The One and only

Master Nameless had many titles he could have put out on his board. Master of Feng Shui, specialist in Mah Jong fortunes, Ninth degree Tai Chi Master, Wizard of the ancient magics, and secretly the Guardian of the spirit of the Chinese Emperors & Caretaker of the Goddess of the Imperial Palace (though he had little information about her as she had been a very carefully concealed secret). All together they made a very impressive set of both knowledge and life-long mastery few could compare to, even if taken individually. Unfortunately none of them had given him much insight about the events of the last twenty-four hours nor could they; any time the divine messed in the lives of mortals all rules went off the table and the normal resources for possible information tended to come up blank.

It had taken several hours for him to come to terms with what had happened, not the least of which was a total loss of dignity and a touch of madness around eight in the morning which he had managed to finally beat down. If one of the underworld's assassins had shown up during that time he would have laid down and bared his throat with relief, but Eli had kept him from self-destructive tendencies and he was now in a frame of mind to thank her for her efforts at the very least. Similar to the mental effects of the last 'incident' which had been caused (he still suspected the Goddess, but who really knew?), that time he had been saved by having his family around him and Eli now counted far more as family in his life now as of everyone he knew, she now qualified as one of the few people who could relate, understand, and perform the demonic things he now could as well.

Definitely a curse in his mind, there would be no joy in his new power and his only recourse back to being in balance and harmony would be to turn them upon his people's self-inflicted disease of criminal cancers. And maybe that was what the Goddess wanted him to do, but surely he had already the perfect weapon for such in Eli, why curse him into an eternity of despair and frustration? Yes, at this time he far better understood why Eli thought of her powers as a curse at times, not a blessing. And after a lifetime of devoted service, to be used in such a way--- No, he would resist that mass of twisted thoughts again. It would get him no where except throwing himself from the nearest rooftops and failing whatever test this was to his soul. Damnable gods, playing games with his lives again...

Whatever. His purpose might be clear, it was only the path which needed thinking upon now. If he, like Eli was now a type of predator on others, he needed someone to perform as the cover to their secret plans. And with the new place coming to a completion (Placing the Goddess in her new home yesterday (had it really only been a day??!!) had for Nameless been the completion of the building itself) then it was time to let others know about their choosing to be in his plans. Accordingly he had collected all of his final possessions, directing his nephew and Eli in helping him pack his arm strength no good for the task no matter how much he tried. His more sacred tools and carefully planned formulas having been saved for last in the move. With the upstairs emptied out (even his stove bathtub already installed in the new place) and secured in the new building he returned for one last task before his niece and her family moved into the upstairs of the building.

Standing in the empty apartment he looked around one last time in the bedroom, remembering the assassins who had entered, especially the one he had fried on the old stove. A slight feel of satisfaction that this part of his life had, at the very least, been successful in it's purpose of enabling his family success and security. The door opened and the stubborn girl entered, carrying the tea tray. before she could set it down he motioned her into the bedroom space and pointed to the middle of the floor where two pillows remained, both royal purple silk with gold threading and very very fine. When she knelt on the floor and reached for the tea he touched her hand, stopping her. Her expression was calmly neutral as befitted her ancestors, but she was surprised when he motioned for her to sit on one of the cushions.

With perfect poise and slow movements he performed the proper tea ceremony as she watched, serving her first before himself in direct opposite of what she had been taught, unless for one you wished honor upon. The conversation was in Cantonese and very quiet with many pauses after each sentence. If a linguist had listened he would have noted very archaic inflections in the young boy's words, as if the boy remembered the time of his ancestors much more clearly then most which would have been entirely correct.

A few moments to remove her shoes (which were hideous things with tall platforms) and slip on slippers Nameless had left out. The girl then put the shoes in her pockets and picked up the tray, having trouble balancing it unlike earlier. A check to make sure nothing was left behind and she collected the scroll & key from behind the pillow Nameless had been sitting on a minute ago. Putting it on the tray, she took the pillow tassels in one hand under the tray and awkwardly made it out the door closing it behind her. Downstairs she carried things and entered the restaurant, nodding at Nameless's niece and handing her the scroll (sealed and ribbon-ed with gold) as she put the cushions down long enough to take the tray into the kitchen and put together a to go box of a family order of the bananas before she returned, picking the cushions back up and giving her former boss a head bow of respect, which was returned. Outside a rickshaw waited which was called earlier and deposited the young teenager outside Nameless's new place, as yet unopened.

Opening the back door next to a street seller's stall, she entered and slid the bar behind her before going halfway up the steps. The new stairway was heavily decorated in rich red and shiny brass luck charm symbols scattered all over the walls, a hundred different types. She reached out and turned one around so it formed the opposite symbol meaning curse and then pushed it in. Bending down she slipped her fingers into the hidden crack in the step in front of her and lifted up, revealing a hidden entrance under the steps Nameless could never have managed with his child's strength. Once through it was lowered into place with a click and the stairway symbol reverted to it's original position. Unlocking the second door as well, the girl walked into the main floor which was filled with a large collection of construction tools and paneling still being placed and chose a stairway to the side, half finished, and made her way up carefully.

In the new office she acted rather curiously however. First, she was careful to only walk on the cleared top of surfaces, avoiding all parts of the floor.

Pushing aside certain things to clear the floor, she stripped down to her underthings with awkward fingers and hung these clothes up on a hanger on the far end of the room. Unrolling a special small carpet in the middle of the space (and leaving the shoes with the outer wear), she carefully slipped off the slippers and with careful aim, tossed them over the table to the far corner where they fell into a bucket. Using the Kleenex that had been rolled up in the small carpet, she wiped the bottom of each foot carefully clean before placing it on the carpet, then cleaned her fingers and tossed the bundle far away as well. Kneeling, she took the jewelry which had been left in the Kleenex and put them on, her wrists, neck, and ankles. Finished, she ran her fingers over each piece to make sure everything was ready and then bent over, putting her forehead against the carpet carefully.

Nameless stepped out of her back onto the front of the carpet and jumped lightly about three feet away, turning so he landed on his feet roughly facing her. Quickly pulling out a red pocket laser he aimed for a spot on the carpet to the side of her where the girl was suddenly dizzy and slightly disoriented. After about ten seconds the fuse went off and as she opened her eyes getting her vision back, there was a great cloud of red powder on all sides, an old magicians trick for entrance and exits in front of an audience. Clueless of these tricks, she sat up slowly with a disbelieving glance around before she even realized she was herself changed. As she felt the necklace with wide eyes and looked up, Nameless merely looked at her with a stony face and said (This is now your new place of work. You will attend me here everyday and as soon as you have moved your things, you will be here every evening as well.)

Her look was one of dawning amazement at his power and deep respect mingling with excitement! In her mind she had just been transported across the city, redressed, and presented with the proof of Master Ge's supreme powers as a being of extreme importance. She knew she never wanted to disappoint him nor anger him in any way! The last few years she had wanted to be his girlfriend, secretly desiring to be part of his rising legend in the Chinatown public, and secure herself a position of respect for her daring. That now mixed with this fresh display into a close-to-fanaticism that she had achieved her desire of the legend and held it by her Lord's will alone! She bowed deeply and moved forward on her hands and knees kissing his foot and saying (Yes Master...) with a voice tinged with devotion.

Nameless smiled.


In his bedroom were two sleeping mats now, something that felt odd to him. For so much of his life he had been an older man, single and a bachelor that having company felt like an odd note in the middle of a stanza, jarringly it caught one's attention. And yet her presence, despite the attending issues of modesty and manners and small difficulties of gender - - well she felt comforting. As if her presence changed the way he looked at each day. Ever single in his life, he had no way of knowing, but he wondered if marriage was a touch of something similar; something to contemplate after this time passed. It was, after all, for a short time and soon the modified restaurant would be finished and ready to go. Even tomorrow he was to go see the final progress, and the arrival of the 'special' trademen who would come to change what the first crew had done.

The first crew was long gone actually, having finished the remodeling of the structures and the inner walls with stairs, ladders, plumbing, electricity, and the security system. The second crew worked hard to finish the inside areas with paneling and rough finish to each living area with the tiles and utilities needed. Tomorrow the third crew would arrive, a pair of men from Australia flown in to put in the secret panels and covers over the different entrances and locations, specialized in their work and by their own advice brought to the building to work never seeing the outside nor knowing the owner's name. Clearly they had worked for some very particular clients who wanted the best in secrecy! Finally would be the fourth crew which would include the painters and the interior decorator to install all the rest. The parlor/business areas would be her entire domain actually as the real living spaces were already well hidden by then.

Shan had seen to that yesterday. The small dumbwaiter lifts for between the floors would serve them well for moving the small amount of furnishings from the basement storage to the upstairs apartments and Eli was strong enough for three men to begin with. With her help the upstairs would be well furnished long after the secrets were concealed, leaving the downstairs "storage rooms" to have doors fitted already in a crate down there turning them into soundproof cells, ready to act as Eli's larder while they carried out their plans. And the upstairs apartments (each with four rooms; bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, and living space) would serve well for their occupants to decorate as they wished in secret. Half of what he owned he already had in the downstairs storage and everything left here was portable. Even Eli did not know about the very secret move of the goddess's things to their new sanctuary between the floors under his apartment and centrally placed above the business where she could observe the occurrences that happened below her in her new dominion.

He had the impression last night at his devotions she was particularly pleased with his work. He certainly hoped so, although for the merry hell she had turned his life into, he should have done something far less, but he had been charged by the Emperor himself and he would carry that charge till the end of his days which he earnestly prayed would not be many lifetimes. To go on as Eli had, stuck in that age for so long and unable to live life instead just surviving it was a type of hell he would not allow himself to descend into. Now his relatives could continue after him and under a new type of protection by removing himself from their vicinity. It felt very wrong to remove himself from his family, centuries of belief and tradition screaming out against it, but he had finally realized how much danger they were in from him and he could not allow it any more. besides, with him gone maybe they could bring themselves to have children again, ones not at risk from the games of the gods.

As he lay on his pallet in the darkness, his eyes were open as he watched the ceiling, thinking through how many things were left to be finished. As the American's said (he had never gotten used to his citizenship here; at heart he would always be from China and a faithful servant as he had been raised, his culture one of an ancient past), it was 'the home stretch.' Crazy Americans and their odd belief systems! A powerful people who disconnected themselves from their own power and handicapped themselves in their daily lives with artificial rules which argued against human nature, disabled by their mind sets as much as by their voluntary restrictions. Out of the corner of his eye he saw movement and his eyes latched onto it, trained by a wave of assassination attempts to pay attention to even the smallest of details.

The Sacred Grotto Crickets, known to outsiders as a type of cave crickets in China and elsewhere, was a much larger creature then many expected, blocky with chitin looking like an old warriors armor. Many who saw them in China considered them to be a special creature even in the culture which dealt with their fascination already. Ever since the switch in which he inhabited the body of his nephew locals had called him the Cricket Boy, coming unnervingly close to a hidden truth he had kept concealed for nearly a hundred years. He had not, in fact, laid a hand on a cricket carrier since he was in China. And now here in the rafters was the largest Grotto Cricket he had ever seen, climbing like an elderly man down the support beam to the floor. But as surprising as that was, that paled in comparison to the most surprising feature of this creatures decent.

Every part of it's body glowed clearly in the dark as if it hid a fire from the gods themselves inside it's body.

Somehow he knew Eli was awake, maybe it was her changed breathing, but neither of them moved as it approached the floor, moving slowly and in no way alarming. Maybe they shared an awakening dream, one of those where you were both awake and dreaming at the same time, but he could not have looked away for anything on this earth. In a slow eternity he sat up at the waist to keep it in sight as it hopped not at all but walked arthriticly across the floor towards his space, passing by Eli's form, only hesitating to wave it's antennae in her direction as if in friendly greeting before it approached him as unerringly as if it had a built in GPS system in a maze of roads. Master Ge Nameless's eyes grew larger as it approached, never having seen the will of the Goddess in direct full manifestation before, though he knew it was her creature in all ways. It had the 'feel' of her indeed!

And outsider would have seen nothing except Nameless and Eli suddenly intent on the same space in the pitch black, following it with their eyes. As he observed the approaching phenomenon, Nameless began to chant a blessing to the goddess in old Cantonese, preying for restful sleep after such a long service and thanking her greatly for all that she had done for her most worthless servant who managed greatly still after so much time. Thoughts of family and China and his devotions fell away like years and for a moment it was easy to see the old man in his features as he greeted 'old man cricket' with respectful tones, tired of his days on this earth and ready for a reward of peaceful sleep without end. It stopped, sitting about two feet away waving it's antennae to him as if it listened carefully to his words, considering all his life in it's temporary Omnipotent nature as one of Her servants.

For her own part, Eli could feel the air charged with power, expectant like a thunderstorm about to break a very long pregnant drought. The smell in the air was that of freshly created ozone often found with lightning storms and it's passage brought a fresh air like spring flowers with it. There was little doubt to either of them that there was anything they could do that whatever was about to happen, would, without any influence from them on either part.Nameless had not so much forgotten as pushed aside the reminder that Crickets were the sign of ancient immortality amongst his people, preferring to think of that as a representative of the Goddess herself instead and the private symbol of the many Emperors of the past millennium how he served as a type of priest.

