A/N: to aunteeneenah—yeah, I know it's kinda depressing... But not everyone can be a good guy, y'know?

to greenpinapple—thank you, thank you very much, but you can't rush the muse. It's the devil's muse as it is; the stupid thing likes to run away and make me hunt for it. But I will try to upload on a semi-regular basis.

to DrawnToDarkness—wow, thank you so much for the support. I hope I don't disappoint.


"This is Lieutenant Lydon," said Wilder in a sharp voice, jerking his chin towards the uniform-clad woman that stood at his side. "Whilst you're human, she'll be the one to show you around here, tell you how we do things. Once you're a skinchanger, I'll have you transferred into another unit." He seemed incapable of saying anything in a normal tone of voice—every word he spoke was sharp or brisk or cold.

Lieutenant Lydon hardly looked a woman at all, small and petite and frail-looking, almost childish. The top of her head wouldn't reach Stephen's shoulder even if she stood on her toes. Inky blue-black hair was bound up in a tight French braid that fell between her shoulder blades. Her skin was lily-pale and unmarred by freckle or blemish, but her most striking feature had to be her eyes. Her eyes were golden, the colour of amber held up to the sunlight, framed in thick black lashes, full of burning intelligence.

"Hello, Lieutenant Lydon," Stephen greeted, holding out a hand to her, but yet again, he was ignored. She didn't even blink at him. He lowered his arm back to his side.

"You have your orders. I expect to see you both in training at 1500 hours," Wilder said.

"Yes, sir," replied Lydon.

"Yes, sir," Stephen echoed; a part of him rankled, taking orders from this man what barely knew him, but he was at least smart enough not to get flippant. Getting smart with a skinchanger soldier would end up with bones being broken—his bones. Once the captain strode away, he looked back at Lydon. Hm. I'll have to find out her first name, he thought. "So…what first?" he asked, hands in his pockets.

She stared at him coldly for a moment, then turned on heel. "Follow me," she growled as she marched away, and as he followed after her, Stephen heard her mutter what sounded suspiciously like 'I'm stuck babysitting a bloody human…'.

Stephen found something eerily familiar about her, as if he had seen her before. There was simply something about her that struck him as familiar…. "You're the owl I saw outside my window last night," he blurted in sudden realisation, and she whipped around to stare at him. He hadn't expected her to stop so quickly and had to hop back to avoid running into her. "You are, aren't you?" he asked.

Lydon paused and shifted her weight slightly. "I'd heard that there was a new recruit, a defector from the ARC, and I wanted to see if it was true," she replied at last, her tone carefully guarded.

"So it was you," he said quietly.

She narrowed her eyes at him—they were exactly like her owl form's eyes, luminous yellow and rimmed with black, unblinking and inhumanly intelligent. "Follow me," she said. "I'll show you around. Don't touch anything, don't speak to anyone. Just be my shadow."

"Okay. Thank you, Lieutenant Lydon. What's your first name?" he asked.

One perfect black brow lifted. "I don't think so. Let's go, turncoat."


The ADD was going off.

Cutter's head jerked up from where it'd been resting in Jenny's lap, the dark-haired woman stroking his thick hair as she filled out paperwork and he worked out new equations for the time map. In an instant, they were both on their feet and walking down the corridor into the central hub. "Where is it, Connor?" the professor asked, pushing the doors open.

"Westhaven," Connor replied as his fingers flew across the keys. "I've heard of it before. Place used to be a prison until they got shut down. Now it's just an empty building. Creepy as hell."

Cutter nodded. "Good, you can give us directions. Which of you will be coming with?" he asked, looking over at the Daybreak team.

