Day Five: Samedi

Saturday, September 24th

Dark wings, darker secrets,
Weeping forever inside,
Twin hearts mourning,
Embrace where bleeding love died.

Chapter Thirty:
Clad in Sheepskin

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        A phone rang in a dark master bedroom, waking the sleepers. The man patted his wife’s shoulder as he fished for the cellphone on the night stand, assuring her he would get it.
          “Hello?”
          “Greetings sir, I apologise for the time.”
          'Carlyle…' he grumbled inwardly as he rolled his eyes skyward.
          “Spit it out.”
          “Nyra and Nezzar…”
          “Well, what about them?”
          “They’re dead, sir.”
          He carefully maintained his composure, not wanting to rouse his spouse. “Is that so?” he replied with an edge in his tone.
          “Yes, and judging by their injuries, we’re dealing with new aberrations, at least two. And according to the Mohini scanner, one of them might be this ‘herald’ we keep hearing about.”
          “The Advent is a myth, spread around by the Association to throw us off. There is no ‘herald.’”
        Carlyle’s pause betrayed his doubt, but he continued, “We’ll need a replacement, should I reply to Ookyou concerning their offer?”
          “Yes, begin a probationary agreement. Perhaps they’ll be able to produce a better product than we have.”
          “I’ll get on it then.”
          He hung up and laid back in his bed.
          “Is something the matter dear?” his wife asked.
          “It’s not important, go to sleep, love.” Though he kept his tone pleasant, his heart seethed. He did not particularly care for Nyra or Nezzar, but so much time, money, and effort had been spent on those two that to have them so quickly eliminated by some unknown person was inconvenient.
           'But if Ookyou can deliver on their promises, the Nebuchadnezzar project would have become obsolete with time.'  he reassured himself.
~~~~~~~~~~
An hour before sunrise, Aleksei’s eyes opened in the darkness as he grasped his chest.  He extricated himself from his sleeping bag, impressed that he had been able to fall asleep on the cold floor of the safehouse, but fearing for one’s life proved to be an exhausting endeavour, so the slightest sense of security sapped him of his strength.  But now something thrilling buzzed through his core.  
“It’s back!” he hissed.  He looked in the darkness and saw the steady rise and fall of The Messenger’s and Jack’s chests.  His roommates were growing stranger by the day.
A half hour later he sat on a stool in the kitchen.  He had placed another stool in front of him with a glass of water resting on top.  He felt almost completely unaffected by the cold air which blew about the fifth story, and he knew that meant he still had his power.  The question was whether that he could actually use it.  He focused on the water, moving his hand close then drawing back.  He repeated the motion, but the water remained still.
Did I imagine that?  He looked at his hand then reached for the glass.  A strange, fuzzy sensation ran past his wrist almost to his elbow, followed by a pleasant ache which seemed to gently squeeze his bones.  It was very slight, but he could feel it.  Did I always have this sensation?  He had never really thought before how it felt physically to use his power.  There was always the thrill, the freedom, the joy… and the malice, they all distracted him from how he physically felt.  The feeling was closest to an anticipation of a feeling, like when one waits for the doctor to insert a needle, only to find the actual needle felt less than the anticipation.
He returned his focus on the glass, trying to reach for that sensation, drag it out, and touch the water with invisible hands.  He became so focused he jumped when he heard a voice.
“You can relax—,”
He looked up at the woman in surprise, then at his surroundings.  He was sitting on the railing of an ornate, blue/green stone balcony overlooking a seemingly bottomless sea of grey fog.  He hopped off the railing and backed away from the edge.
“—you did not lose your gift.”
He looked back at her.  She was obviously another repha, as she was someone else in his inverse and wore similar apparel to Nida Ixela.  “You, I saw you!  You were beside me when I attacked Nezzar!”
“Yes, you did.  My name is Rinnei Ixela.  I am another part of us, and I am happy to make our acquaintance at last.”
“Nice to meet you, er, I mean me.”
She smiled warmly and said, “To make things simpler, we can use conventional pronouns for a conversation between two people.  Nida likes to stress the point that we are all one being, but I think right now that there is still much time for you to take in and grasp that concept.”
Aleksei sighed, relieved that she seemed a more relaxed personality than Nida.  “Thank you, that’ll be easier.  You were saying I did not lose my gift, what is going on?”
“That would be my fault,” Rinnei admitted sheepishly.  “I almost severed the Nophsha Thread in my panic.”
“Nophsha Thread?”
“It is the invisible tether which connects your soul to your brain.  For a Jinn it doubles as the conduit for your power.  Normally there is a constant, immeasurable flow between the soul and body.  However, I drew out our soul too quickly and the thread grew thin.”
At once Aleksei remember the shrieking blade of mist which formed just before Nebuchadnezzar3 tried to hit him the last time.  “That was you?”
She nodded, her short hair bobbing guiltily.
“And I’m probably going to regret asking, but what would happen if you severed my-, our Nophsha Thread?”
“We would die.”
He responded with a nervous chuckle. “I see…” a pause passed between them before Aleksei continued, “About what you said previously, I have not lost my power, so when will I be able to use it again?”
“Technically you are using it right now.  The Nophsha Thread is simply restoring flow.  You should have your full powers back in less than an hour, especially since you haven’t forgotten this time around.”
“In the meantime, want me to teach you the basics of the whirling blades?”
“You mean what I was suddenly able to do yesterday?”
“You’ve done similar actions in the past, and so have I.  Though, I don’t think you remember that night in the boathouse, when you were fighting The Messenger last spring.”
“I do, vaguely, better when I’m in the Inverse.  You were the one who cut him, right?”
She nodded, “Guilty.  Wait, him?  The Messenger?”
“Yes, him, I realised it today when he was injured.  His voice is really high pitch normally, but behind it, there’s timbre that I recognised.  It is a he, I’m sure of it.”
“Yet you still kissed him?” Rinnei teased.
“It was not that kind of kiss!” he retorted, hoping he did not blush in the Inverse.
She laughed then guided her hands gracefully about her.  She spun and a massive cloud flooded through the grandiose windows into the stone hall.
Aleksei panicked for a moment.  “Wait!  Let me prepare myself.”
She rolled her eyes at him.  “I’m not going to launch you out the window, relax.  We can practice here.  I would only do that if you irritated me.”
“Oh… alright,” He widened his stance, wary of tricks, and moved a portion of the mist towards himself, enjoying the ease at which he could manipulate it in his realm.
“So, I’ll begin.  The basics of using mist blades can be split into four simple steps; breathing, channelling, honing, and compressing.”
*****
The new hideout was perhaps the humblest yet. They slept in a run-down, three-bedroom apartment, accompanied by flaking wallpaper creaking floors, and cloudy glass windows and the quiet skittering of bugs in the walls.  Bruno, Mashka, Evan, and his son Jack sat in the miniscule parlour.  Jack was redressing the large German’s leg.  He had initially been less than enthused about having an outsider pulled in on their organisation, but he quickly came to like the younger man.
“This not first time having bullet removed, but—Jack was it?—none of them quite as quick and painless as this!”
Jack chuckled.  “We had a string riots and gang violence a few weeks ago, so I had plenty of practice with bullets, shrapnel, knives, nails, you name it, I’ve had to extract it.”
“So it fun, then?”
“Of course, every day is a thrill, not to say I liked the riots themselves that much,”—he gave a sideways grin—“just the aftermath.”
Mashka stamped her foot and rose.  “What are we even doing?!”
“It’s called hiding.” Bruno responded flatly.
“Da, I seem to spend my life doing that.  And it would be fine, if I did not have to hide with the same people who made my life the nightmare it is!  I have control of my power!  The Apparition and Administrator hold nothing over me, so why are we still here?”
Evan stood and tried to reach for her, but she smacked his hand aside moodily.  “Mariya, if you want, we can go back home.  But Sentinel is still out there, and because of the state you left their top agents in, they are going to be looking for you.”
“So this is my fault?  They would have killed us!”
“No, it’s not, you did the right thing Mariya, but I think the best thing for you, me, and your brother is to just stick it out for a while.  I don’t trust The Administrator any more than you do, but Sentinel is so much worse.”
I read your file, Miss Sharov.  The memory of Nyra’s words stunned Mashka.  She had been in a foggy state when she heard them, in the midst of fighting against and using the beast.  A shiver ran down her spine, “Sentinel already has my files.”
“Vhat?!” Bruno exclaimed, his German accent seeping into his speech, “Dat’s impossible!”
“Nyra, the woman who attacked us, said she read my file.  And she knew about my regenerative abilities.”
Bruno’s face went ashen.  “That… that explains it!  We could not figure out why as soon as we found Jinn, Sentinel would show up and kill them.  We store the Jinn files on an isolated database, only accessible by a few people.  But how could they have accessed it?  I can’t even get on it!  Only The Administrator and two others have access.”
“Didn’t you give your agents any information when their assigned to catch us?”
“Of course, but we gave them edited versions.  The fact that Mariya could regenerate was unknown then, and after we found out, that data was kept strictly confidential.  We feared that if our agents knew she could recover from most injuries they would act less careful and endanger her.”
“But if you’re right,” Mashka added, her face souring, “then The Association’s leadership cannot be trusted.  How else would Sentinel know that side of my power?”
Bruno paused a moment and looked at Evan, trying to convey his thoughts non-verbally.  Seeing the other man maintain a clueless face, he continued, “Oh wait, you left the five before Doctor Kerry perfected it.”
“Perfected what?” Evan asked.
“Our blood screening methods.  If anyone knows how to trace down Jinn, he does.  It is just a hunch, but I’ll bring it up with The Administrator.”
Mashka looked around.  “Whatever happened to that doctor anyway?”
“He went to France to support Vladimir, Anya, and Dániel.  And if I am right, we need to follow him.”
“Why?”
“Because, he might be the traitor.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Evan began, “what would he have to gain, Sentinel wants him dead just like all the rest of us.”
“You don’t understand.  Doctor Kerry’s eyes are very special, and he’s always experimenting with his power.  The fact that he can see the difference between a Jinn and a normal human, means that he would be an asset Sentinel would want to keep around.  He would be the only one of the five that might have a motive.”
Jack’s eyes widened at the turn of the conversation, his mind reeling from super eyes and secret organisations.  This is dad’s world—at last I understand why he never let me in on it.  He looked at his father with a sense of understanding he never had before.  I suppose it makes sense, why these kids are more important to him than me.
“If Kerry is a traitor, you need to warn them.” Evan declared.
“That would be unwissse.” The Messenger interrupted.  “He can sssee thingsss we can’t, soulsss, emotionsss, sssussspicionsss… he would definitely know if he was being sssussspected.”
Bruno muttered inaudible explitives and began. “Alright, new plan, we need to go to France.  When we inform the team of our suspicions, we have to ensure we are ready to take on Kerry.  The doctor will have mehrere contingency plans, so we need to corner him.  Miss Sharova, your senses and skills would be very helpful here.”
“I fail to see how this involves us,” Evan countered.
The balcony door opened, letting it an oppressively humid gust.  Before them stood Aleksei, covered in dew, with mist cascading off his body and across the parlour floor.
Aleksei “Vladimir is in danger, Evan, how does this not involve us?”
“Your brother chose his employer; he’s not your responsibility.”
Mashka’s face fell, betraying that she was in agreement.
Aleksei eyes hardened at his sister.  “I am my brother’s keeper, you two can stay or go.”
“Lyosha!” Mashka exclaimed then scolded in her native Russian, “You were nearly killed, both of us were!  We should not be involved in any of this!”
“I’m more powerful today than I was yesterday.  And I am going to protect my flesh and blood with that power.  What about you Mashka?  Would you not come after me if I was in danger?”
“Da, but—,’’
“Then why not Vova?”
Mashka looked at her brother in indignation.  “If this is what you want Aleksei, I will do it for you.  But know that you ask so much of me.”
Aleksei’s continence softened, knowing how much his sister had already sacrificed for him.  He was about to apologise when The Messenger drew a cellular from his coat.  
“Quiet!” he snapped from beneath his hood then dialled.

Episode Twenty Nine:
The Leper and the Saint

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          “Mashka!” Aleksei screamed as a roaring tempest filled the room. Sharp scythes of mist spun in a wide ring around him, slicing through boxes and scratching the shelving and cabinetry making the sound similar to steel dragged on concrete. Though he was frightened by the sudden viciousness of his power, malice overwhelmed his hesitation. Without thinking he lashed his hand out, sending blades at his foe.
          Nezzar looked up from the defeated Jinn, releasing her throat to brush off the blades. He was knocked back, the mist ripping through his shirt and striking his scaled skin. Much to his shock, this time the vapour hurt.
