Alkali Lake.
Canadian Wilderness.
Peace and quiet.

That's what most folk think when they hear about Sweet, a town not to far from Alkali Lake. A town that has a rich history given it's 100 plus years of existence. About as quiet and sleepy a small town as you could get. Approximately 700 people called Sweet home, but you'd never know to look at it. About a dozen streets ran through what most people would call just another mountain retreat. Not fancy in the least but certainly stocked with the essentials. There was a Town Hall set right in the middle of Sweet, right next to Dr. Essex's building and the Bowling Alley most teenagers visited on Friday evenings. Across the street was a grocery store and the place where most adults spent their Friday nights: The Kodiak.

The Kodiak was nothing too special for a bar of it's size. Run by a man, who coincidentally was named Kodiak, that was about the last person you would ever want to have a run in with. A large thick man with a Native American background who'd often serve as his own bouncer should the need arise. He was good folk. The Sheriff's office was a couple streets over, out on the edge of town, and it also served as a welcome center for those who wanted to visit this particular settlement. In fact, it was twenty years to the day that the last sherriff had retired and it was getting time for the current one to go. George Stuart was his name. A fine man indeed.

To be honest, George couldn't wait to retire. After spending valuable time and money he had built himself a nice cabin up in the hills a few miles away from Sweet. He preferred the land closer to Alkali and would spend many a day with his small boat out in the water. He'd often look at the damn and wonder how such a structure could hold back so much water. The old sheriff would chuckle at himself say he's an old fool for thinking crazy.

"Because that's what it does," he'd say.

But on this day, however, he was heading down to Sweet to pick up groceries. Or at least that's what he told his friend Slym. He meant to pick some up while he was in town but at the very least stopping by the Kodiak for a couple of drinks before heading back. George had a rough day and he planned on making up for it in some way. Seems like he had more bad days after he had found Slym, barely alive in the trees not far from Alkali Lake. He remembered that day as if it had just happened, and it was that particular memory that George tried to down with the alcohol he frequently drank.

------

A few months ago George had been out early for some fishing. He and his dog Duke had been out on the lake tossing a few back. George found that the booze made the fishing that much more exciting. After throwing down the six pack he had brought with him he decided that he was ready to head out, having been on the lake for a few hours. George knew how to drink and hold his liquor, but he'd have trouble on this day.

Pulling his boat on the shore he quickly tied it up to the trailer his old truck pulled behind it, and proceeded to finish packing his gear. Then Duke started getting anxious, moaning and wagging his tail like crazy.

"Whatsa matter boy? You smell somethin funny?" he asked. Duke let out a soft moan as if to say yes. "Well, then let's finish packin up and take a look around, okay?" This time Duke's moan was deeper, almost negative. "No?"

A piercing scream broke the silence of the lake as a light fog rolled up the shore. George tried to look in the direction of the scream and then heard a loud ripping sound, as if someone was tearing the lake apart. For a moment George had thought he had seen a flash of red light hit the water on the other side of the lake, but the fog had muddied his view. He felt worried now and finished quickly.

"C'mon Duke, we're gonna have a look," he said. As George got in his truck a bright flash of light hit his rear view mirrors nearly blinding him. "What in four Hells?" Turning around he noticed that the light that had just blinded him was now fading fast, pulling the fog into the space it had just occupied. Adamant now about finding out what was happening George started the truck and headed towards the road. Having to drive through a small trail blazed by the locals it took a couple minutes just to get to the highway running by the lake. Once there, he turned left in the direction of the light. Duke sighed.

"Prohly gonna be gone when we get there, eh Duke?" he asked. Duke didn't respond this time. George hardly took notice. The ol' detective was rising in him and whatever had happened certainly had his attention.

Gunning the engine, George was certainly feeling the effects of the beer take hold of him. He started to waver along the road and his vision was getting blurred. He started laughing to himself. He figured he was going crazy or senile or both at this point as George was hitting his late 60's now. Sweeping a hand across his thin face he felt sweat as his heart was pounding with excitement. He could feel the grayed stubble like sandpaper as he wiped the sweat off his upper lip. He was trashed and was probably seeing things. Stranger things have happened.

Suddenly a large object flew across the road screaming through the air. George slammed on his brakes to keep from getting blindsided by it. Good Lord it was big. Almost looked like a person, George thought. But whatever it was it was here and gone in a flash as it had disappeared into the forest on his right. Getting his breath back he pulled the truck over to the right shoulder and stopped.

"You see that?" he asked Duke. Duke didn't answer. The golden retriever just put his head under his paws, as if frightened. "Hmph," George responded, "Meybe I should take a look." It was more statement than question, but George was still trying to reconcile what had just happened. Getting out of the truck he reached behind his seat and pulled out his hunting rifle. An M1C Garand George had come across during his time as sheriff. Not much would be left standing if they got hit with one of those rounds, and George intended that if whatever or whoever almost hit his truck was hostile then he would be dealt with accordingly.

