Science, Sorcery, and Alternate Realities

Often time is compared to a river, a single current flowing over itself irreversibly, constant, unchangeable. In the narrowest sense, this is true. For history has already happened and, therefore, cannot be changed. The future, inconstant and uncertain, will never exist. The choices we make in the here and now will create the past and give shape to the future.

But the universe is vast, timeless, and there are many Now's. Reality is a fragile fabric woven of the intertwining possibilities that twist together and fray apart. And sometimes, when the circumstances are just right, when it all could have gone this way or that, sometimes…they break.

These are the things that didn't happen, the 'what if's, the 'maybe's. These are the thoughts that creep and crawl in the back of the mind in those moments of crippling insecurity and doubt when one can't help but wonder, "What if I had done this differently…"

Or perhaps they did happen. The universe is vast and the possibilities are endless. And in the timeless eyes of infinity all are merely possibilities.

The universe doesn't play favorites.

More often than not, it is the smallest of things that break the thread and twist off into another version of events. A butterfly flapping its wings in China is not likely to cause a hurricane across the world, but it may incite a series of events that will make it seem so. Similarly, a single word here, one step forward, a step to the right, does not always change the world, but your personal world may be another story all together…

"I'm not like these others," Maggie insisted slowly, watching the well-dressed older gentleman with thinly veiled desperation in her eyes. Until just a few moments ago, Maggie would have believed that 'gentlemen' had long since become extinct along with proper ladies in long corseted dresses and grand balls with princes and kings. But this man with his nice brown hat and long gray coat, with white gloved fingers resting on a beautifully carved antique cane, was the classic image of a gentleman right down to the snowy white ascot and shiny black shoes. She wondered what he could possibly doing in this part of town.

"Of course you're not," he soothed, his lightly accented voice overly warm and dripping honey as a too-friendly smile curled onto his pale, slightly aged face. "I can see that."

That smile made her nervous. She had grown up in a small town, where such smiles were not so common, but she had always been intelligent, intimidatingly so to some, even if she sometimes lacked the common sense to make her brains worthwhile. She knew what that smile was likely to mean…

But beggars can't be choosers, and indeed her choices were slim.

"I haven't been in New York long," she explained looking away and pulling her slowly deteriorating shawl tighter around her neck. Her fist clenched the worn, faded fabric slightly in determination as a familiar fire sparked, albeit somewhat more dimly than it used to, in her dark brown eyes, and she scrambled and clung to the stubborn pride she'd been raised with, "This is just a temporary set-back."

This time her own voice was strong, defiant, and she looked right at this strange man, wondering the streets in all his finery in the middle of the night, with his sinister smile and honey dipped voice, and dared him to tell her otherwise.

"As it happens I need a temporary assistant!" he informed her jovially, spreading his arms wide in pleasure and invitation. He hobbled a little closer and placed a friendly arm across her shoulders, that double edged smile widening almost forebodingly along his lips. "Easy work, it pays well, plus…" he paused just long enough to turn her about, setting the homeless men and women gathered around small garbage-bin fires in a weak and often failed attempt to stave off the winter night's biting cold suddenly back within her line of sight. To remind her she had already hit the bottom, anything else could only be up. "Much nicer surroundings than these."

"Well," she hesitated, alarm bells sounding loudly in her head. This man was dangerous. She could not put a name or an image with it, but she knew, knew it to be true. His arm felt cold and heavy on her shoulder, and he smelled of chemicals and salt and copper. All her senses were suddenly heightened in the survival instinct that had lasted through all generations of humanity; a predator was near.

But the wind blew again, stinging her face and tugging at her long, dirty, greasy hair. The others gathered closer to their fires, and she pictured herself over there. Cold and alone with no way out.

She looked back at the man. His was smile sharp and pleased like a cat who'd just finished playing with the mouse and was moving in for the kill. The worst had already happened; she'd already hit the bottom. She'd already been robbed of her dreams, her pride, and he couldn't take anything from her that she hadn't already lost.

"What would I have to do?" The question was cursory and they both knew it. She hadn't even finished her sentence before allowing him to lead her out of the alley.

How much time had passed? Hours, days, Maggie wasn't certain; there was fire in her veins and she could feel her bones twist and snap as they melted and solidified; shrinking and elongating, sliding and repositioning themselves beneath her skin. And her skin, her skin was fevered and clammy, sweat dripping from every inch as her body worked to bring the temperature down, fought valiantly, and vainly, against whatever was in that injection Dr. Sevarious, had forced into her veins. A burning itch spread across her hot, slick flesh, and it wasn't until her throat burned just as fiercely, dry and raw, that she realized she was screaming.

