The Universe's Mixer

i_liveforgod
Marie was alone in the house.

As well she should be, considering she told TC and Jody to not come back without Jesse, the girl, and the great grandchild. Although, the length of time they'd been away was a little bit worrying. It didn't usually take them so long to do her bidding. She'd forgive them just this once, becuase they were in a new city, and Jesse and the little whore could be anywhere. And they might be seperate from each other, just because of this very thing. Jesse wasn't a completely stupid boy.

After the incident with the swamp nigger troupe, Marie had been keeping her eyes wide open, and spent most of the day watching out the windows. She'd also taken to keeping a shot gun near the door, just so she could wheel out onto the porch and shoot. And of course, she'd shoot without warning.

She really wanted to shoot one of them.

It didn't occur to her that firing a shotgun at her age and in her condition might do some serious damage. That wasn't the point. The point was playing Decapitate The Negros.

There had been no further sign of them, however. Which meant that they were either lost and being mugged in the city itself, or they'd realized they were in the wrong place, and trounced off to find themselves a new swamp to fester in.

Marie hoped for the former. It was funnier to her.

She sat now upstairs in her room. A large bible on her lap. Only one lamp on, over her shoulder, so she could read.



i_ninja
2007-01-15 09:17 (link) DeleteFreezeScreen Select
Walking was an art in an old house where floorboards creaked. Elektra was aware of her legs to the point of feeling the blood run under the skin of her heels. Gliding through the halls in silence, cloaked by the generous amount of darkness the old woman's energy conservation provided, it was easy to be unnoticed.

The two men described to her as potential obstacles were nowhere in sight. She made it to the woman's room, her breathing inaudible, her movements unseen, and slipped inside. Shadow continued to rest around her shoulders like a worn cloak until she stepped into the edge of the lamp light.

"Marie L'Angelle," Elektra said, as if to confirm what she already knew. Elektra took out her katana.



i_liveforgod
Marie looked up, irritated, from her Good Book. Not only was somebody she didn't know in her house, they were interrupting her hour of prayer. This was not the time for shenannagans.

"Listen, you ugly nigger raggamuffin! I told you, this isn't your land. Now take your rediculous cutlary and get out. Get out. I'm not too above you to shoot you, you know!"

And then she got a better look. Just a little glimpse of skin but it was enough.

"Oh. You're white. Well. You weren't sent by the swamp negros, were you? I'll not leave my own land because a bunch of waterlogged ignorants think they were here first."


i_ninja
Elektra's eyes narrowed slightly as her blade tip rested against the old woman's chest. Already she knew what it would feel like to pop the katana through the rib cage and how she would make her cut.

"I'm not here for land," she said. Her lips tilted up slightly. "I'm here to kill you."

She would let the idea sink in before her blade. Jesse had wanted this to be painful, Elektra would humor a minor psychological game.


i_liveforgod
"Kill me." She said, bemused. "Kill me."

Definite indignation in the second.

"You're going to kill me, and for what purpose? To rob me? There are work hands crawling all over this land that will be more than happy to take back what you stole. So you'll have nothing. Or, perhaps T.C. will show up, and have his way."

Marie shook her head. "Either way, darling girl. I am at peace with God. He would never let something untoward happen."

Read: I have a covenant with God. I am incapable of dying.

"So take your little toys, and be gone."


i_ninja
"Yes."

All it took was slight pressure and the katana was in her chest, past it, delving into the pillow behind the old woman. Elektra couldn't help looking to the bloom of red that came from where she'd pierced her target. This was what she was good at, the only thing she always did right...

"A katana." Elektra tilted her head to the side and twisted the blade. "It is only right to know the weapon you die upon."


i_liveforgod
Her chest hurt.

Marie L'Angelle was upset and bothered by this highly undignified way of dying. She looked down at where the blade was now inside of her and then back up at the little girl who'd stabbed her.

"W-who..." it was hard to speak. Why was it hard to speak?

Marie's eyes lifted to the ceiling, but she was looking beyond that. Where was God? Where was her Savior? How could he be allowing this?

She was actually dying!

Oh, she was so angry!


i_ninja
"He said you trapped him in a coffin, under a lake."

Elektra ripped the blade out of the woman's chest. It wouldn't be long now. She would wait to retrieve the heart until it had stopped beating.

Blood dripped from her blade, onto the quilt. She wiped it off there, seeming to have more concern with the condition of her weapon than that of her victim. In the back of her mind, Elektra wondered why Matt had given up so easily. Fisk had been far worse than anything this woman could be. She was a nothing.

i_liveforgod
"L-ittle J-Jesse..." The hellfire rose in Marie's eyes again.

Though, when she'd uttered the sole word, she'd been trying to ask who the hell this ignorant bitch thought she was, cominginto Marie's house and doing this kind of thing to her.

But this answer was far more interesting.

Just too bad for Marie that she bled out before any other words could be uttered, or any further thoughts could be had. Likely, given the time, she would have tried to leave a revenge note for Jody.

Marie's head dropped to the side as the rest of her life faded out of her.


i_ninja
Elektra stepped up to the side of the bed and took out a different knife, making several quick, precise cuts before driving her hand into blood and organs. When it came back out, she had a warm heart. She tossed it up once and caught it with a small splat.

The reason she didn't laugh at Jesse's request was that she enjoyed this type of thing. She may not have been in the business of making her assassinations painful, but she'd always liked full out violence, getting her hands dirty. Feeling the blood on her hands both excited and sickened her. She liked the confusing emotions, liked being in that gray area where everything blurred into death. Elektra dropped the heart into a ziplock bag and looked over her bloody hand. She pressed her fingers together.

"Hm."

Elektra turned on her heel to leave the room.

i_liveforgodr
T.C. and Jody had split up long ago, figuring they could cover more city that way. And Jody had been right in saying so, of course. But when T.C. was alone, he tended to get into more trouble. He stopped often to do things to people/animals/inanimate objects that nobody wanted to know about. And he had fun with it too.

Sure, he was doing what he was supposed to be doing. He feared Miss L'Angelle's wrath. He knew she could hurt him. Not to mention Jody. Jody could do a lot of harm, if he really wanted to. Hell, even when he was half-assing it, he could hurt somebody.

T.C. was back to exploring after having sodimized a poodle, and that's how he came upon the big freaky looking hotel. He hadn't ever seen it before, and he didn't know why. It was huge. How could he miss a place like this? Especially because it looked like a place Little Jesse might go to hide out. Take that little bitch of his and hole up.

He walked into the lobby and rang the bell several times, impatient for help.