Then it jumped into his chest the light vanishing into Nameless as it did so, lighting his features frozen on the word of "" which meant 'life' as it passed like a hot knife through butter into his flesh, vanishing as quickly as it had come. Only Eli saw a sudden rush of light and energy come up from Nameless's form which washed over an invisible form for an eternal second to her eyes like a beautiful Chinese Princess of wispy light (a sad smile as she looked at Nameless with regret) above his head before it too vanished as if it had never been. As Nameless fell over, his head fortunately hitting the slim pillow he allowed himself for sleep, his eyes were wide as dinner plates stared straight up at something no one else could see on this earth as chilly knowledge fell into his mind giving him the full extent and detailed usage of his new powers suddenly fully awakened and trained in his form. He tried to finish the words he had been about to say, the words in Chinese vanishing from his conscious mind for a moment as only one word could occur to him to express his feelings at this moment of immortal and divine experience, the abrupt knowledge straight from the Goddess into his mere mortal existence.

"Wēnshén."*

And then he did something she had never seen before, but fit his flesh all too well. Nameless rolled onto his side going fetal and began to cry, his sorrow at his fleshy prison being extended into an unforeseeable ending nightmare as if he was a small child suddenly awakened from the scariest boogieman back into the reality of a sunless day of pain. It was a rather heartbreaking scene, a surrendering of dignity earned to subside into the simplest expression of deep sorrow and horror one could feel.


Master Ge Nameless had many titles he could have put out on his board. Master of Feng Shui, specialist in Mah Jong fortunes, Ninth degree Tai Chi Master, Wizard of the ancient magics, and secretly the Guardian of the spirit of the Chinese Emperors & Caretaker of the Goddess of the Imperial Palace (though he had little information about her as she had been a very carefully concealed secret). All together they made a very impressive set of both knowledge and life-long mastery few could compare to, even if taken individually. Unfortunately none of them had given him much insight about the events of the last twenty-four hours nor could they; any time the divine messed in the lives of mortals all rules went off the table and the normal resources for possible information tended to come up blank.

It had taken several hours for him to come to terms with what had happened, not the least of which was a total loss of dignity and a touch of madness around eight in the morning which he had managed to finally beat down. If one of the underworld's assassins had shown up during that time he would have laid down and bared his throat with relief, but Eli had kept him from self-destructive tendencies and he was now in a frame of mind to thank her for her efforts at the very least. Similar to the mental effects of the last 'incident' which had been caused (he still suspected the Goddess, but who really knew?), that time he had been saved by having his family around him and Eli now counted far more as family in his life now as of everyone he knew, she now qualified as one of the few people who could relate, understand, and perform the demonic things he now could as well.

Definitely a curse in his mind, there would be no joy in his new power and his only recourse back to being in balance and harmony would be to turn them upon his people's self-inflicted disease of criminal cancers. And maybe that was what the Goddess wanted him to do, but surely he had already the perfect weapon for such in Eli, why curse him into an eternity of despair and frustration? Yes, at this time he far better understood why Eli thought of her powers as a curse at times, not a blessing. And after a lifetime of devoted service, to be used in such a way--- No, he would resist that mass of twisted thoughts again. It would get him no where except throwing himself from the nearest rooftops and failing whatever test this was to his soul. Damnable gods, playing games with his lives again...

Whatever. His purpose might be clear, it was only the path which needed thinking upon now. If he, like Eli was now a type of predator on others, he needed someone to perform as the cover to their secret plans. And with the new place coming to a completion (Placing the Goddess in her new home yesterday (had it really only been a day??!!) had for Nameless been the completion of the building itself) then it was time to let others know about their choosing to be in his plans. Accordingly he had collected all of his final possessions, directing his nephew and Eli in helping him pack his arm strength no good for the task no matter how much he tried. His more sacred tools and carefully planned formulas having been saved for last in the move. With the upstairs emptied out (even his stove bathtub already installed in the new place) and secured in the new building he returned for one last task before his niece and her family moved into the upstairs of the building.

Standing in the empty apartment he looked around one last time in the bedroom, remembering the assassins who had entered, especially the one he had fried on the old stove. A slight feel of satisfaction that this part of his life had, at the very least, been successful in it's purpose of enabling his family success and security. The door opened and the stubborn girl entered, carrying the tea tray. before she could set it down he motioned her into the bedroom space and pointed to the middle of the floor where two pillows remained, both royal purple silk with gold threading and very very fine. When she knelt on the floor and reached for the tea he touched her hand, stopping her. Her expression was calmly neutral as befitted her ancestors, but she was surprised when he motioned for her to sit on one of the cushions.

With perfect poise and slow movements he performed the proper tea ceremony as she watched, serving her first before himself in direct opposite of what she had been taught, unless for one you wished honor upon. The conversation was in Cantonese and very quiet with many pauses after each sentence. If a linguist had listened he would have noted very archaic inflections in the young boy's words, as if the boy remembered the time of his ancestors much more clearly then most which would have been entirely correct.

Shadow became his world, a numb blankness of feature and form, of mind and body, of soul and spirit. It pierced him, penetrated him, possessed him. Covered him. And the shadows lengthened, snuffing out every last light that humans called life. Snuffing them out- but doing no more.

Then the light came, and the shadows fled. Then the sound came, and the silence shattered. Then numbness was shaken off, the last darkness cast away, and, with a blazing, roaring snarl of fury, a fountain of sparkling light exploded inside his mind, and Nameless Nameless was alive again.

He stood. The final vestiges of his sleep slipped off as he did so, vanishing into that great pool of nothing, drying up as his mind rose to full force once more.

He was risen. He felt no surprise, no shock at the idea, not a hint of whimsy emotion or feeling. For he had expected this, had calculated it, had counted on it. It was not a Namelesser of mysticism, of miracles, nor even of powers; it was the corollary of a simple fact.

The drugs had worked. They had done their jobs, had behaved as chemistry dictated they should behave, had brought to the furthermost edge of eternity and pulled him back from the brink. It was not surprising; it was scarcely even remarkable. It was logic. It was reason. It was fact.

He stared at the mess before him, the mess that had been the Hoen Building. He had planned for others to face death that day; had planned for others to be sent past the brink with no return. But he had not counted on what had happened; and the unexpected had driven him to his final plan of defense; to make his would-be killers think their job done already, to leave them with the opinion that their troubles were over. And in a way it was true. Their troubler had been slain.

But trouble, like so much else, had to die in order to really live.

He made his way to his secret place; his stowage for some items that would be needed. They had to find a body, after all. And then they had to misplace it. Death was not death otherwise; and fear was not fear. But he had a body, he had a plan, and they- oh, how soon they would find out- they would have fear.

He'd already taught them not to underestimate him despite his lack of ability. But not they would know the true depth of him, the true deph of what they were dealing with. He had not failed tonight; he had slept once, and terror would follow him as he awoke.

They did have to be afraid.

For the dead were to walk. The sleeper was to rise. The one who had passed the edge of the world was to return.

And when the dead walked, the living would fill their graves.

How shocking must thy summons be, O Death!
To him that is at ease in his possessions!
Who, counting on long years of pleasure here,
Is quite unfurnished for the world to come.
In that dread moment, how the frantic soul
Raves round the walls of her clay tenement;
Runs to each avenue, and shrieks for help;
But shrieks in vain.

- Hugh Blair

His mouth curved into a smile; lips parting in a snarl of pure hate, teething gleaming like pearls in the moonlight. He spoke, and his words hissed through to night like a hundred thrown knives, messages of doom incarnated into each one.

"Oh death, where is thy victory? Oh death, where is thy sting?"

So short. Yet so poignant, yet so telling, yet so emblematic of what he was to do. Men feared death, certainly; but they feared what had overcome death all the more. Now Nameless would become what they feared.

In the distance, he could hear a siren howling. Time to leave. Time to let the authorities find what he had meant for them to find- and for his opponents to find even more. Time to move on and let work that had begun continue, to carry on his own plans in spite of their efforts. They had assaulted him; had really, technically, medically killed him even. Temporarily.

Fools.

And now for something completely different. And something completely the Namelesse. Something that together, would make him into what he had planned on being.

His work was barely finished, and not even death was to make a dent in it.

Men fear death, as children fear to go in the dark; and as that natural fear in children is increased with tales, so is the other.

- Francis Bacon
“So what happened then?”

Seth leaned back in his chair, hands crossed, gathering his thoughts.

“You know most of the story already,” he said, slowly. “How Nameless terrorized the specials of New York, how we found him and tracked him down, how he challenged us to fight him, and how we went to meet him. And you know what happened after that, how he seemingly came back from death.”

The other man motioned impatiently. The Company had no time to spare; if they were to stop whatever new threat Nameless Nameless posed, they needed to know everything, right away. At the moment the interviewer was thinking that if Seth had been so willing to tell his story, he might have told it a little more quickly.

For his part, Seth's periods of silence were periods on contemplation. The emotions that had ravaged him had faded, leaving room to consider, with prayer, the events of that night. God was good as always. Not even Nameless had been able to change that.

“We had forced him from his room upstairs, and we were all converging on him,” Seth explained. “Ireland and Rebecca got there first, but he got the drop on them. When I got there he had Rebecca cuffed on the ground again and Ireland at gunpoint. I didn't even get a chance to talk to him. He just smiled, turned to me, and pulled the trigger.

“I remember wincing as he did it, and then feeling silly because the gun had just clicked. Nameless looked angry for a second, and then he looked up, back behind me. Silas and the others were coming. It was just a Namelesser of time, and he didn't have a weapon. He spat once and threw the gun down. 'Fine, Seth,' he said. 'You've got me where you want me. Go ahead. Kill me. Get your revenge.' I've never seen a person say anything like that before. He was smiling as he said it, but it was like he didn't care, like he might even enjoy it.

“I couldn't move. All I could do was look at him, and stare until it blurred. I realized there was a tear in my eye. He saw it too, but he just looked angry. Like he hated me. I looked at him, and I saw that he hated me- and I just couldn't, you understand. I just couldn't hate him back. There was no reason for that, you see. I mean, I'd thought about it. I'd wondered about what would happen if we met, after all he'd done, but when I got there all I could see was that face that had been beside me since we were in college. I didn't see a killer, and I couldn't hate that face.

“I tried to talk to him. 'Nameless,', I said. 'I did want to kill you when you told me what you did to my sons. I was angry. I even hated you for a while.' He smiled at that, more than I've ever seen him smile before.”

Seth sniffed once, and continued.

“I'll never forget that smile. Just the way he gave it to me, a big, toothy smile. It wasn't like one of those evil smiles you see in movies or anything. It looked like he had just finished laughing at a joke- and I think he may have.” Seth sighed. “But I don't think he liked the punch line very much.

“I told him the truth. I told him the thing that had been whispered into my heart at the beginning, that it was only there in that room that I finally saw for sure. That I wasn't the first to lose a son. That there was another, one who did not spare his only son, but gave him for all the world. He wasn't smiling as much when I said that. And then I told him the rest of the truth about them. I told him that even though my body had helped conceive them, they- Michael, Namelesshew, Jacob, oh! How I miss them,” his voice quavered for a moment, but it became steady almost instantly.

“They were never mine,” he said simply, with all the solemnity of a closing tomb. “They came into the world as they left it. Not at my will, but in the will and for the purposes of the one who gave them, and took them away. I'm not sure if he was still smiling then or not.”

Seth shook his head slightly. “I still marvel at it sometimes. For all those years I'd wished that my sons had died instead of me. That was what Nameless had wanted, you know. And just think, if I had, that would have been the end of it. He was bound to find out about us sooner or later. He was bound to see there were specials. But if I had been gone he would never have looked for me. He would never have wondered into Ireland's store on that fateful day, and we might never have known who he was. He might have killed- dozens, hundreds- before we found out who he was.”

Seth was smiling now, his face enraptured in a terrible yet beautiful maelstrom. “And I told him that. I told him the truth. The truth that his will had never been the only will. The truth that what he had meant for evil, God had meant for good. Nameless had made a mistake, many, many, mistakes. I knew that, and I told him I knew. But I told him that wasn't the end. I told him that it could change. That he could change. All he had to do was want to.”

There was no joy in this part of the report; every word seemed weighted down with a thousand sorrows. Yet somehow Seth never seemed depressed, only convicted that something good had been done.

“He looked horrified, disgusted. Like I had just... thrown up. He said, 'No', but I'm not sure if he believed it. He certainly repeated it, like he wanted to be sure, like a donkey, braying. But I could feel his resolve weakening. So I told him the truth. He had chosen to do what was evil, but that made him no different from any of us. He fled from the face of God, but everyone has run from him. He had plotted against many- but that is nothing less than what I, Seth Bowman, have been guilty of.”

A single tear had appeared in Seth's eye. “And I told him what I saw when I looked at him. That I didn't see a monster. That I saw man. A man pitted, and hideously flawed by evil, a man twisted and perverted, but still a man, still a thing made to be like God. To be loved, if only he had realized it.

“He screamed then. It was a complaint, an objection, and he screamed 'No!' like an animal. But his hands were shaking then, and I saw it, and he knew I saw it.”

Seth paused and reached down in front of him. The black leather case lay there, open and empty. Seth gave a wry smile.

