He saw it over and over. It never left him, a continuous loop of M'yri'ah's last moments. He saw her backing away from him, her skin darkening sporadically, and then…she was gone. He knew she had been consumed by flames, but even his mind wouldn't let him visual those.

Part of him was grateful for this.

J'onn was haunted with the look of helplessness that had been on his wife's face. She knew what was coming and she had done everything she could to protect him from it. Even in her last moments, she protected him. She locked him out of their domicile; she activated their security system to prevent him from entering through any possible means he had; she even activated the Thought Barriers so that he couldn't hear her last screams. She had thought of everything.

Everything she had done, for him…and all he was left with…

The fire had consumed his domicile. A fire-retardant system had eventually activated and put the fire out, but not before most of his living quarters were charred black, beyond repair. It was difficult to even know what was what.

In addition to putting out the fire, an alarm had been sent out to the nearest emergency services. So now J'onn sat outside of his complex in the back of a medical transport vehicle. A blanket had been given to him, though he had made no effort to use it. Someone at some point had draped it over his back; yet, he had not moved. Instead, he was still lost in his thoughts.

No, not lost—haunted.

His family was gone, the latest victims in this terrible curse.

How could he bear it?

Vaguely, he was aware of the concern directed towards him from the surrounding Martians. Their thoughts weren't broadcasted, but it was clear they were having a difficult time keeping their thoughts to themselves. It was because of this that J'onn dully realized there were members of his precinct there. The Manhunters would have been called out to investigate the scene, he knew this. It was standard operating procedure. He just didn't realize it would have been the ones he knew well.

They would be combing through his domicile for evidence, but no doubt they would come to the conclusion that his story was correct. J'onn did remember explaining such to the first responders when they arrived. His words had been clipped and few, but enough had been used to get his explanation across. They still needed to perform the investigation to confirm it though, and they would do just that.

Which left J'onn with his emotions. He felt empty, hollowed, lost. His entire family, in a horrifying moment, were gone. Jos'seph, J'oe, M'yri'ah, they were gone now, leaving him behind in a world that was worse without their presence. No longer would he see their faces, feel their overwhelming love in his mind. The children wouldn't speak so animatedly when he came home; his wife would no longer greet him with kindness and comfort. He was isolated, alone.

Completely and utterly alone.

Why had this happened? Why did this have to happen? If only he had solved the case, he could have prevented this. He had been assigned to H'ronmeer's Curse at the very beginning, so it had been his duty to solve it; and now his family had paid the price for his inability.

It…it should have been him to pay that price. Not them; never them. He was the Manhunter. He was the one that was in the line of danger. He was the one consistently exposed to it, so it was natural that he should have contracted it first. It should have been him!

"J'onn," a familiar voice reached him. Numbly, J'onn turned his head and saw Da'vizz standing just outside of the medical transport vehicle. There was a look of sadness on his partner's face. "I know this isn't a good time for you," the man stated, "but I am sorry this happened. Truly."

"Thank you," J'onn murmured back before looking away. His eyes just stared into the wall of the vehicle, not truly seeing it.

"We will find out how this happened, I promise you this."

He didn't respond.

Da'vizz stood there, staring at him for several moments before he eventually left. Such platitudes weren't comforting, even if that were the intent. J'onn had offered those same remarks before; only now did he realize just how empty they were. What did it matter if they found out how and why his family was taken from him? The fact of the matter was that they were no longer here; they were gone from his life forever, and he had to live with that.

H'ronmeer's soul, did he wish he did not have to.

One of the medical technicians appeared then, but only stayed long enough to assess him. Vitals were taken, questions asked of the grieving man, and then they left. J'onn did not care either way. He could not care.

"Officer J'onzz."

The commanding tone told J'onn that he needed to pay attention this time. His training as a Manhunter demanded it. His head turned and he was greeted with the sight of his commanding officer standing where Da'vizz had previously. Though his posture was stiff and rigid, there was an expression of empathy on Commander Kris'to'fer's face.

