SUPERHEROES: The Next Generation

The atmosphere of the room just got significantly heavier. What a forward question. Why would they go through all of this trouble to gather us together, drag us through all of this ‘red tape’ simply to say ‘stay or go.’ I still have no idea who these people are, why they gathered us, or even how they know of my past. Despite my desire to stay unknown to most of the world, I would like to know how these folks have collected such information about me and therefore I must play their little game of destiny. And this too shall pass.

“I do not wish to be a problem for you folks, for you have clearly put much effort into bringing me here, but before I can join your little club, I need one solid, good reason why I should stay. If you grant me this one request, then I will participate in your training exercises.” And with this remark, Gershom took a deep breath and realized what he had just done; he had just opened the door to these folks to enter into his life. He did not know what came over him, maybe it was his curiosity, maybe it was pure instinct, but whatever the reason why Gershom responded the way he did, he essentially accepted their offer. He folded his hands up on the table and remained still, awaiting the impending reply.

"How about I give you three," Charlie said without batting an eye. His smile had thinned, "One for each of you. And since you were the first to make the request, you get the first answer. Kara," Charlie snapped his fingers and stood up, walking to the left of the still-glowing display.

"Yessir?" Charlie's device blinked in acknowledgment.

"Bring me up the following files on the latest special ops assignment: A15, 18, and 22. Authorization Charles Vanora Conway-Spinflight. Nevermind the field reports, just the profiles. And let's see them one at a time in order, please."

"Accessing now, boss." The device on the floor made a whirring noise and suddenly the image changed, displaying what appeared to be a blurry telephoto shot of a man in dark blue combat fatigues. It was impossible to make out his face, but a casual observer could discern dark, middle-eastern features and a heavy blue turban on his head. The most striking appearance about the man was his size: nearly as wide as he was tall, although that may have been due to the poor quality of the photo. Charlie made a sweeping motion with one hand to indicate the photograph.

"Meet Riyadh Al Reeh, mercenary, hit-man, and overall agent of espionage. Don't let the Arabic name fool you; the man has mostly Mongol blood flowing through his veins but his father was of Turkish nobility. Any number of political assassinations and "accidents" involving CEO's and other Industry tycoons have his label on them We've had dealings of sorts with him in the past, though never anything we could pin on him with concrete certainty. This information may be familiar to some of you in the room." His eyes passed briefly over Ethos, Freely and Stealth, and his face grew somber. "But this is the part that's not. Recent reports have revealed a great deal more about Al Reeh that have raised some red flags for us here at the Agency. But for you Gershom," Charlie's eyes sparkled dangerously. "I think you may find his biography a bit more interesting.

"Riyadh Al Reeh is (so we believe) over 800 years old. Whether he possesses some form of ancient magic, a physical mutation, or some other means to keep his longevity, the truth of the matter is that he's a very real horror of the old world. Our earliest findings have revealed him to have been the bastard child of Baibars, the Mamluk chieftain and Sultan of Egypt who essentially defeated King Edward I in 1272 A.D. Baibars was a villain himself, fond of creating false peace treaties and then turning around and killing and pillaging his new found "allies." There was even suspicion that he gained his sultanship of Egypt by helping to assassinate his predecessor, Qutuz. Apparently when he defeated the Mongol armies in 1260 A.D. he took himself a Mongol mistress, and thus Al Reeh was born."

Charlie turned and started hard at Gershom.

"Mamluk was facing strong opposition from King Edward, and in secret ordered his son to assassinate the English king. The assassination attempt failed however, though the king was injured and forced to withdraw from the holy land. In punishment for his failure Baibars gave his son command of a pitifully small legion and ordered him to weighleigh and harass the English nobleman who had accompanied the king. He was never heard from again." Charlie grinned ruefully. "Here's where things get "odd." Some time after Al Reeh vanished, an old Mongol merchant who lived in a village east of Jerusalem spoke of a man who called himself Baibars's son, and how the stranger had paid with English gold to have himself and an item smuggled out of the country. When the old man had asked what it was the stranger carried, the man said he had "a sapling from the Tree of Life." He said that "it was English foolishness that had led him to his prize," and that he had "soiled a man's soul in front of Allah" to get it.

Charlie stopped talking, letting the silence stretch. His eyes shone with such a knowing sense of understanding that anything he said seemed believable. When he spoke next, his voice sounded like the dropping of a bomb. "This man is involved in your potential assignment, Gershom. I think you should try to appreciate that."

Charlie’s eyes lingered only for a moment on Gershom before swiveling to the one who called himself “Spyke.”

