La Maison de Terre - Uptown - Faraday City ...

Betty had chosen this venue and Zjahn felt as out of place here as he did everywhere. Outside of his heroic activities, he spent most of his time within the confines of his apartment. The stench of the dead meat and vegetables that these humans consumed to sustain themselves made his stomach turn. Not to mention the plethora of artificial scents that assailed his nostrils.

Humans doused themselves with chemicals to enhance their natural scents, or as he preferred to see it, to hide the smells that emanated from every part of their bodies. His enhanced, alien senses could smell it all and he reviled it. Here, among those congregating for what they called 'fine dining', the experience assaulted him in waves and, not for the first time, he wished he had never come to this planet.

"How's your fish?" The woman fell into 'polite conversation' with ease, her utensils clicking upon the plate before her. "I read, in the restaurant critic's column, that they serve the most delicious fish this side of Arclight City."

Of course. Everything was better in Arclight City. The chosen home of Principle. A cleaner city. A more technologically advanced city, thanks to the money and businesses of Victor Vaughn, Principle's rival for the affections of the city, and, in his mind, for Principle's lover, Leona Lawrence. Vaughn also held the dubious honour of being this world's second most intelligent man and Principle's primary antagonist. Though the world only saw him as the face of VaughnCorp.

In that, alone, Zjahn did not envy Principle. Vaughn had the resources and the brains to always stay one step ahead of Zjahn's heroic rival. Zjahn did not have a nemesis. Or, rather, he hadn't had one until he created one. One that was, perhaps, even more deadly than Vaughn, because Zjahn's nemesis knew everything that Zjahn knew and Zjahn could not defeat himself.

Only after he had pushed around the cooling, cooked flesh of the fish around his plate did he realise that he had not answered the woman, and she now looked at him with expectant eyes. He still did not understand why she had invited him to this meal, this place, and it infuriated him that he could not read her mind and find out. Yet, even there, something felt different. Her thoughts not so much blank, but clouded, as though, if he concentrated hard enough, he could break through. But he could not.

"It is ... palatable." It was disgusting, like most things on Earth. "Though I must confess, I do not hunger enough tonight to eat it all."

Her gaze never wavered from him as she scooped up some form of sauce onto soft, white flakes of fish flesh before daintily transferring it into her mouth. She chewed, saying nothing and the thought of her, anyone, masticating the remains of dead animals was almost enough for Zjahn to vomit. He didn't eat in the same fashion as humans. His people had long since abandoned the process. Relying, instead, on nutritionally satisfying supplements.

"I bet you're wondering why I asked you out, right?" She framed it as a question, but Zjahn got the impression that it was not intended as such. "Well, after the disaster at the Oakmont, I thought I needed to apologise. I left you alone when that ... villain attacked and that was wrong of me. I invited you and I should have stayed by your side."

"Think nothing of it." Something caught Zjahn's attention. Something that he had missed. "Forgive me if I intrude, but is that an ... engagement trinket? Ring! An engagement ring?"

Betty reached for her glass, the contents involving the pressed and fermented remains of some fruit. An alcoholic concoction that served to lower inhibitions. As she did so, she turned the ring with her thumb, her bright, painted nails contrasting with the colour of the alcohol. The 'wine'. Her eyes widened sharply as she made a discreet lick of her lips, replacing the glass upon the table surface.

"No. God, no! This was a ... gift. From an old, old, crazy aunt." She held out her hand before her, admiring the adornment, before resting that hand upon her lap, below the table. "Do you like it?"

Zjahn had no feelings about the jewellery. It meant nothing to him personally or aesthetically. It was a piece of metal, formed into a tubular ring with a stone of some kind set into it. This was another thing humans did in the hopes of making themselves more attractive. They wore things, not for practicality, but for how others would perceive them, or they perceived themselves. Human emotions were complex and not nearly as understandable as humans liked to believe.

Yet, in the depths of his mind, something stirred and Zjahn fought to tamp it down. He had lied to himself. He had experienced a feeling. The moment he had noticed the ring, his immediate thought that she had become engaged to some other human had triggered a bout of, what humans call, jealousy. He imagined Betty visiting the injured man in hospital, Wade, and him begging for betrothal between them.

"It is acceptable." His human face frowned as the image mirrored his true form's thoughts. That was not the correct response. "It is beautiful. Yes."

Even now, Zjahn felt a rage well up inside him. Even the thought of someone else proposing marriage to this woman, despite her protestations to the counter, made Zjahn quiver. That thing that stirred pushed itself past the barriers Zjahn had created. It heaved its way up from the depths of Zjahn's consciousness. It burrowed its way past all the psychic defences he had created.

"Leave this to me." That voice. That voice once again! "You are too weak to do what needs doing."

-+-

Mount Cedar hospital ...

