"This really is not a good idea," she heard her friend say again as the elevator doors slid open. Shayla Parker, of course, didn't take the advice any better than she had the last five times Tina said it.

It's just that Tina couldn't possibly understand. For that matter, she really didn't understand herself.

"Hello?" Tina said as Shayla stepped out of the tiny box. "The man tried to kill you less than two hours ago! My god, girl, are you a masochist or something?"

"I have to know," Shay said absently, and rushed up to the reception desk just ahead.

An uptight-looking nurse eyed her as she approached, but was amiable enough in her greeting.

"Hi," Shayla said, plastering her famed Friendly Smile on her face. "I'm looking for a man that was brought in a little while ago, but I'm afraid I don't know his name."

"I'm sorry," the nurse recited, "but we can't divulge any information on our patients."

"Told you," whispered Tina, and began to return to the elevator.

Shayla scowled at the back of her friend's head and returned her attention to the nurse. "I understand the policies, ma'am, but this is a special circumstance. You see, I'm the one who caused his injuries. It's a long story, but I need to see him. You know, to make sure he's okay."

The nurse looked at her for a few moments longer, either trying to determine her veracity or contemplating the necessity for security. Then she turned to the computer in front of her and typed a few words in.

"We have a John Doe in room 405. He won't tell us his name. They brought him up about forty-five minutes ago. There's a guard posted at the door. And if you tell anyone about this, I'll deny everything and say you broke into our system to get this information. Am I clear?"

"Perfectly!" Shayla smiled so hard that she thought she would strain a face muscle. She couldn't believe her luck! "Thank you so much, Nurse..."

"Nurse will do fine," the nurse replied.

"Thank you!" She waved an okay sign at Tina and went in the direction of room 405.

Shayla had hated hospitals for as long as she could remember. Both of her parents had died long, lingering deaths in places like this, as did her mother's parents. Charity hospitals were the worst. Being here -- the flawless white of everything; the smell of bleach; the lingering quiet, broken only by the clack of her heels on the linoleum -- brought back so many horrible memories.

But she had to face him. She had to know.

There were two policemen standing to either side of the door. She smiled nervously at them before looking at the name plate. "John Doe", written in a hasty scrawl.

"Can I help you, ma'am?" asked one of the officers. DuMont, according to his name plate.

"I need to see that man," she replied.

DuMont exchanged a nervous look with the other officer, who simply shrugged.

She went inside.

The room was devoid of any decoration. Not even the cheesy reprints of supposedly classical artwork that most hospitals used. The man had been here less than an hour, and was unidentified at that, so she hadn't expected any flowers, balloons, or greeting cards. Still, she hadn't expected it to be so impersonal, either.

The man was asleep as she approached the bed. Looking down at him, she was struck by how old and frail he was. It was hard to believe that he had tried so hard to kill her.

He opened his eyes, and she was back in that alley.

Broad daylight, when nothing was supposed to happen. She had taken an alley shortcut because she'd been running late for an appointment. A man -- this man -- had appeared from behind a dumpster, and without a word, without provocation, had begun to choke her. It hadn't made any sense. It seemed so random. Only her quick reflexes had saved her -- that, and about a year's worth of self defense classes. In no time at all, she had knocked him flat on his back.

It was when she had started to run away that he spoke to her: "For the sake of all.... you must die." Then he had lost consciousness.

In movies, the heroine would always step ever-so-slowly closer to the assailant to make sure he wasn't getting up any time soon. Shayla had to admit that she wanted to do that herself. But she had stayed a safe distance away as she called for an ambulance. Once they were en route, she had called Tina. Police had questioned her for only an hour.

And then she came here.

"It's you," the man said, startling her out of the memory. "I failed my mission."

"What mission?" she asked.

"To destroy the enemy." He sounded so weak. The words came so slowly.

"I am not your enemy."

With great effort, he nodded, an almost unnoticeable movement. "You have been the enemy since before you were born. Since the last time I came here."

Shayla was torn. This was a man who wanted to kill her, for crying out loud! And yet, she couldn't help but feel sorry for the old man. He was obviously not entirely sane.

"You look so much like your mother," he said, a hint of reverie touching his eyes. "So beautiful. I fell in love with her the moment I saw her."

She felt her blood run cold. "How do you know my mother?"

"Many years ago -- as earth measures time, of course -- I came on an exploratory mission. Goodwill ambassadors, we called ourselves. The people looked at us in much the same way you look at me now. As if we were... what is the term?... looney tunes. But there was one woman... she was in the employ of an eating establishment at the time... she looked at us -- at me -- differently. I was instantly smitten.

"When we were scheduled to begin our return trip home, I wanted to stay. The young woman knew, though, that I was destined for other things. We spent my last night here together. I never saw her again."

This was insane, Shayla thought. He was talking like he was from outer space or something.

"That woman," the man continued, "was called Valerie Burke."

No, Shayla screamed in her head. That's Mother's maiden name!

"You're lying," she said aloud.

He shook his head with a light smile. "Help me lift up the left sleeve of this garment, please."

On her guard, she did as he requested. She gasped, and backed up a step at what she saw -- a small, blue birthmark shaped like an eight-point star. It was impossible! Absolutely impossible!!

"What is it?" he asked, concern entering his voice.

She lifted her own left sleeve to reveal an identical birthmark on her own arm. His eyes widened in shock, and his voice faltered when next he spoke.

"Then it is true." His eyes filled with tears, and his voice trembled with sadness. "They sent me to kill you, knowing that... that..."

"What is it?" she coaxed. She stepped a bit closer to him and placed her hand on his shoulder. "What did they know is true?" Whoever "they" were.

"You're the Hybrid!" he exclaimed, obviously scared. "You are the one the prophecies say will destroy my world. And I made it come to pass!"

"What are you talking about, old man?" she nearly screamed at him. "Who the hell are you?"

"Do you not know?" he pled. "Do you not understand? The marks, child! Look at the marks!" He pulled back his sleeve again, somehow full of energy he had first lacked.

She couldn't help but do the same. The marks were identical in every way. "So we both have freaky birthmarks, so what?"

"It is the mark of my family line. All born into it have this mark. For generations has it been so, and for generations will it be so."

Shayla felt faint. The world started to spin. She felt like she'd suddenly stepped into the Twilight Zone.

He held out a hand to her. "My name is Zilen. I am your father."