Darkest Before the Dawn

[Bonnie Blue]

Prologue: 

The infra-light of something like a sunrise chases shadows from the Timekeeper's abode, high up and deep within the fabled Rock of Ages. Below, waves of timespace crash against the eternal stone. A whirlpool, pure gravity, opens briefly to guzzle down an aeon or two, crushing random galaxies in its spinning maw. Johnny Reb stands at the cavern's entrance, taking in the bizarre scenery. Stark white hair whips around his face -- simultaneously youthful and ancient -- and he waves a careless hand; the wind stops deviling him instantly. Eyes of blue-gray, stormy and troubled as the Seas of Time around him, search the menacing clouds overhead.

Don Jesus Luis de Guadalupe wanders over to join him, keeping his eyes carefully averted from the chaotic mess outside. A glimpse now and then is more than enough for even the most powerful of mortal minds.

Don Jesus: What troubles you, Bernardo?

Slowly, the new Timekeeper draws his gaze away from the Sea and glances at his friend. Aware of Chuy's discomfiture, he steps away from the ledge and walks back into the cavern, lighting up a hand-rolled.

Johnny Reb: Time. I can perceive it; not always in great detail. It's like a web, but in so many more than the standard three dimensions. And all I have to do is touch a single thread. An entire timeline reveals itself to me.

He hesitates, takes another hit, and passes it to Don Jesus.

Johnny Reb: The web is startin' to unravel in places. In others -- especially near the Prime Reality -- it's tangled. Hopelessly tangled, and gettin' worse by the day. Where the timelines intersect, those points become permeable. The Rippers won't even need the key anymore -- the doors are unlocked. I should have seen this coming.

Don Jesus: You are still new to this power, Bernardo. Do not be so hard on yourself.

Chuy hits that sweet chrono-chronic, savoring the pungent smoke. There's more Reb wants to say, and Chuy knows better than to push him; he'll get to it, in his own, rambling way.

Johnny Reb: That ain't the only danger, Chuy. My proxy --

Don Jesus: Daughter.

Johnny Reb: Clone, iff'n ya wanna get technical. Either way, somethin' close to her is a threat, but it's hidden from me. Purposely obscured.

Don Jesus: She has CyBernardo and el gato. El Gato Vato...

Chuy snickers at his own perceived cleverness, while the Inveterate One frowns, deep in thought.

Johnny Reb: One of them may be the problem. I.. can't quite pinpoint it. But it's got Oblivion's big ol' fingerprints all over it.

Don Jesus: What about the boy?

Johnny Reb: What boy?

Don Jesus: The boy with the Power.

Johnny Reb: What Power?

Don Jesus: The power of Voodoo!

Johnny Reb: What the fuck are ya talkin' about?

Don Jesus: Jenson. Bernardo Jenson. The one the Rippers are using to breach the barriers of the Prime.

Reb shakes his head, looking apologetic.

Johnny Reb: Nothin' I can do. The rules explicity state that I'm to remain laissez-faire in all this.

Don Jesus: But you interfered at WAR.

Johnny Reb: That's diff'rent. I was in competition; my abilities as Timekeeper are nullified in the ring. Outside of that, I cannot intervene. The rules are all that keep the Architects of the Metaverse at peace with one another. If I break 'em, it opens the door for all the rest of them to do the same. An' most of 'em are less than amenable to humanoid life.

Chuy takes another long hit of the joint and passes it to Reb. Slowly, he exhales a cloud of smoke.

Don Jesus: So you're saying Jenson is on his own?

Johnny Reb: 'Fraid so. Bonnie, too. They'll have to find their own way through this.

There is silence for several moments, each wrapped up in his own thoughts.

Don Jesus: And... what if they don't? What if Jenson successfully brings all the Rippers to the Prime?

The Inveterate Confederate's expression turns grim.

Johnny Reb: Their next objective will be to locate the Mask of Oblivion; what they're likely to do with it is anyone's guess.

The older Hispanic man looks around, as if just noticing something.

Don Jesus: Speaking of the Mask... what have you done with it, Bernardo?

Johnny Reb: I buried it somewhere dark an' deep, where nobody will ever find it.