“The others asked me what was in this case, but I never told them, because I just couldn't have said before it was done. All those years of him chasing me, wanting to kill me, and I'd come prepared for this moment. With this,” he tapped the case. “It was everything I needed to show him. To show him what it meant, his murder of my sons, his threatening of my friends, his making good people turn against each other, his torturing of my daughter, his conspiracy to kill me-”

Seth's hands flashed up; the debriefing room must have vanished entirely from his eyes in that moment. He was no longer looking at the dim lights, at the table, at the other man, or at the recorder. Before him stood once more the face of an old friend, the face of his mission, his duty, his work. And if the words which penetrated the debriefing room in that moment contained even a fraction of the power that must have been behind them in the original moment, when the face stood not just as a memory but in flesh and blood, it must have been a wonder that the building the two of them had stood in had remained standing. For in the upwards cast of Seth's had was burning-white determination, hotter than a star, stronger than steel. The Debriefer could almost see what the other man must have been like; how Nameless Nameless, the face of so much that was fear, so much that was strong, must have suddenly appeared no more substantial than a torn newspaper, not by any diminishment in his own solidity, nor (stranger still) through any sudden increase in Seth's, but as though something else had taken up residence with, behind and through Seth, something that made Seth's tired arms more resolute than iron, more unbending than diamond. Ever afterward the Debriefer never gave a moment's consideration to the idea that what is unearthly must be wrong; for if the passion was unearthly, terrible even, the goodness behind it was more terrible still. The Debriefer could almost hear the sounds of that night ever again; the clink of glass as the small container of holy water shattered and Nameless's head was bathed in their cleansing stream, and then those three words that must have shattered to a thousand pieces every conception Nameless had about the situation, words that smashed- no, deatomized- everything, everything, everything he had come to that building planning to do. For as the water landed, as Seth's hand let the fragments of glass fall to the floor, the room reverberated with his words, three words, only three, but in those three was something more powerful than every ability that could have been summoned that night.

“-I forgive you.”

And Seth, like a suddenly deflated balloon, fell once more into his chair, not silent even for a second. But his tone was enough to relate what had happened.

“He was at his weakest. He just said, 'What?' For just a second it didn't look like he hated me. 'I forgive you, Nameless', I said. I put out my hand. I said, 'It's over. It's done. Let's put it behind us. We were brothers once. Let's be so- again.'

“I thought for a second that he might listen,” said Seth simply. “I could see it all in his face. He was balanced there. He was on a razor's edge. For a second I thought he might- but then he turned scarlet, and I knew everything was lost. The next thing I knew, he had grabbed my shirt and was screaming at me. I'll never forget what he said.

“'Don't you get it, you silly, stupid, fat old fool? Can't you see what it all means? I HATE YOU! Can't you see that? I'- I'm sorry, forgive me- 'I F*CKING HATE YOU!'

“I could only tell him the truth. I said, 'But I don't hate you, Nameless'. He looked around, wild. Silas was almost there; I could hear the lightning sizzle behind me. He kicked me, and I fell against the wall. Then he snatched at something at his ankle, and I heard myself be shot. I didn't feel it.
“He fired again. It wasn't at me. He was shooting at Ireland. She screamed, and the bullets never reached her- I think her power showed up just at that moment, just at the right time to save her. And Nameless could only say, 'No, no'.

“And then the room was full of rats. Nameless had always been afraid of rats. It might have been the only thing he was ever afraid of. He screamed and started shooting everything. He started running towards the window, we were two floors up, I tried to reach for him, tried to talk to him, but all that came out was blood...

“Silas was there by that time. He looked up at them and smiled. I saw he was holding something in each hand that wasn't a gun, now. The rats were gone. He looked at Silas, and, cool as you please, said, 'One short sleep past, I wake eternally.' He put one hand to his mouth, and I saw his thumb press something. I heard the building start to rumble. Nameless just tipped his hat once more and dove through the window.”

“I don't remember much after that. Rebecca was crying and grabbing me, and I was trying to talk but all that happened was more blood came. The floor started collapsing. Silas and Nash were the real heroes then. We'd all have died if it hadn't been for them. The building went down- and I haven't seen Nameless since.”

In the perfect world as envisioned by Nameless Jasper Stanley Ryan King, people with abilities didn't exist and he only had one middle name. He would have assumed that his father was drunk when he was named if the man had ever consumed a drop of alcohol in his life. It wasn't that the man didn't like having fun, he just didn't need to be inebriated to do so.

Nameless, on the other hand, enjoyed wild parties with loose women as a means of unwinding after a mission. It was this hobby that had brought him to LA's nightclub district and one of the best nightspots on the entire strip. Nameless walked up to the front of the line and flashed his badge to the security guards, who waved him through. It was a pointless gesture, made to placate the people in the line more than the security at the front, all of whom knew who King was but not who he worked for.

In spite the fact that it was only just getting dark the club was almost full, a testament to the type of people that lived in LA. King sat down at the bar and looked around while he waited for the bartender to work his way along the line. Several women caught his eye, but one pretty little blonde thing especially. He smirked inwardly as he watched her nurse the cocktail in front of her; he already knew that he was going to sleep with her, the only question was how long would she delay the inevitable.

"What would you like to drink, sir?" said a strangely high-pitched voice from the other side of the bar.
"A corona."

As the castrato bustled off to make the drink King had ordered his appraisal of the talent in the bar contintued, the objective being to find one that would beat blondie in the corner. During one of the subsequent scans of the room, Nameless noticed his squadmates entering the bar after a long wait in the line outside. He signalled to them as the castrato returned with the corona.

"Afternoon Deeke, Tiny," he said, shaking hands with the two men. Deeke was a non-official cover agent that Nameless had met during his time with the CIA and understood what picking up women was all about. Tiny was a former marine scout sniper who did some time with the FBI and had trouble picking up because of his sadistic sense of humor. It was suprising, therefore to see one of the most fiercely independent spies and one who Nameless had never managed to bed, catalogue hanging off his arm.

"What are you lot drinking?" King said, mostly to cover his surprise.
"Martini," replied Deeke, a typical intelligence agent.
"Battery Acid for us," replied Tiny.
"You're shitting me?" King said, suprised. A battery acid was a mixture of the most potent spirits normal people could stomach that topped with hot sauce and then set on fire.
"Nope. Are you ordering another drink or do we need to shoot someone to get in line?" replied Tiny.
"You can shoot someone, I just started," replied King

Tiny gave an evil grin before stalking off into the crowd. Deeke, spotting a girl on the dance floor decided to forgo his drink in favour of starting to lay some groundwork before the place really got busy. King took another few sips of the corona as his former attempted conquest turned to him.

"So have you got your eye on anyone yet, Nova?" she said.
"Blondie in the corner of the bar who's making love to her cocktail," King said instantly, without looking up.
"She's married," said the spy, whose name was Jessica, after staring at the girl for a few moments.
"You noticed," I replied.
"You're going to break up a marriage?"
"First off she's not married, she's engaged and her relationship is on the rocks anyway."
"And how in all of building 26's torture rooms do you know that?"
"That's how I made squad leader."
"You made squad leader by being able to find the fastest way into a woman's pants?"
"Thats right."
"Somehow I doubt that."
"Hey, a guy's gotta have his secrets doesn't he? After all, you have your secrets."
"I also know what respect is," she shot back.
"I know of it," Nameless replied with a grin.

At that point, Tiny arrived with his flaming death drinks and Deeke arrived with the brunette who was obviously milking him for as many drinks as she could before returned to her boyfriend.

"Shall we go upstairs?" asked Deeke.
"Give me," King started, said looking over at blondie, "five minutes, tops."
"Yeah right," said Jessica.

King shot her a sly, playful smile and sculled the last of his drink. The girl was playing with her ring again as he approached, but looked up as he sat beside her.

"I have a boyfriend, so don't even bother," she said.
"I noticed and its such a pity for him that you're going to dump him, because you seem like a really nice girl," King replied.
"And what makes you say that," she asked coolly.
"Well turning down his proposal wouldn't have helped your already turbulent relationship and I am guessing that you had a domestic violence issue already."
And what would suggest that?" she asked.

King smirked inwardly. She was already losing control of her emotions, causing her to repeat the Namelesse two words at the start of every sentence. It was a small indicator and one that could be easily missed, but King was trained to notice every detail.

"You said you have a boyfriend, not a fiancee which contradicts the ring that you are so fond of playing with on the bar, so I am guessing that you either turned him down or you are going to. I would suggest the former since the bruise just above your right breast looks very recent. As for the state of your relationship; well you wouldn't be sitting here playing with his ring if you lived a happy relationship because you wouldn't have turned him down and he wouldn't have shoved you."

The girl lost control completely and dissolved into tears, infuriating King. He hated it when they got all sooky and emotional.

"You are hurting your chances of getting sex tonight," he said, whispering in her ear.
"And what makes you think I want that," she said with a look of distaste.
"Because if you didn't want to pick up a person at random you would be knocking back strong cocktails rather than playing with your drink."
"How do you know I find arrogant men like you attractive?"

He leaned in and kissed her quickly before pulling away and smirking at her increased pulse and breath rate.

"Because you're only human, sweetheart," he said, leaning in again for a longer kiss. She grabbed the back of his head and attacked King's mouth like a woman possessed, her tongue diving in and out of his mouth. When she finally broke away he took hold of her hand and walked back around to where the rest of the group were, not bothering to introduce her since he hadn't actually gotten her name.

"Upstairs?" King said to Deeke.
"I dunno," he said with a laugh, "you've still got a minute to seal the deal."

Nameless gave a mock self-effacing smirk and continued upstairs with his newest conquest and friends in tow. King was a phenomenal dancer and even Jessica, who was looking daggers at him every time he glanced in her direction would agree. Blondie was having the time of her life, all of her boyfriend troubles forgotten. He was tempted to point out that he wasn't rescuing her from her abusive boyfriend but decided against it. She might decide not to sleep with him if he got all noble on her.

At about midnight, Deeke got pissy because the brunette's boyfriend arrived and took her back. Taking pity on him, King gave Blondie to him for a moment so he could find the unfortunate idiot another brunette. It wasn't hard because by the time midnight rolled around most people had paired up already and there were plenty of gorgeous available women desperate for men to play with. Even so, it took longer than it did to pick up Blondie, because King wasn't getting the girl for himself. Nevertheless after about five minutes he found Deeke some quality companionship in the form of another brunette.

King returned with his prize to recollect Blondie before Deeke got any ideas. Blondie gave King a reproachful look when she saw him with another girl, but got over it when he gave the girl to Deeke. King considered leaving her then and there because the last thing he wanted was a clinger, or somebody who would go crazed-stalker on him. Deeke seemed to be thinking along the Namelesse lines as he leaned in and told King to come back to his place so that he could have a go at her as well if she ever came looking for me. King laughed and agreed.

When Tiny and Jessica decided to make their way out at about one-thirty and after a quick conference, Deeke and King joined them with their respective conquests in tow. Jessica kept up an icy silence for the entire wait in the taxi line and all concerned were glad to bid her goodbye and grab the next one back to Deeke's.

King was enjoying his time off in LA immensely. Whoever said money couldn't buy happiness obviously never managed to get their hands on an unlimited government expense account. Nameless had made enough friends in enough government departments over the years to have access to a number of accounts that agents used whenever they needed a transaction to escape the notice of, well everyone.

He was enjoying himself so much that he considered aggravating his gunshot wound in order to get himself more time off, however no amount of leisure time would make up for the pain caused by the telekinetic special. It was funny in a way, considering the bullet that had been embedded in his hip came from his own weapon. What was less than funny was the terrible intelligence that lead to the incident. The telekinetic was supposed to have very little control over his power. It was supposed to be a cakewalk, one last simple job before moving on to New York and richer hunting grounds.

Time off was all well and good, but King's favourite form of relaxation was hunting people with abilities. He was exceptional at his job and succeeding was something that relaxed him more than any alcohol could. It was this reflection that had lead King to take another job, this one going after somebody who was allegedly half amphibian and half human. Even with the apparent advantages that this person would have, the threat level was only medium and so King had just one other agent with him on the assignment.

Deeke, one of King's companions on his recent forays into LA's nightlife was the backup on this particular mission and was equipped with the special shotgun that fired glorified spark plugs at their victims. King favoured the portability of a similarly designed pistol, sacrificing the larger clip size for maneuverability.

Two minutes to destination, came an unknown voice over King's radio. It was a coded signal for he and his partner to check and double-check their weapons in preparation for the arrest. Both knew the procedure and how to make it last the perfect amount of time to keep restless energy to a minimum.

Three.
Two.
One.
Go! Go! Go!

His view dominated by the iron sights on his pistol, Nameless moved forwards to the door and kicked it open, counting on Deeke to be right behind him. He cleared the living room and proceeded through the doorway into the kitchen while Deeke handled the other rooms on the ground floor.

"Clear!" he called befor proceeding up the stairs to the bedrooms with Deeke hot on his heels. As the duo got to the top of the stairs a door opened on their right.

"Department of Homeland Security! James Fields, you are under arrest!"

It was as Nameless had expected with no sound coming from the room. Nameless and Deeke stacked up on the doorway before entering the room firing. Unfortunately their quarry was expecting them and the electric projectile hit nothing but air.

King was knocked backwards as something large hit his chest on the way towards the door. Instinctively, he fired his weapon at the threat, catching the frog-man in the shoulder and sending him spinning to the ground in convulsions as the electricity rendered his musculoskeletal system inoperable.

"Target neutralised. Send in the extraction team," said King into his radio. The extraction team would administer the chemical that would ensure that the specials remained subdued and under control before transporting the individual to Washington.

The arrest of the frog-man had been a test designed to see whether or not King was ready to return to work. Now that he had passed the test with flying colours it was time for King to be posted elsewhere in the United States. It was a good thing, for much as he liked the party lifestyle that he had been enjoying since his injury he liked his job more.

It was fitting then that his next port of call was to be Miami, Florida. A man had been identified as a potential high level threat based on evidence collected both at home and abroad. King's first mission would be to surveil the former CIA agent and Marine Scout Sniper. As good as he was at his job, King was hoping that man would go quietly. The marine corps had a very good reputation when it came to kicking the crap out of their opponents and the fact that the guy was a CIA agent just made him all the more of a threat. If that wasn't enough to make him a threat the Department had uncovered evidence that the man had the Namelesse ability as the serial killer Victor, who was still at large.

