Chapter Text
OCTOBER 2003
MARGARITA RAMIREZ’S APARTMENT
WASHINGTON, D.C.
The grey light of early morning crept through the thin curtains of Margarita's sparsely furnished Washington D.C. apartment, casting pale stripes across the worn wooden floor. She lay on her side, one hand resting protectively over the swell of her belly—six months pregnant now, the curve impossible to hide—the other clutching a worn photograph to her chest.
She hadn't slept.
The photograph showed two women in their late teens, arms wrapped around each other, laughing at something off-camera. Pilar's head was tilted back, her dark curls spilling over her shoulders, her smile wide and unguarded. Margarita's younger self looked radiant—unburdened, carefree, utterly in love and too naive to know it.
She traced Pilar's face with her thumb, her eyes burning.
"Te quiero," she whispered to the silent room. "Te quiero más de lo que puedas imaginar."
A flutter against her palm—the baby moving. Margarita gasped softly, pressing her hand more firmly against her belly.
"I know," she breathed. "I know you can feel it too. The ache. The missing."
She sat up slowly, her body protesting the movement. Six months of carrying the child of a monster. Six months of pretending she wasn't terrified. Six months of running from the one person who could actually save her.
Her phone sat on the nightstand. Pilar's number was still in her contacts. She'd never deleted it. She couldn't.
Just call her, a voice whispered in her mind. Just hear her voice.
But her thumb hovered over the screen, trembling, unable to press the button.
"Coward," she muttered to herself. "Eres una cobarde."
A soft rustle drew her attention. In the corner of the room, Experiment Zeta sat curled in a small nest of blankets, her large amethyst eyes fixed on Margarita with quiet, ancient empathy. Her pink fur caught the pale morning light, and her four hands were folded neatly in her lap.
You're thinking about her again, Zeta's voice whispered in Margarita's mind, gentle and without judgment. The woman with the warm light.
Margarita's jaw tightened. "You shouldn't be in my head."
I'm not trying to be. Your thoughts are so loud they wake me. Zeta unfolded herself, padding silently across the floor to sit beside the bed. She loves you, Margarita. I felt it. In the hacienda, in your memories. It's not a ghost—it's alive. Waiting.
"Waiting for what?" Margarita's voice cracked. "For me to destroy her too?"
You won't destroy her. You can't destroy something that chooses to stay.
Margarita let out a bitter, hollow laugh. "You don't understand. I killed a man. I abandoned my son. I'm carrying the child of my rapist. What kind of woman does that make me?"
Zeta reached up, her small pink paw resting gently on Margarita's hand where it lay over her belly. The touch was impossibly soft, impossibly warm.
It makes you a survivor, Zeta said aloud, her voice raw and melodious. It makes you a woman who has endured more than anyone should have to endure. And it makes you someone who is still trying to find the light.
Margarita stared at her, tears spilling over her lashes.
"You barely know me," she whispered.
I know enough, Zeta replied softly. I know your heart. And I know it's not broken. It's just hiding.
For a long moment, Margarita said nothing. Then, slowly, she reached out and placed her hand over Zeta's paw.
"Gracias," she breathed. "Gracias, pequeña."
Zeta smiled—a rare, luminous expression. Then she pressed her paw more firmly against Margarita's belly, her eyes widening.
She's strong, Zeta murmured, her psychic voice filled with wonder. Your daughter. She has a fire in her. A will to live.
Margarita's breath caught. "You can feel her?"
Yes. And she knows you love her. Even when you can't say it.
The baby kicked again, hard and insistent, as if to confirm Zeta's words. Margarita let out a soft, surprised laugh—the first genuine one in months.
"Mija," she whispered. "Mija, I'm so sorry I can't keep you. But I promise—I'll find you someone worthy. Someone who can give you the life you deserve."
Zeta said nothing. She simply stayed, her paw resting over Margarita's hand, as the morning light grew stronger and the world outside began to stir.
The common room of the London hideout was quiet, lit only by the soft glow of a desk lamp and the distant shimmer of city lights through the window. Agatha sat curled on the windowsill, her knees drawn to her chest, her selenite wand clutched in her fingers like a talisman. The crystal pulsed faintly, responding to the nervous energy thrumming through her veins.
She heard Rhonda's footsteps before she saw her—the familiar, steady tread that had become a comfort over the past few weeks. Rhonda appeared in the doorway, her hair slightly disheveled, wearing an oversized jumper and sweatpants.
"Couldn't sleep either?" Rhonda asked, her voice soft.
Agatha shook her head. "Too many thoughts. Too many... feelings."
