short timers: Episode 5a

He opened his eyes and looked up at Morgan’s concerned, but also pissed face. Ed heard something hard hit a metal pan, the clink was very loud in his ears.

We can’t go unconscious Morgan. Ed said automatically trying to convey the message to his senior officer. Something’s waiting down there.

Morgan’s eyebrows clenched down hard, and he tilted his head to the side.

Armor piercing. Tsang said. But next generation. Maybe military? He was quiet for a second, and Ed felt a searing pain in his hip. He clenched his jaw hard against the movement of the metal tool beneath his skin. He’d been through this process before, and knew that it was imperative that he remain still.

Morgan spoke to him. That shot to the head should have killed you Ed.

Weirdest f****n’ thing I ever seen. Jimmy spoke up. A five foot tall woman packin’ a six and a half foot tall f**k wit around like a sack of potato’s. I ‘bout s**t myself.

Ed watched Morgan’s face change from intense concern and anger, to mildly annoyed impatience, one eyebrow lifted and his eyes half lidded with boredom. Jimmy. He said. Would you mind terribly f*****g off for a bit so I can figure out what the hell happened.

Jimmy snorted. Pretty easy to tell from here. Looks like Ed got the s**t shot out of him. Eh? Notice the holes? And Stella here packed his sorry a*s in here like it didn’t weigh an ounce.

Morgan closed his eyes, still holding the barely patient facial expression. You didn’t need to be psychic to know he was praying for God to save him from the lippy Irishman.

“Ahhhh! Goddamned son of a bitchin’ yellow assed short s**t kiss a*s f****n Japanese c**k sucker!” Stella screamed as Tsang removed the slug from her shoulder. Ed heard the slug clink in the pan.

Jimmy burst into howls of laughter. And Morgan, with his eyes still closed leaning over Ed’s face, gave the tiniest twitch of a smile.

What were you talking about Ed, when you said that ‘something’s waiting down there’? Morgan asked.

What? Ed responded. Did I say something like that?

Morgan looked concerned again.

And who the hell are you? And where the f**k is my dog? Ed couldn’t hold his features for long. He felt his lips pulling at a smile.

Morgan’s face changed back to the barely tolerant bored look again. How many fingers am I holding up? He said as he flipped Ed the bird.

Jimmy, who still hadn’t quit chuckling from Stella’s tirade at Tsang, let out several bellowing laughs. Ed was trying not to laugh because of the shooting pains it caused in his stomach.

Jance suddenly burst into the room from a door somewhere to Morgan’s left. Morgan’s head spun  around so fast that Ed thought if he’d moved any faster he’d give himself whiplash.

‘you’re not finished Edward.’ Ran through his mind, in the same choir of calm voices that he’d heard when he was out. Morgan slowly turned his head back to Ed’s face, looking at him intensely again. Curiosity and concern running across his hard features. His mouth pursed in a hard line.

“Morgan!” Jance said, walking across the room to Ed’s table. “We gotta talk.”

Morgan looked around the room and then back at Jance. “Uh... Busy.” He said.

“She’s awake.”

There was a split second pause before Morgan disappeared from his line of sight.

Never a f****n’ dull moment round here... F**k sakes. Jimmy said, as he followed Morgan and Jance out the door. Leaving Tsang, Ed, and Stella alone.

Tsang was bent over the tin pan where he’d been tossing the slugs. He picked one up and looked closely at it in the light. Ed saw his face change in the light from curiosity, to surprise, then to mild humor. It was strange to see that many changes happen that fast with the scar pulling on Tsang’s face. Sometimes he thought it looked like a man making faces at a broken mirror.

I know who those men were. He said.

Ed could just see Stella over the tops of his toes. They exchanged a look. She was stripped to the waist, her small breasts shadowed in the bright light pleasantly, and a bandage covered her right shoulder. They spoke in unison.

Kazuma.

He tossed each one of them a slug from the pan. Ed caught his despite the shock of pain it caused in his arm. He looked at the slug in his hand, and noticed tiny writing on the back of the bullet. A Japanese kanji symbol was etched into the metal. The slugs had been machined expertly, and still shone silver in the harsh light despite the tiny coating of blood.

He’s onto us then. Stella said.

Yes. Tsang said. He’s not taking any chances with us, but he’s sent his message. He’ll go back to that warehouse and collect blood samples from your wounds. He’ll probably check the DNA and have your identities within the week, if not sooner.

No one has my DNA. Stella said. And besides, there was no spatter from the slug I took.

There may have been something. Tsang said. Just believe that there is a chance. He said.

Stella nodded her head, and tossed her slug back in the pan.

My DNA is no secret. Ed said. Half a dozen military agencies that I know of, and probably a few that I don’t have samples of it. Tsang nodded as Ed spoke. It’ll probably work to our advantage that he get’s mine.

I wonder what the new girl is gonna be like? She asked them both, interjecting the thought to stray them from the concern of their opponent. Not out of fear, per se, but mostly to consider something other than their next possible source of death.

Ed shook his head back and forth, and then tossed his slug in the pan too. That was stupid of him to leave us alive. He said, looking at Tsang as he said it. Now we know what kind of ammunition he’s using, and we can form a defense.

Tsang shook his head. He’s smarter than that, Ed.

