1500 Word Man in the Pictures

Jerry had just finished the final edits of today's pictures.  It really was a beautiful day, and he'd taken to opportunity to take a few pictures of the best places at the park down the road.  He was just getting off the phone with a client, excited to tell them they had a wide array of choices for their next magazine cover, when he saw something strange.  Jerry was flipping through the stack of photos when he'd seen a strange distortion in the corner of one.  In the middle of the distortion was a man in a trench coat, despite it being late spring, checking the time on a pocket watch.

"Jerry?  You still there?"  His client was asking.  "I wanted to know if we could recommend you to our branch a couple states over."  Jerry, stared at the strange picture again before putting it aside.

"Uh, yeah, that'd be great, actually."

"Well... there's a slight caveat.  It's technically inside Eden."  Eden.  The place filled with super powered freaks, governed by a corrupt theocracy.  Calling that a 'slight caveat' would be like calling their recent outbreak a 'minor genocide-inducing incident'.  "We'd be willing to keep you on double your current payroll for the next year, if you take it."

Jerry flipped through more of the pictures, thinking about the offer.  "Where exactly is this branch?"

"Kartin's Pass, on the very edge of Eden."  So he wouldn't be anywhere near the capitol, and would have an escape if he ever needed one.  He turned over another picture, and saw another blur, this time in the middle of the photo.  Again, the same man in the trench coat was in the middle of it, checking his pocket watch.

"It's a very tempting offer."  Jerry said, picking the picture up and examining it closer.  The man's face was hidden by a low-brimmed hat and his upturned collar, but Jerry could see the man's eyes, and how they were looking directly into the camera.  "Give me a day to think it over; I think we can do business."  His client tanked him, seemingly gushing at the thought of having found someone willing to go into Eden, and eventually hung up.  Jerry held the two strange pictures up, side by side.  Same man, same pose, same blur around him.  He searched through what was left of the stack and found another picture the man was in, this time completely superimposed in front of a dog leaping to catch a ball.  He checked the pictures still pulled up on his computer, but they were fine.  Had someone sabotaged the printer?

He packed up his things and left the studio, rifling through the stack of pictures to see if any others had been affected.  He found six total, with no real pattern to where the man appeared.  Jerry ran into someone on the first floor, and he looked up from the pictures for the first time, apologizing.  "Sorry, I wasn't looking where I-"  He stopped when he saw who he'd bumped into.  Before him was a man in a trench coat, with an upturned collar and low-brimmed hat covering most of his face.  In his hand was a pocket watch, and his eyes were looking right into Jerry's.

"Oh no, it was my fault entirely."  The man said.  He noticed Jerry had dropped one of his pictures.  He bent down, picked it up, and looked at it with a curious gaze before giving it back to Jerry.  "And, if it were me, I'd refuse the job.  Someone with your natural talents will always be able to find work; there's no point in taking a risk you don't have to."  With a tip of his hat, the man walked past Jerry, disappearing when Jerry tried to watch him go.  Jerry looked around the ground floor, but nobody seemed alarmed.  He walked out the front door and into the parking lot, finding his car.  He opened the the door and slid into the driver's seat, putting his photos in his bag and his bag in the back seat, but not before checking the bad photos one last time.  The same man, same pose, same watch, same blur.  

He turned the key in the ignition and made his way home from the studio.  He just needed some time alone to unwind.  He turned into his apartment complex, into the parking garage, and parked his car.  He grabbed his bag and got out, walking the the elevator and calling it.  There was already someone in the elevator, a woman on her phone, looking like she was in a rush.  Jerry embarked the elevator quickly, taking it up to the floor with the walkway leading to the apartment building.  The woman was speaking fast into the phone, speaking some strange language.  When the doors opened she rushed out, practically sprinting for the walkway.  Jerry followed at a slower pace, and was about to turn on the hall his apartment was on, when he nearly bumped into someone.  A certain someone he remembered.

"Oh.  Hello again."  Said the man in the trench coat.  He had his hands casually in his pockets, though his attire suggested whatever he planned on doing, it wasn't casual.

"Who are you?"  Jerry blurted out, unsure what else to say.

"Great question, Jerry.  Why, that's a question that deserves a nice, long answer far away from the place we are currently standing."  He walked toward Jerry, putting an arm around his shoulders and trying to herald him away.  "Maybe we could continue this in a nice resaurant, or maybe a different city?"  Jerry ducked under the man's arm, backing up toward the corner.