Ding

Ding ding ding

dingdingdingdingding

"C'mon, y'all! I need some fuckin help out here."


i_shower

Norman had been up at the house when the service bell rang down at the motel. He heard it eventually, peeking his head out the second floor window where Mother usually sat, to call down a "Just a minute!" to the potential customer. It was later in the evening but the weather was calm. A few clouds rolled over the sky, blocking out the moon now and again, but it didn't look like rain. That would be nice. Then Norman wouldn't have to worry about his handy-dandy umbrella!

After a few minutes he came hurrying down the curving stone steps that led up to the house, and stepped into the small lobby area of the motel.

"Evening!" He said, rather cheerfully. He was all smiles this evening. It wasn't a bad week for business. Well, sort of. And he was getting things done. Fixing the place up a bit. "Welcome to the Bates motel. We've got eleven vacancies. Twelve rooms, eleven vacancies. Heh. Must be the busy season."

That was the Norman humor. Oh, but he was very polite. Very polite and courteous to his customers.

"So what can I do for you?"


i_liveforgodr
T.C. narrowed an eye at the guy.

"You queer or somthin, fella?" There was just something about him that T.C. didn't like. Though, in all honesty, T.C. didn't like a lot of things about a lot of people.

"I ain't here for no room. I'm lookin for somebody's. You ain't seen a little nigger girl carrying a white man's baby in her slut stomach, have ya? She's about yeay high, and a nigger. Fella's taller. Might be wearin a preacher's collar?"

Like a cow, T.C. was chewing on a concoction that could only be described as cud. He spit some of it onto the floor, and then ground it in with the toe of his dirty boot.


i_shower

Norman blinked. He was in shock from the man's words. He'd never heard such foul and descriptive language in his entire life, and it caused him to just stand there and stare at the man for a good long while. He was trying to recuperate from the surprise.

"I ... beg your pardon?"

Queer? No, no he didn't think so. That would imply lust and sex and attraction. Mother didn't approve of such things. She didn't approve of women or whores and definitely not alternatives to the female sex.

Norman watched as the man spit onto his floor. He didn't like that.

"If you don't mind, I'd rather you not do that. I just cleaned in here. And no, I don't believe I have seen anyone that fits your ... colorful description."


i_liveforgodr
T.C. narrowed his eyes a bit more. This guy was trying to give him orders? Yeah right. T.C. could take him in a heartbeat. He spit again, this time on the counter. And he didn't try to wipe it away.

"Yer sure. They'd be real hard to miss. What with her bein a nigger an all. A pregn'nt one at that. Like a houseboat. She wuz fat anyway, then she went and got all knocked up outta wedlock. Like a real whore do. Jesse coulda done her in the back hole, and avoided all this, but he didn't. Now there's a little half nigger baby on the way."

T.C. shook his head. It was such a shame.

"Caint wait to have my turn with her, though."


i_shower

Norman's eyes ceased being wide when the man spit on the counter top. Instead, they slowly began to narrow into a peer. But when he spoke it was with an awkward nervousness or anxiety, stuttering a few letters. It wasn't what T.C. might think. Norman being weak or wimpish. It was Norman fighting a deeper urge.

"N-n-no! I haven't seen anybody l-like that. And d-don't spit on my counter. If you're going to be a nuisance then I'm going to call the cops. This is private property and you're trespassing, sir."

Norman stepped away from behind the counter and straightened his posture.

"And I don't like that word being used in my presence. It's dirty."

Dirty like your filthy whore mouth! Mother thought.


i_liveforgodr
A sick smile crossed T.C.'s lips. "If yer keepin her for yerself, that's fine. Just let me get in there and cut the baby from her, and then you can do what you like. I might just give her a good buggering in her pooper, for good measure, you know how it is. But after that, she's all yours, fella. Marie don't care none what happens to the little nigger bitch. Just Little Jesse and the baby."

It didn't ever occur to T.C. that the rest of the world wasn't like him. That they didn't find attraction in the same things he did. To him, everybody must enjoy such things. Except Marie, who didn't enjoy anything, and Jody, who liked em female and alive.

"If y'all wanted, the two of us could go at 'er for a bit. They scream real good when you do that. Fill um all up from both ends."


i_shower

Words could not describe the anger that had suddenly overtaken Norman's mind. And interestingly enough, some of it was actually his own. Of course, Mother was going wild. But even Norman was deeply offended. Even Norman didn't like this man. And Norman wouldn't hurt a fly.

Or was that Mother?

"Get out of my motel right now."


i_liveforgodr
"I cain't leave without that baby, guy. I gotta take it back to Marie. So just let me get in there an get it, and then I'll go. I won't even stop to do the girl, she's all yours now."

He narrowed his eyes. "Besides, I ain't taken orders from no pansy ass little bitch like you. I get my orders from one place, and one place only. I'll leave when I damn well feel like it."

His spit, this time, landed right near the guy. Well aimed, it was.


i_shower

Norman continued to stare at the man for a good long while. This time, when the man spit, his attention didn't waver. It was though he were in a daze of some kind. A very dark and disturbing daze, separating him from the reality of being in that lobby with a sick-o.

Mother was talking to him.

"Oh, but I couldn't," he mumbled.

Yes! You must! He'll bring sluts here! He's one of THOSE kinds, Norman! And I won't have my little boy messing around with those kinds, you hear me?!

"Yes, Mother..."

He blinked. Then a grin crept across his face.

"Right. You want room number twelve," Norman said, turning around to snatch the key off the board behind him and handed it over to the man. "I think you'll find what you're looking for in there."


i_liveforgodr
"Well then, I knew you couldn't be a complete pecker."

T.C. took the room key and turned to make his way to the room. Fully expecting to find Jesse and his little black whore in there. Doing god knew what. Maybe T.C. would just watch a bit before taking them back to Miss Marie. Yes. That would do him some good. Maybe he could even convince Jesse to let him join in. That would be even better.

When he got to room twelve and opened the door, though, there was nothing.

Angry, T.C. turned around to shout back down the hall. He was going to curse up a storm, oh yes he was. Nobody fucked around like that on T.C. and got away wih it.

Hell, there weren't even any suitcases in here!

"You stupid fucker!"


i_shower
But as soon as T.C. had left to go down to room twelve, Norman seemingly disappeared off to places unknown to the stranger. Of course there was no one in cabin twelve. Norman had told him that he didn't see anyone that looked like what was being described. Not even close. His visitors were rather limited, what with the motel being semi-new to the area and slightly off the beaten path.

Norman had gone off hoping that the man would give up and leave. Or maybe he went off to phone the police. He would do that, he would. He wasn't afraid to. And when Norman was away, Mother came out from her room.