Ed nodded, knowing it was true. I want a tougher suit. He said, reaching up and rubbing his temple where the slug had slapped him. It had been a glancing hit, against reinforced absorption plating. Ed had gotten very lucky. If the shot had been straight on, he’d be tits up and rotting right now.

Yeah. Stella said. Me too. But we gotta start being more careful. Giving up on the feeble attempt at distraction. These guys aren’t the same s**t as we’ve been fighting before.

That’s not necessarily true. Tsang said. The men you killed probably only had the guns from Kazuma, they weren’t his men. Also we can’t trust the suitcase you brought with you.

S**t. Stella said. We can’t trust anything until he’s dead.

Tsang leveled a look at her. Sending a short and specific unspoken message to her. She looked back at him defiant, but curious.

Isn’t that what you want Tsang? Isn’t that why you called him out?

Tsang was quiet for a moment, looking distant. Finally he nodded once. But neither Ed, nor Stella were convinced. They both looked at him, trying to figure out what the man was about.

I’ll be back in a few hours. You two can go get your infusions now, just don’t get too excited within the next couple of days and your wounds will seal up soon. There will be some pain, but it’ll be short lived. Just thank God those weren’t exploding rounds that hit you. That would have been a hell of a mess to clean up. He said, looking at Stella. You might have made it, but you would probably be less one arm. He looked at Ed. And there wouldn’t have been much of you left to dispose of.

Stella and Ed exchanged a look again. Ed spoke up, unable to contain his curiosity.

So why didn’t he? He’s your brother Tsang. Why didn’t he just kill us? He asked. Slowly propping himself up on an elbow. His head swam for a moment, and he remembered the feel of the slimy tentacle on his leg. For a moment he felt something there, and looked down. A sheet covered him on that leg. Amazingly it was the only limb that didn’t have a hole in it from being shot.

Tsang shook his head. Because he’s my brother. And he’s trying to make a point.

And what point is that? Stella asked. Who can be the bigger prick?

Tsang looked at her again. Then nodded. That’s exactly it. He said and walked out of the room.

Tsang wait. Ed said. I still have something I want to talk to you about.

I know. He responded. It can wait for now. I need to go see our newest member. You both remember what it was like when we woke up from the procedure right?

They both groaned.

Yeah. He said. I think I can help her through some of that. Besides, you two need to rest.

Yeah, Right. Ed thought to himself.

It was just Stella and Ed in the room now. She looked around the room a little awkwardly. She had thankfully put on a top, but the wound in her shoulder had seeped blood through the bandage, it looked like a black spider clinging to the scrubs.

They were quiet for a long time. Ed was tempted several times to look at his lower leg, and see if there were deep scratches there, but thought better of it, knowing it would bring a barrage of questions from Stella.

She drummed her fingers on the edge of the hospital bed she sat on.

So…uh…You read any good books lately? She asked. Trying to break the silence.

As a matter of fact, I did read a pretty good one the other day. Stella didn’t look too interested, more like she was trying to figure a way to get out of the room.

Oh, yeah? She asked, half distracted. What was it about?

Poetry. He said. Stella perked up, and leveled a curious gaze at him. He liked the way the light played on her cheekbones, and how the shadows pulled at the corners of her lips.

Serious? She asked. And leaned forward, propping herself on her palms and hunching her shoulders. Ed thought he saw a tiny wince of pain, but other than that she didn’t show that the bullet wound bothered her.

Oh, us jarheads…He said, referring to their shared joke from a couple weeks ago. We don’t get too complicated. But poetry is interesting.

Which poet? She asked.

Emerson.

She snorted. You would go for him wouldn’t you?

Well. Trying hard to hide his defensiveness. He liked Emerson. Who would you recommend?

This got them started in on a conversation about poetry, and a critique on the styles they’d read and the authors that wrote them. They laughed and chatted, and Ed thought he felt a barrier between them ease down just a crack. He’d warmed to her a little during the weeks following their uncomfortable moment in her room, and tonight’s adventure ending in her saving his life sealed into cement, a feeling he was trying hard to ignore. He decided, knowing that it could get him killed, that it would be ok if he went ahead and fell in love with her. He’d never ask for anything overtly, he didn’t prescribe to the idea that men needed to debase themselves for love, women either for that matter. Rather he would love her in whatever fashion she so chose, whether that was friendship, or intimacy, or just someone to shoot the s**t with. He just enjoyed her company, and he thought it wise that he should make himself good company for her. And in the course of that pursuit, he might actually learn something. Stranger things had happened for certain. But Stella didn’t need someone trying to run her down like a fox, she needed someone to call a friend. And in Ed’s perspective, that was good enough a cause as any, to keep his feelings calm and too himself. Even though he knew that sometimes loving from afar could hurt just as much as the burning little slugs he’d taken earlier in the evening. But it wasn’t like he was doing anything else with his heart at the moment, why not just hand it over? F**k it. Why not?

Tsang was concerned as he walked towards the fifth floor. The bullets weighed heavily on his mind. Kazuma wasn’t playing by his usual game, and Tsang wondered why he’d chosen a different strategy than his usual. Because he can, He thought. Ed was extremely lucky to be alive, had any of those slugs struck a little better he’d have been a dead man. The suit had offered more protection than any of them assumed though. During the exchange Ed had been hit over twenty times, but only a few rounds actually pierced the suit and only in the weak spots where the heavy plates were joined. But the slug that hit him in the head…and ultimately caused the big man to lose consciousness, that one was a glancing shot, but to a weak plate. In truth, Ed should be a corpse. And if he had to blame it on something, Tsang would say it was just on Ed’s good luck, or the Gunman’s bad. Luck is capricious at best, and vicious at worst. But that was the way of things. Over the months he’d grown to like the Ed, and considered him a friend. But now with Kazuma playing by different rules, Tsang felt the full force of responsibility on his shoulders. He’d very nearly gotten two of his friends killed tonight by being arrogant about how he figured his brother would react. How much of his path of vengeance a fool’s errand? And who was the fool? Himself? Or the friends who trusted him?

