4. "Divergence"

--Sampson Residence, Los Angeles, USA

“So...what do you think it is?”

The question hung in the air like ‘Will I see you again?’ hangs on the front porch of a first date. There was no more polite small talk to tide the trio over -- it was time to get down to brass tacks.

Clifford was the first to attempt the question and Violet watched him carefully. She had been somewhat surprised to hear that he was the younger brother of Sergio Samson, the news anchor on CNF, though she was now beginning to understand the understandably difficult dynamic it likely was. They appeared to very different people.

“I’m honestly not sure. First let me say that -- I haven’t passed a final decision on this. But I have been reading a lot of different perspectives online, and it seems to me like there may be some sort of mind control program going on. ‘Subtle Revelation’ may in fact be ‘Subtle Surrender’. You look at the facts, and it’s seemingly the same all over the globe: approximately one-third of the population has noticed this phenomenon -- that little something in the back of your mind. Who is to say this isn’t just what happened when someone flipped the switch somewhere. North and South Pole antenna stations--” he stopped abruptly as his eyes fell upon his wife standing in the threshold to the kitchen with her arms folded over her chest, shaking her head.

“Darryl, Violet if you must suffer my husbands incessent ravings can I offer you something to eat or drink?” she asked the pair, smiling politely while giving Darryl a look of intensity. “I would ask Darryl, but as you can see he’s been brainwashed to spew the latest shit that some pothead writes on the internet.”

“No that guy is off the forum now...” Darryl offered, but left it at that. “Anyways, I am sorry, did you to want anything? It’s no problem really... I may have a beer or something.”

“Yeah I’ll have a beer.” Darryl responded quickly, and this time Violet shoot him a look. What was he doing? This was a semi-investigation.

“What?” he responded laughing at Violet, “Look at what we’re taking about -- I don’t think we’re exactly on duty here, cause if we were, we’re actually be breaking policy.”

“Violet, beer/wine?” Murial asked with another, more friendly smile. “I may have some wine... if Cliff insists with this nonsense.”

“No thanks.” Violet responded as nicely as she could. “I don’t drink, but by all means go ahead. Liquor just doesn’t really agree with me you know?”

Murial nodded knowingly and headed back into the kitchen.

“Ok, your turn.” Clifford said simply, staring into Violet’s eyes.

She stared back.

“Well, my approach was a little more pragmatic. See, Darryl and I were called to investigate the birth of a child who, apparently, was able to kill his drug addict father by throwing him through a wall with his mind.”

“Fascinating...” Clifford whispered as Murial re-entered the room with a glass of wine and a couple glasses of beer.

She took a seat.

“Yes.” Violet nodded, going on as Darryl took a sip on the beer. “I found it quite interesting, so much so that I went back to the hospital to speak with the doctor. He wasn’t there, and is apparently missing now, but I was eventually able to find out that the baby was born at the exact moment Subtle Revelation started -- three-eleven PM our time.”

“Incredible!” Darryl exclaimed! “We need to get to the web with this right away!” he enthused, glancing at his wife for some sort of affirmation.

She downed her glass of wine.

Darryl was staring at Violet now, mouth slightly open. “You went to the Hospital? Violet... and how do you know that Doctor Prioux is missing? You have no idea where he is?” he shook his head slightly as he processed all the information.

“I’m not sure where he is....” Violet stopped there. She knew Darryl was on the verge; she could feel it. Com’n she thought in his direction. I need you....

This time Murial spoke up. “The sad thing is... I felt it.” She smirked, shaking her head slightly. “Three eleven... I felt it. But, do we let it over take our lives? We have families and responsibilities...we cannot just drop them.”

“It’s our responsibility to protect them if we are in the position to do so.” Violet stated near-instantly, looking directly at Murial.

Murial gave a small thoughtful nod, smiling politely back at Violet as she silently judged the female law official.

“Alright look...” Darryl started, a look of intensity on his face. He was beginning to see the gravity of the situation.

Violet smiled.

“... we have family, some of us kids -- I think since we live in this area we at least look into where this Prioux guy has disappeared to” he finished, looking directly at Violet. “Let’s do it.”

Cliff laughed slightly, “Alright so it’s decided!”

“Well, not quite” Darryl interjected. “Cliff, you must not do advertise this at all. Don’t tell anyone what we are up to here.”

“Especially online!” Violet re-affirmed passionately. “Do not mention the baby at all!”

“Ok...” Cliff nodded sagely, clearly making sure his self-restraint was up to check.

“Murial?” Violet more or less stated. “Please...”

“Yes, don’t worry I have no interest in sharing this with anyone.”

“Good.” Darryl concluded, clasping his hands together. “Now before we leave, there is one more thing. It’s about Lynus...”

“What is it?” Clifford asked, his wife’s eyes doing the same as she locked onto Darryl.

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--Hotel Akasha, Los Angeles, USA.


Tully sat in one of the generic hotel chairs looking across the room at the blindfolded Jocelyn, who was now fully under the drug’s effects, and laying peacefully in bed. She was his soul one, and it was becoming more clear to Tully that she would have to be in his life. If he lost her he couldn’t envision what would keep him from turning into a emotionally devoid robot. He could drum up emotions at cue as part of his training -- but love is different -- it’s always different.

“Alright Lynus...” Tully said exhaling slightly, “Let’s do this.”

The Hump was actually somewhat afraid of what this kid might reveal. From what Jocelyn had told him already, he knew quite a bit. ‘Sort of everything’ were his words. Why he unloaded the true answer to everything she asked was somewhat of a mystery still though. Surely he knew the average person would not be able to handle it?

Tully wondered if she had asked him about him.

“Ok.” He said simply, sitting there, lost in thought. It seemed that despite his desire to share things at times, he was mostly fairly quiet. Always watching.

What a life! Tully thought with a small smile, for once remembering the Donaldsons of the world with more on their plate than him. “Ok well I guess my first question is: What is it? I mean... What did they do, exactly, to enable this? I know that families such as your parents will surgically alter the brain stem in their newborns for intelligence in the general sense, but this something I have not seen before. You seem to have unfettered access to... facts, somehow -- How? ”

“I’m not totally sure...” Lynus admitted slowly.

“Well...” Humphries laughed. “I gotta say.... I’m impressed so far!” he joked. It was good that he could joke at a time like this. You’re still sane Hump.

Lynus laughed slightly, and Humphries realized it was the first time he had seen him do so. “Well, there are a few things which I simply can’t seem to access... and then there are other things which I can, but are sort of blurry. Your question falls in the second category” He shrugged. “I’m pretty sure the Doctor just made a mistake at some point in the surgery.”

“Ok, so how does it work then? Where are these limitations?”

Lynus exhaled slowly. “I can’t believe I’m about to say this out loud...” he said softly, more so to himself. “You see...my parents knew something had happened to me, but I would not tell them what I could do, knowing the things they had done. Imagine knowing...from as young as you can remember. They are truly horrible people.”

Tully waited intently.

“Ok, the man you know as ‘High Priest Von Brown’ explained to you some years ago during your training, that energetic world gives rise to the physical world, right?”

“Sure.” Von Brown was about the closest to evil Tully had ventured until his meeting with the Cless.

“While you have been trained to maneuver around that border in your perspective, mine seems to have been established right on that line. I can’t see auras, I can’t hear thoughts or move objects or...well do any of that stuff, just view events. It’s not something I am ‘good’ at, I simply don’t know anything else.”

“Interesting.”

“Yes, I have a hard time understanding emotion and other things most of us take for granted. My experiences are not guided by emotion as I do not appear to have any. Rather, I have a cross-listing of all the historical events in which emotional dynamics enable me to come to conclusions about how to behave in communication. It is a slight over-simplification, but let us say that there is no ‘room’ in my head for anything less than fact.”

Upon these words Tully shifted his vision to slightly to see the boy’s chakra system, and sure enough his heart chakra was there, though unused for the most part. The clockwise spin was slow and dull. His crown chakra was the biggest Humphries had ever seen, and bore down into his skull intersecting with the third eye. What a tortured soul this boy was.

“What can you tell me about the Cless?”

“They puzzle me.”

“Why?”

“They seem to be able to block me out somehow. Well, I don’t think they target me in particular, just have a sort of barrier they use. I know of them, as their name is ushered now and then, but an image, facts... I simply cannot access those events. I am not sure how they do it, although I think I do know what they are.... and what you were not told in your training.”

“Getting to the good stuff now are we?” Tully asked with a nervous smile. Not only did he have memory blanks from his training, he could barely remember his life before he had gone into it. It was not something he thought about often as for the most part he couldn’t. He glanced over at Jocelyn again, the only link he still had to his days of innocence.

The ghost was exposed for what he was -- nothing in the mirror.

“Yes. You see for the most part your training was on the techniques, and not the theory and philosophy behind the teachings themselves. You were fed propaganda on how the GCT would help to lead the world into the new paradigm, and how people as a mass are too blind to do it themselves. You were brainwashed and tortured into forgetting the things which can set you free.” Lynus shook his head slightly as Tully’s own lost history played on repeat behind his eyelids. “Such a tortured soul you are, Tully Humphries.”

“We all have our parts....”

“Well, I will explain now how this giant show came to be to the best of my ability. You see, the energetic world has two parts -- male and female, ying yang -- and what the Cless seem to represent and force on the world is an imbalance towards the male. All the different political trends I can trace back to their origins throughout history seem to have perpetuating that end as the underlying goal: the imbalance. That is how it appears to me: as if the female is subservient to the male half, and I truly have no idea how this happened. That is the missing piece from training you never had. Why the world never gets their training in the first place. The reason the female side is so hard to access, and requires years of estranged training to utilize is because it is so weak and non-present. They allowed you to learn of it, only to have you use that power to further diminish it from the earth. You were intended to be an agent of death, and were for a time until recently. “

“......Eva” he said quietly, trying to process the information. It made so much sense it was sickening.

“Yes, Agent Humphries, she seems to be connected to the so called ‘Subtle Revelation’ phenomenon, but that is all I can tell you about her. As I said, I don’t know people, just events, and you know all the events that have happened leading up to her current position in Canada.”

“Except for what happened to the mother.”

Lynus looked down. “She is not dead.... but she wishes she was. She has no idea. The tests, the pain..” he responded quietly.

Tully exhaled ever so slightly through his nose, shaking his head in silence.

“Wait, there is one thing I forgot.”

“Oh?” Tully asked, raising his head sightly, trying to push the thought of the mother from his head. “Yes, Dr. Prioux, the man who delivered Eva.”

“....?” What about him?

“He is... changing.”

“Changing, how?”

“I am not sure, exactly, but it seems to be the result of looking into the child’s eyes. He moved a glass on his kitchen table the other day with his mind.”

“Fascinating...” Tully whispered, considering the implications of all of this.

“Yes.”

“So what else?”

“Well, there is one major thing, and that is the concept otherwise known as ‘Divergence’ on the news. The man you know as ‘Donaldson’ as in on this, and that is the main difference in the intel you receive.”

“What is it?”

“I am not positive, it is a little hard to describe, but I believe it to be related to the male half of the etheric taking over the seemingly necessary portion of the female. The in-balance happening in the energetic foundation is affecting the physical manifest of the world we see around us. What is worse, is that I believe this to be the Cless’ plan: they want to completely eliminate the female presence that could threaten their rule. They must not realize that in doing so, it will shatter the world we know irreconcilably.”

“How couldn’t they know?” Tully mused. “I’m not doubting you, that’s the thing... perhaps they want to shatter the world?” The agent chewed on this thought for a while. Things were starting to make a bit of sense, and a new objecting was coming into view as he cleared the clouds, and reached sunlight.

“I am not sure. I’m sorry.”

“Well...” Tully let out, chewing on his lip. “Lynus, Jos...” he glanced over giving him a small smile. “This is it. The evidence is right in front of us, and it’s playing the music of holistic logic. This is.... it” he repeated, trailing off.

This is it.

“So I guess the final question, Lynus, is: What I do now?”

“When I access information, I look for links. When I found you, I stumbled onto one of the best links I had ever come across. Think of what you know. Meeting Jocelyn allowed me to perceive of your existence, and once I knew of that I was at the crossroads to a lot of different avenues. I used these to piece this together -- from what I had already learned through my parents and all those connected to them. There was one avenue I found anomalous, though, and that was the man you know as ‘Faust’.”

“Faust?! Wow...” Tully exclaimed, raising his eyebrows slightly and leaning back on his chair. “Now there is a name I haven’t heard in a while” he admitted truthfully. In fact, Tully found it suspicious he hadn’t even thought of the man since he had left that day. The Hump’s memory recall was stunning to say the least, and he was positive he hadn’t. Not one thought.

“Yes, for some odd reason his life has also has a barrier around it.”

“Well I think we have our answer Lynus, and I think I may know why. Damn man, you were right after all.”



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-- Doryski’s Residence, Stalingrad, Russia.


The two men were seated in front of the grand fireplace, which took up nearly half of the wall in Doryski’s large study. The Italian leather armchairs were a duplicate set he had bought off of the supplier for Buckingham Palace. Doryski enjoyed one-upping that wretched old hag whenever chances allowed. Seated across from the old Russian was Calvin Solomon, one of his many contacts, and apparently in possession of the Book of Equinox.

Pavlovic, Doryski’s nephew and body guard stood watching the conversation leaning against the wall beside the doorway quietly. He was a fighter of many skills.

“You have more than exceeded my expectations” Doryski cackled, his raspy Russian voice cutting through the noise from the howling wind outside. “I am so relieved -- you have no idea. I am still puzzled as to how you obtained the book, though, Calvin Solomon.”

Calvin Solomon shrugged slightly, exhaling a bit. “Honestly, Sir, so am I. Perhaps you can meet this kid someday, he is quite something -- something of an anomaly.”

“Anomalies breed the unlikely, and the unlikely is often trouble. Though I am glad you brought the book, thank heavens for that.”

Calvin Solomon blinked a few times in thought, wiping a piece of lint from his suit jacket to bide some time. Was he hiding something? “Sir, I didn’t bring the book.”

Pavlovic’s hand slid up to the trigger of the semi-automatic.

This time it was Doryski’s turn to blink a few times, his brain making sure it had processed the information properly. “...and why is that, Solomon?” he asked quietly, rage now racing through his thoughts, searching for the most malicious ones possible. Logic protested, but only slightly. He thought he had the book, and now it was gone -- nothing but blinding rage could ensue from this, and both parties knew it.

“Sir, I am sorry, let me say that first. This was not an easy decision, please believe me on that.”

Pavlovic’s index finger rubbed up and down on the gun’s safety playfully.

“Go on.” Doryski grunted, his eyes unwavering from the target. The old man felt it all building up internally. That insolent little yebat! I’ll eat your eyeballs. I’ll beat it out of you and take it all from that jackass rapper. You fucking American bow-tie hui!!!

“Put yourself in my position Radir, would you give you the book? What are you going to do with it? I will complete the mission. If there is one thing you taught me it’s to be careful, and I think I am being careful in this instance, considering your message. It came from your group, and so it must stay from your group.”

Doryski slammed his fist down on the armrest, and Pavlovic’s raised the gun from his waist slightly, his eyes racing attentively. “Do you even know what you are doing? I will have the book, but not before I beat your face in! There is no other option.”

“No, you won’t. I am sorry to say this, Radir, but if you come after me, we will kill whoever you send.” Calvin began to stand from the armchair fit for a Queen. “I can foresee of no other way, but I had to tell you in person.”

