Company Space

He huddled in the corner, holding his phone just inches from his face.  He was deeply enthralled in a video about immigration and really didn't feel like moving.

He briefly considered the possibility that what he was doing was wrong somehow, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized there was absolutely nothing to feel guilty about.  He had already signed out, locked up, and set the alarm.  What did it matter if he was still in the building?  No one was there to care and the only thing he was "stealing" was company space that would have otherwise been occupied by air.

Hopefully the air wouldn't file a complaint.

Then, as he looked around the office, he realized just how ridiculous he was being.  Everyone else had gone home over an hour ago.

He kicked his shoes off.

There was no reason not to be barefoot.

Suddenly, the video stopped for no apparent reason.  He tapped on the screen of his phone to bring up details of the video's progress to find that for whatever reason, the video hadn't just stopped playing, but stopped loading.  He let his head fall back against the wall behind him in frustration.

And he closed his eyes.

He slowly lifted his head out of his hands and looked across the desk.  "So how have we responded?"  Haze's voice was haggard, tired, and full of the darkest of emotions.

Qualm looked almost as tired as Haze felt.  His eyes were focused intently on the paper sitting in front of him on his desk.  "We can't take any chances right now.  We've already taken Sam, Diri, and Nujalik into custody, but they're only a tiny fraction of the crawlers we know of.  That doesn't even begin to cover the unauthorized ones still lose in the world."

"Qualm," Haze said sternly.  The new director finally raised his head to look at the nexter.  "I know you better than that.  You wouldn't have called me in here for a personal meeting just to debrief and give me a status update.  What's the mission?"

"Look, Haze, I know you said your days with the League were behind you, but-"

"But that didn't stop you from coming to my home and drag me to Lexington did it?"

"Haze, I'm sorry.  None of that was supposed to-"

"Save it.  Just give me the mission.  Lord knows I need it right now."

Qualm hesitated, then handed over the papers on his desk.  "I've managed to compile a list of suspected crawlers.  I need you to-"

"Really?"  Haze was bitter and spiteful.  "You've got me doing interviews?"

"No," said a female voice behind him.  He instinctively dematerialized just enough to turn, stand, and face the intruder.  She stepped out of the shadows of the corner until Haze could see a familiar face.  "There's no time for interviews."  Sharpshot stood just over five feet tall, but had one of the most intimidating presences of any nexter Haze had ever met.  Her long, blonde hair fell over one of her eyes and an oversized rifle rested on her hip.  Several more weapons in various shapes and sizes awaited her commands in the pockets of her cargo pants, each pocket designed specifically for the weapon it held.

Haze turned back to Qualm.  "Are you saying-?"

"I want the two of you to eliminate the crawler threat at any cost."

Haze's eyes were burning with a flood of emotions.  He wasn't sure if he was excited about the opportunity for such swift action, thirsting for the blood of vengeance, or concerned by Qualm's willingness to potentially kill civilians.

"Don't tell me you don't want in on this," Sharpshot said teasingly.

"Haze, listen," said Qualm compassionately.  "I understand if you don't want to do this.  We can always-"

"I'm in."

Qualm was taken aback.  Sharpshot smirked.

Haze nodded at his new partner, then at his new boss, grasped the papers in his hand even tighter, and dematerialized.  He let his voice echo into the room from all around them.  "I'll see you enzone."  He let himself fade out, but waited in the corners of the room to listen in.

"That went well," Sharpshot said smoothly.  "You played your part like a pro."

Qualm dropped heavily into his chair and ran his fingers through his hair.  "I wasn't sure he would buy it.  He normally picks up on those kinds of plays."

Haze smiled to himself.  He had seen through the play, but it wouldn't have mattered either way.  He didn't need to be tricked into this assignment.  He would have done it just for the chance at some vengeance.  The fact that it was government-sanctioned and that he was getting paid was just icing on an already delicious cake.

As he passed through the walls of the room, a sudden male voice caught him off guard.

He opened his eyes.