His gray colored scrubs had small spots of blood on them from removing the bullets from Ed and Stella’s bodies. He couldn’t help but admit that he’d enjoyed doing that. Playing ER doctor again, fixing leaks and patching holes. It was also nice to see some patients that exacted a little stoicism, rather than excessive whimpering. He always hated to see people suffering, which was part of the reason he killed so quickly, but so often in the hospital he’d seen people screaming like dying pigs over minor cuts and scrapes.

The dim hallways seemed wider today than they had been in the past. Each step he took seemed more purposeful and comfortable. It was an odd feeling, but one that he’d felt before. But only once. It felt like the home he’d shared with his murdered wife. Absently he reached up and traced a finger over the scar on his chest beneath his scrubs. He reasserted his vow to meet his brother again, and make him answer for his crimes against Tsang.

He reached the elevator and began his ascent to the fifth floor of the complex. He reached out with his mind during the tiny space of time he had to access the Field. He was shocked to discover the energy shroud that had hung over the fifth floor was now gone. He could see Dr. Marcus, Morgan, Jimmy and Jance all standing around one of the two beds in a room that was built directly in the center of the floor structure. He arched an eyebrow.

Each of the individuals cast a specific glow, emanating from the small spot just below their solar plexus. When two individuals were having a direct conversation with each other, the glow would brighten and seem to lean towards the person they were addressing. Morgan and the girl Michelle were talking, he was courteous and controlled. She was in a great deal of pain, but seemed excited. Suddenly her energy shifted, and she seemed to look at him directly through the Field. Through walls that were transparent, and Jance‘s translucent form, Tsang made eye contact with the beautiful woman laying in the bed. She smiled at him. Then grimaced. She turned her attention back to Morgan and they talked for a moment as Tsang made his way towards the observation room. His pace considerably quicker… she wasn’t in good shape.

He entered the room, and his attention went first to the bed next to Michelle where the dark stranger lay unconscious. Another problem to be dealt with. He felt like walking up to the body and snapping the neck, simple and quick. He looked at Michelle again, she was looking at Jimmy giving him a compassionate grin. She looked like she was hurting badly. But she wasn’t admitting it to these men. Tsang didn’t understand why they hadn’t administered some sort of pain medication for her yet. Her eyes were red rimmed and watery, her skin was very pale. She looked like a corpse pretending to be a living person.

The first wake up from the procedure was the most painful thing he’d ever felt in his life. It felt as if his bones were made of cactus quills and barbed wire, rubbing up against his muscle with a sickening sawing motion. Lights were too bright, and for the first week he had a constant migraine headache that no medication could dull. He’d spent a lot of time meditating that first week, with only limited success. But he’d discovered how to access the Field during that week, so for him, he was grateful for the pain he’d endured. The Field was this world’s last true freedom for him, and Tsang spent as much time as he could there. Testing his strengths and weaknesses. And sometimes just watching, like the sun watching the universe with an unblinking eye. An eternity of amazement. Something was different about her agony though, and Tsang knew that she couldn’t bear it for long.

Pain has a certain threshold. And it’s height is different for every individual. Warriors are trained to heighten their thresholds to maintain function. But Michelle was no warrior, and she’d no real experience with pulverizing agony, which was the best way to describe the first moments of waking from the procedure. Jance had a similar problem when he woke up. Tsang hadn’t been there that time, and Dr. Marcus had administered some heavy drugs to counter the burning sensation through the young man’s body. But he’d still lost consciousness, and very nearly his life. He would have to have some heavy words with Dr. Marcus after this was all said and done, but for now…he had some work to do.

He walked up and stood next to the bed, casting one last glance at the sleeping figure to the left of him. She looked him in the eyes and smiled, she reached up with her left hand. He could see the pain she was going through in the Field, It had just reached a point where the brain would convince the body to shut down, to pass out and die. He reached out and gently grasped her hand, and was instantly filled with a feeling of warmth and comfort. Tsang placed his other hand on top of hers. He poured light into her body through his hands, he searched through her systems.

Her nerves were vibrating hard with all the sensations she was feeling. He traced up her body, as quickly as he could, guiding himself with the knowledge of medical anatomy as his guide. He touched each nerve, and tried to calm them in turn. He tried to tune with their pulses, but couldn’t bring himself to imagine the pain that she must feel even with personal knowledge from having been through the procedure himself. He sped up towards her brain, and tracked down the pain receptors. He saw the pulse, knew how to copy it, and knew how to counter it. He felt his own tuning going higher and higher, faster and faster, creating a sound in his mind like a gun going off next to the ear drum. That high frequency whine singing in his ears and his core. He grit his teeth, preparing for what he would have to feel.

