Disclaimer: I still don't own anyone. If ya sue, all you can win is my imagination and that's a scary place sometimes.

A/N:This is my first attenmpt of intermixingtelevision shows, so bear with me if I screw it up.Okay, over two hundred reads and only 2 reviews?Can we try to double it for this round?I didn't mean to take this long in getting this one posted, butTPTB seemed to have a mind ofits own.

"Where's Mac?" Greg looked around the apartment expectantly. "Chase him away already?"

"He stepped out to give us some time alone." Warrick explained. Nick was studying him as if he knew something was up. He'd been doing that all day and it was wearing on Warrick's patience. "Sit down Greg. Please." He requested tiredly. He was beyond tired. Sleep had eluded him after agreeing with Mac that the guys had to be told. He had spent the hours working over what he was going to say instead of sleeping like he should have done.

"What's going on Warrick?" Nick questioned as Greg sat on the couch beside him. Warrick perched on the edge of the coffee table, looking as if he was prepared to get up and run. "You look like shit and you've been tweaking lately."

Warrick frowned, noticing Nick was watching him worriedly. His right knee was jumping up and down, twitching nervously. He grimaced, trying to get it to stop by sheer willpower. This really wasn't something that he wanted to tell his friends. Although he'd ran it through a million times, there didn't seem to be a good way to say this. How does one tell his friends that their lives were just lies? How do you destroy all their hopes and dreams? To take what happy memories they had and smash them into the ground.

"Yeah, Warrick. What's going on? What's this about? You're not coming out to us, are you? I mean if your in the closet….or out of it… I mean…..if you were….it'd be okay and all…..but….."Greg flinched as Nick's elbow ground into his ribs and grew silent.

Warrick paled, green eyes widening as Greg's words sunk in. "Hell No!"

"Enough, Greg. "Nick commanded, frustrated beyond imagination. He was fed up with the odd behavior from Warrick. He was tired and he just wanted to go home and crawl into his own bed. Sleep was a good friend he missed a lot lately. "Warrick, just tell us whatever you need to tell us so we can get over the suspense."

"This is hard." Warrick grimaced. "you're not going to believe me. Hell, I wouldn't if I were in your shoes….."

"Warrick!" Nick snapped. "We can't believe anything unless you spit it out! What the hell is it? Are you dying?"

"Dying?" Warrick smirked. " No…..far from it. You see…..I've already died…..many times."

"What?" Both men echoed at the same time. This was not the type of thing you expected of Warrick Brown. Was it drugs? Was he losing his grip on reality? His two friends exchanged a look of confusion.

"I can't die. Well, not easily. I died a long time ago and became…..Immortal."

"Like a vampire?" Greg questioned, confused, but trying to understand. He hoped that it was drugs. Drugs were easier to kick than insanity.

"No. I'm not a vampire." Warrick gave the younger man a small smile. "But….similar." Reaching into his pocket, he brought out his pocketknife. Opening the knife, he held out his left hand, palm up. He slowly sliced across the palm, blood welled up across the palm as the blade cut into the flesh.

"Warrick." Nick reached out to stop him. This had gone too far if Warrick was mutilated himself in front of them. Nick felt that it was his responsibility to put a stop to it.

Ignoring him, Warrick held the injured hand closer to his friends. Their eyes widened as the jagged skin closed up upon itself. Warrick wiped the bloody palm on his pant leg and offered the now healed hand to them. Greg murmured something unintelligable and took the hand in his own. He ran his fingers over the blood smeared skin that had been severed a moment before.

"Whoa! Are you a magician?" He gasped in awe.

"No." Warrick shrugged. "I don't do it. It just happens. I can not die."

"You….can't….die?" Nick repeated dumbly.

"No. Not unless my head comes off." Warrick gave another pained smile. His friends continued to stare at him as if he were insane.

"But, you said that you've died before?" Greg questioned. He was struggling to understand, and failing miserably.

"Yes. I can die, but I don't stay dead. I come back to life." Warrick rephrased it, trying to make it as uncomplicated as possible.

"How did this happen?" Nick questioned, continuing to eye the hand that Greg was still examining as if it were going to suddenly start bleeding again.

"No one really knows. I was just…..chosen. I guess." Warrick shrugged. "I mean, there are theories like there are with all of life's mysteries, but no real proof to give them credence."

"How do you know this?" Greg released the hand, realizing that he still held it trapped in his grasp. Warrick hadn't said anything, but it had to seem funny, two grown men, holding hands. "I mean…. how do you know you can't die?"