Relief filled him as he realized the video had started up again.  Then, just as quickly as it had begun, it stopped again.  His head thudded against the wall again.  Begrudgingly, he reached over, grabbed his shoes, and slowly began to put them back on.

Apparently, the wifi of home beckoned louder than his desperate desire for something new.

Stupid metal building.

FWD: HAVE YOU SEEN THIS GIRLS?

Scrolling through his email for what felt like the hundredth time that day, one subject line stuck out at him:

FWD: HAVE YOU SEEN THIS GIRLS?

Based solely on the glaring grammatical error in the subject line, he assumed there was some kind of virus attached to the email, but he didn't really care.  It's not like it was his computer.  If something went wrong, it was IT's problem.  Not his.

Click.

His screen was quickly filled with the image of a green-eyed brunette that looked oddly familiar.  Above the picture, a headline echoed the grammar-free subject line of the email:  HAVE YOU SEEN THIS GIRLS?  He felt he had probably seen "this girls" somewhere before, but he couldn't pin it down.  He scrolled past the picture to find out if there was something he was supposed to do if he had seen her.

A ringing pulled him away from his computer.  The phone was demanding his attention.

He hated the phone.

He closed his eyes.

Slowly, resentfully, he opened his eyes and picked up the phone.  "Hello?"

"Is that really how you're supposed to answer an official line?"  The female voice was playful, sweet and becoming more familiar everyday.  He let a smile cross his lips.

"Probably not," he said casually, "but it'll teach them to put me on phone duty.  Never.  Again."

"When do you get off?"

"Gardyloo."

"Shut up!  You know what I mean."  He could practically hear her grinning.

"Right now if I can swing it right."

"Gardyloo," she said enthusiastically.

He chuckled to himself.  He liked this one.  "Not bad, rookie.  Where are you?"

"Lexington."

"Be there in a few."

"You better be," she teased, hanging up the phone.

He hung up his receiver and quickly scanned the room to see who else was on duty.  On the far side of the room, he saw his mark and zoomed in.

"Hey, Qualm!"  He waved the agent over to his desk.

"What is it, Haze?"

"Something's come up," he said quickly, professionally (silently adding 'gardyloo' to the end of his sentence), "and I need to get to Lexington.  Can you cover for me?"  He gestured toward the phone.  "I'm the only one here who can get there fast enough."  It was the truth . . . more or less.

Qualm looked hesitantly at the phone, weighing the scales of protocol vs. purpose.  "Alright.  But make it quick."

"I'll do my best," he said with a grin, fading into a cloud of black smoke.

Qualm had become almost too easy to manipulate ever since the split.  Back when he was just a liaison to the Archers, he had always seemed so mysterious and calculating, but now he was just another stiff following orders.  It was almost as if his other persona was just a well-calculated order from somewhere higher up.  Or maybe he just hadn't realized back then what he was getting himself into.

The flight to the Lexington base took hardly no time at all.  He circled around inside the base a few times, staying as translucent as possible so he could have some time to just look at her.  Melanie Menteur was absolutely stunning.  Her short brunette hair gave her a young, playful look and framed her face perfectly to draw attention to her shining green eyes.  Not that they needed help drawing attention to themselves.  They could almost literally light up a room and the longer he looked at them, the brighter they seemed to get.  She was sitting in one of the soft lobby chairs with her long, toned legs crossed and her hands placed delicately on the fringe of her uniform's pink skirt.

He caught himself grinning . . . or at least the vaporic equivalent of grinning.

He materialized next to her in the chair next to her.

Where others would have never even realized he had appeared until he let them, she noticed right away.  She hopped out of her seat excitedly and floated to the arm of his chair where she perched delicately, immediately locking lips with him.

He didn't question it or worry about whether someone was watching.  He just went with it.  It felt natural.  Right.  He felt her hand running through his hair and relished it until a sudden, sharp, and very painful pinch on the back of his neck snapped him out of it and forced him to pull away from her.  She looked at him with a playful sort of hunger and concern.

