I
The building wasn’t impressive at all.
Not how he pictured it in his mind, anyway. Hearing the Russian describe their operations, and the funding they get from unknown sources you’d immediately think about those Tom Clancy-like techno-thrillers with plotlines so confusing you immediately forget about it the moment you’re done reading; shadowy operatives, inctricate conspiracies, and impenetrable fortresses with security systems so tough and overtly powerful you’d need a nuclear weapon to get inside.
Not how he pictured it in his mind, anyway. Hearing the Russian describe their operations, and the funding they get from unknown sources you’d immediately think about those Tom Clancy-like techno-thrillers with plotlines so confusing you immediately forget about it the moment you’re done reading; shadowy operatives, inctricate conspiracies, and impenetrable fortresses with security systems so tough and overtly powerful you’d need a nuclear weapon to get inside.
The Russian himself was an ex-Soviet operative, back when the office was still known as KGB. And here he is walking in front of him, with sure steady strides and an air of regalness that commanded respect and admiration even to those who barely knew him.
As they walked past the gate, and toward a big structure that looked more like an old ancestral home/fortress, he couldn’t help feeling a little let down in his expectations. The surrounding courtyard had a cold and grayish aspect to it that incited feelings of bleakness and melancholia than homey, inviting sentiments.
As they walked past the gate, and toward a big structure that looked more like an old ancestral home/fortress, he couldn’t help feeling a little let down in his expectations. The surrounding courtyard had a cold and grayish aspect to it that incited feelings of bleakness and melancholia than homey, inviting sentiments.
In the middle of the yard right in front of the structure, was a huge, and non-functioning Victorian-looking fountain whose main body was sculpted with figures of cherubims and naked women, covered with a dark green growth of a flowering vine. Yes, bleak is the right word for it, he decided. The overcast sky and cold November afternoon air added to the heavy feeling he associated with the place.
Approaching the main entrance, he spied a solitary surveillance camera set on the upper right side of the wall just above the front door. It was metal. He was a little surprised at this since it was so off-tangent to the rest of the surroundings, specially the structure that it was attached to. It was a metal door so thick and tough looking that he supposed a tank would be needed if anyone were to force their way in to the place. He checked the surrounding walls and found they were strange to the touch. Was it asbestos? Looks like things are going to live up to their promise after all.
2
It was no different inside.
It reminded him of those antiseptic-looking chambers usually found inside a science fiction movie done by Stanley Kubrick. He was a sucker for movies. And this little excursion felt like he was actually living inside of one. White, spotless tiles on the floor that looked like it was illuminated underneath and equally clean-looking white walls.
A smattering of post-modernistic paintings hung on both sides of the main chamber and a solitary upholstered black sofa was on the corner by an entrance he deduced was an elevator. Talk about top secrets, he thought, this tackiness might have a tactical purpose to it. Like deterring potential attackers with disgust before they could even think of proceeding with their plans. He chuckled a little and the Russian paused mid stride, and turned toward him.
“Was there something you wanted to say?” he said.
He just shook his head. A little embarrassed; and thinking the guy might not only be a precognitive but a telepath as well. He told him he was a precog, but didn’t exactly tell him that that was his only ability. Who knows what bag of tricks this old KGB operative and former company agent has up his sleeves other than the two pistols he always carry around with him? Did he hear what he was thinking?
The old party simply nodded and went straight to the elevator, punched a button and motioned for him to come forward.
“You will be meeting the rest of the group in a short while.” The Russian said.
“Great,” he replied.
He was not a exactly a teenager. Although at 32 he still retained the youthful features of his teenage years. But his own appraisal of his mental age is still stuck to 15. He got into that conclusion when he was in his mid-20s. His peers were already talking about cars, careers and the ideal home inside white picket fences and he was still obsessing about where to scout for a vinyl copy of The Stone Roses’ debut album.
He was not particularly handsome, and he has a scar just above the left side of his upper lip-courtesy of a schoolyard brawl during sixth grade. It always gave him an aura of the “don’t fuck with me” variety that gave him amusement when people who don’t know him approach him with caution.
The elevator descended. And just when he was thinking the trip would never end, it stopped. The door opened and he was led by Janosz Orlova to meet his team.
They entered a large hall. A library to be precise, with a round table at the center where several people of different ethnicities and---he assumed---nationalities were seated. Obviously waiting for him and the Russian.
Before Orlova could speak, someone at the table beat him to it.
"So what can you do?" asked a dark-skinned man with close-cropped hair who he surmised was Latin American, sitting at the farthest side of the round table.
A murmur of agreement from the rest.
He looked at them. Diverse people of different genders, age, and ethnicity. A regular UN meeting, he thought in jest. He wanted to smirk so badly but he managed to hold it off. The Russian was staring at him intently.
