Episode Five

by Nikki and Carol

(selected banter by Tracy)

Teaser

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As the door of the abandoned warehouse opened, the glaring light that cut through the harsh blackness of night was blotted out by two shadowy figures emerging slowly through the doorway. The two men couldn't have been more different.

Balor Feris stood just over six feet tall and looked more like one of the Baldwin brothers than the low-life criminal he portrayed himself to be. He pulled on his well-worn black leather jacket to block out the cold desert air as he brushed his shoulder length black hair out of his emerald green eyes and glanced at the other man, known to him only as Sir.

Sir had never spoken one word about himself, but his image revealed enough. His custom-made Armani suits were expensive, but did nothing to cover up his massive girth. His nails were all perfectly manicured, and the pinky one on his right hand was long enough to sample any sort of product that might come his way. He brushed a hand over his expensive, yet ill-fitting toupee, as Balor pulled the door shut.

Balor turned to the older man and extended his hand. "Thank you, Sir," he said glancing towards the man's limo.

"As always, Balor, it has been a pleasure doing business with you," grunted the older man violently shaking Balor's hand.

As soon as the man released Balor's hand he turned and lugged a large duffle bag to the white limo that he had arrived in. Balor returned to the building, counting back from 50 as he went. Under a table laid a duffle bag identical to the one the older man carried, along with a silver attaché case. The open bag revealed 30 plastic bags stuffed with cocaine. Balor zipped up the black gym bag and grabbed the case as he hurried outside towards his black car, hidden at the back of the warehouse.

Balor reached his car and quickly got in, throwing the bag and attaché case on the passenger's seat. Then he peeled away from the warehouse, his tires screeching through the night. As he drove off, he stared into the rearview mirror and continued to count down.

"5, 4, 3, 2, 1...."

BOOM! He watched the older man's car burst into flames, nearly taking the warehouse with it. He smiled slightly and reached for the attaché case, popping it open. Staring up at him were thousands of dead presidents, Ben Franklins and Ulysses S. Grants.

"Piece of cake," he mumbled as he closed the case and stepped on the gas.

Hours later, Balor passed the "Roswell- 5 miles" sign. He pressed the gas pedal harder as the thought of a cold beer and a hot meal made his stomach growl.

"Finally," he breathed as he crossed the city limits, minutes later.

Seconds after passing the sign his sleek, black 2002 Ford Contour sputtered and died. Warning lights on the dashboard began to flash as the wheels locked up and the speed dropped.

"What the hell?" yelled Balor, as he slammed his fist into the steering wheel and pulled the car to the side of the road.

Getting out of the car, Balor opened the hood, propped it up and stared dumbfounded at the sight of the metal engine. In his 35 years of existence, he had learned to crack 12-inch solid steel safes, build complex bombs with common household items, and run drugs, money, and illegal aliens across the Mexican border, never once getting caught. But the internal combustion engine was the one thing he could never master or even begin to understand.

Balor stuck his hand under the hood, determined that rattling something would get the car to turn over. Placing his hand on what he thought was the battery, he suddenly jerked it back as the radiator burnt his palm.

"SSSSHHHH………" he screamed as his body jerked up and back, his head slamming into the hood. "Damn it!"

Coddling his throbbing hand to his chest, he ripped his cell phone out of his pocket and called the one man he knew could help him. Bob Reeves, tow truck driver extraordinaire, among other things.

"Yea, yea, I know that it's two in the morning," Balor groaned, leaning against his lemon of a car. "Bob, I need you to come and get me."

Balor paused listening, then growled into the phone, "YES! It died again," pausing once again. "The back road off of 285, at the city limits, you know the way. HURRY UP!"

Balor flipped his phone closed and frowned as he noticed, out of the corner of his eye, a bright light coming from the distant mountains. He looked up and saw the light rapidly approaching, seemingly aiming right for him. The wind began to whip around him, sending clouds of dust into the air. A continuous thumping sound enveloped him as the moving light quickly approached. He held up his hand to block out the blinding glare and dropped his phone as the light started to shine directly overhead.

As the bright light dissipated, nothing was left on the side of the road but the 2002 Ford Contour and a cell phone.

When Bob pulled up a few hours later, he knew something was wrong. The burly, bald man with a foot-long salt and pepper beard pulled his tow truck to the side of the road, staring at Balor's car. For a second he stayed in the truck, looking around for signs of life. All that was within sight was Balor's car, its hood up, headlights on, and the driver side door hanging open. Bob turned off his engine and opened the door of his tow truck. He climbed out and stared at Balor's car, hearing the sound of the Ford's engine purring softly.

"Bro? Bro, where are you?" he yelled. "Come on, you call me at 2 a.m., make me drive two hours and then your car is fine? BASTARD!"

Bob lumbered over to the car, feeling something snap under his foot as he went. He slowly lifted up his foot, revealing a cell phone, which was now totally destroyed. As Bob crouched down and picked up the phone, he saw the broken face plate, a skull and crossbones, one Balor had bought only a month before.

"Damn," he mumbled.

Bob walked towards the door of the Ford, switching off the car and grabbing the keys, as his eyes roamed around looking for Balor.

"Dude, where are you?" Bob called out into the stillness of the night.

Once again looking around, his eyes returned to the Ford and saw the black duffel bag and the attaché case sitting on the front seat. He curiously opened them both up and whistled in appreciation when he saw the contents. He looked around cautiously and then snatched them up, hurrying off towards his truck.

"Sorry, bro, but didn't your momma ever tell you not to leave valuables lying around," he said throwing the bags in his truck and speeding off down the road.

Weeks later, Balor's car was still sitting on the side of the back road, hardly resembling its former self. The harsh desert winds had glued a thick layer of sand to every inch of the formerly shiny metal. As the sun began to set, Balor materialized in the distance, struggling to walk. Balor lurched through the nearly flat desert, tripping over tumbleweeds, cacti, and clumps of dried grass. Struggling through the desert, Balor blinked his eyes rapidly as a slight breeze blew up the sand around him.

Balor stumbled onto the flat road, falling to his knees. His clothes were tattered and his formerly thick hair was gone, leaving his bald head badly sunburned. As he struggled to pull himself up, his eyes focused on his car, and a weak, delirious smile played across his entire face. The delirious look vanished seconds later as a coyote ran into the road, oblivious to the injured man.

The coyote stopped, sniffed the air, and turned towards Balor, baring its teeth. Balor started to shake in fear as the coyote took a step forward, seemingly unafraid of the intruder in his path. A look of complete fear spread across Balor's face as the animal approached. His heart began to race as a cold sweat broke out on his skin. The coyote froze, staring at the man standing before him. Balor's body began to shake as the cold sweat suddenly spread down his body, completely covering his leg. The coyote turned and ran, yelping at the convulsing man and the strange event that was happening. Balor looked down at his leg and his face went white. Knowing that he had two legs, he stared in shock at the one leg he saw. His eyes rolled back in his head, and he fell to the ground in a crumpled heap in the middle of the dusty road.

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::Cue Theme Music::

There once was a tale about a man who could turn invisible. I thought it was only a story, until it happened to me. OK, so here's how it works: There's this stuff called 'quicksilver' that can bend light. My brother and some scientists made it into a synthetic gland, and that's where I came in. See, I was facing life in prison and they were looking for a human experiment. So we made a deal; they put the gland in my brain, and I walk free. The operation was a success... but that's when everything started to go wrong.

::Music Fade Out::

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Act I

Lying fast asleep in his bed, tucked securely under a sea of blankets, Darien turned in his sleep, remembering the moments before his brother's death. Darien could hear Kevin's shoed feet pounding next to the sound of his bare feet hitting the floors of the laboratory. They ran into the main hall and stopped, staring at Arnaud's man standing in front of them, the man's gun raised and ready to fire. Darien could feel Kevin's hands press against his chest, firmly pushing him out of the line of fire. Darien felt his body fly back into the alcove created by the support beams of the building. Landing hard, he lifted his eyes to his brother still standing in the hall, Kevin's eyes pleading with him to stay there.

Then he watched in horrifying Technicolor as Kevin's body was riddled with bullets, his chest instantly turning a sickening shade of crimson. After that, Darien felt himself snap the gunman's neck, the harsh noise sounding like thunder striking through a quiet night.

In his dreaming mind, Darien prepared to once again hold his brother in his arms as he slipped away. But this time it was different. Kevin didn't die. At least, not when he was supposed to. Instead, Kevin was trying to tell him something. Darien leaned down over his brother's mouth and tried to make out Kevin's words. "A new one," his brother choked out. Then his eyes rolled back in his head and he was gone.

Darien bolted straight out of bed, his breath coming in harsh gasps and his eyes a well of unshed tears. He shook his head slightly, as if trying to get rid of the remnants of his nightmare. He glanced towards his clock and groaned when he saw the glowing red numbers of 2:35 in the morning staring back at him. He looked longingly towards his pillow and ran a hand through his disheveled hair, sighing slightly.

There is no way I am going back to sleep after that, Darien thought, letting out a weary groan and falling back onto his pillows. Too bad I don't have to be at work till later.

After three hours of running Kevin's death over and over again in his mind, Darien slowly got out of bed and padded towards the bathroom. Darien climbed into a shower so hot it managed to steam up not only the bathroom mirror but also the windows halfway across the apartment. When Darien realized that his fingertips were turning completely into prunes, he emerged from the bathroom wearing only a towel and a tired scowl.

Darien walked to the kitchen, grabbing a drink out of the fridge, glanced out the window at the rising sun and decided he needed to get the hell out of his apartment. He quickly dressed in a retro printed button-down shirt, a pair of day-glow orange pants and his signature pimp-daddy, fur-lined tan jacket, then located his keys and stepped out the door.

After locking up his apartment, Darien walked aimlessly out of his building with no particular sense of direction or urgency. He absently walked towards the corner, deciding to go to his friendly neighborhood newsstand to check out the latest issue of Philosophy Now or Playboy, whichever he came across first, hoping it was Philosophy Now, so that he could actually read it in public without disappearing. He quickly rounded the corner, not prepared for the slender woman that he suddenly crashed into.

She stumbled forward and dropped the paper she was reading. When Darien saw the woman's face, his mind flashed back in time, and he knew that he was in for it. It had been about six months since he had seen her, and the only day they had been "together", he had been escorted out of her apartment, half naked, by a nosy Hobbes and Monroe, before anything could happen.

She looked as beautiful as he remembered. Her short curly hair had grown out a bit, just enough that Darien had to resist running his fingers through it. The smooth dark skin of her face, which once glowed with wanting, now radiated anger and a hint of embarrassment. Her athletic body looked great in her low cut jeans and the cropped Superman T-shirt that hugged her tightly in all the right places.

The way he had felt about her barged into his mind instantly, but he knew that she wouldn't feel the same way after he had been forced to run out on her. Hobbes and Monroe had taken care of that. Rachel looked up and stared at him for what seemed like hours. When she finally recognized Darien, her eyes narrowed and a small but menacing growl escaped her lips.

"Rachel·uh· hi," he mumbled dropping his eyes to the ground.

Before Darien could apologize for disappearing or even for running into her, she turned on her heel and stalked off.

"At least she's not pissed," he sighed, kneeling down and picking up the paper that she had been leafing through at the stand.

"The World Chronicle. Who reads this crap? What the...?" he said to himself as he stared in shock at the cover of the rag. Across the front of the paper were the words, "I was abducted by aliens and now I can turn invisible." Darien stared at the cover, reading the headline over and over again. He flipped the paper open and quickly scanned the article.

"Aw crap," he exclaimed out loud as he quickly bolted from the newsstand, throwing a few bills at the man behind the counter.

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Now I don't know if aliens exist, well, no one at the Agency will tell me if they do, but as Jay Leno once said, "How would it be if we discovered that aliens only stopped by Earth to let their kids take a leak?" Of course if that were true, it would have made this case a little easier. But as fate would have it, our alien was interested in a little more than just relieving himself.

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The Official's office was silent as the no-nonsense bureaucrat reread the article that Darien had brought him. He cursed loudly slamming the paper back on his desk. He leaned back in his chair and sighed.

"Let me guess, he's one of yours?" Darien said angrily from his position in a chair next to Hobbes opposite of the Official's desk.

"No," The Official growled, watching Darien's face shift from disbelief to surprised belief.

"So Roswell, huh?" said Hobbes ignoring his partner's comment. "That place is a hotbed of UFO activity," he said matter of factly.

"Wait," said Darien staring at his partner in disbelief. "You mean you actually believe in this stuff?" he asked pointing at the cover photo of an alien space ship.

Hobbes shrugged, "I'm not a card carrying member of MUFON if that's what you mean. But if any Martian's gonna invade Earth, Roswell will be his first stop."

"Uh, MUFON? I'm not following you?" Darien asked.

"The Mutual UFO Network," the Official sighed.

