Partisan Saga, Chapter II - The Things That We Belong To

                “Are you sure about this?” Dorian asked.
                “Of course, Dor,” Kevin replied. “It’ll be great for you.” 
                The pair of them proceeded down immaculate, white halls, well lit and filled with a faint humming. Given the nearly tranquil manner of the people they passed, Dorian imagined that he too was supposed to feel at ease. He didn’t.
                “I doubt it.”
                “I don’t see why not.” Kevin gestured around them. “Look at this place. Clean. Practically spotless. Everyone taking to their work diligently. Tell me, are the Black’s halls so perfect?”
                “Of course not.”
                “Well then, there you have it.”
                The humming was more like a drone, Dorian decided- a noise just barely in the realm of notice, akin to a single grain of sand in an otherwise tidy bed. “Why does anything have to be perfect?”
                “Why not?” Kevin asked. “In a perfect society, everyone’s needs are met.  No one wants for anything.”
                “If you say so.”
                They turned a corner and approached a cathedral of sorts. While not as large as some buildings he’d seen on the surface, it still outclassed most of the other chambers he had seen below-  he figured only the Mosh was larger. Instead of murals, the vast stained glass windows of the building had been precariously cut to feature orderly rows dyed in various shades of white. The double doors of the building stood open, and many Whites had already begun filtering inside.
                “Well, here it is.” Kevin offered him a warm, but satisfactory smile. “We could stand out here all day, but it’s much more profound on the inside.”
                Dorian cast his companion a skeptical glance. “This is a bad idea.”
                “Well, you’ve already come this far.”
                “Yeah, and look what that’s gotten me.”
                “Only the best place in the White Library.”

                Well, Kevin was right- he had come this far, and while he had received some looks, none of them had been openly hostile. Still, it was perhaps that lack of hostility, the lack of flaws, that made him worry. “I guess there’s no choice in the matter.” Dorian surveyed the building one more time before shoving his hands into his pockets and starting forward.

                Not surprisingly, the place had been arranged much like a Church on the inside- rows upon rows of pews, most completely occupied by Whites.  At a glance, it was hard to tell, but it seemed to Dorian that there came a pecking order with the seats. In the very front sat people of the highest rank, he assumed, given their age, and the more dignified air about them. As he continued to watch, the vacant seats in those front rows remained so even as the room reached capacity. Dorian, of course, settled with Kevin near the back, along with others whom Dorian guessed were little more than fresh recruits.

                “So now…?”
                “We wait. Father Fucus is speaking today.”
                “Father Fucus?”

                Dorian had already managed to draw some attention, given his status as a Black among the White Librarians- his ignorance of Father Fucus brought a few more scrutinizing gazes for both Kevin and himself.
                “One of our elders. Our leaders. He teaches us humility.”
                “Interesting,” Dorian mused, and he almost managed to halfway mean it. He looked around again. “And you’re sure I’m welcome here?”
                “Keep your head down, Black,” one of the nearby Whites advised. “Show some respect, and you can sit with us.” At these words, there came grunts of agreement around them.
                Dorian met the man’s eyes for a hard moment, then gave a careful nod. “Let’s hear what he has to say.”

                Then, Father Fucus entered. He, of course, wore a long, flowing robe, white, faintly shimmering, without so much as a single blemish. The elder’s hair was nearly as colorless, and patchy in places, but otherwise well kept. He approached the pulpit from a door in the rear of the chamber, his appearance bringing thunderous applause that died the moment he reached center stage, without the need for any signal on his part.
                “Welcome, my children,” he said.

***

                “It is because we have seen the pain, the loss, the destruction, that we must guide them,” ‘Father’ Fucus lifted his hands and moved from behind the pulpit to approach the pews. “The world exists in a state of suffering. The people, our brothers, our sisters, our fathers and our children, they suffer.  In their agony, they inflict suffering on one another. This, my brothers, my sisters, is our cause. We must alleviate this suffering, this pain felt by the world. It falls to us.”
                The Whites in the audience murmured their agreement.  Dorian, however, sighed and shook his head. Same old drivel.
                “We who have suffered the most from such sin- our own and that of our brothers, we who know how the wounds bleed must take care to ensure that such torment does not grip humanity ever again,” he continued.  “We must lead them, so they do not make the same mistakes as our fathers and grandfathers did.”     