"I'm sorry," she said sheepishly.  "Guess I got a little excited."

He reached back and felt the spot on his neck where the pain had originated.  Oddly, that spot wasn't quite as solid as the rest of him was.  (Gardyloo.)

He leapt up from the chair and turned around to find a pillar of white smoke rising from behind the chair.  It formed into a large, vaguely humanoid shape.  Flames erupted along what could be described as its arms and it seemed to flex at their arrival.

Not her.  She couldn't be one.  Why her?

A high pitched, repeating tone seemed to squeal from somewhere near the smoke creature.  It continued, getting louder and louder, persistently louder and louder until . . .

He opened his eyes.

He picked up the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Hi!  I'm calling on behalf of Providence Bank.  Your debit card has been deactivated.  Please enter your sixteen-digit card number . . . "  Nice try, faceless thieves.

"I like turtles," he said loudly, imitating the zombie he so often felt he was, and hung up the phone.

He turned back to the girl's face on his computer to read the words under the picture.  He was oddly interested in what he was supposed to do now that he was pretty sure he had seen "this girls".  The font was significantly smaller than the header had been, and caught him completely off-guard.

If you have, please call this number and tell her to break up with her boyfriend.  I'm her mother, I hate him and she won't listen to me.  Maybe she'll listen to you!

There was a number listed below.

He laughed, seriously considered calling the number, just to see what happened, then decided against it.  Instead, he simply forwarded the email to a small list of people he thought would appreciate it.

He wasn't quite ready for that much excitement.

Maybe someone else was.

Pain, Pleasure, and Pedaling

He slowly, painfully, lowered himself into the chair, letting out a groan.  He quickly and silently prayed for the drugs to kick in faster.

It didn't seem to work.

He thought he'd decided not to work out this week.  Apparently the faceless force that decided what he did everyday at work thought differently.  Who knew teaching a kid to ride a bike would be so painful for the instructor?

At least it was something different.

He closed his eyes.

Slowly letting out a deep breath, he counted to ten and opened his eyes.  He couldn't believe he had a crawler on his ship and didn't realize it.  Thank the elements that Hemming had had the foresight to cut off the admiral and get off the bridge before his transformation.  No captain could live down the shame of having a crawler ranked that high on his crew.

He pressed a small yellow button on the arm of his chair.  Within seconds, four garrisons had entered his quarters unannounced and presented him with a communicator.  He attached the receiver to his ear and placed the mouthpiece under his tongue.  He hated using these things, but the ship's onboard comms were compromised now.  They had no way of knowing the crawler's post-shift intelligence level, but if it had half of Hemming's knowledge as a communications officer, even this system only stood a shadow of a chance.

"Tell me you've got good news."

A voice echoed in his ear and felt like it was reverberating through his mind.  "We've managed to narrow his location down to the seven central-most decks, but he's sealed us out, so we can't narrow it down more than that."

"What kind of personnel do we have enzone?"

"Most were evacuated by the automated system to the lowest decks, but two garrisons are unaccounted for."

The captain sighed and braced himself.  "Who are they?"

"Diangen and," the captain mouthed the all-too-familiar name along with his first officer, "Corson."

"How did I know he would be right in the middle of this?"

A new voice jumped into the conversation.  "Because Hood's Captain-on-High knowst his crewmen better than they knowst him."

Captain Hunter paused, immediately recognizing Corson's voice and pondering this new development.  "I suppose I do.  In fact, I know my people well enough to realize that the real Corson would have said 'with higher superiority' instead of 'better'."

"Well played, Captain," said the being speaking with Corson's voice.

"Hemming?"  The captain's voice was level, matter-of-fact.

"I used to be.  He's lying somewhere back on the central deck now, though.  He wasn't very lively anymore.  Have you figured out yet how he was able to smuggle me onboard?"

Hunter tried to dodge the question.  He refused to believe that Hemming would willingly help a crawler.  "What about Diangen?  Is he still alive?"

"Yes.  I believe he is, but he isn't enzone anymore."