Doryski’s anger blew over and lunged forward with the intention of just strangling the mysterious black asset of his. Had he gone insane? To come into Doryski’s house with these threats? I must have that book! There was no two ways about it, he would not suffer Steinchild’s fate! Only as he lunged forward he noticed he couldn’t do so, and almost threw out his back in the process. He was pinned to the chair somehow, and looking over to Pavlovic, the old Russian saw he was gone. “What is this?” he finally asked, looking up at Calvin Solomon now in a mixture of rage and confusion. “What the fuck is this?!?”

“Like you said...” Calvin Solomon began, walking for the exit. “Anomalies cause problems. I promise you I will finish the mission, sir, please do not make this any more difficult than it already is.

“You don’t understand! The nations will rip up everything in the search! They... who we serve, they demand it! We must have that book, don’t you see? Gimme the fucking book!!”

“Don’t you see, Radir? Whoever they are, you must stand up to them. Whatever the cost.” Shaking his head Calvin Solomon walked from the room in quiet contemplation, the Russian’s wave of hysteria crashing around the escapist.

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--Hotel Akasha, Los Angeles, USA
Jocelyn opened her eyes very slowly. It was an odd feeling, to just take in the sensation. There was an energy for thought itself she had not felt in a long time -- a certain vibrance. She loved it. It was a seemingly new, and slightly disorienting world; one free of the previous thought-patterns littering her mental landscape. Now she stood in an open field, inhaling the wind. Things were back to how they should be.

The bedroom door opened and Lynus entered the room. Seeing Jocelyn was awake he smiled slightly and closed the door quickly, making his way over to her. “You’re awake! How do you feel?”

“Good.” Jocelyn studied Lynus carefully for a moment, looking deep into his bright blue eyes. “Lynus I... uh...” She bit her lip, bit a small smile crept onto her face, pulling her lip from underneath the tooth. She started to laugh. “Thank You!”

She laughed, and laughed some more. It was a glorious day.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
--Theta Falls Forest, Los Angeles, USA.

Anderson was never easily impressed.

Whenever he saw athletes on TV he sort of said to himself: I could do that -- I could build a better TV. That conclusion was established early on it seemed, but it figuring out how to actually do that which seemed to be the main problem.

It was a lot of work; and so it seemed it should be to Anderson. Eventually he came to see himself not all that different from the athletes, as you truly do have to work for something if you want to have it. Were he saw himself as different, though, was in his ability to direct his skills in a direction he himself had more or less chosen for sheer coolness. He did not want to be admired for being good at something many people do, he wanted to be amazing at something no one does.

As he sat on the soft moss which lined his favorite position in the forest meditating, his soul rose up from the cracks in lucidity with those ever so subtle holistic revelations:

The monks.
It wasn’t so much propulsion
Feathers and stones
But a phasing of the body
Dhalsim
!local

Anderson slowly brought himself back. The feeling of his eyes came into reception and he slowly opened them, allowing the as much information to be dredged up to waking life as he manage. A small smile spread across his face as the afternoon sunlight shone down upon it. He stood, wiping slightly wet dirt from his bottom.

“Amazing.”


________________/


Kyllael hovered just above him, watching the young man clamber to his feet. The robed figure had been seeing more and more cases similar to this one lately, all over the world the chi devices seemed to be popping up, ‘balancing the hemispheres’ in several regards. Perhaps there was hope yet for a return to equilibrium. Teleportation is no easy task for a human mind in this type of hijacked atmosphere.

The ancient figure closed his eyes as he moved deep into meditation. At times all he wanted was defeat -- the final blow -- anything to bring this wretched timeline to a close. It seemed like every time that happened, though, he would see another one of the kids such as today, and things would get just a bit less wretched.

It was a fascinating timeline, this one, duality manifested in the strangest of polarities.


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--Lil’ Parsons Crib, Hollywood, USA.

Diandre stood outside of the American’s lofty place standing beside Max [his last name].

“Well, shall we do this?” she inquired, quickly giving the front of her pantsuit a quick wipe down, before unbuttoning a few of the buttons on her collared pink shirt, dabbing on a bit of her visual hot sauce. Refined gold strands of blonde aromatic grace flowed down to her shoulders, and around her soft, angelic face. Diandre wasn’t a so much a beautiful woman, she bordered on the paradox of perfection within an imperfect world. The same went for her mind. There is a statistic that there are more men ‘geniuses’ in the world, but when the women breach that threshold they do it better. She proved that when she beat the fabled ‘Humphries’, the bloody ‘miracle’ agent.

Max was drunk. “Yeaaa let’s do this D.” he exclaimed with a sloppy grin, giving her a small thumbs up. “Father says that this kid’s worth is quite significant now, and is increasing alarmingly fast. To hear father use those exact words is somewhat of a landmark, this house doesn’t look that impressive though.”

Imbecile. She thought, but then took it back. He was only here as surveillance for his father, but he was not dumb. He recognized it and had fun with the task -- she had to give him that one. “That’s because he’s smart, right? Ok, let us continue” she uttered with a small grin making for the door, but to her surprise it opened as she went to knock.

“Hello” a slender black man in an emaculate suit with a red bowtie said simply, looking over Diandre and Max with a small smile. Seemed like a nice guy.

Diandre went to scan the house but found herself unable to. A sphere surrounded the premises etherically, it was a mirror of sorts and trying to pry through only seemed to give Diandre a better realization of why her attempts were futile. What is this? She thought, totally off-guard.

“Hey, I’m Max [his last name], and this is my associate Diandre Simmons.” He motioned to Diandre.

The assassin nodded. “Hi” she said politely, her mind in full gear now. Some sort of third party source was trying to pry through her shield, and was quite skilled it seemed. She could not trace back to the assailant; conceptually it was nothing but the illusion of darkness. She could feel sweat starting to build on her brow as she struggled to maintain focus. How? Someone inside the house? Focus Diandre, remember your training. She took a deep breath, centering. He seems unaware, he is being protected by someone. Most likely inside the house.

“Yes, I know you from TV, of course.” The butler responded to Max in perfect English, politely, seemingly unfazed by the energetic happenings, or Diandre’s irresistible allure, as she watched the man’s aura carefully. “I’m sorry, I do not know you though” he added, looking to the goddess again with a slight smile. “So what can I help you with?” he asked clasping his hands in front of him.

Diandre got her second wind, taking over the conversation in the physical, and switching to defense for now. Skilled ghost or not, if she was not putting herself out there, her shield would be effective, despite suffering the slight blow to her ego. She hoped at least. “Well, we were just wondering if perhaps we could have a chat with Mr. Parsons?” She took a few steps closer, looking over the butler conspicuously, glancing around at the interior of the home. “Call it, a business deal, bow-tie...”

“What kind of deal?” The butler asked with a seemingly genuine smile, taking out a small pad of paper a pen from his front pocket. “Perhaps Mr. Parsons can see you tomorrow at his off-

“No. Maybe we can arrange something else. This is rather urgent.” Diandre responded simply, smiling provocatively while taking another step closer, picking an eyelash from the butler’s otherwise stunning suit. It wasn’t visible to the naked eye, but Diandre had her set dressed set up quite nicely. She held it up to who she presumed was the owner, before blowing it away softly from her fingertips. She peered deep into his eyes -- an odd color of green surprisingly. She transferred the thoughts as strongly as she could, pushing the signature of a possible future with her for the benefit of the man. “I just touched your DNA. Exciting isn’t it? Like I can taste it...” she whispered, moving closer clutching the crest of the suit slightly. She watched his aura carefully, but it did alter at all! No color shifts, nothing!

“Yes, it is interesting. It sometimes begs the question of whether the information stored in that eyelash is the same as what is stored in my cells right now. Perhaps my DNA from a year ago would look differently? Taste differently even...” he trailed off, and instead of alternating his attention between Max and her, stared deep into her eyes, that green becoming brighter and brighter.

That’s when it hit her, unlike anything before, as she was transported to some alternate reality. Pleasure flew through the entirety of her being; a self-amplifying wave after wave of utter ecstasy. She felt nothing but scorching hot wetness before losing all sense of being lucidity. There was no attack, insofar as she could tell, she did not see the butler or feel the darkness. There was room for anything else when it comes, and it came.

“...yeah well I’m driving there right now. No, I told you, I don’t what happened. I think she was trying to do her seducing thing but maybe it backfired...”

“...looks like she pissed her pants...”

“...I don’t know! She just collapsed. I told the fucking butler I’d take her to the hospital, he agreed. We didn’t even get to see this kid...”

Diandre opened her eyes, and saw the disgusting roads of LA flying by. So dark, so dismal in their frequencies. She really felt it.

“Well, I’m not a bloody agent am I now Father? Look this isn’t helping, I’ve got--

“Max...” Diandre said softly with a small smile still plastered on her face. “Where am I?” she asked instinctively, looking around to recognize the front seat of Max’s Aston Martin. She was more-or-less upright, and buckled in. How much time had gone by?

“Hold on, she’s awake!” Max turned from the phone, taking one hand on the wheel and placing on Diandre’s shoulder softly. “Hey, oh goodness, you’re awake. I was worried, D. Usually you are...you know...you.”

“Me...” she said softly, thinking about the concept.

“Do you want to go to the hospital?”

“No, I’m fine. I’m....fine.”


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--Deep in a forest somewhere near Presque Isle, Maine, USA

Humphries let out a small exhale as his rented Nissan Versa traversed the narrow makeshift road The Hump had almost missed due to its extreme lack of being in the first place. Faust was brilliant, but getting information out of him was an arduous task much of the time. The path to his house in the middle nowhere Maine, was no exception.

After his dismissal from the group, he became a recluse but for reasons Tully had yet to figure out. No one was after him. In fact, the problem was the reverse, as no one wanted him at all. His tragedy was that as a prophet of sorts he put too much faith in one of them, and when it wasn’t realized things changed.

Faust was an alias cast onto the shadow of his real name, long ago. He had chosen it because he felt that knowing the truth in a world shielded from such, he had sold something close to innocence – similar to Faust in Goethe’s masterpiece. Tully did not see this, but they had always been different. The Hump always considered himself closer to his soul because of his unique position.

Still, they had friends at one time – this thought was affirmed when the shoddy wooden door opened and Faust smiled slightly. “So, you felt it too then?” he said, extending his hand warmly. “It’s good to see you again, Tully.”


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--Thirteenth Sub-basement of the UN building, Geneva, Switzerland.

The pale glow of the fluorescent lamps above hummed the subtle symphony of feigned illumination. The room wasn’t bad, per say --it was immaculate and well designed to say the least-- but with no windows the dull light in the room was a real downer. Surely the UN could afford a newer type of bulb, somewhere closer to sunlight?

Jacolyn Renese may have been the newest seat on PGA, but she had the sinking feeling that she was the only one on the panel who was thinking about this holistically. She knew the rules of this challenge, but it seemed instead her teammates were more specialized at different positions and tactics, rather than students of the game.

PGA stoods for ‘The Panel for Assured Global Advancement’, but much to the surprise of the French President, there was nothing assuring about this secret arm of the UN at all. It was idiotic at best. There they were, discussing matters of global bio-science, and besides Jacolyn’s background as a marine biologist in the French Navy, there were only two true scientists present; one from each from the US and Russia, who both seemed to be a little too fond of the phrase ‘morally grey territory.’ Two real scientists, and that was it. Other panel members included: the US and Russian leaders, who had today skipped class; an Australian ‘Facilitator’; English trans-industrialist Sir Wilkog T. Dombraun; a rather mysterious Chinese representative who seemed to know a fair amount about atmospheric physics himself; The Canadian Prime Minister, and of course Jacolyn.

The French President found herself watching the other members of the panel as the two scientists gave their update before the small crowd of world hotshots. They stood at either side of a small podium, behind them was a large flat screen TV which displayed their presentation. The rest of the panel members sat mostly in the first row of a set of comfortable chairs which arched around the podium three rows deep. It was about the second meeting, most of which revolved around the usage of these aerosol experiments in the upper atmosphere of earth, that Jacolyn more or less confirmed this program would go on whether or not she agreed with it or not. She knew this because she disagreed, but continued to sit there meeting after meeting in a silent acquiescence. When she had brought up public safety, or morality issues -- just to test the waters -- she had a rather explicit email from the French Prime Minister waiting for her upon her arrival back to the office. She thought it was probably the Australian that ratted her out, had the enforcer look to him. These days she spent most of the time snuggled into the corner of her leather chair, trying to figure out what operating system the scientists were running on their laptops, why she was even there in the first place.

“So essentially we are seeing that the ionization of these barium salt particles in the upper atmosphere is working, though it is slower than we might have hoped for, which is why we may need to look at upping our employment of aerosols slightly.” The US scientist concluded in a slightly raspy, dry tone as he glanced up at the slide behind them on the screen. “As you can see here in figure 1, the ground level temperatures are being significantly cooled by this process, which in turn is helping us to manage the core dynamics to thus become more predictable. The actual cause of Divergence seems to be unknown at this point, but by cooling the earth we can slow it’s effects.”

“So, if I may inquire, what has changed since last time?” Jacolyn asked quickly, her accent near flawless.

The Canadian Prime Minister glanced her way, he projected neutral but she detected a hint of silent applause from him.

The Australian enforcer, Sebastian Arthas rolled his eyes slightly, pursing his lips. “Nothing has changed” he said flatly to the room in general, before finally letting his stare fall on the French Leader. “Perhaps that is not that way you would like it to be, but I somehow doubt any of us want this Divergence
as a problem for us and the world, but there it is nonetheless now ain’t it? Would you have us do nothing?”

Jacolyn rolled her eyes slightly, a small smirk growing onto her lips as she studied this fellow from down under. “It’s been ten years now, and you mean so to say you still have no idea what this strange effect is?” She looked around the room slightly. “If you want to feed us this propaganda, Arthas, then fine, I will sit here and listen to it, but you know I am not an idiot, so do not expect me to behave like one.”

Arthas stared at her, unresponsive. There was no silent applause in his eyes.

She went on. “How much has Wilkog Dombraun made from the aerosol production?” She glanced in his direction for a moment and he smiled politely. “How much longer till we deserve the unabridged version? If you don’t want to let us in on the true information, I’m sure you have your reasons, but I’d be interested to know how long you think you can keep this up. You are littering the air with these substances. However hard to detect, you heard the internet report, this is being noticed, and I’m not sure we can have this going for much longer, at the rate of deployment. You heard the reports earlier...it’s getting really quite hard to keep something so public a secret. Dombraun’s bribes, and your fear, will only take so so far. ”

The room was silent, the different members looking around at each other.

“Am I wrong here, or should we not be worried about this?”

The Canadian spoke up. “She does have a point, does she not?” he asked somewhat openly to the crowd.

More glances.

Jacolyn noticed the Chinese reprsentative, Huong Ny, was staring at the figures on the display intently. In front of it the two scientists were conversing quietly as they watched the political arm of this session play out. “My government has been doing some testing of it’s own.” he said, finally, and all all eyes fell on the usually silent man. “From what I have seen here today, China will be backing out of the PGA upon my arrival back to Beijing. We will not listen to the lies which are evident here. The answer to this question has grown suspiciously delayed in it’s arrival. Chinese people can, on our own, come up with a better solution which does not involve poisoning people. We will research independently and ”

Arthas pounded his fist on the desk, furious. “That is ridiculous!” he exclaimed, the steam of anger visible in his exhale. “Do you know what you are doing?” he asked, glancing over to Jocelyn and giving her a vicious stare as well.

