Author's note: Yeah, these folk are my Mary Sues, particularly Raksha. Just so you don't get all hung up on terms: Fragmenting is inter-dimensional travel; Clan are uber-powerful, energy-channeling anthropomorphics; Hybrids are the offspring of Clan and humans; Masks are any form other than the one a Hybrid was born with; and all Hybrids are being hunted down and wiped out by the Clan so some have migrated to Earth. That is all.

The older -- borderline elderly -- woman smiled at the nervous youth, the gesture emphasizing the deep lines at the corners of her lips. The fine wrinkles at the corners of her eyes were eclipsed hidden by the sparkle of mischievous humor deep within the steel gray irises. Her generous, surprisingly buoyant, bosom shuddered slightly, as if she fought down laughter and contained herself only by pure force of will.

"No," she said finally, "this will do it." As if responding to some hidden signal, one figure at the booth where the lady's assemblage had seated themselves squeezed past the others and headed towards the counter.

"That comes to seventy-six seventy-five," the slightly plump adolescent said quietly. Like many of his peers, Sammy's daydreams of attractive women ran more towards the vein of super-models and the actress of the hour. He'd never considered the possibility that a woman past her fifties...possibly deep into the sexagenarian stage...could be sexy. But this one made him wish that her order had been for something as simple as a Snack-Pak with a side-order or maybe a one-person meal so that he could have gallantly told her that it was on the house. But she'd ordered enough to feed a family of linebackers and at least half of it she'd asked to be thawed, but not cooked, meat. Even more disturbing than that was the fact that Sammy realized he found the woman before him appealing in a vaguely erotic fashion, and that was slowly and disturbingly prying away at his concept of how things should be.

A shadow fell over the garish orange-and-white formica of the counter a quarter second before masculine voice harumphed not far from Sammy's face. Either the lone figure had moved up from the back quicker than expected or the cashier had been deeper in his fantasies than he'd thought.

"Are you going to ring it up or not?" The speaker's voice was unexpectedly high and childlike, for he was deep-chested and quite tall. In spite of the blizzard that his group had blown in with, he was shirtless and shoeless, wearing only a pair of blue jeans that showed frayed white striations at the knees. Intense baby-blue eyes were surrounded by deep olive skin shading to bronze and partially hidden by carrot-hued ringlets all set on a broad, intense face.

"Er...yes, sure..." He flushed slightly, trying to squelch the feeling that he'd been doing something improper, and quickly slipped the c-note that the lady had offered him into the till. The fat-fingered hand that shoved three wilted bills and a shining quarter back across the counter trembled as it neared the sensibly rounded and highly buffed nails of one hand that was just starting to look bony. A hand that was barely marked as the Reaper's future claim. A soft, slender hand almost close enough to brush fingers with...

The lady picked up her change, tucking back an errant lock of her dully silvered hair as it swung forward with the motion. Her quick fingers folded the dull green of the bills around the coin and slipped the wad into the breast pocket of her black leather jacket. She graced him with one last smile and hefted one heavy tray piled high with containers of hot or bloody (or hot and bloody) food with apparent ease. Sammy couldn't help but watch her seat, so perfectly outlined in black leather pants that matched the jacket, as it swayed over to the isolated booth.

Carrot-top leaned forward. The manager was determined to increase profits somehow and had forbade the activating of the heater if less than ten customers were in the restaurant. In spite of the chill that permeated the place and his mostly non-existent attire, there wasn't a single goose-bump to break the smooth gloss of the man's skin, nor did he shiver.

"I wouldn't if I were you," he said pleasantly, picking up the two remaining trays with less effort than the silver-hair had shown. "She's many times old enough to be your grand-dam."

"I--"

"And I wouldn't start formulating any playful little daydreams about her until we're well gone. Trust me...we would not appreciate it." He smiled, baring strong, abnormally white teeth in the fluorescent lights and turned to join the others.

"Hey!" Sammy was not abnormally aggressive, but he'd just been threatened, if rather vaguely. But he had ammunition he could use. "We have a 'no shirt, no shoes, no service' policy here, buster! So you'd better just..."

"I'd better just what?" The childish voice, lowered to what was probably supposed to be a threatening volume, was surprisingly eerie but that wasn't what made Sammy's voice die in a dry gurgle of surprise. A white muscle-shirt and sandals suddenly added themselves to the carrot-top's ensemble.

"nothing..." he replied, very softly, without even a shade of authority.

"Good." The now-dressed figure headed back to join the others feasting in the booth shadowed by the giant fiberglass statue of Cluck O' Dewalk, the mascot of the Crispy Cluckers fast-food chain.

The instant the trays hit the table, the booth's occupants went into a feeding frenzy.

"Tarrick, you had the bucket of all-dark raw, right?"

"And the pies."

"That's mine. Give it here."

"You can have it! I'm never going to understand how you can eat that stuff, Wolf."

"I don't expect you to understand anything about me, little girl. But if you must know, I happen to enjoy roughage."

Laoa snorted. "Right. Just like eating out a herd beast's intestines. Cabbage and mayonnaise in unholy matrimony. 'Til barf do they part."

