The NYC Files...or whatevertheheck we decide to name it...
Kelly had called in an 'old friend' by the name of Bryan Denton during the events of the morning. Denton hadn't been available to meet them at the Lodging House, however, the newsies met up with him as they were leaving to go to Tibby's. Mulder was explaining the situation to him, while Scully quietly walked beside the two. She felt Denton glancing over at her every few minutes, which disturbed her. It did not disturb Scully as much as it did Mulder, though. He'd slyly rearranged the positioning of the three to where he was between Scully and Denton. Scully noticed this, and it made her laugh inside.
The three adults were a few yards behind the boys, and when they entered the restaurant, most of the boys had taken seats. Crutchy was the most noticable exception, because he was calling out for everyone to pay attention to him. He was standing next to a man whose back was turned to the doorway. Crutchy's hand on the man's shoulder.
"Lissen up!" he shouted, as loudly as he could. "Dis heah's da man dat gave dat extra dime taday!" The newsies commented loudly on how nice the man was, and the man turned to leave but stopped in his tracks as he caught sight of Scully.
She blinked a few times, not believing what she was seeing. She'd suffered trauma to her head, and the rest of her body. She was stressed, very stressed. First she'd seen Krycek, now she was seeing Cancerman. This was not real. She turned to Mulder, who was now discussing turn-of-the-century alien abduction cases with Denton, who seemed to be engrossed. The man, who seemed to be Cancerman but could not be Cancerman, was briskly walking out of the restaurant, so Scully stepped aside, mouth dropped open slightly. As he brushed by, Mulder looked up, grabbed the man by the arm, and swung him around to a nearby table. As the man struggled to regain his flooring, Mulder pulled out his semiautomatic.
"What the bleep are you doing here?!" Mulder yelled at him. "Why have you brought us here?!"
By this time, a waiter with the tag "Wally" on it and Denton had grabbed Mulder. Kid Blink and Jack were pulling him back as well. Mulder turned to Scully, whose expression had turned from shock to disbelief of Mulder's actions. He quit fighting the men and boys, and the 'victim' escaped out the door.
"Scully!" Mulder admonished her, "That was Cancerman! Why didn't you stop him?"
"Mulder," she replied calmly, after seeing the frightened faces of all the patrons and employees of the restaurant. She stepped closer to him, so only the few nearby could hear. "Give me your gun."
Mulder looked at her, halfway wounded, halfway angry, but handed his weapon over to her. She took it, slid the safety up and slowly put it between the back of her coat and her blouse, into her holster. She walked to a quiet corner table and was followed by the two men, and Kelly. Sitting down, she looked at the ashtray, where a cigarette was smoldering.
"Mulder," she said, turning the tobacco stick around to reveal its brand name. Mulder's eyes narrowed as he read the label. Morley.
They looked at each other from across the table. She raised a perfect eyebrow and he pursed his lips together.
"C'mon, Scully, just say it," he prodded.
She furrowed her brow and made a pained face.
"Say it, Scully."
She sighed and forced out, "You were right."
"Now, was that so hard?" he asked. Denton and Kelly looked on, confused yet amused. "Let's go, Scully. We've got a Cigarette Smoking Man to catch."
They excused themselves from the table and ran out the door, tailed by Kelly. Bursting out of the handcrafted door onto the now-busy East Houston Street, they split up, Scully running to her left, and Mulder to the right. Kelly paused for a minute, waiting to hear a call of the hunt, but there was none.
Mulder took off down the road, but took a right up Second. He cursed Scully under his breath for not going with him, but quickly put it out of his mind. He didn't understand why people, when someone is very obviously running to or from something, decide to stop. That's what everyone was doing, stopping. He had to jump over small obstacles like fruit stands and children, and run into taller people. After a few minutes of not-so-hot pursuit, he stopped. And then, everyone else resumed their going. Now cursing irony, he looked around, panting. Some sort of street market, he settled, and then approached one of the vendors.
He opened his mouth to speak, when he was tapped on the shoulder. Mulder turned around.
"Sir, what seems to be the problem?" a policeman asked, making his suspicions apparent.
"Uh," Mulder started, and then started laughing lightly. "This man - Cancerman - he, uh, well, he's ah..." Mulder racked his brain for plausible offenses committed by the Cigarette Smoking Man. As far as Mulder knew, he'd killed JFK, Martin Luther King, Jr., and about a dozen or so other public figures. Probably Elvis, too. But they were all from the future. "I guess...I guess there is no problem, Officer," Mulder smiled, trying to seem like a good American citizen.
