'Wolf-Seven, radio check.'

'Acknowledging signal, Seven. New orders from Basilisk. Confirm.'

'Acknowledged, send order.'

'Seven, Matrix acquired possible intel on the/Unknown: heavy interference/ retrieve intelligence. Forwarding contacts now.'

'Repeat you first, command; what am I looking at?'

'Possible intelligence on the black site and /Unknown: heavy interference/ you encountered down there.'

'Understood, Serpent. They know I'm coming?'

'Wouldn't count on it. Locate and extract whatever you can.'

'Digital intrusion?'

'Data nets are locked tight. Face to face contact.'

'Crap.'

'Problem, Seven?'

'Gah, negative, Serpent. I have the coordinates. Estimated time to closest target, thirty two minutes. Seven out.'

Audio recording of intercepted wireless transmission between unknown persons. Data packages transmitted were intercepted, but self-terminated on unauthorized access. Washington and Langley notified.

The case was a sham. There was no other word for it, as Mike faced the unbound rhetoric of the prosecution. In truth, Sam admitted, the case was crude in parts, and even unpolished, but it mattered not; the evidence alone would be substantial enough to build the gallows from which Mike would swing if the death penalty were still enforced.

'Let me make it clear, your honor. The defendant not only admitted to threatening the prosecutor, but we also have the undoctored interviews from the Blackwood County Police Department of all seven survivors of the snowstorm three years ago atop Blackwood Pines. So, in the face of this evidence, Michael Munroe, do you plead guilty to the charges of assault, and attempted murder?'

'Yes, and no,' Mike snapped for the fifth time that day. He partly wished they would simply get on with his sentence, but his prosecutors seemed to be desperate to draw out his ordeal and humiliation. 'I told you, I admitted to aiming a gun at Emily, but I did so under the impression she could have placed us all in danger.'

'But it is proclaimed in in the testimony of Ashley Mason that it was discovered that this, bite, you claim to have instigated the assault, was not in fact dangerous. Do you deny this evidence?'

'No, but it was after we found it. We-'

'Can you prove that the prosecutor may have threatened you prior to the alleged assault? Can it be proved that your actions may be deemed as that of self defense, as opposed to an attempt on another's life?'

'You have the testimonies,' Mike protested, 'you know then that-'

'Other witnesses detail the course of events that we now know to be the assault with a lethal weapon,' the lawyer went on, 'but the very nature behind that assault is not directly addressed in those testimonials.'

'Don't you have-'

'I do not recall asking a question, Mr Munroe. You will kindly refrain from interrupting me until it is the turn of the defense to outline their case against the State.'

'Ashley's testimony will-'

'Ms Mason's conviction has removed her from the courtroom, Mr Munroe. As a result, she will be tried in absentia of the charges presented, and as a convicted felon, her crimes will reflect upon the sworn statement she claims to be the truth.'

The torture continued.

Sam might have been a pacifist, but there are limits where every man and woman must draw the line. She had initially sought to stay clear of Mike's conviction, with the flak she had received from both the police and the Washingtons over the various wrongs she had allegedly visited upon each of the aggrieved parties, but it became increasingly difficult to do so, with the matter weighing upon Mike's mind as much as it did. In fact, any conversation she had with him in the weeks following the accusations practically became devoted to the long chain of legal disasters each had suffered.

And then there was Emily. Sam could not say she had ever been on friendly terms with Mike's old partner, but recent developments had pushed them well over the breaking point, when the two had met outside the local coffee house. By chance, Sam had only finished recommending a much needed psychiatrist for the purposes of getting Jessica on the road to recovery, when she had encountered Emily at the door. Of course, the inevitable occurred, as the other woman immediately launched into accusation after accusation of allegedly assisting in Mike's trial.

Having known Emily for a period of time greatly exceeding that which she would have prefered, Sam had given her the benefit of the doubt, until her gentle attempts to defuse the situation combusted in a fireball when Emily accused her of attempting to get into Mike's bed.

To be fair to Emily, it was no secret that Sam had begun seeing more of Mike after the Blackwood incident, but her reasons were, like always, too innocent for the cynical to perceive. Sam's parents were away, again, leaving her alone. And after a suitably traumatic experience on the mountain, seclusion was the last item on Sam's mind. Her time in the household was kept to a minimum, and most of her daily life was spent on the streets, in the most crowded location possible, more often than not. It was only natural that she would seek out friends.

But for Emily, having finally ended her strained relationship with Matt a week or two prior, and watching Mike apparently ensnare another woman: it was all too much.