Eberts burst into the room, holding a thick file in his hands. "Sir, I have gathered some very interesting information on The World Chronicle and the writer who did the story."

"Shut up, Eberts," sneered Hobbes.

"Well, actually, it probably would be a good idea to check out this guy and see if he's just some hack who made the whole thing up," Darien stated, looking at the Official and then Eberts.

Hobbes rolled his eyes. "Fine. What sensitive intel did you collect for us, Eberts?" he said sharply.

Eberts cleared his throat and began to read the file he had brought with him. "The reporter's name is Tucker Burns. Mr. Burn's career path took a sharp turn in college after a controversial and prize-winning article. It seems that Mr. Burns was tricked into writing a false piece about a professor and he lost every ounce of what little credibility one can earn in college. His name has become equal to that of journalistic pariah, and his résumé remains untouched by all major publications throughout the country. The only job he was offered was at The World Chronicle, last year," mumbled Eberts. "But, because of an unforeseen cut back of funding the paper's New York office has been closed. The entire staff of the paper has been reassigned to The World Chronicle's West Coast office in Los Angeles."

Darien glanced at Hobbes excitedly. "LA, nice. Watch out, Nicole Kidman, The Invisible Man's coming."

"Go grab your autograph book, Gland Boy. I'll meet you in the van in five," said Hobbes.

Darien nodded and quickly stepped out of the office. Hobbes was about to do the same before the Official stopped him.

"Bobby," said the Official.

"Yeah, Chief?" asked Hobbes.

"We need to get this guy," he said in a serious tone.

Hobbes nodded, "We'll take care of it, Chief," he said before following his partner out the door.

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Four and a half hours later, Hobbes and Darien were driving through the streets of LA trying to find the headquarters of The World Chronicle.

"It should be right around the corner," said Darien as he glanced at a map. He looked up and pointed at a ritzy, Victorian mansion on their left. "Hey, isn't that William Shatner's house?"

"Hey, you were the one that sold maps of the stars homes, why you asking me?" Hobbes asked as he smirked and turned the corner, passing right by the office they had been looking for.

"Hobbes, what did I say?" said Darien in irritation. "Right around the corner means right around the corner."

"Right around the corner is a little too vague for me, my friend," said Hobbes as he attempted a quick U-turn in heavy traffic. The force of the turn caused Darien to slam against the side of the van.

Darien straightened himself out and then glared at Hobbes. "You did that on..."

Darien was interrupted as Hobbes made another fast turn, this one into the parking lot of the Chronicle. The force smacked Darien back against the window as Hobbes threw the van into a space and slammed it into Park, causing Darien to lurch forward in his seat. "Next time, I drive," he growled as he got of the van.

Hobbes smiled in amusement and followed his partner up the walkway towards a large five-story brick building. "Get ready to meet some whackos, pal," said Hobbes as he opened the door and let Darien through.

What greeted them on the inside of the building was mind blowing to say the least. Though the directory said The World Chronicle only took up the second floor, with the third through fifth floors being deserted, the interior of the second floor was three stories high. The walls were entirely white, with no windows, no designs, nothing. The office floor was set up in an awkward semi-circle, with a large reception desk in the front. The staff was bustling around, but hardly a sound could be heard because the entire office seemed to be padded. People walked by Darien and Hobbes, speaking in hushed tones, and completely avoiding eye

contact.

"Fawkes, if I didn't know better, I would think that there's something other than bogus journalism going on here," Hobbes commented as his latent paranoia crept to the surface.

As they walked to the receptionist's desk, they couldn't help but overhear what the hefty redheaded woman was saying into her headset.

"So, you have proof that President Bush is a robot being controlled by the Republican Party!" exclaimed the woman with faked enthusiasm, pausing as she rolled her eyes. "Oh, so you hacked into his mainframe and you programmed him to declare world peace immediately with offenses being punishable by death. Let me connect you to our android division."

"A robot?" asked Darien, rolling his own eyes.

"You'd be amazed who's being controlled over there," Hobbes answered, scanning the room suspiciously.

"May I help you?" the woman asked, looking at them like they were the aliens.

"I am Agent Hobbes, and this is Agent Fawkes," Hobbes answered as both flipped out their badges.

"We're here to see Tucker Burns," said Darien leaning against the desk.

"Department of Fish and Game? You've got to be kidding me," she chuckled, causing both of them to raise their eyebrows, and blush slightly, at her fast reading.

"Miss·Miss·uh·ma'am," started Hobbes.

"Vera!" she exclaimed, pointing to the large nameplate on the desk.

"Yes, Vera, we have an appointment with Tucker Burns."

"PIGBOY!!!" hollered Vera, barely letting Hobbes finish.

Hobbes looked startled, "Pig..."

"Boy?" finished Darien holding back a laugh.

"You beckoned, my dear," sighed a short man, with a nose shaped like a snout, as he popped up behind Vera's desk.

"Sal, these two are here to see Tuck," said Vera. "Could you take them to his desk?"

"Of course, I have nothing else to do right now," answered Sal sarcastically.

Following this odd man, who looked like some sort of amalgamation of human and pig, was not the strangest thing they had ever had to do, but it was way up on their weird-crap-o-meter. So they went along with it. As they came to one of the smaller and cleaner cubicles in the office, Sal stopped and turned to them.

"So, Fish and Game? Are you guys here to fight for my equal rights?" he asked, his pig nose twitching. "If you are, you're about to talk to the wrong guy."

"Um, no. But can I ask you a question?" asked Darien as he sat in chair opposite of the desk. "How did you come to... um... look like this?" He waved a hand towards Sal's face.

"Long story about a drunken night my mother had back home on the farm," Sal answered as he turned to leave.

"Must have been one hell of a party," said Hobbes.

Sal ignored the comment. "Tuck will be with you soon," he said before stepping out of the cubicle.

Darien turned to Hobbes, and gave him a strange look, "And you think I'm weird."

"Yup, partner, this place pretty much holds the Guinness record for weirdness," Hobbes answered as he looked around the small cubicle.

Tucker Burns' cubicle was fairly average. One panel held hundreds of photos, some of which were obviously professionally taken family photos and others of which were amateur personal photos. A few of the amateur photos were covered up with black paper, causing Hobbes to step forward and peek around the paper curiously.

"Looks like we're dealing with the next Hugh Hefner," said Hobbes as he removed one of the black papers to reveal a nude photo of a beautiful woman.

Darien smirked and then glanced at the next panel, which was covered in scores of Post-It notes, each lined up alphabetically by the first word. As Darien looked closer he realized they were definitions, but not your average vocabulary. The Post-It notes ranged from alien references all the way to Wiccan curses and satanic rituals. In any other place they would have seemed weird, but in here, it was completely fitting.

The final panel contained clippings of articles that had been written by Burns, which seemed like a fairly normal decoration for the desks of most journalists. But then again, most journalists hadn't written articles about decapitations by headless bikers, sexually transmitted aliens, and ghostly possession that led to murders at a New Jersey Mall.

Hobbes shook his head and then sat down in the chair next to Darien, checking out Burns' desk, which contained only a computer and several sheets of paper with messages scrawled across them in thick black ink. The first sheet read "meeting with F&G agents????", the next read "Alien baby girl, Sloan Tate, born first week of July - check out LA" and the final one read "Invisible gov't agent, check out San Diego."

"Um, Hobbes," Darien muttered pointing to the third note.

"Don't worry, man," said Hobbes as he stood up and wandered around the desk, absently touching things. "They'll never find out."

"If you say so," said Darien as he absently started to play with a blue paper clip he had found on the floor. "You know, who ever invented paper clips must be rich. Think about it. People buy those things every day."

"And Post-Its," Hobbes responded, flicking a few of the ones on the side panel of the cubicle, whistling as he read the crazy definitions printed across them.

"White Out. One of the Monkees' mothers invented that," offered Darien

"Ah. Wish I could invent something like that."

"Office supplies?" Darien asked furrowing his brow.

"Yeah," Hobbes answered taking a seat at the desk once again.

"Oh! Staplers," Darien chimed in.

"Staples."

"Pencils."

"Pens," Hobbes said, picking up a pen and clicking it intently.

"Mechanical pencils."

"Paper."

"Paper?" Darien asked, once again furrowing his brow, quizzically.

"Yeah. That guy must be rich," Hobbes said, leaning back in Burn's chair.

"Hobbes, the Egyptians invented paper."

"No, papyrus," Hobbes said, pointing the pen at Darien.

"Papyrus paper."

"The Egyptians must be rich," Hobbes mused as Darien gave him a weird stare. "What?"

"It's sad really," Darien said, standing up.

"What? What?" Hobbes said standing up and raising his hands questioningly.

As Tucker Burns walked towards his desk he noticed the two men standing around bickering, like they owned the place. The two were as different as a pairing could be, as strange a partnering as Mulder and Scully. The differences only began with their heights, one being way over six feet, and the other maybe five. The taller one had a head full of bushy brown hair, and the shorter one was mostly bald. The one who could have been a stunt double for Bullwinkle was dressed very retro, with day-glow orange pants and an oddly patterned shirt, while the man closer related to Rocky, the flying squirrel, wore a tailored black suit. By the way things looked, this was going to be a very interesting meeting.

"Gentlemen, I am Tucker Burns. What can I do for you?" he asked, perching on the corner of his desk.

"Mr. Burns, I'm Agent Hobbes," the shorter man said again pulling out his badge. "We need a location and the name of your alien-abducted invisible man," he said as he pointed to the article pinned on the third panel.

"I'm sorry. I cannot reveal that information. Good day," said Tucker turning to leave.

"Oh, alright," Hobbes said in a friendly tone as he started to pull a very confused Darien up by the sleeve. "Nice meeting you, Mr. Burns."

"Hobbes, Hobbes, what the hell are you doing? The 'Fish is going to be pissed!" Darien blurted.

"It's just a shame that a journalist with such a promising future got bowled over with such a raw deal," mumbled Hobbes. "Too bad we weren't there to help."

"Excuse me, Agent... Agent," stuttered Tucker.

"Hobbes, Bobby Hobbes."

"What were you saying?"

"Oh, just that we are in a position where your situation here could be· let's say altered," Hobbes answered, smiling slyly and winking.

"Altered? How would you do that?"

"Oh, we have our ways," Darien chimed in, finally picking up on where Hobbes was going.

"So, is this a bribe?" Tucker asked.

"No, this is," Hobbes replied, fuming as he slapped down a hundred dollar bill.

"Excuse me, are you trying to compromise my journalistic integrity?"

"Let's face it, pal, as far as the outside world is concerned, your journalistic integrity was compromised long ago," said Hobbes.

Burns started to protest, but Hobbes went on.

"Look, Mr. Burns, this is a simple business arrangement. We need information, you have said information, and I'm just trying to make this beneficial for the both of us," answered Hobbes.

Tucker looked at Darien and Hobbes with a pensive look on his face.

"Well?" asked Darien after a pause.

Tucker stared at the two men, and shook his head. "I'm sorry, but I can't."

Hobbes looked disappointed. "Well, now I can see why you work for this tabloid and all your buddies work for the New York Times," Hobbes said, turning to leaving. "You should always cooperate with the government. You never know what we have hidden up our sleeves."

Tucker looked agonizingly from one agent to the other. He sat there silently staring, contemplating his options. He then sighed loudly.

"Fine. You can have the information," he said as he fell into his desk chair. "Just let me find it."

Tucker immediately started tapping away on his computer, as Darien and Hobbes took a seat in front of him.

Darien looked idly around the office, as Hobbes stared intently at Tucker. "This is a pretty nice place, you guys got here. Much nicer than my office," Darien said sarcastically. "I like the whole Post-It note thing."

"Um, yeah," responded Tucker as he glanced up from his computer, his eyes being caught by Hobbes' steady gaze. "Here it is. His name is Balor Feris. He was staying in his half built house at 235 Omaha Rd, in Roswell New Mexico. That's north of Highway 285. The interview itself took place at the Crash Site café."

"You sure that's the correct address?" Hobbes asked, craning to see the computer screen.

"Yea, yea it is," Tucker answered quickly turning the screen towards the man.

"Thanks for all your hospitality, my friend. Someone will be in touch with you shortly," Hobbes responded, standing up.

Darien quickly jumped up and followed Hobbes toward the exit. They passed by the receptionist's desk, which was now occupied by not only Vera, but also a very beautiful younger woman with long blonde hair and luscious lips. She glanced up at the two partners as they walked by and sighed with wanting.

"Hey, there, tall, dark and handsome. Looking for some alien loving?" she said, smiling seductively at Darien as her tongue slithered out of her mouth like a snake.

Darien stopped mid-stride, glancing curiously at the woman before Hobbes grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the office. As they walked out the door, they heard Vera say, "Come on, girl. Don't you know that short bald men are the ones to go for? They must have something going on that we don't know about."

Continuing out of the office, Hobbes smiled grandly as Darien ran to catch up with him.