Thank the elements.  "You said Hemming is on the central deck.  Where are you?"

Corson's voice laughed heartily.  "Are you seriously telling me you haven't figured that out yet?"

There was a sudden hissing in his ear as the lights flickered.  "You're in the tertiary nub, aren't you?"

Another flickering.  "You do know your ship, don't you, dearest Captain?"

"You know you've left me no choice, right?"

"I know."

Hunter turned to the garrisons with him, addressing both them and his first officer he hoped could still hear him over the communicator.  "I'm so sorry about this."  Then he stood, walked to a purple, square-shaped button mounted on the wall.  He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and pressed the button.

"We're with you, sir," said one of the garrison's confidently.

He was grateful for the support, but it didn't make hearing the computer's voice any easier.  "Please state your position and authorization route."

"My name is Aberth Hunter, captain of the Ridinghood, route Sehkmet-Left-Aleph."

"Route confirmed."

"I'm sorry, Captain," Hemming's weak voice echoed over the ship's loudspeakers.

Hunter realized his eyes were still closed, but didn't really want to see anything when he gave his final command.  "I will not see this ship fall under crawler control.  By the Gods, their elements, and under the jurisdiction of the Grande Admiral of the Left Fleet," he paused, taking in his last moments in command, "initiate Keresian Protocol One."

A sudden pain in his back prevented him from considering the vast importance of this moment.

He opened his eyes.

He sat up slowly, agonizing more and more with every inch he moved away from the almost-comfortable chair that had been his almost-bed for the last hour.  He was reminded once again how bad of shape he was in, but he couldn't help but relish his current situation.

He hadn't felt this sore in months.

And he kind of liked it.

At least it was something different.

Gotta Get Down on Friday

He let the door close behind him and took in a deep breath, savoring the wonderful air of the outdoors.  After locking the door with a sense of finality, he walked slowly to his car.  He was in no hurry, and for the first time in a long time, he truly appreciated that fact.

He hadn't been this excited about it being Friday in months.

There were no elaborate plans for the weekend . . . actually there were no plans at all for the weekend, but he was still somehow excited about it.  Maybe he was happy that he had a couple of days that he didn't have to come in to work.  Maybe he was looking forward to having a day to sleep in after a week of sleeping like a baby (waking up frequently hungry and cranky).

Maybe he was excited about the current economic state in southern Australia.

Screw logic.

For a rare moment, he really didn't stop and think about it.  He just went with it.

It kinda felt nice.

As he walked to his car, he spread out his arms, looked to the sky and breathed deeply from the cool afternoon air.  A sudden wave of self-consciousness overtook him, compelling him to look around to see if anyone had taken notice of his moment of exuberance.  When he realized that not only did nobody notice, but that there was nobody to notice, he threw caution and dignity to the wind and ran across the parking lot to his car.

When he got there, he quickly realized in just how bad of shape he had gotten.  It took a bit for him to catch his breath.

So he closed his eyes.

Slowly, cautiously, repressing his nerves and frustration, he opened his eyes to look at the assembled crowd.  This was going to split them down the middle, and he was the one who had to break it to them.  How did he end up here?

"It's time, Cap," the government agent said with far too much familiarity.

"I know," he said with far more confidence than he felt.

He turned to look at the other two members of the soon-to-be-disbanded Alpha team.  Lance was sitting straight-backed in his chair, grinning at their fellow Archers with his typical far-away stare.  Primadame was pacing back and forth right behind him, occasionally glancing around, but usually staring intently at her feet.

Captain Superior turned and called the assembly to order.

As he went through some standard protocols he could have done in his sleep, he did a mental check of the Archers and who would most likely end up where.

Beta team was easy.  Sam would follow Arcano anywhere who would, in turn, stay with Captain Superior.  The Keresian would be compelled to keep herself on the side of the government.  Daedalus of Gamma team would fall in that same category, taking Galatea with him.  Diri would likely go with them as well if for no other reason than to stay with his teammates.  The other teams were a bit less predictable.  Sharpshot and Cowhand would almost certainly leave along with Folivora-Man, but he expected Irene and Astro Defender to stay.  Mr. Simon, Malice, and the entire rest of Epsilon were wildcards.  Their decision would depend on what happened in the next hour.