She walked along the planked porch of the motel, her grey hair, neatly tied up in a bun, and her flower patterned dress hanging just to the top of her black shoes. And in her hands she clutched the shovel that used to be leaning up against the back of the motel near the little storage shed. Norman had meant to put it away in the cellar, but he hadn't gotten around to it.

And when T.C. turned around?

W H A C K !

i_liveforgodr
Well, he hadn't been expecting that. And T.C.'s head wasn't nearly as hard as Jody's. He couldn't take a good strong whack like that and stay up.

T.C. didn't even register what had happened, only got a brief look at who had hit him, it looked like a woman, but it couldn't be, could it? No bitch hit that hard.

He went down, right to the ground, with no struggle at all.


i_shower

Mother stared at the fallen man, her lips twisted into a grimace. When she spoke her voice was older, higher pitched, but lacking that fragility that most older women had. No weakness here. Not with Mother. Mother was strong.

"That's for trying to teach my son dirty whoremongrel things, you disgusting piece of trash."

And Mother went back to her room.

When Norman returned from wherever it was he'd been hiding to keep out of sight of the stranger, he thought he'd done well. The man seemed to be gone! Except, so was the key to cabin twelve. Well, that didn't make any sense. No one was staying in cabin twelve.

Norman quirked a brow and stepped out onto the porch. What he saw shocked him more than the N-word T.C. had used. He gasped and fell back against the door for a minute.

"Oh GOD, Mother!"

He hurried over and looked down at the shovel, its ended dripping with blood. Norman didn't even notice that the man still had some shallow breathing in him.

"OH GOD, MOTHER! BLOOD! BLOOD!"

Norman glanced back and forth nervously, biting at his fingernails. Did anyone see him? Was anybody watching?

"Oh, Mother!"

i_liveforgodr
The world was swimming back into focus, slowly. T.C. was dizzy, disoriented. His head felt like a train had run over it a few times. He didn't know where he was.

"Sonnabitch." He slurred. Tried to push himself up. Couldn't. Something... why wouldn't his arms work? Nothing would work.

"Gonnakillyou, motherfucker." Yeah, when he got up, he was going to completely dismember that asshole.



i_shower

Mother must have hit a nerve when she smacked the man with a shovel. Good. No! Bad! Oh god. What to do. What to do. Norman just did what was natural to him. He had to protect Mother. So he'd tied T.C. up as best he could with some sheets. New, clean sheets. The ones from cabin twelve. It was a pity to see them ruined. And he dragged him across the porch, and behind the motel.

And then the man started mumbling. He was alive!

"Ack!"

Norman kicked him in the head to try and shut him up. Then he tried to quicken his pace, dragging the man back through the swampy forest area that sat behind the motel, just east of the house.

When they reached the edge of the swamp, where many a vehicle had been pushed, Norman fixed a few bricks to the man's feet using tape and wire. It took him sometime. But the man was alive! He didn't have a place for him. And he couldn't let him float to the surface.


i_liveforgodr

The kick to the head was enough to get T.C. down again. Just long enough for him to be moved, so that when he came to this time, it was a swamp he saw. He relaxed a bit, thinking that he was home.

Home.

Angelville.

But then he realized he still couldn't move his feet. Or anything. He felt like he was tied up. He was tied up!

T.C. struggled a bit. Still very groggy, more so now than before.

"Lemmego, pansysissyprick."


i_shower

But Norman didn't say anything. In fact, he was a little freaked out. Nervous. What if someone found him? What if someone saw? What if they came looking? No, if they looked he knew they wouldn't find anything.

The minute that T.C. awoke again and started speaking, Norman rolled him into the swamp. He had to step into it a few inches, getting his shoes soaked, to make sure that the man ended up in a deeper area of the swamp. Then he scrambled backwards onto the bank to watch the man sink into the slimy water, all the while chewing on his nails, nervously awaiting to see if he would sink to the bottom and be completely submersed.


i_liveforgodr
Sink T.C. did, too. Quickly. Completely. He could swim, but he wasn't so smart, so when he went under water, he was also trying to call the guy a pig fucker.

His lungs filled with the swampy water, destroying any chance he might have possibly had.

He felt his feet hit the bottom, because of the bricks, and that was the end.

Things hurt. The world went black.

T.C. was no more than swamp critter food.


i_shower

And Norman stood on the banks of the swamp for another five minutes, just in case the unexpected happened. Just in case the ties on the bricks broke loose or the man escaped by some other means.

He ate a few pieces of candy corn which he took out of his pocket, and when he was sure that the man would no longer bother him or his mother, he went back to clean up the shovel and return to the house.

He would have to find a new set of sheets for the bed in cabin twelve.

i_spatterblood
With Selina feeling better, and back at her own home, things had gone back to normal for Dexter. Well, as normal as they could be, considering a few key things. But he had his space back. And he had his freedom back. No more worrying about Selina following him. Or finding out. He really didn't need anybody finding out about things.

Which reminded him to find out what the Lone Gunmen knew.

He got to work the next morning, feeling better than he had in a long time. A spring in his step, a whistle on his lips. If Dokes had been around, he might have even been pleasant to the guy. Patted him on the back, even. Done what he could have to annoy the crap out of him, just for the fun of it. That's how good he felt.

On his desk was a single folder. Something that hadn't been there before. Dexter looked around the office, then back at the folder, and picked it up. It only had one name on it 'Jody'. He flipped it open and took a look inside. It was like the folders he collected and then destroyed. This one read worse than a lot of the previous kills he'd had all rolled up into one. Dexter looked around again. Nobody was looking. It didn't seem that anybody had put this here.

More City weirdness?

"Tell the cheif I've got to go deal with something." Dexter said to one of his work mates as he passed by. "I'll be back later."

With the folder tucked under his arm, he jogged out to his car.


i_liveforgod
Jody was sick of dealing with this. When he found Little Jesse, he was going to beat the everliving shit out of him. And then make sure he spent a good, good long while in the coffin. More than a month this time. Jesse needed to stop running away, they always found him eventually.

There were a few places left that Jody hadn't checked. One of them being the docks. He didn't really expect Jesse to be at the docks, but he thought he might as well check anyway. If he didn't, and Marie found out, she'd send him right back out to check.

She wanted every corner searched. Every stone turned over.

He hadn't seen Miss Marie in such a murderous state since her daughter had run off.


i_spatterblood
With everything that had been going on, everything building up inside of him, Dexter was in no mood to make absolutely sure that this was the guy he wanted. There was a photo in the file, the man he'd found matched the photo.

