General Lancaster, or rather ex-General Lancaster, sat next to Ken in the crowded bar. Ken bolted down a shot of some drink whose name he hadn't caught. If you hadn't known better you'd think they were just strangers. The way they don't make eye contact. The way they lean just slightly away from one another. But if you came close enough you could hear their hushed voices, hidden in the din.

"Hammond is almost certainly watching me right now." Lancaster smirked to himself. "The President won't let him move...not yet at least."

"So what are you going to do?"

"I think...I think this war has gotten long out of control."

"Yeah, no kidding...I hear that we lost control of another of those monsters last week. Killed an entire unit and a bunch of civies."

"Exactly what I predicted would happen. And the blame for this disaster rests with the leadership of our once fair country. You asked me what I'm going to do? I'm going to reinstate sanity to this country's military. And I'm going to need good people, loyal people. You've fought by my side for years...can I trust you?"

"Sir." Ken turned now and faced Lancaster. "I'm with you all the way to hell and back."

"Well, I wouldn't plan on a return trip." Lancaster had a distant look on his face. "I am going to annihilate those responsible for this mess."

"You can count on me. I won't ever let you down."

*

Ken took Amanda's hands across the table. A candle lit the room so that the shadows danced around them. His eyes looked dark in the dim light, like caves leading deep underground.

"Amanda..." Ken licked his lips. "I've...I've done a lot of...a lot of terrible things. Things that...things that can't be forgiven."

"Ken?" Amanda frowned at him. "Why are you telling me this? It's not exactly a turn on to hear that your boyfriend is a terrible person."

"I...look...I don't want to get this wrong. All my life I thought...I thought there wasn't anything that really...really...mattered, you know? Really mattered...but you...you matter. To me you really matter. All the terrible things I've seen and done and...and been, but then there's you and it's like you're proof that...that I can be something but...that I can be something else."

*

"Answer me! What...is...Hammond...working...on?" Between each word Ken hit the man, who was tied to the chair in front of him. Blood oozed from his nose. His eyes were swollen and red so that the tears rolled around the twisted terrain of his face.

Amanda watched through the window of the door. She watched as Ken beat the man. She watched him promise the man freedom. She watched the man give the information. And she watched Ken kill the man. She watched him kill and she saw the smile on his face, the look of peace she never got to see on his face. Later, when he kissed her, she felt the calluses on his hands. She'd never thought about where those calluses came from. Now she knew.

*

"No." Ken gasped and squeezed Amanda by the shoulders. "You can't do this to me! You can't. I love you. You...you don't get to leave me. Not now. Not ever." He pushed her against the mirror, which cracked with the impact. "I own you. You're mine. You hear? Mine." He kissed her and bit her lip so that he could taste her blood in his mouth.

Even as she struggled, he pulled the zipper of her jumpsuit down. She kneed him in the chest and sent the breath spilling out from his body. He collapsed to the floor, black on the edges of his vision. She moved to escape but he grabbed her by the ankle and pulled her to the floor.

He pushed himself onto her, his chest still burning, but she kicked him again...this time up into the mirror. Creaking, the cracks grew and the mirror shattered. Glass rained down around them and filled the room with the gentle chimeing of glass bouncing. Amanda fled, leaving Ken with nothing but bloody footprints.

*

Guns roared in the hallway like caged lions in the zoo. Ken and Amanda stood with their backs to the wall. They fired blindly around the corner at soldiers who were even now advancing closer and closer. Ken looked over at Amanda often, but she wouldn't meet his eyes. It was as though she faced the firestorm alone.

"Amanda..." She hadn't said a word to him the entire mission, but now he took her by the shoulders. She cringed and looked away.

Ken opened his mouth. He wanted to tell her he was sorry. He wanted to tell...wanted to tell her that it hadn't been real, what he'd tried to do to her. That it had been a mistake. A bad dream he'd had. He wanted to tell her...he wanted to tell her that he loved her.

"Amanda, I'll cover you. Get the information to Lancaster. I...I trust you to send help back for me."

"Why?"

"You're not like me..."

*

"Ken is dead." Amanda sat across the table from General Lancaster. "I managed to get the coded files out. We know now who has the contract for the nanoweapon--Miller Computing."

"Ken is alive Amanda...he showed up early this morning." He bit his tongue. "It's a miracle he got back, but that man is stubborn if nothing else."

Amanda's face went white.

"Amanda...Ken told me what happened." He reached across the table and took her hands. "Normally I'd have him hanged for doing what he did, but...I need Ken. If I'd known earlier I never would have sent you out together." He leaned back and sighed. "We're going to need to plant someone in Miller Computing. I have an in with the Vice-president, a little weasel named Bradshaw--but he'll be worthless for a job of this magnitude. I think this would be a perfect opportunity for you."

"Will it get me away from...from that man?" She shivered.

"Yes...yes it will."

*

"Sir...you can't trust Amanda." Ken sat next to Lancaster in the rec room. Neither man looked at the other. "She left me to die in there. She left me to die..."

"Can you really blame her?" Lancaster grabbed Ken's wrist and squeezed.

"She...she betrayed me first!" Ken pulled his wrist away. "She said she loved me. She said she loved me...once...she said it...and then she turned around and...and said that...that..."

Lancaster stood. At the door he stopped and looked over his shoulder at Ken.

"Listen to me Ken...you are not to harm one hair on that woman's head. I will determine how to deal with her if she becomes a problem."

"Don't doubt my loyalty, Sir. Don't you dare doubt it. I said I'd follow you to hell and I meant it."

After Lancaster had left Dr. Madison came and sat next to him. For a while they sat together in silence, drinking. And then the doctor, a sly smile on his face, looked over at Ken.

"I may have the solution to your problem. I have a little...experiment...in need of a test subject."

Ken looked over at Madison. His stomach lurched.

"What kind of a monster do you think I am? I'm not going to turn Amanda into one of your lab rats. And even if I was going to...Lancaster would never allow it."

When he'd left the room Madison got up and turned the lights down. He liked the dark.

"We shall see..." He laughed quietly. "We shall see..."

Lars lumbered to his feet outside the cell. Without a thought for his own safety George barreled to the bars and pointed at Lars.

"I swear to god, if you've hurt her..."

"You'll what? Pummel me to death with your flabby arms?"

"I'll find a way."

"Relax George, it's me...Monica."

"You expect me to--"

"Shut up. We don't have time to argue. This body is in the process of dying and if I'm still inside when it goes..."