George stumbled into the woods on what he figured was the path that the object took. And judging by the broken branches that littered the trees he had a hunch his heading was true. Still woozy from the alcohol buzz, George nearly tripped over a large root that jutted from the ground. He grunted as he caught himself on a nearby tree limb yet almost immediately pulled his hand back as he felt a thick wet substance on it's bark. A substance George was all too familiar with. Blood.

Sobriety hit him like a ton of bricks at this revelation, as George was now certain that whatever had almost hit his truck was a person. Prohly a young man, he thought judging from what he recalled. Pressing on into the forest, he was amazed at how many broken branches he found, but had noticed that the level with which the trees had taken damage was getting lower to the ground. Stopping to look behind himself, George couldn't see any bit of road in the distance and also taking note that the person's travel through the forest wasn't exactly a straight shot. George turned to continue in the forest when he heard a soft groan followed by that same ripping sound he had heard earlier, although only briefly and not as loud. George quickened his pace and stumbled upon yet another tree root sticking out of the ground, this time landing on his face. As he landed he let out a loud yelp as the wind got knocked out of him.

Or did he?

Sucking in air, George realized he couldn't have made much of a sound as he fell and realized that the root he had stumbled on was in fact a brown boot. This boot was attached to a pair of blue jeans that in turn were attached to an upper body wearing a brown leather jacket and a red shirt. On top of those was the face of a man who seemed to be barely awake, yet moaning in pain.

"My... God..." George muttered.

The man laying before him was about as broken as George had ever seen a living creature. Blood stains on his torso, his right leg twisted about and prohly broken. His shoulder looked a bit awkward and his face had smatterings of blood all over. George paniced almost immediately. Reaching into his pocket he pulled out his cell phone and he dialed 911 and got the Sweet Emergency Dispatcher, Betty. She was the emergency dispatch for the Fire Department and the local Sheriff's office.

"Hey Betty? Yeah, it's George, oh God, I need some help down here at Alkali," he quickly shot into the phone. He listened for a moment. "I found someone barely alive in the forest round the lake and need a pickup." He reached out his free hand and felt the man's neck for a moment. "Yeah, it's weak but there. I'm in the forest east of the lake. You'll see my truck. We need to get this guy to Doc Essex pronto."

George hung up and put the phone in his pocket. He knew that Essex was the only doctor within 30 miles of the lake and that he needed some help right away. The doctor had a small facility, but was very adept at treating patients with serious injuries. George remembered the time he broke his arm and leg a couple of winters ago, and the doc had performed surgery that same day on both of em. He was a good man and George knew he could help whoever had just taken a ride on the winds through this forest.

"C'mon Slym stay with me now," George said to the man on the ground. "You're gonna get help real soon. Real soon."

"Jea... je... Jean..." the man said.

"Jean?" George asked.

------

Back in the present, George found himself sitting at the bar in the Kodiak tossing down whiskey like it was going out of style. Five shots and he still had em comin. Slym, as he had come to call the man he had found, was picked up by the fire department's EMS and taken to the doc's not long after he came to only briefly. Turns out he had a concussion, a dislocated shoulder, a broken leg, and a few broken ribs after bouncing off some dozen trees and the doc was still able to get him fixed up in what seemed like no time. George out of some bizarre sort of obligation was compelled to take Slym to his cabin and nurse him back to help. It didn't take long before Slym became a walking talking person again. Everything except remember who the hell he was and what he was doing flying through the forest or even who Jean was.

George slammed down another shot. He motioned to the bartender to give him another.

"You know George," the bartender said, "you keep drinkin and I'm gonna have to drag you over to the drunk tank over at the County."

"Now Maddie," he fired back.

"Don't you 'Now Maddie' me George," Maddie replied. She was a tall and slender gal with fiery red hair that came down just past her jaw and blue eyes that could melt anyone's heart. Madelyn Pryor, just about every guy in Sweet's dream woman. "What would Slym think of you gettin tanked on a school night?"

George thought about it for a second. He had only told Slym he was getting some groceries, but he figured Slym knew that was Stuart-speak for "getting drunk at the Kodiak and possibly getting food on the drive home if I made it home without killing myself."

"He'd probably call me the old fool that I am," George replied with a wry smile. He titled the new glass Maddie sat in front of him slowly, drinking in the warmth of the alcohol.

"How's he doin anyways?" Maddie asked.

George could tell this was coming. Everytime he saw her she'd ask about Slym. He figured it was his own damn fault introducing those two kids, but Slym wanted to do something aside from sit around with Duke at the cabin so George got him some work. He had talked with the owner of the bar and was able to get him to hire Slym under the counter as a barkeep. Turned out he was a damn fine one at that too. Slym only worked at the bar a couple of months before his eyes started burning, or at least that's what George called it. After that, Slym didn't go out much.

"George?"

"Oh. Sorry Maddie. Was a little lost in thought. What'd you say ahgin?"

"I asked you, you big lug, how Slym was doing?"