Dexter did follow him until the sun went down, right to the docks.

Convenient.

The guy looked huge to Dexter. Not as big as John Coffey, but huge. And bad. The Dark Passanger reared up as soon as Dexter got close. This guy was bad. Bad bad news.

That's it, he decided. No more second guessing. He was going to do this, and he was going to do it quickly.

With gloves on his hand, using the shadows to keep him from prying eyes, Dexter moved up behind Jody and caught him around the shoulders. The needle containing the M-99 slid into the big guy's neck and Dexter depressed the needle.


i_liveforgod
Jody didn't have any idea somebody was following him. He went about his business, not paying much attention to anything.

When he finally was aware of somebody being there, it was too late. There was a sharp prick in his neck and his body lost strength. The guy - it had to be a guy by the size and strength - was strong. Maybe could have even bested Jody in a real fight.

But this wasn't a real fight.

This was something else.

He tried to struggle, but it was no use.

He went down.


i_spatterblood
Just like everybody else he'd ever played with, Dexter readied Jody's body in a special way. This time the clean room was in his own boat, and the boat was taken out far on the water. But everything else was the same. Jody was restrained to the table with plastic wrap and duct tape.

Duct tape was the perfect thing to work with.

He waited for Jody to wake up before really getting started.

"Hello." Dexter said to Jody's now opened eyes. "You've been a bad, bad boy."

The scalpel cut into Jody's cheek, and a single line of blood trailed down the flesh. Dexter caught part of that drip and put it onto a slide.


i_liveforgod
"Fuck you." Jody said. There wasn't any fear in him.

Sure, it was odd. Being tied down like this. And tied down really well. He couldn't even struggle. It was all so tight.

He looked up into the face of the man.

Not somebody Jody would consider to be an equil, but he certainly was, being able to best him like this.

And here he'd always thought it would be Jesse to end it.


i_spatterblood
Dexter just smiled as he put the slide away.

"It's about time I get to have some fun." He said. "And I'm so very glad that you get to be my first."

This time, he wanted to use the meat clever. He hadn't used it in a good long while.

Dexter started on Jody's hands, chopping them off. Then his feet. Then up along his legs and arms. And then last, the torso and the head. Seperation of the two.

It took him a good long while to do. Mostly because Dexter was savoring it. Loving it. The Dark Passanger slithering around in his mind, happy. Satisfied.

Clean up was more simple than usual.

Since he was already on the boat, he just had to bag it all up, throw it over the side. And when he was done, the boat was just as spotless and blood free as it had been when he'd boarded with the body. His tools were wrapped up, ready to be hidden away again.

It would be quiet for a while, now. Peaceful.

And so, the Harry code hadn't exactly been adhered to, but that could be forgiven, in the face of the singularly named Jody and what his file read like.

Dexter turned the boat back toward shore, with a smile on his face.

Who:Jack and Helena
What: False rescue and regret
Note: Finished with the permission of Helena's mun. Violence.

( Goodie gumdrops )

It wasn't home, but it was home now. As much as Lady Gillian of Dunhanshire longed for her home in early thirteenth England, she had finally resigned herself to the fact that she would never see it again. Today was a rough day. She should have been in the park while Benton was at work. She loved that park, but... But today, she was restless. Today, she wanted to walk in the City, and let its paths take her where it wanted. It always brought her back to where she needed to be. Or if it didn't, it brought her to someone who could see her to where she belonged.

The fall had turned into winter, and the winter had given way into spring. The breeze was warm and lovely, the sun was bright and cheerful, and Gillian... Gillian was restless. Her dainty steps took her well outside the grounds of the City Commons. Pavement rolled onward and onward, and she didn't particularly notice where it took her. A strange building here, and then long stretches of open road where it seemed like there should have been something. There should have been something.

But Gillian didn't notice. She hummed to herself as she walked. She sang old tales that had belonged in her uncle's Great Hall, tales of warriors and knights, of battles that were won, of maidens saved by the fierce hand of their champion. It reminded her of the Mountie who had taken her into his home. Perhaps it hadn't been quite proper, but there was nothing improper about Benton Fraser. He made her feel safe. He made her feel....

Well, she couldn't say it, not even to herself, not even after all these months. It was a foolish girl's hope, and the man was clearly uninterested. Better to call him a friend and a benefactor, and leave it at that.

The road she had been walking turned to gravel. She frowned and looked - really looked - around where she had managed to come. The City Commons was nowhere in sight. In fact, not much was in sight. Just a strange building with many, many doors. There seemed to be a main one, sheltered by a canopy. Perhaps they had water inside. That would be nice. She just realized how terribly thirsty she was.

Her knuckles rapped a soft, polite question against the door of the Bates Motel.

It was nearly always dark at the Bates Motel. Even during bright sunny afternoons, the place had a certain eerie dark quality about it. Norman had tried to fix that. His plan was to paint the motel a light shade of yellow. Something sunshine-y. But everything was still in cased in black and white. Even himself. Though, Norman never seemed to notice. Perhaps he was merely too accustomed to it.

It had been slow recently. Norman had taken that one trip into the city with Hannibal, but that was the only time. He didn't feel right about going alone. And he had Mother to take care of. He couldn't be spending his days out enjoying himself when his poor Mother was left to rot in the big empty house. Even if he did have quite the desire to leave.

Norman had been in the back room, tidying up the office, when the knock came on the door. He perked his head up for a moment, shoved a bag of something beneath a desk and peeked over at the window where a shadow of a woman stood. A potential customer, perhaps? He hoped. Sometimes it was nice to be slow. But Norman preferred the company of others. Strangers. Well, motel guests. Just knowing that someone needed a place to stay was a nice change to his daily routine.

He straightened his shirt and hurried over to the door, pulling it open. It used to ding when the door was opened, but it had since broken. And Norman had gotten around to replacing it yet.

"Hello! Come in! Welcome!"

Gillian stepped over the threshold and smiled warmly, seeming to bring a shred of color into the dismal scene. The one who greeted her was handsome, in a strange and awkward kind of way. She was glad to see how heartily he welcomed her inside, however, though it didn't quite set off the strange sense of unease to the place. The poor man.... Did he live here? She imagined he had to go out walking, himself, sometimes, just to escape from this place.

"Greetings, kind Sir," she said with a polite curtsy. "My name is Gillian, and I've walked.... Oh, I've walked a while from the City. I was hoping you had a...."

What had they been called? Silvery box, with an inverted half cup and a round ...

"..a..a fount?"

That wasn't quite right. "A water fount?"