“Which brings us to your reason, Mr. Jones. Kara…” The device on the floor blinked in response, and a moment later the image of Al Reeh was replaced by two photographs placed side by side. On the left was a black and white mug shot of a young man with dark hair and a deep scowling face, where the right hand side showed what appeared to be an older version of the same person, his features haggard and worn. The second image appeared to have police warnings at the bottom written in German, but the handwriting made it impossible to make out.
Though it was only a digital reconstruction, the nature of the man seemed wild, almost animal in its intensity. Even to the casual observer it was almost as if those eyes were bestial, craving the chance to prey upon the unsuspecting and steal the life from whatever they saw. The sensation was more than a little uncomfortable. Charlie however seemed unaffected as he began his briefing on the man, his face impassive.

“For those of you who don’t know this is Jacob Marcus Atwood, although in the underground he’s known as Pericule. It’s a shortened version of the Latin word periculosus or “dangerous,” and he wears the title well. He first showed up on the grid when he was seventeen and got himself arrested for breaking and entering, but his bad road began when he was a child growing up in a poor and abusive household. It was only natural that was inevitably expelled from school, although the fact that shortly after that he was committed to a juvenile detention center for trying to harm a former classmate is a bit surprising.” Charlie gestured towards the older image. “However juvie didn’t do Mr. Atwood much good; a year after his release he relocated to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania and promptly joined a local gang as a drug runner. Six months later he found himself in a state prison with a fifteen year sentence for reckless endangerment, armed robbery, second-degree manslaughter and endangering the welfare of a child. Things were not looking up for our friend, to be sure.”

“But less than a year into his sentence, Atwood somehow manages to overwhelm five armed guards, get passed three security checkpoints and steal an armored car all in the span of a half hour. Two of the guards were killed, the rest were severely wounded. Security camera footage was minimal and mostly useless, but we did manage to recover this clip before the evidence was turned over to the U.S. State Department.” Charlie gestured once more with his hand and the pictures dissolved, merging together into a black screen. The image flickered slightly and then resolved into what appeared to be a bird’s-eye view of a hospital room, with two older men in white lab coats looking on as a man in the typical white gown was fed into some sort of large, tube-like machine. There was no sound. “Watch the MRI machine,” Charlie’s face was oddly expectant.

On the screen, the man was just finished being completely immersed in the device. One of the doctors walked slowly over to the device and casually pressed a button, then turned back to his companion and began chatting. Suddenly there was a flash of sparks from within the machine, and the doctors were thrown back away from it as if a great force had issued throughout the room. Immediately the doctors ran up to the machine together, pressing buttons and checking readout screens. One of the doctors tossed his clipboard aside and began frantically reaching into the machine to pull out the man inside. But no sooner had he reached his hands out than the machine seemed to bulge outward like a bag of popcorn, cracking and warping the exterior until it cracked apart like an egg and sent dust and debris sailing across the room. The camera image wobbled but stayed clear as the two doctors backed away, red lights beginning to flash on the walls as the alarms were triggered. With another shower of sparks, half of the machine was literally thrown up and into the ceiling where it stayed fixed like an ugly chandelier. In the smoke, something moved. Something white. The camera quality was too poor to tell for sure, but it vaguely resembled a man’s profile. One of the doctors moved towards the smoke slightly, his body wracked with silent coughs right as the thing charged. It moved incredibly fast for something so large. It struck the doctor’s body squarely in the chest and he was thrown backwards towards the camera, when the image suddenly went dark.

“That’s what we have, ladies and gentleman. “ After the silence of the video, Charlie’s voice broke through the tension like a brick through a glass window. “Something happened to Jacob Atwood in that medical examination room, and well…you know the rest.” Charlie focused his eyes on Jones.

“Exactly what happened is uncertain, but what caused it to happen has been discovered. By me, actually.” Charlie added as an afterthought. “When Jacob was an infant, he apparently contracted a very rare bone disease that was effectively breaking down the cartilage in his body. He needed a donor for a bone marrow transplant if he was to have any chance at survival. His family was far too poor to afford treatment, but in such a small community as Meredith, Pennsylvania the word spread to every household, and eventually reached the ears of the Jones family.”

His eyes were burning holes in Ezekiel’s head.

“As it turned out, their newborn child was a perfect match. A son, who was the same age as the Atwood boy. In a grandiose act of charity they voluntarily put forth their child for the transplant.” Charlie grinned ironically. “It was a perfect success. The disease backed off, and both children and their families went about their lives. Until of course Mr. Jones had his mutation surface in high school and his life inevitably brought him here. And in a double-whammy…” Charlie was shaking his head. “…fate seems to have made sure we’d all be together by triggering a transplanted mutation within Mr. Atwood that was awakened in the MRI. And now we’re all here.” Charlie hadn’t mentioned anything about Ezekiel’s run-in with Atwood in high school that had lead to the boy’s expulsion, but it hung like a cloud over him. His face had an almost sad, pitying expression on it now. “I’m sorry Ezekiel, but you have your own personal albatross that you literally brought to life. It might not have been your fault, not initially, but it’s real. He’s real. And he’s involved with your assignment.”

