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Disclaimer: All characters and are the property of NBC and TNT. I don’t own them, I just borrowed them.
Not in Kansas Anymore
part 1
by Charlatan
The Centre
“Three days!” Three days to accomplish all that! Her information had to be wrong-- had to be incorrect. Weird might be the status quo at the Centre, but fairy tales were still fiction at Blue Cove. “Not true, not true…” her stiletto heals chanted as she stormed down the corridor.
“Broots!” she barked as she passed the computer geek’s hole. He stumbled out of the office in an innate drunken stupor, and scooted up the hallway, to match the furious strides of the woman who had not paused for him in her journey.
“Miss Parker,” he breathed heavily, choking from fear and hyperventilation. She didn’t even glance back, nor did her stride acknowledge his presence.
“Where is he?” she seethed.
“W-well, he stuttered. I talked to Dep in electrical maintenance—you know the guy with the extra pinky? He claims it helps him manage things-.”
“Broots!” she hissed, “Spit it out!”
“Renewal wing, sublevel 22.”
She turned abruptly, coming to a halt in front of the elevator, and he had to swerve to avoid marching right into her. He recovered his balance to find himself staring face to face with the highly pissed off woman. For a second he feared for his life. The elevator announced its arrival with a high-pitched ding. As shaft opened, the lone occupant took one look at the angry woman and exited swiftly. It was only as the doors began to close that the technician regained his composure. “Miss Parker,” he whispered, “What are you going to do?”
“Slay the dragon,” she hissed, “and change the ending to this fairy tale.”
***
Sublevel 22
The elevator doors opened to reveal two serious looking sweepers, who were only temporarily intimidated by dominating woman’s arrival. “This floors off limits to all but necessary personal,” ‘GI Joe’ number one informed her. She smiled like a crocodile.
If one must be “necessary”, she cooed, “than how did you two ever make it onto the list?”
Unperturbed the smaller man put a hand near his gun, “I’m sorry Miss Parker. If you have a problem take it up with the Tower.”
“Yes,” she said smartly, “perhaps in keeping with this fairy tale they’ll throw down a braid of hair that I can climb up to speak with them.”
The sweeper was not amused. “You’ll have to leave now.”
She smirked, buying for time. Realizing she had no good ideas, short of pulling out her nine millimeter Smith and Wesson and blasting her way through, —which might be fun—she threw one last deadly glare and turned to get on the elevator.
“I see you’ve found Xanadu.” A cocky voice called from behind her.
She turned to face the newcomer, “If it’s not the wizard himself. They say you make dreams come true--grant wishes.”
The thumbless man smiled, and waved his deformed hand, “I have the right touch—in some areas. Come see for yourself.” She started forward, glared at the two guards who hesitated a little too long in getting out of her way, and made her way down the dark and sterile corridor. At the end of a hallway was a small window, and through it was the cave of wonders.
“Sydney?” she breathed in disbelief at the sight before her.
“You see,” the man behind her smiled. “I’m not so foolish after all—good genes and all.”
She glared at him, but the shock had left little substance behind it. ‘How could this be—I don’t believe it.’ She pondered.
Guessing at her thoughts the estranged twin smiled. “Amazing really. I’ve always believed in the superiority and power of the Centre, but one man almost made me doubt it all.” He laughed, and there were undertones of maniacal glee. “It seems,” he continued, “that the Centre holds power over that man after all.”
She spun and looked at him for a moment, and then turned silently back to the scene unfolding before her. A space shuttle exploded, and men rushed around yelling and screaming. Lights flashed and klaxons blared. The men hurried to douse the smoldering capsule. Suddenly the door popped open, and the cabin’s lone occupant stumbled out. Immediately the hustle and the bustle stopped, the lights returned to normal, and a distinguished man strolled casually out to the “fallen pilot.” “How does it feel?” he asked. “Why didn’t they save him?”
The grounded man stood up. He shoulders were hunched in a defeated manner, and his eyes firmly fixed on the spot where he had lain only moments before. “Betrayed.” He murmured. His voice hardened. “And I know just how to make them pay.”
The old man didn’t even blink. “Very good, Jarod. Now let’s go explain your idea to the gentleman waiting outside.”
***
Later that day
“Broots.” The technician flinched, but was surprised that a few hours had reduced the potency of his boss’s venom. He turned to look at her, noting the puzzled expression that lined her face. “He’s doing their sims.” She said.
Broots raised his eyebrows in surprise, “B-but how—why?”