"Look, I don't know who you are, or how you know me, so just back off, okay?"  He said, turning the corner.  He stopped when he saw someone down the hall, near his room.  It was the woman from the elevator, grabbing his door by the sides.  She heaved backward, and ripped the door from its hinges, tossing it off the edge of the balcony and walking into Jerry's home.

"I came here to help you."  The man in the trench coat said from behind him.  "She came here to kill you.  Quite violently, too.  So, if you enjoy the feeling of air in your lungs and limbs bent the way they're supposed to be, please follow me."  The man turned around, checking his watch.  Jerry, ducked back around the corner.

"Who was she?"  He asked.

"A demon for hire."  The man answered.  

"What?!"

"Or Unclean, whichever term you prefer.  I'm actually surprised the Order was able to get a demon on their side; even the lowest of the mercenaries don't usually deal with them."  The man's watch ticked, and he put it in his pocket.  "Our ride is here."

He started walking back to the parking garage, and Jerry followed at a distance.  He led Jerry across the raised walkway, but stopped.  He reached his hand out into the air, and it disappeared for a brief second.  Then the air in front of them shimmered and shifted, and a hearse materialized from thin air.  The man opened the back door, gesturing for Jerry to enter.  He spoke up when Jerry didn't.

"I can understand why you might not trust me..."  He started.

"The first time I saw you was as a distortion on pictures..."  Jerry responded.

"I was invisible.  You must have had a very good camera."

"And you know my name, though I don't know yours..."

"My name is Roe, like the river."

"And I've never seen your face..."

"I'm not much to look at, trust me."

"And now you're telling me to get into the back of a hearse that appeared out of nowhere."

"Perhaps you don't understand."  Roe tilted his head, patting the seat inside the car.  "This is genuine leather."

"I want you to answer some questions."

"But I just told you my name."  Roe argued.

"Why was that woman trying to find me-"

"Kill you."  Roe corrected.

"And where are you taking me?  Who exactly do you think I am?"

Roe opened his mouth like he was going to speak.  He stood there a moment, his brow furrowed in deep thought, before standing straight.  "I'm not sure how you're going to deal with this, but..."

"What?  Am I the chosen one or something?"  Jerry had had enough of this strange man and his strange friends.  He turned to leave, but the man materialized in front of him, shaking his head disappointedly.

"You really were one of the best Anivii.  You wiped your own memory when you left, and severed all ties you had with Eden and the Order.  But you gave me some instructions to, if not jog your memory, convince you of your origins."  He reached into his coat's inside pocket and pulled out a small metal washer on the end of a string.  He held the string and let the washer hand down, and started gently swinging it back and forth.  "Keep your eyes on this pendulum.  Read it's motion, as it goes back and forth, to and fro.  Now close your eyes, still imagining its movement."  Rolling his eyes, Jerry complied, if only to satisfy whatever curiosity he contested his annoyance.  Roe waited a few seconds, and Jerry could hear him chuckle.

"Open your eyes again."

Jerry did, and at first wasn't you what he was looking at.  Roe had his hands over his head, and Jerry was about to ask him what he was supposed to be looking at, when he noticed something.  The pendulum was still swinging.  Back and forth, to and fro, without anyone holding it.  Soon after Jerry saw it, it dropped, and Roe caught it.

"You still have the natural talent, even if your conscious mind tells you you're nothing special.  The Order knows that, and they want to ensure they've been killing every talented Anivis we know of.  We aren't sure of their motive, but we knew they'd come here for you eventually."  Roe past Jerry, throwing an arm over his shoulders and leading him to the hearse.  "And to answer your second question, we're taking you to our base of operations in Eden; the only place we can ensure your safety for the time being."

"You're one of those gangs."  Jerry thought out loud.  Roe flinched at being thought of as a gang.  "You're with one of those factions that's been terrorizing the country."

"You're thinking of the Vici family, or one of the four Churches.  I work for Clandestine, an organization working to topple over the Order and establish peace between normal people, the gifted, and-"

"Demons?"  Jerry finished.

"Yes.  But if you want to stay, I'm sure you could make friends with that contracted killer still searching your apartment."  Roe got in the car, reaching to close the door.  Jerry hurried inside before he could.

"My choices seem to be certainly dying or going to a dangerous city-state with a strange man that can turn invisible and wont show his face.  The second one seems a little more interesting."  Roe smiled, as if approving.