A glance to Kevin revealed that he clung to every word. Drinking in everything tired old Fucus had to say. If not for the mindless, abject adoration, Dor might not have minded- At the moment, the White’s sermons did well to keep the attention away from him, though he knew that particular mercy would fade quickly enough. While Fucus held the masses enthralled with such horseshit, it would only reinforce the disdain sent his way when the meeting came to a close.
                He glanced back to Kevin again, wondering if his partner were working an angle. If he really believed Fucus’ garbage, it did make sense to bring in a Black or two, win them over, have them spread the word. Then again, if Kevin didn’t buy into it, he wouldn’t be a White, and neither of them would be here in the first place.  Dorian concluded it was less a matter of ‘if’- the more appropriate question was ‘how much?’
                “We are their guides,” Fucus droned.  “We are stewards of the people, above all else. Our great suffering is eclipsed only by the greater burden that falls only to us, for we are the only ones with the fortitude to bear it.”

Now the congregation lifted their voices again, the once quiet murmurs evolving into loud grunts, accompanied by vigorous nods. Fucus paused to allow these reactions, the digestion of his sermon then, he lifted his hands, and the air cleared some.

“Rejoice carefully, brothers and sisters.”

Silence.

“Do not doubt, even for a moment, that we are chosen. The trials we face prove greater than mankind to bear, and thus we of such power, such poise… we must be ready to face them. Do not boast of this calling, I beseech you. Instead, submit. Submit yourselves to your duties and your stations, and perform your work with diligence and humility. For while we guide mankind, we all have our places. We must mind our stations above all else. What we do is a service performed with the greatest of reverence.”

Fucus paused and surveyed his charges again, and Dorian rolled his eyes. Based on the looks he and Kevin had received upon entry, the Whites in general had a good idea of where his place was in relation to them-- the very bottom. 

“Do not allow arrogance to overcome your good sense,” Fucus continued. “Each of us has a place, and such positions are bestowed upon us for a reason. You may look to your betters and tell yourself that you are just as capable. Perhaps you feel that your calling is not enough- that your ability is wasted at present, that your potential remains untapped. Perhaps you look to the Paragons or the Knights with envy in your heart. Reject these notions.”

The agreement that came with this pause was noticeably smaller than the previous. The formerly enthusiastic crowd had found something interesting in the cold, featureless tile of the floor, and Dorian suppressed a smirk.

“Those who serve as our Knights, our Paragons of Order, have proven beyond any doubt not only their commitment to the cause, but also their ability as leaders. Those men and women of such virtue bear only the highest of respect and concern for their fellowship. When you next long for greater standing, ask yourself with an open and humble heart, if you are worthy of such things. Do not let status poison your humility. Do not allow restlessness to inflate your arrogance. Submit wholly and completely to your tasks, for if you are capable of more, your diligence will prove such, and you will certainly be rewarded. Submit without pride or resentment to your superiors, for their knowledge and understanding is greater still. In truth, there is no greater joy than that obtained in the service of others, and so I say rejoice, for even the lowest among us already serves in the highest of stations. I say again that we are the stewards, and in this world, there is no greater honor.”
                Dorian’s snort was lost in the cheering of those around them. To Kevin, he whispered “And this is what it means to be a White?”
                Kevin paused in his jubilation to glance at Dorian with an almost reverent smile, one that fell into a frown as he read his companion’s face. “We are leaders, yes. But also servants and saviors.”

Dorian thought about disputing the point, but reconsidered, given the glances of the other Whites now watching their exchange nodding their agreement to Kevin’s words. Even then, he didn’t have the chance to retort; Fucus was speaking again.

