and this is what you're leaving me with to remember you by? A pistol?" Apparently my heart had a bit of a sarcastic streak when it came to goodbyes.

He went still beside me and then I could hear the smile in his voice when he returned, "Yeah well it's been a while since I last went on a date, and I'm a little rusty as to the here-tos and why-fors of dating etiquette. I'll make it up to you on our next date, I promise."

I grinned at that, because it meant that he wanted to see me again. "I'm looking forward to it. Maybe your book will be a best-seller and I'll have a big fat royalty check waiting for you. Plus, you can also show me your tattoo then, since you totally reneged on the deal earlier. My mother has always said that I should know better than to believe a guy when he offers to show me his if I show him mine."

"Four minutes until I have the position, Michael," Prometheus said from a pocket on his armor.

I turned and found that he was already facing me. He lifted his gloved hand, using his fingertips to brush aside a wisp of hair before he took hold of my hand, twining his fingers with mine. I bit my lip so hard it hurt and then blurted, "I don't want you to leave, but I know that you can't stay, not with Adams and the Trust still out there."

His smile was bittersweet, "I don't want to leave you here alone, but I can't take you with me, not where I'm going."

The knowledge that this might be the last time I ever saw him made it easier. I moved in closer to him and tiptoed to reach his mouth, brushing his lips with my own in a brief kiss before pausing and kissing him a second time, this one longer and sweeter. When I drew back, my cheeks were pink when I met his blue eyes. "That wasn't meant to be a goodbye kiss, but a good luck kiss," I whispered. His expression softened and then he let go of my hand so that he was free to wrap his arms around in a tender embrace, while we exchanged a slow deep kiss and when it finally ended, he rested his forehead against mine.

"Sixty seconds."

Gently, Michael pulled away from me but pressed one final kiss to my forehead before collecting the shotgun and repositioning his visor to cover his eyes. Then he moved to stand directly in front of the conduit.

"Teresa, you need to move into position," Prometheus directed.. "As soon as Michael enters the conduit, unplug it."

I moved over to the AVR, picking up the end of the plug and crouching beside it. "I'm ready." I didn't want to take my eyes off of Michael. This might be the last time I ever saw him and it was like I was imprinting this image of who he was and what he was doing into my mind.

"Have you got any idea of where I'm going to end up?" the man asked, hefting the shotgun in his hands to hold at the ready.

"Somewhere off the coast of Florida. Pinpointing in ten seconds...five...Got it! The portal opens onto an oil rig. Teresa, plug it in."

Cramming the plug into the socket, I rocked back when the AVR hummed and power began to flow through it to the conduit. This was it.

The dark ring pulsed and writhed like a living thing, and then my computer room was once again filled with that unholy orange glow as the conduit sparked to life. It took a couple of seconds to stabilize into the swirling vortex it had been when I first saw it hours before.

Michael and I looked at each other one last time. I had to say something, but this time, I directed my words to the Alien who was helping him, "Prometheus, take care of yourself—and him, for that matter."

"I shall do my best, Teresa. Perhaps if we meet again, you can further explain your understanding of the 'Bad Touch'. You have kissed each other and now I am not sure if it is I who fails to grasp the concept, or the two of you."

I burst out laughing, "Deal," and waved to them both. Michael, who was chuckling as well, lifted his fingers to give me a light-hearted salute, then set his jaw and stepped into the conduit.

And as quickly as he had come into my life, he was gone. I yanked out the plug and the portal went dead again.

I walked around to stand in front of the dark ring, and felt almost hollow, as though I'd lost something inside of me. The day had been the longest and most memorable one of my life and I wanted to remember every single detail just as it happened. So I decided I would write it down while it was all fresh in my memory. I had dictation software on my laptop, with a pair of headphones and the car charger, I could write while driving to Missouri.

Once I got there, I'd start work on the important story, the real story. Michael's story. I decided I'd call it, The Conduit.