Chapter 1 - "A Night on the Town"

Eric stopped short when he saw her, sitting alone at the table, silhouetted against the glittering Boston night skyline, looking like a scene out of a movie.  He stood there for a moment, simply watching, as she gazed out of the windows, fifty-two stories above the ground.  *'Top of the Hub'?* he thought.  *Top of the World is more like it.  Hard to imagine that it's almost time to leave this city.*

The last three months had been some of the best times of his life, and Eric knew that she had a lot to do with it.  She'd showed him how to enjoy a lot of things that he thought he'd lost, and he'd always be grateful.  In some way, no matter what, they'd always be partners.  She turned away from the vista, saw him, and smiled, jolting Eric out of his thoughts and back into motion.

He placed the package in front of her, and watched as she carefully undid the wrapping.

Mary smiled to herself.  First a beautiful single red rose, then an expensive dinner against this magnificent setting, and now a present- and it wasn't even eight o'clock yet.  Inside the wrapping paper was a photograph, set in an antique-looking silver frame.  Arm in arm, two dancers smiled up from the photo, which had been taken a few weeks before.

Looking at the two of them brought her mixed feelings.  Her adventures with Eric- who had taken her on as a dance partner, despite the four-year difference in their experience- had been wonderful times.  But now, she knew that this picture, and the dinner, and the night out, were his way of saying goodbye.  Part of her didn't want him to leave, and she knew there was a part of him that didn't want to, either.  Mary looked up, wondering if this was going to be the last night she saw him.

"It's an early Christmas present.  I had the picture enlarged, and found the frame," Eric explained.  His voice was softer than usual, and his thoughts had taken the same turn as hers, looking back on the past and wondering about the future.

"It's wonderful," she replied, smiling.  "Thank you."

They continued talking through dessert, and at Eric's usual sentimental insistence, took pictures against the backdrop of the Boston skyline.  After an unfortunately long and arduous cab ride, they found themselves at the Wonderland Ballroom, to join their friends for a night of dancing and carousing they'd both been looking forward to.  They spent most of the next few hours dancing happily- somewhat with their friends, but mostly with each other- something that neither had any complaints about.

When the dancing died down at midnight, Eric, Mary and their friends (all of whom were thirty or forty years under the average Wonderland patron) were still looking for something to do.  Rushing to catch the last train, the boisterous group piled inside, only to find themselves in for a long delay.

Eric swung into his seat, and Mary settled in close beside him, his arm hugged around her shoulders.  Quickly, the group of college students got talkative, and were soon engrossed in their own world.

Engrossed enough not to notice the drab vagrant woman down at the other end of the train, whom all the other passengers had given plenty of room.  Too talkative to hear her whisper into her coat, though they would've just considered it dementia if they had.

"Unit five, on an inbound Blue Line T," the woman mumbled quietly.  "Two possible subjects spotted.  One is a male, between twenty and twenty-four, Asian- possibly Chinese, approximately five-seven.  Heavy build, but fit; very intelligent, by the sound.  The other is a Caucasian female, between eighteen and twenty, approximately five-four.  Athletic build; bright as well.  Definite connection between the two, possible relationship.  They're switching trains at Government Center."  The words were masked by strategic coughs, nonsensical mumbling and occasional pulls from a paper-bagged bottle.

Only the woman heard the reply over her earpiece.  "Continue surveillance.  Control will pick up subjects at Government Center."

When Mary, Eric and their friends changed to the rickety Green Line streetcars, they also turned their attention from talking to singing- to Christmas caroling, to be specific- to the chagrin of their fellow passengers.  With this kind of thing going on, no one on the train could have been expected to make special notice of the two burly, but quiet Patriots fans standing near the students.

Once the young people had finished their late night snack at a local pizzeria, they headed their separate ways.  Eric walked Mary back to her dormitory, accompanied by some others.  A few others, unfortunately, whom they didn't know about.  Standing in the lobby, Eric and Mary embraced tightly.

She kissed him on the cheek.  "You're going to come up and visit me, right?"

"You couldn't keep me away.  I'll be back, I promise."  He returned the kiss, wanting to say more, to draw out the moment, but with a constant flow of people close by, he couldn't.

Eric stood quietly, watching as she was carried away by the escalators, out of sight.  Buttoning his coat against the December chill, he walked out the door.

**********

When Eric awoke the next morning, he wondered if he had managed to roll off his bed and onto the floor.  The surface beneath him felt harder than usual, and his muscles ached.  He tried to roll, but found that he couldn't- something was keeping him down and biting into his skin.  He even found the motion difficult; he felt extremely tired and his head felt fuzzy.  As he opened his eyes, his next revelation was even worse.