Since Stephen's betrayal, one of the witches or the skinchangers accompanied them on alerts as extra protection should Christine Johnson try and strike at them in the field. There were protective wards erected all around the ARC, encircling the entire perimetre, and more had also been set up at their homes. Most of Circle Daybreak now worked at the Centre, witches and skinchangers now working patrols alongside the SAS. It'd become somewhat commonplace to see a lynx or a jaguar or a pitbull or a German shepherd doing rounds with the soldiers. The armoury now looked like a cross between James Bond's personal collection and a medieval castle, with crossbows and swords and daggers and spears, certain weapons that hurt supernatural creatures, and they'd all been getting training in new fighting styles. Connor, it turned out, was shite at handling guns, but with a bow and arrow, he was Robin Hood; even Becker was impressed with his skill at archery.

"We'll come," offered Emily, walking over with Matt at her side. The two of them were attached at the hip it seemed, neither one without the other for any extended period of time. Today the curly-haired woman wore tight jeans, a black sweater, and a charc0al-grey jacket, her hair held out of her face with a black hair band; Matt followed close behind her in denim trousers, blue button-down opened over a white t-shirt, and a brown leather jacket; his snakewood daggers were strapped to each thigh.

Cutter nodded. "Good lass. Let's get moving, then. If the place really is abandoned, then we might not have to put up with any civilians about," he said as they hurried out the doors towards the car park.

At his side, Jenny agreed. "If there is, I'll say we've got evidence of illegal activity happening inside," she replied with a glance towards him, and the corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile. That's my girl, he thought.


"Have you ever used a crossbow before?" asked Lydon as they stood in front of the tables of weaponry. The training room here was essentially a very large room that was otherwise empty except for the tables against the walls and the scarecrow-like training dummies mounted on posts. The floors were layered with mats to help soften the sometimes violent falls those in training experienced.

"Not really," replied Stephen as he studied the array of weapons laid out before him. It was a mix of modern and medieval, it seemed. There were rifles, shotguns, and pistols, but there were also swords, bows, and daggers. There was even a coiled whip resting on the table.

Lydon huffed and picked up a crossbow that looked as if it weighed more than she did, hefting the piece of kit like it was feather-light. "Well, you're going to have to learn. Bullets don't do much against us. It works on humans well enough, but skinchangers and nightkind, not so much." She turned, lifted the crossbow, and squeezed the trigger. Four bolts shot out of the crossbow and buried themselves in the chest of a well-battered training dummy nearly a dozen paces away.

Stephen frowned. "I thought you could only fire one bolt at a time with crossbows," he said in confusion.

"That's the European crossbow," Lydon answered. "They only fire one at a time, but they also have a lot more force behind them. This is the Chinese version. They've got more speed than punch. There's a magazine that reloads after each shot. See, with skinchangers, you've got to hit them quick and fast in order for them to go down and stay down." She set it back down, scanned the table for a heartbeat more, then reached out and picked up a slender, slightly curved sword. "This is a tsurugi," she said, balancing the sword in both her hands. It seemed wrong, a weapon so deadly in her small, delicate hands. Turning, she held the hilt towards him. "Try."

He hesitated, then grasped the hilt and lifted the sword. It was a tad heavier than it looked, but not as heavy as he thought it'd be. The silver blade shone with a deadly keen, and he knew that a single swipe could probably remove a limb. Stepping away from her, he swung and dipped the sword, hearing the wicked edge whistle through the air. "So this is what you lot use?" he asked.

"Like I said, bullets don't work well on us," Lydon replied. She picked up a doubled edged dagger, also slightly curved. The inside curve of the blade was smooth, but the outside curve was serrated. "This is standard for witches, called an athame. Most keep one tucked up their sleeve as a kind of precautionary measure. Nightkind most often use the tsurugi or other swords of the like, and witches stick with the crossbows. They don't like to get their hands dirty," she said with a note of distaste.

"And skinchangers?" he asked. "What do you lot use?"

"Usually?" Lydon grinned, though it was more tooth than cheer, and her golden eyes glittered with a predator's shine. "Our teeth. Or our claws. Whichever is more convenient," she added, lightly touching the blade of the sword in his hands; her nails had become curved and black, the talons of a hunting bird.

Stephen tilted his head slightly, eyeing her closely. After a moment, his lips curved up in a small smile. "Lieutenant Lydon…I do believe you and I are going to be rather good friends," he said at last.