Her arms wrapped themselves around her middle as her insides shifted and squirmed, and she curled in on herself screeching around her abused throat and crying useless tears because she didn't know what else to do as she realized that perhaps she'd had something left to lose after all.

"Just breathe, child." She would never forget that voice, lightly accented and dripping honey; it would haunt her dreams. "The pain will pass."

But she hardly heard it. There was fire in her veins.

The sound was terrible; the kind of throaty, growling roar that chills the blood and raises the hairs on the back of one's neck, eyes suddenly darting from corner to corner as every shadow becomes dangerous and threatening. It took Maggie a full two minutes to realize it came from her.

The reflection in the glass was…inhuman, frightening and grotesque. Soft yellow, cat-like eyes set high above delicate canines the size of her little finger peeking out over lips pulled back in a horrified grimace. Small, triangular ears pivoted back and forth with the slightest of sounds above a face that was suddenly too long and narrow, a wild mane of red-blond hair swept over and around slight, narrow shoulders, and a thick, golden-tan coat of fur dusted over everything. A pair of oversized leathery wings sprouted from those shoulders, translucent and stretched taughtly over three long, finger-thin bones, like some kind of fallen angel desperate to once again taste the sky.

Maggie clenched a fist, long slender fingers tipped with wicked claws and lightly dusted with that soft brown fur, and let lose a second roar of despair and disbelief.

The sound rocked the lab assistant assigned to her back on his heels and neither of them really understood what was happening when her arm swung out of its own accord, knocking the tray of food and drink he'd brought for her out of his hands. The clatter of metal and wet splatter of potatoes hitting the wall hardly registered, though the sounds rang quite loudly in her new, more sensitive ears. Even the shrill screech of the angry alarm seemed fuzzy and far away.

Maggie couldn't think, couldn't breathe, but her body reacted to her blind panic. The strong, flexible muscles of her legs tensed, pulling themselves taught for a heartbeat before launching her in a graceful, if slightly chaotic, leap directly at the young, ill prepared doctor who barely managed to dodge her springing form in time, and she hit the door with the full force of her body. Stronger and more sturdy, the impact knocked door clean out of the wall, slamming into another scientist, sprawling him out on the floor beneath it, and keeping him there.

But it didn't even jar Maggie who simply sprang back to her feet with a grace and agility she'd never possessed before, and then she was running. Her arm once again exerted its own power as she shoved another scientist who made the mistake of trying to get between her and the door roughly into the wall, hardly even feeling the resistance of the woman's stationary body.

She fell to all fours as soon as she hit concrete; her stride increasing, breaths coming in rapid gasps as she moved. She didn't know where she was going, hadn't thought of anything but the blind all consuming need get away, away, away, away. She was sure that if she just kept running, if she ran fast and far enough, she could escape.

But what chased her was her own reflection, and even now she couldn't out-run that.

Perhaps it was thought catching up to her that prompted the sharp pivot on the very tips of her toes, the palms of her hands flat against the rough, cracked asphalt, into the quiet, out-of-the-way side alley where she was unlikely to be seen or followed, though more likely it was exhaustion. Her muscles, her very bones, were sore and screamed in protest with every step. She couldn't even hear the continuous shrieks of Run, run, run, run, run, run…over her own raged breathing and the angry beat of her demanding heart.

But she hadn't considered anything past escape, and now that she had she didn't know what to do with herself. The streets and back-allies were familiar and no more or less welcoming than they had always been…perhaps, somewhere beneath the swirling, screaming cacophony of Run, and Not real, not happening, and, Gotta get away, away, away, away…she had believed if she just curled up beside the dumpster and fell asleep like she had for so many weeks, maybe everything would be as it had been.

But when she stood to get her bearings the wind picked up, the previously still night air rushing through the cluttered alley, discarded papers and old candy wrappers rustling and crinkling as they took flight.

Their wings pulled back with a sharp snapping sound, filling with the up-rushing air and overtaking gravity as they landed, a grace and fluidity in their movements that follows only experience.

The first was built like a bull, easily clearing six feet and bulky. Not fat or even pudgy exactly but thick, sturdy. His skin was a strange light blue-green, the color of mint and sea and sky, and his wings, likely longer from tip to tip than the alley was wide, were a rich green so deep it was nearly black. His face was…child-like, all rounded angles and baby fat with no hair to obscure those features. Three small horns, rounded like everything else about the creature, lined the center of his bald head leading back to the base of his skull set between to long, almost fin-like ears.

