When Arcane began to stir, Fete was still sitting, watching over him. Instinct immediately forced him to jump to his feet, despite any pain there may have been; and his eyes darted this way and that like a frightened animal looking for some unseen pursuer. They fell upon Fete, regarding him.
"Are you more refreshed?" It asked him softly. He seemed to ease just a little, and nodded. Fete could see that he was still in great pain though. "I have rested now. I am able to heal you more." It said with tenderness, holding out a hand for him. He looked at it warily, still not sure of anything in this place. *It's just another bloody trap, it must be. Even the rest, the healing... just to throw me off my guard and make me fall harder.* He was beginning to figure this place out. Everything was bad. Nothing was good. If it looks bad it is. If it looks good it'll turn out worse than bad in the end, to make up for the good bit. He'd definitely got this place sussed.
Fete continued to hold out it's hand. "Come. Let me take the pain away. I will not harm you. You are safe here. I promise."
Warily, he edged towards Fete. He'd also learned that if they wanted something to happen, it would. May as well go along with it. Closing his eyes, he put his hand out to the creature's. "Please, sit down. It will be more comfortable for you." It offered. He complied, struggling back down into a seated position.
As it touched him, he felt a warmth flowing through his body; felt torn muscles and ligaments strengthening; felt cuts closing up; felt bones knitting together. *Why? What do they really want?* still went through his mind.
The warmth eased off, and Fete withdrew it's hand. The pain wasn't gone completely, but compared to what he'd been feeling it might just as well have.
"What do you really want?" He asked Fete bluntly.
"To ease suffering."
"My suffering?"
"Everyone's suffering. Your suffering; the suffering of all lost souls."
"Yes? Well, I've got news for you, I'm the only one suffering here." He said cynically.
Fete smiled serenely. "In your Hell, yes. I ease suffering in all Hells."
Arcane gave a sneering laugh; "Ha! How can you be in so many places at once? Are you some sort of distance healer... send out happy thoughts? Do we each have to wait in turn for several million years for your services... bit like back home really! Or are you just a bloody fast worker!?"
Fete understood the hostility; the cynicism... a defence mechanism to cover up the insecurity. It understood, and responded gently;
"I ease the pain in all Hells for I am in all Hells. An infinite number of echoes of myself, each with it's purpose and charge -- to ease suffering -- to bring some small modicum of balance. I will not hurt you. I promise. I understand why you doubt me."
"You! Understand me!? How could you possibly begin to comprehend me?" He folded his arms defensively.
"Do you doubt my sincerity? That someone could understand you?" Fete asked him gently.
"I've no doubt that you know all about me. Doesn't everybody here?" He muttered.
"Then you mean if I understood you, why would I want to ease your pain and help you?"
Arcane said nothing, but the silence spoke volumes. Fete took his hand again. "It does not matter. I am not here to judge you. I am here to help you. ALL souls deserve some help." It said softly but firmly.
"Tell that to Tressa, and Jim, and Graham, and...and... Holland. I'm sure they'll be fascinated."
"Help is not their purpose..."
"Tell me something I don't know!" Arcane snapped.
Fete was concerned. It didn't seem to be getting through to him. When he'd first arrived he'd seemed to show trust; now there was only this bitter cynicism. Of course! When he had first arrived he was in a completely different mind set: Ill and feverish, terrified beyond belief; hurting even more. He would have taken any help without question. Now, after just this short time, part of himself was returning, and the fear was making him defensive, not receptive. It had to connect to him somehow; otherwise his time here would be wasted. He would lose the surcease."
"Arcane? Do you mind it if I call you Arcane?"
"Why not? It is my bloody name after all! and nobody else here seems to mind using it. It's become quite the insult around here, hasn't it!?" Fete's soul cried out at the torment it knew he must be going through. That a man with so much pride in himself should now feel so small was undoubtedly the worst torture this Arcane had undergone.
"Arcane, tell me about yourself. There is no pressure. Only what you want to tell me; Only what it would give you pleasure to talk about."
"How absolutely bloody marvellous! 18 sodding years of torture and then they give me one day with a bloody social worker!! How staggeringly magnanimous of them! Remind me to thank each and every one of them next time I see 'em!"
This was going to be harder than Fete thought; but not entirely unexpected. There was so much fear and resentment to get through. *Persevere*. If it didn't persevere, Arcane would lose his moment of comfort and peace; and so would Fete. It made a mental note to try and understand, but avoid sounding condescending. This man would reject any approach like that.
"Say nothing if it pleases you; but the time you spend here is your only respite in this world, and I want it to be as pleasant as possible for you. If you say nothing; if you reject my help, you waste that time; but it is always your prerogative. I will abide by your wishes and provide you with anything I can while you are here. I will talk to you about any subject you desire... and I will enjoy sharing whatever that is. I will stay silent if you wish. I did not mean to sound condescending to you, and if it seemed that way, then I apologise with all my heart."
Arcane nodded slowly, looking downwards and considering Fete's words. "Then why do I still feel that all this will suddenly change; that you'll turn into just another mindless torment... that's it's all just another trick; just a more elaborate one?"
"That is understandable with what you have been through." It sighed; "If you believe nothing else, believe me when I say that I have told you the truth. I only want to help in any way I am able; and that I will not harm you. You can trust me."
"Trust? What an odd word for this place." Arcane mused. His demeanour had become noticeably more relaxed, although he still seemed determined to hang on to the tiniest fraction of wariness.
"Can I get you food, or something to drink? You do not need to eat and drink, but it is pleasurable." Fete asked him. Arcane looked at the creature. *A nice vintage organophosphate?* He mused; *How about a yummy broken glass and scalpel blade sandwich?* He refrained from vocalising the images mulling around in his head.
"Some water, please." He said.
"I do not have too much, but the fare is better than that." It smiled.
"Well, whatever you have would be fine... thank you." He said quietly. Fete seemed pleased. He was coming round. It stood up and went to another room.
"I will not be long." It reassured him.
*It's not as though I'm going anywhere!* Arcane's mind grumbled, although he simply remained silent.

A few minutes later, Fete came out carrying a small tray, which it placed in front of Arcane. He looked down. Bread, some cheese... an apple... some orange juice. Well, it looked harmless enough.
"What, no Oysters? No juicy rare Chateaubriand?... No Chardonnay?" He smiled, looking at Fete. The creature scrutinised his expression. It was neither complaint nor serious request. It was a joke; and not a bitter one. Yes, that was a good sign. Fete was pleased. It smiled back.
"I will remember for next time." It replied, attempting to return the humour. He smiled approvingly, before taking the apple and biting into it. It watched him avidly. Yes, he seemed pleased with the food. Good. A few more tasters. Yes, now he knew it was not a trick. Yes, good. Judging by the way he was starting to bolt it down he trusted it.
"You do not need to rush." It said calmly. "Nobody is going to take it away from you." Arcane didn't make any noticeable effort to slow down. "Please. Just relax while you are here. Enjoy it. It is all yours."
"I believe you" Arcane said, coming up for air; "but after 18 years with only a sodding test tube and half a ton of muck and bugs to eat, I'm bloody hungry!!"
Fete gave a little laugh to keep the mood relaxed. "You are not hungry. It is only your memory of hunger."
"Yes, well my memory's bloody hungry then!"
Fete smiled and nodded. "Very well. Enjoy it." It said approvingly.

