A/N: this story is going to be long and a bit convoluted, but I hope you'll like it anyways. And it's AU. Very, very AU. Just a head's up so you're not overly confused as to why everything is so weird.

She doesn't remember anything beyond the Chains and the Cage, doesn't know a life beyond this too-small space.

A small part of her wonders if perhaps she was born here. She knows it isn't true, though. Knows that she had once been Outside, far beyond the reach of the Chains. If she had been born here, she would be like the Other Ones, the unnatural creatures that could not think beyond their next meal and shrieked and howled from their own Cages. She is different from them. She can think still, does not scream and throw herself around in the Cage. And she has a name she likes to call herself, though she has not thought of it for a long time. Somewhere in her pain-fogged mind, she has memories of another voice speaking her name. Calling to her with it, speaking it softly in her ear. She lets out a ferocious snarl into the murky darkness of her Cage, growling at her own visions, because all they do is leave reality burning with hopelessness and disappointment. Still growling in her throat, she tries to settle into a position more comfortable on the floor, sheltering her body with her wings, tail curled around her legs. Her limbs are all shackled, restrained by the Chains, and the heavy weight of the Collar is always present around her throat. Her wings move to cover her, trying to shelter her, keep her warm, shield her from the lights that sear her eyes and make her head throb; her tail curls close to her body for warmth. She lowers her head to the floor, trying not to move, trying to remember what it felt like to sleep without an all-absorbing hunger and fiery agony in aching wounds.

Sleep sometimes helps her remember. Sometimes fractured pieces of dream-memory are able to pull free of her murky, clouded mind and soothe some of that encompassing pain. She can't remember the sun, but she thinks it would be warm. And light—not the harsh, dazzling lights that enter the Cage from the tiny entrance whenever the Keepers, the grey-clad Keepers with their metal poles that spit lightning, arrive with her meager meal. No, it is a real light, one from Outside. She doesn't quite recall what exactly grass is, but she knows there were different kinds. Some are dry and crackled underfoot; others are soft and comfortable to lie in; some are tall and tough, stinging when they slap against skin. And snow…snow is cold. It is not an image, but rather just a feeling she recalls, a feeling of cold, crunchy-slushy stuff in her hands, clinging to her eyelashes and skin. Rain is wet. Cold as well, perhaps, seeing that the water They sometimes douse her in to clean her is cold. Other than these few basic things, she feels—knows—that she is missing something, lacking a vital piece of the puzzle that she has no hope of retrieving because the Cage and the Chains keep her from it.

She wishes that she could forget these tiny fractured shards of her memory, but at the same time, her mind clings to them for they are the only proof she has of Outside, a knowledge that there was something else beyond the murky, pain-filled darkness. Still, the images taunt her, keeping alive a tiny ember of hope that did nothing but provide fresh disappointment and sorrow. That agony and that disappointment drills its way into her head, burrowing beneath her skin and gnawing on her very bones. It is all she can do not to lose herself, to become like the Other Ones and howl and shriek at the simple unfairness of it all.

She wants so badly to forget all of it…

…and yet, in order to forget, she knows a part of her needs to remember.

Nick Cutter was in an unusually jovial mood as he walked into the ARC. Things were actually going reasonably well for him lately, and it seemed like for the first time in a long time, he was walking around without his own personal dark cloud. "Morning, Stephen. Have we heard anything new? Any sign of a new anomaly, another creature?" he asked, shrugging off his jacket as he walked in.

"Morning to you, and no, there is not. Looks like we might actually have a day off, Nick," Stephen replied without looking up from the rifle he was studiously cleaning at a table; shiny gun pieces were laid out on the illuminated surface like a great metallic jigsaw puzzle, and he was cleaning each piece one at a time with precision. He risked a glance up at the professor. "You're in a good mood today," he noted.

"I am," Cutter agreed, sitting down at his desk. Looking around, he noticed that there was a lack of a platinum blond pixie cut and a mop of dark curls. "So…where's the girls? Off playing in the garden lab?" he asked.

"Yeah, they both are. Abby's got new plants from the last alert, and Emily has some rare new bug from the corner of…Christ, some unpronounceable country in Micronesia," Stephen answered, setting down the rifle stock and picking up another small piece.

Of course, Cutter thought to himself. Abby Maitland was their bona fide lizard girl, an expert on anything with scales, but she also had a hobby of cultivating their samples of prehistoric flora gathered from different anomaly alerts. Not only did it provide entirely new insights into the actual environment of the ancient times, but the possibilities of new medicines were near endless. She was also best friends and flatmates with Emily Merchant, a young woman with a doctorate in entomology, fascinated with all things that crept, crawled, and buzzed. She'd been called in after an anomaly in a museum disgorged a flock – swarm? Horde? – of prehistoric insects nearly a metre long, spiders the size of a small dog. They'd been poisonous and two of the soldiers had been bitten. Nobody died, but Emily had been hired on not long after. Few anomalies ever had insects, but she was just as knowledgeable in other areas as well.