“Yes, much better than you seem to be, in fact.” Ny responded instantly, in a calm and almost soothing voice. His accent was apparent, but his speech was eloquent nonetheless. Huong’s stare wavered between Arthas and the scientists. “I think we all know that this decision was not predicated on President Renese’s opinions here, it is simply time to face realities. Childish tantrums will not change my mind, but I assure you if we see one of those planes in our skies will we shoot it down and take this public.”

Arthas Snarled a grunt through his nose before preceding to pick up his phone of the desk, presumably for a test message of some type.

Wilkog T. Dombraun shook his head slightly. “Why are those two imbeciles never here?”

Jacolyn smiled slightly. Divergence was something that weighed heavily on her mind, especially having to attend meetings such as this one. She didn’t think the (s)praying was working, though, and was somewhat glad to see a possible end to this merde montrer. The lack of any clear understanding of this strange phenomenon was something which bothered her. She was curious as to what the US and Russia’s reactions to this change in plans would be.

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--Royal Bank Branch #3201, Halifax, Canada.

Halifax is a small city, and most of it’s population is composed of students during the non-summer months. There are three major universities, and several community colleges all within the small confines of the traditionalist Nova Scotian capital city. Bob had never gone to any of the schools once his years at Dartmouth High School were up; and although not something he regretted, he often felt that it left him with a feeling of divide, especially with the current generation of students. He was getting older, and while he certainly did not doubt the accuracy of intelligent things these kids said, he often wondered if all of this felt so wrong.

He pondered all this this as he entered into a bank branch behind a young man who looked to be as student of some sorts. The kid, lost in his music had obviously not heard Bob behind him and simply carried on into the branch unaffected.

Bob Copeland waited that extra few seconds with one hand on the brass handle of the glass door, watching the young mother approaching the bank with her newborn in the stroller. It was sort of a dark and stormy day in Halifax. Bob was seventy-two, and he had seen quite a few dark days in his time; he tried to counteract them by going out of his way to make it somewhat more enjoyable for others. Bob had never been rich, or all that lucky, but he tried not to let it get him down. He had been married once and that was enough for him in this life so long as he had hockey and beer. His was a simple approach, but he was proud to at least walk around with a smile on his face. He felt human.

“Thank you very much” the young woman responded with a smile, taking the door herself with one hand as she eased the stroller through the door, moving to get in line behind the young man with the headphones in. She looked to be about the same age as the student, but mostly because of the child, did not have that look to herself.

“How old is...she?” Bob asked with a smile from behind her in line, moving forward slightly and bending down to shake one of his old thick fingers in a playful fashion at the child.

It laughed slightly, reaching in Bob’s direction and he smiled.

“She’s 6 months, tomorrow.” The mom smiled proudly, looking down at the child. “Her name is Haley, after my grandmother.”

Beautiful he mused.

The kid listening to music had been watching this interchange, and gave a small laugh as he looked with apparent disgust down at the scene before moving away to a now vacant ATM.

The young mother looked received the kid’s look and glanced down at Bob, now with different eyes. “Ok...come on now Haley, let’s leave the nice man alone” she said, moving the stroller forward slightly in an apparently friendly sort of bouncing way. “Have a nice day.” she said to Bob with a quick smile.

He leaned back up right. “You too” he responded with a smile, though somewhat deflated. Why had the boy laughed? What was so funny about a baby?

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

3. "Coalescence"

--Cayo Coco, Cuba

Tully found himself face to face with the ‘Illustrious Tre’. It was near 35 degrees and the bearded, almost Jesus-ey looking figure wore a pair of board shorts and a vintage Jordan Bulls jersey -- bright red with white coloring.

The kid was smart, Tully could see by perusing his chakra systems -- but you could tell just by looking around -- he lived in paradise.

“So uh… what are you sayin well-trained?” The twenty something asked earnestly, taking another toke on his rather sizable joint. “Whaddya need Homie?” he said almost slyly. There was an innocence there Tully was fond of. He had seen enough to get it, but not enough to get dismal about it either. The Hump could respect that.

They were seated in the private section of a cake and espresso bistro, which was part of quite an impressive resort Tre, or ‘Trevor Malcovich’ lived at. He was, from what Tully had gathered, quite a character amongst the guests. The Hump found it odd he wouldn’t try and keep somewhat more of a low key life, despite whatever insurances he must have up his sleeve.

“Well by the sounds of it, you’re the one who is well-trained. I’ve heard from a reliable source you’re the best right now. Plus I mean look at you…” he stopped for a second as an attractive tanned blonde in a tight coffee house outfit reached in to place their drink orders. Tully was drinking a non-alcoholic punch, and Tre had ordered some sort of beer he himself had personally imported from Ontario, Canada. “You’re swimming in warm waters and beautiful women – I should take a page out of your e-book.”

“Yeah well, when you got it good, it might as well be good -- at least for that peak. We all know some next-generation kid will roll through my stuff...it’s only a matter of time. But yeah, I mean…it’s easier to get work done when you are in a place where you don’t really mind doing work every once and a while.” Tre responded, smoke seeping from his mouth a bit. His eyes were nearly closed and reddened, but there was an intensity in there which Tully recognized.

The Hump laughed a little. “I truly am envious of you my friend.”

“Yeah well, from what I can tell you’re uh…well trained” he said, exhaling more smoke. You can hack data, and place webs within webs to search out communications with the words ‘Trevor, Cayo Coco, Tomorrow, etc’; just like you can backdoor into various agencies to compile a report on on ‘Tully Humphries’; but I can only read the words ‘esoterically trained’ – I can’t go there, na’wha I’m sayin brahh? You guys are rare, or so I’m told. That’s the only reason I didn’t take off… I figure this is gonna be interesting at least!”

Tully grinned, as Jordan had crossed him over, leaving him with his pants down while going in for a dunk. The kid likely knew everything about him. The Hump hadn’t heard anyone other than Jocelyn mention his real name in years. Still, it was good to know the kid had the skill. “I gotcha.”

“So like I said mannggg...” The Illustrious Tre felt the need to accentuate the non-word ‘mang’ with a high pitched deliverance and a swinging hand gesture. In theory, it would seem the Hump would be annoyed, but yet he found himself liking the kid more and more. “What is it you want me to do? What are we lookin at here.”

“Well….” Tully started, thinking of how to continue, “I am going to describe a situation to you, and you best decide on how you’re going to sprawl over every inch of the web looking for something related to it.” He took a sip of the punch – it was good. If he drank he would have been curious to try the Canadian beer. “I mean the same place where you found my report.”

“Got it.” He said simply, getting out a small whistle and blowing it rather loudly. He looked at Tully with a large grin, puffing on the joint.

This guy is hilarious. Tully thought as he saw another equally attractive Cuban hurry into the room with what appeared to be (and must surely was not) a regular laptop. It had an Ethernet cord attached to it, which ran out of the room.

“No wireless?”

“Nah, they got it but… I dunno… old habits I guess. Something I don’t trust about wireless.” Tre explained, putting down the joint and taking the computer from the busty brunette with a wide grin. “Thanks!” he said enthusiastically.

Tully nodded as he sort of had a point. “Alright so this is the scenario…”

Tre nodded, punching a few keys and rubbing his hands.

“There was a baby born about a week ago now, and it’s… special in some way. Telekinetic perhaps. There would have been a lot of intelligence buzz on this, especially in the states. I was called in for instance.”

“Interesting….” Tre mused, typing a few things in and picking up the joint again.

“Now, this is somehow related to that…. Event. You know...the feeling thing. ‘Subtle Revelation’ or whatever label you want to use.”

Tre stopped typing, and suddenly his demeanor changed dramatically. The Hump was good at spotting these things, and Tre was making no move to hide it.

“Um…” he managed to get out, his eyes narrowing even more as he stalled for more thought-time. Variable-crunchers, even when it comes to emotion.

“What?”

“I think…. I’m gonna have to change my mind.”

“Why?”

“It’s just….” He reached for the joint, taking a huge haul and holding it in. “I really wanna do this man… I mean….you know how it is: You burn to do the things that you are good at…” he explained, smoke once again seeping from his mouth before he blew it all out, upwards, thankfully. “But… I just don’t know if I can risk this shit man. Do you know how many top hacks have been found with their heads hacked off after lookin into that thing?”

“How many?” Tully asked, genuinely interested.

“Well…three, but that’s still sort of a lot man. Those were top guys…acquaintances and shit. Look, it’s like this: the more I think about it, the more I think I want to just steer clear of that whole aspect of ‘the truth’. Psychics scare me... I like having an even playing field.

“It doesn’t really work like that. I can peer into other dimensions, but you can too in a way. Intuition...it’ all sort of connected” Tully offered, reluctant to say too much.

“I know but… I dunno man. I took a chance just by meeting you, you know? Thought it would be cool but I…. I just don’t wanna do it if it’s pertaining to…that. I wanna live, you know what I’m saying man? I just don’t see a reason to help a stranger like this. Maybe I just saved my life because you were gonna be the one to kill me?” With this he stopped in thought...

“Was this a--

“No, this wasn’t a test.” Tully responded flatly.

“Well, anyways, I just don’t know. Your industry is crazy stressed like that partner -- crazy stressed!” Tre shook his head slightly as he closed the laptop and resumed puffing on the joint. “I don’t know how you guys do it.”

“I honestly don’t know either. You just... acclimatize I guess.” Tully responded, staring through the young computer wizard for a moment in puzzlement over the question. “But I don’t know....”

Tre studied him silently.

Humphries gave a quick smile and a nod as he rose to his feet. “I’ll cya around.”

The kid had a point, he concluded as he sat in the back seat of the cab which flew down the wide-laned road to the Cuban airport. Tully could see where he was coming from; different intelligence agencies were almost certainly killing off those who would look. In fact, from what Tully had heard from Donaldson, the Cless were doing a little looking of their own for something.

He had been monitoring Fort Kent quite closely from afar and it seemed they were content to let the child sleep for the time being. Their reluctance to simply kill the girl suggested to Humphries that she was to be used in a ceremony of sorts. He never bothered to understand ceremonies that well for one reason or another, despite his teachings during his training, and a few times thereafter -- including one incident with an American Rap artist, surprisingly enough. In the case of Eva, however, which ceremony, and for what purpose was beyond him.

There was something about this whole dynamic of having finally found the puppet masters that just did not sit right: Where was this dance going? What is above them?

________________________________________________________________________
--Mauritania, Africa. (1809 AD)

Thomas Jones knew that he was shielded by many things, by his white owner Mr. Smith. He was not allowed to learn things like math, and history, and philosophy. He knew Thomas was not even his real name. Many of the other slaves who worked with Thomas knew they were slaves, and that they did not like it -- but that was where it would end. Anger was a waste of time for Thomas as he preferred focus. He was acutely aware that the only thing which separated him from his captors was that they had learned more. Despite their knowledge, Thomas was smarter, more focused -- he knew this with certainty. The young slave knew there were ‘other things’ out there, unbeknownst to most of his brethren and himself alike.

How he know of them was a mystery he often pondered.

“Hey, you git back to workin you little bitch! I see you there tryna think of things ya boy!” the owner shouted at Thomas, slamming the shotgun in his hand against one of the orange trees.

The young slave nodded eagerly and went back to picking oranges. His arms had gotten the break they needed; no sense in getting whipped over sore arms. Orange duty wasn’t that bad anyways.

Under the blistering sun Mr. Smith stood with the slaves; both of them endured the sun, though the latter group was working considerably harder. It was under the harsh conditions that fear broke down and the games started up. Sometimes it wasn’t about the pain, as that was all the master could give. When the slave enacts his freedom, even if just for an instant, there is something divine in the air.

The way Thomas figured, though, was why would he care about divinity? He’s making all the money and has the power at the end of the day. Yet therein lie the beauty of the whole dynamic for Thomas -- that split second, he knew, was all he needed.

The work would go on for the rest of that day; different layers of awareness tickling each other if not just for something to do -- the mechanics of control, and all those subsidiaries.


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--Tabasco Residence, Los Angeles, USA.

“Alright, XBOX goes off now, boys. I’m not going to say it again, or else I will rethink my decision to let Anderson stay for supper.”

“Com’n, let’s go eat… “Darryl’s son Jaime said extremely lazily to his best friend Anderson as he reached to switch off the newly bought XBOX. He made it seem like getting up to have something to eat was a marathon or something.

As he turned off the game, the television returned to the channel four news. “... new study, as concluded by the Florida institute of technology, is giving the ‘Divergence’ theory initially put forth by Democratic candidate Archie Beckford some legitimacy. During the...” was all Darryl was able to hear before Jaime switched the TV off as well.

Darryl stood beside the kitchen counter, wiping a few of the plates he had just washed. It was sot of his thing, as he couldn’t cook, but damn could he wipe a casserole dish. In his hands at the moment was a cheese grater – a formidable opponent in all regards. Cheese grating invariably leads to cheese on the counter, and cheese on the counter is one of the hardest things to remove elegantly.

“Jaime, why do you sound so…dull all the time?” Darryl asked as the two took their seats at the dinner table.

His wife Gloria shot him a look as she removed the casserole – tonight’s main opponent, both in dish and stomach.

“Or, I mean… lazy I guess. Is it intentional or do you perhaps not realize you’re doing it kiddo?”

Jaime shrugged.

“My dad says humanity is lazy as a whole.” Anderson pronounced with a seemingly contradictory smile which nearly split his face.

“Um… that’s... probably true in part…” Darryl responded clumsily, though not at all surprised. Anderson had always been sort of an odd kid, but he was Jaime’s best friend and so respected him a certain extent. Jaime was a bright kid with lots of potential; his social ‘tastes’ were not something Darryl had a huge problem with. Perhaps he would simply never understand Anderson; but if Jaime did then well enough.

“Listen…” Darryl continued, trying to get back on track. “I just think maybe you need to get out more -- be more active.”

“Ok, here comes the casserole!” Gloria’s small figure exclaimed in earnest, likely to try and smooth things over – but there was no problem, it was just a simple suggestion. Jaime did not have to take it. Gloria was sometimes too eager for ‘peace’ in that regard.

Jaime shrugged, reaching for some casserole as his mom took a seat beside him.

“I go for walks and meditate in the forest.” Anderson once again explained with a goofy grin. “It makes me feel connected to Gaia.”

Darryl gave a pinched smile with a nod to Anderson. “See… Anderson goes on nature walks…” he said suggestively to Jaime.

“Darryl! Jaime doesn’t need to meditate in the forest…” Gloria exclaimed half jokingly, slapping him on the arm with her small hand. “Good casserole…”

Jaime struggled to swallow his food in haste so he could get the next word in. “Yeah but Anderson can like… do things when he meditates in the forest – I’ve seen it. It’s not like I don’t get out, I go there with him all the…” he paused for a second, his eyes searching internally for something. “all the time…”

He had said too much and he knew it.

Darryl and Gloria both quickly exchanged looks before centering their collective stare on Anderson.

“What type of things…?”

“Uh…just…well it’s nothing special really…” Anderson started, but Jaime responded at near the same time, “Well no I should have said that uh…it’s like he knows an optical illusion…”

“...and he needs to meditate, why?” Darryl asked, his cop instincts kicking in here – not that he really needed them with something so obvious. They were up to something.

“Well, it’s like uh...”

“To concentrate for the trick….” Anderson exclaimed, suddenly shifting out of his previously anxious state. He almost seemed excited. “Do you want to see it?” he asked, his eyes lighting up.