Lars stumbled to a panel in the wall and pushed a series of keys with his thick fingers. The bars slid into the wall with a whoosh and George found himself free. He knelt over Monica's body and looked up at the giant. Dark shadows covered Lars' eyes. His legs buckled under him and he collapsed into a twitching mass of muscle. Monica opened her eyes with a gasp.

"It won't be long now before they realize what we've done." She stood and swayed. "My head's still a bit fuzzy, but we need to run." George steadied her with the back of his hand and the two of them headed for the exit.

"Monica...what just happened."

"You know all the monsters that you've seen? Well, we used to control them using special computer chips implanted in their minds. Lars has one of those chips in his brain. It allows the military to program him and, when necessary, control him directly by remote."

"So you hacked his chip somehow, but...I don't get it..."

Monica grabbed George's hand.

"Look, I told you I was a double agent earlier? Hammond would plant me close to military targets and then I'd work my way into their lives. Well, it's somewhat hazardous to a spies life to be caught communicating with the enemy. In my mind there is a transmitter. I used it to communicate information back to my handlers and today, I used it to hack into Lars' mind."

At this point in the explanation an alarm began to blare all throughout the compound. Lights in the ceiling flashed red. Monica's face went white.

"No more talking....we need to run."

Dragging George, Monica led them down the hallways. Feet echoed behind them and shouting voices climbed back and forth along the corridors. George clutched his side and tried to keep up even as sweat dripped into his eyes. She glanced back at him and smiled softly.

"Come on George, just a little bit further now..."

"Wrong. Your flight ends here." A stern voice brought them to a halt.

Monica turned to face a man who stood with a wall of soldiers. Marching feet behind them signaled the presence of another wall of soldiers at their backs. They were completely surrounded.

"I'll give the two of you just one chance to get out of this without losing the use of your legs." His men readied their guns.

"And I'll give you and your men just one chance to get out of this without losing the use of your lives." Monica held up a hand. "Five seconds."

Her fingers counted down the instants until she held her fist up before him. His eyes widened, but he only shook his head.

"I have you completely surrounded Commander. What can you possibly do to--"

Monica shoved George to the floor and charged straight into the men. The leader of the troops quickly called for the group at their backs to stand down or risk shooting their own men. Monica smiled, dodged several shots, and grabbed the leader by his neck. Holding him off the ground in front of her she used his body as a shield and moved forward into the group of soldiers.

George lay on the ground breathing deeply, and watched Monica dance into the mass of men.

Smoke billowed up from the officer's back as gun blasts sizzled into his flesh. Monica shoved his body into the air knocking over two of the soldiers in the process. The three bodies spilled to the ground. The rest of the soldiers charged towards her. Still moving she ran up along the wall, grabbing the head of the nearest soldier as she vaulted over him. As she landed on the other side she twisted and snapped his neck.

The next nearest soldier started to turn, but Monica already had her hands around his throat. His eyes bulged and his body went limp. By now the rest of the soldiers had turned to face her. Before they could grab hold of her she swept her leg into a roundhouse kick that barreled into the five closest soldiers. One of them tried to stand, but Monica lept up onto his body and crushed his throat with her heel. Balancing on the corpse she grabbed a punch and swung the soldier into the air, up over her shoulder, and onto the ground with a thud and a crack.

Finally the men managed to grab hold of her, one to each wrist, and a third in front with his gun raised. He smiled slightly, his black eyes glistening, and punched her in the stomach with the butt of his gun. Before he could throw another Monica jumped up into the air and kicked him in the face. Blood sprayed out from his nose and his head flew back into one of the soldiers waiting behind. The crack echoed in the hall like the snapping of a whip.

Before the two men holding her knew what was happening her left leg contorted up and knocked one of them loose. His body flew back into the wall, denting the metal, and slumped down to the ground. With her free hand she grabbed the wrist of the other man and swung him in a circle around her like a cowboy with a lasso. She let his body go and it sailed up and bowled into the remaining three men. Several tried to get up, but Monica dispatched them with several well placed shots from a gun she'd picked up.

She turned to face the group of men behind them.

"You'd almost think these men have never been out in the field before." Her eyes narrowed on the officer. "Me? I can't ever remember not being in the field. What do you say? Wanna see if you can take me?"

"No. I think I'd rather just shoot you." Her nodded his head. "Fire!"

Monica closed the gap between her and the firing troops in the flash of an eye. Smoke from the energy discharges filled the hall with a putrid smell and made it impossible for George to see what was happening. All he could do was listen to the screams. When the smoke cleared Monica stood alone in the midst of a pile of bodies.

She helped him up to his feet.

"Sorry about pushing you. I didn't want you to catch a spare gun blast."

"You...you killed them all."

George stared at her, his mouth open despite the bitter taste of the air.

"Come on George, there'll be more." She closed her eyes. "There are always more."

"I can't believe it. George stumbled back from her. There must have been at least thirty men...we should be dead. How...what are you?"

"I'm a killing machine." She took his hand.

They reached the roof just ahead of pursuing soldiers and jammed the door shut behind them. Monica raced over to the helicopter and turned it on. The wind roared out over the roof and away into the sky above the jungle. Star glittered in the sky. In the distance, over the roar of the helicopter, George heard the sirens. The door began to shake. George stared into the helicopter at Monica, her blue eyes glowing in her skull like the stars in the sky. He wondered, not for the last time, what he'd gotten himself into and then boarded the helicopter.

Below as they lifted off the soldiers seemed like dark ants pouring out onto the roof. The base grew smaller and smaller and the forest grew larger and larger. It spread in shadows over the world. And George sat above it all with a killer and a prayer.

Next Week: The final season of Strange World begins with a look at General Lancaster's Head of Security, Ken.

Lars laughed as he beat Monica. The terrain of his mind consisted of jagged rocks and dry dirt that puffed up in a cloud as Monica's body skidded along the earth. When she stumbled to her feet cuts and bruises gave color to her pale skin. Holding the arm she'd landed on Monica staggered forward.

"Feel that?" Lars' voice came from everywhere and nowhere. "In here you're not special. You're just human. You're weak."

"Lars!" Monica turned, trying to find him. "Lars, listen to me. I don't want to hurt you, but bad things will happen if you don't let us go."

"Lars knows! Lars wants to see the world go boom. Lars wants...Lars wants the dark."

He charged out of the darkness. Monica dodged to one side and spun to face him, but he already had his bulging arms around her. They constricted tighter and tighter.

"Do you love me?"

Monica gasped. The voice in her ear was not Lars.

