Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Jane Hudson studied the man across from her. He was physically fit, though not perfect, and, according to the tests, mentally stable. He was single, with a mother and a sister still alive, no girlfriends.
She offered an empty smile at him, and the man smiled back. Not ugly, but not overly handsome either. That was okay; his face would be covered by a mask anyway.
"Mr. Mathias," she began, "it seems you've passed the tests, and now we're in the final leg of admission into the program."
"I'm ready," he said and nodded once. So serious, she thought. There was more than just the "I want to help people" answer that he gave in all the answers to the Why questions.
She put aside his folder, folded her hands up and rested her chin on them. "What's the real reason for joining up?"
"I want to help people," he replied, as if by rote.
"I know that." She glanced at the folder. "You've given us all the right answers. But they're thinking of rejecting you because of one thing."
His blue eyes flashed.
She pulled down her hands and leaned back in her chair. "You have no passion."
He looked at his folder, then back to her.
"You took all the tests, you answered all the questions. You didn't get angry, frustrated, or even dismayed. You weren't happy over your successes, proud of your achievements. You plodded through. You did have one thing, determination, and if it was me, I'd take bring you in the other room and get you started right now. But we have the FBSA and our sponsors to deal with. They'll look at you and say you're a good worker, but you're not a hero."
"Then what makes a hero is passion?"
"That's part of it. Love for his fellow man. Trust and belief that people need protecting and assistance, even when they turn their backs on you. Humility, kindness, justice. And always going out there, putting your life on the line every day to help some poor bum who would probably be back out on the streets in half an hour doing the same thing he was doing when you found him. Ingrates, insufferable citizens who do the same stupid things over and over. Criminals who get off scot-free because of good lawyers. People playing with magic, not knowing what they're getting themselves into. It takes a special kind of person, a person who cares. Do you care?"
Jack swallowed. "Yes."
She turned, dragged the folder over to her and flipped it open. "Chris. Does that name ring a bell?"
"Yes," he replied in a strong voice.
"Why haven't you mentioned your brother who died in the Isles three months ago?"
"You didn't ask."
Again, that empty smile. "It's true we did not ask about deceased relatives. They haven't found his killer yet, have they?"
"No." He kept his eyes on her, not wavering.
"According to the reports we have, they believe he's one of the super powered villains from the Isles."
"Yes."
She closed the folder, studied him again. "You want to give me all the right answers to get into this program? Tell me that you want vengeance for your brother."
He watched her, and the two sat across from each other. Another person would think they were having a battle of wills against each other, but Jane knew that he was having a battle within himself, that she had touched upon the real reason.
"Well?"
"It might have something to do with it."
She got up. "Maybe after you succeed here you can join up with Longbow. They have outposts on the Isles."
He followed her motion. "When do I start?"
"Follow me, please."
He smiled and walked around the table to her side. She opened the door and held it open for him.
"We have something outfitted for you, it's a special suit. It will generate a psychic ability so that you can subdue your enemies. That's your job, Mr. Mathias, to subdue them. You understand that part, don't you?"
She kept on walking, as he looked around white corridor. There were no windows, just doors, and he could hear hums beyond each of the doors. She didn't stop at any of the doors; in fact, continued on down the hall to the end, to a set of stairs. She parted that door, waiting for him to catch up.
"What's your favorite color, by the way," she asked, as she started up the stairs.
"Red, why do you ask?"
"A small bit of personalization, Mr. Mathias."
"Look, if we're going to work together, you can call me Jack."
She stopped at the stairs. "Mr. Mathias, you are a subject of an experiment. I will call you Mr. Mathias, and you will call me Dr. Hudson. Is that clear?"
He swallowed. "Clear, Dr. Hudson."
She opened the next set of doors, and didn't wait for him to catch up.
She offered an empty smile at him, and the man smiled back. Not ugly, but not overly handsome either. That was okay; his face would be covered by a mask anyway.
"Mr. Mathias," she began, "it seems you've passed the tests, and now we're in the final leg of admission into the program."
"I'm ready," he said and nodded once. So serious, she thought. There was more than just the "I want to help people" answer that he gave in all the answers to the Why questions.
She put aside his folder, folded her hands up and rested her chin on them. "What's the real reason for joining up?"
"I want to help people," he replied, as if by rote.
"I know that." She glanced at the folder. "You've given us all the right answers. But they're thinking of rejecting you because of one thing."
His blue eyes flashed.
She pulled down her hands and leaned back in her chair. "You have no passion."