          Aleksei ran forward, leapt over his sister and still kept pounding at his enemy with the blades. He had never done anything like this before, but he felt a strange familiarity with the technique. The giant was pushed back into a wall and Aleksei could see light from the other room shine through as the mist pierced through the plaster. Out of the corner of his eye, Aleksei saw a beautiful woman, dressed in strange garb like Nida, and mirroring his motions. He blinked and she vanished. He looked ahead into the white cloud which now concealed the cowering Nebuchadnezzar3 who Aleksei could sense was trying to protect his face and groin from the scythes.  
          Before the cloud, a mirage opened and he gazed into the halls where he had met Nida. Now he could see the new woman clearly. She had wavy, reddish brown hair which fell short of her shoulders and turquoise eyes. She wore a neat shirt and close fitting trousers over which draped a knee length skirt. Her clothing was pure white at her collar, but gradually turned to a brilliant indigo at her extremities.
          'Who is she?' he wondered, but he already knew the answer, 'So, I have a second repha. Are they all female?'
          As quick as she appeared, she vanished. From out of the cloud which Aleksei’s blades continued to cut, a wooden board flew like an arrow at astounding speed. Its pointed end threatened to skewer his skull. If not for one of his pressure blades redirecting the plank a couple degrees, he would have been dead before he could blink. The board passed just over his shoulder and pierced through the wall behind him.
          The attack startled him so much he lost his footing and fell to one knee. His halo of blades stopped, he had lost focus, and he could sense that Nezzar had moved. He leapt to his feet, preparing to resume the barrage. The giant was out of sight. The only sign he had once been there was a large portion of the wall not sliced through.
          Aleksei looked around frantically, immediately spreading vapour in all directions to sense his enemy. He felt something large move, which was all the prompting he needed. He spun, leapt, and kicked back, forming the largest and sharpest blade he could produce, and launched it towards Nezzar.
          The blade’s shriek was brief as it struck the front of the giant’s scaly body, eliminating what was left of his tattered shirt and cutting into his hard scales.
          With one hand Nezzar snatched Aleksei’s upraised ankle, then flung him around, smacking him into the floor. Spots exploded in the young man’s vision and his skull reverberated with the impact.
          Nezzar raised his fist.
~~~~~~~~~~
          Mashka shook in terror as she looked into the wide eye of the beast. 'This thing… is inside me!'
           The monster’s eye narrowed, its lip-less mouth grimaced, and it lashed out with a clawed hand.
          Mashka reacted perfectly, stepping back, weaving her body side to side to avoid its grasp. Her eyes and ears detected every motion, making it easy for her to decide her next move. It struck again, but this time its arm bent unnaturally and hit her shoulder. The force of the blow was beyond anything she had felt before. She tumbled metre after metre over the black glass, bruising every part of herself on the way. She struck awkwardly feet first, sending her up into a flip as the world spun about her. Mid-air the monster met her and punched her in the chest. Her rib cage caved in, the bones stabbing her heart. The monster spun laterally, fist within her chest, and cast her into the obsidian again, shards exploding about her body.
          Mashka’s eyes were lifeless for a moment before the light returned to them, followed by her injuries repairing themselves with the sounds of crinkling bones and squirming flesh. The thing glared at her.
          “You think I’m inside you!?” it spat out, “I AM YOU!!!”
          Through all its hideousness and wrath, she heard something in its voice, a shudder which brought tears to her eyes; anguish. She rolled away and rose. Despite being killed twice, she did not feel tired, actually she could feel the rush of life pulling at her bones and rushing through her veins. She analysed what the thing had been saying, and her conclusion caused her to be overwhelmed by the sorrow which radiated from the black form.
          “I’m so sorry.”
          It opened its jaws wide and screamed, “I can’t hear!”
          Mashka gasped as it shambled towards her, flailing its limbs wildly. She let out a scream as she ran then grit her teeth. This was not time for her to break down. If that thing was in fact her, or a part of her, then she was not going to escape. She heard its faint step at her eight o’clock. She stopped, twisted about, and caught the monster’s wrist. With ease she threw it over her body. It struck the obsidian and vanished into the void-like depths.
          Mashka looked about, wondering where it would come out next when she thought of something crazy. She raised one foot and stomped with all her might. The surface of the smooth obsidian sea cracked in all directions around her in a three metre radius, destroying the reflected moon and star. She hoped that the beast could not emerge from a broken surface.
          She heard its rasping voice call out to her, “What an interesting assumption, but you are correct.”
          'It’s my inverse, so shouldn’t it make sense to me.' she replied in thoughts.
           “Finally willing to claim some ownership of this nightmare!?” it screamed. The beast leaned back, preparing to charge.
          Mashka allowed her claws to grow and felt her canines follow suit. Normally she would be fighting for control of her body, but instead she remained fully conscious and the pain was at a level she could easily tolerate.
          It sped forward, and she moved as well. Each of them took an indirect route, trying to throw one another off-kilter before they met. Once they came in reach of one another, their limbs became a blur of motion. Mashka parried each strike, side stepping swipes, retreating, and knocking aside blows. There were several opportunities for her to attack back but she neglected them. She was laying the bait, waiting for the beast to over extend itself.
          She almost did not see the opening when it happened. Black talons grazed by her neck as she stepped inwards. The beast’s eye widened as it realised its mistake. Her claws jabbed its throat causing it to gasp. However, Mashka put far more force than she intended, and the oily membrane which held the beast together tore and black fluid exploded from its body as she ripped off most of its neck. The body remained standing as the golden eye slid down what was left of the neck and stopped at the middle of his chest. With gross ease, the eye rose again, a new head growing with it.
           “I can sense your disgust, but you made me this way. I was once a beautiful Repha, but you destroyed me with your secrets, and your bitter heart!”
          Mashka retreated as fast as she could, fending of blows, leaping over kicks, and striking back. Suddenly she gave an opening, and the beast took it. She gasped as it pierced her abdomen up to its elbow. Fighting against the pain, she grasped its arm and wrapped her free arm around its shoulders, pulling the creature closer, in a deathly embrace.
          The beast’s eye roved about its head and saw that it could no longer escape, because Mashka had lured it onto the shattered surface she had made earlier.
           “Thank you,” Mashka said weakly.
           “Wh-what are you doing?”
          “Thank you for protecting me, for hiding my sinful heart. My hate, my unwillingness to forgive, you held on to it. But it’s time for us to let it all go.”  She rested her head on its shoulder as she wheezed for breath.
           “You’re speaking… I can hear.  I can hear!” it growled excitedly.
          “I’ve closed you off for so long, and I’m sorry. I’m letting you out.” Tears ran down her face. “I’m not going to trap you in this horrible place anymore. I need your power to protect my brother. I’m letting go of my anger which has seen too many sunsets.” She gasped in pain as the beast removed its arm and embraced her. The hole through her abdomen began knitting itself back together. "I have a great life, it's time for you to take part in it the happy moments."
          “At last,” the repha cried, its voice cracking with emotion, “We can protect us!”
         Mashka almost chuckled at its elation. “What’s your name?"
          “Ages ago I did have a name, given to me by a radiant one. But the man-made prison, the chrysalis trapped me from the others, and I have long forgotten.”
          Finally they broke their embrace, and Mashka, “I’ll give you a name, but I’ll have to think about it.”
          “First, we defeat Nebuchadnezzar.” The repha’s body split apart into smaller pieces to fit through the cracks and vanished into the obsidian. “Now,” its voice echoed with relief through the darkness, “we fight as one.”
          Mashka gasped as the inky sky filled with stars and nebulae and the grinning moon brightened, bringing a light onto a world locked in millennial darkness.
~~~~~~~~~~
          Aleksei felt his life draining away, as all energy was drawn from his body. An immense weariness overcame him as Nezzar made for his killing blow. In the microseconds left, a dozen things happened at once: a white tempest appeared between his body and the giant’s fist, the mist’s desperate attempt to protect its master; from the corner of his vision, a shadow rose from the floor; the storm compressed to a wailing blade; black blood sprayed in his eyes; the floor shook; and the world fell dark.
          Stumbling back with a cry of terror amidst reverberating crashes, Aleksei composed himself enough to rub his eyes. Through the blood, he saw that Nebuchadnezzar3 was gone, light streamed through two giant sized holes in the ceiling, and a row of destroyed walls stretched out before him to the outside.
          “What… happened?!”
~~~~~~~~~~
          Nezzar laughed inwardly at his triumph. Not one, but two aberrations would fall by his hands today, never to threaten the world again. The so-called “Sixth Advent” would never happen, and the careful balance the world was in today would not be disturbed. His fist collapsing this Jinn’s chest would bring humanity one step closer to self-determination. So was his goal, his driving force, his single minded patriotism.
          He remembered the day he volunteered to be the third Nezzar, how he had been warned of the risks, but he never looked back. He had spent his life longing to be of use to his country, but at every turn, before that fateful evening in the parking garage, he was only rejected. Now, here he was, a stepping stone to man’s ultimate ascent over nature’s scorn. He was not just a monster-slayer, he was destroying God itself, liberating his fellow man from this soviet-hijacked supernatural power.
          Despite his patriotic thrill, he sensed a strange energy infuse everything around him. Suddenly, his eyes, mouth, and nose felt bone dry as moisture was drawn from them. Before him white fog materialised in an instant then shrunk into a razor thin, vertical line, just in time to stop his fist from his mark.  The air filled with a disembodied wail as he felt his hand be sliced to the wrist and searing heat sprayed across the right side of his body. The stench of burnt flesh and blood saturated his nostrils.
          He did not have any time to comprehend what happened.  His right knee was knocked out of its socket and he tumbled sideways. Beneath him, a very alive Mariya Sharova lay on her back after disjointing his knee. As he fell he caught sight of her determined eyes as she brought her feet in and kicked him upwards. The force was like an artillery shell.  
          He smashed through the ceiling into the fifth floor. The next moment, the young woman appeared beside him and raised her leg.  She kicked down on his shoulder, adding her force to gravity’s pull causing him to smash through the floor, and crashing a few metres away from where he had once been.
          He rose on one leg, while supporting himself against the wall. His head felt rattled and his whole body ached from the superhuman onslaught.
          The woman dropped through the ceiling, and stood a moment. Her eyes blazed with a fire he had never seen before. They were bright green now.
          He lunged at her, but she gracefully brushed off his attack and punched him in his diaphragm, his scales cracking from the force. He torpedoed through the wall and did not come to a stop until he hit another wall.
          Mariya chased after him, spinning around before striking him in the chest as she screamed. “Never touch my brother!!!"
          Again he burst through the wall, tumbling over the floor, knocking aside copy machines and desks like matchsticks, and slamming into the next wall.
          His chest gurgled, he could tell his heart was failing, but his attacker was both unaware and unconcerned. She ran towards him and threw all her strength into a kick to his gut. He rocketed through two final walls before flying outside and smashing into the bricks of the building across the alley. Finally, he fell three stories to the weathered cobblestone. The last thing he saw were two men staring in disbelief at his demise.
          “What is that?!” the younger one exclaimed.
          The older of one looked up and saw her. “Mariya! Thank God you’re alright!”
          Her face changed from a mixture of terror and ferocity to relief and worry. “Evan! SICA found us again!” she let out a long contained breath and finished, “Bruno and Aleksei need help, quickly. I can feel the building starting to collapse.”
          “Jack is here too!” Evan replied.
          “Nice to see you again, love!"
          She nodded stiffly at Evan’s son then disappeared behind the breached wall.
~~~~~~~~~~
          Once Aleksei regained a reasonable state of sanity, his first thought was about his sister. He looked to where she had been struck down and found she was gone. In the distance he clearly heard her voice calling to someone. She did not sound scared or in distress, which put his heart at ease. He was in the midst of a brief prayer of thanks when the memory of The Messenger shooting Nebuchadnezzar3’s fist, rescuing him from death, interrupted him.
          He exhaled and called the surrounding water to him so he could re-establish his sensory field. Nothing happened. He could immediately sense the feeling of emptiness he had the day after his escape from Russia. He did not even attempt to manipulate the water in the air; he knew his power was gone, again. 'Nida is going to be furious.' He was not looking forward to a future reunion. But at the moment he did not have time to dwell on it. He hurried to where he thought The Messenger would still be.
          He found the rubble, but no Messenger. “Ahoy!” he called quietly, “Where are you?”
          “Over here,” came a weary, wheezing reply.
          Aleksei walked the direction of the voice in a dark corner. “Are you injured?”
          No answer.
          Aleksei came even closer.
          “Stay back!” it cried, and for the first time Aleksei heard a fear in its voice which was almost human.
          “Why?” Aleksei asked as he squinted, allowing his eyes to adjust. In the dimness he started to make out a form, and he soon realised by the shape of it, that the hood was off. He moved to allow more light and revealed a leg with a blood-soaked hoodie tied around the shin.  
          “You have to get out of here!” The youth exclaimed as the floor lurched beneath him. Dust and rubble fell down from the ceiling and the walls cried out in despaired creaks, groans, and rumbles.