*

The young man held Monica. His long brown hair smelled of sawdust and metal. Monica rolled her head and looked into his eyes. Her heart thudded in her chest and she turned away. Dew from the grass made her shiver. She wanted to say, yes, yes, I love you. Instead she stared up into the sky. A thin cloud drifted over the moon.

"It's okay if you don't, you know. It doesn't matter to--"

Monica rolled over and wrapped her fingers around his neck. She straddled him and squeezed. She wanted to look away from those bright eyes, but she did not look away. Instead she stared down into them even as red blood vessels bulged up on the surface. Gasping sounds came from his mouth, but she had too tight a grip for him to speak. All he could do was look up into her eyes. From a distance their silhouette mirrored that of a couple making love on the grass under the stars with a wisp of cloud over the moon.

His arms clawed at her back in a desperate attempt to tear her free, but she did not feel the nails in her skin. She did not feel the spasms wracking his legs. She did not feel the night on her back. All she felt was cold. Goosebumps broke out along her skin. It was a mild summer night, but the cold infected her bones as she tore the boy's life from him. His eyes dimmed and his body went still. She pulled away and sat shivering on the hill. Why was the moon so cold? Her handler's voice buzzed in her ears, but words did not form from the sound.

"Yes." She whispered. "Yes...I love you."

*

"What good is love? You killed me anyway." Lars squeezed tighter, his voice whispering with the breath of a dead man.

He shoved her to the ground and reached his foot up to squash her head like a bug. Monica closed her eyes and waited...

*

"Yes....I love you." The words slipped through Monica's chapped lips and George squeezed her hand.

"I...I believe in you Monica. You can do this. Whatever the hell it is you're doing...I believe in you."

*

"I...I believe in you..." Monica's eyes flashed open and caught Lars' foot inches from her face. She pushed up and Lars flipped head over heels through the air.

His body landed with a thud. Before he could stand Monica closed the distance and kicked him in the side. He landed on his feet and wiped blood from his mouth. He snarled.

"You think you can beat me? This is mine! My head!"

He charged and threw punch after punch, but Monica blocked them all without even flinching. Her feet danced along the ground as she circled around the lumbering giant. She swung her fists. The first glanced harmlessly off Lars' arm, but it also created a small hole in Lars' defense. With a practiced ease Monica threaded her other punch through the opening and hit Lars in the stomach. He folded inward, a look of shock on his face. Before he could react she swept a leg low and knocked him to the ground. He lay there staring up into the darkness, breathing heavily.

"This isn't just your mind Lars. I'm here and that means that for the moment this place belongs to both of us."

Straps sprouted out of the ground and lashed Lars to the ground. He struggled and screamed till his voice was raw, but at last went silent save for a whisper.

"Please...please...it's all I have. Don't take it from me."

"I don't want to take anything from you Lars, just let me and George go. Help us and I'll leave you."

He closed his eyes and Monica realized that he looked in many ways like an overgrown child.

"The voices don't leave Lars a choice. They're always there. Always there. I can't help. I can't. They control every move. Lars has no choice. No freedom. This..." He stared out at the bleak surroundings. "...this is all I have."

Monica lowered herself down, straddling Lars, and reached her hands around his throat.

"Please...please...Lars...Lars doesn't want to die." Monica began to squeeze. "I'm afraid..." The whisper slipped through his gasping lips.

Monica crushed the life from Lars' body, and remembered the boy she'd killed. This time she felt the spasms. She felt the night on her back. And the last breath of life on her face. She felt Lars die and in that moment, for the first time, felt the death of the boy she'd killed on the grassy field. Her first assignment.

Tears ran down Monica's face and landed on Lars. They rolled down the creases of his skin, as though they were his tears as well.

Monica stood in the dark of a deep night. A circle of light lit the stony ground around her, but beyond that she could not see the world. A thick silence saturated the air. Only her breathing broke the quiet. She blinked and tried to remember where she was or how she'd gotten there, but a fading headache made it hard to think. Somewhere in the distant night water began to drip. The sound at first comforted Monica, who had grown anxious in the silence, but as the dripping continued goosebumps sprouted up along the skin of her arms. A sense of familiarity set in that sent her stomach reeling.

Something shuffled beyond the light. It was a long dragging sound that sent stones rattling along the ground just out of sight. The dripping increased in volume and a new sound joined it. Long dragging breaths of wind. Rasping and pained, it sounded like a thunderstorm blowing through dry grass. Monica turned to face the sound, but no matter how hard she stared into it, her eyes could not break the obsidian.

The shuffling sound came again, and this time the small stones rattled over the barrier between light and dark. Monica stumbled away from the stones and called into the darkness. At first there was no reply save the rasping and the dripping that now sounded like water echoing in an empty bathroom.

"Monica." A man stepped to the edge of the light. His blue eyes sparkled in the light and his golden beard lent his face a warm glow.

*

"Daddy?" Monica lay on the ground with her head in George's lap. Her eyes were closed, but he could see them moving behind the lids. Looking for something that wasn't there. Lars had finally quieted and lay outside the cell, his massive body twitching on the ground.

*

"Yes Monica, it's me."

"Oh Daddy..." She covered her face in her hands. "I've missed you. I've missed you so much. Every day...I've thought of you every day."

"I know how hard it's been for you. The guilt you've felt for letting me die."

"I--" She closed her eyes. "I couldn't save you."

"That's not true though, is it?" He stepped forward and the circle of light constricted so that he remained on the edge.

"What?"

"You know what I mean..." He smiled widely. "You were useless. All you did was hide and cry like a little baby. A little baby."

"I tried..." Monica hugged herself.

"Oh yes, you came running out. Got in the way like a real pro. Any chance I had you stole from me trying to play the hero, trying to escape the truth of what you are--a pathetic coward who let her own father die."

"You...you loved me..."

"I thought I did." He stepped forward and the darkness closed in tighter, a noose. "I thought it would be worth it to save you, but do you want to know the truth Monica, love?

He stepped forward once more so that he was less than an arms length away. His breath smelled of rotting flesh and his eyes no longer looked bright, but dull and plastic. He held his arms over his stomach, like a little boy with a tummy ache.

"The truth is, when that creature dove it's claws into me--all I could think was why didn't I save myself? Why did I let that little brat take my place? All I could think of was the pain." He pulled his arms away and the flap of skin fell from his stomach. Guts poured out into the rocks around Monica's feet. She could feel the blood soaking into her shoes. "Do you have any idea what it feels like? Having your guts pulled out? In that moment, I would have given anything to trade places with you, my darling little girl."