Tarrick, tall, copper skinned, and every bit as sleek as Joey, pinched his mate playfully. "Enough. I don't want to have to act as a barrier as I eat." Laoa shrugged and turned to her own food. She was slightly plump and had a child-bearing figure, but she barely reached up to her lover's chest. They would have made an odd enough couple if she hadn't been African-American and he a Native, but size and racial factors together were enough to make them extremely prominent in people's memories.

Tenner secured her own order before her Packsibs could "accidentally" confuse it with one of their own. They might have been bound together by love and necessity, but when it came to food, all bets were off. She removed her jacket and started to sit when she noticed that she wasn't having to squeeze to keep her place in the booth. She did a quick head-count: Wolf, Laoa, Tarrick, Joey...no Raksha.

Tarrick noticed the questioning look on her face, which was quite good for him, considering that he understood human facial expressions about as well as the average human understood the chirping of birds. He gestured behind their booth with the partially denuded drumstick in his hand. Raksha's slender form was leaned against the plate-glass window facing the storm outside.

"My thanks..." she murmured softly, pulling her jacket back on and snatching Raksha's food from the nearly empty tray before starting towards him. It had not been her imagination, she finally admitted, that he'd been thinner and paler after the last Fragmenting that they'd ventured. But he'd said he was fine, and in these bodies, she hadn't been able to scent his deception.

'It's come down to lying, old friend. What has happened now?' Her boots were far from silent on the checkered white-and-orange tile, but Raksha didn't turn his head.

Tenner grimaced as she drew nearer. She still didn't like the body that Raksha had fashioned for himself. A pathetically small, upturned nose. Wide, hazel eyes and aristocratic cheekbones. His long hair was bound into a low-worn tail. A slender, hairless male body, pale-skinned as the underbelly of a moonfish. It was a dancer's body, really, or would be if he'd stop abusing it. Beneath the soft suede of his tan tunic and trousers were dozens of jagged, fading pink and white stripes, barely healed scars from the confrontation that had caused the Fragmenting in the first place. They all bore similar scars, but Raksha's could have been prevented. He'd let himself be mauled before they'd escaped. She didn't know if the others knew this, but she knew and she also knew that there was no way she could prove it should Raksha deny it.

Her disgust melted into worry as she drew up behind him. His forehead was pressed against the cool, dark window, with several strands of his mousy brown hair frozen to the rough oval of condensation his breath had made against the glass. His body was slumped but his face was tense and his eyes closed.

"Hey," she hailed him, shaking the white paper bag, now almost transparent with grease, "we've got biscuits and french fries here."

He turned his head by perhaps a quarter and regarded her with one eye. The mix of anger and despair was all too easy for his best friend to read. The greasy bag hit the nearest table with a soft crinkle and slid edge, leaving a streak of oily transparency on the cheddar-hued plastic. Before it had landed, Tenner's arms were clasped beneath Raksha's and her body molded against his back. The younger female lay her warm cheek against the side of his neck. His skin was icy to the touch.

"You're frozen," she murmured worriedly.

"Good. Means I'm finally numb."

"Bullshit. Anyone with a gnat's empathy can see you're an open sore."

The wry, tired smile that she couldn't see on his face showed in his voice. "Yet you're touching me."

"Banter's not going to save you, half-cub," Tenner whispered, using the derogatory term affectionately. "You're going to eat and you're going to talk to me. You choose the order."

His cool, strong hands slid down to cover hers. "What if I'd rather eat you?" His normally clear voice dropped to a husky sotto as he pulled her body more firmly against his. In another second, he was exhuding enough sexually-toned pheromones to send a gaggle of nuns into erotic response. Tenner nuzzled behind one of his high-set ears, but there was nothing amorous about the touch.

"And I stopped responding to your innuendo back when we were part of the Clan proper. Give it up."

As quickly as it had retreated before his forced sensuality, Raksha's pained apathy flowed back into every line of his posture. Once more, he turned and let the warmth-leeching glass of the window support his weight. "And if I'd rather stay here and experience the wonders of hypothermia?"

"I'm not above pre-chewing your food and forcing it down your throat with my tongue, Rak." She wasn't bluffing, and let Raksha know it by the iron in her voice and grip. "You've hardly been eating enough to keep a human alive and you know how much energy Fragmenting takes. I won't let you do this to yourself. So are you going to be sensible or do we have this the hard way?"

He submitted with a tiny nod. Tenner released her friend and moved to stand behind him. Together, they stared out past a curtain of swirling snowflakes to the darkness that even the abominably bright lighting of the Crispy Clucker couldn't penetrate.

"Is it Wolf?" she asked, venom hovering at the edges of her soft question. Both spared the cold blonde eating at the booth a hostile glare. "If she's threatened you again..."

"My ex-mate..." he rolled the words around, as if coating his mouth with their bitterness,"...knows better. Even if she was willing to turn traitor to the full-bloods after what they did to our son, they won't take her back now. They'd kill her even before they went after you...assuming I didn't throat her first."

"Brianna, then?"

