D.A.R.E.

[Misericorde]

Michael timed it pretty well, all in all.

Biff had it out for him ever since that day in the commons, and had no reservations in making this public knowledge. He also didn't seem to mind making his class schedule public knowledge either...any kid who was smart quickly learned not to pass through this hallway second period.

But Michael did.

He gave Biff some credit; he barely saw it coming. One second he was walking past the lockers; the next he was slammed into it with enough force to lift him from his feet and hit the row of lockers shoulder first with a loud crash.

He barely had enough time to slip the note into the "vents" of Barrier's locker as he fell to the ground.

"We ain't through yet, kid..." Biff stated. More statement of fact than idle threat. Biff kept walking, laughing, with his posse of chuckleheads in tow, mimicking their leader. He'd shoved Michael halfway across the hall with the strength of one finger...

...still, mission accomplished.

The note reads:


Hey, B!

Heard you might be able to help me out with my report on Beowulf. Meet me after class today by the bleachers?

-Mis

[Barrier]

Saskia breathed hard as she turned and touched the ground. Then she was off again, running back to the opposite line. She wasn't built for speed, and she knew it. But Coach Waters really seemed to like her question it as often as he could manage.

Windsprints.

In her head, she counted. Seventeen. And back again, almost slipping, her bare feet digging up the slightly muddy ground. Eighteen. Other girls were already done. Liz had finished first, as always: it was hard enough for her not to light the grass on fire most days, but days like these, after a rain, she could really cut loose. Steam still rose from her shoes, from the ground around her. Nineteen. The final streetch, and Saskia called on the reserves she had left. Her heart pounded. She was one of the last few girls now, still running. She wished there were "stand there and take it" drills.

Twenty. Saskia dropped to a walk and shook out her tired limbs.

"Good job, Barrier," Coach shouted to her. She nodded happily but could not manage an answer. Coach grinned. "You beat yesterday's time by 8.2 seconds."

Liz clicked her tongue, and Saskia looked up. Liz smiled and lifted her arms and legs, pretending to run in slow motion. Saskia grinned. "Eat me, Legs."

Liz laughed. "Always a lady, huh B?"

Saskia chuckled, and suddenly her eyes fell on Misericorde, standing quietly under the bleachers. Oh , right. She had completely forgotten.

Samantha was the last girl to finish. At least Saskia had that going for her. Then again, Samantha was built more like a dumptruck than a girl. After she crossed the line, Coach blew on his whistle. "Okay, my buttercups, we're done. Remember, drills tomorrow, then scrimmage. No scrimmage, no game, ladies. Be here."

Several of the girls called out in response, but most just started a painful walk back to the locker room. Saskia headed the other way, towards the bleachers and the source of the mysertious note. She walked wide around the risers and entered the obstacle course of reinforced steel and tungsten that supported them. The boy stood quietly, waiting, until Saskia reached him.

"Thanks for coming, B," he started.

Saskia waved her hand vaguely. "Not really a problem. I was here anyway. But what the heck did your note mean? I'm not even reading Beowulf."

Misericorde laughed. "I know. It was supposed to be a code. You know, Beowulf? Grendel?" Saskia's blank, tired expression must have caught him a little off-guard. "Grendel?" he repeated.

Saskia shook her head a little. She was beginning to feel like he was making fun of her. "I've never read it, okay? The only Grendel I know anything about is with the Trolls."

Misericorde smiled. "Exactly."

Saskia felt like her head was going to fall off. "Exactly what?"

"That's what I wanted to talk with you about," he replied.

Saskia felt her sweat beginning to cool on her back. She unconsciously adjusted her supraplex sports bra. She noticed that he noticed, and she blushed a deeper green, feeling both frustrated and embarrassed. Enough of that, she thought. "So, wait. This does or does not have anything to do with a book I've never read?"

Misericorde laughed quietly. He thought she was being funny, maybe? Why did everyone think her confusion was funny? Comes from being at a school with super-geniuses, probably.

Saskia threw up her hands a little. "So, what it this all about, already?"

[Misericorde]

Michael inspected his shoes for a moment. He realized he'd managed to wear a hole in his sock during patrols this morning. As if things could get any more uncomfortable.

Somehow, he'd managed to simultaneously offend, embarass, and potentially alienate one of the few people who had actually managed to impress him since he'd arrived at St. Joe's.