*

Monica's skin had turned the color of ash. Tears glistened on her face. Outside George heard Lars laugh, it sounded like a beast. He stroked Monica's hair and cradled her head to his chest. He didn't understand what was happening, but he knew one thing for certain. Monica was in trouble and he didn't like it. Didn't like seeing her cry.

*

"You aren't my father." Monica whispered and clutched her arms tighter around her.

"Oh...but I am." Blood dripped from the flap of skin.

"You aren't my father!" She drew her hands to her sides and clenched her fists. "My father loved me. He gave everything he had for me and he died for me. He would never say the things you've said. Never."

Before the apparition could say another word she decked it. The shape of her father flew back into the night and all became silent once more.

"Lars." Monica turned in her circle of light. "Nice trick, showing me my dead father. But I've had it with your games. Show yourself."

"Stupid human."

Lars appeared behind her, grabbed her head, and threw her. She landed with skidding rattle on the gravel. In seconds she got to her knees to look up at Lars who towered over her.

"Stupid human. This Lars' head. This mine. You will not take from Lars!" He kicked her and sent her body spinning into a wall that appeared from nowhere.

*

Monica's body spasamed in George's arms and blood tinged her lips crimson. Lars' laugh grew like thunder before a storm. It grew until George could not remember there being any other sound. It grew and it grew.

Next Week: Monica and Lars fight, but does Monica stand a chance in Lars' own mind? Find out.

Blackness watched George and Monica from the eyes of Lars. He listened while Monica recounted her story. His breath played a symphony when George took her in his arms. His fists clenched while he watched them sleep, but he could not feel the pain of the nails digging into his skin. He could not feel pain.

*

George awoke with a gasp. Monica lay in his arms, her eyes closed and her face peaceful. She didn't look like a killer. Her body felt warm against his and it made him think, somehow, of summer days alone under the sun lamps. Summer days a world away. For the first time since Amanda left him alone in the med lab he didn't feel alone.

Amanda.

"Amanda considers you a friend George. She is one of the most caring people I have ever met. So understand me when I say that you put her life in jeopardy right now. I don't want to hurt her…but I have done many things that in the dark of night haunt me and will doubtless do many more before my time has come to an end."

Those were the words that General Lancaster had spoken to him in the darkness. It seemed so long ago now, but it had been only days. Amanda had been his one light in this world. She had been the one thing he could count on. He'd left her behind. Left her behind with a General who would do anything to get his way. Left her behind with a mad scientist. Left her behind with an insane security officer. He'd left her behind.

Monica's hair tickled his face, and looking down at her George couldn't regret rescuing her. He couldn't regret it. But he also couldn't forget the woman who had offered him hope at the risk of her own life. The woman who had taken his hand and pulled him to safety. Absently George pulled out the computer pad he'd stolen from Dr. Madison.

When George first opened the pad he'd seen only a single file, the nano-weapon code. But as he fiddled with the interface he realized that there was another file located on a memory stick. A file marked "Personal Notes".

"With the help of Mr. Bradshaw we've isolated the gaps that will be in the code. We should be prepared to quickly fill them in when Amanda returns with the file. Ken has suggested, and I agree, that Amanda will be a problem should she find out that we plan on using the code to make our own version of the nano-weapon. I've begun work on a method for humanely containing the problem..."

The pad clattered to the floor and Monica darted awake. She landed on her feet, crouched down, eyes narrowed, hands at the ready.

"Monica..."

She turned to face George with a question in her eyes.

"Monica...they're going to use the code. Lancaster is going to use the code to make his own nanoweapon."

"Oh...well, maybe we'll get lucky and he'll use it before the torture starts." She rested back on the bench with her arms crossed.

"Don't you understand? I've warned Hammond, but they'll have no idea...it will be the end of everythig..."

"George...has it ever occured to you that maybe this world is better off gone?" She closed her eyes. "There is nothing worth saving here."

George stood in the center of the cell motionless. He felt like a statue that had been rooted in that spot always. He stood and he stared at Monica. His body vibrated and his chest felt tight. He wanted to scream, but what came out was something very different.

"I was wrong about you." It was only a whisper. "I should have left you behind. I should have stayed with Amanda."

"Probably." Monica shrugged. "Regret will get you nowhere George. Just sit back and pray that the world ends before Hammond gets to us."

"No!" George fell to his knees and grabbed Monica by the shoulders. "You say that you became what you are to help people? You are a liar. Your father would be ashamed of you."

Monica hit George so hard he flew across the room and rattled against the bars. He slid to the floor, blood on his lips. Monica came at him.

"Yeah! Come on. Hit me! All you'll ever be is a killing machine. Your father should have saved himself. He should have left you to die."

Monica collapsed. When she looked up her face was wet with tears. Her sobs filled the cell and she burried her face in her arms.

"Oh." George crawled over to her. "Monica. I'm...I'm sorry. I shouldn't...I shouldn't have said that about your father. I'm a self-rightious bastard."

Monica looked up with a cold smile on her face.

"Yes, you are. But you also happen to be right. My dad was a good man George. He wanted better for me."

Together they stood, holding one another tightly as if afraid that when they let go they would drift forever alone. Foreheads leaning together they stood and spoke only with the sound of breathing.

*

Lars wanted to cheer as he watched the humans fight. He wanted to watch them smash themselves to little bits. He wanted to see thier bodies broken on the floor. But the fighting stopped and they stood together and Lars wanted to open the bars and break them with his own fists. The voices in his head would not let him. They were always whispering, whispering orders that his body obeyed even when his mind wanted otherwise.

The woman turned her head and met his eyes. Then she smiled.

"They couldn't have been so stupid." She broke free of George's grasp. "But I think they were. George. I have an idea, but it's going to require me to pass out. You won't be able to wake me, but I'll be okay." She paused. "Or I'll be dead, but one way or another I will get you out of here."

With that Monica crumpled into George's arms like a puppet whose strings had all been cut. George lowered Monica to the floor and Lars began to scream.

The cracks in the floor boards cast thin strips of light into the crawl space where a young Monica lay shivering. Above she could hear the front door to their home shuddering violently. She could hear her father's footsteps, light and uneasy, as he turned to face the door. Something outside howled, like a monkey in agony, and then a cracking crash as the door splintered and flew inward. The shards sounded like rain on the floor overhead. Heavy steps moved into the room and Monica pushed her body down into the cold concrete until she ached all over. A spider crawled over her hand and she had to bite her tongue to keep from screaming. The bitter taste of blood flooded her mouth.