Paul Giannini had worked at this hospital for years. He had fought tooth and nail to get a job here, the most famous hospital on the East Coast, and it had brought with it all the prestige Paul could ever have wanted. Top of his class in Med School, Paul could have worked anywhere, but he wanted to work here. The best medical cases were here. The money was here and, one day, he would run this hospital.

Unlike Bohemia City, or New Hastings, or even Arclight City, Faraday City didn't suffer from the large amounts of supers activity that blighted those other places. They didn't have to deal with alien mind viruses, or cybernetic commandos. Not often, at least. Only good, old-fashioned, medical cases. The kind of cases Paul revelled in fixing. Unlike this poor jock they brought in the other day. Impaled by glass, shattered by some creep that had a beef with that cape. What was his name? Psycho-something?

Paul checked the charts, did all the usual response tests and then clicked his pen before adding the latest notes. He checked the Omega watch on his wrist for the time. A few more days and the man should start to get on the long and winding road to recovery, all being well. Tucking the expensive silver pen back into his breast pocket, he returned the charts to holder on the wall and paused.

Faraday City didn't have the excess of neon that Arclight City had. It didn't have the searchlights of Bohemia City, scouring the overcast skies above that hell-hole for the, supposed, hero, Fear. Faraday City was a good city. A parochial city, just short of the Mid-West. Why, then, did Paul see a kaleidoscope of light cascading through the slatted blinds on the windows? Light that coruscated across the resting form of one Wade Tompkins?

When the windows, themselves, shattered inward, Paul covered his face with his hands, feeling shards penetrating his skin in several places. He fell, scrambling backward as winds billowed into the room, bringing with them a tall, hulking, malefic form. Paul had never seen anything like it in his life. A malevolent creature with green flames erupting from the eye sockets beneath a cold, metal helmet.

The creature turned toward him, rows of sharp teeth above rows of sharp teeth baring in what Paul could only describe as a smile. A gloved hand rose, a clawed finger touching this creature of evil's lips and ... it shushed him. Shushed him!

"Don't worry, doc-torrrrr. I'm not here for you." The figure looked away and then back again. "Not yet."

Paul covered his face, pressing it into his gathered knees, praying that he lived and, if he did, swearing he would join Médecins Sans Frontières instead of chasing after dream jobs. This was it for this city. No more. No more!

By the time he managed to peek over the top of his knees, both the creature and the injured man had gone. As other staff members rushed into the room, praising his bravery, tending to his wounds, Paul wondered if this would be a boon or a liability for his ambitions. And whether he could claim on the hospital's insurance.

-+-

Meanwhile ...

Betty couldn't explain any of it if she tried. Not why she had invited Sean, Psycona, whatever, here at the city's most expensive restaurant, but certainly not what she could see after Madame Misstery had done whatever it was she had done. And that wasn't even mentioning the things she could hear now, and that guy, over in the corner, having the romantic meal with the woman? Well, he needed to see a therapist. And also some kind of understanding proctologist.

Sean Smith was not Sean Smith. He wasn't even Psycona. Or that weird, lizard-like alien. Or that evil-looking son-of-a-bitch that had attacked the Oakmont. He was all those things. All those people. All at the same time. It took most of her concentration to boil it all down to just Sean. Just that quiet, unassuming guy she had talked to a few times. That nice guy that looked as though he would tremble apart if he caught sight of her bra strap.

Of course, she wasn't even certain that wasn't all an act. Or if any of it was an act. If Psycona was only a façade preparing for the arrival of his 'true self', Phaross. But, if it all was, then why did he still maintain this illusion? Why had he accepted this invitation to dinner? None of it made sense. Who was he? This man before her. This hidden alien. Too late, she realised she hadn't said anything for a long time and had stared like a madwoman at him.

That was fine, he didn't seem to pay her much attention anyway.

"So, who is Sean Smith? We never talk, you and I." She pushed his glass of wine closer to him, hoping to loosen his tongue a little. "Tell me about your mother?"

He ignored her! Her! And she was being positively divine and ravishing! Though she now realised the long, thigh-cut ballgown was probably a little over the top. And wasted on this guy. He hadn't even noticed how clingy it was and that was the dress' best selling-point. He looked as though he had spent an inordinate amount of time in the bathroom. Cheeks flushed, forehead creased. At least, the 'Sean Smith' version of what she could see did. As for the rest ... they were missing. Only one of the 'versions' of him remained. And then Sean looked up, fingers clawing at the table surface.

"R ... ru ... run!" He grunted, struggling to speak, but he looked determined. "You need to run! Now!"

When something crashed onto the table, sending everything flying, Betty decided his warning was too late. Until she saw what had landed. Who had landed.

"Let's play a game, shall we?" Something floated into view before Betty's eyes. "Let's play ... which body part should I rip off first? Wade's arms? His legs? We'll save the head for last, seeing as you do so like his pretty face."

Betty's hand reached out to the battered, unconscious form of Wade, ripped from his hospital bed, and she wondered why Sean hadn't transformed into Psycona. If there was ever a time for him to prove he was a hero, it was now.