Harsh. This kid creates a monster before he's old enough to walk, and now he's stuck cleaning up the mess. When it wasn't even his fault. Irony old friend, how nice to see you.

Stealth kept her almond-shaped eyes in a perfect expression of intrigue and mischief, casually brushing a strand of hair back behind her ear. No matter how many years passed, she never could make herself understand Charlie's obsession with these briefing sessions. The drama, the presentation, the speeches all carefully crafted to manipulate the recruits...it was so much tedious nonsense. If you're going to ask someone to risk their life for a faceless organization, you did it straight and honest with no holding back and then come what may. No Cloak and Dagger operations that only cause long-term problems. Stealth shifted slightly in her seat, trying to get comfortable. Then a thought occurred to her that made her grin ruefully.

Unless of course you're not worried about long-term problems because you don't expect them to come back alive.

To keep herself awake, she idly ran her eyes unabashedly over Gershom, taking in everything from his figure to the deft way he held his saucer of tea. He was an amusing man, in her opinion. So serious, so proper and aloof from the world's problems, yet he carried his past around as if it was a badge of honor. His personal profile had been the reason she'd volunteered to pick him up in the first place; all of those identities and people he'd been over the years reminded her startlingly of her own place within the organization. It took a certain kind of person to jump in and out of personalities and roles without ever losing that sense of true "self." Actors sometimes had it, but it wasn't the same thing. They studied a character through a series of repetitious lines, and learned how to imitate that personality on cue. She on the other hand was forced to create an entire human being completely from scratch, and everything from their personalities to their history was hers to make. And of course, hers to become. With each new persona she had to surrender who she was, and when it was over she’d find that her own personality had changed because of it. And then there was that last assignment…she flinched slightly but cleared her thoughts immediately, not willing to dwell on things. Stealth took another long look at Gershom and then chuckled softly to herself.

A kindred spirit? I must be getting old.

A soft grunt got her attention, and she glanced over just in time to see Ethos push his sunglasses further up his nose. It seemed he was watching her again. She grinned slyly and winked at him, shifting her body into her most seductive pose and blowing a kiss. He just continued to stare. She might as well have been eighty years old and drooling for all the reaction it provoked. Stealth gave a little snort and dropped her act, looking irritatibly at the ceiling. Yes, he was worried about her.

Fine. Let him worry. There’s no harm in it, and if it gives him something to do…well that’s just great.

So maybe this time she was finding it extremely difficult to come back out of her last assignment. She Always made it back. Her face twisted. Always…

“Stealth? You’re still with us, I hope.”

Her had snapped up, and she realized Charlie was giving her one of those casually-hostile stare downs he was infamous for in the Agency. Immediately putting on her best simpering smile, she shrugged her shoulders.

“Why Charlie! I’d say it’s hard not to notice me, but then I guess anything’s possible…”

His expression didn’t change. Her mouth thinned, but her face stayed sly and tantalizing. Charlie sighed.

“Well at least that answers my question. Moving on…”

The eyes roved about the room until they fell on Terrence, a look of finality that had been missing when Charlie'd spoken to the others. He had saved Terrence for last, and for good reason. The youth had been the last to arrive, and probably felt the most displaced of any of the recruits. But there were other reasons Terrence was to be the final debriefing, a few of which he refused to even admit outloud. But there was no avoiding it now. The clock on his desk ticked ominously, far too loud in his ears. The momentum needed to be carried through if they were to finish on time. Charlie cleared his throat.

"So. Mr. Terrence Riagáin.” Charlie gestured to his personal computing device and waited while it accessed the files he needed. “Now we come to you. From what I understand, you’re the least informed of the happenings here and why we’ve contacted you. That’s unfortunate, especially considering what I’m going to tell you.” He glanced around the room, briefly taking in the glances of everyone else present. His face seemed apologetic. “For the record, I don’t like having to discuss the personal lives of anyone here at the agency,” his eyes dropped. “Unless of course it concerns the safety of agency members, or the organization itself. As it has in the past.” Charlie didn’t elaborate on that. Instead he focused his attention on Terrence once again. “Much as I hate it, I’m doing it again.” He took in a long breath. ” Terrence, you’re probably not aware of this but—“

“A moment, Charlie,” Freely suddenly spoke, cutting him off in mid-speech. Charlie paused, surprised. This was a bit unexpected.

“Yes, Arthur?” The older man nonchalantly sat up a little straighter in his chair.

