Chapter Two: Still the Same

Faith's eyes snap open as she gasps for breath. Her conscious mind clawing it's way out of the dream she had been drowning in. She could still feel the bodies pressed in around her. A mound of dead rotting corpses that stretched as far as she could see, piled so high they were as deep as any sea she had ever seen before. All of them were clawing at her, pulling her down, dragging her underneath their putrid, decaying flesh, wanting to keep her with them for all time. To make her their plaything.

Taking ragged breathes she attempts to calm her breathing while settling her racing heart. Closing her eyes she tries to push the dream as far from her mind as she possible can. She didn't know if that was suppose to be one of her slayer dreams, the kind that B was always going on about, or just an ordinary nightmare brought on from too much Jim Beam, not enough food, and no sleep.

As the caress of the cold, dead hands fade from her body she opens her eyes again. The soft touch of cotton over her skin replaces the sense of death forcing her to look down to see she's wearing a beige one piece cotton nightgown. Her left hand had been wrapped and bandaged while she had been unconscious. Moving her fingers she can tell whoever had bandaged her hand had taken the time to set the dislocated fingers. It was still sore but in a few hours it would be as good as new.

Rolling off the bed, somebody had left her on, she lands lightly on her feet in a crouch. Taking the room in at a glance she realizes she was in a bedroom, complete with a bed, a pair of chest high dressers, a large antique cherry wood armoire instead of a closet, and a couple of nightstands. Judging by the effects in plain sight Faith can tell the room belongs to a young woman. A woman that might only be a few years older then herself. As she takes a good look at the titles of a handful of books lining the headboard's cubby holes she comes to the realization that whoever the woman is she was definitely a lot smarter then herself.

Sitting on top of the headboard, within easy reach of the girl that normally slept in the bed was a Japanese ceremonial sword holder. A holder that was conspicuously missing its sword. A clear indication to Faith that whoever lived here didn't trust her.

Faith couldn't care less considering the last conscious thought going through her head before waking up here had been that she was dead. She had never thought she was going to wake back up again, or that if she did wake up she would be in chains designed to hold a slayer while she was smuggled back to England to face trail by the watchers council. In which case she would be executed so the next slayer could be called.

The door against the far wall opens spilling light into the room. A tall brunette, an inch or so taller then Faith herself, steps out of the room brushing her hair back. Her face was long, lean with a pointed chin. All of her features seemed to be too sharp with the exception of her large, round doe like brown eyes. Eyes that were soft, warm, but hard as well conveying a sense of having seen things few people could comprehend. Her slacks were a dark blue bordering on black contrasting sharply with the tan blouse that hung loosely over her upper body.

Her eyes widen slightly upon seeing Faith, but otherwise she doesn't react at all as she strides from the door to her dresser while continuing to brush her thick chestnut hair. There was something about her that instantly put Faith in mind of Buffy. An almost superior, self-righteous air that they both project.

"The showers free if you feel like taking one," Kitty informs Faith without turning around. "There are clean towels in the cupboard on the far wall and I can set out some clothes for you. Should be about you size," she adds picking up the hair clip.

Her anger peaking at the haughty way the brunette was talking down to her Faith punches forward straight towards the back of Kitty's head. Only to stumble forward as her fist passes through her skull all the way up to her elbow, "what the fuck!" She shouts as she jumps back away from her with wide eyes. "What the fuck are you?" She tries again in slightly calmer voice.

She turns around to face Faith, "I'm Katherine Pryde. The person whose bed you were sleeping in, whose nightgown your wearing. In fact I'm probably one of only two people in the whole world right now that don't want your head for a trophy," Kitty informs Faith a great deal of anger flaring in her voice. She was extremely glad she had the foresight to take her black blade out of the room when Logan had shown up with the girl. It was one of the few things in the world that could touch her even while she was phasing.

Faith doesn't even blink at the news that everybody was after her. It wasn't new information to her. Everybody had always been after her so it wasn't like anything had changed suddenly. The girl standing in front of her though was definitely something she had never run across before, "you're a damn ghost is what you are."

