It is currently 18:07 Pacific Time on Fri Jan 31 1997.

As the Rite begins, the dim and stale-aired cavern disappears, leaving the 
  Walker, alone, in a gray area, full of no distance and barely-heard, 
  whispering shadows.
Kosh forces himself to his feet, rising from his knees as underused muscles 
  fire back into life. A hand rises to slick back his hair, matted and grimy, 
  against his head. He stands and waits.
Weeping can be heard off to the side, and a familiar, girl-child's voice 
  crying, "I did the best I could! What do you _want_ from me?" Spark's voice, 
  and as she speaks her form becomes clearer, small and weak, cowering before 
  a Falcon seven feet tall.
Kosh clenches his fist, the voice familar and painful as a knife. Stumbling 
  forwards, hand pressed against the wall, his eyes form into tiny, hot 
  pinpricks. "You..." He growls.
Alice screams as the great, merciless beak slashes downwards, tearing life 
  from the pale, vulnerable throat. An ignoble, useless death, the small 
  Crinos form lying broken, the pure white fur stained with blood and fear. 
  The great Falcon turns and stares at the Glass Walker with cold eyes, the 
  cub's blood still staining its beak. *She was just a mule.*
Kosh walks, step by painful step, to Spark's shattered body. His hand reaches 
  down to touch her stained fur, snow white marred by arterial red. "She was a 
  child." He lifts his hand away, fresh blood dripping from his fingertips. 
  "She was as good as any of them you miserable, pompous bird!"
The Falcon spreads its wings and stares down at Kosh. *But she was not worthy. 
  She _failed_.* The last word takes on an alien echo, rasping and harsh. The 
  scene ripples around the Theurge, the familiar circle of Garou standing in 
  judgement of one erring Gnawer. Tommie, also Theurge, seemingly as small as 
  Spark, her mistake as small, her form as frail. *Failure.* The word comes 
  again, from all sides, from every Garou: Echen. Megan. Alexander. And Cyllan 
  Fianna-Killer, murderer of two and an unborn child, yet alive. *Failure.* 
  And Tommies dies in blood, throat torn. Like Spark's.
Kosh twitches, throat spasming as if it was his being torn apart, his tendons 
  snapped and his trachea ripped open. Strength suddenly surges into his 
  ripped and torn muscles as he stands over the body of his long dead friend. 
  He walks to the figures of Echen, Megan, Alexander and Cyllan, then snarls 
  to the sky. "What about them? Hmm? Echen, who hides in within the bawn and 
  conveniently escapes injury in combat while others die? Or Cyllan! Proud 
  Fianna-Killer, still alive! What about them?"
The shadows move forward, spidery shapes twitching toward the Walker and the 
  motionless figures of the Wheel Garou. Dozens of amber eyes, lighting 
  eagerly.
Kosh shivers and clutches his head, growling. "No...no...you're not in 
  control. You're not real..." He spreads his arms and cries to the darkness, 
  "I deny you! This is not reality! The true reality is the computron Matrix!"
The shadows withdraw. For a moment, there is silence again. Kosh is alone. The 
  bodies of his friends have disappeared. For a moment, the illusion of peace. 
  Then movement, cirling around from behind him, apparently floating, the 
  great sweeping, cloaked shape turning to face the harassed Garou, the iris 
  in its birdlike helmet opening and closing, the head tilting in oddly 
  birdlike motion. Silent.
In a brief space of time, calm and clarity had returned to Kosh's eyes. He 
  was, for that brief flickering of the sands of time, himself again. And then 
  the shape appeared, and like the iris on it's massive helm, his eyes slammed 
  shut. Craning his head upwards, he sucks in a breath as the form is 
  recognized. "You."
The dark Vorlon makes no sound. The iris opens, and like a mental rape of fire 
  and light, the images slam into the Garou's head. Every mistake. Every 
  botched ritual. Every poorly-said and accidentally hurtful word. And, above 
  all, the Net Spider escaping from the hard drive that had bound it, 
  scittering off beyond the clumsy's Theurge's failing claws. The punishment 
  goes on and on, slamming into him, dragging claws across every synapse, 
  merciless and ruthless, but not murderous.
Kosh's body is buffeted and tossed as liquid fire crawls across his body. Bolt 
  after bolt of screaming pain rakes across his sould like razors. Each cut, 
  deep enough to scar, deep enough to cause the blood of his soul to well 
  forwards, but not deep enough to kill and release him. In his eyes, his 
  every failure shines outwards, his life burned against his retinas. 
  Quivering, his legs finally implode, collapsing under him as he become a 
  crumpled, ruined heap on the floor. The battering continues unabated, but he 
  feels nothing, his world washed out in pain.
He's not sure when the punishment ends. Just that the Vorlon is gone now, it 
  seems, and he's in Lee's apartment. The woman looks worried. "Are you okay?"
Kosh glances upwards, crumpling onto his back and looking into his beloved's 
  eyes. "Lee?" he says, barely sputtring out the words.
Lee settles back on her heels, smiling. "Oh, good. You had me worried. Kosh... 
  we have to talk."
Kosh rests his head on her lap, holding onto her tightly. "Yes?" he says, 
  tears running from his eyes.
She hugs the Glass Walker for a moment, then withdraws to look into his face. 
  "I love you, Kosh, but... as a friend."
Kosh freezes, eyes snapped open, as if held there by some intricate metal 
  device. He sits up, gazing into Lee's face. "W..what?"
Lee gets up. "I love you as a _friend_," she repeats, her smiling face all 
  unaware of how each word must stab into his heart. Another figure moves 
  forward as the apartment darkens into shadows. "This is Jonathan, my new 
  boyfriend. He's so sweet! He cooks me dinner..."