"Whoa," said Jenny softly as they got out of the truck in front of the abandoned prison. When Connor had said it was a creepy place, he hadn't been kidding. It was huge and made out of imposing black stone, with small windows that were all heavily barred, surrounded by a high iron fence topped in deadly-looking spikes, encircling a bare, lifeless yard. It looked as if it hadn't been inhabited in years, with dead ivy crawling up the sides of the prison like spindly fingers. Even a fresh sheet of snow over the world couldn't make the place look any less scary. "And it's inside?" she asked, glancing over at the young man.

Connor studied the handheld and nodded grimly. "Aye-aye, Capitan. Anomaly, dead ahead," he replied, pointing towards the doors of the prison. "Its elevation is higher than normal, so it's probably on the…" He tilted his head, doing fast calculations. "…third floor."

"Oh, joy."


Stephen planted the tip of the sword on the floor and leant his weight upon the hilt, grasping it tightly. Sweat trickled down his forehead and neck, and he could feel the burn in his muscles that signaled he would be sore as hell in the morning. Grinning, he looked up at Lydon. "You are quite something," he said with a grin; the skinchanger was barely sweating at all, having removed her uniform jacket and wearing a black vest that showed off her waifish form. In one hand, she held a pair of short, straight blades that she called kataras, twirling them with deadly ease.

She blinked, appearing surprised to hear a compliment from him, and she turned her back to him, placing the kataras on the weapons table. "For a human…you're better than a total amateur," she admitted at last.

"Was that…was that almost a compliment?" he asked, straightening up and setting the sword on the table.

Her yellow eyes glared at him so hotly he thought his skin might actually blister.

The door of the training room opened, and they both turned to look as Captain Wilder strode in, moving with that eerie animal grace all skinchangers possessed. "Ah, ahead of schedule, I see," he noted with a glance over the two of them. "I do hope you're not damaging the human, Lieutenant Lydon," he added with an icy glare towards her.

She didn't glare at him as she had at Stephen, only ducked her head demurely, even though he saw a muscle in her jaw tick. "No, sir," she said.

Wilder shifted his gaze to Stephen. "There is a party leaving the ARC," he announced. "I've sent a quad to meet them there." He was watching Stephen closely, apparently gauging to see how he would react.

The tracker looked at the sword on the table. "Well, damn," he said softly. "When will I become a skinchanger? I'd have liked to go with."

Standing a step away, cleaning off the kataras, Lydon gave a soft laugh.


"Okay, this place is just downright eerie," Cutter muttered as he walked down a corridor. The silence in the building was so utterly complete that each footstep seemed to echo, and his words sounded impossibly loud.

Jenny pushed open a door with a squeal of rusted hinges, peering into the empty room. "Agreed," she said. They had split up into pairs to check each wing of the prison. Connor had decided the anomaly was on the third floor, but all the thick concrete walls distorted the handheld's signal, so they had difficulty pinpointing it. Cutter and Jenny were checking the west wing room by room; Emily and Matt had the east, Connor and Abby took the north, and Becker and his men were sweeping the floors above and below to ensure no creatures had escaped to higher levels.

He glanced into another empty room then sneezed multiple times at the rush of dry, dusty air that rushed out at him. Cutter shook his head. "Dammit," he muttered, then nearly jumped out of his skin as Jenny's warm arms wound around his waist.

"Bless you," she breathed near his ear, resting her chin on his shoulder.

He smiled as he laced his fingers into hers, squeezing her warm hands. "Thank you." He turned in her arms, slid his own around her waist, and drew her in closer. As he began considering what they could do in this short time they had alone, a kaleidoscope glimmer of light caught his eye. "Jenny," he said, reluctantly pulling his arms from her waist, "look over there. The anomaly."

They approached the light, and he pushed open the door. Shimmering and sparkling, the anomaly occupied the entire far corner of the room, just below a window; weak winter sunlight fell across it, causing the pieces of fractured 'glass' that swirled around it to sparkle brighter. "It's beautiful," Jenny murmured quietly, leaning against his side.

