Title: The Nemesis Project

Chapter 8: On the Inside

Synopsis: A patient escapes a secret Psi-Corp facility on Mars struggling to reach Babylon 5 with the Rangers help.

Disclaimer: It is not mine - so please pretty please don't sue me.

Rating: Same as story.

A/N: I am so very sorry I had left this story without updating for so long…

Chapter notes: Sorry about how long this has all taken.

Reviews: Thanks for reviewing. I am almost finished Exams and I will try to write a few chapters in the next few weeks. Sorry again to those who are reading and reviewing(I LOVE YOU GUYS) for the very long periods of nothing while I am busy. I promise I will finish this story off.


They had finally slowed, something for which Jason was grateful, she was swift, despite her tiny frame, and half-starved appearance. And more than that, his head ached with the stress, he could feel the blood thrumming at his temples. On second thoughts, where they had stopped was no picnic.

They were standing in the middle of the main space dock. She was standing nearby, just concealed by a banner declaring "Welcome To Mars". She had simply looked at him, and somehow he knew, he knew which freighter captain to talk to, that had been nearly an hour ago. Following that he had managed a short burst transmission to a contact, that would then be passed on up the line to Babylon 5. And now they were just waiting for the freighter to leave. Waiting in the middle of a crowded space dock where it was all but impossible to see possible enemies coming. It made him uneasy, all these people brushing past, all they would need would be for one of them to notice her, her strange appearance, her way, someone to try and talk to her, even just an overly nosey citizen to mention the odd looking girl sitting in the dock for them to be thoroughly screwed.

He turned to look at her, he watched a man walk past her, the man didn't even glance at her. In fact now that he thought about it. He hadn't notice anyone looking at her since he met up with her. He turned slightly to watch more closely, he watched people moving around her, past her, like she was a bubble. He felt a chill run down his spine.

No-one was looking at her. They didn't see her. For the umpteenth time that night he wished he had not gone to the bar. And for the umpteenth time he realized he was glad he had. He felt, in a way, as though there was no possibility that he could have not gone to that bar. It was destiny in a way perhaps.

She turned, her head cocked to one side, those eyes fixing on him. Staring at him. Almost as though she was looking through him. He turned away quickly. That gaze. That look was too intense. He shivered again and prayed that the next hour would pass quicker than the last.


He was standing in a barren landscape, no. He was walking. He looked down, beneath his feet sand was moving, grey sand, that swirled like smoke as it rushed past his feet. He was flying he realized, like he had in dreams as a kid. Flying where though? He struggled to remember. 'Who am I?' He wondered.

'Stephen.'… Stephen? Yes, that was his name.

'That is my name.'.

'Yes.'. He looked around for the voice, and suddenly he realized he had changed direction he was going up, far ahead he could see two figures one was standing above the other. He was gaining on the second figure. He knew her.

'Lyta.' A series of images flashed through his mind, Lyta returning from the Vorlon homeworld. Lyta smiling. Lyta wearing a Psi-corp badge.

A scream echoed through him. He felt angry. He was beside Lyta, he realized she was lying down, she was in pain. He should care about that. 'It's what I do.' He thought. She was looking up at him, her eyes were black.

"Help her Stephen." She motioned towards the figure on the hill. "I can't hold her much longer."

He turned and continued on up the steep grayness to a precipice, below was darkness, the gray eternity of the sky had changed her to a deep and angry red that pulsated with inky lightening. Below the earth moved, black things were moving, they were trying to climb the precipice he realized, but almost gently they fell backwards at a certain point about half way up the cliff of gray.

A wind he had not noticed was whipping dark curls back from a pale face, one he knew. The patient. But not the patient. She was not emaciated and ill. She was younger, different; she wore a pale pinafore and crisp shirt. School clothes he realized.

"Hello?" It was an effort to speak, he felt as though he had never done it before.

She looked at him then, her eyes were the same, grey and soft but where before he had seen irrational insanity here he saw sanity and coherence.

"Yes." He frowned. He hadn't asked anything.

"Yes you did." She smiled, it was a pretty smile. "This is my mind Doctor, your thoughts are my thoughts." She looked away again, looking down below.

"I will have to let you go back soon. And her." He knew she meant Lyta. "Then I'll be alone with them again." He looked where she looked at the things down below. He could not describe them, in fact his mind shied away from them, from what they were. He was aware that noises were coming from below, a dull screaming.

She looked over at him again, her grey eyes were haunted. "What you see is a creation of my mind, this is physical representation of what is happening to me." He looked away to the darkness below andd realized that far below he could see another cliff, and past that another.

"Yes, you understand. Day by day they get closer. Soon they will be here, and then there." She turned and pointed behind him, high up on another cliff he saw the girl again, instinctively he knew she was somehow less than the representation beside him. "And further and further, until there is nothing left of me." He looked back at her.

"Why…?" She nodded.

"Why are you here? I need to show you, show you what they are doing. Show you what you need to fight. And then I need to show you how to kill me." He looked into her eyes. They were hard, objective, and to his horror, completely rational.
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