Thanks for reading! Enjoy :). -Becca

I start to rise, but a familiar hand tugs me back down, "No," he looks back to the door. "Beverly, don't go." He's terrified because he can't do anything. I don't want to leave them. But what did the tall man say? If we created any trouble we'd end up like Ron. Intuitively, I know Ron Gerhardt is dead. Wesley didn't have to tell me. No one had to; that is a foregone conclusion.

A cackle rings from the doorway, "Don't be so frightened, Jean Luc. She'll be in good hands."

"Like my son?!" He spits back.

"Your son? My, my, my aren't you possessive of another man's child!" Under any of other circumstances, I would remark to myself what a lovely voice this woman has – a handsome voice to accompany a charming figure and visage. She's tall, blonde, and voluptuous from what I can make out. I'm gripped with fear as I see her smile, waving me to join her. My legs can't help but comply. I don't want any more harm to come to either of us. In these situations, compliance is often the best scenario. But as I shrug off my husband's grasp a second time, fear overtakes me and I become like a caged wild animal, docile and frightened into submission.

She laughs and my unsteady gait. "Don't be so frightened, Beverly!" Her platitudes are meaningless; I have more than enough reasons to be worried: My son has been drugged, my husband and I have been threatened, and I see no foreseeable way out of this debacle. More than that, I have two other children at home who'll be left orphans if we don't get out of this alive. That thought in itself scares me more than my own death.

I'm again welcomed into the stygian corridor. I notice my hands shaking at my side. Stop it, Beverly. Chin up. The less fear you show, the less control they'll have over you.

After a small walk, another door slides open and I'm ushered into a room quite like the one that Wesley described. It's dim. Consoles line the far left wall, screens decorate the four corners of the room, and their blue monitors bathe the chamber in a cerulean haze. A circular table sits in the center of the room. The tall blonde softly takes my arm, "Please, Beverly," she pulls out the chair and motions, "Sit."

I'm hesitant and that hesitancy is met with a shove as my bottom painfully encounters the hard seat. "Now," she resumes her dulcet tone. "We've had a lovely, lovely time getting to know your son," she sits opposite me. "He's quite exceptional," she smiles. "But I'm sure that you already know that."

"What's this about?" I try to keep my voice as steady as possible. Out of the corner of my eye, the tall man reemerges from the shadows and takes his place at the table.

"In due time, Mrs. Picard." He chuckles, "You're just as impatient as your husband!"

"Who are you?" My eyes dart from one shadowy figure to the other. In my sweep, I pick up two more figures emerging from the calignosity to be bathed in the sickening azure miasma.

The blonde again cocks a smile, "I'm sure you recognize these two," she points to the newcomers. I don't recognize them. She chuckles at my reticence and naivety, "My, you really don't get out much, living in, where is it? Yakima? Such a silly name for a town." She amuses herself for a moment longer, "this is Seven of Nine, Tertiary Adjunct of Unimatrix 01." I look over at the attractive blonde in a cat suit. Her eyes are cold. She wears a piece of Borg technology over her eye. Yes. I remember hearing about her a little over 5 months ago when Voyager returned. "And this," she points to a balding man who is dressed in Starfleet science fatigues, much like the ones that I used to wear. His face, even in this darkness, exudes a kindness that is only enhanced by his dramatic smile lines. Right now, however, his expression is stony and frigid. "I'm sure you've heard of him as well…" I'm silent in response. "Another member of the Voyager crew, the EMH."

For a moment, I'm taken out of the terror of my surroundings and I bask in the wonder of actually beholding the famous Voyager EMH. I've read about him. Impressive that he, like Data – what is essentially computer circuitry and photonic discharge – gained sentience. If we were under different circumstances, I would be intrigued to speak with him and discuss his medical findings in the Delta Quadrant. My momentary awe is shaken when the blonde again begins to speak. "We've questioned your son-"

"You've tortured my son!" I cut in.

"Shhh, Beverly," she scolds like a schoolmarm. "Like I said, we did what we needed to. I hope that you won't force us to use those same techniques on you."

More panic. Calm, Beverly. "What's this about?" I whisper.

"Your son," the Vulcan begins. "Is exceptional. We've never come across anyone quite like him. Years ago, we received the report from your Enterprise that he was able to manipulate warp fields with his mind, transcending the boundaries of space and time. His research with Professor Gerhardt is further pushing the boundaries of science as we know it."

The blonde interjects, "We want him to come work for us, but he's refused."

"Foolish," the Vulcan laughs. "Very foolish."

"Why?" I know the answer, somewhat, but I want to hear their response.

"He can be useful to us. We need people like him, but we also want to know more about him."

There's a small silence before the female Borg speaks, her voice stern and forthcoming. "How did he come to be this way? The Borg have assimilated countless humans, but never before have they encountered a human individual with such abilities."

I answer her honestly, "I don't know."

The blonde is agitated, "Don't lie, Beverly. You know something."

I don't. I don't know anything, but I also don't know how to convince them that I don't. "I don't," my voice shakes. "I was just as surprised when I learned of Wesley's abilities."

In a moment I feel another presence come from behind me. My arms are suddenly bound and tied, "what are you doing?" Adrenaline shoots through me, pervading every cell and heightening every touch. And that's when I feel it and a sense of dread descends into the pit of my stomach and a cold sweat breaks out across my brow, underneath my arms, and in my palms. "Please," I croak. "Please stop, I don't know anything. I don't-" a sharp, rough, painful jab insinuates itself in my vein and I know with certainty that my fate is going to be similar to my son's.

"I told you, Doctor," the Vulcan upbraids. "It would have been better if you cooperated with us." My vision starts to blur and so do the figures surrounding me. In another moment, everything fades to black.