short timers: Episode 3b

new members... new enemies

Once the trick was learned it was easier and easier to accomplish. Earlier in the evening, Morgan had actually been able to access the Field in such a way as to be able to see with his physical eyes, and his mental ones at the same time. That form of concentration required nothing more than a quieting of the thoughts, and to allow the energies to come forth.

Tsang sat across from him with a strange aura enveloping his body. It swirled with multiple colors like exotic chemicals in a cloud excited by some electric current. It rotated slowly, a lazy glowing tornado orbiting the body of his friend. In the center of Tsang’s body a bright pulsating light emanated like a tiny trapped star just beneath his solar plexus. It too seemed to rotate, and Morgan stared at it for a moment.

The spot moved slightly forward, and Morgan watched it divide itself in two, and float closer to him.

Now you try. Tsang said.

Ok, give me a second. Morgan said, trying to feel within himself what he was seeing with Tsang.

He felt his body, all at once, and separated at the same time. It was an odd, but pleasant detachment. He felt his core, felt the contracted energy there within him. He felt it’s rotation within his abdomen emanating out to all of his limbs, the room around him, the walls outside the complex, the street, the city. He felt he could expand his energy to encompass all of the world if he wanted to. Perhaps the solar system, or the galaxy.

A strange euphoria washed over his mind, a calmness of spirit. The horrible creature that he’d been when he had attacked Vincent earlier was not there. Morgan was glad for this.

Good. Tsang said. Now try to divide the energy.

Morgan did as he was told, feeling the bright spot that was him, somehow stretch and snap in the middle.

I suggest you tie a chord between the two. Something that you are confident is indestructible. I doubt that you could get lost, but I wouldn’t chance it either.

Morgan wondered what would happen if that occurred, but decided it would be better just to assume it would be bad. He visualized a bright beam of light between the two points, strong as diamond and as hot as a laser.

Tsang spoke up again, Jance was correct when he said that much of this has to do with intent and confidence. But where my knowledge is based in practice and discipline, much of what we do here now is strange to me.

In what way? Morgan asked.

Many forms of meditation exist. The idea of quieting the mind and changing one’s consciousness is as old as human existence. I believe, all forms of meditation are extensions of one realm. The visualizations may change from individual to individual, but those visualizations can be the basis for many types of mythology between cultures. But, the point is gaining access, and then communicating the result. Since joining this organization, I’ve altered my meditations in many ways. Some to communicate well with the rest of you, and also some to hide from the rest of you.

Hide? Morgan asked.

It is my nature and upbringing to keep much of who I am hidden Morgan. And although I still keep a few secrets for myself, just as everyone else does here, please understand that I have given more information to you than I have given to any other person in this world. I would hope that you would respect my boundaries as a friend and brother in arms.

Morgan grinned. Of course Tsang. We all have our closets.

Indeed. Tsang said.

The point is that what we are doing now goes way beyond many teachings from my culture, where so much of what is done in the realm of meditation is private. We do what we must for our respective master, for honor and duty, but our thoughts were our own.

I agree. Morgan said. It’s similar to what I have experienced in the military. They would train us to think and act the same, and to function as a military group even if our commanding officer was killed. But they couldn’t tell us what to think when we stood over the bodies of our enemies…or our friends.

As Morgan and Tsang held this discussion, they rose through the complex in a state of Alpha Projection. Much of their consciousness was contained in the bright shining spot rising through the ether to the fifth floor, but some was left behind as well as part of an anchoring system.

Aside from the strange grayness, things didn’t look too much different to Morgan than they would normally. A wall still looked like a wall until he passed through it. It was a strange mental sensation to pass through something and not feel the effects of gravity, or the solidity of materials. It was Jance’s lessons that he called upon to achieve this weightlessness. Imagination has it’s great purposes in the projection of consciousness throughout the world and existence. But Morgan wondered if by pressing this feature through their actions in the group, if they were on the edge of great discovery? Or if they were just breaking the rules? As a response to this question, two distinct mental images flashed in front of his mind’s eye; one was his own face as it looked when he was the demon within his mind, the other was the slaughtered body of the Vincent wide eyed and bleeding through the bloody hole in his midsection. Morgan realized that the question didn’t matter. Because one way or the other, the Field was a useful tool.

They arrived at the fifth floor, just outside the buildings uppermost windows. Morgan tried to push through and couldn’t. It was as if it were real glass.

As you can see Morgan. Something has us blocked out. Tsang said.

Hmm. Morgan tried the wall, under the floor, and up from the roof. Nothing worked. He bumped into an invisible force field wherever he tried.

What would cause this? He asked himself and Tsang.

I don’t know. But we need to know what could do this. And we need to know if we can figure out how to do it ourselves.

Morgan thought he heard something behind Tsang’s voice, like a warning with that last statement. He drew his attention back to Tsang’s formless spot.

You think this is coming from a person?

Perhaps. But as I stated to you before. I don’t trust it, or like it. I’ve spent most of my life presenting walls like this in one form another. The only time the wall would drop was just before I was about to strike. But then of course, it was way too late for anyone to do anything about it.

Morgan thought carefully. Tsang was right, and he knew it. What bothered him the most, was that it was hidden from him also. He and Dr. Marcus had an agreement. And this barrier was in violation of that agreement, as well as Dr. Marcus’s silence about it’s existence. Morgan had been as honest as he could with the Dr. Marcus. And though he didn’t always expect people to be honest with him in return, Morgan expected himself to be smart enough to see through the bullshit when it was presented to him. He hadn’t seen this coming at all, and to say the least he was extremely pissed. Goddamn near maniacal in truth.

He felt a deep rumble enter his core. Like a freight train from a long way off.

He slammed himself into the barrier, trying to force his way through. Trying to get in by sheer force of will.

It wouldn’t budge.

He did it again.

Morgan... Tsang said. Morgan ignored him, slamming his consciousness into it again. He thought he felt it flex, or weaken. He didn’t care, if there was a weakness in it he wanted to find it.

Morgan… have some caution.

He still ignored him. He tried to chew through the fabric of it.

He backed way off and hurled himself at it again, using all the force he could bring to mind. He imagined earthquakes and mudslides, comets colliding with planets bursting holes through the rough surface into the red mantle below. He imagined the barrier exploding like a frozen piece of glass sending shards in every direction.

He felt a deep crack in the surface of it now.  