"Damien."  He said to the driver.  The driver was a man with a shaved head, a frown that didn't seem like it'd been lifted in years, and a red eye that clashed with his blue one.  "Take us to Eden."  Damien only grunted before turning around and driving out of the parking garage.

Last Day of School

Jordan grabbed the last of her belongings out of her locker and stuffed them into her bookbag.  She hefted the bag onto her back and began to walk for the school's exit, still angry she had to stay after on the last day of school.  As she neared the doors, a hand grabbed her shoulder.  "You need to come with me."  A familiar voice said.  "It's a matter of life and death."

She turned, but didn't see anyone there.  "Is that you, Connor?  Why are you invisible?"  Connor's face appeared in front of her, but the rest of him stayed invisible.

"The Church of the First is here, and they're patrolling the school, holding anyone they find hostage in the cafeteria.  Miles and Lilith are on their way, but they won't keep the hostages alive for much longer."  His face disappeared in a light glow.  The glow extended to his arm and to her, concealing her as well.  He started guiding her to the cafeteria, maintaining physical contact to keep them both invisible.  

"So, what's the plan?  How many hostages are there?  How many from the First?  Are they armed?"  As they neared the double doors to the cafeteria, the only answer Connor offered was a droning "Uuuh..."

"Did you think this through at all?"  Jordan asked, not waiting for an answer.  "We should just wait for Lilith."

"She is the fastest flyer around," Connor conceded.  "But this is looking like one of the Church of the First's 'send a message' kind of deal."  They got to the double doors and peered through the windows.  Guards armed with handguns stood at regular intervals, all of them behind someone who was standing on top of a table, talking to a group of people grouped up inside an intricate circle drawn on the floor with chalk.  None of them were handcuffed or restrained in any other way, but they didn't need to be.  Binding circles were one of the most effective means of detainment, keeping people still and cutting off their powers.  Connor saw the binding circle and cursed.

"I won't be able to get any where near them while they're that circle."  Jordan could practically hear the gears turning in his head and see the smoke coming out of his ears.  More so than she could see his ears, anyway.

"I think we need to fight."  She started, cutting Connor off when he started to argue.  "You can drop me off between the hostages and that guy talking, and I can make a distraction while you go around and take out all the guards."

"Take them out?  How?"  Jordan pulled off her bookbag, careful not to break their contact.  She felt around for the side pocket, unzipped it, and pulled out a glove dotted with tiny metal components.  

"I still have Glyph's stun glove.  Just turn them invisible, touch them with this, and drag them somewhere they won't be found."  A few hesitant seconds passed before she felt the glove being taken.  

"And what about that guy on the table?  He doesn't look normal."  Jordan saw what he was saying.  The person standing on the table had the look of someone in their twenties, but his hands were glowing with some kind of energy, and his hair was slightly haloing around his head.

"He's definitely gifted."  Jordan agreed.  "Just make sure there's nobody left to shoot me or the hostages, and I’ll keep him talking."  Connor still didn't seem sure, but Jordan walked ahead of him, slightly opening the door and squeezing through, forcing him to follow.  She kept her footsteps light and slow, and started to creep into place.

They went  around the edge of the cafeteria, walking slowly toward the hostages.  The person in front of them was speaking with a kind of regal arrogance.  If Jordan didn't know any better, she'd think this guy was in some kind of play, or giving a really messed up sermon.  His five bodyguards behind him looked uninterested in what he was saying, like they'd heard it time and time again.  "His conquest shall not be impeded by mere whelps, for as sure as the North Star guides us through the desolate night, he will see his divine mission to the end.  On this I, Polaris, solemnly swear."

They circled the group while Polaris kept talking.  Connor stopped walking when they were in front of the group, between them and Polaris.

"You sure about this?"  He asked.

"Not at all."  Jordan replied, taking his hand in hers and letting go.  A wave washed over her, spreading from her hand up her arm and all around her body.  When it was done, she was completely visible, and staring down six people, five of which had guns trained on her.  Some guards stayed back while others walked forward, but Polaris held up a hand, signalling them to stop.

“And who might you be?” He asked, stepping down from the table.  Jordan took another look at the guards behind him.  She briefly saw a camouflaged hand slap over his mouth, before he disappeared entirely.  Polaris started walking towards her, and she touched the mark on the palms of her hands.

Get ready to fight.  She told him.  His response was immediate, almost cocky.

I’m always ready.  With a summoner like you, I need to be.