The world he was in exploded in a brilliant flash of agony. He felt himself flickering like a candle flame barely clinging to the wick in a hurricane wind. He felt the pain through her experience, his knowledge of pain meant nothing to her ignorance of it. His vision flickered with his energy. In the failing light he saw something, just above Michelle’s head, behind her in the shadows of some other existence. A creature of horrible intelligence, grinning at him with it’s alien teeth. This was not the Gorgon thing he’d battled before, it was something far more powerful, and angry. It’s shimmering eyes fixed on his, and it moved closer to him in the dimming light.

Something touched him on the shoulder, and the flickering ceased. The light of pain was still there, but the beast was gone. He could think, and feel, and direct his attention to Michelle’s pain. He quickly found the pain centers core, and with a few instinctual and expert moves turned off the pain that they were both going through. The link snapped shut, and the neurons controlling the inflow of agony went silent, except for the shadow of memory which took moments to ebb away. But remained as a ghost, locked in a loop, the neurons of the brain would refuse to forget. Heavy pain left a deep scar not so visible as a cut, but a reminder nonetheless of past panic. This memory, was the first true physical horror she had experienced in this lifetime. Though her stoicism had been uncanny when he’d seen her at first, it only acted to falsely portray her ability to handle the bone burn to the men around her bed. She’d expertly duped them into thinking she could handle it.

Tsang opened his eyes and heard the shuddering sigh from Michelle’s lips. “Thank you half-dragon. It is very nice to see you again.” Everyone in the room considered the weirdness of her knowing Tsang as a strange occurrence, certainly, but right on par with the usual bizarre episodes that they’d all come to realize surrounded not only the man, but themselves as well. They were becoming accustomed to the synchronicity that acted as a gravity between each of them, and the odd currencies traded amongst themselves without their total awareness.

Stella would later describe this apathy to unusualness as akin to being the wife of a magician, saying; ‘oh, you turned an elephant into a rubber duck? Why how lovely. Now why don’t you go presto something a little more useful? Hmm? Why don’t you turn this lump of dog s**t into gold? Really? You don’t do dog s**t? Pity. Maybe this dirty laundry into a mansion then. No? Hmm. Not much good to me then are you?’. She also wondered if magicians really did try to magically saw their wives in half, or if they ‘accidentally on purpose’ fucked up and did it for real just to shut the woman up.

Tsang gave a sincere bow to the young woman, realizing the helpful person behind him was still there. He looked at his shoulder and the hand pressed there, and to his surprise he saw Jimmy. He was shaking, and his eyes were wide and red around the edges, he was obviously shocked, and shaking from the memory of the pain the three of them had endured.

Sorry Tsang. He said. You looked like you could use a hand.

Tsang bowed to the Irishman with a great feeling of respect.

She wouldn’t have made it another five minutes. Tsang said. Thank you very much for your assistance Jimmy. I am in your debt, I wouldn’t have been able to survive had you not been there.

If you’d not shut down her pissed off neurons, I wouldn’t have made it another 30 seconds. Jimmy said.

Morgan and Jance and Dr. Marcus looked at the three of them and their connection. Morgan and Jance had felt the strange connection through the Field. Dr. Marcus had seen it, like a heat rippling the light around them.

Tsang. Morgan said, looking exasperated. What in the flying hell did you do NOW? Morgan wasn’t quite as accustomed to the ’magician’s wife’ thing as everyone else, and insisted that everyone explain themselves quickly and thoroughly, whether they knew what they’d done or not.

“He just saved my life Morgan.” Michelle said. Morgan’s head spun towards her, his mouth open. “And it damn near cost him his own, and maybe even Jimmy’s. Had it not been for Jimmy, all three of us might have died.” Michelle’s voice was calm and light, and very pleasant to hear. She knew who she was, what she was doing, and why she was doing it. By picking up on the telepathy, she’d just proved the reason Dr. Clay had chosen her to be a Short Timer.

Michelle. Jimmy said. I saw something in there…something ugly and pissed…behind you. What the f**k was it? He seemed to have shaken off the pain he’d endured with her and Tsang, or he was doing a very good job of hiding it.

She looked at Jimmy, and seemed to concentrate very hard. Yeah. It’s found me again. She picked up the Telepathy, and this time answered it directly.

Morgan’s look of complete dumbfounded shock hadn‘t changed. When Michelle started to speak telepathically, all he could do was blink to acknowledge any further shock.

It? Tsang asked as if Michelle could always speak telepathically.

Leviathan. She said. He/it has been around me for a very long time. Legion keeps him busy enough though. But he’s an opportunist, and likes to f**k with us.

Legion? Jimmy asked. Us? Jance asked. Both of them simultaneously.

Yeah. She said. Legion and Leviathan have been at it for a very long time. Legion hitched a ride with me, when I was about twelve. Leviathan is sort of his nemesis, and never strays too far away. They are constantly taking pop shots at each other. Like twins that can’t stand each other, but can’t beat each other, and can’t get away from each other.

Morgan blinked again. He seemed to be having and exceedingly difficult time processing all the information that was coming at him. He looked around at the faces that surrounded the attractive young woman’s bed, as if to ask, ‘Is everyone else alright with this s**t?‘. Jance looked at him, and grinned carefully but with great humor and said. Just go with it man. We’ll figure it out later. Morgan was usually pretty hard core about everything, so Jance thought it best to take his smart assed shots when he could. He was excited to see someone so adept at their mental work, and he was itching to see what she could do when she recovered.