Yes! He snarled. And felt along the crack for a gap, something that he could slip his mind through. Tsang was quiet. Hanging back and watching, not offering any help. Morgan didn’t care. All he needed was a pin-prick, a tiny hole of space. Anything to work his consciousness through.

He found it, he could feel it with his mind, so tiny that even an air molecule wouldn’t make it through.

He reached into the hole. Stretching his consciousness long and thin, like a mosquito’s proboscis searching for the life’s blood of it’s prey. He felt himself come through the other side, waving through like a tendril of smoke. He looked around, not really expecting to see anything, he still had some space to travel before he could explore the area.

He felt something, like a pressure. Like a tiny breeze changing it’s course at the switching of seasons. So small that nothing would notice it.

His first impression was that something bit him with heavy jagged teeth. It tugged on the piece of his extended consciousness, trying to rip him the rest of the way through the crack. It was so strong! Like a crazed great white shark yanking on an earthworm. He didn’t feel pain so much as the yanking pressure. He panicked. Tugging harder and harder backwards, bracing against the surface of the barrier and pulling away as hard as he could.

He could hear it, snarling and slobbering. He felt it tracing up towards him back up through the crack! It burned in rage and hurt. Blood lust and animal ferocity.

He started to scream. He could feel it, almost see it, traveling up him with razor teeth and black gums. Gibbering and slobbering madness from beyond imagination. It inched upward with relentless pressure. Consuming him as it traveled.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

He woke to Tsang’s face above his, eyes wide with concern and anger. Tsang had Morgan’s face between his hands in an iron grip, small beads of sweat were on the oriental’s brow.

Morgan tasted blood, and felt a sharp pain in his mouth. He’d bitten the inside of his lip deeply, and blood ran freely from the wound. He felt it dribbling down the corners of his mouth.

Morgan! Tsang shouted, and slapped him across the face three times again in quick succession. The loudness and pain of the strikes were immense. Like getting hit with a brick thrown from the roof o a building.

Jesus! Morgan shouted. Tsang! Knock it off for Christ’s sake!

Tsang, still looking concerned, stared deep into Morgan’s eyes. Searching for what, Morgan didn’t have a clue. All he knew was that his head was throbbing from a chewed lip and bashed in brains.

Goddamn Tsang. Why did you hit me?

Tsang was quiet for a minute. I’ve been slapping you for almost thirty seconds now Morgan. He finally said. His tone suggested that he was deeply pissed.

What the hell happened? Morgan asked.

How the f**k should I know. First you were hammering yourself into a wall like an idiot on angel dust, then you were stuck to it and screaming like you’d been caught in a bear trap. So you tell me Morgan, what the hell happened?

Morgan was quiet for a moment, licking the inside of his lip, and trying to get a sense of the depth of the wound. He told Tsang what he’d felt when he’d reached through crack, and when he’d felt the thing -whatever it was- reaching back up through, feeling like it was eating him as it did.

Tsang was quiet as Morgan told him, but he was obviously tensed. His eyes were fully dilated and glowing viciously in the near darkness of the room. Morgan finished with waking up to Tsang standing over him and slapping him across the face.

Why were you hitting me? Morgan asked, feeling the swelling across his cheekbone like an over inflated basketball. It was pulsing and hot, Morgan was surprised he still had an eye left.

You were having some kind of fit. When we were in the Field, I grabbed you away from the wall, but you were like an animal. I brought us back down here, but you were still insane. I did what I could, but you seemed to be stuck. I saw something…horrible, attached to you. I can’t even begin to describe what it looked like, or felt like. I couldn’t think of anything else to do so I snapped out of the field and slapped you.

Morgan rubbed the side of his face. About a hundred times…with a large stick. He said.

Well, Tsang said. You were still alive, so I thought I should try. If you were dead then I wouldn’t have bothered. However the thought did cross my mind that if you didn’t come to soon I was going to have to take your head and put you out of your misery.

That’s very thoughtful of you Tsang. I appreciate it. Morgan said, the sarcasm in the statement was intense.

Morgan. Tsang said, his tone growing very hard. I warned you. Not more than five minutes before we went up there, I warned you. I cannot teach you anything if you refuse to listen to the little caution that put forth. The Field is no place to get lost, or to drop your pants and present your ego. Dangle yourself out there that long, and something will take a bite. The next time you decide not to listen to caution, I WILL let you get eaten. Is that understood?

Understood. Morgan said. He hated to admit that he’d been wrong, but he did now. Thank you for the save Tsang. I do appreciate it. I apologize for not listening to you.

Apology is NOT accepted, until you can show me some sense of restraint! Tsang shouted at him. It took a moment for Morgan to realize that Tsang was pretty shook up by what he’d seen.

Then I will prove it too you. Morgan said. Very quietly, and very calmly.

Tsang looked over Morgan, understanding that he was borderline out of control. His hands shook, and ached from the repeated punches that he’d landed on Morgan’s cheek and jaw. The sight of Morgan in the throes of his battle with that demon was shocking at best. He purposefully shot a projected image into Morgan’s mind of what he had seen while he was beating him in the face. Morgan’s eyes widened with shock and an understanding.

He saw himself through Tsang’s view. His lips were peeled back from his teeth in a wide and gasping snarl of insanity. His eyes fully dilated and glowing sickly, his teeth clacking together sometimes catching his tongue between them. He was bent backward in his chair, further than the human body should be capable of. His head twitched from side to side, like a child having a tantrum in fast forward. His hands were pulled close to his body and contorted into horribly clawed shapes. He watched, through Tsang’s memory, as he was struck in the face repeatedly, hard. There was no movement, or sign of pain, or recoil. Just the terrible clacking teeth.

Jesus. He said, after the images finished.

Tsang sat, trying to calm his tensed muscles. Morgan absently wiped the blood from his lips and chin. He felt the soreness and tension still left in his body from the fit. He calmed himself. Then he became focused, and irate.

Time to go chat with the Doc. He told Tsang, as he got up from his chair. Bring your sword. As he reached down and grabbed one of his extendable staves. He felt his head pounding, and his brow lower in pure aggression. He was getting some answers…or he was getting blood. He walked through the door, Tsang on his heals quietly ghosting his movements.

Marcus sat quietly in his office, awaiting the two men, oblivious to the drama that had just ensued between them.

He thought of  what he would say to Tsang, how he would introduce himself, and how he should present himself. He had worked on the man’s body, and injected the initial serum himself. He knew that he was Japanese, but he wasn’t certain if there would be a language or cultural barrier between them. He wanted to show respect without fear.

