--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.
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--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...”
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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.”
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