Author's note: Finally got around to tidying this thing up. Hopefully it'll be easier to read now.

Other Author's note: This fic takes place between MIB 1 and 2, and sometime after The Last Continent

*****

"Freeze! We have a warrant for your deportation!" The fugitive fled into a blind alley, the pursuers close behind. As they turned the corner, they saw that the fugitive had vanished, but the escape route remained: a gaping, swirling vortex like a hole in reality.

"Zed, we got a slider," the woman said into her communicator, "Pursue?"

"Affirmative," came Zed's tinny voice from the communicator, "The Zzrt'lan people are adamant that Lyteria not get away from us again."

They regarded the vortex for a moment.

"Ladies first," said the man, bowing and gesturing grandly towards it.

She smirked. "Nice to see chivalry isn't dead," she said, and stepped through.

*****

End Prologue.