Gloria looked worried.

“No!” Jaime responded, for once with some passion in his voice. His eyes seemed to be pleading with Anderson. “No…” he said again quietly.

“Fine” Anderson responded, returning to his casserole with all eyes on him.

“What is the trick Jaime? Anderson?” Gloria asked quietly, looking back and forth between the two elusive young men of this mysterious generation.

“What did you think of that thing that happened?” Anderson responded almost immediately. “That…‘feeling’” he said, waving his fork a bit for emphasis at Gloria.

“Anderson, I’m not sure what you’re talking about…” Gloria responded, eyeing the fork warily.

“Do you know that the earth evolves just like humans, and it’s related to like…astrology and stuff? My dad thinks something big is coming…”

It was at that point Darryl realized he had never met Anderson’s dad.

The cop would later tell the rightfully confused Gloria that he would take a trip to meet the elusive man of prophesy, as a barrage of questions directed at the two boys had yielded nothing by nightfall.

He also knew someone who might want to tag along.


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--46th and 2nd Street. Los Angeles, USA

Kyllael hovered cross legged meditation, invisible of course, as he projected outside the realm of human awareness. Yet it was that which was on his mind. The child seems to be changing everything…

Perhaps they are not a lost cause.

As if on cue --a siren of sorts for Kyllael-- a yellow volkswagon beatle came flying down the highway. Immediately the robed figure saw it as different from the others because of the large blue dome which surrounded the car in another dimension he knew as many names, one of which the humans tossed around a lot was ‘Chi’. This car was special because it meant the girl driving must have a Chi-device, something which Kyllael had not seen in quite some time. He studied the girl and noticed her conversation was being monitored by a third party whose energy he could not trace -- the source coming up as nothing but an impenetrable wall of darkness.

“Yeah… Stacy, oh my god I just got this cute little energy thingy -- it’s like expressos all the time! It’s so great right?”

“Oh my god, I want one!!”

“I know right?!!”

“So when I get home I think I’m gonna change my Facebook status to ‘Energy Drinks in my bagz’ (laughter). No but seriously, think of the money I will save…”

The robed figure laughed himself, as he shifted through dimensions unattainable by human vision. If human specimens greased in the tar of television and corporate culture like the female had managed to attain a chi device, seemingly by some small degree of cross exchange, then things were…perhaps… not so bad off after all.

The possession of one chi device is nothing, but their influences can expand quickly with the addition of more. Chi is drawn to itself, so having a collection of such devices within a small proximity would likely tip the balance over the negative chi from these humans attempts at ‘technology.’

The device which was used to produce moving picture to the humans –one of many ways—was one thing Kyllael particularly despised – their so called ‘television.’

Technology can be used for good or bad in function, but sometimes even the best of intentioned devices pump out nothing but stagnant chi – and they still wonder why they get sick.

‘Disease’

The robed figure shook his head. It’s like trying to cure the ‘cold’ by treating the fluids they blow out of their noses from such. Why not go to the source?

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--Los Angeles International Airport, USA

“Aight Nigg, we’s alone now… so be out with it.” Parsons laughed, shaking his head around in the large hoody whose hood he currently had up. “This shit’s got me all interested and shit…”

He rubbed his hands in anticipation of the story. Bitch-ass ‘Cello insisted they wait till they get back to the car. The only reason Parsons didn’t make that fool spill his beans right then and there was cause a huge crowd of people was following them – bitch ass hoodie! Gotta get a bigger hood next time.

Calvin Solomon gently pressed the intercom button. “Home, please.” He told the Limo driver before releasing it and turning back to the suspense slowly. That motherfucker always makes the slowest movements, like that somehow better or some shit. Fucking bow-tie motherfucker.

Marcello shook his head, exhaling. “I dunno man…. I fucking…” he paused for a second, closing his eyes, prepping himself. “Alright… so I eat the shrooms, I do my usual… thing, you know – I get ready. So I hope over the wall to this house where I plan on going but things are getting weird yo. At first I thought I had gone too far, but it wasn’t that… I don’t know what it was. I…. I don’t know if I what I saw in there was real or not. All I know is what I wake up in Tampa Bay with this…” he trailed off, reaching into the pussy colored bag Parsons simply assumed he bought to house this big mystery.

He pulled out an old book.

“A book? Fuck… I was hopin for some crystals or some shit like that manggg.” Fred loved crystals cause they is all shiny, plus if he had gotten some quartz he could have shown that bitch Marlene from the club about the piezoelectric effect since she couldn’t understand mechanical stress when he explained it!

Calvin Solomon sat up a bit and reached into his coat pocket for his glasses and Lil’ Parsons paused, watching his advisor. Despite his proclivity towards dressing like a Law and Order actor, Calvin was no bitch-ass. He owed much to him. If he was interested by he book, then so was Parsons. “What is it C?”

“May I see that for a second Marcello?” Calvin Solomon asked.

Marcello handed it over, still deep in thought. “I could sense it…” he explained to Calvin Solomon, trying to put it into words. “I saw all these old white men, but it was fucked up… like some sort of ceremony. It’s hard to explain man, but something just wasn’t right. I thought I saw a big frog... and there was this guy with a unibrow...”

“Hmm…” Calvin Solomon murmured. “I’m not sure what this is exactly -- I recognize some of this, but there is much that I do not…

Parsons turned to him, now completely on the bandwagon for the book – fuck crystals. “You recognize that shit? What language is that???” he asked again, impatiently.

“Keylontic”

“What the fuck is it?!? English you bow-tie mother-fucker” Parson demanded again.

Marcello looked on interested.

Calvin flipped through the book a little bit carefully as he considered his words, his eyes shifting to Marcello. “It’s like the astrology booklet...” he began, giving Parsons a certain eye he recognized instantly. “But with more... much more” he finished, a small grin forming as his left eyebrow crept up towards his hairline.

Marcello raised an eyebrow as Parson’s eyes began to glow with emotional surge. “Now we take it to the next level mang!… .... this shit is hot!”

“Wait… what are you taking about?” Marcello asked, sensing the obviousness of the lack of details being given.

Calvin Solomon glanced at Lil’ Parsons quickly, biting his lip and glancing back to Marcello. Parsons was contemplating keeping Marcello out of the know permanently, but he was more than aware of Marcello’s tricks and changed his mind after some consideration. What if his voodoo shit could dodge bullets somehow?

“How would you like to come work for us, full time?” Parsons offered to Marcello before glancing back to Calvin Solomon, who nodded slightly.

“Doing what?”

“We’re gonna take over – and I ain’t talkin bout no fucking front of the bus, Nigg. I mean… everything homie.”

“What…? Freedom? You’re rich man... ain’t you free to do pretty much whatever you want?”

“See… der’s things about us you ain’t know son. I write to an audience that only got so many words they know, you git? The music be one thing… That don’t mean I ain’t done my homework pops – fuck that! – anything but that shit homie. I know this world well: the bankers, the lawyers, the transnationalists, and the every other fucking white-man council they got on earth. CFT, DOE, SMFA, The ‘Beast’ Initiative – all that shit. Me and Calvin run more than you or dey even know...”

“Well... I don’t know what you just said, but I take it that’s important.” The thief let a small grin creep onto his face as he rubbed his chin in thought. “Wow, I gotta say I didn’t see this coming. Lil’ Parsons the gangsta -- a man of da people! A politician even....you a a part of any of that Trilateral shit or what?”

Lil’ Parson erupted into laughter. Calvin let out a small smile.

“Politics? Motherfucker I ain’t paid that IRS thug group in my lifetime – don’t you listen to my music nigg? Politics fucked us into the ghetto and it keeping us there homes, that’s for real.”

Marcello laughed slightly, “Well I mean I do listen it’s just….” he stopped for a second, coming to a small realization. “I just guess I figured you guys were trying to make money for the sake of it... you know? The tunes come across as self-serving yo... sort of like ‘I got mine -- fuck you’ sort of thing…” he held his arms up slightly with this. “I’m just being honest here…”

“Like I said, I write to my audience homie…. You just ain’t know; and all they gotta know is that they may as well keep hustlin’ cause the TV is lies.”

“I’m not in the ghetto though P, and I’m not an idiot, you know that – and I don’t even know what you be sayin half the time man. What do sluts, carrying your piece… what does all that shit have to do with getting out of the ghetto? I think sometimes it just makes it worse. Demoralizing woman and shit…”

Parson’s rolled his eyes, “What you don’t like bitches?” This punk ass trying to tell him how to run his own game? How’s he going to control all women? That’s going against a whole tidal wave of media-mothefuckers who like women just they way they are now. Uninformed punk.

“Marcello has a point.” Calvin Solomon interjected. “Perhaps we should start giving our brothers and sisters some credit. We’re moving into a new world gentlemen, and without information the streets are going to stay as they are. Once I study this book, perhaps the risk won’t be such a risk after all. ” he explained to Parsons, pushing up his glasses slightly as he looked through it again. “Maybe it’s time to stop thinking on the plan and push it forward?”

“I don’t understand this shit…” Marcello half complained, listening to the exchange. He seemed sort of detached, one of those weird motherfuckers, but he was special and he knew it. Fred knew the feeling quite well.

“Look…” Parsons interrupted, “We’ll get to all that later…all we need is a yes or a no homie…. no pressure, although I would say if you want some answers about the other night, hangin’ wit us would be the way to do it. C-breezy can show you to a paradise of booty and knowledge -- that’s how we next generation gangsters roll son.”

The young thief rolled his head to the left slightly to stare out the tinted limousine window at the LA lights off in the distance. He thought for quite a while. “Alright… I’m in -- freedom, and all dat” he said with a small laugh. “I gotta say I didn’t expect this… not from you P.”

Parsons shrugged, taking out a pre-rolled joint and lightning up. That’s the way I like it.

“Oh… I almost forgot. I found this…” Marcello added, reaching into his back pocket to pull out a wallet he tossed to Calvin Solomon.

Much to Parson’s surprise Calvin Solomon’s face broke into a wide grin as he read the name imprinted on the contents. Fred did not see Calvin Solomon smile that often.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
--Tsarion Complex B, Colorado, USA.

“Alright, Steven’s been doing some chatting with the people milling around here, and we’ve confirmed that the family over there by the railing – the one with the Dad wearing the red shirt – are the group we essentially want to try and focus most of the questions on. The Dad sounds close enough to what we’re going after here. We’ll ask a couple others, but we’ll get a bunch of responses from the kids in that family as they’re always high impact…”

The director droned on as Max got the finishing touches on his makeup. They were essentially waiting on the cameraman to fix some minor technical problem, but Max figured it was as good a time as ever to have a couple sips from his drink – you know, for the delay.

“Got it?”

“Yes mate, I think I do.” Max said politely eyeing up the family of choice as set his drink down on the small media table. The actor-made journalist was on the outskirts of the Tsarion Event media area which had been assembled in one area of the large parking lot which bordered up on the National Park. The family stood near the start of the ‘Tragic View’ path along with some other hopefuls for getting on TV. The path extended to curve around the mountain for a few miles before crossing over the man-made canyon and into foothills of the debris. Political controversy aside, it really was a breathtaking view.

News media isn’t so hard he thought. Just show the people who say what you want to be said...That seemed to be pretty much it. Max chewed on this thought as he studied the family. Father droned on like it was an artwork. It was interesting, sure, but it didn’t appear to be overly hard. Falsifying the news isn’t actually against the law in this country. Similarly, knowing the law isn’t emphasized in public school.

“Alright, we’re set. I guess the main problem was just that…. this camera is a piece of shit!” Steven the cameraman yelled in anger – hopefully joking -- looking down at the non-sentient tool in his hands.

“Umm… alright.” Max stated simply, not wanting to instigate the situation any more.

The director was now talking on his phone again, but paying enough attention, Max had to admit.

So with the camera and mic men in check the small news brigade set out on their ‘Question and Answer’ segment. If they were to do it, they would have to work together. The actor could feel the apprehension from the others from even having to do this –with an actor—in the first place. There was simply no need for him to be there. It seemed to be a new low in News Media in Max’s eyes, which was ironic to say the least. Still, where the shores of irony are, often roll the waves of an alcohol addiction and being on camera meant high tide.

“Hi there folks…” Max led with, picking up his pace as he walked towards the family a bit so as to distance himself from the crew for a moment. “Hi there…” he said again as he neared, this time they heard him and turned to see the news crew not far behind. “Hi, I’m Max [Whatever] I was just wondering if I could ask you some questions on behalf of the CNF news team?”

The family looked on, slightly stunned but the Dad in the red shirt spoke up. “Sure man, I know who you are. Pleasure to meet your acquaintance. We’s here are the Stevensons, this here is my beautiful wife Mary, and my two children Wilson and Nancy…” the man said in a southern accent. “That Steven fellow said if we waited around, we might get on television, but I didn’t really know whether to believe him...”

Max smiled politely at the family. “Hello there, it’s nice to meet you all” he said, noticing how much his accent stood out in this setting. “And in fact, Steven was correct, it looks like you may in fact be on television.”

“Hey... I’m here!” the cameraman spoke up, lazily holding the large camera at one side with one hand as he raised the other in some sort of name salute.

The director shook his head at Steven and stepped forward, hanging up his cell phone and taking command. “Alright so we’re gonna ask you a couple questions about the Tsarion Event, the Anniversary… that kind of stuff. Just give us a moment to set things up on the other end and we’ll let you know when to get ready. Remember, smile, try to look into the camera, and please, no weird of offensive stuff ok folks? This –is- live.” With that the director flipped open his phone again to push a few buttons.

“So… why are you working with CNF, Mr. [Max’s last name]?” Wilson asked simply.

“Call it a favor I owe to one of the big wigs – sort of a bet you know? We play poker together and uh… well let’s just say my hand didn’t hold up.”

“Uh… Ok.” Wilson responded rather blandly, continuing to ogle Max’s celebrity presence openly.

The Dad in the red shirt nodded thoughtfully at the lie as Mary smiled politely. Surprisingly, the older Nancy shook her head in disgust.

“You don’t believe me?” Max asked, his anger boiling up from the booze couldren in his stomach. Bitch – what did she know? He could have been telling the truth. Fucking American blow-job slut.

“No.” she responded simply.

“Why?” he asked almost immediately, hot in pursuit of a real answer. Americans and their vacuous statements...

Nancy glanced at her dad quickly before shrugging and gesturing to their surroundings. “Cause I don’t think you believe what you’re going to talk about here today.”

Past the railing they stood beside, and on the other side of the river, the bottom of the ruins which comprised ‘Tsarion Complex A’ loomed off in the distance, quietly judging this debate which had sprung up out of the debris of it’s controversy-shrouded history.

The girl’s comment cut through the noise like a ‘last call’ in a crowded pub. Suddenly he was no longer annoyed with the random bitch, but on his toes, and drink-thinking. “And what makes you say that?”

The Dad stared at his daughter incredulously, obviously previously unaware of her stance on this issue. Mom and Wilson, almost as if on cue, both bit their lips – perhaps they did know? Some field work you did Steven. He probably only talked to the father – had he not uncovered this now it could have been a disaster on the air!

“I know who you are….” Nancy replied with a small smile, staring into his eyes with the passion of sixteen sixteen-year-olds all rolled into one. “And soon everyone else--” was all she managed to get out before Dad cut in.

“I’m so sorry… I don’t know what’s gotten into her. Nancy, what are you talking about? You apologize right this instant!” he offered, clearly embarrassed as his eyes darted around to the various people within earshot.