Kitty smirks at her statement, "been called worse," she quips. "Logan's waiting for you," she tells Faith seriously. "So shower first, don't. It doesn't really matter," she says heading to the bedroom exit.

"What's to keep me here?" Faith asks her anger seething, barely contained below the surface. She wants to do nothing more then beat this arrogant, snobbish girl to within an inch of her life. The only thing stopping her was the fact she had already proven how futile that was. Her mind was still searching for some way to get her hands on the brunette. The question of how you're suppose beat something you can't touch running through her head.

Kitty looks back over her shoulder at the troubled teenager. She wants to do something to comfort her, to let her know the entire world wasn't out to get her. But she knew what unphasing around the angry teenager would mean to her health. She didn't doubt that she could kill Faith, if it came down to it, but actually beating her in fight was quite probably beyond her without resorting to killing her. She shakes her head slightly, "nothing's going to keep you here. Just don't expect Logan to let you get too far."

"So I am your prisoner," she states angrily.

Kitty shrugs sadly, "if it makes you feel better thinking that then go ahead," she says softly a moment before turning and walking through the bedroom door.

"She was here all right," Angel comments picking Faith's scent up all over Cordelia's apartment. He had managed to track the rouge slayer down to the loft of somebody she had put in the hospital nearly a week ago when he had gotten Wesley's rather frantic phone call. One of the few times he actually had the cellphone, Cordelia insisted he carry at all times, with him.

"Duh," Cordelia snipes. "Denis told us that much," she says sarcastically pointing at refrigerator magnets spelling out the word Faith. Only for some reason Denis had put an X directly after the rouge slayer's name. "What I want to know is why it took you a good two hours to show up, she could have just step out for a second. I could be dead right now because you..."

"I was watching the place she's been staying at," Angel replies taking Cordelia's slight outburst in stride. "Besides I don't think you have to worry about her coming back," he says entering the kitchen. "Someone else was here with her. A man, has a fondness for cheap cigars," points to the sandwich. "He was able to get the drop on her, not easy considering a slayer's heightened senses," while not on par with a vampires' senses, slayer senses easily surpassed what normal humans had, "their intuition." He adds as an after thought. Points to some scuff marks on the floor and the crack door casing, "they fought, brief or else their would have been more damage done."

"There's enough damage already. Why do you always point out how much worse it could be," Cordelia whines.

Wesley enters the front hall, "I think there's something outside you're going to want to see," he says breathlessly a moment before he heads back out doors.

"What is it?" Angel asks following after the ex-watcher.

"I did a circuit of the area around the apartment. To see if anything was amiss," he explains leading them into a vacant lot behind a nearby building.

As Angel came into the lot he picks up the man's scent again, faint as if the elements were trying to scour it away. Gunfire was thick in the air as well, and small traces of blood. Not as much as he would expect from someone getting shot. Towards the back of the lot was what appeared to be the shell of black van, leaning lower on the driver side as its back wheel: tire, rim, and drum had simple been cut in half making the vehicle impossible to drive. The roof was sitting at an odd angle as well as the back section had been cut open and several feet of steel were missing from its frame. Cautiously opening the van's back door, Angel can pick up other human scents as well. Their aromas were laced with fear as they scattered like quail before the man that had torn their van to shreds. There was blood here as well, more of it. Only nobody had died, at least not here.

"The cuts along the metal are smooth," Wesley says pointing out a fact Angel hadn't noticed as the smell of the blood had called to him, "suggesting they were made by something razor sharp and harder then reinforced steel."

Angel nods, "good catch," he congratulates Wesley as he looks around the van's interior. Recently it had been full of high tech surveillance equipment. But that had been turned into scrap. Still there was only one place that continually shoved their nose into his life that could afford a van like this. "Wolfram and Hart," he growls.

"Are you sure about that?" Wesley questions skeptically as he climbs into the van.

"Who else would send a rouge slayer after me?" Angel answers. "The guy that took Faith did this," he tells him after a second.