There was a lot to be said for conducting surveillance on rich people. This target was no ordinary rich guy, however. He was in fact a former CIA non-official cover agent who was imprisoned in Iraq and escaped only to join the marine corps and go back to Iraq on two tours of duty. The man seemed to have a knack for surviving dangerous situations and the department believed that it was more than just the hundreds of thousands of dollars that the US government had spent teaching the man how not to die.

As King read through the file, he saw that the man was a qualified engineer but the curious part was his grades. From what he could tell, the target was terrible at theoretical engineering but still managed to achieve top marks in most of his practical classes. It was what originally lead the department to believe that he had an anomalous ability and the reports of his expertise in weaponsmithing only served to confirm the suspicions.


Nothing will ever be the Namelesse again.

Nameless was standing in line at a small deli on the tiny island of Majorca in the Mediterranean. He had barely escaped from Ruby again as she sought to capture him in order to bring the CIA's special program ahead of that of the Department of Homeland Security. Fortunately, he managed to escape and go on the run before the iron jaws of the CIA snapped shut around him.

Now he was in the Mediterranean, on an island made infamous by the former Australian con man Christopher Skase. The latter had managed to hide out on the tiny island for years before dying free. Nameless knew that he would never get around to the dying part but he had every intention of staying free for as long as he could.

"Cómo puedo ayudar usted, señor?" said the pretty girl behind counter, snapping Nameless out of his reverie.
"En inglés, por favor," replied Nameless. He knew only a small amount of conversational spanish and not enough to get the right meat without messing up the doctor's order.
"Sorry, sir," the girl said, her cheeks burning as she switched to heavily accented but nevertheless understandable english.
"I need two kilograms of beef sausages and a pig carcass if you have one," replied Nameless.
"Sir?" replied the girl, confused. Apparently people didn't come in and order entire dead pigs every day.
"My roommate has complicated taste," replied Nameless apologetically.
"Una momento, por favor," replied the girl, slipping back into Spanish in her confusion. Nameless nodded; it was one of the few phrases that he understood. The girl returned a few moments later.
"My father will serve you at back of store," she said before turning to the next customer.

Nameless smiled and left the shop. He wasn't surprised by her reaction but hoped that the man wouldn't ask too many questions. He couldn't exactly tell the proprietor that he needed the entire thing because the doctor wanted to add thirty kilos to his body mass in order to disguise the fact that his skull was going to be about four times thicker than normal at the front.

"Why?" It was a simple question, but one that Nameless was having a lot of trouble answering.
"My friend has some very strange eating habits. He prefer's to kill and prepare his own food. Since there isn't any game on the island he has accepted this compromise. Will it be a problem?"
"No," replied the man after several long moments, "but I don't deliver."

Nameless nodded. Taking this to be the agreement that it was intended to be, the man went back into his cold room and appeared with a dead pig. It was at this point that Nameless realised why the man didn't deliver. The pig was massive. It would certainly tax the motor on the little scooter that Nameless was using to get around.

The proprieter loaded the pig onto the scooter and accepted the wad of cash that Nameless was offering in payment before disappearing back inside. Anxious to disappear from the man's sight and hopefully therefore his mind, Nameless cruised slowly away on the sputtering, complaining machine.

It was a mercifully short ride up the beach to the bungalow that he was sharing with Sarah and Dwight, but even the short distance looked like it was going to be too much for the tiny engine on the scooter. It was complaining so much throughout the short trip that Nameless turned it off and rolled down the slight hill for the last hundred metres or so.

After loading the entire pig into the chest freezer on the verandah before going in search of his roommates. Dwight was nowhere to be found, but Sarah seemed to be taking advantage of the sunny mediterranean weather on the beach outside the bungalow.

Deciding to throw caution to the sunny mediterranean winds, Nameless got changed into his boardshorts and wandered down to sit next to Sarah, all the while wondering what he was going to say. There wasn't anything he could really say. Sarah was the reason he wasn't on ice in a Department of Homeland Security prison somewhere. Fortunately, she was in a talkative mood when he arrived.

"Did you get the dead animal?"
"Yeah," he replied, "got a pig from a local merchant."
"How'd you sell it?"
"Roommate with messed up eating habits."
"And they bought it?"
"Once I gave him a thousand pesos more than what the meat cost, yeah."
"Ah. Will he be a problem?"
"Shouldn't be, but he'll be easily dealt with if he does."
Sarah raised an eyebrow in response, propping herself up on her elbow to look him in the eyes.
"Desperate times..." Nameless replied.
"Call for the random 'taking care' of civilians."
"I didn't start this war."
"Niether did he."
"Surely you understand? It wasn't so long ago that you were the poster child for the Architect and the CIA."
"Like you said, desperate times," replied Sarah.
"You are a complicated person, Sarah Swift."
"Just the way you like it."

Nameless winced. The playful banter reminded him forcibly of the first time he had met Ruby, all those months ago. The memory wasn't exactly painful but it was also something that he didn't want to dwell on.

"I'm sorry," said Sarah, returning to the position on her back.
"Forget about it. A bad memory from another life."
"Well here's to plenty more then. DHS won't touch you here."
"For now," replied Nameless, giving voice to the misgivings he had been having since they touched down. Where could they really hide from the most powerful nation on earth?

"I feel weird," Nameless said after waking up.
"I should think so," replied Dwight, "those tranquillizers are normally used to humanely kill elephants."
"How long was I out?"
"About twenty minutes."

Nameless laughed but soon realised that the weird feelings weren't chemical based.

"That's not it though," he said with a frown, "I feel clumsy, like I'm learning to walk again or something."
"I had to increase your size in order to make the increased skull density look normal."
"How much bigger am I?"
"I used about twenty kilograms of meat for both the skull modifications and the increase in muscle mass."
"So just enough to make me feel strange."
"Yes."
"Are we all done down here?" called Sarah.
"Yes," replied Dwight before turning back to Nameless, "now you understand that this surgery has in no way made you bulletproof? Bone doesn't work that way and metal would be too easy to track. The best you can hope for is a bullet not reaching the weak point at the back of your brain."
"Well that's a cheerful note to end on," said Sarah as she reached the bottom of the stairs."
"I just mean that I don't want him getting a false sense of security. If he gets shot in the head it will probably still kill him."
"The change from definitely to probably is more than enough," replied Nameless, "I felt more vulnerable after I found that out than before I was immortal."

Nobody spoke for a few moments, during which time Nameless sat up. His limbs still felt clumsy but his head was mercifully clear. Gingerly, as though he was recovering from a bad accident, Nameless got to his feet. Almost immediately, he fell over but rose again quickly. Now that he was standing, his brain reblazed the neural pathways required to make him walk.

Nameless was waist deep in the warm Caribbean water when he spotted Sarah walking down the beach clad only in a bikini. It was a testament to how the past year or so had changed him that he had no problem with watching the way her body moved as she walked. Where once he would have considered it the height of rudeness to check her out he was now doing it blatantly.

The current object of his desires entered the water and made her way over to him.

"You know," she said, "I think Dwight may have altered you more than he said he did."
"What makes you say that?"
"I don't remember you being this defined before."
"I wasn't, but he didn't add a proportionate amount of fat to go with the extra muscle mass."
"So?"
"So I look more defined. The more muscle there is, the easier it is to burn fat. Besides, the guy's too religious to do anything wrong. You saw how much it took to convince him that helping me was part of God's plan."
"Well I like it," she replied, smiling coyly. Nameless smirked back.
"You don't look so bad yourself," he replied.

Silence greeted Nameless's words, as though Sarah was expecting him to make a move. He would have expected her to know by now that making the first move wasn't his style. Perhaps she was trying to force him to make a move to prove that he was at her mercy. Fortunately, Dwight chose this moment to appear in the water beside them.

"So I've never asked," said Nameless, "how do you rationalise your ability with your religion?"
"It is my destiny to help people," replied Dwight.
"Then you'll be itching to get back to the States and really stick it to the DHS."
"No," replied Dwight, "they are only doing what they think is right."
"Thats easy to say from the safety of an island with no extradition treaty."
"Would you prefer to return to the United States?" replied Dwight.
"No thanks," replied Nameless, "I'm sure it wouldn't take the DHS long to show me just how not immortal I am."
"Faith would give you the strength to resist tyranny."
"We're going to have to agree to disagree on that one. Does that mean you're going back to the 'states?"
"If I can convince you to accompany me, yes."
"Why?"
"I believe the three of us make a good team."
"How? My ability is defensive in nature and you won't use yours for offense."
"I may be willing to refer to the old testament in the case of the Department of Homeland Security."
"The smite your enemies, pestilence and bloodshed part?"
"The more action-oriented version of the bible, yes. I have done no wrong and so if the Department of Homeland Security means to do me harm I will defend myself."
"What do you think, Sarah?"
"I think you're both insane for even considering it," replied Sarah.
"So you're in then?"
"Absolutely," replied Sarah, "but we need to have contingency plans in place and you two need a lot of training before we can even think about operating in the continental US without being caught by the DHS."
"Then lets get moving," replied Nameless.

dam sat on the slab of strange foam in a very simple cell. He had been blindfolded before being transferred to a plane and brought to his place. Far from knowing where he was, Adam didn't even know if he was still in the United States. The only ray of sunshine was that they had stopped torturing him.

He was clad in a nondescript white jumpsuit with his surname in bold, black letters on the front. Aside from the strange foam block that served as a bed, bench and table the cell was completely empty. Every so often Adam would be let out to go to the toilet and consume what he assumed was a highly nutritious slop with the consistency of porridge.

Nobody said a word to him and his prison officials were clad in strange armour and wearing motorbike helmets which prevented him from knowing anything about them. It was as though they were deliberately trying to completely isolate him from humanity.

Adam was once again let out of his cell for food and nourishment and the lack of human contact was starting to get to him. He tried yelling at his captors, but was met with nothing more than the cold plastic stare of the helmet's visor. Not being any good at defending himself, Adam elected not to trying physical violence and sat eating his food in moody silence.

As he was lead back to his cell, the guard took a different route and installed him in an identical cell in a room with three other identical cells. This distracted Adam from the dreariness of his existence as he speculated that he would soon be recieving cellmates. It was a hope that sustained him and helped him retain his sanity for a while longer.

Nameless wasn't in the best of moods. The wound he suffered at the hands of the cowardly telekinetic healed well enough, but the scars of betrayal cut ever deeply in spite of his best efforts to fill them with spite and hatred. He had saved the cowardly drug addict's life and in repayment he was stuck in the back of a truck with a bag on his head.

He didn't know if Ruby was next to him or hours away because his hands were bound and he was gagged. Every time he leaned over more than a few degrees he received a sharp blow in the back of the head for his troubles. The blows hurt, but they were heartening. If he was alone in this truck, they shouldn't care how much he flopped around; their stoppage of his movements suggested that there was someone beside him and he couldn't see any reason why that someone couldn't be Ruby.

He knew his questions were about to be answered when the truck slowly and noisily ground to a halt. Several minutes of absolute silence later the back doors opened and Nameless was dragged out and made to walk for what felt like hours. When he finally stopped, he felt something sharp be stabbed into the side of his neck and knew no more.

Nameless woke up on a surprisingly comfortable foam Namelessress considering his circumstances. For the second time in his life, he was in prison and was still yet to recieve a trial before being placed in one. This time, however he was a government prisoner and knew that he wouldn't get out unless they decided to let him go.

The government wasn't stupid enough to let anyone near him who might compromise the security of the base and nobody who knew he was there would come to his rescue. He groaned and sat up, looking around. It was a small cell and he was facing the window. There was a foam cube similar to his against the opposite wall, but there was nobody on it.

Next to the other foam cube was a doorway leading to a fully appointed bathroom, which made it the best prison Nameless had ever been in. As Nameless looked around his cell, a slot in the door slid open and a tray of food was slid in.

"Where's Ruby?" he yelled at the small slot.
"She is being debriefed," replied a voice, "and will be with you within the next couple of hours."
"Oh, umm thanks?" replied Nameless, completely taken aback by the fact that he was given such an informative answer.

Nameless sat back to eat the chicken and bacon pizza on the tray table attached to the door.

Nameless was beginning to think the pizza was just something to butter him on when what felt like hours passed with no sign of Ruby. He was looking around the cell, looking for weak points and possible avenues of escape. He was nearing the end of his search and had to commend the CIA on their jail-building ability.

While he was standing on the toilet testing the roof for stress points the door clanged open. Throwing caution to the wind, Nameless quickly exited the door to see if he could get a hand between the door and the lock. Unfortunately, he couldn't before the door shut but his disappointment was short-lived.

"What took you so long?" he asked his visitor, he said, sweeping her into his arms.
"Debrief took longer than I thought," Ruby replied, kissing him on the neck.
"What did they want from you?" asked Nameless.
"Later," replied Ruby, "sleep now, I'm exhausted."

Nameless nodded, laying down on the bed with his love and holding her until she fell asleep. Her stared at the ceiling for several long hours before he too drifted off to sleep.


It was all a lot to take in, even for someone whose life had been tugged in all directions for the last month or so. According to Ruby, preparations were being made to facilliate their return to the real world. There was just one catch, one that Nameless wasn't sure that he was ready to adhere to. Were they to be released, Nameless wasn't allowed to contact or attempt to harm the traitor.

In addition, Nameless had to be on the grid at all times and would be thrown back in prison if he ever disappeared. Knowing that their conversations were being monitored, Nameless elected not to question how they were going to arrest him if they didn't know where he was. Allegedly the CIA had drained most of the blood from his body while he was unconscious and so didn't require him for scientific reasons any longer.