Max looked back towards the table, wishing he had brought his drink.

Nancy did not apologize. Steven would be scolded.

The Stevensons would not make it onto TV for the Tsarion Event Anniversary proceedings. A family markedly similar to the Stevensons save for a few minor adjustments appeared in their place instead. The adjustments were small, but the news is all in the details of course.


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-- Clifton and Murial’s Home, Los Angeles, USA.

Clifton Sampson sat in his favorite chair in front of the television. It was a regular sized tube he got somewhere a few years back, he did not watch it that much,. Him and Murial only had the one, for cases like this present one mostly: President Hethro was giving an address for the Tsarion Event anniversary and Clifton wanted to hear what that dipshit had to say live, even if it meant enduring seeing his brother’s face on television -- speaking of dipshits.

“… It is with the utmost respect for integrity and freedom that I ask the American people to continue to stand true during the tests we will endure in the future. Just the other day I received a report from the Secretary General of Defense outlining a strategic initiative which aims at addressing the problem of ‘Divergence’ whose effects continue to be felt in our weather systems, and health nation-wide. This is by no means a suggestion the the Salik’s were not responsible for the Tsarion Event, and we will occupy Siran until that terrorist group is exterminated. However, as we move into the new century our attention must turn to global, and very relevant threats to humanity itself. We do not know what, or how Divergence works, only that it is getting worse....”

“This is such horeshit… fucking liar.” Clifton muttered, shaking his head as he glanced to Murial for a response who was purposely delayed in that respect.

“…. Well what do you want me to say Clif? I mean… why do you watch it if it angers you so much?” she responded, her indifference towards Clifton’s sore spot was beyond perfected at this point, as she browsed through a magazine she knew he hated.

“I get angered that no one bothers to look into facts after speeches like this. They’re an attempt at something so utterly complex it almost boggles the mind -- just by pure brevity we should realize it has to be misleading to say the least. Politics is so complex, but it’s the world we live in – we must invest in trying to ascertain an objective—

“No… you know what? We don’t have to ‘live’ politics to be justified as human beings. Look at you, how angry you are – who are you to lecture me?” she responded putting down the magazine and glancing at the TV for a moment. “I’m really getting sick of this Clifton.” she shook her head slightly holding her nose at the bridge with a couple fingers, “It’s draining… … Anderson is enough as it is…”

Clifton grumbled back into the couch a bit, crossing his arms over his chest. “It just seems that the ones who are content to not pay attention are the ones who get caught off guard and make poor choices as a populace – look at what happened after the Tsarion Event with the ‘Mutual Compliance’ act. That’s a loss of freedoms...”

Murial picked the magazine back up and opened to where she left off. “Yeah well… I will try harder to make a difference. It’s just hard because of all the difference making you do sitting online doing jack shit.” She started to laugh a bit, “What was that page I saw up the other night? Some truly outrageous thing or another... I can’t remember.”

Clifton felt the anger start to creep up, but thankfully the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it, you enjoy your corporate sludge….”

“The tag is out of the back of your shirt.”

Pushing the tag back into his shirt Clif peeked through their little peephole to see a woman in her 30’s an a man somewhere in his late 40’s, by his guess. The man had a sort of ‘street cop’ look to him. Overhead he could hear Anderson jumping down off his bed to run to the window to check out the car, which seemed ordinary enough. Clif shrugged slightly and opened the door. It was only about seven at night; whoever this was, it was not an unreasonable time -- after dinner but before bed for the most part.

“Hi” he said simply, opening the door just fast enough so as to not appear suspicious. This was a conscious thing on Clif’s part and he realized that -- for whatever reason he was suspicious by nature, but was a good thing sometimes. He had seen the reasons to be.

“Hi, Mr. Sampson I don’t believe we’ve met but I am Jaime Tobasco’s dad, Darryl.” The forty-something said warmly extending a hand.

“Oh! Ok, hello, how’s it going?” he extended his arm to shake the other man’s and beckoned the pair into the house. “Tabasco, like the hot sauce right?

“Yeah...” Darry nodded, biting his lip slightly “Although... we sort of came first. Anyways, this is Violet Raymond.” he paused somewhat awkwardly “She’s my partner. That is, we’re police officers...”

Violet smiled at him. She had a mysterious quality to her eyes which he could not quite pin down. Such a vibrant color.

Clifton’s heartbeat missed a beat and he smiled back at Violet to cover up the rush of emotion -- not attraction, but fear. Cops? Why would they be here? It’s been years...and he hadn’t done anything since then, aside from bitch online.

“Off-duty though....” Darryl offered, trying to proceed in some with the explanation. “See uh..--”

“It’s complicated...” Violet interjected. “See, we’re not really supposed to be here.”

Clifton smiled slightly. “Well come in, come in!” he glanced back shouting at the entrance to the family room. “Murial put that celeb shit down, Mr. Tobasco is here with a guest!”

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-- “Help” Wellness Center, Los Angeles, USA


Tully opened the door to Jocelyn’s office and immediately knew his opponents. Two large men with blazing auras of power and control, they sat quietly in the waiting room -- one of them reading Time, and the other a tabloid of some sort. They were both white, brown hair, and looked like they might be european. He was wrong about recruiting this kid, whoever he was, he already had an employer, and a seemingly powerful one at that with the type of security present. These were confident and capable guards, that much was apparent within the energies.

Apart from the two men, the waiting room was empty save for a few wood-and-metal puzzles and other psychologist toys Jocelyn paid way too much for.

The Hump slowly made for the receptionist, Judith, as he contemplated his next move.

The kid was well guarded, as Jocelyn had said, but there was something about these particular men which seemed familiar. He had not met them before, but he had a distinct feeling he had seen them before.

“Hello Judith, I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m fr--

“Well of course! Mr Stanton! It’s nice to see you again.” Judith exclaimed with a slightly seductive smile, removing her small-framed reading glasses as she rose from her chair. “What can I do for the mystery man?”

Stanton? He hadn’t used that alias in a while.

“Ah, I’m just going to try and have a quick chat with Jocelyn when she is done with the current patient.” He leaned in closer, flashing the sexiest smile he could come up with to Judith. “What is the last name of the patient she has in there?”

Judith was a shorter woman, and slightly plump, but attractive nonetheless. She had a body seemingly designed for office pantsuits, along with a radiant complexion which complemented her smooth face. “Mr. Stanton we’re not supposed to answer questions like that!” she replied hastily, in whisper followed by a warm smile. “However, since you could ask anyone around here and find out... I’ll tell you. That is Lynus Haas, the son of the billionaire Henry Haas...”

“Interesting...” he mused, making a few mental connections and glancing back at the bodyguards again. “Say Judith, how has Jos been lately? I mean....is she doing alright?”

Judith looked down for a moment, choosing her words carefully. “She’s been....not well Mr. Stanton. I think she is taking pills... The last few days she’s cancelled all her meetings except for with Lynus. I honestly don’t know why...” she said in a near whisper.

“Hmm. Well, that is partly why I am here” Tully began, lowering his voice as well. “I am going to administer a a therapy I feel may work if she is willing, which I think she is. She is on anti-depressants and others things, I’m afraid. She admitted her entire history back to the initial prescription to me the other day on the phone. Being in her position allowed her the necessary routes to get her hands on a wide array of those types of drugs, some of which are simply horrid.”

“Well, I’m certainly glad to hear that Mr. Stanton!” Judith enthused, placing a hand on her forehead for a moment. “That makes me really happy...” she said again softly before looking up at him again. “What is this therapy?”

“It’s a natural plant from Africa, made into pill form essentially. Quite effective actually.” With this he started to away from her desk slowly. “Anyways Judith, I actually must talk to both Jocelyn and Lynus, right now. Take care my dear.” He said with a smile before turning back towards the bodyguards seated in the waiting area, but he had an additional thought. Just remember...” he began, turning back to her, “... if you see someone wind up for a punch, you can always close your eyes.” he stated, grinning slightly. “But you may want to get out of here sometime soon” he added, dropping the smile “...seriously.”

She laughed slightly, clearly confused at the bizarre comment. “Mr. Stanton...” she managed to come up with, glancing at the two bruisers in the waiting room carefully.

The Hump turned to meet his foes.

Lynus’ men overheard this remark and were now on their feet. They stared Humphries down silently, reluctant to accuse him of anything, but clearly put on alarm by such an odd statement. They were professionals, and knew that avoiding a fight was actually better in most regards -- at least he hoped.

“Ok boys.” The agent said calmly holding his hands up. “Just hear me out, ok?”

The two guards glanced at each other before looking back to Humphries. They did not respond.

“Look, fellas, you can at least respond here. I know the kind of job you’re in -- I know you’re good, and if it makes you feel any better there are two of you and only one of me. But not talking doesn’t make you cool, it’s just dumb, cause then I don’t know what to do other than start fighting. I don’t want to fight guys, I’m sort of tired from chasing this black guy earlier.” The Hump explained this, and behind him he could hear Judith packing up her things, but not her actual departure. Naughty Judith...

“What is it you want, ‘agent’?” One of them said in a strong, yet fluent European accent Tully figured was Albanian. “Lynus tell us today that a man named ‘Stanton’ would show up, wanting to be let into the room. He say... that we know this Agent when we see him.”

“We see you.” The other man chimed up, with a near similar accent.

Tully nodded to the other man, slightly taken aback by his creepiness. “Was that all he said?”

“No, there is more. He said if we do not let this agent in, that we would suffer pain.”

It was at this point that The Hump was simply confused -- Lynus had told them this? How could he know? This newfound twist gave him his confidence back at least. “Well, all I can say fellas, is that I would probably heed the warning if i were you. Since the threat concerns me, what I would do you in your position is something you may want to pay attention to.”

The two men thought about the statement for a second before other man took a step closer. “Perhaps today, I want to suffer pain...”


----------------/

Lynus sat at Jocelyn’s desk playing Freecell waiting for the fabled man of mystery to arrive. He had learned so much already pondering this man’s life, he almost feared meeting him. Still, this secret agent of sorts was the only man he knew of who could help him understand, and escape. He figured it was about time to get out from under his parent’s wings anyways. With this he laughed out loud.

“What are you laughing at?” Jocelyn whimpered from the psychologist’s couch. She was curled up in a blanket in a depressive downswing, and hadn’t talked to Lynus since he threw her bottle of pills out of the window. “Me?”

That’s when Lynus heard the crash outside of the door. As soon as he pondered the noise he saw the answer: Agent Tully was about to open the door, and on either side of him lay his bodyguards, unconscious from some sort of energy blast emitted from his palms at near proximity to their heads. Judith stood with her purse on at her desk, with her eyes closed. Lynus laughed again.

The door opened and Agent Humphries walked in, eyeing up Lynus. “What are you laughing at? Me?” He seemed genuinely puzzled, but when his eyes fell on Jocelyn they instantly recovered all direction. “Oh Jos...” he whispered to himself, looking his friend over for a moment before walking over and kneeling by her side at the couch. “Hey there beautiful...” he said with a small smile.

She smiled back briefly, but it soon contorted into a subtle sadness. “Lynus threw my pills out the window” she said softly, smiling again, this time with the glow of thought in her eyes. “It’s good to see you Tully.” she said looking like she might say something else, but instead just stopped, content to stare into his eyes.

Lynus watched silently, unaware.

Tully looked down at her for a couple seconds before leaning in further to hug her gently and help her sit upright. “I have something for you. What if I said you could take two more pills and be done with them forever?”

“What... how?”

Lynus couldn’t resist. “It’s called ‘Ibogane’, a drug manufactured from the Iboga root of Africa. You will take the two pills, and this will begin a twenty-three hour period of a certain type of ‘hallucinogenic’ dream-state wherein all addictions slide off of the body like soap in a morning shower. There is no withdrawal.” Lynus explained smiling.

Jocelyn blinked a few times, curling her blanket tighter around her body. “Really?” she said finally.

“Impressive, kid.” Tully mused, though seemingly unamused. “... and yes, he is correct.” he explained to Jocelyn. “In fact, it works so well, that is the reason you haven’t heard of it -- pharmaceutical companies can’t sell you a pill that you use once and never again or they’d have to charge quite a bit. The industry is uh... well self-perpetuating to say the least. Anyways, let’s get you on your feet, we gotta get out of here.” With this he helped Jocelyn up, who kept the blanket curled tight around her.

“Where are we going?” Lynus asked, curious.

“Somewhere to have a twenty-three hour talk. I have a feeling you have a lot to say.”

Jocelyn stared at Tully incredulously, clutching her blanket. “Are you for real? You can’t take Lynus with us... ”

“I need to talk to him. It’s important.”

Lynus nodded to Jocelyn.

“Well, what about the...” The Psychiatrist started, making for the door where she spotted the unconscious bodyguards. “Bodyguards....

“They’re not coming.” Tully said simply, exhaling slightly as his real nature became increasingly revealed to Jocelyn. “Sorry about the mess...”
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-- Haas Residence, Los Angeles, USA

Henry Haas sat on the balcony of his manor on a sunny afternoon with a drink in his hand and Strauss’ The Spirit of Sparta or the Taste of Xenophon open on the small ivory table he was seated at. He would usually be happy to be sipping on a glass of eighty-five Milyous while in contemplation, but today he was far from happy.

“Well, this is less than ideal.” Corinne Haas stated simply as she walked out onto the balcony to join her husband. “The obvious question is: How did he manage this?”

“A ghost.” Henry responded, his eyes scanning the setting sun off in the distance.

“What?”

“From what the guards said, it was one of the upper assassins. I do not know the hows or whys behind how Lynus might have come into contact with one, but it would appear he’s gone. The tracker was disabled -- he could be anywhere. I suspect the psychologist may know something, but we will never find this man so it’s irrelevant. I know their type, killing her will likely only ensure our deaths as he’d undoubtably know it was us.” Henry raised the wine to his mouth for a small sip, as he thought it over once more. “As much as I don’t want to admit it, you’re right -- we should have killed our son when we first found out the extent of our creation.”

Corinne was quiet for a moment, picking off invisible lint from her immaculate beige suit-jacket. “I tried...several times.”

Putting down his wine Henry turned around to look his wife in the eyes. “You what?”

“I’m sorry, Henry, I know he is your son but you said it yourself -- he knows too much.”

He turned back to his book and wine, shaking his head. “You are cold, Corinne, but even more so inept.”

2. "What's going on here?"

CNF Studios, New York, USA.


Sergio Sampson was the shit. Flies landed on him -- and he was fly. He liked that word: “Fly”. It was empowering and encapsulating of his general dogma, which was complicated but involved looking down on people.

When people turned on their televisions they’d invariably see him before the end of the day. Not that long-nosed bitch who wears teal too much from QMC News -- but him. How many people can say that of themselves? How many people truly fly on the attention of others?

Not only was life going good for Sergio, but with the pesky whore of a wife now out of the picture, his focus was even more on his work -- more to himself. Sergio was a man of self improvement.

When the first few grey hairs of his midlife suddenly sounded the questions which demanded answers, he finally found solace in the philosophy that life was his for the taking; Sergio versus the world -- at least, when he was into the coke. Why had he stopped trying to enjoy it to the fullest? He knew what he wanted and how to perpetuate that.

And you know what? Fuck Maya. What does she know about the industry anyways? What does anyone know about this industry? It’s fucking complicated. Seriously.