“I don’t know.” She answered. “But we’re going to find out.”
“We?” he gulped.
“I need to get to him.” She continued, ignoring his reluctant behavior. “If I can only talk to him I can figure out what’s going on in this rabbit hole.”
“I’ve been checking security on SL22 since you left. That place is a fortress to personnel without the correct clearance. Unless you can shift shapes or change appearances there’s no way to get through there.”
“Broots,” she said with amusement. “I think I may just need my fairy godmother.”
***
SL22
A lone figure crept passed the bored sweepers. They had been standing there for countless hours, with no visitors to keep them alert; sneaking passed was a breeze. She paused in front of the door. “No guards?” she wondered. “Broots’ information had been correct. It didn’t make sense, but it was accurate.
She slid the newly created fake id through the scanner. Broots had been very reluctant to create it; illicit entry was not encouraged at the Centre, and it was a clear way to an early “retirement”. In the end, Miss Parker seemed more threatening than the elusive “401K” plan. For a moment it seemed as though the pass would be rejected, but at the last second the door clicked open.
Even though it was the middle of the night, lights still remained in the sleeping man’s room as per Centre regulations. She walked forward, and paused to stare at his sleeping figure. His arms were straight down at his sides, and he lay in an unnatural and apparently uncomfortable position. A smile flickered across her face, “Are you even asleep?” she queried. There was no response. She glanced up at the camera in the corner; the light was no longer on. “Thank you Broots,” she would have to remember to give him the weekend off—sometime.
“Wake up sweet Prince.” The pretender opened his eyes suddenly and stood up. --So quickly that she rocked back into a defensive position. But once standing his posture was anything but threatening. His shoulders maintained their Centre issue slump, and his eyes fixated on the spotless floor.
“How can I help you?” he asked in voice devoid of life.
‘Fine.’ She thought. ‘If you want to continue this with me than I’m game.’
“Tell me Jarod,” she said aloud, circling him like a vulture. “How does one break a genius like you in three short days?” He gave no reply, and his face yielded no answer.
“You’ve been doing Sims. You said you would never help them again. What’s changed?” There was still no answer. “Answer ME!” she hissed--more annoyed than she cared to admit.
“How can I help you?” he politely intoned.
“Look at me when I talk to you!” she shot back. He raised his eyes to meet hers. She choked back a gasp. His eyes were like black holes. The sparkle was gone. There was no trace of the obnoxious, fun-loving Jarod she had chased for the last four years. And yet, despite her initial reaction she sensed something there, lurking behind, that made her wonder if it was all some carefully calculated façade. He was a pretender after all.
“Miss Parker!” a voice behind her demanded. “You’re not supposed to be here!” She turned around to face the new threat.
“If you have a problem,” she growled, “take it up with my father. I still am the head of this Pretender project.” The nightshift was not as brave as the sweepers she’d run into earlier that day.
“You can stay,” he relented, “but I must ask you to allow the pretender to get his rest. His cycle’s just begun, and he has a full day ahead of him.” She glanced back at Jarod. She had been so stunned by the darkness of his eyes that she’d missed the circles beneath them.
‘That’s what five hours of sleep and 18 hour work days will do to you,’ She thought.
“Very well, Jarod,” she said. “go back to bed. It would be a shame if a lack of sleep impaired your work tomorrow.” The man shuffled back into bed. She raised her eyebrow.
“What happened to his leg?” she demanded of the timid sweeper as the two of them stepped outside the room.
“He broke it.” The man stated. “Jumping out of a second story window when he was trying to escape the initial capture team. It was something else. I’ve never seen a man go down that hard—compound fracture n’ all—and then get back up and keep going.”
The ice blue eyes bore into him. “They didn’t capture him easily?”
“Hell no,” the man exclaimed, ”We only were able to catch up to him by the trail of blood, and when we finally reached him he fought like a mad man—even though he had no hope for escape. It wasn’t until we reached the Centre that he became calm. It was eerie. You ever saw the biggest mouthed person falls silent in a Church? That’s how it was with him. He crossed the threshold and changed his manner. They worked on him for three days; convinced his behavior must be some sort of a trick. But they realized it was for real. He even suggested they not put a hard cast on his leg, since the soft cast would still do the job, but make it more difficult for him to run away.”