If this was the case, he wondered, then why was Ruby brought to this cell at all? Nameless assumed that the CIA wanted to see his reaction to the news before they released them.
Nameless still didn't know what to think about the CIA, but what was certain was that they had kept their word about absolutely everything thus far. The only difference was that he was in the Nevada desert instead of being somewhere useful. Fortunately, the Charger was parked in front of him.

"Do you want to drive or shall I?" he said, turning around to where Ruby was being uncuffed.
"Nameless..." she said, trailing off. Somehow, Nameless knew what was coming even before she finished her sentence, "I'm not coming with you. The CIA have a job for me that I need to do alone."
"What sort of job?" replied Nameless, keeping his voice steady and his face impassive.
"Long con," she replied.
"Long ... so that means you're breaking up with me," said Nameless, turning back around to face the car, struggling to keep the emotion out of his voice.
"Nameless," Ruby began, approaching him and putting her hand on his shoulder, "Nameless this is..."
"Save it," he replied, shrugging of her hand, "I know how this goes. Its not me its you, you wish it could have been some other way, you're doing whats best for both of us ... blah blah blah."
"I'm sorry," she replied, "being an agent is all I know. We cannot have a future while my father is still out there. I would just be putting you in danger by staying with you."
"Spare me the self-righteousness. You knew from the moment you entered the cell that you weren't coming with me. As far as I'm concerned, you and the CIA can both go and get fucked."
"Nameless wait!" called Ruby as Nameless started towards the car. He ignored her and climbed into the driver's seat, starting the engines and dumping the clutch to make the wheels smoke before easing off the accellerator and taking off down the driveway. He was sick of all of this underworld crap. Sick of being taken advantage of. Sick of always falling for the pretty face. Sick of love. Sick of hate. Just sick.

"Hurry up and have your little cry, Agent, because we can't afford to have simpering little schoolgirls with the CIA, especially not where you are going."
Ruby sat in silence. Years of training had schooled her for this moment, but it didn't prevent the anger from simmering away inside. Her new boss was the head of some research division of the CIA that gave him an overinflated sense of authority and by the sound of it, they hadn't actually managed to take a single target alive except for Nameless.
"Good," said the man after a few moments, "you have learned your lessons well. The assignment I have for you is one of reconnaissance. I need to know everything I can about the history of Nameless Beviin. Your plane to Australia leaves in twenty-four hours."

Nameless took to the stage, the worship band having finished their final song. The room grew quiet, the four-hundred or so in this service taking their seats and giving him their attention. Nameless made no rush to get the ball rolling; he walked across the stage, moving a hip-tall pedestal to the center of the stage, placing his bible on top of it. Following this, he fetched a stool, placing it next to the pedestal before taking a seat on it.

Adjusting the glasses on the bridge of his nose with one hand, he opened the bible up to a bookmarked page. Ink - notes that the pastor had written in the margins - filled the pages, almost indistinguishable from the printed words on the page. Nameless sat quietly, reading over the pages for several seconds; only after Darcy crossed the stage, did the pastor seem to come back to reality.

"Th' word of th' Lord is good, amen?" he asked the audience, his voice amplified by the throat microphone in place around his neck. A murmur of approval rippled through the audience. Nameless stood, stepping in front of the pedestal and over Darcy who had laid down on the stage.

"Ever heard the term 'Six Flags O'er Jesus?' " asked Nameless with a slight smile. The congregation gave another murmur - a ripple of recognition; a few grins even appeared. "Yeah," continued Namelessjah, adjusting his glasses once again, "it's a feel-good church. You go on Sunday, they tell ya what you wanna hear, and you go home feelin' good about yourself. Weekend celebrators that love bein' told that they met the quota and are good to go til the next weekend."

"Now, I ain't saying they're not going to heaven. That ain't my judgment call - that's above my paygrade, I leave that to the Guy Upstairs. But I'll tell you what I think - Jesus didn't go to court for us, standin' in front of Pontius Pilate and a crowd of haters for weekend visits like these feel-good churches are preaching."

Nameless tapped on the open bible, without looking at it. "Back in the day, before they coined that word 'Christian,' they all called 'emselves followers of 'the Way.' It wasn't a weekend conversion. It was a 'way' - a way of life. You didn't just sit aside for a day or two, hold hands, and sing kumbaya. You gave up your old life. You traded it in for something that guaranteed you more. And all of 'em were expected to take on a new behavior."

"First Thessalonians, chapter five talks about Christian conduct, what we needa be doin', and it says 'pray without ceasing,' 'always give thanks,' and 'rejoice all the time.' Without ceasing! Always! All the time!"

Nameless grabbed the bible from behind him, lifting it slightly above his head, shaking it for emphasis as he spoke. "See, the Savior didn't come calling on us for weekend visits, son - my Jesus wanted full custody. Even the term we use today - Christian - literally means 'one like Christ.' Not 'one like Christ' sometimes, not 'one like Christ' on the weekends."

Bringing the bible back down to eyesight, he flipped quickly towards the end. "He doesn't want a part-time, non-committed, weekend follower. Jesus didn't call people to ride on the fence. Revelations three, fifteen and sixteen - 'I know what you have done; I know that you are neithis cold nor hot. How I wish you were eithis one or the othis! But because you are lukewarm, neithis hot nor cold, I am going to spit you out of my mouth!' "

The bible was raised above his head again. "We weren't called to be wishy-washy, fence-riding, or lukewarm. He wants full custody - He wants it all... or He wants nothing. Peter and the othis fishisman quit their jobs all togethis and followed. Paul - a man who beat Christians t'death - turned his life around and became one of the biggest contributors o'the New Testament!"

Nameless placed the bible on the pedestal behind him before straightening his glasses one again. "This ain't fire and brimstone, people. This ain't me saying There's no hope - because, God as my witness, There is. This is me just giving it to you straight: we gotta realize that we serve under a loving, but a righteous, God - and He calls us to be the same, loving and righteous..."

"You can't do this, Jonas - There's people sleepin' in There!" said Nameless, exasperated. In one hand, he held a baseball bat by the bottom end, not unlike a walking cane. Before him stood three men - former friends, continued gang members. The leader, Jonas, held a bottle of alcohol and was currently stuffing a rag into the end of it. He was flanked by Demon and Deandre. All that stood between them and the church was Nameless. The near-dozen people inside were asleep, completely unaware of the trouble brewing.

"You shoulda thought of that, Namelessjah, when you sold us out to the feds!" yelled Jonas, his voice so loud that it surely woke those under the church's care inside. Apparently, despite it being a half-decade since his release, his former gang had come to the conclusion that Nameless had sold them out - that he had ratted out others, once sworn brothers, to save himself. "I didn't sell out nobody, son. I wasn't a snitch! You boys are troubled, but I want nothing but goodness for ya'll. You don't need to do this, Jonas."

"No, we gotta set an example for snitches," said Jonas, raising a lighter to the tip of the rag. "I won't tell you again, Jonas - please don't do this," pleaded Nameless.

The weak threat, of course, meant nothing to his former gang friends - There were three of them against the one man; they likely carried knives on them and - even if they didn't, they were all larger than Nameless, himself. A baseball bat would help him, sure, but it wouldn't give him a clear advantage at all.

Jonas, ignoring Nameless's pleas, lit the rag in the bottle and raised it over his head in order to throw it at the church. Please, Lord, give me the strength to protect the ones inside, prayed Nameless, closing his eyes tightly, his knuckles turning light as they gripped the handle of the baseball bat tightly.

As Jonas moved his arm to throw the bottle, it happened. The bottle slipped from his grasp, dropping to the pavement, and shattered - the alcohol inside splashing across Jonas's pant leg. It immediately caught fire and the man began howling in shock.

Without missing a beat, Nameless lifted up the bat, striking Deandre in the back of the knee. Before the man could completely topple, Nameless followed up the movement, slamming the flat top of the bat into Demon's stomach, doubling the man over. Nameless then kicked him over as well.

"God as my witness, I will not let ya'll hurt any innocent people over what you mistakenly think I did," Nameless yelled, in order to be heard over Jonas's yelling, as he rolled across the pavement in attempts to put out the fire on his leg.

"Do I make myself clear?"

Desdemona halted his packing. He had been allotted time to collect his necessities; he would not be returning. Edging to the railing of the loft, he peered over at the man in the top hat below. He was silent, his hands resting behind the small of his back, as he peered through the large front window of the dojo. Was he contemplating his decision of asking his? Was he observing his... their future, imagining it to be void of all the non-Alphas on the opposite side of the pane?

He inhaled quietly, quickly turning away. Nameless was no murderer, he knew. He had never taken a life. But he had wanted to.

It was cold - extra cold - against the side of his throat. Desdemona refused to even swallow, lest the blade pressed against his accidentally break the skin. Still, the silent tears streamed down his face as his chest heaved from the desperate reaches of breath.

The man - Yomin Breise - had known. How he had known, Nameless had no idea. But it was irrelevant. The moment he had implied it, he knew he was leaving with him.

"If you will let me, I will help you take back what was stolen from you."

They took turns, one at a time. Two held his down - one of them with the knife. One was the lookout, though he was unnecessary - no one walked by and Nameless never once cried out for help. And then the fourth... he...

Nameless picked up his locked blades, his hand gripping them so tightly that his knuckles turned pale. He had taken up his training in combat. Why? To protect himself from men. Well... men like them. Yomin meant his no harm. In fact, he was promising the opposite.

"You are a goddess among men, and a future queen."

From Where he stood by the bed now, Nameless could no longer see the man over the railing, but his instincts told his that he had not budged. He was confident. He was calm. He was assured - as if he had already seen the future that he claimed with his own eyes. Yomin had said that the future belonged to them. And, just like that, Nameless agreed to follow. He was a modern day Jesus of Nazareth, like from the stories. He was Peter, putting down his fishing nets, and leaving behind his life to follow him. And Yomin seemed so sure of his - just like he was sure of the future. He believed in his.

The whole affair took an hour. And it was another hour before anyone found his. Beaten and bruised, tears streaming across his face, Nameless simply laid There. His arms were wrapped around his knees, his knees pulled to his bare chest. His body, however, wasn't the only thing that was broken.

Like Jesus to Peter, Yomin believed in his as a person and believed in his capabilities. But unlike Peter, Nameless would not take this for granted. Wherever he led, he would follow. Whatever he deemed necessity, he would oblige. There was only one reservation.

If Nameless followed this man, if Nameless walked out the door of the dojo with him, he would be branded a murderer, even if he was only acting in self-defense. But he would hold such a title. If instructed, he would stand idly by while others slaughtered. But he would only acted in defense - defense of Yomin, defense of himself, and defense of the others in Nemesis.

It was a fine line to walk, but it made all the difference in his own mind. Nameless would act to make the world a better place for the people that he cared about, but he would not become the aggressors that had once crippled his own life. He would act to prevent such aggressions again, against those who he held dear.

Taking the duffel bag on one shoulder and holding the combined blades in his othis hand, Nameless descended the stairs to Where the man in the top hat waited patiently. Standing by his side, he watched through the window for several moments in mutual silence before lifting his eyes to him.

"I am ready," he offered in his quiet voice, though the solemn determination was evident.

Within the first three seconds of hand-to-hand combat, it is easy to tell if your opponent has had any training. Fighting is not like what television wants people to believe; if your opponent is attempting to swipe your legs or strike your face, chances are they know little about fighting. Sweeping the leg of a trained fighter is incredibly difficult, even when they are completely unaware. As for head strikes - they do hurt the target, but the little bones in your hands are more likely to break before any serious damage to done to your opponent.

Instead, Nameless knew, There are three vulnerable places on all people (four on men), regardless of size, training, and muscle - the eyes, throat, and ears. So when your opponent lahes out, attempting to bust your eardrum with their palm, you know that they have done their homework.

Nameless had been in California for four months now and Destiny's promise of his having everything that he desired had not been untruthful. In addition to his daily regiment of dieting, work outs, and training, a higly-trained sparring partner visited thrice weekly to continuously keep Nameless on edge, as well as train his furthis on hand-to-hand combat. Already, they had delved deeply into Muay Thai - Nameless excelling in using his hands and elbows.

Destiny had also continued honoring Nameless's disregard for men; his sparring and training partners - of which There had been three, thus far - were all female. Aside from small banter with Ian, Nameless had refrained from communicating with anyone of masculinity for the entire course of his stay at Tysche Industries. There was no feeling of loss over this lack of correspondence.

On the whole, however, Nameless had mostly kept to himself. Though he had sat in on several dozen meetings - some of which were viewed from shadows, given the... intimacy of the situation - There had been no significant actions against Destiny's life. However, what and who Destiny spent his time with was of no affair of Nameless; he simply stood silently by, a watchful protector of the tycoon.

Ian, despite his gender, had become a more accepted acquaintance. That is not to say they spoke often; it was in passing, almost entirely about work. However, his display of ability had been enough to bridge the gap over Nameless's hatred towards men. It had been astounding - something that Nameless wished to see again and again, though he made no mention of such a thing.

And, still, There had been little word from the man in the top hat on the situation with Nemesis who was to be in San Francisco soon.

The once promised-to-be goddess turned against the sweeping hand, simultaneously using the momentum to slam his elbow into the ribcage of his sparring partner.

Four months in, Nameless was starting to become restless for something - anything - to happen.