As he was nearly finished, Fete regarded him for a moment before speaking; "Arcane. You were a man of science were you not?" He immediately went rigid, the tangible tension between them immediately returning. Fete cursed to itself softly. It had only meant to take an interest, and hadn't meant to undo the work that had been done. "I...I am sorry. I meant no harm by that. I was only interested. If it upsets you, I will not mention it again. Please forgive me."
Arcane relaxed again and scrutinised Fete. "You really ARE interested aren't you? No tricks; no snide comments about what a monster I was? How much do you know?... everything, I presume."
Fete shook it's head. "No. Very little in fact. I do not involve myself in the past of my charges. It is for the best."
"But you did know that I was a scientist? Did THEY tell you?"
Fete shook it's head again.
"Then you did check up on me. Did you lie to me just now?"
"No. It is not for me to know the past; but I needed to know something in order to help you. I promise you I did not invade your privacy. It is something I have never made myself do before.” It paused. *Not entirely true* but it conceded that the lie was for the good, and the truth would only complicate things. “I learned very little. Only the most surface of things."
"So, I'm the first you've delved into then?" He sat back, taking a drink of the juice. Fete nodded slowly. "Well, I suppose I should be honoured then. What made you break your rules for me?"
"I had no way of reaching you without doing it; and that would have meant you wasting what time you had here in fear and dread. I could not allow that. I am sorry for looking. I would not have done so had it not been necessary."
Arcane shrugged. "Well, what difference does it make anyway. THEY all know everything about me. Why shouldn't you?" The question was rhetorical.
"Would it please you to talk about yourself?" Fete asked calmly.
"Why don't we talk about YOU?" Arcane countered. His tone was jovial enough, but the slightest trace of reticence remained.
"We can do that, if that is your desire; but I do not think it would be so interesting. And I would like to know more about my charge....from your lips, in YOUR words." *Yes. Get him to talk about himself. Give him his identity back. Make him draw strength from that instead of hating the sound of his own name.*
Arcane shrugged. "What do you want to know?" He asked evenly.
"What kind of things do you like to do?"
"You mean DID I like to do?" He answered sardonically. "And aside from hurting, killing and mutating people, I assume?"
Fete sighed inwardly. This was not going to be easy. That much was certain. *Stay with it. Reach through the self denigration.*
"I do not judge." Fete said softly. "I only wish to offer help and friendship." Arcane gave a cynical laugh, shaking his head in amusement.
"All right then. I WAS a scientist: THE scientist! NOBODY achieved a fraction of what I accomplished in the fields of genetics alone, let alone all the others. What exactly do you want to know? How exactly I created life? How I destroyed it? How I fused and gene-spliced one species into another for money, power... or merely the intense and unimaginable pleasure and satisfaction of simply knowing that I could?"
Fete's soul cringed inside;
"Or perhaps you'd like me to tell you of my accomplishments in the field of quantum mechanics? I could tell you all about my 'brain drain' technique that I devised. A remarkable invention: A method of transmitting thought impulses along the neural circuits into external neural environments both organic and computer. Very efficient means of interrogation. ‘Course it left the subject either dead or a vegetable. But hey, that's science for you!"
Fete began to wonder if this really was such a good idea.
"And whatever else, let's not forget my achievements in the field of biophysics and organic chemistry as I searched for a Bio-Restorative formula to reverse the ageing process. Fewer people suffered there, relatively speaking of course. Only one family killed or mutated; oh and my own wife, of course."
*Yes. He must release this. Get it out in the open.*
"Naturally, being so busy with my colossal achievements, I didn't have time to research everything, so what I didn't do myself, I stole, or killed for... or both. Perhaps you'd like to hear about my genius in field of cybernetics; of the cyborgs I created that were capable of draining a human being to a shrivelled corpse within seconds. Quite remarkable, eh, and unique, if I may say so myself!?
*There is a lot to come out.*
"Let me tell you of some of my inventions: A machine that could harness the power of the earth itself; cause volcanic eruptions, earthquakes, global devastation; Plants that would defoliate and starve entire countries; A force field to hide armies and suffocate anyone trapped inside it..." Arcane paused for a moment, and Fete felt an overwhelming sense of relief. It tensed as Arcane began again.
*Merciful fates! There is more?*
"The mutations I created, carefully constructed for their strength and endurance of course; they made me a bloody fortune when sold to slave labour camps. Money I was able to use to build up my empire of course, to fund more of my work. Still with me, by the way? Still feeling sorry for me? Still want to help? Just checking, you understand?"
"I do not judge, I help." Fete reiterated gently, giving a benign smile despite stifling a sick feeling in it's soul.
"I'm impressed." Arcane raised an eyebrow. "Looks like you've just won the position of moral high ground from Alec Holland now that he's fallen from grace by going and killing me!" He paused and shook his head, giving a derisive laugh. "Do you really want to know the biggest laugh of all though?" The question was rhetorical; "The reason I'm here? The reason I'm dead? Do you want to know what horrific crime was my eventual undoing? Well, I'll tell you. I had the audacity to create an algae: One that would eventually reduce poverty and starvation in the world. I turn him into a monster; I make him an outcast from human society; I kill his wife; I try to murder him, his habitat and the few friends he has... Oh, and he forgives all that, by the way... Then he goes and kills me for creating a piece of algae! There's bloody irony for you!"
Fete took his hand in its. "I am sorry, so sorry." It said tenderly.
"You are? I'm not entirely certain you've been listening to a word I've said," He asked calmly.
"Yes I have, Arcane. And I am sorry. There is too much torture already in this world without you adding to it yourself." It told him patiently. "The past is done. It cannot be changed. It is over. You must forget it."
Arcane gave a cold smile. "Not entirely easy considering that each and every one of my victims is out there making damned sure I remember, eh?"
"But not now, and not here. Forget for a while at least. Do you want more food?" It asked him. Arcane shook his head slightly. He seemed lost in thought. He was a complex one, this Arcane, Fete mused. A mass of contradictions. Quite unlike any other charge it had ever taken care of.
"Perhaps there is some aspect of your work that does not bring you pain to think about?" Fete suggested. Before all this, perhaps?" Arcane pondered.
"I do recall a time working with a fellow scientist on a Cold Fusion process. I was younger then. He liked to think of my as his assistant, but half the work was mine."
"Cold Fusion?" Fete asked with a slight incline of it's head. *Yes, get him to discuss actual science. No guilt there. Pride.*
"Yes, a means of creating vast amounts of energy from very little input."
"Please, continue. I would like to know more of this Cold Fusion."
"Wouldn't we all?" Arcane muttered under his breath. He looked up at Fete, scrutinising it. The creature did seem genuinely interested. Well, what harm would it do? It wasn't as though anyone here was going to steal any research, even if it mattered any more, which it didn't! *Yes, Anton. And remember who and what the hell you are! Why shouldn't you be proud of your accomplishments, damn it!? Don't let them browbeat you into thinking you are some sort of monster. You are Anton Arcane!!* He looked at Fete and smiled. Well, he had an audience, didn't he? Better not disappoint it.
“Duncan and I began our work years before anyone else had ever even considered it...”
“Duncan?” Fete interjected softly.
“Yes, Oliver Duncan. He was the first scientist... only scientist for that matter; that I worked with since leaving the confines of studenthood and my mentor, Carl Mirador. We had a good working relationship... for a time. He did become colder towards me to the end... more distant. Ha, I’m digressing, am I not? Duncan was a genius. Oh, he lacked my diversity; but in his field he was unsurpassed, even by myself, it pains me to say!”
*Yes, good. He is beginning to think of himself in positive terms again.*
“Please, continue.” Fete encouraged him. Arcane didn’t seem to need that much persuasion.
“In 1989, others started work. A couple of scientists, Pons and Fleischmann... amateurs, the pair of them!... They experimented using a heavy water solution with a Lithium Deuteroxide current carrying electrolyte; into which they passed said current between a Palladium-alloy cathode and a Platinum anode.”
Fete was lost already, but that was irrelevant. Chemical names, scientific terms, yes. That is all it needed to know. *Make him feel wanted. Get him to show he can teach and be useful.*
“Heavy Water?” It asked him curiously; “What is that? Is it like normal water that weighs more?”
Arcane gave a laugh; though not a mocking one.
*Good. He gets pleasure from this*
“Heavy Water. Do you know what normal water is?” Arcane asked evenly. Fete gave a little shrug.
“Wet?” It said. Arcane laughed again.
“Water, or at least the chemical term for it, is DiHydrogen Monoxide, H2O. Two Hydrogen atoms bonded to a single Oxygen one forming a water molecule. Yes?” Fete nodded. “Well, heavy water is similar, but instead of two Hydrogen atoms, there are three: TriHydrogen Monoxide; except that it isn’t called Hydrogen anymore, but Deuterium. Deuterium occurs naturally, but only in about 1 out of every 7000 Hydrogen atoms; and is easily separated. Still with me?”
“I...I am trying.” It smiled. Arcane continued.
“Using this, and other methods, it was noticed that not only was there a phenomenal energy output, but that elements had been caused to mutate. Elements previously not present at all... Helium-4, Xenon, Tritium, radioactive isotopes of Silver and Rhodium, and others, were present! It was remarkable!” Arcane was becoming animated. Fete was pleased. He actually seemed to be forgetting this place, if such were possible... even if only for a short time.
“Of course, Duncan and I discovered all this years before Pons and Fleischmann, only we never went public with our findings. And we discovered other methods. Better ones... cheaper ones. For example, instead of using expensive metal alloy electrodes, we discovered that mere Nickel would suffice, or Aluminium. There were other differences we found as well. Even ceramic proton conductors such as Strontium-cerium-oxide and Aluminium-lanthanum-oxide, obviously using a much lower current, naturally; and in a Deuterium gas environment would still give this energy output. Hell, we even managed it using ultrasonic bombardment of certain metals in heavy water; or using a Nickel substrate subjected to extremely high temperatures in a normal Hydrogen atmosphere!”
“Arcane?” Fete interjected again; “What was all this to be used for?” It said with interest.
“Well now, that’s the beauty of it all. Imagine an output/input energy ratio of over 70,000. Electricity or power in... Heat out. Look at the calorimetry! You’ve got a power density and net excess energy; now concentrate on that and understand that if you keep a reaction going and produce a stable 400 degree Celsius, 30 Watt reaction running for 100 days, all adding up to 320 megajoules of energy from just 16 grams of Nickel; then just imagine scaling that reaction up, and well.... let’s just say that you put Exxon and Opec out of business!”
Fete smiled. It had been lost at the heavy water stage, but that did not matter.
Arcane gave another laugh. “Put another way, one kilogram of Deuterium Oxide in a Cold Fusion device could produce over 2.7 million times more energy that just 1 kilogram of oil!” He saw the confused look on Fete’s face. “Fine. I’ll give you an example. Imagine running your Porsche for 55 million miles on just one gallon of heavy water!!”
“What is a Porsche?”
Arcane stopped and considered Fete. “Ah!... Hmmmm, let’s just say that it’s a vehicle that’s usually fuelled by gasoline... You DO know what gasoline is, don’t you?”
Fete gave a helpless little shrug. Arcane sighed. Oh well, what difference did it make anyway? He mused.
“Why did you never give your findings out when it would have been so important to you?” Fete enquired. A brooding frown crossed Arcane’s face, and Fete immediately regretted the question.
“Because Duncan and I never finished the process. A short term laboratory reaction was the most we’d succeeded in. It wasn’t quite stable enough. But we were SO close. So very, very close!”
“But this was years ago. Why did you not continue?” The damage had been done, Fete realised. He was going to be thinking about this anyway, so best to get it over with and stop any brooding.
“Because Duncan went senile on me. He went and backed out on me, didn’t he, the mad old bugger!”
“Could you not continue on your own?”
“Perhaps, but Duncan, towards the end -- I mentioned he’d started to grow more irritable and cold towards me, didn’t I? Anyone would think the miserable old fart didn’t trust me! -- Well, towards the end he’d only given me the barest of outlines and the results of his findings; not the exact processes and formulas by which he got there. I was becoming more and more his assistant and not his partner! When he went senile, he took whatever knowledge and notes on those final stages with him. I’ll never know to this day whether he succeeded or stopped just short... I have my suspicions though!”
“But did you not have the mental prowess to do it yourself?” Fete tried to goad him back into a positive frame of mind.
“Yes, oh yes. But he was the expert. It would still have taken me years to catch up. I could have done it, yes, but of course by then I was searching for other things... more important things. Soon after I began working on my own I discovered a rival scientist... Alec Holland of course... to be working on a Bio-Restorative formula. He was using it for simple plant growth, but *I* saw the full potential... A reversing of the ageing process itself..... Immortality!! Well, naturally that became my prime concern. Once that was achieved I’d have all the time in the world for Cold Fusion and anything else I bloody well wanted, wouldn’t I!? I managed to ‘acquire’ several of his notes, and using those, began work on a formula of my own. It consumed my every waking moment, and my sleeping ones as well.”
Fete wished he would stop, before it set back all the positive things that had been achieved. Or perhaps it would be a catharsis. Either way, he was going to finish the story.
“My wife died testing that formula for me. Well, she didn’t really, but that’s another story, and one I don’t wish to share with anyone... nothing personal, you understand?” Fete simply nodded. “Let’s just say that after that I became even more consumed with Holland’s formula. I needed my immortality while I was still young, you understand?... so I wouldn’t have aged by the time that.....” He paused, a pained expression on his face. “If it’s all the same with you, I don’t think I wish to continue with this topic of conversation any longer.”
“I understand, and I apologise. Do not talk about anything that upsets you.”
“Doesn’t leave that much then, does it?” He quipped. “So, what’s the weather like round here?”
“Hot.” It responded with the same non serious tone that the question had been given in. Arcane smiled and leaned back. Fete felt satisfaction. He was easier now. Not so volatile. Not mistrusting any longer. The setback hadn’t seemed to lose that trust. By his body language he was recovering slightly even now.
“Can I get you more food and drink?” It offered. Arcane looked up, nodding.
“Thank you.” As it got up to return to the other room, retrieving the tray, Arcane took it’s hand. “About the things I said earlier... when I snapped at you... I shouldn’t have... I...”
“It does not matter. You could not be blamed for that, and it is in the past. Forgotten.” It smiled warmly at him. He nodded.
“Well, thank you anyway.”
“For the food?” it said.
“And for listening. Nobody HERE ever wants to listen if it doesn’t involve my screaming; well, nobody up until you, that is.”
“That is my purpose... and my pleasure. Your gratitude is welcome, but not necessary.”
“If you insist, little celebration, but you’ve got it anyway. And very few people get the gratitude of Anton Arcane! Consider yourself honoured!” He gave a little chuckle to himself.
Fete smiled approvingly before going to fetch more refreshments.


