Power Players
(Chapter 7)

September 8th
12:04 am

Samantha Summers flinched at the suggestion of the offensive man. She'd seen this situation several times in role reversal videos, read about it and even attended a seminar once. But the young government agent found herself at arm's length, groped by a man with a surly disposition and cold eyes. Only on the job for several months, Summers locked up. Her eyes widened and her mind raced but her body froze.

She couldn't quite focus on his words after the part about wanting to force himself on her. She vaguely felt something behind her body as her shoulders came in contact with a brick wall. She bit her lower lip in an attempt to simply say the word, 'fire,' but nothing came of it save for the doe-eyed look and the frozen body language.

The man placed his right hand firmly against Samantha's breast, shoving her hard up against the wall. She didn't move. Her lower lip trembled in an attempt to get words out. The man reached for her belt when, all at once, he fell away. He dropped to his knees and reached behind his head then rose to one knee, wavering.

Summers glanced to the left and cast her eyes on a blonde teenage girl. Breath found her lungs again and she managed a single word. "RUN!"

The girl smiled and continued her approach. She walked with purpose, a devious gait, sashaying her hips with every step. Again, Samantha drew in a renewed breath and told the girl, "I said RUN!"

The man got to his feet with a grunt and picked up a brick by his shoe. "You… did you just throw this brick at me?"

"What if I did?" replied the blonde. "What if I was a bad girl and hit you with that brick? Ooo, are you going to punish me?" She reached up and gave a tug at the v-neck of her shirt to accentuate the voluptuous canyon of her cleavage. "Oh puh-leeease don't 'hurt' me, mister."

"Run," Summers said, her voice now a hoarse whisper.

"Get out of here, lady," said the blonde. "Just keep going.  In half an hour, call for help." She rubbed her palms together, bringing her gaze back to the man. "He's going to need it."

The girl pressed her fingers together, cracking a mere two knuckles in a half-failed attempt at coming off as 'imposing.' The canary-haired girl watched as the plain-clothes agent ran. She tilted her head and murmured, “Was that an Interpol badge around her neck?” The youthful looking teen-faced girl licked her pouty pink lips, turned back to the man, and said, "You can call me Karla."

"We don't have time for this!" It was the voice of reason.

Karla rolled her eyes and glanced over her shoulder. "C'mon, Donovan. I need to do this." She paused then frowned. "That girl that just ran? That was me once, about fourteen years old. Before I knew what I was. I won't soon forget feeling helpless. I need this."

"We have to meet with Methos," he replied then adjusted his tie. "Please, don't take long."

Karla turned back to the man with the brick then glowered at him. "You know what that lady is feeling right now, jackass? Anger, resentment and shame because she just stood there, dumbfounded, while you de-feminated her… or whatever the term is. Now, I'd like you to feel equally emasculated."

She glanced back at Donovan and said, "Go check on that woman. I believe she just headed around the corner. This guy won't show me his true colors unless he's alone with me. Go on. I'll meet up with you."

Donovan Loupe groaned in frustration and continued on to the next block, leaving Karla alone with the brick wielding male.

The man quirked his brows at her. "Are you frickin' serious? You big breasted bimbo, do you know what I do to girls like you? So, what are those things, anyway…? E-cup? Maybe F, if that's a sports bra, right?"

A grin tugged at the corner of Karla's lips. "You've done your homework. Good eye. How's your head? I didn't hurt you with that brick too badly, did I?"

"So it was you that threw it. Well, the kid gloves are coming off, bitch. I'm going to have my way with you and you're actually going to love it. Trust me. This is the sort of thing a girl like you wants deep down inside."

"Really?" she asked, feigning pretend curiosity. "Really, really? Tell me more!"

"Ohh, h'oh, h'oh!" He pounded his left palm with his right fist. "The gloves are so coming off."

Karla returned a smirk and said, "Good for the gloves."

He drew his arm back then swung wide for her head. Karla lifted her right forearm, using her wrist to deflect the shot. She closed her hand to mask the subtle carnation glow on her palms then buried her left fist into his gut. His eyes widened and he groaned. He reached for her neck.