“My children, I thank you all for your presence here,” he told them. Having wandered back and forth across the stage during his sermon, the Father now retreated toward the pulpit once more. “The task set before us is not an easy one; we must be vigilant. It is good that we can come together in this and strengthen each other, renew our bonds. You all will see- with each serving in his place, there is nothing we cannot accomplish.”

The Whites in the surrounding pews were leaning close do Dorian, almost daring him to reject the Father’s words. Dorian forced a smile, feigned reverence even. In the meantime, Father Fucus went on.

“Remember these truths I have imparted to you, brothers and sisters. Share them with our brethren, so that we may grow stronger together. Go in peace.”

There came thunderous applause and along with a cheer or two; then the sounds dissolved into the chaos that came with a mobile crowd- the shuffling of feet as the congregation worked their way out of the pews, and the semi-hushed conversations that accompanied such motions. Dorian, feeling as though he’d spent a lifetime and a half listening to the father’s droning, followed suit. Only after he’d started into the sluggish stream of bodies did he glance back at Kevin.

“Well. That was… interesting…”

Kevin read his face with no small measure of skepticism. “I thought you’d be more appreciative,Dor.”

“Appreciative?” Dorian glanced around at the sheeple shuffling past. “Appreciative of what?”

“The wisdom,” Kevin replied. “You’ve gotten a chance to see firsthand our ways. That isn’t something that happens very often.”

“I wonder why that is?” Dorian muttered.

“Perhaps because most others are not enlightened enough to understand our virtues.” The grandiose voice belonged to none other than Father Fucus, who had taken notice of them. Kevin greeted him with a warm smile. Dorian stiffened.

“Father,” Kevin dipped his head. “I just wanted to thank you for a beautiful sermon today.”
                “Of course, my son.” Then the Father’s eyes flicked to Dor. “And who is this who comes with you?”
                Kevin followed his gaze sheepishly. “Oh, he’s-“              
                “Dorian of the Black,” Dorian interrupted, fearlessly meeting the Father’s gaze. “Drifter Class.”

 Fucus eyed him a moment longer, then lost interest for a second time. “Kevin, explain the presence of this Black at our sacred meeting.”
                “Well, you see, Dor here-“
                “We’re Chaptered.”
                “Y-yes!” Kevin stammered. “I brought him so he might understand our ways and practices.”

“Our callings are not so easily understood, my child,” Fucus replied. “However, commendable of you, Kevin, that that you brought this one to be educated.”
                Though most of the Whites by now had levt the chamber, those within earshot offered agreement, some patting Kevin on the back in passing, while others fixed appraising stares upon Dorian. Fucus did both. He laid a hand on each of their shoulders.

“If there were more like you, Kevin, who would bring in outsiders to grasp some measure of our wisdom… perhaps they too could be enlightened.”

Kevin beamed. “Th-thank you for your kind words, oh Father.”
                To Dorian, Fucus added “And it is good of you to come, Black. As I was saying during the sermon, we must all learn our places and be ever aware of them. Dorian, was it? You and your brethren could certainly benefit by learning a thing or two from us among the White.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” Dorian replied, brows raised, smirk creeping across his face. “Though I must admit, I’ve learned plenty already.”
                Such a response was not lost on Fucus, nor the other Whites who had lingered to listen. The formerly neutral gazes had come to judgment.

“You seem quite certain of yourself, Black. Do remember, that there is always more to learn.”

***

A crisp wind cut across the rooftops, and Dorian pulled his jacket tighter around him. The tranquility of the night was a blessing and a curse; on the one hand, he found himself glad to be done with the day, glad to embrace the relative quiet and emptiness the evening offered, but it also reminded him of the White- an absence not quite absent enough, an ideal that weighed more heavily than one might notice at first. He sniffled, then spit, debated heading down and going back inside, but ultimately decided against it.