"What's your name, Son?"
"Mulder, Fox Mulder, I'm a special - uh, I'm a special student of law, Sir. I'm a criminal justice major at, uh, in Virginia..."
"Fox Mulder, eh?" he asked. Mulder nodded. "Let's take a trip down to City Hall."
Mulder sighed. "Okay, Officer. Which way?" he asked, turning to the walk back the way he'd come. "I'm new around here." As the policeman began to follow Mulder, Mulder whirled around and punched him. The officer fell to the ground, and Mulder started to run back to Tibby's, but was stopped by street merchants and pedestrians. They held him while the officer handcuffed him and walked him the four blocks to the nearest police station.
Scully ran down the cobblestones in her short heels, now very glad she'd taken Mulder's gun. Her blue eyes searched the streets as she rapidly passed carts and startled people and animals. She caught a glipse of a large man in a long, dark coat walking quickly, and she sharpened her veiw on him. She almost smirked when she saw a trail of smoke following the man. She pulled Mulder's gun out of her holster, pointing it to the ground with both hands. She continued to gain on the Cigarette Smoking Man, and, when she was in good range without any obstruction or people between him and her, she aimed at his head and slowed to a stop.
"Federal Agent!" she called at him. "Turn around slowly and keep your hands where I can see them!"
Almost everyone in the streets and walks turned around slowly, looking at the redheaded woman with the gun. Ignoring the initial embarassment, she lifted her chin to look Cancerman in the eye. But she couldn't. The man who she was holding the futuristic pistol on was not Cancerman, but a grandfatherly looking gentleman. She lowered her gun, trying to breathe.
"Oh, God," she muttered. "I'm sorry, Sir. I thought you were someone else," she tried to make ammends.
The palefaced gentleman looked as if he were going to have a stroke, but he tipped his hat to her and went on his way.
Scully retreated to an alley where she tried desperately to collect herself. Was this how it felt to go crazy? She'd seen many things. Many strange things, like flukemen and vampiric socializations in Texas and hybrid aliens and even dealing with the possibility that the U.S. government had stolen her ova and created a daughter. A daughter who was not meant to be. Tears came to her eyes as she remembered Emily, the frightened little girl who had been orphaned after the only parents she'd known died. That's when Scully had met her. Scully's heart told her that there was more to this beautiful child than met the eye, which led Scully to find that Emily was her child. Emily had to have advanced medical treatments to keep her alive, but Scully ordered the mysterious tests to stop, taking Emily into protective custody. A mother's custody. Shortly thereafter, Emily died. With the death of Emily, the only child she'd ever know, her heart stopped working the way it had been.
Scully had dealt with a lot. She'd experienced things that normal people didn't experience, because of the X-Files. She was strong. Her whole life was built around her personal strenth, her emotional strength. She was mentally sound. She'd had the psych tests to prove that. She could get out of this realm and back into her life. Closing her eyes, Scully fingered the small golden cross necklace that she always wore. She breathed slowly, controlled, and taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes.
"Hey, you gonna be awright?" Jack asked, concerned.
Now she was beginning to get angry. But she told him she was going to be fine. And he proceeded to tell her that he'd seen Mulder get arrested.
Closing her eyes again, she tapped her heels and said, "There's no place like home." When she opened them, Kelly was looking more concerned than ever. "Nevermind," she told him. "Let's go bail Mulder out."
Thanking Denton again for the bail bonds, Scully turned to walk with Mulder out of the jailhouse.
"Don't worry 'bout it, Denton's always bailin' us newsies out," Jack laughed.
"So that's the rite of passage around here?" Mulder smiled. "Hey, Scully! I'm a newsie now!"
"Mulder, promise me you won't get into anymore trouble until Hoover creates the FBI, okay? People are more lenient towards nuts with badges."
"I did nothing wrong, Scully! They had absolutely nothing on me! Besides, I still have my badge...I can still flip it out..."
She gave an exasperated sigh. She couldn't help a smile.
"Let's pick up some food and discuss everything that's going on. And how to get back home," Mulder suggested.
Scully and Kelly agreed, and the three headed back to Tibby's.