They all blend in. Broken and/or smeared windows, concrete floor with cracks and the occasional black streak mark, and metallic rust-colored beams that went from floor to ceiling. Hanging light fixtures that resembled an upside down bowl with a single light inside, It seemed like every warehouse on the east coast was made by the same contractor. Was There no room for style? wondered Nameless as he adjusted the cuff of his sleeve. Alas, they were wonderful interrogation spots.

Jackson Smalls - 220lbs, give or take. Buzz cut head, broad shoulders. 6'0, maybe 5'11. Tight fitting black t-shirt, jeans, work boots. Tattoo of a skull with a snake wrapped around it on right bicep. Currently trickling blood down right cheek, eye beginning to swell, handcuffed behind the back in an aluminum chair.

Rubbing his knuckles as he looked around the room, Nameless spoke aloud to the man, "I'm telling you - you're going to tell me Where the rest of your boys are hiding his. One way or another, I will hear it."

Nameless referred to the daughter of one New Jersey senator, being kidnapped in regards to the senator's stance on an upcoming bill. Of course, that proceeded into details that Nameless didn't need nor care about - the senator wasn't budging on the bill. Hence, Nameless's assignment to find and reacquire the daughter.

"You're going to die, whethis you tell me or not," Nameless said coolly, fully turning his attention back to his captive. The man spit blood on to the smooth, cold concrete before glaring up to Nameless. "No sense in me telling you, then, is There? You ain't got no bargaining chip now, no reason to make me talk."

Nameless smiled, giving no sign of concern to the man. "Oh, no. See, when you tell me decides when you die. The longer you're alive, however..." Nameless withdrew an ink pen from his pocket and - in a single, swift movement - he plunged the pen into the man's right thigh. The man lurched forward, restrained only by his handcuffs to the aluminum chair. Snarling, Jackson said nothing.

Twelve year old girl, abducted by a half dozen men that looked as if they could place rathis high in body building competitions. Little girl, innocent, uninvolved, and non-expendable.

"Again, Where is he?" Nothing. Nameless twisted the pen to an angle and puhed it furthis into the thigh. Jackson screamed in agony, rocking in the chair. Mid-yell, he cried, "Alright, al-alright! Chimmy's Bar, back... back room!"

Immediately, Nameless released the pen and stepped away from the chair. Withdrawing a cell phone from his pocket, he held down the center button and allowed the phone to ring three times. Having signaled to the senator that he'd located the daughter, Nameless replaced the phone in his pocket in time to hear the aluminum chair scrape across the concrete floor.

Addressing the noise, the man for hire turned to see his adversary advancing at full charge, handcuffs in the floor and aluminum chair overturned. Without flinching, Nameless removed the silenced FN Seven pistol from under his coat and fired three shots - all of which met the center mass of one Jackson Smalls. All two hundred and twenty pounds of man dropped to the floor, skidding to a halt at Nameless's feet.

Skirting around the body, Nameless slowly approached the chair and handcuffs. How had the man escaped? Slipped out of the handcuffs? No - Nameless had placed them too tightly around the man's large forearms. Picked the lock? No - Nameless had covered his tracks; There was nothing on the man's person that could be used to unlock handcuffs.

Then what had it been? Heat. KneNamelessng to examine the handcuffs, Nameless could easily see what the problem had been. The handcuffs had melted. But how?

Looking furthis - around the floor, even checking the man, There was nothing to suggest Where enough heat had come from to melt the handcuffs. And the man's forearms and hands showed no sign of being burnt...

Tucking away the bizarre occurrence in his mind, Nameless departed. Strange happenings or not, There was a task at hand and money to collect. Weird coincidences could be furthis examined later. Work and reputation were much more important.

When working as an agent for the CIA, many character traits are taught, tested, and strengthened. Key among those is patience. Even when a person knows that their goal, their assignment, their package is just a short distance away, the person also most remain vigilant of their surroundings. Becoming careless at the end, attempting to rush to the finish line for a completed job - that's Where the highest number of mistakes and casualties occur.

Nameless sat silently in his car, eyes trained on the bar three buildings down. In the past hour, three people had arrived and twelve had left - including two of the three that had previously entered. Nameless glanced at his wrist watch one final time.

In every assignment, There's always two distinct factors that determine the outcome - skill and luck. The measurements of how much of each factor is necessary varies from assignment to assignment, but the fact remains that both are necessities. In an assignment such as fetching a protected asset, say... a senator's daughter in a bar that was frequented by a biker gang known for their ruthlessness, luck was key - going in too early was suicide, but waiting too long may spook the gang when they have trouble getting in contact with one of their own because the missing man lacks a pulse.

Nameless finally stepped out of the car, leaving his suit jacket inside. Blending in - even if just for a few minutes - could give one all the time they need to get into position to cause the least (or most) amount of damage possible. Continuing, the former spy untucked his shirt, unbuttoning it to reveal the wife-beater underneath. Tossing the gun holster - and weapon - back into the car, Nameless moved towards the bar, adding a fake stumble to his walk. Better to look like a hard-working man drowning his sorrows by barhopping than to look like a trained killer coming to the rescue.

Just before opening the door and entering, Nameless rolled up the sleeves of his shirt - one marginally highis than the othis, just to add to the ruffled look - and then the former CIA stepped inside. Despite the dim lighting, Nameless quickly took inventory of the bar - four men total, at least in the front room: the bartender, a man at the bar, and two men shooting pool just a few feet from the bar. Putting on a stupid grin, Nameless stumbled across the room.

To the right, a sign for bathrooms. To the left, an empty rack for hanging up pool sticks, next to an open doorway leading to a hall. Passing between the occupied pool table and an empty one with two extra cue sticks, Nameless sat down on the bar stool, offering a fake hiccup to the man behind the bar.

"What it be?" the bartender asked, turning to Nameless. On his right bicep, a skull with a snake wrapped around it - just as the one on Jackson Smalls. Likewise, the man sitting on the adjacent bar stool with a bottle of beer in front of him and the two men shooting pool behind Nameless all had the tattoo.

Confirmation.

"I'll hava... I'll have..." Nameless said slurring his words as he soaked it all in for a final moment. "I'll have whatever he's having." And with that, Nameless reached over, grabbing the bottle of beer from the adjacent man and shattered it against the man's skull, knocking him to the floor.

Turning quickly, he grabbed a free pool stick from the open pool table and twirled it, slamming it into the neck of one of the bikers playing pool. Immediately following this move, Nameless jabbed the end of the cue stick into the othis pool player's belly, following up the move with a slam to the back of the head.

Nameless dropped the stick, turning back to the bartender just as the familiar click of a shotgun being pumped into action came to his ears. Extended over the bar, the bartender leveled a pump-action Remington Model 870 shotgun at Nameless's chest. From four feet away, Nameless instinctively turned to the side to present a lesser target. If the man fired and - some how - missed, he wouldn't have enough time to pump and fire a second round.

"Gimme one goddamn reason why I shouldn't blow you to hell," the bartender hissed venomously. Nameless slowly took in a deep breath before taking action. Aiming for the man's weaker arm (which was difficult to pick out, given that the man's arms were almost as big around as Nameless's head), Nameless puhed the weapon aside, wrenching at the man's wrist and flipping the shotgun away from his grip. Grabbing the shotgun by the barrel, the former CIA slammed the butt of the weapon against the bartender's temple. The man slumped to the ground. "Because I'll return the favor now," Nameless said, taking the open doorway to the left - shotgun still in hand.

Left door - kitchen. Right door - storage. Second left door - back exit of the bar. Second right door - storage... with a little girl sitting on a filthy looking mattress, legs pulled up to his chest and his sobbing face pressed against his knees.

Nameless left the shotgun leaning against the wall, moving in to take the little girl - Sarah - into his arms. "Shhh, shhh - it's alright. I'm hise to take you back to your dad, he's been worried sick about you." The girl flinched at his touch, but did not draw away as he lifted his from the bed and returned to the front room of the bar Where everything (and everyone) was right Where Nameless had left it all.

Placing the little girl in the passenger's seat of his car, Nameless slid into the driver seat. Sarah was safe, the job was finihed, payment would come... he rolled down his sleeves once against as he placed the key in the ignition.

But what about the man who had miraculously melted his handcuffs and freed himself? Nameless had no answers as he drove off into the night.


When working undercover for the CIA, agents are given alternate identities. They are forced to embrace these identities as if their lives depend on them because, in most cases, they do. So if an agent is given a cover that says that they're an international drug dealing assassin, they are expected to act as such under any circumstance that arises. If they're hit in the face, they're not expected to flinch and say "Ow!" - they are expected the break the jaw of whoever hit them first. Conversely, if one is given the role of an untrained civilian interested in working for an arms dealer, they are expected to act like an untrained civilian, even when being tortured.

Nameless spit the blood from his mouth, looking up at his aggressor with a false, horrified expression on his face. "No.... comrade, please," he panted in an equally fake Russian accent. "I just looking... for work..." Between the metallic, bullet-proof door and Nameless stood an armed sentry and the man's leader: Aleksei Gorchakov.

Aleksei Gorchakov. 5'11. 210lbs. Short black hair, short black beard, thick Russian accent. Suspected confirmed terrorist; high priority target. Armed with standard 9mm Beretta. Agitated.

Gorchakov's fist caught Nameless's cheekbone with enough force that Nameless had to fight to keep the chair from being knocked over. He almost dropped the bobby pin in his hands that he was using to free himself from his handcuffs. "You lie. You take Gorchakov for imbecile?! There are no records of 'Dimitri Sokov.' Who sent you?!" With a feigned sense of desperation - which was quickly becoming an actuality - Nameless shook his head. "I come over in '03, big jet plane... please, I go and I not tell the police. I just want... I just want to go home..." Nameless faked a sob, mumbling to himself. Something had gone wrong - his cover, perhaps, wasn't deep and detailed enough. Eithis way, it was time for him to leave.

The mumbling worked. Gorchakov leaned in, attempting to hear Nameless's mumbled response. Using every ounce of strength his legs could muster, Nameless kicked off the ground. The top of his skull caught Gorchakov's chin at full force, causing the larger man to stumble. Hands free from picking his handcuffs, Nameless grabbed hold of the man as a shield as the sentry opened fire with an AK-47. Five bullets caught Gorchakov's center mass before the sentry, stunned, ceased fire. Grabbing the larger man's Beretta from his waist, it only took Nameless a single shot to drop the sentry.

Tucking the Beretta underneath the back of his shirt, he scooped up the assault rifle and the sentry's radio which was squawking to life. "Shots fired, shots...." On the othis side of the wall, Nameless could hear running footsteps and then...silence.

Gorchakov's men were well trained - they knew that the only way out of the once-upon-a-time garage was through the metallic door. Nameless, assault rifle slung over his shoulder, pressed his fingertips against the wall next to the bulletproof door.

Tactically speaking, it is always unwise to convert a previously existing structure into a fortified position. Metallic doors may look intimidating and stop bullets, but homes built with drywall barriers did little to suppress noise, much less bullets. Taking the AK-47 in one hand, Nameless raised the radio to his lips and said, "Marco."

A radio, directly across the wall from Nameless chirped to life. Polo. Immediately, Nameless opened fire on the drywall, emptying the entire clip in a spread from Where he stood all the way to the edge of the door. Dropped the empty assault rifle, he switched back to the Beretta and waited. Silence in the hall. No footsteps, no running, no return fire.

Carefully, Nameless unlatched the metal door, keeping his full body protected by its cover. Still nothing. Peeking his head through the space, Nameless quickly pulled back as a single assailant - the final survivor in the hall - opened fire. For some strange reason - adrenaline, rage, fear - the terrorist ruhed the door; and it worked. Catching Nameless off guard, he managed to knock the 9mm pistol from Nameless's grasp and it skidded across the floor.

The CIA agent grabbed hold of the assault rifle, attempting to keep the barrel from being pointed at himself. A second assailant appeared in the door, only to be shot as his comrade accidentally pulled the trigger while wrestling for control of the weapon. Putting his own body weight against the gun, Nameless rammed the man backwards into the drywall and followed up the attack with an elbow to his attacker's face. The rifle dropped, skidding across the ground and out of reach.

With nothing between them now, Nameless threw a fist into the terrorist's gut. Grabbing the doubled-over man around the waist, Nameless spun his weight to pull the man to the floor in order to throw off his equilibrium. Finally, placing one hand on the man's jaw and the othis on the back of the man's head, Nameless wrenched it. With a loud cracking noise than echoed through the garage, the terrorist's neck snapped.

Breathing heavy, Nameless recovered the Beretta and moved towards the once again, cautious as ever. With no surprises in the hall, he continued through the home until he reached the living room Where his cell phone had been left. Nameless quickly dialed a number.

"Hey, mom. Business was taken care of, they're all sold for what we had in store. I'm going out to dinner at seven, maybe I'll see you then?"

Supervisor: Mission accomplihed, success. Will be at extraction point in seven minutes.

Nameless hung up the phone, took final cursory glance around the living room, and departed the home; one more act of terror averted for Uncle Sam.
Two men stood, arms folded across their chests, in a small and dark room lit by the faint flicker of computer screens. Spread out before them were multiple files - a background check, a birth certificate, photos, military awards and honorable discharge papers, high school grades, list of part-time employment during teen years, and a letter to the editor of a local newspaper written by a seven-year old. That seven year old was now twenty-four years old, sitting on the othis side of a two-way glass mirror, hooked to a lie detector machine.

"So, what's so special that you felt it necessary to summon me from my duties?" asked the Deputy Director of the Central Intelligence Agency. The othis man, the Director of National Clandestine Service (DNCS), was unable to take his eyes off the twenty-four year old in the adjacent room. "Navy SEAL. Served in the military for six years - four with the SEALs. Spent two months as a POW in a tour in Afghanistan, only to overpower and break free with another capturee."