“I think it’d be wise if we kept personal information under wraps for the time being. None of these people aside from Mr. Jones have given any sign of being interested in our offer, and we haven’t even given them any contractual agreements to keep their confidentiality. We don’t want to risk revealing anything that could be used against them later.” Charlie’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“Our time is precious, and we have to forego a lot of the usual procedures to make this work. You know that.”

“Yes, we need to rush things a bit. And yes, that means a bit more risk. But throwing caution completely to the wind is foolish. I know that too.”

The atmosphere appeared to be getting tense, but Charlie was unfazed. He made sure his leadership style encouraged this sort of thing. Unlike other men in his position, Charlie was a firm believer in that fact that a leader wasn’t always right. Constantly weighing variables, pushing and pulling all the time, and then just the strain of administrative duties meant that out of anyone in the organization, he was the most prone to making mistakes. And in this case Freely did have a point, though Charlie had a suspicion that there was more than just protocol at stake. He was very aware of just what interest the good doctor had in the situation, as well as his connection with Riagáin. He stared Freely down, trying to see past the mask. The old man gave nothing away; he had years more experience hiding his emotions than Charlie himself, and it showed. Inwardly Charlie sighed, and decided to play the man’s game. What could it hurt? Let this Terrence boy ask the questions himself. His eyes lingered on Freely’s face for a moment longer before he nodded.

“Well said. I’m not beyond fault, and I think Dr. Freely’s made a good point. There are other kinds of threats to address besides our lack of information, so for now I’ll keep it all nuts and bolts.” A smile flickered on his face. “For the most part.” Freely’s face was stone, but he relaxed a bit more in his chair. Charlie decided to take that as an acceptance of his terms, and continued.

“Alright, well most of you probably wouldn’t have paid much attention to it, but in the mid-80’s there was an RIA attack on the Royal Ulster Constabulary in the city of Newry, Ireland.” Charlie waved his hand and a map of Northern Ireland appeared, a small red dot blinking at the bottom-middle of the map labeled the city of Newry. “Nicknamed “Bloody Thursday,” the event was one of the only successful mortar attacks in the bloody conflict in Northern Ireland known as the Troubles, which many may remember from the constant news stories on terrorism there. Nine people were killed, including a cousin of a Unionist politician.” Charlie made a motion with his hand again, and on the display images of what appeared to be a medium-sized three-story building with a blackened hole in the side flashed by in different angles. “Nine shells were launched at the station, but only one connected. Politically it was a disaster, and the high cost of life involved was devastating to the community.” Charlie paused, and then faced his audience once again. “Of course, this is simply the way history remembers it.”

“In reality, it was something far more unbelievable.” Charlie glanced around the room and leaned forward slightly. “Now from here you all are going to have to agree to take me seriously,” his face took on an amused look. “Otherwise you won’t appreciate the gravity of the incident. After all, we’re talking about legends and myths made real.” On the display, the map of Ireland vanished and was replaced by what appeared to be ancient depictions of monsters fighting armor-clad warriors, with runes and other symbols underneath apparently describing the images. “In Irish mythology, the Sidhe,” he pronounced it “shee,” “are a race of beings descended from the Tuatha De Dannan, who after the Second Battle of Magh Tuiredh and the completion of the creation of Ireland were supposed to return to the Creator to continue with the Making of the Universe. However these beings who had given so much of themselves into shaping Ireland fell in love with what they had made, and could not bring themselves to leave. Thus they asked the Creator to be released to live near their work (only a few universes over from ours) until the end of things, but not to interfere with mankind for whom the land had been made. This was granted, provided they honor the Bargain with the Creator for all time.”

“A few several hundred thousand years later, and the Bargain is on the brink of failure. In 1985, a female member of the Sidhe on one of their excursions to this universe every few centuries refused to leave, and even managed to get support from some of the…ah heroes of the time. When the individual refused to listen to the other Sidhe’s advice, they sent a group of their own people to retrieve her.” Charlie’s eyes took on a faraway look. “Our agency wasn’t even established at the time, but some of the people that would become the founding members were contacted in secret by a member of the Irish Parliament to handle the situation, lest it get out of hand.” He shook his head. “Almost right when they arrived, a full-scale battle suddenly erupted in the Irish countryside. Beings wielding the Old Fire of heaven waged a miniature war against humanity’s best examples of evolution, and Ireland saw the blood of its Makers for the first time in ages.”

“And it wasn’t just a simple, two-sided fight. Humans fought on the side of the Sidhe and on the side of the “Desperate,” and many of them were former comrades-in-arms that had worked together in the past. Some were even friends.” Charlie looked suddenly ill. “A battle of heroes and a battle of legends all on a damp day in February. There was no chance for either side to win, but there was a chance for victory.” Charlie seemed to suddenly come back to the present, blinking quickly for a moment. “In the end, the Sidhe rebel was retaken and the conflict ended. But fallout from the battle had destroyed the countryside, and a stray attack from the Sidhe had resulted in the deaths of the Constabulary men.” Charlie looked off to the side for a moment, as if steeling himself for something. He steadied himself and looked at Terrence, his face closed.