When Arcane woke up the next morning, Fete was gone. *Where...?!* he thought before he realised it, eyes scanning the blackness frantically. Fete was the only one he trusted -- if anything happened to it, what would he do? What would be done to him without Fete around? He squinted and noticed something scrawled along the wall. "Getting Food" it read, in what looked like a hand trying desperately to write the English alphabet when it never had before. Arcane had to admit, it was a pretty pathetic try, but at least he could read it. He couldn't help but smile to himself as a mental image came to him unbidden of Fete coming back to the sanctuary with a grocery bag filled with the clichéd celery, Wonderbread, and saltines. So what would he do 'till then? He was afraid to leave, and there were no doors or windows in this place -- just as well, so that his legions of enemies couldn't worm their way in... He shuddered. *Well, no use getting worked up about it,* Arcane thought to himself resolutely. *Best think of something constructive to do.* Constructive. For a moment there, Arcane had to fight the overwhelming, irrepressible urge to burst into giggles. Constructive as a prisoner in hell? That thought inevitably led to a cold surge of depression just as quickly. Back at home -- *Back in =life=. Back when I was alive; what a travesty...* -- there was always work to do. Always. His work, his research, his notes, his inventions, experiments, formulas, theories were an integral part of his life, as much so as eating and breathing. Little bits of nothing scribbled on a chalkboard contained the secrets of the universe to him, and breaking open these theoretical puzzle boxes became what he woke in the morning for. Money aside, *sex* aside for crying out loud, he needed his work simply because... it was his work. It was what he did. It took precedent over everything. But now...? Now he was dead. He didn't HAVE anything to do. No work. No schemes to implement. No bloody purpose. Nothing to get done. All he had to do was get tormented FOR his work... and when he wasn't getting tormented -- just sit here. Just SIT HERE. *Anton! This isn't a vacation at bloody Club Med!* A wry smile quirked his lips. *What was I expecting to do, go sailing? Check into a hotel?* But then, wasn't that what this was, in a bizarre sort of way? "You can check out any time you like/ but you can never leave..." sang the strains of the Eagles song that filtered into his mind. Where the hell was Fete?! *Getting food. Right.* A sigh heaved from his freshly-healed lungs. This was going to be a long wait.
Right then. How to do something constructive so as not to go mad? There must be something he could do to amuse himself, with his capacity for intellect (no matter what THEY said) and his ripe imagination. Yes, there had to be SOMEthing to do, he couldn't just--
There was a knock at the door.
Arcane froze, his blood turning to ice water inside his capillaries. The knock came meekly again, muted against the layers of rocklike material that made up this dark womb of a sanctuary. *Ah! * he realised with a flash of hope. *Fete!* It occurred to Arcane just as quickly that if Fete wanted to get into its own sanctuary, it needn't knock, but if it was on a return trip from getting food, he reasoned that maybe its arms were full with something. He got up and strode across the room to the door, deciding to do the gracious thing and open it. There were no real exits or entrances in the sanctuary, but there was a space on the wall that they generally thought of as the "door"; only Fete had the power to open it, and his small saviour said that he had that right, too, although it didn't advise it. Arcane had never opened the door, but he had seen her do it before plenty of times. *It,* he reminded himself gently. He placed his palm confidently on the rockface, watching the stone-stuff shudder and melt beneath his hand, yawning into an opening.
Will Kipp peeked his head in with a broad smile. "Yoo hoo! Hey, Arcane! Anyone in there?!"
The one-eyed juror with the sandy-blonde hair growled and grimaced, squinting into the cave. "Let me at him! Let me at him!"
Will put a hand on his companion's chest in a "stop" gesture. "Cool it. You know we can't go in."
The juror grinned a knowing, cold grin. "We won't need to."
Arcane stumbled backwards. So stupid. So so stupid. He was an idiot. A full-blown, first-class, no-questions-asked IDIOT. Oh God. He had escaped. And slept. And was healed. And had eaten. Punishments heaped on punishments heaped on a bigger list of chastisements than he could care to imagine. They were going to kill him. Why had he let them in?! It was like he had handed them an invitation!!!
"Go ahead, beat me," leapt to his mind. "You are cordially invited to the flaying of one Anton Arcane on this..." What day WAS it?
"Come out, come out," Will sang out persuasively. "You know we'll just come in after you if you don't walk out yourself, Arcane. And if we have to go in there, you *know* it's not going to be pretty."
"Pretty ugly, in fact," chimed in the juror before receiving a look from Will that hissed "overkill" all over it.
Arcane was scared out of his shit. He was going to die here. They were going to barge into the sanctuary and he was going to die here. Again and again. But wait! Wait, wasn't there something Fete said about leaving Sanctuary...?
Yes, yes, it said... it said... Oh God. He couldn't think. He was so scared.
*Dammit Anton, think!* But he couldn't. He was going out of his mind. He peered in the space between the Kipp dimwit and the man with the eyepatch. Was there enough room to make a break for it? *Probably not,* he conceded with a swallow of fear. Maybe he could just stay here? Yes, maybe they were bluffing? Maybe they wouldn't come in?
"He's calling it," whispered Will.
"I'll handle it," assured the juror. "ARCANE!" he shouted roughly. The doctor's head snapped around in panic. The juror stomped his foot down in the direction of the door threshold, feinting a step inside.
Arcane bolted. Trying to break past his tormentors, he slammed right into their arms.
"Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Will crooned as the duo held him tightly. The Kipp placed a hand over Arcane's rib cage and laughed. "Get a load of this! His heart's beating as fast as a rabbit's!"
The juror grinned and patted the doctor's hair, drenched with fear-stoked perspiration. "Aww, is that what you are, Anton? Are you a little bunny rabbit?" Arcane shook in their arms. "Yes you are. Yes you are!"
"Will you cut it out?!" Arcane snapped, still shaking all over.
"Do you know what we're going to do to you, Anton?" the juror whispered into Arcane's ear, beaming toothily. "You escaped from Tressa. You know how angry that makes her? I don't think ya' do."
Will clamped some manacles on Arcane's wrists and pinned them tightly behind his back before stepping back to appraise them.
"They look good on you, Arcane! A big improvement, I think." Arcane winced as the circulation was suddenly cut from his hands. "Too tight?" Will asked with mock concern. "Too bad. One size fits all, and everything." Both the demeanour of he and his companion quickly switched to one that was far less playful. "Now get moving."

