New story!

This isn't the season 7 one everyone wants. That first chapter is half way done. But, this idea wouldn't leave me alone so I went ahead and got it out. It will seem similar to Heroes, X-Men and just about any kind of comic story really. I'm not taking any story line from anything, it's all mine. But really, anything with super powers will be similar to other stories with super powers.

And, this is a Tony/Michelle story but it's also a John/Elizabeth story. These two characters are fromStargate: Atlantis. You don't need to know the lore of that TV show but just know that other characters from that series will be in this as well so get ready to meet some new faces. Everyone should be watching Atlantis anyway.

So, I hope people enjoy this. If you have any questions, just ask.

Do you believe in fate? It's a question that is asked of all of us at one time or another. Do we have the ability to choose? Are we capable of learning from our mistakes or are we destined to travel the course already set before us? Our responses change as life turns. Sometimes we say yes, sometimes we say no. The question is always asked but no one ever really wonders...if there is such a thing as fate, then are we truly free?

Asher, Oklahoma

John Sheppard had just about had enough of this.

This wasn't his farm. He knew that. But working for someone who was such an idiot didn't come easy. What was it they told his mother? He had a problem with authority?

John smirked as he continued loading. I only have a problem with authority when the authority is wrong.

"Sheppard! Quit fucking around back there and pick it up!"

John sighed throwing the last bail of hay into his truck and dusting his hands off on his jeans. The puff of dust and dirt curled up and agitated his eyes. He pulled off his gloves and slid into the cab, starting the engine. He made this trip about a million times a day. The work was hard but it was a job. He couldn't really complain considering the circumstances. The military didn't want him anymore and there wasn't much left for a disgraced ex-pilot to do so he was lucky to get this. He'd grown up on a farm; this had all been second nature to him. The problem he had was how shifty and un-safe Carl ran things. He wasn't blind, he knew people needed work, he knew cutting corners was just about the only thing keeping this place going but they had kids working here.

Throwing the truck into park, he made his way around the back and started unloading the hay. Screw it, he thought, this is all I'm really good at so I may as well just shut my mouth and do my job.

John tossed out the last of the bundles and slammed the tailgate closed. He started to slide into the seat when something sounded in the distance. He paused, turning around back towards the barn he'd come from earlier. He heard it again, it sounded like sirens. Squinting off into the distance he finally made out what looked like billows of smoke above the trees. Shit. The barn.

He mentally tallied the distance. He was about five miles out and the nearest fire station was even further. No way would they get there in time to do much of anything. John looked around, no houses for miles, no one to witness anything. He pulled off his gloves and tossed them into the truck, shutting and locking it. He didn't want Carl on his ass for losing the truck. Well, if Carl lived through the fire. He walked out from the truck and stopped, dropping his arms by his sides and closing his eyes. The last time he did this it ended in his court marshal. I saved those men though, that's all that matters.

It started with his unruly hair. Red and orange waves flowed over the top of his head, popping and sizzling as liquid fire spread from top to bottom, encompassing his entire body. John shot straight up then flew towards the barn. It took him no time at all to get back, the entire barn up in flames. The workers were circled around the building. He landed at the top of a tree, scanning the crowd for all the faces he'd seen that morning in the barn.

Johnson, Anderson, Allen....Wilson, where was Josh? The kid worked the bailer. John flew to another tree on the far side of the barn and scanned the people again. The kid was missing.

He stood and killed the flames. Jumping down from the tree, he floated to the edge of the forest line and made his way to the barn. The back side was nothing but a wall of fire, the heat coming off of it was suffocating and everyone had moved back around to the front. John didn't feel a thing.

A hole had already burnt into the structure and he squeezed between the planks. He looked around. The main support columns were nearly ate through; the roof would be coming down soon. "Josh!"

"Sheppard!" John moved toward the sound and found the boy trapped under a piece of the second floor. It looked like the kid had crawled under a table. He pushed the debris away as best he could and squatted down. "Are you ok?"

"Yeah, I...I think the table took the most of it." He gave John a look of fear and confusion. "How-"

"Worry about that later. Let's get you out." John slid one arm around his back and another under his knees, pulling the 12 year old up and out of the mess. Josh wrapped his arms around his neck, leaning in close to avoid the flames as they made their way back the way John came. He looked up at the older man. "So, what are you? Like Superman or somethin'?"

"Nah. I'm just fire proof."

Chicago, Illinois

"I got this." Officer Rodriguez slid out of his cruiser and pulled his shoulder up, talking into his radio. "Dispatch, this is 1012. Responding to a disturbance at Seaton and Williamson."

"You sure we should go in before Miles gets here?"

Rodriguez glanced over at the rookie he'd been stuck with. Miller meant well. The kid's heart was in the right place, he just needed to gain a little more instinct. Before he could answer him, Rodriguez's radio crackled back. "1012 that's a roger."

He shut the driver's side door and pulled his flashlight. Their route wasn't in the best areas of town but this particular building had always drawn some of the more seedy elements. Most likely this was just another homeless drug addict holed up for the night someplace warm. He waved the light along the outside of the entrance and motioned for Miller to cover his six.

The building had been condemned and empty for years now. The walls were crumbling in some places and no doubt the small shifting noises they heard were rats roaming from room to room. Still, Rodriguez never dropped his guard. They moved from floor to floor and finally reached the top, finding nothing on the previous levels below. The last sweep finished, Rodriguez sighed. Apparently someone was just imagining things.

