It wasn't the pitter-patter of rainfall that woke him, but the numbing chill that had soaked into his bones. As he rolled onto his back and tried to push himself into a sitting position, he grimaced with discomfort upon realizing that his arm had fallen asleep under him and wouldn't support his weight. Spasms wracked his poor aching back, and tingling sensations traveled down the length of his arm as circulation slowly returned.

He had fallen asleep in his lab once, slumped over his laptop, and had slept well through the entire night before being woken up by Dr. Zelenka. He remembered the spasms that had afflicted him then being quite similar, but now it was more the cold that was nearly unbearable. Shivers crawled up his spine, aggravating his abused back. And once again, he would have to return to his quarters with water sloshing in his shoes.

Rodney dragged himself to his feet and made his way back to the door, rubbing his arms with his hands in a futile attempt to warm himself back up. Why he had decided to wander around the city and end up falling asleep on a balcony, during a rain storm no less, eluded him for the moment. After a few minutes of trudging back in the direction of the transporter, the warmth of the city seemed to kick start his brain a bit and he began to vaguely recall the past day of events.

As he finally rounded the corner and reached the door to his quarters, he sighed in exasperation for allowing himself to get caught up in his emotions when there was work that had to be done. There was always important work that needed to be done. Rodney took a hot shower, put on some clean clothing, and then pulled out the last set of clean shoes from his closet. He would have to get a few more pairs next time he had some time off on Earth.

He glanced at his watch. It was 0440 hours; it would probably still be some time before the rest of his staff would be waking up and getting ready for their shifts, but Rodney wasn't really tired and didn't want to sleep any more, so he instead decided he would start his shift in the lab early. He could sleep when his day was over.

Rodney stood up and strode from his quarters to the nearest transporter. The first thing he would have to do when he got to his lab would be to brew up a nice, big pot of coffee. The thought put a smile on his face. He was determined to get back to work and put the previous day behind him. The Ancient database awaited him, and if there was any information about Carson's ailment inside it, Rodney was determined to find it.

Carson slowly managed to open his eyes. His eyesight was washed out and hazy, probably because of the medication he'd been given, but he could see the rough outline of an IV stand in the subdued light. Vague memories flooded back into his mind, memories of Rodney and Teyla. Somehow, he felt like they had been cruel and unfair to him, but at first he couldn't remember why. The now-familiar torrent of emotions and rage buffeted his mind once more, and he found himself only just barely able to hold it at bay as he tried to rationally grasp what his senses were telling him.

His arms were pinned down at his side, and he could not sit up. It slowly registered somewhere in his mind that he was under restraint, still in that windowless isolation room connected to the infirmary. Rage welled up within him as memories surfaced, but Carson was strangely conflicted; he wasn't even all that angry with Teyla and Rodney, despite feeling betrayed by them. A logical part of his mind understood their reaction to him, but another part of his mind was being filled with raw and primitive emotion, and it was growing.

It wasn't altogether unpleasant, though. In fact, the exhilaration and raw power he had felt surging through his body during the previous day's incident was intoxicatingly alluring, and his logical mind was horrified and wracked with guilt at the realization. What might have happened if Teyla hadn't walked in at just the moment she did? Would he have hurt Rodney?

Carson banished the thought from his mind, refusing to capitulate to the anger and hatred associated with the imagery that he knew would drown him. The torrential flood of emotion was beginning to batter his logical mind into submission. His body tensed, pulling at the restraints. He clenched his teeth and shut his eyes against the wave of terror that threatened to overcome him. It was like a flood light that threatened to blind him if he opened his eyes.

He couldn't take it any more. He cried out with anger and fear, willing his hands to come free of the bindings that held them at his sides. Carson thrashed desperately, trying to free himself from the suffocating grip that kept him from escaping his torture. Slowly, the fasteners of the restraints began to buckle and twist.

Mustering every bit of strength in him, Carson pulled himself from the grip of the restraints and upon removing them from his wrists and ankles tossed them aside. The crown of a man's head was barely visible through the small viewport in the door. Carson took a step back, then ran forward and braced the full of his weight against the door's frame. It ripped and twisted away from its track and landed mercilessly against the back of the poor guard that had been standing in front of it.

The second guard quickly raised his stunner weapon and fired it at nearly point blank range. Carson saw him raise the weapon and lunged. As it discharged, he felt the energy wave encompass him. It caused a spasm of tension to ripple throughout his body, but it was a surprise even to him when he picked himself up from the floor, ready to pummel the surprised guard into oblivion.