Fete came back to an empty sanctuary and dropped the food on the floor. Its eyes widened. *Oh my...*
It didn't make sense. It didn't make sense at all. Why would Arcane leave? What reasons would he have for leaving? He could stay here until his time was up, wherein the sanctuary would simply disappear. Was he afraid? Fete thought he had finally begun to trust it. Curse it! It should never have left! Arcane probably panicked when he woke up with it gone, and thought that perhaps Fete was just going to betray him, or try to trick him. It put a hand to its mouth. Or what if he thought Fete was in some sort of danger and went looking for it?? Fete swayed a little on its feet from the guilt that that thought started to bring.
The most obvious fact of all struck it.
The sanctuary was still here. It would have disappeared if time was up (which it wasn't)... and if he left willingly. But he couldn't have left of his own accord! The sanctuary hadn't vanished!! He had to have been forced out. But no... that was just as crazy. No one could enter the sanctuary; that was a given. So if no one went in... No matter. No matter. Fete had to find him. Whatever horrors they were inflicting on him aside, this was a breach of the contract and a direct violation of the laws. And they were going to get it big time.


"...stop... ...beating... ...stop... beating..."
The thing that flailed down on his back, his shoulders, his face, his belly, could have been a club or a whip or a strange mix between the two. He didn't know. He was keeping his eyes shut. He did not want to see. "Did you just ask to be punished some more, Arcane?" Will growled. "I think you did."
"...please... ...stop... ...beating..."
"He doesn't shut up, does he?" asked the juror.
"Nope," Will agreed. He struck him again.
"Fete," Arcane whispered in agony-filled delirium.
"Give it up, Arcane!" the juror said disgustedly, kicking the doctor in his unprotected stomach again. He grinned as he saw Arcane's bound arms and hands shudder reflexively, trying to shield his ribs. Of course, it didn't work. The juror went back to feeling disgusted. "Do you even know what Fete *is*?! That thing's just here to fix you up a little to let your guard down. Fete picks you up, and we knock you down."
"ExACTLY," Will chimed. "It's a good working relationship."
Arcane shook his head head, disbelieving. *Liars.*
"I heard that!" Will sang out, striking Arcane again, and then again and again for good measure. "And it's the ugly truth, Doc. That's why it hurts so much." But Arcane didn't hear anything anymore, nothing but the sounds of the hurt moans coming from his own vocal chords.
"You can stop lying about me now," Fete said calmly.
"Whassa problem, loverboy?" the juror drawled. "Upset 'cause we've got your little sex slave?"
Fete growled inwardly. Even with the challenge to its integrity aside, it’s genders made it feel unique and different, and when these creatures called Fete one or the other in order to irritate it, it worked. Fete took a deep breath and tried to stuff the comments away to the pit of it’s stomach.
"You will let him go this instant."
Will laughed, giving a mocking expression of fear. "Oooh! I'm shaking, I really am! Oh God! What are you going to do with us if we don't?"
Fete folded its arms coolly. "Ms. Kipp and I have a contract. I don't think she would be very happy if it were broken by two of her own. In case it slipped your memory, we're *all* subject to the laws of this place, not
just..." It forced itself not to look at its charge. "...the prisoner."
"We don't care about your contract, faggot," growled the juror before receiving another icy look from Will.
"Let's go. She can't do a damn thing to us."
The juror nodded. "Laters, sistah!" But it was gone.


Escape. Escape. Escape. It was all that mattered. Had to get away. They hadn't been watching him. They were playing cards. The nanosecond was all it took. He crawled on his knees with his hands still bound through the dim, filthy alleyway, pushing past the garbage, literally dragging himself forward each meter of the way. He couldn't go back. He needed to find someplace to hide. Somewhere, anywhere... he didn't want to feel that whateveritwas lash down on his shoulders again. He didn't want to be hit anymore. He needed to
hide. "Fete," he murmured, because it was the only comforting word he knew. "Fete Fete Fete..." He crawled behind some large trash cans and closed his eyes, like a little child playing "hide-and-seek"... //"Count to ten and close your eyes... If you can't see them, then they can't see you..."//
He wished Fete was here -- no he didn't! They said that Fete betrayed him. Why would they lie? *Twit! They have every reason to lie to you!* But why not? Everyone here was out to get him, everything that looked good was really not. A sinking feeling took hold of Arcane's stomach and he started to look sick. They were right. Oh God, of course they were right. Fete *healed* him... healed him so that he wouldn't need to die each time, so that they'd all have more time to hurt him... healed him so that when he took the fall it would be harder and hurt more... healed him so that they could punish him for allowing himself to be healed...
//"That's right, Doc!"// Arcane remembered Will's voice as he was flogged. //"Do you honestly think anyone here would actually be NICE to you?! How can you even think that you DESERVE anyone's kindness?!? Fete holds you up, we knock you down. That's the way it works. That's it’s 'balance'. It never meant what it said to you."// They were right, of course. That was the only logical thing, the only thing that made sense. How could he have been such an immense FOOL?! *They're wearing you down,* he thought again. *They're wearing you down and you cannot remember.* Arcane hugged his knees to his chest. They would find him. They would find him and they would punish him.
THIS WASN'T HAPPENING TO HIM!!!
"Arcane?"
He wished he could cover his ears. He hadn't even seen it come up beside him. "Just bloody go away, will you?!"
Fete was stung. It was surprised that that could sting it. "What? What is it?"
"Go ahead!" Arcane snapped. "Go ahead and heal me up, play doctors and nurses! Give them another excuse to hurt me!!"
"For the Fates' sake, listen..."
"Listen?!" Arcane's voice cracked and then lowered into a more menacing tone. "That *is* what you want, isn't it? Build up my trust and then have it all come crashing down upon me!! That *is* what you're here for, is it not -- to give them more excuses to hurt me?!"
"I wanted to *help* you, Arcane."
Arcane's voice ran over Fete's. "You wanted to help. Oh yes, Fete, you wanted to help. 'Course you wanted to help. It makes you feel wonderful, doesn't it?! Help the poor, misguided soul and then move on when he gets dragged out into the street to get punished again?!"
Fete's ears caught on one of the words. "Dragged? They dragged you out of the sanctuary?"
Arcane cooled down for a minute; his face looked miserable. "No," he said quietly. Guessing that Fete would want more of an explanation, he added, "They... I... I was really very scared, you must understand. Terrified out of my mind. They... they made as if they were going to enter the room, and I ran..."
Fete brightened. Arcane noticed. "What're you so ecstatic about?" he asked sulkily.
Fete stared at him. "You have more time. They can't take you, they broke the law. They scared you out."
"What of it?"
"You see, they--" The two of them froze as the trash cans came crashing down around them in a cacophony of metal.
"Well well well, what've we got here?"
Arcane almost threw his neck out as all seven bones snapped up in attention to the black eyepatch monopolising his vision. Will leaned against the wall and admired his nails casually. "You've still got the cuffs on, Arcane? Oooh, nice touch."
Arcane switched his stare back around to Fete. "So you've led them straight to me, is that it, then?!"
"No. I did nothing of the kind. You know that."
"You bad guys sure stick together, huh, doctor?" The eye-patched juror laughed. "That thing's lying to you AGAIN. It led us in a straight easy line to you."
"Yep," Will agreed. "It wasn't that hard. We just saw her walk through the wall, and followed around the building to see where she'd end up. How many more did you tell him, Fete?"
It wasn't listening. Fete's eyes filled up with pain. "Oh no... oh... oh... I'm sorry..."
"Kinda late for that now, you know?" Will asked rhetorically. He lifted Arcane by the shirt front, his dark eyes inflaming with grief-born hatred. "Look at you, Arcane. With pity for no one but yourself." He shook the scientist so hard that he rattled. "Do you know how it FEELS to --"
"Yes!!!" Arcane interrupted with a snarl. "Yes, I bloody know how it feels! Dear me, was I HURTING you and your friends, young Kipp? And here I thought that for two years I was doing you all a CHARITY!!" His voice cracked. "Funny that you're even punishing me at all!!!"
Will smiled and gestured to an invisible audience. "There he is for the world, ladies and gentlemen. Anton Arcane, evil and proud of it."
"Why don't you just bloody get it over with?!" Arcane snapped.
"Oh, we will," the juror said with a look of supreme satisfaction.
"No, you won't."
Will looked down at the now-standing shadow. "What're you talking about?"
Fete folded its arms. "I said, 'you won't'. His time at the sanctuary had not ended. A short time, granted, but time still."
The juror snorted. "He left of his own free will and you know it. Don't start going soft on us, loverboy."
Fete tilted its head. "You forced him out."
"We didn't touch him!" Will protested.
"You didn't have to. You used his own terror against him. Scaring him so that he does not realise he has any other options but to run straight to you IS forcing him."
Arcane was getting rather irritated by this whole conversation. He didn't want people talking about him in the third person like he wasn't even there listening, or dead or -- *Rather appropriate, actually,* he conceded to himself glumly, brightening with, *At least it's defending me. And it's winning.*
He spoke too soon. "Listen Fete," Will said angrily, poking a finger towards the shadow, "we didn't force him out, and you bending your own laws isn't going to change that. The only person breaking the law here is YOU."
Fete was about to protest when the juror shushed it. "Ah ah ah -- you're interfering with US. He's ours now, and you're on turf you don't belong in. Understand that?"
"You're hatred can wait for a short period of time," Fete said, trying very hard to remain restrained. "He is here for ETERNITY. It doesn't matter. You are breaking the law, and only you are going to get hurt."
"No, Fete," Will grinned. "YOU are. And you're going to be treated like it. We're arresting you." He took its arm, handing Arcane over to the juror. "Take him where he needs to be. I'll find someone to handle this one."
"This is a fallacy," Fete muttered, and added in a louder, almost pleading voice to Will, "You only hurt yourselves this way! For your own sakes, let your heads get the better of you this once."
"Shut up," muttered Will in an exasperated voice as he led it off.
Arcane stared after them as they dematerialised from view. "Where are you taking it?!"
"Nowhere special," replied the juror as he dragged Arcane along. "But you are, Arcane. You're going places that are REEEEAL special. "