He looked at his folder, then back to her.
"You took all the tests, you answered all the questions. You didn't get angry, frustrated, or even dismayed. You weren't happy over your successes, proud of your achievements. You plodded through. You did have one thing, determination, and if it was me, I'd take bring you in the other room and get you started right now. But we have the FBSA and our sponsors to deal with. They'll look at you and say you're a good worker, but you're not a hero."
"Then what makes a hero is passion?"
"That's part of it. Love for his fellow man. Trust and belief that people need protecting and assistance, even when they turn their backs on you. Humility, kindness, justice. And always going out there, putting your life on the line every day to help some poor bum who would probably be back out on the streets in half an hour doing the same thing he was doing when you found him. Ingrates, insufferable citizens who do the same stupid things over and over. Criminals who get off scot-free because of good lawyers. People playing with magic, not knowing what they're getting themselves into. It takes a special kind of person, a person who cares. Do you care?"
Jack swallowed. "Yes."
She turned, dragged the folder over to her and flipped it open. "Chris. Does that name ring a bell?"
"Yes," he replied in a strong voice.
"Why haven't you mentioned your brother who died in the Isles three months ago?"
"You didn't ask."
Again, that empty smile. "It's true we did not ask about deceased relatives. They haven't found his killer yet, have they?"
"No." He kept his eyes on her, not wavering.
"According to the reports we have, they believe he's one of the super powered villains from the Isles."
"Yes."
She closed the folder, studied him again. "You want to give me all the right answers to get into this program? Tell me that you want vengeance for your brother."
He watched her, and the two sat across from each other. Another person would think they were having a battle of wills against each other, but Jane knew that he was having a battle within himself, that she had touched upon the real reason.
"Well?"
"It might have something to do with it."
She got up. "Maybe after you succeed here you can join up with Longbow. They have outposts on the Isles."
He followed her motion. "When do I start?"
"Follow me, please."
He smiled and walked around the table to her side. She opened the door and held it open for him.
"We have something outfitted for you, it's a special suit. It will generate a psychic ability so that you can subdue your enemies. That's your job, Mr. Mathias, to subdue them. You understand that part, don't you?"
She kept on walking, as he looked around white corridor. There were no windows, just doors, and he could hear hums beyond each of the doors. She didn't stop at any of the doors; in fact, continued on down the hall to the end, to a set of stairs. She parted that door, waiting for him to catch up.
"What's your favorite color, by the way," she asked, as she started up the stairs.
"Red, why do you ask?"
"A small bit of personalization, Mr. Mathias."
"Look, if we're going to work together, you can call me Jack."
She stopped at the stairs. "Mr. Mathias, you are a subject of an experiment. I will call you Mr. Mathias, and you will call me Dr. Hudson. Is that clear?"
He swallowed. "Clear, Dr. Hudson."
She opened the next set of doors, and didn't wait for him to catch up.
Monday, January 12, 2009
“My baby, my baby...!”
Jack Mathias watched his mother rock back and forth in anguish, clutching her chest, her head down, almost burrowing into her arms, as she cried and wailed, “My baby, my baby…”
He kept his hand on her shoulder as he looked up from her. The PPD suit watched her impassively, then caught Jack’s eye. “I’m very sorry, ma’am,” he said, but looked at Jack. “We are trying to recover his remains, but…”
Jack sighed, glanced at his sister Laura, who nodded and knelt down beside their mother. “Mom, mom…”
He stepped away, his hand lingering on his mother’s shoulder, as his sister’s arm replaced it. He nodded to the other side of the room, and the cop followed him.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” the man said automatically.
Jack nodded once. He had gone through the death of his father, just four years before. Although it had been a long time since, the wound would never heal.
“We’re having a hard time recovering his remains. They feel once you’re a resident of the Isles, you’re automatically a citizen…”
“Who do we petition, what can we do?”
“We’re doing the best that we can right now through diplomatic channels, Mr. Mathias. But sometimes they hold the body for ransom.”
“Ransom? We don’t have any money or anything.”
“Or sometimes they hold it just because they can. They have a whole different way of thinking, sir, pure anarchy.”
“How do we know he’s…he’s…”
“We have photographs, sir, and his ID. Whoever found the body already scavenged anything worth value that might have been on him.”
“I’d…I want to see those photographs.”
The man looked up at him. “If you’d like to step outside…”
Jack glanced back at his sister, who was busy consoling their mother. “I’m going to call Riley,” Jack said. “I’ll be right back.”
