Dylan found himself in the middle of a lush green forest, standing in a clearing. To his left were many tall trees, and the air was fragrant with the smell of honeydew. Underneath his feet, the grass was soft, lush, and sweet to the smell. Wildflowers dotted the landscape, and the sky was as blue as anything he had ever seen. Some distance off to the right, he heard the sound of a peaceful babbling brook. As much as he hated to admit it, a part of Dylan was happy that Q had transported him here. Had it been under better circumstances, he would actually have preferred this lovely place to the utter ugliness of Seefra-1. But why was he here, and what exactly did Q mean by a “game”?

‘I must be cautious,’ warned Dylan to himself. ‘Sometimes beauty can be deceitful.’

Suddenly, he heard footsteps approaching. From the sound of it, Dylan surmised that the steps belonged to only one man – and he did not appear to be trying to hide from anyone. As the sound came closer, he heard the sound of someone whistling a happy tune.

‘Obviously it must be someone just out for a walk,’ thought Dylan. ‘Unless it’s Q. Then again, why would Q even bother to approach me the old fashioned way? Most likely he would choose to do that annoying white light flash appearance thing he loves so well. Stupid nimrod.’

Suddenly, the whistling figure appeared from around a corner to the left, just behind one of the trees. It was a man for a walk, all right. He looked strangely familiar, but Dylan couldn’t quite place where he had seen him. The man was handsome – not as handsome as himself, of course – but pleasant to the eyes, Dylan supposed. He was shorter in stature, with somewhat long blonde hair…and he was wearing leather.

‘Just great,’ thought Dylan with another twinge of jealousy. ‘Leather again.’

As the man spotted Dylan, his face lit up as if he had just spotted his best friend. He came running as fast as he could.

“Herc, where have you been? It’s good to see ya, buddy!” The man slapped Dylan on the back with an unexpected force. He might be small in stature, but Dylan surmised that he could probably pack a pretty powerful punch if provoked.

“Who are you?” asked Dylan, utterly confused by the familiarity the stranger seemed to have for him.

“Quit joking around, Herc!”

“Why are you calling me ‘Herc’? My name is Dylan Hunt, captain of the Andromeda Ascendant.”

“Have you been drinking? I thought you gave that up a long time ago, buddy.” The blonde haired stranger leaned closer to get a whiff of Dylan, apparently in an attempt to ascertain his intoxication level. The closeness was more than a little disconcerting – not only because Dylan as of yet did not know who this man was, but he was also unsure how fresh his scent actually was. Ever since that conversation back at the bar regarding personal hygiene, Dylan had become more and more insecure about the subject.

“Nope, don’t smell any alcohol on you. But I do have to ask – how long has it been since you’ve washed that shirt of yours?”

As Dylan looked down to check his clothing, he was shocked by what he saw. His entire wardrobe had changed. Instead of his familiar button down shirt and leather jacket, instead he was wearing a sort of vest type top, which came down into a V shape, exposing much of his chest – which by the way was much more buff than he had remembered it being before. ‘I don’t remember ever having this much chest hair,’ thought Dylan in a sort of pleasant surprise. As Dylan’s eyes looked over his form, he realized that his arms were bare, and very muscular – almost twice the size as before. As he bent his head down to get a look at his lower half, he was shocked to see that his hair draped down into his peripheral vision. ‘My hair is longer, too!’ But nothing could prepare Dylan for what lay next. As his eyes continued the downward perusal of his own form (or upward, if you consider that he was looking at his own figure), Dylan was in for the biggest (and possibly the most pleasant) surprise of all – his trousers. They were leather, they were fabulous, and he was sure he looked simply scrumptious in them.

“Rhade’s gonna be so jealous when he sees me in these.”

“Rhade…who’s Rhade?” asked the blonde in confusion. “Herc, have you gotten a new sidekick?” The man looked worried, if not a little bit angry and jealous.

“How many times do I have to tell you – my name is not Herc! What have you done to me, Q?” Dylan shouted out loud to the open air.