Kosh clutches for the furniture, lifting himself onto Lee's kitchen counter 
  and watching the darkened figure. "How? After everything..." Beside him, 
  hanging baskets filled with fruits and vegitables swing. "I cook. I cooked 
  for you..."
"But he's so handsome! He's like a prince..." Smiling, smiling. She doesn't 
  see. She doesn't know. She's so full of love for this still-unseen paramour 
  that she can't, apparently.
Kosh collapses against the counter, gagging on his words as he whispers, "Not 
  again...you lost again..." Every smile from Lee, every loving kiss to her 
  new lover pummles him, like a glove covered in rusty nails punched into his 
  stomach. "Lost...again..."
The shadows chitter and whisper about him. Lee's voice, bright and happy, 
  telling him in detail how "Jonathan" makes her feel. All the little things 
  he does. How he makes love to her. Everything.
Kosh's face twists and contorts, his voice distorted and black as he says, 
  "You fool...You wouldn't have lost her if you hadn't have been so weak..."
Eyes snapping back to normal, Kosh whips his head away from Lee and Johnathan. 
  Voice his own again, he says weakly, "No. No...Not me...She can't see..."
The other's voice takes over and snarls, "Fool." He stands, clawing at his 
  face, nails digging into his forehead and leaving gummy runnels in his skin. 
  "I've put up with you for long enough. It's time we parted..." Like someone 
  peeling the gooey film off a puddle of dried blood, Kosh's skin cracks open 
  and bleeds liquid light into the room. Everything is white for a blaring, 
  hot moment.
In the darkened room, hissing clouds refracting tiny shafts of light, two 
  Koshes confront each other. One resembles the Kosh seen by most day in and 
  day out. His hair is slicked back and well combed, matching the professional 
  cut of his suit. The other is a tall, imposing creature. A Vorlon, suit 
  configured much like the first Kosh, but it's coloration a dark mottled red 
  and amber. The Vorlon Kosh speaks, *So it begins...*
The dark, well-groomed Kosh makes no movement. He merely watches as the 
  spidery Shadows gather and converge upon the Vorlon like hyenas around an 
  old lion, like vultures around a dying man.
The black, insectile creatures resemble twisted crosses between black widow 
  spiders and centaurs. Four spine-covered legs propel the creatures forward 
  as their twelve burning eyes explode, fire pummeling the Vorlon. It's shell 
  cracks and from it, a searing octopus screaming holy fire as it dives 
  against it's old enemies. Then--a tearing noise and blinding light fills the 
  room.
The light fades and, on the ground, the shattered remains of a Vorlon fade 
  around the man's feet. Around his face, a reddish glow fades, receding back 
  into his eyes and skull. He colapses on the ground.
Whispers in the shadows as the Garou finds himself at a slick pool of black 
  water. *Are you ready?*
Kosh staggers onto his knees, mouthing something like a babe mouths his first 
  words. Eventually, a word croaks free: "Yes."
The water clears, the darkness unveiling to reveal the ever-changing face of 
  the chaotic Wyrm. The mind shatters, splintering into a thousand thousand 
  shards, blackness seeping and sinking into his cracked soul. Blindly, 
  stumbling, he's not sure how, he makes his way back along the Spiral's 
  twisting path and collapses, legs and body weak as an invalid's, on cold 
  stone underground. Not the prisoner pit. Hazmat sits nearby, watching with 
  intent worry in her bloodshot grey eyes. Chainbreaker, the Ritemistress, 
  stands impassive.
Kosh choaks out a gutteral, black phrase. "Zrak'ah'dm."
~It is done.~ The elder Dancer turns toward Hazmat. ~Take him to another 
  chamber and watch over him while he recovers.~ Hazmat nods and, shifting to 
  Homid, moves to help the ex-Walker to his feet.
Hazmat crouches down. "Kosh? Yuh 'kay?"
Kosh lifts himself up, resting on her shoulders, looking at his hands as if 
  this is the first time in ages he's had hands. "Kosh?" he says, low and 
  husky. "Kosh?"
Hazmat catches a disapproving look from Christopher and sighs, leading her 
  packmate away from the ritual area and toward a more private cavern in the 
  hive. "Sorry. Zrak'ah'dm."
Kosh chuckles, a deep and throaty chuckle. "Kosh?" He suddenly straightens 
  himself, walking normally, almost proudly. "I am not Kosh."
Hazmat tilts her head slightly, nearly eye-level with the tall man, looking at 
  him keenly through a curtain of grimy hair. "Yah, yer Zrak'ah'dm."
Kosh shakes his head and says, "Not quite. I am not Kosh." He stretches his 
  arms and says, "It took me a while with the walking and the talking, but I 
  am _not_ Kosh. I am mearly...in his body. Finally." He takes a step closer 
  and brushes back Hazmat's hair. "You may call me... Morden. In private, of 
  course."
Hazmat looks closely at her fellow Dancer, and then grins, fingering idly at 
  the carrot-top scalp dangling from her belt next to the blonde one she took 
  from Bill. "Yah, oh-kay. Innit great, though?"
Kosh peers down at his messy clothes and says, "Great? I guess you could say 
  that. Not perfect, however." A shock travels down his body as his eyes cycle 
  open and he says, voice now more like the old Kosh. "Hazmat...No..." And 
  then, in a shattering, this new personality re-asserts itself. "Dammit. The 
  bastard isn't dead..." He stumbles forwards and says, "I've got a Vorlon in 
  my head. Hazmat...I need to rest..."
Hazmat nods quietly and leads her friend, her best friend, to a place to rest. 
  And she watches over him while he sleeps.