His companion was a near perfect contrast. Standing with his shoulders hunched slightly forward, curving his spine like bow, and his knees bent in semi-crouch cost him at least half a foot, making him appear significantly smaller than the other creature, though they were likely equal in height. He was not bulky or sturdy like his companion, slender in fact, almost wiry, but clearly no less solid, and Maggie imagined running into this creature was probably similar to running into a brick wall. His skin, as if echoing such thoughts, was a pale brick red, tapering into a red-gold sheen across dark, translucent wings with a span no shorter than the first. His face was long and angled into a pronounced, but somehow fitting beak with two long, pointed horns, each set just to the inside of a pointed, elfin ear, curving back over a thick mane of silvery white hair that fell all the way to his waist.

Both had four fingered hands, each tipped with wicked talons that made her own seem more akin to safety pins, and spread, paw-like feet. Two sets of fangs reflected the poor alley light, and she could just make out a pair of long reptilian tails behind them. They were dressed similarly, both in a loincloth held in place by a somewhat old-fashioned black belt and brass buckle. And both had seemed agitated, angry even, as they began their descent from on high, but their attitudes and postures had quickly switched to confusion as her eyes widened in terror and she took one long stride back, her hands coming up before her in defense.

"That's not Demona." The big one observed, his voice a deep rumble swirling around the same soft, child-like edge as the rest of his features.

"Get away from me!" she demanded, barely aware of the way her voice shook, let alone its new rough edges and growling tones.

"No, don't be afraid," the smaller one soothed in a low rumble, almost a purr, his own hands coming up with palms spread openly in the universal gesture of submission and reassurance. "We won't hurt you." A cautious step forward, hands spread and empty, held clearly where she could see them, placed him almost directly in front of her. "Sorry about the entrance, we thought you were someone else."

Curiosity flooded her system with enough force to drown out her rapidly mounting terror enhanced by the weariness that had already settled across her right down to her bones. That reflection in the glass, that shadow lurking in every corner of her mind, was flashing behind her eyes with frightening clarity and her mouth was moving before her mind really considered the words, "Who could you possibly mistake me for?"

Neither was given the chance to answer as the shrill scream of sirens pierced the otherwise quiet atmosphere. Flashing red lights bathed the dark alley in bloody twilight, and the two big, white Genutech vans that suddenly blocked its mouth could have been ambulances were it not for the trademarked white 'G' materializing against a plain of black branding their left sides. Four scientists spilled out of the vehicles, stalking toward her and the two creatures with a practiced 'V'-like formation, each armed with a gun filled with potent tranquilizers or a mild, but certainly effective, stun-gun.

"There she is!"

"But she's not alone?"

"Tranq them all," the leader, the head of the formation, instructed. "Let the doc sort 'em out."

And then it seemed the time for talking had passed; the alley was suddenly congested with flying darts and crackling electricity as the scientists opened fire.

The alley provided little cover, but the sparseness didn't seem to faze the two creatures, the big one clearing more than half the alley with three long, quick strides and seeking refuge behind the dumpster to the left side.

Maggie's mind, however, was elsewhere, lost amid a sea of adrenalin and panic. She was aware of her surroundings, of the loud popping of each gun, short and abrupt in quick succession like a string of firecrackers, of the sharp, salty-sweet tang of smoke and adrenalin and fear that hung over the alley like heavy perfume, of every spark, every dust molecule floating on the charged air. But her brain refused to process the information, not yet accustomed to such keen senses, made all the sharper by the blood now singing in her veins, and not prepared to interpret the intense barrage of sight and scent and sound.

"Bad neighborhood."

She felt a scream bubble in her chest, felt it tearing and clawing at her throat when a strong, taloned hand clamped firmly around her wrist. But the voice that accompanied that grip had been the same smooth, growling baritone that had promised not to hurt her.

Dr. Sevarius had hurt her.

She didn't know if this…creature could help her, but she was certain that he was trying. And she needed that certainty in a world where she was suddenly certain of very little.

The grip was rough, as was the sudden jerk forward that not long ago would have ripped her arm right out of its socket, but the hand was gentle, and she had no doubt that, if she tried, she could pull herself free…

Maggie swallowed her screams and didn't fight the sudden jab of forward momentum that had her stumbling toward him.