          Once the movement stopped, he stepped forward until in a panic the thing shrieked at him, “No closer! Don’t look at me!”
          It tried to hide its face with an arm. But Aleksei crouched beside it, looking at its injured leg and arm, both of which were bent out of shape. “Let me help, please,” he urged.
          With a shame laden sigh, The Messenger lowered its arm.
         Aleksei retrieved a few straight cabinet parts for a makeshift splint on The Messenger’s leg. He looked up and froze. For the first time The Messenger’s face was in view. Its skin was a sickly pale colour, and its surface resembled that of lumpy clay, as if the potter tried to make something resembling a human face, but failed due to a lack of skill, and rested it atop a skinny neck which looked as if it could break at any moment. There was no symmetry, no beauty, nothing to merit the thing as being human. Except the eyes that looked out from the malformed face, right where they were supposed to be, soft graphite-grey eyes.
          The Messenger, though shamed of its appearance was puzzled by the young man’s expressionless face. Where was the grimace, the disgust that it remembered from all those years ago? Why was he just staring, right into its eyes, as if he was reading its thoughts, seeing its pain?
          Agony, loneliness, sorrow, hatred, hopelessness, the five miseries which cried out to Aleksei’s heart from those dark eyes. He finally understood something he always knew. This thing, was not some creature, but a person, a person trapped inside a body so repulsive and untouchable. The pain it felt he could not even imagine. His heart wept for this man, woman, person in a way he never had for someone before. He came closer, and even as he moved, even before he got a chance to ask, 'God, what can I do?'
          The Messenger hissed in shock but did not have the slightest idea what to do. Gentle hands cradled its face, and despite the scabby, revolting texture, they did not pull back. Instead the expressionless brown eyes came nearer and filled with sadness, and the gentle hands pulled its head closer. To The Messenger’s complete astonishment, a comforting, chaste kiss pressed the skin at the corner of its mouth, and the hands on its head fell down its back in a warm embrace.
          A brief image of the last tender touch it could remember flashed through its mind, a long vanished mother embracing her once beautiful child. A tear from each eye rolled down the cracks and lumps of its face.
          Aleksei rested his cheek against the side of The Messenger’s head and held its jagged, almost skeletal body against his own.
          It was too overwhelmed to react. The hug and kiss were such foreign sensations, and along with them The Messenger felt invisible arms embracing its heart, telling it that something sacred had touched it.
          Aleksei stood up, trying to not feel too flabbergasted at what he had done. He quickly finished the splints and sling then said, “Let’s get out of here. Put your right arm around my shoulder and hop on one leg.”
       After a brief moment of coordination, the two of them began to hobble. The Messenger’s chest ached from the coldness it felt after the embrace ended, but something like a tiny ember had been left behind, and slowly began to melt the stony shell around its heart.
~~~~~~~~~~
          Rain sprinkled down the alleyway where Nebuchadnezzar3 lay, his black blood slowly rinsed by the sky’s gentle tears. A door slammed open, dust billowed out of it as the building buckled beneath its own weight. Nyra limped out of the door and hobbled on her way towards her partner.
          “Hey, Nezzar!” she called weakly, between gasps of pain. She squeezed the stub of her arm. “Nezzar, get up. There’s more we have to do. We didn’t become what we are--," she coughed, "--for nothing.”
          She stumbled and fell, scraping her arm and cheek on the cobblestone. She turned her eyes up at his scaly face. 'So much suffering, we can’t stop here. We were made for this life, to preserve the world. Why, Nezzar?  Why aren’t you moving? We can’t end here.'
          She released her arm stub, allowing blood to seep out onto the ground, as she reached for his face. 'I’ve never seen you sleep before. You look so peaceful.' Drowsiness began to overcome her as she bled out. She remembered every test, every stage it took to change the once normal man into the perfect warrior. The pain, the power, the many months in the laboratory, at last produced a near perfect result, to protect the interests of the powerful. 'Very well, Nezzar, let me rest with you…'  Her dark skin took on a sickly pallor as she shut her eyes, bringing an end to her long hunt.
​~~~~~~~~~~
           Hours later in a hospital room, far away from the alley, Nyra’s heart monitor let out a single long tone. The doctor and nurses tried one more time to revive her, but at last they admitted defeat. The woman had sustained too much injury. A worried man wilted at the sight of their despair.  
          He would have to report this, the hunters were gone.

​          Aleksei gulped in air as he tried to breathe around the huge hand pressing on his windpipe. The only reason he was not completely suffocating was because he was hanging onto the monster’s huge arm and pulling himself up while his feet dangled a metre above the floor. He discovered why the man did not flinch when The Messenger shot his hand because what Aleksei felt through his sleeve, was not skin, rather it felt like interlocking pieces of hard plastic.
          “Kid, you’re a smart one,” the man spoke, his face hidden in shadow, “You knew to eliminate my senses of sight, hearing, and to an extent smell, but you forgot touch. Every move you made I felt. I’ve killed much more dangerous aberrations before, but you’ve survived longer than any other. I’m impressed. As a favour, any final words?” He loosened his grip on the youth’s neck.
          “We’re Jinn…” Aleksei spat.
          “Huh?”
          “Jinn! You, me, the dark one, we’re Jinn.”
          Shaking the boy, the man shouted into his face, “You’re comparing us?! Do you want to see how we are nothing alike?” he stepped back, letting light shine down on his face.
          Aleksei gasped in shock. He never once had a chance to see the man’s features whilst dodging office furniture. Instead of skin, the man had dark scales with faint chevron pattern and short, bony protrusions on his brows, cheeks, jawline and crown. His face was strangely elongated, his eyes were like those of an adder and the corners of his mouth ran to almost where his earlobes would have been but where instead he just had disk shaped scales which protruded forwards with dark holes in the middle.
    “I am no Jinn! No aberration!” he spat out, anger filling his voice, “I’m Nebuchadnezzar3, the result of the most advanced genetic science! As a favour to the best to challenge me, I’ll ensure your sister can recognise you.” He dropped Aleksei and raised his fist.
          Aleksei, as he dangled in the air, had decided what he wanted his final thought to be.  Ya tibya l’ublyu, Mashka. He never saw when the fist started moving, but the next thing he felt was a blast of wind strike his face.
       The massive, scaled fist was stopped, caught by a slender, clawed hand. The giant looked beside him at the woman who glared fiercely at him with golden eyes.
          “Beautiful and quiet,” he muttered in admiration.
          “Ugly and stupid,” she growled back.
          “You flatter me b--,” he was silenced when she turned, leveraging herself at the back of his knee and judo threw him by his arm over her.
          Nebuchadnezzar3, though disconcerted by the strength of such tiny a woman, did not neglect landing on both feet while he grabbed hold of her arm. With a simple jerk he threw her across the room where she collided into the shelves.
          Immediately she rose, with a loud crack her shoulder put itself back into its socket and she growled out, “Aleksei, leave or I might kill you!”
          Her brother could tell this was no longer his Mashka, and she was dead serious. He began his cautious retreat.
          “You’re cocky, I like it. You can know me as Nezzar until I kill you. Live a while, please?”
          She did not answer, instead she charged in an erratic pattern at inhuman speed.
         Nezzar chuckled and vanished, sending shelves and cabinets scattering like chaff. The two were only visible again when his fist struck her crossed arms. The raw force of the blow sent her back as she attempted the cushion the blow. Though she tried to slow herself down, she still struck the other side of the room with enough speed to crack the dry wall. Not even having a chance to move, he peeled her from the wall by her leg, spun her around like a whip, and slammed her into the floor.
          She yowled monstrously but was silenced by the next strike. For just a brief time Mashka was once again in control. She could feel her broken ribs scratching the inside of her chest, and the sensation of her heart fluttering weakly. She heard her brother scream her name, but knew it was not going to rouse her from the engulfing silence. The world, was slipping away as she came to rest on the floor. Beautiful stars surrounded her.
~~~~~~~~~~
          “What possessed you to follow us to London?!” Evan demanded.
          His son shrugged, “Just wanted in on whatever you were doing. It was not too hard to find you. I just installed a gps app on your burner phone when you weren’t looking.”
          “This is not a game Jack! You could be getting into real danger!”
          Jack grabbed Evan’s shirt and tugged him closer.  “Hey, Dad, I’m a skilled medic, you could need me.  If a tiny Russian boy and his cute sister can handle this, then I sure can.”
          “They can’t handle anything! Even I am in over my head! Just turn around and forget anything happened.”
          “Not a chance! The day you come to Edinburgh, and we have a major bank heist, a car-bombing, and a multi-person shootout at the port. I want to know what’s going on, and I want to help.”
          Evan looked about anxiously, trying to think of a way to dissuade him.
          “This is my choice, let me help my dad!”
          Silence passed long between them as they walked together. At last Evan stopped and turned to his son. “Jack… I nev--,”
     His voice was cut off by a deafening rumble. He looked down the street at the condemned office building which the Association had selected as temporary headquarters. A huge plume of dust was rolling out of the alley.
          “You still want to help?” Evan asked before running towards wreckage.
~~~~~~~~~~
          Mashka’s eyes fluttered closed. When she opened them she gasped for breath, what felt like Nezzar’s grip still touched her throat. However the giant human experiment was nowhere to be seen. Instead she found herself lying flat on her back looking up into pitch darkness. She shook herself and sat up, but still she felt the suppressing weight against her chest and throat. The ground beneath her was as smooth as glass and dark as obsidian. She could just barely recognise that she was casting a shadow so she looked behind her too find the light source.
        Her breath caught in her throat. Suspended over the featureless horizon was a sideways crescent moon, its twin arms were almost a full circle around its shadowed surface and where their points would have met, a star like object shown brilliantly. The bizarre moon reflected itself on the glass surface of the foreign world, producing an elliptical duplicate. Her hair fell in front of her eyes and she noticed her formerly blond hair, was once again its natural dark brown colour.
          'Where am I?' she wondered, as she brushed the stray locks back.
          “Where are you?” A grainy, masculine voice echoed her thoughts.
          Mashka spun around, still labouring to breathe under the immense pressure. “Who’s there?!” her eyes darted at the darkness but saw nothing beside the featureless surface and sky. No movement, not even the slightest breeze touched her. 'Aleksei told me he had a place inside him. Is this mine?'
          “Mine!?! You think you have any way to claim this world as “mine!?!””
          “What is this place then!?”  Mashka demanded.
          No answer.  
       Goosebumps rose on her arms as she shivered. Wherever this was, it felt barely five degrees Celsius and there was no moisture in the air, as if she was in a tomb.
          'Don't be scared,' she reminded herself.
          “Why? Your judgement has not even started.” 
     Something darker than even the obsidian surface appeared, marring the moon’s reflection like ink. The substance began to creep towards Mashka.
          She spun on her heel and ran. After several strides she looked behind her to see that the black cloud under the glass was gaining on her. In the centre of the mass, a bloodshot eye with a glowing yellow iris and needle like pupil opened and stared at her.
          Forcing out the loudest scream she could muster, Mashka cried out. “Let me out of here!!!”
          The eye widened gleefully at her terror, then shut. The black substance sank down, returning the monotony of the surreal world.
          Panting, Mashka looked anywhere for a possible escape and attempted to rationalise her situation. 'How do I get back? I must be dreaming… or dying?'
          “Closer to the former…” the harsh masculine voice replied in her head.
          Mashka turned to face the source of the words.
          “…but you will wish it was the latter!”
          Before her eyes stood a robust, man-shaped form, its void colour causing it to barely contrast against the obsidian ground and inky sky. From around the left side of its head appeared a single yellow eye and from the right side of the face crawled a mouth with four tusk-like fangs. Both organs seemed to float on the surface of the rippling, muscular silhouette.
          She screamed.
          The black beast’s mouth and eye slid on the surface of its motionless head, giving the illusion of a cockeyed, curious stare. “Are you screaming? Because I can’t hear--.” The silhouette shifted and vanished.
          Mashka’s breath hitched as she lost sight of the terrifying spectre.
          The voice finished its sentence behind her “--you didn’t give me any EARS!!!”
          She turned her head just in time to see the beast’s large, black hand grab hold of the side of her face. The air whistled in her ears as she was torn down and slammed temple first into the glass floor. Black dust plumed and swirled, sparkling like tiny sequins in the moonlight as cracks in the obsidian radiated out ten metres from the impact.
          As the shimmering dust dissipated, the black form bent down to look at his victim’s face, which was half buried into the ground, the one visible eye staring sightlessly ahead, reflecting the grinning moon.
          “Wake up!” the thing called.
          The cloud behind Mashka’s eye vanished and she gasped in surprise and confusion, all pain was gone.
          “That’s the first time I’ve killed you.”
         Her eye gaped wide as she realised that half of her face was embedded into the ground. She sat up and felt the side of her face, shocked it had not been obliterated.
