SUPERHEROES: The Next Generation

Where the new story is told.

"Cigar? Or is Life still too important to you?"

Two men sat across from each other at a broad wooden desk, nestled in the corner of a large room. It was completely dark except for the flames dancing in an iron hearth, odd when the clear shapes of chandeliers, lamps, and wall lights could be seen everywhere. Vague rectangular shadows along the walls hinted at bookshelves, and the outlines of armchairs could be seen here and there along the walls. The men themselves were both in shadow, one seated behind the desk with his back to the hearth while the other sat draped over the chair farthest from the firelight. It was impossible to tell anything about them other than their figures, but somehow the man seated in the darkness seemed...tense. The rich aroma of finely-made cigars slowly filled the room, coming from an open box on the desk.

"...No, thank you." The voice was irked, as if the comment before had eluded to something unpleasant. It was impossible to tell in the dark, but the man at the desk seemed to smile.

"Of course. I don't smoke myself, but the smell reminds me of my grandfather's home in Washington. Good memories, there." The man closed the box on the desk, his hand lingering for a moment on the lid before he tucked both hands under his chin. "How's your practice, Thomas? I know that there was something on the news a few weeks ago--"

"We both know that "something" was never publicized. It seems your well informed, as usual." The man called Thomas shifted uneasily. These meetings never went well. No matter how many times he'd convince himself that he wouldn't be surprised by anything this man said to him, Thomas always felt as if there was a great rift of power between them that he could not cross. For a man of his position, it was unnerving. But past interaction had taught him that it was best to deal with these situations quickly and leave no room for small talk. "What is our current status?"

"Six are On Call," said the man behind the desk, using the code phrase for the current mission contracts on active status. "Two are currently on alert here, three undergoing retraining, nothing serious. Research Lab has recently discovered--"

"The status of our Flag." Thomas said testily. He reminded himself that these meetings were necessary. They had to make sure this man didn't think he had too much power. Thomas and his associates had their resources too.

"Ah," the man's voice seemed to lose some of its bravado. "We're taking care of it as we speak. So far two have been brought in, though we had an incident with one of them. That was fixed. I think the third..." his voice trailed off as a small light blinked on his desk. Thomas gazed curiously at it for a moment before it stopped. Yet another thing to investigate. "Apparently there has been a delay, but he will be here shortly."

"What do they know?"

"Nothing yet, although the reports indicate that they'll probably be suspicious of some kind of government operation." Thomas snorted.

"The government." he said viciously. "If only they were ten years closer to us maybe they'd constitute a threat. Still, the fact that most of the public think "conspicicy" all the time makes our work easier." Thomas was about to say more but caught himself. He couldn't relax here. "Very good, then. You may proceed."

"Thank you, Thomas. I enjoy our visits." Thomas felt a swell of anger rise inside of him but quickly suppressed it. This man would not goad him on. Thomas rose from his seat.

"We're done here. Alice, come." As if my magic, an orange aura shimmered slightly near the hearth and materialized into the outline of a woman. She seemed to glow for a moment before being consumed by the lack of light in the room, but not before a pair of violent golden eyes and hair had reflected everywhere. The man behind the desk stiffened slightly. It seemed he hadn't been aware of her presence at all. Thomas allowed himself a small smile. With a grace like liquid silk, the woman walked around the desk and joined Thomas, not saying a word. Doing his best to look dignified, Thomas proceeded towards the back of the room where a bookcase automatically receded into the wall, revealing a plush, well-lit elevator. Thomas walked inside, followed closely by the woman called Alice. Even the light from the elevator wasn't enough to reach the man behind the desk, but it did make his profile seem all the more eerie. As the doors closed, Thomas couldn't help but get in one last quip.

"Don't forget the truth, Charlie. We'll be in touch."

The doors closed.

The man behind the desk sighed, and a disembodied voice spoke softly from the gloom.

"I knew she was there, but since I felt no killing intent, I decided not to reveal her or myself."

"Yeah, that was good thinking. He gives away more if he thinks he's got the upper hand." The man stared hard at the only out-of-place object in the room: a shower curtain painstakingly stretched out along the wall. He was still starting at it when he spoke again. "Well I guess we're only delaying fate's chance to play with us." His grandfather's old saying slipped from his lips without his notice.

"What next?"

"Tell the boys...and girls...to bring them in."

9pm EST, Location: Unknown


"So I don't understand..." Ezekiel Jones sputtered as the group piled into the elevator. After finishing his paid for dinner, the young man was beginning to realize just how mad the whole episode was. (for more information viewers check out Prologue 2 in the archive section!)

"What's not to understand kid?" Agent Bedrock replied as he pushed an unmarked button to close the doors.

Ezekiel thought carefully about his next choice of words, finally he pointed at Gordon Marshall. "Your telling me, that this guy is atleast a 100 years old? That's bullshit man! He doesn't even have any gray hairs!"

"Mr. Jones, is it so hard to view another person with powers other than yourself." Agent Stealth chimed in. Ezekiel immediately blushed. Upsetting the gorgeous red-haired agent who had to be the best physical definition of "beautiful" was the last thing he wanted to do.

The woman sighed. "I think it should be obvious that Mr. Marshall is an individual with a "gift" like yourself. It just so happens that Mr. Marshall's ability somehow grants him the ability to never age. We could learn alot from him, if he bothered to open up a little." she added with a smile.

Ezekiel looked over once more at the man known as Gordon Marshall. He barely even started a conversation with him when they were hurried away into a conference room. It was hard to believe that this man could be older than his Uncle Pete. His face didn't even sag with age!

Suddenly, the elevator stopped. A great whirring of motors could be heard and the doors swung open, Ezekiel's eyes lit up almost immediately.