“Nobody really.”  Jordan answered Polaris’ question, trying to slow him down.  She counted guards again, and only saw three.  The hostages starting stirring, hopeful that this might be the rescue they were hoping for.  “Just trying to help a couple of friends.”  Polaris kept coming closer, and another guard disappeared.  Jordan thought she could see two figures slumped over near the back wall, but she didn’t dare break eye contact with Polaris with him so close.

“You aren’t the first to wander too close to the binding circle.”  He was just under a foot away when the fourth guard disappeared.  “You had every opportunity to run away… why didn’t you?”

“Because I like helping people and I like seeing bad guys like you get what’s coming to them.”  As the last guard disappeared, Polaris took another step towards Jordan.  

“Do you know who you’re talking to?”  He asked, bearing down on her.  His fists glowed more brightly now, and his irises illuminated with the same light.

“Polaris, I’m guessing.  That’s kind of obnoxious, don’t you think?  Naming yourself after the North Star just because you have the functionality of a glow stick.”  His frown turned savage, and his pupils disappeared as light enveloped them.  As he was about to make a move, a gloved hand reached from behind, lunging two diodes on the tips of the fingers into his neck.  Polaris jerked and convulsed, and Jordan rammed her shoulder into his chest, sending him over his heels.  Connor materialized beside her as she clapped her palms together, sending shadowy tendrils trickling down from her marks.  They coalesced, condensed, and started forming a shape.  A tail here, a couple paws there, and two eye sockets burning with yellow fire.

Orion, The Black Dog, stood up, staring at Polaris as he righted himself.  Polaris looked back at him, and for a moment, his light dimmed, flickering as if unsure.  There weren’t many people in town that hadn’t heard of the Black Dog, and it looked like Polaris was just as spooked of the urban legend as everyone else.  He looked around at his fallen comrades, holding up fists of light, as if to tell them to keep their distance

"This isn't over, Perverter of Shadows."  Polaris said, the light in his hands growing bigger, brighter.  His eyes were shining so bright it was hard to make him out as more than a silhouette.  "The path of our conquest is foretold in the stars, and their decree cannot be ignored."  The light extended all at once, glowing brighter than ever.  It bathed the room in its incandescence and flooded Jordan's eyes until all she could see was a large, dark silhouette lunging for Polaris, who was becoming completely absorbed in the light.  Then, everything went white.

Her vision returned in reluctant spots, spreading and darkening over time.  Eventually, she could make out the table she'd stumbled into.  Then the floor, and the ceiling.  Through squinted eyes, she peered around the cafeteria.  Polaris was gone, Orion was standing where he had been, looking down at his paws in confusion.  All his lackeys that were knocked out on the floor were missing as well.  Connor had stumbled to the ground, blinking and rubbing his eyes.  

"What happened?  You there Jordan?"  He called out, looking around the room blindly.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"Did we win?"

"I think so."

Connor yanked off the stun glove and flopped onto his back. "Looks like it'll be one hell of a summer."

Golden Hammer and "Water"

"Go ahead, make your choice.  The outcome will decide whether you're ready or not."  Matthew looked at the table in front of him.  A hammer with a golden head and a glass of clear liquid, maybe water.  He looked around the room, but there was nothing else.  The door he'd come in through had disappeared, and the only feature beyond smooth concrete was a single light bulb dangling from a chain, doing an awful job of lighting the room.  This was his test.  If he wanted to join, he had to prove he was worth the time.

He picked up the glass, holding it at eye level.  It looked like water, moved like water when he swirled it around.  Whatever voice had spoken before was keeping silent, so he assumed to could inspect the items before making his choice.  He set the glass down and picked up the hammer.  It was a miniature sledge hammer, but its head was gold.  He felt it in his hand, experimentally tapping it against the table a couple times.  It didn't dent the table, rather, the table dented it.  So, it wasn't just painted; it was actual gold.  

"What am I supposed to do?"  Matthew asked to nothing in particular, casting about the room.

"Make a choice."  The voice answered back.  "And finish the test based on what you choose."  He looked at the hammer again, thinking.  This kind of hammer wasn't meant for driving nails, it broke things.  Being made of gold, it was naturally bad at its own purpose.  Was that the test?  Break out despite his tool's inefficiency?  And why the cup?  