“Who is Q? Another one of the Greek gods? Herc, you’re scaring me. What is going on here? Another one of Ares tricks?”

Somewhere within the deep recesses of Dylan’s mind, the foggy images that had been haunting him of late were becoming more and more clear. The nightmarish dreams he had been having – or were they hallucinations? Disturbing images of monsters of all sorts – lizard like women, men turning to stone, a woman with snakes for hair, vampires and zombies and strange red-eyed figures who reminded him much of the spirit of the Abyss. Though the visages were different, there was always one constant in the equation, no matter what the dream – the blonde haired man. This little brave man had fought with him, stood by him, and even once died in his arms. At once, a light flashed on in Dylan’s mind, transferring unconscious thought to conscious fact.

“Iolaus?” Dylan was unsure how he knew him…all he knew was that this man was his best friend.

“Yeah, buddy?” asked the man warily.

“It’s good to see you!” Dylan slapped his newly reacquainted friend on the back, and in the process of his enthusiasm knocked Iolaus ten feet in the air across the forest floor – smack dab into a tree. The resultant fall to the ground knocked him out cold.

“What was that all about? Since when did I become this strong?” said Dylan…er, Herc…to himself.

“Sorry, old pal!” He knew his friend couldn’t hear him, but still he felt obliged to offer the apology, nonetheless.

It was too late. Before the lady in red had a chance to decide on a course of action, the horses quickly surrounded her, cutting off any plan of escape. She stood there, frozen in her tracks as they approached – a dozen riders, all male. Each of them looked at her as if she were a piece of meat to be passed around and enjoyed, in order to satisfy their carnivorous appetites.

The rider directly in front of her, whom she assumed to be their leader, stopped his horse a mere five paces from where she stood, and for a moment she thought he would run right over her. The steed snorted in protest as the rider pulled on the reins abruptly. He had long greasy blond hair (the man, not the horse), and when he smiled she noticed that it looked as if he was not privy to dental hygiene. His teeth – all three of them – were gnarled and green, and as he spoke droplets of spittle flew through the air mercilessly. He was the first to speak, and as he did so his voice was gravelly and whiny.

“Well, what have we here? You seem to be lost. A pretty girl like you in a place like this…you could get hurt. It’s a good thing we showed up to…assist you.”

From each side of her and behind, the rest of the riders begin to voice various lewd comments, some so utterly and completely vulgar they would make even a woman of ill repute blush with embarrassment. She began to shiver and quake uncontrollably with fear, as her mind imagined what these men planned on doing with her.

“Q, you have got to get me out of this!” the woman stammered. The men just laughed. She felt their eyes boring into her, and the thought of them undressing her with their eyes made her skin crawl. Overhearing her utterly futile cries for help, the greasy haired three-toothed leader spoke yet again.

“I don’t know who this ‘Q’ is, but whoever he is, you don’t need him. Why, you have twelve strapping young bucks at your disposal…and we don’t mind sharing one bit!” As the leader dismounted his horse, the lady in red looked around and, to her dismay, she saw that the eleven others were doing the same.

“Q…please! Get me out of here! Q!” the lady sobbed and begged. As she continued to scream hysterically, the men approached her from all sides, laughing boisterously and preparing to make a meal of her.

“What…where am I?”

Just a split second before Rhade was frozen to the ground, and the sudden change of environment caused the Nietzschean to stumble forward, almost falling completely before he quickly regained his footing. And it was a good thing he did so, too. If not, he would have fallen into a ravine that looked to be at least two hundred feet deep. Pebbles scampered down the cliff wall as a result of Rhade’s disturbance. He gulped, thankful for his genetic engineering…and some superiorly soled shoes.

Honing in on his keen sense of instinct and superior senses, Rhade looked around him, surveying his environment in detail. The place did not look familiar at all. In front of him was the ravine he had almost fallen into. On the other side of the precipice was a valley, and beyond that some mountains staggered themselves in the distance as far as his genetically superior eyes could see. As Rhade turned around, he noticed ahead of him a lush open field, dotted by some trees in the distance. The forest seemed to circle him and dead end at the cliff-face on either side, thereby narrowing any options in choosing which direction to go.