Karla closed her other hand into a fist, creating a telekinetic repulsory shell around her body that kept him from being able to squeeze her throat. She patted his forehead with her hand and smiled. "So, for you, it's all about power and control, huh? Gotta reach for the neck because THAT makes you feel strong, doesn't it? You like feeling 'powerful' don't you?" She lowered her hand to his chin then walked her fingers over his lips, up his nose and back to his forehead. "Haven't you ever heard of Voltaire? He once said, ‘With great power comes great responsibility,’ and guess what?" She stopped her index finger at the widow's peak of his hairline.

A telekinetic surge of power transferred from her finger into his forehead, throwing him back. He sailed down the alley then struck a large green dumpster, flipped up over the side and landed within it. “I have great power, pal.” She wiggled her index and the lid dropped shut. "Nothing like taking out the trash to make a boring night more fun." She headed back towards the street.

Donovan stood at the mouth of the alley, leaning against the wall with his arms folded.

Karla smiled and asked, "Where's the girl?"

"She kept going. Rubbed her eyes a few times and kept walking. Karla, I respect what you're doing… helping the less fortunate and all… but you can't shoulder the responsibility of the whole planet just because you feel bad that no one else has your abilities."

"If it happens in my presence, I'm going to crack skulls if and when I feel so inclined. Look, I work hard to maintain my effeminate image, my makeup and hair, and my fashion. But when someone is in a back alley trying to get his rocks off on a girl just to assert his dominance… The girlieness takes a back burner, because I'm going to break his fuckin' face." She cleared her throat, looked around then smiled again. "Sorry, that was a little unladylike of me. But you get the point. I won't tolerate that behavior in my presence."

"I think that's your problem… have you had your hormone levels checked as of late?"

"I'm a succubus. They're off the chart. Yes, my testosterone is high for a woman. That's what makes me want to feed …and fight. Now, let's go meet your friend that you told me all about. Methos, right?"

"Indeed. This way." He nodded to the side and they began to walk again. Four blocks later, they arrived at a gray concrete building, six stories tall.  The side entrance staircase led to the second floor. Donovan took the stairs first then opened the door and gestured for Karla.

"Ah, a gentleman. How refreshing." She stepped inside and approached a man sitting on a comfortable chair adjacent to a sofa and coffee table. "Well, well, well. Dear god, hello. I'm Karla Howard. Please, please tell me you're the man we've come to meet."

A smile swept across his face in reply. "Perhaps." His eyes lifted to the man that followed inside. "Ah! Donovan!"

"Methos!" Loupe approached his friend and the two embraced. Methos settled back into his chair after a quick tug at his trousers. Once seated, he gave another quick downward yank at his shirt hem. Donovan looked over his friend then lowered onto the nearby sofa. "Pray-tell, what is with the 'Miami Vice' shirt?"

"It's fashionable again, oddly.  More so than a double-Windsor, my friend." He cut his glance to Karla and tilted his head. "Your lady-friend seems to understand and it helps her fit into modern society better, yes?"

"Exactly," she said then looked back at Donovan. "You could take notes from your buddy," her eyes cut back to Methos, adding, "Mister Eye Candy, here."

Donovan flinched with embarrassment. "Dear God. My apologies. How have you been?"

"I'm going by 'Lance' now. Like fashion, names have to be current and cannot draw attention. 'Methos' is a bit archaic if you ask me. I cannot afford to stand out to neither humans nor supernaturals. I don't have abilities like you."

Donovan turned to Karla and said, "He's the only other ageless person I know besides you, Miss Howard. Needless to say, he's intelligent and astute. One might say his true 'super power' is common sense."

Methos nodded and told her, "Good sense and money makes for the best combination anyhow."

Karla looked at Donovan then back at Methos and said, "I agree, Lance. Tony Stark, Oliver Queen, and Bruce Wayne would, too."

"Pardon?" replied Donovan.

She kept her gaze on Lance's own and said, "Iron Man, Green Arrow and Batman, respectively… if you're going to fit in, you need to stay on top of modern trends, Donnie. They're comic book characters that have been made current and modernized by action cinemas. We call them 'moo-vees.’"

"No need to be facetious," he groused.

She smirked in reply. "Donovan, like, I'm twice your age. Do try to keep up on the trends of the youthful."

"You stopped aging as a child. I'm a grown man, set in my ways and happy. And besides, I now have you to explain these things."

She cut her gaze back to Methos. "Lance, then… you're not a lady, so you won't be insulted when I ask: how old are you?"

