The time for stealth and discretion had gone well and truly out the window, as far as Jim was concerned. All protocol and procedure for these sorts of things had been cast aside with the news that one of their own was in trouble. Another one of their own, he corrected himself. He didn't like how things were playing out, completely contradictory to what he had mapped out in his head, and as foolish as it had been for him to get ahead of himself in any way who could have blamed him for trying to be optimistic?

No one else needed to, really. Jim blamed himself. Pragmatism was the better course, usually, especially in their line of work. They had to be practical and realistic, even if they were hoping for the best. They had to tackle each problem as it came up, try and think two steps ahead even if they couldn't really get a clear view of the board.

Dammit, though, who could have seen this coming?

Jim made sure he was at the head of the small party as they quickly traversed the wide open floor space between their point of entry and the one Henderson's team had used, the one he had directed them to. It had been a coin toss of a decision, there had been no way for him to know Henderson's team would be the ones to encounter—well, whatever it was they had encountered, but that didn't stop him from wishing he had done things differently.

It didn't take him long to cross the distance, catching sight of Lucas, Dagwood, and Piccolo beyond a single isolated unit, their attention fixated on something that he couldn't see. Whatever it was, it was just around the other side of that unit, which would, with any luck, give him an advantage in the moments to come. Henderson was around there, he assumed, along with Miguel, or whatever was masquerading as Miguel more to the point.

In sprinting the way he had he had put some distance between himself and his companions. That hadn't been his intention, to leave Captain Bridger and Doctor Smith to catch up to him, but he couldn't help but be conscious of the danger one of his team might be in, and the responsibility that weighed heavily on his shoulders as a result. Lonnie was in trouble because of a call he had made, and it was his job to get her out of it. As he slowed his own approach in order to come up along the side of that unit he could hear the footfalls of the Captain and the Doctor in pursuit, and he took a hand from his weapon in order to wordlessly motion for them to hold back.

Jim had no idea what he was going to find around that corner. The last thing he wanted was for Bridger and Smith to get tangled up in it too.

He inched forward, noticing Piccolo glancing his way and giving him a look that would tell the Seaman to keep his cool and not give him away, both hands back on his weapon as he approached the corner. Slowly, steadily, he took in a deep breath. Held it for a few seconds. Let it out just as slowly and steadily.

And then he wheeled around the corner.

There was Miguel, or something that looked exactly like him at least, one of his strong arms wrapped around Henderson, holding her flush back against his chest, a knife held in his other hand and pressed to the woman's throat.

Jim needed to get his attention. And fast.

"Miguel!"

That did the trick, snapping the other man's focus in his direction, and Jim was momentarily struck dumb by the aggression on that face he knew so well, a face normally exhibiting mild annoyance at its absolute worst but usually so comfortably set in varying degrees of friendliness, readiness, and concentration. The only other time Jim had seen anything like what he was seeing now was when they had dug those relics up from the ocean floor. And yet, somehow, this was much worse. There was a focus there now that had been absent then, a drive and a purpose that made him look all the more dangerous.

The moment passed and Jim managed to pull himself back together, his own expression set in grim determination, his weapon levelled on a man he considered a friend. "Let her go." His voice was hard and firm, unwavering in its conviction. He needed Miguel to release Henderson. Now.

Miguel stared back at him, unflinching, and then something unnerving and chilling crept across his face. It was a smile. Slow and almost sinister in its satisfaction, that smile lifted first one corner of Miguel's mouth and then the other.

And then, without a word, he did as he was told. He just didn't do it in the way Jim had been expecting, or hoping.

It happened in a blur, the motions confident and swift: Miguel withdrew the knife and used his trapping arm to whip Henderson around before grasping and then shoving her with all the force he could put behind the action. Lonnie barely even had time to gasp in shock as she was propelled back, right off her feet, and into the small group who had been powerless to do anything but watch. Lucas gave a shout, as did Tony, who rushed forward with Dagwood in order to catch Henderson before she could crash into the ground and suffer any kind of injury. Dagwood's superior reach managed to get the job done, but Piccolo skidded down on his knees to ensure Lonnie was properly supported as she stumbled and buckled before being caught by the GELF's steady hands.

In the next instant, the very same instant in which Jim had intended to rush forward to engage and hopefully subdue, the very same instant in which he began to lower his weapon, there was a bolt of sudden, white-hot pain through his shoulder. It ripped a shout out of him, pained and surprised, and he hardly even had time to realise that the knife previously held in Miguel's hand was now buried, almost all the way up to the hilt, in the flesh of his shoulder.

And then Miguel was on him, or rather crashing into him, barrelling forward and driving his upper body down and forward in a charge that Jim had no chances of escaping. All he could do was sacrifice his grip on the weapon in order to clutch twin handfuls of Miguel's uniform in order to give him some semblance of balance and support as he was driven back. Hard.

They went down just as hard, with Miguel taking full advantage of Jim's compromised balance by hooking one hand under a thigh and yanking it towards himself. It completely shattered what little balance Jim had had left and he toppled back, his shoulder blades taking the brunt of the impact, driving another harsh cry out of him. The knife wound blazed horribly and almost completely blinded him, momentarily robbing him of breath even as Miguel pulled his own weight up enough to drive a punch down into his opponent. It caught Jim across the face, actually blinding him for several seconds, sending every single one of his thought processes into utter disarray.