“I hate to interrupt,” Dr. Marcus said. “But what the f**k just happened?”

Jimmy chuckled. “Well done doc. Spoken like you know how to swear. F**k sakes, I’m proud of you.” Now it was Dr. Marcus’s turn to respond with stupid blinks.

Michelle looked over at the dark man that lay next to her. “Where did you find that son of a b***h?”

Morgan snapped out of his stupor and aimed a tense look at Dr. Marcus. “Long story.” He said. “Why? Do you know him?”

“Yeah.” She said. “He’s my dad.”

They all looked at the dark man, unconscious and looking peaceful. If Stella had been in the room to witness this piece of synchronicity, she would have undoubtedly described it as watching the magician turn the elephant into a Doberman pincher, rabid, pumped with steroids and high on PCP. The only thing in the room to eat was the magician’s unimpressed wife. ‘Now ladies and gentleman! Watch me make my wife disappear!’.

Hmm. Jance said. That’s a little…weird. He looked at Dr. Marcus, who was still blinking occasionally. So…You knew about this right? Jance swore at himself, and remembered that Dr. Marcus couldn’t speak telepathically, and then spoke the question out loud.

Dr. Marcus just shook his head. “I still don’t even know the guys name.”

“Steven was his original name, I think.” Michelle said. “But he could be a whole bunch of different names, and probably still is.” She looked at Morgan, a serious look across her face.

“Do any of you know how extremely fucked up this guy is?” She asked. Dr. Marcus was still shaking his head, but his face had gone a little pale.

Morgan looked at the floor, and shook his own head in denial of what he was just now learning. He was mumbling under his breath, but everybody could hear what he was saying.

“That goddamn b*****d son of a b***h Dr. Clay is gonna f*****g die! I s**t you NOT! Goddamnit. And what the f**k do I have to do to get people to tell me what the f**k is going on for christ sakes? This is a military installation, not a loony bin. The only f****r here that should be keeping secrets is ME goddamnit. Maybe I’ll just torture one of these stupid dick heads in front of the rest of em, and start crucifying anyone who hasn’t given me absolUTEly every piece of information in their f*****g heads. PERIOD. F*****g Science group a******s....”

Morgan stomped off towards the doorway, on a head hunt for Dr. Clay, Jance assumed.

What’s his problem? Michelle asked.

Jimmy looked at her, with a twinkle in his eye. He shrugged his shoulders. Morgan appears to be losing his sense of humor. He said.

Ah. She said. She looked around the room.

“So…” She gave a big beautiful smile to everyone there. “I’m Michelle. It’s nice to meet you all.”

Jimmy chuckled again, and offered his hand. She took it, and he bent and carefully gave it a kiss.

“Welcome to the Short Timers, love.” He said. And winked at her.

In genuine excitement and good spirits, now that the pain had subsided completely, she returned the wink and added a little twist to her pretty smile. Giving it the quirky tension of a practiced smart a*s. The look startled Jimmy a little with it’s myriad beauty, he felt his heart give a gentle flutter.

Oh, My. Jimmy said. We may very well be in some deep s**t with this one lads. He said.

Aye. She responded. Ye just might. The perfect imitation of the accented lilt instantly transported Jimmy to all the things he loved about his far away and deeply missed home. He carefully hid his thoughts, and thought to himself in very honest terms, that he had by god better be damn careful, and that this was no time or place to be getting wrapped around a pretty lass’s little finger. No matter how desperately he wanted to get wrapped around it either. She may be lovely to look at, and speak to. But that creature in the Field he’d seen when he helped Tsang looked big, mean, and hungry. And until he was certain he could take it, he wasn’t going to test those f*****g waters. He still believed in monster’s past the horizon, and that f*****g b*****d was no doubt one of them.

She met his gaze, and seemed to understand his very personal argument. She smiled genuinely again, removing the little twist. There was something behind that smile that definitely seemed to call out, from the depths of dark waters, ‘come on out Jimmy!’ While sharks fins cut the water in circles around her, and huge serpents tails waved in the frigid air. ‘The water’s perfect! You big girl!’. God knew what man eaters lay beneath the surface, or what madness met the foolish fisherman when he waded in. But like all men trapped in a Siren’s song…It was so hard to listen to reason. And fear meant nothing to the man in her spell.

Don’t worry Irish. She said. I’ll protect you. In a telepathic stream intended for him alone, and received by him alone.

Leviathan watched all of this. It watched with growing interest and hunger. It waited in the unconscious body, slowly tangling its existence with the swarming creatures that surrounded the psyche of the tortured man. It fed on them, and they suckled from it. They all gained strength.

Legion watched all of this. And knew what it meant. They/it prepared themselves as well as possible.

These two Titans, in an unending battle that had raged for centuries, since humans could first consider spirit, were preparing to unsheathe swords and hack at each other yet again.

In this state they both could do so much damage, to themselves and the world around them.

Human’s had grown very powerful with their minds and souls that each found an endless well of energy with which to use against each other.

Leviathan, ever the aggressor wanted only to bask in it’s enemies death.

Legion, ever the pacifist, wished only for the protection of the potential of the human spirit. Both were warriors born from the basic primal desires leached into the human super consciousness. They represented all that would ever be in constant flux of the mortal heart. Desire versus responsibility, aggression versus protection, peace versus war. The things that make us think…carefully, about our actions, whether fearful or kind. Or the things that make us act…quickly, following the path of our thoughts, whether horrible or graceful.  

