“Michael Young,” the man in the scarlet suit said as he walked into the room, “Age, thirty-four. Birthplace, Macon, Georgia.”
“Excuse me?” Brother Mauthe asked as the man the police and Customs agents called his “special guest” sat down.
He recognized the man known as “Crimson.” The last time he’d seen him, he’d been wearing an armored stealth suit and the lower half of his face was covered, but those cold eyes and that stern gaze was unmistakable. That, and his shiny “chrome dome.” He could swear the man actually polished or waxed his head or something.
“Your name,” the CIA agent replied calmly as he handed the file over, “At least, it was before you accepted a very… Special… Assignment.”
The man turned his head to the page and scanned it with his affixed cybernetic. Keywords were located and information was sifted so he had the points he had questions about.
“This can’t be right,” he whispered, “I’m supposed to be-.”
“If President Marchand did have any surviving family, Recluse has either had them assassinated or they’ve been buried under so much protective custody, even THEY don’t remember who they were anymore,” Crimson interrupted him, “But in order for your assignment to have even the slightest chance of success, you needed… A special kind of cover.”
A phrase glared at Michael like a beacon.
“Brainwashed?”
“Arachnos is so full of psychics, it’s just about impossible to seed them with any kind of spy. Those Widows and Fortunatas are some tough ladies, too, and I know tough ladies. In order to put somebody in the Isles who would foment instability against Arachnos, possibly even go so far as to incite a rebellion, we had to make you truly believe that you were the son of the late President Marchand and that you were on a revenge mission. Recluse would have gotten that information and thought he could manipulate you, twist you, turn you… But your directives were never to confront him directly. You were going to turn the people against him. Even Recluse can’t handle the whole of the Isles rioting against him, and if he were to turn the place into a massacre, well… Let’s just say the U.N. frowns on that and the U.S. has been itching to squeeze this trigger for a while.”
“So… My social and political views? These were programmed into me? And you sent me in as, as… The ultimate bait?” Mauthe asked as he set the file down and looked up at Crimson, “Why? Why me?”
“You volunteered. You saw the need to try to take down an evil dictator, no matter how tiny his nation, and you offered your skills. Our testing indicated you were the operative with the closest political leanings that would be amicable to the personality type required. We needed Che Guevara in there, not Rambo. Others tested were statistically shown to prefer trickle-down theories, so they would have tried to band together power players in an attempt to topple Arachnos… While such a plan might have worked, it also would have shown Recluse exactly whom to kill, such as the leaders of the Council or the Marcones along with the operative, as opposed to what you did…”
“I took some people off the streets, out of those holes Arachnos left them as lives… And I put them on a big farm. How does that make a difference?”
“You made a glimmer of hope,” Crimson intoned, folding his hands on the table as he leaned in toward his subject, “You showed the people of those God-forsaken isles that there really can be a better way, rather than the empty lies of Westin Phipps… I mean, why else would Recluse send a search and destroy army after you twice?”
“So, my wife and child?”
“A cover. The woman playing your wife was an agent who works for me. The boy is her son, I believe… You would meet them at Pocket D and remember just chit-chat, but you were delivering vital intel about the workings of the Rogue Isles from the ground up. We’ve been able to get some successful operations going in that territory because of you.”
Michael reached up and pulled the ocular implant from his eye. He didn’t need the cybernetic device, his right eye worked fine, but the gadget had done wonders in assisting him throughout the years. Right now, though, he needed the way to his eye clear so he could wipe away the tear.
He’d always suspected his memories had something false to them. Now, the evidence was staring him in the face. The file told him everything, how he was a CIA operative, how he had lived alone, grown up alone. No wonder he had a belief in an idealized brotherhood that was grounded apparently nowhere in reality. His father was a labor lawyer, his mother a painter, they divorced when he was twelve… He lived with his father… Had brief stints as a reckless youth, was arrested for vandalism and a few cases of underage drinking… Finally cleaned himself up by going into the Navy, went to college, wound up recruited by the CIA after testing showed he had amicable psychological qualities. After training, he had a few operations in Europe and the Middle East, but was called back after a mission went bad and a fellow operative was killed. He spent a few months working in Langley before a position opened in Paragon City and he was accepted.