Gershom stared into the dimly lit room, cradling his teacup cautiously. He couldn't help thinking about his current situation. His mind cluttered with so many questions and so very few answers had been given. Veronica had seemed harmless enough, until she unveiled him before this group of strangers. Obviously this group was very well informed. Perhaps, too informed.

He stood there wondering why they had enough time to reveal his own situation yet they did not say anything about this youth. Gershom thought, “What does this child and I share in common? What could possibly drive this Charlie character to obtain this boy, whatever his powers may be, and myself, with centuries or turmoil? Once again, I mustn’t allow myself to stress about this. Stress only clouds my thoughts, and those are the only thing which will protect amongst this sea of uncertainty. One moment you think they know you as Gordon, the next they uncovered my most cherished secret—the very thing that is keeping me out of the laboratories and the desires of the modern media." The thought struck Gershom like a needle in the spine, "Dear God, they better not be trying anything devious like that.” Clenching his fist deeply, Gershom thought again, “I do not wish to return. I put those old ways behind me.”

Needless to say, Gershom was now even more wary of these people. But nothing could prepare him for what was to come. Releasing the pressure on his left hand, Gershom reflected upon Ezekiel silently. “How could such a thing make him light up so? Childish.”

The elevator doors had opened to reveal a room that could only be described as the offspring of a 19th century museum and a city junk shop. Books, shoes, antique weapons, broken furniture, designer clothing, subway tokens, fine jewelry, and other such mismatched items were arranged in neat (but cluttered) rows along the shelves that decorated the walls. Chandeliers of considerable quality hung from the ceiling, and plush Persian carpets ran from corner to corner. The room was rather dim, and the light that shone from the elevator sliced through the gloom to reveal a large wooden table set with lit candles and covered with a variety of snacks and drinks. The whole room gave the impression of being stuffy and isolated, but not hostile or uninviting.

Ethos (otherwise known as "Bedrock") had stood silently as the elevator doors slid open, watching the reaction of the two new arrivals. The kid's reaction was typical, though whether it was from the pile of food waiting on the table or the overwhelming atmosphere Ethos couldn't tell. It was the same young enthusiasm that he'd witnessed back in the park, and it prickled at his mood. As his gaze shifted to the man called Gordon Marshall, Ethos noticed that apparently he wasn't the only one who had no patience with the young. There was the tiniest sneer on the other man's face, but it was so well-controlled Ethos supposed it could have been the man's normal expression. He sighed almost inaudibly.

Charlie's going to have his hands full here. These two can't learn to work together in the time we've got left. In his heart he thought otherwise though. Ethos had read the profiles on both of them, and from what the Agency had managed to piece together on their personalities each one had good potential to adapt. Life experience had taught them that. Probably when things went south, they'd pull together and fight as a team. Ethos had seen many such groups in the army. New platoons would form, and everyone suddenly becomes a green recruit until they see some action. Ethos scratched his chin. Maybe they'd be okay. Freely's mark was a wild card though. There had been no report issued to any of the Watchers that he knew, and even his friend in the intel department hadn't had anything to give him other than a copy of the request form that had been sent to Freely asking him to go on assignment. That in itself was very odd. Freely had retired from field work over fifteen years ago, saying he was better suited to working research here at home. Sure, he'd been a legend in his time. But if the Agency was getting so desperate that they were bringing old warhorses back to the front lines--

"Thinking naughty thoughts, Ethos?"

Ethos snapped out of his reverie, realizing that he'd been inadvertently staring off into space in the general direction of Stealth. Her eyes were crinkled in mischief and her head was tilted to one side, the smile on her face more than a little suggestive. It was just one more tally in his head of the number of times Veronica had stepped out of her usual "cold fish" character on the job. Sure she was loose enough when it came to training and leisure time, but on the clock she was Agent Stealth, and nothing more. Something sure had her stirred up. Or else the anxiety was finally getting to her. He made a mental note to ask her about it later. For now, he gave a typical response.

"If only there weren't too many rocks in here, maybe I would." He tapped his head and shrugged indifferently. Agent Stealth flashed him her toothiest smile, the kind she always made when she wasn't able to get one over on someone. At least that was normal.

"You're getting left behind, old man." Ethos looked around and saw that she was right. With the exception of the agent left to guard the elevator, the rest of the party was already heading out, including the two new charges. That startled him slightly. Had he been so lost in thought that he wasn't even aware when his surroundings changed? That was a green move if he'd ever seen one. Stealth jerked her head towards the exit and made as if to leave. "Step it up, or I'll present a case to the board that you're getting too stiff for Watch duty.". Ethos only grunted, but he followed. A thought suddenly struck him. Maybe all that sassy talk had been because she was worried about him and wanted to shake him out of it. His run in with the Doctor had shaken him a bit, but he thought he was over it now. Then again...no. He brutally crushed those thoughts of self-doubt and pushed them away. He'd deal with them later. Moving out of the elevator, the doors closed behind them.

Charlie sat.

He was leaned back in his chair, sprawled in a kind of casual dignity and studying the contents of an open folder. The tiny, dense paragraphs were ignored (he'd already memorized them). Instead his gaze was focused on the photographs, faces of the same three people spread out over their lifetimes and glowing softly in the firelight. Part of him enjoyed the idea of being able to follow these men from infancy to adulthood, but the other half was only too happy to point out how much this seemed to represent the fleetingness of life. As usual, he simply used both sides of himself to triangulate his thoughts and simply absorbed the faces, burned them into his memory and tried to see beyond them to the men that gave them life.

"They're on their way, sir."

The voice rang out, horribly quiet. The files were gathered, and Charlie closed it with a sigh.

"Perfect. I assume you're leaving now." It wasn't a question.

"Yes. Ethos is with them, and Agent...ah Stealth as well. You'll be protected." Charlie grinned at the empty room.