"I am sorry for your loss, truly," his commanding officer began. "It is at this time, more than any other, that we need to care for ourselves. You have suffered a loss no man should ever have to."

More platitudes. More empty promises. J'onn knew where this was going, so he did not listen all that well. He was becoming numb to the apologies and well-wishes. The more he heard them, the more he felt as if they mocked him. They weren't meant to, of course, but the number he had received in such a short time, he couldn't help it. He didn't want them; he didn't want any of them! He just wanted to be left alone and allowed to grieve his seemingly never-ending grief.

"Because of this," Commander Kris'to'fer continued, oblivious to his subordinate's emotions, "I will be taking you off all of your cases. They will be reassigned and continued by others, but you need to take time for yourself. This is an order."

J'onn nodded his acknowledgement of this, though he found himself not truly caring. How could one care about such things? They were…pointless. All of this was just pointless.

It was strange. He kept feeling these moments of anger. They would erupt as a spark, but then just as quickly dim as they were swallowed up by his sorrow. J'onn had never felt such conflicting emotions before. He wasn't entirely certain if they were normal.

And how could this be normal? J'onn didn't know. He found himself wondering how any man could suffer a loss such as he had and ever feel normal again. Would he want to? Could he?

He honestly didn't know.

There was something inherently wrong with this scene.

Da'vizz couldn't help but grimace at the sight of J'onn's domicile. It was a rather nice place from what he could tell, but it was scarred by a large black mark on the floor, ceiling, and walls. It was just like Th'mas' spontaneous combustion in his hospital room.

There weren't any remains, and for that he was thankful. It was as if the fire had consumed the three victims completely. There weren't pieces of burnt flesh or charred bone left behind. A foreign odor hung heavy in the air, which was similar to the other burnings he had witnessed. Because of this Curse, he now knew what the smell of burnt flesh was like. There were ashes present as well, but there was no telling if they were the result of the burning bodies, or if the nearby furniture or even the floor had been responsible. They would collect it anyways, but they could be collecting formerly organic or inorganic material.

Da'vizz hated this. There was tension between him and his fellow Manhunter, that they had last argued when they spoke to each other. He never would have wished this on him. According to the first responder report, J'onn had witnessed his family's fiery demise. That was a trauma no one should have witnessed.

He had a job to do, however. At the very least, he would do everything he could do to bring some semblance of closure to his wounded partner. So he went through everything he knew of the incident.

Retracing the steps of the report, along with confirmation from the security logs of the domicile, J'onn had arrived at his front door, finding it sealed off. This had been done by one of the domicile's occupants, that being J'onn's wife. She had activated every security measure possible to keep her husband out. The report said that J'onn ended up on the balcony, where he watched his wife be consumed in flames.

So he knew the last confirmed moments. What about the ones before that? Everything pointed to the latest incident with H'ronmeer's Curse. Yet, M'yri'ah J'onzz was oriented enough to activate the home's security system. When had that happened?

Looking at the tablet in his hands, Da'vizz searched for this answer and discovered it had happened two to three hours before J'onn's arrival. J'onn had been on assignment at that time, arresting the priesthood to prevent them from performing their holy duties.

What would have made M'yri'ah do such a thing? Faintly, Da'vizz wondered how much of H'ronmeer's Curse he had been telling his wife. If he kept her informed of their investigation, then it would make sense that she would take such actions.

No, that wasn't the only possible reason. The news media had been broadcasting the common symptoms of H'ronmeer's Curse once those details had been released. M'yri'ah was an intelligent woman from what he knew of her, so she could have made the connection that she would be losing her orientation before long, so she took steps to stop the illness' spread. Maybe it was both a combination of her talks with J'onn and the media coverage that led her to do this?