"There's nothing here." He turned to face Miller and scrunched his eyes in confusion. The rookie wasn't there. "Miller?"

"Mike, c'mere. I think I got something."

He made his way towards Miller's voice and found him crouching low outside a room at the end of the hallway. "I think I saw some movement at the back. Could just be a rat, but maybe not."

Mike pulled his side arm and slowly trailed the flashlight around the room. In the farthest corner, sitting against the wall and trying his best to look as small as possible, was a man. Mike left the light trained on him while he spoke. "Chicago police. I need you to move away from the wall slowly and lay face down on the ground." The man didn't move.

Miller shifted nervously beside him and he tried once more. "Sir, I need you to move away from the wall and lay face down on the ground. If you don't do as I say I'll have to restrain you." The man still didn't move.

Mike sighed and turned back to the rookie. "Pull your flashlight and keep it on him." Miller did as he was told, the beam shaking slightly. Mike stood and took a few small steps into the room, observing the suspect for any sudden movements. He looked to be about 5'9 or 5'10, not very tall but he looked solid. His black shirt and jeans were dirty and worn and he tilted his head toward them for a split second, enough for Mike to see he was Hispanic. Maybe he just didn't understand them? Stopping his movement, Rodriguez tried again, this time in Spanish. "Policía de Chicago. Le necesito moverse lejos de la pared lentamente y poner la cara abajo en la tierra." Still nothing.

Mike loudly huffed in annoyance. "Ok, I've had enough of this." He turned to Miller. "C'mere. Keep the light on him and pull your side arm. He won't answer us, so we're taking him for a ride." The rookie approached nervously, his eyes never leaving the man in the corner. "Hey, you ok? Can you do this?" Miller swallowed heavily and cut his eyes between Mike and the man, licking his lips. "Yeah, yeah I'm good." Mike slapped him on the back and smirked. "Don't worry kid, nothing to it."

His focus back on the suspect, Rodriguez's demeanor once again went on alert. He was able to make it next to the man without incident. Now that he had a closer look, the guy was clearly homeless. He was filthy, black hair curling and going wherever it pleased, more than a week's growth on what Mike could see on his face. Mike reached down and placed one hand on his shoulder, applying enough pressure to indicate he wanted him to lay down on the ground. "I have no idea if you understand me since you've chosen to do this the hard way." The man wouldn't budge, so he applied more pressure.

"Please...don't do this."

"Oh so you can talk. Feel like cooperating now? Face down on the floor." He watched as the man slowly reached towards the floor, his arms shaking. Mike leaned in closer; the guy was sweating and his breathing was picking up, becoming rougher. The man made it to his stomach, his arms in front of him, palms flat on the floor. "Have you taken anything tonight sir?" Miller's light shimmied and Mike looked up. He rolled his eyes at the rookie, he was scared to death.

"No. I haven't taken anything."

"Do you have any ID on you?" He wasn't expecting an answer but he actually got one. "My uh, my wallet's in my back right pocket." The man dropped his forehead to the floor and Mike watched him take in big breaths, trying to calm himself. He'd taken something for sure. He reached to his back pocket and pulled the wallet out, flipping it open. "Anthony Almeida. Looks like we have a former military man. Not exactly what the government was expecting out of you I'm assuming." He slipped the wallet into one of his uniform's pockets and reached for his handcuffs. "Place your hands behind your back Anthony."

Almeida took another deep breath. "Look, just...just let me go. You don't want to do this." "I don't want to do my job? Come on buddy, make this easy on yourself and just put your hands behind your back or I'm going to have to move them for you."

Mike watched, slightly confused as it seemed to be harder and harder for Almeida to talk. What the hell is this guy on? "I'm....trying to make this...easier on....you." Now he was speaking through gritted teeth.

"Ok that's it." Rodriguez reached down and wrapped his hand around Almeida's left wrist and the guy bolted up off the floor faster than anything Mike had ever seen in his entire life. It all seemed to happen so fast and yet not at all. Almeida was up, making his way towards the door. Miller reacted and the sound of the gun was deafening in the small room. Almeida stumbled backwards, a hand instantly going to his side and the rapidly spreading blood stain.

"Miller! Stand down!"

The rookie was white as a ghost. "I...I thought..."

"You shouldn't have done that." They both turned at his voice. It wasn't the same as before. This was deeper, scratchy and so cold it caused Mike's hair to stand on end. The sight that greeted them caused every instinct he had to go on red alert. Blue scaled skin, claws and yellow slitted eyes. What the fuck is this guy?

Almeida moved and it was like a blur in the dark room, their flashlights discarded; rolling and spinning illuminating nothing but the new decoration of blood and gore that now painted the walls.

Michelle Dessler yawned and picked up her coffee mug, cringing when her lips met with cold instead of warm liquid. Night shift was always the worst.

The constant hum and whirring of the computers in the control room always threatened to put her to sleep. Dr. Weir had teased her about it several times but Michelle still felt pride in the fact that the woman trusted her enough with such an important task. The night shift was hard but what they were doing was extremely vital. Still, she was about to fall asleep. She got up, grabbing her mug off the desk and turned, only to be brought back to the main panel by one of the alarms. She typed at the keyboard, pinpointing the issue and her eyes grew large. She pulled the nearest phone up and dialed, not even waiting for the person on the other end to greet her.

"Dr. Weir. You need to come to the control room. That guy you've been looking for? I think I just found him."