Author's Note: This is the sequel to The Telltale Lie. It's a good idea to read the TTL prior to starting Shards (SLD) as this story begins right after the last events of Lie and many plots have carried over.

SLD-0 (Book 1 Prologue)

General Hospital, Port Charles, New York

January 21, 2009

EVE! I'm Eve. Find Robin. She's ... she's out there. I wish it ... had all been real.

Sean Donely, former spymaster for the World Security Bureau, shut his eyes tight wanting nothing more than to begin this horrible day again. Confession was supposed to be a liberating action, why then did he feel more and more closed off and isolated with every recollection of the words that had poured out from the lips of someone he thought he knew better than he knew himself - his goddaughter Robin.

I ... learned about Robin. They gave me a ... a drug to ... to become her. Memories. Surgery. Made me HIV, too. I ... forgot Eve. I was Robin. Only Robin.

The words echoed in his mind endlessly looping upon itself. Damning words. Prophetic words.

Sean held his wife Tiffany and daughter Belle close to him comforting them and being comforted in turn by them. They were the most important things in his life. Because of them, he was a different man. A far better man than he had aspired to be decades ago when still in his prime.

In his earliest days, he had sneered at the family men that strolled the Parisian parks on Sunday mornings with wives and their brood in tow. He had thanked the Fates every waking day for his bachelorhood. A singular state that had allowed him to channel his energies into ambitious projects and had wanted to change the world. No cost was too small or too great. No longer in his prime, he now knew the cost had been too high.

"Oh, Sean, what Anna and Robert must be going through now, I can't even imagine it," said Tiffany. "How can't it be true? We've known Robin almost her entire life. We would know if she wasn't OUR Robin, wouldn't we?"

"There are a lot of unanswered questions, honey," said Sean. He steered his wife and daughter to the lounge area. "Let's take a seat here, okay?"

"But how did this happen? When did Robin become Eve?" asked Tiffany taking a seat.. "Who's Eve at all?"

"Please, we have to be here to support Anna and Robert. We have to wait for more information," said Sean. "That's all we can do."

"Is it possible to switch someone like this where none of us detected any differences? Does the WSB know about this kind of thing?"

"Tiffany, no one I know of is capable of this. This has been years in the making," said Sean. "I don't have the answers."

His denial reminded him of another conversation. It was a reminder that no matter who you were the past will catch up with you. When it did, you had best be prepared. Older and wiser of what was truly most important in life, Sean was unprepared, unwilling and unimaginably afraid. Sean took a seat next to his daughter and recalled the conversation.

"Project Minerva is active."

"No way!" Sean spluttered. "I ... I ordered ... was dismantled ... that project should never have been tried."

"It seemed like an idea before its time." Connie said.

"Some ideas should be left to theory and never practiced."

"You came up with it."

"I came up with a lot of stupid ideas. Some real doozies. Paid for most of them, too." Sean said ruefully. "Take my advice. Shut it down ASAP."

"It's not my call and, between you and me, Sean, I think it's too far gone."

Connie said. "I want to shut it down but I need your help. Do I have it?"

Sean made his decision quickly. "On one condition."

"Name it."

"We keep it all Top Floor. No matter what happens."

"No old friends tagging along?"

"Can't afford to lose what friends I've got. Or family." Sean replied. "Well?"

"I accept and thank you." Connie said with obvious sincerity.

He had heeded Connie's plea for help. Refusing had not crossed his mind. He had gone so far as to initiate a turncoat operation and cast himself as the lone infiltrator of a shadowy organization. But did he still have the nerve he would need to sustain him through the uncertainty and danger? He would know soon enough. The Gemini Group wanted to meet with him in two days.

And if the Minerva Project had been resurrected, then he had just lied to his wife.

Under an oxygen tent and aided by a ventilator, Eve Montrose, formerly believed to be Doctor Robin Scorpio-Drake, lay sleeping fitfully. Moments of wakefulness were fewer and fewer as AIDS ravaged her body. Her husband Patrick dozed on a small cot set against her bed. No one had the heart to remove him from the room.

With great reluctance, Anna and Robert had allowed themselves to be persuaded out of their daughter's room and into the visitor's room next door. There they confronted the reality of the situation.

"I don't for one minute believe what Robin's saying," Robert said to all assembled.

Anna added, "She has so many drugs in her system. She's out of her head. She has to be."

Doctor Alexandra Marick, Anna's twin sister, pitched her voice to be gentle yet firm. "That may be but we have to make sure. Some things do not add up."

Robert crossed his arms. His stance was challenging. "Such as?"

"For starters, the rapidity of onset, the odd little things that she's said and the slight but noticeable changes in established behavior."

"You're speculating, Alex. You don't have proof."

"I think I do," Alex looked directly at Robert. "Eve said -"

"Robin," insisted Anna. "Her name is Robin."

"She said that I had taken your place when we were younger. That's never happened and she knows that," said Alex. "We didn't know about each other until a few years ago."

