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caraniel13 · 7 days ago

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Across Dimensions : Chapter 33

AD1 AD2 AD3 AD4 AD5 AD6 AD7 AD8 AD9 AD10 AD11 AD12 AD13 AD14 AD15 AD16 AD17 AD18 AD19 AD20 AD21 AD22 AD23 AD24 AD25 AD26 AD27 AD28 AD29 AD30 AD31 AD32

Chapter 33: Integrated Whole

Six months later

The morning light streaming through the east windows of Atlantis's main conference room cast everything in warm gold as Dr. Chephren Mitchell-Lorne reviewed the quarterly linguistics report on her tablet. The hyphenated name still felt new on official documents, though she'd been wearing Lorne's ring for half a year now. Their wedding three months ago had been everything she'd hoped for—a perfect blend of Earth traditions, Athosian customs, and uniquely Atlantis touches that Carson still declared "the finest ceremony I've ever had the privilege to officiate."

"Dr. Mitchell-Lorne," Dr. Weir began, and Cheppy looked up with a smile that had become automatic whenever someone used her married name. "Your translation department's progress this quarter has been exceptional. The new Ancient medical protocols you've decoded have already improved our treatment success rates by thirty percent."

"It helps having a fully integrated team," Cheppy replied, gesturing to the holographic display showing her department's expanded operations. "Dr. Kusanagi's mathematical approach to syntax patterns and Lieutenant Cadman's field experience with Ancient technology have created a comprehensive translation matrix that's faster and more accurate than anything we've achieved before."

Six months of growth had transformed her small linguistics operation into a full department. What had begun as Carson's kindness in giving her basic medical texts to translate had evolved into Atlantis's most successful interdisciplinary collaboration—linguistics, mathematics, archaeology, and field operations working together to unlock Ancient knowledge with unprecedented efficiency.

"The collaboration with the parallel Atlantis has been particularly fruitful," McKay added from his position at the science department's section of the table. "Dr. Marie Mitchell's insights into dimensional communication arrays have revolutionized our understanding of quantum mechanics applications."

The dimensional communication array had become a bridge between realities, allowing both Atlantises to share discoveries and support each other's research. Marie's regular transmissions showed her continued growth and integration with her new team, while providing valuable technical insights that benefited both expeditions.

"Speaking of cross-dimensional collaboration," Sheppard interjected with a slight grin, "we received another message from Marie yesterday. She wanted to congratulate the newlyweds again and share some interesting news about their recent exploration of Ancient research stations."

Cheppy straightened with interest. Marie's messages had become highlights of their monthly communications—not just for the technical data, but for the ongoing evidence of her personal transformation.

"What kind of news?"

"See for yourself," Weir said, activating the communication display.

Marie's image appeared above the conference table, and the change from her original arrival at Atlantis was striking. Gone was the polished, calculating professional who had tried to undermine Cheppy's position. This version looked relaxed, confident in a way that came from genuine acceptance rather than defensive superiority. Her hair was pulled back in a practical braid, and she wore expedition gear that showed signs of recent field work.

"Greetings from parallel Atlantis," Marie began with warmth that would have been impossible six months ago. "I hope everyone is well and that the newlyweds are enjoying married life. Things here continue to evolve in ways I never expected."

The background showed parts of their Atlantis—bustling with activity as personnel went about their duties with the easy efficiency of a team that had learned to work together under pressure.

"We've had some remarkable discoveries lately, particularly in the field of Ancient medical technology. Dr. Chen and I have been working on something we think you'll find interesting—a synthesis of Ancient healing techniques with modern medical understanding that's shown promise for treating complex chronic conditions."

Cheppy's hand automatically moved to her insulin pump, the gesture now unconscious but still a reminder of how her condition had shaped her analytical approach to both language and life.

"The research has personal significance for me," Marie continued, her expression becoming more thoughtful. "Working with people who needed my expertise immediately, without time for competitive games, taught me something important about the value of solving problems that help others rather than just advancing my own career."

"She's found her purpose," Carson observed quietly, his paternal pride evident. "Using her brilliance to help people rather than to prove her superiority."

"More than that," Marie said, as if she'd heard his comment across dimensions, "I've learned what Cheppy tried to tell me about building genuine connections. My team here isn't just professional colleagues—they've become friends. People I care about beyond what they can do for my research."

Marie's smile was soft, genuine in a way that spoke of hard-won wisdom. "Lieutenant Commander Torres has been teaching me Earth poker games, Dr. Chen and I have started a book club focusing on pre-war literature, and Sergeant Phillips somehow convinced me to join their hiking group. It sounds mundane, but these simple human connections have given me something I never had before—belonging that's based on who I am, not just what I can accomplish."

The message continued with technical details about their medical research discoveries, including breakthrough treatments for metabolic disorders that could have applications across multiple realities. But what struck Cheppy most was the transformation in Marie's entire demeanor—from isolated genius to integrated team member.

"Before I close," Marie said, looking directly into the camera, "I want to say something to my counterpart, if she's watching. Cheppy, thank you for showing me what real success looks like. It's not about being the smartest person in the room—it's about using your intelligence to make everyone in the room better. I'm finally learning to be that kind of person."

As the message ended, the conference room fell into thoughtful silence. The contrast between the Marie who had arrived at Atlantis and the woman they'd just seen was profound—a living example of how circumstances could shape character when someone was willing to grow.

"She found her true calling," Weir observed with satisfaction. "Leadership through service rather than dominance."

"And we found ours," Cheppy added, looking around the table at faces that had become family. "All of us, really. McKay collaborating instead of competing, Carson mentoring across departments, everyone learning that we're stronger together than any of us could be individually."

The quarterly meeting continued with reports from other departments, but Cheppy found herself reflecting on the journey that had brought them all to this point. What had begun as a crisis—her accidental arrival, Marie's competitive displacement, the quantum interference that threatened everything—had ultimately revealed truths about connection, belonging, and the different forms success could take.

Later that afternoon, Cheppy made her way to the new linguistics lab that had been constructed in the east pier. The space was larger than her original corner workstation, with multiple translation stations, holographic displays for collaborative analysis, and even a small library of physical books that Teyla had helped acquire from various cultures throughout Pegasus.

"Dr. Mitchell-Lorne," called Dr. Kusanagi from her mathematical analysis station, "I've finished the syntactic modeling for the Ancient historical texts from P7X-541. The pattern recognition algorithms you developed are showing some interesting correlations."

"What kind of correlations?" Cheppy asked, moving to examine the holographic display that showed complex linguistic structures mapped in three-dimensional space.

"The historical accounts reference technological capabilities we haven't encountered yet," Lieutenant Cadman reported from her field equipment analysis station. "Specifically, transportation systems that might be more advanced than the ring transporters we're familiar with."

Cheppy studied the data, her pattern recognition skills immediately identifying the linguistic markers that suggested advanced Ancient technology. "This looks like descriptions of instantaneous transport across galactic distances. Not just between planets, but between star systems."

"Useful if it still exists anywhere," Kusanagi observed hopefully.

"It might," Cheppy said, highlighting specific symbol groups in the text. "These passages suggest the technology was preserved in secure facilities designed to survive the war with the Wraith. Hidden sites that would only become accessible when certain conditions were met."

"Like finding people who could properly translate the access protocols?" Cadman suggested with growing excitement.

"Exactly like that," Cheppy confirmed, already mentally composing a proposal for Dr. Weir. This was what she loved most about her work now—not just translating Ancient texts, but uncovering discoveries that could benefit the entire expedition.

Her radio activated with Lorne's voice: "Cheppy, are you free for an early dinner? I have something I want to show you."

"Always free for you," she replied, then addressed her team. "Excellent work today, everyone. Dr. Kusanagi, please prepare a full analysis of the transportation references for tomorrow's briefing. Lieutenant Cadman, check our Ancient database for any similar technological descriptions."

"You've got it, boss," Cadman replied with a casual salute that still amused Cheppy. Being called "boss" by someone with military training felt surreal, but natural given how their collaborative team had evolved.

She found Lorne waiting in their quarters with a bottle of Athosian wine and an expression of quiet satisfaction that suggested good news.

"What's the occasion?" she asked, accepting a glass of the amber liquid that had become their celebration drink for special moments.

"Two things," he replied, settling beside her on their couch. "First, Sheppard confirmed my promotion to Lieutenant Colonel. Effective next month."

"Evan!" Cheppy exclaimed, setting down her wine to throw her arms around him. "That's wonderful! Well deserved, but wonderful."

"It means more responsibility, probably longer hours, definitely more bureaucratic headaches," he warned, though his smile was broad. "But also more influence over expedition policies, better resource allocation for joint operations, and the authority to implement some ideas I've been developing about integrated team protocols."

"Ideas that might involve a certain linguistics department?" she asked with growing excitement.

"Ideas that definitely involve making sure the expedition's best translator gets the support and resources she deserves," he confirmed, pulling her closer. "But that's not the only news."

He reached for a tablet on their coffee table, bringing up what appeared to be architectural schematics. "Remember the larger living spaces in the east pier that we talked about? The ones designed for families?"

Cheppy studied the plans, recognizing the layout of substantially larger quarters with multiple rooms, expanded workspace, and what appeared to be areas designed for children. "These are beautiful, but why are you showing me—" She stopped, understanding dawning. "We're approved for reassignment?"

"As of this morning," Lorne confirmed, his eyes bright with anticipation. "Dr. Weir fast-tracked our application based on what she called 'exceptional service to the expedition and the probability of continued long-term residence.'"

"Long-term residence," Cheppy repeated with amusement. "That's Weir's diplomatic way of saying 'they're obviously never leaving, so we might as well give them room to grow.'"

"Something like that," Lorne agreed. "But Cheppy, these quarters... they're designed for expansion. For more than just the two of us, when we're ready."

The implication sent warmth spreading through her chest. They'd talked about children in abstract terms, someday-maybes that felt distant given their extraordinary circumstances. But seeing these quarters, designed specifically for families, made those dreams feel tangible.

"When would we move?" she asked, studying the plans more carefully.

"Whenever we want," Lorne replied. "The quarters are available now, but there's no rush. We can take our time setting everything up exactly how we want it."

Cheppy looked around their current quarters—the space where they'd built their relationship, where she'd recovered from quantum cellular breakdown, where Lorne had proposed on their small balcony. It held so many memories, but the plans on the tablet represented something else: a future they were choosing to build together.

"I love this place," she said, gesturing to their current home. "But I love the idea of space to grow even more."

"Good," Lorne said, his relief evident. "Because I may have already spoken to Zelenka about some modifications to the workspace areas. Apparently, he has ideas about integrated Ancient technology interfaces that could revolutionize home-based research."

"You're spoiling me," Cheppy accused with delight.

"I'm planning for our future," he corrected. "All of it—your career, my promotion, the family we might want someday, the life we're building together that keeps getting better than we imagined."