A number of derogatory insults later, including a rather blatant use of the term 'slut', and Sam was finally finished with her upstart peer.

It was what had finally driven her to Mike's defense, but even then, the odds were stacked against him. Jessica was still in no condition to face the pressures of the court, and had been excused on medical grounds, while Chris had sent his apologies, since the courts had conveniently decided to host Ashley's appeal on the very same day as Mike's convictions.

Her own statement seemed to carry little weight with the judge and jury, who seemed to have already donned the black cap in preparing the Draconian method of justice through extreme prejudice, and in several hours, they found themselves at the end of the line.

McAuliffe had done his best to illustrate the remarkable circumstances that surrounded the incident, but the prosecution, like any sensible man, blasted the truth from the sky before it had even managed to stretch it's wings. It was a courtroom nightmare; to adopt the traditional route of self defense would have amounted perjury on Mike's part, whilst to adhere to his sworn oath in court was to present a defense based upon the existence of a band of demonic spirits none present would have even heard of, much less believed to exist.

In fact, it was nearly a blessing when the judge pronounced the word 'guilty' from his mouth. As always, the suspense proved far worse than the true bite, that is, if the bite did not prove lethal to the victim.

Sam, on the other hand could scarcely believe her ears, whilst Mike only looked on, solemn at the verdict. He had known well from the beginning that such was the only outcome that could have met his case, and he hardly felt Sam's hand reach about his shoulder to hold him steady. They had weathered so harsh a storm together that now, in the face of a legal battle, it was bewildering to admit defeat had come, as the sentence was read aloud, to her eternal horror.

'For the charges of an assault with a deadly weapon, and attempted murder, the penalty is life imprisonment, with possibility of parole following the minimum of fifteen years served in confinement. This is-'

'No!' Sam blurted out, forgetting herself, 'You can't! It's-'

'Be quite!' McAuliffe hissed, shooting her an ugly glance, before a sharp crack cut him off.

'There will order in my court. Mr McAuliffe, control your witness! You may file for an appeal, if so, this is not the place to make your grievances known.'

There was far more that had yet to spill out of the honored judge's mouth, but it was ended as quickly as the fury had begun; a man in a hideous beige suit that refused to compliment with his pale complexion had slipped beside the judge unannounced, and quietly earned his attention with a gentle rap upon the shoulder. Then, a sealed envelope had exchanged hands, and a moment of incomprehensible surprise passed over the judge's face, as he tore open the seal.

He did not read it once, and for nearly a whole minute, the courtroom was silent.

Then, uneasily, he picked up the gavel, as if to reassert his beaten dignity, as he pronounced the envelope's contents.

'As of this present moment,' he announced uneasily, 'due to the emergence of new evidence, Michael Munroe is cleared of all charges against the state, under order from the Federal Circuit.'

Once again, he had far more to say, but it was overturned by the rising tide of protests, this time streaming from far more than one source. The prosecutors were alive with protests, and Emily's family had more or less leapt to their feet in unison at the outrage, although Emily herself remained seated, quite taken aback by the whole affair.

Mike shared her sentiments entirely, as he was escorted, amid a flurry of oncoming abuse, from the court, to be deposited onto the streets once again.

'I have no idea what angel is looking over you, Munroe,' McAuliffe sighed, as they departed the courthouse, 'but you take my advice. Stay out of the public eye for a good while, and then some more. I wouldn't be surprised if they retract their statement again tomorrow.'

Mike only nodded in a mixture of triumph and despair. At least in a jail cell, he would know his terms for another fifteen years. Now, let loose into the world again, that uncertainty had returned to haunt him.

'Enjoy your freedom, Munroe.'

'McAuliffe,' Mike finally said, breaking his silence, 'thank you. For everything, I mean-'

'Thank God, man. Now, if you'll excuse me, I got a DUI case in New Mexico tomorrow, so, if you get into trouble, you know who to call.'

With that, he was gone, roaring off down the street before Sam had even a chance to open her mouth, leaving the two survivors sullen in the empty car park.

'Shall we get going?' she suggested, eying the horizon with dread. Though the hour hand had yet to even reach the halfway point between the numbers sentenced 'six' and 'seven' on her wrist, the last tinges of sunlight were making their landfall upon the planet, as the sky yellowed with the descent of Helios' chariot.

Mike returned a similar glance. He'd been thinking exactly the same thought.

'Yes, let's.'