He had his back to the door, staring through the window from his observation office into the medical room where the two newest members of the Short Timer group were in the process of recovery. He’d turned the lights off, not wanting Morgan to know who was in there until he could explain their presence. A problem he was still working on. Despite Morgan’s general state of strict intensity, Marcus knew that he was a reasonable man, and would be open to the possibilities that the two new individuals would present. With Michelle in particular, as another window into the Field -whatever that was- and the other as an addition to their functional prowess on the battlefield. He was trying to form his arguments into an offering to Morgan, and the Short Timers as a whole.

But a big part of him knew that Morgan would probably not be pleased.

“Hey Doc.” Morgan said.

Dr. Marcus nearly fainted from shock. He spun around and stared into the glowing eyes of Morgan as he sat, hands on the table in front of him as casually as if he were waiting for dinner to be served. His eyes were sunken and intense, and he looked like he had bruises forming on his face. Tsang sat next to him, to his right, leaning back in his chair. The pronounced scar on his face, combined with the dark short cropped hair and silver eye glow gave Dr. Marcus the impression of carefully controlled madness.

“Tsang, Dr. Anthony Marcus. Dr. Marcus. Tsang.” Morgan gestured with his hand to both man in turn as he spoke their names.

Dr. Marcus was still flustered by their silent entrance, and striking appearance. He hadn’t heard the door open, or the men sitting down. They both wore their dark mission suits, the experimental armor plating giving them a bladed look.

“Jesus Morgan, you gave me a heart attack!” Marcus said, walking towards them and sitting down, clutching his chest and bowing his head in Tsang’s direction as he did so.

Tsang returned the bow, inwardly rolling his eyes at the ineffective form of respect, and the insult of Marcus not giving him his full attention as he did so. Tsang extended his hand, and Marcus gave a short weak squeeze.

He’s not a very strong person is he Morgan? Tsang asked, noting the doctors unease at their presence.

No he’s not. That’s part of the reason for the secrecy. Morgan replied. But he’s a brilliant scientist, and very smart. His personality weaknesses are few. But he doesn’t like what we do, he simply doesn’t understand why the killing is necessary.

“I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t do that.” Dr. Marcus said. “I know that the telepathy works well for the Short Timer’s, but I would ask that you respect me well enough to speak openly in this office.”

“How did you know we were conversing telepathically?” Tsang asked.

“I’m not an idiot, Tsang.” Marcus said. “I’ve been working with the Short Timer’s awhile. Your telepathy has a certain feel to it. Even though I can’t do it, I know when it’s going on around me. It’s a little like having people talk about you in a different language. I’m sure you understand.”

Tsang did understand. “Fair enough.” He said, and closed off his link with Morgan.

Dr. Marcus was an older man, probably somewhere in his fifties if Tsang had to guess. He had graying hair and a brooding look to his features. Tsang could see the intelligence behind the man’s eyes, but he could also see the fear. It was taking all of Marcus’s strength of will to maintain eye contact.

“We frighten you.” Tsang said. “Why?”

If Marcus was shocked by the statement he didn’t show it. “Because you kill people for a living.” He said. “It’s not a world I understand, any more than you understand being a scientist, or a Doctor.”

Tsang was quiet, his temper for the moment flaring. “I may well understand more than you give me credit for.” He said, and let the statement hang. He was not getting off on the right foot with the man, between his arrogance and assumptions, Tsang thought that furthering the discussion would be a waste of time and may well lead to the end of the Doctor’s life.

“Why did you feel the need for this meeting Tsang?” Marcus asked.

“Because I have extended a great deal of my respect to Morgan, asking only that he give me truthfulness in return. He has agreed, and honored my curiosity.” Tsang responded, purposefully keeping his answer brief.

“Is your curiosity satisfied?” Dr. Marcus asked.

Morgan responded this time. “No.” He said, and fixed Marcus with as intense a look as Dr. Marcus had ever seen. Up to this point, Dr. Marcus believed that Morgan was on his side, and he had the military man’s backing throughout this interview. With the look he received from Morgan, he realized that was not the case.

“You’re the one keeping secrets Anthony.” He said, in a low hissing tone. “That won’t do.”

The energy is intense here. Isn’t it?

Yes it is.

What do you think we should do with it?

Whatever we can do with it. This body is in a coma, but the energies are not. We should see how far our manipulations can reach, but there are other people here. I believe they are ignorant of us, but they won’t be forever. A couple of them are very strong, we need to be stronger.

We need to be in concert. We need to be I.

Impossible.

We need to try.

What are you talking about? Hey, what’s going on? Where is Johnny? I want to play!

You need to tame them…then you can have your I.

Agreed.

Impossible.

Perhaps.

It might be a little easier if you gave us all something to hate.

This is true.

In the dark medical room behind the glass where Dr. Marcus, Tsang, and Morgan were having their meeting something stirred. A strange and intense power was focusing, and vibrating around the two forms. The fifth floor was still shrouded, somehow separated from the Psyche Field in a way the blinded the Short Timer’s from what was there. Morgan and Tsang were distracted enough with their anger towards Dr. Marcus that they didn’t notice the subtle shifts of energy in the air in the room behind the doctor.

The body of the dark haired gentlemen, prone and unconscious on the table suddenly raised up, board stiff, to stand on the edge of his bed. He wasn’t aware, or anywhere close to awake. He was being manipulated. Like a puppet or a rag doll. His head lolled to one side and his mouth hung open. His eyes were closed as he stood balanced unnaturally on his toes his arms stretched out to either side. In the darkness he had the likeness of a crucified business man, in a hospital gown.

Tsang thought he felt something, but didn’t pay much attention to it, focused as he was on the doctor sitting across from him.

“What’s been going on up here Anthony?” Morgan asked.

“What makes you believe that anything out of the ordinary has been going on?” Dr. Marcus asked. He was nervous, Morgan could smell the change in him. The thin film of arrogance and intelligence was starting to break down.

“Look at my face. This didn’t come from tripping on the stairs. What are you hiding?” Morgan’s temper started to raise further. His voice was barely over a whisper, but the threat was intense behind his words. Dr. Marcus was on shaky ground, and the animal inside Morgan was licking it’s teeth just waiting for him to stumble.

Ah. That’s it. Good boy’s. You see? No problem. Just cause them a little pain and they back right off.