“I’m not sure if you want me to say any more Mr. Riagáin…”

Ezekiel's eyes wandered across the expression of the sad young man named Terrence. He couldn't help feeling that overwhelming despair emanating from him. Just what was the story behind this guy? There seemed to be more than meets the eye to this odd young fellow.

Ezekiel shoved these thoughts into a corner in his mind and kept them there while he eagerly awaited the rest of Charlie's tale.

"That was where my father was killed."

Terrence said it so simply, so matter-of-fact, that he could have been reading the words out of a book. There was no expression of anguish or pain on his face, and his body posture remained as neutral it had been since he'd arrived. For all intents and purposes, the careful sincerity both Charlie and Freely had been using was completely lost on him. Terrence tilted his head to one side and looked questioningly at Charlie. "I thought this had something to do with me."

If his dead-pan, indifferent manner seemed unusual, inside Terrence's heart at least was not the icy-cold thing it appeared to be on the surface. He was actually moved in a twisted sort of way that his kidnappers took so much care to spare his feelings regarding his father. But at the same time, he was shrewd enough to know that this "kindness" was only because they wanted him for some job or mission of some sort. One tried his best not to offend what was needed. Therefore it was surprising that they'd bring up the subject at all...unless it was somehow crucial to the reason they'd brought him in the first place. Either way, it was an odd move. Terrence could feel the trickles of intrigue creeping up his spine despite himself. What happened all those years ago had nothing to do with him. At least not anymore. As far as both sides were concerned, his mother had paid the price enough to be left alone, and him along with her. He felt the trickle grow to a surge. Just what did they want?

Charlie blinked at the young man's words, feeling truly unsettled for the first time. Rage, tears, violence, or even a dazed expression would have been preferable to this display of cold indifference. It was as if they were talking about the weather and Charlie had asked him weather or not he liked the rain. Actually no, Charlie mused. If they had been talking about the weather, Terrence Riagáin would have played along and humored him. The profile the Agency had on him showed he was nothing if not reasonably good-natured. He was supposed to be smart, academically above average and good at problem-solving. But nowhere in the psychological assessment was there any mention of this sort of cool, calculating analyst that sat before him. At this rate if he wasn't careful, Charlie knew, something might just slip out that needed to stay hidden. For all their sakes. He shifted in his seat, inwardly thinking that maybe he should take another look at the raw field reports on these three. Maybe see what else he missed.

"Legacies always have to do with their decedents, Mr. Riagáin." He shot a look at Freely, checking to see if the man was getting agitated. But rather than looking at him, Freely was staring at Terrence with a look of barely concealed sadness. Charlie felt a hollow place form in his stomach, but he pushed it away. Business, he reminded himself. Business first. He focused his gaze on Riagáin. "I can see you're in a hurry for me to get to the point." His voice had adopted the same indifferent tone as the young man's. "In that case, here." Another flick of his wrist and the orange device whirred, but instead of another image flashing outward for all to see, Charlie reached over and plucked the little device from the ground and tossed it at Terrence. "Show and tell always works best anyway."

FWAP!

Terrence's hands instinctively came up and caught the device, but otherwise he didn't react. Even here he was wary for some kind of test or trial at work, as if Charlie was measuring him for some untold task. Terrence peered down at the device in his hands, slightly anxious for a closer look at this strange contraption that seemed half a century ahead of any tech he knew. The thing was strangely heavy despite its size, maybe eight pounds or so. It was cool to touch, yet Terrence thought he could feel heat tickling his face as he looked down on it. It glowed orange, and the casing surrounding it was orange as well with a black rubber grip on the sides. The screen though was what drew his eye, not because of what was on it (it was blank at the moment) but because the aura of light almost seemed to distort around the edges. It was almost as if the light emanating from it was pulsing, like a heart. He moved it closer, his intrigue growing. What did Charlie expect him to learn? Terrence stretched out a finger, touching the screen.

"GWAHH!" The goblin shrieked, having suddenly appeared snarling in Terrence's face. At the same time he felt a jolt of electricity smite his fingertip. Cursing he jumped back and nearly dropped the thing, holding it at arm's length as the projected image withered and hissed in a maddened frenzy. A moment later the creature vanished, flickering into nothingness. Red-faced Terrence shot daggers at Charlie and opened his mouth to start yelling, but the familiar voice beat him to it..

"You shouldn't touch, young one. A woman has a right to keep her purity." For the smallest moment an exceptionally attractive female face with wavy hair and sparkling eyes appeared, winked, and vanished so quickly it might not have been there at all. But a throaty giggle followed soon after. Now completely beside himself, Terrence looked at Charlie helplessly.