          “Amusing, isn’t it?” the black being growled through his tusk-like fangs. “Here no matter how much pain you go through, it’s all erased, not at all like what you put me through in the Outworld."
          Out of the corner of her eye, Mashka could make out his dark first move towards her. With speed born of desperation she rolled, feeling the air whistle by her ear. She prepared to stand, hoping to face her opponent but the ground rose and catapulted her through the air. Instantly her reflexes kicked in and she landed on her feet but skid as if she had landed on ice due to the smooth obsidian. When she brought herself to a halt she looked up at where she had come from. A gargantuan shard of the volcanic glass rose twenty metres into the starless sky, mirrored by another one opposite, a testament to the force and hatred in the black creature’s blow.
          She noticed the beast appear on top of the shard. He looked at her once then sped down its surface to the ground. Mashka blinked, revealing blue irises sliced down the middle by wide cat pupils. Her eyes shifted rapidly following the monster’s zigzagging movement. As he approached, her canines and fingernails lengthened.
          Bracing herself, Mashka was as ready as she could be for the onslaught until her enemy almost disappeared. She had just barely discerned the direction of his movement and twisted to her left, bringing her arms around to deflect his kick to her side. She moved just in time, catching the blow with her arms and transferring the energy of it through her body, skidding back several metres on the glass, but she held her balance.
          The creature stood still, its eye and mouth cocked sideways.
          Mashka felt a shudder down her spine. 'God, let me out of here!'
          “Do you honestly think you would allow God to see this part of your heart?”
          “My…” she caught herself, remembering he could not hear her. 'My heart?!'
          “Where else could someplace so bizarre exist?” the creature spat out.
          That means… you must be a repha!
          The thing laughed, like a gurgle in his throat. “Your brother talks too much. He’s weak, dream faced, and apathetic. He will never become anything.”
           'Don’t talk about my brother!'
          “These are not my words… no, they are yours!”
          'I never said those things!'
          “Of course you didn’t, you stored them here and gave them to me. ‘Mother was too weak of a woman to stop loving her husband, even after he left. Her love killed her in the end.’ ‘Vladimir’s resolve is at least less worthless than his brother.’ I could go on, I hear all your thoughts!”
          Mashka’s eyes watered. 'Stop… stop it, I never meant that.'
          “Fool, the only things you ever mean you give to me. I am the only one to hear your most private thoughts, and you loath me despite that. I am just a monster to you, and yet, you were the one to create me.”
          Mashka swallowed hard as she shuddered in guilt and realisation.
          “Now, Mashka, finally it is time, for me to take what has been mine all along, so I can be the god of your mind and body!”

          Each step echoed as Aleksei walked down the quiet hall on the second floor of an old office building, now turned into The Association’s London branch. He glanced out at the grey, London afternoon. A minor tributary to the muddy River Thames flowed alongside dividing the streets below, defying the right angles of man as it wormed its way to the sea.
          It had been quiet since he woke up that morning. SICA seemed unaware of their location in London, but they had to be careful. As explained by the tattoo-techie, Bruno, SICA possessed a backdoor to London’s vast security camera network, and many similar networks in NATO influenced nations. Thus in the west, The Association historically did not operate in large cities where such video surveillance existed. Their strategy at the moment in hiding in London was that it was the last place Sentinel would suspect them to be. Such reasoning did make Aleksei feel any less uneasy. London and New York were the twin centres of SICA, and it was foolish for any jinn to be near them. He looked ahead when he heard his sister’s voice.
          “Privet!” she called from the opposite end of the hall.
          Aleksei broke his vigil at the window and waved back, and was about to return her greeting, along with a gentle jibe at her circular shades. Before he could Bruno abruptly entered the hall near her. Even at the considerable distance, his bushy eyebrows betrayed to Aleksei a mixture of worry and confusion.
          “What’sss the matter?” a voice gurgled, causing Aleksei to make a less than masculine cry, and side skip away from a suddenly present, dark hoodie-clad Messenger at his side. Bruno replied from the opposite side of the hall. “It might be nothing, but a couple of our cameras are experiencing interference.”
          Aleksei composed himself after a quick shudder, and was about to give his two pence, but the shadowy thing beside him cut to the chase.
          “Need me to take care of it?”
          Mashka began to breach the gap between herself and her brother.
          Scratching his beard, Bruno replied.  “Yeah, I’ll go with--,”
          Aleksei and The Messenger stopped listening. Something was wrong, and they both felt it. Mashka continued to walk towards her brother, having about fifteen metres to go. Her soles clicked on the tile. click, click, click… click… click……click.
          Her steps slowed.   Her face twisted slightly as if she heard something unpleasant.
          Through trembling lips, her brother called to her, “Get d--!”
          click… clic--,
          The wall erupted beside Mashka, powdered plaster billowed into clouds and rebar hurtled like matchsticks. This was followed a half second later by the ceiling collapsing and the floor above falling down until it resembled a park slide that would never pass a safety inspection.
          “Mashka!!!” Aleksei screamed as his sister and Bruno vanished from view.
          Silence.
          “Mashka!!!”
          “Harasho!”
           Aleksei gasped in relief, short-lived relief. As the dust began to clear, he could make out a large figure in the midst of the debris.
           “M-mashka…” he began nervously.
          It shifted, turning its hulking silhouette.
           “Run!  Get out of here!” he cried.
          He turned to run the opposite way, but spotted The Messenger trapped underneath a beam.
          “Are you alright?” he asked, looking at how the beam had trapped it.
           “I’m fine!" it snapped, "My legsss are jussst ssstuck ssso I can’t leverage.”
          Aleksei strained against the beam and pushed it aside. The Messenger hopped up and sped off, Aleksei thought it prudent to pursue.
          The young man hazarded a glance over his shoulder. The dust had cleared enough for him to make out that the shadow was a man, a huge man. Standing almost three metres tall with broad shoulders and thick limbs. He raised some big, rod-like object, still obscured by the dust. As Aleksei dove around the corner, a dozen bullet holes punched through the wall causing\ an entire panel to topple, followed by a bone-rattling 'BOOM', eliminated the mystery of what the massive man was wielding.
          Looking around as he ran down the hall, Aleksei found that he was alone. The much faster Messenger had vanished. Up ahead there was a door into a small kitchenette break-room. He took refuge against the wall beneath a table and peaked back through the door the way he came. The huge man wore a red hooded sweater, much the same way The Messenger wore its black one to conceal its face. His head scraped against the ceiling as he lumbered down the hall and cast aside his giant-sized shotgun.
          Aleksei’s eyes shifted in search of an escape, but he had unwittingly dashed into a room with no other doors. He looked at the sink, and knew he had only one option. He jumped up and turned the faucets to full blast and plugged the drain.  All the while the huge man walked closer.
          Hands shaking, Aleksei tried to evaporate the water. Precious seconds passed, nothing happened. The man could not have been more than twenty metres away now, every step vibrating the floor.
          Finally, he did it, the water burst into a cloud, and Aleksei’s face transformed into an almost eager expression. He walked to the door and aimed at the approaching juggernaut, and shot his hand out, a portion of the mist following his motion. This was followed three more times with alternating hands. The hissing clouds struck full force, leaving curious arrays of cuts through the hoodie.  However, they barely slowed the man’s advance, and if they caused any pain, he was not showing it.
          Aleksei was not going to try again, he had enough water now. In a wave, the coffee room vanished into the billowing mist, followed by the hallway. Dashing out of the dead end, he ran down the hall into a giant office, still half filled with low cubicles. He heard a smashing sound behind him, and a second later his displaced vapour field spurred him to find cover. He ducked behind a cubicle, as right beside him, a wooded beam flew through the air, and embedded itself into the floor like a dart. With his mist Aleksei could sense the plaster and portions of wall stuck to the makeshift missile, and realised it was a wall stud the man had ripped out bare-handed. He heard and then sensed the man punch his hand through the wall, and rip out another stud. With one hand he raised the next two-by-four stud, and pointed it in Aleksei’s exact direction.
          The youth could not move fast enough, as the beam punched through the cubicle like a spear. Despite the dense fog screen, the man had aimed exactly at Aleksei’s position. Next doors, chairs, shards of window glass, and desks all whistled through the air with supernatural speed and accuracy, had it not been for Aleksei's sensory foresight he would not be able to avoid the onslaught.
          'He must be like Mashka! How else can he know where I am?'
          He dodged, just as lamp stand pierced the wall beside him. He tripped over a knocked over chair and tumbled, facing upwards, next to a window which was letting light stream in, and possibly leaving a more than visible outline of him in the mist. Suddenly he saw his face staring back at him and he heard a cringe-inducing shriek. A wall mirror had pierced right through the window, just above his face, so quickly the glass did not have more than a few cracks radiating from the breach.
          He had to try something else, fast.  He caused two cyclones in the mist and intensified them to produce cover noise.  To his satisfaction, the giant aimed his makeshift projectiles at them. Silently, Aleksei hurried into position, not breathing.
           'So, he was using his hearing?'
          He touched his eight fingers together, then tore them away from one another diagonally, a narrow blade of mist formed between his hands, but something else did as well, a high-pitched whistle of the compressed vapor.
          'I’m dead!'
          His next dodge was closer than all the previous ones as he felt some unidentifiable office furniture brush his arm, leaving an angry friction burn.
          Throwing caution to the wind, Aleksei had the mist propel him off the floor, and toss him over a few rows of cubicles.  He landed feet first with a thump on a tile surface, but the sound was covered over by the leftover cloud rushing around him and dashing itself against a pile of boxes. Reacting to the noise, the man turned his back to Aleksei, and the boxes were promptly cratered by a printer. Aleksei took his chance, dashing closer, a shrieking scythe once again forming between his hands, and then with a flick of his arm, the vapour blade zipped towards its target.
          The man turned, raised his forearm, and knocked the blade aside almost casually, even though his sweater sleeve was instantly tattered by the hungry mist.
           'Is his skin made of rocks?' Aleksei wondered.
        Being unable to stop his charge, the young man was forced to slide between the giant’s legs.  He rapidly condensed the water before and behind him, leaving a thin layer of ice on the floor, as the giant raised a foot in surprise. Catching him off balance, Aleksei sent a burst of mist at the man’s head, causing him to step down on the icy floor, and slip, sprawling backwards onto the floor.
          Hopping back up, Aleksei guided a serpent of fog to spiral around his body, up his arm, and then down towards the prone giant, the fog reaching a near deafening pitch as the serpent became a blade, ready to slice the hulking menace lengthwise.  
          Before Aleksei’s eyes, the man became a blur. Aleksei felt a massive tunnel be punched through his mist field. In a storm of motion; desks, chairs, boxes, and papers parted, like the Red Sea for Moses, across the room, pushed aside by an invisible force. The giant was gone, and his scattered fog could not tell him where he went.
          What followed were a couple seconds of complete silence. Then Aleksei’s hair and clothes were blown from behind by a wind, reminding him of the feeling of standing beside a bus as it passed at high speed. He looked back in time to see a head-sized fist aimed at his face.
~~~~~~~~~~
          Hearts pounding and breaths bated, Bruno and Mashka hurried with light steps and pressed their backs against a wall, taking an indirect, but evasive path out of the building.  Bruno pulled out a small, convex mirror to see around the corner. He sighed when he saw the hall was clear.
          “Mashka, ve’re almost out.” He urged, the tension of the moment causing him to fall into his native accent. “Vallow me.”
          “What about my brother?”
          “He vit' creepy, trust me, he’ll be fine.”
          Mashka jumped at the distant cacophony. The walls and doors hummed with reverberations. “How can you be so sure?! It sounds like the building is collapsing!”
          “Vhich is vhy ve are getting out.”
          “Niet, my brother could be in trouble.”
          Bruno pulled at his short hair in frustration. “Look, I don’t know vhat ve’re up against, but it’s probably SICA, vich is bad, especially for you.”
           The building rumbled again, making up Mashka’s mind. “I’m going back for him. Show me the way, or I’m going by myself.” With no further warning, she ran in the direction of the commotion.
          “Vait!” he shouted after her.
          She rounded the corner, and halted in surprise.
          A short, sable-skinned woman stepped out of one of the side rooms and looked Mashka’s direction. Her black eyes opened wide at her discovery, and she promptly raised a gun.
          Before Mashka could even start to realise her predicament, she was tackled by Bruno and they both tumbled into a large office room, the sickening thud of bullet cracking bone echoing in their ears.
          They rolled once over each other, before Mashka disentangled herself, her eyes glancing over her body.
          “Are you alright?” Bruno asked in a strained voice.
          Mashka turned to him, her shades gone and her golden cat eyes displayed her fear. “Y-yes.”  When she saw a moist darkness show through the man’s hip, turning a widening spot of his jeans violet, she reached out, but stopped herself from touching him. Her fingers were now tipped with sharp talons.
          She would have been panicking, the beast was back, and she had lost almost all control, but the silent steps of her huntress frightened her more. She was close, and Mashka knew she was the only one who could stop her.