Norman was a little surprised, and partly perplexed, by her strange accent and manner of speech. But he didn't let that deter his sweetness. He did have his own kindness, after all. Norman was a good man at heart. It was just Mother who was such a horrible influence. Norman thought she was up at the house in bed. Where she was safe. Where everyone was safe.

But Norman was often misled.

"Oh! A water fountain? No, I'm sorry. Costs too much, you know. All that p-p-plumbing."

He cleared his throat with a cough.

"But I have a little kitchen back here. If you'd like for me to get you a glass of water. My name's Norman, by the way. Norman Bates," he smiled, offering his hand.

Her eyes grew soft when he stuttered. The poor man! He must be shy about such a thing, but he was still welcoming her in with all the warmth that an old friend would.

"'Tis pleased I am to meet your acquaintance, Lord Norman," she said formally. "If I would not be an imposition, it is glad I would be to have a glass of water." She set her hand in his, but not as someone would to shake another person's hand. No, it was clear she expected a courtly kiss, for that was the manner in which gentlemen greeted ladies. Unless those gentlemen were Benton. He always bowed. Her smile grew warmer at the thought of him.

Norman's stutter was a nervous thing. He had the tendency to get very anxious over little matters. And he liked strangers! But they also unnerved him. Why, he was never quite sure. But he supposed it had something to do with Mother. Mother never liked Norman getting close to other people. Only her. She was the only person in his life.

Lord Norman! Oh she's a sneaky one, isn't she? Trying to get close to my son!

Norman's cheeks flushed a little in embarrassment.

When she placed her hand oddly in his own, Norman wasn't quite sure what to do. So he just gave it a little shake. Nothing forceful.

"I'll be just a moment!"

And he hurried off to the back of the motel office to pour her a glass of water from the sink. Faucet water was all he had. But it was better than the swamp water, so that was good. When he returned he held it out for her.

"I have n-never met anyone who speaks like y-y-you do. Are you from far away?"

She stared at her hand when he hurried away, not sure why he'd shaken it like that. Strange... But when he returned, she gratefully accepted the glass and did her best to curb the unladylike instinct to gulp it all down in a single drought. She managed to sip.

"Yes," she answered, smiling again and sipping. "My home is in Dunhanshire...Ah... England? When I was last there, it was 1203 in the year of our Lord. Prithee, your mind may imagine my shock when arriving here! 'Tis still a struggle, but most have been kind to me. You are very kind." Another smile, another sip, this time less desperate.

She didn't tell him about the trouble at the hospital, or about the unusual happenings between herself and Sir Napier. It was rude to discuss such things.

"Is this your home?" she asked, looking around. It was dark, but so very large! And the windows alone must have cost a fortune! All in all, it was a fine keep, and would withstand a great bashing of the elements. In this age, it did not seem that men lay siege to their neighbors, so she didn't think to factor in the lack of a moat.

It saddened her when she realized that she hadn't. Moats were a part of her past, but clearly not a part of her future. She missed her home. She missed her family.

The year 1203? Oh, that couldn't be right. She must have been wrong. That was so long ago. Norman remembered learning about that time in school. Many many years ago. Though he couldn't remember much of it now. Dates and facts were never easy for Norman to recall. They never seemed as important as other things.

But she must have been wrong.

No! She's just lying to you, Norman! She's trying to trick you with her whore-ish ways! Listen to the way she talks! She has slut written all over her!

Oh no! She couldn't be like that! She was so polite and pretty. Norman refused to believe it.

"I live up in the house on the hill with my mother. But this is my motel. It's not much. I don't get much business either. But it's a good place."

"Oh, yes," Gillian agreed immediately. "It seems to be so. You have so much space, and it isn't drafty at all! Even my uncle's keep had a terrible draft in it - it was the way of things! Wind and winter make formidable enemies of comfort, but I see you have managed to conquer them!"

She gave him a brilliant smile and drank more. It was so good to be drinking something! How long had she walked? And how far?

"It must be very nice living with your mother. I didn't get to see the house - I only just noticed this ..m... motel..." The word was unfamiliar, and she tested it on her tongue carefully. "What kind of business are you in?"

Had he said inn or tavern, even, she would have understood. But motel? It was as foreign to her as hauberks would have been to him.

"Heh, well, I guess you could say I'm in the motel business."

She was a strange one, wasn't she? Not understanding what a motel tell was. Mother didn't trust her, but Norman was trying to be polite. Norman was always very polite. Sometimes too polite. To the point of suspiciousness. Somehow, despite living with Mother, he'd managed to find a sense of courtesy.

Dirty whore doesn't deserve to live, Norman! Get rid of her! Get rid of her or I'll get rid of her!

"Twelve rooms, twelve vacancies. I rent them out to travelers. Sometimes high school kids. You know how those after p-p-prom events are. I don't like renting to them, but sometimes I don't have a choice. Especially during the slow season."

He paused for a moment.

"It's a very nice house. I've lived there all my life."

Except for that time when he was taken away... Or, more correctly, when Mother was taken away.

"If you'd like, we could go up there and I could make us some s-sandwiches. I make a good sandwich. So I'm told."

"Prom events?" Well, she definitely didn't know what that was, but... "It sounds rather unsavory..." The tone in his voice suggested it more than anything else. "I'm sure that's the right thing to do." But she was understanding more what a hotel was, so she felt better about the entire situation. She didn't need a hotel, but the mention of food reminded her that she'd not eaten much at all.

"I would be charmed to try one of your sandwiches, Lord Norman," Gillian said, settling her glass in one hand as she took his arm with the other. Her fingers rested delicately against the inside of his elbow and she looked up at him trustingly.

She said yes? Just like Marion had said yes. Only with Marion, Norman brought the sandwiches down to the motel office because Mother was in a bad mood. But Mother wasn't in such a bad mood this evening, right? She didn't seem to be. Actually, Norman was of the opinion that she was asleep in her room. Which was good because Mother needed the rest. She was getting old and a little confused. And Norman was a good boy! A good son! He was taking care of her. Or, he wanted to take care of her. To the best that he could, of course.

Which would never be good enough for Mother.

He grinned.

"Wonderful! I mean, great! It's just a little walk and a few steps."

And then she touched his elbow and his face flushed a little. It was a different experience. One he knew that Mother would disapprove of greatly. But Mother wasn't here, was she? So Norman took a deep breath, smiled, and led her up to the house.

They didn't enter through the front door, but the door on the side of the house which went directly into the kitchen. It was a decent sized kitchen, but it's style was rather 1950s-ish. The wallpaper could use a change, as could some of the appliances, but Norman did a good job of keeping up with the cleaning.