"Oh...oh no...Monica...Monica...I love you!" Her father's voice seemed impossibly far away. It was as if she were asleep and he was calling to her from the foot of her bed. Calling for her to wake up, but she couldn't move. She couldn't do anything but listen to the thudding steps of the intruder. A shadow passed over where she hid and it was so dark and so cold. In the shock of that shadow she felt as though she'd broken through the ice of a pond.

A growl rattled the boards and her father moaned. She heard his body topple and fall to the floor. She remembered once when she'd fallen on the playground and scrapped her knee. Tears had sprung up from within and blood had welled up on her knee. She'd been paralyzed, unable to move or think. It was her father who'd saved her. He held her, stopped the bleeding, kissed her forehead and made stupid jokes about the pain fairies dying.

And now he was the one lying on the floor, helpless, and there would be no one to save him. When Monica burst out of the trap door in the floor even she was surprised. Her father, tears bright on his face, lay on the floor. And above him stood a monster worse than anything she'd ever imagined under the bed. It had the body of a gorilla, but with the eyes of a spider and a circular mouth filled with row after row of gnashing teeth. And there were four arms. Two to either side where they belonged, and one growing straight out of the creature's chest and another out of its back.

Monica didn't waste time thinking about the beast before her, instead she scrambled up out of the floor and wrapped her arms around her father.

"Stay away from my Daddy!"

The beast tilted its head, as though trying to understand the words coming from the girls mouth. But it had not been programmed to understand. The arm on its chest grabbed Monica by the hair and held her up off the ground. She shrieked and struggled. Just as the creature was ready to toss her across the room like an unloved doll, Monica's father dove into the creature and knocked it over.

Monica tumbled to the floor and landed next to the darkness of the open floor.

Her father's mouth opened like he wanted to say some thing, but the creature had him by the throat in one hand. So he could only meet her gaze and even though he couldn't breath Monica saw a softness on his face when their eyes met. He motioned towards the opening and managed to nod before the monster dove its claws into his stomach. He screamed as the creature pulled his insides out onto the floor.

Monica didn't scream or cry. Like a robot she crawled into the hole and under the floor. The door shut with a clattering thud. Underneath, dust motes glimmered in the slits of light and overhead her father screamed and moaned and went silent. The floor thudded as the monster left and then her father's silence filled the room. Monica lay alone in the dark with the silence, until even that was taken from her. Drip, drip, drip. A leaky faucet somewhere she thought absently, not thinking of her father. But the sound increased and persisted until she could never remember hearing anything else, anything other than her father's blood dripping through slants of light.

*

"They found me hours later. I hadn't moved." She closed her eyes. "My father was an important scientist in the field of genetics research and the Europeans knew they had to take him out of the picture early. They assassinated many prominent scientists the day the war started, a surprise attack of sorts."

George put his hand on your shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry? Don't be sorry for me George. It's worthless."

"Right, well." George licked his lips. "So...I guess you got into this line of work to get revenge for your father..."

"Revenge?" She jerked her shoulder from his hand. "Don't say that. Don't you even say that. I got into this to help people. To keep what happened to my father from happening to others. And you know what I am? What I've been?" Her shoulders crumpled. "I'm a killer, worse than that thing that killed my father. I know that. I've always known that. Do you think I'm beautiful just out of vanity? No. Hammond had them make me this way. He plants me close to important people, has me win them over--get them to fall in love with me. And once we've taken every bit of knowledge we can? I betray them at their weakest moment. I slaughter them. I slaughter them George..."

George opened his mouth, but he could think of nothing to say.

"Do you remember, on the roof of that tunnel when I saved you?"

George nodded numbly.

"The real reason I took you with me all that way...I wanted out George. You were going to be my ticket out of this job. I knew Hammond would reward me for bringing back a clone of George Miller...and that's what I thought you were. I knew that if I turned you over to him I could be free...free...but the truth is George, there is no freedom. There is no going back. No happy ending. Hammond is going to take us and he is going to torture us until we don't even know who we are. I should know. I helped him do it so many times."

George took Monica in his arms and held her. Together the two of them lay there on the hard bench, and outside Lars watched them with his bloodshot eyes. At last, when George didn't think it could possibly happen, he fell into an uneasy sleep.

A hulking giant with a hunched back guarded their cell. Muscles bulged beneath his skin, as though just begging to burst out and fall to the floor. Mismatched eyes, one blue and the other black, watched George and Monica with a keen hatred. His lips were frozen in a sneer and his hair was a frothing mess of red and black. His name, given to him by the scientists who created him, was Lars.

Electric bars trapped George and Monica together in a small white room with a single bed, more a bench really, and an embarrassingly exposed toilet. They sat side by side in silence. Monica's eyes were closed, but George couldn't keep his eyes off Lars, whose gaze never wavered from them. They'd been in there for hours, but the giant had not moved from his spot straight outside their cell. He did not sit down. He did not close his bloodshot eyes. He did not even seem to breathe. If George hadn't known better, he'd have sworn that he was looking at a wax figure or a robot.

"Monica."

She nodded her head, but did not open her eyes.

"The guard...what's wrong with him?"

For a long while she did not speak. When she did, her eyes opened and peered at Lars.

"He was the first." She shrugged. "Well, one of the first. Me, Amanda, and many of the other people you've met were born naturally. Gene therapy was used to alter our genetics at some point after birth. Ultimately there's only so much you can change on a natural human strand of DNA, so for a while now there have been experiments into creating soldiers from scratch with vastly inhuman abilities." Her voice grew cold. "What you see out there is the result of the first experiment. Most of those first subjects died before being born, but Lars...for some reason Lars lived."

George tried to think of something to say, but every time he opened his mouth he saw those mismatched eyes and felt the weight of their stare. So he said nothing and again they lapsed into silence. George realized as he watched Lars that his first observation hadn't been correct. You could see movement, if you watched Lars closely enough. His muscles spasmed under the skin so that it looked as though insects were crawling just under the surface, nesting in his flesh. And every time the muscles spasmed Lars' lips twitched ever so slightly.

"Monica, when...when did you receive your gene treatment? How old were you?"

Monica turned to look at George. For a moment she looked like she might hurt him, but then her eyes softened and took on a distant stare.

"I was eighteen. It was a few months after I'd joined the military."

"How does it feel?" George licked his lips. "How does it feel to be...changed? Stronger, better...how does it feel..."

"I don't know." She closed her eyes. "It's hard to describe."

"All my life, I wished I could be better than I am. I wished I could be strong, like my parents. They never wavered from what they wanted out of life, but I always felt like I was just...just there." He laughed. "In my world there is no gene therapy. You are who you are, for better or for worse. It disgusts me a little bit, how reliant this world is on genetics, but...all the same I almost wish--"

"Tired."