"So you're saying that there's a new player in the mix that we know nothing about?" He inquires looking around the van not feeling pleased with the turn of events. Having to deal with a rouge slayer was bad enough, throwing a wildcard into the mix on top of an evil law firm. He shudders slightly at the thought.

"We know he can take a slayer in a fight," Angel points out dryly. It was a comment that does little to comfort Wesley.

Faith decided to forgo the shower and had simply grabbed some clothes, sweats since the brunette didn't have anything that suited her taste. She had checked herself over in the mirror, there was a slight bruise on the side of her face just below her ear, and a darker discoloration on her ribs. It wasn't enough to be painful just a reminder to be on her guard around this man. The fact that he had beaten her, knocked her out in a matter of seconds irks her. She was the slayer, chosen warrior, yet he had kicked her ass and she hadn't even been able to touch him.

A slight smile slips over her lips as she imagines siccing the little runt out there on the little runt back in Sunnydale. She would love to see the look on B's pretty little face as he tore into her. Then again the good slayer didn't attack humans unless provoked. She could however provide the provocation, set the two them against each other. That was something she would actually pay to see.

Pulling open the door she gives a slight whistle at the spaciousness of the airy loft. It made the place the Mayor had set her up with in Sunnydale seem like a low rent tenement housing, with its high arched ceiling some twenty-five feet above the hardwood floor. Thick, intricately carved oak support columns that connected ceiling to floor, that were spaced evenly throughout the otherwise openness. Large windows stretched the length of the outside wall, with only small spaces of concrete interspersed for structural support. Faith wasn't sure what a place like this went for but she was fairly sure Mayor Wilkens would have been hard pressed to afford something like it.

From one moment to the next the room changes. The was no blurring, shifting, or anything else that would indicate the end of an illusion, or any kind of transportation. One moment it had been how she had seen it original. Now it was completely different.

It had shrunk from its sixty foot by forty foot rectangular box dimensions to the more modest, almost square dimensions of thirty by twenty-five feet. The ceiling was only fifteen feet above a dingy tiled flooring. Simple steel poles separated the ceiling from the floor. The large windows had been replaced with what was common on older factories that had been built some time after the end of world war two, row open row of smaller window pains making up a larger window frame. There was four such windows lining the concrete outer wall.

In the middle of the floor is a decent pallor area. Several sofa's, a few chairs, one even looked to be a recliner but she wasn't sure, a large coffee table in the center, and few end tables to pull everything together. Against the back wall was a large cabinet bookshelf combination. There were more books lining the shelves then she'd ever seen in one place outside of a library. She assumed there was a t.v., stereo, and VCR hidden behind the cabinet doors.

A sour grunt and the sound of something plastic hitting wood reminds Faith that she's not alone in the loft. The aroma of a cheap smelling cigar fills the air and she wonders how she could have missed it before. Spinning towards the sound she see almost exactly what she had expected to see.

Logan, the runt of a man that had knocked her out cold. He was sitting at a wooden round table, a shot glass in front of him along with an ice cold bottle Beck's. The same combination was set up across the table and a chair had been pulled out. There was a relatively thick manila folder open on the table in front of him along with something that looks like a large and extremely complex remote control. On the floor next to the table was a large cooler filled with ice, beer, and a fifth bottle of Jack Daniels.

Faith ignores everything but the man as she approaches the table, he had proved just how dangerous he was the first time they had fought. Now that his face wasn't half concealed by his cowboy hat she got her first good look at him. The only word she could find to describe him was feral, even sitting there in white muscle shirt and faded jeans with his bare feet propped up on another chair, there was something about him that would look more at home in a forest then surrounded by the modern hi tech world they lived in.

Most of his face, including his ears, was concealed by his thick sideburns. His black hair was swept back as if he spent a lot of time facing into the teeth of a gale force wind. His eyes were the darkest she had ever seen. They were like a pair of black holes that no light could escape from and with him sitting there staring at her she couldn't help but feel as if she had been stripped bare in front of him. Like there was nothing at all he couldn't tell about her with just one look of his intense gaze. It was not a feeling she liked and a scowl washes over her face in an attempt to intimidate him.