Charlie blinked once, then closed his eyes and seemed to droop slightly in his chair. Rubbing the bridge of his nose as if it pained him, the man sat up and did his best to control his impatience. Charlie tried to give Terrence a look of encouragement before his face fell into exasperation.

"We can try to create personality algorithms to imitate human beings. The trouble is they work." Suddenly his voice changed to one of much more command, and his whole stature seemed to grow. "If you're through," he said (and everyone present knew who he meant) "I think we have a time limit that is growing increasingly shorter. So. Move along."

The device made a noise that almost seemed like a scoff, and then obediently whirred to life. A image of a stack of papers materialized, seemed to sort itself, and then the top most page suddenly loomed larger. Displayed for anyone to see were the words "Coroner's Report" in block letters, written with the precise but blotchy ink common to typewriters. Below that in slightly smaller letters were the words "Subject: Eadric Jacob Harrow 1959-1985" and "Resident Examiner: Dr. Phillip Medz."

Charlie said nothing further, but simply watched Terrence's face.

Harrow. Jacob Harrow.

Terrence's eyes flew to the name of the patient, growing wide as saucers. His mouth suddenly twisted into a thin line and a bubbling mix of anger and shock began foaming to the surface. They had nerve. Real nerve. No, "nerve" could only describe someone respectable. This was more like the work of a perverted sociopath. Terrence was dimly aware of a pain in jaw as he clenched his teeth. With hands locked in a death grip around Charlie's device, he met the eyes of the man himself and fought the urge to break his jaw.

"I consider myself to be a humane man." Terrence's voice was like a prison warden talking to a deranged inmate: calm, quiet, and cracking with tension. "Therefore I will give you the chance to explain why you have insulted my family by putting my father's autopsy report on display." His face was neutral, but his fists were clenched so hard his knuckles shone bone-white. "Afterwards, I'll decide if I should hurt you or not."

Stealth's smile grew suddenly cold and Ethos's glasses flashed, but otherwise none of the other Organization employees reacted to the threat. Any fight would have been over before it began of course, but the obvious hostility sent waves of unease throughout the room. Freely swallowed but only stared off into empty space, avoiding Terrence's eyes. Charlie for his part looked unfazed. He sat back in his chair and cocked his head to one side.

"I'd say don't judge a book by its cover, but then I think the pun is inappropriate here." He stared impassively at the angry young man before him, then stared off to the side as if recalling a lost thought. "What you'd be interested in is on page...seventeen, I believe."

"Upon examination of the lower abdominal cavity," Kara's voice suddenly rang out, "the subject was found to have substantial hemmoraging in the stomach and gallbladder. Preliminary cause of death is assumed to be repeated blunt trauma to the stomach, possibly from a club or other wide, round object. Internal damage may have been less severe had the subject's kidneys not been lacerated--"

"That's enough." Charlie's voice held an edge. Kara had narrated what should have been a private matter for the Terrence kid alone, and Charile was not happy. But at the same time, it had revealed what was important and the direct approach seemed to work best, in Charlie's experience. Charlie shook his head, his face a grimace. "I apologize for Kara's idiocy, Terrence. I feel as if I've been apologizing throughout our conversation, but there you go." He paused. "Regardless..." his voice trailed off.

"Um, excuse me?" Ezekiel began as he leaned in slighty to speak towards Charlie. "Uh sorry to interrupt your speech Mr. Charlie, but is there a bathroom anywhere around here? Cause I really need to pee."

The boy could feel the eyes of all the parties fall upon him as he forced a nervous smile upon his face. To be fair, Ezekiel had indeed been holding it in since his battle with the Armadillo* earlier that morning. Matters were made worse when the boy rapidly consumed the delicious fast food purchase that Agent Stealth had given him only moments before. Now he felt as if he was trying to prevent a dam from bursting.

Due to all of the information the agency had just spilt into Gershom's mind, he sat in a sort of dazed state. Pondering time and time again over how this could have happened, how another could have entered into that Garden without him knowing? His men had died finding and entering that land, how could this other just waltz into the Sacred place without having some sort of damage done to him? How could God have allowed this man to not only live but also sneak a sapling out of Garden? Where did this sapling go? How could I have been so careless? It was a lot to take in at that time, for after all of these years of life, how come now, after close to a century of time has passed, how come now Gershom had just heard of this other being?

Trying to not fully daze out into his own thoughts, Gershom returned to the conversation every once in a while to make sure he didn't miss anything too important. The frustrated voice of Charlie caught his ear and dragged him back out of his thoughts. What did I just miss? What happened that could perturb this hardened man? Not only was Charlie a bit upset at what seemed to be his AI, Kara, but the boy Terrence was severely shaken by something. His face was cold and yet his hand showed his true status. Damn, I really missed something good. Damn these people, they really did their homework on us.