"I was born thirty-one hundred years before the actual birth of Yeshua… mm, sorry, Jesus Christ. I'm old enough that I don't know anymore because the bloody calendar has changed so many times."

"Wow. Now that is a dilemma," she mused aloud. "I see why Donovan came to see you, then. So, you're over fifty-one hundred years old. That's old. So what's the deal with this guy, Falcon, stealing these artifacts?"

"You truly do not want that to happen," he replied with a frown. "It's the third time this sort of thing has started. The first time happened when I was born. The second time happened two thousand years ago. Ironically, he was slain the night Jesus was born – that’s why so many supernaturals believe Christ was powerful.  Falcon is hoping the third time will be the charm."

Karla smirked.  “Right.  I briefly knew Falcon a few decades ago.  He was fascinated by some of the stuff that J. Conner Parker had to steal but he didn’t seem like the kind of guy who was trying to take over the world.  So what’s his deal?”

“I could not get a black and white answer from him when last we spoke.”  Lance crossed his left leg over his right knee. “He demanded that I help him discover answers about something from the past.  I refused; he said he would make me reconsider or that I will be eliminated as an obstacle.”

Karla nodded. "Sounds pretty black and white to me."

"Indeed.” Lance interlaced his fingers. “So I understand you've been watching over the Parker family?"

Karla tilted her head then glanced back at Donovan and nodded. "Well yes. I have.” She nodded at Donovan and added, “So Donnie told'ja, huh?"

Lance moved his folded hands over the right armrest. "Quite so. Not to mention the fact that you worked with their father a number of years ago. Your personal honor would have you follow his children; I gather that much from your personality after this brief meeting. You're crude at times, playful always, and deeply dedicated to your life's work. I need to know what your intentions are."

Karla returned with a dull glare towards Lance.  “You’re a goober, know that?”

“If you say so, dear.  This is our first meeting, after all, Karla.  Perhaps you don’t know me well enough to make a more accurate assessment.  I’ll accept your label if you wish.  Now, what are your intentions?”

“I met Fox last week during a ‘daring daylight robbery.’ In all seriousness, I was impressed by him.  He reminds me a little bit of his daddy.  Then I watched him and his sister pull a job in LA.  I plan on recruiting them when they’re ready. Problem is, they don't seem to be meshing together at the moment. Topaz has some sort of strange stigma issue. The boy might be ready, though."

Donovan interjected. "Wait, you're telling me you think the boy is more ready than the girl?  After we saw her dispatch a group of people?"

"Dear GOD yes. She took her training seriously but she's not emotionally ready. I know women. I am one. She's got issues going on. God, even after living for over two hundred years, men can be so damn dense." She glanced back at Lance and said, "I'm going to track Fox and approach him about working with us."

"You are?" Donovan adjusted the knot of his tie, appearing uncomfortable.

Lance smiled at his long-time friend. "Donovan, she knows what she's doing." He turned back to Karla and said, "How do you plan on getting him involved?"

"The only obvious way." Again, she smiled. “Didn’t you hear?  Fox was working out in his mansion while his father was in South Africa, doing research with his wife, Fara.  They’re expecting, by the way.  Fox was caught off guard with earphones in his ears.  Tranquilized.”

Lance furrowed his brows.  “This is news to me.” 

“Yeah, well, the rest of the family doesn’t know it yet.  I teleported into Falcon’s nest to snoop around and I saw the kid in there.  I left him in the cage for now – yes, cage.  As in, an actual cage with metal bars.”

“Why didn’t you free him?” asked Lance, incredulous. 

“I plan to rescue him, God, but it’s all about time and place. I'll tell him I'm there to attack Falcon directly, but the plan is to go when Falcon is out of the house.  Then Fox'll volunteer himself to help me. After all, I can't just say, 'Hey bud! I need to know if you'll steal random shit to help save the world!' He'll roll his eyes and ignore me."

"Why not help him when you first saw him in trouble? " Lance leaned back on his comfortable sitting chair. "What are you up to?"

"Fox needs to see what that psychopath is capable of. That will help Fox believe in our cause and, like I said, he'll help us. So how far does this go?"

"How do you mean?" asked Lance.

"How deep is this artifact crap?"

"How deep? Quite a number of fathoms." Lance rubbed his chin. "Do you believe in Atlantis?"

"No."

Donovan mirrored her. "No."

Lance smiled. "You might start if we live long enough to do any good."