If her hard gaze effected him in any way it didn't show and she got the sudden feeling that he had seen things far worse in his life then one pissed off little girl. She could do something about that though. She could reach him in a heartbeat, have her hands around his throat before he knew she had moved.

She senses a change in him. He hadn't moved but somehow he was ready, anticipating. It was in his eyes, a burning light flaring to life as he waited for her to make her move. In that instant she knew that he knew what she had been planning.

Ripping her eyes from his she studies the rest of his body. His arms were as thick as most men's legs. Not with fat, but hard sculpted muscles. In fact his entire body looked like something that had been sculpted by a master artist. Everything that could have a muscle did, some times two. Somehow he managed to carry off the whole muscle bound look without looking muscle bound. Of course she had seen him move, albeit briefly, the other night and she knew he moved with the grace of a trained warrior, not the herky jerky motions body builders used when lumbering about.

"You gonna join me?" Logan growls lifting the bottle to his mouth.

Faith's glare intensifies with the sound of his voice. As if she was just going to sit around and drink with the man that had abducted her. With a sideways glance out the window she contemplates jumping to her freedom. Only problem being that she didn't know how high she was.

"Five stories," Logan comments seeing the shift in her eyes. "Fall probably kill most people, but you've already done a swan dive from higher then that haven't you," he says not asking just letting her know that he knew.

"What, you psychic?" She asks returning her glare to him full force.

Logan up ends the bottle taking a small pull. When he lowers it a slight grin turns the corner of his lip upwards. "You don't have to read minds to know what someone's thinking darling," he informs her before polishing of his beer.

"I happen to have a name and it ain't darling, cupcake..."

"Melissa."

One simple word stops Faith in her tracks. Nobody had called her that name in half a decade. Five years and she had thought she had buried Melissa in hole someplace. She was weak, a coward. She just lay on her back taking what her step-father gave her with barely a whimper escaping from her.

Faith was who she was now. She was strong. She was the one that was capable of doing whatever needed doing. Faith was who had survived on the streets of Boston from the time she was twelve. Faith was the hard edged girl her watcher had pulled off the streets a year and half later. It was Faith who had arrived in Sunnydale two years after that with Kakistos dogging her heels, and it was Faith who had ran from Sunnydale little more then a week ago when Buffy managed to get her body back.

Her eyes dart to the table, to the open folder sitting on top of it. There was a small stack of high quality photographs of her held to one side with a paper clip, there were a couple older photos, from when she had lived with him, paper clipped to the bottom of the page. On the other side was her rap sheet from Boston. She had no doubt her entire life was contained within the papers underneath.

Her eyes shoot upwards as she takes several threatening steps closer to him. Her voice was hard enough to smash boulders to powder as she demands, "what the hell do you want with me." For a moment she almost thinks she can see compassion in his dark, feral eyes.

"Douglas is dead," he informs her in a flat unemotional growl. Just someone passing along a bit of useless information, "gutted like a fish in an alley. Cops never found who did it but I reckon you don't care to much about that?"

Faith ignores the words that slam into her with the force of a wrecking ball. For so long she had wished that she could see the bastard just one more time so she could teach him what true fear is. She had looked for him after she was called but he had disappeared by then. Now she knows why and in a way she feels as if somebody has robbed her of something. "What do you want?"

"Originally, track you down and dump you in a shield holding cell and wash my hands of the entire thing," he tells her reaching into the cooler and pulling himself out another bottle of beer. He puts the cheap cigar in his mouth puffing on the end bringing it back to life, "you really should sit down. Enjoy the beer since this is gonna take awhile," he says twisting off the top and tossing it into the cooler.

Faith continues to glare at him from the other side of the table. She didn't like the man. There was something about him that just rubbed her the wrong way. Something that was challenging her. Snarling, snapping, straining to break the tight reign she was barely holding on with the skin of her fingernails. It was similar to how she felt around vampires and other types of demons. Only it was completely different.