"So are you," he agreed, and she dug her elbow against his ribs playfully. His gaze drifted to the floor; his smile disappeared. "Jenny. Look down. The dust has been disturbed." Layering every surface, including the floor, was a thick layer of dusty grime, having gone without washing for years. And in the dirt on the floor beneath the anomaly had been stirred, small tracks marring it. That could only mean one thing—something had come out of the anomaly. He stepped forward, careful not to trod on the small prints, and crouched down to study them. "More than one creature," he said. "Probably not too big, looking at the size of them…. Think they've gone home?"

"Uh…Nick?"

He glanced up at her, and Jenny pointedly looked down at the ground. The tracks on the floor lead straight out the door they'd just walked through, disappearing down the hallway. He sighed. "No. That's a 'no', then," he sighed, then pulled out his mobile to warn the others.


Matt's mobile vibrated in his pocket, and he quickly pulled it out, flipping it open to read the text. It was from Cutter: Found the anomaly, west wing. Creatures have come out and are somewhere about. Keep your eyes open. He glanced over at Emily. "Cutter's found the anomaly over in the west wing," he said. "There's more than one creature come out, and they're somewhere in the prison."

She nodded. "Okay, then."

As they began advancing forward once more, Matt's ears picked up the faint whisper of claws on stone, the sound of another animal's breathing. He gestured for Emily to be still, expanding his senses to trace this new presence. He could hear several hearts beating quickly, and the smell of ancient, prehistoric air lingered in the air. Moving slowly and stealthily, he crept forward towards the sound, took out his tranquiliser pistol, and peered around the corner into the next room. It had once been a kind of break room, it seemed, and there were the creatures inside, nosing around the cabinets and drawers; a few had gnawed open the abandoned cans of food and were lapping up the contents. They looked like big hairless dogs than actual dinosaurs, walking on four legs, only about as tall as Matt's knees, with slender muzzles and huge golden eyes, and the long, curved teeth protruding from its mouth proclaimed them carnivorous, too. They were lean and wiry, with reddish-brown hides and black paw-like feet; a fast count put their numbers at eight—no, ten. Two more emerged from behind the counter, huffing.

He quickly lowered his tranquiliser pistol once more—he didn't have near enough darts to take down all ten of the pack. Slowly edging away as to not make any noise and attract their attention, he grabbed hold of Emily's wrist and pulled her away from the roomful of creatures. Once they were a safe distance away, he took out his mobile and dialed Connor's number.

It rang only once. "Hello?" asked the young man's voice, slightly staticky.

"Conn, it's Matt. I've found the creatures. They're in the break room of the east wing. Two metres long, four-legged, about knee-high, and definitely carnivorous. Look a bit like hairless dogs, more canine than reptile," he said in a low murmur.

There was a long pause, and the Irishman knew that Connor was racking his brilliant mind for the information he had stored away in there. He was a living encyclopaedia of all things dinosaur, it seemed. "A big hairless dog? Sounds like a Lycaenops to me. Permian-era pack hunters, wicked smart. The name means 'wolf-face' because they were thought to be more like dogs than lizards. Matt, you best be careful. Lycaenops could bring down prey up to four times their size, and they've got a septic bite, with bacteria all over their teeth like a Komodo dragon."

"Okay, thanks. We'll stay here and keep an eye on them, you and Abby go fetch Cutter," Matt said softly.

"Aye-aye, captain." The line went dead as Connor hung up.

Tucking the mobile back in his pocket, he glanced over at Emily and smiled; she grinned back.


Jenny looked up from the doodle she was absently drawing in the dust with her fingertip as Cutter's large hand lightly touched her shoulder. "That was Connor," he said, looking down at his mobile screen, reading the text. "Matt's found the creatures. Lycaenops, most likely, over in the east wing. Which means that—" He gestured to the anomaly through the window that looked into the next room. "—leads to the Permian era."