"Yoohoo, my face is up here, Mis..." Barrier broke him from his reverie. God only knew what she thought he was looking at. Michael chewed his lip for a second, blew out a sigh, and launched into his pitch.

"Ok, so listen..." He began. Barrier had crossed her arms over her chest protectively and leaned back. "I know some of the kids have said that someone's been hitting the 'Dyne on the playing field, and I thought..."

She leaned forward, and shoved him lightly; he stumbled back a bit, back to the bleachers. Definitely not the most suave impression he'd made at the school so far... "You little...so you assumed it was me, right? I can not believe you would believe them..." Michael took a step forward, hands up in surrender.

"Hey, I know it's not you."

Barrier stopped, recrossing her arms. "So why ask me about it, then?"

Michael massaged at his neck, took a moment to watch the grass grow, then glanced up to catch her eye for a moment. "Because you'd know the signs better than anyone...Saskia." Michael hated to be calculating with her, but using her first name might help drive home that he wanted her to believe him, to believe the truth. "Honestly," he continued, "I don't think it's 'Dyne at all...I think it's something else."

He studied her eyes and face for a moment; he honestly couldn't read her reaction, and she interrupted him before he could continue. "Ok...Michael...what exactly do you want me to do?"

At least her arms fell, hands to her hips. At least she was open to the idea. Saskia didn't even ask him what he thought the drug was; she was focused on results. So direct, honest, open. Michael didn't know how to react. Uncharted waters.

"I...ah..." he stammered. "I just wanted you to let me know if you saw anything, anything at all odd around the field, that maybe you'd...ah...you know, let me know."

She chuckled. "Is that all? Why didn't you just say that?" She paused, then inturrupted him again. "Michael, you're so busy being clever you outwit yourself sometimes."

Michael was silent for a second; he pursed his lips as she turned and headed off to the lockers. "Is that a yes?" he called after her.

"It's not a no," she replied without looking back.

Mission accomplished.

"I'm not that smart," Michael yelled, as he grinned at her back...Supraplex Sports bra and all. Several of the girls a few bleachers away giggled at him.

"Tell me about it," Saskia said to no one in particular.

[Misericorde]

Micahel leaned back on the bleachers, propped on his elbows in the sun.

The warm metal warmed his skin slightly, and he stretched, reaching out clumsily to catch the biomechanics book that had been oh-so precariously balanced on his lap.

The scents and sounds of after-school activities filled the air; freshly cut grass, the sounds of feet rounding the track, the cadences of coaches running their teams through conditioning, breaking down bodies and replacing them with new, leaner, stronger forms.

Michael placed the book on the bleacher next to him, and rubbed at his face. "Five weeks," he said.

Five weeks, and not a thing. Not a single clue, not one report from Barrier or anyone else. Just a tangled mess of dead ends, false leads, and enough red herring to keep Cat (read: Faster) in kippers for the rest of her natural days.

Nothing. Not a needle, not a tourniquet, not a damn thing. Just sunny skies and all the sounds of youth that came with it.

He sighed explosively and settled into to daydream.

He recalled a conversation shared earlier in the week with some big shot who spent more time hunting wolves in Praetorian Earth than solving the problems right here at home. Talking big, looking big, teasing Michael about the sewer slime on the edge of his cape, telling him there was no way he'd go into a sewer these days without Statesman pinning a badge on him himself.

It had really set Micheal off for some reason, and he wasted no time telling the guy off.

"When you turn the light on in a dirty house, the roaches scatter. Into the dark spaces where no one looks. Where no one wants to go. But for everyone you see, there's a million more in the walls."

Big shot didn't get it. Mike continues.

"The city's like that too. You go flying by, and the bad guys, yeah, they go crawl off into the sewers. So you pat yourself on the back and say, good job. The difference between you and me is, I go crawl into the dark places after 'em."

Big shot hadn't liked that, and sent him a nasty private comm message, and then that was that. They went their separate ways.

Yet something...something about that conversation stuck with him.

He sat up bolt upright, his bookbag and textbooks falling through the slats of the bleachers below, into the shadows cast by the setting sun.

"When you turn the light on, the roaches scatter. Into the dark spaces where no one looks." Mike tapped a finger to his lips.

"I've been looking in the wrong place."