It was more then that though. It was in his dark, ancient seeming eyes, they way they seemed to stare right through her without the slightest flicker, like they had gazed upon people like her a thousand times over and he was unimpressed with what he saw now. Weighing her, judging her, deciding her fate.

It was in his worn and weathered face. It screamed at her of a man who had traveled one long hard road after another. Of getting knocked down, beaten time and time again yet getting back up, brushing himself off, and hurling himself back into the fray each and every time.

The realization of that being what she hates about him dawns on her slowly. For no other reason then the simple fact that he kept getting back up, that no matter how much life screws him over he wouldn't give up. That he would never take the easy road to get what he wanted if it meant compromising himself. "Why should I do a damn thing you say?"

Logan shrugs trying to keep the beast within caged. It was hard being around her, being around someone nearly as primal as himself. He takes a deep drag off his cigar hoping the nicotine will take the edge off, even if its just for a moment. "Not a reason in the world."

"Then why don't I just kick your ass and walk out the door?" Her anger sizzles along her voice as she asks her question.

"You could always try," he answers just managing to keep the edge out of his voice for the moment, but he knew it wouldn't last for long. "Course nothing says its gonna end any differently then before and I'd rather you didn't force me to put my beer down. Just might make me irritable," he warns her in a deathly quiet voice.

"You really think you can take me?" The young slayer demands as her anger reaches another level.

"Done it once already," he points out as his voice drops another octave.

Faith takes another step forward as she responds, "last time I wasn't ready for you."

Logan knocks the chair over rising to his feet as Faith moves. "Think that's gonna make any difference?"

"Why don't we find out?" Faith responds tossing the table out from between them an instant before she lunges at him.

Lindsey steps out of the elevator and into the concrete substructure, the parking garage, like always, was light from above by rows of high wattage fluorescent. He walks towards his car without concern of being attack. After all he was still on Wolfram and Hart property, under their protection, so to speak.

There were other things on his mind more important then the thought of imminent attack. Faith had disappeared. The surveillance team had been, disabled was too kind of a word considering what they looked like. Torn apart would come closer even though none of them had died. Whoever, or whatever had taken them out did a remarkable job of missing anything vital. Which meant whoever they were dealing with was either very sloppy and didn't know where the kill shots were, or he was very skilled and decided not to kill.

What irked him the most, even more then possibly getting played, was the fact that not one photo, not even a decent eyewitness sketch of the man existed. An entire team of highly trained operatives, supposedly the best in the world, and not one of them got a decent look at the man. A man that can tear a bullet proof, steel reinforced van apart with his barehands.

He knew several men, including the target himself, who could accomplish that feat, which brought the question to light as to weather this entire thing had been a set up from the start. If it turned out that they had been manipulated like a bunch of rank amateurs then it didn't bode well for any of them. Faith had obviously known who Angel was so they had some kind of history together. Was it possible that the two of them had been working together. It wasn't Angel's style though, to subtle. He was a more in your face kind of problem.

Turning around with a small sigh he faces the tall, dark clad, and often brooding souled vampire. "Really got to do something about security in this place," he says to himself as he smiles at Angel. "Office hours are from eight to five, if you come back in the morning I'll be sure to see that you get all the assistance that you need," he says politely.

"Faith," Angel says from where he's standing with an ice cold voice.

The corner of his lips quirk upwards, "isn't that something you should be discussing with your priest." He pauses bringing his hand to his mouth, "right," he says pointing at Angel, "last priest you had a conversation with expired from an acute loss of blood."

"Ha ha," Angel laughs taking a menacing step forward. "Very amusing. Now where is she and who was the man that took her?"

"You know," Lindsey begins making small hand gestures as he talks. "I really wish I could help you out, but I have absolutely no idea..."