Donovan checked his watch then said, "I'd better leave. I have things to do before the sun comes up."

"You a vampire?" She offered a playful expression.

"I cannot go into my shade form for long periods in direct sunlight. It burns.  However, I am not like Natalia.  I shall speak to both of thee anon." He left the way he came then closed the door behind him.

"He doesn't know?" asked Lance.

Karla smirked, glaring at the well-dressed man. "What? That you and I have been having a sexual relationship for almost sixty years?" She shook her head. "Of course not; he has no clue. But it doesn't matter. He was so excited to introduce me to you that I just left it alone. Damn, though, he really needs to address that goofy archaic speech pattern. So, you're really over five thousand years old? You're so clever and fashionable… I had no idea."

"Well thank you. Sex aside, you were on a need to know basis, Karla Chintzy. Karla Goldsmith. Karla Odin. Karla …hmm, what did you go by before 1955?"

"Hell if I remember. I'd forgotten about the last one you mentioned. Good memory."

"Indeed."

The door swung open. Both Karla and Lance glanced up, eyes wide, at the rush of men wearing black military gear. With a blink, the succubus rose to her feet. "Are you guys kidding?"

The men fanned out in three directions in groups of two while another strolled through the front door with an unlit cigar. "Sit down, lady. You don't want to teleport out of here. We moved things around on the roof and outside; we put streamers up between the buildings – you don’t want them to appear inside of you. So you'll just get yourself killed if you blip out. You can call me Sergeant Snipes."

She quirked her brows. “Your patch says ‘W. Snipes.’ Aren’t you the wrong color to be Wesley Snipes? Seriously, though, what do you jokesters want?"

"For starters," Snipes trailed off, pointing at Lance. "I have orders from Falcon to bring him in," said the Sergeant. "Now. Where is the shadow wielder?"

"You've just missed him," Lance replied. "I'm sure you won't believe me but you're the one that broke in without giving us any warning. He's not here."

Karla nodded, adding, "So, take us to your leader …so we can kill him."

"You're not going," replied Snipes. "We've not readied the location for you. Not yet.  But don’t worry, girl, your time is coming soon enough."

Lance glanced to Karla and said, "Shut your eyes."

"Pardon?"

"Just close your eyes, Karla."

She shrugged and settled back on the sofa. Her eyes fluttered shut and she leaned back into a relaxing posture. Karla folded her arms with a sigh. "Okay, now what?"

"Keep them shut, not too tight, but keep them closed." He stood up and gave a tug on his designer shirt then smiled at Snipes. "You really planned this out, Wilhelm. But why are you using a faux surname? Ah, it doesn't matter. I stepped right into your trap, huh?"

"You invited friends," said the sergeant. "I followed them. You're here to figure out how to stop Doctor Falcon from finishing his work. He wants to take a look at you and see what makes you tick."

"I don't care about Aris or his childish plans." Lance shook his head with a chuckle. "Karla, keep those eyes shut." He approached Snipes and placed his palms on the man's biceps. "You've caught me! You're good! You have been trying to catch me for quite some time, Wilhelm. We've never met. So let me start by shaking your hand." He thrust his left hand into Snipes' left.  Wilhelm blinked in confusion.

Lance stepped back exactly two paces. The lights went out. "Flash lights and night vision!" Snipes shouted.

"Open your eyes," Lance said to Karla.

She opened her eyes, which were already adjusted to the darkness. The rifle lights added nearly no additional light to the room, covered with tangible shadow. With her eyes so well adjusted to the darkness, Karla thrust her palms out and threw the two closest gunners through the nearest wall. She tensed her forearms. The four remaining soldiers were pushed down into the floor to their waist with their hands at their sides.

The dim incandescence dissipated and Donovan stood in the middle of the room between Karla and Lance. He folded his arms over his tie, making eye contact with Snipes. "Sergeant. Allow me to introduce myself. Donovan Loupe. You can call me 'Shadow Wielder' if you like, however."

Karla winced and spoke from the side of her lips. "Guess you heard I already knew your friend. Awkward."

"Yes. Since the early sixties. It is of no concern. I do not judge you." He paused then said, "Thank you for not killing the attackers this time. I detest such."

Sergeant Snipes grimaced. "Seems I've stepped into your trap, Methos." He lowered his hand to his utility belt buckle, unfastened it then lifted his hands. The belt and his weapons dropped to the floor at his feet. "Clever. How did you know when we'd strike?"