The voices sounded a symphony of howls and whimpering. The mean one was staring through a window in the glowing world, onto the darkness of the real world.

He noticed something beside the body he now controlled.

Who is this?

I don’t know, but she’s quite beautiful.

I think that’s his pet.

Really?

The business man dangling in the air suddenly collapsed from the edge of the bed, silently to the floor. He half crawled, half slid over to Michelle’s bed. His eyes still closed, his bared teeth opened and his tongue stretched out between them. He started to lick the unconscious woman’s sleeping beautiful face.

What is that? She has something with her.

She has someone with her on this side.

What do you mean something?…..

There was a sudden roar in the dense glowing air of the Field, and a massive ripping sound like lightning without thunder. The Jury, as it was known to the gentleman, gave a massive scream of pain as the same thing that attacked Morgan through the crack in the wall, slammed into its collective like a cannon ball.

The gentleman’s body flopped to the ground, and Michelle’s body now lifted off the table. It spun ninety degrees and faced the window. Her lips had peeled back exposing her teeth. Her eyes were opened and rolled back in her head. She floated across the room slowly, tips of her toes dragging across the short carpet, popping against the tightly rolled fabric. Her body was entirely tensed, the muscles of her neck stood out like cables, and a thin sheen of sweat developed instantly across her head and neck. The IV needles ripped from her skin, and tiny rivulets of blood sprouted on her arms and backs of her hands. Her teeth started chattering.

“Morgan, I know that we had an agreement. And I would have told you of this earlier…but…Morgan?”

Dr. Marcus stared across the table at the two men who were suddenly not looking at him anymore. They were looking behind him. Their eyes wide and dilated, glowing like lamps. Their faces were twin masks of stone. They reminded him of cats paused and crouching just before pouncing on an oblivious mouse, eyes wide and drinking the light. Everything was rigid tension, threatening to explode in any direction.

The two men leapt from their chairs, and stood on either side of the table, both drew weapons and stood in a tense on-guard position. They moved so fast that Marcus couldn’t track them with his eyes. One moment they were sitting, the next they stood to either side of him. Tsang had a long black Samurai sword, Morgan held two blade tipped short staves. Their faces, white and stern, looked carved out of bone above their black armor suits. Marcus still slept occasionally, but from that day on he would always be plagued by dreams of the two men in his office.

They frightened Dr. Marcus so badly that he tried to jump backward out of his chair. He managed to keep his seat but rolled into the wall and window behind him with a skull splitting thump. His vision swam for a moment in spots. The two men still weren’t looking at him. They were focused on the window behind him.

“Jesus Christ Morgan! Calm down, what the hell has got you…Ahhh!” He screamed.

He turned and looked behind him at the window that had their attention. Michelle was pressed into the glass. Her teeth were chattering madly, and blood was in her hair. Her eye’s were rolled up in her sockets, and her hands were claws. Her fingers twitched on the glass like dying bugs. Her lips were bleeding, and she drooled heavily out of the side of her mouth, her vibrating jaw splashed the blood mixed saliva across the window.

Marcus’s vision dimmed, he was going to pass out. “Don’t kill her..” Was all he managed to say before he lost consciousness. He was vaguely aware of a deep pain in his chest, and thought that he may be having a heart attack.

Dr. Marcus came about slowly, hearing Dr. Clay’s voice above him. He was in the medical room laying next to Michelle. She’d been cleaned up and placed back on her hospital bed. Dr. clay was in an argument with Morgan.

Dr. Clay was a lanky man standing over six feet tall. He wore a medical overcoat that gleamed like the bed sheets covering the hospital beds. His hair was dark and his eyes were gray. He had a severe downcast to the corners of his mouth, with thin lips that looked as if they’d never smiled.

“I don’t care what you think is appropriate for the overall good of the group, I need to know who I’m going to be expected to deal with and their backgrounds in advance!” Morgan was extremely irate, and standing on the far side of the other bed. He and Tsang just finished lifting the dark gentlemen onto his bed.

“I understand your concern Morgan, but we needed someone more cordial to work with on the particulars of your mental byproducts. Namely your use of telepathy and this ‘Psyche Field’.” Dr. Clay sounded calm and composed. He stood by the dark gentleman’s head, and appeared to be checking his eyes for dilation with a small pen light. “We need to know the breadth of your psychic prowess in order to better suit the needs of both groups, both Short Timer, and science group. Our hope was that with these two individuals we could help bridge that gap.”

“That was what Jance was for, Clay.” Morgan said. “He volunteered for the procedure to do exactly that.” He was adjusting the gentleman’s feet on the bed. “We know what Jance can do, and he has been an enormous help with our studies towards understanding all aspects of our sixth sense capabilities.”

“Well, he’s not been much of a help to us.” Clay said. “We’ve tried to discuss what he’s learned with him, but he can give us no identifiable cause or empirical data on anything.”

“That’s what your machines are for. You know that, and I know that. I’ve watched the interviews your scientists have conducted on Jance, and there’s no other way to describe it other than ‘one sided’.” There were some very raw nerves being beaten in this argument, on both sides. Marcus wished he could be anywhere else than in the room with these men.

“Your people are not listening to him, and until you do you could fill this building with Short Timers and it still wouldn’t fix the problem, which is your ignorance of something you can’t understand because you can’t experience it. But I would still be stuck training them and finding something for them to do that wouldn’t draw attention to this facility, and the ultimate cause of the program in the first place.”

“And what is the ultimate cause of this program Morgan? Are we serving science? Or your personal war?” Dr. Clay shot back, as he replaced the IV needles into the arm of the unconscious patient.

Dr. Marcus raised his hand to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. His head was pounding, and his eyes felt like they were going to explode. Tsang noticed this and came over to the side of Marcus’s bed.

“How are you feeling Dr. Marcus.” Tsang asked. Very polite and concerned.

“Like I’ve been hit in the head with a baseball bat.” He croaked. “Can I get some water by chance?”

“Of course.” Tsang said, and handed him a small cup with a straw.

“What happened?” Marcus asked after taking a long pull on the straw.

“Well, you passed out. When you went down you were clutching your chest, Morgan and I both thought you’d had a heart attack.” He paused and put his ear to Dr. Marcus’s chest for a moment. “Your heart seems to be beating just fine, but we’ll have to run tests to see if that was truly the case. Or, if you can stay still for me for just a second, I can do it now.”

Marcus was confused, but curious. “Are you medically trained?” He asked.