Sam had initially planned to head to a nearby mall for the security of numbers that strangers could provide, but when Mike offered her the chance to sleep over at his own apartment, she gladly accepted the offer. Her late night escapades were only a means to forestall the eventual solitude she would face, and in the end, exhaustion would still bring it's own host of nightmares to plague her rest.

Unfortunately, thus far, they had been unable to acquire a cab, and so they had begun walking down one of the better lit streets that ran away from the courthouse when a car abruptly pulled up by the stretch of pavement they occupied.

'Excuse me,' asked the driver, 'you wouldn't happen to be Michael Munroe? The one at the summons today?'

'Yeah,' Mike answered uncomfortably, 'that guy.'

'Wait a second,' Sam interceded, studying the figure hunched over the seat uncomfortably, 'you were there, weren't you?'

'As in I was asked to hand the Honorable Judge Carrow your freedom papers?' The driver gave a dismissive shrug at that, as he broke eye contact with the two pedestrians. 'Yes, you'd be correct on that account, ma'am.'

'Ma'am?' Sam asked in disbelief, for the man seated at the wheel was easily twenty, if not thirty years her senior.

'Whatever,' he answered with another shrug, before turning back to them, 'listen, I need to talk to you, and you both look like you could use a ride home. If you want, the door's open.'

The lock clicked open, but neither Sam nor Mike moved from where they stood. From first impressions, their savior did not seem to possess any psychotic tendencies, but Sam knew that could easily change in the blink of an eye. Then again, she told herself, she had seen Josh time and time again after the culmination of their sins, over a year ago, and she had failed to see his slow slip into madness with her daily acclimatization to his unhinged mind.

'Hey,' the older man sighed with the slightest tone of impatience, 'I'm holding up traffic here. You want to walk, just say the word.'

Sam leant forward ever so slightly, hoping to find some indication of Mike's own thoughts on the sudden appearance of a stranger. She was a slight deal shorter than his eyes, but unfortunately, Mike did not see her peer into his own face from the corner of his sight. Submerged in his own thoughts, he had seen only movement alone, presumed Sam had moved to the car's side, and promptly followed suit, opening the door without a word before he seated himself inside. Sam followed, convinced it was Mike's prerogative alone.

Perhaps, if Sam had ever grown to favor fashion over function, and donned a set of high heels that day to the point at which she might had faced Michael on an even footing, the lives of Samantha Ruth, and Michael Munroe might have deviated in a tremendous number of most profound manners. But then again, perhaps if such had been the case, perhaps none would have emerged from Blackwood pines that fateful evening.

It is often said that the future holds many doors. But so often do we forget that only one of those doors will ever be opened.

And it's key is so very often buried within the ruins of the past.

'Shit.'

It was not the first expletive to have left the driver's mouth since they had entered his vehicle, nor was it likely to be his last. They came out in a rather incoherent string of coarse pronouns on occasion, but more often than not, they were only directed at the situation as opposed to another's driving skills.

'It's alright,' Mike tried uneasily, 'you can just take the next left; we come back on the same road-'

'Really? And I suppose it would be achievable if this motherfucker didn't get a fucking move on!'

The stranger's words lit up in vehemence again at the insult, and he repeatedly hammered the horn, terrifying the wrong person, as the car in front accelerated to escape the seething motorist, whilst the unknowing subject of the abuse; a lady on the left lane who was taking her own time to both read a text message and progress down the road at a snail's pace, continued on with her current practice, oblivious to the imminent danger.

'Maybe it's important,' Sam suggested. She wasn't thanked for it.

'Maybe,' the man replied, gripping the wheel in a vice-like fashion, 'and maybe she just needs her head rearranged.'

Thankfully, the text was not a long one, and she quickly accelerated on after the initial outburst, in time for their strange ally to divert them off onto the indicated path.

'So,' the man said, trying to force a calmness he clearly did not feel, 'Samantha, right? The one who blew up the mountain?'

'What?'

'Some old private home, and a loony bin, right?'

'Um,' Mike put in, 'that last one might have been me-'

'And what was the summons about anyway? Most lads break up if the gal doesn't work out, Munroe. Heed my advice with this one, fella-'

'Hey,' Sam interjected, 'we're not, together or anything.'

'Whatever,' he replied flippantly, 'my point is, shooting some lass in the head ain't gonna solve your problems, my friend. Not in the long run; too much red tape involved.'

'I'm right here, you know?'

'Are you, Sammy?' The man seemed to shrug again, before sarcasm filled his voice. 'Good grief, thank the Father for that, then. For a moment I thought the voices were taking over again.'