They went outside to an unmarked car. Two uniformed policemen were leaning up against a cruiser. The man motioned to them, they nodded, got into their car. Jack didn’t pay attention to them after that, his eyes entirely on a manila envelope on the front seat of the car.
“This isn’t pretty, Mr. Mathias.”
“You said he was shot.”
“He was shot through the head, sir. From behind.”
Jack instinctively gulped. “I still think…I should.”
The man reached down and pulled out the manila envelope. Jack looked up to see the police cruiser now gone. The man slipped out some photographs, and all Jack could see at first were black splotches. Handing the photographs to Jack, the man leaned back against the car.
“They sometimes like to send us the gory ones,” said the suit, “the ones direct from the crime scene. And they really amplify the colors.”
“I can’t tell if it’s him or not,” Jack said. “His face…” He glanced up at the cop. “He has no face.”
“It’s him. We had something of his that proved it.”
“What?”
“Jack!” Laura called from the doorway of the house, “Mom’s asking after you.”
Jack handed the photographs back to the suit. “Do they have any idea..?”
“We only know it was a Destined One. That’s what Recluse calls those super-powered rogues who want to work for Arachnos.” The man dropped the photographs onto the front seat. “We’ll contact you when we get anything.”
Jack said nothing as he headed up the walkway to where Laura stood, holding open the screen door. “How is she doing?”
She asked at the same time, “What did he tell you?”
“He told me we might not have a body to bury.”
Jack Mathias watched his mother rock back and forth in anguish, clutching her chest, her head down, almost burrowing into her arms, as she cried and wailed, “My baby, my baby…”
He kept his hand on her shoulder as he looked up from her. The PPD suit watched her impassively, then caught Jack’s eye. “I’m very sorry, ma’am,” he said, but looked at Jack. “We are trying to recover his remains, but…”
Jack sighed, glanced at his sister Laura, who nodded and knelt down beside their mother. “Mom, mom…”
He stepped away, his hand lingering on his mother’s shoulder, as his sister’s arm replaced it. He nodded to the other side of the room, and the cop followed him.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” the man said automatically.
Jack nodded once. He had gone through the death of his father, just four years before. Although it had been a long time since, the wound would never heal.
“We’re having a hard time recovering his remains. They feel once you’re a resident of the Isles, you’re automatically a citizen…”
“Who do we petition, what can we do?”
“We’re doing the best that we can right now through diplomatic channels, Mr. Mathias. But sometimes they hold the body for ransom.”
“Ransom? We don’t have any money or anything.”
“Or sometimes they hold it just because they can. They have a whole different way of thinking, sir, pure anarchy.”
“How do we know he’s…he’s…”
“We have photographs, sir, and his ID. Whoever found the body already scavenged anything worth value that might have been on him.”
“I’d…I want to see those photographs.”
The man looked up at him. “If you’d like to step outside…”
Jack glanced back at his sister, who was busy consoling their mother. “I’m going to call Riley,” Jack said. “I’ll be right back.”
They went outside to an unmarked car. Two uniformed policemen were leaning up against a cruiser. The man motioned to them, they nodded, got into their car. Jack didn’t pay attention to them after that, his eyes entirely on a manila envelope on the front seat of the car.
“This isn’t pretty, Mr. Mathias.”
“You said he was shot.”
“He was shot through the head, sir. From behind.”
Jack instinctively gulped. “I still think…I should.”
The man reached down and pulled out the manila envelope. Jack looked up to see the police cruiser now gone. The man slipped out some photographs, and all Jack could see at first were black splotches. Handing the photographs to Jack, the man leaned back against the car.
“They sometimes like to send us the gory ones,” said the suit, “the ones direct from the crime scene. And they really amplify the colors.”
“I can’t tell if it’s him or not,” Jack said. “His face…” He glanced up at the cop. “He has no face.”
“It’s him. We had something of his that proved it.”
“What?”
“Jack!” Laura called from the doorway of the house, “Mom’s asking after you.”
Jack handed the photographs back to the suit. “Do they have any idea..?”
“We only know it was a Destined One. That’s what Recluse calls those super-powered rogues who want to work for Arachnos.” The man dropped the photographs onto the front seat. “We’ll contact you when we get anything.”
Jack said nothing as he headed up the walkway to where Laura stood, holding open the screen door. “How is she doing?”
She asked at the same time, “What did he tell you?”
“He told me we might not have a body to bury.”