"High praise, coming from you." The grin faded. "Get some rest for once. And I mean real rest, not "training" and "Watching." We have other people for that." He was met only with the sound of the crackling fire, but he knew his protector had heard him.

Ding!

The sound of the elevator reaching his floor rang loudly in the empty room. Taking one last glance at the folder on his desk, Charlie turned and tossed it into the flames. No sooner had he made himself comfortable than the antique brass elevator doors slid apart, and people began to file out. One of the officers came first, eyes panning the room. Charlie thought by the way the man favored his left side that it must have been one of the Trainers. The equipment they used tended to put strain on the left side of the body over many years, marking the man as a long-standing employee. Charlie swallowed and tried to think about what the manpower shortage must be like if the Agency was using its staff teachers for bodyguards.

Still... Charlie allowed himself a small smile. Whoever this man was, years training the Agency's staff hadn't dulled his skills. He was smooth and precise, scanning the room with a practiced eye before stepping to the side to make room for the others. Had there been a threat, the man would have stayed squarely in front of the elevator and defended it to the death without question. Though his technique was of an older style, it was flawless. Knowing that even the non-combatant personnel were more than fit for duty made a small bit of pride rise in Charlie's chest.

The young man came next, walking into the room with eyes bright and curious, honesty reflected on his face. Charlie recognized him immediately as Ezekiel Jones, the boy that could essentially become a biometallic alloy of Inconel 625. The Agency had been lucky to get a hold of him, especially after the publicity regarding his mutant "birth" had made him such a primary target for other factions. He was young, which Charlie knew could be a problem. But he was irrepressible and accommodating according to his psych profile, and that would have to make up for it.

Following the boy came a man who was decidedly uncomfortable, holding a cup of tea as if it were some sort of lifeline. Charlie noted with amusement that he seemed to take the odd room in stride, as if far greater things had shocked him in the past. This was Gordon Marshall if memory served. Charlie frowned slightly. Somehow I pictured him taller. Other names for this man flashed in his mind, some reported to be over several hundred years old. Marshall was a biological treasure in himself, apparently immortal yet perfectly human. Many at the Agency would no doubt have given up their entire salary to study him, yet it was his other talents that Charlie hoped to put to use.

It was a few moments more before the forms of Ethos and Stealth emerged from the elevator, each looking decidedly troubled. Charlie wanted to shake his head in exasperation but kept control over himself; No doubt something foolish had occurred between them again. Still it was good to see them in relatively good health, especially Ethos. Charlie knew all about the trouble it had taken him to get a hold of the Jones boy. He also knew that Ethos had been barely fit for Watch duty in the first place. The injuries that Ethos had suffered on his last assignment were still fresh, mental and physical. Any other time and Charlie would have ordered him to take mandatory sick leave for two months, but with the circumstances...

Charlie looked over his shoulder briefly to make sure the folder was completely burned. Only ashes remained. Satisfied, he reached over on his desk and turned a small knob that brought the chandeliers to life, casting the room in a sudden bright, cheery glow. Rising from his desk and walking around it, he clapped his hands together and moved towards the people drifting slowly towards the snack table.

"Gentleman...and lady," he nodded at Stealth and grinned. "Go right ahead and refresh yourselves with whatever you'd like. I tried to make sure the chefs knew your favorites, but I didn't check to see if they got it right. If you need anything, just ask." His face split in the wide grin he was so infamous for. "When you're ready, we'll sit down and I promise that you'll finally get some answers." His face went blank for a moment before he laughed quietly to himself, fixing his gaze on his latest recruits.

"Oh, I'm Charlie by the way. Fate's errand boy, and your future headache."

Upon perception overload, Gordon Marshall (i.e. Gershom) visually surfed through the ‘junk heap’ of materials assorted among the room. Every item has a memory, some fuzzier than others, but he must have read about, if not used, almost all of them. Some items drew painful memories while others simply created a sense of melancholy inside Gordon. The decay and depreciation of such technology of the past goes to show just how useful he felt within society. Here he belonged, among the ruins of yesterday. Here time stood still. Here the glories of civilizations past could congregate and bide its time until ultimate destruction.

*Tick [size=150] ToCK*[/size]

Amid the madness of the visual surplus, the faint ticking of a grandfather clock could be heard over the sounds of footsteps, fire, and conversation. Despite the frozen times of China, Japan, Germany, Italy, Greece, and Jerusalem, the grandfather clock of Great Britain rang true, constantly reminding the others of reality.

Returning Gordon to the dreadful state of confusion in which he found himself, time marched onward. Every tick reminded Gordon of another question left unanswered, another action left undone. Thinking, “Why are we here? Who is this man truly? Why do they have tea resembling that of the early 18th century Taiwanese exported tea…one of my favorites? They really did their homework on this one.” While pondering over these mysterious questions, Gordon also took note of his surroundings, noticing that his escorts stood behind himself and the boy.

Gordon scanned the table once more, searching for a seat closest to a weapon which he could use in the hopes to avoid an eternal grave among his long-lost companions of time. On the far side of the table, by the seconded-closest chair to his newest acquaintance, Charlie, lay a 16th century longsword on the back wall. This will be his closest chance towards a secondary weapon if it comes to that point.

Gordon rapidly poured himself a fresh cup of tea, for it was once his favorite. The aroma was heavenly, the taste ecstasy. He then proceeded to take a seat in the chair he selected in the hopes to hurry along the question-answer session.

“Hurry up boy, while I am still young.” In a still perturbed tone, Gordon addresses Charlie. “I pray you are swift in your answers, for my patience wears thin. This type of behavior is quite unprofessional, especially for a group who desires ‘my talents,’ as your beautiful, yet deceitful, colleague has previously mentioned.”

Gordon lifts the cup to his nose, absorbing the smell once more before taking another sip.