[palilla]

Pally made her way to the bleachers. It really puzzled the girl how there could be no baseball team at this school. If the coach would do it, she'd help organize one. Baseball was her passion, other than dancing. Once to the bleachers, she spied Misericorde, and decided to chat with him while watching everything.

iOye! Wassup, joo," she asked as she plopped down next to the guy. "Gonna sit an' watch, or get involved?"

[Misericorde]

Naturally, Pally had waited until he was suspended precariously between two bleachers , reaching for his scattered textbooks, to question him about his day.

He suspected this was intentional, but retrieved his books and sat up, stuffing them into his satchel. Girls always liked to ask him questions when he was off guard.

Michael suspected that was intentional, as well. Bigger fish to fry, at the moment.

"Hey Pally, let me get back to you on that. I need to find Franky about cheerleading practice before she locks herself away in her room." He patted her on the shoulder, hoisted his satchel up, and leapt away.

"Wass eating him?" Pally muttered, propping her elbows on her knees.

[FrancisCross]

Francis slumped underneath the Wingra Tree for the second time that day. It was hot out and the air conditioner in the dorm room kept freezing up...she would have to talk to Stasis about that later on.

She wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead and took out a small kleenex to fix some sweat smears in her makeup...no use looking like a drowned goth.

A moment later she rummaged through her back pack and pulled out a small, paper-wrapped, package. With a smile she pulled out her eyeliner pen and wrote: To Michael, for one hell of a date!

The real irony of the moment came when she glanced up to see just that, Michael..wandering across the quad...looking like hell.

Her nose scrunched slightly and she waved her hand.

"Hey, Mis!!"

[Misericorde]

Michael was in the process of making his way across the commons, hands shoved deeply in his pockets, an uncharacteristic frown etched across his face. Despite the heat of the day, and his school jacket, no sweat beaded his brow.

Franky waved him over, and his demeanor had brightened somewhat, relieved to have found her, as she hadn't been at her Quad as he'd first thought.

He chewed his lip for a second; she was underneath that damn Wingra Tree. The tree made him uncomfortable, it had since he heard the story and that spectre kid had shown up at the dance.

Still, this passed, and as he saw worry cross Franky's features at his hesitation, the self-doubt melted away. A quick check over his shoulder revealed no penguinry afoot, yet he restrained himself to a chaste kiss on her cheek. He placed a hand on her elbow gently.

"Hey, you got a minute?" he asked, perhaps a little too urgently. She frowned and nodded, no doubt thinking the worst. She clutched something in her hand more tightly, then asked in a small voice, "Sure, Michael...but...what's going on?"

He paused for a moment, as though sensing something amiss, then continued, leaned in close to her. "It's...business. The business I told you about the other night. I need to know who I can trust. In the Isles."

[FrancisCross]

He was answered first with a heavy sigh and a furrowed brow.

"Michael," She sniffed, "You know damn well you can't 'trust' anyone in the Isles...there's something seriously wrong with that place."

She straightened her jacket and took his hand from her elbow and held it.

"But I'm assuming, knowing you, that what you mean is, 'Franky I gotta talk to someone in the Isles and can you help?'"

She snatched up her backpack from the ground and glanced around the quad.

"Got somewhere we can talk?"

She winked with a sly grin.

[Misericorde]

Michael smiled at that infectious grin, clucking his tongue thoughtfully as he thought of a suitable locale. He pursed his lips thoughtfully, then guided her towards the tram station.

"Let's go ride around on the Train, sometimes it's better to hide in plain sight..." Franky protested slightly, at least until they gained the tram; before he could begin his request, she gave him ample reason to forget why he had even sought her out in the first place.

Seven stops and twenty-five minutes later, they sat back in their seats, Franky slightly flushed through her make-up, reapplying a bit after the lipstick-transplant operation she'd just finished performing on Michael (which he declared a startling success.)

Franky appeared completely nonplussed, checking her "Face" in the window of the tram. "So, I'm not going to ask what would possess you to go to the Isles, since you've obviously been hit in the head too many times by Biff." She looked over her shoulder at him demurely. "I am, however, going to tell you, that if you need to know anything about that area..." She sighs, looking at the floor of the tram, then back to him. "...check Pocket D in the evenings. I'm sure you'll recognize someone there from the Winter Dance."

Michael nodded, chewing at his lip again, as he gazed at the floor introspectively. At least, until Franky scrubbed at the lipstick on his mouth with the sleeve of her jacket. "I honestly don't know what to do with you."