"Common sense to me," Lance replied with a smile, "One of the simplest tricks in the book.  It’s called a baited ambush, Wilhelm.”

"You got lucky," Snipes said. The corner of his lips twitched.

"Angry you lost? Tch." Lance folded his hands behind his back. "Luck runs out; I haven't lived this long on luck.”

The sergeant ground his teeth together. 

Lance folded his arms. “I even had a backup plan – behold.”  One of the men in the floor groaned, drawing attention to himself. His forehead creased and his brows furrowed up a bit. His cheeks shifted, seeming to lift while the flesh thinned out. It gave his eyes a sunken look. Some of his bangs began to fall over his face; some of it came to rest on his shoulders. The man winced in pain.

Snipes blinked. "What're you doing to him? I thought you didn't have any active powers!"

"I don't," Lance replied with a shrug. "Just watch the demonstration, Wilhelm."

Donovan appeared somewhat pale. "More like a 'demon' –stration. This isn't necessary, Methos... The man doesn't need to die."

Lance replied with a shrug. "It's out of my hands for the moment." The soldier half-stuck in the floor groaned again. His voice sounded frail compared to earlier. His neck thinned out. His face grayed. More hair fell from his head. His eyes glazed over with milky cataracts. His lips thinned.

"What the hell is happening to him?" asked Karla.

Again, Lance replied with a shrug. "He's aging rapidly."

Snipes pursed his lips together in aggravation. "I took off my weapons. This isn't necessary! I don't need the demo."

"No, Sergeant.” Lance moved towards the sergeant with a grimace. "Wilhelm, you need to see this. You need to know what you're up against. You need to know your 'enemy'.  We are a very slim number of people when compared to the seven-plus billion like you. The supernatural community comes in all flavors. You know why?

“It’s because the brain is extremely powerful and far from understood. A fraction of people are partially unlocked. Do you know what Doctor Aris Falcon wants with me? I'll tell you if you wish."

Snipes was unable to take his eyes off the man in the floor.  The mercenary continued to age until his body expired.  Snipes glared helplessly as the dead man began to decompose in rapid fashion. The accelerated rate of decay left no smell nor did it draw any insects. The rest of the hair fell away from the head as the skull became revealed. "W…what does Falcon want with you people?"

"You narrow-minded man," Lance sighed. "Falcon wants to understand people like myself. He wants to emulate our genetics and apply what he's learned to himself. He wants to become the next Methuselah of ages. You know what I'm talking about? The ancestor of Noah, who lived for nearly a millennium; Aris Falcon seeks to live for a thousand years or more. He seeks to unlock the genetic secrets of the handful of people with power that live among us.

“Wilhelm, some powers have been handed down over the ages for the last five-to-ten thousand years. Advanced cultures die out and humanity reboots itself, but some things are still handed down over that time. Myths, legends, dreams for greatness… and yes… powers that Falcon seeks."

Karla glanced first at Wilhelm Snipes then at Donovan and finally she turned back to Lance. "If there were such advanced human civilizations in the past, why are there no clues to them now?" She kept her eyes away from the near-skeleton in the floor.  “Sorry, I just don’t… I’ve seen some wild stuff in my life, but that’s a little over-the-top.” 

Lance offered a polite smile.  “Oh, Karla, let’s be real – we both know the world is only seven or eight thousand years old.  Dinosaurs are just one of the many creatures created during Genesis and they didn’t last long.  I was only joking, my dear.”

"So are you going to kill the rest of us?" asked Wilhelm.

"Of course not. I might have you committed if you talk about what you saw, though." Lance folded his hands behind his back. "Sergeant, the ability you’re witnessing doesn't cause you to age rapidly. It simply accelerates your body on a microcellular level. It's akin to placing an ice cube in a hot room. The molecules speed up in a process known as entropy. Fascinating isn't it?"

"People like you shouldn't be allowed to exist," the sergeant sneered.

"And when you can't protect yourself, who else will step up for this race of bigots and racists and idiots? Individually, we are intelligent but en mass, the human race is still savage and immature. If an asteroid fell to the planet there would be chaos and panic. Who would protect you from that threat?"