There was a yellow formica table in the center with two chairs. Once Norman saw that she was seated, he quickly began to pull out a plate for her.

"Would you like something to drink? I have milk and ... tea."

Settling into her chair properly, she stroked the top of the yellow table gently. She hadn't ever seen a color like this on a table, and never this type of table top either. How very strange, how very unique!

"Oh, tea would be lovely! Thank you!"

She was trying to find ways of distracting herself. For all his kindness to her, the house around them felt ... dark. It felt... The hair on the back of her neck tingled, and she rubbed at the tense muscles there before turning to look behind her. It felt as if something were watching her... Something...

Tucking her hands properly in her lap, she crossed her ankles, told herself it was just her imagination, and smiled properly for her host. He really was being very nice to her. It wasn't at all the way Laird Naipier had been, and he was definitely her friend, wasn't he?

Swallowing as another icy wave of discomfort snaked down her back, she asked -- and her voice was more subdued than before, now -- "We aren't disturbing your dear mother, are we?"

"Oh no! Mother is fine. I am sure that she is upstairs resting."

But was he sure? Norman glanced over to the doorway that led towards the hall that housed the stairs to the second level. Where the bedrooms were. Where Mother was. She was being quiet all of a sudden and Norman didn't know what to make of it. Was she angry? Upset? Tired? He knew she didn't like having Gillian there, but she wasn't disturbing anything. Was she? Just a simple sandwich. A cup of tea. Nothing more.

Norman set the tea kettle on the stove and looked into the cabinet where there were two boxes. One was cardboard with newer Lipton tea bags inside of it. The other was an old tin container with a flower design. Norman's hand paused over the tin.

Don't do it, Norman! Don't do it!

He pulled his hand back and went to the fridge instead, removing the necessary meats and cheeses to make a sandwich with. Every now and again still glancing over towards the doorway as though he half expected Mother to enter at any moment.

"I hope you don't m-mind turkey. That's all I have. I really should go to the store soon."

He spread out a few pieces of bread on the cutting board and removed a large knife from a drawer.

"It does my heart well to hear it," she said softly, watching him as he moved around the kitchen. There was a hesitation in him, one she'd never seen before from Benton when he cooked. She wondered just how late it was, as she hadn't been paying attention to the time when they went up to this house. She was sure it wasn't late enough to have worried the Mountie, and the City had a way of folding her from one area to the other with quickness she couldn't manage on her own two legs.

Being late had become a trouble of the past.

When she heard him stutter out the next question, she smiled warmly to try to settle him. He seemed so... So nervous. In truth, his nervousness was infectious. She was beginning to feel quite ill at ease, herself.

"Turkey sounds delightful," she assured him, her voice soft and gentle. "Thank you for your kindnesses, Sir Norman, for they are many indeed."

"Don't worry about it! Anything for a friend. Or a stranger. I mean ... Well, what I meant to say is ... for a nice lady like yourself."

Nervous? Oh, poor Norman. He couldn't help himself. He had always been that way. And now with that knife in his hand as he was cutting the bread and turkey. He was starting to feel anxious and worried. Mother was awfully quiet tonight. Too quiet. What was she doing? Was she alright? Norman wanted to check on her, but he didn't want to leave Gillian.

And what about the tea?

He finished the sandwich and set it in front of her.

"You know ... I think I better check on my mother while the water is boiling. Please, eat. I'll be just a moment."

And Norman hurried off towards the stairs.

"Oh, for certes!" Gillian exclaimed, gesturing gently toward the stairs. The concern for one's mother was always precious to the Lady's heart. She herself could barely remember her own mother -- bits and pieces, before her sister arrived. For Lord Norman to have a mother, and to be able to watch over her during her declining years, it must have been such a great responsibility, and a great joy.

She didn't mind that he left, but once she sat alone at the table, she didn't want to be. Carefully picking up the edges of the sandwich in dainty fingers, she bit down and chewed slowly. It was so quiet here. So very, very quiet. As if the place were the only thing in the wide world, and it had been covered in a spectral shroud that dampened sound. She swallowed, the food turning to a hard lump in her throat.

Perhaps she should be getting along soon... With Norman's nervous but gentle and kind presence around her, she felt only that much more worried. The air was charged with static, like the night Baron Alford attacked her father's keep and destroyed her home. She shifted in her chair and bit down on the sandwich again, more slowly.

It was just her imagination. Norman was a sweet new friend. Just her imagination.

Norman thought that his mother had been resting. He thought that she'd be alone. Asleep. Not paying attention to what he was doing. But he was wrong. Mother was always watching. Always listening. And she always knew what was going on.

And tonight, she was not pleased.

Norman had brought another one of those whores into her house! Her house! Filthy, disgusting trash pretending to be all high and mighty. All muckety-muck. But Mother knew the truth. Mother knew what she was. What they all were. They were all the same. No different. And she wouldn't stand for them infecting her dear sweet boy.

The figure that came down the steps moved slowly. It was tall. Too tall for a woman, though it was garbed in a long floral-printed dress and its grey hair was pulled tight into a bun. Quiet. Like the house. With no words. Mother? And when it finally stopped to stand in the doorway to the kitchen, the face was concealed by shadow.

The long sharp knife in the figure's hand, however, was not. In fact, it glimmered under the kitchen light.

She sat unaware, slowly chewing the sandwich Norman made for her. But the fingers of her free hand were slowly stroking the top of her knee, a nervous gesture that made soft shhing sounds with the fabric and the tips of her fingers. She wished, without negative feelings, that Norman hadn't left her. The house was so quiet, so very quiet.... An involuntary shudder ran up her back.

Against the formica table, a bright spot appeared. It was cylindrical and moved a little. Wondering just what it was, she set her sandwich down on the plate and instead traced the shape of it. It seemed to be a reflection...

Gillian turned in her chair...

Mother's actions weren't very quick, except, perhaps, to the unaware. The knife came down upon Gillian's chest the moment she turned around to catch a glimpse of that reflection. It made something of a squishing sound. To the outside viewer, it would have been a very mechanical action. Stab, release, stab, release. But, for Gillian, it was probably much faster. And, needless to say, much more dreadful and horrifying.

But Mother wouldn't stand for any of her kind in the Bates home. Not now. Not ever. She would protect her Norman at all costs. He wasn't perfect. And sometimes he didn't deserve her help. But he was still her sweet boy. And for him she would do anything.

Even if it did coat her kitchen floor in blood.

It didn't register, not at first. Her mind couldn't make sense of this spectral creature above her. But the blade... The blade, she knew. It was the same as the one that cut down her father in front of her, the same as the ones that slashed through the guards - the good men - in her father's forces. It shone brightly, but darkness filled the light of it.