While you're still young? If our estimates were even mildly close, you're the oldest one in the entire complex at the moment. Charlie suppressed a smile, watching Marshall savor the tea. Apparently Research had done their work well for once, because he poured himself another cup. Charlie made a mental note to thank them later. He waited until the man had finished speaking before he nodded, grinning ruefully.

"Yes well I'm hoping you can forgive Miss Veronica for her Cloak and Dagger methods. I'm the one who thought you'd feel...less threatened if a man approached you rather than a woman, so I told her to take any necessary steps to make you think otherwise about her." He spread his hands in apology. "Poor judgment on my part. You prefer straight-forwardness to sugar coating the truth."

"Oh I don't know, Charlie." Agent Stealth spoke suddenly from her place by the elevator. "Sugar makes bitter things go down easier, and what's more bitter than the truth?" Ethos shifted slightly but said nothing, stretching his mouth in a thin line. Veronica smiled innocently and gestured at Marshall. "He's more innocent than he looks. Or is it that he's too trusting..." She trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air.

"I'm sure Mr. Marshall is just as he should be," Charlie said casually. "For a man of his background."

Veronica was trying to provoke the man to anger, testing his resolve. While Charlie appreciated her attempts at probing Marshall's character, it was the wrong approach. The Agency had researched his personality type, and they had passed him with flying colors on both self-control and experience. But more importantly, it would run the risk of damaging what little trust it would be possible to forge in the next few hours they could spare for the briefing.

Charlie sympathized with them. Perfect strangers had essentially abducted them with no real explanation or cause, and to make matters worse the strangers held all the cards and knew apparently everything about them. It was a wonder they'd come along without having to be physically subdued, which would of course ruined everything. But time unfortunately was a precious commodity at the moment. Yes these people needed to be informed, but only with the important things. And of course Freely wasn't here yet with the final piece, so the game couldn't really begin. Details would have to come later, or learned on the fly. He'd have to tread cautiously.

"Ethos, Veronica, if you’ll both take a seat as well."

He gestured to the chairs, and Ethos and Veronica moved immediately towards the table. Ethos paused slightly and tapped Ezekiel on the arm, gesturing for him to sit as well. The big man took a seat nearest to the door, as if hoping he'd get a chance to flee at the slightest opportunity. Charlie knew better of course; if anyone were to come into the room they would have to enter from the elevator, and Ethos wanted to make sure he would be the first line of defense. Agent Stealth walked deliberately up to Gordon Marshall and sat down in the seat closest to him, moving her chair slightly closer with a determinedly innocent expression. Charlie couldn't help but be intrigued by her strange behavior; usually she was the coldest fish in the room (apart from himself of course), yet here she was behaving like a saucy love-starved scarlet woman. Had it been any other woman, he would have written it off as an attempt to stir up a reaction from Ethos. It very well could be that that was the case, yet somehow Charlie didn't believe it. He simply added it to the list that was rapidly growing in his mind of things to see to after the briefing was over. It was time to get to work.

"Well then," Charlie's demeanor switched from cheery to stone cold serious, but the grin never wavered. It was so small a thing that it could almost be ignored, but somehow that easygoing smile plastered on a face that otherwise belonged to a military commander made a powerful impression.

"I think it's only fair that you get your explanation. Both of you," he said with a glance at Ezekiel. Charlie held up two fingers. "Some things to keep in mind: some of what I...we tell you may seem hard to believe, but it's all true. Despite what you may think from here on out, I will never lie to you." He smiled turned grim for a moment, and his eyes saddened briefly before continuing. "You're also free to ask any questions you may have at any time, but I might not be able to answer you. Not yet anyway. Complaining, begging, threatening me, or even torture won't get you anywhere, so I'd advise you not to try. If that's a problem I can understand how you feel, but that's the way it is." His grin widened, though it only made the tension worse. "I told you I'd be your future headache."

Charlie strode towards the table and grabbed the nearest chair, a rather plain straight-backed wooden one and straddled it. His expression softened slightly. "Of course, before we get started, I think it'd only fair that you both get the chance to ask your questions first. It's the least I can do for you."

“Well, I see we have finally reached a decent person among this corporation. After such a display as we have endured this far, I can see why you would give us this privilege,” said somewhat sarcastically. “Being the elder of the two of us, I believe I should have the right to present my question first.” Without even caring about a response from Ezekiel, Gordon pressed on. “First, I want to know who you are. Not just you, but you as in this corporation. Second, I want to know why I was approached on the street, without the slightest notice. Third…” After a moment or two, with a quite a different tone of voice, Gordon continued, “I would just like to thank you for this tea; it is quite exquisite.” He raised the cup back up to his mouth, slowly sniffed the aroma, and then proceeded to take a sip. Lowering the cup back down to the table, he remembered what the last question he wanted answered was. Returning to his former irritable tone, he growled, “Finally, after all of this moving around, I demand to know where we are.”

With his last comment, his gaze quickly shifted from Charlie to the others at the table, noticing their reactions to his somewhat inconsistent mental processes. He always hated somewhat high-tension situations. They always cause his mind to skip around a bit, and without a quick enough self-check, his mental quirks would begin to show. He knew others judged him in this state, but he would put aside his anger towards them and he would remember God’s teachings: “Judge not, and ye shall not be judged: condemn not, and ye shall not be condemned: forgive, and ye shall be forgiven.”

Ezekiel waited until Gordon was finished ranting. How could such a man be more grumpier than his Uncle Pete? True, he was right to ask those assortment of questions, but was it necessary to attack their host so vigorously?

Truth be told, all Ezekiel wanted to ask was where the bathroom was and whether or not Agent Stealth had a boyfriend. But somehow, an inner voice told him that such frivolous questions would be grossly inappropriate at the moment. Instead he chose to merely nod his head in agreement with Mr. Marshall.