“Yes.” Tsang said. “I haven’t always been a cold blooded killer. But even when I have been, I was often involved with the medical arts. It’s a bit of a hobby for me.”

“Really.” Marcus said, more than a little shocked. “Morgan failed to mention that.”

Tsang smiled. “He didn’t mention it, because he didn’t know it. He just now found out. This is sort of the last little secret I’ve kept from him.” Tsang looked over at Morgan, his face had gone pale with rage. He was handling himself well against the other doctor, but neither of them could expect to win. Not without bloodshed anyway.

“What do you intend to do to check me now?” Marcus asked. “We don’t have an MRI machine in this room at the moment.”

“This is true. But give me a moment to see if things are OK in the Field, and I can do essentially the same thing there.” Tsang said. “But Dr. Marcus, you’ll have to trust that I mean you no harm.”

“I’ll do my best.” Marcus said. He closed his eyes, and tried not to listen to the argument that was going on between the two men.

Tsang, as carefully as a child dipping his toes into freezing water, opened himself to the Field and looked around. He wasn’t directly aware of what had attacked Morgan when they had come to look at the shielding around the fifth floor earlier, so he didn’t quite know what he was looking for. He didn’t want to provoke an attack now, and he exercised as much calmness and care as possible. He could still hear Morgan and Dr. Clay arguing, but the sound was far off and muffled, as though it were happening through a window or under water.

Tsang understood something that none of the others did about the Field, based on his instinctual presentation of his inner self. He knew that when in his deepest meditations he took on the form of his ancestral legacy, and bore with honor the grace and power of his origins. Tsang was a warrior from a very long line of warriors. In the depth of the Field he carried the brilliant and shining armor and sword of the ancient Samurai warrior. He carried the spirit of each of his ancestors with him, and their knowledge and skill was with him always. He’d seen the briefest look at what Morgan’s mad projection was, with the shining teeth and eyes of rage. But Tsang’s projection was a suit of armor, shaped in the form of a half black and half red dragon, the flag of his father… his father’s before him... and himself. His true purpose of being.

He looked around the room, carefully seeing with his inner eye, all of the characters within. He saw Morgan, his shape like a torch of anger. He saw Dr. Clay, the color of the ocean iced over in calm arrogance. He looked down at Dr. Marcus, he showed the color and feel of compassion in a swirling orange radiance like glowing coals in a dying fire. He looked at the two other people in the room in their comatose states. What he saw shocked him, but he then understood, at least superficially the act that he’d been witness to not ten minutes earlier.

There was a presence over each of the individuals heads. The dark man, whose body he’d helped lift to place on the bed, was guarded by what looked like a mass of snarling and screaming creatures. Faces ripped through with agony and bloodlust, smiling at the young woman on the other table. They didn’t look at him, and gave no hint that they noticed that he was there. In the squirming ball of liquid faces, one larger one seemed buried in the middle. Like the Gorgon with its’ writhing head of snakes, it looked down at the girl on the bed. It’s face was calm rage and bloodlust. Cold, calculating, vicious... But patient.

The girl was surrounded by a white and beautiful light, coming up through her forehead in a spout of twisting smoke, a falcon rested carefully watching the madness that watched her. He noticed it’s wings were ruffled slightly, the instinctual look of a bird of prey agitated at a close rival.

The Gorgon spat forth a tendril of darkness, a hundred heads of madness shooting towards the hawk. It’s beak issued a screech and it bit down on the tentacle and ripped it away from the head of its’ opponent. The screaming end dissipated when it was severed from the whole, and Tsang watched the Gorgon’s face wince in pain. A spattering of copper colored ooze sprung from its’ wound.

Tsang knew what he was watching, only from the knowledge of lifetimes of battles. The Gorgon was testing for weaknesses and strengths.

The bird noticed him, and looked at him carefully. It’s wide blinking eyes showed intelligence and strength but no malice.

Do what you’ve come to do Half Dragon. A voice in his head like the cool touch of silk on an angry wound. He nodded in her direction, and focused his attention on Dr. Marcus.

Dr. Marcus felt a coolness on his skin in a spot just above his sternum. It was like a frozen needle pressed into his flesh with pressure but no pain. He felt his heart beat faster as he became nervous. His eyes fluttered open, and he looked at Tsang who stood calm and still as a statue with one hand over Marcus’s chest.

“Relax Dr.” He said. “There is nothing to fear from me.”

Dr. Marcus felt compelled to believe the scarred Japanese man, and he eased his head back and closed his eyes. He could see nothing, but he felt an opening in his chest, as if something had forced his lungs to be able to take in more air. His heartbeat slowed and grew more powerful, as if it had become more efficient. He smiled at the feeling, and eased into a strange half sleep.

Tsang finished his work with Dr. Marcus, and realized all eyes in the room save Dr. Marcus’s and the unconscious strangers were on him.

Dr. Clay and Morgan looked at him, Morgan’s features relaxed and showed curiosity towards him, Dr. Clay a kind of condescending study. The look of a man studying a small bug nailed to a cork board squirming on a needle. The Bird looked at him, the impression he got was satisfaction and respect. The Gorgon looked at him with pure hate.

One of the Gorgon’s seething heads shot forward toward him with a lightening speed. He heard snarling and laughing, a kind of mad bestial braying. The tendril struck him in the center of the chest, brilliant red sparks flew in all directions. The tendril groaned in frustration, but the Gorgon’s face was smiling. Tsang felt the force of the impact, and looked down and his breastplate. A small greasy speck covered a dent over his heart. He didn't feel pain per se, just a strange kind of drain on his energy.

Tsang cursed himself for a fool, and gripped the handle of his sword and stepped into drawing position. The Gorgon would try for him again, he knew it would.

As he finished the thought the Gorgon struck again, this time with two tendrils. Two shrieking faces hurling at him from the ether between himself and the prone figure of the dark man on the bed.

His instincts felt the pull of action, and the sword drew with the speed of thousands of years of practice. Three cuts. Two severed the screaming tendrils attacking him, and one more for the Gorgon’s face as Tsang countered with a killing blow. He’d judged the distance perfectly, and the sword hacked through one of the creatures glowing wicked eyes and through the skull. A roar ripped through the room, and the Gorgon’s face shattered into a mass of wailing smoke. It evaporated through the dark air, devolving into whimpers of pain as it dissipated.

Tsang sheathed the sword, after shaking the slime from his blade.