It made sense, to a point. As long as he’d known Kevin, the both of them had been directionless; the biggest difference between them was perhaps the fact that aimlessness bothered Kevin. Now however, after discovering his talents, Kevin could identify with a purpose. To him, a calling was just what he needed- a confidence to supplement his own, to help him bolster his power. Yeah, it definitely made sense.

It didn’t matter to Dorian though. Life came. Life went. If you were lucky, life was kind. If you weren’t, well, then it went more quickly, or more slowly. Either way, he couldn’t subscribe to such things- for as adamant as Kevin had become, Dorian found himself equally opposed. Live, let live. Live…

Partisan Saga, Chapter I - The Things That Belong to Us

In the time before the War of Knowledge, the Selectors established their vast civilization apart from the Collaboration and their insistence on public possession of knowledge. Varied and mysterious, the citizens shared with only those they deemed worthy, withholding all else. Among the Elite, the most secrets were known, though access to this fount dropped rapidly as ranks descended.

The average among them knew only his or her business. The secrets of true power, devastating power, were closely guarded for the sake of peace. The secrets of person, likewise kept, for the sake of dignity. For most, this was enough. They were content to live their lives as they came, sharing what they chose, when they chose. They harbored no regret nor hard feelings for the things not shared, for a person’s knowledge, precious though it was, had to them always existed as a sacred thing because of such intimacy.
                 However, others among the Selection questioned the limits of such complacency. While they certainly agreed upon the keeping of secrets, there were disagreements about which knowledge should be made more available- and how it should be used. The personal, the intimate- these were for the people, to keep to themselves and perhaps their families, if deemed appropriate. As for other secrets, well, they imagined that such should be wielded by all for the good of the state, to protect themselves should the need arise.
                Chief among those who sought this were individuals who had already conceded their personal stores of information to the Collaborators before the separation and the following truce.  Feeling embittered from their losses, these individuals harbored hostility. They desired vengeance, the ability to strike at the Collaboration and take back what had been unjustly shared, ideals hidden behind the simple, reasonable desire to protect themselves from any further incursion brought on by the Collaborators. Given their sacrifices, they simply could not bring themselves to trust the Collaborators.
                At the time of this unrest, the Selector society was led by the twins Pelomect, Cagneidu and Oddriser- powerful nobles whom had been prominent even before the splitting of the communities. Pelomect Cagneidu looked upon the discontent with a sympathetic, though perhaps  uncompromising eye. While he understood the pain they suffered, for he had lost some of his more precious secrets, he believed that the only way to maintain peace was to bear such indignities in favor of preventing more. Pelomect Oddriser likewise sympathized with the more restless individuals, though to a degree even greater than that of his brother.  He disagreed with the notion of accepting their losses as a necessary evil, and while he believed in peace, he also believed in justice. He tried, without success, to bring his brother to his point of view, but Cagneidu remained steadfast on the idea of letting the past remain in the past, and making the best of the future through careful planning and instruction of society.
                Because of the convictions he could not relinquish, Oddriser took it upon himself to lead a party of likeminded individuals into negotiating with the Collaboration. While some animosity lingered, he did this not as an attempt to steal or cause strife, as Selectors had done in the past, but only in order to secure what had originally belonged to himself and his people. More than anything, Cagneidu was wary of his brother’s intentions, as he wanted to avoid a repeat of the past atrocities above all else. 

**

The day was unusually hot, and Cagneidu knew from experience that it would make the people restless.  He himself felt a desire to pace, simultaneous with the desire to do nothing at all on account of the heat. The open windows allowed a sluggish breeze through that didn’t quite cool, but it was better than nothing. Something outside caught his attention; he rose and peered out the window to see a small gathering of men grouped in a rough semicircle. He recognized a few of those who had assembled, most prominent of all the one who held their attention.
                “Oddriser.”
                Palomect Oddriser turned to regard his brother leaning out of the window. “Cagneidu.” He turned back to his men.
                “Brother,” Cagneidu continued. “Come inside.”
                Oddriser glanced back to Cagneidu. “Can’t it wait, brother?”
                “I only need a moment of your time.”
                Oddriser gave his men a curt nod, then hurried around the building to the front door. Cagneidu met him in the entry hall.