"What?"

"That's how it feels George. You feel tired all the time. Not physically, but...inside...day in and day out you know that you're not yourself anymore. You realize that even in your own body you are a prisoner...in fact that your body is not your own." She laughed. "I remember...I remember when I was a klutz. I was always tripping and knocking things over or bumping into people. I remember never knowing what to say in social situations. I remember when I wasn't beautiful...when I was just...just myself." She smiled wistfully. "I died the day they changed me. And I'll never be that person again. Now. I'm just a killing machine..."

George took her hand in his and tilted her chin up.

"Monica, open your eyes." They opened and the icy depths of them gave George goosebumps. "If you were really just a killing machine, you would never have rescued me."

"You remind me...you remind me of that girl. The girl I used to be. And...and you remind me of my father. I just...I couldn't let Hammond destroy you."

"Monica, when the Rex knocked you out...you said something about your father...something bad happened, didn't it?"

"Don't talk to me about my father." She pulled away from George. "I can't talk about him. I can't."

"It's okay, you don't have to."

They sat, each on the far side of the bed, and let the silence eat away the hours. George was almost asleep when Monica began to speak. Her voice started out cold, but as she continued it became different. When she told the story of her father, Monica's voice became human.

Next Episode: I lift back the curtain on all of Monica's backstory.

A small boy named George Miller pounded down the hallway with light-up shoes flashing underneath him. One sweaty hand clutched his baby-sitter's and the other held a model T-Rex named Freddy. George had been looking forward to this moment for most of the week and now, at last, it had almost arrived. His heart thudded in his chest and he pulled harder against the hand of his caretaker. The Millers paid the old woman to look after their little boy while they were at work, which--as it turned out--was all the time. She squinted through thick glasses at the passing doors before finally stopping at one marked "Genetics". She tugged on George's arm and pointed to the door.

"Now George, I know you're excited, but your parents are very busy, so you must be a very quiet and good little boy..."

George rolled his eyes and pulled his hand away.

"Come on Freddy! Let's go see mommy and daddy." He jumped up and pulled the door open.

A whoosh of cool air puffed out the open door and blew his soft hair backward. Together he and Freddy and the old woman stepped into a white room. Machinery sat up against the walls and buzzed alarmingly. Wires were duct taped to the floor and spread out across the tiles like some sort of thick spiderweb. Along one wall a row of tubes with bubbling liquid housed strange half formed shapes that almost looked alive. A woman with dark eyes and curly brown hair tinged gray at the temples stood beside a tall man with a square jaw. He looked up as George burst into the room and narrowed them disapprovingly.

"Mommy! Daddy!" George raced up and grabbed his Mother's lab coat, but she pushed him away.

George took a moment now to see that his Mother was leaning over the table and that a man lay on the table breathing heavily. His father was holding the man down and his mother held a large syringe in her hand.

"What is he doing here?" His father looked from the table to the old woman who stood back by the door.

"You agreed that he could come and see you today..."

"I don't remember that."

George walked up to his dad and pulled on his pants.

"Daddy...what are you doing? Can't we go and play outside? You and Mommy and me and Freddy?"

"I don't have time for this." He pointed at the old woman. "We're paying you to keep him out of our hair and you'd better do your job."

The old woman sighed and clenched her fists. If she was a little younger she would slug the man, but as it was she was just a frail old nanny who needed her job to pay the medical bills and keep a roof over her head. She took George by the shoulders.

"Have a heart. Surely you can spare a few minutes to talk to the boy...he's been looking forward to this for so long and he sees you so rarely."

George's father looked down at him and almost smiled.

"Hello George, I'm sorry but your mother and I are just much too busy at the moment. I promise that someday our work will be done, and when it is we'll spend all day with you every day." He looked up at the old woman. "There. I talked to him, now take him and don't come back."

The tears fell from George's eyes silently, and dripped on the floor like rain in a summer thunderstorm. The old woman led George from the room. The last thing she saw as she looked over her shoulder was George's mother sticking a needle into the man on the table.

*

Alternate George sat with his face in one hand and a flask of cheap rum in the other. Bottles of alcohol littered the room around him. His parents had always been working, working, working until they'd been killed of course. That had been shortly after the war started. Alternate George remembered the day well. His nanny had told him it was okay to cry, but nothing had come out. He'd just sat staring into space and then slowly he had smiled. They'd ignored him all his life always working on one project or another. They'd never had time for him so why should he take the time to cry for them?

The door to his office burst open with Monica at the lead holding a gun in front of her. She snarled her lips in disgust at the mess.

"Aren't you a pretty little soldier woman...come to spend some time with the incomparable George Miller?" He slurred his words and snorted. "More likely sent here by Hammond to drag me into some dark little cell and throw away the key."

George stepped out from behind Monica and gasped. Alternate George's computer lay in shattered shards all along the floor.

"You!" Alternate George snarled, tried to stand, and instead slumped down on the desk. "What do you want? Haven't you done enough?"

"No. Not until you agree to check that code and make it right."

Alternate George smiled and spun in his office chair laughing.

"Make things right?" His laugh turned to a sputtering cough. "Miller computing always gets the job done right! We're the best, or haven't you heard? What are you anyway? What are you to come in here and question my work--my livelihood? What are you?"

"Think of me as your conscience. I'm giving you a chance to do the right thing."

"Ha!" He shook his head and threw the bottle in his hand against the wall. "Do you spend all your time hitting your head against a wall? I don't care about setting things right. And I don't need a conscience...what good has that ever done anyone? I would have checked that code without you, because I get the job done Georgey! I get it done and I get it done right and nothing else matters to me, but the job. The job is all that matters and my job is finished. So..." He smiled. "...if you don't mind...I just broke my last bottle of booze and I think I'm going to go find some more."

"Would have...what do you mean would have..."

"Hammond doesn't want to do things right. He has to go save the world as soon as possible, and he needs to kill a bunch of people to do it!"

"Hammond...Hammond already has the code..."

"You truly are the stupidest possible version of me aren't you?"

*

George and Monica burst into Hammond's room to find him standing with his back to them facing the black wall behind him.

"Ah. Mr. Miller. You're late, but then our poor inebriated friend held you up a bit longer than he had to. And Commander Woods with you...I'm shocked that you would betray your country."

She started forward, but a clear wall fell from the ceiling and cut them off from Hammond. It landed with a boom just as Hammond turned to face them. Shadows covered his face and buried his eyes in a fog of darkness.