He wouldn't ever know, not without being there at that time to witness it firsthand. So what else was there to review? Moving towards the outer edge of the blackened area, Da'vizz gazed at it, having to force himself to do so. There was something in his mind that was repulsed by it, demanding that he look away—no, flee the very sight of it. The smell of burnt flesh was still as strong as ever, so that wasn't helping the feeling at all.

But he would resist this natural urge. This was J'onn that was affected by this, and he wouldn't turn his back on him now, no matter their personal issues. He deserved to have closure. So Da'vizz looked and looked…and he did not find much that could help him.

Finally, he ripped his eyes away from the spot, gasping and gagging the moment he did. There was a furious pounding in his head now, one that was starting to abate the longer he looked away from that miserable black area. The strain had been massive as he looked at it…

Wait, what was that?

Frowning, Da'vizz took a step towards an odd object. It was hiding behind the remains of a partially burned chair. As long as he looked at the least damaged area, he was alright, so he avoided the opposite side where the fire damage was paramount. Moving around the chair, he found yet another object that had suffered fire damage.

Kneeling down, Da'vizz picked it up, making certain that he removed all prints on his fingers so that he didn't contaminate it. He had never seen such an object before. Pieces of it were missing, no doubt the result of the fire. However, he was able to move other parts of it, small hinges indicating they closed in on each other. There were four sides of it that were present. Da'vizz mused that if there were two more sides it would form a cube. On the outer sides he saw little tiles that looked as if they could move. They were currently arranged to form symbols.

On the inner side, he couldn't help but notice the skull sigil. That was a strange thing to find, and he wondered why J'onn would have such an object that contained an alarming symbol like that. And…and there was some fragrance he could smell. It was burnt, but there was something else in it that he really couldn't determine.

"I need an evidence bag!" Da'vizz called out. A forensic technician quickly appeared at his side, carrying a bag with them. Da'vizz deposited the object into the bag. "Send it for examination," he ordered, the technician leaving immediately.

Sighing, Da'vizz returned his attention to the rest of the domicile. This was very much the evidence collection portion of the investigation, not that they would find anything that indicated this was anything other than another tragedy caused by the Curse. But, he would fulfill his duty as a Manhunter. It was the right thing to do.

Then he had to follow up on his latest lead.

It felt like the entire situation was unraveling. Commander Kris'to'fer pressed a hand against his face, willing for a moment of solitude to calm his mind.

The entire precinct was on high alert. One of their own had just experienced H'ronmeer's Curse first hand, and in the most devastating way possible. His best Manhunter had watched his family be consumed by the infectious blight. The effects of this were wide-spread.

There were those in the precinct that wanted to help out J'onzz in his time of need. They were investigating the scene, if only to show the effort that they were doing something. Unfortunately, when they returned to the precinct, those who had not gone were eyeing them with mistrust. The mistrust was due to a growing suspicion that these individuals were carrying the Curse back with them, as if it lingered on their skin. They could be spreading the disease in their haste to look helpful.

So there was a visible divide forming: those potentially exposed and carrying the Curse, and those who were keeping their distance so that they didn't become infected. Work was grinding to a standstill because of this, affecting other cases that were in progress. Some complaints had been filed in the last hour, which landed upon the Commander's desk. Those complaints were a combination of slow progress and fears of contracting the Curse.

As if the precinct splitting itself wasn't enough. More and more cases of the Curse were being reported all over Dea'vars. Commander Kris'to'fer had been in contact with the other precincts, and even reached out to the other cities of Mars. Each communication told him the situation was becoming worse and worse.

And now he was without J'onzz, who was rightfully grieving. How could he expect to put a man back into the field when he watched his family die? That was cruel. Yet, he couldn't afford to be without a Manhunter at this time.

He was in an undesirable position, one in which he had to balance the well-being of his people versus the well-being of all people. This…this was difficult.

An alert from his computer terminal interrupted his thoughts. Lowering his hand from his face, Commander Kris'to'fer adjusted himself in his seat. He needed the appearance of being in control, if only to convey the image of strength. No one wanted to see a weak person in a position of authority, not with a growing crisis.

