In an alleyway beside his apartment that he shares with his wife, Aurora of Alpha Flight, Sasquatch wrestles with the part of his personality that every day is becoming more and more bestial. He thought that he was cured by Bedlam and Jaxon when they had kidnapped him months ago in the summer time but it looks like they had tricks up their sleeves.

Grunting and groaning, Sasquatch sees people passing the alley, making odd stares at him. He tries to force himself to change back into Walter Langkowski, but the change comes harder and harder every day.

He finally changes back into Walter. He is half naked, only wearing a pair of shorts.

“Oh, this is great,” Walter says, walking into the street again. “Aurora is gonna kill me. I know she is up there somewhere but she chides me when I change in the middle of the street like this. She likes me to be at the Alpha Complex so that when I do change I can at least change into my civvies. Then, we can go back to our home away from home as normal people. Tho’ she does like to fly me over sometimes.”

Attracting a lot of attention from gawkers and onlookers, Walter pays them no mind as he knocks on the door of the apartment. He softly knocks on the door and soon, Aurora answers it, letting him inside.

“C’mon in,” she says. “C’mon in. You’ll catch yourself a draft of cold.”

“I seem to have lost my keys. Thank you.”

“Very funny,” she laughs as she closes the door behind him. “I always have known that humor is one of your strong suits. Maybe that is why I married you.”

Immediately, Walter walks into their bedroom to get a fresh change of clothes.

“What happened, Waltair?’ she asked him. “Was it zee beast again?”

As he put on a dress shirt and slacks, Walter answered her. “Yes, it was. I was Sasquatch and I just couldn’t change back into myself again. I think Bedlam pulled a nasty one on me when he kidnapped me. I knew something was funny when they just let me escape after turning me into Sasquatch again. I fear that my peril is not over with.”

Aurora enters the room, glad that he is all right. “You’re safe and that is all that matters.” She kisses him and embraces him.

When they separate, he asks,” Am I late for your appointment?’

“We could always cancel that. It’s not that important.”

“No, it’s the only thing that can save your life. Jeanne-Marie, for years you have wrestled with your three personalities, what was misdiagnosed as schizophrenia. This Dr. Donald Jenkins is the only man in Canada who may be able to cure you.”

At the Hospital for Mental Rehabilitation, Jeanne-Marie Beaubier sat in the office of head psychiatrist and coordinator of the whole facility, Dr. Donald Jenkins. He was a tall gentlemen, wearing black rimmed glasses and sporting equally black (actually, jet black) short cropped hair. He wore a white lab coat and underneath there was a perfectly tailored suit. He sat behind his ornate desk, which was clean. Somehow, Jeanne-Marie believed that doctors above anyone else in the medical profession should have messy offices, as they didn’t have time to clean it up or have someone clean it for them. Like a maid or something. Maybe a nurse or someone like that.

“So, how are you feeling today, Jeanne-Marie?” Jenkins asked her, gently, knowing that he was pushing the right buttons but not wanting her to be too aware of it. She didn’t want her to explode right then and there and he definitely didn’t want her to revert to one of her submissive personalities. Or one of her aggressive ones, like the outgoing Aurora.

“Fine, I guess,” she responded.

Jenkins had to admit that even in her prim and proper suit that was tailored to fit her curvaceous figure and body that she was a strikingly beautiful woman. Walter was a lucky man to take a woman like that home every night. Which wasn’t a small feat since they were now married.

“You’re not here for you to say ‘fine’ and me to send you on your merry way, now, are you?” he asked, curiously. “Hmm. Now, really, how are you doing?” He asked the last question, sort of like a threat. To let her know that she belonged in a facility like this and not in normal, regular society. She was not a normal person. She was afflicted with a chemical imbalance in her brain centers. And he was here to help cure her of that ailment.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir?” Jeanne-Marie kindly responded. She was careful to use tact. The last thing she wanted to appear was crazy. Because then he would have her committed to a rubber room. All psychiatrists were like that.

“The first step to the cure is to admit you have a problem. I can’t help you unless you admit to something.”

“I think my time is up.” Jeanne-Marie stood up and faced Jenkins who had matched her movements and in turned had been facing her as well.

Before he could form an answer to her motions and words, she was at the door, fiddling with the lock. She tried to open it but with all her strength, she couldn’t. “It’s locked.”

Matter-of-factly, Jenkins said, “I asked you if you wanted the door closed and you said yes because you didn’t want anyone in the hall to hear of our conversation.”

“Closed, yes, but not locked. What’s your game, mon ami?”

“Good. You called me friend. That’s a start.”

“I meant it sarcastically.” Jeanne-Marie wrinkled her nose and started to race toward Jenkins, who had pressed a button underneath his desk.

Suddenly, green gas began to spread toward Jeanne-Marie’s olfactory orifices. Jenkins was spared from this by placing a gas mask over his mouth and nose that he kept in the right hand drawer of his desk.

With a muffled thud, Jeanne-Marie fell to the ground, asleep. With the press of a button, Jenkins shut off the aperture that released the gas. And he took off his mask, replacing it in the desk drawer.

When she had awakened, Jeanne-Marie Beaubier was in a very sterile room, with no windows and only one door. She was dressed in her Aurora costume, so that Jenkins knew that she was a super heroine. She would have used her light powers on Jenkins himself but that only worked when she touched hands with her brother Northstar. And he was far away.

Suddenly, the door opened, someone entered, and he closed the door again. It was Donald Jenkins. He was still wearing the same lab coat and suit. He was holding a very large hypodermic needle. Aurora was sure that he meant to use it on her to drug her somehow.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“Only the secrets that you hold in your brain.”

“So, you never really meant to cure me on my affliction? That comes as no surprise. My husband tried to cure me several times to no avail.”

Aurora knew that her speed was her only resort to free herself of her predicament and stop this maniac doctor from drugging her. But every time she tried to move faster than the human eye can follow, it was with sluggish speed. He must have drugged her more when she was unconscious.

“What have you done to me? Did you drug me?”

“Yes, I did. It was necessary to prevent your escape if you were to awaken.”

The doctor rolled up her sleeve and stuck her with the hypo. The effects were nearly instantaneous. She started to lose consciousness again. She slumped to the floor again. She was helpless, powerless to stop the mysterious doctor.

Her speech was slurred.

“When someone takes away your speed and light powers,” Jenkins said. “You are one of the weakest of the Alphans. Your husband, Sasquatch, does not suspect what I and the rest of my staff at this hospital are doing to you right now. He is clueless. But then, I alone have the power to halt the bestial change that he thinks he can cause at will. I even made you think that I was this ordinary doctor when now I can divest myself of this disguise. To show you my true identity as…”

Just as Aurora slipped into unconsciousness, she said, ‘No, it can’t be. Not—“

“Bedlam, the Brain Blast!!!”