Michael grinned shyly. Something about Franky tempered him, soothed his recklessness somewhat. It was almost like...before. But better. So much better than before.

"So, uh...any other advice?" he asked, voice muffled somewhat by her furious scrubbing at his face with her coatsleeve.

[FrancisCross]

"Aside from the usual, you mean?"

Francis finally abandoned her scrubbing, thinking that, all in all, she had done rather well. Too bad Misericorde looked as though he had just gotten into a fight with a coal mine, she sighed and gave up.

"Karl's a mage, Michael, comes from a whole family of 'em. Like me in alot of respects but, you know...not the kind of magic one generally uses to make the world a better place and all that. I know you...and I know how you approach things like this..."

She trailed off, looking into his eyes with a worried gaze. That cute little wrinkle that formed over her nose when she was worried briefly distracted him.

"Mind control kind of stuff, Mis...among other things. Just...*sigh*...Just be careful, ok? And let me know what's up when you can. Oh, and I have something for you..."

Michael flashed her one of his patented 1000-watt smiles and was about to reply, likely with an "oh yeah? What?" when Francis suddenly perked up and grabbed his lapels, pulling him in less than a breath from her nose.

"And whatever you do....do NOT let him buy you a drink."

[Misericorde]

Mis put his hands up in surrender.

"Ok, ok...I won't touch anything he offers me except information."

Franky searched his eyes for a moment, then sat back heavily in her seat. She looked as though someone had placed a two-ton collar about her neck, as she gazed out at the passing landscape.

Michael frowned, then gave her hand a squeeze. "C'mon, let's go get a burrito, I'm famished." It took a bit of cajoling, but eventually Franky relented, though it was obvious something about VonMandrake disturbed her greatly.

He took it to heart, as they swung by El Super Mexicano and then headed back to the dorms. He kissed her goodnight, though for some reason it felt like a kiss goodbye.

He made one last stop before heading to Pocket D.

[Karl VonMandrake]

Sitting back in the lounge area of Pocket D, Karlof VonMandrake watched as the various club goers lost themselves in the sound and atmosphere of DJ Zeroes pride and creation. The pulse of the music brought a tap to Karl’s foot, and he found himself humming along to the music. It would be so much better if the music were live tonight, but the sound was still far better than any other place on the planet. As the thrum of the music cords were heard by not only his ears but his body, Karl’s fingers absently moved in patterns that were both art and structure.

“Aha.”

Looking over his shoulder, Karl saw a face unknown to him, even if the unform had become synonymous with both aggravation and the potential for amusement. “Mmmm, can I help you?”

The Saint Joeseph’s student folded his arm across his chest, his sunglasses doing a good job of hiding the intention in his eyes. “Maybe.”

The teenager suddenly realized that Karlof was giving his school clothes a slightly derisive look. “I'm not here to attack you or anything,” was of course the first thing out of his mouth, almost as if he suddenly realized what he was wearing.

Karl turned back to watch the gyrations and the revelry of the crowd. “I had not thought that.... this is Neutral ground, and.....”

All the student could do was shrug as he moved around to face Karlof

“Well, I suppose another catholic has come to see the Evil VonMandrake and delve into his varied devious plots, ja?” Amusement baited Karl’s words as he watched the newcomer’s stance. So far the boy had yet to spring the usual litany of reasons that Karl was a vile being that he had heard form so many others. But that was all the more reason to test the newcomer.

“Well, actually, I have a proposition, of sorts.”

“A proposition? Nien, I am sorry, but I have said that I am not gay....”

Chuckling, the boy almost seemed to relax a bit in his own stance. “Ah, the infallible VonMandrake wit.” Then, in an almost conspiratorial tone, he retorted, “To whit: an exchange of information.”

Perhaps this would be an interesting night after all. “Ahhh, you have heard of my true reputation then?”

“Well, let's say we swam in similar circles once. At any rate, there's this hypothetical question…”

“Hypothetical, of course...”

Nodding with a smile, the Saint Joeseph’s student continued. “If, say, someone were to find out that...say...there were some biologicals in the Isles, and that they somehow ended up in Paragon…”

“Biologicals? In what sense, Herr......”

“...Corde. Or Mike, or Michael, or Misericorde, or Mis.”