Her first reaction was to bring her arms up to shield herself; the second, to call to Norman to warn him to run... The blade sliced through her arms, cut them straight to the bone and scored that white, strong substance... then sank further to her chest. And her call was nothing more than a high-pitched gurgle in her throat, choked with fear. There was no pain, only fear, fear, terror...

And then the world went black.............

Dad-a-chum? Did-a-chick?

Roland had been hearing them all day. At first he thought it was just in his head. The memories of a long past event. Something so deep in his history that had he not been missing two of his fingers and part of his toes he may not have believed ever happened at all. And there was no ocean in the City. At least, none that he had ever noticed. But, perhaps he had not been paying enough attention?

The sounds continued.

Dum-a-chum? Ded-a-Chek?

They were calling him.

The gunslinger wasn't sure at what moment he knew they were calling him. Calling to him and calling for him. But when he did, he found himself walking towards the sounds. Walking towards the aberrations of nature that had once crawled out of the sea and feasted on his flesh. He felt like he was going backwards. Away from the Tower. But, in the same sense, also closer to it. As though there were some kind of circle in his life that he didn't quite understand. Or, couldn't quite remember. He wasn't traveling west though. He was traveling east. Away from the Path of the Beam. Away from the Tower. Back towards Gilead. And he knew that eventually the City would stop him, but still he walked.

He thought about the boy. Jake. The boy was gone. Yesterday he'd stood on a street corner and imagined that he saw the boy walk out in front of a vehicle. He tried to push him aside. Or tried to be the Pusher? Hoping that the car would hit him and his time in this neverending cycle would be over. But it had all been in his imagination. There was no car. No boy. No Pusher.

And no more doors.

Dad-a-chum? Did-a-chick?

The sound of sand crinkled under his boots and he could see the waves hitting the banks. Behind him the City was tall and blinking with lights. Before him was an endless ocean, filled with lobstrosities. He could see some of them washing up on the sand. Half scorpion and half lobster, more than half his length in size. Dum-a-chum? Ded-a-Chek? Lester was probably out there. Lester the lobster. And somewhere farther beyond lay the Slow Mutants.

And then all Roland could think of was the boy and how he'd let him fall. So many times, he'd let the boy fall. So many times he'd lost his ka-tet. Eddie. Susannah. Even Detta-Odetta, whom he quietly had a longing to see again.

And Susan. The first person he'd let fall. The only person he'd truly loved.

Did-a-chick? Dum-a-chum?

The gunslinger walked through the sand towards the lobstrosities. Towards the water with its soothing tide. They already had part of him in their bellies. It was time to give them the rest. Time to let himself fall. And even though he knew it was the end, a small part of him felt that it was just another beginning. This had all happened before. Maybe in a dream. And it was doomed to happen again.

Dad-a-chum? Did-a-

"I have been tracking their movements through the police server. Erratic and scattered. There's no good way to guess where they might be going nex--"

"But if we could pick up a better report?" Frohike interrupted.

"Anyone got a police cruiser on hand?" Langly joked.

Byers paused for a moment as the proverbial lightbulb blinked above his head. Police vehicle? Not necessary. All they needed was a means of patching into the City police radio transmission. And lucky for the Lone Gunmen, they had just that sort of equipment available to them in their van. Not quite a Mystery Machine, but definitely deserved credit for being cool and hi-tech. If not a little bit rusty under the fender.

And their mission? Well, ever since crossing paths with the so-called Dynamic Duo the Lone Gunmen had found themselves extremely curious as to their makeup. Robotic? Cybernetic? Artificial Intelligence? Well, probably not in the A.I. department. They were relatively dimwitted. And seemed only to be able to repeat poorly written dialogue from the sixties. But there was still something to be learned from them. And if nothing else, perhaps they could create their own pair of robot counterparts.

If three Lone Gunmen were cool, imagine how five would be!

"...Still, I really think we ought to just craft ourselves some super hot robot babes," Frohike said as they drove up and down the back streets, listening for an A.P.B. on the Batbots. Or whatever it was they really were.

"You would," Byers replied, making a left turn to avoid a dead end. The City was full of them.

"Dude. It'd be sweet if we made her look like that Resident Evil chick," Langly added.

Byers rolled his eyes. Frohike pulled out a map. And--

"Two masked suspects in tights and leotards spotted outside coffee house in City Industries district! All vehicles report! Proceed with extreme caution!"

"Floor it! Floor it!" Langly yelled.

"Oh, I wish we'd checked the transmission earlier!" Byers said, slamming his foot on the gas and speeding off.

"Ma'am, calm down!" Robin held his hands out and tried to block the screaming, frantic woman from Batman.

"I don't know what she's so upset about, Boy Wonder, I was merely trying to save her from the giant rodent attacking her!"

"That was my baby!" the woman screamed. "My chihuahua!"

"I've called the police!" The barista shouted over everybody. "They're on their way."

"He's really very sorry, ma'am." Robin tried again. "Please. Stop screaming. He's never seen a chihuahua before."

"It's not a dog, Robin, it was a vicious and rabid rodent. You should have seen the teeth on that thing."

"I'll sue! I'll sue and you'll both go to jail! I'll make sure of it!"

"Maybe it's not dead..." Robin ventured.

"Oh. It's dead. I killed it good." Batman was mighty filled with pride.

Meanwhile, not too far away, the Lone Gunmen were trying to race the police to the scene of the -- crime? Well, whatever it was. They hadn't entirely agreed with each other over whether or not this pseudo Batman and Robin were actually criminals. Byers had taken a logical approach and blamed their creator. Langly thought they were kinda cool. And Frohike just wanted to prove his masculinity by taking something apart and turning it into something ... sexier.

Their van started sputtering and creaking, especially whenever Langly screamed at Byers to take a sharp corner when he was just about past it.

"Stop yelling at me! It's hard to obey traffic signals with you screaming in my ear!"

"Just drive, man! Driiiiiive!"

There was a small crowd surrounding the coffee house, and the Lone Gunmen pulled up in front of a fire hydrant. Their exhaust was smoking more than normal.

"Is it supposed to do that?" Frohike asked, peering out the window.

"Look! There they are! Get your tools, fellas!"

And, rather comically, the Lone Gunmen stumbled out of their vehicle and headed towards the robot pair and the ... dead chihuahua?

"Eww."

"Grotesque."

"Wicked."

Batman, unconcerned about the screaming woman and worried barista, turned to see who had just arrived.