She nodded. "So we probably ought to head over there to help," she said, patting the tranquiliser pistol strapped to her thigh, and he nodded as well in agreement. As they turned towards the stairwell, Jenny felt her othersenses prickle and burn, and she whirled around just in time to see a witch with a murderous look come 'round the corner at the other end of the corridor. "Get down!" She dropped to her knees, yanking Cutter down with her, and green witch fire exploded against the wall; had they been a second slower in ducking, they would've been enveloped in the flames. He swore profusely under his breath as they scrambled on hands and knees into another room, huddling back into the corner behind the door.

Outside, they heard the sound of heels on the stone floors, and several foreign voices speaking. "Where did they go?" hissed a woman's voice.

"Find them," snapped another, also a woman. Witches, no doubt. "Kill the skinchanger if you find it, but High Priestess wants the vermin alive."

Cutter's jaw tightened in silent rage. Vermin. That's what they think of human beings. Vermin…like rats or cockroaches, he thought. Jenny wrapped a hand around his bicep and squeezed. Her nails had become the wolf's curved black claws, and she dug them into his skin in silent warning to keep quiet. They could hear the witches moving about in the corridor, kicking open doors and growing ever closer. Jenny inched away from him and shifted into her wolf form, crouching in the shadows beside the door, tensed to spring. Footsteps came closer…the door burst open with a hard kick, almost coming right off its rusted hinges.

The witch didn't even get a chance to scream aloud as the she-wolf leapt, a streak of silver and white, powerful jaws clamping tight on the woman's throat. Only a wheezing gurgle escaped her lips. Cutter hastily clamped his hand over her mouth, dragging her further inside so they couldn't be seen. A gleam of silver flashed, and he nearly shouted aloud as a flash of white-hot pain lit up his side. He seized the witch's wrist, twisting the long, double-edged dagger out of her fist. Jenny bit down harder, crushing the woman's windpipe. Her heels beat a rapid, panicked staccato on the floor before falling silent. The she-wolf dropped the dead woman and shifted back. Once more human, Jenny wiped the blood off her mouth with one sleeve. "Y'alright?" she whispered.

He glanced down at his side where the witch had cut him; it was a small wound, really, a thin, narrow cut. She had only grazed him. "Yeah. Don't even need stitches," he replied, picking up the knife where the witch had dropped it.

Voices drifted down the corridor. "Where the hell are they? They can't have gotten out," said the second witch's voice.

"Think they went through the…the, erm, anomaly, Cosette?"

"Doesn't matter if they did or not. You know our orders. C'mon, let's go grab Val and get the others," replied the first, Cosette. Val had to be the dead witch.

"Where did she get to, anyways?"

Before either of them could move, there was a rustle of movement, a snarling animal growl, and a reedy, feminine scream of pain. "Thistle!" screamed Cosette loudly. There was a flash of green light, followed by another animalistic screech; the stench of burnt flesh filled the air. Cutter and Jenny hastily scrambled out into the corridor. What looked like a giant Komodo dragon had its jaws clamped down on the thigh of a purple-haired woman, flesh and bone grinding between its powerful teeth; the beast was half-mad with pain, a long burn seared down one flank. Another woman lay on the floor in a small puddle of blood, missing most of her throat; her eyes were open yet unseeing—dead. The purple-haired witch was screaming and trying to pull free, but the creature refused to let go, worrying its great head back and forth like a dog.

Cutter drew out his pistol and fired at the creature, a tranquiliser dart embedding itself in the beast's shoulder. Jenny sprinted forward, grabbed the witch by the arms, and forcibly yanked, jerking her away from the woozy dinosaur's jaws. Cosette pulled a long dagger from up her sleeve and slashed at the PR manager; Jenny had to leap back to avoid having her throat slashed open. Staggering a step away, the purple-haired woman took something out of her jacket and crushed it in her fist. There was a loud crack, an acrid scent filled the air, and Cosette disappeared into thin air, the only evidence of her being there a dribble of blood on the floor.

