July 19, 1999

"I'm telling ya, there won't be any problems." Alvarez said lightly. On the other side of the phone, a voice mumbled something definitely unkind and sighed.

"Can't you sometimes actually act like an Ancient, Alvarez?" sighed the ageless male voice in exasperation. "Your ceaseless female flirting is already legendary..."

"Really? I never imagined I'd made such an impression on the others! But I don't see whats bad about flirting - quite fun and if you do it right - and I can if I want to! - you can warm up your bed for the night!"

"ANYWAY," cut in the voice with more than a little impatience "Your actions could use a little polish, especially since may of the psychics look up to us. We need to set the example of discipline."

"Ah, come on! Many of the younger ones LOVE my style!" he grinned as there was another, heavier sigh on the other end of the phone. Belzar had always been old-fashioned and rather uptight, and so was rather easy to goad or tire out. It was something of a surprise that they were such good friends, but then, hanging around the same people for centuries one devellops bonds.

"Very well, very well. So no problems? Are you so sure no one will find a way to cause you further grief?"

"Absolutely. Everything went off perfectly, just like I'd planned."

"I doubt the two Specials you used to stave off the henchmen would take the matter lightly." was the terse reply.

That struck. It really did. And the worst of it all was knowing that the very ancient man on the other side of the planet - poking around Shadowlaw, no doubt - was absolutely right on this. Jeremy and Cammy hadn't liked the idea that they'd been used as bait to lure the smaller fish away. They'd been darn vocal about it, their anger easy to read even without any kind of special powers or training. The separation had been very distant, and it had been clear that 'Brad or Alvarez or whatever you prefer, mate' had better stay out of their life from now on. Pure threat that had been, and yet he just couldn't blame them. He was fairly certain he would have said and done worse in the same situation.

It wasn't like this was anything new to him. Quite the opposite, since he'd used thousands upon thousands of unwitting - and sometimes aware - people to further his own goals. He sighed inwardly. For all of his apparent goofiness, his sense of humor and human-like demeanor, he knew he was just as conniving and ruthless as any of the others. The length he could go to depended, of course, on the stakes.

And the stakes had been high. High enought to kill those who had witheld the Stone, the great Stone which had been his and stolen. High enough not to help those two powerful Specials when they were being overwhelmed - WOULD have been if it hadn't been the work of that strange, feral man who jumped in and slayed the grunts. High enough to let them be killed if necessary.

High enough not to care about them at all.

"Well, they will live and continue on whether they like me or not, old friend." he sighed tiredly.

"No doubt. So when are you coming back to annoying the female population around Lisbonne?" was the neutral, if relatively warm, reply.

Alvarez smiled slightly. "In a day or two. I like the way things go around this Salt Shores. I'll hang around a bit. Be well!" and as soon as the other ancient had answered he hung up, his eyes coming to fix on the ceiling.

Had he been wrong to do what he'd done, to use people as pawns all these years? Cammy had told him that using people was the best way to become the most unhappy man in the world, and how could he really answer that? After all, he was rarely really happy. His friends were few and even stranger than he was, and he could never devellop a true bond with any of the normal human populace, even those with Inner Powers. It was too risky, it might endanger them. But mostly, it was because he didn't want to see friends die. He'd had his family, his brothers and sisters, die as he watched them from afar, as he stayed young in appearance. That ordeal had been more than enough for him.

Did that make him a coward, for all his powers? He figured it may at that. Not that he'd change his policies even if he could.

"I really am beginning to feel my TRUE age." he said in self-mockery, lifting himself from his hotel bed and ambling about, getting dressed for one last day at the beach, since the two Specials, he knew, were gone visiting some museums today.

Getting dressed in twenty minutes, he decided he did not want to take the road all out to the beach, and summoned his teleportation power, using his mind's eye to find a place where people wouldn't be ambling about and run screaming when he appears amidst them. He found it, focused his psychic powers, felt it surge, and then he was over looking the sea from the boardwalk. He breathed in the warm salty air and went down the stair. As he did so a young woman passed near him. Early twenties. A quick scan - no boyfriend!