Gershom shifted his weight in his chair, trying to focus on the current situation between Terrence and Charlie and not to return to his new predicament which the Agency had laid out before everyone to know.

Charlie blinked as if suddenly remembering Ezekiel was there, and then turned his head and smiled slightly.

"Yes of course. That door there." Charlie pointed to a small circular door set in the wall near the place where the group had come in. "Be quick though. The time for talk is almost over." Inwardly Charlie himself felt as if several days of talking wouldn't fully cover what he wanted to convey, but such was the situation in which he found himself. The smile fell from his lips as he turned back towards Terrence, and after a moment he began speaking again in a slow, deliberate voice.

"Terrence's father," Charlie began. "was what comic book writers would call a hero of his time. Eadric Harrow saved more than his share of lives and was a part of many events that needed doing, regardless of the risk to himself. But for the present, that's not important." Charlie resisted the urge to look at Arthur Freely, knowing the man would not approve of what he was about to say next. "According to the coroner's report that you all heard just now, Harrow's kidneys were lacerated upon his death. I've seen the autopsy photographs myself and can confirm that. However, I can also confirm that that is impossible."

Freely shifted in his seat.

"Eadric Jacob Harrow had his left kidney removed at the age of fourteen, when it ruptured and nearly killed him. Despite his great strength of will as a man, even he did not posses the ability to simply regrow it. The autopsy report however clearly shows that BOTH kidneys in his body were injured upon his death. Therefore the only explanation," Charlie paused. "The only logical explanation, is that this man was not Eadric Harrow."

Ice blasted through his veins and seemed to kill all sensation in his body. Charlie's words ran in his ears, the only part of him that seemed to be working. Dumbly Terrence's mind struggled to find traction in the thoughts that seemed thick in his brain, but his heart refused their conclusions. It was a mistake. That was all there was to it. Somehow the coroner had thought there were two kidneys when there was only one. Any acknowledgment to the contrary meant that...meant that he...

"My father is alive?" Terrence's voice sounded like raspy death, but the dread and hope was unmistakable.

Freely stiffened and suddenly closed his eyes, as if he were trying to steady himself. For Charlie's part, a look of genuine pain and guilt filled his face. It was clear he knew the anguish this news was bringing on the boy. And yet it was necessary. Like so many other things of pain. Or so he told himself. Quickly Charlie replied, but his voice was almost pleading.

"Wait, don't misunderstand. Listen to it all, and then you'll be in a position to judge for yourself." He took a deep breath. "I should have said this before, but it was hard to know where to begin. Most of those people close to your father didn't know this, but he had a brother. A twin brother." Charlie stopped speaking for a moment to show the importance of this news to the rest of the group, who he knew were listening intently. "His name was Keane Harrow, and he was raised away from the Harrow family by a great aunt in Liverpool. Why Jacob and Keane were split apart isn't known, but the Harrow family was poor and it was hard to raise two kids in 1960's Ireland. When he was old enough Keane left home to join the Royal Navy, and served for two years. It was about a month before the end of his service when the ship he was serving on suffered some sort of explosion below the waterline and he was lost at sea. The incident took place one month before Jacob Harrow was killed."

"So now we come to the head of the problem." Charlie seemed to have diminished slightly, less a figure of power and authority and more like a troubled man in pain. "The autopsy says Jacob Harrow had two kidneys upon his death, but we know that's impossible. His brother Keane presumably never had any problems with his own kidneys, and was lost at sea a month before Jacob died." Charlie's eyes grew cold and distant, his own mind lost in thought. "It's been years now, but the question is still there."

"Who was really on that autopsy table?"

Ezekiel stepped back into the room feeling refreshed, after having relieved himself of body fluids. He walked back into the room, which had unmistakeably grown very quiet. Trying not to take away from the conversation, the Jones boy tries to return to his seat as quietly as can be possible.

White. That was how Terrence had felt when Charlie had hinted that his father still lived. It was as if he suddenly found that he had become the color white: cool emptiness, without substance or feeling. He was still aware of himself, but outside his body watching curiously as if to see what would happen next. Slowly, though still far too quick it seemed, Terrence felt himself go from white to grey. The shock itself was still there, but now it had a new friend. Anger. He was angry at himself for caring, angry at the people around him that had put him here, and angry at Charlie for making so much sense. His mind latched on to it like a lifeline, pulling himself back to reality. But at the moment, it was not his favorite place.

"Cut the crap," his voice sizzled in the room. "Each one of us has a little "personal truth" revealed, with the details conveniently left out? And if we want to know the rest, all we have to do is a little favor for you?! Keep your Nazi mind games. Everything," his eyes burned at Freely. "was for that goal. So why not be half the man you should be and talk straight for once. Really, try it."