As they sat together planning the details of their expanded home, Cheppy marveled at how far they'd all come. Six months ago, she'd been fighting for her right to exist in this reality, competing with another version of herself for basic acceptance. Now she was leading a thriving department, married to the man she loved, planning for a future that felt both exciting and secure.

That evening brought their monthly team dinner—a tradition that had evolved from Carson's informal gatherings into a celebration that included all the department heads and their closest colleagues. The mess hall had been arranged with multiple tables pushed together, creating space for what had become Atlantis's version of family dinner.

"To Lieutenant Colonel Lorne," Dr. Weir toasted, raising her glass of wine, "whose innovative leadership has improved both our security operations and our interdisciplinary collaborations."

"And to Dr. Mitchell-Lorne," McKay added with surprising warmth, "whose linguistics department has finally given us the translation accuracy we need to stop accidentally activating Ancient death traps."

"That happened one time, Rodney," Cheppy protested with laughter. "And technically, the booby trap was already active when we found it."

"Details," McKay waved dismissively, though his affection was evident. "The point is, your work keeps us alive and makes us smarter. Even I can admit that's valuable."

"High praise from McKay," Sheppard observed with amusement. "Pretty sure that counts as a declaration of eternal friendship."

"Let's not get carried away," McKay protested, though he couldn't hide his smile.

Carson stood to address the group, his expression warm with paternal pride. "If I may be permitted a moment of sentiment," he began, his Scottish accent thick with emotion, "when I first met our Cheppy eighteen months ago, she was lost and frightened, convinced she had nothing to offer this expedition."

Cheppy felt tears prick her eyes as Carson continued, "Tonight, she leads one of our most successful departments, has contributed to discoveries that benefit two realities, and has shown us all what it means to find your place through determination and genuine connection."

"And she makes Lorne smile more than we've ever seen," Teyla added with gentle humor. "Which improves morale throughout the expedition."

"I object to being characterized as grumpy before I met Cheppy," Lorne protested mildly.

"You weren't grumpy," Sheppard corrected. "You were just... professionally focused. Now you're professionally focused and genuinely happy. There's a difference."

As laughter and conversation flowed around the table, Cheppy found herself studying the faces of people who had become her chosen family. Each person had their own story of how they'd ended up in Atlantis, their own journey of finding purpose and connection in impossible circumstances.

"I have an announcement," she said, standing as conversation lulled. "Well, Evan and I have an announcement."

The table fell silent with anticipation, and she could see speculation flickering across various faces.

"We're moving to family quarters in the east pier next month," she began, then paused as understanding dawned on several faces. "Not for any immediate reason," she clarified quickly, "but because we're planning for a future that includes... expansion."

"Expansion?" Carson asked with growing delight.

"Someday," Lorne added, taking Cheppy's hand. "When we're ready for the adventure of raising children in another galaxy."

The table erupted in congratulations and excited planning, with Teyla immediately offering Athosian child-rearing wisdom, Carson discussing the medical considerations of pregnancy in Pegasus, and McKay grudgingly admitting that "little linguistic prodigies might be useful for future translation projects."

"Children who grow up bilingual in English and Ancient," Zelenka mused with scientific fascination. "The cognitive development possibilities are extraordinary."

"Children who grow up knowing that home is about the people you choose to build a life with," Cheppy corrected gently, "regardless of which galaxy you happen to be in."

Later that night, as she and Lorne prepared for bed in quarters that would soon be just a memory, Cheppy reflected on the extraordinary journey that had brought them to this point.

"Any regrets?" Lorne asked, echoing the question he'd posed on their balcony months ago.

"None," she replied without hesitation. "Though I sometimes wonder what would have happened if McKay's experiment had never malfunctioned, if I'd never been pulled through that portal."

"You'd probably still be at MIT, working late in empty laboratories, brilliant but lonely," Lorne suggested.

"And you'd still be here, leading missions and protecting Atlantis, professional but missing something essential," she added.

"We found each other across impossible odds," Lorne observed, pulling her into his arms. "Marie found her purpose in another reality. Everyone ended up exactly where they needed to be."

"Quantum entanglement," Cheppy said with a smile, using their old metaphor one more time. "Some connections transcend dimensions, circumstances, even time itself."

As they settled into sleep in the quiet darkness of their quarters, Cheppy's last conscious thought was one of profound gratitude. What had begun as the worst accident of her life had ultimately led to the best decision she'd ever made: choosing to stay, to fight for her place, to build something meaningful with people who had become essential to her understanding of home.

Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new discoveries, new opportunities to grow and contribute. But tonight, surrounded by the life they'd built together and planning for the future they would create, Dr. Chephren Mitchell-Lorne was exactly where she belonged—integrated whole, completely home, and ready for whatever adventures awaited them among the stars.

The accident had become destiny. The displacement had become belonging. The crisis had become the foundation for a life more fulfilling than anything she could have imagined.

In the end, home wasn't about the galaxy you were born in—it was about the connections you chose to nurture, the purpose you chose to pursue, and the love you chose to build, one day at a time, across any distance and despite any odds.

And in that understanding, surrounded by her chosen family in a city of ancient wonders, Cheppy Mitchell-Lorne had found her perfect, improbable, absolutely right place in the universe.

#stargate atlantis #evan lorne #original character #stargate

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snacklessnights · 18 days ago

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redmustanggirl · 2 months ago

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cowayrentalshop · 5 months ago

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코웨이 더블사이드, 인체공학적 AD7 매트리스

침대가 오래되어 찜찜하시거나 푹 꺼짐으로 인해

불편하셔서 바꾸시려고 하신다면~

이번에는 인체공학적으로 설계되고 양면 경도에

좌/우로 분리된 코웨이 더블 사이드 매트리스로

새롭게 교체해보세요.

가장 먼저, 사이즈는 슈퍼싱글/퀸/킹 3가지이며~

내 몸에 맞게 지지해 주는 AD7 시스템으로 머리,

어깨, 척추, 엉덩이, 허벅지, 종아리, 발을 나누어

빈틈없이 받쳐주어 숙면에 도움을 줍니다.

그리고 리버서블 탑퍼(양면 경도)로 그 날 취향과

컨디션에 맞추어 푹식함 혹은 단단하게 뒤집어서

활용하실 수 있고~

좌/우 분리 경도 조절까지 가능하기에 한 침대를

두개처럼 착외감을 변경해 사용하실 수 있습니다.

여기에 레이어 코튼 혼방 원단, 패더라이크 패딩,

엘라스틱 플레이트 폼이 사용되어 포근한 수면을

취하실 수 있어 만족하실 수 있습니다.

기본 계약은 5~9년 지정을 하실 수 있고 관리도

4개월 방문과 서비스프리가 있어 상황에 따라서

선택하실 수 있습니다.

예로 4개월 방문 타입으로 코웨이 더블사이드를

신청하신다면 시기마다 매니저님이 내방하셔서

오염도를 측정후 꼼꼼하게 UV 살균과 클리닝을

진행 받으실 수 있으며~

방문/서비스 프리 타입 상관없이 1회 무상으로

탑퍼까지 교체받으실 수 있어 장기간 꺼짐이나

오염 걱정없이 숙면을 취하실 수 있습니다.

마지막 프로모션으로 단품 할인이 진행중이며

2가지 이상을 결합하시면 추가로 10%~15%씩

각각 추가 절약하실 수 있고~

한가지만 진행하셔도 최대 사은혜택도 추가로

증정받으실 수 있어 혜택부터 할인까지 모두

빠짐없이 누리실 수 있습니다.

자세한 내용은 상담 문의주시면 취향과 환경에

맞추어 추천까지 받아보실 수 있어 복잡함없이

신청하시고 사용하실 수 있습니다.

#코웨이더블사이드 #매트리스렌탈 #인체공학적설계 #AD7System #양면경도 #좌우분리경도 #취향별맞춤 #슬림탑퍼 #1회무상교체 #4개월방문관리 #UV살균청소 #프로모션할인 #최대사은혜택 #코웨이렌탈

#코웨이더블사이드 #매트리스렌탈 #인체공학적설계 #AD7System #양면경도 #좌우분리경도 #UV살균청소 #방문관리 #탑퍼교체 #추가혜택

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ad700man · 5 months ago

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#Agencia de Marketing Andorra

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diamond-jewellery-for-everyone · 8 months ago

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The Season’s Most In-Demand Earrings Are Finally Back In Stock

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weavercobra · 1 year ago

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Varangian Files SH: Prologue: Puppet, Priest and Parasit

For those who read my overview of the settings I run, you may have noticed that between the original posting and now, the description of Varangian changed. That's because in that time, the scope of the setting changed. We added not only a lot a lot of classical mythology, but also incorporated a lot of modern fiction into the setting. So it's become a sort of massive crossover setting.

And that brings us to this project. You see, with all these stories sharing space, changes were inevitable, both because a somewhat consistent cosmology had to be created, but also because characters from those stories could interact with each other and the original characters of the setting. The question of 'How did this story go down in the Varangian setting' lead to this weird project, somewhere in between a original tale and fanfiction. It's been fun and I wanted to share them with you all. They are written so that no prior knowledge of the setting or the media is required.

This story also features as one of the major characters the OC Dahlia Damutamu, whom the amazing @thecreaturecodex did a great conversion into tabletop of here.

Go check out her other stuff too, it's great and creative. And for those interested, the prologue for this story will be right below.

Prologue: Puppet, Priestess and Parasite

Varangian File: 5GPS1SM Codename “Shadow Man”

In the year 1999, a serious imbalance between the Material Plane(Aka, Earth) and the Necrotic Plane(For more information, see file AD7: Deadside) occurred, with potential fallout that has been estimated to be in the range of either a Class 5 or 6 scenario. As most of the events that transpired happened in the Necrotic Plane, documentation is sparse. Most of the reliable documentation relates to the notorious group of serial killers known as The Five, who were deeply involved in this case. Based on discrete inquiries and a select few channellings of departed spirits, the following is our best attempt at summarising the events that transpired during this case. Further investigation has not commenced as of the date of this report's writing.

...

The sun was slowly setting on the horizon, bathing the skies in amber hues. Music echoed down the streets, carried on the warm air. And the cobblestone streets clacked with the sounds of footsteps, as a woman made her way through the town, passing by the other citizens.

Most people would probably notice her ebony skin and her fine clothes first, a fuzzy blue cloak over a dress in all the warm colours of summer. Other, ruder folk might notice, perhaps even call attention to her prominent nose. The gutter-minded might find themselves gazing longingly at her voluptuous and generously sized features. And the most observant might notice the look in her eyes, sharp, observant and with an equal mix of purpose and thirst.

The latter might very well guess she was not a person to be crossed.

She turned a corner and paused, looking up. Neon lights flash, illuminating the words 'The Wild at Heart'. She smirked, heading towards the door, a few patrons exiting and passing her by.

Inside was what she'd expect, plenty of seats, a pool table and a television above the counter. The smell of alcohol filled the air and faint clouds of smoke were kept visible by the light streaming in through the large windows.