Part One 

They walk a narrow deer track, among rocky foothills grown thick with scraggly Douglas fir and Scotch pines. Old needles carpet the trail and soften their footsteps as they pick their way along. The track winds subtly upward, where a chill wind whips branches at the three travellers, tearing at hair and clothes. At last, the path levels out onto a broad ledge beneath an overhanging stone, and CyberHank calls a halt. Bonnie Blue drops her backpack and gazes at Hank.

Bonnie Blue: Why in the hell'd ya drag us all the way out here, anyhow?

CyberHank: Training.

Hank's head jerks slightly as he says it, his lips quirking into a half-smile that recedes as soon as it forms. Bonnie frowns, some vague suspicion snaking its way up from the back of her mind. He couldn't be lying... could he? Hank had been behaving a little oddly ever since Sunday night, when she'd found him passed out cold behind the wheel of a rented Dodge Magnum.

Bonnie Blue: Trainin', huh?

She glances around at the forest, an inner sense warning her that something is off. Had she not been raised almost entirely aboard a space station, she would recognize that what disturbs her instinct is the lack of birdsong and the rustling of squirrels in the trees. It is, in fact, eerily silent here.

CyberHank: Yesss... you must become stronger, Bonnie.

Hank's voice lowers to a soft murmur.

CyberHank: The Dark Messiah won't be satisfied with such paltry fare...

She strains to hear, but can't quite make out the words. Something in his tone chills her in a way the wind cannot.

Bonnie Blue: What was that, Hank? I didn't quite --

CyberHank: I said you better get going. You get a five minute head start, then I'm sending the cat after you.

The cyborg grins at her, and her fears evaporate like a morning fog. Her apprehension sharpens to an odd sort of excitement. Eager to pit her skills against those of a five-foot-tall, bipedal feline, Bonnie gives Hank a flippant salute and hastens off into the trees. Quiet until now, Brian Setzer bares his sharp fangs in a cat's approximation of a smile.

Brian Setzer: You know, if I were human...

CyberHank: She isn't for you.

The stray cat turns his green eyes to Hank, studying him intently.

Brian Setzer: No. You want to hand her over to the Monster. She might not have heard that, but I did.

Hank shakes his head in disbelief.

CyberHank: I don't know what you're talk--talk--talking about...

The sudden and pronounced glitch is accompanied by a rapid jerking of the head. Brian Setzer reaches underneath his long coat and draws out a small pistol, aiming at Hank.

Brian Setzer: How long, Hank? How long have you been under Oblivion's power?

CyberHank: It's not like that. It's... It's... IT will rise again and engulf the world in chaos and shadow! The sacrifice must be made! Bonnie Blue will belong to the Dark Messiah!

A wisp of smoke rises from the side of Hank's head. Sparks force open a small panel, exposing wires hastily jerked out of place, twisted around, and jammed back into the wrong ports. Hank's cybernetic eye begins to glow a dim red, and he utters words that sound like pure gibberish. The cat moves, ready to pistol-whip Hank into unconsciousness -- but the tri-core processor in Hank's brain makes his reflexes even quicker. The cyborg snatches the gun and brings the grip crashing down on Brian Setzer's head, knocking him out instantly.

Expressionless, Hank drags the cat under the overhang and binds his ankles and wrists with bungee cords. Then, twitching like a meth addict gone too long without a fix, he wanders into the woods. Tracking the girl is easy; his sensor array is sensitive enough to pick up the slightest traces of timespace radiation. He crashes through the underbrush, not caring about the noise. Some part of him fights the new programming, trying desperately to overcome his instructions. But each act of resistance, each exertion of will, costs him more dearly. First in pain, and soon, in personality. The upgrades begin to overwrite that which is Hank Brown.

CyberHank: Bonnie! Bonnie, come back! There's been -- DON'T LISTEN TO ME! RUN! -- Bonnie!

HIs voice drifts to her on the air, distant yet, and Bonnie hesitates. The words are unclear, scattered like leaves on the wind, but she recognizes Hank's urgent tone. Afraid that something may have befallen her friends, she turns and starts back the way she came. By the time she finds him again, Hank is on his knees, clutching his head in evident pain. The young woman kneels beside him, her expression one of deep concern.