As the teleprompter began its tedious run of impact words Sergio found them flowing out of his mouth with little to no resistance. He had long since stopped reading what lie before him. The mind is tricky and Sergio had learned certain ‘tricks’ could be used to whisk away irrelevancies to what his job at CNF was: Carrying on a conversation. He could make words become social universes which he often opened and closed within the span of six months to a year -- but that didn’t mean he had to play god and understand all these concepts. Fuck that. Instead of being paid to do extra, he simply did less and used this mental leeway to ponder some more of the finer details of his life, in between stories.

Perhaps this week he would purchase an animal of some sorts...

“And in other news CNF wants to remind you that this Monday marks the 7th anniversary of the December 21st attack on American sovereignty and we will be with you Live from both Tsarion Complex A and B. Also, in other news, Michael Jackson once again seems to have something new to worry about -- you’ll find out the news coming up after the break. I’m Sergio Sampson and you’re watching the Midday Daily…”

“And… cut.”

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Violet’s Apartment, Los Angeles, USA. (rewrite perhaps? Needs to be more fluid)


It was quite late for Violet. She should have been in bed, but yet she found herself online, talking to a complete stranger. She likely shouldn’t have been talking to a complete stranger, but she was. She likely shouldn’t have been doing a lot of things lately, but she was.

Jah: “Government cover-ups? Hmm… where do I begin?”

V for Violet: “Anywhere would be fine, I think.”

Jah: “Alright, well the thing you have to keep in mind is that in the sense that history is written by the winners, those winning governments especially, write the truth they want to be known for its citizens. Their truth is not the Truth -- which is much more complicated, if such a thing can exist at all.

Violet nodded to the words on her laptop’s screen. Her delicate fingers danced over random keys in thought as she pondered her next sentence. How legit was this guy (or girl)? How seriously should she take this? What is she doing up at 4:52am? Why can’t she just let this go?

The chat site she had stumbled over in her continued fit of annoyance over work problems was surprisingly professional looking for the name, in her mind. “Truthseekas.com” had delivered on the aesthetic front at least.

She sat in the chat room talking to the only other person online.

V for Violet: “Ok, I think I’m with you so far.”

Jah: “Ok, well there are different ‘secrets’, and there sort of always has been when you think about it. The question is: Is the ‘cover up’ for the good of the American people or not?

V for Violet: “Isn’t it our right as the people to decide though?”

Jah: “What if I said that it’s simply not possible, and never has been? That... the process of informing the general public of certain things would potentially create more damage?”

V for Violet: “... I would say I have to think about it.”

Jah: “Do that.”

V for Violet: “Ok well what about.... big things? Say for example the article on this site talking the Tsarion Event, and that the government accomplished it with advanced weapons, etc. I mean how could they do that and not have someone spill the beans? It seems impossible. ”

Jah: “Impossible? Violet I’m sorry to say that I regret you suffer from a lack of imagination.”

V for Violet: “Well... that’s pretty rude now isn’t it?”

Violet felt the familiar rage building within, obscuring logic with it’s delightful sense of escapism. Just tell this guy to fuck off Violet, you know you want to.....

Jah: “Hardly, just a statement of the facts for your benefit. Somewhat like revealing the answer to a riddle that you just can’t get. The point is that you are here, looking, so in a way doesn’t that answer your question? They don’t get away with it. People like you notice that something is wrong, because you are acutely observant of the world you live in. You know when you are being lied to. Use the anger you are likely feeling as a guide towards your true thoughts. Are you mad with a stranger on the internet or yourself?

She felt the anger start to die down a bit as she processed the message.

V for Violet: “I’m not mad at anyone, so stop playing psychologist.”

Jah: “Alright.”

Jah: “I’m just referring to the origins of secrets. It’s nothing new, I’m simply pointing out a historical concept which goes back to the days of Caesar and further. They maintain this secrecy by trying (often unsuccessfully) to control what people like you and me think to be possible.

V for Violet: “Well who are we talking about here? Are you one of those people who thinks the world is run by a small room of men or something?”

Jah: “I wouldn’t say that. I just think that in politics there is a front and a back stage. It seems like everyone sort of agrees with me on that part.”

Violet typed with passion and earnest, her interest growing along with her trust in this newfound internet friend. It was his take on the world, and it was a refreshingly disturbing one. Fear seemed to be becoming preferable to control at this point in her life.

The soft glow of the monitor’s light stroked the young detective’s face gently. This newfound logic igniting emotional reserves she had not tapped since early adolescent summer romances.

Violet would not sleep that night.

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-“HELP” Wellness Center. Los Angeles, CA (break up with some dialogue)


Jocelyn knew all about depression, of course.

Having studied the theoretical aspect in depth, it seemed, made living out the effects much more intimidating. What’s worse than knowing the answer to your problem and not being able to do anything about it? Somewhere along the lines, she figured, her consciousness had automated her brain to such a degree it had tripped, but was not aware of it -- or perhaps not aware how. Like a toy robot on its side she continued to make the walking motions. Overhead a presence watches the feeble emotional mechanisms stuck on repeat -- but that’s all it is, a presence.

The presence watched as the hands below the desk fumbled to open the case on her new prescription. Pathetic, she couldn’t even open the fucking case on her antidepressant pills.

“Doctor, what you have to realize is that you don’t need to know everything. You need to stop with these stupid personal questions about past lovers and stuff. I wanted to prove to you I have a gift of sorts, but this is sort of making me rethink my decision.” Lynus shook his head slightly, seeing her with the bottle again.

The new dose was a MAO inhibitor with some sort of new variation she did not understand. Nowadays all it seemed she needed to understand was that a new twist usually meant a twist she would enjoy. With as smile she popped the safety lid off of the familiar bottle.

Lynus gave his head a shake again from his position: this time sitting lazily on the couch. His seating choice had brought a small smile to the once poised mouth of the youth Psychologist, but as per usual the session had opened up more questions than answers found.

He had put her perspective to scale, and what she saw could not be erased. She knew that now at least. It wasn’t much but it was a place to start.

The young patient of hers described it as tapping into a giant set of subconscious records. Jocelyn remembered him using the word ‘perusal’ somewhere in the explanation, one he had done so with such carefree brevity -- astonishing to witness. He was a psychic of some sorts, of this much Jocelyn was sure, but she didn’t quite think Lynus really understood the consequences of such a thing. She felt a genuine empathy for him, as she was on the receiving end of his gift, and it had nearly broken her sanity.

“Yo, Doc are you listening? I have… something special to tell you today. I know you are a little shaken up, but I know that you will be able to help me. The others could not…”
“Yes, I am listening Lynus, but I’m not sure if I can handle anything more right now. Just…give me a second.”

The only thing she would not touch was Humphries. Of course, it killed her not to know where he went after his ‘selection’, but if his intelligent and charming exterior turned out to be filled with darkness, then she truly would lose any shred of sanity she seemed to have left. She loved him, despite how infrequent she seemed to admit this.

“Please stop with the pills” Lynus began, his piercing blue eyes focused on her for a moment before rolling upward in thought “You’re…you’re supposed to helping me and you spend all day drugged up. We…”

He paused for a moment in speech, and already Jocelyn found her attention drifting from the patient -- she thought she heard him say something about time running out. Fuck, Jocelyn, you’re pathetic, she thought shaking her head to herself. Keep up.

“You are a drug, Lynus! I mean… you’re… do you even know what you do to people? It’s not fair.” Jocelyn retorted as quickly as her state would allow after processing his communication in the same way. She was making no sense and she knew it. The shrink took a small breath of air before trying to continue but it was getting hard, so hard -- like she had to push every meaningful thought around her defunct head, manually cranking the cranium shaft. “You just….I don’t know what to do…” she finally breathed.

Jocelyn started to cry softly.

It seemed to come by surprise and she made no move to cover it up . She did not care if he heard because at this point, in this pit of despair she’d seem to have slipped into, Lynus was all she had. He was the man with the answers after all -- surely he could help her somehow? The two of them were fully entrenched in it now, and this was a battle which none could have envisioned. Somehow the thought of handing Lynus over to someone else, even within the building, didn’t seem to sit well. Not at this point at least. Tully was right, she could do this, but she needed to dig herself out of this hole.

....

In previous sessions she’d listen to him effortlessly list off facts about her life there was simply no way he could know -- how could he know? She sat there like a fool thinking --knowing-- that she could handle the implications.

Arrogant.

It seemed, in fact, that Lynus knew nearly anything she could think to ask; though when she asked him if he knew everything he said ‘no’. This seemed intuitively correct but from what she could tell the only question he couldn’t answer was that one. She didn’t understand. It also seemed that Jocelyn did not truly know how to wield her own curiousness, as a wild sense of exploration had only worsened her depression.

All of this was beyond psychology in any real conceptualization -- she recognized that in between sobs as she fumbled to keep composed.

Seeing the young psychologist’s collapse into an utter and total hopelessness, Lynus watched her for a moment or two, contemplating, before he swung off of the couch and started to make his way towards Jocelyn’s desk. Wearing a simple pair of jeans and small black t-shirt, the young man ran his hand through his short white hair, his blue eyes glistening pools of potential -- the aura of a genius. “Dr. I’ve told you a great deal of things different things, but don’t you think it’s sort of strange why I haven’t told you why you’re so saddened by all of this?”

Lynus’ words cut through the sicky mental syrup permeating Jocelyn’s mind like an IHOP pancake knife. Yes, why hadn’t she asked him this? It was so simple. The revelation was profound and it offered the young woman a bit of energy upon its arrival. “Yes…” she started, sniffing a bit, and wiping a few tears from her eyes as she sat upright again. “I suppose…but I sort of know what the problem is already. I’m a psychologist, after all.”

“What problem is that?”

“You can’t put yourself in the place of diagnosing detriments to the individual ego of another without in doing so, diagnose yourself as well -- which you don’t seem to be able to do -- not that I blame you.” It was slow and thought out, but the doctor did pull it together enough to deliver her point. Somewhere, deep down she knew she was smart ‘in real life’.

Lynus sat down in the chair before her desk once again and focused his gaze on the young woman. She could almost feel the intensity of his full attention on him; no longer staring through his perspective towards some unseen pool of concepts; but rather focused solely on her. “Well… Do you want to hear what I think?”

Jocelyn looked up to meet the kid in the eyes -- his stare was so powerful, so delving. “Yes” she said simply, straining not to let her voice quiver before the strange young man with the white hair.

“I have no idea why you’re depressed” Lynus shrugged out, a small grin breaking onto his face.

.Jocelyn continued to stare long after the anti-climatic response had sunken in, frozen in thought and subsequent action. “… I’m sort of relieved, actually” she finally concluded, more to herself than Lynus.

It was at this point she started to become light-headed.

“Doctor Voubon please listen to me! I trust in you, and I hope that by now you trust in me. Either way… you may not have much of a choice. There are things coming, I think, and I need your help.”

Once again Jocelyn was snapped out of her increasingly dreary state by Lynus. “Wait… what do you mean? I am trying to help.”

“Well… it’s…” He paused, looking around the room instinctively, “Did you feel that ‘thing’ everyone has been talking about last week?” he asked, standing again and pacing about the room.

“Yes, I did feel it! That was half the reason I felt I had to up my dosage…”

“Well… I know what it was, but I cannot grasp it in its entirety. This is weird for you to hear, I know, but the best I can describe it is that a very special baby was born at that moment.”

“A baby? Special in what way?”

“Like I said, it is hard for me to say -- that is why I need your help.”

“Look Lynus, I am trying, you know? You are a very speci--“

“No, not that. Look…. am I depressed? I don’t know, it seems like we all are. My parents seemed to hold me to a sort of strange unspoken standard that I never thought I could live up to…” he said, stopping mid-pace and turning to her. “The whole reason I am here is because I put on a bit of an act. I have done it in the past, as well, to other shrinks…”

“But…?”

Other shrinks? She had been used all this time, and here she was truly trying to help, even if from a deep corridor somewhere within the pharmaceutical labyrinth in her head.

“But I did not think I could trust them -- in fact I knew I couldn’t trust them.” He smiled warmly, “You are a good person, Dr. Vaubon --perhaps a little materialistic-- but good intentioned. I know this.”

Jocelyn frowned slightly at the materialistic comment. Materialistic? How is that bad? She was about to argue, but that was out of the question as she struggled to hold onto the cliffs of consciousness. No motivation to think and a burning desire to let go into the shadows below.

“Look, Doctor! I need your help, as you are the only one I can talk to in private. Do you understand? I am watched. You must get off your meds if you are to help yourself or me.”

Jocelyn honestly tried to process the strange boy’s request, but simply could not. She fainted back into her chair, motionless for the time being.

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-“HELP” Wellness Center, Los Angeles, USA.


Lynus didn’t have to check her pulse to see Jocelyn’s collapse was nothing more than a faint. She should sleep on the information anyways.

The boy with the white hair fell into thought for a few minutes in the classic hand on chin pose. With one leg on the ground he rocked the chair back and forth a bit.

The agents were already outside of Jocelyn’s office in the waiting area, waiting for him. If he did not come out soon they would come in and retrieve him. Of this he was more certain than anything. Their potential was something he knew well because in part, they knew his. For Lynus, the trick had always been minimizing casualties, mental and otherwise. The agents had no problem killing families, burning schools -- it simply did not matter -- they would find a way to cover up or distort any message or appearance. He may have refused to cooperate with his parents wishes, but the powers at be have certainly not forgotten about him, or his talents.

Fortunately for himself, and others, Lynus had a decent enough repertoire with the agents, and of course always enough leverage to accomplish small things like not having his psych sessions bugged -- an exercise in futility of course, as he could easily find and remove anyways -- it was just faster to coerce them with arcane knowledge and imposing stares. It was an odd relationship, theirs, but like all things it was nearing the time for some fundamental change.

Hopefully Jocelyn would talk to the agent about her drug problem. He needed to meet this man.

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-Palos Verdez, California, USA.


Kyllael leaned against a large oak tree, a small grin on his face. The smirk was present yet held firmly in check -- a test, to see that anger was willing and able. Kyllael channeled the energy, rather than letting the energy --the anger-- channel him. This was business and he was a machine with a full fuel tank.

Yatachze Crezin lay on the glistening night lawn of the Steinchilds Estate in the fetal position. The target, a small appendage of evil itself wore six thousand dollar suit -- grass stained and wrinkled. He was in the back right hand corner of the massive backyard; slightly secluded it consisted of a small pond with a rather elaborately carved wooden bench. Surrounding the stagnant water was a semi circle of some sort of foreign shrub with large white flowers. The pedals were large and there was a hint of red near the centre of the blooming protrusion of color. .

The US pawn mumbled something, writhing around on the ground. The entity as a whole was a pulsating ball of bliss, too hot to get near -- yet not nearly hot enough for him to live on alone. A reject of his own making; this man was poison of the most dangerous kind: Genius.

A shame really.

Pure ecstasy mercilessly intruded on nearly all of the man’s thought’s processes -- he would soon ‘overdose’, as the humans called it. There was something odd about the whole situation, especially with the meeting starting so soon. The aging puppet master was in a state beyond questions because all the answers led to the same pinnacle of feeling. What it was exactly he was hopped up on was hard to sense for Kyllael because of the number of different combinations he seemed to have used, and or had been forced into using. This was a shell of a man with more global influence than almost the entire world put together.

Infested.

Kyllael took a few more deep breaths to subside the anger back into their proper internal molds. Change is coming, he reassured himself.