[Oby]

Obsidian Seraph had finished football practice for the day, and the team was stowing equipment and getting ready to head for the showers. Oby removed his shoulderpads, and reaching through the neck grabbed his helmet, pulling the two together for easy carrying Oby spied the two girls sitting with each other in the bleachers, and started to make a quick detour towards the flame and raven tressed girls, who were huddled together talking and giggling about something, in between glances over at him. Kali and Lightfall both waved quick waves as they saw him approach.

Before he could reach them, Michael Corde split off from the group of SJS cheerleaders ,and jogged over to intercept the young, stone skinned boy. “Oby, got a minute?” Oby started to roll his eyes and say something about terrible timing when he saw the serious look on Mike’s face.

“Sure, man, what’s up?”

“Hey, pom pom, you come all the way out here to get a real athlete’s perspective?” Biff Hannigan approached, cleats crunching on the concrete sidewalk. Oby put an arm out across the larger boy’s chest, stopping Hannigan.

“Come on, Biff, Coach’ll have us doing 100 freakin’ duckwalk drills if you start something now.” Oby said it just loud enough that Coach Waters, as well as several other members of the team could hear him, leaving no doubt who would be to blame if they did wind up running extra.

Biff looked at Michael, and his eyes narrowed a bit, taking in the serious look about Mike. Neither Michael nor Oby could tell if it was this or the threat of extra running, but Biff turned towards the locker room. “Yeah, looks like he’s about to pinch a loaf anyway, hate to rough him up and get it all over me.” The laughter of some of the other members of Biff’s cadre was clear.

Michael began to speak, as Oby continued to remove some of the other protective gear he was wearing. “Oby, there’s a rumor going around that some students have been taking something to juice them up.” Oby stopped unbuckling the flack vest, and arched a brow. “Not you!” Michael sighed “why is it that’s the first reaction anyone has?!” Oby went back to removing gear as the boy continued. “I don’t’ think it’s ‘Dyne, or anything else that we’ve seen. It’s something else.” Mike fidgeted as Oby finally got the rest of the pads off.

“Interesting. Want me to help somehow?” Oby piled the equipment on or around the shoulderpad and helmet rig he’d made for easier carrying.

“Yeah, keep your eyes open, and let me know if you find anything.”

“Will do.” Oby shouldered his gear, and headed towards the girls waiting for him and grinned back at Mis. “Take it easy….pom pom.” The nickname held none of the malice Biff had filled it with, and Michael chuckled as he watched his friend go.





The warning hadn’t gone unheeded. Seraph had kept his eyes open, and paid attention. Unconsciously he rubbed a spot on his ribs, aching from a collision at football practice. Tim Scanlin hit him, he remembered it well, the kid’s powers were minor, he could make water form into sculptures, but that was about the extent of it. He was an okay athlete, but just barely made the last cut on the team. Over the last few weeks he’d been getting a better look, seemed to be moving up, and then today? Scanlin had never hit hard, he just didn’t have the strength for it. He was a place kicker, they weren’t supposed to hit hard. They’d been practicing kickoffs, and Oby was returning. A hole had been opened for him to come through, and he moved towards it, and out of nowhere, there was Scanlin. Oby remembered thinking that this was going to be ugly for the kid, and lowered his shoulder, prepared to bowl the kid over like almost everyone had done, up till the last week or so. There was a crack of pads as Scanlin hit him, and Oby remember one thing registering. Pain. Pain from the hit, sure, lucky hit, an oddity, Oby could have accepted that, but his was different. It was like contact with the kid caused a jolt of electricity to rip through his body, starting at the point of contact at his ribs, and causing every pain sensor in his body to send an alarm. Oby looked up slowly from that hit, staring at Scanlin on top of him in the pile up that happened after almost every tackle.

“Not so tough now, are you Mr Running Back?” Scanlin said under his breath, and gave Seraph another push on the ribs and a smaller jolt ripped through him.

Oby followed Scanlin around for the next few days, using his ability to meld with the shadows to keep hidden. Maybe Mike was right. This guy’s got to be juiced. Finally the shadowing paid off. Scanlin caught the Green Line to Independence Port, and traveled to the docks, meeting with a few young boys in well tailored suits. “Family” Oby whispered. It figured. If anyone had the infrastructure to sell drugs to the school, it’d be them. They had ties to the church anyway, right? At least that’s what rumors said.