Vine Street Piping & Heating Co.
Marcos "Diablo" Santana raised his right arm to his opponent's face and let go. The man stumbled backwards and groaned, but grabbed Diablo's arm and slammed him into a table. Grateful the building was closed for 'inspection' later that day, the older man took hold of the boy's throat and pulled out a large flask.
Diablo kicked and put up a good fight, but his strength was weaning. The man popped the cork on the flask with his thumb and raised it over the boy's head.
Diablo watched the oily substance fall from the tube onto his face, painfully stinging him. He screamed, but only for a few seconds as the oil slipped into his dark brown eyes. A moment later, he collapsed, rolling off the table.
Alley near Fullton and Doughty
Night shook his head, trying to erase the violent images dancing in front of his eyes. The Brooklyn newsie sat down quickly, not knowing if his trembling legs would support him. He quickly stood up again.
"What am I doin'?!" he thought to himself. They might see him. He quickly ducked into the shadow of the neighboring building and started to run. Try as he might, he couldn't shake the awful picture from his mind. It slowed him down. He stopped walking and stooped down next to a pile of crates, completely hidden from sight. He leaned back against a brick wall, his heart pounding.
"What was that?" he wondered, afraid of the answer. It hadn't been real. Couldn't have been. He closed his eyes, trying to forget. But he could only remember...screaming, horrible screaming. Spot's assistant, Diablo's eyes, they were...black? He quickly opened his eyes, not wanting to remember anything else. He had to find Spot, tell him, warn him. He got up, but didn't run.
"I can't look suspicious...they might notice," he thought. But who were "they"? He didn't want to find out. He kept walking, making sure his steps were casual and even. He was almost to Spot's pier, a wave of relief rushing over him. A soft, salty breeze blew through his disheveled hair. Just one more corner to go. He was about to walk onto
the dock when suddenly an arm shot out from the other side of the corner, catching Night in the throat, pulling him into the alley. He screamed, but it was stifled by the assailant's hand, shoved over his mouth.
"Listen to me, very closely," the man said seriously. Night nodded, gasping for breath. He struggled to break free of the man's strong grip. The man removed his hand from the boy's mouth, confident that he wouldn't scream. This kid didn't want to be found by anybody.
"Lissen, I don't know ya, ya got da wrong guy!" Night said hoarsely.
The man ignored him.
"You saw something, what was it?" he demanded, trying to find out how much the kid knew.
"Nothin'! I didn't see nothin'!"
"Don't lie to me kid. I'm trying to help you," he said coldly.
Night calmed down a little.
"Please Mistah, I gotta go," he tried.
"Where? Who have you told?" the man asked.
"No..no one, honest!"
"Where were you going?"
"To..please mistah…"he pleaded. The man tightened his grip.
"Tell me!" he almost shouted, glancing behind him to make sure no one was there.
"I gotta warn Spot! Theah was dis guy...he had dis stuff...his eyes..." he trailed off, shuddering involuntarily. The man just shook his head. He had been hoping that the kid hadn't seen anything.
"Listen, kid," he said again, "You can't go to Spot anymore. It's too late. You get me?"
Night nodded, horrified.
"What do I do den? I can't go back ta Brooklyn," he said, a blank expression falling over his face.
"I'll tell you what you're going to do. You're going to go to Manhattan and tell Jack about what happened. It's your only chance, kid," he said sternly.
Night nodded, willing to accept, but not understanding anything.
"Go to Jack, understand? There are some people there, you won't know them. Give them this message," he said, handing a neatly folded piece of paper to the boy who took it slowly.
"Yeah, I gotta tell Jack...Manhattan is safe?" he asked, frightened.
"For now. Go!" he said harshly.
Night turned to run, then looked back suddenly.
"What's ya name, Mistah?" he called.
"Go!" he shouted again. Night nodded and turned back. He quickly blended himself into the crowd and disappeared like the man had thought he would.
This was his last chance too.
Night quickly made his way through the streets heading for the Lodging House in Manhattan, his heart still racing.
As he turned onto a new block, he saw some hurried movement out of the corner of his sharp eyes.
It was Skittery and Specs! He looked around to make sure no
one was following him, and then ran full speed until he was right behind the two boys.
"Skit, Specs," he said breathlessly, almost inaudible. They both quickly spun around to face him.