"Hey, Hobbes. You know you left your hundred on that guy's desk, right?" Darien asked.

"Not my hundred, buddy, Uncle Sam's," Hobbes answered as they walked towards Golda. "I took it out of Eberts' petty cash box."

"Nice," Darien said.

As they returned to the Harding Building a few hours later, Darien was rereading the article about the man

now known as Balor Feris. Apparently Mr. Feris had a fondness for robbery, drugs and explosives. He also managed to describe an alien abduction scene that could have come straight out of any sci-fi movie, even Beach Babes from Beyond.

"So, Hobbesy. You think this guy's for real?" Darien asked as he tossed the paper into the back of the van.

"HEY! HEY! Keep her clean. Would you like me to get into that heap of junk you call a car and throw things around in it?" Hobbes hollered.

"Man, calm down. She's a mess already. It's just a piece of paper."

"A piece of paper here, an empty cup there. Next thing you know she'll be your own personal litter box. Just respect her enough to keep her clean. That's all I ask," Hobbes said in irritation. He gave the dashboard a tender stroke. "It's okay honey, he didn't mean it."

Darien looked at Hobbes like he had just remembered his partner was crazy. "Maybe I should've left you back at the Chronicle with the other freaks," he said sarcastically. "You been taking the meds, Bobby?"

"As a matter of fact, I have, pal," said Hobbes "Golda may not be KITT or Christine, but she's a hell of a broad and she's saved your ass more times than I can count. I think you owe her an apology."

Darien gaped at Hobbes, his mouth nearly on the floor. "Hobbes," he whined.

"Say you're sorry, Fawkes, or you can get out and walk," Hobbes said matter-of-factly.

Darien snorted and then shook his head in disbelief. "Fine. I'm sorry."

"Not to me, Fawkes, to Golda," said Hobbes.

Darien sighed. "Sometimes you scare me, man," he said under his breath. He reached his hand forward and set it on the top of the dashboard. "Golda, I apologize. I hope you can forgive me."

Hobbes smiled widely, his eyes twinkling. "That's better. Now what were you saying about this Feris mook?"

Darien gave Hobbes an incredulous stare and then shook his head. "I asked if you thought this guy was for real. But judging from the events of the last few minutes, I 'd say you think that not only is he for real, but that he's somehow related to you," he said as he leaned back and picked up the tabloid.

Hobbes narrowed his eyes. "Watch it there, Buckwheat. But in answer to your question, I think this guy is nuttier than my mother's pecan pie. It never hurts to look though, and our job isn't to judge if this guy is a loon, it's simply to find him," Hobbes answered as he pulled into the parking lot of the Agency.

"And what if this guy's not some psycho; what if he's telling the truth?" Darien asked curiously, getting out of the van.

"If that's the case, then we worry about it when we get there," Hobbes said as he followed his partner inside the Agency.

They entered the Official's office, taking their seats, as Eberts entered through the back door, carrying a thick folder marked "Confidential".

"Sir, I have some very interesting information about the original Roswell incident."

Hobbes made a mocking face and Darien dropped his head into his hands. The Official on the other hand, leaned forward in his chair, staring up curiously at Eberts."What did you find?"

Eberts gave Hobbes a smug smile and then started to explain,"On the night of July 4, 1947, a UFO reportedly crashed near the city of Roswell, then a farming and ranching community, in southeastern New Mexico. Originally the military did declare that there was a UFO crash, but on July 9th of that same year Brigadier General Roger M. Ramey declared that the supposed UFO was actually the crushed remains of a weather balloon," Eberts said as he passed a few pictures to the Official, Darien and Hobbes. "But in my recent access to various classified files on the matter, they have clearly illustrated that it was indeed much more than a simple meteorological measuring device. In fact, it was an·"

"Shut up, Eberts," the Official said, cutting off the other man in mid-sentence.

"So, we know that Roswell has had its problems with so-called aliens. But, do you really think that this guy's for real?" Darien asked leaning forward in his chair.

"Listen up, Kid," The Official growled. "You remember the invisible locusts? Did you really think that they existed before you saw what they did? This is completely need-to-know..."

"The ole need-to-know," Darien drawled out.

"Need-to-know, my friend," Hobbes answered, nodding knowingly.

"Shut up, Hobbes. We need to know if this person is real, or if he is just trying to get his 15 minutes of fame," barked the Official. "And if he is for real, then we need to take control of this before it gets out of hand. The public does not need to know."

"Okay, okay. We get it. We get it. We're on our way," complained Darien. "And if we don't return in a few days... call Mulder and Scully."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Act Two

Darien was a little rusty on his Star Wars knowledge, but it seemed that Jabba the Hutt had taken over the Official's office. He stared in awe at the giant mucky tan slug who looked like he had invaded the Official's closet and stolen a suit.

"Hoodyohn koosa fifty ahtoo?!" Jabba the Fish asked, smoking his pipe and adjusting the Official's tie, which was somehow stretching around his enormous neck.

"No sir, it doesn't make you look fat. I think it looks really nice," Darien answered somehow understanding but still hoping he was seeing things.

Jabba the Fish seemed to look pleased for a moment and then the look changed to one of irritation, "Koo nee dan, Hobbes?"

Darien shook his head. "Uh... no, sir. Hobbes will be here soon."

Slowly the door to the office opened, and in floated Yoda, wearing Hobbes' shades and ball cap. "Hi, says me, my friend, Fawkesy," said Yoda, putting out his little three-fingered hand for a low five.

"Hobbesy, how's it going?" Darien asked, slapping the little green alien's hand.

"Fine, says me."

"DAR-I-EN. DAR-I-EN," mumbled ET in a thick British accent, as he... she... it... came in the office.

"Glowing finger, me likes, Keep-ET," said Yoda Hobbes, raising a bushy eyebrow.

Jabba the Fish cleared his throat. "Nee labba no badda," he bellowed.

"What?" Darien asked, feigning shock. "An alien in the agency? No."

"My friend, indeed, find it we must," answered Yoda Hobbes.

Seconds later, they all turned as a loud pounding sound came from the door. Slowly Keep-ET waddled over to the door, pointing her glowing finger at the knob, which caused the door to magically open on its own. Blocking the entire hallway stood a drooling, metal-plated, nine-foot alien, whose only mission in life was to find her missing child. Quickly, her mouth opened, and a second little mouth exited the first and moved right up to Keep-ET's face, who shrunk back from the wretched smell the monster breathed on her.

"Ka pa me cheespa wata," Jabba the Fish bellowed as a cute and furry Ewok rolled into the office.

"Yub nub eee chop yub nub," Ebertswok said as he peeked over Jabba the Fish's desk.

"Umm, Chief," interrupted Darien.

Jabba ignored him. "Tinka me chasa hopoe ma booty na nolia," he screamed.

"Look around here, man," Darien said as he motioned to his fellow co-workers. "It looks like the Alien Nation started right here in this office."

"Aliens, we not be," said Yoda Hobbes pointing an accusatory finger in Darien's direction. "Alien, my friend, you be."

Seconds later, Darien felt the slimy claws of the giant Alex alien on his shoulders. They slowly began to dig into his skin as something cold and slimy traced a trail down the back of his neck. Drops of slime began to hit the top of his head as the Alex alien slowly peered over him. Her large mouth opened as her smaller one moved out. As the goo traced its way all over his body, Darien started screaming loudly in terror.

Darien sat up, breathless, still wiping at the nonexistent slime that covered his body, noticing that the lower half of his body had disappeared. He ran a frantic hand through his hair, making sure that none of the dream goo had invaded his luscious locks. Darien sat quietly, calming his breathing, as he realized that he was in Golda and that his alien encounter had all been a dream. As his breathing and heart rate returned to normal, the Quicksilver dropped to the floorboard of the van. Turning in his seat, Darien saw that Golda was parked in front of a dingy little gas station located right off the desolate highway that led towards Roswell.

Darien glanced through the dirty windows of the ancient gas station and could faintly make out Hobbes paying inside. He sighed and got out of the van, resting his body against Golda's hood as he took in the sights of the sandy desert highway that stretched out before him. A few seconds later, he heard the unmistakable footsteps of Bobby Hobbes approaching.

"Fawkes, you okay, partner? You were havin' one hell of a dream on the way here," Hobbes said, standing in front of his partner and wringing his hands. "Arnaud decide to put in an unwelcome guest spot or something?" he asked worriedly.

Darien smiled. "Not quite there, buddy. More like Marvin the Martian."

"Oh, I love him," Hobbes said, leaning against Golda. "So you're dreaming about little green men now?"

"More like little green Hobbesys," said Darien as he headed back into Golda.

"Huh?" Hobbes asked.

"Nothing," Darien said as Hobbes climbed up into the van, revved theengine and then steered Golda back onto the highway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Three hours later, the partners were doing their best to make the most out of the long drive.

"Look there's a Florida one," Darien said as he pointed at a Ford truck that had suddenly passed them on the highway. The license plate read "FLGRLZ" across it in lime green. On the back of the truck were two bumper stickers: "Candy is dandy, BUT Liquor is quicker" and "A dirty mind is a terrible thing to waste."

The truck slowed a bit, matching their speed. As Darien turned and looked out the window, he noticed who was in the truck. He sat staring at the two stunning brunettes, who turned and smiled sexily at him.

"Look at the hotties," Darien said.

"Yup, a coupla tan, Florida hotties," Hobbes said as if his eyes had just had their own aphrodisiac.

"Yup, young hotties. Too bad we're a bit too old for them," Darien said.

"Naw. Those chicks want us, Fawkes," Hobbes said craning his neck to see into the car.

"Whatever you say, Hobbes. We are just a bit older than them."

"You may feel a bit unsure of yourself at your old age. But Bobby Hobbes has no problem getting younger women."

"I am not... OH WOW! Did you see that?" Darien said as a deep blush formed on his face.

"Kinda hard to miss that," Hobbes said with a smirk. "Here and all this time I thought Florida was flat."

Darien turned once more to gawk at the two bold women beside them. After a few more seconds of eye flirtation, the girls waved and sped off into the night.

Darien settled back into his seat and glanced over at Hobbes. "So that makes seven for me and... oh yeah, one for you, my friend."

"Some of us are watching the road, Fawkes and don't have time to play childish license plate games," Hobbes responded.

"Yeah, the road wasn't all you were watching," said Darien.

Hobbes snorted and shook his head.

For the next few minutes, they sat silently staring at the road before them. As random cars passed, Darien once again added up his total on his fingers, as Hobbes pretended to concentrate on the road.

"Maryland!" he suddenly screamed out as he spotted the state's plate on a silver Honda Accord speeding by Golda. "That's two, Fawkesy."

"I thought license plate games were childish?" mocked Darien.

"Only when I'm losing, pal," said Hobbes.

Darien scanned license plates with renewed vigilance. He was so busy looking at plates that he didn't notice the makes or models, until Hobbes spotted a blue Volkswagen turning onto the highway ahead.

"Blue punch buggie, no punch backs!" he yelled as he gave Darien a hard whack on the arm.

"Ow," Darien yelped as he raised his hand and immediately punched Hobbes back.

"What the hell?" Hobbes cursed. "No punch backs means no punch backs, my friend."

"That's not the way I play the game there, buddy," retorted Darien.

"You're a big cheater," said Hobbes.

"Yeah well, I've been accused of worse. Believe me," Darien said. Hobbes nodded in understanding.

"Somehow I do," he said. "But you still cheated," he added under his breath.

"Well who said we had to play by your rules," Darien said as he rolled his eyes and then settled back into his seat, staring straight ahead into the rapidly darkening night sky.

For the final leg of the trip, they drove in silence. Their steady breathing, the constant thumping of the seams in the road, and the wind rushing past their windows was all that needed to be heard. Both were in their own worlds: Darien's of spy games and comic book adventures; Hobbes' of the conspiracy of Roswell.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When they finally reached downtown Roswell two hours later, Darien instantly realized that this case was about to get a whole lot weirder. Everything on the main strip was either named Alien-something or had an alien hanging off of the sign. Even the McDonald's had aliens in the kiddy playground right next to The Hamburglar and good old Ronald McDonald.

As they pulled up to their motel, it was obvious that this place was going to be a dump, reminding Darien that once again his penny-pinching boss had stuck them in such a crappy place. The Mothership, as the glowing UFO sign declared, was made up of 10 to 15 little shacks that possessed a neon replica of the UFO on the roof, each flashing from the idiotic wit of someone who had never had a neon light constantly flash into their room as they were trying to sleep. The light board read, "Aliens welcomed, Earthlings accepted" with a little alien happy face smiling down at them.

As Hobbes and Darien walked into the front office, a man wearing a black suit and black shades greeted them, "Welcome to The Mothership."