“I suppose which direction to begin walking is not exactly up for debate…provided I had anyone to debate with,” thought Rhade as he recalled the various times when he and Beka were on away missions, arguing over which direction to go. She never listened to him, and always chose the opposite direction of the one he suggested. It was as if she did it on purpose, if for nothing more than to annoy him. Rhade snorted in disgust and wondered how that woman got on so well with Nietzscheans, considering it was obvious she couldn’t stand them. ‘She probably just wants us for our bodies and mating skills,’ he mused to himself as he began his long trek down the open field and towards the forest.

“Are you okay, Iolaus?” Dylan asked with concern as he helped Iolaus to his feet, who was still a bit groggy…and just a little bit angry.

“I’m…fine. Just a little disoriented,” replied Iolaus sharply. “Herc, you could have killed me! Are you insane?”

“Sorry buddy,” answered Dylan with a bit of apologetic remorse. “I had forgotten how strong I was. Apparently I must be a little disoriented myself. You keep calling me Herc, and for some reason it sounds logical…yet I also know that my name is Dylan Hunt. This just doesn’t make any sense.”

Iolaus thought for a moment, all the while still trying to clear the cobwebs from his brain. “You know, you have been gone for about four years now. At first, all of us thought you had finally decided to move to Mount Olympus permanently. But then when you didn’t come down and visit any of us for the first couple of years, rumors began to surface.”

“What kinds of rumors?”

“Oh you know - the usual. Some said Hera returned to the dark side again and found some way to kill you; others said you ran away with some hot goddess to a remote and undisclosed location. There were even rumors that the Lord of the Underworld gave you permission to join Deinaira for eternity. Then there were those who said you just got too big for your leather britches and simply forgot all about us poor mortal peons.”

“Which story do you believe, Iolaus?” wondered Dylan.

“Honestly, I wasn’t sure what to believe. But now that you’re here, perhaps you can fill me in on all the details. What exactly did happen to you, buddy?”

“It’s a long story,” replied Dylan. “Are you sure you want to hear it?”

“Every detail. Come on, we can talk while we walk. I was on my way to visit a friend, who I’m sure would love to see you again.”

As the two of them walked, Dylan explained the last four years to Iolaus in vivid detail…how he had been on Andromeda, been betrayed by Gaheris, went into a black hole for 300 years, came out, met his current crew, battled the Spirit of the Abyss, the Magog, the Worldship, the Route of Ages, Seefra, everything…he left no stone unturned or detail unmentioned. After all, the details of Dylan’s life as a Captain, Hero, and Paradine were worth telling…and worth hearing. Dylan was sure Iolaus felt honored to be bestowed such a token of kindness as to know the goodness and utter complete excitement of Dylan Hunt and his adventures.

As the two of them talked, Dylan felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time…camaraderie - a sort of male bonding he could not express with any of his crew from the Andromeda. While it was true that Rhade was okay to talk to – or at least had been until that little incident with Arkology, Louisa, and being stranded alone for nine months on a strange planet - this was different. Unlike the snarky bitter Nietzschean, to Iolaus it was obvious that Dylan’s superiority was not only a well-known accepted fact, but respected as well. Iolaus knew his place when talking to a god…or half-god, as Iolaus called him. It didn’t matter – Paradine, god, half-god - the important thing was, Dylan was the most important thing going on at the moment. And that pleased him.

On and on Rhade walked through the seemingly endless thicket. Even though he was incensed at the fact that Q had brought him here against his will, nevertheless the scent of clean air and wildflowers invigorated his senses…and made him thirsty. Remembering his second favorite pastime, Rhade stopped to pull out his old familiar friend – his flask. As he screwed off the top and turned it to his lips, suddenly Rhade lurched forward and spat the liquid out in disgust.

“What is this in my flask….Sparky Cola?! Whoever put this in here is really asking for it! Harper, you just wait until I get my hands on you, you little midget! Nobody messes with my flask!”