And suddenly his mood, which had been dark and morose, lifted back up high. Yes, he was a conniving bastard, yes he used people. But at least he used them to help the greater whole, to help humanity. And today the sun was shining, the people around him were happy. It wasn't the time to be depressed.

It was time to go skirt-hunting...Brad Morton style!

And pasting himself the goofy smile which people were often so annoyed at, he ambled after his newest conquest, his self-doubts forgotten.

For now.

The day after...

What to do when revenge is finally yours and you have consumed it?

Those are thoughts many must have asked themselves over the centuries, when what drove them to seek vengeance was destroyed with their own help. Many went crazy, some turned their backs to whom they had been during these times and settled back to a more normal lifestyle. Still some others, unable or unwilling to deal with the strain, shifted their anger on something else and continued on this path they had been sometimes forced into.

To the once-man feral being known as Retribution, it was a sobering process, harder and simpler, depending heavily on which of the three possibilities a person would talk to him about.

The first possibility - turning crazy - was rather moot, even he could see that. He retained enought of his old personality - not much, but enough - to realize that he'd gone off the deep end long ago. With the thing which drove him to insanity out of the way, he wasn't going to become crazier. So yes, it was rather a moot point.

The second possibility was one he really yearned for. Going back to a normal life, with normal concerns and normal goals - it was such a dream to him, had been for years. But that was all these would ever be - dreams. For how could he, after all he'd been through and with all that the transformations had incurred on on physical being, could he be considered anything else than a freak, a monster to be hunted and feared by the normal people he had once belonged to?

It hurt to notice this, but there was no future there. None. To normal people, he was a monster.

The third possibility was very real, very possible, and probably the best course he had left. Choose another of the many groups who hurt people, who terrorized others and played on the innocence of some, and go after them until he or they were done for, just like Ribambelle. Yet he hesitated, not knowing if this path...if eternal vengeance was what he wanted. More blood on his hands? How long before he lost the focus he still had, if he kept on? How long before innocents suffered.

Yet what could he do?

What could he do?

He stopped the pacing he had been doing, out there in the small woods west of Salt Shores, far from humans and their prejudice and his painful future, and sat on an half rotted tree which had fallen down at least a year ago from age or simply the will of nature. And there he wept, bitterly, calling the beloved name of his deceased wife ceaselessly, but this time finding no comfort in her memory. He was totally lost inside himself, his emotions a jumble, his senses out of phase.

That is why he never felt a presence behind him before the very last moment.

As he sensed the imminent danger, his instincts kicking into overdrive, he dodged to the side, but not fast enought, as a blue-white beam of light slammed into him, numbing him for an instant. Growling, he jerked around to see who had attacked him.

He saw four men, dressed in suits that seemed made both of kevlar and deep grey armor covering their toros. They wore commando-style boots, a hard helm which hid their faces completely, with only their cold, determined eyes staring at him from behind red glass. Each of them were holding guns which seemed sleeker than those he'd ever heard about or seen, and one was still slightly smoking.

He wasn't down. They appeared unfazed. The leader touched his helmet and his cold voice boomed out electronically. "Specimen number four confirmed. Commencing capture procedures, level three red."

Capture! That word had an effect on him, reminding him of the day he had been captured, when he was still man, the way he and his wife had been tortured in experiments, leaving him alone, soulless, without anything besides death or vengeance. There was no way he was going through this again. With a beastly growl, he charged the four men.

They saw him come at them calmly, and this troubled him. His appearance used to make anyone hesitate, something he always used to his advantage. But these strange soldiers just looked at him charge without a flinch, their eyes set. It was only when he was at about ten feet of them that a man shoved him a round ball, which emitted a white flash upon contact.

It was like his brain had burst asunder. The strange noise which came out with the light insinuated itself into the very core of his being, destabilizing him, scattering his senses and his wits. It was too much. He could barely hear anything, his eyes didn't seem to know what he was seeing. He barely made out the four forms, barely saw the lead one raise his hand and slash it down.

He couldn't do a thing as three other beams struck him, paralyzing him, while the noise started to shut down his very mind. He barely made out the words the cold commander of this cold combat unit said.