Arcane tried desperately to fight through the panic and dread that was gripping him as the juror frog-marched him along... tried to ignore each rough step that jarred his bruised and broken flesh and bones. Where the hell was he being taken? Did it really matter? Everything here was as bad as it gets! Was this place he was being taken to really going to be worse than the rest... or just more of the same. That was more than enough as it was! He tried so hard to collect his thoughts. What if he tried to escape again? It was one on one now. No Will Kipp around. No... He’d taken Fete away. *To what? What would they do to the creature?* his mind shifted focus. *So bloody what!?* Serves the thing right for lying to him... or not telling him how these rules worked... knowledge that could have stopped him being trapped again! He’d trusted it... told it his thoughts, his secrets. He’d shared part of himself...and for what!? So they could have another laugh at his expense... at his humiliation!? *It was trying to protect you. It’s put itself in danger as well now* Another voice tugged inside his head. *Oh really!? Probably just another part of the act!*
A sharp pain to his back jarred him back to the situation at hand.
“No slacking, you little tick turd!” The juror snarled, pushing Arcane’s own hands forward, so the manacles on his wrists dug in, forcing Arcane to stiffen in pain. “We haven’t got all day. There’s people waiting to see you, Arcane. Now MOVE!” The juror quickened his pace, almost dragging Arcane along.
*Sod Fete! Maybe it helped, maybe it didn’t, but that’s hardly the issue at hand now, is it, Anton? You’d better do something bloody fast or you’re in deep shit!* It was one on one, he thought again. Granted, that one was larger than he was; unbound, stronger... not in any pain. He didn’t have that much of a chance. He also didn’t have that much of a choice. *Maybe I could catch him off guard. He won’t be expecting it, after all. Yes! He’ll have the key to these wretched manacles. I can get that afterwards. Feign a stumble, trip him up, and a hard kick to the head as he’s down.* It wouldn’t be a fight...which he would certainly lose... but a surprise that *could* work... if he was quick enough...
A booted foot hit him hard on the calf, causing him to fall face first to the ground with a cry of surprised pain.
“You never learn, do you, Arcane? We know everything you’re thinking. So! You thought you could take me down, did you?” He crouched down, just above Arcane’s bloodied and huddled form. “Want a fight, do you....mano a mano!?” He grinned. Arcane just shut his eyes. The juror rolled him over onto his back and grabbed him by the throat. “Look at me when I’m talking to you!” He spat. Trembling, Arcane opened his eyes. The juror let him go roughly, causing Arcane’s head to slam back onto the hard pavement. “So!? Want to have a go at me, then?” He goaded with a viciously malevolent smile, massaging his fists. “Think you’re man enough to beat me?” Arcane shook his head slowly. “Didn’t quite catch that, Arcane. You are saying that you’re NOT man enough, aren’t you? That you’re just a pathetic little worm that had delusions. That what you’re saying, Doctor!?”
Arcane nodded. “Yes.” He whispered. The juror smiled, reaching into his boot and pulling out a large skinning knife which he held up so the light glinted off it. He gave a little laugh as he looked down at Arcane.
“Yeah... not a man at all. Not even a bunny rabbit! Just a mouse in barely human form, yeah?” Arcane nodded in shame. “Close your eyes!” the juror snapped an order. Arcane complied almost instantaneously. The juror gave another laugh. “And now I guess you’re a blind mouse!” Arcane felt the sharp edge of the knife at his unprotected throat... before it began moving slowly down his chest, drawing the tiniest amount of blood as it did so. He shivered involuntarily; “And you know what happens to blind mice, don’t you, Arcane?” The juror grinned, as Arcane felt the knife slide down his stomach and come to rest on his groin, digging in just a little, making him wince, more in terror than pain though. “We cut off their tails, don’t we?” The juror taunted him. Whimpering softly, Arcane tried to shrink back from it, but the unforgiving pavement wouldn’t allow this. He opened his eyes. He couldn’t help it; and as he did so, tears began flowing freely. He wanted to beg again -- not that it would make any difference. He knew that much -- but his throat had dried and he couldn’t manage to even speak.
But the juror just removed the knife and slid it back into his boot. “Not this time, Doctor!” He drawled. “Like I said, you’ve got people to see and I don’t have the time... and it’s not my turn yet. But bear in mind that if you EVER get an idea like that again... well, I guess those people will have to wait a while, eh?” He dragged Arcane roughly to his feet and forced him to move again.
A voice echoed cold glee in Arcane’s ears;
“ ‘Course, when it is my turn...”

After about an hour of being forced along, Arcane wasn’t even aware of his surroundings any longer. His mind had retreated into a series of agonising images and vignettes as he desperately tried to figure out what they were going to do to him. He had a very vivid imagination, and it wasn’t helping one bit. So many possibilities! Each filled with unimaginable horrors!
He felt himself being slammed into something, forcing him back to reality. He was outside the door to a large grey stone building.
“We’re here, Doctor.” That hateful voice said with relish, forcing Arcane down to his knees. He took a heavy key from his pocket and Arcane became aware of leg irons similar to the manacles being placed around his ankles, just a bit too tight, digging in with their sharp edges. *Where the hell did he get those from!?* his mind tried to reason. “Now wait there like a good little mouse.” His captor grinned, moving round to Arcane’s front and staring down at him.
“Catch you later, Arcane...” he started to wander off;
“... when it’s my turn...”

Arcane was just left kneeling there. *What the hell am I supposed to do now!?* There didn’t appear to be anyone around, but how he was supposed to escape with this horrid metalware jewellery they’d given him was beyond him! He wondered if he should just wait there, or at least try to get to his feet. He began to struggle. *Moot bloody point!* Between the pain in his back and ribs, and everywhere else, and those leg irons, and the lack of use of his arms it was an almost impossible task.

