Hey all,

Well, Cypher correctly identified the literary origin of the title of this fic (or at least the place I got it from, as the original quote comes from the book of Corinthians) and thus will have a character appearing. I would like to take a moment to thank Cypher for the invaluable assistance leant over the past couple of days...he really got me thinking in a new direction, and is pretty much responsible for the way this story is going to go down in some major areas. You rock, dear!

Disclaimer: Too tired to write something clever. Not mine. No money. Don't sue, please.

Some part of Richie was faintly surprised at the icy calm that had enveloped him. He could literally feel the blood drain from his face, could feel the cold sweeping through him, as though ice water were being poured into his veins. Electricity arced over Not-Virgil's body, casting strange shadows on the wall, and in the half-light Richie could see a thousand details that should have told him right away that this was not his best friend and partner.

The clothes were the same...the mask, the coat, the gloves—it was all the same. There the resemblance to his friend ended. This Virgil carried himself with a bearing that practically screamed danger. How many times had Richie seen Virgil so casually toss a ball of electricity from hand to hand? Virgil had never managed to look so menacing while doing it. Everything about this version of his friend was harder, leaner, and tougher. His mouth was twisted in a cruel smirk that would have looked utterly alien on the real Virgil's face. Worst of all, though, were the eyes. If Richie had had any lingering hope that this person was anything like his Virgil, they would have been laid to rest by those horrible eyes.

This Virgil's eyes were dead. There was emotion in that gaze, but it was something ugly. There was no hint of the warmth or laughter that Richie was used to seeing when he looked at his friend. They were cold, hungry…the eyes of a predator on the hunt. Those horrible eyes were regarding Richie with a degree of amusement, but Richie didn't miss the supreme confidence in that flat gaze. This Virgil wanted something from him, and didn't think Richie could get away.

Richie was very proud of the fact that he only considered screaming like a little girl in the hopes of attracting the real Virgil's attention for a split second. Virgil probably wouldn't hear him in time, anyway.

The ice calm settled further and his eyes darted from side to side, mapping out all possible routes to the outside. The four remaining zap caps were on the floor behind him. Backpack was ready and able to follow his commands. He had two zap caps on him. Odds flashed through his head at a rate most computers wouldn't have been able to handle. In the space of a heartbeat, he had calculated and settled on a plan.

He tensed faintly, and the smirk on Not-Virgil's face widened. "So that's the way you wanna play it, huh?" He didn't sound at all put out by the prospect of Richie putting up a fight. The light around his hands intensified. Richie drew in a deep breath, refusing to show how much the thought of taking on any version of Static terrified him. He knew better than anyone save Virgil himself the extent of his friend's powers.

"Yup. That's the way I wanna play it. Backpack, go!" The little robot skittered up over his shoulders and flung itself at Not-Virgil in the same instant Richie dived to the side, tucking himself into a tight ball.

"What the—" Not-Virgil stumbled back slightly, instinctively raising one arm to fend off Backpack's attack. Richie knew better than to try and have Backpack immobilize this Static. Instead, the robot hit the outstretched arm and immediately slid down the other's body, hitting the floor with nary a blip to indicate damage from the natural electricity field Static generated. Richie didn't waste time gloating over that small victory. Quick as a flash, a zap cap appeared in his hand. He threw it as hard as he could, noting with satisfaction the shock on Not-Virgil's face as the small tube exploded into the ensnaring metal arms. Richie's aim was perfect, and they entangled Not-Virgil's body dead on.

The momentum of the throw carried him to the ground, where he began thrashing angrily, spewing out a stream of profanity such as Richie had never heard before. This time, a small smile of triumph curved his lips as he quickly leaned down to scoop up the remaining zap caps and his Shock Box from the floor, then ran headlong towards the opposite side of the gas station from the open wall.

Backpack leaped back onto his back as he passed it, and Richie threw his visor down as he fired up his skates, taking to the air. He shot out of one of the gaping windows, the glass long since gone, and into the night, an angry shout following him.

"V! Virg, you read me?" Richie shouted into the Shock Box as he flew. He had no idea what direction Virgil had taken and he really didn't want to get lost in a maze of metal scrap with a psycho Static on his trail. The junk was piled up all around him, creating a veritable labyrinth of debris.

He knew it would only be the work of a few seconds for Not-Virgil to break out of the trap. They were seconds he had to use wisely. "Virgil! Damn it, come in! I've got major trouble here, bro! V!" With a slight growl, he shoved the Shock Box back into his pocket. Surely the other Virgil couldn't have gotten to his friend without him hearing anything. Where was his partner?

"Backpack find—arrgh!" The order dissolved into a scream of surprise as something heavy slammed into him from above. He hit the ground hard, sliding several feet and coming to a stop with the weight still on his back.

"Going somewhere, sweet thing?" a familiar voice purred in his ear.

"Talon. Always a pleasure," Richie grunted. He bucked wildly, drawing a shrill laugh from his attacker. Then the weight was gone, and Richie didn't even try to gain his feet…he just rolled. Talon's sonic scream hit the place he had been laying split seconds before. At such close range, the sound was still painful—but not incapacitating. That was all he needed.

A second zap cap found its way into his hand as he rolled to his knees. He raised his eyes to the hovering bird-woman above him, who was gearing up for another scream. "Ah, put a sock in it!" he shouted, hurling the cap up at her. As with the nightmare version of Virgil, surprise was on his side…this Talon had obviously never seen a zap cap before.