"Night? Whatsamadda?" Skittery asked, concerned. Brooklyn newsies never came to Manhattan unless under Spot Conlon's orders.
"No..not heah, let's go somewheah else," Night said, looking around with paranoia. "Wait," he said after thinking. "Wheah's Kelly?"
"He's back at Tibby's," Skittery said, pointing toward Houston Street. Night took off back towards East Greenwich Villiage at top speed.
Reaching Tibby's fifteen long minutes later, he paced outside the door, trying to catch his breath and his thoughts. Not wanting to waste more time, he opened the door into the establishment and scanned the tables. There was Cowboy, sitting with two nicely dressed adults.
"Breathe!" he commanded himself. He approached the booth. "Kelly," he said as calmly as he could. "I gotta tawk to you. Alone."
Jack looked at Scully and Mulder and decided it wouldn't be safe to leave them alone for long, so instead, he motioned for Night to join them.
Night obliged, only very hesitantly.
"Scully, Muldah, dis heah is Night, from Brooklyn," he said, while Night sat down.
Suddenly Night was overwhelmed with the vision of Diablo and the oil. He panicked and lost whatever composure he'd gained.
"A man, he...gave me dis fer you..." he couldn't finish, but handed them the somewhat-crumpled note with his trembling hand.
Jack looked at the note and pushed it over to Mulder.
"Can you explain dis?"
Mulder took the note, scanned it briefly, then handed it to Scully. On it were plain instructions to go to apartment #33 on 1013 Mott.
"X," Scully said with disbelief.
Mulder nodded in agreement.
"But I thought that-" Mulder waved her off, looking closer at the boy.
"What did you see, kid?"
Night just got up and shook his head, his hands shaking at his sides.
Scully gave Mulder a disapproving look, then turned to Night, "It's okay. You can tell us, we're going to help you." She took his hand. It was ice cold. She gently pulled him back into the booth.
"Now tell me, Night, what did you see?"
"It was terrible," he said, on the verge of tears.
Scully nodded, "Go on."
"Theah was dis guy...he had dis stuff wit' him. He took it an', an'...his eyes..." he couldn't finish. Convulsions of terror shook his body as he remembered what he had seen. It was enough. Both the agents took in this shocking piece of news without a visible reaction. Kelly didn't know what to think.
"We gotta tell Spot den," he said to Night.
"No!" Night protested vehemently. "No...da guy said it was too late. Dey already got ta Spot," he said, gulping.
"I don't undahstand," Kelly said, obviously confused by the events of the day. "Who are dese people?"
"C'mon Cowboy," Scully said as she pushed the chamomile tea away from her. Mulder put a couple of dollars on the table and slid out of the booth, Scully after him.
They started to walk, beckoning the boys to follow.
"Take us here," Scully said, pointing to the address on the
paper, "We'll explain on the way. If we can."
Water Street Docks, Brooklyn
Kid Blink laughed as Boots told his famous Brooklyn tale to him again. "Dat's why dey call a night a month heah in Brooklyn!" Blink and Boots said together. Blink lowered his voice, "Hey, we beddah be quiet, Boots, dey get real protective when it comes to da land dey love."
"Like a dog!" Boots joked. Blink found this hilarious and laughed again loudly.
"Shhh, Kid," the smaller African-American boy said, copping an attitude. "We's heah."
Blink straightened up his back and picked his head up as they drew near to Spot Conlon's territory. If they demanded enough respect from Spot's newsies, they'd be less likely to end up in a fight. And no one wanted to fight Brooklyn.
The boys stepped onto the bridge, Blink silently wishing he had two good eyes to stare the tougher newsies down with. He hoped that his eye patch made him look tough, that it made him look fearless. But this was Brooklyn. Spot's 'boidies', as his spies were called, knew everything about everyone, especially the fun-loving Manhattan newsies. They knew their personalities, and they knew that Kid Blink was one of the most easy-going, friendly newsies in Manhattan, and probably all of New York. But he played the part well, as did the much shorter and younger Boots, who knew how to get in good with Spot and his newsies. "It's all in how you play your marbles," he always said. "But even more in who you give 'em to."
As they stepped onto the narrow boardwalk, they knew something was wrong. Spot sat atop his throne, a tall and wide post, staring down at them. He didn't move, he didn't smile, he didn't speak. He didn't even smirk. He just stared, watching them walk down the boardwalk.
