Part One: In the Beginning
Author's Note: City of Heroes belongs to Paragon Studios. I'm only borrowing it for a bit.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
The brown haired woman shifted position, winced, drew the covers over her head, and winced again. The faintly bitter smell of incense and a phantom sensation of pain floated in the front of her memories. What had that been all about, anyway? Something about robed madmen chanting and pointing weapons, the feeling of being suspended in midair, the slow but steady numbness signaling the end. What a wild dream! Too bad it was time to get up and get ready for work.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Wait. That didn't sound anything like her alarm, so if it wasn't her alarm, then what was it? She opened her eyes and struggled upright, swearing as she tried to force her right arm to move to her command. What the hell was going on? Why was her arm strapped to a board, what was the IV for, and what was she doing in the hospital? The last thing she remembered was a wave of nausea, and Quinn, her tabby, fleeing into the bedroom. But... that had been nothing more than a nightmare, hadn't it? How had she ended up in the hospital, feeling like she'd been run over by a truck? And why, when she tried to flex her left wrist, the one she had sprained in her dream, did it still send a spike of pain up her arm?
Visions of those robed madmen came to her again. The 'beeping from the monitor behind her sped up along with her heart rate as and she scrabbled as best she could at the ties holding her good arm immobile. Somehow she didn't think it would be a good idea to find out what was going to happen next. She swore under her breath and gave up on the straps, the pain in her wrist too much. Instead she leaned over the guardrail, swearing again as every muscle in her body complained.
At the nursing station down the hall from the distraught woman's curtain enclosed bed the sole male nurse sitting at a computer looked up at the monitor bank, sighed and levered himself out of his chair. The new equipment they'd installed the month before was supposed to make keeping an eye on patients easier, but instead its false alarm rate was driving every one of them insane.
A scrambling sound from behind the curtain was the first sign something wasn't going the way it was supposed to. The man, tall and skinny, poked his head through the curtain, hoping to see a quietly sleeping patient, but instead he found himself facing a patient draped over the guard rail, right arm splayed outward, left fumbling for something underneath the bed. Not at all accustomed to patients trying to escape, he stuck his head outside the curtain and yelled for help before grabbing the semi-hysterical woman by the shoulders.
Catherine screamed and flailed at the intruder, hitting him as hard as she could with the restraint board. One down! Whatever they wanted her for, she wouldn't go down without a fight. He cried out and staggered away, hands clutching his face. Two more nurses, a shorter, overweight woman and and a man who looked to be the first nurse's twin, jerked aside the curtain and grabbed an arm.
She struggled harder. "Let go of me! I won't let you take me!"
The man and woman looked at each other in mutual sympathy. Catherine sensed a moment of weakness and took it. She heaved as hard as she could, catching the nurse on her left off guard and regaining the use of the limb. With a surge of elation she balled up her fist and hit the female nurse, who was still holding her right arm, in the head. Unfortunately for the panicked woman the nurse didn't let go, and the man who had had her left harm grabbed it once again, pinning it against the bed. The first nurse, now sporting a bloody nose, injected something into her IV port.
"Bastards," she muttered, before chemical oblivion overtook her.
For the second time that day, Catherine was woken by the sound of beeping machinery. Panic surged again, spurred on even more by the realization that was another woman at the foot of her bed, wearing a white coat and flipping though a metal chart.
"Who are you?" she asked, eyes narrowed.
The other woman smiled. "My name is Dr. Thomas, and I'm the doctor in charge of your care here. Can you tell me your name?"
"Where's here?"
"You've been admitted to the ward of Chiron Medical Center."
"Chiron Medical Center," she said flatly. It was beginning to dawn on her that madmen out to kill her probably didn't wear engraved name tags. Or keep records. That didn't rule out other sorts of madmen, but considering this one hadn't yet threatened her in any way, it certainly wasn't very probable. There was only one problem. She knew the names of every hospital in the city, and none of them were called Chiron.
Dr. Thomas nodded again. "Can you tell me your name? You arrived here without identification; our records currently have you designated as 'Jane Doe'.
"Catherine. Catherine Allen."
Scribble scribble went the doctor's pen. "Can you tell me what you remember?"
"I...," She shook her head. "I don't know. I'm not sure."
"Tell me what you remember. I promise I won't laugh."
"I was at home… and then," she shrugged and shook her head. "I just don't know." The wasn't entirely true; the gaps in her memories were very slowly filling, but what doctor would believe she'd somehow been kidnapped by robed madmen after her soul?
Dr. Thomas looked sympathetic. "At the very least, I can tell you what we know. First of all, you've been admitted to the Atlas Park branch of the Chiron Medical Center. As to what happened, it appears that you were the victim of kidnapping by the Circle of Thorns. The report we were given by the heroes that rescued you yesterday states you were to be part of one of their rituals, but none of the captured mages were forthcoming on details."
Catherine gaped. "I've been out cold since yesterday?"
The doctor nodded. "It's a-"
The distressed woman narrowed her eyes suddenly. "Wait, where am I? And and or what is the Circle of Thorns?"
"You're in Chiron Medical Center in-"
"Yes, you've said, but where is that?"
There was a pause. "This hospital is located in the Atlas Park sector of Paragon City, Rhode Island."
"Rhode Island? I've been dragged halfway across the country? That can't be right! I want a second opinion!" She took a long, shuddering breath. Why? She'd never been in any sort of real trouble, never made any real enemies. Her life, up until that point, had been uneventful. Of all the people in the world, why her?