Somewhere close by he heard a shout. A cry of his name? He couldn't be sure.

Fight.

He had to fight back.

Instinctively, reflexively, he got one arm up between them, palm planting firmly against Miguel's chest and keeping him there, even as he wrenched his body to one side at the waist and managed to get one leg up and around Miguel's hip. He couldn't help the short shout of frustration and sheer determination as his shoulder blazed, as he put all of his strength into wrenching back the other way and throwing the other man off of him and into a roll across the floor.

That gave him the space and the time he needed to heave himself up off his back, feeling adrenaline pulse through his body and do a halfway decent job of dulling that pain in his shoulder to the point where he could keep going. For now.

Miguel was in a crouch as well, but not for long, his dark hair thrown across his face in a wild and almost feral way, giving him a distinctly dangerous and half-crazed look. He didn't waste any time in propelling himself back to his feet and charging back towards Jim. Pulling in a breath Jim braced himself, but not to absorb the impact. Miguel was stronger, as he had told the Captain, but Jim? He was faster. Lighter on his feet.

So it was that he let the other man get close, not close enough to grab or tackle but close enough to let his momentum work against him as Jim swung himself suddenly and without warning to the side and out of the way. Miguel had next to no time to correct, only just managing to keep himself from crashing face-first into the front of the fixed unit, wheeling around with a fierce expression, teeth bared in a silent snarl of frustration.

Jim showed a smirk, letting the other man get a good look at it.

It had the desired effect, provoking Miguel into coming at him, allowing Jim to gauge body posture and weight distribution in order to figure out what was going to happen next. And he thought he had. And he would have been fine if Miguel hadn't thrown his weight down at the last moment and used his momentum in his favour to slide the last couple of feet between them, successfully knocking Jim's legs out from under him with a solid sweep of one booted foot. Jim went down hard, all the wind getting knocked out of him, momentarily seeing stars and feeling like his lungs had forgotten how to function as his whole chest was engulfed in a blinding rush of fire. His shoulder hadn't taken too kindly to that landing, obviously, and he was feeling it even through the pulsing adrenaline, but he had to get up, had to keep fighting, otherwise—

Miguel was on him again, driving another punch down into his face that brought those stars screaming back. Jim didn't even really feel the punch that followed, still too caught up in the power and pain of the one before, and he certainly didn't hear the loud cry from close by, a voice full of dread and desperation.

"MIGUEL!" Her throat burned from the force of the shout, aching fiercely even before the name had finished leaving her lips, and dismay was quick to take root in the pit of her stomach when she realised it had had no effect whatsoever. "Miguel, stop!" she shouted again, hearing Tony and Lucas join in, their voices a chorus of fearful pleading. Henderson was in Dagwood's arms, dazed and confused and thoroughly overwhelmed, even if only for the moment.

"What's wrong with him?" Nathan's voice was sharp and concerned, his hand settled in the centre of her back, perhaps to try and give her strength without her even realising that she needed it, or maybe it was just to steady himself in such a rocky and uncertain situation.

Wendy shook her head, never taking her eyes from the form of the Sensor Chief even as he reared his arm back for another blow. There was blood on his knuckles. "I don't know," she said breathlessly, alarmed and unnerved, partly because of the sight before her but also because she felt so completely out of her depth. "It's like—" A chill had settled in her veins, icy cold and creeping. "It's like he's not even there anymore."

Ortiz landed the blow. Brody grunted and coughed.

"Can you stop him?"

Wendy didn't dare to break her gaze from the two men tangled together on the floor. "I have no idea." And that was the truth. She had never encountered anything like what was facing them now, someone they all knew so well, trusted implicitly, acting so unlike himself that he was practically a stranger.

Threatening Henderson, making aggressive demands of Tony and Lucas, and now attacking Jim. Beating him, for all intents and purposes.

"Hey!" Tony's voice, a harsh shout, meant to sound commanding and aggressive but a fraction too shrill and shaky to pull it off. "Hey!" There was the whine of a weapon being primed.

That got Ortiz's attention, his head jerking up towards Tony, and Wendy sensed a surge of resentment and dark, twisted amusement that made her blood run cold. From her position at the corner of the manager's unit she had a clear view of Ortiz dropping a hand, reaching for something not at his own belt, but Jim's.

"TONY!"

The name had barely left her lips before Ortiz was jerking the gun from the holster and raising it swiftly, squeezing off a shot as quickly as he could. Thankfully enough of the name had filled the air between them for Tony to heed her warning and throw himself out of the path of the bullet that cracked into the wall behind where he had been standing only moments before. From his place on the ground he looked back at that wall, at the hole that had been punched clean into it by the bullet, at the cloud of dust that was still scattering outward. His eyes wide, his shock and fear thick in the air, he turned to look at Wendy.

And that was when Nathan grabbed her by the upper arms and yanked her back and around. With a gasp she whirled, colliding with the side of the unit and momentarily losing her balance before she was able to reclaim it.