Before the guard could whip out his Beretta handgun, Carson let loose on him a flying tackle that would have made even the Pittsburgh Steelers proud. His rage festered as his desire to hurt and maim escalated, but his opportunity to release his anger and give his victim a thorough beating was interrupted as stunner blasts echoed through the dim hallway behind him. Carson picked up the Beretta, pocketed it, and then turned to face the new aggressors behind him.

Med techs with faces that he might have recognized in a different life appeared from around the corner in the infirmary wielding stunners, firing shots that passed through him mostly ineffectively by now. There were at least a half dozen of them, maybe more, far too many for him to handle by himself. The last thing he wanted was to end up strapped down on that cot again. Carson decided that escaping should take precedence and immediately started running.

It was difficult for him to remember the twisting hallways and corridors of the city. For the most part, he simply chose hallways by listening for sounds from other people and took the way that was silent, but he soon became lost in a labyrinth of hallways that he had never seen before.

As he turned yet another corner, by some stroke of fate he quietly happened upon a lone figure with his back toward him in a particularly dimly lit hallway. It was too tempting of a target. Carson stopped for a moment to catch his breath and watched the man stretch out his back and yawn. As he finally turned to make his own way through the corridor to his destination, the man's face was instantly recognizable as belonging to one Dr. Rodney McKay.

Rodney had needed a break to put off his sleepiness. He'd only gotten a few hours sleep that night, and it was now almost lunch time. He had just planned to visit the commissary before the crowd developed at noon when he turned and noticed the shadowy figure watching him.

He jumped at the sound of a voice suddenly transmitting over his radio. "This is Dr. Weir. To all personnel: Dr. Carson Beckett has escaped from isolation in the infirmary. If you see him, avoid coming into physical contact with him and report his location to the control room immediately."

The figure in the dark took a step closer. It wasn't until he moved a few more steps out from the shadows could Rodney finally distinguish his identity; it was Carson, of course, and his sweaty face had contorted into the most frighteningly horrible visage of hate and rage that he had ever seen.

"Now look, Carson," Rodney pleaded as he held his hands out in front of him and slowly took a few steps back. "There's no need to do anything rash. I'm sure there's got to be something in the Ancient database that can help you. It's only a matter of time."

His words only seemed to make Carson angrier. Carson took a few steps closer and lunged for him, but Rodney just barely managed to dodge the attack. He touched his radio as he started running through the corridors for his life. He could hear Carson's heavy footsteps behind, chasing him.

"Dr. Weir, this is McKay!" he gasped into the earpiece as he ran.

"Rodney, we've got a situation on our hands here," she answered. "Can it wait?"

"Your situation is chasing me through the corridor, Elizabeth!" he shouted frantically.

There was a slight pause on her end. "Where are you?"

"Section 20-Alpha, headed north," he answered breathlessly.

He was grateful when she answered quickly. "I'm routing Colonel Sheppard's team to intercept you, Rodney. Lead Carson through section 20 and 21 into section 22, near the transporter."

"Are you kidding me? I can't run that far!"

"He needs time to get into position," she explained. "Just do it!"

Rodney didn't bother to sign off his radio. He would need all the energy he had just to run all the way to section 22, and he was going to be sure to give Elizabeth a thorough chewing out when he got out of this. No glance behind him was needed to assure him that Carson was still chasing. His footsteps still echoed through the corridor.

He charged through an open door and turned a corner, half way through section 21, and almost plowed through two men who were probably out to repair some broken conduit or panel. "Get out of my way and get the hell out of here!" he shouted at them as he ran past. Upon seeing Carson chasing him, they dutifully obeyed and started running.

Almost out of breath, he rounded a bend in the corridor that he knew to be located just before a junction of corridors that led into section 22. As he approached the intersection, he slowed down and peered through the adjoining corridors to make sure that they were deserted before he continued.

It suddenly occurred to him that something was wrong. His breathing and his pounding heart echoed in his ears, but Carson's footsteps had disappeared. He warily came to a halt in front of the door that led to section 22 and activated the door panel. It chimed in response and obediently slid open.

He could see Colonel Sheppard and his search team in the distance next to the transporter that was two sections of corridor ahead, their stunners and machine guns raised and ready. He sighed heavily in relief through pained gasps for air and started trotting forward to meet them. He passed another adjoining hallway between the two sections of the corridor, just a few scant meters between him and Sheppard's team.

Rodney had barely had enough time to turn his head to peer down the hallway when he saw Carson barreling toward him at full sprint; an evil grin graced his pale, sunken face. Carson slammed him into the wall with the full force of his weight, momentarily stunning him, and then dragged him up to his feet with a frightening burst of strength.

Carson had just caught sight of the trap that lay ahead for him and was prepared to do whatever he had to do in order to thwart them. He held Rodney in front of him with a half-nelson grip, shielding himself from Sheppard's line of sight.