Between these two was and endless expanse of possibilities, but all directions led inexorably to one or the other. Like a lone man standing in an empty universe deciding which way to go, but ultimately heading either up or down no matter which random direction was chosen. They stared at each other over the vastness like the monstrous likeness of Yin and Yang, or Kane and Abel.

The real truth of their meetings in battle echoed across the distance between the world of ether, and the real, in a cataclysmic explosion of passion. But the truth always meant a revolution of struggle. Wars had begun in the past over their bitter battles. Thousands of men and women slain. Empires had crumbled, entire races of people wiped out, countries obliterated.

Because what happened between them, happened to the world, in the loud halls of the human collective. Beneath their hopes and dreams, and hates and fears. In the cave blackness of peoples imagining…these creatures, almost immortal, held sway. When they roared, people roared. When they clashed, armies clashed.  

They stretched their heavy arms, and rolled their massive shoulders in anticipation. They sharpened blades and claws, teeth and horns. Readying themselves, to dance, again. Forever.

No matter the winner between the two angels. Inevitably people lost.

Wallace stared into the depths of his own thoughts, wandering the murk for some insight on his current situation. He couldn’t wrap his mind around all the hazards. In this mess he understood his placement. He was the bloodhound. He swept the ground with his sensitive nose, and letting loose his howl when he found the scent of his prey.

But…

He’d seen a few manhunts in his time as a cop. He knew that smart criminals on the run would shoot the dog, even if only to buy themselves a few extra minutes to run. Not good.

He needed to be smarter. Needed to be more proactive than just a good nose and an extra gun.

He sighed and reached across his old oak table and grabbed the bottle of scotch. He poured the deep amber liquid into a glass and watched the swirling eddies of liquid settle themselves in the white light of his tiny apartment kitchen.

It was too bright in the room. Too much white linoleum and counter top. It looked like a cheap morticians operating room. Everything stark and lifeless.

He left the Kitchen and went into the living area that acted most times as his bedroom. He didn’t own a T.V., or a radio. On principal he’d banished the noisy boxes once his ex had stripped him of most of his material belongings. He kept a couple of computers though, and spent a good deal of time on both.

He opened his laptop and waited for it to boot up. He looked around the stark room, marveling at the unlived in feel of the place. He could move out in an hour, and never break a sweat. He sighed, but didn’t waste time on regret.

Wallace defined himself by two principals: Honor family, and work hard.

At the moment he was doing neither. Family had evaporated around him, and work was a matter of compulsion, not effort.

He needed to use his talent. No two ways about it.

He’d never tried to overtly ignore his ability to track people, because he knew to do so would ultimately shut him down. He focused again on his computer.

He researched the building he’d seen several times. Everything was mundane and unthreatening. Just a building, currently used as a scientific think tank for commercial science and technology. He’d researched the company and a few of the individuals that stayed there. He’d looked at the material inflow sheets, and outflow data. Again, nothing threatening. But he knew bullshit when he saw it, and he decided to quit researching.

A little voice in the back of his head was telling him that snooping too deep would be hazardous to his health. He very rarely argued with the that voice, and so far he was still alive and in relatively good health. But the whole feel of the building practically screamed government. A very good reason to remain cautious.

He trusted his instincts, and knew that he’d tracked the mob killers to that building.

Why would the government want the mob shut down on the East Coast? The mob was the pulse to the underground of the city, and the intelligence agencies of the world always kept a monitoring finger there. Never mind the few politicians and dirty cops that made a good living off of bribes paid for by the syndicate. It didn’t make logical sense that the government would start a war with the syndicate…and be quiet about it anyway. They would take full credit if they could, even if the war was illegal. They would find a way to make it legal.

Wallace flipped through a few documents he had on file about the building’s employee’s and gave up again. He’d have to go and knock on the door to find out any more information about what they were doing in there, and why. He leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling of his tiny apartment.

In a drunken moment a few years back, he’d stood up on his chair and wrote in tiny letters on the ceiling, ‘what?’. He focused on this word now, trying to bore his mind past the stupidity, and get to the real meat of the question.

What indeed.

What was he doing with his life?

What did he need to be doing with his life?

What did he care?

He took half the scotch down in a single hard gulp that made his nose burn, and his throat begin formal protest. He blinked away tears, thinking his drink could probably be used as jet fuel as he tried to gulp the aftertaste past the back of his tongue.

There was no answer to any of his questions tonight. Not from his mind, or anything else. He needed to go out, and walk around again. He’d felt the itch to do so all day long, and he’d been an idiot to deny his urges. He didn’t want to get drunk, he wanted to hunt.

A little voice chimed up in the back of his head… Jason.

Just then his cell phone rang. Sure enough, the kids name flashed on the screen.

He answered… “What.” He said.

“I’m bored. Got anything going on tonight?”

Wallace sighed heavily into the phone. Thought briefly, and looked at the clock. 11:37.

“No.” He said. “Let’s go do some snooping around, but carefully. Got it?”

“Yup. I’ll be there in twenty.” Wallace heard the line click.

F**k it, He thought. Not like I’ve got anything else going on. Maybe we’ll make somebody nervous enough to come out and say hi.

Ed felt the tube pulling out of his throat from the infusion, and he forced himself not to gag. He hated that part.