Blink tried as hard as he could to not make a gulping sound as he swallowed, and not to be noticeably intimidated by the harsh glares of the newsies, and the stone-set jaw of Spot Conlon.
Spot nodded ever so slightly, which caused four of the largest newsies to grab Boots and Blink. Spot jumped off his post and slowly walked to them, pausing a moment. Boots gasped in horror, not believing the grotesque liquid swirling in Spot's eyes. Boots closed his eyes quickly and looked at Blink, who was breathing heavily and looking at the Brooklyn leader with the terror to match Boots' countenance.
"Spot? What's wrong wid your eyes?" Blink asked, forgetting he was being held back.
Spot did not reply, but walked past them. Their captors turned them around and walked back down the dock and up to an abandoned second-story room in a buisness complex.
"Spot, what're ya doin'?" Blink pleaded. Boots was silent out of frustration. "Spot! Stop! NO!" he shouted as one of the thugs punched him. He fell against a wall and was out cold. Boots fought the tears in his eyes as he watched Spot stand over his friend and a black oil being poured into Blink's eyes.
When the task was finished, Spot turned to Boots.
"Please, no, Spot! What'd we do ta ya? Please! PLEASE, NO! NO!" he screamed, being held back. Spot didn't have the decency to punch Boots' lights out. Painfully, the ooze dripped into his cornea, then down to the even more sensitive retina. He felt himself panicking, losing all knowledge of everything - he was being taken over. He collapsed to the floor out of exhaustion.
1013 Mott Street
The trio walked almost silently up the three stories in the dilapidated apartment building. It seemed as if only a handful of people lived there, it was so quiet, but there were signs of families everywhere. Mulder concluded that everyone in these families worked. Even the kids. He looked over at Scully. She was thinking about something that was apparently very heavy.
"Whatcha thinkin' about, Scully?" Mulder asked softly.
"Emily," she replied, even more softly.
He remembered the girl, barely four years old. Her face had the same shape as Scully's, and her eyes were almost the same shade of blue. Her hair was ash blonde though, like Scully's sister, Melissa. He remembered when the girl went into a coma, and Scully decided that it was unfair to Emily to live a life of experimentation. That was the first time Scully had ever told him he was right.
"I can't let other children suffer like she did," Scully said, her voice just above a whisper. "This can't happen again."
Jack had listened to everything that was being said that day, he was quiet and reserved. Man, if Spot had seen him this way, or Dave...but all his newsies were good with it. They respected him more than anyone. The problem was, he believed Mulder and Scully. He didn't want to believe them, but he had...what was the word? Commitment? No. Conviction, yeah, that was it. Like he had during the strike.
They exited the stairwell and looked for a number thirty three on the door, but there was none. Instead, it was obvious that a number thirty three had been on the door at one time. An outline of the dirty numbers mocked the attempt to be plain door. Instead of the numbers, there was a hand-drilled peephole and a piece of paper tacked up reading, "Temporary Offices of the Publication, The Magic Bullet". Upon reading this notice, Scully and Mulder each shot glances at each other. Mulder knocked on the door.
The door opened and they walked in. Jack wondered if he should wait outside, but decided to join them. His curiosity was growing.
"So, you found us," a long-haired blond man said. He put up the thick-framed glasses onto his nose and sat down on a chair. "Like our locale? Chinatown suits us, don't you think?"
"Yeah, Langley, we parked in your space, hope you don't mind," Mulder said sarcastically. "Jack, this is Langley," he nodded toward the strange blond-headed man, who was wearing a "Mean People Suck" tee shirt. "And Byers," he pointed to a taller, thin man with a clean-shaven beard and mustache in a suit. "And who could forget Frohike?"
"Certainly not the lovely Agent Scully," a short, bald man said, eyeing Scully.
"Frohike, why are you wearing your bullet-proof vest?" she asked, not flattered.
"Safety first," he replied, not shaken.
Scully looked over to the window, where a large X had been marked on the window. They'd called Mr. X.
"Collectively we call them The Lone Gunmen," Mulder told Jack. "This is Jack Kelly, from Manhattan."
Barely acknowledging the seventeen-year-old, Langley said, "You know, it bites, Mulder. I can't be a hippie in this century."
"Yeah, but you can be a geek in any era," Mulder replied, noticing the window.