Rhonda crossed the room and sat on the windowsill beside her, close enough that their shoulders almost touched. "The mission tomorrow?"
"Everything," Agatha admitted. "The mission. The dimension. What I might see. What I might have to do." She turned her wand over in her fingers, watching the light play across its milky surface. "I've never been in a real fight, Rhonda. I've sensed energy, guided people through spiritual blockages, cleansed spaces of negative intent—but I've never had to... hurt someone. Or watch someone get hurt."
"That's not a bad thing," Rhonda said quietly. "It means you have a heart."
"A heart doesn't stop a bullet. Or a drone. Or whatever else is waiting in that dimension."
Rhonda was silent for a moment. Then she reached out and gently covered Agatha's hand with her own, stilling the nervous motion of the wand.
"Listen," Rhonda said, her voice low and earnest. "I'm not going to lie to you—tomorrow is going to be dangerous. It's going to be scary. And you're going to see things that might stay with you for a long time. But you're not going to be alone. I'm going to be right there with you. Katie, Jasmine, Shirley—we all will."
Agatha looked up, her green eyes searching Rhonda's face. "You really believe that?"
"I do." Rhonda squeezed her hand. "And I'm not just saying it because I think that's what you need to hear. I'm saying it because it's true. You're part of this team now, Agatha. We don't leave our people behind."
Agatha's lips curved into a small, trembling smile. "You know, when I met you under that oak tree, I thought you were just a sad girl who needed a friend. I didn't expect... all of this."
"Neither did I," Rhonda admitted with a rueful laugh. "I didn't expect to be fighting inter-dimensional robots or hanging out with a Wiccan who talks to trees. But here we are."
Agatha laughed softly, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. "Here we are."
They sat in companionable silence for a long moment. Then Agatha's expression grew distant, her gaze fixed on something beyond the window.
"There's something I haven't told you," she said quietly. "About what I can see."
Rhonda's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
Agatha's fingers tightened around her wand. "I don't just sense energy in the present. Sometimes—not always, but sometimes—I see fragments of what's coming. Not clear visions. More like... shadows. Impressions."
"And what impressions are you getting now?"
Agatha hesitated. "Darkness. A lot of it. But not just from the dimension we're going to. There's something else. Something closer. A choice that someone's going to have to make—a choice that will change everything."
"Who?"
Agatha shook her head. "I don't know. The shadow is too deep. But I know it's connected to you. To all of you. And I'm afraid that when the moment comes, I won't be able to stop it."
Rhonda reached out and took Agatha's hand fully, intertwining their fingers.
"Then we'll face it together," she said firmly. "Whatever it is. Whenever it comes. We'll face it together."
Agatha looked at her—really looked at her—and something in her chest eased. The shadows were still there, lurking at the edges of her perception, but they didn't feel quite so overwhelming.
"Thank you," she whispered. "For believing in me."
"Always," Rhonda replied. "Now try to get some sleep. We've got a big day tomorrow."
Agatha nodded, but she didn't move from the windowsill. Neither did Rhonda. They stayed there, hands intertwined, watching the city lights flicker and fade as the night crept toward dawn.
The briefing room at IDA Headquarters hummed with the low thrum of holographic projectors. Maps of various dimensions flickered across the screens, their coordinates shifting as analysts updated the data in real-time. A large circular table dominated the center of the room, its surface displaying a live feed from Dimension D-7—a lush prehistoric landscape marred by plumes of black smoke.
Esther stood at the head of the table, her posture rigid, her expression unreadable. Around her sat Margarita Ramirez, Agents Leonora Jimenez, Soon-yin Kim, and Isadora Aguirre. Experiment Zeta sat in a specialized containment harness nearby, her large amethyst eyes fixed on the holographic displays with an intensity that bordered on distress.
"The situation in Dimension D-7 has escalated," Esther began, her voice cutting through the ambient noise. "The Ares Remnants have established a foothold and are systematically converting the native fauna. We've lost contact with our forward observation team."
Margarita shifted in her seat, her hand instinctively resting on the small swell of her belly. The others had noticed but said nothing—Esther had made it clear that Margarita's condition was not to be a topic of discussion.
"Madison Lee," Leonora said, her voice flat. "She's leading the operation."
"Correct," Esther confirmed. "Former IDA. She knows our protocols, our tactics, and our weaknesses. This isn't just an attack—it's a statement."
Soon-yin leaned forward, her brow furrowed. "What's her objective? The dinosaur dimension is rich in resources, but it's not strategically valuable for the Ares Remnants' larger goals."