Gershom gives a slight chuckle to Terrence's comment, almost enough to have him choke on his tea.

"The kid's got some guts, talking to this man that way," Gordon thought to himself quietly as he sipped his tea a bit more, "especially in front of all of his help. What does this kid think he is going to get? The truth? Ha. This man has lived this way all his life, telling falsities until he gets what he wants, manipulating the truth until it turns into a good fiction with his ends being met. Straight talk? I don't think he has it in him."

"Um, excuse me?" Ezekiel Jones raised his hand nervously as he tried to gain the attention of Charlie. "I'm, uh, gonna have to agree with Terry-- er Terrence-- sorry. I'm gonna have to agree because right now it seems you've been showing us all sorts of videos and spewing out knowledge, which I admit is kinda cool because it feels like a spy flick. But anyway, what I'm trying to say," Ezekiel fumbled the words around in his mouth as he nervously rubbed his left shoulder. "Well what I mean is, how do we know all this information isn't made up and if it isn't, well then why do you need our help. Hell, you've got a guy who can freeze time," Ezekiel nodded at Agent Bedrock "and what about that personal army of yours downstairs? Don't tell me that's all building security."

Sensing from the quiet in the room, Ezekiel coughed nervously as he waited for Charlie to respond.

Bedrock grunted. "Kid, you're the only one here talking sense." His voice was far from complementary. Ethos had had enough. The eyes behind the glasses surveyed Ezekiel with bemusement. "And that's not a compliment. All of this," he gestured around the room. "can not make sense. So don't try. That was your first mistake." Bedrock stood, hauling his huge frame up from his seat and bounded over to Terrence. The boy was tall, but seated Bedrock loomed over him like doom itself. He sneered.

"And yours," he said quietly, "was thinking that you're special." He fingered Terrence's clothing with disdain. "This isn't about 'taking straight.' Charlie popped the bubble on your private little hell. That smarts, I bet." His voice dripped with sympathy. "And being exposed like that around people you've never met? You poor thing." A ham-sized fist gave Terrence a pat on the shoulder, causing the chair to groan in protest.

"None of you ever gets it. Pain is pain. You can't feel it harder than Charlie, or Jones, or me." He bared his teeth and rested one leg on the seat. "Or your mother. Pain comes in all flavors, and they're all bad. So swallow it and move on."

Suddenly Bedrock whirled, lashing out and kicking Terrence's chair across the room. It bounced and skidded, but amazingly stayed upright.

"If you don't, someone will use it against you." Without acknowledging what had just taken place, he turned and walked swiftly to Kara's device on the table and swept it off.

"What is the meaning of--"

"You're done here," Bedrock said tersely. He tossed the STUD to Charlie before reaching into his jacket and pulling out his own,. He twisted a few dials and the device began to shine like before, though this one had a silver glow. Moments later a serene woman shimmered into view, her body sitting atop an ungainly wheelchair. She surveyed them all with a calm gaze before wheeling herself to face Bedrock.

"Are we to get started already?" Her voice was like a hushed breeze after rain.

"'We' are already late. Contact Argyle. Start the calculations."

The woman nodded, her image warping slightly before vanishing. He stowed the device back inside his jacket.

"So." Ethos glanced up, his voice deadpan. "I think Gershom is right. Talk is cheap. And we're running out of time to spend as it is. Therefore, I'm moving up the schedule a bit." Bedrock did his best not to glance at Charlie. Technically this wasn't his call; Charlie had said that the plan would be to get the three of them up to speed slowly, ease in to things. Only then was it Ethos's job to take over and show them the ropes. But things had stalled, and he had always been a fan of dumping newbies into the thick of things from the get-go. Made them tougher. If they survived.

"Take these," he tossed three spiral-colored capsules on the table. "You'll need them. Whoever wants to stay should get ready. For those who want to leave, same goes. There's only one way out. You have to defeat me." He smiled happily at Terrence's broken form. "Don't worry. It'll be fun."

And with respectful nods to Charlie, Stealth, and Freely, Bedrock sauntered out.

Ezekiel Jones was stunned.

Agent Bedrock had taken charge and had shifted the course of events so radically, that the boy was still having a hard time processing his words. You'll have to beat me? Ethos' words echoed in the young man's head. Just what did he have in mind? Well whatever it was, Ezekiel found himself excited for it. His heart raced and his eyes widened as he watched Bedrock's figure disappear from view.

"Looks like we got no choice?" the boy announced as he stood up and strode out the door to follow Bedrock.

"Fun? I think I've had enough fun for one day."

Gershom finished his tea, picked up a capsule, and walked out of the room.