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> > The Mouse awoke with a snort, bolting upright in her chair in front of the computer console. With a groan she wiped a bit of drool from her cheek with the back of her hand, then checked her watch. "Oh, damn!" she swore softly, blinking at the time. Her contact lenses had dried, making her eyeballs feel tight and constricted, plus she had an awful taste in her mouth from the vending machine snack cake she had eaten earlier. This, combined with the omnipresent headache she had these days, left her feeling more lousy than she had when she had dozed off to start with.
> >
> > She rolled across the lab to key up the results of the latest analysis, which had hopefully finished compiling by now. The data scrolled across the screen at a rapid clip, but the young scientist had no trouble keeping up. Unfortunately, the news wasn't good.
> >
> > "No identifiable vibration" she sighed to herself. "How can this version of the Parodyverse not have a recognizable quantum vibration?" The more accurate question in layman's terms, she had to admit, was "Where the hell are we?" Damn that Hooded Hood. Just when she had thought she had their jumps all mapped out...
> >
> > She longed for the good old days when her theoretical sciences were still theoretical. Before The Moderator had come to her, with his quantum editing powers, and inquired about her theories on traversing between universes. Before he had found the Link, who had the spacial component necessary to her theory. Before he had found...
> >
> > She flushed and tore her thoughts away. Some secrets weren't safe to even think about... especially secrets of The Moderator. She had theories on what happened to the things he edited out of existence, but no desire to put them to the test personally.
> >
> > "Heya Mousy" the voice of the Scarlet Lawnmower called out from behind her. "Got a special delivery for you."
> >
> > Inwardly she groaned. She longed for the days before that damn nickname... although she had to admit that it likely wouldn't have stuck if it didn't fit her so well. "You can just leave it on the counter please, Mr. Reed" she called back softly.
> >
> > "I could, but it could go bad... and that'd be a shame with this particular piece of meat."
> >
> > "I... Meat?" Hesitantly, she turned and exited the testing station into the larger lab. A medical bed had been wheeled into the room, complete with monitors and I.V. bags.
> >
> > The cocky Scarlet Legionnaire was holding up the patient's bedsheets and whistling in admiration. "Doc says she... er... "it" will be waking up soon. Get her... or whatever... cleaned up and dressed. The boss will be down sometime later to question it."
> >
> > "What? Wait... who... Dressed? Dressed in what?"
> >
> > "I dunno toots... Whatever you got that will fit 'er. Preferably something that won't make her look like a drab, flat-chested nerdlinger like yourself, as that would be an absolute crime." He turned and headed for the door.
> >
> > "Wait... who is she?" the Mouse called out after him.
> >
> > "Your replacement, I'd say" he snickered. "The boss is looking for a brain trust that'll get results... not whine incessantly about "the consequences". This one's looks are just a bonus." He gave her a wink just before the elevator doors closed.
> >
> > The Mouse swallowed hard and approached the patient on the bed, feeling sick to her stomach. This time she was sure it was not caused by the progressive quantum fallout that she "whined incessantly" about (symptoms could include nausea, migraines, erectile dysfunction, restless leg syndrome and, of course, progressive dementia... followed by cellular decay and total body liquification in extreme cases, though the men on the team worried more about the erectile bit.) She had an antidote that looked promising... if only...
> >
> > The patient groaned and shifted. No, not patient... She could see the restraints on the bed. Prisoner. And chart was filled out in Dr. Bellum's illegible handwriting. She didn't want to think about how likely it was that whatever procedure this person underwent was voluntary. Oh, how she longed for the days when science seemed like a bright and hopeful field... back in college when it was just her and...
> >
> > "Muffy!" she gasped in shock as the patient stirred, turning her head to look at her. "Oh god... Muffy?! What... what have they done to you?"
> >
> > The figure in the bed tried to focus on her, although she had trouble getting her eyes to go in the same direction. "W...who?" she gasped with a dry throat. "H... H..."
> >
> > "Helen" the Mouse answered, grasping the bound figure's own hand in her left, and stroking the bandaged forehead with her right. "It's Helen McAllistair... your old roommate. Shhhhhh... Hold on, I'll help you." She swallowed again, this time with resolve. "I'll help you" she repeated.
> >
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> > To be continued, I'd hope.
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