"Why did you come back here George? You could have been free...why would you choose to make a return visit? I wasn't precisely hospitable when last we met."

"I came back...because...because I had to try and get through to you. That code...that code is wrong."

"You truly do believe what you're saying, don't you?"

"Yes..." Soldiers entered the room and took George by either arm. "Please, General, I knew when I came back that this would be it. Just...just...please promise me you won't use that code without fixing it."

"You..."General Hammond pulled out a disk and stared at it. "...such a small thing, to cause so much trouble. You have my word Mr. Miller. I shall not betray my oath." He nodded and the soldiers pulled him from the room.

"Why?" He walked up to the clear wall. Monica could see his breath condensing on the surface. "What could make you betray your oath to this country? I've always been able to count on you Monica. Always."

"I was tired."

"You were tired? You were tired! For this you commit treason? For this you break the oath that you swore when you entered the military?"

Monica closed her eyes.

"I found something more important than that oath."

"There is nothing more important than that oath! It overrides everything. Oh yes it does." Spittle flecked across the surface of the glass. "I shall see that you die a horrible and agonizing death. I shall see you suffer. When I have finished with you, you will beg for forgiveness, but I shall not show you mercy. You have earned none. You have shown me betrayal and for that I shall show you that in this world none are punished worse than oath breakers."

An electric prod zapped Monica in the side and she collapsed to the floor writhing. Soldiers shackled her legs and arms. Two flanked her on either side and two followed behind and in back. They led her from the room. The last thing she heard before the door closed was General Hammond breathing deeply. She could feel his eyes on the back of her head even long after she'd left the room.

The wind howled along the top of the military base while military vehicles roared along the dirt roads below and soldiers raced from building to building. George stood atop the central tower of the base. Like the keep to an ancient castle it towered over the walls and over the world, whose subtle curve could be seen on the horizon promising something more.

From here the trees looked like grass swaying under the midday sun. George gripped the rail with sweaty fingers and turned to face Monica who stood beside a nearby helicopter fidgeting. In that helicopter they could glide over the world, beyond that horizon. They could see what lay on the other side. They could leave behind monsters and rebellions and fighting and fear...if only for a little while. They could know the peace of an empty sky. George was ready to be rid of this place. Let someone else worry about the end of the world...he'd given it his all. Resolved, he wiped his hands on his pants and turned to join Monica at the helicopter.

*

The soldiers dragged George along an endless maze of hallways until he was certain that they were in fact just leading him in circles. When he slowed or clutched his still injured side they hit him. But they never spoke. When he looked into their eyes he saw nothing but an empty black. Not the black of space, but a black that George imagined must lie at the center of black holes. A black from which there lay no escape. Every muscle in his body ached, but they marched on.up stairs, down stairs, through empty rooms, they marched.

"Halt!"

There was no mistaking Monica's voice as it cracked out into the hallway.

"Commander..." The men hit George in the back of the legs, forcing him to his knees. "We're under orders to take this prisoner down to interrogation."

"Did I ask what your orders were Sergeant?"

"No Sir."

"George, come over here."

"Sir, this is highly irregular." The soldier squeezed George's arm.

"Are you questioning orders?"

With a sigh the soldier shrugged and let go of George's arm. George sidled towards Monica, but the other guard narrowed his eyes.

"Hold it." He drew his gun and pointed it at George who froze. He could feel the weight of the gun pointed at his head and found that he didn't much like it. "Our orders came directly from General Hammond not half an hour ago and you--Commander--are supposed to be in medical receiving treatment. Why would he have you come all the way over just because he changed his mind? I'm calling this in."

He reached down to his waist and grabbed a radio there.

"This is gross insubordination Sergeant Williams. I'll be the first in line at your court martial ordered reprogramming.."

"We'll see..."

Monica rolled her eyes, reached forward and tossed George behind her. He landed with a thud and came up just in time to see her grab the gun wielding arm of Sergeant Williams and twist. A sharp crack echoed through the hall, but Williams didn't scream. His face didn't even register pain. Instead his other arm came around to grab at Monica's neck. Meanwhile his partner was quickly reaching for the gun at his waist. Monica grabbed the hand at her throat. She now held both of Williams' arms and as smoothly as if they were dancing turned him so that he was between her and his partner. Too late the other guard realized his mistake, but the flash of light at the nozzle of his gun was already fading and a large black hole sizzled in Williams' back.

Monica threw Williams' now inert body into the other man and together the two fell to the ground. Without pausing she dropped to her knees, grabbed his head and twisted it until it snapped. A thin line of blood drizzled from his mouth and he went limp. Williams, still alive despite the hole in his back, reached for his radio again. Monica kicked it away and crushed his hand under her foot. Then she took his own gun from the floor and shot him in the face. He stopped moving.

Monica, her face empty as stone, grabbed George by the arm and started to drag him opposite of the way the guards had been going.

"What...what are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

"I thought you were on their side..."

"I was, now I'm on yours." She sighed. "Look George, as usual, I don't have time to coddle you. In fact, I have even less time then usual. So why don't you shut up and let me save you? I can answer all your questions when we're not running for our lives."

"Yeah, like that'll ever happen."

Monica led George higher and higher, until he swore in his head that if he ever saw another stair case he'd shoot himself. Or maybe just not go up the stairs. Either option seemed reasonable. So it was that when at last they burst onto the roof, the wind howling, George had to stop and rest at the railing. And so it was that this episode started. A stillness came over him like he'd never known before. A peace that settled into his soul. He was free. Monica jumped up into the helicopter and held her hand out. He took it and then the sun came out from behind the clouds and a ray of light fell from the sky and landed on her face.

Her blue eyes had always seemed cold and empty to him, but now in the sunlight George saw how wrong he'd been. They glowed down at him. Her hair whipped around her head with the wind, becoming a sort of glowing golden haze. A halo that framed her face. Her frown faded into a bemused smile that was so far from the empty expression she'd worn as she killed those men. Her hand felt warm and steady around his.

For the first time George looked at Monica and did not feel a fear gnawing at the back of his heart. He felt warm despite the wind and even as the sun faded. He couldn't flee over the horizon. He couldn't leave saving the world to someone else. It was true there were horrible things in this world. Things he'd rather not have experienced, and one of them was holding his hand. But it was also true that there was beauty, and that also was holding his hand.

"I can't leave."

"What are you? An idiot?" She pulled at him. "Do you know what they'll do to us?"

"You should go Monica. I don't--I don't understand why you came for me, but...but it means...it means the world to me. Just know that."

George's hand slipped from hers and he walked across the roof towards the door.