"Aren't you gonna ask me my name first?" He said.
"We can do names later. Show us first." Latino guy said. A little impatience in the tone this time. And the others sitting at the table were eyeing him with a mixture of curiosity, anticipation, and---if he was not mistaken---the predatory glee of a fraternity brother about to make a pledge's life a living hell.
He turned at Orlova. The Russian simply nodded.
"Okay then," he said.
He dropped his bulky knapsack that contained his only real possessions and sidestepped toward his right side.
And disappeared from thin air.
The group waited in stunned silence.
"He a teleporter?" Latino asked.
Before anyone can answer him hands from behind dragged him backwards and suddenly he was staring up to a ruined dome of what was once a magnificent structure.
The sky beyond was red and streaked with momentary flashes of lightning. The air was oppressively stuffy and smelled of copper and ozone. Distant sounds of explosion and thunderclaps surrounded the place.
He struggled against his captor. Must be the newbie he thought, telepath probably made him see this sick reality just to prove his point. Before he can grapple out of the person's hold he felt the weight of the person behind shift his weight and propelled both of them forward---
---into the round table with the rest of the group staring at them with their eyes wide. Like an audience who have just seen the world's greatest magic trick.
Both people straighened themselves. Latino dusting off his jacket with visible irritation for being the butt of this new guy's joke. The other simply stood with an 'I told you so' expression and a shrug.
The Russian, who was standing at the same spot the entire time observing everyone, finally took two steps toward the head of the table. Everyone turned to him.
At last he spoke.
“My friends may I introduce Donald Cray, multiverse traveller.”
“A what?” asked a petite but good-looking blonde girl Cray assumed to be in her early 20s.
“A multiverse traveller,” Orlova answered.
“It means he can jump from one reality parallel to this one, right sir?” said the girl.
The rest of the small group huddled around the table were already seated. Like participants in a workshop waiting for the main speaker to start his lecture.
“I found Mr. Cray in Tudor City. In hiding right after the events on Building 29.” Orlova said, “and tried to pick my wallet with the help of his ability. But of course, I can see what was coming and caught him.”
Orlova paused. And said: “Mr. Cray? I believe now is the time to introduce yourself to the rest.”
“Agents caught me,” Cray said. “I was living alone in my apartment when all of the sudden I had these so-called census takers coming to visit me almost everyday. The last time was with this guy in horn-rims with a black guy who didn’t speak a word. I knew right away they were up to no good. I was about to jump off to some parallel reality but found my abilities didn’t work. That’s when everyting went black. I found out later that that spooky black Haitian not only blocks the access to your abilities but can erase memories and put you to sleep as well. When I awoke I was in a holding cell restrained with that IV formula that renders you almost to a coma and there’s nothing I can do about it.”
“I know how that feels mate,” a lanky long-haired man with a thick cockney accent said, "been there myself."
“Yes. Save for me, Karen, Juanito and Darla, the rest of the members of our little group has spent a considerable amount of time in that place.” Orlova said.
“But do understand, Mr…’Cray’, was it? That we do not engage in revenge, vendetta or any of that kind of activity. We are a peace keeping group and we offer sanctuary. We do not go out looking for retribution and keep our anonimity as our topmost priority.” A middle-aged woman in a smart-looking business attire said.
“Thank you Darla,” Orlova said,” I’m sure Mr Cray does not have any kind of agenda that will put our group’s existence in jeopardy.”
“No mam, you don’t have to worry about me,” Cray said, “I may have an ability but that doesn’t mean I’m stupid enough to start wars with clandestine organizations with enough resources to even shut you guys down. Not to mention banging heads with agents with abilities like that Haitian as well.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed a little.
“By the way,” Latino guy injected, “where the hell did you take me? I thought you were supposed to travel into parallel realities like this. That was hell.”
“Oh it was a parallel reality,” Cray answered, “only the kind where you don’t want to get stuck in.”
“What happened there?”
Cray looked at him before answering.
“The end of the world.”
3
Before Orlova could speak, someone at the table beat him to it.
"So what can you do?" asked a dark-skinned man with close-cropped hair who he surmised was Latin American, sitting at the farthest side of the round table.
A murmur of agreement from the rest.
He looked at them. Diverse people of different genders, age, and ethnicity. A regular UN meeting, he thought in jest. He wanted to smirk so badly but he managed to hold it off. The Russian was staring at him intently.
"Aren't you gonna ask me my name first?" He said.
"We can do names later. Show us first." Latino guy said. A little impatience in the tone this time. And the others sitting at the table were eyeing him with a mixture of curiosity, anticipation, and---if he was not mistaken---the predatory glee of a fraternity brother about to make a pledge's life a living hell.
He turned at Orlova. The Russian simply nodded.