“Wow,” said Miss Parker flatly. “I really have tumbled down the rabbit hole. The question is,” she murmured glancing back in at the sleeping figure. “When are we all going to discover it’s all a very nice dream, created by the maddest hatter of all?”
part 1
by Charlatan
The Centre
“Three days!” Three days to accomplish all that! Her information had to be wrong-- had to be incorrect. Weird might be the status quo at the Centre, but fairy tales were still fiction at Blue Cove. “Not true, not true…” her stiletto heals chanted as she stormed down the corridor.
“Broots!” she barked as she passed the computer geek’s hole. He stumbled out of the office in an innate drunken stupor, and scooted up the hallway, to match the furious strides of the woman who had not paused for him in her journey.
“Miss Parker,” he breathed heavily, choking from fear and hyperventilation. She didn’t even glance back, nor did her stride acknowledge his presence.
“Where is he?” she seethed.
“W-well, he stuttered. I talked to Dep in electrical maintenance—you know the guy with the extra pinky? He claims it helps him manage things-.”
“Broots!” she hissed, “Spit it out!”
“Renewal wing, sublevel 22.”
She turned abruptly, coming to a halt in front of the elevator, and he had to swerve to avoid marching right into her. He recovered his balance to find himself staring face to face with the highly pissed off woman. For a second he feared for his life. The elevator announced its arrival with a high-pitched ding. As shaft opened, the lone occupant took one look at the angry woman and exited swiftly. It was only as the doors began to close that the technician regained his composure. “Miss Parker,” he whispered, “What are you going to do?”
“Slay the dragon,” she hissed, “and change the ending to this fairy tale.”
***
Sublevel 22
The elevator doors opened to reveal two serious looking sweepers, who were only temporarily intimidated by dominating woman’s arrival. “This floors off limits to all but necessary personal,” ‘GI Joe’ number one informed her. She smiled like a crocodile.
If one must be “necessary”, she cooed, “than how did you two ever make it onto the list?”
Unperturbed the smaller man put a hand near his gun, “I’m sorry Miss Parker. If you have a problem take it up with the Tower.”
“Yes,” she said smartly, “perhaps in keeping with this fairy tale they’ll throw down a braid of hair that I can climb up to speak with them.”
The sweeper was not amused. “You’ll have to leave now.”
She smirked, buying for time. Realizing she had no good ideas, short of pulling out her nine millimeter Smith and Wesson and blasting her way through, —which might be fun—she threw one last deadly glare and turned to get on the elevator.
“I see you’ve found Xanadu.” A cocky voice called from behind her.
She turned to face the newcomer, “If it’s not the wizard himself. They say you make dreams come true--grant wishes.”
The thumbless man smiled, and waved his deformed hand, “I have the right touch—in some areas. Come see for yourself.” She started forward, glared at the two guards who hesitated a little too long in getting out of her way, and made her way down the dark and sterile corridor. At the end of a hallway was a small window, and through it was the cave of wonders.
“Sydney?” she breathed in disbelief at the sight before her.
“You see,” the man behind her smiled. “I’m not so foolish after all—good genes and all.”
She glared at him, but the shock had left little substance behind it. ‘How could this be—I don’t believe it.’ She pondered.
Guessing at her thoughts the estranged twin smiled. “Amazing really. I’ve always believed in the superiority and power of the Centre, but one man almost made me doubt it all.” He laughed, and there were undertones of maniacal glee. “It seems,” he continued, “that the Centre holds power over that man after all.”
She spun and looked at him for a moment, and then turned silently back to the scene unfolding before her. A space shuttle exploded, and men rushed around yelling and screaming. Lights flashed and klaxons blared. The men hurried to douse the smoldering capsule. Suddenly the door popped open, and the cabin’s lone occupant stumbled out. Immediately the hustle and the bustle stopped, the lights returned to normal, and a distinguished man strolled casually out to the “fallen pilot.” “How does it feel?” he asked. “Why didn’t they save him?”
The grounded man stood up. He shoulders were hunched in a defeated manner, and his eyes firmly fixed on the spot where he had lain only moments before. “Betrayed.” He murmured. His voice hardened. “And I know just how to make them pay.”
The old man didn’t even blink. “Very good, Jarod. Now let’s go explain your idea to the gentleman waiting outside.”
***
Later that day
“Broots.” The technician flinched, but was surprised that a few hours had reduced the potency of his boss’s venom. He turned to look at her, noting the puzzled expression that lined her face. “He’s doing their sims.” She said.
Broots raised his eyebrows in surprise, “B-but how—why?”
“I don’t know.” She answered. “But we’re going to find out.”