"Isolation," Isadora suggested, her sharp eyes narrowing. "She's testing the virus. Seeing how it performs on a large scale before deploying it elsewhere."
"Precisely," Esther said. "And if she succeeds, she'll have an army of converted dinosaurs to use as a staging force for further incursions. We cannot allow that."
Margarita's gaze drifted to Zeta. The pink experiment was trembling slightly, her ears pinned back. Margarita reached out, placing a hand on Zeta's harness.
What do you sense? she asked silently, her thoughts directed toward the experiment.
Zeta's eyes met hers. Pain. So much pain. The animals... they don't understand what's happening to them. They're frightened.
Margarita's jaw tightened. We're going to stop it.
I know, Zeta replied, a flicker of hope in her psychic voice. But there are other things... other presences. I can feel the heart of the facility. It's... wrong. Cold.
Margarita filed that information away for later.
Esther continued the briefing. "We're deploying a team to Dimension D-7 to neutralize the threat and rescue any survivors. Agent Jimenez, you'll lead the ground team. Margarita, you'll provide strategic support from the command center. Zeta will accompany you."
Margarita nodded. "Understood."
"There's one more thing," Esther said, her gaze shifting to the door. "We're sending additional assets."
The door slid open, and Jasmine stepped inside.
She looked different than the last time Margarita had seen her—more composed, more focused. Her dark hair was pulled back in a practical ponytail, and she moved with the controlled confidence of someone who had been training relentlessly. She wore the standard IDA tactical uniform, a compact sidearm holstered at her hip.
"Agent Shirvani," Esther said, a note of pride in her voice. "Reporting for duty."
Jasmine's eyes swept the room, landing briefly on Margarita before returning to her mother. "Ready and willing, Director."
Margarita studied the girl. She could see the shadows beneath Jasmine's eyes, the tension in her shoulders. She was running on adrenaline and determination—fuel that would eventually burn out if not carefully managed.
She's afraid, Zeta's voice whispered in Margarita's mind. But she's trying not to show it.
I know, Margarita replied silently. I've been there.
Jasmine took her seat at the table, her posture military-straight. Esther continued the briefing, outlining the mission parameters in precise, clinical detail.
Margarita listened, but her mind was already racing ahead, calculating the risks, the variables, the potential outcomes. She'd been doing this too long to believe in simple victories. Every mission left scars, visible and invisible.
She looked at Jasmine, so young and eager to prove herself, and felt a pang of something she couldn't quite name.
She's going to learn what it means to carry the weight, Margarita thought. I just hope she survives the lesson.
Across the ocean, in the warm, cluttered space of the London hideout, a different kind of briefing was taking place.
Rhonda leaned against the briefing table, her arms crossed, her expression focused. Beside her stood Katie, Shirley, Yuki, and a nervous-looking Agatha. The fourteen-year-old Wiccan had insisted on coming, and Rhonda had vouched for her, but Shirley's skepticism was palpable.
"A civilian," Shirley said flatly, her eyes fixed on Agatha. "On a dimensional incursion mission."
"She's not just a civilian," Rhonda said, her voice firm. "She has abilities. She can sense energies, intentions, threats. She's already helped me."
Agatha met Shirley's gaze with surprising steadiness. "I know you don't trust me. That's fine. I'm not asking for trust. I'm asking for a chance to prove myself."
Shirley studied her for a long moment, then sighed. "Stay close to Rhonda. Don't engage unless necessary. And if I tell you to retreat, you retreat. Understood?"
"Understood," Agatha said.
Katie clapped her hands together. "Great. Now that we've got that settled—what's the plan?"
Rhonda stepped forward, activating a holographic display on the table. The image showed a lush prehistoric landscape, dotted with plumes of black smoke.
"Dimension D-7," she said. "The Ares Remnants have set up a processing facility in a valley about fifty klicks from here. They're converting the local dinosaur population into cybernetic soldiers. Shirley's intel suggests the virus is spreading rapidly through the ecosystem."
"So we're not just fighting robots," Yuki said, her voice grim. "We're fighting dinosaurs that are becoming robots."
"Exactly," Rhonda confirmed. "We need to find the source and shut it down before the entire dimension is converted."
Agatha closed her eyes, her fingers brushing the small pink quartz crystal she wore around her neck. Her brow furrowed. "The earth is crying. The trees are screaming. They're all connected, and it's hurting them all."
Shirley's expression flickered with something—surprise, perhaps, or grudging respect. "You can sense that?"
"I can," Agatha confirmed. "And the heart of the facility... it's cold. Wrong. But I can guide us through it."
Rhonda nodded. "Then we move out in ten. Gear up."