Behind the counter stood the bartender, cleaning a glass. He was dark-skinned, his hair shaved and his toned body dressed in simple clothes. He looked up, his eyes hidden behind a pair of black lenses. “Sorry, we're about to close, Mam.” “Not many bars in New Orleans would close right before nightime,” she commented, stepping closer to the man.

“I know. Special circumstances today.” She reached into her pocket and pulled a card from it. “Honey,” she said, sliding it across the wooden surface. “I am the special circumstances.” She paused, taking in a deep breath. The smell made her cock her head slightly. It was a stale smell. A dead smell. Laced with a touch of the otherworldly. Her eyes narrowed slightly, as the bartender took the card. After giving it a quick once-over, he remarked: “She's waiting upstairs,” before returning to cleaning the glass. “Second room on the right. Try not to burn the bar down.”

“I wasn't planning on starting any fires today,” she replied, heading for the door behind the counter. She paused at the threshold for a moment, before adding: “Well, not here anyway.”

Behind it was a set of old, wooden stairs, each step creaking under her weight. Following the instructions she had been given, she found herself in front of a plain wooden door, the white paint flecking slightly off. She raised a hand, only for a woman's voice behind it to calmly state: “Come in.” “Well, well, someone's prepared,” she noted with bemusement, entering the room. Simple green wallpaper covered the walls, with a single ceiling lamp illuminating it. To one side stood a large bed. To the other a table, two chairs flanking it. And in one chair sat the woman who had called her in.

She was dressed in a black skirt and top, allowing much of her dark skin to show. A few pieces of golden jewellery and strong make-up gave contrast to her features.

The newcomer sat down, and for a moment the two women sized each other up, like a pair of predators glaring at each other across the edges of their territories, scanning each other for potential weaknesses. Each saw strength in the other's eyes, even if it was strengths of two very different natures. If someone were to pass, they'd scarcely be able to guess that both women were centuries old, yet the two both recognised the look of an old soul.

“So,” the guest began. “You must be Mama Nettie, then?”

“I am. And you're Dahlia.” Her tone was warm, sensual and commanding.

“I do not believe any of my followers volunteered my name.” She smirked. “I'm curious. Did your boys dig this up or did the spirits reveal it?” “I'd prefer not to name my sources. You have done enough digging of your own, as it is.” She crossed her arms. “So let us get down to business. What is it you want?”

“I'm looking for a guy. Belal Harrison was his name.” She pulled a photograph out of her dress, twirling it gently between her fingers. “He hid some... Important stuff. And I'm looking into acquiring it.” “Sounds like what you need is a private detective,” Nettie replied, eyebrow raised. “No, you wouldn't dare bother me for something that trivial.”

“Correct. He happens to be dead. Found his tombstone and everything.” She sighed. “Which means I now need to get a hold of his spirit.”

“And that spirit is no longer among us, is it?” Nettie smirked. “I've learnt enough about you to recognise you as a fellow priestess. Binding the spirit of one man to pass on his secrets would be no challenge to you. So, he has passed on to the other side and there he stays in silence.” “You guessed it. Guy couldn't even hang around as ghost long enough for me to interview him,” she confirmed. “I've tried some mediums and channellers, but he is stubborn.”

“Which means, you've been digging around for a way to the realm beyond. You've heard the rumours and now want what I have.”

“Yes. The Shadow Man. Walker between worlds.” She paused. “Rare gift, as far as I know. The dead tend to keep their own.”

“So, what's in it for me?” She steepled her fingers. “I am not in the business of charity. Especially not with gifts of this nature.” “I suspected as much. So I'm gonna offer you a rare and precious thing.” She smirked. “A favour.” “A favour?” “Any favour you want. My unconditional help and aid with anything you might need. And you should know that could be a great boon.”

Nettie paused, considering the offer. She turned to watch as the sun dipped below the horizon, lights turning on in the streets. “You know I'll live long enough to collect,” she responded, gauging the other woman's reactions. “Even if I have to wait a long time for the right opportunity. What did this Belal hide that has you so willing to offer yourself to me?”

“What if I didn't feel like saying?” “Then I'd be a fool to accept. And I'd instead use my people to find out for myself. After all, I can always send him to find this Belal on his own, without you.” The two paused in silence, a thick tension mounting in the air.

Dahlia inhaled, her gaze locked with the other woman's, before she said: “Fine. I have come to understand that Belal managed to dig up a genuine Nephilim artefact. Every source I've interrogated has confirmed it to be real. Yet no one but him knows where he buried the damn thing. I suspect the Mojave, but even I can't very well comb through every square inch of that place. Assuming it's even there and not hidden away in, I don't know, Canada maybe.”

“The Nephilim,” Nettie echoed. “I see. How curious.” “And since I know you're going to ask, I've heard a great deal about the power of their artefacts. I've seen too often what happens when ignorant dumbasses get their hands on that kind of power. We both know these things come bubbling back up to the surface sooner or later. So my best bet is to be the first one there to catch it. Belal Harrison is my chance to do that.” “Hmm, intriguing.” Nettie was quiet for a moment. “Very well, I will accept you offer. A favour for a favour.”

“So, how long do I have to wait? Not to be impatient, of course, but I'd like...” “He'll be here in a moment,” Nettie cut her off. “He'll take you to my church. And from there, to Deadside.”

The floorboards outside creaked and the door opened, as the bartender entered. Yet something was immediately different, a cold glow emanating from behind his shades and through the white fabric of his shirt. “You called?”

“Dahlia, allow me to introduce you to Michael LeRoi,” Nettie said with a flick of her hand. “The one you also know as the Shadow Man. Michael, Dahlia and me have made a little agreement. She wants to take a trip to Deadside, to look for someone.”

He turned to look at her. “I hope you understand, this isn't going to be a walk in the park. Deadside is where everyone goes, even the worst. That place is crawling with all kinds of thugs, brutes and worse.”

“Honey, I can handle myself just fine,” she said, standing up. “I don't doubt that. But if this friend of yours has ended up in one of the real wretched places, we'll be up to our neck in the most psychotic monsters that have ever lived. And I doubt Nettie has explained just what kind of Stygian hellhole it...” He paused. A brief wind billowed through the room.

Dahlia's fist hung in front of his face, the woman herself frozen mid-swing, eyeing him with a satisfied smirk. He had not even seen her move.

“Well, I'll be,” he remarked. “Perhaps I should start out by warning everyone over there about you.” “See,” she said, unclenching her fist and patting him on the shoulder. “A human like you shouldn't worry.” She stepped past him. “I'll be right outside. Could use some fresh air.”

Michael paused, listening as she headed downstairs, before turning to Nettie. “So, can we trust her?”

“Digging up information on her was difficult,” Nettie admitted. “But she was telling the truth. That much I could tell. She'll pay me back what she owes. Beyond that, well, it remains to be seen. But I trust you'll be able to handle her. And while you're at it, see what more you can find out about her. She'd make a great ally, but also a formidable foe and I need to know more about where she stands.”

“I'll do my best,” he said and turned around, following Dahlia out into the streets of New Orleans.

...

The motorboat cut through the dark waters of the swamps, Michael steering it with a hand and Dahlia sitting at the other end, watching patiently. A simple lamp cast a cone of illumination across the waters, guiding them onwards.

Michael allowed himself a moment to glance at the woman he was sharing the boat with. He was by now well aware of the dangers of curiosity, of what happened when one stuck one's nose in other people's business. Yet his position often called upon him to dive head first into the most dreadful secrets that men took with them to the grave. He was no stranger to danger, and his every instinct told him that Dahlia was as dangerous as they came. It was in the air around her, the predatory glances of her eyes and the weight in her words.

The fact that she could apparently somewhat casually move so fast that the human eye couldn't follow was just icing on the cake.

And it was now his job to take her on a VIP tour of the afterlife while trying to ferret out as much information as he could before she found what she was looking for.

Michael could find many things to complain about his current circumstances, were he so inclined, but it being dull wasn't one of them.

“So, Dahlia was it?” he began. Receiving an affirmative nod, he continued with: “Agnetta didn't really give me the full picture. Why exactly do you want to go to Deadside anyway?”

“We're looking for a guy named Belal Harrison,” she replied. “He hid an important artefact that I intend to dig up. I just need him to tell me where it is.” “Right. Think I can fill in the blanks from there,” he noted, casually swerving the boat around an alligator. “You want to go over there and put the squeeze on him until he coughs up where he hid this artefact.” “Correct.”

“Then I'll have to warn you, they can be very hard to intimidate,” he noted. “They're already dead. You can kill him as many time as you want and Deadside will just reconstitute his essence and regurgitate him out again in a new body.”

She looked contemplative. “Michael...” “Just call me Mike.” “Mike, do they still feel pain? The dead I mean.” He paused. “They do.” She smirked unpleasantly. “Then I think I can get him to talk.”

Michael briefly felt nostalgic for his college days, when he still interacted with normal people.

The boat pulled up to a pier and came to a stop. The two got up, the creaky planks quickly transitioning to soft dirt snaking between the trees, ascending into hilly terrain.

“So, what's the deal with this artefact?” Michael asked, leading the way.

“You're a curious one, aren't you,” she replied casually.

“I gather from Nettie that you invested a great deal of effort into finding out about me. And she's not the sort of person you casually bother. Not unless you want to get to Deadside the very fast way. So I figured, it must be important if you're willing to go this far for it.”

“It's nothing personal, mind you;” she replied, after a moment of contemplation. “But everything leads me to believe the Nephilim created some very powerful magical items. Items that could cause a lot of problems in the wrong hands. So, I'll get it first.” “Nephilim,” he echoed. “Said by some to be the children of fallen angels and mortals. And that they ruled mankind before the Flood.”

“Yes. But who knows how much of that is truth?” She shrugged. “Whoever they were, they were good at what they did.”

“So, you're a collector then?” The two of them ascended the rocky road, passing into a tunnel.

“In a sense.”

The answer was evasive, but said in a very decisive way. He decided not to pursue the subject. It was rather obvious that she was keeping her cards close. Pushing harder now was only going to make it more difficult to get anything out of her, especially if she took a disliking to him.

Exiting the tunnel, the two found themselves before the church. Made of white-painted planks, a crucifix above the door and a bell-tower in the back. Surrounding it was rows of gravestones and tombs.

A growl caught the attention of the two, as several dogs peered from among the graves, intently watching them.

“Don't worry about them,” Michael remarked, as he walked towards the church. “They're Nettie's. They won't do a thing as long as you're with me.”

Dahlia paused, then took a deep breath, before following. “That stale smell again,” she noted. “They're dead, aren't they?” “Very.” He stuck a key in the door and opened it, allowing the two to enter. On both sides there were rows of pews, leading up to an altar.

“Speaking of dead,” Dahlia continued. “I can't help but notice you're smelling pretty deceased yourself.”