          Out of the darkness, the eye opened. A misty breath rolled out between four curved fangs, and obscured the starry sky.
          Lifting the brawny Bruno with ease, Mashka carried him in her arms and ran full speed down the corridor. He would have protested against the princess-carry, but he knew silence was needed. Her eyes shifted everywhere, seeking a place to hide.
          A pale, crescent moon grinned down on the black sea, and wicked laughter filled the chill air.
          She whispered in Bruno’s ear as she laid him down in a cubicle in a side room, “How is the wound?”
          He nodded and replied, “The bullet missed anything vital, or it would be bleeding more.”  He lifted his gun to her.  “Take it.”
          She shook her head, a strange grin on her face.
          That’s right… give me my body!
           Through sharp teeth, she replied with a grotesquely deep voice, “I won’t need it.” Mashka could feel reality slipping, but she held on. She needed the beast’s destructive power, she could not do this on her own. Stepping out of the room and into the hall, she took her place, ready to confront the enemy, flexing her spine and joints as her range of motion increased.
          The dark woman rounded the corner.  She took one look at Mashka and holstered her gun. “I read your file, Miss Sharov. Anything short of a shotgun would not slow you down.” Her hand fell to the other side of her belt, from which she drew a large hunting knife. “My name is Nyra, and I have come to slay you.” With a flick of her wrist, the blade extended to thrice its original length and locked into place. She raised the sword-like blade before her face, and bowed.
          Mashka was stunned. The woman’s face was so calm and indifferent. She saw no hatred in Nyra’s eyes, nor remorse in her voice. Her attention returned to the blade as Nyra flicked it aside, and then charged.
          Even with her enhanced reflexes, Mashka was taken off-guard by Nyra’s speed. There was a metallic clang and Mashka found the edge of the blade just a few inches from her face. Fortunately, the beast had taken control of her hands and caught the blade in the V of her interwoven claws.
          Nyra pressed her blade against the smooth talons, but they did not give. Her eyes shifted about, betraying her fascination. After one more push forward, Nyra pulled back, preparing to slice from another angle. Mashka seamlessly advanced, lashing out with her claws and a swift kick. Nyra tucked back, stopped a stab to her face with the flat of her blade, then flipped to retreat from the kick. As she rolled in the air, she retrieved her handgun from its holster. Immediately after landing, she aimed to shoot out one of the beastly woman’s eyes. But before she could, Mashka stabbed her claws into the wall then flung a chunk of plaster at Nyra’s face.
          On reflex, Nyra smacked the plaster aside with her sword, but she could not stop the white dust exploding and getting in her eyes. She was blind, but did not panic. She was a warrior, a hunter, a monster slayer, no matter what part she lost. Relying only on her gut, she stepped left and brought the blade down on the fare blur which she imagined was her prey’s neck.
          Mashka backed away and felt a line of pain from the corner of her chin to her jaw. With ease she dodged Nyra’s frenzied, but calculated slashes and thrusts. She could tell that the woman was blinded, but her assault was enough to give even the beast within pause from recklessly attacking. Mashka struggled with every fibre of her soul to hold onto her impulses, but still felt almost removed from her body. She tasted the blood which flowed down her right cheek, and focused on the metallic flavour to keep herself in reality.  
          A sharp pain burned in her side, so Mashka took control for a moment to leap and flee down the hall. Once she was a few metres removed from Nyra, she felt her side and cheek.  She could feel her flesh pulsate as it slowly closing the wounds, though they had not been deep, she did not want to overestimate her own healing capability. She looked up at Nyra, who took the brief respite to wipe her eyes.
          The two women stared at each other, then Nyra advanced, and Mashka once again surrendered her body.
          A midnight silhouette rose from the glassy orb, reaching for the hooked moon.
~~~~~~~~~~
          Aleksei was disappointed that his life failed to flash before his eyes, robbing him of a path down memory lane before his looming death by skull-imploding fist. Without time to utter a prayer, a dark shadow flew overhead.
          BANG! BANG! BANG!
          Three bullets, one after another, embedded themselves in the back of the giant’s hand. The force of the shots knocking the fist down, sparing Aleksei from a gruesome death. The Messenger landed upon the massive forearm, its smoking gun aimed directly at the giant’s eye. In the briefest moment, as the Messenger squeezed the trigger again, a look of recognition spread on the giant’s face.
          With the speed of a jackhammer, the giant punched The Messenger with his other arm, sending it hurtling across the room and through the twin doors into a dark storage room. The bullet The Messenger fired left a hole in the wall behind the giant, a testament to the speed at which the smaller combatant flew from the blow.
          Taking the opportunity The Messenger gave him, Aleksei attempted to flee, but the huge man defied his size and moved in a blur, and stopped before Aleksei. The force of the motion, knocked the youth on his back. The giant stood over him with two fists held high. Scrambling with all his might, Aleksei tried to avoid the meteoric slam.
          The titan smashed down, centimetres from Aleksei’s waist, and the floor erupted in an explosion of debris. The force caused Aleksei to tumble back, ears ringing and head rattled. When he could stop himself, he felt the floor shift beneath him, and though the dust blocked his vision, he could hear that the floor was collapsing. In a mad, four-limbed scramble, he made for where he remembered the dark storage room was. He finally rose to his feet, and just as the floor began to slide down beneath him, he leapt, and tumbled through the swinging doors, and rolled on the linoleum.
          Once he regained his footing, he examined his surroundings. The room was extremely dark, with no windows.
          'If that thing has enhanced sight too, I’m in a boatload of trouble.'
          He composed himself long enough to beckon the moisture he had been using from the other room. It took significant concentration to extract the water vapour from the air and what had soaked into the dust and papers. But, in less than a minute, a fog bank flooded into the room, giving Aleksei the visibility he needed.
          'Now, to take care of his hearing…' With a deep exhale, he spun his wrists and wove his arms back and forth. Two miniature cyclones moved about, producing a low hiss. With a push, he sent them deeper into the room, where they split into four, producing more noise by rustling whatever loose material they came in contact with.
          Once satisfied, Aleksei darted into the shadows and crept his way to The Messenger.  His mist could feel its form amidst a jumble of knocked over boxes and shelving. He could feel breaths disturbing the thick fog screen, but he wanted to be certain it was not seriously injured.
          Aleksei’s heart beat in his ears, and he wondered if his cyclones were loud enough to cover it. As of yet, the giant had not invaded the room, causing him to wonder what he was waiting for, either that or the giant had fallen to the lower level and could not jump.
          After a couple moments of cautious crawling, Aleksei was within a metre of the cryptic being. He paused, uncertain of how he was going to ensure that his ally was well. He was not going to speak, knowing that the slightest sound might guarantee a makeshift missile through his skull.
          “Boy,” it hissed, surprising him, “He’sss above usss.”
          Aleksei looked up as the ceiling blew asunder.
~~~~~~~~~~
          Nyra’s blade danced as she assaulted her target, using every martial skill and acrobatic trick at her disposal, but still, she only succeeded inflicting minor surface wounds.  
          Mashka, though only versed in the basics of self-defence, was fast and reckless enough to avoid serious injury. Her golden eyes tracked Nyra's swift motions as she tried to formulate a strategy. Despite many hours of one on one instruction with Evan, he taught her how to deal with an opponent armed with a sword. Why would he given it is the twenty-first century?
          Still, she was learning her enemy. Nyra’s favourite targets were her wrists, upper abdomen, neck, eyes, and inside her thigh. Her enhanced senses and reactions made every attack seem much slower than it really was, giving Mashka time to formulate a plan to get rid of the blade, she just had to wait for the right moment.
          Once more Nyra tried for her eye, but this time Mashka was ready. Instead of backing away, she moved herself forward while bending her head to the side.  With one palm against both flats of the blade, her right towards the tip, the other towards the base, she pressed.  The extension blade snapped with ease.
          Nyra’s face flickered with astonishment.  From her perspective she had slashed, and her blade broke all by itself, her eyes had not even seen Mashka’s hands until after the act.  But she recovered quickly, snatching Mashka’s wrist, twisting it into a hold, and propelling her body so she could smash the smaller woman’s head against the wall.
          Mashka gasped as her head punched into the plaster, but her body moved despite her dazed state, spinning, breaking from the hold, and after a quick manoeuvre she landed a vicious kick to Nyra’s collar bone. The force of the kick caused Nyra to leave the ground, and hurtle into a row of cabinets some five metres away, denting them along their middle.
          Ignoring bruises and broken bones Nyra stood, drawing weighted knives and throwing them. Mashka, with near casual ease, caught all three.
          “Please,” the beast said darkly through Mashka’s lips, “I know that trick.”
          She stopped, feeling herself slip from her own body. She pulling back with all her will, forcing her teeth, and claws to recede, while trying to withstand the immense pain. She knew that was the beast’s ploy, somehow whenever it took over, her pain disappeared, making it so hard to fight against the instant relief. But she could bear even less the terror she felt from watching her body be used by something else.
          Nyra took advantage at the slight hint of her target’s resolve weakening. Now was the chance to slay her.
          Stuck with her own battle of wills, Mashka nearly forgot the battle at hand. Nyra was upon her. She tried lashing out, but the woman slipped past her, brought her fist up to crush her oesophagus and snap her neck in one blow.
          Mashka heard a scream, and she knew it as her brother’s, he was in trouble, and here she was, about to die. Blood splattered on her face, and the world was lost to her.
          Nyra gasped, and for the first time her face expressed a human level of emotion. She bent over as she was kneed viciously in the stomach. On the floor, she stared in shock at her right arm, or at least up to where her elbow used to be.
          “I’m finished with this amusement.” The beast spoke with almost bored disdain.
          Nyra watched as Mariya Sharova walked away. After a few paces she cast aside Nyra’s severed forearm as if it was nothing more than a tarnished rag and disappeared around the corner.

Episode Twenty Six:
La Vérité Douteuse

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          Océane bolted out of the school as fast as her braced leg would permit as her friend Janine watched her depart with a look of bewilderment.
           “Where are you going?” she asked.
          Waving back as she hurried down the steps, Océane replied, “It’s about my internship, I’ll tell you about it later!  Au revoir!”
          Janine shook her head in confusion, “Um, alright, I just need to tell you something.”  
Océane stopped briefly? “Oui, Janine?”
        “This weekend I’m going to Le Havre up north for a friend’s birthday, so our joint study will have to be over phone.”
          “Oh, that’s fine! You have fun!” Océane blew a kiss and waved and hurried to the curb side as the bus pulled up.
         Janine blew a kiss and waved back, happy to see her friend having fun with the internship.
         Océane fell into the closest seat on the sparsely loaded bus. All day she had planned what she was going to tell the Lieutenant and at last she decided. Judging by how Claire had not shown up to tell her otherwise, she could only assume her ghostly companion was on her side.
          Claire.
         Already she was thinking of her as a real person. She had given up explaining her away as a hallucination or delusion, there were only two possible explanations for being able to talk with the dead. Either Claire was a ghost or was someone else pretending to be her dead friend. And it did not matter anymore whether she was being visited by a shade of the past or an impostor, she was going to step forward into this new world. Because what she did to Renoir was real, the last few days were real, her power was real, should she question the dead girl speaking to her?
          All night she had dreamed of the gift granted her by Claire. Now she was ready to practice.
          She blinked and she was standing in an endless meadow, the sounds of the city a distant rumble in her mind. Her bare feet cushioned on the soft grass, free of shoes and the brace. An eternal white sky illuminated this temporary realm where all her ailments slipped away.
          “Glace,” she muttered, picturing Claire’s face in her mind. The transparent scythe blinked into her hands, refracting the light from above like a many faceted prism, causing rainbows to shimmer across the grass.
          Dozens of scattered mirrors rose from the ground, reflecting her appearance. She twirled the staff, its curved blade becoming near invisible with the movement. Twisting around, she spun the weapon from one hand to the other, over her head, behind her, and before her then jabbed and swiped at the air while keeping an eye on her form through the mirrors.
          Finally she made one last dramatic back-swipe and froze looking at her fiery gaze in the mirror. She blinked and she was back on the bus, the passengers around her oblivious to her momentary absence. Sweat beaded on her brow as her pace quickened. The thrill of power flowed through her. It frightened her. For the briefest of moments she considered how she could with so little effort throw the entire bus into terrified chaos, and no one would ever discover it was her.
          Excitement is was what she felt now, the fear quenched. She was not the same girl that cried in her bed last night in remorse for bringing justice to a wicked man. Why should she feel sympathy or fright? Did she not do a service to everyone around her? Did it matter that her reasons were merely a personal irritation at being plagued by a child’s nightmare? She re-imagined what she had done to Pierre, and what she could do to anyone else like him. The temptation tasted sweat.