“We?” he gulped.
“I need to get to him.” She continued, ignoring his reluctant behavior. “If I can only talk to him I can figure out what’s going on in this rabbit hole.”
“I’ve been checking security on SL22 since you left. That place is a fortress to personnel without the correct clearance. Unless you can shift shapes or change appearances there’s no way to get through there.”
“Broots,” she said with amusement. “I think I may just need my fairy godmother.”
***
SL22
A lone figure crept passed the bored sweepers. They had been standing there for countless hours, with no visitors to keep them alert; sneaking passed was a breeze. She paused in front of the door. “No guards?” she wondered. “Broots’ information had been correct. It didn’t make sense, but it was accurate.
She slid the newly created fake id through the scanner. Broots had been very reluctant to create it; illicit entry was not encouraged at the Centre, and it was a clear way to an early “retirement”. In the end, Miss Parker seemed more threatening than the elusive “401K” plan. For a moment it seemed as though the pass would be rejected, but at the last second the door clicked open.
Even though it was the middle of the night, lights still remained in the sleeping man’s room as per Centre regulations. She walked forward, and paused to stare at his sleeping figure. His arms were straight down at his sides, and he lay in an unnatural and apparently uncomfortable position. A smile flickered across her face, “Are you even asleep?” she queried. There was no response. She glanced up at the camera in the corner; the light was no longer on. “Thank you Broots,” she would have to remember to give him the weekend off—sometime.
“Wake up sweet Prince.” The pretender opened his eyes suddenly and stood up. --So quickly that she rocked back into a defensive position. But once standing his posture was anything but threatening. His shoulders maintained their Centre issue slump, and his eyes fixated on the spotless floor.
“How can I help you?” he asked in voice devoid of life.
‘Fine.’ She thought. ‘If you want to continue this with me than I’m game.’
“Tell me Jarod,” she said aloud, circling him like a vulture. “How does one break a genius like you in three short days?” He gave no reply, and his face yielded no answer.
“You’ve been doing Sims. You said you would never help them again. What’s changed?” There was still no answer. “Answer ME!” she hissed--more annoyed than she cared to admit.
“How can I help you?” he politely intoned.
“Look at me when I talk to you!” she shot back. He raised his eyes to meet hers. She choked back a gasp. His eyes were like black holes. The sparkle was gone. There was no trace of the obnoxious, fun-loving Jarod she had chased for the last four years. And yet, despite her initial reaction she sensed something there, lurking behind, that made her wonder if it was all some carefully calculated façade. He was a pretender after all.
“Miss Parker!” a voice behind her demanded. “You’re not supposed to be here!” She turned around to face the new threat.
“If you have a problem,” she growled, “take it up with my father. I still am the head of this Pretender project.” The nightshift was not as brave as the sweepers she’d run into earlier that day.
“You can stay,” he relented, “but I must ask you to allow the pretender to get his rest. His cycle’s just begun, and he has a full day ahead of him.” She glanced back at Jarod. She had been so stunned by the darkness of his eyes that she’d missed the circles beneath them.
‘That’s what five hours of sleep and 18 hour work days will do to you,’ She thought.
“Very well, Jarod,” she said. “go back to bed. It would be a shame if a lack of sleep impaired your work tomorrow.” The man shuffled back into bed. She raised her eyebrow.
“What happened to his leg?” she demanded of the timid sweeper as the two of them stepped outside the room.
“He broke it.” The man stated. “Jumping out of a second story window when he was trying to escape the initial capture team. It was something else. I’ve never seen a man go down that hard—compound fracture n’ all—and then get back up and keep going.”
The ice blue eyes bore into him. “They didn’t capture him easily?”
“Hell no,” the man exclaimed, ”We only were able to catch up to him by the trail of blood, and when we finally reached him he fought like a mad man—even though he had no hope for escape. It wasn’t until we reached the Centre that he became calm. It was eerie. You ever saw the biggest mouthed person falls silent in a Church? That’s how it was with him. He crossed the threshold and changed his manner. They worked on him for three days; convinced his behavior must be some sort of a trick. But they realized it was for real. He even suggested they not put a hard cast on his leg, since the soft cast would still do the job, but make it more difficult for him to run away.”
“Wow,” said Miss Parker flatly. “I really have tumbled down the rabbit hole. The question is,” she murmured glancing back in at the sleeping figure. “When are we all going to discover it’s all a very nice dream, created by the maddest hatter of all?”
