Author's note and disclaimer: I wrote this in an attempt to remedy the atrocious lack of Dark City fics on the web. I saw the movie about a month ago and haven't been able to get it out of my head. It is simply mind-blowing! Please note that all characters are the property of the screenwriters and New Line Cinema. I do not own them, sadly! I make no profit by this piece of fan fiction. Please R&R and spread the Dark City goodness!

It was dark. John Murdoch walked the streets of the city, smiling from time to time in a self-satisfied manner like an artist who admires a particularly fine painting he has completed. Sometimes when he squinted really hard, the city almost looked like it had the first time he saw it. Or rather, the first time he remembered seeing it - dark, damp and ominous, full of long shadows and unknown menaces lurking around every corner. In the daylight it was a different place, and John found it easy to forget the way it had once been. But after sunset it could still bear a resemblance to the old city, especially on

nights like this one when the earlier downpour left puddles on the street that gleamed with eerie brightness in the lamplight. Pausing beside one, John peered down into the black water and saw his reflection peering back at him. "John Murdoch." He gave his name to no one in particular, liking the way it sounded out loud. He could have changed it of course - no one but Schreber would have known the difference - but he hadn't. It was the only name he knew. Catching the stern, humorless turn to his mouth, he looked up from the puddle, then suddenly threw his head back and laughed, a sharp, gun-barrel sound that put a few roosting pigeons to flight. He remembered that first awful night when he'd wandered the streets and tried to figure out his own name in front of a shop window. He could smile about it now but sometimes, in his dreams, the panic still returned to him. He doubted he'd be rid of it anytime soon.

He glanced at his watch. Ironically the hands pointed at one minute to

midnight. He permitted himself a smirk, then began to count down the seconds without really knowing why. Ten, nine, eight... This was ridiculous, he knew nothing was going to happen. Still, he continued. Four, three, two, one... He glanced at the bridge above him where a few cars were making their way across. They showed no sign of slowing. He watched until their headlights disappeared from view, then shook himself, as though waking from a dream. What was he expecting anyway? There was little traffic, and he didn't bother to look crossing the street. It was late, most of the city's occupants were no doubt home. Which was where he should be heading. Emma would be worried. No, not Emma. Anna. Even after two months he still couldn't get used to calling her that. At first it had been easy to excuse himself, telling her that she reminded him very much of someone he used to know called Emma. That was then. He should know better now. Sighing to himself, he turned onto Avenue C. He and Anna lived above the theater where she worked - the theater that had once been "Neptune's Kingdom" and home to Karl Harris. He mourned the loss of Karl, who was the closest thing to family that he had. No matter that their history together had been fabricated, that his childhood with Uncle Karl had been nothing more than the product of someone else's whim. Despite all the havoc in his mind that the Strangers had left as their legacy, John did wish that he could have kept the illusion of growing up on Shell Beach and later with Uncle Karl in the city. He clung to the illusion with all the desperation of a man who clings to lies because he has nothing else - the truth is a void to him. He had sought out Uncle Karl shortly after the Strangers left, and had found him with little trouble. He was now Earnest Mayes, better known as Ernie, and had recently retired after a successful life as a drug store owner. Whether by mere chance, or as a last laugh on the part of the Strangers, he now lived in a small house on Shell Beach, right by the water. John and Anna were saving up to buy a house nearby, confident that working overtime would eventually see their dream a reality. John hid his true desire to live there under the guise of the fact that they'd met at Shell Beach, and spent their honeymoon there. The fact was that John hoped that by moving there he might be able to recreate the life he could have lived in his memories. The life he would have lived if the imprinting had been successful. He wanted his and Anna's children to grow up in the place where, in a parallel past, Johnny Murdoch had lived with his Uncle Karl and written "Guide to Shell Beach." John sighed again as he climbed the stairs up to his apartment. Ernie was a nice fellow, with quite a bit of the old Karl in him, but that didn't take away the fact that he was just a friendly old man with absolutely no connection to John. After painstakingly choreographing a meeting with him in such a manner as to appear accidental, John found himself struggling to strike up a real friendship with Ernie. He was doing his best to be patient and practical about it. After all, how easy could it be to become instantly intimate with someone who doesn't know you? He hoped that by moving to Shell Beach the acquaintance would become more natural, given the excuse of neighborliness and shared interests. Maybe then he could create with Anna and Ernie's help, the family he so longed for. Maybe then he would cease to be haunted by the unanswered - unanswerable - questions about his true past, somewhere else. "None of us remember that," he muttered to himself, envisioning Schreber's pale face looming in front of him as he slid his key in the lock. He hadn't heard from Schreber in over two weeks, which was unusual because in the days after the Strangers left, they'd talked almost daily. It was inevitable that they should do so, being the only two people who remembered the way the city used to be. In spite of John's initial wariness about Schreber, who had been both a traitor and an ally, the two had forged a firm friendship. An unusual one perhaps, but a friendship nevertheless. Schreber had gone from "Doctor" to "Schreber" to finally just "Daniel." After the Strangers left and John took on the gargantuan responsibility of rebuilding the city, Daniel had offered a sympathetic ear, listening patiently as John unburdened his feelings of guilt and responsibility for the loss of Bumstead, expressed his doubts about his new status as "protector of the city," and poured out his frustrations in his continuing search for who he truly was. He'd reconciled himself to never learning his real past, he knew there was no way for him to ever know and that Schreber could never give him the answers he desired, but the mere fact that Schreber was in the same boat was some comfort.

