The Universe's Mixer

Jo had no idea who she was or where she was, that somehow, that seemed ok. She wasn't sure how, or why, but it just seemed right not to know. The people at the Hospital had called her Jane Doe. She honestly liked the last name, although she had an icky feeling about the Jane part. They had showed her the stuff that had been in the car they had found her is, cracked glass at all. The truck hadn't done much to jumpstart Jo's memory, except for the feeling that she had been going somewhere important. The heavy feeling of something she needed to remember had been there, and then it had gone. Oh well.

So they had given back most of her stuff. Amidst all the IDs, fake and otherwise, they had found some kind of permit that allowed for her to have a gun, but they hadn't given that back yet. At least, not until Jo had taken it back personally. Most of her weaponry, including a knife had been buried in a place that she would struggle to remember until the day she got her memory back. If she indeed ever got it back. Part of her knew that part. The feelings that she got wouldn't go away though, such as how this place seemed familiar, or even some of the people. Of course, she could never work up the courage to go after those thoughts. She simply thought she wasn't ready yet.

So out on the streets of the City, Jo just stood there on a street corner, staring up at the sky and wondering if something had put her here completely by accident. Her hands fingered the worn jeans that had been found among a bag of clothing. That she had taken gratefully, because the plastic hospital clothes really hadn't been all the comfortable, even if they had the word 'cotton' or something in their label. Jo had just been grateful to get out of there. She had another strange feeling that she didn't like Hospitals too much.

"Don' suppose they got a map of a place like this," she said, Southern accent still the same. At least that was one clue to her identity.

Wilson sighed and pushed his way out the front door of the hospital. He was ready for a hot bath, a hotter dinner and a cold glass of white wine. Only he lacked the dinner and wine. The bathtub.....well, he hoped that was still in his apartment when he got back. hell, he hoped his apartment was still his apartment when he got back. He didn't take things for granted here, not since he learned about the way the City worked.

Crazy messed-up world, huh? The psychos in Times Square with the posters and dreadlocks had no idea. Or maybe they did.

He picked up some beef curry and vegetable samosas at an Indian take-out place, then sprung for a nice bottle of Pinot Grigio at the liquor store. Everything was together in a nice, nondescript brown paper bag that thankfully didn't leak through or lose a handle as he walked. The night was looking up.

Until he turned down a street that was supposed to be where his apartment was, and walked into a fight.

His first instinct was to turn around and wait around the corner until it was done, but it was too late. The dueling duo had spotted him, and apparently resolved their conflict by telepathically deciding to take their aggression out on him instead.

Wilson lifted his hands palm out and said, "If you need money, I have a few bucks in my wallet. If you need food, take my dinner. It's not worth fighting about."

The taller of the two smiled nastily, flashing fang in the process, and said, "Oh, we want dinner but not yours. Just you."

Fangs? Wilson found himself wondering as a sense of unreality took over. That's new. He looked over his shoulder at the street corner, trying to gauge the distance and if he could make it. Too late. They were coming closer, and he wasn't sure he could run fast enough.