The fat, once to be attendee to the Steinchilds’ little ‘party’, reached down to grasp the cool damp grass beneath him in a confused agony. His disposition was nothing more than surface level, bulbous, dreary eyes, staring at some self imposed labyrinth of dismay. Above the trainwreck sprawled out near the entrance to the pond, the large white leaves of a small shrub danced to some sort of cosmic melody on either side of the opiate fiend.

A lament perhaps?

Kyllael could sense the benign, judgmental energy radiating from the large white flowers as he pushed off the tree silently, dancing through his tensed muscles as he made his way towards the mental vacancy.

Yatchze was smart to have come here -- the flowers were quiet soothing if met with the right energies. Unfortunately for Yatzche, that would not help him today.

Kyllael locked his perspective as best he could on the raging maelstrom of energies flying around the old man on the grass. Inhaling deeply he let down his mental gates and allowed the oak tree’s energy to fill him -- a process of such simple joy, born out of years of seemingly complex agony. The invisible potential raced down his arms as Kyllael’s lithe frame neared the pitiful old man. With a quick turn, his right hand came down towards Yatzche’s head -- the energy solidifying into a fist sized blade of invisible force. Kyllael’s psionic blade sliced through the wrinkly tube of neck flesh just below the head easily, leaving the sound of squirting of major arteries hitting damp grass, and a slight energy echo within the backyard walls of the Steinchild’s Estate.

Within seconds he could feel the energies in his immediate surroundings becoming more balanced and harmonious, -- the fickle ball of cold self-sacrificed orgasmic explosions no longer consuming all attention.

One less infested human shell.

“I shed some luck for you, Yatzche. May the eternities help you to find your soul once again…” Kyllael breathed to himself, adjusting the simple black robe he preferred to wear as he started away from the corpse. That’s when he saw something completely new.

Effortlessly a young human male hopped over the high estate walls to land a few feet from Kyllael, though fortunately facing away. He wore a black suit -- black tie. Effortlessly. What was this now? A boost of intuition told Kyllael this kid wasn’t invited.

Finally some action.

Kyllael cloaked his energy signatures and slid into a rigid paralysis. The dark male spotted the decapitated suit almost immediately and started to make his way towards the crime scene.

Kyllael backed up to hide behind the oak tree, nestled comfortably again in the embrace of the shadows. Who was this kid? How had some American managed to pull something like that off? The mind can allow for many things, most of which Kyllael knew about. Many of those things, however, require meditation longer than this kid has likely to have been alive.

After a couple of deep breaths he started to scan the young man.

The black kid reached into Yatzche’s suit pocket to fish out his wallet. Opening it up and looking through it a bit he shrugged off the decapitated body and started to make his way towards the house rather quickly. He decided to keep the wallet. Kyllael tried his best to scan while trailing the trespasser, who was now moving on from the murder scene. Does he know what’s going on here? Whose house this is? More questions nagged at the pursuer as he tried his best to retain a pristine lucidity.

As the duo neared the house Kyllael finally seemed to get enough of a grasp on the kid’s consciousness. It was unlike anything he had seen before and that was a problem for the ancient observer. It was almost as if his energy signatures --his fundamental thoughts-- were in some sort of meld. He wasn’t drawing from a tree, or the sun -- he seemed to be accessing erratic foreign energy signatures from within his body. There were many questions surrounding this newfound anomaly, in fact the only thing Kyllael seemed to know for sure was that he recognized the vibrations of the Wyz Mushroom. Ancient and …wise, Kyllael could feel their presence with certainty.

“A Caexor…”

The anomaly dodged through the different luxury cars parked in the large rear driveway -- fast. Despite the seemingly restrictive black suit the young man moved with a certain grace that reminded Kyllael of an animal in certain instances -- confident and dangerously free of analytical binds. He made sure to stay quite low to the ground but it didn’t seem to matter as his invisibility --however it worked-- was operating better than Kyllael’s was.

What is this technique?

The question once again demanded answers in Kyllael’s mind as he noticed the anomaly make a slight turn. He seemed to be headed for the main back entrance -- not a good idea for someone who can jump like he could. Why not the roof? It was still unclear to the ancient observer as to whether or not this kid knew what was going on in this particular house.

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--Fort Kent. Nova Scotia, Canada.


Humphries sat twirling a pencil around on his desk, listening to his breaths goes in and out. In another room Eva’s breaths slowly did the same, but without the gift of waking thought. The Hump felt bad for that, though admittedly re-assured. He did not know what to think at this point.

At around the age of 12 Humphries was ‘selected’ and more or less forcibly retrieved from the public school he attended, to receive training at an alternative school which had been set up by a group who referred to themselves as ‘ACNG’. It was a subsidiary group formed by some of the members of the Council for Global Trusts alongside certain governmental military personal, as well as ex-intelligence officers from around the globe. Small enough to be nomadic and covert, but big enough and with the right personnel to do nearly anything required by what seemed like a truly confused chain of command which orientated itself mostly within the CGT.

Worthless old men, all of them; though those in power always tended to be. Those who would be fit to rule are the one smart enough to distance themselves from ruling, as Plato had once said.

Under that ideal, however, comes the chaos of the other – the world – the emotional orchestra.

The Hump put his internal grumbling on hold as he felt the vibrations of his ‘normal’ cell phone ringing. He had gone through quite rigorous steps to ensure its privacy.

“Hello?” he responded, seeing Jocelyn’s name on his call display. Throughout all of the Eva stuff he had sort of forgotten about her, and was glad to hear her voice again.

“Hi, Tully, it’s me Jocelyn…”

“Hey Jos, what’s up? Are you alright? You sound… sort of down.”

“Truthfully… ...I am. I need your help Tully…”

Humphries sat up straight in his chair now, fully alert. “With what? Just say it and I’ll get right on it…”

“Well…. I don’t know how to say this, but I think --- no… I am addicted to these anti-depressants, Tully, and I have to get off of them. It’s been going on for a while, and its gotten bad.”

“Anti-depressants? Shit... that’s dangerous stuff Jos. But I know of just the thing I think. I will meet you as soon as I’m back in the city, I promise.”

“Ok... thanks Tully...”

“No problem, is there anything else?”

“Tully… you’re going to want to meet this kid.”

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-Palos Verdez, California, USA.

Seeing a decapitated old man on a heavy shroom trip can really get your mind thinking.

Marcello didn’t really plan on getting into the robbery business. In fact, despite the fact that many of his friends ran around [where he’s from] stealing cars, selling dope, or performing different cons, Marcello was somewhat focused on getting money the good old fashioned way. However, after the business his father worked for went under as the result of a corporate scandal, and the resulting divorce which followed a lengthy period of unemployment, Marcello received only the written advice of his father for his 17th birthday: “Go to the library and learn”. At the time he did not appreciate the lack of substance in his gift, but from deep within the current shroom trip, Marcello saw the enormity of the substance contained within that thin sheet of paper.

The birthday boy actually did go to the library the next day, and what he found there was the illumination of concepts -- color and vibrance of the relevant sort. “Someone like you may find Machiavelli interesting…” a rather old and pretentious looking librarian had remarked to him as he wandered around in his starched jeans and long T. While looking at The Prince, Marcello also spotted an anthology of works by Schopenhauer. Flipping through it one particular quote caught his eye, which forced him to keep reading, and eventually take out the book: “In their search, the Alchemists discovered something greater than gold.”

Now, Marcello is a panther and the world was a jungle of color. It was a world he knew well; a world where time and thought collapse into the objective. Reality flowed around him, loose and longing for definition of meaning. He simply thought himself unseen and it was so. In (t)his perspective there was no second-guessing; everything was real because every thought was intense enough to materialize -- there was room for nothing else. It had taken him a little while to achieve this level of precision, and relevant optimism, but how he had gone about doing that was a complete mystery to the young man.

From somewhere deep within the drug trip he realized he led a somewhat different life than most, but was frightened back into it by the realization that he really wasn’t much different from everyone else.

The sleek black animal darted towards the back door of the house at incredible speed. He had never moved this fast before. The objective world was there, he could still make it out -- but he had gone deep into himself this time. So deep, it seemed that once again he was back out the other side watching his body, his thoughts, searching for his feet.

He would find something most valuable tonight, he could feel it.

Almost as if on cue he spotted a security guard positioned at the back door, and there was something odd about him.

There was something odd about all of this.

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-Tsarion Complex A, Colorado, USA.


Max sat in his trailer, on the media grounds for the Tsarion Event anniversary, putting back some shots of Thunder Toffee Vodka. Pretty tasty stuff and he was going to need it to endure this ridiculous event. To his astonishment he had to partially pay just to get his own trailer. These parasites knew who he was and were taking advantage of it. Or at least that seemed to be the case. He was not as hasty to pass judgments like these as the Americans. Fucking Americans, they can’t help but make you laugh.

A knock on the trailer door preceded its opening before Max really had time to respond or say anything. Brilliant, he thought; he could have been masturbating or something -- how can they just walk in like that? Or perhaps she wanted to catch him in some tabloid exploitable ‘unholy’ act. Americans, he laughed.

What he assumed to be someone’s very attractive assistant took a quick look around to find him seated at the small table at the end of the trailer, accompanied by a few different types of exotic, unopened liquor, as well as the Thunder Vodka in his hands.

“Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Dombrawn, but I have what appears to be an urgent message from your agent” she explained in a rather seductive voice. The blonde assistant’s accentuated body torched through the slight daze of Max’s drunk, burning into his vision like a pornographic contact lens.

It seemed to Max that these days in Hollywood it wasn’t just a prerequisite for stars to be breathtaking, but for anyone working in the industry at all -- or at least those seen by the public. Luckily for Max he was the debonair European dream his parents had envisioned.

“No problems at all, love.” The words flew out without thought, circling the assistant looking for an opening. “Care for a drink?”

“Um… no, thanks” The voice oozed out like estrogen velvet as she brushed a strand of blonde hair from her left eye, as the angelic pupils both glistened in the direction of the booze … I should probably get back. You know?” she flashed him a quick smile as if to signal the end of her explanation”

“So what’s your name, love?”

“Isabella.”

“What’s the message then?”

“[Agent’s name] says that you need to get in touch with your father.”

Max uttered the word “fuck”, and ironically all thoughts of sleeping with Isabella were flushed from his mind. “Alright, thanks” he declared un-amused as he started to top off his drink, forgetting about the girl.

Having been literally dumped out of his presence, the blonde exited the trailer as gracefully as possible.

Max downed another glass of the vodka before standing to open the small closet where he had placed one of his leather traveling bags. Rummaging through the different life articles he soon produced a nifty piece of technology which enabled him to bypass the US Homeland Security’s monitoring. A small black cube with a cord which plugged into the earpiece outlet -- the ‘tele-cloak’ as he called it was a pretty straight forward item given to him by his parent’s minions for their remote conversations. He plugged in the device and made the call.

“Yes?”

“Hello, Dad it’s me”

“I take it this line is clear?”

“Yes, Dad. I am using the latest device which was given to me by…someone. I can’t quite recall who…Humphries perhaps?”

“Are you drunk?”

“Yes, Dad.”

“Where are you now?”

“Working, like I told you. I’m about to do a couple sets in about a half hour.”

“Alright. Once you are done shooting there, I would like you to meet up with Diandre.”

“Bloody hell… what the ‘ell for? Let me guess you ne--”

“I need you to do something.”

Max sighs. “Dad, working in Hollywood is bad enough.”

“The American hip hop artist ‘Lil Parsons’ was scheduled to do a performance for the Tsarion Event anniversary but he has backed out recently, apparently he’s been saying he never wanted to do it, and blah blah -- he doesn’t buy it. Well… in this, he is being subversive to our plans, obviously.”

“So? Why would you need me to talk to him, then? Some flogging gansta rappa?”

“The Black North Americans of today are sort of a wild card. Initiatives taken in regards to that populace garnished control, we also took the social reigns from public, legislative, ‘legally’ orientated figures like Martin Luther King Jr, and then took them off! Ever since Reagan it’s been Scarface on re-run. We give them nothing, and yet occasionally one of them will rise up and take it all for themselves -- and this is who the others listen to. These social heads in the states are not receptive to true institutional power like ours. They are admittedly a wildcard of sorts.”

“So you’re saying they don’t listen to you?” Max laughed outloud at this into the phone. “Well that’s embarrassing now ain’t it?”

“You’re drunk.”

“So you think we can persuade Lil Parsons then? Somehow get into his mind early to have some loyalty?”

“Exactly. He is young, we can break him. ”

“How are you going to do that then?”

“Just like always: Offer him something beyond money -- show him we make the money. Bring him into the group, perhaps.”

“…Seriously?”

‘Yes, most likely -- unless Diandre can perhaps come up with another way. Remember it is important we get this boy to become ‘Patriotic’ as it will hopefully inspire a sense of the same into others. Any little hint of subservience to our ends can be worked on, and further molded into something more significant. In fact, this is crucial for the next stage of the plan.”

“I will do what I can, when I can Dad. I’ll be in Colorado for at least another couple days though, and as you know that negro is not here. . ”

“I’ll be watching. Make it your priority after that ridiculous ceremony is over.”

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-- Fort Kent, Nova Scotia, Canada.


“So what happens now?”

The question was as genuine as they come. Tully and Donaldson had a past of quiet resentment towards each other, but it was hard to separate knowledge from emotion. Donaldson was simply higher in the hierarchy, if you could call it that anymore. That’s all it took, as it always is, to inspire hate – a lack of knowledge. There were probably reasons as to why Donaldson acted the way he did that Tully would never become aware of, but in this instance they were both acutely aware of what needed to happen.

“We continue to do our jobs.”

The words didn’t matter; Tully knew exactly what that fat fuck meant. The Hump even knew Donaldson didn’t think the Cless were human -- that thought seemed to come through involuntarily on his part. Of course that meant they knew as well, which was a mind-bend to say the least.

“Very well.” He hung up the phone with a small grin.

One of the core teachings by his esoteric handlers was that of ‘sync’ – to consciously co-create solutions to problems. It was this slight esoteric touch endorsed by many levels of the higher intelligence communities, which enabled them to stay ahead of the populace. The same unfortunate souls the media intentionally molded to be individualistic and disconnected from any notion of the collective. With this foundation, manufacturing the required wars was not so hard.

The cozy little abode which Donaldson had sequestered from the Canadian military was exactly 13 sub-levels below the ‘official’ bottom basement of Fort Kent. Not the greatest view, but privacy certainly has its uses now and then. The Cless had dismissed him from his transportation duties and taken over with their own security – but how could he simply walk away from something like this? It seemed like everyone was coming out of the woodworks – his fractured understanding of the etheric was actually starting to make sense at least.

He sat at a generic desk – he had been sitting there for quite some time, paralyzed. There had been no real debriefing to speak of, ‘Blue’ simply told him he was no longer needed.

Perhaps it did not matter what he did at this point? It was an interesting though, but ultimately a cop-out.

The entire worldwide intelligence community had grown awfully quiet. Were the Cless in charge of it all? How could that possibly be?

The infant sat in what would appear to be an empty room, save for a bed and some medical equipment – at least to the soldiers and nurses. Tully knew otherwise, as he saw two astral toads pacing about the room attentively. A creature he had encountered a few times throughout his lifetime, but now he understood where they came from exactly, or at least from whose orders. The creatures were about the size of a small bear, and their bulbous eyes appeared visually as liquid mirrors to those who could see. If that tongue latched on you would not like what you’d see reflected in them.