The medical techs had looked over his bullet wounds quickly while he was getting a refill on his drugs and both seemed satisfied that Tsang had done a good job. They asked him how the pain was, and wanted to know if he wanted any pain meds put in with his infusion. Ed thought about it briefly and shook his head. He wanted to stay clear tonight. The pain meds didn’t dull his thoughts too much, but what little dulling there was annoyed him.

He got up into a straighter sitting position and rubbed his temple with the palm of his hand. The swelling was already going down. One great advantage to the infusions was the incredibly rapid healing. He swung his legs over the side of the table and tested the weight on his damaged leg. There was some sharp discomfort for a moment, like standing on a badly twisted ankle, but the sharpness ebbed away slowly. He looked at his bicep and examined the bullet wound.

His arm was crisscrossed with thick veins, but by some strange stroke of luck the bullet seemed to have missed all of them. He flexed carefully, testing the liquid stitch that Tsang had applied earlier. It would hold unless he decided to do a bunch of pull ups. Which was really not on his list of things to do this evening. He needed to get back to his room, and monitor his computers.

He walked around for a moment, trying to ease out of limping, and finally gave up. He was the Short Timer gimp for at least a couple of days while the bruising went away. He looked at the puncture wound on his thigh, there was a heavy purple bruise around the tiny black hole in his leg. He felt the swelling there with his fingers. Nothing nearly as bad as when he’d been shot before becoming a Short Timer. Sometimes he couldn’t help but smile at his new job.

He looked at the hole in his stomach, which looked like a badly placed belly button hole, and noticed the much deeper purple hue and the wider spread of the bruise.

He admitted it to himself finally. Ed, you dumb sumbitch. You were sloppy, and you got the s**t shot out of yourself for it. He said to himself, hiding the thought carefully enough to avoid the eavesdroppers.

He hobbled out into the hall, and saw no movement in either direction. The lights were dimmer thanks to Morgan’s orders, and Ed could see without having to squint against the light migraine that plagued them all. He made his way to his room slowly, carefully testing his assaulted muscles as he went. He scanned himself in and groaned his way into a sitting position in front of his monitors which had lit up when he entered the room.

He looked at the lines of poetry he’d been working on before the going out on the mission earlier.

Depth in flatness breaks open upon sight.

Heavy solitude, surrounded by darkness.

A range of arcing light... remembers it’s path forever. Still.

Unfeeling but enraged, like it, I long to see an end to night.

He realized that poetry was a beautiful way for him to whimper about not having seen sunlight for a long time.

He decided he still liked the lines, and saved them in a growing folder of collected works.

He wondered how Stella was doing, and decided to ask her directly.

How you doing hero? He asked her, opening a direct and private link to her mind.

A little better now that I’ve got a full tank. She replied. Her tone suggested she was in a good mood, and Ed settled himself in his chair smiling lightly and tapping a few keys on his console keys.

Saved by a Spider. He wrote, and put an indent beneath the words.

How you holding up? She asked. You feeling alright?

Mmm. He replied, mimicking the mouth noise in his mind for conversational effect. Feeling a little religious.

She chuckled. Yeah I’m feelin’ a little ‘holy’ too. God she was quick.

Getting shot will do that to you. He said. They both laughed and chatted a little more, sharing a common ground of pain and experience. They talked of times they’d been wounded before, and how different the recovery process had been during those times.

How quickly she weaves. He wrote. He’d have to revise that one later, but for the moment it got the point across. Dangerously beautiful, shining and black amidst her webs. Sounded trite and almost juvenile to him, but hell with it, it was a rough draft.

Try ‘Grace clawing silent air, reflecting the night.’ She said.

Ed’s heart stopped for a split second in surprise. The little s**t was eavesdropping on him.

That’s not bad. He said. I like it.

She chuckled. No you don’t, but chew on it for a bit and see how it tastes later. She said.

Deal. He said.

So what’s your plans for the rest of the night? She asked.

Well. Ed responded. I was gonna see if I could ask you out on a date, but daddy grounded me. He chuckled at the stupid joke, because it was a stupid joke, and never should have fallen from his face.

Jesus. He said. Just try to pretend I didn’t say that. Please oh please.

Absolutely not. She replied. You’re stuck with that one till our clocks run out.

S**t. He said. He paused for a moment. Actually I wanted to ask you about your old friend.

She paused for a moment, and Ed could feel her curiosity rise. What old friend?

Wallace Fisher. He said. He clicked a few more keys on his keyboard and a screen with the mans detective photo came up. He was clean cut, in good condition, and hard around the eyes.

Why? Stella asked. He’s not an old friend so much as someone who caught me with my pants down. She said.

He’s been snooping the net for information on this building. Ed said. And I need to get some more information on him other than all the bullshit that’s on him in my database.

Damn. She said. I was kinda hopin you really wanted a date. She chuckled. I’ll be over in a minute.

F**k sakes. Ed thought and brought up all the information he could find on Wallace Fisher in his personal database. It wasn’t long before there was a beep at his door, and he heard it open.

Stella strolled in, wearing a different set of scrubs that didn’t have a blood stain on them. She seemed happy as she planted herself in a chair that Ed had brought in from one of the labs. Her dark eyes glistened in the low lights and her lips were turned up in a mild grin.

You seem chipper for having just taken a bullet. Ed said. What’s up? Or are you just happy to see me?