Then there was Delta team.

He looked over at them.  Corson was listening intently, or at least pretending to listen intently, while Ghost and Haze whispered back and forth to each other.  They were linchpins.  They were low-ranking enough to still be seen as comrades to the rest, but high-ranking enough to be seen as leaders.  They were both dangerous and unpredictable.

There was a distinct possibility of Corson avoiding both teams just to stay out of the conflict, but Ghost and Haze would stick together.  However much they fought and teased each other, nothing was going to separate them.  If the decision was left to Ghost, he would probably stay with the Archers to spite the government.  Under different circumstances, the same could be said of Haze, but it was far more likely that he would leave to spite Captain Superior.

He suddenly found himself at the point in the meeting he had been dreading.  "And now," Superior said, feeling much less than superior, "here is Agent Qualm of the NSA to explain the real reason for this meeting."

Captain Superior slowly, begrudgingly sat down, yielding the floor to the government.

"Thank you," the agent said pleasantly as he stood, "but it's just Qualm.  There's no need for the 'Agent'."  This guy was good.  He was dressed in apparel almost as flamboyant as most of the Archers and had even given himself a codename that made him sound like one of them.  He was trying to convince them he was on their side.

Superior let a spark of hope slip into his soul as he saw Haze and Ghost quietly mocking Qualm.  Just maybe this could go his way.  Maybe.

"As you all know," Qualm continued, "when Lance here first approached the presidency about being a superhero, they didn't exactly get off on the right foot."  A chuckle echoed through the group.  This guy was really good.  "And then when he said that he was forming a whole team of heroes, the government supported the decision."

"Eventually," Lance interjected, bringing on an even more vigorous round of laughter.  Damn them for being good at this.

"Now," Qualm continued, smiling but not missing a beat, "we would like to offer you all the opportunity to become members of the NSA.  You have the unique opportunity to become the first League of Authorized Nexters, Crawlers, and Extraordinaires, or L.A.N.C.E."  No one in the room wondered who came up with that name.

Malice suddenly stood up, anger flaring in her eyes and across her skin.  "You're recruiting us?  Are you kidding me?"  She threw out her arms, unleashing a burst of energy.

Captain Superior leapt out of his chair, floating a few inches in the air, shielding his face with his arms.  At least now he knew where Malice stood.

He opened his eyes.

After finally catching his breath, he got in his car and started it.  Maybe today was the day he would finally start working again.  He yawned widely, remembering how little sleep he had gotten that week.

Then again, there was always tomorrow.

It was Friday after all.

Something New

For what was certainly not the first, second, or even third time that morning, he habitually flipped over to look at the monkey-on-his-back that was Facebook, not truly expecting anything new.  As he scrolled through the pointless posts and the meaningless messages, he toyed with the thought of deleting his profile for what was certainly not the first, second, or even third time.

Suddenly, something shifted in the universe.  A soft and gentle bloop issued from his computer as a small red icon appeared toward the top of his screen.

A friend request.

He had heard legends speaking of such things, but had never considered the possibility that one would actually grace his screen.  As he moved his mouse to find out whose profile the fabled request heralded, he felt honored, nervous, and a little hungry.  (It had been a while since breakfast, after all.)

He clicked on the red icon to find himself confronted with the face of a girl.  Her short, auburn hair and unnaturally (i.e. clearly photoshopped) green eyes were completely unfamiliar to him, so he instinctively clicked "ignore".  He had enough people he knew clogging up his feed with addictive nonsense.  He didn't think he needed that from someone he had never even seen before.

He pulled away from his computer in frustration.  Was this really what life had become?

He closed his eyes.

When he regained consciousness, he looked around the room.  A dozen or so other people were scattered across the floor in similar varying states of functionality while a few others stood alongside them, some completely lucid, others apparently comatose.  It left him a little concerned that he was hardly phased at all by their current situation.

