NPC BLOG

“I’m not scaling buildings, Keller—I’m too damn old.” And besides, he’d need a couple hundred thousand permits to scale anything. “How’s the new order treating you? The fireproof lab, the new tech—the new, uh, science? Science. Are you about to give NASA a run for their money?”

“You should,” retorts Keller quickly, “That’d be super cool.” Keller’s shoulders bounce in a hyperactive series of shrugs, “I mean it’s not too different from before except Beth let’s me work on multiple projects at once. And NASA has nothing to worry about. They’re going up to find new life, while I’m trying to go across. Does that make sense?” 

Damien put an arm around Keller and laughed. He missed this, the old Bureau team working here, but maybe the new bloods would be able to pick up the slack. “I’m definitely telling her that—you are going to be so in trouble,” he grins wide, fully enjoying his company. “I’m not going to tell anyone, just FYI. But stick gloves, I’m going to need the prototypes, just because they sound dope as hell; maybe I could be a test subject.”

Keller frowned, almost pouting. “I’m always in trouble.” But his dejected expression doesn’t last long, his eyes light up at the mention of the gloves, “Oh yeah! Those would be great for climbing up the buildings in New York! They don’t work in the rain yet, so just like, take that as a warning now in case I forget to mention it again later.” 

Damien picked him up in a bear hug and slapped him on the back. “I missed you, you crazy kid. And no, I’m just here for a visit—what new super-secret spy tech are you workin’ on? Aside from the.. lipstick? Does it at least come in a nice shade?”

At the hug, Keller nearly felt his spine break. fortunately, it popped out all the kinks in his back that had accumulated from the weeks of hunching over his desk. “Oh boy,” he squeaked, “Well Beth gave me some of her old Mary Kay samples to work from so I assume it’s a pretty color. Or maybe it isn’t because she wasn’t able to sell those ones.” He’s rambling now and he knows it but he can’t help himself, “And it wouldn’t be super secret spy tech if I told you. But I’m going to tell you anyway. I’m going full classic: phone shoe, stick gloves, laser pen! And that’s just the equipment I’m building for the new teams.”

“Okay so Beth said no to covering a 3D printed skeleton with spam and shooting it with a portal gun, so that plan is nixed. Any other ideas?” 

“Mr. Valentine! Hey, hey! Welcome to my super spiffy new fireproof lab! Are you here to request some top secret spy gear or something? Because my trials on the knockout lipstick are not going well.” 

Laura freezes in the doorway.  For a moment, she just stares, eyes wide, breath not even held so much as forgotten.  Twenty-six years, and he doesn’t look the same, but she still knows him at a glance, even before he lifts his gaze to hers.  The assessment there resonates, familiar, in her bones.  She has wondered about this moment, but only distantly, not as something to expect.  Certainly, not here.  Lately, it hasn’t even crossed her mind.  Time starts again, and Laura breathes in, swallows.  Her eyes don’t leave his as her mind begins to rearrange what she knows to accommodate this new information.  Another crack forms in the dam of her composure.  “Why are you here?” 

He wonders if she’ll recognize him. His pride led him to believe that he’d left an unerasible mark on her life and memory. But so much time had passed and she’d grown so much. Had it not been for her distinct physical appearance he may not have been able to identify her so easily. Then again, he’d monitored her run with the Exemplars closely. He puts the cap back on his pen and sets it down on his desk, perfectly in it’s it’s place, as all things should be. “I work here,” he said, simply, “You didn’t think I’d let something so simple as a government raid get in the way of the bigger picture. No, no, my duty to discover and create always comes first. You would not be in this world if not for that fact. The better questions is: Why are you here?” 

He sits alone at a desk in the middle of a bright room, lit from above by LED panels in the ceiling. He writes something in a manila file and does not look up when she enters the room. He speaks as if musing to himself, perhaps practicing a speech, “I have heard it said that home is ‘where the heart is’. We both know this to be fallible logic but I think there is a degree of truth to the notion that home - the place we return to, is the place which contains the people we know and who know us,” she finally shifts his gaze, staring directly at Laura with eye contact like he is sizing her up, “So . . . welcome home.” 

“A therapist.” She repeated the words back, mind slow and sticky with grief, nodding as they finally processed.  “That might- might be helpful.  To talk to them about…” What?  Everything?  “This.” Unconsciously she raised a hand to her sternum as finally her voice cracked and she looked up again, searching.  “What is this?”