She leaned back in her chair, and folded her legs up beneath her. She always seemed coiled up, like a snake ready to bite anything that came within striking distance. But her guard seemed a little looser now. Ed wondered very privately if she had opted for the pain meds with the infusion. Not everyone was the purist he was when it came to painkillers.

Bumped into Jimmy on the way over. She said. Sounds like he and Tsang and Morgan are gonna head out in a bit for a little payback.

Really? He thought, feeling the tiny stab of jealousy. He really wanted to get a piece of one of the b******s responsible for his state. Damn. What I wouldn’t give to join them. I wonder if we can hitch a ride through the Field and at least watch.

Stella was quiet for a second, and angled her head to look at the wall above his console contemplating the idea. Yeah. She said. That might be kinda fun. I wonder if Morgan will let us.

Let’s ask him. Ed said.

Hey Morg! He called out, with a thought.

Yeah. What’s up Ed? Morgan responded.

Stella heard you were headed out to do a little damage in our names. You mind if Stella and I hitch a ride on your cortex and watch? We’re both itching to see a little blood.

Morgan was quiet for a moment as he thought about it. Yeah sure. I’m alright with it. Just make sure you’re hooked up to something that Jance can monitor. He’ll be at the complex on my console, watching the net to make sure we’re covered. Morgan opened his telepathy further and addressed Jance. You hear that bit Jance? I’m gonna act as carrier for Stella and Ed, they’re gonna Alpha with me while we go track down one of Tsang’s brothers henchmen. Keep an eye on their bodies while we’re all out would ya?

Sure thing guys. Sounds like a party. Do you guys need any pointers? Or do you think you can figure it out.

We’ll come up with something. Stella said.

One thing though. Jance said, addressing Stella and Ed. Keep your feelers out. I haven’t exactly felt ‘alone’ in the Field lately. I’m not sure if anything could happen, but make sure you can get back quickly and don’t go too far out. I’d say keep it to basic perception only, don’t try for major communications and watch each other’s backs.

Ed and Stella shared a glance, they understood what Jance was talking about with the feeling of being watched. They all did. They’d attracted the attention of something in the Field when Tsang had dealt with that Gorgon thing a couple weeks ago. It was quiet and sneaky, but all of them felt it’s presence in some small way or another while they were out in the Field.

Despite that dark thought, that they were being watched in the Field, there was another presence that they were sensing. Each other. Sitting close, arms almost touching as they rested on the padded supports of the comfortable chairs. To Stella, Ed had a certain heat, and gravity, that she hadn’t noticed before. She was paying a lot of attention to that feel, and her physical reaction to it. It reminded her of something… comfortable, from a long time ago, but she couldn’t place it.

Ed was aware of Stella’s scrutiny, and tried to breeze his mind past it. He was too old to puff up his chest like a kid in high school, but that’s honestly what he felt like doing. She was seeing him, but she was also seeing the man of him. And like any creature of the opposite sex being scrutinized like that, the natural response is puff up, look big, strut… ‘look manly damn it! Your being inspected for your genetic viability, and your f**k ability!’ His mind was sliding off track. God she had him distracted.

Will do Jance. Ed said. And turned his attention back to Morgan. When are you leaving?

In about an hour. We’re getting set up with some modified suits and plating now, but we’re going in very quietly. Tsang thinks that his brother will expect a counter, and I agree. I’m ready to abort this thing pretty quick if it doesn’t feel right.

Gotcha. Ed said. Happy hunting. We’ll let you get started, and leave you to your prep.

Join up whenever you’d like…but I agree with Jance. Eye’s in the back of your head at all time’s. You know the drill.

Tell you what. Stella chimed in. It’ll be interesting to see how this’ll work, but it might be nice to be eye’s on the inside of yours.

Don’t get cute. Morgan said. Or I’ll make you hitch a ride with Jimmy. And I know that man has a sick mind.

They all chuckled at this, and Jimmy stepped up to defend himself. Tha’s right. C’mon over Stella, I’ll show you a good time.

Whatever you have to show me I’ve probably already seen, sweetie. Besides whatever ‘time’ you would show me, I highly doubt that it would be good. She said.

They all laughed, a sound that had a strange reverberation in the telepathic centers of the brain, that tended to sometimes have physical manifestations. It was a strange to feel the vibrations of someone else’s voice in your chest, or in the bones of your face. But Ed would swear, he could feel Stella’s light and sweet laughter as if it were coming from him. He would never get used to some of the strangeness with telepathy, but it was like the sensation of jumping out of an airplane too, the belly lurch, the roaring wind, the madness of the act in and of itself, tweaked a certain addiction in him. He could experience it over and over again and not get tired of it. He loved telepathy. He loved what their group did. He wished his body would hurry up and heal so he could enjoy it even more. The shock of pain he’d felt at being shot earlier in the evening even held some sense of pleasure. For a split second he was certain that he was dead, and the fear he’d felt switched seamlessly into a euphoric sense of calm just as the grey curtain over his vision closed. It was, the most beautiful thing he’d ever experienced. But now he sat, alive and recovering but wounded in a deeper way at having his fate ripped away from him. But eternally grateful for having seen what was in store for him. The fear of death gone, he opened his spirit to all experiences. He was grateful to know that he enjoyed who he was, loved who he was, and loved the people around him. A brief image flashed through his mind of a headstone that would belong to him, that he knew he’d never see. The simple stone was carved in casual lettering with his name and below that three words. “…What A Rush…”