Michael paused by the altar, before taking his sunglasses off. He turned to Dahlia, his eyes glowing with a ghostly, teal light. “You have a fine sense of smell then,” he noted. “Just like the bloodsuckers who like slinking in when the sun goes away. But yes, I am quite dead. Comes with the job.”

“The job?”

He unbuttoned his shirt. “Of being the Shadow Man. Only one who straddles the line between life and death themselves can walk between worlds.” As he took his shirt off, the source of the glow beneath became visible, a gently glowing teal mask that seemed fused into his chest. “Now then, we're ready to cross,” he commented. “I need only the teddy bear.”

Dahlia paused. “The what now?”

Instead of answering, he headed into a side room, only to return with a small, slightly dishevelled plush bear.

“And for a moment, I thought I had actually misheard,” she replied. “Alright, I'll bite. Why do we need a teddy bear?” He eyed it. “It serves as a focus. A physical link to the world of the dead. It is steeped in lost life, yet remains a presence in the realm of the living. So much like me, it has one leg in the grave.” “Huh.” She frowned. “Seems rather grim for something that cute. What a shame.” Michael paused, eyeing the bear. “A god-damn tragedy is what it is,” he sighed. “It helps connect and transport me between here and there. And by extension, it will do the same for you as long as you're with me. Now, if we want to find this man, we'll need info. And for that, we'll have to head for the Marrow Gates.”

“Well, you're the expert here,” she said. “So, shall we?”

He nodded and took her hand. Then he focused on the bear. He heard faint voices, as a primordial coldness washed over his skin. At once, he felt what little warmth that remained in his body snuff out as all his thoughts shattered like glass. And then vertigo seized him, as he and his companion felt backwards into nothing.

The now empty church fell once more into silence and darkness.

...

Michael paused, taking in the sight in front of him. Rolling hills and grey skies, occasionally interrupted by clusters of trees.

Dahlia still held his hands. She blinked slowly, her legs quivering slightly. Her grip was like a vice and it took a moment before she managed to let go. Taking a deep breath, she leaned against a nearby tree. “What... Was that?”

“Dying,” he replied matter-of-factly.

“Dying?” “That's how you get to the world of the dead.”

“Yes, Michael, I'm well aware of how that works,” she replied, rubbing her temple. “I just figured taking a ride with you would allow me to, you know, get here without dying.”

��No such thing exists as far as I know,” he replied earnestly. “But it skips out on a lot of the messier parts. And we can always go back, unlike most of the people here.”

She took another deep breath, then ceased leaning. “So, it's like that every time?”

“Every.” “That sucks.” “Quite so.”

“Well, at least this place looks nice. If I didn't know better, I'd have thought we were still back on Earth.” “He likes keeping things nice around his gate.” “He who?” “Jaunty. An associate of mine. And a well informed one. He's our best bet to get started.” He took a step forward, letting his gently glowing eyes survey the landscape. He took a deep breath. “And thus we behold the otherworld's welcome. A facsimile of the life we forever leave behind. Yet it is a mask, a facade. Poke its skin and the unique grotesqueness of Deadside cannot help but leap forth, eager to baptise the unwary in revelation. This is the land of the dead and whatever shape it takes, it can never be anything but that.”

Dahlia allowed a pregnant pause to fill the air. “Michael?” “Yes.” “What the fuck was that?” He coughed. “Sorry. I... The place speaks to me. I often find a sort of poetic inspiration on my journeys here.” He waited for a moment, before adding. “I was an English major.”

“Ah, that does explain that,” she conceded. “Anyway, the gate?” “Right this way.”

The two walked towards the cliffs in the distance, quickly finding a dirt road to follow.

“So, you said this Jaunty fellow liked keeping things nice around here,” she remarked.

“He's a gatekeeper. The gates being where the newly dead first arrive here,” he explained. “Each gatekeeper keeps their little slice of Deadside how they prefer it. Well, almost how they prefer it. There's a few things about this place even they don't have a say in. But Jaunty, well, he prefers to give people a soft landing. Settling in can be hard and for most folks, it's nice to see a place that looks like home before they go through the gates.”

“And beyond the gates?” “The rest of Deadside. Some go to become servants of various deities. Some go to become ancestral spirits looking over their families in Liveside. Most just do whatever they please.”

“Well, nice to know there's options,” she remarked. “Better than with some other... Other...” She paused, inhaling the air. A smell heavy in iron flooded her nostrils.

Michael paused. “You okay?” “Oh, it's just. I... Hang on a second.” She walked off the road, following the scent. Round a big tree, she quickly found its source. There was a crack in a hillside, like a jagged wound. And like a wound, blood poured from it, forming a little lake.

Dahlia stared at it intensely. She could feel her heart pumping rapidly with excitement, as saliva began flooding her mouth. The sudden sound of crunching grass, as her companion caught up with her, somewhat broke her out of her rapt fascination. “What... Is that?” she managed.

“All the blood spilt in Liveside ends up here,” Michael explained. “It's from these pools that the dead take their bodies, bursting forth like newborns. And if they die here again, well, then another pool just gives them form once more. As I said, once you're here, death ceases to mean much. You'll always come back.”

“I, uhm, I take it this is what you meant by things the, eh, the gatekeepers don't have a say in?”

“I think if Jaunty had his way, people would spring forth from pools of beer.” He turned. “Speaking of, we should keep going.” Dahlia paused for a while, before tearing her gaze from the pool with a: “Yes. Sure.”

...

The road lead to a canyon in the mountains, at the end of which the two came face to face with the Marrow Gates. These rib-like gates were big enough that a giraffe would find plenty of space and three elephants could walk in side by side without squeezing. Dahlia even suspected that they were made from bone, although whether it was the actual ribcage of some humongous giant or the result of tons of skeletons being fused together she couldn't discern.

In fact, the cage was such a notable sight that it took her a moment to notice the creature in front of it, an emerald-scaled snake with a human skull, a pair of red eyes and a top-hat completing their bizarre image.

“Hello there, Mikey,” they greeted her companion. “Been a while since you've visited these parts. Suppose Nettie's kept you close to keep topped up on that voodoo juice, eh?” He turned slightly to look at Dahlia, then returned his attention to the undead man. “Now, I know that ya rarely take my advice, but I have ta say, I like this place, but it ain't the best place for a date.”

“She ain't my date, Jaunty,” Michael corrected him. “Her and Agnetta made a deal. We're helping her find a dead guy.” “Well, ya come to the right place. Lots of those 'round these parts.”

“A specific dead guy.”

“Right, right, don't get ya knickers in a twist. I assumed as much. What's the bloke's name then?”

“Belal Harrison,” Dahlia responded.

Jaunty curled up slightly, allowing him to rub his jaw with the tip of his tail. “Belal Harrison you say. I think I remember that name. Can't say for sure it's yer guy, but could be worth checking out.”

“It's worth a shot. Now where is he?” “Can't rightly remember. But I'll find out in a jiffy. Mikey, mind helping me out with me papers? Got it written down over here somewhere.”

Michael followed the serpent over to a pile of seemingly assorted stuff, including crates of various materials and several caskets of whiskey. “Since when did you have papers?” he quietly inquired.

“I haven't kept paperwork since me school days,” he replied, making an effort to visibly shuffle through the stuff. “Just needed a wee chat with you alone Mikey. So, that lady, what's her deal?” “That's what I'm trying to find out.” “Ah. Nettie's trying to get the scoop on her.” He paused. “She ain't human, that's for sure.” “She hinted at as much.” He paused. “How did you figure that out?” “It's her eyes. I get ta look a lot of people in the peepers ya know, keeping me gate and all. And let me tell ya, if she's human I'm the Queen of England. But I couldn't tell ya what she is.” “No. And neither could Agnette. But so far she's friendly enough. But she is planning to make Belal talk, one way or the other. That's for sure.”

“Poor guy. So, she single?” “I haven't asked her.” “Figures. Well, I suppose with Nettie, you've already got enough to handle without her walking all over you too. Might have a chance then.”

“She's going to skin you, you know that right?” “I've dated women like that before. Besides, I'm already dead, right? Ah, but that can wait. Let me just get this and...” He turned around and, with some effort, unfolded a blank scroll. “Right, here it was. Belal Harrison moved up to the Stormstruck Cliffs. Real original name. It's on account of all the great weather they have.”

“Not the first neighbourhood I'd consider,” Michael noted.

“Yeah, well, its got a bunch of wisemen and mystics. Apparently, it's good reception for visions. Living in a lil' commune.” He stuffed the scroll back into the pile. “But the way I hear it, that 'lil community of theirs might not last much longer.” “Oh?” Dahlia asked.

“A warband of shiverers, walkers and other neer-do-wells have set their sights on it for some bloody reason. So they plan to throw them out.” He paused. “Well, kill all of them, actually, but 'round these parts that's pretty much the same thing.” “And if that happens, we're going to lose our trail,” Michael commented.

“Won't he just pop out somewhere?” Dahlia inquired. “As you said, no one dies here permanently.” “The operative word being 'somewhere', lass,” Jaunty informed her. “Deadside house a lot of dead people. Like, a whole lot. It's vast, dangerous and I've never seen a complete map of the place I could trust. That's the dangerous part about dying here. Ya might well come back in a den full o' duppies who think skinning people is hilarious afternoon fun, and before ya know it, yer hanging from a wall with hooks through yer hands watching someone use yer stomach lining to make bongo drums.”

Dahlia paused. “Alright, I see the problem. How do we get there?” “Ah, glad ya ask. Ya got options.” He pointed with his tail, back out of the canyon. “Ya can pick a direction and when ya get to the edges of me realm, you can wander into the mad unknown of Deadside and see if the loa take enough pity on you to put you were ya need to go.” Michael sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Or, I can open these here gates and let ya go straight there,” he finished, gesturing to the gates.

Dahlia looked to the Shadow Man. “Is he...” “Always like this? Yes, unfortunately,” he replied. “Jaunty, just open the gates. We've apparently got a time limit.” “Right, right. No need to bite me skull off, just a lil' joke is all.” He turned to the gate. “Alakazam!”

With a creaking, the gates opened, allowing access to the dark tunnel behind it. “Won't even bother asking if the two of ya want ta share a drink before you head out.” “Well, maybe I could drop by for a sip later,” Dahlia noted with a smirk.

“Oh, I'd be right pleased ta have ya as me guest.”

Michael rolled his eyes and walked towards the opening, gesturing Dahlia to follow him while commenting: “Let's go before Belal gets strung up and we have to comb through the pits to find him again.”

As the two entered the dim light of the tunnel, Dahlia commented: “Festive friend you've got there. Who made someone like him the gatekeeper?” “Nettie did.” “Really?” she replied, surprised. “That's something she can do?” “Yep.”

“Huh. Hmm, I might actually have underestimated her, if she has that kind of influence.” “A lot of people do.” Michael paused. “A lot of those people get to chat with Jaunty real suddenly.”