Bonnie Blue: What happened, Hank? Are ya all right?

He shakes his head, keeping his gaze averted from her. His body trembles violently as he attempts to resist being erased.

Bonnie Blue: Hank, what's goin' on...?

And then, without warning, it stops. On Hank's face is a near-beatific expression. Smiling an angel's smile, Hank rises from the ground, brushing dirt and leaves from his clothes. Rather than being put at ease, the girl is promptly on her guard. There's something very odd about Hank now, almost as if he's an entirely different person.

CyberHank: I found something you need to see. Come.

Not waiting for a reply, he takes her by the hand and leads her back to the overhang. Spotting the unconscious cat, Bonnie stops dead, trying to pull her hand out of Hank's grip.

Bonnie Blue: What the hell happened to Brian Setzer?!

CyberHank: Naughty kitty. He pulled a gun on me.

His machine hand tightens around her wrist.

Bonnie Blue: Why...?

Hank smiles enigmatically.

CyberHank: Nevermind that. This isn't what I wanted to show you. I knew it would be here somewhere. Just needed you out of the way, so I could look for it in peace.

Half-dragging the girl, he guides her to a recess deep beneath the rock -- one obviously carved out with modern tools. In the niche is a single metal door, at least two feet thick, with a big wheel in the middle. Beside the door is an electronic panel with a card slot and a keypad.

Bonnie Blue: What's goin' on here, Hank?

CyberHank: IT has been searching since the fall of the Dark Timekeeper, for that which was lost to IT. Taken from IT. And I ... I shall be rewarded when I return the Master's possessions.

Her blood runs cold as the words sink in. "IT" can only refer to one person, one entity... She wonders, briefly, at the pluralization. "Possessions." The Mask was one, singular. So what is...? The appraising look from the cyborg is enough to fill in the blank. Bonnie shakes her head.

Bonnie Blue: No, Hank. Ain't gonna work that way, an' you know that. Bringin' the Monster Christmas presents won't win ya no favors. IT would still take you apart just to see what's inside. Besides, I ain't Oblivon's property. Now, let me go!

Hank laughs, a harsh electronic sound, as she tries to pull free.

Bonnie Blue: I'm warnin' ya, Hank...

Her struggles, however, are to no avail. Hank's artificial hand could easily crush Bonnie's wrist; he tightens his hold just a bit to remind her of this fact. And then, without further comment, he moves in close to the access panel, searches out the receptacle underneath, and slips his tongue into it. He connects, the processor in his mind suggesting and discarding a near infinity of possible codes. Hank settles on one at last, and inputs it into the system. The little light on the panel switches to a festive green, and the wheel on the door begins to turn...

Part Two 

In almost complete blackness, Bonnie Blue stumbles along a narrow, concrete-walled corridor. Her right hand, still clutched firmly in Hank's, begins to numb. Dust thickens the stale air and makes breathing a chore. They had been walking for what seemed like hours, the cyborg leading with absolute confidence. No lights come on to greet them; no alarms sound to warn of their presence. In fact, it would seem that the only power in the warren of tunnels had been to the door.

Hank hesitates at a place where several tunnels intersect; Bonnie can sense the wider space, even if she can't see a thing. He pulls her in front of him, looking down at her, his cybernetic eye giving off an unnerving crimson glow.

CyberHank: Now.. you will retrieve it.

A flashlight is switched on, aimed at a door identical to the one at the entrance. In the sudden illumination, Bonnie can see a few empty crates, stenciled with military abbreviations. That, at least, gives her an idea where they are -- some kind of bunker, though long abandoned. She blinks in the unaccustomed brightness.

Bonnie Blue: Retrieve what, Hank?

For reply, he inputs a code into the access panel -- using the keypad this time. Some part of the girl's mind notes this, and concludes that the doors must be on their own, independent power source. With luck, that information could prove useful. This door swings open much as the previous one, with ponderous groaning and little haste. Hank pokes the flashlight into the room, which seems, at first, entirely barren. And then, among the swirling motes of dust playing in the beam of light, she sees it: a slender plinth of steel, supporting a containment field of some sort. Hovering there is a menace Bonnie had never thought to lay eyes on again.

