"You know, it was really great of you to sign on as a creative consultant, Adam. But some of the stuff you come up with...no one would believe it! You should be a sci-fi writer, not a language professor."

Shaking his head, Greg turned and walked away.

"I was a science fiction writer. No one would read my stuff!" Adam Pierson shrugged, and looked around the room. "You'd be surprised what people will believe."

"No, not really. I've met some people who'd swear that this," and he gestured around the set, "is totally and completely real. Its kind of creepy, the way that some people can get."

"You're right, that is kinda creepy." Adam shivered. Liam stood up, and stretched, fighting back a yawn.

"Well, I'm done for the night. How 'bout you?"

"Almost. You go on, I'll lock up."

"You sure?"

"Sure I'm sure. Go on, get."

"Alright, already, I'm going, I'm gone! See ya tomorrow."

"G'night."

Liam gathered up his possessions, shoving everything in a shoulder bag, and waved as he headed out the door. Adam waved back as he went back to work.

About an hour later, he stood up, stretching and standing on tip toes until he felt, and heard, his vertebrae pop. Then he walked over the windows overlooking the lower level set. Pausing, he glanced around the room. He thought it was a bit strange to be using one of the sets as a meeting room, but hey, it was big enough, had enough chairs, and the table was rather large. Whatever works, right?

Glancing down, he was a bit surprised to see a figure standing in the shadows of the room. Just as he saw the figure, the Buzz hit him.

An Immortal. Here.

"Aw, shit. Why me?"

He shrugged, and turned back to the table. Picking up his jacket from where it was draped on the back of his seat, he pulled the Ivanhoe out of the built in sheath. When he turned around, he was no longer Dr. Adam Pierson, linguists and creative consultant. He was Methos, oldest of the Immortals, and 5,000 years old.

He crossed the room, and calmly walked down the stairs to the set below. As he entered the room, the man, for he could see that it was a man now, moved out of the shadows.

"Don't suppose we could postpone this? Maybe take it -- somewhere else?" The man shook his head, sneering.

"Didn't think so. Alright, then. Lets get this over with, I've got work to do." And the fight began.

After a few minutes, Methos knew that he was better. But, after 5,000 years, he should damned well be better. When Methos saw his chance, he took it. The man fell to the floor, dead. His head landed several feet away, eyes staring sightlessly. And the Quickening began. Rising out of the dead body, it sparked off of every metal object in the room.

Suddenly, the energy shot directly to the mock-Stargate, the largest metal object in the room. Bolt after bolt of electricity was shot through it, and it seemed to gather there. Just as suddenly as it had gathered, it released. Straight into Methos. For just one brief moment in time, the lighting was connected to both the Stargate, and to Methos. And in that one brief moment, Something Happened.

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