Cutter looked over at Jenny, shaking his head. "This is madness," he panted, then looked down at the creature unconscious on the floor beside the other dead witch, Thistle. It was far too big to be a Lycaenops, but if the anomaly did lead to the Permian era, it was probably a Titanosuchus, which was essentially a large, prehistoric version of the Komodo dragon. "Let's…let's get this thing home," he said, feeling slightly mournful at the sight of the terrible burn on its side. A wound like that, it might not last the night, but it at least deserved to die in its home.

Jenny nodded silent agreement, leaning down to grasp its long, stiff tail, and with his help, they pulled it back through the anomaly, leaving the Titanosuchus in the Permian where it belonged. When they walked back into the prison, she looked over at him. "Let's find the others. Now."

He nodded and took her hand in his own. "Let's go."


Connor pushed a hand back through his thick hair as he made his way down the corridor in search of Abby; since the wing was so huge, they had each decided to in the middle and work their way to the ends. However, since they knew where the anomaly and the creatures were, there was no point in keeping on the search. Cutter had said they ought to meet up with Matt, make sure the Lycaenops didn't escape. "Abby, where are you, love? Matt's found the creatures," he called, voice echoing slightly in the empty corridors. This place gave him the creeps something fierce. As he peeked around a corner, hoping to catch sight of his girlfriend—he simply couldn't say it enough—a scream shattered the silent air.

His blood went cold. "Abby!" he shouted, turning and running towards the sound of the scream. "Abby, where are you?!" He heard the soft tack-tack of claws on stone and spun, expecting a Lycaenops to come 'round the corner, but even as he thought about it, he knew it was wrong. If it'd been a creature, his othersenses wouldn't be prickling like they were. A skinchanger prowled towards him; it was a bloodhound, a large, black-brown creature. Blood stained its muzzle, and he could smell Abby on its fur. Its hackles lifted, teeth bared.

Without even thinking, he dropped the tranquiliser—it wouldn't do much against a skinchanger anyway—and shifted forms; Akela's mind surged forward and melded into his own. As impossible as it was, the bloodhound actually looked startled, a look of human-like shock coming to its face. He was easily twice as heavy as the hound, four inches taller than it at the shoulder, and far stronger. Connor felt the thick folds of his ruff lift, hackles raising, and his lips drew back from his teeth, a deep snarl thundering from the depths of his chest.

The hound lunged for him anyways, foolish beast, and he sprang forward. The smaller canine crashed into him, jaws snapping at his throat, but it had no chance. Akela was a predator from the Arctic tundra, bred in a harsh, unforgiving territory. He was no dog, a domesticated animal that'd been weakened by thousands of generations of selective breeding. Without a thought, following Akela's instinct, Connor closed his jaws over the back of the hound's neck and bit down with all the bone-crushing force he had. The taste of blood exploded on his tongue, and the bones were crushed into gravel. The hound yelped and squirmed, trying to worm away, but he held fast. Finally, with a hard shake, he heard its spine snap. The skinchanger shuddered and went limp, twitching slightly.

Connor snarled furiously as he shook the dead hound, its head flopping on its broken neck. He dropped the beast, licked the blood off his muzzle, and loped back into the room. Instantly, his hackles went flat, and his ears lay back against his head. Abby lay on the floor, hardly breathing, face ghostly white; her stomach was a mess of torn fabric, shredded flesh, and fresh blood. Oh, God, no, he thought, shifting back and scrambling over to kneel on the floor beside her. "Abby? Oh, Abby, please wake up," he implored, voice cracking as he touched her pale cheek; her skin felt icy cold under his fingers. She was in shock. "Help! Someone, help us!" he shouted, voice echoing in the cold silence of the prison. He felt tears well up in his eyes, utterly helpless.

Boots slapped the concrete, and then Matt came skidding around the corner. He took in Abby's bloody clothes and Connor's tearful expression; he swore softly.

"W-what can I do? She's dying," the student said, voice cracking.