Taking out a pen, he picked up the stack of reports that Lester had wanted him to fill out yesterday and started working. Stephen hummed a soft, nameless tune as he worked, but Cutter didn't bother telling him to stop. "If, by some sort of miracle, we manage to get out of here before 9 at night, you up for a round at the pub?" he asked.

The tracker put away the cleaning rag and started fitting his favourite rifle back together, knowing the pieces so well it was almost second nature. "Yeah, sure. Bring the girls?" he asked.

Cutter nodded. "Aye. If we walk in with a pair of pretty lasses with us, we won't seem as much a pair of sorry old gits."

"I heard that, and I am not anybody's show pony," announced Abby in a loud voice as she walked into the room, a spunky little firecracker all wrapped up in a tartan skirt and a fashionably ripped top, her white-blond hair standing up in all directions. "But, of course, for you, I'll make an exception," she added, flashing a flirty grin towards Stephen, and the tracker winked back.

Cutter rolled his eyes.

They were free.

She was sprinting through the trees, ignoring the branches that slapped against her bare body, cutting into the tender flesh where her scales did not cover. Never mind the rocks that gouged her feet bloody or the terrible burning pain that was developing in her side and in her legs, muscles screaming as they were suddenly forced to sprint after months-long captivity.

Her companions were running with her, all of them making a desperate gambit for their freedom. If they were caught, there would be no punishment – it would only be death. Flight was inconceivable: their wings were clipped and hadn't healed, not to mention the patrols that were no doubt already in the air, the shrill sounds of alarms reaching her sensitive ears.

Hunger cramped her stomach, fatigue burned in her muscles, but adrenaline, and the pure, heady rush of freedom burnt in her too powerfully to be slowed down. Both hearts pounded in her chest so hard it felt as though her ribs would break, her blood flowing fast and hot. Her lungs drew in great, ragged gasps of air that seared in her mouth and throat as if fire. She had to keep running. She had to run. If the Keepers caught her, she'd be dead. She could not find the air to speak to the others, but they knew the same truth. The fear and the promise of their own freedom drove them on despite the exhaustion, despite the hunger and the pain.

There was a crash and a cry of pain as one of them fell over, bloody bare feet getting caught in a tangle of undergrowth. Without slowing in their desperate sprint, she reached down and caught the younger female by the arm, dragging her back up to her feet.

A shadow passed across them as the Keepers flew overhead on the backs of their kind, the others who wore the Collar and were still bound in the Chains. Behind them, she could hear the shrieking and snarling of the Others being set free, like bloodhounds after a prey animal. The wild flare of hope that burnt in her chest suddenly sputtered as her fear shoved its way forward once more, but then a wordless cry made her turn. Just ahead, she saw something that was impossible, a blessing from the gods.

A Gateway.

The Gateways were things of legends, doorways woven of magic that could cross entire worlds. All of the Gateways were supposedly destroyed before the War so no Human could use them against their kind. They weren't supposed to exist anymore – and yet there one glittered just ahead, a sparkling so very serenely in the pale, brittle predawn light. Gripping the younger female tighter, she pushed her legs harder, dragging the younger along with her towards the Gateway. Legend or not, it was still there, and they were going through it. Right now.

The detector started going off, a shrill alarm and flashing red lights filling the once-still air of the ARC, half-startling both men out of their seats. Stephen pushed to his feet, slung his reassembled rifle over a shoulder, and clapped Cutter on the shoulder. "We've got another one!"

Cutter swore under his breath. "Damn it, I just got done. Now I'm gonna have another damn report to file," he snarled, looking down at the papers he'd only just completed.

The doors swung open as Emily and Abby came walking in. "C'mon, boys, let's get going," said Emily with a smile. She was a tall woman with curly dark hair that tumbled in wild ringlets around her shoulders and a figure with curves in all the most pleasant places. Following close behind her was Captain Becker, head of the ARC security detail, and Danny Quinn, a former copper that'd somehow managed to get on the team despite the fact that Lester had threatened to have him arrested. Becker was stoic as a stump and had about as much humour as a stump as well, and Quinn was a tad obnoxious, slightly inappropriate, and more than a tad impulsive, yet the two men were somehow thick as thieves.

"Hopefully this time it'll be something small and cuddly, and we can all go for a drink afterwards," said Stephen.

"If it is, I'll buy the first round," Quinn laughed.

"The anomaly's shown up in the Forest of Dean," said Oliver Leek, their thin, weaselly-looking PR manager, in his reedy voice. "Hurry up and get moving."

Abby looked up at the man and gave a mock salute. "Sir, yes, sir! Right away, sir!" she cried in an overdramatic voice, making the rest of them laugh and Leek scowl unpleasantly at her.

His good mood was still going strong, and Cutter hoped that it truly was going to be something small and cuddly for once. Just once.