And the rest was history. His new assignment as a deep cover operative, so deep even he didn’t know about it. His New identity, his new associates… His war… His community… His goals… His dream… Lies.
“Who’d you plant in my crew?” he asked as he rubbed the bridge of his nose after his eyes, “Skrap?”
“Why not Hand?” Crimson asked, his voice oddly tinged with amusement.
“As a former Longbow agent, he’s too obvious.”
“Good point. I wouldn’t use Longbow, anyway. They’re unpredictable. They make good bodyguards, usually, but they get all zealous and when they get to firing up their crusade, you better get out of the way… Now, as for who the plant was, there was no plant. You were the plant. We put you there, and you were programmed well. Yoinked out of the Zig just like we hoped you would be… Left to fend for yourself on the streets of Mercy and Port Oakes… You recruited your team and your people through your own merit. Everything you did as soon as you were inserted was your own merit and you reported to us what was going on and what you had planned… You worked well, though I gotta say, I was a little worried when you took that job to rescue the teacher from Phipps’s men…”
“It was a trap, but my boys did okay,” Michael grinned, somewhat proud that he’d accomplished that much, then his eyes narrowed and he leaned in to make sure he had his superior’s attention, “Look, this small talk is all well and good, but where do we go from here? I’ve got these memories of who I was made to be, the persona of a cult leader, benevolent though I may be, and now all of this crap from my old life is starting to resurface. The question is… Who am I supposed to be?”
“I can’t answer that for you…” the red-suited man sighed as he turned to look at the mirrored window, “What do you want to do?”
“I want to make sure my boys are taken care of. Skrap will certainly be killed by the Council… And I don’t think Hand is too happy about how Longbow just left him out in the cold.”
“Well, if you’re going to continue operating as Brother Mauthe, I happen to have some work that could use eyes and ears in the streets,” the bald man smiled, “And it would be nice to pit some tough-as-nails gunslingers against Malta’s marksmen…”
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“We’ll be able to provide room and board until you can find appropriate lodgings on your own,” Kipland explained as he gave the tour of the base to the new recruits, “For some there’s no rush… For others…”
He paused to focus on the two former Arachnos agents standing behind Power Breaker. They were in their armored uniforms, only these had been heavily altered. Instead of Arachnos’s familiar red and black wolf spider armor, purple and black Night Widow outfit or even Daniel’s specially designed jungle green armor, they had altered their uniforms to conform with the colorations of law enforcement, in this case a familiar blue and white, similar to that of the Paragon Police Department’s hard suits and robots.
“You two I expect to make it hasty,” he growled.
“Mister Durj…”
“Mister Durj is my father!” Kip barked, “You, specifically you, will call me Colonel! It may not be official anywhere else, but I’m the one running things in this group when Randy decides to phone it in!”
He looked over their shoulders and gave an upward nod of his head. The newcomers turned and saw the large bulk of a man that was the leader of the group. His gray hair was grizzled, his beard scraggly and unkempt and his clothes were stretched over a thick girth of muscle and fat. Randall Grey lumbered past the group, giving Power Breaker a light pat on the shoulder to show his relief that the other big man had made it. He then turned into the kitchen and asked if anybody would like to join him for drinks.
“Go on if you’d like,” Kip said, his voice calm and cordial, “I’d like to have a chat with the two operatives before they settle in…”
Power Breaker, Mauthe’s personal bodyguards, a couple peculiarly-dressed meta humans and a few members of the Brotherhood who hadn’t yet been able to get in touch with family made for the kitchen. They had every intention of getting wasted and forgetting their troubles, at least for a night, and Randy had a microbrewery installed that would help them along.
“I’ve been trying out some blends with that Ambrosia stuff they find in that big mountain in Eden,” the big man explained as the din gently overwhelmed his voice.