"Oh, look, Robin. It's those men who went crazy due to the gasses. They look more sane now. Why don't we go say hello?"

"Batman, we can't. We have to deal with this woman and her do...where are you going?"

"Hello boys!" Batman said, hands on his hips. "I take it you're feeling better than you were during our previous encounter. There will be no biting from anybody, will there? No. I should think not."

"Batman!"

"The cops are coming" The barista pointed down the street to the cruiser stopped by traffic.

"Batman! Come on!"

"Let me talk to the nice boys and make sure they're okay."

The Lone Gunmen blinked in unison. Why weren't the robots attacking them? Wasn't that their duty? It had to be in their programming. That and being complete menaces to society.

Frohike carefully held a wrench behind his back. Not exactly the suave means of going after the two robots, but he was hoping it would work better than their fists. That hadn't worked at all the first time around.

Byers had been working on a distortion device to see if he could block out the signals that kept them alive. Or, at least, disrupt their circuitry. He kept it with him as they approached the Batbots, doing his best to make it seem inconspicuous.

And Langly? His style veered towards the lead pipe. Just because he wanted to hit something. He would have thought of something better. If he had more time. And more motivation.

They all faked smiles and nodded their heads.

"Oh yes!"

"We're much better now!"

"Thanks to your help!"

"You really provide a great service to society!"

"Might we have your autographs?"

"To remember the men who changed our lives."

"Pretty please?"

"Why, sure, Citizen. We would be glad t..."

"Batman."

"Shh, Boy Wonder, we have fa..."

"BATman."

"I'm going to give these nice boys an auto..."

"BATMAN!"

"For god sake, Robin, what is it?"

"You're standing on the dog."

"I'm what?"

"The dog? The dead dog?"

"What dog?"

"The oversized rodent."

"Oh. What about it?"

"You're standing on it. IN it."

"Ew." Batman looked at his boots and stepped away. "I don't think I'm going to be able to get that stain out, Robin."

"I don't think it's going to be much of an issue, really. The cops are on their way, and you might be arrested."

"Nonsense! I'll just talk to Commissioner Gordo..."

"Not here."

"Say again?"

"He's not here."

"Well. I'm in some dog poo now, than aren't I?"


When Robin, or "Robin" as the Lone Gunmen had termed him, mentioned the dead dog guts, Langly made the mistake of looking. His response? Turning around and gagging up some of his lunch (instant ramen noodles) near Byers's shoe.

"Ew!"

"Sorry, man... Glurrghh.."

"Should I bash him now?" Frohike whispered to Byers.

Byers stuttered on his words a bit. Langly's sudden decision to get sick on them kind of defeated the purpose of a three-way attack.

"You okay, Langly?"

"Yeah ... Just give me a second..."

"On the count of three, maybe?" Frohike offered.

"One..."

"Two?"

"Three!"

Langly lept up from his small puddle of vomit and whacked Robin with the lead pipe.

"HAHAHA! EAT YOUR HEART OUT, COLONEL MUSTARD!"

And then Frohike attempted the same on Batman with the wrench. Whack, whack, whack! Trying not to look at the dead chihuahua guts.

And Byers stepped back a bit to turn on his robot distortion device which may or may not work. It worked on some of his battery operated toys from the eighties, but this would be the first real test. Not exactly the best way to try out a product but beggars can't be choosers.

They were being assaulted!

Robin tried to cover his head and wonder why the lead pipe didn't hurt all at the same time. It was a next to impossible task.

Batman sprung to with his batbelt and started to go through it while deflecting the blows.

Neither of them noticed the device. But even if they had, they wouldn't have known what to think about it. Or what it might possibly be used for.

They hadn't been made to really understand technology.

Or much of anything.

"AHH! THEY'RE DEFLECTING!"

"They're DEFECTING??"

"No! They're-- YARRGH!"

Frohike and Langly continued to whack the robots but with seemingly little avail. Though the Batbots did make peculiar metallic-like thunking sounds. Sort of. No Matter. What did matter was that it didn't look as though they were winning, and Langly was beginning to wish he'd stayed at home playing HALO. At least that was something he knew he couldn't be taken at.

"Byers! What's taking you so long?!"

"There's something wrong!"

"As if we couldn't tell!"

"Oh, wait! I forgot to turn it on!"

Byers flipped a switch.

Batman was effected first. Being the closest. He wasn't sure what was going on. Everything felt fuzzy and electric. Half of his body slumped as if he'd had a stroke.

"Booooooy wunDER, I theeeenk theeeese boys have DONE sometink NICHT GUT!"

"Holy electric monkeys, Batman!" Robin lunged forward to help, and that's when he was hit with it too. More of him was disrupted by the whateveritwas because he was smaller. Or maybe not made as well.

The pair stood on the sidewalk, twitching and unable to walk.

Byers was shocked. Sure, he knew there were few limitations to his intelligence. Especially where computer hacking was concerned. But he didn't actually expect his device to work. It probably had a weird aftereffect he didn't know about, though. Something he'd find out about later. Like taking out the power in the City Industries or something wild like that.

Frohike was still lunging with his wrench when the robot superheroes started stumbling about. It took him a moment to realize he was no longer in any imminent danger.

And Langly? He set his pipe aside and crossed his arms.

"Yeah, dat's right, robot biotches! I'm a lean mean fighting machine! Yowza!"

Byers and Frohike looked over at Langly with quirked brows.

"What? Appreciate my sacrifice, bros! Those guys could have killed me!"

"They could have killed us too," Byers replied.

"Well ... yeah ... But did you see me hit that guy?! POW! BAM! SPLAT!"

Frohike snickered.

"So, now what are we going to do with them?"

"Wait for them to power down and then we can dismantle them in the van."

"Wait'll Mulder gets a load of this. He's not going to believe it."

They all paused a moment and looked at each other. Sure, Mulder would believe in AI robot like superheroes. But he'd never believe the Lone Gunmen were capable of their own form of arrests. It'll be fun to boast.

Buildings suddenly vanished, people followed closely behind. Everything was very suddenly gone from view. Darkness consumed everything and everybody.

Slowly, very slowly, the City started to rebuild itself.

Those who had just gone through the horrors of the massive chess game between the City and Death might have seen this as a fit thrown by the City due to it's massive loss to the reaper. Those who had no idea what was going on would just continue to be confused.

Buildings slowly reappeared on streets that were fresh and clean. People began to reinhabit them, the City born citizens appeared first, as if nothing had gone on at all. As if it was all just another day.

Holes remained in some places, the City taking time to heal itself. To repair. To fix. To reset.

Life would return to normal.

Eventually.