"Specimen secured. Now proceeding to retrieval procedure six."

He tried to fight the mix of pain and numbing, succeeded in raising him self a little, but all he received for that was another blue-white beam. His world blackened, he emmited a low moan, a moan which didn't sound beastly, but the kind of sound he had once uttered, as a normal man.

But whether or not he liked it, there was no fighting the blackness.

And after a word of regret to his dear wife, the man-thing know as Retribution let go of the fight and sank into unconsciousness.

Two days later...

Cammy White stared at the object she held in her hands, her expression a very frightful mix. In one part, the smaller one, their was a kind of excitement, of joy that came from the fact that what she saw she hadn't been sure she would see one day, or if she did, if the circumstances wouldn't be just disastrous for her.

Another part, greater, was fear. Fear of the unknown, of what it would do to her, of the wide repercussions this could have for her future. And on the relationship she had with Jeremy. She wasn't absolutely certain how he would respond to these...new developpements. Would that push him away? She heard it did that to many men. That scared her, for she truly didn't know what she would do without him.

It was funny, how she'd once thought she'd never let herself be approached - let alone touched - by a man, and that now she was incredibly frightened of losing that presence, that warmth. Yet that was the way it was. She'd fallen in love with Jeremy Storm long before she even admitted it to herself, and to lose that love would...would destroy her.

She suddenly heard his energetic, firm steps just on the other side of the room door, heard him fumbling with the doorknob. At that moment, the vision of fear took completely over the vision of joy, and quickly - well-knowing there was something VERY wrong with what she was doing - she hid the object she had been studying, and everything that had gone with it inside her travelling bag, which she knew he never looked at. Just in time. The door opened, and in came the man she had married.

He was looking a bit flustered as he wrestled with the bag of chips she'd ask him to buy to watch a movie together - it had been a lame excuse, but of course he hadn't seen through it. If anything was flawed within Jeremy, it was the way he trusted those he loved. Blindly, completely. And that made him a very dangerous fellow to face if you betrayed him - like his adoptive parents had done. Used him - like that jerk Alvarez had.

Or hid things from - like SHE had just then.

He smiled at her - that trusting, loving smile he had. "Well, I didn't find any vineagar chip, so I opted for barbecue since we both like it. That okay?"

She must have nodded or said something that meant it was quite all right for the next thing she knew they were watching an action movie - which she usually craved - enscounced on the couch, eating chips - which tasted like ash to her. She didn't even pay attention to the movie, too troubled to say anything, even when he commented on this scene or that actor. She knew he realized something was wrong, but decided to keep his mouth shut.

She'd almost rather he'd ask her what was wrong, force the truth out. But he wouldn't, she knew. He stay put and worry but wouldn't ask her what was wrong, not until either something drastic happened or she told him. No forcing. He'd never forced anything upon her. And she usually loved that.

But right now it just made her all the more torn in her heart.

It was only later, when they were both in bed, that he hugged her from behind, his embrace not desiring but rather soothing, caring. She let herself be hugged for a few moments before turning around and finally facing him. His eyes were sad but gentle and trusting.

"You'd tell me if something was the matter, right?" he said, his tone a littlw worried.

She could have told him then, and settled this. She could have stopped running and seen the end result. She could have trusted him with this secret. But it was too new, she wasn't sure, she...she couldn't, wouldn't risk sending him away, scaring him. This was their honey moon. The matter could wait.

So she smiled at him and said that of course she would, don't be silly. And he believed her, of course. After all, he had never lied to her, she wouldn't lie to him. Simplistic, but Jeremy, as deep as he could be for somethings, tended to take things at face -value when it came to her.

She felt sick, but managed to be as normal as she could, not giving away anything he might detect, until his breath became soft and regular and she knew he was asleep.

Oh, she wanted to tell him 'Jeremy I'm pregnant. You're going to be a father.' smile and kiss him. But she couldn't tell him yet.

Why?

WHY?!?

The answer never came. She definitely needed time. Time to think. Time to know if she'd just taken their relationship to a new level...

...or just screwed it up.