"I'm with this dude, on all those questions." he attempted to state cooly. But of course, the young man's confusion shone clearly to the veteran members present. Agent Bedrock adjusted his glasses slightly in irritation.

Ezekiel pulled a chair and slumped down into it, desperately wishing that he wouldn't be any more embarrassing.

Charlie nodded, treating the young boy as seriously as the older man.

"The tea," he began, clearly choosing to answer the questions in his own order, "As I'm sure you've guessed is a potent Taiwanese blend that was popular a few hundred years ago in the Old World." Idly Charlie pursed his lips and let his smile widen a fraction. "I had some trouble finding a modern counterpart, but I'm glad it suits your tastes. I favor tea myself. Which of course brings me to your second question." At that Charlie reached inside a jacket pocket and brought out a now-familiar-looking squashed PDA, somewhat egg-shaped with bulbous ends that glowed a faint orange. He casually set the device on the floor in the center of the group, positioning it so that the screen was visible to everyone present. "Karaghiozis, if you please." The device made no audible noise but the tension in the air shifted, as if another presence had entered the room. A moment later a ticklishly female voice spoke.

"Coming up now, Chuck."

Instantly the little screen on the PDA glowed to life, wavering a bit as if the LCD screen was somehow reasserting itself. There was a soft beep, and then suddenly the screen shone brilliant-white and a 1:4 scale three-dimensional digital image of Charlie appeared in the air, standing straight and rotating slowly. The image was a translucent orange, allowing every member of the audience to see one another while still keeping the projection in view. It was surprisingly clear and sharp however with even the eyelashes in perfect definition, as if the man sitting before them had been copied, dyed orange, and shrunk down to a quarter of his size. After a few moments the image seemed to stabilize and normal color tones replaced the orange, but a lingering glow remained. Ethos kept looking around the room, his eyes constantly returning to the shower curtain on the wall. Agent Stealth appeared bored with it all. Clearly they'd seen it all before. As bits of text began to appear next to the figure, Charlie began using a small carrot stick he'd grabbed from the table as a pointer.

"Ladies and gentleman, I present to you...myself." The projection suddenly turned and waved at each of them in turn, then broke into a bad imitation of an Irish jig. Charlie sighed and shook his head. "No semantics now, Kara." The female voice spoke up from the floor, sounding giddy but slightly ruffled.

"This is why so many orientations are despised. No accommodations for liveliness."

"Yes, I'm sure these meetings will be my undoing." Charlie said dryly. "Keep it simple and clean, thanks." There was a huff from the floor but the image reasserted itself in a stationary position. Charlie nodded in satisfaction. "Moving on, you already know my name so I'll skip that for now. As to my position, I'm the Director-Predicate of Operations in charge of Special Assignments and Exploration for the Scylax Corporation, or the Agency as some call it. I deal with everything from meeting with new clients to pinpointing potential "recruits," he winked at the two newcomers. "But as for what all that is supposed to mean to you is quite simple: I'm your boss." Charlie could have been describing the taste of cheese for all the emphasis he put on those words, but the meaning was clear. "There are many different levels of authority here, but ultimately you'll only worry about dealing with me." He gestured with the carrot and the image changed, becoming something akin to a personal profile document with various bits of information everywhere. "A complete overview of me, including height, weight, and favorite foods will be given to you after the briefing. For now what I said is enough. As to where we are..." His voice trailed off, and his eyes shifted to the floor."

"Got it." The projection changed once more, displaying a large and sleek 40-story office building with an odd circular "crown" at the top.

"You're currently located at the top floor of the Ambactus building, which houses the main headquarters for the Agency and is our primary means of economical commerce." He poked at the bottom half of the building and the image seemed to grow smaller, panning out to show the surroundings. "We're at the edge of the Central Business District of Manhattan, just off the water. You wouldn't believe the property taxes we have to pay." He smiled grimly, mostly to himself. "Or would pay if it wasn't for our government contracts. All in all it's a prime piece of real estate and I'm happy to welcome you."

"Unfortunately, I'm afraid I can't tell you just why you're here, why you were approached on the street without warning, or even what exactly we do . Not yet. Kara, stop the projection." The image disappeared and Charlie's face grew solemn. He looked first into the eyes of Marshall, then Jones. "Instead, let me ask you this. If you knew you were the only hope, chance, or possibility of saving not only untold lives, but perhaps even human society, would it matter?" He looked at them for a long moment, letting the silence stretch. Then he sat backwards with a sigh and shrugged.

"Besides, we're one...make that two people short. No sense in giving away the juicy details until everyone's here." Agent Stealth was suddenly alert for the first time since the briefing began, and Ethos had his eyes fixed firmly on the shower curtain, which had begun to flutter ever so slightly as if a draft was pushing it from behind. Charlie noticed his gaze and glanced at the curtain himself.

Finally! The curtain's fluttering became more violent, as if a real storm was brewing just outside the room. The brilliant chandeliers above began to sway as well, yet not the faintest breath of wind could be heard. Light began to flicker iridescently behind it, getting stronger. Charlie's smile suddenly became almost predatory, and in the flickering light made his face seem almost ghoulish.

"Scratch that, lady and gentlemen. It appears they're on their way."

"Who's they!?" Ezekiel asked the commotion the shower curtain was causing. The light from the other side flashed rapidly, while a loud tearing sound could be heard as if the very space was being forced apart.

Clenching the arms of his chair, the young man's skin instinctively began to become grey and hard.

Yet despite the anxiety, for some disturbing reason however Charlie's calm and excited manor, indeed his very presence seemed to calm Ezekiel's nerves a little too easily. The boy couldn't help but wonder, does Charlie have a gift too? He pushed this thought aside as his eyes continued to stare at the shower curtain anxiously awaiting Charlie's expected guests.

After being quiet pleased with their selection of tea, Gershom was surprised that there was a 'modern counterpart' to one of his favorite teas. He continued to listen contently to Charlie's words.