Angel moves to quickly for Lindsey to see more then a blur as the vampire grabs him by the throat shoving him hard against the wall. He hated dealing with Lindsey. The slick cooperate lawyer was one of those rear humans that didn't react in the slightest way when he was lying to your face. There wasn't the even the minutest change in body temperature, respiration, or heart rate, not even a twitch in his eye. Almost everyone had some type of tell, something that would give away the fact they were lying. Most had more then one, but Lindsey didn't have any.

"...What you're talking about," he finishes choking out his statement.

"Really. How come I find that hard to believe?"

"Because you're cynical," Lindsey answers despite Angels tightening grip.

"Let me clear things up for you," Angel says lifting him off the ground. "You, or someone else within Wolfram and Hart hired Faith to kill me. Sent her at me like a guided missile."

"I can assure you nobody at Wolfram and Hart would ever engage in that kind of illegal not to mention highly immoral act," he says trying to pry Angel's fingers from around his throat.

"I'm going to find her eventually," Angel hisses softly. "And when I do I'm going to learn the truth. Then I'm going to come back and we'll have ourselves a long conversation about what kind of activities, immoral and illegal, Wolfram and Hart is engaged in."

Letting go of Lindsey he takes a step back as the lawyer's heel hit the ground. Lindsey's hands instantly go to his tie and shirt collar loosening both so he can take a deeper breath. After a moment he says, "you go ahead and do that Angel." Bending down to pick up his briefcase he continues, "let me know when you finally find Faith." Looking up he adds to the empty garage, "I really hate that guy." But he did have the answer to one of his questions.

Blood drips from a gash on the right side of her chin, a split cracks her lower lip spilling more blood, and a jagged cut stretches from her hair line to just above her jaw barely missing the corner of her left eye. Heaving herself up to her feet Faith glares at the body lying in a pool of blood. "You're dead," She groans clutching her pain filled side with a hand covered in blood, most of which was her own from knuckles busted open pounding on his hard head.

This time he was dead, he had to be. She had made sure of that. A steak knife through the heart, a crushed wind pipe meant he was dead. There was nothing that could survive that.

Staggering she turns around her eyes grazing over the remains of the demolished loft. Nothing was left intact. Not one stick of furniture, not one post, not the walls, the windows, or even the kitchen cabinets and cupboards had survived the destruction the two of them had rained down upon each other.

Only problem was that every fifteen minutes or so everything changes. Rooms so vast, so varied that they had nothing in common with each other. More then just rooms or even whole houses.

Once it had turned into a dense tropical forest straight out of some forgotten age. Roars from creatures that haven't walked the planet for thousands, if not million of years filled the air. She had used that time to evade Logan, give herself a respite from the savage little man. They had already been tearing each other apart for nearly an hour by that point.

The man was like the damn energizer rabbit, only worse. He didn't stop despite her having put him down several times. He just kept coming. Most of the time without so much as a scratch showing for all her effort. Each she hit him was like slamming her fist into a steel plate. A steel plate that counter punched with the force of a miniature wrecking ball.

Faith manages to make it halfway to the door limping slightly. Her left leg still numb from a punch to a nerve cluster there. She stops hearing a grunt from behind her. A second later a bloody steak knife skitters across the floor past her feet. "Think you forgot something," his gruff voice says from behind her.

She turns her head to look back over her left shoulder. There he was rising to his feet again, wiping blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. A dark bruise around his throat was quickly fading. The hole in his chest closing before her very eyes.

Faith's head drops as she wonders what she is going to have to do to put him down for good. She had gutted him once. That had barely slowed him down for several minutes. She had tried, and failed, to snap his neck, only winding up with a pair of bruised, if not busted, ribs for her trouble. After spending ninety minutes beating on his face and body she was beginning to realize his bones, if not unbreakable, were so close it didn't matter. "What the fuck are you?"

Logan rips the remains of his blood soaked tank top from his torso. He was slightly impressed with the fact she was still on her feet. There weren't too many people that didn't have his healing factor that could have taken the beating she had and still stay standing. Cap and Spidey being among the rare few. It didn't matter the girl needed to learn this lesson. "Told you if you made me put my beer down I'd get irritable," he growls.