 “Brother. What is it that you intend to do?”
                “We are going to the First Library to reclaim our stories. Shall I collect yours as well?”
                Cagneidu thought for a moment. “No. Brother, why can you not leave the Collaboration be? We have achieved the society that we sought.”
                “Have we?” Oddriser challenged. “We skulk on the outskirts, and they still hold our secrets. Things that rightfully belong to us. Things they have no business, nor need, knowing.”
                “I understand your frustration,” Cagneidu replied. “But the last thing anyone needs is another open conflict. Think of the last time Selectors took it upon themselves to take engage the Collaboration. Do you believe that they will not retaliate should you strike them?”
                “I expect they would, dear brother.”
                “Then you can see that what you propose is not wise.”
                “I am not proposing that we strike them. No, what I propose is the recollection of our stories, brother. That is where the self- professed ‘true’ Selectors failed. Their greed cost them –cost us- everything. All I seek is reclamation, brother. Only the information that they stole from us in the first place. They should not begrudge us that.”
                “And what of their information? Their secrets?”
                “What about them? Such things belong to them, and it would be poor of me to take them.”
                “We agree.”
                “Yes, brother. Their secrets remain theirs. Our secrets return to us. Everyone can then live as they see fit. Nothing more. Nothing less.”
                Cagneidu thought for a moment, carefully reading his brother’s expression. “Wait a moment, Oddriser. I must ready some things.”
                “Will you be joining us then?”
                “No. Someone must stay here and mind our people. I entrust this task of retrieval to you and your cohorts.”
                “Then…?”
                “I am going to send a messenger ahead to the Collaboration.”
                “What?!” Oddriser quickly composed himself. “Rather, what purpose would that serve?”
                “If you intend only what you have told me, what difference does it make?”
                “I would not lie to you, brother. I just fear that such an errand is wasted.”
                “On the contrary. Such an errand would actually benefit both parties, and uphold the peace that you and I have sought.”
                “Explain.”
                “I will tell the Collaboration that you are coming in peace. This will absolve them of their fears and ensure you and your party are not met with violence.”
                Oddriser nodded carefully. “You plan well, brother. I shall let my followers know.” He turned to leave.
                Cagneidu lifted a hand. “I will also inform them that your intent is simply what belongs to you, and advise them that you will be bringing a ledger with the listed pieces of information.”
                “A ledger?!”
                “This ensures that they do not fail to acquire every item you seek, and surrender it to you. It also would prevent errors if someone should say, ask for information that did not originate from among our Selector brethren.” Cagneidu smiled. “If we are focused on but recouping our own losses, then such trivial details only serve to smooth the process and prevent misunderstandings of any sort.”
                “You are correct as always, brother.” Oddriser dipped his head some. “Send your messenger, and I shall personally see to that an accurate ledger is drawn up before we proceed.”
                Cagneidu nodded in return. “Thank you for your understanding.”
                “Your trust is not misplaced.”