For that last few decades, Gershom decided to himself to stop being surprised or even intrigued with modern technology, for only time would show him and mankind which technology was actually going to last. This cell-phone PDA contraption, although new technology, had the potential to be lasting yet Gershom gave the impression of indifference.

After seeing Kara's dancing display with Charlie, Gershom thought the name seemed fitting for this artificial intelligence. "I wonder when that technology came about," thought Gershom, "It should still be a few years until it is introduced into the mainstream."

Though the information was vast and rapid, Gershom just could not quite keep his mind on one thread of thought. Finally, after studying the curtain's stunning feat of fluttering without a source of wind, Gershom glanced over to Ezekiel with a look of distress. "Am I really supposed to work in the midst of such a young, naive, and gungho amateur?" he once again talked to his internal self.

"What next?" he muttered to himself under his breath.

10 minutes in the past...

Terrence was uncomfortable.

His connection to the source of his powers, what he called the Tempest, was being blocked. Now that he'd calmed down somewhat he could tell that much at least; he could still feel the nature of the void, sense its presence almost like metaphysical condensation in his heart. But the face that Terrence was being blocked forcibly against his will still rankled him. Especially by this old man who acted as if he knew everything there was to know about him, including his mother. At the moment however, his real concern was their current mode of transportation. Surrounding him on all sides was a semi-tangible aura of light, though not light in the way humans normally perceived it. At the same time there was a sense of inaudible rumbling, as if the light itself was threatening to shatter like so much glass.

The Portal or Gateway or whatever it was did have some similarities to what he was used to using in that rather than glowing or radiating from a source, here the light was...stationary. Light in normal space was perceived by the human eye (and most scientific instruments) via the reflection of waves and particles that make it up. However here light was not "traveling" at all. No waves, no particles or anything of the sort traveled inside of a Gateway as They did not allow the quantum "flow" of energy to take place. As a result, though light surrounded both himself and Freely it was in the form of an almost physical substance. Bricks of light, walls of light made up the environment around them. Neither Terrence nor Freely could actually "see" anything because light itself was not capable of refraction and thus not picked up by their eyes, yet because it was light in its purest form their eyes were frozen with the image of what they had last seen before entering the Gateway.

However beyond that, the similarities ended. The trip itself was taking too long. Normally the transition through a Gateway was perfectly calm, with almost no physical sense of motion beyond the initial surge as one stepped through. Plus, the whole experience was almost instantaneous. Terrence himself theorized that this "denial" or "halt" was because Gateways existed or were made up of (he wasn't sure about that) the state of being that occurred at that precise point between matter and energy conversion, but he hadn't had a chance to test it. With this Gateway however there was a rough, almost violent feel to the motionlessness. Yes the light was halted, but Terrence felt as if he could detect small shifts in the structure as he watched. Areas that were supposed to be solid seemed to “ripple,” as if the solidity itself was in question. Terrence felt his inner sense of his surroundings increase and decrease at random, as if the actual area where he stood was both as immense as a continent and smaller than a coffin. It was like trying to deal with claustrophobia in the middle of the Grand Canyon. If Terrence could have heard sound, he’d have been muttering under his breath.

It's a lot more unstable than you're used to.

Terrence’s inner calm, already thinly repaired, snapped once more. Though it was not hearing exactly, Terrence was aware of a mental impression of what he remembered of Arthur Freely’s voice pass through his mind. In an almost dreamlike way, Terrence was aware of Freely nearby but no more sensation that that. The young man angrily readied himself to reply in turn, trusting the will of his own desire to speak for him.

And how would you--

Just know that I do and let it go, please. It’s not important right now. Besides, we’re nearly there.

What are you talking about?

Oh yes, the time factor. Well this process puts us a lot closer to the linear boundaries of three-dimensional space than you deal with yourself, so there’s a slight passage of time involved—

I don’t care about that! I want…I want to know how and why—

--you’re such a know-it-all old bastard!”

Terrence blinked, feeling the sudden sensation of cloth on his face and suddenly aware he’d spoken aloud. More importantly, that’d he’d been able to speak aloud. And cloth? Where did that come from? Compared to the overstimulation of light he’d just experienced inside the Gateway, the dull sheen on the large curtain in front of him was like going blind. He reached up to push it away and vaguely was aware he could feel his hand move once more. However before he could actually touch it the cloth itself was pushed aside, making him reflexively step back towards the Gateway. A hand was placed firmly on his back for a moment to keep him from reentering the portal, and there was a slightly muffled sigh that came from just ahead. He blinked again rapidly and focused his eyes for the first time in what seemed like hours.

Damn! He swallowed slightly. Suddenly he was aware of several individuals all seated around a large table, sitting roughly in the center of what seemed like a library. He took in the person closest to him first, a black-haired man grinning like he’d just won the lottery. But soon his attention shifted to what seemed like a metal statue of a man sitting beside a gigantic man-mountain who was frowning. And of course there was another man and woman seating slightly off to the side, both wearing identical expressions of idle curiosity. And they were all staring at him. Wariness crept back into Terrence’s heart instantly, and for yet another time he cursed his lack of powers. Things did not look good. While his mind toyed with possible ways to get away, beside him he felt Freely move slightly forward. He seemed to be looking at the grinning man when he spoke.

“Apologies all around, everyone. We had a hard time meeting up, but thankfully we managed to get back here safe and sound. Besides the usual difficulties, it was all relatively painless.” Terrence turned and stared daggers at the old man.

Painless for him, maybe.