Wilhelm crinkled his nose and sneered. "Mathematically it's only a matter of time. The bible has called for the end of the world... most of its main history begins twenty-five hundred years before the time of Christ, Jesus. He came at the meridian of time. Another two thousand years have passed, and the calendar has changed so we're due for the Book of Revelations to be our guide. The people have been ready for it for ages. The Norse mythology called it Ragnarok, the…"

"Be quiet, piss ant," Lance snapped. "You're ignorant. Yes, there is a higher power than us in the universe. This race has a fraction of people with abilities to protect this world. It's already been done; without us, the end would have happened by now." He saw the look of confusion in the other man's eyes and smirked. "One of those statistical probabilities has already been deflected quite some time ago."

Wilhelm ground his teeth together in aggravation and frustration. "If that were true, and if your kind of people have been around as long as you claim, we would worship you as demigods and would know about your abilities publicly."

Donovan blinked. "Sergeant, are you really that naïve? There are movies and books and pieces of art depicting people with abilities throughout time. Also, there were ...are demigods. There are groups of people who devoted themselves to believing in people who could throw lightning. They thought Zeus created the cosmos just because he could conjure lightning at will. In case you haven't noticed, humans without abilities attacked my kind in groups throughout history. Witch trails. Crusades. Inquisitions. That's certainly not the first time it's happened in history, just the most famous because it's the most recent. We're all hardwired to fear what we don't understand. It's a self-preservation mechanism. All myth is based in some measure of truth."

"Don't misunderstand me. I know your people exist. You speak of God's campaign to rid the world of heathens. I've traced my lineage back to crusaders who initiated witch trails. They knew witches and warlocks existed and that's why I hunt you people. To kill the ones my ancestors missed. You think I'm in over my head, but I know… fighting your types is in my blood."

Karla ran her fingers back through her hair. "Christ, we have a winner here. Bible-thumping warrior of God, this one is." She huffed with indignation and approached Wilhelm. "So, you're one of those types, huh?"

"You'll die soon enough, wench. I don't care how old you are; I doubt you'll live to see the rebirth of Christ. Just like the harlot of Babylon, you'll die soon enough."

"And, like Ishtar, I'll be reborn." Karla preened before him. "And, like Ishtar, there were a few other 'gods' that rose from the dead. Let's see, Dionysus did… He was also born of a virgin, born on the twenty-fifth of December, a traveling teacher, he turned water into wine and was called a 'holy child'. Wow, sound familiar? Oh, and he's not the only god to die and come back. Krishna was resurrected. He was also born of a virgin, represented by a star in the east, he performed miracles, was called the "Son of God" and was the son of a mortal carpenter. Hare Krishna!" She continued, circling about him. "Oh, if you wanna go back a little further, I know another one that was resurrected! Mithra! Let's see… born of a virgin, born on December twenty-fifth, represented by a star in the east… oh! Had twelve disciples! Then, oh… let's see, he's un-deceivable, infallible, a protector of cattle, and died for THREE DAYS! Then was resurrected. And, finally, going back to old Horus… born of a virgin, represented by a star in the east… he walked on water, healed the sick, restored sight, was crucified, dead for three days and… oh, yeah, him too… yup. You guessed it: resurrected. And, hey, wasn't the whore of Babylon still alive, playing her harp when the end of the world begins? Guess I'll outlive you, too, moron. I'll tell the Anti-Christ you said 'hello' dear."

Donovan rolled his eyes at Karla. "Are you finished?"

Karla walked away from the sergeant, waving her hands in the air in a mock-dramatic way. "I'm just tired of the small-mindedness."

"Are you finished?" asked Donovan once more.

Karla started a new rant, which went largely ignored by the rest of the room.

Donovan and Lance exchanged glances, appearing to have a brief conversation with their eyebrows. Lance chuckled and shook his head. "I know, Donovan. She's been eccentric since I've met her." He returned his attention to the sergeant and said, "Wilhelm. I have a surprise for you."

"You're dragging this out far too long," said the man, adjusting the lay of his black flak jacket. "Either kill us or do whatever it is that you planned."

"Karla," Lance motioned to one of the men in the floor. "This is Patrick.  Help him out of that hole, please."

"But…?"

"Please?"

She waved a hand. The man in the north corner of the house appeared standing on his feet adjacent to Lance. The mercenary began dusting himself off.

Patrick nodded in appreciation to Karla then folded his arms and narrowed his gaze at Wilhelm Snipes. "Sergeant.  It was my ability that you witnessed a few moments ago."