...

It had been about six minutes of walking in silence, when the two spotted a light in the distance. It was a further four before they reached it. And the moment they set foot beyond the darkness of the tunnel, they were immediately buffeted by wild winds.

Before them towered a great, jagged mountain. On various plateaus were buildings, connected by a network of ladders, ropes and bridges. Above twirled dark clouds, occasionally releasing a payload in the form of a blinding bolt of lightning, which struck one of several metal rods jutting out of the structures.

“That's quite some weather,” Dahlia commented, her hair whipped back and forth by the currents.

“Stormstruck Cliffs,” Michael echoed. “I suppose we can hardly blame the people for such an appropriate name.” He rubbed his chin. “And behold the stormy cliffs, where nature's rage brings with it furious enlightenment. As the skies above churn with a furious storm, unabating, unceasing, relentless, the wise contemplate in the shadows of stone. Wisdom delivered at the tip of the lightning, a flash of inspiration made manifest. Calm and chaos, united beyond life and death, as primal disorder begets knowledge.”

“Have you ever actually been here before?” Dahlia inquired.

“No.”

“Could have fooled me with that verse.”

“I'll take that as a compliment.” “You should. Now, let's go find this guy before we get blown away.”

The cliff-side they had emerged on connected to the main mountain by way of a rope bridge. A bridge which swayed back and forth as the winds shifted. The two began moving across the creaking structure carefully, hands on the ropes at all times.

Dahlia chanced a glance over her shoulder, noticing that the tunnel they had arrived through was gone. “Hey, Michael,” she called over the wind. “How do we get back without the tunnel?” “The bear,” he replied. “With it, I can go anywhere I've ever been with it.”

“Sounds useful.” “Yes. Though... There are some limitations.” He paused, as a particularly vicious gust almost turned the bridge sideways. “But I'll tell you later.” Carefully and slowly, they managed to get across, the creaking ropes and planks providing an ominous symphony. Fortunately, the craftsmanship was sound enough that the duo could arrive on the other side unharmed. The wind, while still fierce, abated somewhat as the mountain blocked most of its fury.

Dahlia took the opportunity to get her now quite messy mane of hair in order, while looking over the buildings and the citizens who were starting to pay attention to the newcomers. “Michael,” she began. “What's up with them?”

The undead man looked to the people in question. Their skins were waxy and unhealthily pale, their eyes sunken and lifeless. Some wore various garbs, though plenty also just walked about naked. “They're dead,” he responded. “That's what's up with them.”

“So this is what people look like over here?” “Some. Others... Change. Let's go introduce ourselves, lest they start thinking we're here to cause trouble.” He approached the throng, speaking aloud: “I am the Shadow Man, Lord of Deadside, Walker between Worlds. I have come here to speak with one of you, the one called Belal Harrison. Where may I find him?”

There was a nervous mumble among the crowd, as they quickly conferred with one another. Finally, one stepped forward. “Sage Belal lives at the mountain's peak, my Lord. I do not believe he is presently busy.” Michael looked upwards, noting the hut far above at the very tip of the mountain. “Of course he does,” he sighed.

...

It was a long, arduous climb. The two had to climb ladders, ascend staircases and cross more rickety bridges. All while slowly losing cover from the wind, each step becoming more challenging than the previous.

As they began going up the final set of stairs, a spiralling affair carved directly the mountain, Michael turned to his companion: “I wanted to go over how we're going to approach this.”

“Yeah?” “I figure, before you get to work flensing the poor man, that we'd offer to help. What with the incoming vandals.” He paused. “Besides, keeping some semblance of peace over here is part of my job.”

Dahlia shrugged. “Sure.”

“And here I almost expected you to protest.” “Nah, Honey. Less risk he gives me some bullshit lie your way,” she explained. “A lie I'll only see through once I've combed through who knows how many square miles of terrain looking for an artefact that won't be there. So sure, sugar over vinegar and all that.” He nodded. “Alright. Good to know we're on the same page.”

Finally reaching the top, they beheld the hut. It was small, surrounded by several rods that dispelled the frequent lightning into the earth.

Michael approached the door and knocked.

“Come in,” a voice croaked.

Exchanging one last glance, the two travellers headed inside.

The interior was minimal, consisting only of a bookshelf filled with tomes, a small table with a chair and a soft mat, upon which sat the house's owner. Like the other residents, he was a pale being, with a long white beard. He opened his eyes, two dark pools with only the barest hint of a pupil, and said in a withered voice: “So, you've finally come.” “You already know who I am then,” Michael surmised.

“I know who the both of you are.”

“Really now?” Dahlia replied, eyebrow raised. “And how, pray tell, have you gotten to know us?”

“I studied prophesy, even when I still walked among the living. I sought out sages on matters of fate and destiny, learnt of the patterns that bind us all.” He slowly stood up. “And how those patterns might be undone. I'm ready to tell you where you'll find your prize.” The two exchanged slightly confused glances.

“That's it? After how much of a nuisance you've made of yourself, hiding away here, negating every single attempt to channel you or call upon you, you're just gonna tell me?” she asked with annoyance.

“Of course. You have done exactly what I wanted of you.” “I what?” “You have met with the Shadow Man. Just as I foresaw. That is all I needed of you. I have no reason to withhold the information you seek.” She inhaled sharply. “Michael, could you take over for a moment before I throw him off the fucking mountain?” The undead man coughed. “So, why was it so important that Dahlia and I met?”

“Dark days loom ahead of us. Fate is dragging us all towards tragedy. For the two of you to overcome destiny itself, you'll need each other,” he replied.

“Could you be more specific than that?” The Deadsider shook his head.

“Typical. Well, then I guess you're getting what you came for,” he said to his companion.

“And yet I'm still annoyed,” she replied. “Fine. Where did you hide that damn artefact?”

“Missouri, near the Mississippi. I'll show you on a map, if you have one.”

“I do,” she tersely remarked, pulling a piece of paper from under her shawl. “Figured it might come in handy.”

“Alright. It should be... Around here.” “Noted. Have fun. Let's bounce, Michael.”

“Not yet,” he said. “First, I have been informed of the threat that your community here is facing.” Dahlia rolled her eyes. “Oh come on now, Honey. We got what we came for, didn't we?”

“We did,” he agreed. Then he refocused on Belal. “I am willing to lend you my power in defending this place. What can you tell me about these raiders?”

Dahlia threw her hands in the air with an exasperated expression.

“They are led by a man named Yort. He's made a name of himself as a minor warlord, trying to carve out a personal fiefdom,” Belal explained. “Now, he's decided that his fiefdom will be built on the ruins of our home. When we heard they were coming, we destroyed several of the outmost bridges. But it has only slowed them down.”

“I see.” Michael turned to his companion. “This should give me enough time to transport you back to Liveside.” She looked contemplative for a moment. “Nah, Honey. I'll be honest, you might need the help. So I'll stay. Besides, could be fun to get to flex in front of you.”

“You have my gratitude,” Belal noted with a nod.

“Can it, Mr. Vague. I'm not doing it for you,” she remarked with annoyance. “I'm already owing Mama Nettie a favour, but you're the one doing the heavy lifting, Michael. Seems only fair I give you something too. So I'll help you keep this little podunk village safe.” She smirked, a hungry gleam in her eyes. “But if there's something else I could do to reward you, I'm certainly up for taking suggestions.”

“I'll stick with you giving me a hand here.” “Suit yourself, Honey.”

“Now then, I must admit, your people didn't exactly strike me as a fighting force,” Michael remarked, returning his attention to the bearded Deadsider.

“We can hold our own against the odd horror, but against a band like the one that follows Yort...” He shrugged. “We're researchers and scholars foremost. We've relied upon the very nature of the mountain to deter others. But now, Yort seems to find that those very same features makes for an excellent fortress.” “So we'll be mostly on our own. I can work with that.” He rubbed his chin. “Where will they be coming in from?”

“The only feasible way after we cut the bridges will be the path up the mountain. It's broad enough that we can drag a cart up it.” “But it'll still bottleneck them. Alright. I'll get down there. In the meantime, try to move everyone up into the higher buildings. If me and Dahlia have to fall back, then we'll still be able to raise Hell without risking you lot getting caught in the crossfire.”

“I'll spread the message. Thank you once again, Shadow Man.”

As the two left the hut, Michael turned to Dahlia. “So, I'll be blunt. What can you do, besides move fast?”

“A lot of things, Honey,” she coyly replied. “What about you? You're the Shadow Man. You must have something impressive up your sleeve.”

He opened his hand and in a flash of bluish flame, an object manifested. It had the rudimentary shape of a handgun, but made from bone, its muzzle a small opened-mouthed skull. “I have a gun.”

Dahlia managed almost two seconds of composure, before a chortle escaped her, quickly transitioning into becoming full blown laughter.

Michael weathered it with stoicism.

“Sorry,” she said, still giggling. “I'm just... Anything else?”

“Nope.”

“Really? That's it? You can summon a really edgy pistol?” “The Mask of Shadows does allow me to channel voodoo magic. With the right enchanted items. Of which I currently have this.” He lifted his weapon. “But don't underestimate it. The Shadow Gun channels the power of the mask, the power of death itself, into every shot. It reaps the life from my foes, allowing me to feast upon it.”

Dahlia rested a finger against her face. “Does it now? Fascinating.” “Now, I think I've been very gracious in regards to you evading the question,” Michael continued. “Whatever you may look like, you're not human. So I want to know what you're bringing to the table.”

“I suppose there's little reason in keeping up this charade,” she admitted. “Not like I need to keep a low profile here. Alright, you wanna see the real me, Michael? Then I'll show you.” She smiled again, but this time, it began growing wider, much wider than a human should be capable of. Her nose began enlarging with the creaking sound of shifting flesh and cartilage. Her eyes grew bigger, taking up more and more of her skull. And then the surface of her eyeballs seemed to fracture, as the colour deepened into a dark red. Her hair receded, while her skin turned black and bumpy, slowly hardening into exoskeleton. With the exception of her fuzzy cloak, her clothes began slowly shifting around her, fading into nothing. Her entire body enlarged, quickly growing in size to be a couple of heads taller than her companion. Gossamer wings unfolded from her back, flickering as muscles grew to anchor them. The nails extended into claws, the flesh of her fingers becoming covered in segmented plates. The flesh of her torso rippled, as with a gruesome sound of tissue tearing, a second pair of arms unfolded. Her rear bloated, the skin turning translucent as red fluid filled the swiftly ballooning abdomen.

Michael found himself taking a step back. “Jesus Christ.” “So,” Dahlia began as she stepped closer, having now shifted into a form that could best be describes as an anthropomorphic mosquito with the dentures of a great white shark. “What do you think?”

“I think I have a lot of questions,” he replied. “If you don't mind me asking, what are you?” “We're just us. Although, if you prefer something you could report to Nettie, the Ewe did call us adze,” she replied. “I did always like that name.”