Byers sat down at a table with two laptop computers. "Solar-generated battery, homemade. The worst part about this was we couldn't work at night, but I rigged an energy storage compartment on the room. I just hope the pigeons don't get curious."
"So how'd you get here?" Mulder asked pulling his attention away from the marked window.
Byers turned to him. "We were monitoring the activity over the DC satellite system."
"Satellite transmissions recorder," Frohike said. "It's not illegal because the Narcs don't know it's been invented."
"We were alerted to an anomoly over the 209-211 area. We investigated it and it seemed that the the time-space continuum had been disrupted," Byers finished.
"The time-space continuum?" Scully questioned.
"The force that keeps chronology and our dimension synchronized," Langley explained.
"I'm very familiar with the theory. But that's all it is. A theory. There's no scientific evidence to prove it's existence."
"There's no scientific evidence to prove otherwise," Mulder said pointedly.
"With a little bit of study, we were able to easily recreate the phenomenon."
"Easily," Mulder repeated. "Right. Like Podunktown farmers recreating crop circles. Do you think you can make a stable
passage back into our time?"
"Working on it," Byers said, tapping away on the small keyboard.
"I must say, I'm tempted to stay here and start the information age early," Frohike said.
"Yeah, who needs everything else that the next century has to offer?" Mulder asked. "Look, we've got some business to attend to in Brooklyn, okay?" The Lone Gunmen waited for the rest of his request. "It seems as if Cancerman's at work here, we've seen him around. You know that black oil that you wrote issue #74 about?"
"Yeah," Langley said, silently hoping for more.
"CSM is here, running tests on orphans. Using street rats as guinea pigs for the experiments."
"That makes sense," Byers remarked, and by the look on his face he was serious.
"Hypothetically," Scully tried to change the subject. "We suppose you've seen X, too."
"X?" Frohike looked at the others, who shook their heads. "Negative, my lady, why?"
"The X on your window," she countered.
"There was a crack in the shape of a Y," Byers told her. "We decided to make it an X. You know, for the X-Files."
"How did you know to expect us?" Mulder asked, confused.
"We got your note," Langley told them.
"The one that said you were on your way...it was less than an hour ago. Some kid brought it to us."
"For the record, we sent no note," Scully told them, leaving.
Mulder, Scully and Kelly left as dumbfounded as the three men inside.
Walking back down the streets to the Brooklyn Bridge, Jack decided to let them know what was on his mind.
"Hey, for da record, or whatevah you said back dere, I believe you guys."
"Thanks, Jack," Scully said.
"That means a lot to us," Mulder told him.
"Yeah, well, just don't go actin' crazy anymore an' I can get my boys to help ya howeva ya need, okay?"
"We'll play it straight."
Bleeker and Cornelia Streets
"So Blink, wheah we goin?" Mush asked, confused as to why the other boy
had remained silent the entire way from where he had met him outside of
Medda's to where they were now, somewhere around Washington Square.
When he didn't answer, Mush got worried.
"C'mon Blink, wheah we goin? Whatsamadda wit' you taday?" he asked,
When Kid Blink again did not answer, Mush stopped walking. Like he had
expected, Blink turned around. Instead of answering him, Blink came at
him slowly. The shadow of his hat fell over his eyes, masking the
terrible truth that lay in the darkness.
"What? You mad at me or somethin'?" Mush asked, getting irritated by the
Blink moved closer and grabbed Mush's arm.
"C'mon Blink, you know dat I could take you any day. Let go of me arm."
Instead of letting go, his grip tightened painfully.
"What are ya doin', Kid?" Mush asked, fear in his voice.
Blink wrenched his arm back, causing Mush to cry out in pain and
surprise. He pinned him up against a wall, no one was in sight. Mush
tried to kick him off, but Blink was surprisingly strong. With his free
hand, Mush grabbed at Blink's face, trying to get him to loosen his
hold. His fingers caught the brim of Blink's hat. It fell to the dirty
ground. Mush stared in horror as the shadow fell away from Blink's face.
"Kid,your eye…" Blink didn't let him finish. He threw him to the ground
with an unnatural power. Mush lay there, paralyzed with fear. He
couldn't move as Blink held him down, couldn't move as he looked into
the terrifying blackness of Blink's eye, couldn't move as he felt the
oil painfully seeping into his own eyes. All he could do was scream as
his mind entered into oblivion, and his thoughts fell away into the
To be continued.