As Hobbes signed for their room, Darien browsed through the jumble of fliers advertising the week's events on a table to the side of the counter. Scattered across the table were pamphlets for a multitude of seminars, some entitled "Alien Abduction: What to pack", "Roswell 2002: Where you should be to meet our friendly Grays", and "The American Government: Who is really human?" Other events included abductee art exhibits, abductee documentaries, and Gray's trivia. There were also pamphlets about local abductees and a few articles from pseudo-scientific journals about alien encounters.

Selecting a few of the fliers, pamphlets and journal articles, Darien took the keys from Hobbes, went to their room and fell onto one of the beds, stretching out his long legs, and reading about "The American Government" seminar.

A few minutes later, Hobbes entered the room carrying a six-pack of Corona and a fresh lime. "Okay, partner. You ready for a drink?" Hobbes asked, whipping out a pocketknife, slicing the lime, and placing two wedges in two opened bottles.

"Definitely," Darien said as he grabbed one of the bottles from Hobbes. "Hey, Hobbes. Look at this crap on aliens in the government." He handed the pamphlet to Hobbes. "You've been on the inside. Think there's any truth to it?"

"You never know, my friend, you never know," Hobbes responded, clicking on the TV. "I once knew this guy back in Beirut, who lived on a 36-hour day. He would sleep for 12 hours, and work 24. One of the best men I ever worked with."

"So, you think he was an alien?" asked Darien as he sipped his beer.

"Never said that, my friend. Just said it was strange, and that you never know," Hobbes said, polishing off his beer.

As Hobbes sat back and watched old reruns of M*A*S*H, Darien continued to look through the fliers, trying to understand what it would be like to be an abductee. For the next few hours, Darien read over everything he had acquired, trying to understand the phenomenon that kept this town in existence. Everything seemed circumstantial without one smidgen of real proof. Darien Fawkes was not a believer.

"Okay, Hobbes. Tell me what you know about aliens?" he asked as he sat up, rubbing at his tired eyes.

"Well, what do you wanna know? Where they come from? What they want? Who they're after?" Hobbes answered as he hit the mute button on the TV and turned to his partner. "Sorry, my friend. I can't answer that. All I know is that there's far too many stars, planets, and galaxies out there for us to be the only intelligent life around."

"Okay, You've seen Contact one to many times. That Jodie Foster on a cartoon Pensacola Beach obsession is just going a little too far," Darien responded, falling back on the bed. "What about Area 51? It's around here somewhere, isn't it?"

"Big tabloid spread misconception, buddy. Area 51 is actually in Utah, just north of Salt Lake City," answered Hobbes.

"That can't be," Darien said sitting up. "Everything I've read says that Area 51 is out here in the desert somewhere. Some of the people interviewed in these pamphlets say they've been there."

Hobbes shook his head. "Nope. There's nothing around here. Trust me on that," he responded clicking off the TV, and laying back on his bed. "Get some rest, man. We gotta go look for this guy tomorrow, and I don't wanna have to do all the work myself."

Darien lay back on his bed as Hobbes turned out the lights and thought about how one little event could spark a controversy that this town thrived on. As sleep pulled on his eyelids, Darien tried to block memories of Kevin and for that matter, aliens, from his mind. Instead, he tried to focus on what was good in his life. His mind instantly flashed to images of his friends and co-workers. Hobbes, Claire, Eberts, Monroe; hell, on a good day even the Official was in his corner from time to time. He had to admit that despite everything, it felt good to be a part of something. A family even. Darien let the pleasant thoughts send him into a peaceful dream involving a beach party with a half-naked Claire and Monroe.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning came way too early for either agent. Both woke up groggy and with slight hangover headaches. As they staggered out of their room, Hobbes jogged towards Golda and pulled a pair of handcuffs out of the glove compartment.

"What do we need these for?" Darien asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"You never know," Hobbes answered, tucking one of the cuff keys in Darien's jacket pocket. "Just in case."

Walking out of the parking lot of the hotel, Darien and Hobbes' eyes immediately went to a mural that had a donkey carrying a UFO on its back. The mural read "Bad Ass Coffee, from our cups of Kona sip the nicest aliens in the universe." Both men nearly ran towards the building, their mouths watering for the sweet taste of a hot cup of Kona coffee. As they walked out of the store 10 minutes later, they sighed in delight as the smooth taste of the best American grown coffee slid down their eager throats.

"You'll never get coffee like this in San Diego. You gotta go all the way to Ventura or, I dunno, maybe Hawaii, to get this," sighed Darien, sipping the hot coffee gingerly, wanting to prolong his coffee experience.

As they walked around downtown, Darien took in the sights. The streets were packed with people, like Bourbon Street during Mardi Gras. The 2002 UFO Festival was well underway. Darien was shocked. He stared blankly at the men walking by with the wallets in their back pockets and the women with their large open purses. The idea of Quicksilvering his hand and slipping it into one of those purses crossed his mind, but quickly vanished as Hobbes stopped, his eyes piercing into Darien's skull.

"Hobbesy, look, an alien abduction museum," Darien said giddily. "Let's go in," Darien snickered, reaching for the door.

"Not now, Fawkes," Hobbes said pulling his partner away from the door. "Work first, play later."

"Aww, come on, man," Darien whined giving Hobbes his trademark puppy dog eyes.

"Later. We've got alien abductees to find," he said as he dragged Darien down Main Street. A few blocks later, Hobbes stopped short when he saw the Crash Site Caf_ on the other side of the street.

"This looks promising," Hobbes said pulling Darien across the street towards the entrance. They weaved through the street dodging the mass of tourists flowing out of the doors with bags filled with Alien Pops, large foam alien heads and antenna headbands. As they entered the caf_, a rack of Roswell t-shirts distracted Darien. He randomly pulled out shirts until he found two that would suit his quirky taste in clothing. One was a green one that had a bull's-eye and said, "Abduct me" in the center, and the second was a day glow orange one that said "I was abducted and all I got was this lousy t-shirt".

"Fawkes, come on," Hobbes said walking towards a booth.

"Yea, let me pay," Darien said as Hobbes stopped.

Hobbes turned and glared at his partner's idiotic spending.

The place was bustling with activity and people. Kids begged their parents for alien-shaped candy; parents idled around trying to get a break from the heat. But minutes later half the crowd pushed their way out of the restaurant, leaving Darien and Hobbes sitting at the far end of the nearly empty caf_.

The only waitress working was scurrying around serving the other tables filled with customers. Most of the other customers were impatiently trying to get her to take their checks as they glanced repeatedly towards the door, while Darien and Hobbes sat quietly, foaming at the mouth for more coffee. Darien cleared his throat nonchalantly as she walked by their booth.

The waitress turned her head and stopped short, "Yes, sir?"

"Um·can we get two coffees here when you get a chance?" asked Darien.

The waitress nodded. "No problem."

As the waitress left, Hobbes glanced around the caf_ and then looked at his partner. "Okay, tell me what you see, secret agent man," he said, lowering his voice.

Darien leaned back against the window and did his best to scan the room, noticing the variety of people in the alien hot spot. "Alright," Darien said, pulling all of his new training together. "Two groups of tourists, sitting on the other end..."

"How do you know?" Hobbes interrupted.

"Come on, Hobbes. It's obvious!" Darien answered, quirking one of his eyebrows.

"Then tell me."

"First set. The group of twenty-something's. Overly pierced and overly tattooed. Big city kids. One is flashing a lot of money. Another has a brochure about abductions in his back pocket. The third has a CBGB, NYC shirt on. Well-worn and stained with alcohol; probably tended bar there."

"Okay, what about the other group, my friend?"

"The older married couple with the two kids. The kids are acting average. Not like they are just a cover. The man has a wrist watch sunburn on his right wrist, probably from working on the lawn. Middle class family, the wife is wearing nice clothes, but they're knock offs, nothing upscale. The kids are wearing Nikes, but they're nearly worn through. Nothing out of the ordinary with them."

"What about the waitress?"

"Mid to late twenties. Wearing really cheap impostor perfume that she thinks smells really great. Uses way too much mousse in her hair, makes it all clumpy. Doesn't wear her wedding ring; probably wants to get better tips and thinks that's the way. And it probably works, 'cause it looks like she got a manicure last week or so, even though the polish is already chipping. Has a thick southern accent. Sounds like South Georgia, maybe Florida. Anything else?"

"Well, you didn't get everything, but you're getting better," Hobbes answered. "So, let's see how your CTS is going. Here comes the waitress."

Darien shrugged. "Practice makes perfect I guess."

As Drusilla returned with their coffee, Darien looked up with a sexy smile playing on his lips. "Hey, hon. How things goin' for you today?" Darien asked with a slight drawl as he looked her up and down, his smile growing.

"Mighty, fine," Drusilla answered with her southern drawl, blushing slightly. "How ya'll doin'?"

"Doin' all right, darlin'," he answered, drawling out his words even more. "So Drusilla, huh? That's an interesting name, Stacie."

For a second she looked surprised, but then she shook her head, "Just something I picked up here. It sounds a little more daunting than Stacie. Goes with the atmosphere. Uh... do I know you?"

"Not yet, but I'd love to change that."

As Drusilla's shift ended, Darien invited her over to the booth, while Hobbes moved to the counter. Darien pressed Drusilla for information about a certain abductee, finding out that Balor Feris had basically become the talk of the town. But that was all she really knew about him. But she *knew* more than her share on what really went on in Roswell, well at least about the aliens. With all the talk of abductions, Drusilla didn't actually know anyone that had ever been abducted. She had her own ideas about what had really happened over fifty years ago, but she still thought that the government was covering up something about the aliens. She said she had seen lights out in the desert on many nights, but knew that not everything the government said about the non-existence of aliens was the truth. Drusilla bought into the whole alien conspiracy more than she liked to reveal to the people she knew here. The real locals only bought into it because it added to their business. But being new to Roswell, Drusilla knew very few details about the town's newest claim to fame.

Hobbes was attempting to get the goods from an attractive young brunette woman who stood on the other side of the counter, from where he sat.

"Excuse me, ma'am," he said as he leaned up against the blue tile counter, quickly flipping out his badge as she frowned. "I was wondering if an observant young thing like yourself would be able to tell me about a man named Balor Feris?"

"MMM, Balor. When God was passing out looks that man went back for seconds," she said nodding her head and sighing, and raising an eyebrow. "Oh... sorry. What do you need with him?"

"Oh, not much. I'm just with the Department of Fish and Game. I'm investigating a claim that was made against him involving some endangered jack rabbits he saw," Hobbes said, hoping this woman had no clue about the local wild life. "What can you tell me about him, Ms...?"

"Eileen. Just plain old Eileen," she said smiling over at him. "Well, Balor has only been in Roswell for about a year. At first he never came around town, everyone thought that he was some kind of hermit or something· we get a lot of folks like that out here. But then one day he showed up in town flashing a lot of cash around at the local bars."

"So, he became a regular barfly?" Hobbes asked, letting her see that smouldering smile that could get any woman to talk.

"No, not really," Eileen giggled, twisting a piece of her hair around her finger. "He only showed up once or twice a month, but when he did, the entire adult population would come home drunk. That always picked up our business the next day."

"He was a popular man?"

"Well, let's just say, that every woman wanted him, and every man wanted to be him. He was the city bike; everyone got a ride," Eileen said, rolling her eyes. "Well, almost every one."

"AAHHH, that kind of man. It's despicable what some of us vile creatures will do," Hobbes said, turning his charm on full.

"Well, yea," she sighed. "One day he bought this huge lot of undeveloped desert south of the city, and started building a gigantic house. A completely phallic statement, if you ask me. But I heard that the day that he returned after his so-called abduction, the construction men ran out on him. They took all of their tools, and sent him a check for what they didn't complete. It was strange, but no one really wanted to be around him after that."

"You're saying he started causing some problems after he came back from his... abduction?" asked Hobbes curiously.

"Oh, no. At first he was kinda reclusive. But then about a month after, he started coming into town, begging someone to believe him. No matter what the city advertises, most of the people here don't even care about aliens, it's just what gives us business," Eileen said as she jerked her head to the merchandise racks. "He ended up getting this group of tourists to believe him by pulling this crazy trick where he would slink into the crowd and make their hats and purses disappear. Of course, then he started making them permanently disappear and folks around here didn't take too kindly to that."

"Ah, so he got a little greedy? The cops do anything about that?" Hobbes asked furrowing his brows.

"Well, Balor pulled his disappearing wallet act on the wrong guy and took one hell of beating," she said smirking. "The sheriff went over and talked to him but figured what with everything Balor had been through, he'd leave well enough alone."

"And no one has seen him since?"

"Well, one of the local kids says that he was hiding out in his half-built house. But no one knows for sure," she answered, shrugging her shoulders. "The town is better off without him; we don't need that riff raff around here."

"No, you certainly don't, ma'am," Hobbes said, extending his hand. "It's been a pleasure, Eileen."

Eileen smiled. "Likewise," she mumbled dreamily as she shook his hand gently.