Oby slid through melded shadows, and watched an exchange as Scanlin handed the Family a package, and received one in return. Oby’s eyes narrowed, he had his evidence, now it was time to get the confession. He skirted shadows, melding easily into the inky blackness that filled gaps between storage containers, the world turning to a crazy grayscale, as he watched the family thugs walk away from the encounter with Scanlin. Oby settled his breathing, relaxing to move with fluid grace, the only betrayal of his passage a slight warping of the shadows cast by the evening sun.

The trio of Family started to move, two in front, obviously the muscle sent to protect the other. Oby grinned, and moved within a shadow that passed over the Family member that had made the exchange with Scanlin. The two bodyguards never heard anything, and didn’t realize their charge was gone until they opened a gate for the other to pass through, and he wasn’t there.

Oby, hand closed over the mouth of the smaller man, dragged him back into the shadow, and with the speed granted to him by his powers, whisked the man to an abandoned part of the beach quite a distance away, before the man even began to struggle.

Seraph drew the specters of the Otherworld about him, and watched the expected response grow in the man’s eyes. They grew wide as his fears besieged him. Soon the young man was mewling in the sand, where Oby dropped him, hands thrown protectively over his head warding off whatever it was he saw.

“Tell me what I want to know and it stops. Refuse, and it’ll get much, much worse.” Oby said with what he hoped was sufficient malice.

The family member whimpered, “Wh-what do you want? Oh, god make it go away. I didn’t do it, it wasn’t my fault.” He tried to cringe further away, burrowing slightly in the sand trying to escape the horrors that awaited him.

“What drugs did you just sell to that kid?”

“D-drugs? No man, you got it all wrong.” He fumbled in his jacket pocket with shaking hands and pulled out the manila envelope Scanlin transferred to him earlier. “I paid the kid for this.” The Family boy was almost in tears now. “It’s homework, just homework.” The boy’s focus looked directly over Oby’s shoulder. “ oh god please make it go away”

“Don’t lie to me! What drugs are you giving that kid?” As Oby’s temper flared, the fear aura strengthened, and the Family boy let out a small whimper, as tears filled his eyes.

“No drugs, it was cash, I swear!” his voice trailed to a whisper “I swear, I swear, I swear”

It was then that the acrid stench caught Oby a bit off guard, and he looked down to see the growing puddle near where the boy lay trying to scramble away, too scared to make his limbs do more than twitch spasmodically. Gods, what am I doing?? Oby willed the specters to fade, and reached down to pick the other boy up, along with the manila envelope. Seraph put the envelope into the boys hands, brushed some of the sand off of him and started to leave. “Don’t ever let me see you with another St. Joeseph’s Student again, or this will seem like a picnic”

Obsidian Seraph ran back to the school with all the speed he could muster, both disappointed with not finding the source of the drug, and with himself for losing control.

He found Misericorde the next day walking between classes, and pulled him aside “Mike, I got news for you. Not all that good.” He explained his strikeout with the Family. “Sorry man, I thought I had something.

[Misericorde]

Misericorde ran a hand through his hair, pushing his goggles up his forehead as he rubbed his eyes, and massaged the bridge of his nose. He pulled his mask down from his mouth.

"How much longer, Ron?"

The Rikti scientist sat hunched over the controls of the equipment, working frantically. The aliens were so different from the inhabitants of Earth...yet there were some forms of communication that surpassed all boundaries.

"This one is trying to accomodate. This one has...difficulty working under such conditions," the Rikti hissed dissonantly.

The conditions he referred to were, "under duress." The duress...was Misericorde. He wasn't physically imposing, yet the fact that he had made it this far into the supposedly "secret" biological weapons complex without detection by Drone, Headman, or Mentalist made the implied threat much greater than any physical presence.

"Well," Mis stated matter-of-factly, leaning over the alien's shoulder to point at the display, "if you worked a little faster, you wouldn't be under these conditions anymore." The unspoken threat was not lost upon the Rikti. No more stalling, or else.

The Rikti shrugged, a surprisingly "human" gesture, digits dancing lightly over the keypad. Several seconds later, it pointed at the display. "This one has completed the analysis."

Misericorde examined the screen, pulling his goggles down, allowing them to snap into place, as they uploaded the information to his HUD and stored it for later use. He chewed at his lip as he reviewed the data; Mis wasn't an expert on Rikti, but he recognized human DNA/RNA when he saw it.

"I've seen this before," Misericorde stated.

"This one is sure you have," the Rikti answered, turning about to regard the intruder; yet only the silence and stillness of the lab remained where he had once stood.