Daniel and Candace turned to Kipland, who glowered up at them. They returned his glare with impassive stares.
“We don’t trust you,” Kip finally said, “Both of you have caused trouble for us and our friends. I know there’s somebody here who REALLY wants to have it out with you, Taylor.”
“I know,” Daniel sighed, “But… Look, what do I have to do to get on the right track for this as quickly as possible? Kih-… Colonel…”
He paused to try to roll that thought around his head a few more times. The younger Durj was already trying his patience, but he knew he was still going to have to prove himself on a personal level if he was going to be trusted by these people. Still, it made sense that he was making a strong show of his authority in this situation. He was also making it clear that they were not friends.
“I have an idea for a start,” a young woman’s voice announced from behind them.
Daniel turned and frowned as he recognized Charlene Grey. Earlier in his career, he had captured her in an attempt to study Kheldians for Arachnos. It was to be his career-making move. Then her family and their friends came along and wiped out his whole operation, disgracing him and somehow binding his fate to theirs. No matter what he tried, one of them or somebody associated with them would come along to foil him. Now, despite the intervening years and her adventures, the fifty-year-old woman still looked like she wasn’t a day over twenty-three thanks to the Kheldian bonded to her being, and she still had that irritated glare as when he’d last seen her.
“Whatever it is,” he said, noting her tapping foot, “I’ll do it.”
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Moments later, he found himself in a small ring. It was a bit of a crude construct, and clearly a remnant of a day gone by. Still, the members of Grey’s Army often found use for the Brutal Warriors Order’s major souvenir. It served as a wonderful training ground, a location to spar, and there were rumors that members such as Randall and Charlene’s eldest son, Cedric or one of the Simms boys would bring female company to have some fun on the mat.
In the other corner from him was Charlene. She was cracking her knuckles and rocking her head from side to side to pop her neck a couple times.
“Remember,” he said calmly, “One punch… I know how hard you Kheldians hit…”
“No,” she replied as she stepped closer, her eyes glowing bright white as Sol’Ra T’Cha flared to life, “You really don’t!”
Moments later, all Daniel could see was white. As the light faded, he became aware he was no longer in the ring, but a small hospital bed. Kipland’s brother, the taller, thinner Nester, was shining a pen light in his eyes.
“Okay, Mister Taylor, I’m going to need you to tell me how many fingers I’m holding up,” he said as he held up his hand.
“Three. Five. Two,” Daniel rattled as Nester shifted the positions of his digits, “Nothing’s fuzzy or blurry, but everything IS wobbly…”
“That’s because your right iris keeps dilating and constricting,” the medic replied, “Don’t worry, we’ve got a room in LaGrange on standby for you. Man, Missus Grey really whalloped you good!”
“She’s got a mean right hook for being so tiny,” Candace said appreciatively, “Makes me glad I wasn’t in that ring.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Nester chuckled, “Before she even got the powers, the legend goes that she knocked out Randy. Yeah, little itty-bitty her, K-O-ing that mountain of a man!”
“Ugh…” the former Arbiter groaned as he rolled out of the medical bed, “I made the wrong decision right from the start, didn’t I?”
“Yes you did… But at least now we can put it behind us. Let’s get you to LaGrange and get some specialists to fix you up…”
“Thank you, doctor,” Candace purred as she slung Daniel’s arm over her shoulders.
“Oh, I’m not a doctor…” Nester chuckled, “Medical Technician. Doctors diagnose, I record symptoms or provide basic treatment. Fortunately, Dermal Regenerators count as basic treatment.”
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“What is this?”
Agent Wild was looking over the evidence presented to him. On the other side of the glass of the interrogation room, evidence cataloguers were setting on display some of what had been acquired from the Nova Core building. It was a lot of disassembled parts from equipment a spaceship company had been working. It all looked viable as spaceship components in his mind.
“We don’t know!” Luke Hoss shouted from where he sat in the same observation room, “Look, we’re a bunch of struggling rocket scientists! Humanity has practically abandoned the idea of space flight in favor of new phones and videogames… We needed something big to get people going again, but the money was running out!”