***

                Once Oddriser and his band had left, Cagneidu returned to his room, shut the door to his chamber and drew closed the curtains as well. He waited for several heartbeats, then finally pulled open a drawer and retrieved a small stone tablet.
                “Counsel,” he whispered. Nothing happened. Then, he heard a faint scuffing, before a quiet voice came in reply.
                “Cagneidu. Is something wrong?”
                “Are you alone?”
                “Yes, friend. What’s the matter?”
                “Nothing yet. However, my brother and I spoke about his visiting the Collaboration.”
                “Oddriser has no love for us.”
                “Nor do the Collaborators have any for him.”
                “What does he want?”
                “He seeks to retrieve the information wrested from our people.”
                “I see why you’ve contacted me then. I shall alert the guard-”
                “No. That will only make things worse.”
                “What would you suggest then? The people are not likely to sit by as he strolls into the city, much less the First Library.”
                “I would ask that you meet his requests, and peaceably so.”
                “I do not know if the High Collaborators will agree to that.”
                “I am hoping that they will realize Oddriser’s good intentions and respect his request. Merely a compromise to soothe those who have suffered unjustly.
                “I will see what I can do,” Counsel replied.
                “I expect my brother and his party will arrive in a day’s time,” Cagneidu said. “I will alert you as to when they leave, and what they seek, so that you and the Collaboration may be ready.”
                “Of course, Cagneidu,” Counsel replied. “I appreciate your forthcoming with such a delicate matter.”
                “Oddriser means well,” Cagneidu told him. “I know he does. But he is also angry.”
                “Rightfully so, I’m afraid,” Counsel agreed. “But you and I both know that this peace is rather fragile. I don’t want to see anyone get hurt.”
                “We agree.”
                “I will do everything in my power to ensure that your brother and his comrades are met peacefully, and the information they seek is provided.  I will also attempt to secure lodging, should they wish to stay for a day or two following their journey.”
                “Your hospitality does not go unappreciated, friend.”
                “One more thing, Cagneidu. Does Oddriser know of this?”
                “I have spoken to Oddriser and told him I would contact the Collaboration on his behalf. He understands that I seek only to mediate the transaction to ensure no one comes to harm.”
                “And he agreed to your terms?”
                “Oddriser and I may not always see eye to eye,” Cagneidu admitted. “But he understands the situation just as much as you or I. A confrontation would not be to his benefit either.”
                “Let us hope you are right, my friend.”

The Assassination of Norman Sterrn

Monday, December 14^th

6:35 A.M.

Subject Norman Sterrn rises. Starts coffee. Showers. Dresses.

7:00 A.M.

Subject finishes morning routine and takes coffee to go. Proceeds east along Elmore Street to subway station.

7:07 A.M.

Subject purchases two sandwiches from the stand in the subway. Waits with other commuters for the 7:15 Eastbound.

7:16 A.M.

Subject boards 7:15 Eastbound train.

7:30 A.M.

Subject departs from train at Harding Street Station.

7:34 A.M.

Subject crosses to Dumount Street and enters Bohrloch Solutions Callcenter.

12:02 P.M.

Subject exits Bohrloch Solutions Callcenter and heads north on Casada Street for half a block.

12:10 P.M.

Subject eats lunch in Casada Park.

12:23 P.M.

Subject heads south on Casada Street for half a block.

12:30 P.M.

Subject reenters Bohrloch Solutions Callcenter.

4:33 P.M

Subject exits Bohrloch Solutions Callcenter.

4:34 P.M.

Subject crosses to Harding Street and enters Subway.

4:40 P.M.

Subject joins other commuters waiting for 4:45 Westbound.

4:47 P.M.

Subject boards the 4:45 Westbound train.

5:01 P.M.

Subject departs from the 4:45 Westbound. Proceeds west along Elmore Street.

5:12 P.M.

Subject enters home.

                The chiming of his alarm pulled him from the deep, dreamless sleep. Precise, automatic, his hand came down on the clock even as he slid out of bed. 6:35 A.M. Coffee, Shower- these were not thoughts, but simply steps to initiate the day. Once the pot had been started, he returned to his room and undressed, taking care to place his clothing in the hamper. Then, towel in hand, he proceeded to the bathroom.
                He stepped into the water as soon as it came on, paying no mind to the cold. His nullified thought oversaw every process. Soap, lather, rinse. Again for good measure.  After his second rinse, he immediately shut off the water and slid open the shower door. He took care to dry mostly within the confines of the tub, throwing the towel to the floor to catch excess water as he stepped out.
                In his bedroom, he pulled his clothing from the chair and dressed quickly, glancing to the clock more from habit than concern. 6:43 A.M. He’d lost a minute. Now, he glanced to the palm of his left hand. The circular burn remained intact. He made a mental note to check in anyway; the fact that he had even begun to wonder suggested that he would need retuning.