“Grief, dear, it’s grief,” said Moira, her tone softening as she looked down at the mutant. She pitied the girl. But she did not pity Laura enough to tell her the truth. After all, Laura was a piece in a much larger game, “Talking to a professional will help you understand and overcome the feelings you are facing right now. They’re like a doctor, but for the mind. I’ll have an appointment set up for next week.” 

“you did all that you could. sometimes things like this just happen.” 

“I understand that this might be a lot for you . . . emotionally. If you would like a therapist I can have one called in.”

“MM,” Tango delays, rattling on the spot. He doesn’t smell any of the team nearby, which means he’s on his own, and he’s being asked questions he doesn’t know how to answer. What if he answers badly? Will the Bureau be angry with him?

Oh no. What does he say?

“YES,” he finally settles on. He doesn’t want to make the Bureau look bad, and maybe answering this way will help? “TANGO CHOOSE. BENJI ONCE… TELL OF. MONK. AND… RETREAT. BECOME… STRONG. TANGO… CHOOSE. TO DO. TANGO THINK… THAT BEST? TO BE– AWAY?”

CJ hums softly, his response conflicting with the limited intel she’d received from her inside man at the bureau. “I am glad to hear you had a willing retreat. Where did you go? The alps? And why did no one report seeing you for the past fifteen years? It must have been a reclusive vacation, not much fresh air in that.” 

This is what he hated about talking to the press—how they wrung him out for answers that the Bureau hated. “I don’t. No. I’ve fought for this world time and again, and I’d do it again to keep people safe.” There was a small smile on his face, guarded and sad. “I’d give my life for it, and I’d ask no others to do the same.”

CJ  was well aware that she was twisting his words and pushing him into a corner. That was her job: make him panic and contradict himself until she could get the most displeasing answer. And with theplenty of content to turn into future headlines she pulls back the recorder and offers a polite smile, “I’ve gotten what I need. Thank you.” 

“I’m not sure what your source is, but I’m afraid there’s no truth to those rumors. We prefer to operate in the currency of experience within The Exemplars. It’s not exactly something that’s ‘replaceable’.”

CJ tuts softly under her breath and jots down words as she mutters to herself, “cagey, defensive, deems herself irreplaceable,” then she looks up, and asks, “What experience did you have before joining the team?” 

“yes, i sadly don’t–” he hoped such basic degree of modest charm appealed to the crowd– “but we are very fortunate that other members of the team do; they have always been incredibly skilled and dependable, no matter how demanding the assignment is.”

   “as for me, i think our successful mission record is a testament to my capabilities as a leader. every one of my calls have been and are done to preserve the citizens and the team’s safety and well-being, and i plan on keeping it as such.”

CJ nods. His answer was satisfactory, good even. But she would not admit it. She could not give him the power of thinking he was secure when she was interviewing him. She wanted him to be antsy and anxious - that was when the best answers spilled out. 

“So you consider last night’s mission to be successful? Despite the fact that both monsters broke perimeter and endangered civilian life? That standard of fear is what you deem praise worthy?”

“TANGO– IN…”

Tango doesn’t know if he’s allowed to talk about where he was. The Bureau can be very secretive, and sometimes Tango doesn’t remember what he can say and what he can’t say. Sometimes he doesn’t remember to live up to his assigned persona.

The anxiety of not knowing makes him fluff up on the spot, click-clacking his fangs in uncertainty.

“MM. TANGO– AWAY.” What was that new word he heard a couple of days ago? “CALL… STAY–CATION. HAHA.”

CJ purses her lips and raises an eyebrow, she is doubtful of his words. But this is her first time interviewing a non-human so she isn’t sure what the body language means or how she react. Nevertheless, she persists with questioning as she normally would, “So this ‘stay-cation’ of yours was entirely voluntary? You chose to go into hiding these past fifteen years?” 

“The fine people at the precincts deserve better, I can tell you that. I don’t like the idea of people flying blind against portals and creatures from other dimensions. Might be time to ask for budget allocations, if they want to go into the business of monster hunting.”

“So you encourage more people to go into the dangerous profession of monster hunting? Since this is the life you chose, would you choose it again? Or would you rather have someone else fight in your place?” 

“I have training. And I wanted to join the military but women were not allowed into combat at the time, so I went to where I was wanted. I don’t think I should feel bad about that.”

This was the first time CJ recoiled, her naivety in youth showing through, and she blushed, “Do you encourage other women to seek out lines or work like this? And how would you feel about non-government sanctioned vigilantes?”