Whatever was in that cup, water or not, he wasn't drinking it.  That's probably what they expected.  He took the cup again, noticing that it was made of some kind of reinforced glass that was hard to see through.  He poured a drop on the table, watching intently.  Upon contact the drop sinked into the wood, and the soaked area turned grey and shiny.  Matthew tapped a finger to it, hearing a high ting.  It was metal, maybe iron.  He looked between the cup and the hammer, immediately understanding.  He dipped the hammer into the glass, getting the gold soaked in the liquid until it turned grey.  He tapped the now-iron hammer against the table again, this time making the wood splinter.  Satisfied, he walked around the room, scanning the walls, and finding a large crack in one of them.  With one strike, some of the wall chipped away, revealing it was just drywall.  He hit it again, and false wall began to crumble until he could force a hole big enough to step through by hand.  

On the other side was a rather large room, maybe an old basketball court, with a door at the far side.  Two people had just come through, a woman with silvery hair and a portly man carrying some kind of case.  The man set the case on the ground and opened it, setting supplies along the floor, while the woman called out to him.  

"Nice job."  She praised, giving him a round of applause.  He couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic or not.  "You'd be surprised how many people drink the cup of myrrh.  It's harmless, of course, until it comes out the other end."

"Uh... thanks."  Matthew responded from across the court.  "Was that it?  Everyone I know took at least three tries to finish the test."  And they'd all come back with claw marks.  Matthew kept to himself.

"Right, it's this part they kept getting hung up on.  To test your abilities in combat, we pit you against one of our best fighters."  She said, rolling her shoulders.  "So... I guess I'm supposed to attack now."  Something sprouted from her back, and Matthew could hear the back of her shirt rip.  Two wings, leathery like a bat's, flexed and stretched, and Matthew could see her fingers were tipped with vicious claws now.

"My name's Lilith, by the way."  She said before launching herself forward.  The wings weren't even flapping, but she was flying at him so fast he could hear the air whistling behind her.  Matthew flopped on the ground, narrowly ducking under her as she zoomed past.  He stood up, clutching the hammer in shaking hands as he turned to face Lilith, whose outstretched fist was lodged in the wall.

"Nice reflexes."  She complemented, yanking her hand free.  Bits of the wall sprayed out, landing in chunks, and Matthew could see a bent piece of rebar she'd punched into.  "Maybe I should have specified, but this is an 'anything goes' kind of fight.  Don't be afraid to use your powers."  She rushed at him again, this time stopping right in front of him.  She was close enough for Matthew to see her eyes, which were strangely glowing red.  He barely registered the punch that jerked his head to the left, and didn't even see the one that came right after.  His head was spinning when she grabbed his collar and jumped, taking him up with her.  By the time the world had stopped spinning, he was inches from the metal beams along the ceiling, and she was looking at him like one might look at a meowing dog.

"You're an Anivis, aren't you?" She asked.  He nodded, and ended up making himself more dizzy.  "hen can't you do some kind of weird mind thingy?"  Without waiting for an answer, she let go of him, letting him fall.  The panic hadn't come to Matthew until he was about halfway to the ground, where he realized he still hadn't done anything to stop himself.  He closed his eyes and focused.  He didn't need to stop, he just needed to slow down.  He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to extend the mental connection, and slowly pushed upwards.  He added more force, feeling the wind in his ears slow, but being careful not to add too much at a time.  It's not the fall that kills you, he remembered his brother telling him.  It's the sudden stop.  Strecth it out over time, and you'll be fine.

He opened his eyes to find himself a little less than a foot off the ground, suspended in the air.  He smiled, pleased and amazed that he'd managed to stop completely, until he looked down, saw Lilith was holding his ankle, and realized he was upside down.  So he was looking up.

"You were slowing down,"  She told him.  "But you'd probably have snapped your neck if I hadn't caught you."  She dropped him and let him catch his breath.  "We can stop, if you want."

"Are you asking me to give up?"  Matthew sputtered, trying to sit up without vomiting.

"I'm asking you to consider your own health."  She said.  "There a tons of creepy crawlies out there, much bigger and meaner than me.  Even if you got past initiation, you'd be expected to go up against them."

"I understand."

"Also, you're kind of scrawny."

"I can't argue with that."

"Really, I've seen malnourished seven-year-olds with more upper body strength, and they're joining us because their only alternative is to starve."  She knelt down, meeting Matthew at eye level.  "From what I understand, you have a family and a home in the city.  You certainly aren't joining us out of necessity, so why do you want in so badly?"