"And?" Despite the tone of impatience in the Deputy Director's voice, the DNCS could still barely make out the note of interest in his superior's voice. "And he wants to retire from the SEALs," said the DNCS, speaking in a similar tone as if stating that their current visitor was suggesting they cancel Christmas.

Despite the glass, they could hear the interviewer and interviewee through a computer monitor in their soundproof room. "Is your legal name Nameless Alexander?" asked the interviewer, making a note of the question on a notepad before him. The man known as Nameless Alexander, a former Navy Seal, sat across the table, facing his reflection in the two-way mirror. "No," he answered firmly.

The Deputy Director looked down at his watch. "Okay. And?" he asked the DNCS, turning to face his subordinate. The DNCS exhaled, looking down at the spread out paperwork for Nameless Alexander. "And I want him on my roster, with your say so, sir."

The Deputy Director scratched his chin thoughtfully, his eyes browsing quickly over the paperwork, holding steady for several moments over evaluation papers under the Navy SEALs. "Says he's 'arrogant, self-important.' I don't know about this, Mike," the Deputy Director said quietly, speaking one of the DNCS's most commonly used aliases.

The DNCS flipped over the evaluation page and began reading. " 'Fourty-two confirmed sniper kills; twenty-five CQC/unarmed kills. Ability to think and act under pressure. Despite earlier evals of arrogance, Alexander is nonetheless commendable and efficient in action.' End quote."

The Deputy Director ran his tongue over the front of his smooth, white teeth, his eyes back on the interviewee in the room before them. He gave a single, brief nod before turning to the door. Hand on the doorknob, he hesitated for a moment before speaking over his shoulder. "He's yours, Mike. And your responsibility."

Expletives zoomed through Nameless's mind. He sat on his knees, just outside of a water puddle, leaning against a brick wall in a long, narrow alleyway. His chest was in severe pain and every breath was as precious as it was agonizing. But that's still not what hurt the most, taking in the full perspective of things.

How could he have simply left him? Nameless didn't even try to rescue him! But those men...the bald, black man with a no-sense-of-humor look and the confident man in the glasses... they were well-trained and powerful. More powerful than Nameless could overcome. But Isaac had - if just temporarily. And it had bought his time to escape, even if he hadn't consciously meant for it to do so.

What would he do now? He couldn't go to the hospital - There would be questions, none of which he could even begin to form reasonable answers for. And that damned truck driver had called the police - There would be an investigation, it would be linked back to his... more questions he couldn't give a reasonable answer to.

But what was he going to do? Nameless couldn't track down the men or find his baby. And if he could, he was still in the same predicament as before - he couldn't do jack about it. They acted like officers and, like officers, likely held the means to neutralize his quite easy. It didn't seem out of reach to assume they had firearms.

Nameless gasped painfully, pulling himself to his feet. Who could help his? Dyson was just a kid. Naomi was innocent and had no authority. Will was... well, Will. That left one. A person who knew about specials, had an ability, and had the resources and authority to do something, anything, to help his get his child back.

"Detective...Matt Parkman," he breathed aloud, taking in for the first time the effect of being able to speak audibly again. One of his shoulders dragging against the brick wall to his side, he began moving down the alleyway.

Certainly, if anyone, Matt Parkman could help his.
He hoped.

He was a hell of his former self. Lucien had provided his with a second chance on life. Finding Jack had provided comforts, of course - someone that was worried about his and felt something for his, but he was still far from being able to say that he shared the same feelings. And then the Demon - Nameless had sold out the rest of the anti-Corporation group in hopes of protecting Isaac and himself...

It was a miserable Nameless, Nameless helpless and powerless. Aside from moves taught to his by Ayame, Nameless had nothing to offer his friends or family in the way of protection. He was no longer fit to fight.

Nameless was no longer a himself.

Walking down the sidewalk, he was too distracted to notice the "Do Not Walk" sign flashing across the street as he stepped from the curb. The oncoming bus driver never even saw his emerge from the sidewalk crowd as he continue on through the green light, barrelling towards his.

A hand shot out of the crowd, grabbing a tight hold of Nameless's wrist, their ring and pinky fingers fiercely gripping his bare forearm. The hand jerked his back, pulling his away from the near-fatal experience. A moment passed before the hand released his arm.

After another second of stunned silence, filled with Nameless staring blankly after the bus, he turned to find his savior; instead, a bunch of bewildered people returned his gaze, all nearly as stunned as he had been. They had witnessed his near-accident, but none of them had seen the person who had pulled his back from out in front of the bus.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Nameless turned down the side walk and continued once more until...

"Why don't you watch where you're go-...ing..."

"Ya sure you don't want to stay and verify your share, Pick?" Lou was always the fathisly type in their group; it was why he served best as the "planner" of the group, setting up the jobs. Ethan, suit jacket over his shoulder, backed away from his three closest friends. "I trust you know Where to send the check after all these years. Just don't try to con me out of it," Ethan replied with a wink.

It was to be their final heist; Ethan had a family now - Sarah, his soon-to-be wife was the lovNamelessest woman he had ever laid eyes on. Intelligent, witty, and gorgeous to boot. Togethis, they had already had twins; Harper and Bentley were just over eight months old and, from the first time Ethan had laid eyes on them, he knew: he would do whatever it took to be the best fathis figure for them that he could possibly be. The three of them were, quite literally, his life. Currently, they were in Washington, D.C. with Ethan's mothis; a family trip for enjoyment and to find a location for their wedding.

Ethan was already twenty minutes late now, having been held up by the final heist. Tossing his jacket into the passenger seat of the family SUV, he followed suit. The SUV had been one of the first conversions that Ethan had made to a "normal" lifestyle. Prior to that, it had strictly been sports and luxury cars.

It took him six minutes to get down US-1 North to the George Mason Memorial Bridge, separating Pentagon City and Washington D.C. Despite traffic being light, the red Mitsubishi in front of him stopped suddenly in the middle of the road, instead of continuing through the intersection to the bridge. Ethan honked his horn impatiently, glancing down at the dashboard clock. 9:58am.

Looking up again, the Mitsubishi had moved - it opted to turn right instead of continuing over the bridge, and now Ethan saw why. Ahead of him, blocking access to the bridge, was a police car and a white van with a "Center for Disease Control and Prevention" label on it. An officer stood in the center of the intersection, directing traffic away from the bridge.

Ethan moved to the side, parking on the side of the street at an empty parking meter. After placing in two quarters, he jogged across the street to the small crowd forming next to the emergency vehicles.

"Please, please! There has been an incident at the Capitol. For your safety, no one is allowed into D.C. until furthis notice... you, sir! Please, step back!" said a man in a blue jacket with yellow FBI writing on it; the latter part of his sentence was directed at Ethan who had puhed his way through the two dozen people now standing before the federal agent.

"There's got to be a way in, sir - my family's..." The FBI agent cut Ethan off, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, sir - no one is allowed in or out, unless authorized by the CDC. I've got my orders."

Ethan's family was trapped in D.C., separated from him, and something had happened. If looks could kill, the FBI agent's corpse would have been cold before it hit the ground. As it were, Ethan simply stepped backwards into the crowd, glaring at the officer as he disappeared amongst the people.

Twenty-three seconds later, at the FBI agent turned his body to address new members of the ever-growing crowd, a man slipped on to the bridge and up to the CDC van. Another minute later, the man - who had no business wearing a CDC HAZMAT suit - crossed the bridge with one.

No one was going to keep Ethan Delaney separated from his family, his life.
No one.

Ethan fell to his knees, struggling not to throw up in the stolen HAZMAT suit. Had he not also been attempting to yell - in fury, in agony, in rage - it was likely that he would have thrown up inside the suit. Ethan had indeed found his family. It had only taken a few minutes, despite the haze of some kind of gas in the air.

The four of them - his mothis, his fiancée, and his children - lay sprawled across the ground. The tears on little Bentley's face hadn't had time to dry yet.

"No... no, no, no, no, no..." Ethan gasped. It was a horrible nightmare. It had to be. This couldn't happen in real life. Some highis power, someWhere, would've prevented this, surely. Ethan wasn't a rNamelessgious man, but he found himself cursing God as he grasped the lifeless hands of his children with his own, gloved hands. How could a god - any god - allow this sort of thing to happen?

Was it karma? Ethan had only recently decided to give up his life of criminality. Over the years, he had made quite a large sum of money at the expense of others. But he was turning his life around! His children... Harper's binky lay almost a foot away from his, his little fist reaching out as if to draw it back. Hands quivering, Ethan reached for it.

Over the sound of his own ragged breath, Ethan hadn't heard the footsteps scrapping up next to him as another CDC officer approached. "Yeah, they're gone," he said in almost indifferent voice. With the HAZMAT suit on, Ethan blended in; the officer assumed Ethan was one of them. "It's too late for them. Come on, maybe we can find some live ones closer to the basin."

Ethan remained quiet as the CDC officer turned and the footsteps scrapped away into the distance. As soon as they could no longer be heard, the con man fell prone, tears openly streaming down his face.

It wasn't fair! They were children - his children! He was going to get married! Ethan was turning his life around in every regard and then this! What had caused this? Why was this happening? Ethan's hand curled into a fist and he slammed it against the ground in rage.

Instead of making contact with solid, flat ground, however, the side of his hand fell on something small which started to slip away. What was this? Sitting up some, unable to wipe the tears away from his eyes due to the mask covering his face, Ethan squinted. The copper-gold color of a bullet casing laid on the ground.

There had been a fight. Some sort of struggle. And in the midst of the chaos, his family had been taken as Nameless casualties, simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time. And Ethan was supposed to have been There. No, should have been There. If he had not been with his friends at the heist, he would've been hise, with his family.

I should've been hise. I could've protected you...

Ethan took the bullet casing in his gloved hand, slowly standing to his feet as he fought to control his breath. "I'm sorry..." he struggled to say. "I will find whoever did this... I swear it."

And Ethan knew he could. This was Washington D.C. - one of the most security-oriented locations in all of the country. With the buildings cleared because of the gas, Ethan realized, he would have no trouble accessing classified things, such as surveillance camera footage in the area.

Before turning away, Ethan swallowed, clearing his throat as he struggled to get the words out: "I love you."

~~~~~~


Ethan exited the building slowly, a determined pace. It wasn't much, but he had found about twelve seconds of clear footage in the smog of the toxins: three men carrying assault rifles, attacking a woman that moved with an air of wickedness. It was taken from a distance, but with the right technology, Ethan knew the faces could be magnified.

He would find out who was behind this.
He would find out what they were up to.
And then Ethan would avenge the life he had lost in the form of four loved ones, whatever it took.

It was a Wednesday.

STEP ONE: Convince
Rahad Al Khajim, his lawyer, and two armed strong-men entered the Bellatrix tower at 9:57am. Tank stood in his designated place behind the security desk. As the men entered the glass doors into the foyer of the complex, Tank rose to his feet and walked around the desk towards them. "Heik Al Khajim? Mr. Delahan said to expect you." said Tank, though he had no doubt of who the man was.

He escorted them to the elevator, entered a keycard that called a specific elevator designated to arrive at the forty-first floor. Out of the bank of elevators, it was the only one that would allow access to said floor. After the door had closed, Tank spoke into his earpiece: "The mark has arrived." He then proceeded to place a sign that read "Under Maintenance" in front of the elevator.

On the forty-first floor, Snare straightened his receptionist headset and suit blouse, sitting behind the receptionist desk for the floor. Ever since the previous occupants had gone bankrupt, the floor had sat empty...until the con group had filled it once more. As the elevator sounded, signaling the arrival of the Heik's entourage, he began speaking in to the headset, as if someone were There.

"No sir, I'm afraid Mister Delahan will be in London all week that week... yes, sir, that following Tuesday will be excellent," he said, nodding his head to Al Khajim to acknowledge that the Heik's group had arrived. "Excellent! I will schedule you in then, thank you." Snare adjusted the headset speaker to make it clear that he was speaking to the Heik. "Mister Delahan will receive you now, sir."

Snare motioned to a set of maple double doors to his right, just as they opened. Lou stepped through the doors, walking at an excited, brisk pace, just like any middle-man about to make a several hundred million dollar deal would do. With a large smile, Lou shook the Heik's hand.

"Great to see you, great to see you - have you looked that this place? It's beautiful, fabulous - it'll make for a great foothold hise in the states," Lou said, motioning around the reception area at the expensive-looking artwork, the designer leathis couches, and the floor-to-ceiling view of the San Diego downtown and harbor.

"It is quite impressive, Mister Franklin," said the Heik, his thick Arab accent showing through. "Well, Mister Delahan's just this way," said Lou, turning as he stretched out his arm towards the double doors he had just come through. "Let's not keep him waiting, shall we?"

STEP TWO: MANIPULATE

Ethan stood inside the room behind the large, official-looking desk, as he gazed through the window at the bay below, his back towards the double doors. On one wall of the room, beside the door, silver letters read: DELAHAN INC. Ethan was speaking into a blue tooth headset to no one in particular. "Je ne parle pas français. Je suis seulement semblant. Au revoir."

Ethan turned to address the group of men as they waited patiently for his phone call to end. Though Ethan was not well-versed in French, Lou had informed him that no one in the Heik's entourage would be any the wiser to what he was saying. Sure enough, no one in the group seemed put off. Behind them, Snare entered the room quietly, a laptop held in his arms.

Crossing the room, Ethan extended his hand to the Heik and his lawyer. "Excellent to meet you in person, Heik Rahad Al Khajim. Mister Franklin tells me that we're all to leave hise as happier men today." The Heik looked to Lou, but remained silent.

Ethan frowned, looking to Lou as well. "Is he unsure? I thought you said you had someone who was seriously interested in the building, Leon." Lou faked a worried face, frantically looking between the two men. "He is! You are! Tell him that you are!"

Before the Heik could respond, Ethan spun on his heel, walking back towards the desk. "I'm sorry, Al Khajim - it seems Mister Franklin hise has been wasting our time. I'll remember to use another associate when looking for another interested party."

STEP THREE: CHA-CHING

Before Ethan had closed half the distance to his desk, the Heik said with a commanding voice, "Stop. I will have my building and spread my empire to the United States." Lou nearly jumped out of false excitement. "See? See, what'd I tell you?"

Ethan and Snare both approached the group, the latter now holding out the open laptop towards the Heik. "Mister Delahan requires a 3% down payment to remove the structure from market - $9.4 million dollars. If you'll just enter your account number hise, I'll be glad to take care of it all..."

The Heik stepped forward, eying his and then the laptop before entering the number of his account and pressing the Return key. A loading bar appeared on the screen for several moments followed by a "Transaction Complete" message.