"Simple mistake," Anna said dismissively.

"She's never one to put her health at risk. Ever," Alex said. "But, in this instance, why did she hide her deteriorating condition? She resisted every one of Patrick's efforts to make her see her physician. Her symptoms were severe, Anna. She knew she was in trouble yet she denied being sick time and again to anyone who would ask or show concern. She has Emma and Patrick to live for. Why wouldn't she attend to her health?"

"You're right. That's not like her," said Anna quietly. "She knows her limits and won't push herself past them without cause."

"Look, isn't it possible that her … her illness is affecting her judgment? It doesn't have to mean the … the other reason," said Robert.

"Robert, Anna, Patrick and I follow her medical records religiously including her medication. I've analyzed her medications, Robert. I've counted pills. Her stock of ALL her medications is low. I can only guess that she's tripled her cocktail in the last few days. It was probably the only way she could ... fake normalcy. Her blood work and chemical tests show chemicals that we can't recognize and those we can, her cocktail drugs, are in extreme quantities. Lastly, some findings made when she was admitted are ... disturbing."

"How so?" asked Andrew.

Alex took a deep breath before resuming. "On her left arm, she has a large welt covering a small slash wound that's similar to a needle slash. Next to that is a definite entry mark from a syringe." Alex held up a hand to stop Robert's outburst. "We know that she wasn't scheduled for shots or anything of the kind. Patrick does remember a syringe on the table at the Cassadines."

It was Anna and not Robert who spoke in a deceptively calm voice. "Are you saying that THEY did something to Robin? Gave her something?"

"She began having nightmares the night they returned from the dinner. From there, Patrick noticed a pattern of no sleep and malnutrition. Her symptoms steadily worsened," Alex said. "The dinner was the one change in her routine. It has to be a significant factor. I suspect that she was injected with something at some point from the time she was taken out of the Maze to the time that Jacques arrived."

"She told me she was ... was tired and bruised from the Maze but nothing more. I believed her," Robert said. "Robin looked all right."

"There were no real symptoms. I examined her on the plane on the way to Paris. Other than symptoms of exhaustion and insufficient rest, I couldn't detect anything," Alex admitted. "HIV does not progress to AIDS in a patient with her profile. Her T-cell count is ... was barely measurable. She should NOT be having AIDS. Something changed and forced this situation and compelled her to confess."

"Something or someone gave it to my daughter?" asked Robert in a lost voice. "That's what the facts and you are telling us?"

"Yes, Robert, it is," said Alex gently. "There are enough inconsistencies to give credence to her confession. We have to make sure of her identity, you can see why can't you? Both of you?"

"If the point is to verify Robin's identity, that's simple. Fingerprints. I'll take some imprints and compare with what's on file at the office," Mac said.

"Fingerprints can be faked or copied, Mac," said Sean. "There are surgical procedures to replace fingerprints."

Anna and Robert looked at each other. Anguish and agreement in one glance. Anna asked. "What do you want to do, Alex?"

"I want to carry out a mitochondrial DNA test. This is a test that will match genetic markers that are passed on via the maternal line. It can prove absolutely that she and Andrew are Anna's children," Alex informed them.

"Me?" exclaimed Andrew.

"You're the control, Andrew. I'll even include myself in the test to provide a sibling match," Alex said.

"How long with this test take?" asked Robert.

"With SIMON's help, we can take the necessary samples and know by today," said Alex.

"Do it," Robert said. "In the meantime, I'm going out for some air."

"Out, now?" asked Sean.

Anna and Robert shared another glance. Anna answered. "Spoon Island. Can you go with him, Sean, Mac? Make sure he doesn't do anything ... hasty."

"I don't think any of us can make any promises, Anna." Mac grabbed his coat.

"I'm coming along," Andrew said.

"Not this time. Patrick has to stay with Robin. Your first priority is Emma." Anna reminded her son. "She's calmest with you."

Andrew backed down but said, "I want to know everything."

"You will," Robert promised before leaving the room with Mac and Sean trailing.

January 22, 2009

Location Unknown

Robin Scorpio examined the pale green liquid in the flask with a knowing, critical eye. It was yet again the wrong color. If her new formulation had worked, the result should have been clear as fresh water.

"All right, notebook, tell me what I did wrong," said Robin. She scanned and flipped through several pages in her work journal. Mentally, she traced the path of her ideas and conclusions for this latest batch looking for a clue as to its failure.

The glass security door of her lab swung open. A bony woman of late middle age came in carrying a tray.

"Robin, your lunch, my dear." The warm, mellow voice contrasted with the woman's stolid appearance.

"Thank you, Hilda," smiled Robin. She turned her face disliking to watch as Hilda laid out her lunch on the small table facing the mirror. It was a mirror that Robin loathed to use. She used the next few minutes to calm herself and school her face to the expected picture of contentment and acceptance. After so long, this ritual should have become as easy as breathing yet to Robin it seemed to only grow more difficult as time marched on.