Hobbes stood up and motioned to Darien, who had become caught in a conversation about different types of aliens that Drusilla insisted actually existed. When Darien caught Hobbes' eye, he quickly ended the conversation and gave Drusilla a quick peck on the cheek, and a promise to come back for coffee again, before joining Hobbes outside.

"So, you get anything?" asked Darien curiously.

Bobby smirked, "Of course, but I think we should do a little field work before we go after the man of the hour."

"Lead the way, buddy," said Darien.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two hours later, after a long drive and an endless conversation on what they had learned, Hobbes and Darien were roaming about the field next to the road where Balor had supposedly been abducted and then subsequently returned.

"Hobbes, I think I found something," Darien hollered as he kneeled down amongst a thick patch of dead grass.

"What is it?" Hobbes asked as he jogged over.

Lying on the ground, hidden beneath a large tumbleweed, was a dusty, broken pair of sunglasses. Darien pulled a pen out of his jacket and skillfully lifted the glasses without touching them. He delicately dropped them into a plastic evidence bag that Hobbes had brought over and continued to search.

As they continued walking through the endless desert, Hobbes yelled over, "Found any disembodied alien heads?"

"Nope. But you better watch out for loose tentacles, they have been known to hold on for dear life," Darien quipped as he stopped and looked at something that flashed in the distance. "Hobbes, something else."

Darien hurried over to the object, kneeling down to blow some surrounding sand off of it. "Ahh, never mind," he said, as Hobbes came up and leaned over his shoulder. "It's just a ball of duct tape."

"Good. Duct tape holds prints great. Let's just hope that someone touched this," Hobbes said, tapping the ball of tape into another plastic bag. "Whoever left this stuff is either stupid or is throwing us a red herring."

"Ya know, Hobbes. I don't understand why someone would choose this guy for the gland?" Darien asked as they continued to roam around the desert. "Why choose a complete stranger who just happened to be a violent criminal?"

"I don't think it is just a coincidence. Whoever did this probably knew that Feris was violent and hoped that would work in their favor," Hobbes answered. "What I don't get is the whole alien abduction thing."

"What about it?"

"Well, all documented abduction with implantations have never consisted of an implantation with noticeable side effects and nothing like your little Saran Wrap trick. Whoever did this didn't do their homework."

"Hobbes, I think we've pretty much established that this wasn't an alien abduction," Darien said rolling his eyes.

"I just mean consistency. If you're gonna go to the trouble of hoaxing an alien abduction, at least do it right. Dress up in an alien suit, impregnate the guy with an alien fetus," said Hobbes.

Darien raised his eyebrows. "Now you're scaring me."

"I'm just saying," said Hobbes in irritation.

Darien sighed heavily and plopped down onto a dead log, letting the warm afternoon sun bake his skin.

"This isn't a tanning salon, Fawkes."

Darien looked at Hobbes through squinted eyes. "There's nothing here, man. We've searched through every inch of this place three times and come up with zippo." He rested his arm over his eyes. "I think it's time to go see the man himself."

"Fine," said Hobbes. "We got the address Burns and Eileen gave us."

"Eileen?" Darien asked as he picked himself off the ground. "Something going on that I don't know about? Did Hobbesy go and find himself a small town gal? The Keep would be so jealous."

"You think?" Hobbes asked wistfully as they reached Golda.

"Oh absolutely, my friend," Darien replied. "The sooner she knows about Eileen, the better. Competition drives chicks out of their minds."

"You're forgetting one important thing there, Romeo. Bobby Hobbes doesn't fish off the company pier," he said as he started Golda.

Darien fastened his seat belt as Hobbes tore down the street. "Whatever you say, partner."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Act Three

As the worn Ford Econoline pulled up beside the only house on Omaha Road, both men searched for signs of any life.

The beginnings of what seemed to be a massive house resembled that of an old world adobe. Only half of one sidewall had been built, while piles of mud bricks lay stacked in the yard. Though the house looked new, it appeared to be caving in on itself. The beginnings of the roof were coving in and the unfinished part was covered with a dirty blue tarp.

Approaching the front door, Hobbes checked the small address numbers that lay on the ground next to what used to be the mailbox. 235. Walking up the overgrown path, Hobbes un-holstered his Colt .45 and checked the clip.

"Whoa, whoa, what are you doing?" Darien whispered, creeping up to the door.

"Shhh..." Hobbes hissed as he peeked into the hole in the door, which was supposed to hold a window. "Balor Feris... you in there?"

A barely audible moan once again put the agents on their toes as Hobbes slowly opened the door, the rusted hinges on the antique door squeaking loudly, causing Hobbes to wince, knowing they'd lost the element of surprise. Too late now. Hobbes slowly proceeded into the main room as Darien followed closely behind.

The only thing even resembling furniture in the dirty main room was a worn out mattress. The only light was coming from a cluster of embers still burning in a makeshift fireplace.

Hobbes eyes roamed the entire room, the only room that wasn't visible from the yard. He made his way to the corner of the room, his gaze resting on a pile of boxes filled with clothes, books and other personal items. He started sorting through the boxes, not noticing the small python that crawled out of one of the boxes.

"I got nothing," said Hobbes as he turned away from the boxes. The snake slithered out onto the ground and slowly wrapped itself around Hobbes' legs.

"Yeah, me neither," Darien said, glancing at Hobbes. He started back in surprise when he saw the snake. "Um Hobbes, look down."

"Huh?" Hobbes said in confusion.

Darien motioned down towards his feet. "Looks like you got a little friend there."

Hobbes looked down and yelped when he realized the snake had wound itself around his feet. "Aw crap," he said as he reached down and tried to remove the snake from his legs. As Hobbes tried to unwind the snake, its grip tightened.

Darien was about to assist Hobbes with the snake when he caught something out of the corner of his eye. He turned around and stared in shock as he saw the thin film of Quicksilver trickling over the body of the person he had come to recognize as Balor Feris. The shock of another man Quicksilvering disoriented Darien for long enough that Balor was able to tackle him. Before Darien hit the floor he Quicksilvered himself and watched as an orange fist headed in towards his face before it hit his chin.

"Fawkes," yelled Hobbes as struggled to get away from the snake to try and help his partner. Stepping out of the corner, Hobbes felt the whoosh of wind from invisible arms and legs flying through the air just in time to duck them.

"A little help?" Darien yelled.

"It would help if I could see what the hell was going on," Hobbes said as he aimed his gun at the area he figured Darien and Balor were fighting.

Darien unQuicksilvered a few seconds later. "Hobbes, the cuffs," he hollered, when he finally flipped an invisible Balor over.

Hobbes jerked the cuffs from his belt and handed them to Darien, who quickly secured them to Balor's wrists. Both men stared at the cuffs, hoping that this guy hadn't figured out how to freeze outside objects. Darien rose, wiping a trail of blood from his lower lip, and Quicksilvered his eyes.

"Hey, hey. We're not here to hurt you. Calm down and we can explain," Darien said, kneeling next to the floating pair of handcuffs.

"Get me the hell out of these!" screamed Balor as the cuffs squirmed around the floor.

"Look just calm down and let us see you, then maybe we'll take them off."

As the cuffs slowly began to stop moving, a vile grumble came from their position on the floor. A few seconds later, Balor's battered body came into sight.

Lying on his stomach, Balor's short fresh hair revealed a nearly five-inch incision. The back of his once classy leather jacket was covered in grime, and the places that were torn revealed his bruised back. The bottoms of his shoes were caked in dried mud and grass, and the soles were nearly worn away.

Slowly Darien leaned over the man and reached for his exposed shoulder. "I'm just gonna roll you over, be cool," Darien said as the loose python started to crawl near his own leg. "Hobbes, the snake."

"Oh right," Hobbes said as he located an empty box from the corner and quickly put it over the snake. He could hear the snake hissing from beneath the box. "The big bad python doesn't like that too much, huh?"

He glanced at Darien. "Huh?" he said with excitement.

Darien shook his head in confusion and slowly helped Balor roll into a seated position. Balor looked up and glared at the two men. Angrily, he began fighting with the handcuffs, trying his hardest to break free.

"Man, we don't wanna hurt you. Just calm down and we'll let you loose," Darien said, again kneeling in front of Balor.

Hobbes whipped out his badge. "I am Agent Hobbes, and this is Agent Fawkes. We saw the article about you in The World Chronicle, and have come to help you with your little predicament."

Balor stopped struggling and stared from one man to the other. The one named Hobbes stared back at him with a frustrated wrinkle in his brow, but the one named Fawkes looked sadly at him, with a hint of empathy. Balor turned slightly, giving Fawkes access to his wrists.

Darien took out the key from his pocket and unlocked the cuffs, "See, isn't that better?"

"So you really think you can help me?" Balor asked as he rubbed his wrists. "This has been the worst kind of hell," he said as he rolled his neck back and forth over his shoulders.

"Oh, it can get worse," Darien said offhand.

"WORSE?"

"Oh don't worry, just worse case scenario is all," Hobbes said, glaring at Darien. "So, why don't you tell us how it happened."

Balor shrugged. "All I remember is driving into the city limits and my car dying. Then there was this bright light and the next thing I know, I'm crawling out of the desert…and I could do this," Balor answered as he Quicksilvered his head.

"Damn. It took me longer to learn how to do that," Darien said, as the Quicksilver fell from Balor's head.

Hobbes glanced at Balor. "Well Mr. Feris…"

"Balor. Just call me Balor," he said as he ran a hand over the back of his neck and let out a small moan.

"Hey, you okay there, man?" asked Darien, as his worried eyes flicked to Hobbes'.

Balor nodded. "That old mattress is hell on my back. How can you two help me?"

"The agency that we work for, originally developed the gland that was implanted into your brain..." Hobbes started.

"A gland? My doctor said it was a tumor. An inoperable one," Balor interrupted his eyes widening.

"We have a way to remove the gland, that would cause you no further damage," Hobbes continued, glancing at the questioning gaze Darien shot him.

"But why? Why me?"

"We don't know. Soon we'll be able to figure out who did this and we'll get em."

"Okay well Balor, we need to take you back to our office in San Diego. There is someone there who can help you," Darien said

Hobbes turned and pointed at the box covered snake, "By the way, is that creepy crawly yours?"

Balor nodded.

"Does he always get so close to strangers?" asked Hobbes.

Balor shook his head. "Yep, he's a total people person. I am about to get rid of him though. He goes through rats like you wouldn't believe," Balor said as he stood up. "The damn thing cost me an arm and a leg, and no one wants him. Vet says that I should donate him to a zoo."

Hobbes slowly lifted up the box and petted the snake. "Hey buddy, how's it going?"

Slowly the snake uncoiled and began to crawl gently across Hobbes' arm.

"Hey Crocodile Hunter, if you're not too busy making new friends, I'd say it's time we get a move on back to San Diego," said Darien.

"Yeah, let me just get this guy settled," said Hobbes as he put the snake back in the box and headed for the door. "You two coming?"

Balor and Darien both nodded.

"Well let's go," Hobbes urged impatiently.

Balor gave Darien a curious glance. "Is he always like that?"

Darien smiled. "It takes a little getting used to, but he's cool, I promise you."

"Right," Balor said as he followed Darien out the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The drive back to San Diego was much more subdued then the ride to Roswell had been. Darien and Hobbes took turns driving and sleeping while Balor mostly stayed to himself in the back, talking to himself and trying to stretch out his back and neck. As they finally neared the San Diego city limits hours later with Hobbes at the helm and Darien in the passenger's seat, Balor began to moan in agony.

"Got a problem back there, man?" Hobbes asked looking back in the rearview mirror.

"I just got this awful headache. It keeps coming in waves, right at the back of my head," Balor answered, rubbing his neck.

Darien and Hobbes looked at each other, both knowing what was coming next. Hobbes stepped on the gas, as Darien climbed into the back of the van with Balor.

"Hey, Balor," said Darien.

Balor's head rolled to the side and he groaned.

"Balor, come on man," said Darien taking Balor's face in his hands and turning him so he was looking him in the eyes. "Look, picture the headache as a person who's standing at the backdoor of your brain. Now pretend like this person is your worst enemy, and you want to close the door on him, no matter how hard he pounds."

Balor closed his eyes and lowered his head. He started taking slow deep breaths as his hand still fumbled at the back of his neck.

"Okay. It's working. I think," Balor said keeping his head down and dropping his hand to his lap. Slowly he raised his head, his eyes still closed. "I'm alright, now."

As Balor opened his eyes and gazed at Darien. Balor's eyes bore into Darien's, causing him to look away.

"Um, Hobbes," Darien stuttered.

"Yea Fawkes?" asked Hobbes turning around to glance back at the matter at hand.

"You notice anything familiar?" asked Darien motioning to Balor's face.