This was really turning into yet another bad week. First the fight with Dylan, then Q appearing in the bar, then Q appearing as the lady in red, not to mention the water bill he was going to get this month for the four hour long shower he had taken. Ah, the lady in red - the real lady in red. Rhade’s face softened when he thought of her. She was so sweet, vulnerable, and beautiful…and looked too simply scrumptious for her own good in that red dress. He dreamed of caressing her, kissing all her fears and tears away. Then he dreamed of her comforting his sorrows…among other things. Yes, if he could find that lady in red before Dylan did, he wouldn’t need that flask of whiskey anymore. But where was she? Suddenly and without warning, Rhade’s thoughts were jarred to the present as he heard screams coming from the distance in the open field before him. His keen Nietzschean sense of smell caught a whiff of something in the breeze. A mixture of body odor, horse sweat, bad breath, and something else…a sweet fragrance that reminded him of wild berries and lavender. He remembered that scent from the time she had appeared in the bar, and Rhade lamented to himself why he hadn’t believed her story back then. After all, when Q had appeared in Rhade’s abode dressed in drag, he didn’t smell like that at all, but rather had a sort of musky male odor.

Yes, this was his chance to redeem himself. The lady in red was here, and her terrified screams let Rhade know that she was in trouble and in need of his services.

“Feet, do your stuff!” cried Rhade as he began running as fast as his genetically superior Nietzschean legs could carry him. Nope, this time Dylan wasn’t going to beat him to her. Rhade was going to find this woman, rescue her, and win her heart before Dylan Hunt even had a chance to hear her first cry for help. Rhade’s feet picked up pace as he thought about how good he was going to look, running to her rescue in his tight leather pants.

“Wow, that’s some story Herc!” exclaimed Iolaus, obviously impressed with Dylan’s superior storytelling skills.

“Iolaus, do me a favor will you?” asked Dylan.

“Anything, Herc!”

“For the time being and until I figure out exactly what is going on, can you call me Dylan and not Herc?”

“Sure thing Her…I mean, Dylan,” answered Iolaus.

As the two of them continued on their way, suddenly they heard a woman’s cries for help coming from an open field in the distance. ‘It’s her,’ Dylan thought. ‘The woman in red; and she’s obviously in some kind of trouble.’

Dylan wondered if perhaps Rhade had already gotten to her and had once again mistaken her for Q, thereby trying to maim the poor babe once more.

‘I can only hope that is the case, because then that will mean she will love me,’ thought Dylan. ‘Then again, he could kill her. That’s a downfall.’

Dylan also had another thought – this one much worse.

‘What if maybe Rhade isn’t the reason for the woman’s screams, and is in fact trying to rescue her. If that’s the case, I had better get over there fast, before he hones in on my territory. He’s not beating me to this woman!’ thought Dylan with determination.

“Come on, Iolaus…we’ve got a woman to save!”

“Great! This is just like old times…I’m so excited!” shouted Iolaus with glee as the two of them began to run towards the sound of the female’s screams and cries for help. As they ran, Iolaus began panting, trying his best to keep up with the half-god/Paradine who was endowed with not only superhuman strength, but speed as well. The fact that Dylan was determined to reach the woman before his Nietzschean nemesis did not help matters much either. Yes, this was exactly like old times…yes, indeed.

“Q, get me out of here, NOW!” sobbed the woman as the men came closer and closer. Surrounded and with nowhere to run, panic took hold of her like a frightened animal who knows its life is about to get smothered and snuffed out. These greasy, smelly and somewhat toothless men were akin to a ruthless starving pack of laughing hyenas, and the lady in red was the prey. ‘Who will be the first to take me?’ she wondered as the men surrounded her from all sides. Not that it mattered - they were all equally ugly, equally smelly, and equally brutal. The leader was the first to grab her. As he roughly pulled her close to him, she could smell his stale odor – a mixture of garlic, day old whiskey, and morning breath. The stench was so overwhelming she almost fainted dead away in his arms.