"First clue was when I was still alive after being murdered." Warrick snorted. "Confused the shit out of me."

"Murdered?" Nick questioned quietly.

"I'll tell you that story later." Warrick promised just as quietly. "First, I have to tell you guys about the Game."

"Game?" Greg looked up from the pocketknife he had been examining.

"Yes….. I'm not the only one like me. There are others like me. Lots more. Some are good, some are evil….hell, there are some that cannot be classified as either. We're in a Game, for the Prize. We find each other. We fight. We kill one another."

"What kind of prize? What do you mean you kill each other? I thought you said you couldn't die." Greg questioned, putting the knife aside as if it were the cause of his confusion.

"Unless the head comes off." Nick supplied as if he understood and Greg hadn't been paying enough attention in class.

"Yeah, we cut each other's head off to kill one another." Warrick added. "It's all part of the Game."

"Rather violent game." Greg muttered. "What's the point, besides a prize?"

"It's not a prize…..it's THE prize." Warrick corrected. "The prize is…..ultimate power….. The winner of the game gets the prize……rules the world, or shapes the outcome of the world, at least."

"Why? What's the point?"

"Survival." Warrick sighed. "With everyone you defeat, you receive all his power, all his knowledge, all his skill." Warrick brought his attention to Nick, who was staring at the swords he had hanging on the wall.

"Those aren't macho decorations, are they?" Nick questioned, looking at the swords with new eyes. He had always admired them as decorations but now that he knew different, the beauty of the weapons had vanished. They now seemed dirty. The seemed to represent evil.

"No, those are part of what keep me alive." Warrick answered softly. "Keeps me around to play the Game again."

"You've killed?"

"Yes." Warrick felt nervous, waiting for his friend to judge him. He knew Greg would accept it before Nick would. Oddly, it was Nick's reaction that he worried about. "It's a deadly game. Kill or be killed."

"How do you know you're in the game? How do you know others are playing it?" Greg was full of questions and had no trepidation in asking them.

"We can feel one another, a weird connection…..like an internal alarm." Warrick felt comfortable answering the questions. He would much rather have the questions asked aloud instead of the suspicious silence coming from Nick.

"So, you feel this alarm go off inside of you and you start hacking at one another?" Greg continued, he was completely unaware of the tension building between his friends.

"No. First you find out if this person is friend or foe." Warrick explained. "At least, I do. I don't attack or kill unless there's a reason behind it or in self-defense."

"Who started this game?" Greg wanted to know. "Who told you how to play?"

"I don't know how it started, but I know it's been around since the beginning of mankind. My teacher, my mentor, taught me this. Just as we can feel one another, we can feel those who are destined to play the game. Some are teachers, they take those and teach them how to play the game, train them to fight."

"Duncan is your teacher." Nick declared, knowingly.

"Yes. He found me, not long after my original death. I didn't know what was going on, but he explained it. He trained me to fight….how to survive. Just as someone did for him, and someone before that." Warrick agreed, watching Nick for some sign of disgust or disbelief.

"Original death?" Greg prompted.

"From birth, we are just like everyone else. We bleed, we get sick, we love, we live. Then, when we die, by some unnatural cause, we come back to life, just as we are. I haven't aged. I look the exact same as I did when I first died. I cannot grow old. I cannot die. I've looked exactly like this for over one hundred years."

"You're saying…..that you're a hundred years old?"

Nick questioned, his tone disbelieving.

"Actually, I'm about a hundred and seventy….three. I'm not sure exactly. From what I can figure, I was born in 1833. I'm not sure."

"Why?"

"The thing with us Immortals is that we have no families. No past. We're all foundlings, raised by strangers and sometimes left to our own devices. When I came about, I was born as a slave. The master of the plantation brought me into the kitchen where the slave women were working. He handed me over to the cook, Lily. He told her to find someone to take care of me.

Lily took me into her arms, looked at me, with my light skin and green eyes, and assumed that I was the master's get. None of the slaves would accept me, so Lily took me as her own. I didn't get the chance to grow up believing that I was really hers. I was an outsider. Grams put up with a lot to raise me. I was too white to be a black man, and too black to be a white man. I represented the worst to both. I was a half-breed, hated by both races. But….that's neither here nor there. What I mean to say is that I don't know when exactly I was born….. Grams guessed that I was a couple months old when I was brought to her in 1833."

Greg and Nick sat quietly, staring at Warrick with new eyes. Warrick's head whipped towards the door, an odd look on his face. A moment later, Duncan came through the front door. He approached the group, taking in the solemn expressions and nodded. "You told them. Good, now we can get to work."