It was also moot point because just then, he became aware of a pair of strong hands grabbing him roughly by the shoulders and pulling him to his feet. A large figure moved round to his right, and he turned to look. Staring at him calmly was the bailiff from that fiasco of a trial... his own damned employee! He reminded himself. *Last time I let Stella handle the bloody job interviews!* He couldn’t help but give the tiniest of ironic smiles at that thought. ‘Last time’ indeed. How damnably appropriate!
“You find’n somethin’ funny, Arcane?” A voice to his left drawled. Arcane turned towards it with resigned weariness.
“Et tu, Sheriff Andrews? Why am I not surprised?”
Andrews opened the door and nodded to the bailiff, who grabbed Arcane by the arm and pushed him roughly through it. Together, they herded him down a long grey stone corridor with a barred cell at the end. As they reached it, Andrews took out a key chain and opened the door, as the bailiff shoved Arcane inside. Andrews remained outside, lightly tapping a night-stick to remind Arcane that any sort of resistance was likely to be regretted; as the bailiff entered the cell also. With a key, he removed Arcane’s hand manacles, and replaced them round the front of him. The leg irons remained in place. Without a word, he then turned and left, locking the cell door behind him; leaving just Andrews and Arcane alone, staring at each other through the bars.
Arcane gave a brief glance around at his surroundings. Rough, drab stone walls; a single hard wooden bench; a dim, bare lightbulb. And that was it. He turned back to Andrews.
“Why am I here?... Why are YOU here?” he asked.
“A’m the law, remember, Arcane? My job to see justice is done.”
“You! See that justice is done? Don’t make me laugh, Sheriff! Why ARE you here, anyway? I paid you handsomely. You worked for me, remember? What the hell did I ever do to you!?”
“Didn’t pay me ‘handsomely’ enough, *Doc*, did you? Where are all those riches you promised me? You made me a laughing stock instead. Folks had no respect for me anymore, did they? Treatin’ me as if a’m some sort of a joke!” he snarled venomously.
“Can’t think why!” Arcane sneered. “Laughing stock? No respect? I never did that to you, Andrews. You did that yourself. I paid you everything I promised you; and if you had delusions of more, that’s hardly my problem...” Arcane stopped himself abruptly as he saw a look of unbridled fury building on Andrews face; and it didn’t take much for him to remember his position here. This wasn’t Andrews. It was only his echo, and here for one purpose.
“Oh, it’s your problem alright, Arcane. I promise you that it’s definitely your problem!” Andrews’ nails were digging gouges in the wooden handle of the night-stick.
“I...er... I apologise, Sheriff...” Arcane cringed inside as he forced himself to show some sort of humility to dissipate Andrews anger... anger HE’D be the one to end up regretting; “I didn’t mean... mean to show disrespect for your position.” He whispered; “I...I’m sorry.”
“You will be, Arcane!” Andrews threatened, but more casually; the temporary rage seeming to subside a little. He paused to collect himself... and to savour the situation. “You asked why you’re here. Well, I’ll tell you. You’re here to face justice. You see, Arcane, not every victim here cares about stickin’ around for years an’ years. They just want it over. Painful... an’ real final! They want you over with... so your filthy carcass and soul ain’t pollut’n this or any other world anymore...” An encroaching feeling of dread was stretching it’s icy fingers into Arcane’s heart. He swallowed once and stared at Andrews silently. “Me, can’t say as I’m bothered either way. I kinda like the idea of seeing you suffer a mighty long time. I also can’t say as I disapprove of the idea of you wiped off the face of the Universe forever... maybe what we’ve got planned’ll allow both...” he grinned. “Ever play Russian roulette, Doc?” He drawled. “No, didn’t think that’d be your style. Looks like as you’re goin’ to soon though.”
“Wh... what do you mean?” Arcane said in a shaky voice.
“Some folks held a trial while you were busy... another trial. You got sentenced in your absence. Can you guess what that sentence was, Doc? Sorta begins with ‘D’ and has a final ring to it! Catch my drift, Arcane?” The Doctor said nothing, but continued staring in dawning terror. “Ready to face your victims, Arcane?” Andrews said with cruel satisfaction. Arcane shuffled backwards, away from him.
At the end of the corridor, Arcane became aware of a light, as the door opened. Through it, a crowd of figures began to approach him.
“ ‘Course, this ain’t nearly the full amount. Not by a looong way. This just a small group... the first of them.” They approached Arcane. Some were mutants... some of his earlier attempts; and others: There was a young policeman he recognised. It took Arcane a moment to remember him from several years back; well before the complex had even been built. He’d stumbled across his work, and wouldn’t be bought off. Well, naturally he’d had to silence the man! What else could he do!? There was a woman he didn’t recognise at all, but judging from the way she clung close to the other man, Arcane would have guessed her to be a wife or sister. There were other people he’d silenced; people he’d stolen from; people he’d betrayed, murdered, experimented on; ex-lovers he’d discarded when they no longer interested him; people who’s careers he’d ruined; blackmail victims.... so damned many! He never realised there could have been this many. // “a small group... the first”// Andrews words came back to haunt him, and he screwed his eyes shut in sick dread.
“Now calm down, folks. Who’s first?” Andrews addressed the crowd. The policeman stepped forward and stared at Arcane in hatred. The Doctor shrank back from that gaze that burned into him.
“Now, Sir. What did he do to you?” Andrews addressed the young man.
“Tried to bribe me, then had his thugs shoot me in the back when I refused.” The young man said dispassionately. The woman clinging to his arm nodded.
“No, ma’am... you get your own go as well... as the victim’s bereaved. This your husband’s turn.” Andrews explained calmly.
“I was pregnant when he murdered Robert.” She said coldly. “With no wage, I lost my home... my life...”
“Like ah said, you get you’re turn....Pregnant? How old’s your child now, ma’am?”
“I’m six years old, Sheriff...” a little voice said, pushing through the legs of the crowd and looking up; “...do I get a go too?”
“Why sure, Son. You all get a go... unless, well... you know?” Andrews smiled down at the little boy. “Now, folks, if you’d care to make your way to the waiting room, we’ll get this over one at a time. You’ll all get your turns, if there’s anything to have a turn on; so you all just decide among yourselves who’s a goin’ to be next.”
With a soft whispering to themselves, the crowd dispersed down the corridor, through a door, and out of sight. All that remained, apart from Andrews and Arcane, was the young cop, who continued to stare his despisal at Arcane.
“Now, Sir. I gotta go through the formalities here, so you just bear with me. I got to do this with everyone here... for the record.” Andrews addressed him. The cop nodded, not taking his eyes from the shivering Arcane for a second. “Now the sentence of the court was death. Do you wish to proceed with your particular execution of the prisoner; or waive that privilege?”
“Proceed.” Was the simple vindictive reply of the cop.
“And what method do you choose, Sir?” Andrews asked him.
The cop seemed to contemplate for a moment, sizing Arcane up. “Give him the chair!” He said coldly.
“The chair.” Andrews repeated. “Good choice, Sir. Tried and trusted method. Not too slow, but he could be jump’n a bit if we screw up on the first few tries. If’n there’s anything left, we’ll no doubt get some slower methods later. Yes indeed!”
“Just kill the bastard. Send him to oblivion.” The young cop muttered in subdued rage.
“Well now. Kill’n him’s not a problem. Oblivion, now... that all depends. You know what was agreed. There’s always that chance, but probably not. Don’t worry, Sir. Bound to happen sooner or later, I reckon.”
The cop nodded in affirmation.
“You want to watch?” Andrews asked.
“I want to pull the switch.” The cop said calmly.
“Can’t say as I have a problem with that.” Andrews said cheerfully.
“I bloody well do!” Arcane found his voice. “What is all this!? What bloody trial did you have? I’ve already been tried, remember!?” His voice raised itself frantically.
“Like I said, Arcane. Some of us down here didn’t agree with Judge Tressa Kipp, and had us our own trial. We decided to kill you permanently. Holland told you about big and little deaths, didn’t he?”
Arcane nodded warily.
“These folks here, and the others to come; they wanted to give you the big death straight away, just decide on what method to use. Didn’t want to sully themselves, like, with stayin’ around for years on account of scum like you. Didn’t want you takin’ up any more space in existence at all. Guess you could say they were the merciful ones, Arcane; though I reckon mercy didn’t rate mighty high in their motivation.” Andrews paused to contemplate his next words; “Well, Judge Tressa didn’t want that at all. She kinda likes the eternity scenario, if you hadn’t figured that out by now. But these folks got just as much right to you. So, they all reached a compromise. Each gets to execute you, by a method of their own choice... quick... or slow. Before each one, the plaintiff gets to draw one ball out of ten thousand. Kinda like a lottery, but with real lousy prizes. All the balls are red, except one black one. Guess what happens if the black one is picked, Arcane?”
Sweat was pouring from Arcane’s brow now. Was this true? Maybe they were lying? Surely they wouldn’t permanently kill him?
“ ‘Course, you don’t get to see whether it’s black or red, Arcane. That’s for us to know. Just think of every execution like it’s going to be your last.” He laughed. “Just might well be! Now we’re goin’ to do this in groups. There’s a little over a hundred folks here now. We’ll deal with their complaints, and if you’re still around, the eternity faction gets you a bit longer; then we get you back and the next group has their chance. There’s about 10,000 of them all together, so odds are even whether you’ll make it. ‘Course, if you’re lucky, you’ll die first time. Face it, Doc. It’s the only way you’re ever gett’n out of here!”
Arcane stared numbly at Andrews, then the younger cop. Wasn’t this what he wanted? To be in peaceful oblivion? Finally... and end to the eternal torments!? *Bugger that!* primal instinct snarled, determined to survive at any cost, despite what logic told it. Besides, his mind was already wandering through the myriad of permutations for methods of execution. It wasn’t pretty!
“You... you can’t be serious!” He said quietly; “Surely you want to see me suffer?” He made it sound almost enticing.
“No, Arcane. They want to see you dead. But sure looks to me like the thought of that’s makin’ you suffer, ain’t that so? Now I suggest you get yourself ready, Arcane. Take your death like the man you are.” Andrews signalled with his hand, and the large bailiff appeared from behind one of the doors, along with a chaplain. As they approached the cell with a set of keys, Arcane shuffled backwards into the corner of the cell, cowering like a cornered animal. “No... Please!!” He cried, struggled vainly as large hands seized him in a merciless and vicelike grip.
Arcane was aware of being dragged bodily along a continuation of the corridor to the left of the cell. At the end was a heavy metal door. He continued to cry and struggle as he was led through it. Inside was a small chamber, bare except for a small metal door at the far end, a panel and lever in the centre of the wall; and in the very middle was the dreaded object: A forbidding looking electric chair.
Shaking with terror, Arcane was thrown into it roughly; the manacles around his hands being removed, and his hands being strapped to the chair instead. He winced as more leather straps fastened him immobile. The bailiff then took out an electric razor and handed it to the Sheriff. Andrews smiled down at Arcane, before advancing on his head;
“Got to admit, Doc. This bit’s almost goin’ to be as much fun as killin’ you. Ain‘t this what everybody’s wanted to do for years, Arcane!?” He laughed, as a pile of hair fell down around the prisoner, and another, and another. He went at his task with all the inborn subtlety and gentleness of a sheep shearer. When he’d finished, he stood back and surveyed his handiwork with a satisfied grin. “You know, Arcane; you just like one of them Chinchilla things... take away all that hair and nothin’s left underneath of any note!” he laughed.