"Okay then," he said.
He dropped his bulky knapsack that contained his only real possessions and sidestepped toward his right side.
And disappeared from thin air.
The group waited in stunned silence.
"He a teleporter?" Latino asked.
Before anyone can answer him hands from behind dragged him backwards and suddenly he was staring up to a ruined dome of what was once a magnificent structure.
The sky beyond was red and streaked with momentary flashes of lightning. The air was oppressively stuffy and smelled of copper and ozone. Distant sounds of explosion and thunderclaps surrounded the place.
He struggled against his captor. Must be the newbie he thought, telepath probably made him see this sick reality just to prove his point. Before he can grapple out of the person's hold he felt the weight of the person behind shift his weight and propelled both of them forward---
---into the round table with the rest of the group staring at them with their eyes wide. Like an audience who have just seen the world's greatest magic trick.
Both people straighened themselves. Latino dusting off his jacket with visible irritation for being the butt of this new guy's joke. The other simply stood with an 'I told you so' expression and a shrug.
The Russian, who was standing at the same spot the entire time observing everyone, finally took two steps toward the head of the table. Everyone turned to him.
At last he spoke.
“My friends may I introduce Donald Cray, multiverse traveller.”
4
“A what?” asked a petite but good-looking blonde girl Cray assumed to be in her early 20s.
“A multiverse traveller,” Orlova answered.
“It means he can jump from one reality parallel to this one, right sir?” said the girl.
The rest of the small group huddled around the table were already seated. Like participants in a workshop waiting for the main speaker to start his lecture.
“I found Mr. Cray in Tudor City. In hiding right after the events on Building 29.” Orlova said, “and tried to pick my wallet with the help of his ability. But of course, I can see what was coming and caught him.”
Orlova paused. And said: “Mr. Cray? I believe now is the time to introduce yourself to the rest.”
“Agents caught me,” Cray said. “I was living alone in my apartment when all of the sudden I had these so-called census takers coming to visit me almost everyday. The last time was with this guy in horn-rims with a black guy who didn’t speak a word. I knew right away they were up to no good. I was about to jump off to some parallel reality but found my abilities didn’t work. That’s when everyting went black. I found out later that that spooky black Haitian not only blocks the access to your abilities but can erase memories and put you to sleep as well. When I awoke I was in a holding cell restrained with that IV formula that renders you almost to a coma and there’s nothing I can do about it.”
“I know how that feels mate,” a lanky long-haired man with a thick cockney accent said, "been there myself."
“Yes. Save for me, Karen, Juanito and Darla, the rest of the members of our little group has spent a considerable amount of time in that place.” Orlova said.
“But do understand, Mr…’Cray’, was it? That we do not engage in revenge, vendetta or any of that kind of activity. We are a peace keeping group and we offer sanctuary. We do not go out looking for retribution and keep our anonimity as our topmost priority.” A middle-aged woman in a smart-looking business attire said.
“Thank you Darla,” Orlova said,” I’m sure Mr Cray does not have any kind of agenda that will put our group’s existence in jeopardy.”
“No mam, you don’t have to worry about me,” Cray said, “I may have an ability but that doesn’t mean I’m stupid enough to start wars with clandestine organizations with enough resources to even shut you guys down. Not to mention banging heads with agents with abilities like that Haitian as well.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed a little.
“By the way,” Latino guy injected, “where the hell did you take me? I thought you were supposed to travel into parallel realities like this. That was hell.”
“Oh it was a parallel reality,” Cray answered, “only the kind where you don’t want to get stuck in.”
“What happened there?”
Cray looked at him before answering.
“The end of the world.”
II
The next few days were tiring pursuits of new skills and knowledge he was thoroughly unfamiliar with.
The Russian was a good teacher in hand to hand and weapons-based combat techniques that incorporated various disciplines from Krav Maga, FMA, Jiujitsu and several others that he haven't seen in cable sports programs on TV.
The team, he found out, was composed of 12 people including Orlova. Each with a unique ability like he did.
Latino guy, as he so fondly called the man who tested him, was named Juanito Escalante from Cuba, 42. The son of a fisherman and had the unique ability of adapting in various types of liquid environments. A regular fishman. Tasked with safeguarding The Syndicate's important possessions fathoms beneath the sea. And not a bad sparring partner and beer drinker as well. He liked the guy despite the brashness and short tempered outbursts from time to time.
Latino guy, as he so fondly called the man who tested him, was named Juanito Escalante from Cuba, 42. The son of a fisherman and had the unique ability of adapting in various types of liquid environments. A regular fishman. Tasked with safeguarding The Syndicate's important possessions fathoms beneath the sea. And not a bad sparring partner and beer drinker as well. He liked the guy despite the brashness and short tempered outbursts from time to time.
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