“So you turned to Nemesis…”
“NO!” Hoss looked mortified, “Goodness, no! That lunatic? But… This investor came along… He provided us with a building… Some tech to work on… He wanted us to reverse engineer it… Said if we could figure it out, we could find a fuel source and thrust system that would get our company on the map!”
“But what you wound up with was a plasma torch,” Kipland finished, “Because that’s what it was.”
“I don’t… I don’t understand…”
“Nemesis is stealing parts from beaten Praetorian Clockwork?” Agent Wild asked Kipland in a hushed whisper.
“Not Nemesis…” Kipland waved the man off, “An offshoot faction from a plot that went out of control…”
“A Nemesis plot… Out of control. I’m actually MORE scared, now…”
“What about the garage and warehouse just brimming with troops and War Hulks, huh?” Kip asked Lucas.
“It was the investor’s building! He wanted to store some stuff… We weren’t using the space, so we agreed! How were we supposed to know it was going to be full of soldiers and war machines?”
“But you did know!” Kip continued, “You tried to keep us from going in there!”
“I-… I…” the young man sobbed suddenly and held his head in his hands, “Yes! Yes! I knew! I knew they were using us as a front, but… I thought we could still do some good for the world! I thought...”
He trailed off before burying his head in his arms and sobbing. This scandal was going to ruin him.
“Well… Did you learn anything about those Plasma Torches?” Wild asked.
“Of course!” was the man’s muffled cry, “We even built some of our own!”
Kipland looked up to Wild and arched an eyebrow. The red-and-white clad man grinned back before clapping Lucas Hoss on the shoulder and pulling a chair up next to him.
“Hey! Hey! Cheer up, man. Your career in rocket science may be over –for now— but I can offer you a new opportunity… Here in Freedom Corps and Longbow…”
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“So, they drummed up a contract right there,” Kip explained, “Hoss and whoever is interested will work for Longbow, picking apart whatever captured Praetorian technology they find. Anybody not interested is going into protective custody…”
“Which might be full of Nemesis Automatons,” Dirty Ice burped over his submarine sandwich, “Ooh, excuse me… I was holding that back…”
“Eh, some of them are willing to take that risk,” Kip sighed, “I talked over some other concerns with Wild afterward, telling him I wanted him to keep me in the loop, let me know if he learns of any strange Nemesis behavior. We don’t want all of our information coming from Nemesis and Graves.”
“And what, exactly, is strange Nemesis behavior?”
“Using people as an actual front, while not new, isn’t something Nemesis does anymore. His Automatons are at a point where they’re so convincing, some of them might not even know they’re robots. He doesn’t NEED to dupe some people into covering for him. Nemedyne, however, probably isn’t using Automatons. They might be able to send signals back to Nemesis proper, or they could in fact be getting controlled by Nemesis directly, so what they know, he knows. People are easier to track, even if they’re using cell phones or other communicators to get the word out.”
“So, how did you know they were Praetorian weapons they were working on and not spaceship parts?” Johnny Nack asked.
“Simply put, I’ve seen Praetorian equipment before… Even this new stuff, and I have it on good authority we’ll be seeing it a lot more often, too.”
“Wait… So those new folks who came in yesterday were-?”
“Some of them,” Kip replied, “Others were from the Isles.”
“So, Grey’s Army is getting bigger, huh?” Dustin asked as he twisted the cap off his bottle.
“The group’s been so huge for so long, I’ve been wondering how we kept track of it all…” the younger man leaned back into his chair and looked up at the ceiling, “Jebus… And it’s only gonna get harder from here on out.”
“Cheers,” Matt raised his own beer to Kip before taking a swig.
You don't like me because of things I've said and done, I just don't talk to you anymore, and I imagine you're happy for it. We, for example, will never be buddies, but I team with you when the need arises. I know for a fact that's not the only case where two or more people who do not 'get along' can tolerate eachother's company long enough to achieve a common goal. Then, after total victory, they move on fondly gazing at their new shiney.