"Unlike you, I wasn't born with my powers."  Matthew started, choosing his words carefully.  "The Order justifies making monsters to destroy monsters, and if they get something wrong, they just throw it out and try again."  Lilith nodded, and the man that had come in with her called out from across the room.

"You're with the guinea pigs?  I thought they wanted to stay independent."  

"They do.  Most of them are pacifists, just trying to stay out of the Order's way.  But... some time ago..."  Matthew caught held his tongue, and continued.  "They can't let the general public know what they've been doing, so they've been hunting us down.  They don't catch many of us, since we blend in with the crowd, but... we can get unlucky."

The scene flashed in Matthew's mind.  The house was ransacked, blood splattered along the walls, broken and torn bodies strewn around the floor.  He could smell the stench of the dead and dying as his brother carried him out of their hiding place.  He remembered seeing someone still at the front door, surprised that he'd missed two of them.  His brother stopped in his tracks as the man raised his gun, trying desperately to negotiate with him.  Something had clicked in Matthew's mind, and realized something.  He hated this man.  He opened his mind and told this to him, while wrapping a mental hand around the barrel of his gun, bending it so it wouldn't shoot.  He did the same thing to the man's arm, then his other arm, and his legs, bending and folding them in ways they shouldn't go, all the while repeating the message over and over.  I hate you.  The man's screams died down and he was left in a heap on the ground, bloody and broken just like everything else in the house.

Matthew snapped back to reality, dispelling the thoughts from his mind before he did something he'd regret.  "My problem isn't a lack of power; it's a lack of control."  He stood up on shaky legs, facing Lilith.  "I wanted to join to help control my powers, so I could concentrate them on doing the right thing.  If you'd let me, I'd like to finish the fight."

You're Fired

"You're fired."

Tim looked at the floor.  What was he going to tell his wife?  He stood at his own front door, remembering what his boss had told him that morning.  The mat below him seemed almost sarcastic, telling him "Welcome home!  Looks like you'll be here for a while."  Tim snapped his head up, worked up the nerve to turn the doorknob, and walked inside.  Ellie was talking on the phone, a confused look spread across her face when she saw him enter.  He was home too early for it to mean something good.  She stopped whatever she was saying and hung up after a rushed goodbye.  She walked over to him, Looking into his eyes and reflecting his sadness with her own.  Nothing had to be said, he'd come home with that look before, and she'd learned what it meant.

"Again?"  She asked.

"Again."  He confirmed, brushing her hair behind her pointed ears.  "Terminated as soon as they found out who my beautiful wife is.  I think they might be jealous."  She smiled, but it fleeted quickly, replaced by a frown and tearing eyes.  

"I know you're trying, but they'll always find out about me, and you'll never keep a job if they figure out you're a..." She looked back up at him, words playing along her lips until she found her voice.  "A sympathizer."  She sat down on the couch, and Tim followed her.

"Well, what am I supposed to do?  They always pull those background checks, and it's not like we can just-"

"Divorce?"  Ellie finished.  Tim wrapped his arm around her, pulling her in close.

"There's no garuntee a falsified divorce would work.  They'd still see I was affiliated with an Anivis; divorced or not, it wouldn't look good."  She leaned her head on his sholder, taking a deep breath.

"The Clandestine came by a few days ago with their usual offer."  Tim's eyes widened, and Ellie answered before he could object.  "I said yes."

Tim was silent for a moment.  He wasn't angry, and he wasn't even surprised.  He wasn't sure what he was feeling.  "I thought we agreed we would stay neutral in this war."  He said, picking his words carefully.

"That can still be an option.  They don't know who I am, and I'm working with them, not for them."  Tim could feel her gaze boring into him, but he couldn't look at her, knowing she may very well be dead tomorrow.  "You know I'll be careful.  They pay extremely well, and it's not like I have to take everything they give me."

"My wife is going to be a mercenary."  Tim said aloud.  He was right, it did sound as funny as he thought it would.  He laughed, in spite of the situation.  "What about Samson?  He'll notice that I'm staying home while his mom is out at all hours of the night."  

"I've thought about that.  He's sixteen; we won't be able to hide it from him if we try.  I think we'll need to  trust him."  Tim looked at her like she'd said something crazy.  "If he finds out any other way, it could backlash and get us all discovered.  He'll be able to keep the secret."  Tim asked the question they were both thinking, the one Samson would probably ask.

"What if he wants to join you?"

"I'll say no."

"You act like that's worked before."  Tim saw movement out the window.  Samson had driven home from school, enjoying the freedom all the upper classmen got.  "We need to keep this a secret, or he might follow you."