He found himself strapped to some sort of stretcher or gurney, in an antiseptic white room that he didn't recognize.  *A hospital?* he wondered.  *Did something happen last night?  Maybe a boiler exploded, or-*  His thought was interrupted by the arrival of a single figure.  It was a man, he could tell, but the man was covered head to toe in hospital attire, lab coat and mask.

"What's... going on?" Eric demanded, in a slow, slurred voice.  "Where... where am I?!"

The man was silent.  He ignored Eric's shouts as he picked up a chart from the foot of the stretcher and read it.  Another person, a woman this time, entered, just as covered up as the man.  She pushed a cart with an assortment of medical paraphernalia on it, including- to Eric's horror- a large hypodermic gun.  Almost as if she read the young man's mind, the woman began preparing an injection and loaded the glass vial into the gun.

Taking the gun, the man stepped over to Eric's head.  Eric struggled against the heavy nylon strap at his forehead, holding it down, but to no avail.  He felt the needle slip into his neck and the hiss as whatever was in it was emptied into his bloodstream.

Immediately, he felt completely light-headed.  The dull ache in his joints and muscles worsened, and even his thoughts grew sluggish.  He watched through a tranquilized haze as the woman removed a set of dull gray coveralls from the cart and placed them on top.  The man exited the room as Eric was helped into the clothes.  It was a difficult task, as it seemed to Eric that his limbs and his brain had been separated by miles.

Eventually, he was dressed and led out the door.  Shuffling slowly, the woman guided him down the long, featureless white hallway until after what felt like miles, they stood before a large steel door.  The woman touched a few keys on a pad beside the door, and it swung open.

Eric was then led inside to the incongruous sight of a lavishly appointed office.  There were plush carpets, ornate wood accents and towering glass-doored bookshelves.  At the focal point of the office was a massive ebony desk, and behind it, an equally massive man.  Black suit, slick black hair, black beard, dark glasses- everything calculated to look impressive and sinister.  It certainly worked on Eric's drug-addled mind, and probably would have even if he were completely sober.

"Ah, Mister Umali.  So good of you to join us," said the man, his voice rumbling so that Eric could feel it even through the thick carpeting.  "Please, nurse, show Mister Umali to a seat."

The woman nudged Eric towards one of the plush chairs nearby, and he went.  Suddenly, one of the bookshelves on the opposite wall began to move, swinging into the room.  Eric noticed familiar-looking steel on the other side of the hidden door.

"Good," said his mysterious host, "I see your... traveling companion is finally here."

Eric's eyes went wide as he saw her.  It was Mary, dressed in identical gray coveralls, being led in by another nurse.  The young woman was moving slowly and had the same glassy look to her eyes as Eric knew his own had.  Instincts kicking in, he tried to turn from his guide and run to her.

A slurred "Mary..." was all he managed before learning his legs could no longer keep up with his mind, and he tumbled to the thick rug.  He was unceremoniously hauled to his feet and plopped down in the chair.  Mary was seated beside him, after stumbling herself.  She turned, and her mouth opened, but her speech had been just as impaired.

The man behind the desk rose, with an ease belied by his bulky frame.  He watched silently as both of the young people before him were seated, then restrained, hand and foot, to the chairs.  The man looked at the straps' well worn leather and metal fastenings.  They'd seen a lot of use, and he was sure they'd see much more.  Once Eric and Mary were immobile, he nodded to the nurses.

From nowhere, a pair of hypodermic guns appeared in the women's hands, and placed against their necks.  A few moments after the gun's hiss, Mary felt life return quickly to her limbs.  Her mind cleared, and she flexed her fingers, testing them.  She turned to the man standing quietly before them.

"What are you doing with us?!" she demanded, her voice getting clearer.  "Who the hell are you?"

The man looked over both of them carefully, sizing them up.  Finally, he spoke.

"You may call me Mister Frost.  The effects of the tranquilizers should be wearing off as we speak."  His voice was like flint- sharp and hard.  Frost turned to Eric.  "And you, Mister Umali?  No demands, no questions?"

"What do you want?" Eric asked quietly.

Frost almost smiled.  "Very good, Mister Umali.  Right to the point.  My people told me you were quite intelligent.  I'm glad to know they were correct."  He turned back to Mary.  "Comfortable, Miss Patire?"

Mary remained silent, and Frost nodded.  "I am truly impressed with the both of you.  You're everything we were looking for."  The man returned behind his desk.  "And now for the answers you are seeking.  The most important thing you should know is this: from this time forward, your lives no longer belong to you."

Frost leaned forward.  "Eric Ryan Umali... Mary Rietta Patire... you are no longer individuals."

"You are prey."

To be continued...