Hobbes looked at the guy's eyes, the prevalent red veins of impending Quicksilver Madness beginning to show. "Aw, crap."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Claire sat at her computer, once again working on a way to remove Darien's gland, she contemplated the idea that someone had recovered enough of her research to reproduce the gland. There were so many people out there that knew about the project and had tried mercilessly to get the information that was only here in this computer. She considered the suspects. There was Stark: she knew that he wanted the power of invisibility as was evident by the invisible locusts. Next there was the SWRB. Though their research lab had been destroyed by Gaither, she had an awful feeling that another No Name could have taken over command and if the stolen data on the project had been downloaded to a remote location, it might be possible for them to have created a new gland. And of course there was Arnaud. No one knew where he had gone when he escaped from Darien and Bobby in Mexico, but he was sure to pop back into their lives at some point. There were so many other possible suspects: Dr. Rendell, the doctors who had worked on the gland extracted from Arnuad by Chrysalis, the Chinese, and probably countless others.

As she continued mapping the progression of the gland's tendrils into Darien's cerebral cortex, she heard a commotion coming from outside the solid steel door of the Keep. As the doors swooshed opened, Claire's eyes widened in surprise at the sight of Darien and Bobby struggling with their own captive but at least leading him into the Keep somehow.

"Keep, the tranq gun!" Hobbes hollered, before Balor threw him into the wall.

As Claire searched for the tranquilizer gun, Hobbes climbed back to his feet and tried to help Darien control Balor. Once again, Balor reared his body and this time threw Darien to the ground. As Darien slid across the floor, colliding with a table containing a new experiment, Hobbes wrestled with Balor. Darien jumped up, oblivious to the broken beakers and pools of liquid on the floor. As Darien dove at Balor's midsection, missing him completely, the man once again threw Hobbes off of him. Hobbes flew across the room, landing under the lab table that contained Lucinda, the newly acquired Jasmine, and Claire's other animals, knocking all the glass food containers to the floor.

Claire grabbed the gun from her desk drawer, as Balor stood and approached her. When he stalked towards her, Claire loaded the weapon, raising her arm and aiming at his pectoral muscle. Moving quicker than she had anticipated, Balor came within five feet of her, Darien and Hobbes coming up behind him. As Darien and Hobbes dove for the man, Claire looked into his eyes, saw the prominent red veins, and quickly took her shot. Darien and Hobbes tackled Balor as the tranquilizer dart hit his chest, and the four wound up in a heap with Claire at the bottom.

They all lay on the floor for a moment, trying to catch their breath and avoid getting cut to tatters by the broken glass from the fallen equipment.

Darien blew out a deep breath that he had not realized he was holding, and then eyed Hobbes and Claire with a disbelieving look on his face, "Was I this bad?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Darien stared through the observation window at a straightjacketed Balor, idling in the corner of the padded room. The bald, sunburned man slowly raised his head, turning to look into the mirror. Standing up, he struggled to walk, glowering at the two-way mirror, knowing he was being watched.

Balor opened his mouth to say something but instead stood there opened-mouthed. He clicked his tongue,

blinked his searing red eyes, and pressed his lips into a firm line.

Seconds later, he abruptly opened his mouth again, screaming, "I WAS ABDUCTED. THESE LITTLE GREY MEN TOOK ME UP IN THEIR SHIP AND OPERATED ON ME. NOW, I CAN GO INVISIBLE!"

Balor stood silently staring at the mirror, as his face twisted from disbelief to understanding, "IT'S YOU!!! YOU DID THIS! YOU AND THE ALIENS! WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME? LEAVE ME ALONE!"

As Darien turned to face Hobbes, Claire, and the Official, Eberts walked into the observation room, carrying a thick folder.

"Sir, I have acquired Mr. Feris' criminal record." said Eberts opening the folder, as the Official turned off the speakers. "Mr. Feris has been arrested over 15 times in the past 10 years for crimes ranging from breaking and entering to drug trafficking and murder. But every single charge has been dropped due to lack of evidence or the mysterious disappearances of witnesses. He is the prime suspect in a car bombing in South Texas, which occurred five weeks ago, the night before he disappeared. One of the state's leading drug dealers was found burnt to a crisp."

"Sounds rather familiar," the Official muttered under his breath.

"Oh no, you're not even gonna compare him to me," Darien said, astonished. "This man is a murderer and a drug dealer. There is no comparison."

"No. But you were both criminals," Eberts piped in.

"Shut up, Eberts," answered Claire, Hobbes, and Darien in unison.

"Stop. What I am saying is that we have a man with a lurid background that now has no control over himself," the Official barked as the group turned to avoid his glare.

"Doctor, is there someway to stop him?" The Official asked, looking at the crazed man, who was still screaming.

"I am fairly sure that whoever developed this gland knew nothing about the Quicksilver Madness, therefore they used the genetic code for the gland that Arnaud had tampered with," Claire answered, referring to her notes. "I should be able to have the suicide gene therapy ready within the next day. Though I have doubts about whether it will work on him the way it did for Darien."

"How long till he reaches Stage Five?" asked Darien, looking back at a raging Balor.

"If there is a Stage Five, he should be there within a few days, but that's really just a guess. There are too many variables for an accurate prediction."

Slowly the group filed out of the observation room, leaving the Official staring downheartedly at the man bound within. Darien wandered around The Agency, waiting for a new lead. Hobbes on the other hand followed Claire to the Keep. Keeping his distance, Hobbes watched Claire swipe her card, walk into the Keep and gasp at the tank sitting on her computer chair. She spun around, staring out the door, as Hobbes stepped into view.

"Bobby, what's this?" she asked as he walked nervously into the Keep.

Hobbes shrugged his shoulders shyly. "Aww, nothing. I found it at Feris' house and figured you would give it a great home," he shuffled his feet, barely looking at her.

"He is beautiful," Claire said as she pulled the small albino python out of the tank. "It's just a baby. Hey, sweetheart," she mumbled, nuzzling the snake. "What is his name?"

"Don't know. What about Hobbes?" he answered fiddling nervously with random things on Claire's desk.

"Bobby, I already had a pet named Hobbes," she said smiling at him.

"Yea, but Fawkes' rat killed him." Claire nuzzled the snake, gently lifting up his tail.

"What are you doing, Keep?" Hobbes asked his brow furrowing.

"Checking his sex. His spurs. That's how you tell."

"So?"

"It's a boy. How about Brian? That seems like a good little boy's name," she said, nuzzling the snake again as his tail curled around her wrist. "Yes, baby, this is my little Brian."

Claire moved over to Hobbes and placed a hand on his arm, "Thank you, Bobby. He is a beautiful little boy," she said, leaning in and pecking Hobbes on the cheek.

"Aww, Keepy. It's nothing," Hobbes answered quickly turning and walking out the door, trying to control the blush rising to his cheeks.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Darien walked down the halls, he came to the corner where the real Eberts and the fake Eberts, who was really Arnaud, had come face to face. As he continued walking, he came to the place where that Swiss-Miss Mother had blown up the cell he had been in and escaped the last time he'd been in the Agency. He leaned against the wall and slowly placed his hand on the back of his neck, feeling the scar that had started all this crap. Everything had been such a mess since Kevin had gotten him out of jail. With all of Kevin's vision, he wasn't able to see what Arnaud had done to the gland. Now an innocent man was restrained in a locked room, going crazier by the minute. Well, not so innocent...

Eventually Darien wandered back to the office he shared with Hobbes and poked his head in, "You found anything yet, partner?"

Hobbes looked up from the pad of notes that he was perusing and said, "I think so. One of my sources says that he knows a guy who 'distributes' stolen medical equipment. He says they recently sold a large supply to some guy in the Middle of Nowhere, New Mexico."

"Looks like we got a lead," Darien said, dropping into the seat in front of Hobbes.

"Maybe. My guy is trying to get in touch with his guy. He can't find him anywhere," Hobbes said as his phone rang. "Hobbes. Yeah... alright..."

Hobbes scribbled an address down as he hung up the phone, "This guy's address is just outside of the city, in Mission Beach. Let's go."

Darien stood up as Hobbes grabbed his jacket and an extra clip of bullets from his desk. A second later, they were out the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Claire had been running around the lab for the past three hours since Darien and Bobby had left, busily working on the suicide gene for Balor. She was sure that who ever had re-created the gland knew nothing about Arnaud's little fail-safe, so the suicide gene that had worked on Darien had a good chance of working on Balor, also. As she filled the syringe she wondered if this was the right choice. Madness was a horrible consequence of Arnaud's evil mind. But Balor was a violent criminal, who would find invisibility very useful in his line of work. But it was not her decision, so she capped the needle and proceeded to the padded room.

As she walked to the door, the guard nodded, unlocked the door, and said, "He's out like a light. Been that way for the past half-hour."

Claire carefully walked in, with the guard following her. As she approached Balor, she signaled the guard to stop a few paces behind the elevated mattress that Balor was curled up on.

Claire removed the syringe from her lavender lab jacket, slipping the needle cap off as she went. She kneeled down on the mattress and pulled at the buckles of the straightjacket. As she slid the sleeve of the jacket off of Balor's arm and moved the needle into position, he suddenly jerked from her grasp, throwing her to the floor and bolted for the door, knocking out the guard as he went. For an instant he turned and looked at the guard's unconscious body as Claire gazed up at him. She trembled as he looked down at her with his now piercing silver eyes and grinned menacingly. An instant later, Quicksilver covered his body and he ran out the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"So, I am guessing this is where this guy lives?" Darien asked as he disabled a pen to pop the padlock on the six-foot-high fence that surrounded the address Hobbes' source had provided them, an old warehouse, which appeared to be deserted. "Why do these guys always live in warehouses?"

"You live in an old warehouse," Hobbes said, as Darien fiddled with the lock for a second, before it popped open.

"No, a loft."

"Loft, warehouse. What's the difference?"

"Mine was designed to be a loft," Darien said as he removed the chain and pushed open the gate.

"No, actually it was a warehouse in the '50s. Some guys just bought it and cleaned it up," Hobbes responded, as he walked into the yard, checking the windows.

"Yeah, your point being?"

"That you live in a warehouse, too. It's all relative."

Darien ran to catch up with Hobbes, as he asked, "Relative to what?"

"Everything."

After nearly three hours of inspecting the completely deserted warehouse, Hobbes met up with Darien. They walked out of the building with not a single speck of evidence to connect the guy selling medical equipment to Balor, or anyone else they had for a suspect. As they headed back to Golda, Darien strolled from the building. Hobbes hurried, not wanting to be away if anything happened. As he approached the van, his cell phone rang. He dragged the cell phone out of his pocket, answering on the third ring.

"Hobbes," he stated matter of factly. "Yes, Sir... 30 minutes max... Yes, sir."

As Hobbes flipped the phone closed, he sighed angrily and motioned to Darien to catch up.

"Come on, Fawkes. We're outta here," he hollered across the distance.

Darien came ambling across the empty parking lot, looking at Hobbes, curiously.

"What's up?" he said as they walked towards Golda.

"Feris escaped. Claire was in the process of giving him the gene therapy, and Balor wigged out and escaped," Hobbes answered, fuming more with every word as they climbed into Golda. "He was Stage Five."

Darien and Hobbes made it back to The Agency in record time, 10 minutes. For the entire trip, neither of them said a word; they were both again in their own worlds as they flew down the busy city streets.

Darien contemplated how Balor must feel in Stage Five. For him, all he wanted to do in Stage Four was wreak havoc, and he had no murderous tendencies. But Stage Five changed that. The last time Darien had been in Stage Five madness, he had nearly destroyed Haskill Park, tormenting the people spending their free time there. He had then gone into the church and totally disrupted a mob boss's funeral, stealing his Rolex and scaring the entire "family". And he had nearly killed the one man who his brother had really trusted.

The feeling of Stage Five for him was completely surreal. Everything felt like a dream, where he knew what he was doing was bad but he just couldn't control himself enough to do anything about it. In Stage Five a little bit of the real Darien was still there, just enough so that he could see and remember everything he had done, though not clearly or right away. But not enough to stop his altered id from hurting or maybe even killing, though thankfully that danger would never come again.

To Darien Stage Five was a release, but to Balor he imagined it must be heaven. A place where whatever he did was right and justified. Where a man with no conscience could rule. What Balor would do, no one knew; only time would tell.

It was hard for Darien to picture anyone else going through what he had for the past two years, but seeing the look on Hobbes' face, he knew that it was the same reaction Hobbes had had both times Darien had been in Stage Five. Simply, 'Aw, Crap!'. Even though Hobbes had been in Stage Five when Claire had experimented with her new counteragent, he still didn't experienced the same thing that Darien had.

Hobbes, on the other hand, was feeling no sympathy for Balor. That man had made him drive nearly 30 hours in a row to a remote desert in the sticks of New Mexico. Balor had jeopardized not only his own life, but he had also jeopardized Hobbes', his partner's, and Claire's. In Hobbes' mind's eye he could see himself approaching Balor, Stage Five Madness or not, and wondered who would last longer: a gland toting lunatic or a crazed man like himself, defending everyone he held dear.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Act Four

As Golda approached San Diego, Hobbes flipped on the police scanner that had been part of Golda's upgrading. The best way for them to find a lunatic would be to listen in on the police reports. As they entered the city limits, a call came through the scanner.