"How was your new year?" said Hilda with false cheer.

"It's the same every year. It's just ... another day." Robin replied as her eyes drifted to the date in the journal - January 22, 2009. In her mind's eye, she was a reflection on the rear view mirror getting smaller and smaller every day, week, month and year. How much longer before her image was a mere speck on the horizon? How much longer could she keep caring that the reflection mattered? "I did like the new jeans and the sweater. It's really warm. Thank you."

"It's cold here." Hilda's hand paused while arranging the flatware. She cast a sad sidelong look at her charge. "We ... I forget ... sometimes. Did you like the scarf? I saw it and thought you'd like it."

Robin smiled. "I did like it. I'm not likely to use it but I do appreciate it."

"I remember you said once that you liked scarves."

"I do. I love the colors. Red, green, earth tones."

"Your meal is ready for you." Hilda waited expectantly.

Dutifully, Robin sat down at the table and ate her meal. It was delicious she supposed. It lacked nothing in visual appeal and tasted heavenly but it served as the reminder of her situation thereby overriding any pleasure she could have had from the meal. It always broke through the shroud of fantasy she liked to pull over herself. "Is this a new recipe for the tournedos diables, Hilda?"

"I tried your suggestion for more garlic." replied Hilda.

"Hmm, it does make a difference."

"You have a good sensitivity for food, Robin."

"Blame my ... mother. She could manage breakfast but my choices were limited - marry rich, eat out all the time or learn to cook." Robin said.

"She didn't mind? Your mother?"

Robin laughed. "Not at all. I mean she didn't complain about my early experimental periods. She and my dad ate whatever I put in front of them. Most of it was barely edible."

"You haven't spoken about your mother for a while." noted Hilda.

"I feel better if I focus on the present but It was her birthday yesterday. With me and Dad gone, I ... I hope she's with someone. Uncle Mac, Maxie and Georgie would be good company." Robin said quietly. "She probably disappeared for the day like she always did."

"Disappeared?"

"My mother didn't like to celebrate her birthdays. I never found out why." Robin answered. She kept her eyes and face towards her meal. The eyes behind the mirror could be perceptive ones. She could never risk letting them see more than what she presented to them. That would give them control. That was something she wasn't going to do again. "This tart is so rich, Hilda. I'm going to have to do an extra mile on the treadmill."

"You are too skinny. I was told to -' Hilda paused.

"Go ahead. Say it. I know you're just doing your job."

Hilda sighed heavily. "The master is concerned about your weight. It's slowly decreasing. You need to gain weight."

"I'm eating the same just exercising more." Robin held out her forearm. She pulled up the sleeve of her lab coat. "See, good muscle tone. I don't look anything like ... like Kate Moss. Is she still modeling?"

"I think so."

"My color is good." Robin looked thoughtful. "Maybe, I'm going through an HIV decline cycle. It does happen."

Hilda's eyes widened. "Do you feel weak? Nauseated? Dizzy like before? Let's get you into bed. You need to rest."

"I feel fine."

Hilda looked at her more closely. "You're pale today."

"I didn't sleep well last night. I just couldn't settle down," Robin said.

"I'll give you a mild sedative tonight. And more protein at dinner."

"Oh, no, my usual soup and a sandwich will be fine."

"Orders are orders." Hilda pointed at Robin's medicine cup which held her daily cocktail.

Robin emptied the cup on to her cloth napkin. She arranged them in seemingly random twos and threes. She remarked. "Either the pills are getting bigger or I'm getting smaller."

"Remember, Doctor Thibault changed your multivitamin to a timed release one. It's the brown one there."

Robin sighed and began downing her medications in order. She made sure to present a profile towards the mirror. Three swallows and she was done.

"Very good, luv," Hilda said.

Robin's eyes flashed in anger. Her voice cut like the tip of a whip hitting the ground. "Don't call me that."

Hilda blanched. "I'm sorry, Robin. I forget you know."

"THAT you SHOULD remember." Robin pushed off the table. Her back was tense. She turned her back to Hilda. "I'll get back to work now."

Hilda cleared up the meal in silence. Before she left, she paused at door and said. "I'm very sorry, Robin."

"I know. So am I. For everything." Robin replied bitterly. She turned her attention to her notes. But talking about her past had their usual effect. It was hopeless to do anything now. Her concentration was gone. Her focus turned inward and to the past.

She walked to the alcove where a built in bookshelf covered the wall with a leather couch and recliner facing it. She laid down on the couch and stared at the afternoon sky visible through a tiny skylight above the alcove.

"At home, it would be the moon I'm looking at," murmured Robin. "Happy birthday, mom. Do you still remember me like I remember you?"

Reader Question: If you are a GH/Robin fan, do you think the scenario in this story (a lost Robin & Robin replacement) is believable? It is a soap opera but a good story has to be plausible even to a tiny degree.