“Good job, Arthur. Glad to see you back.” Charlie spoke casually, yet inside his spirits were soaring. Freely got him! The boy with the gating abilities was in their hands, and looking none the worse for wear. Well…almost. Charlie looked Terrence over once again. He was nervous, of course. It was barely perceptible but it was there, controlled and fueling a series of observations most likely being used to plan an escape. But what was more concerning was that the young man’s face was pale, and there was what looked like a small tremor in his muscles. Something to do with the extraction process? Charlie had cleared Freely to use every aspect of his talents to get the Riagáin boy here, and that could have meant any number of things that would leave him feeling unsettled. Charlie tried a probe. “He doesn’t seem to agree with your methods though.”

Freely’s face betrayed nothing.

“We had our little quarrel, but he’s at least somewhat agreeable now. More so than he was at first.” Charlie noticed the man hadn’t mentioned why Riagáin has suddenly become so cooperative, but decided not to press it. Terrence Riagáin was now a part of the Agency, and as cold as it was, that was all that mattered. A quick glance at the antique ship’s clock on a nearby wall revealed that time was slipping away. No time for a full report. Charlie eyed Freely intently for a moment and then relaxed. On to other business.

“Well then we’re all here. Excellent. Now things can move. Mr. Riagáin,” The man stood and walked over to him, gripping the boy’s hand

Ezekiel's metallic eyes grew large with excitement. Despite all that happened and the confusion that was ensuing at the current moment, Charlie's preaching had finally reached the young man's ears. "Destiny" was a term very loosely used by anyone in Ezekiel's family except by his great grandmother Theresa. Although, the boy had very few memories of this relative, he did recall very minor things. He remembered her fragrance: that ever familiar old person smell, lined with some sort of berry tinted perfume. Then there was her wise, wrinkly, brown eyes which seemed to stare past you as if you were just a window pane. Finally, the last thing Ezekiel recalled about his great grandmother was her constant prattling about destiny. Theresa always loved to point out other people's destinies--a trait that other relatives simply took as a sign of slight mental problem-- yet when she looked down upon Ezekiel she would always bring him close and whisper that he was destined for greatness.

The Jone's boy shook these thoughts from his head. Yet, his great grandmother's words continue to echo throughout his head. Could this have been what Theresa meant? He smiled at Charlie and awaited the details of the mission, trying to contain the excitement that was filling him up inside.

Destiny. That is a word Gershom has heard for centuries. Human beings constantly cling to such ambiguous terms. Of course these words are very different depending on the individual’s outlook on life, but no matter which way one looks upon it, it all ends the same way: death. There is only one problem with this scenario—Gershom shall not partake of this cup until God is through with him. These regular mortals dream of their future, ever-looking forward to their destinies, never fully knowing what to expect. The future is unknown to these folks, but to Gershom, it is the same old mediocrity, the same old events. Don’t get him wrong, he enjoys the simply things in life, but yet he grows weary of everyone else’s high expectations of the future. Gershom has seen empires rise and fall. He has seen forests flourish, mountains erode, cities built then decay.

Gershom smirks while slowly and quietly shaking his head. He thinks about how he has even seen some bright lights in this world burn out far too quickly due to this desire for their ‘destiny.’ An agonizing humor falls upon Gershom as he thinks about how history constantly repeats—mistakes and accomplishments both, rarely learning from itself.

“Although I usually appreciate special treatment, I do not quite know how charmed I am currently. And as for destiny, I already have enough on my plate to last me your lifetime.”

Ezekiel narrowed his eyes at Gershom. Clearly, this man had no sense of adventure or excitement.

"Come on Mr. Marshall, aren't you at least interested to know the details of the mission?" Although he had tried his best to contain his anxiousness, the Jone's boy found himself on the edge of his seat, smirking ever slightly at the rest of the group.

Sitting in his chair, Terrence couldn't help silently agreeing with the man called Marshall. Though still trying to digest his presence in the whole situation, he'd managed to gather that he along with Marshall and the other kid who looked close to his own age were all caught up in something nasty. His own family had already faced their fair share of "destiny" as far as he was concerned. Terrence felt a familiar ache well up in his chest, a loud whisper of the pain of losing someone he'd never known. His father had followed destiny along in its little game and wound up dead for his trouble. So what if he'd helped stop a race of demigods from annihilating themselves (and possibly a good chunk of humanity)?

Apparently that wasn't good enough to let him live to see his son.

Terrence blinked, realizing his eyes were stinging. Was he actually close to tears? Inwardly he chided himself for mulling over a man he'd never met in his life. It was that Freely's fault with all that talk of how he looked like his father. Terrence glanced over and saw that while he'd been invited to sit, Freely had remained standing and had simply walked over to the buffet table and started eating. Terrence didn't care; let the damn old man eat. Nothing he said had really hurt him anyway. His father was dead. He knew that. There was no real sense of loss, no unquenchable curiosity about the father who sired him. Those feelings had been swept away long ago in his childhood. But the bitterness still clung to his heart, seeing the pain on his mother's face every time she looked at him, that rueful smile of hers. Terrence knew she was seeing his father, knew his very presence was like scar that wouldn't heal. That was what destiny did.

Terrence looked over at the other kid, seeing the excitement on his face. All that kid saw was adventure and glory, an epic chapter of history unfolding before him and he was a part of it. It was almost refreshing, in a naive sort of way. Had their own pasts been reversed, maybe Terrence would be the young twenty-something guy itching to live out his fantasies instead of flinging cynicism around like it was confetti.

Terrence sighed, shaking his head. What was he thinking? Not more than an hour ago he'd been kidnapped from an office building by an old man who somehow new everything about him, including how to block his abilities, and he was sitting here trying to figure out the good things about the whole situation? It must have been some variation of that Stockholm Syndrome where captives start to idolize their captors. Yeah, he was just slowly coming unglued. That was the only thing that made sense. Who wouldn't go crazy in his situation? As the thoughts continued to whirl in his mind, something inside him just surrendered. Terrence sat a little straighter and focused his attention on Charlie. If he was going crazy, then there was nothing he could do about it.