He looked at the bird, which seemed to smile at him from it’s perch. He bowed deeply and gracefully, showing the ancient beautiful creature his full honor. It returned the bow, the same depth and same duration.

Thank you very much. It said, in his own language.

He smiled, You are most welcome.

Tsang withdrew from the Field, feeling for the first time in many, many years that he’d truly lived up to his ancestry. He withdrew from the Field as a servant of honor.

“There you are Dr. Marcus. You had a blockage in an artery, that caused a mini heart attack. I’ve cleared the blockage, and there wasn’t any permanent damage to your heart. You might want to ease up on the stress however.” Tsang said, then looked at Morgan.

We need to talk. He said to Morgan.

Zero s**t. Morgan said in return.

The hospital monitors attached to the dark man began beeping loud and constant as the man’s body went into seizure.

Morgan looked at Dr. Clay who instantly flew into action trying to get the convulsing body to calm down.

“We’re not through with this discussion Clay.” He growled. “But if you bring in any other people without consulting me again, I’ll put you in the ground.”

He then looked at Dr. Marcus. “I’m not through with you either. But recover first and then we’ll talk.”

Morgan and Tsang walked out of the room as Dr. Clay injected the seizing man with some chemical that brought his body back into control. Dr. Clay spared a look over his shoulder at the backs of the two men, annoyance and anger burning in the sharp grey eyes.

As the two men rode down the elevator, they shared a brief grin between each other.

I thought that went well. Tsang finally said, though I was not prepared for the girl.

Me either. Morgan responded. God I hate scientists.

Tsang chuckled. That’s funny, you hide it pretty well. The two men shared a chuckle just as the elevator came to a halt on their floor.

The doors opened to a very agitated Jance and Ed. What the f**k happened up there? Ed asked.

He was in full battle dress with his Nano’s activated. They swarmed around him in the ambient light like a cloud of organized gnats. He deactivated them, and pulled off his mask.

Seriously Morgan, it felt like World War III from down here. Jance said. He was still in his gray scrubs but he was carrying one of the ring guns that Morgan and Tsang had used earlier.

“All in good time guys.” Morgan said out loud. “Tsang and I have some discussion to go through, and then we’ll let you know all about it later.”

“How much later?” Ed asked.

“Not much. Where is everyone else?” Morgan asked needlessly. A quick check of the Field told him that Jimmy and Stella were getting dressed in their battle suits, and readying themselves for a fight.

Everyone listen. Morgan said, addressing all of the Short Timers. We’ve got a lot of information to go through, and even more information to try to assimilate. But not right this second. Morgan paused to see if there were any arguments from anyone. I want everyone in the gymnasium, ready to work, in an hour.

“Are you two ok with that?” Morgan asked. Both Ed and Jance nodded. Stella? Jimmy? Any problems with that?

Stella piped up. Oh I don’t know Morg, I thought I’d try to go out and get my hair done, and see about some early morning shopping. Maybe go catch a flick or something. Your totally screwing up my plans.

Morgan ignored her. I’ll b’there boss. Jimmy said.

Good. I’ll see you all then. We’ll probably all need an infusion before we get started, so Tsang, Ed, and I will get ours first. The rest of you get yours when we’re done.

“Seems like you’ve got a plan boss. Anything that’s gonna suck?” Ed asked, enjoying the feeling of something to do other than sit around staring at his computer screen all day and night.

“Probably. But it’ll keep us all pretty busy for awhile, especially with what’s coming down the pipe.” Morgan said. He started to walk away, towards his control room with Tsang close behind him. He paused for a second and motioned to Jance.

“You’re coming with us.” He said, and continued walking.

Jance looked at Ed and shrugged his shoulders, then trotted a few steps to catch up to Morgan and Tsang.

Ed watched them walk away, his mind spinning with possibilities, but no real direction to aim them. He was just going to have to be patient until Morgan decided to reveal what was really going on. At least they were all going to be in on the same playing field this time. It wasn’t usual for Morgan to move everyone together like this, and Ed thought it would be interesting to see how everyone reacted when they were all together.

Ed went back to his room to change back into his scrubs before getting his infusion. He hadn’t had one in about ten hours and he was starting to feel the drain on his mind and body. As he changed his clothes he thought he felt something skitter across the back of his mind, like an eavesdropping insect. He concentrated on the feeling, and wondered if he could figure out who it was by the feel of their minds.

Nothing. Who ever had been there was long gone by now.

Telepathy had wonderful uses, but it was hard to keep paying attention to guarding your thoughts all the time. Occasionally he would slip, and drop his defenses. He wasn’t too concerned about who was listening usually, but with Morgan’s new found urgency, he thought maybe it would be wise to pay closer attention to what he was thinking and when.

Ed left his room, and headed towards the medical station where he would receive his infusion. On the way he saw Morgan, Tsang, and Jance leave the control room at the end of the hall. Both Tsang and Morgan looked normal, if a little tense. Morgan’s face was bruised, a dark purple slash under one deep set eye. Jance looked stricken, like he’d just discovered he had some inoperable cancer. Ed arched an eyebrow in curiosity, but decided he could wait to see what would come of this meeting before he quizzed the young man on what had been said. Morgan and Tsang met him in the infusion center, and they all took separate rooms. None of them spoke directly or telepathically. Some of the discomforts needed a certain amount of concentration to get through.

A few minutes later they left, and headed back to their rooms to dress. The techs had been quiet during the entire process of the infusion. Ed wondered if that didn’t have something to do with the argument between Morgan and Dr. Clay. Ed gave a little shiver, despite his usual philosophy of never backing down from a fight, he wouldn’t want to pit himself against either man in a verbal disagreement.

Dr. Clay was an interesting individual, though in Ed’s point of view, a little narrow minded. He was an incredible researcher, and extremely sharp. But, he followed a strict set of beliefs that science itself, without any other resource could explain all possible aspects of the world. It was scientism. Plain and simple. Ed could understand the view, but also believed that with something so touchy as psychology, and as untouchable as the Field, scientism couldn’t be trustworthy to handle all the subtleties of their discipline. Discipline, hell, their lives. That’s probably where the communication broke down. Dr. Clay didn’t have to worry about how long he had to live. Should a Short Timer succumb to the ravages of his or her profession, or the final ticking of the Short Timers clock, he could just infuse another person, and bingo! A brand new lab rat. It was insulting at best. But to a certain extent part of the deal.