         As the bus came to a halt and she rose from her seat, she found herself at a crossroads. She could do one of three things: Sit back down, return to normal life, and never think of Michael, Pierre, or Claire and just keep her power as her little secret; Go through with her meeting with Michael, conjure some form of a lie and insist on pursuing a career in law enforcement where she could experiment with her abilities with few moral consequences; Or lastly, tell Michael the truth, prove her abilities to him, and see whether he was smart enough to think of an answer for her.
          The first option vanished as she stepped off the bus, only a block away from the police station. The last two options she left to what felt best in the moment, she planned out what to say for both scenarios, but was content not to make decision until the moment she needed to. She lived most of her life imprisoned by her leg, so she was used to taking things slow.
          By the time she had finished her musings, she was in the lobby of the police station. She looked across the room through the glass panes and saw police, suspects, citizens and lawyers milling about. She spotted Michael, leaning back in his chair talking to Sarah. The latter lifted up a pile of paperwork from his desk which he had just finished.
          Océane smirked as she approached, imagining how awkward he sounded while faking a casual tone, in an attempt to hide his blatant affection for his co-worker. She entered the office, showing her internship badge to the policeman by the door who nodded in recognition.
          She greeted them. “Bonjour, Lieu. Michael, Sarah,”
          They both returned the greeting, and Sarah touched her shoulder in encouragement. “Océane, your intuition is good, Renoir confessed yesterday just out of nowhere. It must have been your and Michael’s visit to his workplace that shook him up.”
          “Oui, must have…” she replied awkwardly as Michael shot her a knowing look.
          “Sarah, I can finish up with Ms Lafayette, you have reports.”
      Sarah sighed and glanced at the teen, “A word of warning if you do pursue law enforcement as profession; it is not at all as exciting as the dramas make it seem.”
          “I’ll keep that in mind,” she replied, taking a seat on the edge of Michael's desk.
        Once they were alone, Michael only waited a few beats before asking, “So, you are going to tell me how you were involved with Renoir's confession.”
          She nodded.  “Oui, on one condition; don’t laugh.”
        The officer was thoroughly confused now, he had expected something more akin to ‘Am I going to be in trouble,’ or ‘don’t get angry.’  But laugh?  He relaxed a bit, knowing she might not have done anything as risky as he had thought. 
          “I will not laugh.”
          She sighed and began, “I knew Pierre did it, because…”
          Michael leaned forward very interested but waited for her to continue.
          “… I can see dreams.” She winced, knowing how insane she sounded.
          His eyes narrowed. “So, you are a psychic? Are you certain it was not just a memory?”
          'At least he is not laughing.' She sighed. “And I don’t just see people’s dreams, I can make dreams too.”
          It would have been difficult for Michael’s face to seem any more incredulous. “Listen, perhaps the excitement has gotten to you too much--”
          “Non! I’m serious, and I’m going to prove it.”
          He could not deny his curiosity, “Really? How?”
          'I have his interest.' She thought. To her satisfaction, serendipity smiled on her with the entrance of two police and an angry but subdued ruffian, the stench of alcohol assaulted her nostrils as he passed toward the cells at the back.
          “Him, he is going to shout and grab his arm.” she declared not even looking to see Michael’s doubtful stare. She focused on the man, reaching out and touching his bleary, sticky mind. She grinned when she found his fear and acted on it.
          The drunk did not know what came over him, but he felt a crawling sensation on his arm. He looked to see a seething mass of black spiders coating his sleeve and crawling up towards his face. He let out a gasp and shook his elbow but the police held tighter.
          He screamed at their grasp, feeling something wrong. “Stop squeezing!” he blurted out as he felt his flesh disintegrate. A black creeping mass fell away, and his sleeve fell limp, without an arm or a shoulder to support it, only a pile of spiders swarming on the floor. His head rolled back and he lost consciousness. The police shrugged, assuming he had merely succumbed to his intoxication.
          The Lieutenant squinted in suspicious disbelief. “You got lucky.” his voice betrayed doubt.
          Océane swallowed hard, knowing if she did not do something she was going to find herself admitted to a sanatorium. A faint smile touched the corners of her mouth. She had finally found a way into Michael’s near impenetrable mind.
          “I think you need to look around,” she suggested.
        Glaring at her with one eye he slowly looked away. His mouth dropped as he did. Everyone was still, caught in the middle of their actions like a photograph. In the corner a detective was pouring coffee, the liquid still like dark glass.
           “What’s happeni--?!”
         Océane raised a finger to her lips. “Hush! You don’t want people thinking you’re crazy, do you?” she asked with dry sarcasm. "Time is moving on for everyone else."
          “What’s going on?” he asked, lowering his voice.
          “I altered your perception of time with only yourself and myself as exceptions. At least I think that is what I did.”
          “You think?”
         She shrugged. “I am kind of new at this. But I saw that you have a focused mind, which means to your subconscious everything that is not in focus, stops moving. In brief, this is how I got Renoir to confess. I can control perceptions, or make illusions… or something like that, but whatever it is I do, it has to be based on something already in the person’s mind. Now, I’ll let you see everything as normal again, but you have to promise to tell no one. If I am crazy, then so are you.”
          “I promise!” He nodded furiously, his eyes betraying uncertainty, but not fear or anger.
          She sighed in relief. For a split second there was a flurry of blurred colours and everything was back as it was.
          Michael looked down at his desk in thought, then looked at her, and back at the desk. He was thinking of anyway to explain this, but he had not drunk or eaten anything recently, so he had not been drugged. Not that he even considered this girl capable of such things. There was only one thing he could do now; accept her story.
          “So, I guess that means you put Mr. Renoir through a nightmare.”
          She nodded hesitantly, “You don’t think I broke any laws? I suppose it could be called a form of assault.”
          He let out a nervous chuckle. “Not that I know of… yet. Even if there was a law, I don’t think anyone would take you to court.”
          “That is a relief. I didn’t feel good about it though.” she lowered her face forlornly.
      He gulped, looking around to see if there was anyone within hearing. He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “You don’t think there are more… people like you?”
          Océane looked in wonder at him. She had never thought about it. Were there others besides Claire and herself? It was hard for her to believe that she was the only one. But how would she go about looking? Would she want to look? She considered telling Michael about Claire, but shot the idea down. Then he would surely think her crazy.
          Taking the silence as her answer, Michael settled back into his seat. “Well, at least a cold case is solved. I can’t imagine how hard it has been for you, having those memories.”
          Océane shook her head. “They aren’t mine. I started dreaming about it three months ago. It’s someone else’s nightmare.”
          Michael’s eyes went wide as he turned to his computer and brought up a page. His stunned expression confused her.
          “What?”
        “The child of the victim, an eight year old boy, moved into the apartment two floors above you… three months ago. He lives with his father and stepmother.”
         Océane covered her mouth as her eyes filled with tears. “He would have been a toddler when-!”
          Michael stared at the girl in wonder. He kept trying to deny that what was happening was some strange dream, and he would wake up soon and it would all revert to normal. But those tears were real, what happened the last few days were real. Since all of it was so hard for him to accept, he wondered what it must have been like for her. To have such a weighty secret…
          He cleared his throat, getting her attention.  “Océane, you want to meet him, the boy, I mean?”
          She opened her mouth, but did not have an answer. 'How can that help?' she thought, 'Is digging up the past going to help him at all?'
          As if he too had mental powers, Michael continued. “You can’t bring back his mother. But couldn’t you at least put his mind at ease, that he’s not the only one who knows what happened that night?”
          He’s right… she nodded slowly.
          “Great, I’ll arrange a meeting tomorrow. You should probably go home now.”
          “Oui…” Océane rose and walked out of the office. Her face was frozen in worry. For three months she had been sharing a nightmare with a child, and she was not at all sure about meeting him.
          Absorbed in her thoughts as she walked out onto the sidewalk, she was completely unaware of the eyes watching her.
          “Is she the target?”
          “I don’t know, she’s one of four potentials.”
          “Four? That’s few enough, why don’t we just kill them all?”
          “I would tend to agree, but we’ll need approval first.”
          “True.”

Day Four: Vendredi
Friday, September 23rd

In darkness the moon blinks.
The glass sea hides the Watcher.
In desolation she sinks.
Obsidian claws catch her.

Episode Twenty Five
Toute Médaille A Son Revers

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The morning star rose in the night sky promising the coming dawn over Lyon.  But for one citizen of the quiet city, the solace of night-time had not even started. Océane tossed and turned under her duvet, shaking in fear at what she had done. She sat up and looked in the mirror and only upset herself more by seeing her own reflection. Claire was nowhere in the time of her greatest need.
          “What did I do?” she whispered through her trembling lips. “I had such power, and—” 'What if I permanently harmed him? Should I go to jail?'  She tucked herself deeper into the blankets, hoping that somehow she would find the comfort to heal all her conflicted thoughts.
       From beyond the window, golden dust crept across the glass, shimmering with iridescent lights and swirling in mesmerizing patterns. The particles froze before each speck passed through the glass, letting off thousands of prismatic sparks, illuminating the room. Once indoors, dust became flesh, wrapped in a white gown, standing beside the bed.
         Claire nodded in relief. 'It seems that Kerry’s inverse cannot completely cut me off from the outside.' Looking at Océane’s shuddering form she felt a wave of compassion as her own concerns melted away.
          She sat on the bed and lay on her side, reaching out with her hand, but then thinking better of it, she called soothingly, “Océane!”
        The girl tore off the blanket in surprise and her words erupted in a torrent while gesturing wildly. “Where have you been?! Am I one of those psychics like on tv? Does this mean some of those lunatics aren’t scam artists?” She slowed down as her mouth caught up with her brain and her eyes began to water. “D-did I do something wrong? I mean… I must have really hurt him. Pierre, he--”
           She was silenced by Claire’s embrace which felt so real even though Océane knew she was not actually there.
          Claire flicked aside her blond tresses to whisper in the girl’s ear. “Dearest Océane, you have done nothing wrong. If anyone is to blame, it is myself. I rushed you and pushed you to do something you regret.” She broke her embrace and shuffled up the bed so she sat hip to hip with Océane. “But I think its time you learned more about your power. Are you ready?”
          Océane sighed and wiped her eyes.  After a long pause, she nodded.
         Taking hold of her hand, Claire began, “You act as a bridge between a person’s dreams and reality. What happened to Pierre was you took his own secret dreams and thoughts and forced him to confront them. He hurt himself long ago-- you just took away the aspirin so he could feel the pain. Pain exists so a person knows something is wrong, but some people, like Pierre, learn to ignore that pain, and slowly their heart is consumed. Océane, you saved that man, he was sinking into rotten mire and did not even know it, and you pulled him out.”
          Océane nodded.  “I… don’t understand...”
          Claire was about to continue something distracted her.
          “Is something wrong?” Océane asked.
          “What? No! Your power?” She raised her hand in front of her and a glass rod grew into existence, resting in her palms and an eighty centimetre crystal blade grew out of one end. “See this scythe?”
          “Oui, it was the one I used to chase Pierre.”
          “Just like you use a brush on a canvas, use this as your tool. I do not want you do get so fully absorbed into the minds of other’s like yesterday. Just think of me and the word, glace, and this blade will be in your hand.”
         “Why are you giving me this?”
          “Because you will need it, I don’t know when, but soon.”
          “You’re scaring me Claire!”
          “I don’t mean to, dearest friend. So now, go to sleep and tonight you will dream of how to use this blade.”
          “I don’t think I can sleep,.”
        Claire smiled and lay down on her side extend her hand on the mattress between them.  “Hold my hand and you will sleep.”
        Nodding and following her instructions Océane lay down and looked into Claire’s sapphire eyes. Within moments her eyelids became heavy and she drifted off into peaceful sleep.
        Claire smiled at her peaceful face and leaned in, planting a kiss on her forehead.  Suddenly her eyes grew wide in surprise and she vanished from the bed.
         In and instant The Apparition found herself strapped in place within the beachside parlour, with Dr. Kerry leaning over her. His electric blue irises with tri-pointed pupils sparkled in glee over a toothy, sadistic grin.
          He let out a brief giggle before speaking. “I’m impressed. Even through my barriers you were able to travel back to your host body for a while. Too bad that you still have a narrow strand of your soul still connected to her!”
       The Apparition through her disgust cocked an eyebrow, not understanding his statement. 'A string?'
          “…because, I can see it, and where it goes!” Kerry cheered.
          Her eyes widened briefly at her misstep and then glared. “Touch her and—”
          “Oh you stop,” Kerry pouted, “too little too late for you! My godlike sight granted me a glimpse of your vessel. To think the mighty Apparition has been hiding inside a little French schoolgirl all this time! What did you promise her? An answer to all her problems? Her deepest wish perhaps? It doesn’t matter. She is my next experiment.” He raised his hand. “That is, once I’m finished with you.” He thrust his hand down as it was surrounded by a blue glow.