Bonnie Blue: Nope. I won't do it. You want it so bad, you get it.

CyberHank: I'll make you cooperate, if I must -- but Oblivion won't like it if I return you damaged.

Bonnie gives the cyborg a shrewd look, then grins with a dawning realization.

Bonnie Blue: You can't, can ya? You can't -- an' I won't; so I reckon we're at an impasse.

CyberHank: Let me sweeten the deal, then. You go in there and retrieve the Mask, maybe I'm not here when you come back out. Could be a powerful bargaining chip, if you get yourself in trouble -- and we both know you will.

As a show of good faith, he releases his iron grip on her wrist. Bonnie rubs at it, trying to restore circulation, and gazes up at Hank, deep suspicion written all over her face.

Bonnie Blue: You'd just let me go? Why?

CyberHank: Because you're not my only hostage. And If I don't see you in, say, an hour -- well, I can't say much for Brian Setzer's chances...

Bonnie's heart plummets. A look of cruel triumph twists Hank's features; madness gleams in his organic eye. He's beyond reason. With a defeated sigh, she snatches the light from him.

Bonnie Blue: Give me that. I'll be back in five. Don't go anywhere.

Smirking, Cyborg Hank watches her stride purposefully through the steel door...

Part Three 

It had been almost easy to penetrate the field. At first it had repelled her, the force throwing her back several paces; but when she tried again, it yielded to her questing hands. As if, perhaps, it had been expecting her. Bonnie is under the vague impression that no one else could have unlocked the stasis, save Johnny Reb -- the new Timekeeper. She looks at the Artefact contemplatively, recalling something she'd noted in studying Oblivion's actions throughout history. Theories abounded as to how the Mask worked, how it could be mastered; all, however, agreed that it had to be worn. Dangerous as it was, if the thing could be subdued, it would grant the wearer great powers. Probably the key to defeating Oblivion, she thinks. There's no alternative.

The Mask stares back at Bonnie, baleful and taunting, clutched firmly in her hands. Hatred and fear and anger of every variety emanate from it in waves. She turns it over, curious. She can't tell what material comrises the Mask -- except that it's organic. It seems almost alive. Aware.

Bonnie Blue: Are ya sure this is the only way?

Whispered to no one in particular, the question hovers in the air; echoes back to her from nowhere.  The only way... her own voice assures her. Use it.

Bonnie Blue: No.

You must... Put it on, Bonnie.

Her hands tremble as they bring the Artefact closer, unbidden. Dozens of tiny ripples disturb the inside surface of the Mask; grow into wriggling, writhing tendrils -- and multiply into the hundreds.

Bonnie Blue: No... Stop!

Yeesssss! To defeat the Power, you must become the Power. Put it on!

Bonnie Blue: NO!

With a terrific effort of will, Bonnie wrenches the Mask away -- but too late! Sensing imminent defeat, the Mask whips the tendrils outward, sinking into her flesh where they strike. Desperately, she tugs at the Mask; tendrils snap, spurting crimson fluid. Yet where one breaks, two more grow in to replace it, and soon enough, there is no escape. A cry of pain escapes her lips, and she sinks to her knees, as the wriggling appendages burrow deeper still, to penetrate her cortex, hippocampus, cerebellum.

Slowly, the pain recedes to a dull ache. Her mind is crowded with new thoughts, new sensations; all of them terrible. Bonnie can feel the Mask searching through her innermost thoughts and memories, looking for something to exploit. Self-doubt is identified, briefly savored, then cast aside in favor of other things; more interesting things. Resentment? Common. Boring. Ambition? Too obscure; the girl's goals, unsettled. The Mask delves deeper, and hits paydirt.

The Rock of Ages, Then 

She was bound, suspended by manacled wrists, her body barely covered by the tatters of her school uniform. A dusky-rose shape blossomed along her jaw. Dried blood caked a cut on her lower lip. Bootsteps, swift and purposeful, warned Bonnie of his approach; she feigned unconsciousness, hoping he would bypass her this time. The shock of cold water thrown on her washed away that vain hope. Bonnie glared at him -- the Dark Timekeeper, as he called himself; a malignant spirit wearing the face of Johnny Reb. He twirled a cattle prod like a baton and shot her a wicked grin.