His face became deadly serious again as he tightened a leather strap around Arcane’s forehead. The chaplain stood next to Arcane, looking at him with solemnity.
“Don’t mind him, Arcane. He’s not here to offer you any comfort; but it’s kind of traditional for the look of things.”
Arcane was almost hyperventilating in terror by now. He strained his head against the unyielding leather bonds, trying to catch sight of his plaintiff, the young cop. His eyes caught a glimpse of the figure standing just to his right.
“Please!... Please don’t do this!” he begged; “I’m sorry for everything I did to you...I swear it. Please.... please don’t kill me!”
“I never even got the chance to beg, Arcane.” The cop answered him coldly. “Would you have listened if I had?”
Arcane remained conspicuously silent.
“I’m not a cruel man, Arcane... but you don’t deserve to live, even in an afterlife. You’re not fit to be sentient. I really hope I pick that black ball. I know that would be denying my family their turn, but I REALLY want you dead and gone.”
“And speakin’ of which...” Sheriff Andrews interjected. “Shouldn’t we be pickin’ that ball?”
With a last cold look at the shivering and tearful Arcane, the cop turned to Andrews, and both went out of the door at the far end of the chamber. The bailiff continued to survey Arcane is mild and inscrutable silence.

It felt like they’d been gone hours, but Arcane eventually heard the door open and slam shut again behind him; then footsteps approaching him. They both stood in front of The Doctor for a few moments, surveying him in a predatory fashion.
“Ready to die, Arcane?” Andrews drawled.
Barely able to hold a coherent thought in his head, Arcane tried desperately to gauge the expression of the young cop. What had he picked!? Was that the merest glimmer of a smile coming from the man!?!? *Oh my God! He’s done it! This is IT!!* Arcane began to shake uncontrollably, unable to stop the tears for the life of him. *I’m going to die!... for real!!!*
“No.no.no.no. Please!!! Please!!... Don’t...don’t do thispleasedon’tdothispleasemercydon’tkillplease!!!”
“I’d tell you to go to Hell, Arcane;” The cop muttered quietly; “but that hardly matters anymore.” He began to walk round to the wall behind the chair. Arcane’s throat had parched so much in his fear that he could no longer even speak. He whimpered pathetically as the cop passed him.
“n.no... please.....” he managed to croak out in between the whimpering, as bladder control became a long forgotten luxury again.
He closed his eyes and waited. After several minutes, the fear began to subside just a fraction. Damn them! How long were they taking over it? How long did it take them to walk two metres to a bloody lever!? Wait! What if it was all a trick... another emotional torment? *Bastards!* he fumed. Gingerly he opened his eyes. Was it a trick?
Arcane went rigid as the first jolt of electricity hit him; not designed to be lethal, but to stun. Well, it would have if the voltage had been right. All it served to do was have Arcane shrieking in agony, every muscle in his body contracting violently. In his chest, another two ribs shattered from the spasms, and his eyes bulged virtually out of their sockets. As the shock subsided, Arcane sagged in the chair with an anguished moan.
“Oops, not enough juice there.” Andrews admonished the cop. “Gonna have to try again, Sir. Bit more this time.”
The second jolt hit him harder. It felt like a million bees were lancing him with their stingers; and his head was exploding with the pain. His scream was soundless with the shock. Smoke began rising from his finger tips and head, and he could barely see a thing for the blinding flashes of light in his eyes, and the sweat, and blood from the leather strap running down into them. A searing pain went through his chest as his heart sputtered and struggled; beating arythmically. The muscles in his arms and legs tore themselves from the ligaments with the force of the contractions. And again, it subsided. He could barely manage a choked sob.
“You just ain’t doin’ it right. Want to give it one more go, then let me try if not?” Andrews said helpfully.
“I can manage.” An icy but satisfied voice replied; “I think I’m doing just fine.”
“Sure thing, Sir. Go right ahead... in your own time.”
Arcane was almost beyond feeling any more. He barely noticed the third jolt... hardly even felt the pain as his skin began to smoulder, blister and peel.
Five seconds later, and he was dead.


Arcane was getting into trouble. Either that or Graham was. No matter which way he turned, Alec still felt the responsibility for the both of his enemies lodged firmly upon his shoulders.
"Why do I even get myself into this?" he grumbled once more. *Because you're too damned soft hearted for your own good....because it seems to be your lot in life* his brain chided him. It crossed his mind that having a heart as cold as Arcane's might have it's advantages....then felt ashamed that such a thought could have entered his mind, even for a second. *Ah.* A dark humanoid shape made itself visible in the distance. *It must be Arcane.*
He was wrong. Fete moaned weakly, hands manacled tightly behind it’s back as it sat on the ground. Alec grimaced at once seeing the defenceless captive. Without a second thought he grabbed the chain attaching the manacles to the rock jutting tooth-like out of the ground, snapping it like thread. He only needed his thumb and forefinger to pry open the heavy metal cuffs. The swamp's guardian took a step back.
"Are you all right?"
Fete rubbed its wrists. "Mmm." It blinked a few times. "Yes, yes." It looked up into Alec's face. "Th- " Fete's eyes widened. "Kin?" It stopped, trying again with a word that might make more sense to the green stranger. "Brother?"
Alec's own eyes widened in bewilderment. "I... don't understand."
Fete barely touched the side of his face with an inborn gentleness. "You are one of the guardians of the Balance."
Alec smiled shyly, almost bashfully. "Ah... yes. Although I'm not as old or as experienced as you are."
Fete smiled back, tilting its head. "For a new kin, more experienced than you know." A pause. "You are here because of the offender? The Arcane?"
Alec hated the way it said that. It made the man sound like some sort of god or something. "Yes... I... sent him here. I feel a responsibility to find him. Do you know where he is?"
Fete's eyebrows raised at his confession. *Well. No matter.* "No, I don't."
"You could come with me. I am looking for him."
Fete shook its head. "We will cover more ground if we split up." It smiled wryly. "Arcane's hell is... very large."
Alec muttered, "I would imagine."