But scientism, and its intrinsic short sightedness was an old concept. Few people in the world would be willing to throw themselves on the sacrificial slab of science and be pleased with it. The only person Ed had ever known brave enough to understand the science, and experience, of the Short Timer project was Jance. Which would continue to baffle Ed till the day his internal clock stopped ticking, and he was wheeled out to the butcher’s lab. There they would take him apart, limb from limb, and study the individual aspects of his body in minute detail. There would be no honor guard for him, no heroes funeral, no flowers by his headstone. Again…Insulting.

The mystique of the human system lay not in it’s form and composition. But it’s action and evolution. Hamlet was right. Descartes? Not so much. But he held a very strong piece of the puzzle. But how many ways could a person be insulted by ‘I think therefore I am’? For many that statement was the key to existence, for him and most of the Short Timers it was not the thinking…but the feeling…that made life.

Thinking, feeling, being…the Cerberus of the human condition, guarding the ultimate goal and gates to Nirvana.

Awareness. And dis-awareness.  

Ed shook his head and blinked his eyes a few times. Yep. He thought. Infusion is kickin in good today. He smiled and entered his room. He passed his wrist over a small door inset into the wall and pulled out his new and improved battle suit. He’d helped design it, along with Jance and several techs. Lightweight, and tough as hell. He looked at the meshing design of the armored plating and grinned.

Getting cerebral could be a lot of fun, hell that seemed to be how he would spend most of his days now that Vincent was down. But, whenever he slid into this suit, or played with a new weapon, or planned a new mission…He couldn’t help but grin, and feel good and goddamn limbic. Let the four F’s reign for awhile. And enjoy the simple feeling of being a man, a killer, and damn good at being both.

As he dressed in his suit, sliding the heavy reinforced fabric over his skin, his thoughts traveled to Stella again. Wondering if she also reveled in the feeling of being a predator. He wondered how she reacted to the blood pumping and the adrenaline rush. He wondered what she thought of him.

He shook his head again. Jesus. He thought. Ed, get a hold of yourself man!

He slid open a drawer beneath the inset closet door that held his suit, and broke into a broad toothy grin. Two heavy gauntlets lay on a lit bed, between them a heavy black stick with a large circular end.

He hefted the gauntlets and slid them onto his hands. Heavy reinforced composite material, strong enough to withstand incredible pressure and force without damage to soft tissue beneath. They wrapped around his forearms smoothly and snapped into place. A tiny electric whine, like a camera flash recharging came from somewhere on the back of the bracing. He squeezed his hands shut, and felt the tiny triggers in the fingers. He pressed one, on his right hand, and a thick black blade shot forward from the back of the forearm and jutted over the back of his hand. It was silent and instant. Built for backhanded slices, and upper cuts. He pressed the trigger again, the blade retracted.

The left hand gauntlet also had triggers, he pressed one and a thin tube raised from the back of the arm. No Way! He thought, and pressed the other trigger. A long but thin arrow head jutted from the end of the tube. The f****r did it! Just like I designed. He aimed his arm at the bed (that he never used) and pressed the other trigger in his right glove. The arrowhead shot out of his left arm, impaling the empty bed. He clicked the trigger again and six blades sprung out from the arrowhead in a star pattern. He pressed the trigger on his left hand again, and a tiny monofilament line attached to end of the arrow bolt retracted to his fist, bringing the mattress with it. It flopped onto his head, and he started to laugh.

He shook himself free of the mattress and placed it back on the frame of the bed, still chuckling. He went back to the drawer and picked up the heavy bar. There was a note attached to the head, and he scanned it quickly.

Dude…Ed…You Are the MAN! I don’t know what you’re planning on beating up, but these’ll do the trick just fine.

The note was from Jack, the lead weapons tech in the facility. A rotund black guy, quick to laugh and make white boy jokes, who as far as Ed could tell could build a weapon out of anything. When Ed had originally suggested what he wanted, Jack had shook his dark head and said, ‘You’re dreaming bro.’. Ed didn’t think Jack would do it.

Evidently dreams come true.

The head of this thing has three settings. Mace, Axe, and hammer. Their all poisoned (but I don’t think you’ll need it). Arm blade also has the poison, so don’t touch it. Happy hunting you crazy son of a b***h.

Watch out for that left glove, it can be a little twitchy on the recoil. If the arrow gets stuck in something you can cut the line, there’s three other bolts in the bracer. But retrieve the arrows. That’s proprietary s**t there bro. And they don’t self destruct…yet.

The thumb triggers need to be hit in a specific pattern… left, right, left, right… both, both. That’ll activate my own special treat… just in case you’re feeling particularly pissed.

Ed held his hands out, palms up, and tried the code. There was another electric whine… and the fingertips elongated about 3 inches and became sharp. Ed took a closer look. The talons were seamless, and looked as sharp as scalpels. How the f**k did Jack pull that off? He deactivated the talons.

Wasn’t easy to build… but I think you’ll like them. They are not poisoned, but you won’t need it.

P.s. Man ANYtime you want some of that crazy s**t, you just come on over. I am happy to work for ya.

Layta Muthafucka!

Jack

Ed stood chuckling at the letter, and set it down on his computer console. He looked at the mace in his hand and located the switch underneath the pinky. He actuated it, and the head slid in a quick series of mechanical movements and the round head morphed into a sharp, wicked looking black axe. He pressed the same button further and it morphed again into a hammerhead, about the size of a common sledge hammer and just as heavy. Now that is just badass. He thought.

Ed shook his head. Jack had out done himself this time. He definitely owed him a beer the next time he saw him.

Ed swung the hammer around a few times, testing the weight. His extra strength didn’t make things any lighter, it just made him able to handle it better, and he had to accustom himself to it’s heft. Not as flashy as Morgan’s staves, or as light as Stella’s knives…But Ed was certain that it would be effective.

He left his room, and headed towards the gymnasium, smiling to himself and in a good mood. He loved playing with new toys, and he could imagine all the wonderful things he could do with these ones.

He stepped into the gymnasium quietly, Morgan and Tsang were already there. Morgan was spinning one of his staves calmly to one side of his body, then around his back, then the other side. The staff moved so fast that Ed could barely see it. Morgan looked at him, quickly noted Ed’s new weapons and shook his head.

Jesus, Ed. He said, and looked away again.

What? Ed responded. You said we could have any kind of weapon we wanted so long as it was practical.

Yes I did. Morgan said. How is what you’ve got going on there practical might I ask?

