Black Box Man

He exchanged the sword from hand to hand as he approached the next line of mannequins. All cheap, bulk materials, he had no reservations about swinging and slicing his way through them like paper. It wasn't a hyperbole; the pressure he needed to apply was next to none, and the sword would do all the hard work for him.

It was as if a secondary, invisible layer so sharp it could cut a hair draped over it surrounded the blade—since both the men present had shaved down to their scalps, that wasn't immediately possible to test.

The grip felt strong and absorbent in his palms. He'd worked at the sacrificial targets for an hour, but the grip, supposed to be slick with his sweat, was as dry as when he'd begun.

The lack of a prominent crossguard, or one at all, allowed him to maneuver the blade in directions he wasn't accustomed to, attack from angles he'd once considered complex tricks, and now little more than another easy draw from his new repertoire.

"I wondered if making the hilt so long held merit." The Sixth Headman stood by a growing pile of empty storage containers, foot tapping itself into a frenzy. "The abnormal length of the blade already shifted the center of gravity far from what you're used to, and as much as I can appreciate the way you take advantage of this property, those wide arcs won't serve you well against most Aud. There's too much force distributed across too great of a length. It's wasteful."

The Prime Beacon grunted, crouching and pouncing while the tip of his sword clashed with the shoulder joint of another mannequin. There was brief resistance, and then a reaction occurred. Like a sonic blasting through flesh, the blade didn't penetrate. It eviscerated the shoulder, leaving such force in its wake the rest of it flew, crashing somewhere on the other end of the training hall.

His hands might've escaped the results of his vigorous session, but the rest of his body was unfortunately human. He dabbed at his eyes and brow. "Do you expect me to make it a habit of fighting Aud outside my WAV?"

"If you know what's beneficial, you won't form habits at all. They're dastardly things. And in accordance, I won't make a habit out of trying to predict your actions."

"I doubt I'm as much of an enigma as you make me out to be." He made an experiment out of slinging the sword around his neck while he left behind the remnants of the mannequin army. The scrap around his feet made it more difficult. "I'm a normal man, no different from yourself."

"That description doesn't suit us. We're hardly ordinary; our positions alone compound that."

"I never said 'ordinary'. Don't place words in my mouth." He chuckled. "I meant 'normal' in the sense that given enough information, you, or anyone else for that matter, could create a nice, thick psychological dossier of how I think, what my goals are, how far I'd reach for them, factors like that."

"Your premise works on a flawed prerequisite, then." The Sixth Headman retrieved the sword case and offered it while brushing away some of the metal scraps by his own feet.

"There's very little information available about you in the public archives. Antithetically, there's even less available on the Directory-exclusive archives. Your name, a picture, date of birth, eye color, all minimal things. Nothing that could help to achieve that. No personal history, records of family, achievements or noteworthy moments of your compulsory and later military service, lawmaking records; need I go on?"

"That's all dangerous information."

"To whom? You? Us?"

"I couldn't say yet." With smooth hands, he returned the sword to its resting place and latched it shut. He should reserve time for a second training session with it while piloting his WAV.

The answer might've been satisfactory for Eighth Headman, who'd heard it so many times she'd collected a montage of the memories out of fun--for reasons beyond him--but not for the Sixth Headman. He and the Ninth Headman were still recent additions to the militarists' ranks and were still hammering out their expectations.

"I suppose the fault hardly lies with you. It's the way the First runs itself. Always on a 'need to know basis', and hoarding secrets like they're tickets to raising their energy allocation. But still, you're doing fine work in keeping this pointless, outdated tradition going."

Considering the nature of humanity's grand foe, "outdated" might've been the wrong word. It suggested the practice had a purpose once. "You couldn't even tell me where you got that sword from."

"I apologize for that."

"If you indeed felt remorse for this, your apology would be all the secrets you think we should know." The Sixth Headman rubbed his face. "The way you operate could use reworking. The Sixth never invested itself into the militarist cause of our own volition. I'm sure the Third and Eighth, as loyal as they've been, have elements within their ranks with similar sentiments."

The Prime Beacon's smile laced with melancholy and something deeper. "Some things are better left unsaid. And some things--"

"Are better left unknown?" finished the SIxth Headman. That smile tightened but held. He scanned the eyes of the man across from him, searching for a sign, an answer, anything that would settle the unease he felt in his stomach. All he unearthed were more questions, enough to erect a small mountain in the depths of his mind.

They remained in locked positions until the Prime Beacon's smile slipped. He looked back at the mess of mannequin remains sprawled across the floor. A janitor had started his work on the far end; it'd take him some time to clean his way to their side of the space.

"Alright. How about we start small?" He raised a finger. "One secret today."

"Is it something relevant to our current circumstances?"

"It's more of an interesting piece of our history. Or the First's, anyway. Tell me everything you know regarding my position in the military."

"The Prime Beacon is the de facto final voice within the military following its council of head generals and acts as a bastion of hope to inspire the members of the military, government, and civilian populace."

The Sixth Headman frowned. "It's the only position that combines the duties of a military official with the office of a headman, and the way candidates become identified is unique: martial prowess and military achievements receive priority in tandem with tactical acumen and strong analytical capabilities, like those of the head generals."

"Very little foresight on the administrative and logistical capabilities of the candidates receives consideration, which seems to be at odds with the requirements of such a role."

"It's good you've noticed that discrepancy. Would you believe me if I told you that before my predecessor, every Prime Beacon never existed?"