"George! Stop! Stop right there!"

"No! No Monica! There are things...people...in this world. People worth fighting for. I can't just turn my back on everything I've seen."

"What things? Monsters! Death! People like me, George."

"Yes! All of that, but there are also forests and sunlight and people like...people like Amanda."

He opened the door, stared into the darkness, and prepared to go down into it alone.

"Idiot!" Monica grabbed his shoulder. "You want to play the hero? Save the world all by yourself? This isn't some fairy tale and you aren't the knight and there isn't a happy ending waiting down there. You really think I rescued you just to watch you march alone to your death?"

"I...I don't know why you rescued me."

Monica looked down and then up at him with her eyes made of the steal of a winter sky.

"I'm not going to leave you here alone George."

"And I'm not going to get on that helicopter with you."

Monica smiled then, a sharp smile that promised pain and misery to anyone on the wrong side of it.

"Tell me where you need to go and I'll lead the way."

"You--you'd come with me?"

"I gave up my career, my whole life, to rescue you. Do you think that I'd just leave you to die?"

"You know I don't have a plan. If you come with me, you'll die..."

Monica smiled then and looked up towards the sun then she looked back down at George.

"What are you waiting for? We don't have all day."

Together they disappeared into the darkness of the building. The door slammed shut behind them. The howling wind swept up the metallic boom and carried it into the air and out over the curve of the world into an empty sky.

Two men named George Miller, identical in all outward facets, stare at one another. Uncomfortable with the idea that he is not unique, each shifts from foot to foot. They are watched from behind a desk by General Hammond who sits with his hands folded and a smile on his face.

"Mr. Miller meet Mr. Miller." Hammond gestured at the two men, his smile wide on his face. "I don't believe you've had the pleasure of meeting one another in person."

"No." Alternate George, as he will be known in the narrative from this point onward, peered at George with a look of frank amazement. "Just on video, but even that didn't get across just how exact a copy he is."

"Well, I have to admit that the video screen was plenty close enough for me. I seem to recall something about dissecting me..."

"Can you blame me?" He shrugged. "Never mind, don't answer that. Although technically I remember something along the lines of you stealing a very valuable piece of intellectual property from me."

"So, you always make a point of dissecting thieves?"

"Thieves who just so happen to be identical copies of myself? Yes. Well, I mean, I would if it had ever happened before. Which it hasn't. Although there was that one guy who was like 99% identical. That was just a fluke though. Turns out he wasn't even a clone. Just some guy who looked like me. Poor bastard. Oh well, live and learn--you know what I'm saying?"

George stepped so that he was nose to nose with Alternate George. He wanted so to see some difference in the eyes. Some proof deep down that this man who shared his face was not him. That he was someone different. But the eyes that stared back were his. They even expressed the same humorous disdain he'd always thought was his alone.

If even his eyes were not his own, then what could he count on?

"Gentlemen, Gentlemen. Let's not make this a confrontation. Mr. Miller I called you in here because your--counterpart--has given me some information that directly reflects upon your work for the United States government."

Alternate George swallowed and swayed on his feet. He wiped sweat from his forehead and laughed.

"My work for the government has been exemplary."

"If you want to call ending the world exemplary work..."

Alternate George gazed at George with wide eyes and then turned to the General. He held his hands up in front of him, as though he were fending off a mugger in a dark alley.

"Sir, this--this--thing has mislead you. I wrote that code myself. I know it better than I know my own life. It's been tested and checked more times than I can count."

George grabbed his alternate self by the collar of his beige jumpsuit and shook him.

"I get it! I get it. You don't like me. Well, you want to know something? I don't much like you either. I'm not asking for much. Just check the code. Just check it. You'll see that what I'm saying is right."

"Mr. Miller, please do put him down. I abhor unnecessary violence. We are after all civilized are we not?" Hammond stood, both hands planted on his desk, and leaned forward towards both men. His amused smile had completely faded. The smile he wore now was all teeth and blackness. "Mr. Miller. I will ask this only once. Have you failed at this late stage to bring this code to completion? Does the code require any last minute checks? Or have you fulfilled your contract to this government?"

Alternate George brushed George's hands away and stood straight.

"The code requires no checks."

"Are you just going to take his word for it?"

"I trust him to fulfill his obligation to his country. You, Mr. Miller, I trust with nothing and with no one. I'm not sure what your motivations are and I'm not sure of what your goals are. But I promise you this. I will learn. Oh yes, oh yes I will learn. And when it is finished maybe you will have learned a touch of the humility that you are currently so sorely lacking in. So sorely lacking. Oh yes."

The sound of shattering glass broke the tense silence that had followed Hammond's words. Water ran down the wall where George had thrown the pitcher. The photos on the nearby wall hung crooked. Alternate George whistled.

"Silence!" Hammond, his face red, slammed his fists down on his table. "I hope it was worth it, Mr. Miller, I hope your insolence was worth what I'm going to put you through. Oh yes I do!" He pushed a button on his desk. "Get some in here! Now!"

Two uniformed men raced into the room looking around to see what had the General out of sorts.

"Lock him up in interrogation. Put him in Lars' cell block." He smiled. "You think I'm a monster Mr. Miller? You think that you've seen the worst this world has to offer? Let's put that theory to the test."

George shook his head, but said nothing. He let the soldiers lead him from the room.

"Am I dismissed Sir?"

"No. You do not dismiss yourself Mr. Miller. You do as I say."

"Of course, Sir. It's just, I have some last minute work to do on the code. We're just getting ready for the final check of the code."

Hammond's eyes narrowed.

"I believe you said just now that no last minute checks were necessary. Did you lie to me Mr. Miller? Do I need to make room in my schedule to interrogate two of you?"

"No...no Sir. I said that no last minute checks were necessary and I stand by that statement. It's simply standard procedure to run a final bug check before turning the code over. Quality assurance is a top standard for Miller Computing. I believe that was a part of why you hired me?"

"Indeed." Hammond shrugged, smoothed out his suit, and sat down. "Well, I'm afraid plans have changed. The president feels that we must move up our attack on Afghanistan's terrorist backed government. So I must ask for the code now."

"Sir..."

"Let me make this very clear. This is an order."

Alternate George sighed, "I'll have the code sent over before the end of the day."

"Your country thanks you Mr. Miller. You are dismissed."

Alternate George nodded, all the saliva in his mouth dry. He stumbled from the room and stood for a very long time in the hallway outside staring at the wall. But the wall failed to offer him reassurance. It was just a wall and he was just a man who felt suddenly very unsure of his place in the world.