“Duly noted. Well, I'm starting to like our odds,” he commented. “Alright, here's my plan. I'll confront them, see if I can intimidate them into backing off. If they're smart, they'll take that out.” “And if they don't?”

“Then we fight. I'll keep the frontlines busy. Meanwhile, since you can fly, you can hit them from other angles.” He paused as lightning ripped through the air with a deafening boom. “Unless of course this is no fly weather.” “Honey, I've flown through hurricanes,” she replied, cracking her knuckles. “A little bit of wind ain't gonna stop me from having some fun.”

...

A broad path snaked around the lower levels of the mountain. And up this path marched a throng of various Deadsiders. Some were like the villagers, pale-skinned and dark-eyed but still close to their once mortal forms, clad in tattered armour and wielding rough weapons. Others were more feral looking, with spindly limbs, sharp claws and sharper teeth, savagely growling at the prospect of battle. And at the front walked, or rather crawled, Yort. Easily standing almost three meters tall, his legs had merged and melted into a fleshy, grub-like mass that tapered into a long tail.

However, he paused as something appeared on the path ahead.

Michael looked down on the group, arms crossed. Attempting a quick headcount, he guessed there was probably between thirty and forty of them. The usual kind of lowlife that made Deadside such a rough neighbourhood, and certainly more than the village could handle, but it wasn't anything he hadn't seen before. Well, except for the guy in front. He couldn't remember seeing anyone with that particular malformation before. “I am the Shadow Man,” he announced to them. “Lord of Deadside. Immortal Voodoo Warrior. I have sworn to safeguard these villagers. You lot are not welcome here. Turn back now, or I will send your souls scattering across the entirety of the afterlife.”

A murmur rippled through the throng.

Michael allowed himself a smirk. The goons had come expecting to easily kick the people out. Now that there was suddenly someone like him there, not all of them were as eager.

Yort snorted derisively. “I've heard of you. Lord of Deadside my ass.” He pointed a clawed finger. “You're nothing but an errand boy. A messenger.” “You're right. I am a messenger,” Michael agreed. “And the message I bring is simple enough even you should be able to get it through your thick skull.” He lowered his head slightly, glaring at the warlord. “Begone.”

Yort looked at some of his followers, then signalled with a wave of his arm. “Get him!”

A couple of goons on each side broke into a charge.

Michael raised his gun, teal energy gathering in the skull's mouth with an uncomfortable whistling noise, before firing its projectile.

It struck one of the attacker's in the face. Their body began convulsing as the energy surged through them, dissolving them into red mist, until with a clank their armaments fell to the ground.

Michael held up his hand, absorbing the small cloud of essence, feeling the surge of rejuvenation. “I warned you,” he remarked, aiming the gun once more.

Yort scowled, then yelled: “ATTACK HIM ALREADY!”

Michael fired another shot, striking one of the goons in the stomach. His next shot hit a raider in the legs. They fell to the ground, clawing at their limbs as the energy ate through them.

A third had managed to close in, swinging a club at the undead man. Michael raised his arm, blocking the blow. He could feel something crack in his arm, but he was used to the pain. The important part to him was preventing any attack that might instantly take him out. He jabbed his gun into the club-wielders guts and fired, leeching their lifeforce as their body was consumed. This was accompanied by the immediate feeling of his bones resetting into their proper place.

He began stepping backwards as more of the invaders tried to close in. One got struck in the shoulder, but her demise allowed another to move into melee range, one of the more feral Deadsiders. They swung their hand, aiming to eviscerate the Shadow Man.

Michael pulled back, instinctually curving his spine and sucking his gut in. He felt the claws scrape against his skin, enough to draw blood. It smarted, but he didn't let it distract him, instead seizing the opportunity to fire his gun now that his assailant was too close to evade.

The back-rows of Yort's bandits started shuffling nervously, realising that the front-lines had so far only forced the Shadow Man to cede a couple of meters of road, all while getting decimated by the guardian. Some began readying bows, weapons that had initially been deemed useless due to the weather, but at this point it seemed safer than approaching the Voodoo Warrior.

A buzzing whine, steadily increasing in volume, suddenly got their attention. Some looked up, realising with horror that they were seconds from being struck from the one angle they hadn't imagined.

Dahlia descended with great speed, slamming into the column. Two unlucky deadsiders were immediately crushed under her weight. A couple of more were pushed over the side of the mountain, as their comrades backed away from the giant mosquito.

Her teeth bared in a feral grin, Dahlia lashed out with her limbs. One raider was decapitated, while another fell to the ground, clutching their entrails. One of the feral Deadsiders leapt at the adze, more out of desperation than bravery. She snatched them out of the air before closing her teeth around their neck. She felt blood explode into her mouth and greedily drank it. It tasted stale compared to her usual fare, but still delighted her on an instinctual level. She then hurled the body over the side and turned, her dentures still marinated in crimson.

This was too much for the raiders, who broke rank to either run back down the path or attempted to climb down the mountain sides, most without success.

Realising that his band was falling apart, Yort snarled angrily and slithered forward towards Michael, pushing some of his own minions out of the way as he did.

Seeing the warlord charging, Michael aimed and fired. Yort, however, proved more nimble than his fellows, dodging the two first shots. As he was about to bear down upon the Shadow Man, the undead gunslinger fired a third time, catching him in the chest.

Yort recoiled, arms wrapped around his chest as a cold pain burnt him. He snarled and rebounded, faster than Michael had anticipated, lashed out with his clawed hands in wild and unpredictable swings.

The Shadow Man raised his gun again, aiming for the cavity of burnt flesh his first hit had created, only for a strike to knock his arm aside, carving a vicious gash in the process.

Yort swung his body, catching his unbalanced opponent's legs with his tail, sending Michael to the ground. He rose above him, getting ready to tear into his flesh.

Dahlia saw what was happening and dropped the Deadsider she had just sucked dry of blood. She dug her claws into the ground, her wings vibrating intensely with energy. It was like the world around her slowed, as she focused her entire being. And then she shot forward.

She slammed proboscis first into Yort's back, running him through. The Deadsider managed a gurgled roar of pain as his spine shattered, one of his lungs collapsed and his ribcage splintered outwards.

Michael wasted no time in seizing the opportunity. Using the protruding proboscis as leverage, he jumped up and shoved his gun in the warlord's open mouth.

Yort's eyes widened in futile realisation.

The back of the Deadsider's skull exploded into fragments, gore and teal flames. He went limp as his body became rapidly consumed by the energy of the Shadow Gun, dissolving into a red mist that seeped into Michael, restoring his arm in the process.

“There,” he said, un-summoning his weapon. “I doubt they'll be back.” He nodded respectfully to his companion. “Thanks for the help.” “Like you needed it, Honey,” she replied. “I saw you fight. You know, if you can do that with just a gun, I'd love to see what kind of carnage you could unleash with a full arsenal.”

“Hardly need that for dealing with these kinds of assholes,” he replied, gesturing to the few survivors still running full speed down the road. “And I kinda hope I won't need more.”

“But then there's what our friend, His Holy Vagueness, said to us,” Dahlia responded.

“Yeah. I need to report that to Agnetta, see was she makes of this. But speaking of Belal, we should inform him that his village is safe for now. And then we can go home.”

...

The church was quiet, illuminated only by the moonlight.

And then, the next instant, Michael and Dahlia stood there. The adze wobbled for a second, before leaning against a wall. “Why... Why does the return trip feel just as bad?”

“Because you're getting resuscitated,” Michael explained, as he walked off with the bear. “Passing through the veil, whatever way you go, is going to be uncomfortable.”

“So I gather. Spirits, my head is spinning like a merry-go-round,” she replied. “Anyway, before I go doll myself up again, I had a proposition.” “And what would that be about?” he inquired as he returned to the room.

“I'd like a sparring match with you.”

“Is that so? Why?” “Because I'm curious. I know those dumbasses back in Deadside weren't even close to pushing you. And as for what's in it for you, I know Nettie's asked you to get as much info on me as possible.” She smirked, showing off a bit of her jagged teeth. “Trust me. You can learn a lot about a person by squaring off. And besides...” The smirk became a grin. “I don't need to worry about accidentally killing you. So I can let a bit loose.”

“Right. I can see the appeal. For you.” He folded his arms, contemplating the offer. Dahlia wasn't wrong that he had been told to gather information. Trying to figure out how powerful she was fell under that. He had seen her fight, true, but what she had said about him held true for her too. The raiders had not even been close to a challenge. “Alright then,” he finally said. “Out back.”

Behind the church, which it took a moment for the adze to squeeze herself out of, lay more graves and beyond them lay a glade.

“Now that's a nice little place you got here,” Dahlia noted. “Perfect for a little skirmish.”

“Yep. Didn't want to knock over any graves. Afterlife's rough enough without us desecrating their final resting places,” Michael noted, as he turned around to face her. “So, any rules?” “Unless you became mortal within the last five minutes, I really don't think we need rules,” she remarked. “After all, I can't kill you.” The smile returned, like that of a cat cornering a mouse. “And you can't kill me.”

The Shadow Gun reappeared in Michael's hand. “And you're sure of that?” “Very.” “Alright then. Let's dance.”

Dahlia leapt into battle, her wings buzzing and claws outstretched.

The Shadow Man jumped to the side, barely avoiding being pinned under her bulk. Quickly lifting his weapon, he squeezed the trigger and fired.

The teal bolt struck her arm. She hissed, as a jolt of pain went through her body. Eyeing the spot that had been hit, she noted how her exoskeleton had warped and even melted, like plastic exposed to fire. She snarled and closed in, swinging her claws.

Michael ducked under one limb, only to be caught off guard by a strike from her second set of arms. It struck him from the side, sending him bouncing across the grass with a bleeding gash on his side. He managed to halt his momentum with his limb, skidding to a halt, quickly raising his weapon and fired a couple more shots, now confident that he could injure her.

Dahlia's wings buzzed as she quickly slipped from side to side, evading the barrage. She darted in, grimacing as a fourth shot clipped her side. She began attacking again, relentlessly alternating strikes from her limbs to keep her opponent off balance. Another shot struck her chest. She growled, stepping forward, using her sheer bulk to force Michael to quickly step back. Seeing a moment of unsteadiness, she swung her hand outwards, smacking him in the head and sending him crashing to the ground.

The voodoo warrior's head spun and he was pretty sure he just got a concussion. He was still trying to remember which direction the sky was supposed to be, when he felt himself being picked up by Dahlia, who made sure to keep his gunarm pointed away from her.

“Well, that was fun,” she remarked. “And now the part I was really curious about.” Her eyes practically glowed with hunger. “How does a Shadow Man's blood taste?” She opened her mouth wide and pulled him in.

Michael could think of only one way to prevent her from closing her oversized beartrap of a mouth around him. Quickly, he unsummoned his gun and recalled it to his other hand.