"Everything they told you is a lie. Johnny Reb isn't your... heh...father. I am."

He said it with such utter assurance that, for a moment, she believed him. But only for a moment.

"No. You lie. Wear the face of a man -- a good and noble man -- and commit terrible atrocities in his name. Usurp the power of the Timekeeper, only to serve your own vile ends..."

"My ends are not so simple, little girl. Not that you'll survive to see them played out."

To emphasize his words, the Dark Timekeeper jabbed the live end of the cattle prod at the base of her spine; a particularly sensitive, sensual area. She would have screamed, if she could. When he released the contact, she hung limp against the supporting manacles, gasping for breath. He stepped in close, grasping her chin in one hand to tilt her head up; leaned in, lips brushing her ear like a lover before releasing his grip.

"Accept the truth of what you are, Bonnie."

One hand caressed her gently, intimately as he whispered to her. Bonnie shuddered with revulsion.

"Accept, and serve me willingly."

The cattle prod traced its way up her thigh, a kiss of cold metal; the smell of ozone, a promise of searing pain. Every instinct screamed at her to resist. Yet fear clutched her heart, made her hesitant. She knew what rebellion would cost her; but the option he offered was anathema. Righting herself, using the restraints for balance, Bonnie aimed a kick squarely between his legs. She was rewarded with a satisfying gasp as he staggered back, hurt.

In a rage, he came swiftly to her; grabbed her hair and jerked her head back, the end of the cattle prod dangerously close to her throat. Perhaps, this time, he would lose control. He might kill her outright, instead of...

"I should kill you now, you little cunt!" he hissed in a voice other than human. "But I still have a use for you. You will serve, one way or another. And before the End, you will call me Master..."

He tossed the weapon aside, grining at her with malicious intent.

"NO!"

The Present 

Bonnie Blue: NO!

She tugs at the Mask, trying desperately to pry it loose, but to no avail. After a moment, she stops, glancing around in confusion. Memory, or a vivid hallucination? Bonnie can't be entirely sure. Parts of it seemed like they might've happened; other details are uncertain. Strong hands grasp her beneath the arms and haul her to her feet -- hands covered in gray fur and tipped with retractable claws.

Brian Setzer: Oh, shit, Bonnie. What the hell did you do?

Bonnie Blue: Nevermind that. Where's Hank?

Brian Setzer: Hank is... I had to shut him down.

Bonnie Blue: He dead?

Brian Setzer: Nah. Just catatonic.

Bonnie Blue: Heh. Ow...

Her hands go to her head, cradling it gingerly. The bipedal feline puts an arm around her shoulders, walking her out of the room and through the narrow corridors again. Bonnie can't tell what direction they're going; it's strain enough to put one foot in front of the other. The Mask itches against her skin, burns in her mind. Something deep and primordial stirs inside her, try as she might to keep it locked away. Hastily, Bonnie extricates herself from the cat's hold and takes a few paces back.

Brian Setzer: What's wrong?

Bonnie Blue: The Mask... It's -- doing something -- trying to take control. I think.. you should get as far away from me as you can.

A strong self-preservation instinct agrees with her. Under other circumstances, she wouldn't present much threat to him, but Oblivion's Mask makes her unpredictable and dangerous. Still, he can't just leave her to that fate.

Brian Setzer: You just have to hold it together a little longer. We're almost out of here. Ok?

But she can't hear him. Her mind swims in a fog of visions; the stench of carnage fills the air, and for a moment, the bunker is gone -- replaced by a battlefield that stretches to the horizon in all directions. Nothing moves but the crows. Blood-soaked pennants flutter in a hot breeze. Bonnie alone has survived this slaughter, and she sees herself, clad head to toe in black armor, gazing out over it all with a sense of satisfaction. Her Master will be pleased -- but wait; that isn't right.