Arcane awoke with a scream. His mind was jumbled and he didn’t know what to think first. Relief: He was still here; horror: had it gone wrong and he was just unconscious with the lethal jolt to come; disorientation; confusion: He looked down at himself. Healed. The bruises had gone; the breaks; the cuts... his head didn’t feel cold anymore. He closed his eyes. Dead and back again! Red ball! *Not again Not again Not again* his fried brain mumbled. Electrocution was such a popular method of execution with these people. Of course, all of them were wretched incompetents and couldn't pull the switch for that chair the right way if their pathetic little lives depended on it. *At least it will be over soon,* he would try and tell himself. *At least I will die. A short respite at least, that.* But of course they always did it wrong, always put him in agony with it.
But why was he still in a chair? He desperately tried to look round again. Wait a minute! His head wasn’t held immobile like before. He couldn’t help noticing it wasn’t the same as the one he’d been in.
He saw the door in front of him opening, and in walked Sheriff Andrews and the bailiff again.
“Welcome back, Arcane.” The Sheriff addressed him. “Ready for your next plaintiff?” Arcane shook his head violently.
“Andy... pl...”
“Don’t say it, Arcane. If I hear the word ‘please’ one more time I may just have to give you a beatin’ as well as your death. I’m sick of it! Haven’t you got it into your thick skull that beggin’s not goin’ t’ help you!? NOTHIN’ is!... Now who’s next plaintiff?” he turned to the bailiff, who went to the door and opened it. Arcane’s eyes widened in fear and recognition as a very familiar face walked in.
“Can you tell us, ma’am, what Arcane did to you?”
The woman looked at the Doctor, who shrank back from her gaze. She seemed to pause a little; “Well...he tried to kill me a real lot of times, Sheriff...” Abigail said sadly; “He sent these watchers after me... killer cyborgs; and he, like, tried to suffocate me in a force field... and...”
“Abigail!” Arcane interjected in a panic. “It...it was nothing personal... I didn’t even know it was you. I was under orders from General Sunderland to just hunt down survivors. I was under a lot of pressure. I swear I didn’t know it was you! You’ve got to believe me!”
“OK, I believe you... but you knew it was me when you tried to poison me with that flower. You kinda enjoyed that.”
“I..I didn’t intend any of that. It was an accident that you were even there. I was testing on the other plants!”
“But you were, like, real happy when you found it worked on me. You came to finish me off, and like I said, you seemed to enjoy it.”
“I’m not the same as I was! I swear it!! Abigail... You’d be killing a different man! I admit what I did to you was wrong... but you survived it!”
“But I didn’t, did I, Arcane!?”
“The poisonous mist killed you, not the orchid... not me!”
“But like, wasn’t the mist created by the swamp when it backlashed against all the chemicals and crud you’d been dumping in it!?”
“I’m sorry, Abigail, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!! Killing me won’t bring you back. Abigail, this isn’t you. Think about who you are. How can you be here?” He desperately tried reasoning with the echo, hoping against hope that the hate portion of this one would be somehow lesser than the others.
“You wish to proceed with the execution, or waive that privilege?” Andrews interjected, breaking Arcane’s emotional assault. Abigail seemed to pause for a moment, surveying Arcane closely.
“Please, Abigail!!” He sobbed. “Don’t kill me!”
“Proceed.” She gave a little sigh and a shrug to Sheriff Andrews, who beamed broadly. Arcane closed his eyes in horror.
“And what method do you choose, ma’am?”
Again, Abigail seemed lost in contemplation for a moment. “Lethal gas.” She said. “I guess that would be only fair.” Arcane just shook his head in denial. “Won’t be a minute, Sheriff!” Abigail seemed struck by an epiphany, and darted out of the room. Minutes later, she returned carrying a small box, which she placed on the ground before Arcane. “I... well, I like thought these might help.” She beamed cheerfully, reaching into the box and removing a couple of potted plants. Arcane’s eyes widened as he gazed at his own Scarlet Moss Orchids. Abigail picked them up lovingly and placed them on a stand by Arcane’s chair. *Wait a minute! That wasn’t there before!* he noticed.
“Guess we’d better go through the formalities before we start.” Andrews reminded here, and she nodded, as they both went through the door at the back again; “We can leave him to get the first dose just to make him sick while we’re gone... and best not get too close to those things, eh?” Andrews spoke to Abigail, who concurred.

As Arcane craned his neck round to get a look at the plants, he noticed them both starting to give off wisps of white vapour. Despite his attempts to move away from them, and holding his breath, he became aware of an intense nausea building up. His throat went dry, and his vision began blurring, before he began coughing and choking. All his muscles ached and became weak, and that nausea got worse and worse. Blackness followed soon after.

When he awoke, the vision was still slightly blurred, but he could make out shapes and some vague detail. The flowers were no longer by his side. He moaned, and stifled another wave of nausea. His head was throbbing with an intense pain, and his breathing was ragged. He felt feverish and chilled at the same time, and his brow was pouring with perspiration. He’d never realised how intensely horrible the symptoms of this deadly flower’s poison was.
“He’s sick enough. Second dose’ll kill ‘im for sure.” He heard Andrews’ voice telling Abigail. He was aware of the smaller figure of Abigail walking away towards the box, and picking up the flowers again. He shook his head weakly, hardly able to speak in more than a whisper.
“Don’t......kill......mercy.....” He had to stop. The effort of talking was just too much.
Abigail placed the flowers down beside him and stepped back. As the mist began to emerge, Arcane felt another wave of weakness. The nausea was too great this time. When he vomited, all that was there was bile and black blood. He was too weak to talk or beg. He just sat there, moaning and crying softly.
He was barely conscious now, but became vaguely aware of Abigail stepping forward with a hand covering her face, and moving the orchids to the other end of the room. She then reached down into the box and produced something else... something small and white, which she placed beside him.
“Sorry, Sheriff.” Through a haze of pain and weakness he heard her voice saying. “I guess real killing’s not me. Maybe if it had been red... like, who knows... but I just can’t. I tried. I’m real sorry.”
“Your choice, Abigail.” Andrews said evenly. “Can’t say I’m not disappointed, but it’s your call. Guess’n you’ll be goin’ over to join the other side now?” Abigail nodded.
Arcane began to feel a little stronger as the antidote effects of the White Moss Orchid beside him kicked in. He stared at Abigail weakly. It had to be a trick! NOBODY here showed mercy. He flinched as Abigail approached and stared at him curiously.
“I’m not like, forgiving you, Arcane. But I guess I’m not killing you either.” She shrugged. “I don’t know... maybe I’ll see you later... maybe not. Like part of me wants to do this, but it doesn’t feel quite right. Yeah, I’ll probably see you if I get it sorted out in my head, like.” She gave another shrug, then just left. Arcane stared at her speechlessly. She’d shown mercy! Someone here had actually shown mercy!! It WAS possible!
“Don’t think it’s goin’t’ turn into a habit, Arcane!” Andrews interrupted his ray of hope. “Always did have a bit of a screw loose, that one. Don’t you be goin’ thinkin’ that others are goin’ t’ behave like that.” Arcane turned to him wearily. “Still 10,000 minus two to go....and that’s just our side! Do you know just how many methods of execution there are, or have been in the world?” Arcane didn’t answer.
“I mean apart from the obvious, Arcane: Hangin’, shootin’, decapitation, disembowellin’, drawin’ & quarterin’, poisonin’, garottin’, burnin’ alive.....You know the French once executed traitors and assassins by slow torture, then tearing their bodies limb from limb between some horses? Read a story ‘bout that once... or what the inquisition used to do? My favourites are some of those from your country in your middle ages... or from those Shakespeare books you so fond of...”
Arcane heard him, but his mind was still reeling from both the concept that someone had shown him mercy... and that he’d been seconds from real and total death; but Andrews’ words were beginning to seep through.
“I think I’m goin’ t’ have me my turn next. Maybe I’ll go for somethin’ along the lines of those iron maidens...” Andrews grinned malevolently & nodded in approval of his own idea. Arcane’s attention was now fully grabbed as he stared at Sheriff Andrews in horror.
“... Or mebbe like that old king of yours, whasisname, Edward II? Yeah, what he got.”
Arcane’s eyes widened in terror at this.
“Yeah, I think that’s what I’ll do.”
Just then, the door opened and three mutants walked in.
“You all wait your turn.” Andrews told them. “I’m goin’ next.” One of the mutants stepped forward.
“I don’t have a problem with that, but you’ll all have to wait. Tressa wants him. Something’s come up.”
“She can have him when the first group’s had their chances. It’s our turn.”
“Not much use if there’s nothing to give her. Besides, she wants him NOW!” The mutant said in no uncertain terms, advancing menacingly on Andrews. “You can have him back when she’s finished.”
Andrews seemed to think on this before giving a slight nod and stepping back. One of the mutants approached Arcane, and undid the straps pinioning him to the chair. As he was dragged roughly to his feet, Andrews walked up to him.
“Don’t you be long with him now;” he glanced away at the mutant. “Fair’s fair!” He turned back to Arcane, staring at him eye to eye.
“See you soon, Doc... I’ll get the brazier warmed up!”

forward to pt. 4, pt. 5

back to pt. 1, pt. 2

return to fanfic page

return to main page