"He doesn''t have any powers."  Ellie argued.  She got up and made for the front door, but Tim held her hand.

"That's never stopped him from causing trouble, and you know it.  He's broken plenty of arms just because he thoguht he heard someone call him 'demon'.  If he knew what you were doing, he'd want to follow you every step of the way."  Ellie looked like she was about to argue, but just then the front door opened, and Samson walked through, taking in the whole scene.

"Is everything okay?"  He asked, uneasily spunning his key ring around his finger.  

"Yes.  Absolutely.  Yes."  Ellie said, her ears twitching that way they did when she lied.  "It's just... we needed you to know... things change when-"

"You're mom got a new job."  Tim said, forcing a smile on his face.  Samson's mouth was gaping, and Ellie quickly picked up their lie.

"Really?!"  Samson ran and hugged his mother, congratulating her.  "You mean, they didn't mind you're... you know?"

"Uh-no.  No!  Not at all."  Ellie's voice had raised without her noticing.  "In fact, they love that I'm a Jadeon.  They think it's great, really!"  Tim stepped in before she said something they'd both regret.

"And I got fired."  He said.

"You fired every week."  Samson said, waving off his father.  He turned back to Ellie.  "Do you think it'll stay?  The job, I mean."  Ellie's ears fluttered, and she started stuttering.

"Definitely."  Tim interjected, guiding his son away from his flustered wife.  "And since we'll have a steady income, the first thing we're going to buy are some more school supplies."  He hurredly pushed Samson to the kitchen.  "So go ahead and make a quick lunch, then get back to school; you've got a future to prepare for."  He returned to the living room when Samson had started making a sandwich.  Ellie was massaging her temples, and objects around the room had stared levitating.  She really couldn't tell a lie.  Tim wrapped her in a hug, muttering to her until her powers calmed down.

"This is for the best."  He was saying, speaking too low for Samson to hear.  "He'll live a normal life without ever knowing."

George

Everyone had something they were good at.  Larry could draw pictures, Barry could do math, Jerry could climb trees, even Tommy Edison on the other side of town had his little inventions he loved to show people.  George could never live with all that tinkering, and he couldn't draw any better that he could fly.  He fell back on his universal answer of four whenever he as asked to solve an equation, and he could never approach a tree without seeing his grandfathers nasty wodden dentures.  He'd grown to fear trees, then hate them, which was why he'd often enjoyed chopping down his father's cherry trees when he wasn't looking.  But chopping trees was nothing to be passionate about.  No, George's one true passion was running.

He'd go by the schoolyard every day and practice on their track, and he was probably the fastest person in his township.  He never won at any of the track meets, but he was sure he'd swamp the competition this year.  Larry, Jerry, and Tommy always entered, but George hadn't been able to beat them yet.  That would all change this year, though.

George walked up to the track as the event was beginning.  He was prepared to race when a familiar figure blocked his progress.  She had a doo-doo brown dress that didn't even cover her ankles completely (the harlott), and had thin frameless glasses that accented her lips that were usually pursed together going Shhhhh! at people.  It was the librarian, Mrs. Preposition.

"Well, if it isn't little Georgie, coming back to take home the gold?"  She said sneering at him.  George, being unusally shy, had never spoken to her.  He'd never really spoken to anyone, which is why people thought he was mute.  "You'll never win.  You never have and you never will."  George steeled his nerved and pushed past her, a determined look on his face.  He would win this year.  She moved in front of him again.

"Maybe you didn't understand me; you'll never win because this is a school-wide competition, and..."  She leaned in close, and George could catch the smell of old paper wafting from her.  "You don't go to school here!"  George had always run into this problem.  He walked away, crestfallen as he was every time he tired to compete.  Perhaps running never was his true passion.  If he learned to mumble, he always had politics to fall back on.

Different Time Period November 3 - 7 Late Story

Cafe

Vernon, looked up at the child sitting across the table from him.  She was still staring at the ground, a passive, stone expression on her face.  She looked traumatized, and she had every right to be, but he couldn't help her until he got some kind of information about what happened.

"So, Jordan,"  he started.  "Do you remember anything that happened before I found you?"  She shrugged.  That was all he got; nothing or a shrug.  It's been like this for three days.  "Do you remember how you got those scars on your arms?"  Another shrug.  She needed a hospital, and a team of specialists.  She needed a lot more than one person and a quiet cafe setting.  But they couldn't risk her being found again.