George hadn't told nobody about Slym's eyes. Hell, George couldn't even believe it himself sometimes. Not too long ago Slym's eyes started "burning" as George called it. Started glowing red and whatnot. Slym started to get worried and decided to leave the bar for awhile until his eyes started getting better. George thought it best not to even go to the doc, given how crazy it was. Even when those eyes really started burning like they did all the time now. Reminded George of that ripping sound he had heard before he found Slym. George shrugged off the thought.

"He's gettin better Maddie," obviously lying, "think he'll be better anytime now."

"Well that's good. I've missed that lug 'round here."

The door to the bar opened with a jingle that startled George. It'd been awhile since anyone came and went here, so the unfamiliar tone almost made him jump.

"Good evenin hun," Maddie called to the man that walked through the door. "Can I help you with something."

The man was dressed in what looked like all black. Black overcoat with a black suit and tie, complete with black dress shirt. He even wore black gloves and sunglasses. His hair was a dark shade of brown that in the spotty light of the bar made it look almost as black as the rest of his clothing. His hair was long enought to be swept to the sides of his head, but not longer than that all around. Gave him the appearance of some famous movie star or something, George figured. Turns out the only think not black about him was his skin, but even then it sported something of a mild tan.

"Oui cherie," he replied, his accent as thick as can be. George couldn't place it, but if it sounded like anything he could only come up with "garbage". "Whatever a fine madam like yourself would recommend." He had charm, George'd give him that, but the rest of him seemed off. The stranger walked up to the bar where Maddie had poured him a glass of the whiskey that made this bar "famous" and he muttered something of a thanks to Maddie. George could she her fluster a bit, obviously taken by the man. She quickly gathered herself though and left to tend to the other customers.

"Quite the ladies' man, aren'tcha?" George asked.

The man nodded with a smile. "Oui monsieur. They are here for men to love, and I intend to do so."

George laughed. This guy was a card alright.

"However monsieur, I am here on business not pleasure," the man continued.

"Oh?" George replied. "And what business are you in?"

The man took off his sunglasses and looked straight as George. For the first time in hours George felt sober. His eyes. Black as the canadian skies at night with a fiery red spot in the middle.

"Investigation," he replied putting his glasses in a pocket inside his coat. George was speechless. The man reached again in his coat, this time on the other side and produced a business card. He handed it to George. He took it and hurredly read it.

"Remy LeBeau," the man said extending his hand. Looking at the card again, George could see Remy's name across the middle with the word "Gambit" inbetween his first and last name. His title was aparently "Field Leader, Marauders" with the words "Office of Special Investigations in small print below. George looked up and carefully shook Remy's hand, this time not being able to take his gaze off of Remy's eyes.

"Red like Slym's..." George muttered under his breath.

"Monsieur Stuart I assume?" Remy asked.

Bastard knows my name, George thought. Immediatly George was wary of him. And for some reason, he couldn't shake the feeling that Monsieur LeBeau was here to inquire about Slym. Whatever he wanted, George figured it wasn't good.

"Yes, I'm George Stuart," he meekly replied.

"Bien. I came here to inquire about a mutual friend of ours."

Slym. He knew it.

"Oh?" George asked playing possum. "And who would that be?"

Remy laughed. He finished the glass of whiskey and turned it over. "He is a man by the name of one Monsieur Scott Summers. Do you know him?"

George felt a wave of relief wash over him. He'd never heard of anyone by that name. Almost laughed. This guy Remy had nearly given George a heart attack. But still, the guy he was asking about could be Slym, right? he wondered. Possibly. But doubtful. Too much of coincidence he figured.

"No sir," George replied. "Don't know anyone by that name."

Remy didn't seem satisfied. George could see a thin smil cross the man's face.

"You sure mon ami? I would hate to think you were lying to Remy."

At that moment Remy's hand stuck out and touched the card George was holding. George didn't even notice Remy take the glove off. The moment his finger touched the card it lit up with a bright pinkish purple glow that seemed all too foreign to George. He almost immediatly pulled away, but his hand never left the card.

"Positive," George replied nervously. "I ain't got nothin to hide, if that's what you're thinking."

Again Remy smiled.

"Of course you don't," Remy replied. "Not many people around here that you wouldn't know Monsiuer." He paused. "Yet I still think there is something you are not telling Remy."

George swallowed hard. Maybe Scott Summers was Slym's name. George didn't care. Even if it was, he wasn't about to tell anyone about Slym and his condition. The last thing George needed in his life was more craziness. He looked down at that card. It was still glowing.

"You know Remy, you're right... I am hiding something. Turns out I've got the Ark of the Covenant and I'm planning on using it for the Town Festival."

Remy chuckled. He muttered something George couldn't understand and snapped his fingers. The card in George's hand popped like a firecracker, singeing George's hand. The few patrons of the Kodiak stopped what they were doing to look over. Remy chuckled.

"Fine monsieur. But if you ever do find Mr. Summers, I'll be in touch," Remy slyly remarked. He put his glove back on and slipped his glasses back over his eyes. He reached in a pulled out some money and left it on the counter.

"Bonne soiree' Monsieur Stuart."