Was this really what life had become?

What did they expected when someone had the brilliant idea of gathering all 21 Archers together?  Lance had had some bad ideas over the years, but this one took the cake.

Most of the Archers were fine.  They could be put in any situation and keep their cool no matter what.  Others, though, didn't take disagreements very well.  Given the fact that the room was filled with some of the most powerful beings on Earth, temper tantrums were something not to be trifled with.

As he recovered from Malice's most recent outburst, he righted his chair, heavily sat down, and turned to his teammates, Ghost and Corson, who both appeared to have been unaffected by the tirade.  He assumed that Ghost had "ghosted", allowing the energy to pass through him, leaving him unscathed, and very few things seemed to do any damage to Corson.  He really needed to learn how he did that.

Ghost was openly cackling at him while Corson had let a smile cross his masked face, the closest anyone had ever seen him get to laughing.  "Come on, Haze," Ghost said playfully.  "You're making Delta look bad!"  The three had developed a relaxed rapport with each other that allowed for open mocking.  He would get them back for it eventually.

"Yes.  Perhaps," Corson said in his deep, mystic voice, "you shouldst ponder requesting of the good Captain-of-us-all for guidance in eschewing such eruptions.  He doest appear unscathed."

A low blow, but still permissible.

"Yeah," said Ghost enthusiastically.  "Maybe, while he's at it, he can show you how to close a deal!"  A flick of his eyes and slight twitch of his head said more than his words possibly could have.

Too far.

"Well at least she considered dating me," said Haze retaliatorially, "unlike some people here."

Ghost's face suddenly darkened.  "You and I both know she's only got eyes for Cap.  Neither of us stood a chance."

Haze smirked as he sat back in his chair.  "I did."

Just as Ghost was about to lunge forward and start the tirade cycle anew, a throat being cleared at the front of the assemblage reminded them where they were.  Captain Superior looked down on them smugly.  "Is there something you boys would like to share with the class?"

Haze really hated Superior sometimes.

Corson stood confidently.  "My fellow Delta-encompassed team members were enthralled in deliberations regarding the respective likelihoods of copulation with she-whom-all-adore," he said proudly, gesturing unnecessarily toward a girl across the room with short brown hair wearing an equally short pink skirt.  Her eyes seemed to glow an even brighter shade of green in embarrassment.

Haze shrunk down in his chair as low as he could, fighting the instinct to phase out.

He opened his eyes.

As he thought about it, he hadn't given someone new a chance in quite a while.  Perhaps someone he didn't know was exactly what his news feed needed.

He quickly plowed through the unnecessarily complicated process of finding the girl's profile again and scrolled through what he was allowed to see of it.  A few pictures told him she was gorgeous, but a few posts told him that she rarely posted anything interesting in any sense of the word.

He closed the browser.

Maybe it wasn't a day to try new things.

RING RING

He pulled his head away from the wall and reached up a hand to rub his now throbbing cranium.  Perhaps literally banging his head against the wall hadn't been the best way to express his frustration, but it had seemed like a good idea just a few moments before.

Still rubbing his head, he slowly returned to his desk and dropped heavily into his office chair, effectively forcing it to yield and drop a couple of inches.  The phone rang again and he looked at it a bit mournfully.  Whoever was on the other side couldn't possibly do anything to improve his day at this point.  Chances were that they would actually make him even angrier than he already was.

After deciding that he couldn't ignore it forever and had waited about as long as he possibly could to answer it, he begrudgingly lifted the receiver and gave his standard, pre-programmed greeting.

After an almost unreasonably long pause in which he decided there wasn't anyone on the other side of the line, a faint voice quickly sputtered, "Hi.  This is Zach," before falling silent again.  He quickly and cheerfully responded, thankful to be talking to someone he didn't already hate.  After another unreasonably long pause, he heard the distinct click of someone hanging up.

"Hello?"  No response.  "Helloooooo?"  No response.  "I like to lick seagulls.  Have a nice day!"  And he hung up.