Taping on one of the touchscreen buttons, the terminal activated and revealed the scene of a darkened office. There was a Martian sitting behind a desk, much like himself. A dim light source only revealed a portion of the Martian's form, allowing shadows to hide the rest of him. Thankfully, the light revealed the sigil of a medical professional on the left pectoral.

"This is Dr. Loon'de'gaard," the Martian introduced himself, causing the Manhunter commander to perk up. "To whom am I speaking?"

"This is Commander Kris'to'fer," he responded. "You are the physician handling the influx of those infected with H'ronmeer's Curse, if I am not mistaken."

"That is correct," the doctor acknowledged. "I was trying to get in touch with one of the officers from your department, either Officer J'onzz or Officer Da'vizz."

"Neither officer is available at this time. I am their direct supervisor, so anything you wish to convey is the same as speaking to them," the commander assured his fellow Martian.

There was a sigh. It sounded tired, full of fatigue. Considering this was one of the Martians on the literal front line with the Curse, it shouldn't have been surprising. Yet, Commander Kris'to'fer found it discerning. "Very well. We have finally uncovered the transmission route of H'ronmeer's Curse."

The Commander jolted in his seat. This…this was excellent news! After everything, they finally knew how this disease moved from person to person! Now they could slow it down. "I am glad to hear that, Doctor. What have you learned?"

"The normal transmission routes are wrong," Dr. Loon'de'gaard informed him. "This disease is not a physical threat, not in the way we would understand it."

This caused Kris'to'fer to frown. That did not make sense to him. How could a disease not be physical, be it bacterial, fungal, viral, and so on? Those were the only infectious agents that he knew of. All Martians learned this during their time in education. "Then how is it transmitted?" he couldn't help but ask.

"Psychically."

Kris'to'fer just stared at the terminal screen. A befuddled look was no doubt on his face. "I…I do not understand," he slowly said. "How can a disease be transmitted psychically? I've never heard of such a thing."

"Neither had I until now. However, we have conducted a series of tests…as unwitting as they were. While searching for answers, a number of physicians attempted to seek out answers through telepathy with those who were infected. All of them came down with the infection."

Kris'to'fer felt stunned by this revelation. "And you're certain that there wasn't some other cause? That this isn't hiding the true cause?"

"Without further study in a controlled environment, I suppose that is possible," the doctor admitted. "Unfortunately, I won't be able to conduct such trials."

"Of course, since there are rules against experimentation on sentient creatures."

"That isn't what I meant."

That was when Dr. Loon'de'gaard leaned forward in his seat, the light from his light source revealing more of him. To Commander Kris'to'fer's horror, he saw the sigil of H'ronmeer on the doctor's forehead, branded there like an ugly scar. There was a look of acceptance on the doctor's face, no doubt because he saw the look of horror on the Commander's face.

"I can already feel the signs of delirium coming," Dr. Loon'de'gaard said. "My medical facility is on lockdown, allowing none in and none out. This…this will be the last transmission made. If you could do me a favor, inform those in the position to help with this information. It won't be long before no one here will be able to."

"Yes, of course," Commander Kris'to'fer quickly agreed.

The doctor gave a small smile before he ended the communication. Only a blank screen was left behind, showing a dark reflection of the Manhunter Commander. Numbly, Kris'to'fer leaned back into his chair as he considered what he learned.

There was a sickening thought plaguing him. An entire medical facility was about to be filled with the remains of Martians, and there was nothing he could do about it. Dr. Loon'de'gaard hadn't given any information on combating the Curse, only how it was transmitted. Unfortunately, it was clear the doctor didn't have any time left to figure out a cure, not when he was determined to get the last of his knowledge out before it was too late.

So who did he reach out to with this knowledge?