          The Apparition stared down to see Kerry’s fingers penetrate her abdomen up to the knuckles. She lurched in pain as he moved his fingers around, seeking something within her entrails, but she did not scream.
          “You rephaim believe yourselves to be invincible, but just like humans, you have organs too, one in fact…” He grunted as he forced his fingers further up her gut. “…is the key to your powers.”
          The Apparition let out a gurgling scream as he ripped his hand out, leaving strands of clear fluid dripping from his fingers onto her white dress which now had and oblong hole in the middle. Immediately her body began to close up the wound and the dress repair itself but after a moment the process ceased. Flesh and fabric shuttered, being unable to finish their regeneration.
          In Kerry’s hand squirmed a silver, vaguely crescent shape lump of flesh that twisted and jerked as if trying to make its way back into its body.
          He looked down at The Apparition face, amused by her expression of pain, confusion, and fear. “You have heard it said, ‘A healthy mind in a healthy body,' but so few understand how interchangeable those terms are if you depart from the environment in which they reside. A soul cannot be measured, the mind is the expression of the soul for which the body is a house of flesh. But if one travels to another plane, the pattern shifts. Here, the soul is made flesh.” He raised his hand that held the writhing organ. “You don’t even know what I’m holding do you? This is the part of your body responsible for your constant regeneration, also it contains a parasitic, DNA-like substance that once I consume it, will alter my own soul structure.”
          The Apparition cried out in terror.  “No!  Stop!”
        He lifted the grey lump to his lips, and after a brief sniff he opened his mouth and slurped it up like a fruit, the grey organ squirming and leaping violently, attempting to escape his teeth.
          She turned her face, unable to bear watching him chew what was once a part of her. She found herself staring towards the face of the repha beside her. He had turned his head in mild curiosity of what was happening. His knowing gaze told her exactly what had happened to him.
          She winced at the sound of a sickening gulp from behind her, followed by a silence.  A few moments later Kerry shrieked, causing her to turn her head back to see him. He was holding hand to his narrow chest and another to his belly. His eyes were bulging out as he let out a scream of agony. Blue and golden light leapt from his mouth as he lurched in pain. He tumbled, falling to his hands and knees, bringing him to eye level with her.  He grinned as sweat beaded on his brow.
          “Don’t look so shocked. It’s painful for the soul to change so fundamentally, it should be, should it not?”
          Kerry found enough strength to move and made a frantic stumble through the door at the opposite end of the room, seeking solitude as he went through his transformation.
         'Is he mad?!' The Apparition wondered, straining against her bonds. 'Does he even know what he is doing?' She lurched in agony as her body tried to close the wound but failed, trapped in the unending cycle of spiritual decay and renewal.
~~~~~~~~~~
          Trudging his way through the deep, midwinter snow, Vladimir finally caught eye of the glow from his house’s windows reflecting off the smooth white blanket covering their yard. A few more steps and he could see the front of his house. The air was well below freezing, but he was unperturbed wearing a t-shirt and thin jeans, his skin not even colouring from the cold. He sighed in relief, steam escaping through his lips and scalding the evergreen branches hanging low by his face. The fragrance of pine resin filled the air.
          “Oops!” he muttered.
          Two weeks past he had changed, and he was still adjusting to it, and his father seemed bewildered by what his son could all of a sudden do. It started on an unusually sunny day while he was chopping firewood. The sun felt pleasant on his back, the heat tickling his skin with a peculiar excitement, not unlike the thrill when Nati, a girl from school, hugged him the first time. When he lowered the axe handle there was a pair of charred handprints in the polished maple staff. In the days following he found that he could drastically change temperatures with no more effort than a breath, a wave or a touch. After a few minor accidents, he figured out how to control himself, but every now and then he would fail in his vigilance.
          He noticed the blue van parked beside his father’s sedan.
         'Is it someone from Dad’s job?' The sound of voices from inside seemed to confirm his suspicion.
          He shrugged and stomped off the snow on his boots on the porch steps then opened the door. He was about to call out but something in the air felt wrong. The voices came to an abrupt halt after he entered and there was a sudden shuffling noise.
          Vlad decided against removing his shoes, and instead closed the door lightly behind him and crept to the open coat closet opposite the door. He put his ear to the wall and heard whispers.
          “I thought I heard something.”
          “I’ll go check.”
          There was a muffled cry that Vlad recognised as his father, cuing him that and he was in the kitchen with the strangers. He wanted to dash out and take all three, maybe four of the intruders down, but his gut told him these were not ordinary home invaders.
          Steps neared and he pressed himself deeper into the dark corner behind the coats he no longer used. A tall man walked into view, wearing dark clothing and what looked like a black police vest but there was no agency name appliquéd on the back. He kept his back to the closet and glanced at the door.
          Vlad realised that he left a trail of melted snow to his hiding place, causing his guts to squirm in terror. But to his relief the man never looked down, but turned back towards the kitchen allowing Vlad to catch sight of his dark hair and prominent Greek nose.
          'Who are these people?'
         He heard voices in the kitchen again, this time a woman with a foreign accent speaking as if she was on the phone.
        “Yes? Good… so he is coming home? Perfect.” there was a light beep and Vlad imagined her pressing the ‘end call’ button on her cellphone.
          “Kill him. The boy will be here soon.” she stated with a regal air.
        Vlad burst out of the closet. He dashed down the hall hearing his father plead for mercy. He arrived at the doorway as Greek Nose slid his knife along the side of his father’s neck. Blood spattered on the floor.
          “Stop!” Vlad wailed.
          The woman and a third man immediately raised their guns at the boy, their cold gaze flickered in recognition of their target.
          On instinct he crossed his arms in front of his face and widened his stance in Systema form. Gunshots rang and Vlad expected to feel shards of metal ripping through his body.  However when he looked up a ring of flame confronted him as it licked at the floor, walls and ceiling of the kitchen.
          The guns in the strangers hands lay on the floor a heap of ruined metal and bubbling plastic. The man and woman both lay still on the ground, covered in burns and scorched clothing.
         Greek Nose attacked with his knife. Vlad stepped closer with shocking speed. He deflected the blade that was closing in on his throat, instead allowing it to slice through the muscles on the back of his forearm. His hand closed around his assailant’s arm as he moved to hurl him to the ground, but he heard his father sputter on the floor, tied to the knocked over chair.
          “Dad?  Are you alright?!” he asked.
         His distraction gave Greek Nose enough time pry loose from Vlad’s hold and take a better position.
          Jostled back to attention Vlad looked back at his opponent and to his surprise the man was screaming. At first he was confused and then he realised what he had done when the man fell silent and a chorus of crackles filled the air. The man fell over like a knocked down statue, his body frosted over after all the heat has been drawn into Vlad’s hand.
          Vlad screamed and backed away as every surface in the room blossomed into an inferno. Collecting himself, he turned to get his father out.
          Unfortunately for him, he failed to notice that the woman had survived the initial searing and though she lay covered in second degree burns, she mustered enough strength to pull the pin out of a round grenade.
          “Die freak!” she screamed letting it roll towards the unsuspecting youth.
          The world was all white as Vlad woke, white and cold. He raised his head and realised he was looking at a depression in the snow made by his face. He looked up and through the underbrush he caught sight of a pink coloured sky. At first he was lost in confusion and wondered what was going on. Then the song bird’s calls tickled his ears reminding him of the ringing sound in them.
          It’s morning? he wondered. He tried to move his arms in from their splayed out position to lift him up, but they were uncooperative. His heart skipped as the scene in the kitchen began to come back to him. 'Dad!' 
          Ignoring his pain and deadness of his limbs he rose as quick as a windup toy, his gaze roaming around him only seeing trees. He turned and his breath gelled in his throat. He gaped at the sight of his house over thirty metres away, little more than a pile of ashes.
          “Dad!” he screamed through hyperventilating breaths. He ran through the snow towards the house. He reached the edge of the thawed ground around what remained of the building and slowed his pace.
        As he walked around the perimeter, he noticed the gleam of a soot covered sink marking where the kitchen had been. He eyed the rubble, noticing three disturbed areas where the intruders had fallen, though no bodies were there now and the van was gone.
          Then he saw him, the black, charred skeleton bent as if still tied to the metal chair.  Vlad’s knees buckled beneath him and he tumbled to all fours on the baked dry ground. When his shuddering and vomiting ceased many minutes later, his weeping began, a piercing cry in the midst of the woods where no one could hear his plight.
          He leaned back and sat, his ankles freeing his hand from his weight. Through tear-blurred eyes he looked at his palms which glowed as one exuded heat and the other drew heat in. He made them like twin white stars and pressed them to his face to end his pain.  But he felt nothing but his hands touching his face while brilliant flames erupted in a pillar above and around him, searing and freezing all they touching but leaving his body and clothes undisturbed by the slightest feeling of heat or cold.
~~~~~~~~~~
          Vladimir woke with a start. His eyes darted around the dark and tiny room. He wiped the sweat from his brow and sighed. He needed fresh air.
          Pausing only long enough to put on his shoes, he ventured out of his room and down the hall. He reached the door to the roof access stairs and pushed it open, lumbering up the steps as if he were still asleep. He opened the door at the top and a gust of wind blew against him, but as usual he had no sensation of hot nor cold as the air flowed through his cotton t-shirt.
          He began an exhilarating stretch when he noticed his brother gazing out at the distant London lights. He cupped his hand and pale light shown between Vlad’s fingers as he considered freezing Aleksei on the spot, but without much thought, he relented. He would gain nothing from such a cheap shot.
          He turned and descended back down the stairs while he shook his head in disgust. He was about to slam the door shut behind him when a noise caught his attention. Looking back he noticed his brother’s heaving shoulders and his arms raised to his face wiping his eyes.
          Aleksei was sobbing.
         An unwanted memory sprung into Vlad’s mind. In first grade he had dislocated his arm after falling from his bike with friends. After he had risen from his fall and tried to hide his pain, it was Aleksei who came by his side, draped an arm around his shoulders and hurried him to help, crying himself even though he was unhurt. In a past life, he would have done the same were the roles reversed. But those days were gone, so he walked away, like he did the last time he saw his brother’s sorrow, on that fateful afternoon when their shared life ended.
          Aleksei covered his mouth as he cried into his arm, unaware of the intrusion. Many conflicting sentiments brought on the tears, but fear was the strongest. Mere hours ago he was confronted with the face of death, first his brother, who he was not entirely sure on his intent, but the doubt was awful enough, and second the SICA agent whose intent could not be clearer. He could only wonder what he had done to be now marked for death? What force gives people the desire to kill others? His brother knows the desire, and just recently his own sister took a life to save his.
          But he could forgive his sister, he would have done the same for her, but it did not make the man’s rattling last breath any easier to forget. And the thought that someone, somewhere was lifting a voice in grief compelled him to grieve with them. He fell to his hands and knees, weary from weeping and he forced himself to sigh in surrender.
          He was alive, his sister was alive and they had found Vladimir.  As long as they all survived this…
          Tears sprang anew from his brown eyes and dropped onto the flat roof.  'I’m so scared, God, I’m scared! I feel like at any moment I want to just run.' “I’m such a coward, I don’t want to die!”
          “No one wissshesss to die, child.” answered a raspy voice.
          Aleksei’s heart nearly jumped into his throat as he fell back into a sitting position. It took him all his strength not to gasp in fright at the sight of the hooded Messenger crouched on the low wall encircling the roof. It hopped down, standing a few metres away and hunched over.
          It spoke again, “Even I fear death and cleave to life, though I am the lowessst pariah. You, child, have much to grasssp hold of.”
         The evening breeze rushed across the roof and rustled the creature’s loose dark clothes, causing it to appear both emaciated and small, and great and foreboding all at once. Aleksei gulped and wiped his eyes dry and stared back at The Messenger. He was absolutely confounded why the normally silent being was talking now. 'Is it trying to… comfort me?'
          He was about to speak but the dark figure vanished. For a moment Aleksei thought it had just said its piece and left. But then the hairs on his neck stiffened, more than they already had, and he knew he was not alone.
        The next few seconds were a maelstrom. He twisted his body to dodge a barely perceivable movement in the darkness. Punching out twice he felt his fists brush by some cloth. Then he jumped back, performing a barrel roll and allowing his movement to boost his activated power. He landed his back to the closed door and raised his hands before him and rotating them inwards causing vapour to be extracted from the air and form in a cyclonic wall. The Messenger, however, was too fast and burst through the mist, its hand reaching for Aleksei’s face. In a rapid shift of strategy, Aleksei used the spiralling mist he had gathered and ushered it strike The Messenger from both sides, causing its attack to miss and allowing him to snatch its wrist. Then Aleksei brought the creature into a hand-lock but it did not last long. The thing acted as though it no bones and twisted around on its back kicking Aleksei in his side with a leg that should not have been able to bend in that direction. Aleksei surrendered to the blow to avoid injury and tumbled a few metres to the right. He regained his stance in one fluid motion, ready for more.