John flicked on the light in the entryway, hung up his coat and stooped to untie his shoes. The apartment was quiet and dark. Anna hadn't sat up waiting for him. That was good. It would be easier not having to explain his late night walk. He'd begun the walks almost from day one, and tried to get one in every week. Night was a good time to inspect the city, and John liked having time to himself to think and look things over, make sure everything was going okay. If he needed to make any repairs, he had a better chance of not being noticed at night, when few people were out anyway. At first the walks had concerned Anna, his penchant for wandering the streets after dark striking her as peculiar and not at all consistent with his otherwise frank character. Yet as much as he wanted to, John had not been able to tell her about the city, or about himself and his ability. Sometimes he lamented this lack of understanding between them, but for now he would keep silent on it. It was still too close to home. Someday, when enough time had passed and the memories no longer haunted his sleep, he would tell her everything. Someday. He tiptoed across the apartment to avoid waking her. He stopped, pausing

in the bedroom doorway, and admired her sleeping form. A glimmer of lamplight escaped through the window blinds and fell over her face, and the sight brought a smile to his lips. She was even lovelier asleep than awake, her already gentle face made younger and softer, her hair spread out over the pillow. He crept to his side of the bed, undressed quickly, and crawled in beside her. The movement woke her, her head turned toward him and her hand brushed against his hair in the darkness. She smiled sleepily at him and snuggled closer. John smiled back and drew her against him, breathing in the scent of her. With his arm around her, she quickly succumbed to slumber again. The sound of her quiet, steady breathing soon lulled John to sleep.

He awoke in the middle of the night with a start. Anna had shifted out

of his embrace but still lay dead to the world. An urgent knocking sound was coming from the front door. Stumbling out of bed he pulled on his bathrobe and walked cautiously to the door, heart pounding, wishing he had a pistol in his pocket. It was too dark to see through the peephole, and he was loathe to turn on a light. Pressing his face to the door, he whispered hoarsely,

"Who's there?"

"John? It's Daniel. Open up!" Breathing a sigh of relief, John turned the lock and pulled the door open to reveal Schreber's unmistakable hunched form.

"Daniel? What are you doing here this time of night? Has something happened?" Schreber was breathing heavily after his ordeal with the steps,

and his breath came out in short gasps.

"John, thank - goodness. You must - get dressed quickly and - come with - me." John felt himself go pale.

"What is it? What's wrong?" He unconsciously grabbed Schreber's shoulder, who flinched under his grasp.

"No time to - explain. We must hurry!" John opened his mouth, then

closed it abruptly, nodded, and went briskly to his room. He trusted Daniel, and if he needed help as he seemed to right now, it wasn't his place to question. He owed Daniel his life, and reminded himself of it every day. There would be time for explanation later.

In two minutes he rejoined Daniel, who stood fidgeting in the doorway, and the two of them left together. There hadn't been time to leave Anna a note. All he could do was pray that she wouldn't wake up and find him gone.

"Where are we going?" John asked as he strode after Daniel. It was amazing how fast the man could hobble along when the urge struck him. The night was silent except for the sounds of their footfall on the pavement, and Daniel's loud, labored breathing.

"City - center."

"Why, why are we going there?"

"Something you need to - see." It was obvious Daniel wasn't going to give any more away. John shut his mouth and frowned. The minutes seemed to all slide together as they walked steadily forward, turning onto alleys and residential streets and finally entering the commercial district. John lost track of time, aware only of the staccato of his and Schreber's mingled paces. At last he saw they were getting close to City Center. He could see the large clock above the highrises, its illuminated face showing the time was a

quarter to four in the morning. He grimaced. Daniel better have a good reason for dragging him out of bed. He had to be at work at 8:30, and his boss had a reputation for sharp words with anyone who didn't arrive on the dot. A block before they reached the park that marked City Center, Daniel stopped abruptly and looked up at John.

"What you will see will - surprise you. You will have questions - doubts. Fears. I do not have any answers. I just wanted you - to be the first - to see." Schreber limped the rest of the way to the park with John at his heels. They stopped inside at the first bench, and Schreber once more faced John.

"I couldn't tell - the police. If they found him - heaven knows..."

"Him?" John looked inquiringly into Schreber's eyes. "Who, Daniel?" He

followed Daniel's gaze and then started violently at the sight. In the meager lamplight he could faintly see two feet sticking out of the bushes. The familiar panic seized him and he fought the urge to drop everything and run. Instead he swallowed heavily and said in a voice so hoarse it could hardly be heard,

"Daniel, what the hell?" But Schreber was stooping down, seizing hold of the feet and trying to pull.

"Help - me!" he gasped. John felt sick, but he found himself bending over to help his friend. Together they dragged the person out of the bushes, and when John finally stepped back and the lamplight fell on the figure, he nearly choked on his own breath. The face was paler than death and all the hair had been shaved off, but he still knew him - would know him anywhere. It was Bumstead.