The room was empty save for the bare necessities. There was a bed, a small table next to it, even a stand with a telecommunication device. The walls were bare, sterile even. A fluorescent light just seemed to make it blinding to the eyes.

This was where J'onn found himself. It was where he was brought to following the…aftermath at his own domicile. It was a safehouse the Manhunters used for hiding those in need of protection. It wasn't meant for long-term stays, so that was why it was so minimalistic. It was just a place to keep someone until more appropriate arrangements could be made. It didn't matter to him if it were furnished or decorated as none of it really mattered.

J'onn sat on the edge of the bed, still draped with the blanket that had been provided to him. His mind was numb, unfeeling, save for the constant sight of his wife burning before his eyes. It hadn't left him, scarring him in ways he couldn't have imagined. He couldn't find it in himself to put it aside, so his mind kept replaying it over and over. He refused to close his eyes because he was afraid his mind would give him an actual visual of it.

He didn't know what he was supposed to do now. His family had been his everything. Everything he had done had been for them. He provided for them; he ensured that danger would not touch them…at least until now.

He couldn't go back to his own home now. It was now at the center of a Manhunter investigation, and there was no telling if he would be allowed to return to it if he wanted to.

What was advised in times like this? It was such a rare event for him that he had to notify the family of a deceased person. What was it said in the training? That they encouraged them to lean on those that could help support them?

What support did he even have?

M'yri'ah had been his support for so long. She was the sheath to his sword; the ointment to his wound. Now he was sheathless, a festering wound. His children had been taken from him as well, so he could not focus on their well-being, even if it would have been a distraction to his aching heart.

His extended family wasn't an option either. Many of the elders, including his parents, had long since passed. There were the children of his parents' siblings, but they were not in touch often. J'onn had moved his family to Dea'vars because there was greater opportunity here than there was in the Elysium Pons. The only other person he knew was Ma'alefa'ak, and he was leaving the city at this time. Would his brother receive a next-of-kin notification? What would he do if he did? If J'onn had to guess, not much. Ma'alefa'ak did keep to himself after all. Even if he did hold some affection for M'yri'ah, that was hardly a reason for him to change his plans.

J'onn was effectively alone.

Already he yearned to hear the voices of his children shouting for him the moment he entered the domicile. He craved the touch of his wife's mind on his. To see them alive and healthy…what he wouldn't give to experience that one more time.

He felt something moving against him. Glancing down, J'onn saw his right hand trembling. No doubt it was a physiological response to his mental distress. He stared at the light tremors, not even attempting to stop them. He wasn't certain he wanted to.

The door to the room slid open then. A female entered the room, carrying a tray in her hands. There was a sympathetic look on her face, but she did not directly address the mourning Martian. She approached him and set the tray on the small table next to the bed. J'onn swung his head to gaze at it, finding small portions of food on the metal tray. There were each basic food group there, though not much of each.

"You should eat," the server told him gently. "You need your strength."

Strength. How could he be strong when there was no one for him to be strong for? Who was he supposed to be strong for? Himself? He did not feel as if he were worthy of such support. If he had done his job effectively and solved the mystery behind H'ronmeer's Curse, his family would not have ended as collateral damage. He would not be in this hell that was his mind. He would not be in this sterile room, barely holding himself together.

"Thank you," was all J'onn could muster in response, which the server took as a dismissal and left. The door slid shut behind her, once more leaving J'onn to himself.

He looked away from the tray. He was not hungry, so he would not force himself to eat. Not now anyways. Perhaps later, when his body demanded sustenance. Yes, that was when he would eat.

As for other aspects of self-care, he would do those when the desire reached him. Yes, that is what he would do. Now wasn't the time for them. Now was the time for…for…

He didn't know what the present was for. Not anymore. His present represented his future, cold, alone, isolated, just like this room. Unlike the Manhunter protocol for it, he wasn't certain if this would be temporary.

No, J'onn was certain this was only the beginning. Unfortunately, he did not think this beginning was going to be a good one.