Before she can sort it out, something big and hairy sets upon her. It grabs her wrist and attempts to lead her away. The armor of her vision is gone, and she is garbed now in only a blue tracksuit. But the beast is real, snarling at her. Bonnie swings a hard right; the creature ducks, forced to release its hold on her. Ears laid back, fangs bared, it hisses savagely and comes at her again. Deftly, she sidesteps and brings up a knee. With the beast doubled over, she locks an arm around its neck and goes for a DDT -- but the creature wriggles out of her grip. In an instant, their positions are reversed; the beast pulls her into a bridging chickenwing -- her own Timelock. A low growl rises in Bonnie's throat.

Bonnie Blue: Release me!

Brian Setzer: Settle the fuck down, then.

She calms, at least outwardly, as the Mask delves yet more deeply. Fear. Images arise, sharper than recollection. Rippers -- with their skin like living metal, shapes that flow from one form to another, and double rows of pointed teeth dripping venomous saliva -- surrounding her, reaching for her with long, clawed fingers. Only their eyes reveal any semblance of humanity; though a semblance is all. Cavorting among them are snakelike things, heedless of gravity and half-glimpsed from the corner of her eye: chronovores...

From somewhere just at the edge of her awareness, Bonnie can hear a vague sound; a smooth, steady rumble. Sensing her inattention, the Mask redoubles its efforts. Regret. And suddenly, a torrent is unleashed inside. Now she sees the space station that had been her home for so many years -- destroyed, the contents blown out among the stars. Bodies hover nearby, still tethered by gravity, and she recognizes the faces. Friends and classmates, all gone because of her. Because the Dark Timekeeper thought her dangerous and wanted her either captured or destroyed -- and all for what? He had been stopped, in the end, but not because of Bonnie. Her great purpose -- shattered in an instant.

Just what is that sound, anyway? It soothes the growing angst, so the Mask tries a different tactic. Lust. An onslaught of a different kind, this time. Sensation more than sight. The soft fur pressed against her fills Bonnie with a hedonistic pleasure, so that she forgets almost about the increasing discomfort of having her arm wrenched. Her body responds to a phantom touch; but her mind conjures only the faces of enemies: the Dark Timekeeper, Mikey eXtreme, most of the membership of Beachkrew, Oblivion -- and Andre Jenson. It isn't terror that grips her as she imagines his hands around her throat...

The sensation vanishes almost as quickly as it had been summoned, banished by the deep, loud rumble that Bonnie finally realizes is coming from Brian Setzer. He holds her close, purring; one hand reflexively opens and closes on thin air, while the other maintains a hold on the girl. Bonnie reaches up to scratch under his chin, and the purring intensifies. And in an instant of enlightenment, she understands how to defeat the Mask. Because it feeds and gains strength from the baser emotions, Bonnie summons everything she can muster: love, compassion, joy. It isn't easy; the Artefact fights her, dredging up horrors from its own past and flinging them at her consciousness.

Bonnie's response to that is to recall every in-ring victory, savoring anew the roar of the crowd as the referee raises her arm high. The Mask injects uncertainty, trying to worm its way back into control. But she's ready for it this time -- ironically, thanks to her protracted battle of ideas with Wade Moor. It tries one more time, a halfhearted effort, then gives up entirely. The fleshy tendrils withdraw, and the Mask drops to the floor of the bunker. With a sigh of relief, Brian Setzer lets go of her.

Brian Setzer: You all right now?

Bonnie Blue: All right enough to get the hell out of here.

Brian Setzer: Good.

He helps her to her feet. Bonnie snags the Mask -- now inert and relatively harmless -- and shoulders her backpack. Then, impulsively, she hugs the cat.

Bonnie Blue: Thank you. I don't know what I'd have done, if...

Brian Setzer gives her a brief squeeze, then draws away, beset by a confusion of his own. He covers that with a quick, toothy smile.

Brian Setzer: It's all good now. Don't dwell on it. C'mon, there's an exit up ahead.

Sure enough, in less than five minutes, they stand in fresh air and a steady drizzle of rain. The far end of the bunker's elaborate tunnel system lets out on the other side of the mountain. From there, an overgrown gravel path leads to a small clearing among the trees. Ears twitching, Brian Setzer scents the air, his eyes scan the treeline.

Brian Setzer: Something's not right. Stay here. I'm going to have a look around.

No sooner has he departed, than Bonnie sees a hint of movement across the clearing...