Running, yelling, the sound of boots on pavement, the smell of gunpowder.

Music, singing, candle smoke.

Gunshots.

Keystrokes.

Running.

Singing.

Running.

Singing.

Running.

Silence.

Isabelle was lying facedown, cloaked in cool darkness, her cheek pressed against cool, damp stone. Standing, she pressed the small transmitter in her ear.

"Luke, Luke come in." there was nothing but static. "Blast." She said and yanked the transmitter out of her ear, throwing it into the darkness. Luke had said when he had given it to her that if it ever failed and gave only static to just get rid of it. She pulled a glow stick out of her black vinyl bag and cracked it, illuminating a small circle around her in a soft blue glow. She held it between her teeth and checked her guns, finding them in their shoulder holsters, the extra clips still in place on her belt. She grabbed the glow stick from her mouth and moved it around, illuminating her surroundings. It looked as if she were in a tunnel of sorts; there was the occasional drip of water and scurry of rats. She looked behind her and back and noticed a faint glow in front of her a long way down the tunnel. The faint sound of organ music floated into her ears and she started to walk, holding the stick out in front of her to light her path.

Just as the stick was starting to dim, the tunnel ended and she was left staring at a thin velvet drape over the doorway. Something crunched under her booted foot and she crouched down, picking up a piece of shattered mirror. Her golden eyebrow perked and suddenly the drape was drawn back and she was hauled up through the doorway. Her back was pressed against the wall by a hand around her throat. She looked at her attacker and saw half his face covered by a porcelain white mask, rage burning in his piercing green-gold eyes.

"I don't respond well to intruders, Mademoiselle. What are you doing in my home?" he asked in a deep voice and she grew angry.

"I don't respond well to acts of violence against me buddy. So let me go."

"Answer my question."

"Go to hell."

"I live in hell." he said and his hand tightened around her throat. For a distraction, her hand came up and ripped off the mask. He roared and threw her suddenly as if she were nothing. She felt herself falling, and there was a splash as she hit water. Just in case it was shallow, she braced for impact and her arms and back hit the bottom before her head did, thank god it was soft.

Erik found his mask after he had thrown the female intruder into the lake and put it back on, hiding his deformed features. He expected to hear splashing and cursing as the crude woman picked herself out of the shallow water but it was silent. He looked back and faintly saw her lying on the bottom, her eyes closed.

"Mon Dieu." He whispered in exasperation and went to the edge of the lake, walking into it and going to her, ready to pick her up before she drowned. The moment his hands met her shoulders her eyes snapped open and her hands came up out of the water, grabbing his shirtfront. One of her feet came up and pressed against his stomach, she suddenly pulled with her hands and pushed with her foot and tossed him over her into the water.

Isabelle stood from the water and walked up the shore, spitting water out of her mouth and wiping it from her eyes. She squeezed it from her long red braid and heard behind her as her attacker rose out of the water. She turned and put her hands on her hips, watching him fix his black wig and scoop his mask out of the water, one of his hands covering one side of his face. He turned his back on her and put the mask on, then turned to face her, wet, cold, and pissed off. He approached her slowly and she drew one of her guns, cocking it and holding it level with his forehead making him stop.

Erik looked at the object in her hand, not knowing what it was. It resembled a pistol but it was squared off.

"And what is that Mademoiselle?" he asked and she perked an eyebrow at him. Turning, she aimed at one of the busts sitting on his pipe organ and squeezed, the loud sound echoed through the cavern and the bust exploded in the barrage of dust and bits of weak stone. She aimed it back at him.

"Now imagine what it'll do to your head." She said and he nodded. He held up his hands in surrender and she narrowed her eyes at him before lowered the weapon, putting it back in holders strapped to her shoulders.

"Why did you toss me into the water?"

"Because you did the same to me." Isabelle said with a shrug and he nodded, once again walking towards her. Her hand drifted to the weapon, a matching one on her other side and he held up his hands again. Her hand went back to her side and he stood a little ways in front of her.

"I'm impressed, and I don't impress easily."

"By what?"

"You knew how to defend yourself, you knew exactly what my weakness was and you used it to your advantage."

"Its called survival."

"I believe proper introductions are in order. I am Erik." He said bowing to her slightly with one hand against his chest and the other against his lower back.

"I'm Isabelle Knight." She said and held out her hand, he looked at it as he stood and took it. But instead of shaking it like she had meant for him to do, he turned it and kissed the back. She gently withdrew her hand, his lips dragging against her skin and she blushed. Starting to get cold she shivered and he looked at her, all the previous rage gone from his eyes.

"You must be cold." He said and walked past her, getting a velvet blanket and draping it on her shoulders. She thanked him, suspicious, and watched as he went behind a sheer black curtain, removing his wet shirt letting her see a strong back and shoulders, he got another shirt and put it on, tucking it into his pants. Those he'll change later when his guest is gone. Looking back and seeing her watching him with a furrowed brow, he pulled the cord and the curtain drew up. She pulled the blanket around her shoulders and continued to watch him as he walked near her. "How did you come to be in that tunnel?"

"I don't know. I was running down a street one moment, the next I'm lying against stone. Where am I?"

"You are under the Opera Populaire." She gave him a blank look. "Paris, France." She then let out a mumbled string of curses unbefitting of her gender. Pushing the blanket off of one arm she looked at a band around her forearm and pressed it, letting out another string of curses. Unsnapping it from her arm, she removed it.

"Whatever the hell got me here shorted out my positron-communicator." She mumbled and sighed at his confused look. "Never mind. What year is it?"

"The summer of 1875." She let out another string of profanities, this time at the top of her lungs.

"Two hundred years!" she roared then sank to her knees. "Two hundred years." she whimpered.

"I don't…understand." Erik said.

"I don't expect you would. I'm stranded Erik, stranded from my own time…2075."