"235 to dispatch," the cop stated.

"Dispatch. Go ahead, 235," the operator at the station responded.

"Dispatch. I've just detained a possible drunk and disorderly. I cannot confirm intoxication with breath-a-lizer or physical impairment test. Suspect is highly agitated, violent, and will not respond. Possible drug use, from the condition of his eyes."

"Condition of his eyes? 235, please clarify."

"Suspect's eyes are completely sliver. Permission to bring to holding, by show of force?"

After a few seconds, the operator answered, "Permission granted. Dispatch out."

"10-4. 235 out."

Darien and Hobbes just looked at each other. Both knew that it was Balor, but neither of them wanted to admit that they didn't want to go to the city jail to try and bail him out. Neither one could figure out any other way to spring him without causing a commotion.

Walking into this station was one of the last things that Darien wanted to do. Nearly a year ago, after a botched mission, Darien ended up in this exact station, with no idea who he was or how he could turn invisible. He remembered walking towards the building, practicing what he was going to say, "Hi, My name is Darien Fawkes, I think. Someone is trying to kill me and... and I can turn invisible." He ended up being locked in a holding room, after the officers looked up his record and discovered he was supposed to be spending the rest of his life in prison. As Darien and Hobbes walked in, he had a sinking feeling that things were going to end up the same way. Approaching the counter, Darien saw with a sinking sensation the same officer as the last time he had been there.

"Sergeant Matt Thompson. Good to see you again," Hobbes said as he stretched out his hand, to the man behind the counter.

"Agent Hobbes, and look, our escaped con, Darien Fawkes. To what do I owe this pleasure?" he asked, glaring at both of them and ignoring Hobbes' hand.

"Sergeant Thompson, as I told you last time, Fawkes here is an agent of the US Government. That rap sheet was his cover, which you and your fellow men in blue decided to try and blow."

"So, that's why he was all over AOL a few years ago," Sergeant Thompson said, looking squarely at Darien. "Yea, I did some checking up on you, after you disappeared."

Hobbes snorted, "You wouldn't be able to check yourself out of a mental hospital if you were at the entrance."

"Thompson, what is going on here," the officier's superior said, placing a warning hand on Thompson's shoulder.

"Don't know. These *agents* won't say," Thompson said, settling back in his chair.

"Detective Sheridan. What can I do for you?" the older man said, looking from Hobbes to Darien.

"Agent Bobby Hobbes," Hobbes answered, flipping out his badge. "The US Government has informed us that you have apprehended one of our escaped prisoners, a Mr. Balor Feris. You may know him only by looks. Has a genetic disorder that has colored his eyes silver and makes him kinda crazy, if he doesn't receive his meds."

"Do you have proof?"

"Sir, how would we know that you had him here and that his eyes were silver unless he was ours?"

The older officer nodded in understanding and motioned for Thompson to take Hobbes and Darien to Balor. Thompson grudgingly led them to the exact same holding cell that Darien had once been in; none of them saw Balor.

"Where the hell did he go?" Thompson yelled, pulling out his keys and heading for the door.

"Wait, hold on," Darien answered, putting on his sunglasses and Quicksilvering his eyes. "He's in there. Hobbes, give me the cuffs and I'll get him."

"You sure, my friend?" Hobbes asked, getting the cuffs out of his pocket and handing them to Darien.

"Slowly open the door a crack and let me in. Hobbes, you know what to do," Darien said, prompting Hobbes to keep the cop busy.

Darien entered the room, looking at a shimmering Balor who was curled up in a ball in the corner. As Hobbes saw Darien nod, he began his part.

"So, Sergeant Matt, arrest any interesting city wide criminals?" Hobbes asked, moving so that Thompson had to turn his back to the holding room to face him.

"Don't start that crap with me, Hobbes. I have my share of criminals to catch," Thompson hissed glaring at Hobbes. "What about you? What criminals have you caught with Fish and Game?"

"Oh, nothing much, just caught a dirty politician, a couple of terrorists, a scientist trying to murder people with imported poisons from endangered animals, and a few mobsters, and that's only been in the past two months. All in a days work," Hobbes said, glancing over the officer's shoulder as Balor came into view and Darien secured the cuffs on him.

"Aw, hell, federal arrest is nothing. Local arrests are what keep our streets clean. Putting you and your partner under arrest would just take two more loonies off the streets."

"And putting away a desk riding police jockey like you would save our citizens from being scared to walk the streets," Hobbes said as he opened the door and Darien walked a somber, silver-eyed Balor out of the holding room. "See, told ya, no problem. Thanks for you help, Sergeant Matt."

As the oddly matched threesome walked down the hall, the sound of Thompson cursing followed.

Hobbes quickly filled out the appropriate paperwork as Darien stood back, holding Balor. They then walked Balor out to Golda and secured him in the back. As Hobbes, Darien and Balor returned to the Harding Building, the two agents were in much better moods.

"Yes, but Peter Parker is smart, Clark Kent is an idiot. Besides, can he sense trouble? I think not, my friend," Darien responded, glancing back at Balor.

"But he's the man of steel," Hobbes said, turning left on a red light as a car nearly missed Golda.

"Hell, even Batman beats Superman."

"No way."

"Even Wonder Woman beats Superman."

"Never," Hobbes answered, glaring in Darien's direction.

"Even Daredevil could beat Superman."

"Not in this lifetime. Not in any lifetime."

"If you put them in a room together, they could beat Superman," Darien said, nodding his head vigorously.

"I don't think so, my friend," Hobbes answered, looking back at Balor, who if he hadn't already been crazy was going to be close to it after this conversation.

"Well, I do."

"And that makes you right?" Hobbes snorted as he pulled into the back parking lot of the Harding Building.

"Of course," Darien answered, moving to the back, sliding open the door, and pushing Balor to the ground.

"What the hell was that for?" Balor hissed, baring his teeth and glaring up at them with his cold silver eyes.

"Hobbes, now I understand why you couldn't get used to that," Darien said, looking at Balor's eyes as Hobbes helped pull him to his feet.

As they led him down the hall to the Keep, Hobbes continued on, "That's a traumatizing song. When the wind blows, that cradle is going down, my friend, with you in it."

"First of all, why am I in a cradle?" yelled Darien over Balor's loud moans.

"'Cause you're a baby."

"No, I'm not."

"In the rhyme you are," Hobbes replied, hoisting Balor up by his folded right arm and causing another anguished moan.

"Not me, someone's baby."

"Well..."

"SECOND of all, it's a nursery rhyme!" Darien said with mock annoyance in his voice.

"It scared me as a kid," Hobbes said a little too seriously.

"You were crazy then too?" Darien asked, pulling on Balor's left arm, causing Balor to stop and moan in pain.

"That's just hurtful," Hobbes said as he swiped Darien's card through the key pad at the Keep.

Darien and Hobbes deposited the moaning Balor on the demented dentist chair as Claire hurriedly rounded the corner. Darien and Hobbes had had their fun. Verbally torturing Balor had relieved some of their stress, but just enough for them to want to have some reason to hate him again, not to feel sorry for him.

"Bloody hell. I thought it was one of you," she said as she checked Balor's vitals. "Well, at least you got him here in one piece, however damaged he may be."

Minutes later Claire injected Balor with his own gene therapy, and instantly he passed out. After checking his eyes for signs of Quicksilver Madness, Claire waved a packet of smelling salts under his nose, causing him to jerk awake.

Balor, slowly turned his head, from a satisfied looking Claire to Darien and Hobbes. His eyes were shifty and his jaw had begun to tremble.

"Where am I?" he asked, trying to move his arms in an attempt to get comfortable on the chair.

"You're in San Diego, at a government agency," Claire began. "These two agents brought you here yesterday, after we discovered your existence."

"What? My existence?" Balor asked as sweat began to bead up on his brow.

"Guys, guys. Let me get this one. Okay?" Darien said as he pulled the cuff keys out of his pocket and re-cuffed Balor's hands in front of him.

Claire and Hobbes slowly walked out of the room as Darien pulled a chair up, sat, and stared at Balor.

"Okay, man. Here's the deal. Someone -- not aliens, but someone trying to make you think they were aliens-- kidnapped you and put a bio-synthetic gland in your brain," Darien said as Balor looked up wide-eyed. "This gland makes this stuff called Quicksilver. The Quicksilver comes out of the, uh, pores in your body and covers you like Saran Wrap. It sort of, uh, bends the light around your body, making you turn invisible. You remember all that?"

Balor stared unblinking at Darien.

"My brother designed the gland and implanted it in my head. Somehow one of our enemies got enough of my brother's research to design a new gland, which they put in you."

"So this is your brother's fault?"

"No, my brother wanted to save the world. But some of the people we have as suspects want to use his invention to try and destroy it," Darien said, standing up. "There is just one side effect. The Quicksilver works as a, um, cerebral, uh, cerebral disinhibitor, kinda like heroin, maybe acid, I don't know all that drug stuff. When too much of the toxin that comes with the Quicksilver builds up in your bloodstream you go into a condition called Quicksilver Madness. Basically you turn into a walking id, no self-control... no conscience."

"Madness? Huh? Why would someone make this?"

"Don't ask me. But that isn't the point. We can stop it."

"So, you have this gland and this madness too?"

"Yes and no. The Kee... uh, the Doctor was able to cure my madness."

"So, cure mine!"

"We were in the process of doing that when you bolted from the lab," Darien said pointedly.

"So, there is nothing you can do?"

"The Doctor created a gene therapy for you, kinda like the one she used on me. That should cure you of the madness," Darien said, looking at the relieved man that could have been controlled by the madness like he had been.

As Balor and Darien continued to talk, Claire and Hobbes proceeded to the Official's office. Walking in the door, they were greeted by a rare sight, Eberts standing behind the Official as they stared at a small television screen.

"I'm leaving you..." the man on the television said.

"Whatcha watchin'?" Hobbes asked, leaning over the television as Eberts clicked it off.

"Six Feet Under," Eberts stuttered, as the Official, responded, "Death of a Salesman."

"Sounds more like Temptation Island to me," Hobbes observed.

"Doctor, how is he?" the Official asked, looking apprehensively at Claire.

"I've administered the gene therapy, and so far it appears to be working. His current bout of Quicksilver Madness has resolved. Only time will tell whether the therapy integrates into his gland's genetic code permanently," she started, taking a seat in front of his desk. "But, Sir. A violent criminal like Balor should not have that gland, especially without the control of QSM. It needs to be removed, before he does something serious."

"But, I thought you couldn't extract the gland?" Hobbes asked, looking towards Claire pensively.

"In Darien, I still can't. The gland has attached itself to too many different sections of his brain. But I believe that we have caught Balor in enough time that I can safely remove it. It looks like whoever put the gland in his brain didn't give him enough time to recover after the surgery, and therefore some of the gland structure has not fully integrated into Balor's brain yet. It might allow me a safe way to remove the gland from his head."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Back in the Keep, Darien had fully explained the gland, the Quicksilver Madness and even his experiences over the past few years. But Balor was still uneasy.

"So, Balor Feris, huh? That's an interesting name? What is it, English?" Darien asked, once again taking a seat in front of the man and lounging across the chair.

"Well, Balor is Druid actually. He was the Druid god of death. One look in his eyes would kill you. Kind of ironic now... isn't it?" Balor answered, lying back in the demented dentist chair.

"A bit."

"And Feris is Latin for thief. Guess it ran in my family," he said looking up at the agent. "So, what about you? Darien Fawkes? What does that mean?"

"Um, Darien is French... um... French Canadian, actually. I think it means wealthy gift," Darien answered sheepishly. "And Fawkes is British, meaning sly like a fox."

"A little bit ironic there too, don't you think?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Darien and Balor continued to talk, Claire and the Official were having a talk of their own. Namely, what to do about Balor and the gland.

"There are only two options. Either Feris stays here at the Agency, forever, with the gland intact or the gland is removed completely," the Official barked.

"But, Sir. Feris is a violent criminal. You can't just put him back on the streets, especially with the knowledge he has gained," Hobbes interrupted.

"I never said he would be put back on the street. Those are our options. One or the other. You decide, Doctor."

"Chief, what if we turn him over to the feds?" Hobbes asked, standing up and pacing around the office.

"They have nothing that they could hold him for. I've checked," Eberts piped in.

Claire sighed heavily. "We can't put Balor back on the streets."

"Doctor, we won't. You need to make a choice," The Official barked. "You know my position on this. But if removal will damage the gland, he must stay, until you can take it out securing its safety. That is the end of it."

Claire put her hands on her hips and sighed heavily. "We remove it," she said uneasily.

The Official chuckled. "Good. Be ready to ship out in a half-hour. I'll alert the hospital." He looked at Hobbes. "We'll all be accompanying Mr. Feris to the hospital, so inform Fawkes."