The room changes again in the blink of an eye. Gone is the debris from the broken loft. In its wake a city like Faith has only seen on television. Two, three, even four story rundown wooden structures packed tightly against glittering glass and steel skyscrapers.

Along with the city a cacophony of sensations, sounds, and smells bombard her, nearly drowning her in their sudden unexpected arrival. People press all around her jostling her to get by shouting curses at her in a language she doesn't recognize. Cars speed down the narrow streets avoiding people on bicycles, or mopeds by no more of a margin then the skin on her teeth. Horns and bells; blare and honk, jingle and jangle, beep and buzz as everyone struggles to move ever forward.

Smiling she looks up at Logan. She could lose herself in a city like this. At least for the quarter of an hour that whatever magic was used to transform the loft into this changes everything once again. It would give her the time she needed to rest, to catch her breath. Using the last of her reserves she takes off at a deed run away from Logan, shoving people out of her way, confident in her ability to out run any human alive.

Kitty steps into the laboratory alert for the slightest danger, her body hovering on the threshold of phasing. Something was wrong with the picture before her. There was suppose to be a major equipment test going on right now. The lab should be light up as bright as noon. It should be packed with students and staff going over everything with a fine tooth comb making sure it was all ready and primed for the upcoming test.

Only nobody was here. The lights were out. The machines were shut down. It screamed at her. Set up. Trap. A smile slips across her lips. This was exactly what she had been waiting for.

After stumbling upon a string of mysterious disappearances that didn't add up she had done some investigating. What she had discovered were five students, all with I.Q.'s ranging from one seventy-five to two hundred and ten, that had vanished without a trace. The only other thing that they all had in common with each other was the fact they were all studding under Professor Seidel.

Kitty had debated with herself for several long days about what she should do. It was obvious to her what was going on, but there was no real proof. Without any evidence there was no way she could get the authorities to listen to her and she refused to go to her former teammates.

She had left that life behind in pursuit of another way to make Xavier's dream a reality. She couldn't just go running back to them now, with this. They would have help, she knew that, but this was something she needed to handle on her own.

After coming to her decision it was easy for her to transfer from her current Civil Rights major into Physics. She already had an impressive transcript from her time at Xavier's and NYU. Professor Seidel had lept at the opportunity to have her as part of his team. Her expertise in computers, programming, electronics, and her natural grasps of physics in general made her a catch he could hardly throw back.

For whatever reason she had become too big of a threat to him. Now it was her turn to disappear like all the other girls. It was too bad for him that she wasn't like all the other girls. She couldn't wait to see the look on his face when she kicked his ass after whatever he had planned didn't work.

"Professor Seidel," she calls out deciding it was time to spring his trap.

At the sound of her voice ancient Latin pours out of speakers placed around the room. A blue vortex swirls to life behind her. This was definitely not part of any trap she had been expecting him to spring. A gun, chloroform, a drive out into the middle of the desert, dropping her in a vat of acid. Those were the kind of things she had been expecting to deal with, not blue interdimensional vortexes. She can feel it pulling at her. Phasing she hopes will stop the force it exerts on her body.

It doesn't.

The vortex closes as if it had never been there. It had disturbed nothing else. Except for the one young girl it had sucked through it's maw.

________________________________________________________________________

Still the Same - Bob Seger

You always won, everytime you placed a bet
You're still damn good, no one's gotten to you yet
Everytime they were sure they had you caught
You were quicker than they thought
You'd just turn your back and walk
You always said, the cards would never do you wrong
The trick you said was never piay the game too long
A gambler's share, the only risk that you would take
The only loss you could forsake
The only bluff you couldn't fake

And you're still the same
I caught up with you yesterday
Moving game to game
No one standing in your way
Turning on the charm
Long enough to get you by
You're still the same
You still aim high

There you stood, everybody watched you play
I just turned and walked away
I had nothing left to say

'Cause you're still the same
You're still the same
Moving game to game
Some thlngs never change
You're still the same