Had the situation not been so dangerous, Richie might have found time to laugh at the comical expression on Talon's face as she fell heavily to the ground, trussed up like a turkey. He saluted her cheekily and turned away, choosing a path through the rubble at random and running down it. He tried to stay under cover, not knowing how many fliers Not-Virgil had at his disposal. When he got out of this, he would have to tease Virgil mercilessly about his counterpart working with the likes of Talon. Speaking of Virgil…

"Virgil Hawkins, if you don't answer me I swear, I'm going to leave you here!" he gasped into the Shock Box as he ran.

"—Richie?—"

"V!" Richie cried in relief. "What happened to you?" He skidded to a halt near a particularly large pile of junk, pushing himself as far into the shadows as he could go.

"—I dropped the box. Rich, you're not gonna believe who I—"

"Save it, bro! Listen, this world's you just showed up at the gas station. V…he's bad news."

"—Are you okay?—" Virgil interrupted brusquely, worry tingeing his voice.

"I'm fine. It's not just him, though. I don't know how many are on my tail."

"—Richie, where are you?—"

"I dunno, somewhere in the junkyard."

"—I'm on my way. Listen to me, Rich, don' try to take these guys on. If you see anyone just run. Get out of the junkyard if you can—if I can't find you, I'll meet you at the Burger Fool. Got it?—"

"V, you'll need my help…"

"--No! Promise me, Rich…promise me you'll get away, no matter what you have to do.—"

"Virg, what—"

"--You're right, bro. This place's me…he's bad news. Real bad.—" There was real fear in Virgil's voice. Richie had to wonder what his friend knew that he didn't.

"All right. I promise I'll get away."

"—Stay safe, Rich.—"

"You, too. Richie out." He clicked the Shock Box off and leaned back against a convenient sheet of scrap metal for a moment, breathing hard. "All right V, what'd you find out there?" he muttered to himself, peering cautiously from right to left. So far, he seemed to be alone in this section of the junkyard. All right, he had four zap caps left, as well as Backpack. It wasn't much of an arsenal, but it might be enough to turn any fight in Virgil's favor. "I promise I'll get away, Virg…just as long as you're with me."

He moved stealthily away from the junk pile and began making his way back towards the gas station, taking a round about route. Every sense was on high alert, listening for the slightest sound that might indicate the presence of another bang baby. It would be just his luck to run into this world's version of Hotstreak.

He had only gone a few yards when he became aware that he was no longer alone.

He couldn't even say what it was that caught his attention. There was no sound, no hint of movement. Even the wind seemed to have died down, leaving the air still and silent. He was not alone. Slowly, he turned around, and came face to face with something out of a nightmare.

The dog was huge…easily bigger than a Great Dane. Even from a distance, Richie could tell that its head would nearly be level with his. It looked more like a wolf than a dog, with a thick ruff of fur around the neck, and a lithe, majestic frame. Richie felt his breath catch in his throat. Every hair on his body rose to stand at attention, and a chill swept through him.

The dog was translucent. It glowed faintly blue in the pale moonlight, shimmering before his eyes like a mirage. Like a ghost. Two burning red eyes, the color of the fires of Hell, bored into Richie's own, seizing him with a terror that he had never known before. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe…he was trapped by that hellish gaze, trapped as surely as if he was being held in place by chains.

Slowly, a figure emerged from the gloom behind the dog—a tall man with the lean, lanky figure of youth. His eyes were faintly glowing with the same red light as the dogs, and as he stopped beside it, he laid a gentle hand on the dog's head. Richie was aware of screams trying to claw their way out of his throat, of the fine tremors wracking his body, but he couldn't do anything but stare at the dog.

Finally, the ghostly animal looked up at its apparent master, breaking its gaze. Richie felt the absence of those eyes as intensely as a physical blow. He rocked back on his heels with a loud gasp, nearly falling over. Warmth rushed back into his limbs, and the mind-numbing terror faded away.

He had to find Virgil. Now. They had to get out of here.

He turned around to run again, and slammed face first into a solid chest. An arm like an iron band went around him, pinning his arms to his sides. He looked up into the same sick smile he had seen in the gas station, saw the same predatory gaze focused on him. Desperately, he cast an order at Backpack, feeling a momentary thrill of triumph as the little robot wrested its way free from his back and landed on the ground. He heard it skitter away, and knew that it would quickly be lost in the junk. His triumph was short lived, though, as he very quickly had other things on his mind. He had found Virgil.

Too bad it was the wrong one.

The smile deepened on the doppelganger's face, turning into something even more twisted and sick. Wildly, Richie began struggling, pulling against the grip that held him so tightly. He might as well have been trying to batter his way through a brick wall with his bare hands, though. Virgil was strong, but this guy apparently had a lot more time to work out.

Not-Virgil laughed harshly and shook his head. "Well," he said conversationally, ignoring Richie's efforts to free himself, "that was fun. But guess what?" He laid a perversely gentle hand on the side of Richie's face. "Tag. You're it."

The shock raced through Richie, sparking in a wave of sharp pain from his head to his toes. He thought he screamed, but he couldn't be sure. The hand was removed from his face and he felt himself slumping forward into the imposter's hold.

Then, the world went away for a while.