Lance smiled at the sergeant and unfolded his hands from behind his back. "You see, Wilhelm, we have people in place all over the world. We have people working at the Vatican. We have people in the upper echelon of human society… bank owners, money printers, government intelligence groups… you name it. There are thousands and thousands of us." He nodded to Karla. "Put them on the roof. If they were bluffing about those teleportation traps meant for you, well, then they'll live."

"With pleasure." Karla snapped her fingers, sending five guards, two of which were critically injured, as well as their boss, to the rooftop. She turned back to Lance. "Thousands and thousands of us, huh?"

A shrug and a smile was Lance's reply. "Disinformation and subterfuge are nothing new, Karla." He turned to Patrick and pated the man on the shoulder then told him, "Change out of that mercenary gear. We'll hold off, for now, on what to do about Wilhelm Snipes."

"Very well." The man turned about and walked into the next room.

"Change of plans for the Sergeant?" asked Donovan.

Lance smiled. "I was going to inject Wilhelm with cancer cells then have Patrick speed up their growth exponentially. I could have Wilhelm dead by tomorrow if I felt he was still a threat. But I'd like to observe him for now."

Karla and Donovan exchanged a silent glance and frown.

Lance continued. "It goes both ways, though. Patrick can stop the molecules and freeze liquid - cryokinesis. He can accelerate them and boil your blood. His abilities are impressive... It's not just an aging trick."

"What's his range?" asked Karla.

"Just a few feet. Very limited." Lance settled back in his chair and adjusted the lay of his designer shirt.  “Now, we need a plan going forward.  Karla, earlier we were talking about the Parker family.”

Karla fidgeted. "Parker's kids are my project. I'll take care of it. Just like Don, here, is going to focus on modernized speech patterns."

"Then get started on that. I fear things will get 'weird' in the coming days, weeks and months. Just try to prepare yourselves mentally for what you'll see."

Donovan frowned and nodded. "I'll take my leave, now. I'm impressed by your trap, Lance. I don't understand why you let them go, though."

"I'm sending a message. Farewell, Donovan." He then turned to Karla and looked her over. "You can stay if you like but something tells me you have other plans."

"I need to digest all of this," she said. "In over four hundred years, I've not seen such madness and convoluted conspiracy. I just need to clear my head. See you soon." She turned to Donovan and hugged him gingerly. "Thanks for coming back. Take care of yourself."

"And you. Fare thee well."

She smirked at the middle-aged man, fixed his tie for him then said, "You need to get rid of that archaic speak. It draws attention unless you're working at a renascence festival."

"Verily," he replied with a hint of a smirk.

"Wow, was that… humor?" She offered a brilliant smile then, in playful reply, said, "See thee anon, good sir." Karla opened the front door, peered outside then glanced back at them over her shoulder. "They were just shitting us. Everything is fine out here." She eased her head out the doorway and looked up in the air. "Obstical-traps my ass." She disappeared, leaving the door open. Several seconds later, a telekinetic wave struck the door from afar, causing it to swing on its hinges. Lance winced in anticipation of it slamming. However, the door latched into place, quietly.

Lance shook his head and frowned at Donovan. "I take it she fed earlier?"

"I believe so."

"No need to stow your personality, Donovan. You're reserved – I get that. Most would assume because of my advanced age, I would be too old for small talk. Prattle, banter, drivel – it's an art form. You can use small talk to find out information about people by relaxing them into offering up whatever it is that one needs to know. Information is power. Power is control. Control is everything. Pep up your personality, that's where it all begins. Just… don't become as 'pepped up' as Karla. She's obviously 'fed' recently."

"Quite so. Mm, due to her boisterousness, and the scent of recently applied perfume, one can assume such."

"She's right, though," said Lance with a wan smile. "You need to learn how to be a bit more modern to better fit in. Karla does it well, just look at her. Attractive, intelligent and charismatic. Although she’s also wildly energetic.” 

"Indeed. No one is perfect." Donovan stopped in front of a small wall mirror and lifted his chin, gazing down his nose at the front of his blazer. "Good with a tie, however."

A smile crept across Lance's lips. "You're in love with her, aren't you?"

"Be not ridiculous." Donovan stepped back from the mirror. "I've not known her long enough to even consider such things. Besides, we are not compatible. She's sexual; I am not. She is a lady at times but obnoxious at others. I try to mind my posturing and mannerisms... at all times."