Misinterpreting the woman’s weakness for pleasure rather than nausea, the three-toothed man attempted to seduce his prize by first subjecting her to some sweet talk. “Sweep you off your feet, don’t I?” the man snarled, droplets of spittle flying through the air as he lisped and snarled, his face too close for comfort. As he put his mouth up to her right ear, the torture and torment of this man’s odor was just too much for the woman. Instantly she was on the alert. Instinct - and a rage, the origin of which she couldn’t quite place – took hold of her. Immediately and without warning, her right knee connected with the man’s groin area, eliciting a howl akin to a dog that has just been neutered without the aid of an anesthetic. As he loosed his hold on her momentarily, she took this opportunity to run – right into the arms of another smelly man. Apparently these men weren’t too bright, however – this time her left knee connected perfectly in the man’s groin area, and he fell to the ground, wincing in pain.

The woman, now seeing an apparent opening with which to flee, took off as fast as her feet would carry her. She could hear them panting behind her in pursuit, and she knew they would soon overtake her. It was no use – there was no escape. The long red muslin dress she wore, while looking simply scrumptious, nevertheless was no outfit to wear when a lady was trying to flee the pursuit of ugly smelly men. She tripped over the hem and fell – right into the arms of another man. But this time the smell was a mixture of sweat, soap, and fine fragrant shampoo. She looked up to see the handsome man that had previously tried to kill her in the bar – Rhade. His strong arms pulled her up to her feet and momentarily to his chest. He looked down at her, but this time it wasn’t in anger and rage. The look was instantaneous – just long enough for him to help her retain her balance, and gently but swiftly move her behind him so as to take a defensive stance between her and the smelly men. But that one look let her know that everything was going to be okay. Her help had arrived – but could he fight off twelve men all by himself?

Expecting the worst, the woman braced herself for the ensuing battle, hoping against hope that her Nietzschean knight had the strength to defend her honor against such overwhelming odds. To her surprise, however (and not to mention Rhade’s), the gang of smelly men, instead of fighting, stopped dead in their tracks. As the lady in red scanned the men’s faces, she was surprised to discover that each one of them had his eyes firmly planted on Rhade’s leather pants. Apparently, the sight of a muscular Nietzschean in tight leather trousers was too much for the odorous and less than buff men. Their jaws were dropped open with utter amazement, so much so that a couple of them even forgot to close their mouths, and as a result a stream of drool fell from the corners of their open lips. ‘Must be a case of…trouser…envy,’ surmised the lady in red with amusement. At this thought, the lady in red thought she should get a peek for herself to see what all the fuss was about. As her eyes scanned down to get a look from behind at her sexy Nietzschean hero and his tight leather trousers, the woman was greatly pleased. ‘Ooh, nice…nice indeed!’ she thought to herself with pleasure.

“Wait up, Herc!” panted Iolaus in frustration as he tried his best to keep up.

“Will you come on??” answered Dylan-Herc. “I have to get there before Rhade!”

Suddenly and without warning, Dylan-Herc stopped dead in his tracks. Iolaus, running so hard to keep up, found it impossible to stop as he ran right into the back of his newly reacquainted buddy. Dylan-Herc did not budge, however, and as a result Iolaus fell backwards – right down on his behind.

“What is it, Herc?” asked Iolaus as he scrambled up to his feet, rubbing his rear end to help ease the pain.

“It’s too late, Iolaus…he got to her before I did.”

“Does it really matter, Herc? Who cares who got there first, just as long as someone came to her rescue? Really Herc, what has happened to you? Since when did you become so selfish?”

Dylan-Herc, preoccupied in his own thoughts, ignored Iolaus as he scanned the open field where Rhade was in a stand-off with the gang of marauding men. “Why doesn’t he fight them? Why are they all just standing there?”

“Maybe they made a truce,” surmised Iolaus. Dylan-Herc continued to ignore him.

“Come on, let’s go. If Rhade’s too scared to fight these men, I will!”

“Herc, wait up!” It was too late. Dylan-Herc was determined in his quest to win the lady in red. As he ran towards the battle scene, Iolaus limped behind, every now and then stopping to rub his sore behind.

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