Dr. Thomas put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but there's good news as well. The tiredness and confusion you're feeling right now is a common reaction seen in patients of your type-" The look Catherine gave her at that point made her pause. " Whatever the Circle was up to, it drained a considerable amount of energy from you. Sleep and time is still the best way to replenish that energy. I'd like to keep you here until at least tomorrow morning for observation. You'll probably feel tired for a day or two longer, but after that you should feel just fine. Do you have any questions?"
"I want to call my family, They need to know I'm safe."
"I'll see what I can do."
By the time a nurse returned with a cell phone Catherine had calmed down considerably, although her eyes were still red and swollen. The device the nurse handed her was unlike anything she'd ever seen before, although that also applied to all of the equipment she'd since she'd arrived in the hospital. It looked like a very small phone with a touchscreen, but when she touched the screen it lit up and projected a full color 3-D display several inches in the air.
"Okay, that's cool," she murmured.
The coolness wore off almost immediately though, as the display was frustratingly touch-sensitive, and on top of that, none of the menus she accessed actually seemed to allow her to make a call. Several profanity-laced minutes later she finally punched in the number to her parent's home phone. After three rings she heard the sound of someone picking up, and her heart soared.
The display continued to show nothing but an image of a handset as a man's voice she didn't recognize emanated from the speaker.
"Hello?"
"Hi! Is Greg home? This is his daughter, Catherine."
"I'm sorry, there's no one here by that name."
Catherine raised her eyebrows at the display, then double checked the number. "What about Maryanne?"
"There's no one here by that name either."
She rolled her eyes, wishing she could see who was on the other side. "Just get me my parents, OK? I'm really not in the mood for this right now."
"I'm sorry ma'am, but you've got the wrong number." With that the man on the other side hung up.
Catherine glared at the holophone. Who did that guy think he was? Scowling, she redialed.
"McCaig residence."
Can I speak to Greg, please?"
"Greg doesn't live here ma'am." This time the voice was female, but no less aggravating." You've got the wrong number" The phone went dead once again.
"What on earth?" she muttered. "When I find out who that was, I'm so going to kill them." Chalk up one more weird thing since she'd woken up in the hospital. Madmen and nurses, and phone calls, oh my. But what was really going on? Something seriously strange was going on, that was for sure. Last she knew, there was no such thing as the Circle-thingy the doctor said she'd been kidnapped by. And she was certain the technology didn't exist for the phone she'd just used, or the computer-looking thing at the head of her bed that seemed to be monitoring her vital signs without touching her at all. To top it all off, her parent's number seemed to belong to someone with the wrong last name.
The only problem was what did everything pile up to? Maybe she'd passed out in front of the computer and given herself a concussion, and someone had heard the fall and called 911. Or she was having an amazingly strange dream, although her dreams usually weren't nearly vivid enough to involve pain. Or unusual enough to involve madmen out to get her, either. There had to be some logical explanation for what was going on. Had to be. But what was it?
A harried looking nurse, newspaper carelessly stuffed into one pocket, returned later to find Catherine staring off into the middle distance.
"Miss Allen?"
Catherine jerked convulsively, grabbing the rails of the bed and levering herself half out of the bed. "What the- Oh, good grief." She lowered herself with a breath of relief. "Please don't do that."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. Do you need anything?" The nurses' name tag was engraved with the name 'Dianne'.
"Uh, no. I, uh, didn't manage to get a hold of my parents though. Mind if I keep the phone so I can try again later?"
Dianne shook her head. "It's not something we can leave at patient's bedsides. Too many of them go missing."
She stepped forward and slipped the gadget into her overfull right pocket, shifting the newspaper enough so that Catherine could read the headline.
"Manticore foils plot? Who's that?"
The nurse stopped dead in her tracks. "Manticore the archer? Part of the Freedom Phalanx? Stopped Crey Industries from hypnotizing us all?"
"Doesn't sound familiar."
Dianne nodded slowly and pulled the paper from her pocket. "Here Take it."
Fifteen minutes later the curtain whisked open, and Catherine look curiously over the newspaper to see who it was.
"My nurse tells me you've never heard of Manticore," said Dr. Thomas
Catherine raised an eyebrow at her. "Yes?"
The term "Circle of Thorns', you've never heard of it before I mentioned it earlier, have you?"
Catherine shook her head and she nodded. "Statesman? Lord Recluse? Salamanca? Galaxy City? The Rikti Invasion?"
Seeing her continued blank look, she went on. "Your parents, were you able to get a hold of them?"
Catherine glared at her suspiciously. "Where are you going with this?"
"I know this is going to be hard to believe, but it appears that not only have you been moved in distance, there is also the good possibility you've moved universes as well."
Catherine gaped at him for a moment, speechless. Okay, so the newspaper was filled with stories about superheroes of all things, but there was nothing that said it couldn't be a special comic book thing. "Now I definitely want a second opinion."
Dr. Thomas nodded, brushed aside the curtain, and closed it behind her.
.
Two phone calls and half an hour later a middle aged man and woman, both dressed in khakis and a blue shirt with an interlocking P and C on the left breast, knocked on Catherine's door, who had been transferred to a private room in the meantime. She watched them enter with suspicion; new things didn't seem to be going her way, and they weren't dressed like anyone else in the hospital. The woman spoke first.
"My name is Ophelia Marcum, and this is my colleague Harrison Jones. Dr Thomas wanted us to talk to you about your situation..."