          Fog swirled around him and he glared at The Messenger, daring it to try something again, now that he had enough water to make a difference.
          The Messenger let out a sickening spell of coughs which Aleksei eventually realised was laughter.
          “What is up with you?!” he demanded.
       The hood shook and behind the void where the thing’s face should be Aleksei could hear a tongue licking lips, or mandibles, whatever the creature had for a mouth.
      Once the creature recovered from its mirth, it spoke up through rasps. “I find it humorousss how you called yourssself a coward. A coward’sss first reaction isss to run, but here you are, ssstanding your ground, glaring at me with the fire of a warrior!”
          Aleksei was stunned from both The Messenger’s attempt to encourage him, and that he felt sort of flattered. He squinted into the darkness to catch sight of it but the creature had already left. The youth shuddered, wondering how it could disappear without him seeing any movement. He looked out at the awakening city for a few more moments before walking back toward the stairs to catch a couple of hours more sleep before...
          'Come to think of it, what are we doing next?' The thought puzzled Aleksei. They could not just stay with The Association after all they had done, but when were they parting ways? 'We can’t go home either, not with SICA on the prowl. Where are we going?'

     At the back of the empty hangar there was a large window that looked down from a control room on the second floor where two technicians gazed at the vessel in marvel while fanning themselves from the Nevada summer heat. The first, a swarthy southeast Asian woman said, “She’s beautiful, who could have built her?”
     “That’s what concerns us the most, you know? Who built her? And why did they crash in Arizona?” the second who spoke with a slight southern drawl was a man with jet black defiantly wavy hair and obvious Italian features. He looked everything like he could have been a mobster in his past life, however, one look at his rectangular glasses, narrow shoulders, and slight build made the initial impression seem impossible.
     With the help of a crane the aircraft was lowered to the floor from the back of the truck. The dust had all been blown off in the ride and the hull gleamed pure white. There were a few scorched and corroded areas at the front nose and along the base but otherwise it was alabaster. The front windows gleamed as scratch-less mirrors. The only place the dirt still was present was jammed into the engines in the small wings on the two sides.
   “I just want to get inside her.” The lady stated excitedly.
     Her companion cocked his eyebrow at her verbiage, but he decided to let it go this time. “It’ll be interesting I’m sure, but it has got to be searched first so we don't end up with some nasty self-destruct mechanism or booby trapped or maybe just collapse and crush--”
     “Thank you, Mr. Sunshine.” she replied in annoyance.
~~~~~~~~~~
     While the vessel was settled into the hangar, Major O’Dell stood in an adjacent meeting room. The major had changed into combat fatigues and stood before a room of a five similarly outfitted airmen.
     “We will enter the door on the left side of the vessel.  It will be pried open by the engineers using the hydraulic claw.  On entering, secure the parameter and…” He paused before he continued; drilling the last phrase into their minds, “don’t touch anything.  Are there any questions?”
     The room echoed with a resonating, “No sir.” The airmen went to the armory to gear up. Each grabbed a P90, ammunition, a handgun, as well as non-lethal weapons such as smoke grenades, and tasers.
     Kevin entered the armory. Since he was wearing his class A's it was obvious he was not part of the operation, “Ah! Sir, we’re ready when you are…” He paused when he noticed him loading darts into an air gun, “…are, are you expecting to find something alive in there?” he said speaking incredulously.
     “If the ship survived, it wouldn’t be outside of reason to assume the crew did?”
     “I guess so, but if there were survivors, wouldn’t they have tried to communicate by now?”
     “That’s what concerns the guys up the ladder. We have no information, anything could be in there. That is why they placed it at the farthest out hangar, so that if it is giant box of explosives it hopefully will not harm the rest of the base.”
     “Hmm…” his face expressed concern. “Well I came to give you the camera for your helmet.” he paused then said, “Good luck Mac.”  Then as if a new thought crossed his mind, he said cheerfully, “Well, see you later!”
     The major tied his boots shaking his head. 'In a hurricane that kid would comment on the cool summer breeze.'
     “Mac” as Kevin called him was a reference to his middle name, Mackenzie, he had gotten it back when he was a scoutmaster in Florida. The major as a kid always hated his middle name, but the nickname had grown on him. Of course only Kevin ever used it, and was probably the only one who knew him by the nickname on base.
     Mac and his squad arrived in the hangar, approaching with weapons at ready. There were two technicians prepared to operate the hydraulic claw. The airmen advanced from the back of the ship and kept close to the side of the vessel. The two engineers jammed the contraption into a hairline crack on the side of the ship. When the major gave the cue, one of them turned on a motor and the contraption in the crack began to come apart like a crescent wrench, pushing the crack wider. Once it was wide enough for a hand the two technicians departed and two of the airmen placed their hands in the gap and pulled. The door slid open easily and two soldiers came behind and raised their weapons into the darkness shining their lights. One of them gestured to the major that he did not see any threats. When the major gave permission, all but two of the airmen entered in pairs. The remaining would be the rear guard. The first room they entered seemed to be a bridge.
     As they entered they all reeled from the stench. No one knew what the smell was until one of them walked to the head of the cockpit. “They had a rough ride.” the airman said shining his light towards the two, small, crumpled male corpses lying on top of what were probably the flying controls in the very front of the vessel.
     The major walked from where he was studying another console in the middle of the room and looked them over. “We have two corpses here. Middle aged males; small only about, what, hundred-fifty centimetres tall? They appear to have been thrown against the front windows, I assume a result of the crash.” Mac buzzed over the radio.
     Sergeant Cassidy replied, “We’ll send some medics to pick them up.”
     “They are going to want masks, they have started to decay.”
     Kevin who was standing next to Cassidy watching the footage grimaced, “Gross!”
     Kevin glanced at Cassidy and asked, “Are you alright? You‘re looking a little green. Is it the motion of the camera or decaying matter? Of course it could be that sausage in the mess hall, it seemed a little under cooked to me.”
     Cassidy put a finger telling him to stop and hurried out of the room saying he had forgotten something in the lab. Kevin smiled mischievously as he took Cassidy’s more comfortable seat in front of the monitor.
     They found a door at the back of the room. “It looks like we’ll need the hydraulics again.” the major grabbed his radio. He was about to call for the engineers when he heard a sliding sound and noticed everything become brighter as the room was filled with a sound like a yawn of a large animal. He looked down at the controls in front of him and they were all coming to life.
     He whirled around to see the once closed door open and all the lights on, “Who touched what?!” the major hissed as he scooted to the side and against the wall. All the airmen were lined along the wall, weapons raised to the open door.
     “Sir, I think it was me, I walked by and it all just came on.” one of the airmen said.
     They remained still, not breathing. The major gave the order to enter with caution. They entered in and quickly checked all entrances. The room appeared to be a commodities area. It was about seven metres long and five metres wide. There was a table and chairs to the left, and behind those was a group of comfortable looking seats next to a large cabinet in the left wall. There were also more cabinets set into the walls wherever they could fit. On the right there were three more doors.  The major ordered a few airmen to search those.  The rest checked around looking for any other possible exits. O’Dell nudged the furniture with his boot and noted how they seemed unharmed and were built directly into the floor.  
     An airman crept over to him, “Uh, sir, I think you should see this.” he whispered.
     By his tone the major could tell his subordinate was unsure about what he found. The middle door on the wall opened for them and they walked in. The other two airmen nodded down to a bed set into the wall. The body short boy, probably in his early teens, lay on the bed looking as though he was sleeping. The major glanced up at the airmen's unbelieving faces than stepped closer and dropped on one knee. He bent his head down to hear something. He heard a breath.
     The major turned to the airman, “Get the medics, he’s alive.”
     “Yes sir!” The airman hurried out.
     The major turned back to the boy. How could he have survived? He asked himself.
     A doctor and nurse came in quickly with a crash cart and checked him for injuries.
     “He seems to be fine, no broken bones from what I can tell, probably a concussion though.” the doctor said. “Alright, let’s get him moved!”
~~~~~~~~~~
     In the Vesya Principality on the humid planet Sepho, The Royal Navy Interstellar Control Centre was packed with personnel of various fields. The Yasha would be arriving any moment now. In another room a large screen was ready to show the ship enter into orbit and land. Generals from various imperial nations were present and the mood was very jubilant.
     One of the generals stood and proposed a toast, “I dedicate this praise not only to the Yasha project, but also to the astounding cooperation we have had to make it possible. We will surely overcome our enemies. The Amori Republic has been greatly endowed with your trust, trust that has not been misplaced.
     “Also I toast to Vesya Principality,” he said tilting his head to the much older Vesyan general, “May your prince’s line never fail.” The other general nodded in thanks.
     And finally,” he cleared his throat and placed an extra amount of respect into his voice, “to the one person who unites all, the glorious Nerín! For whose honour we shall fight to our deaths!”
     A cheer erupted after the last phrase till it was silenced when an officer rushed in. “The Yasha will be approaching momentarily.”
     The generals took there seats and watched the screen as the final timer started up. The room was quiet up until the timer ran out. Nothing happened, there was no ship. The silence hung ominously for what seemed like an eternity. The Amori general rushed out of the room, and then all the others hastened to contact their governments. When the Amori general made it to the control centre he saw the room in chaos, everyone was shouting orders and scans were being run. Ships were being sent out to search. There was no sign of the Yasha. She simply was not there.
     The Amori general looked out into the distance. He would be sent to Ramala, the Nerín will more then likely call for all her generals. It would be a very unhappy meeting with the empress.
~~~~~~~~~~
     With the craft being completely secured, the technicians now had full range of the vessel and were buzzing around it like an opened hive. The operations were being spearheaded by the skinny Italian technician and the swarthy Asian engineer. The latter had lost her awestruck expression; instead her face was locked in fierce concentration. She sat hunched over the control console in the middle of the bridge. It had a rather comfortable chair, now cleansed of blood and viscera and the controls seemed to be no more complicated than most equipment she worked with. But what frustrated her was that everything was in an unknown script. The characters were smooth and tended to be rounded and probably would be seen as quite elegant, if she could read it.
     She was starting to recognize some of the symbols and she had counted them all, one-hundred, with dozens more that looked to be an entirely different script which appeared rarely.  Many of them were no different from another but for a simple added line, dot, or curl. She was no language master; but growing up in an immigrant family she spoke Vietnamese more often than English as a girl so she posited that perhaps this language, like Vietnamese, has marks and dashes to change the sound of a letter slightly, that was her best guess anyway.
     She did admire how the controls were not just made for functionality but also for beauty and comfort. The various controls had colourful glowing letters, probably to help the user to quickly identify a function and would change colours to get the user’s attention The southern technician entered and inquired “How is Ahn doing on her studies?”
     She was annoyed how he often used her last name in the third person when talking to her, and he probably new that. She replied somewhat saucily, “How is Picini doing, did you have a nap?”
     “I’ll have y’ know, I’ve been working hard.” he retorted.
     “And what wonderful discovery did you make when you were napping- I mean working?”
     “I am tracking a radioactive signal.”  He answered casually.
     She bolted up, “What radioactive signal?!”
     “Chill! I just had a hunch that it might detect this thing’s energy source.  It appears to have some sort of nuclear marker,”
     “That is impossible; they screened this place for radiation.”
     “Yeah they did but they were looking for radiation at dangerous levels. When I entered the ship I noticed that the radiation was higher in here than it is in the hangar. It’s not much but it gets higher in some places than in others. I‘m hoping this will help me find the power source.”
     She stood up and took the small black box and looked at the needle on the face. She walked to the back of the room and through the door to the commodities area.  
     “What do y‘ think you‘re doing?”  Picini asked indignantly.
     “On one of the displays it showed diagrams. It looked like veins running through a transparent image of the ship. I assume they are power conduits, and if I am right they come together back here.”
     The needle continued to slightly rise as she approached the back of the ship till she stopped at the very back wall.  She ran her hands down it.
     “What‘re you trying to do?”
     “One of the veins ran down to this area, I assume to a key pad or a door.” She pressed a section of the wall in a little and it popped forward revealing a key pad of sorts. “These are numbers; I was starting to recognize some of them. This spiral with a diagonal line above it is a zero. It seems to be used as a place holder as in Arabic numerals. They also have a decimal system; I was starting to recognize that too. There appears to be twelve different digits, each one a modified letter with a little horizontal dash above them connecting one number to the next, so that would explain this key board.”
     “That’s nice, I’m sure, but it obviously requires a combination.”
     Annoyed with his playing down of her discovery, she pointed out another thing, “But according to these reading the energy source should be right behind this panel.” She smiled and cocked her head proudly.
     “Then I’d best go report our findings to the General.”
     Ahn kicked herself mentally how she had given an excuse for him to get out of work and give his own story. Yes she did purloin his Geiger counter to make the discovery but he would be sure to say little of what she did. Oh well, she thought to herself, I’ll take credit next time.