Raksha winced slightly, as if she'd pressed down on an abscess, but he shook his head as he did. "No...though I'd happily fall into her arms right now." Tenner's eyes flickered slightly as he raised one finger, but all he did was draw infinity signs in the condensation he'd breathed onto the window. She waited.

"It's...her."

The confused head-shake on Tenner's part caused her hair to slide forward into her eyes. "I don't understand..." She brushed it away. "Who?"

"*Her.* Close your eyes, Tenner. Maybe it'll happen."

Still unsure, she did as he asked, keeping her face turned towards him the whole time. A small, ebon thread caressed her mind...

Forced epiphany. That was the only thing that described what happened. Her fingers twitched weakly as her concept of reality turned slowly, but steadily, inside out. The safe refuge of insanity came rushing up, but Tenner was flexible. She didn't need it.

'All right, so we're all products of lonely teenage human's imagination. I've never had profound leanings, but I can cope with this.'

Raksha was gnawing pensively on his lower lip. "Some kick, isn't it? I've seen the face of the Creator and it has acne."

"You go around...knowing this all of the time?" She couldn't imagine it, knowing that the very notion of their freedom was a sham for very long. She was trying to avoid concentrating on it.

"No, no...just when she's decided she's going to add a new wrinkle to my tormented life for her amusement. It keeps her mind occupied, I suppose. Then once whatever crises she's weathered passes, I forget. Until the next time."

"Crisis? What in the stars could the All-Mother be in crisis over?"

Raksha didn't comment on her use of the term that their people used where some humans used God. "She's thinking about killing herself."

Tenner froze. "How do you know?"

"I tried to send out earlier, to get a good idea of what the make-up of Hybrid and Clan is around here, and all I get in return is despair. It's not from other Hybrids...it's all around us. Like a mental fence." His nails raked down the glass in frustration. "I don't know how else to explain it! There's nothing beyond the reach of the lights, Tenner. The road we traveled down, the parking lot, that snow fort we built...gone. Just cold and darkness and loneliness..." His voice trailed off.

"Then I guess there's no need for this, is there?" Raksha nodded and dropped her illusion. The image of the mature human woman gave way to a humanoid feline in identical garb. Her fur was white as the snow outside and her wide, slit-pupiled eyes were warm sapphires spaced rather far apart on her face. Two narrow, mobile pyramid-shaped ears were perched atop her head, both half-hidden hidden by her crimped white mane. No one seemed to notice. "Thanks. You're Masked?"

He nodded. "Didn't have the concentration I'd need for an illusion. I messed up with Joey's clothes as it was. I don't feel like changing forms right now, anyway."

Tenner sat on the sill, flicking her tail out of the reach of the cold glass. "All right." She inhaled deeply, then let it out slowly between her fangs. "I'm guessing if she goes through with it, we go too, right? Like fleas on a drowning dog's back?" He nodded. "Well, it's nothing to be too afraid of, Rak. I've been expecting to die for a while now. At least this way, we'll go peacefully."

"I'm not scared!" he snapped. "I'm angry that she'd do this to us after all we've been through. I'm disappointed that she'd crumble so easily. And I'm damned furious that our final closure could well be in gods-forsaken fast-food joint." His voice harshened to a growl. "And I'm jealous as all hell."

At a curious look from Tenner, he explained, knowing that this could well be the only time he'd ever have to get a blight off of his chest that he hadn't even known existed until a few days ago. "The others. The others she's created will be remembered. The demon, the Wolfrider, the anthropomorphics...she wrote about them. She shared them with her people. They will be remembered.

"Us? We've traveled everywhere she's ever wanted, been through physical and soulborne pain she'd have shriveled under, met people she never could..." The centuries-dead ghost of amusement seeped into his voice. "...And made love to everyone she's ever taken a second glance at. We're too close to her, Ten. We're too much a part of her, too secret. She'd never let us be exposed...and if she dies, we go with her. For always. I don't know about you, but I'd give anything to be that lecherous demon right about now."

Tenner gazed out of the window as he spoke. Was it her imagination, or were the snowflakes fading from view in spite of the lighting? She shivered. "But you're not. You're Raksha, my friend, and our leader. And right now your choices are pretty clear. You can fade from existence cold and empty while beating your head against a brick wall, or you can be warm and close with your Packsibs and fill your belly one last time."

He lifted his head to look at her. "Is it really that simple to you, Tenner? Even knowing about this?"

"You said it's happened before. She might pull out of this again, who knows? Either way, there's nothing I can do to change it. And I've never been fond of looking straight at my impending doom. I'd rather enjoy my last few hours than concentrate on how they may be my last." She stood up and moved to pick up the bag holding Raksha's food. She paused for a second, disoriented, then picked the bag up by the roll of paper at its top. Raksha looked as despondent as he had when she'd approached, but for the life of her, she couldn't quite remember what they'd discussed. "Food's getting cold. Great golden goat dung! What am I doing out of guise?!"

A queer look passed over her old friend's face, but her illusion reinstated itself. "Sorry...must have been concentrating on something else." He smiled at her. It was a nice smile, but it seemed as if he'd had to put forth a lot of effort to dredge it up. "Anyway, it wasn't important. Let's eat."