"Do you remember who helped you out of the handcuffs?  That dog that hadn't been there when you and the others were loaded up for transport?"  She dropped her head on the table, her hair flopping in a halo around her.  It was a step up from crying.  A small step, but a step nonetheless.  "Could I talk to it?"

"Him."  She said, her voice muffled.  "He really hates being called 'it'."  Vernon was happy enough to jump and click his heels.  He hadn't heard words come out of her mouth since last week.

"I'm sorry.  Do you think he's available?"  She didn't respond for a second.  He was worried he'd lost her again when she raised her left hand.  A tattoo of black miasma clung to her wrist, and it flowed into her hand at the click of her fingers.  She dropped it, and it started coiling when it hit the ground.  It warped and twisted, morphing until the vague outline of a dogs could be seen.  Paws formed, then a tail, and the miasma worked its way up until a canine head perched upon shaggy furred shoulders was in front of him.  Vernon look around, thankful that no new customers had entered the cafe, and the lone employee that had refused them service didn't deem them important enough to stick around.

"Answer whatever he asks, Orion."  She told the dog.

"Um... hello, there."  Vernon said.  The dog, Orion, stared back at him, his yellow irises glowing softly.  "Can you understand me?"

"Yes."  The answer came in an echoed voice that seemed to surround him.  The dog's mouth didn't move, but there was a noticeable pulse to it, like rippling water, whenever it spoke.  "Is that all you wish to ask?"

Vernon fumbled with his notes.  "Um, no.  I have a few other questions."  He found a picture buried in the pile of papers, showing an Armored Personnel Carrier with a gaping hole in the side.  It was the same APC she'd broken out of.  "How did you two escape?"

"She summoned me and we ran."  Descriptive, he thought, rolling his eyes.

"You make it sound easy;  why didn't you escape earlier?"

"They kept her asleep for most of the time she was there, and kept her from concentrating when she was awake.  She had to wear a shock collar that zapped her every thirty seconds when she wasn't put under.  The transfer was the only opportunity she had."  Vernon nodded, scribbling down what the dog was saying.

"You all this like you saw it."  Orion didn't speak.  Of course he didn't, his order was to answer any questions he was asked.  "Well?  Did you?"

"Yes."  Vernon could see he'd have to work for this information.

"You said the first time she summoned you was when she was being transferred, so how could you have seen anything before that?"

"I see everything she sees.  One of the perks of being bound to a person and not an object."  Most summoners bound their constructs to objects they carried with them.  Some preferred a closer connection, but Vernon had never known the extent of that connection.  

"What happened to her while she was there?"  He asked next.

"She was asleep for most of it, so I didn't see much.  She was kept restrained to a table, for the most part.  All I really remember are fever dreams the drugs probably induced."  Orion's tail started twitching.  A construct displaying emotion was strange enough, but even stranger, Vernon could swear this emotion was anxiety.  The girl sat up now, her gaze resting softly on Orion.

"She told you to answer all my questions, right?"

"Yes."

"But she never said to answer them truthfully.  Did you just lie to me?"  Orion started blinking, and his ears flicked.  Jordan spoke up for the first time.

"You don't have to answer that."  Orion looked relieved, his shoulders slumping.  He leaned back, against Jordan's chair, but if she noticed, she didn't say anything.  "He's just a construct; he doesn't know how to lie."  Something flashed across Orion's face.  For just a second, his eyes softened, and his ears flattened against his head.  

"I'm going to say something, and your first instinct will probably be to run, but I just want you to remember that you're still the most sought-after bounty in the country."  Vernon took a breath.  "There exists a Jadeon in the slums of this city that created a sentient construct.  It wasn't bound by any traditional means, and merged completely with its summoner.  We've been tracking it's summoner up until a few month ago, when she went missing, about the same time you were captured."  Orion started growling.  Jordan put her hand on his head, and he stopped.  Vernon pulled something out of his pocket and put it on the table.  Jordan snatched it up when she saw it.

"Where'd you get this?"  She asked, holding it close to her.

"Your house.  Nathaniel let me in."  The name hit her like a brick wall.  Her eyes widened and teared up.

"He's alive?"  Orion seemed to voice the question Jordan was struggling to ask.  Vernon nodded, getting up from his chair.

"Alive, well, and eager to see you both again."  He walked to the door, holding it open.  "In fact, he's waiting at the base for us right now."