Another deafening crack of gunfire filled the air.

Ortiz had taken a shot at her.

At her.

Wendy could barely breathe, such was her own shock and disbelief, and she couldn't help herself when she clutched at Nathan's arm around her. In that moment she needed his strength desperately, his steadiness and resolve.

Because it wasn't over. Because something else was coming.

Something terrible.

Black was starting to close in around the edges of his vision, and fast. Jim knew that if he didn't get up off the ground and out from underneath Miguel soon then he would lose his chance altogether. The other man would beat him into unconscious, if not even further, and that would be it.

His chance came sooner, and more certainly, than he could have expected. Or hoped.

Jim felt the jerk at his belt and heard the reports of gunfire, somewhere beneath those booming cracks the sound of a voice that was soon lost in the reverb, and he knew he had to move. Act. Now.

And so he did, forcing his eyes open even if they wouldn't clear all the way, the wet heat of blood on his face barely a concern in that moment as he took a rough hold on the front of Miguel's jumpsuit. Twisting his grip even as he bent awkwardly, painfully, to get a leg up between them, he gritted his teeth and pushed through that pain to plant his foot solidly and shove. At the same time he bucked his lower body, using the power in his pelvis and thighs to push and propel the other man not back but up and over.

Miguel was caught off guard, his head had been turned with his arm outstretched back towards where Jim had left Doctor Smith and the Captain, and by the time he realised what was happening and tried to fight back it was too late. Jim made a grab for the gun but couldn't quite get a hold on it, instead only managing to dislodge Miguel's grip on it enough for the whole thing to fall free and clatter to the ground somewhere nearby.

That was good enough for now. It had to be.

As quickly as he could he twisted himself and rolled onto his front, already planting his gloved hands down on the ground to push himself up. Staying on the floor wasn't an option, it made him too vulnerable, too much of a target, and if there was one thing James Brody hated it was being at a disadvantage.

When he lifted his head and saw Miguel smiling at him, any and all confidence he had managed to reclaim wavered and threatened to collapse completely. There was something about that smile. Something chilling.

Jim heard Lonnie draw in a breath in a gasp and made the stupid mistake of following her line of sight back over his shoulder to where two figures were emerging from the shadows. He didn't even have time to regret that stupid mistake before the sound of movement reached his ears, at almost the exact same moment that Lucas shouted his name. Tensing, bracing, he turned his head to meet whatever was coming.

It was too late.

He had hoped to give Lieutenant Brody enough time, but with a sinking sense of dread and despair he watched as Ortiz barrelled into the other man even as the Security Officer was halfway up off the ground. The force of the collision slammed him back and over, and Lucas couldn't help but flinch at the cry of pain from Brody as he landed awkwardly on his front, no doubt jarring the knife in his shoulder.

Tony was getting back to his feet and stepping forward again, raising his weapon but Lucas stopped him with a clipped, "Wait," as Ortiz kept moving. He didn't want Tony to run the risk of hitting the Lieutenant, who was straining to get himself up again.

"Luke—"

"Wait." He didn't want Tony to hit the Lieutenant. But he also didn't know what would happen if they hit Ortiz. How would the device he was carrying react? What would it do to his mind? The Sensor Chief was clearly already so tangled and twisted that Lucas was sure he wasn't the only one wondering if they would ever get him back the way they had known him. They couldn't take the risk of making that any worse.

Could they?

Lucas actually almost cursed his hesitation when Ortiz kicked Brody, a devastating roundhouse that not only downed the Lieutenant but succeeded in throwing him several feet across the ground in a rolling heap. Brody somehow managed to hold on to consciousness, fighting to get back to his feet, and Lucas felt a flicker of hope before he realised, too late, what was going on.

Those figures emerging from the shadows were coming closer, and Brody was between them and Ortiz. Even as the realisation hit him Lucas watched with his heart in his throat as Ortiz drove forward and slammed his whole body into Brody, forcefully ramming the Lieutenant back even further. He gave a bark of pain, a horrible sound that actually made Lucas feel nauseated, but in the same instant he realised his feet were carrying him forward.

"LUCAS." It was so loud, so forceful, so commanding, that his feet practically rooted to the floor even before the next word left the Captain's lips. "Stop."

God, but he wanted to help Brody. So badly. As he turned his head he saw, with no small sense of horror and dread, that Ortiz had rammed the Lieutenant back far enough that he was now close to those emerging figures. Far too close.

To his credit Lieutenant Brody fought once again to get his feet under him but even as he did that the second of those figures, a man none of them recognised, took hold of the back of the Security Officer's uniform, effectively trapping him. The man was not only large, but huge. Lucas had never seen anyone like it. "Tony," he practically gasped, swatting his hand at his roommate, unwittingly almost smacking the weapon the other man was holding. "Tony."

Tony raised the weapon and took aim.

"Shoot him, Tony. Shoot him!"

Lonnie's voice was close to panicked as she joined in. "Tony!"

Lucas expected to hear the weapon discharge, that distinct sound of energy being released, but instead what he heard sent a shaft of icy terror straight through his heart in the same instant that it leapt up into his throat.

Tony screamed.