"Yes, sir," Hobbes said, heading for the door.

Claire rolled her eyes and barged out of the office after Hobbes, distraught over the no-win situation in whuch she and the rest of the Agency had been placed. Both choices were immoral, she thought, and just plain wrong. Balor could not be held against his will for something he had had no hand in; her only other option was to remove the gland no matter what consequences to his life existed.

"We have to let him go. Perhaps this experience will change him for the better," Claire said as they walked to the Keep.

"I love it when you're angry," Hobbes responded.

Claire stopped dead, turned and glared at Hobbes, "Bobby a man's entire life rests in our hands, and all you can do is tell me how good I look when I am angry?"

"I never said that. It's just my way of saying that I agree with you."

Claire spun on her heel and marched to the Keep. As she turned the corner and the clicking of her heels faded, Hobbes turned and continued to his own office, beaming like an idiot.

Darien left the Keep as Balor began to drift off to sleep. He had recuffed him to the dentist chair so that he would not escape again. Walking out of the lab, Darien knew that everything was about to change. Soon the Official would have his new gland. For the time being he was irreplaceable but one day another invisible agent would be around. They would probably do what they had originally planned and put it in a highly trained agent. But hopefully they would choose someone more like himself then like Simon Cole. Cole may have been a patriot, who gave his all for his country, and it was not his fault that he went insane from permanent invisibility. But when Darien had been Cole, he felt something that was beyond the Madness. Something in Cole was rotten. Darien didn't want someone like that to be able to do what he could.

And then who knew what would happen to him. The 'Fish might stick him down in Gaither's old cell until something could be done with him. Or they could send him to the Community to live out the rest of his miserable life. Even though the Community had made it pretty clear that they would never want him, Darien was sure the Official would be able to convince them to take him.

Darien entered the office he shared with Hobbes, causing his partner to turn down the volume of the mini TV he had smuggled in. Darien collapsed into a chair, dropping his head into his hands. Hobbes watched silently as Darien rubbed his temples and an exhausted moan escaped his lips. Slowly, Darien raised his head and craned his neck to see the television.

"Whatcha watching, Hobbesy?" Darien asked, scooting his chair over to see better.

"Some show called Couples. It's pretty funny. One of the guys looks a lot like you," Hobbes said, turning the set in Darien's direction and pointing to the screen. "See, that guy."

"Don't know whatcha talking about. His hair is awful. Way too short for him," Darien said, leaning back, his eyes glued to the set. "If he did something with it and got out of those stuffy suits and into something more comfortable, then maybe he would be as cool as me."

"No wonder your id had so much trouble controlling you. Your ego is bigger than this room," Hobbes mumbled chuckling to himself.

"Yup," Darien responded, laughing at his look-a-like on the television.

Hobbes checked his watch. "We ship out of here in 10 minutes. Taking Balor to Fort Leavitt to get the gland removed."

"Removed?" Darien gasped.

"Keep says she can take it out. Who knows if it will kill him or not?"

Darien nodded and bit his lower lip, "Lucky him."

Claire returned to the Keep and sat down at her computer, sighing deeply in anger after her discussion with the Official. She knew that keeping the gland would mean that one day there would be another vessel for it. But the short time that it took Balor to go to Stage Five madness was her biggest concern. He had progressed from Stage Three to Stage Five in less then 24 hours.

As she prepared to take Balor to Fort Leavitt for extraction, she thought about the psychological effects this would have on the not-so-innocent man. Being taken against your will was hard enough to get through. But then to be implanted with this horrid gland. Balor would either have to be a very strong person or have a very good psychologist, with the appropriate clearance, to help him through this.

When the group arrived at Fort Leavitt, the entire base seemed to be deserted. Two guards stood at the barricaded gate and two more stood inside the hospital, but there was no one else around. Balor was then taken to a private trauma room, where Claire would begin a series of tests to determine exactly what she needed to do to remove his gland. As Claire positioned the tranquilized Balor in the MRI, she knew that this would change many things at the Agency, including her research to remove Darien's gland. But how would Darien be able to handle another invisible agent? How would the Official handle Darien, if he had a real invisible agent to utilize? Claire shook the thought from her head and moved to the controls, all the while not knowing that Balor had awakened. As she began the test, Balor's eyes popped open, revealing extremely bloodshot eyes, a jump straight from normality to Stage Four madness.

As Darien walked into the trauma room, Claire was studying the three-dimensional model produced by the MRI of Balor's head.

"So, how's it looking, Claire?" Darien asked looking over his Keeper's shoulder at the MRI screen.

"So far, the gland seems to be removable. But I can't be completely sure till I go in," Claire answered, jotting down a few notes. "You can go in and talk to him. He should be awake, now."

As Claire left the lab, Darien walked up to the MRI bed, quietly calling, "Balor, you awake, man?"

Balor sat up and swung his legs off of the bed, his back facing Darien, as he said, "Yes, I'm up, Darien."

"Hey man. I just wanted to see how you're handling all of this," Darien said, placing his hand on Balor's shoulder.

"I am quite fine, Darien," Balor said in a slow and menacing voice. "I assure you."

Slowly, Darien's face changed. His eyes darkened, and his lips dropped into a frown. Even more slowly he moved his hand from Balor's shoulder and walked around the bed, studying Balor's face. The other man looked completely at ease. A small smile played on his lips, as every muscle relaxed completely. His brow was smooth, not furrowed like a man who was about to have brain surgery. And his eyes were loosely closed.

As Darien stopped in front of him, Balor's lids snapped open, revealing the now too familiar blood shot eyes. For a second, the two men stared at each other. The past and the future of the gland collided through their gaze. Instantly Balor lunged towards the surgical tools, grabbing a scalpel, and heading towards Darien.

Darien tried to defend himself, bringing all of his new skills to bear, but Balor had his own training and years of experience. He caught Darien's left arm and pulled it high up on his back; Darien howled in pain. But the next instant, the sharp blade of the scalpel dug into Darien's throat. He hissed in pain. Balor pushed Darien out of the empty lab, careful not to dig the scalpel into Darien's throat and hit anything important. He couldn't afford to lose his hostage and blow his chance of getting out.

As they walked down the hall, Balor began screaming, "YOU ALL WERE THE BASTARDS THAT DID THIS TO ME."

"Man, I told you. It wasn't us," Darien said as Balor dragged him further down the hall. "We're trying to save you."

"NO, YOU'RE THE ONES THAT RUINED MY LIFE!" Balor hollered as Claire, Hobbes, Eberts and the Official came hurrying down the hall. "YOU SAID YOU COULD FIX THIS THING! LIAR!"

"Guys, some help here," Darien pleaded.

"Son, you better stop this now. We don't want to hurt you," the Official said as he motioned for Balor to drop the scalpel.

"Of course you do! You want to cut me open," he answered, calming down.

"Feris, there are two guards at the door who don't care why you are doing this. They will shoot you if you try and leave the building with Fawkes like this," Hobbes commented, removing his gun from its holster.

"Then they will take both of us, won't they?" Balor said, holding Darien's arm tighter.

"Just let him go, man. You don't want him," Hobbes answered, taking a step towards them and raising his gun.

"Don't come any closer. I WILL SLIT HIS THROAT!"

Slowly the group backed away, letting Balor and Darien pass. As the two made their way down the hall and around the corner, the last words out of Darien's mouth were, "GUYS? HELP!"

Quicksilvering as they went, Balor pushed Darien out of the main doors, past the guards. As they walked past them, Balor grabbed one of their guns and proceeded to point the gun at Darien's back. "Run!" he urged as he pushed him towards the gate that lead into the hospital.

Darien groaned out loud and started jogging, his vision starting to swim in and out. Once they got past the gate, Balor let the Quicksilver drop and pushed Darien onto the sidewalk that lined the streets. Balor darted out into the street with Darien in tow. They barely avoided being hit by the stream of cars traveling down the street. As one car stopped right before them, Balor ripped open the door and pulled the confused driver out into the road. Pulling Darien in, Balor made his way to the passenger seat, forcing Darien into the driver's seat.

As Hobbes and the two armed guards ran out of the gate, they saw the car door close and heard Balor yell, "DRIVE THIS CAR, OR I WILL KILL YOU."

Inside the car, Darien sat calmly, with the scalpel still jutting out of his throat and the gun pointed at his head. He felt the slow wave of unconsciousness rolling over him.

"I can't," he gasped, trying to stay conscious.

"DRIVE!"

Seconds later, Darien began to sway. Balor noticed his passenger's impending faint and quickly pulled the scalpel out of his throat. Flipping up his gun, Balor held the muzzle and bashed the grip into Darien's skull. With a loud crack, Darien fell back against the seat, unconscious. Balor then reached over him, opened the door, and in one swift movement pushed Darien out into the moving traffic.

"DARIEN!" Hobbes yelled when he saw his partner was about to be creamed by a pick-up truck. As Balor put the car into gear and sped off, Hobbes dashed out into the street and dragged Darien out of the way just in time. When he was sure his partner was safe, he and the other guards started firing at Balor's car, hoping to at least hit a tire. But as the car rapidly turned a corner, they knew that Balor was gone.

Hobbes threw his gun to the ground in disgust and then knelt down beside his fallen partner. "Damn it, Fawkes," he muttered as he tore off his coat and used it to staunch the blood flowing from Darien's throat wound.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag

Slowly, Darien's eyes fluttered open, a small groan escaping from his lips. He realized he was lying on a gurney in the Keep. An IV was inserted into the back of his left hand, slowly pumping in a large bag of blood. As he looked down, he saw that the blanket stopped at his waist and that his bare chest was covered with sticky heart monitor patches. He tried to raise his head, wincing at the sharp stabbing pain in the side of his neck. He raised his hand to his neck and felt the thick bandage.

"How are you feeling?" Claire asked, placing an ice pack on the large bump forming on his forehead.

"Like I was stabbed, cold-cocked, and thrown out of a moving car," Darien answered, painfully trying to sit up again.

"You look like hell," said Hobbes, walking towards him.

"Well, I'd hate to see what I look like when I'm feeling awful," Darien said as he slowly moved his IV-laden hand to his stomach. "So, did you..."

"Nope. He got away before we could get to him," Hobbes said, dropping his head.

"Oh, crap."

"Hey man, we'll get him soon," Hobbes said in a confident tone. He nodded towards the door. "I gotta go talk to the 'Fish. I'll be back soon," he said, dropping his hand for a low five with his partner.

"Thanks, Bobby," Darien said, slowly lowering his hand into Hobbes', smiling up weakly.

Hobbes stared at Darien with brotherly concern, nodding slightly as he turned and left. Claire pulled up a chair next to Darien, "How are you really feeling?" she asked, checking his pulse.

"Like hell. But I'll be okay," Darien said, resting his head on the gurney. "So, did you find out anything about his gland, before..."

"Yes. Balor's gland hadn't implanted itself into the brain as much as yours had, so there was a very high chance that he would have survived the extraction. But the thing that was bloody odd was that his Quicksilver Madness must have been a completely different code then yours. Someone had to have changed Arnaud's code for the madness. That's the only explanation that I can think of for why the gene therapy didn't work."

"I figured as much. Hopefully whoever did this to him gets him back. Balor could be a huge problem in Stage Five," Darien said as his eyes started to droop.

"Get some sleep, you've been through a lot the past couple of days," Claire said as she pulled a blanket up over his chest.

Darien nodded his head slightly and then relaxed against the gurney, quickly drifting into a dreamless sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next night, a single man stood in the open desert, screaming at the cloudy sky, "WHAT DO YOU WANT WITH ME???? JUST TELL ME!"

Minutes later, a loud thumping sound could be heard coming from the distance. Balor spun around, facing the direction the sound came from. As he stood staring towards the mountains, a bright light beamed down on his frozen body. The light was so bright and the wind was whipping around him so violently that Balor fell to his knees, screaming in fear.

"LEAVE ME ALONE! TAKE THE DAMN GLAND AND LEAVE ME ALONE!" he yelled, his voice cracking with every syllable.

As the halo of light became bigger, the wind howled down, throwing him to the ground, blowing sand in every direction. Balor covered his silver eyes from the sand as he disappeared into the whirlwind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Maybe Fox Mulder had it right when he hung up a poster in his office that said 'I want to believe.' Only I'm not sure what I really believe in anymore. Not aliens, that's for sure. But maybe that poster was more about hope than it was about little green men. If that's true, I want to believe that I will get this gland out of my head one day and live a normal life. But how can I possibly do that when I know some new schmuck will come along and endure the same kinds of hell I've gone through the past few years? I guessin the end, I want to believe that the gland starts and ends with me. But after meeting Balor Feris and witnessing firsthand the kind of torment he went through, I've realized that it's probably just wishful thinking. But then again, what would life be like if we all turned our backs on our own personal little green men? No life that I want to be a part of, that's for sure.

End