Might as well sit back and enjoy the ride.

Reaching over to the edge of the table, Terrence grabbed what looked like a ham and cheese sandwich and began munching on it halfheartedly, waiting to see what happened next.

"Your getting ahead of yourself again Chuck." muttered Ethos as he took off his sunglasses and began to wipe them with a handkerchief.

Charlie's gaze quickly turned to the man without even so much as a hint of an emotional change. "Have I now? Well perhaps it be best to hear your side on this Ethos. Now Terrence," Charlie said whilst gesturing to the boy reluctantly eating his sandwich "this gentleman right here is one of our finest agents. Allow me to introduce you to Agent Bedrock."

Bedrock extended a hand outwardly to the young man. "Please, Ethos is just fine." The young boy shook the man's hand cautiously. After releasing his grip, Ethos turned back to Charlie with a stern look.

"Charlie, it's all well and good that you want them to start working right away, but the fact of the matter is there not ready yet. They need training. You can't expect them to come together as one big happy family just like that. They need to be able to trust one another, and they can't do that if some of them," the agent's head nodded at Gordon Marshall "don't even want to be here."

Taking this blow in stride, Gordon remained calm and continued to sip his tea. I will not allow this over-sized military brute to get a rise out of me. Age does more than just teach you how to behave, it teaches you when to fight and when to ignore. Now as for this training, I am not quite sure what they expect us to do.

Gordon shifts his weight in the chair, showing a sign of uneasiness towards the situation.

Training? thought Ezekiel as he leaned even more forward in his chair, his skin now beginning to revert back its normal state. "What kind of training do you mean? Do we get martial arts training!? Or maybe some swordplay!? Awww that would be sweet! You know I once used to take rifle and archery lessons and---" Ezekiel stopped for a moment, just realizing that he had lost his composure yet again. He stared back at the others and quickly slunk back in his chair nervously twiddling his thumbs.

"Sorry.. uh everyone, got ahead of myself again." the boy said bowing his head in embarrassment.

"No need for apologies young man, we're all only human." Charlie said with a beaming smile at the Jones boy. Then turning to Agent Bedrock he nodded his head sternly and brought his hand underneath his chin as if he were trying to recreate Renoir's "The Thinker".

"But Agent Bedrock is of course right. I appear to have jumped the gun without so much a thought as to what you the recruits have to say about this." Then sitting ever so upright as he scanned all the individuals who had assembled. "I won't force you to join this team, you are free to refuse my offers and walk out that door as if nothing ever happened. But let me ask you this, you have been "gifted" whether some of you like it or not, with amazing abilities that will allow you to alter events and improve humanity as a whole. Why not use these gifts, rather than shy away from them? I leave you with this question, and now you must choose. If you decide to leave Agent Schwartz is waiting right outside those doors, and he'll see to it that you will return home unharmed. The choice is yours." Charlies fingers clasped together as he eagerly awaited the answers of the three recruits, his eyes intently darting from person to person, finally landing and stopping on Terrence. Charlie's face gave a slight smile.

Ezekiel was the first to speak. Placing both his hands face down firmly on the table before him, He looked up into the old man's eyes with a slight smile.

"Ever since my mutant powers surfaced, I always felt ashamed of how much damage I caused to those I cared about. People hated me, my best friend hated me, and I caused my mom and dad to send me away. I can't even visit them because of these 'gifts'. But never once did I want to part with these abilities because they are a part of me. I think I have these abilities for a reason and I'm hoping that reason will be made clear to me by you. Sign me up Chuck!" announced Ezekiel through grinning teeth.

Today I will begin my destiny

There's one.

Ethos watched as Charlie nodded and idly scratched his head, an expression of curious indifference on his face. The man was as comfortable as if he were sitting outside on a summer afternoon, but Ethos new better. His trained eye saw the rapid pulse beating in Charlie's neck, just the slightest flaw in that clam exterior that revealed it was simply a masterful performance. Ethos kept his own body relaxed and only mildly attentive to keep tensions down, but his attention was all for the Boss.

It was all planned from the start, "accidentally" forgetting to offer them an opportunity to leave and then putting it on the table after building up the suspense and the mystique of the whole situation. But it was not because Charlie was some sort of power-hungry monstrosity (at least not completely). It was always hard for Charlie at this stage, Ethos knew. On one hand it was only fair to give the kids a no-grudges opportunity to simply leave and never come back, but then there was the sightly unsettling factor that Charlie himself had just just offered a free way out to three individuals that had cost the organization literally millions of dollars in manpower and resources.

It wasn't the money, really; Charlie never put too much energy into fretting over the finances when it came to recruiting. In his eyes a trained member of the Agency paid for him or herself upon the first successful mission completed. Ethos knew the danger Charlie faced was the risk of losing the recruits themselves, whether that meant losing them to another country's outfit, a government research facility, or even simply ignoring the whole incident and going about their normal lives. Ethos had never asked, but he was fairly certain that the last one kept him awake at night. Charlie was not one for wasting anything, especially potential. Considering the impact a "normal" life could have on the world, a person with an "enhanced" life could very well find themselves responsible for the fate of that world forever more. And all of that was set in motion when Charlie made the call. Yet despite that, the man was always careful to give them one last chance to leave it all behind.

Honorable to the core. It's a hard life.

Ethos let out the smallest sigh and turned his gaze on the brooding one and the new arrival. They had the kid on board, which was a good start. He'd be a key player once things really went south, which they always inevitably did. The other two were needed for the beginning of the operation. If one backed out, it would be hard to compensate for the loss. If they both left, it would be damn near impossible. But then Ethos knew Charlie probably had a plan for that too, as painfully idiotic and insane as it would have to be. Still, it'd be better if things worked out according to plan. For once. His eyes wide behind his sunglasses, Ethos wondered what would happen next.