"Yes, yes, you're eloquent and elegant. Many have fallen in love with her. She's a rare breed of woman. Passionate, graceful, beautiful and sexual. Everything a woman should be. Except…"

Both men spoke in unison. "Obnoxious."

Donovan adjusted the knot of his Windsor. "I'll be out of town for the next few days. If you need me, I'll be in the Baltic Sea."

"You travel?" Lance tilted his head.

"Indeed. I'm working with the only other immortal supernatural I know of. Like you, he changes his first name every so often."

"Sounds like an old friend of mine," Lance replied, his grin created a dimple on his left cheek. "If he's who I think he is… do your best to help him and travel when he asks you. He's all about fixing important problems in the world. But he doesn't have my charming personality or my understanding of high level mathematics."

"I like feeling as though I can make a difference, my friend. And you're right; he's a very, very serious man. Be well, Methos. I shall see thee anon." His body sank into the sofa's shadow, opposite of a lamp.

Lance leaned up to watch the shadow move across the floor then settled back in his seat with a chuckle. Moments later, Patrick returned from the door at the back of the room. He wore plain denim pants and a V-neck t-shirt. "I've gotta go. Now that you've blown my cover with Doctor Falcon's mercenaries and allowed those men to go free… I have a great deal of free time and I wanna fill it. Somewhere other than California, now that Falcon will want me in his lab."

"Oh don't be upset," said Lance with a smile. "I'm sending a message. If I expose one person out of two, they'll think that their ranks are full of supernatural infiltrators. Besides, it was only a matter of time before Falcon's secret weapon would have found you out."

"Pardon?"

"Haven't you met Krys Monroe?"

"Nope."

Lance shrugged, crossing one ankle over the other. "She senses supernatural people. Even those of us who haven't yet manifested."

Patrick blinked. "Then you've probably just sentenced the other infiltrator to their death."

Lance smirked and propped his head with his hands. "No, part of today's 'message' to Falcon involved the "other infiltrator" destroying a warehouse he owns… followed by faking their own death and disappearing. They won't be caught."

"How can you be sure? Who was it?"

"They wanted to stay anonymous."

"Male or female?"

Lance offered a brilliant smile. "Both. The ability to change back and forth at will. Save for the hair, eyes and teeth structure, they can manipulate their entire body to look more masculine or effeminate. Karla would have a field day with that one… so I'd rather she not find out about them. At any rate, they're going to lie low for a while. Where are you headed?"

"I'm headed to the biggest city on the east coast. But first... If you haven't forgotten, I also work with one of the sects. They're meeting tonight. A supernatural convention."

The fashion-forward gentleman chuckled and said, "Oh, Patrick, it's more like a 'hang out' or a 'board meeting'. There's so few of us in the world that the term 'convention' seems laughable. Go on. Thank you for stopping by and helping me to create a bit of discourse in Doctor Falcon's ranks. I appreciate it."

"Yeah. Sure, any time. Was all that crap about The First Age really true?"

Lance's smile broadened. "Yes. It was. It's different than the stories of, say, Atlantis, though. I mean… something that old, even the legends got the details wrong. Don't worry about it for now. Take care."

"And you." Patrick left the living room, careful not to trip on one of the holes in the wood floor. He shut the front door behind himself.

Lance sighed and picked up an iPad from his coffee table. He angled it, keeping the display 'off' then smiled at the mirror image of Karla Howard sitting atop the dining room table, behind him. "Something told me you weren't going anywhere. You had too many questions."

"Yeah, like… why haven't I ever heard of a person who can change their gender at will? Seriously."

"I thought you might like that," he mused then unlocked the iPad and thumbed the screen. "What brings you back?"

"You're horny," she replied in a matter-of-fact tone. "You've been looking at me like meat since I walked in that door. You're probably remembering what I looked like the last time we had sex."

"You're perceptive, dear."

"It's been a while. And do you really think Donovan is in love with me?"

He offered a firm nod. "I do."

"I'm sure it's just a brief, passing fancy. He's a good guy, though. So… you wanna?"

Lance eased up on an elbow and glanced back at her with a smirk. His eyes danced over her curvaceous figure and the dimple returned to his left cheek as a grin spread across his face. He set the iPad back on the coffee table and reached for his belt. "Sure, why not."

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