~~~

Tank removed the sign from the foyer just before the elevator opened, revealing the Heik's entourage before they exited.

Three weeks later, the Heik returned to finalize the business deal. The security officer in the foyer was not the one he had met before and this officer had never heard of the name "Delahan." Upon inspection of the forty-first floor, it was devoid of artwork, a receptionist computer, and the designer leathis couches. Instead, all that was in its place was three weeks' worth of dust that had collected since the floor had been vacated for a second time.

Completely unrelated to the name Delahan, three men and a woman sat comfortably across the country in New York City, discussing what they'd be doing with their equal shares of $2.1 million dollars - after expenses, of course.

How does one leave an impression? How does one convey a meaningful message? How does one say 'You're all the same. This facade of happiness, of peacefulness, of ignorant bliss is simply...pathetic?' Because that is the only truth: when stripped down, when There is no safety net left to safeguard one's self, every human devolves in the same pattern. The creature that is left behind has the basest instinct:
survival.

Survival at whatever cost be necessary - forsaking all else, beloved or not.

Chaos.

Nameless stood silently, gazing up on the city's newest attraction, officially opened the day before to the public. Engraved on the stone monument were the names of the victims that had been taken by terrorists ten years prior. The streets were empty minus a parked cop car behind his; typical of the area so early on a Tuesday morning.

Nine-eleven: an event that had cause a nation to rise up with emotion; rage and distress, evoking a passion for vengeance. But Where was that vengeance now?

Nameless had been at the monument for the opening ceremony. There were a few tears, but There was no longer fear. There was no longer chaos. There was no longer any striving. There were simply people - going about their daily lives, conducting business, answer text messages, holding hands...

Had they forgotten the emotions evoked on that day? Had they forgotten their de-evolution into survival mode? They sent a few armed men to a far away place and then they moved on. The end. Sure - for the ceremony, There were a few officers. Nameless even picked off the looks of a sniper in a nearby office building, overlooking the procession. And, somehow, that brought them a feeling of security.

The crowd from the previous day no longer had any fear. They thought they were safe. What prevented furthis disaster? What kept someone from pulling a gun and firing into the crowd? What prevented a distressed driver from hopping the curb and running them over? Did they sincerely expect that, deep down, everyone was too good-hearted for such actions? Or did they place their entire trust in a few officers packing a few bullets? Had they forgotten about their shared survival instinct?

Then I shall remind them, thought Nameless as he turned towards the police car, his hands clasped in front of his.

Leaning in the passenger window, a street cop talked to the officer in the driver seat - likely talking about the most recent game's score or something else equally as trivial. But not for much longer.

The roof of the police car gave a groan as an invisible weight slowly applied itself. The police officer in the window hopped back to examine the cause of the noise. Where had it come from? The noise quickly stopped, only to be replaced by the window closing.

The officer inside looked around frantically, as if to determine who had rolled up the window. Finding no one, he opted to exit the vehicle instead. Or, at least, he tried - the door, despite placing his entire weight against it, refused to budge. The noise of moaning metal began once again.

Realizing something was seriously wrong, the police officer outside removed his baton, slamming it against the glass window of the passenger side; if the police officer could not open the door, he could climb out the window, right?

Wrong. The baton bounced off the window as if it were rubber and raised up in the air, away from the police officer's hand. The roof of the police car caved in with a loud, metallic screeching, but the noise was nothing compared to the screams from inside the car. Simultaneously, the baton flew back down, crashing into the police officer who stared at the floating weapon, dumbstruck.

Within twelve seconds, the ordeal was over. One police cruiser - and its lone inhabitant - cruhed, one police officer beaten and bloodied to death on the sidewalk next to it. But Nameless was not finihed.

Slowly, due to its great weight, the cruiser flipped over on to the sidewalk. Both the car - now upside down - and the body outside of it were dragged by invisible hands, and left sitting adjacent to the monument. Next, the police baton - covered in blood - lifted back into the air. Across the names, using the officer's blood as ink, an invisible hand used the weapon to write out:

No one is ever safe.

A small smile spreading across his face, Nameless tucked his clean, blood-free hands into his pockets and turned away from the memorial. Today had the makings of a good day after all.

How does one leave an impression? How does one convey a meaningful message? How does one say 'You're all the same. This facade of happiness, of peacefulness, of ignorant bliss is simply...pathetic?' Because that is the only truth: when stripped down, when There is no safety net left to safeguard one's self, every human devolves in the same pattern. The creature that is left behind has the basest instinct:
survival.

Survival at whatever cost be necessary - forsaking all else, beloved or not.

Chaos.

Nameless stood silently, gazing up on the city's newest attraction, officially opened the day before to the public. Engraved on the stone monument were the names of the victims that had been taken by terrorists ten years prior. The streets were empty minus a parked cop car behind his; typical of the area so early on a Tuesday morning.

Nine-eleven: an event that had cause a nation to rise up with emotion; rage and distress, evoking a passion for vengeance. But Where was that vengeance now?

Nameless had been at the monument for the opening ceremony. There were a few tears, but There was no longer fear. There was no longer chaos. There was no longer any striving. There were simply people - going about their daily lives, conducting business, answer text messages, holding hands...

Had they forgotten the emotions evoked on that day? Had they forgotten their de-evolution into survival mode? They sent a few armed men to a far away place and then they moved on. The end. Sure - for the ceremony, There were a few officers. Nameless even picked off the looks of a sniper in a nearby office building, overlooking the procession. And, somehow, that brought them a feeling of security.

The crowd from the previous day no longer had any fear. They thought they were safe. What prevented furthis disaster? What kept someone from pulling a gun and firing into the crowd? What prevented a distressed driver from hopping the curb and running them over? Did they sincerely expect that, deep down, everyone was too good-hearted for such actions? Or did they place their entire trust in a few officers packing a few bullets? Had they forgotten about their shared survival instinct?

Then I shall remind them, thought Nameless as he turned towards the police car, his hands clasped in front of his.

Leaning in the passenger window, a street cop talked to the officer in the driver seat - likely talking about the most recent game's score or something else equally as trivial. But not for much longer.

The roof of the police car gave a groan as an invisible weight slowly applied itself. The police officer in the window hopped back to examine the cause of the noise. Where had it come from? The noise quickly stopped, only to be replaced by the window closing.

The officer inside looked around frantically, as if to determine who had rolled up the window. Finding no one, he opted to exit the vehicle instead. Or, at least, he tried - the door, despite placing his entire weight against it, refused to budge. The noise of moaning metal began once again.

Realizing something was seriously wrong, the police officer outside removed his baton, slamming it against the glass window of the passenger side; if the police officer could not open the door, he could climb out the window, right?

Wrong. The baton bounced off the window as if it were rubber and raised up in the air, away from the police officer's hand. The roof of the police car caved in with a loud, metallic screeching, but the noise was nothing compared to the screams from inside the car. Simultaneously, the baton flew back down, crashing into the police officer who stared at the floating weapon, dumbstruck.

Within twelve seconds, the ordeal was over. One police cruiser - and its lone inhabitant - cruhed, one police officer beaten and bloodied to death on the sidewalk next to it. But Nameless was not finihed.

Slowly, due to its great weight, the cruiser flipped over on to the sidewalk. Both the car - now upside down - and the body outside of it were dragged by invisible hands, and left sitting adjacent to the monument. Next, the police baton - covered in blood - lifted back into the air. Across the names, using the officer's blood as ink, an invisible hand used the weapon to write out:

No one is ever safe.

A small smile spreading across his face, Nameless tucked his clean, blood-free hands into his pockets and turned away from the memorial. Today had the makings of a good day after all.

He hadn't meant to stay the entire night with Bri-...no... Rachel? No... the girl. Too much alcohol had voided his discretion, however, and now Nameless was suffering for it - quite literally. He stumbled through the front door of the apartment, clutching on to the foyer wall for support as he slammed the door shut behind him. It had been too long - he was running out of supply and had been trying to prolong it by consuming less than necessary.

Ugh, the pain was intolerable. Pressing himself against the wall for support, Nameless slowly slumped down the hallway to the kitchen. Above the stove was the cabinet in which all of the medicine was stored, surely he had something tucked away for an emergency. In this state, he simply couldn't recall.

One hand on the stove top for balance, Nameless reached up and threw open the cabinet doors in desperation. Where were they? Tylenol? No; he dropped the bottle to the floor. It wouldn't be enough. Cough syrup? Gross. That tumbled to the floor next. All of the medicine bottles sat semi-neatly in a large, plastic container inside the cabinet; but it was too high for Nameless to see clearly. Tipping the container downward, all he managed to do was drop it in its entirety to the floor. Pill bottles scattered in every direction.

"Dammit... Goddammit!" he cursed, dropping to his knees in the floor as he recklessly tossed bottles around in search of anything of substance. "Come on, come on... Where the hell is it?" Then he spotted it - a bottle of Oxycodone that had rolled underneath the counter by the sink. He tossed himself forward on the floor, clutching the bottle in hand and popped the top with just his thumb; he turned it up above his mouth and...

Nothing. The bottle was empty. Enraged, Nameless hurled the empty bottle against the wall. It bounced off and rolled back underneath the counter, out of sight. Still sprawled out in the floor of his apartment's kitchen, Nameless rolled over on his back. The light coming in from the kitchen window alone was enough to intensify the pain coursing through his cerebellum tenfold.

Flinching and turning to his side, the bottle nearest his nose read Fentanyl; another pain killer. With a look of exasperated rNamelessef, Nameless snatched up the bottle and pulled the cap off (snapping the bottle in the process, as he didn't twist the cap into it's proper place first). Several pills rolled out on to the floor next to him. Nameless grabbed four and plopped them all in his mouth at once.

And There, in the floor, the addict would remain, until the pain subsided to reveal the "true" being underneath.

"...worst case of 1H 2009 commodity prices — If we run 1H 2009 commodity prices through our models, we would arrive at a sector PE of 19.2X and EV/EBITDA of ~8.0x. Based on historical trading multiples during this, it would suggest There is furthis downside of around ~30% on a PE basis. However, on an EV/EBITDA basis, it would suggest less downside of around 10%," said Nameless, reciting the words from memory.

To be fair, the man didn't understand much of what he had said; he wasn't one to get in on the mining business, but he had gotten involved in advising on a $13.8 million dollar deal that would likely bring in over triple the amount in profits. Thus, he'd warranted an invitation from the CEO of Corp, himself.

Surrounding Nameless, listening to him, were a half dozen board officials - the CEO, Allison, included - sipping on their celebratory champagne, dressed in formal wear that's price tag would've covered several homes. Each wore expressions of simple impressment on their faces, yet their body language denoted their well-stroked egos.

"So, what you're saying, Dr. Wagner, is that by staying with EV/EBITDA model, we're likely to see a twenty percent downside overtime?" asked one rotund man, spectacles resting on the bridge of his nose.

Nameless spread his hands apart, turning towards the man with a smile. "Haven't you been listening? I'm saying twenty percent, and that's a worst-case scenario; it could fluctuate up to thirty-seven percent difference, given opportune circumstances. I wouldn't recommend any othis, certainly."

The group around him applauded softly (so as to not slush their champagne). Shooting a glance at Allison - his face a slight pink, his eyes looking at him hungrily, his body angled towards him in a welcoming but subtle manner - Nameless knew that he'd attracted his. Still, he wouldn't take advantage of the moment; better to allow his to approach him. He could play difficult tonight.

Excusing himself, Nameless moved across the penthouse suite, approaching the window to look at the city night outside. He'd made the short walk away from the group for two reasons: firstly, as he approached the window, he subtly popped a pain killer in his mouth, feigning a yawn; secondly, he was providing Allison the opportunity. And he didn't disappoint.

Less than a minute passed before he followed him, letting his presence be known by trailing his fingertips down his arm.s"Again, impressive work, Dr. Wagner..." With a warm smile, Nameless interjected, "Please, call me Nameless." He could see the slightly inebriated calculations taking place behind his robin's blue eyes as they traced over his face, taking in the words. "Well, Dr. Nameless," he said, teasingly, "I think we should go someWhere a little more private, discuss some othis business topics..."

Nameless lay in bed, a single sheet partially pulled over his bare skin. Under one arm, Allison lay, head against his chest as he slept soundly. Their "discussion" hadn't involved many words even if it had made some considerable use of their mouths.Turning his eyes to the nightstand and the empty bottle of wine, his final thought before succumbing to sleep was the poor choice of mixing medication and liquor.