                Because of such delays, he left his apartment two minutes behind schedule; he accelerated his typical pace in order to account for the difference. He figured a 73% chance of the train arriving late, but better to hurry in order to compensate for unforeseen variables. The foot traffic, for one, was more congested than average. He scanned ahead only to plot every step, and further quickened his pace.
                Within the subway, the crowd had swelled to the size he’d anticipated. 7:08. Well within his timeframe, but below his average. As he purchased two sandwiches from the deli counter, he began calculating ways to make up for his recent underperformance. He moved methodically through the crowd toward the platform, where he waited the last seven minutes for the Eastbound train.
                The train pulled in at 7:19, and he boarded. He’d already determined that he’d still make it to work early, with a margin of nearly three minutes. Between now and then, his gaze returned to his left palm. Had the pattern changed?
                Impossible. He looked up from his hand just as the train pulled up to his stop. Also impossible; on average, the trip took thirteen minutes. He glanced at his watch. 7:32. He filtered off the train with the rest of the traffic. The station clock also read 7:32, 33 now even as he stared at it. He glanced back toward the train as it pulled away. Just a moment ago…
                Replacing the seal had now increased in priority. Today, after work, before the sowing, he would have the procedure performed. He could not endanger his duties with such carelessness.

{VV[-]}

                If there’s one thing Icarus had realized, it was that the perfect timing of others made for perfection in his own operations. He stepped away from the wall as the man passed, wrapping one arm around his shoulders. The most amiable of gestures. His new friend did not resist, following his lead into the alleyway without so much as a word of protest.
                “What are you?” his captive asked. By now, anyone passing on the street would be unconcerned with their conversation. Perfect, indeed.
                “What are you talking about?” Icarus asked him. Overhead, he felt an odd sort of trembling. A glance revealed the air had become distorted; something was fighting it for space.
                “I know you can see it,” he continued, not even turning to face Icarus, nor flinching as the knife came to rest on his throat. “And if you can see it, that means you know what I am.”
                “Yeah,” Icarus muttered. “I guess we can’t really do this with any more subtlety, can we?” He shrugged. “I’ll make it painless though.”
                “You’ll try.”  The captive fell rather suddenly to the right, even as the distortion shot toward the alley floor.
                Icarus hurled himself away; where he’d stood moments before, a crater. The air began to distort again, splotches here and there that listed dangerously in his direction. Icarus reached with clear deliberation into his coat. “You don’t want to do this.”
                Before either could act further, a quintet of needles suddenly appeared in the captive’s right shoulder. The distortions vanished.
                Slowly, with his good arm, he reached across his chest to feel the needles buried in it. “Impossible,” he mumbled.
                “ ’fraid not,” Icarus replied, turning his back. Behind him came a short grunt and the gushing sound of blood. He took a slow breath and turned back to find two men hoisting the Blue’s corpse up between them. “Did we have to do him right here in the alley?” he asked.
                “We?” the larger of the two asked. “What did you do?”
                “Well, I did the surveillance. And I’m the one who got him back here.”
                “And he almost got the drop on you,” the smaller of the two replied, pushing his glasses further up on his pointed nose. “You’re slipping, Icarus.”
                Icarus looked away, out toward the alley, where people continued about their business with no idea of the harm they’d been spared. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
                “Take this seriously,” the smaller man continued. “have you forgotten our mission?”
                “You think he gives a shit about the mission?” the larger man asked. “He’s just spoiled street trash, living it up now that he’s got daddy looking out for him.”
                “Is that what you think?” Icarus’ brows rose as he mused over his adversary’s words.
                “You heard me, rat. You’re only with us because Draven wills it. We’ll see how the council feels when your doddering old man is but a memory.”
                “Enough,” the smaller man interjected. “We’re still on a job. Let’s get rid of this filth and return to headquarters.”
                Icarus glanced between the two of them; with a small smile, he shook off the challenge. “I’ll bring the car around.”