'I'm sorry,' Mike began, 'who exactly are you?'

'That'll be a good question; who am I?' The stranger let out a slight chuckle at that inquiry, and the sing-song manner of his repetition of the question hardly put Mike or Sam at ease. 'Let's just say, for all intents and purposes, that I, um, represent a rather unique individual, who has more than a few good reasons to acquire the old Washington property.'

'Don't.' It was impossible to tell who had begun the warning, for it was unanimous in every regard. Their driver though, was unfazed.

'Don't worry, I understand your position. Creepy shit goes on, bad crap nearly gets people killed; the government tries to shut you up, and now someone is waving cash just for the chance to get their head clawed off by a ghoul, am I right so far? And I can see that look, Samantha. Don't give me that; I'm serious.'

For the first moment since they had stepped inside the car, Sam gave the odd man a proper examination. He was unchanged from before, save for the fact that his disagreeable suit had been substituted for a matte black trench coat. In fact, his clothing was entirely fitted to exist within the dark; his pants, his shoes; he even had a set of similarly covered gloves pulled over his hands, which routinely shuffled awkwardly across the steering wheel, as if it were his first time upon the road.

Yet his face was that of a man who had seen too many days of the same environment; haggard, though his laugh lines were the most prominent of his features. Deep indentations about his mouth, yet they were off; only beginning and ending just an inch above the corners of his mouth, and Sam was left to the deduction that the man was well versed in false smiles, bereft of genuinity, for there was no way those features could have existed with the full use of a face on a daily basis, whilst his hair had silvered in more than a few places.

Yet he seemed to care not for his appearance, as he rambled on, presuming to know everything of their trials.

'Yes, I followed both your cases for quite a while, as well as that friend of your's. Ashley, was it? But yes, my client is, let's say, apprehensive, to acquire the Blackwood grounds, but before he does so, he would like to acquire a degree of, first hand knowledge, on the affair that you were unfortunate enough to have endured.'

'Your client,' Mike replied, 'should leave it alone. That's the extent of my advice.'

'I'm in the same boat,' Sam added, 'you need to forget that mountain right now, if you want to live.'

'You misunderstand; perhaps that was a poor choice of words. No, you see, my client is a bit of a believer, if you would call it that, in the occulent tales, and he has expressed quite an interest in the curse that holds the mountain.'

Neither quite knew how to respond, so he continued unopposed.

'You can call me Praestigio, if you want,' he mumbled idelly, before he checked himself, 'you know what, I'll be amazed if you could pronounce that. Why don't we just leave it at 'Stig'?'

'Stig,' Sam repeated softly, 'where're you from?'

'Here and there,' came the reply, 'Stockholm, to be precise.'

'Right,' Mike answered, hardly caring for that detail, 'and why on earth would you be interested in a cursed mountain?'

'My client has his reasons,' Stig replied, hunching over the wheel as he went, 'But if I were to hazard a guess, he'll be interested in breaking it.'

'The curse?'

'Well you can't crack a mountain. What the hell did you think I was talking about?'

'The offer's a simple one,' Stig began, as he closed the door behind him. Parking outside Mike's apartment, he had initially planned to brief the pair in the lobby, until he had discovered a third survivor was present, up the narrow flight of stairs.

Jessica had approached the stranger with only mild interest, until he had voiced his concerns for Mt Washington, after which she had become intrigued by the entire affair, yet seemed to adopt a rather passive approach to the affair, allowing Mike and Sam to head whatever was about to transpire.

'You, and a few others, are the only accounts of what occurred on that mountain three months ago. Your interviews with the Blackwood County Police, no matter how essential they were to guaranteeing you to a lock up, are censored to hell, and sequestered. So, with that no longer a solution, I have a proposal for you three. You name your price, and I take you see my client, where you'll give us a no-shit assessment of what we can expect up there, and we're done.'

'Wait,' Mike asked, bewildered, 'you mean-'

'That you could be a greedy shit and not just be content with the fact I bailed you out of a life in the doghouse?' He sighed, 'yes, I suppose you could, but hey, I don't write the rules now, do I?'

'Mike,' Sam began immediately, 'Ashley.'

Stig gave her an uncertain glance, but the understanding was clear upon Mike's features, as he turned back to his savior's representative.

'You did it once,' he started, 'can you do it again?'

Author's Note: Thanks for reading so far guys! Leave a review and let me know what you think, and how I can improve this; constructive feedback is always appreciated