The sudden explosion of pain caused Dahlia to instinctively hurl her prey away from her. She reflexively reached into her mouth, tasting blood. Her own, this time. And part of her tongue was definitely missing.

“Sorry,” Michael commented, as he got back on his feet. “Just figured, what with you being so curious, maybe you wanted to know what death tasted like.” He raised his gun to fire again.

She snarled and focused, feeling energy crackle through her body. To her perception, reality slowed down, her opponent's finger almost frozen as he tried to pull the trigger. Her wings buzzed as she took off, shooting towards the undead human at full speed. She pulled her fist back and slammed it into his stomach, watching with no small amount of satisfaction as his flesh rippled from the impact.

And then reality returned to its normal speed.

With a slam that echoed like a gunshot, Michael was sent flying back across the glade, crashing into a tree hard enough to splinter it.

She took a deep breath, focused on composing herself, then sauntered towards the pile of splintered wood. “I must admit, that was clever.” She towered over the mess that had buried her opponent. “But unless one of your powers as the vaunted Lord of Deadside is an immunity to trees, I believe victory goes to me. And I'll take as my prize a nice, long sip of your blood.” She heard a click and felt something poke her abdomen.

“Now I'm the curious one,” Michael noted. “What happens if I fire a fully powered shot into this thing? You seem to keep a lot of blood in there.”

She looked over her shoulder. “Okay, how?” He smirked and raised his other hand, holding the bear in it. “You just killed me, you know. So I decided to come back here, right behind you.” “Didn't you leave that in the church?” “Did I?”

She paused, realising she had never seen him actually put it away. “Well, fuck,” she muttered. “Sneaky lil' bastard, aren't you.” She shrugged. “Alright, we'll call this one a tie. Mind you, puncturing my abdomen wouldn't kill me, but I admit it would hurt like nothing else.” She turned, observing him. ”That gun is actually quite potent. Consider me impressed. And trust me, I'm not easily impressed.” “Then we're done here I take it?” he noted. Receiving a confirming nod, he turned while adding: “Alright, let's get to the boat. Just need to drop this off at the church first.”

...

By the time they were back in town, the sun was rising once more.

Dahlia, back in her human guise, eyed her companion. As the skies were overtaken by the soft glow of dawn, the light in his eyes faded and the subtle glow under his shirt vanished. “You stopped glowing I noticed.” “Yep.” “Why?”

“Daylight.”

“I did wonder if that was just a coincidence.” They stopped outside the Wild At Heart. “So, guess I'll be heading off. I have an artefact to find.” “Best of luck with that,” Michael replied.

“I'll probably be back sooner or later. Still owe Nettie that favour and I might require your service again.” She smirked. “Or maybe other services. You seem very talented.”

“I'll keep that in mind. You have a good day now, Dahlia.” With that he headed inside. He took a moment, breathing in the familiar scent of booze and tobacco, before heading upstairs to Nettie's room.

The moment he stepped through the door, she asked: “How did it go?” “We found the guy. Surprisingly forthcoming with info,” he replied. “Chose to help them out with some duppies causing havoc.” He sat down across from her. “And then once we got back, she wanted to duel me.” She raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, my reaction too. I think she wanted to get a better read on my skills. And an excuse to drink my blood.” He paused as the priestess handed him a glass of cool beer. “Thanks. So, Dahlia, she's something called an adze. Or at least, that's what she told me. Turned into a Michael Jordan sized mosquito once she dropped the human act.”

“An adze,” Nettie echoed. “I will have to do some research. What else did you learn from her?” “She was very guarded with information. But she's powerful, brutal and very willing to get her hands dirty. I managed to get her a couple of times with the Shadow Gun while we were fighting. And it stung her, make no mistake. But I was nowhere close to doing lasting harm until I managed to surprise her. And even then...” He shrugged. “And with how close she held her cards to her chest, I suspect there's a lot I've not seen yet.” “I see. At first I suspected she might have been another bokor like Papa Morte, out to encroach on my territory. Or perhaps a new wannabe vampire lord, seeking to stake a claim in New Orleans.” She folded her hands. “But with what you and I have learnt, I'm realising that I've probably underestimated her.”

“Maybe. But for now, it seems she'd rather be an ally than an enemy.” “Good. Anything else?” “Yeah. It's about Belal. Turns out, the reason he was giving Dahlia the runaround is some sort of prophesy.” He took another sip. “Said that he needed Dahlia and me to meet to avoid some future tragedy. Know anything about that?”

“I might know what he's referring to,” she noted. “Your predecessor and I tracked down a most dire prophecy back in the day. It foretold of the coming of the end of days.”

“Yeah, had a feeling it would be something like that,” Michael remarked. He finished his drink. “Well, if the end of days are coming, at least we'll be able to call in our new bloodsucking friend for backup.”

#tabletop #varangian #shadow man #story

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#posts of babel #neue posts of babel #screenreader unfriendly #eyestrain

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activefitnessstoreuae12 · 1 year ago

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Schwinn is a renowned brand in the bicycle industry, known for producing a wide range of bikes that cater to different needs and preferences. Schwinn offers various models including road bikes, mountain bikes, hybrid bikes, cruisers, and exercise bikes for indoor cycling. Here’s a detailed overview of the different types of Schwinn bikes and their key features:

Schwinn Outdoor Bicycles

Road Bikes:

Purpose: Designed for speed and efficiency on paved roads.

Key Features: Lightweight frames, drop handlebars, thin tires.

Popular Models: Schwinn Phocus, Schwinn Volare.

Mountain Bikes:

Purpose: Built for off-road cycling on rough terrain.

Key Features: Sturdy frames, suspension systems (front or full), wide and knobby tires.

Popular Models: Schwinn High Timber, Schwinn Bonafide.

Hybrid Bikes:

Purpose: Versatile bikes that combine features of road and mountain bikes.

Key Features: Comfortable upright riding position, medium-width tires, flat handlebars.

Popular Models: Schwinn Discover, Schwinn GTX.

Cruiser Bikes:

Purpose: Ideal for casual, relaxed riding, often on flat terrain.

Key Features: Comfortable, upright seating, wide seats, balloon tires, simple gear systems.

Popular Models: Schwinn Perla, Schwinn Sanctuary.

BMX Bikes:

Purpose: Designed for stunts, tricks, and racing on dirt tracks.

Key Features: Compact, durable frames, 20-inch wheels, single-speed gearing.

Popular Models: Schwinn Predator, Schwinn Sting Pro.

Schwinn Indoor Exercise Bikes

Upright Bikes:

Purpose: Mimics the traditional outdoor biking experience.

Key Features: Vertical frame, adjustable resistance, digital displays for tracking workouts.

Popular Models: Schwinn 130 Upright Bike, Schwinn bike 170 Upright Bike.

Recumbent Bikes:

Purpose: Provides a more comfortable, reclined seating position, reducing strain on the back and joints.

Key Features: Large, cushioned seats, back support, step-through frames, adjustable resistance.

Popular Models: Schwinn 230 Recumbent Bike, Schwinn 270 Recumbent Bike.

Indoor Cycling Bikes (Spin Bikes):

Purpose: Designed for high-intensity indoor cycling workouts.

Key Features: Heavy flywheels, adjustable resistance, racing-style handlebars, compatibility with cycling apps.

Popular Models: Schwinn IC3, Schwinn IC4.

Airdyne Bikes:

Purpose: Offers full-body workout using air resistance.

Key Features: Fan wheel for resistance, moving handlebars, infinite resistance levels based on pedaling speed.

Popular Models: Schwinn Airdyne AD7, Schwinn Airdyne AD6.

#schwinn bike #exercise bike #elliptical

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caraniel13 · 7 days ago

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Across Dimensions : Chapter 32

AD1 AD2 AD3 AD4 AD5 AD6 AD7 AD8 AD9 AD10 AD11 AD12 AD13 AD14 AD15 AD16 AD17 AD18 AD19 AD20 AD21 AD22 AD23 AD24 AD25 AD26 AD27 AD28 AD29 AD30 AD31

Chapter 32: Quantum Recovery

Three weeks had passed since Marie's departure through the dimensional portal, and Atlantis had settled into something approaching its normal rhythm of controlled chaos. The quantum interference readings had dropped to zero, the Ancient systems had stopped flagging "duplicate personnel" errors, and life in the Pegasus Galaxy had returned to its usual complement of new crises and unexpected discoveries.

For Cheppy, the recovery had been both physical and psychological. Carson's daily scans had shown her cellular structure stabilizing completely, her quantum signature now permanently anchored to this reality with no trace of dimensional instability. But the deeper healing—from months of questioning her place, her worth, her right to exist here—had taken longer.

"Final scan," Carson announced with satisfaction, running his Ancient medical scanner over her one last time. "Completely stable quantum signature, perfect cellular cohesion, no residual effects from the dimensional crisis. Officially, you're as healthy as anyone can be after surviving something that should have been impossible."

"Officially released from medical supervision?" Cheppy asked hopefully, sitting on the edge of the examination table in the infirmary that had become so familiar over the past year.

"Officially released," Carson confirmed with a warm smile. "Though I reserve the right to periodic check-ins, given that you're our first successful survivor of quantum counterpart syndrome."

"I'll be your test case for the medical journals," she agreed with mock solemnity. "Dr. Chephren Mitchell: survived dimensional displacement, quantum interference, and cellular breakdown. Currently stable and thriving in an alternate reality."

"More than thriving," Carson observed, making notes on his tablet. "You've been positively glowing these past weeks. I take it things are going well with Major Lorne?"

Heat rose in Cheppy's cheeks, but she couldn't suppress her smile. "Things are... very good. Better than good, actually. It's like we've finally stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop and started actually living."

"Aye, that's what happens when people stop being afraid of happiness and start embracing it," Carson said sagely. "Though I have to say, the two of you have been setting quite the example around here."

"Example of what?"

"How to maintain a relationship under impossible circumstances," came Dr. Weir's voice from the infirmary entrance. The expedition leader approached with a tablet in hand and an expression of professional satisfaction. "Sorry to interrupt, but I have some news that might interest you both."

"Good news, I hope?" Cheppy asked, automatically checking her insulin pump—a gesture that had become unconscious but no longer felt like a limitation.

"Very good news," Weir confirmed, pulling up a holographic display. "We received a transmission this morning through the dimensional communication array. From Marie."

Cheppy straightened with immediate interest. "Is she okay? How is she adjusting?"

"See for yourself," Weir said, activating the message.

Marie's image flickered to life above the tablet—but this wasn't the polished, calculating woman who had arrived at Atlantis months ago. This version looked tired but genuinely happy, her hair pulled back in a practical ponytail, her SGC uniform replaced by expedition casual wear that showed signs of recent field work.

"Dr. Weir, Dr. Mitchell... everyone," Marie's recorded voice began, warmth replacing her former professional distance. "I wanted to send an update on how things are progressing here. It's been... challenging, but in ways I never expected."