Humphries studied the corner of his computer screen where a live feed to the sedated Eva showed her laying there in the same unconscious state she had been for the past few days. She had been sedated to ‘just above death’ as per the Cless’s orders. “As little thought potential within her brain as possible” were the exact words -- sort of chilling to the Hump, considering the situation, and he had seen some truly messed up shit. “Blue” truly scared him.

On the main portion of the computer screen it showed Eva’s birth report, and another report on what the agency had only been able to describe as ‘Anomalous Event Alpha 2’. In fact the only real data within the Anomalous Event Alpha 2 report was that human subjects of all sorts began to feel it at the exact time Eva was born. The whole mystery seemed to start and end with the girl -- why not merge the two files?

So many questions, and by the looks of things, with telekinetic infants and strange white-haired natives running around, clearly not enough answers. What would befall this precious child in the future? What is in Nova Scotia? What the fuck is the Incognito Cless?

The Agent hoped tomorrow he would obtain the infectious serenity of some sort of awareness into this whole ordeal. Humphries was not a man who got a lot of sleep, and ‘Eva’ was certainly not helping.

It was time to get some answers.

Somewhere deep inside he felt that perhaps this fear was his true character exerting itself; after all, in a world of lies and merciless clandestiny what else can one be but some aspiration towards some truth? How else can one feel alive but through that emotional push? Wherever the push may be...

He had learned to hone his intuition as part of his training, and he listened quietly to his soul’s whispers from within the cracks of the great void.

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-- Lil’ Parson’s Crib, Los Angeles, USA.

Little Parson’s house loomed an expansive ridge of the Hollywood Hills. A tight crib he had managed to convince some white ‘sta to put up for sale. With his status he wasn’t stupid enough to actually make threats, but with his reputation and resources he had managed to convince Alan Stevenson at the Grammies with a stern look and a few choice words. He got an offer the next day for the beautiful home.

Fred sat inside with his crew; some of them lazily watched the TV, their eyes nearly shut from one of the young rapper’s premium strains. Some of them were gambling on X-Box games on the second of the five TV’s - the rest of them were not on at that moment.

“… and in other news, Yatachze Crezin reportedly passed away last night due to a sudden heart attack. With no known prior heart problems, the political and economic author of several books and GCT member leaves behind a legacy of helping to directly shape he modern world as we see it now. He will be missed. Coming up after the break we will be taking another live look-in on the Tsarion Event ceremonies as they continue throughout today and tomorrow. Also, in a related story, it seems a group of protestors actually have something against the Tsarion Event ceremonies, calling the proceedings ‘an over glorification of an inconclusive disaster, which cost many lives’. We will see both these stories, and more. You are watching FNC, and I’m Sergio Sampson.”

The television recited its usual corporate machinations before Lil’ Parson’s contempt eyes. He was tempted to blast a couple holes into that crackerjack fuck Sampson with his chrome plated ‘The Glizza’-inscribed glockpiece, but he didn’t want to ruin the new flat screen just yet. He fucking hated that dude -- that liar.

He was probably just like Alan Stevenson.

Parsons didn’t even know anything about the story and he knew it was nothing but crack-jive. Motherfucker prolly OD’d or some shit. Fucking liars, all dis shit -- just leaches and fuck-sluts. Things ain’t what P thought they’d be like. None of dis shit.

“Yo niggs fuck this Tsarion shit -- fuckin bullshit man” Parsons remarked to his entourage with a snide twitch of his face. “That shit don’t make sense I don’t care what my agent says, this whole system herr ain’t gave us nothing, shove all the shit in our direction, so why I’a gon help dem?.”

The entourage nodded immediately.

“Seriously, you ever think about that shit? I mean… I dunno mang. A bunch of dynamite sounds like we’re getting played yo. ”

The entourage nodded carefully.

Lil’ Parson’s cellphone started to ring, allowing the rapper’s friends to continue with their cards and paused X-Box 360 games. “Whaddup, what it is?”

“…..yea…. -wait, what, Tampa Bay?” Parsons answered; his attention fixated on the phone as he let out a small laugh. “Yo, mang… what the fuck you doin in Tampa Bay? I don’t think I even heard about Tampa Bay in a good eight years now…”

A few looks were exchanged throughout the large mansion family room.

“… wh-… aight.” The young rapper finally spoke into the phone before hanging it up. His friends hung on the edge of their seats for the conclusion of the suspenseful call to their money maestro.

“Aight niggs we’s goin to the airport to pick up my nigga Marcello. He got that treasure for me to look at yedigg?”

The eleven occupants of the room nodded and began to assemble to their feet. Marcello glanced around at the small army of black puffy coats and started to trip. “Aight, I mean I is goin to the airport alone, so y’all niggas scatter on ye-heard? I don’t need you crampin-ass motherfuckers crowdin’ me all the time.”

“Yo, what’s goin on P?” Calvin Solomon inquired.

Parson’s raised a couple eyebrows, “That Marcello nigg, he said he said he woke up in Tampa Bay this morning, and this nigga creepin in this house in P. Verdizzy last night.”

“What?” Calvin Solomon responded, confused.

“I dunno mang, this nigga be strange and shit, eatin shrooms and doin acid all the time. Some sort of astronaught or something. Either way it’s all gravy, cause my boy said he got a crazy story this time -- old white man treasure, burrh!”

“Perhaps I should go with you and take a look at the new find?” Calvin Solomon asked, although somewhat more from an assertive perspective. “The Liberty Statue was quite interesting, when you consider the backstory behind that Statue audacity. This kid sure knows how to pick the stuff I like.

“Yeah yeah yeah, com’n let’s roll, C -- just stop talking.”

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- 16,000 ft from the ground, about 450 miles from LAX, CA

The delicate aluminum of the passenger plane clammored through the cool night sky much like a train would on the ground --- noisily. Up that far all is silent, but every now and then that silence is interrupted. The foul vibrations of man-made turbines, crudely taped to a tin can filled with cramped, unruly humans, was something Sylph often thought about.

These machines were quite active in this timeline.

Sylph watched the pulsating tube of energy pass by as it studied the collection of timelines held within. One in particular caught its attention, as the energy field was nowhere near the rest. This precious creature was evolved -- he might even be able to see Sylph -- and the only thing he seemed to be thinking was set onto repeat:

“What have I done?”

“Indeed” Sylph thought, taking a peak into the child’s matrix to examine the deed in question.

Sylph exhaled sweet moisture; smiling, it drew on the love radiating between Gaia and the bright moon above to continue on its slow parade amongst the others in the armada. It now spotted another plane, though this one held no passengers at all, and spewed mercilessly the object of Sylph’s mission into this timeline.

--- -- -

The plane was quiet and unabashed for the most part, as the first class section held only a handful of passengers. Marcello had paid for the flight in cash, as derived from the ‘second’ wallet he had woken up with this morning.

Marcello held the results of his latest mission in his trembling hands carefully. It was quite an old book by the look of it, but seemingly well preserved and almost energetic. It was oh so precious, despite the meaning of the words within -- as it was his only link to that night.

There was a title on the front of his leather bound literary liaison, but like the rest of the book it was inscribed in some sort of odd collection of symbols he didn’t understand, and small pictures, some of which he concluded may in fact be combined patterns of some of the very symbols themselves.

He exhaled, a hand to his head as he gazed out the window again. Yatzche Crezin was a man whose title he was unfamiliar with, but the fact that he was a namable international figure who the young thief had seen decapitated in some backyard was a surprisingly large load to carry despite the weight of his small wallet. Hmm. Perhaps Marcello should ditch the wallet.

What the fuck! How did he get to Tampa Bay and what the hell happened?

He could not remember for the life of him.

The shrooms had worn off, and for the most part they leave no physical aftermath; so with no hangover to distract him, and a boring ass plane with a retarded movie, he had nothing to do but try and piece together his fragmented recollection of Palos Verdes

What the fuck…

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- 13th Sub-basement of the Xel Lungold facility. Antarctica

There were ordinary, scheduled meetings of the Cless’ top advisors -- their only advisors, really -- or at least from what the chiseled Russian could tell. Radir Dorvski, like all men of his age who still served one boss or another, was a patient and calculating man. He saw the beauty in things, but unfortunately for some, that meant cold and merciless decisions, some of which rendered lives as void. To steer an entire species who would have otherwise surely perished is the job fit for an Maestro with the orchestra of Gaia itself at within their concerto -- and so they had at that point.

They had relieved the old hen of many of her duties long ago, including the weather.

But the dance goes on, progressively getting more complex -- and so the meeting was another phantom beat, somewhere near the end of the first movement. The Cless were seemingly all-powerful, and the ordinary meetings were usually a celebration of that, albeit in strange sexual ceremonies Doryski did not understand, and hated even more because of that.

But then… there were unscheduled meetings of the Cless’ top advisors. These meetings were almost without exception negative in nature, as they were almost always the result of some sort of error by one of the advisors. He had been in slight error before, and the punishments endured were what had him thinking about what had been wrong, and who had done it. Major mistakes not only resulted in death, but also things much worse.

The only entrance to or from the 13th Sub-basement was through the elevator, and as it’s doors started to open all eyes were fixed on the contents of the horizontal metal mouth. The last of the advisors, Mr. Keft Brulac, strolled into the brightly lit white room. He was a cool and calculating European of unknown origin – seemingly one of those men who had been playing this game from quite an early age. He gave a look around and nodded slightly to the other sixteen men present in a small semi-circle of fixated chairs. Brulac took a seat in the remaining chair –his designated chair-- greeting one of his closer friends within the group who sat beside him, Mr. Hyum Nagi with a curt salutation and a whisper of something Japanese.

The room fell silent again. They had learned not to talk too much as the Cless were usually already there, or watching with one of their astral dogs.

They waited in silence for a about ten minutes or so before hearing the familiar voice of the Cless echoing throughout the room with a supernatural luster. “We shall act now, slaves.”

The simple phrase sent shivers down Doryski’s aging spine and he could not help but think of the little bit of family he had left. Had he forgotten something? Had the younger advisors remained silent in an attempt to get him replaced? Was he to be safe right now?

As per usual, with the unscheduled meetings, the only Cless which appeared before the group of wise, and wonderfully trained men, was the white Cless. Unlike her lucid counterparts with their white hair, the white was Cless bald, and the seductive nymph’s pale contours lavished her slender frame with the precision of all of Gaia’s artists – their sacred muse.

She wore the most simple of dresses, whiter than the Russian snow.

“Do –not- even think about interrupting my procession, one more time than you already have, Nathan Steinchild” She suddenly barked in what appeared to be Red’s voice. “What’s been done has been done, your words are void” was followed by Green.

Radir did not understand why the female was never lucid – was she trapped somehow? Many times the Cless preferred this method of exchange, wherein White is used as a medium. The old Russian felt sorry for her. No color in her eyes – no life -- just blank white screens. Still, he was relieved it was not his mistake. Quite relieved.

Steinchild looked about ready to say something, as he was halfway to standing before he was slammed back into his seat.

“Not one more time, or you will not even hear the procession!” Red’s voice yelled, the unusual pitch reverberating through their very emotional cores.

With this Steinchild calmed himself, his eyes searching frantically for something – anything which would help him. He closed his eyes, from what Doryski could tell, resigned to his fate.

The rest of the men watched the scene reluctantly, though attentively of course.

“What we have on our hands here, slaves, is a theft.” Green was heard again from the slender goddess. “

The Book of Equinox has been stolen from Steinchild’s ‘safe’. The sad thing about this, slaves...” The White Cless paused, shaking her head unemotionally. “We cannot track the book of Equinox.” Green stated flatly. “It houses the Universe’s secrets, and so the Universe protects them—

“Protects them by sending a god damn anomaly that effortlessly evades all of your toys, and slips through matter into my safe and back out again!” Steinchild erupted, apparently unable to take it anymore. He knew was he going to die, but he wanted to get the last word in. In his power he sometimes eyed taking down the Cless – Doryski knew it, and so the Cless obviously must have. Still, the man was a legend born of a Dynasty family and he would not go quietly. “This wasn’t my fault, you’re supposed to take care of the etheric, you fucking pukes. You know it, you’ve seen the tapes… you don’t know what happened.”

Much to Dorski’s surprise, Steinchild starting laughing at his own conclusion, “You really don’t, do you?” he continued laughing while the White Cless made a motion with her right hand, opening a rift in existence from which a small pale looking man emerged from, on all fours.

Upright the Mexican-looking fellow would have been about 3’5 but Dorski knew this was no Mexican, as this was no man. It did not have exactly the same features as an otherwise short man would -- the limbs were almost insect-like. He had seen the creature before, and they called it ‘S’aath’. The creature’s smooth tanned face was adorned with two near black eyes with the slightest hint of green. He had encountered the creature before young Steinchild’s rise to the ranks of the Cless advisors; he did not know what was coming, which was probably a good thing.

Seeing the pools of death viciously devouring light from within the nightmare’s eye sockets made Radir want to shut his own eyes; but the chiseled old man was not one to easily shy away from life’s extremes. Not here at least.

Steinchild looked about to say something but the S’aath held up a hand which suddenly produced a halt to his speech. A second or so later Dorski realized it was because of the thick tar like substance which started to drip out of his mouth slowly. It was truly awful looking, imminent death or not.

Several of the advisors now started to look uneasy.

The White Cless turned away from the scene, walking into one of her milky rifts in space-time. “Someone had better find that book or all you slaves will die, again and again.” The words ended the meeting as they pretty much said it all.

The small Mexican looking man walked slowly towards Nathan Steinchild; who was helplessly pinned to his simple leather advisor’s char. The others looked on – some in horror – some in confusion.

The S’aath slowly climbed up onto the lap of it’s victim, who was just now beginning to clear the tar substance from his throat. “Oh God…” he managed to get out in between coughs. The small man took both hands and clasped the sides of Steinchild’s head with them, drawing it’s own head closer, bringing the murky midnight ovals closer to the young elite’s eyes, which were clenched shut. The S’aath’s eyes begin to ripple with texture. The twin blackness began to materialize into a pair of black hands which reached forth from the creature’s eye sockets, reaching over to pry open Henry’s.

“Please... oh God, NO….PLEASE SOMEBODY… OH GOD…” Nathan’s mouth screamed at the top of his lungs as a blackness began to spread through his face, and seemingly his very being itself. “HELP ME!! MOTHER!! OH GOD PLEASE HELP ME!!…” he sobbed.

The screams drove the very rulers of the world to crowd around each other desperately, trying to open the elevator somehow – anything to escape the sorrow which flooded the room.

The elevator would not return to operation until the S’aath’s eyes had pried open it’s victim’s face to gaze into the blackness of the pried open hole.

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--Raymond Residence, Los Angeles, USA.

Violet knew she was starting to lose control of things, but she simply did not care. ‘Truth’ was all that mattered now, and while she went through the motions at work her soul was no somewhere else. It was readily apparent – Darryl and her both knew – but in the end she simply did not care. Just like she could not force Darryl to care about reality, she could not force herself to care much about that reality. What she once thought was the real, normal world, was anything but, even though it continued on like nothing had happened.

Something had happened and if no one else could see that then they were clouded, mentally or something. The documentation on what was being referred to as ‘subtle revelation’ among other things on the net, was staggering – mountainous – how could they not see or care to look?

Violet would sit in the darkness of her apartment once again, the cozy shadows blanketing herself from the angst. Deep in the night a world of meaning whispered to her fantasies of the objective world she knew must exist.

In her isolation she felt more herself than she had ever felt. It truly was ironic this pushed people away. It was when she signed into her email account she remembered that it had also drawn people near. People she would have previously pushed away.

And so she danced.