A part of him was relieved and grateful that he didn't have to deal with anyone, but there was another equally sized part of him that had been looking forward to some human contact.  He sat and stared at the wall for a few minutes, letting the two sides fight it out for a while before returning to the arduous task of pretending he was doing something productive.

That lasted all of five minutes.

Then he closed his eyes.

"I don't know how," he said desperately, pleading with the strange man.

The light that had left the forest returned just as quickly as it had faded, bringing with it even more of the joyous rays.  "Oh.  Well why didn't you say so?  This way!"  The strange man suddenly pointed back in the direction Paschar was almost positive had led him to where they were now standing.  Of course, he knew better than to think that anyone knew where anything was while in the Forest of Diri.

A sudden and dangerous idea struck him.

"You know, if you know your way around this forest-"

"I should hope I do," said Diri cheerfully.

"Then you could lead me to the lance, couldn't you?"

Diri suddenly rounded on him and looked deep into his eyes, just inches from the young captain's face.  He paused for a long time, a serious face scrutinizing Paschar's every detail.  Then, very seriously, though somehow sounding childish, the strange man spoke.  "It's not called the lance.  It's called the Lance."  He suddenly looked away very thoughtfully.  "Actually, L.A.N.C.E. would probably be more accurate, though it occurs to me that you can't hear punctuation."  He suddenly turned his attention back to Paschar.  "Can you?"  It was an honest question.

The captain slowly shook his head, still not sure what to make of his new travel companion . . . and seriously wondering what he had done with his previous companion.

"I thought not," Diri said quickly, returning to his original course.  "Besides, if I showed you where that was, I'd have to kill you.  Violently."

Paschar gulped and followed Diri at a distance.

After a few minutes of walking, the darkness seemed to return, bringing with it a sense of dread.

But there was something different about the darkness this time.  It seemed closer, more tangible, and, most importantly, Diri seemed to take notice of it.  The strange man looked around, reaching out with a hand as if hoping to grab hold of the shadows themselves.

When he did grab hold of them, Captain Paschar seriously considered running for it, but something held him in place.

Suddenly, streaks of lightning coursed through the shadows, forming into a strange symbol that caused Diri to recoil.  The symbol charged at the strange being, ramming hard into his chest.  Lightning then began to pour out of it and envelop him.  The energy grew brighter and denser by the second until Paschar couldn't look at Diri anymore.

Suddenly, the light faded back to normal, and Paschar turned back to see what had become of his companion.  He quickly decided that one of two things had happened.  Either Diri had transformed into the incredibly human man now standing in front of him, or Diri had somehow been driven away and replaced by barefoot man clothed in simple, tattered, grey clothes and hood with brightly colored tattoos covering his legs.  The captain wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know which it was.

When the man spoke, Paschar quickly made note of the fact that while this newcomer didn't look young by any means, his stern but cheerful voice sounded significantly older than he looked.  "Are you alright?"

Paschar paused for a long time just staring at the man.  He finally managed to form a coherent sentence.  "Who are you?"

The man almost smiled.  There was definite movement around his lips, but not enough to actually call it a change in emotion.  "I'm what's left of L.A.N.C.E."  He paused dramatically as if listening to something way off in the distance.  "You can call me Haze."

A sudden ringing filled Paschar's ears and completely overtook his mind.  It didn't take long before he couldn't focus on anything else.

So he opened his eyes.

The ringing stopped when he picked up the phone's receiver, instinctively greeting the person on the other side.

There was a long pause before a somewhat mechanical male voice began to speak.  "Hello!  I am calling on behalf of . . . "  He spaced out for a moment and didn't hear who this pseudo-person was with.  "Did you know that by updating your listing in . . . "  He spaced out again.

"Did you know," he responded cheerfully, "that I hate the smell of waxed mongoose tongue?"  And he quickly hung up.

He let his head drop down and land with a loud thud on his desk, immediately regretting the decision.

He rubbed his forehead in his hand.

Did real people still exist?