The background showed parts of the parallel Atlantis—familiar yet different, with signs of ongoing repairs and smaller staff moving with purposeful efficiency.

"The Wraith attack was repelled successfully, largely thanks to intelligence I was able to provide from our dimensional database," Marie continued. "But more importantly, I've found myself working as part of a team in ways I never learned before. When everyone is essential for survival, there's no room for competition or politics. We succeed together or fail together."

Cheppy found herself smiling at the obvious change in Marie's tone and posture. This was someone who had learned to find satisfaction in collective achievement rather than individual superiority.

"I've been working closely with Dr. Sarah Chen—their new expedition leader after they lost Dr. Weir to the Wraith—and Lieutenant Commander Torres, who leads their reduced military team. They've taught me what it means to be valued for what I can contribute to others' success, not just my own accomplishments."

Marie paused, looking directly into the camera with an expression of genuine gratitude.

"Cheppy, if you're watching this... thank you. For showing me what real connections look like, for helping me understand that belonging isn't about being the best but about being useful. I'm learning to build the kind of relationships you have with your team. It's harder than I expected, but more rewarding than I ever imagined."

The message included technical data about the parallel Atlantis's recovery efforts and some insights into Ancient technology that would be valuable for both realities. But what struck Cheppy most was the transformation in Marie's demeanor—from isolated competitor to integrated team member.

"She sounds happy," Carson observed as the message ended. "Genuinely happy, not just professionally satisfied."

"She found her crisis," Cheppy said, echoing her earlier observation. "A situation where her expertise was immediately crucial, where she had to work with others to survive rather than compete against them for advancement."

"Sometimes the universe provides exactly what people need," Weir agreed. "Even if it takes a quantum crisis to get them there."

That evening, Cheppy and Lorne sat on their balcony watching the sunset paint Atlantis's spires in shades of gold and amber. The peace between them had deepened over the past weeks, the shared trauma of nearly losing each other creating a new appreciation for the ordinary moments they'd once taken for granted.

"Carson officially released me from medical supervision today," Cheppy reported, curled against Lorne's side on the bench they'd claimed as their own.

"How do you feel?" he asked, his arm tightening around her.

"Free," she said simply. "Not just from medical monitoring, but from... everything. The uncertainty about belonging here, the fear that I was still just a displaced person making the best of a bad situation. For the first time since arriving in Atlantis, I feel like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be."

"Marie's message helped?" Lorne guessed perceptively.

"Seeing her find her place in that parallel reality... it confirmed something I've been realizing. We both needed to be in situations where we could become who we were meant to be. Here, competing with each other, we were both held back. Separated, we're both thriving."

Lorne nodded thoughtfully. "She needed to learn what you already knew—that connection matters more than competition. You needed to learn what you've finally accepted—that your place here isn't an accident or consolation prize. It's earned and chosen."

"Quantum entanglement," Cheppy said with a smile, using their old metaphor. "Some bonds transcend circumstances."

"Speaking of bonds," Lorne said, shifting slightly to face her more directly. His expression held a nervous excitement that immediately caught her attention. "There's something I've been wanting to discuss with you."

"That sounds ominous," she teased, though her heart rate picked up at his serious tone.

"Not ominous," he assured her quickly. "The opposite, actually. It's just... with everything settled now, with you officially stable and our future no longer uncertain, I've been thinking about next steps."

He reached into his pocket, withdrawing a small object that caught the fading sunlight. It was a ring—not elaborate or ostentatious, but clearly crafted with care from materials that seemed to shimmer with both familiar and exotic properties.

"Evan," Cheppy breathed, her eyes widening.

"Before you say anything," he said quickly, "I know this isn't exactly conventional. We're in another galaxy, facing dangers that don't exist on Earth, building a life that no one back home could even imagine. But that's exactly why I want to make this official."

He took her hand gently, his thumb tracing over her knuckles.

"Cheppy, you've become the center of my world. Not because you needed saving or I needed protecting, but because we make each other better. Stronger. More complete. I want to build a future with you that acknowledges what we've already created together."

"Is that a proposal, Major Lorne?" she asked softly, tears pricking her eyes.

"That's a promise, Dr. Mitchell," he replied, his voice steady despite the emotion in his eyes. "A promise that whatever comes next—new crises, impossible situations, random dimensional anomalies—we face it together. Officially, permanently, with all the ceremony Atlantis can muster."

Cheppy looked at the ring, noting how the materials seemed to capture light from both their alien suns and reflect it back in patterns that reminded her of Stargate technology. "Did you make this?"

"With help from Zelenka for the technical aspects and Teyla for the cultural elements," Lorne admitted. "The metal is from both Earth and Pegasus—materials from both our histories. The stone is a crystal from the Ancient lab where you first started translating their technology."

"It's perfect," she whispered, then looked up to meet his gaze directly. "Yes. Absolutely, completely, enthusiastically yes."

As he slipped the ring onto her finger—a perfect fit, of course—Cheppy marveled at how right it felt. Not just the physical sensation of the ring, but the commitment it represented. They'd already been building a life together; this simply made it official.

"When?" she asked, admiring how the crystal caught the last rays of sunlight.

"Whenever you want," Lorne replied, then grinned. "Though Carson mentioned something about having officiant credentials from his seminary training, and Teyla's offered to coordinate Athosian traditions with Earth customs."

"They've been planning this," Cheppy realized with delight.

"They've been hoping for this," Lorne corrected. "The planning only started after I asked Carson for advice about proposing to someone who's survived dimensional displacement and quantum cellular breakdown."

"What did he say?"

"That after everything you've been through, normal romantic gestures might seem a bit mundane. That I needed to match the magnitude of what we've overcome together."

Cheppy laughed, her happiness bubbling over. "And you thought a proposal on our balcony at sunset, with a ring made from materials representing both our worlds, would be sufficient?"

"Too subtle?" Lorne asked with mock concern.

"Perfect," she corrected, pulling him closer for a kiss that tasted of joy and promises and the certainty of belonging somewhere completely.

Word of their engagement spread through Atlantis with the speed that only a close-knit community could achieve. By the time they made it to the mess hall for dinner, congratulations were flowing from every direction.

"About bloody time," Carson declared, pulling them both into enthusiastic hugs. "I was beginning to think I'd have to lock you both in a storage closet until you worked up the courage."

"Dr. Beckett," Cheppy laughed, "you've been plotting this, haven't you?"

"Encouraging," he corrected with a twinkle in his eye. "Perhaps with occasional gentle suggestions about the benefits of emotional security during stressful assignments."

McKay appeared at their table with uncharacteristic sentimentality. "Congratulations," he said gruffly. "Though I suppose this means we'll have to endure even more of your disgusting romantic synchronization during away missions."

"Our what now?" Lorne asked, amused.

"The way you two coordinate without communicating," McKay explained impatiently. "One of you starts to speak and the other finishes the thought. One of you moves and the other automatically adjusts position. It's like watching a synchronized swimming routine, except with Ancient technology and pulse rifles."

"That's called partnership, Rodney," Teyla interjected with gentle humor as she joined their growing group. "And it's something to be celebrated, not merely endured."

"I suppose," McKay grumbled, though his complaint lacked real heat. "Just try to keep the wedding planning from interfering with our current projects. We have three Ancient facilities to explore next week, and I need my linguistic expert focused on translations, not flower arrangements."

"Did you just call me your linguistic expert?" Cheppy asked with delighted surprise.

McKay looked uncomfortable with the admission. "You're... adequate at Ancient syntax. When you're not distracted by major life events."

"High praise from McKay," Sheppard observed, appearing with his dinner tray. "Congratulations, you two. Though I have to ask—are we talking about a small ceremony or full Atlantis production?"

"Whatever Cheppy wants," Lorne replied immediately.

Cheppy considered the question, looking around at the faces of people who had become her chosen family. "Something that acknowledges both our backgrounds but celebrates what we've built here. Earth traditions and Athosian customs, but distinctly Atlantis in character."

"A blend of realities," Weir suggested approvingly, having joined their impromptu celebration. "Rather fitting, considering your journey here."

"With proper medical supervision," Carson added. "I'm not having my favorite patient stressed to the point of blood sugar complications by wedding planning."

"Your only patient who's survived quantum cellular breakdown," Cheppy corrected with affection. "That makes me special, not just favorite."

"Aye, that too," Carson agreed warmly.

As the evening continued with increasingly elaborate suggestions for wedding ceremonies and reception details, Cheppy found herself marveling at the community they'd all built together. These people—from various countries, different backgrounds, thrown together by an impossible situation—had become more than colleagues or expedition members. They were family, in the truest sense of the word.

Later that night, as she and Lorne prepared for bed in their shared quarters, Cheppy caught sight of herself in the mirror. The ring sparkled on her finger, catching the soft light from Atlantis's evening illumination. But more than that, she looked... settled. Complete in a way she'd never quite achieved before.

"No regrets?" Lorne asked, noticing her contemplative expression.

"About what?"

"Any of it. Being pulled away from your life on Earth, ending up here by accident, everything that led to this moment."

Cheppy turned to face him fully, taking in the man who had become her anchor, her partner, her home. "Do you know what I was doing the night McKay's experiment brought me here?"

"Working late in the linguistics lab," Lorne replied. "You've mentioned that."

"I was working late because I had nowhere else to be," she said quietly. "No one waiting for me at home, no plans for the weekend, no connections that mattered enough to pull me away from my research. I was professionally successful but personally... empty."

She moved closer, her hands finding his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her palms.

"Here, I've found purpose that goes beyond academic achievement. I've found people who matter to me and who matter because of me, not just what I can do for them. I've found you—a partnership that makes me better at everything I do."

"Including surviving impossible quantum crises," Lorne added with a gentle smile.

"Especially that," she agreed. "Marie was right about one thing—I did end up here by accident. But staying, building this life, choosing this reality over the possibility of going back... that was deliberate. That was the most conscious decision I've ever made."

"Even knowing what it would cost? The life you left behind, the family and friends on Earth?"

Cheppy considered the question seriously. "I'll always miss them. But I can't miss a life I was only half-living. Here, with you, with our chosen family... I'm completely alive in ways I never was before."

As they settled into bed, Cheppy's new ring catching the moonlight streaming through their windows, she reflected on the strange journey that had brought them to this point. What had begun as the worst day of her life—being torn away from everything familiar—had ultimately led to the best decision she'd ever made: choosing to stay, to fight for her place, to build something meaningful with people who had become essential to her understanding of home.

The quantum recovery was complete in every sense. Not just her cellular structure or dimensional stability, but her integration into a life that felt purposeful, connected, and completely her own.

Tomorrow would bring new challenges—this was Atlantis, after all—but tonight, wearing her engagement ring and planning a future with the man she loved, surrounded by a community that had become family, Cheppy Mitchell was exactly where she belonged.

The accident that had brought her here had finally, fully, become the gift she'd never known she needed.

#stargate atlantis #evan lorne #original character #stargate

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