Ed did a quick demonstration of the different capabilities of his mace, and the gloves. When Ed fired the harpoon Morgan’s eyebrows shot up, and Tsang gave a quick bark of a laugh. Ed looked at him and they grinned at each other.

Morgan shook his head, smiling this time. Like I said…Jesus.

The gym was open and spacious, with little to offer as far as traditional weights. There were several martial arts dummies, as well as thick canvas punching bags. The center was padded rubber matting designed for tumbling. There was no springiness to the design. Morgan had it built with practicality in mind. There were three or four machines far to the back that were specially built to withstand and test the muscle kinetics of the Short Timer’s. They were built with magnetic technology, that could extend the amount of weight pressed by adding more attractive force against the actuating devices. The amount of weight a person could set it too was immeasurable, with maximum force it would be like trying to lift a building. Each one was bolted to the floor.

Jimmy and Ed were both known to spend many hours in the gym, testing their altered musculature, and getting stronger. Morgan had originally argued with this, saying that he wanted light and fast operators, not muscle bound mountains. But after many tests done on the two, there was really no more bulking, just extreme density. The scientists did warn them however, that too much dense muscle might jeopardize blood flow and bone density. They agreed to back off the iron pumping regimen and stick to fighting techniques. They were both experts in grappling and hand to hand techniques, having been trained by the military for many years. Each individual of the Short Timers had a style that they expressed through training and practice. To Morgan’s eyes this was a good thing to see. It meant that all of them were expert enough to present individualistic styles that couldn’t be mimicked no matter how hard a person studied.

Except Jance.

Apart from a few lessons from Morgan, he was completely ignorant of martial arts in general. Morgan asked him once, Didn’t your folks ever put you in Karate when you were a kid? Just to get you out of the house? Jance had shook his head. Nope. They gave me a chemistry kit, and sent me out to the garage.

Morgan needed Jance to at least have a passable knowledge of martial arts in order for him to feel comfortable sending the kid out to face the Yakuza. But now that they were all given firearms, Morgan could rest a little easier.

Jimmy walked in, one hand was covered in a heavy gauntlet much like Ed’s, the other carried a blade that looked like a thinner version of the Chinese Machete. Morgan shook his head again.

Ok Jimmy, what the hell does YOUR glove do? Morgan asked.

Not much. His Irish accent was even in his telepathy. He held up his gloved hands and activated some unseen switch. The fingertips extended silently into talons, the knuckles also extended slightly into sharp serrated points. He pressed another button, and a blade identical to Ed’s fired forward over the knuckles of the hand.

Copy cat. Ed said.

F**k off, hammer boy. What the f**k are you gonna do with that thing? Did the circus accidently on purpose leave ye behind? Ye giant fucken wanka.

Ed chuckled. Yup. Me and your mother.

Tsang stood back, smiling at the two. It was tough for anyone to be too serious around them when they got rolling. Even him. He hadn’t spoken with any of the group too much since he’d been brought in with them, with the exception of Morgan. He thought now might be a good time to break some of the ice.

And what are you gonna do with that Jimmy? He said, mimicking the Irish accent perfectly. Did you give up on car bombs and decide to go into rice farming?

There was a long pause. He stared at the three men’s faces, each with a slack jawed surprised O for a mouth. Then they all burst out laughing.

What the fu…? Did that wee Japanese b*****d just f**k wit me? The question sent them into even further howls of laughter. Morgan’s face, still darkening from the bruises left by Tsang earlier in the day was pinched and tears rolled down his cheeks. Ed had his forehead pressed into a wall and his knees were partially buckled. His mouth was open but no sound came out as he laughed.

F****n car bombs…Are you serious? I’ll show you a f****n car bomb. How bout a bicycle bomb! It’ll shoot a f****n seat right up your yellow arse! This was too much for Ed, and his knees failed him. He sat down with his back against the wall, his face buried in his gauntleted hands.

Tsang started making high pitched whimpering noises as he laughed, and Morgan gave a heavy snort. Within a few short seconds all four men, covered in armor and highly lethal weapons, sat or laid down on the floor holding their stomachs and sides braying laughter at the tops of their lungs.

Jance and Stella walked into the room, both smiling.

What the f**k happened in here? She said, beginning to giggle at the sight of the deadliest men on the planet rolling on the floor like a group of stoned teenagers.

Jimmy could only manage a weak pointed finger in Tsang’s direction, then laid down on his side covering his face with his hands. Morgan was on his back, knees in the air, forearms covering his stomach. Tsang was on his knees, trying to maintain some sense of composure. When he whimpered and Morgan snorted again. Both Stella and Jance joined the laughter, and soon after ended up on their butts howling right along with the men already on the floor.

It took several minutes to for everyone to quit laughing. During that time, the potency of their laughter flew through the complex in waves of good humor. Doctors and med techs might remember some old joke they’d heard once and giggle uncontrollably for a few minutes. Even Dr. Clay, still seething from his altercation with Morgan earlier managed a rare grin. Dr. Marcus was resting in his personal room, and had a wonderful dream about his deceased wife Maria, who was the only person who could make him fire whatever he was drinking at the time out of his nostrils onto the front of his shirt, and whatever else might be on his lap. Which in most cases when he was with her, was their pet poodle. In that dream he saw her smiling her usual brilliant smile, and he would wake with the memory of her gentle touch. It didn’t make him sad this time, as it had so many other times before when he’d dreamed of her.

Everyone in the complex was touched.

Michelle’s face twitched in the shadow of a grin. Even though her mind was closed to the experience of the world for the moment. Her energy felt the waves emanating from the group of laughing killers.

The dark man, was the only exception. His brow pinched lightly as the energies that formed the ether around him gathered together again after the battle with the samurai. As the Short Timer’s enjoyed a bright round of laughter, he experienced the end of the only time his essence ever felt peace. But the mean one, who had plagued him for so long was dead. Sliced into energetic death by the force of Tsang’s sword. But something stronger than he had been slid into place. Like attracts like, and the dark man’s mind was a magnet for the twisted and cruel.

His head twitched to the side, and his mouth opened slightly. A word, or a partial word escaped his lips.

“Lev…” He said.

He would repeat the phase a few times over the course of the next month. Dr. Clay and Dr. Marcus assumed that he was trying to say a name. They would come to call him that. “Lev.”

The dark things multitudes of energetic presence formed around a powerful entity, that knew itself as ‘Leviathan’.