Chapter 32: Enigma

Propelling upwards, he set course back to the base, flying speedily through the sky. The cloud cover swiftly moved aside as he passed, a wave of pressure trailing behind him. Seeing the outline of the battered and broken base on his far perspective, he slowed, readying to land.

"...statement says there were 4 civilian casualties. It needs to be addressed before the reveal. Some kind of excuse. Then, we have the hospital incident and potential rats investigating his home exploding. Some people aren't going to take this well." The voice of Barak spoke.

A female responded, her voice melodious with a tone of sinful allure, "The civilian casualties can be explained through sheer unluckiness. They may not like it, but the Irish aren't our concern. His home explosion, we could use to explain his... change? I'll ask Agent Becker to go over it with her team."

"Ireland won't take that well. A British weapon on foreign soil, destroying the countryside rather suspiciously, with advanced vehicles wrecks in the area. But in terms of his family, that should be fine that way. There might be a few detractors saying Mark did it, but it shouldn't be enough to sway public opinion."

Sighing, "Emily will present her overview and solutions at a later date. The PM has explicitly stated not to antagonize the US any further. Our participation in Mars is a project he's adamant about. Stupid prick makes us look feeble."

"What about the hospital? That's a recipe for disaster. There were what, 137 dead? He annihilated an entire children's ward, and there were how many witnesses? It'll only be so long before people put two and two together."

Another sigh came from the woman, "378 witnesses and still increasing... There are already posts online relating the two. That boat has sailed, and we can't get it back. And honestly, we don't have a feasible method of allaying concerns on this. It happened, and we're likely just going to put it down to a panic attack, unfamiliarity with his powers, amongst other things. Outrage will occur, of course, but a cover-up is practically impossible now."

"Sorry, Ma'am. I shouldn't have let him go. He's exposed too early, and he isn't ready.

"It doesn't matter, Barak. The past is the past, and we can't change it. We handle the cards we've been dealt. We will survey public opinion and make plans around that. The election is in a year; this could make or break our campaign. As to his readiness-"

A knock resounded from the door, a stern voice informing Barak, disrupting the conversation.

"Sir, he's returned."

"Back from his escapade? You need to keep him on a leash, Barak. He's an extraordinary asset. Without him, we'll be put in the dirt. I hope I don't have to remind you again. You were chosen for a reason; do not destroy mine and the Prime Minister's trust because of your emotions and own ambition."

Grunting from her lecture, "Yes, Ma'am. Thank you, Ma'am."

Turning off the old-fashioned, physical screen, he replied to the informer. He patted himself down as he went out to meet his increasingly rebellious asset.

Landing amongst the typical gazes of onlookers, Mark entered the main building, his strides long and powerful. Taking the route to the operations rooms, he checked in on it, the door still being restored. Ignoring the few crimson stains lingering on the floor, he questioned one of the technicians for the suited man, getting unsure directions to private rooms on the other side of reception.

Tutting in slight annoyance, he thanked the friendly woman, turning around and crossing to the other side of reception. Entering one of the numerous hallways, he stumbled across Barak exiting his room.

Smiling as he saw the young man, Barak spoke first, "Hey, Mark... what happened to your clothes?"

Glancing at the tablet in his hand, the surface moderately scratched, he frowned before inspecting his clothes. They were extensively ripped in numerous places; the shirt tattered the most.

"Oh. I didn't think about that."

"Hmm, so you're going to need insanely durable clothes. Noted. Must be going pretty fast to do that. It wasn't the actual reason you were naked the other day, right? It wasn't the monster that did it?" Barak laughed, shaking his head at his thoughts.

"Ah, whatever, fuck the clothes. I'm actually here to ask, why am I on the news? Again! It hasn't even been a day, and someone's leaked it. Jenny said everyone was trustworthy, yet here I am, plastered across the TVs and internet."

Muttering, "That's what happens when you get regular personnel for relief." Barak continued, "It's a fault on our end, and we duly apologise. We're already preparing a statement for the press-"

Interrupting him, Mark inquired about the statement, "And what... is going to be said? Do I get no say?"

Pausing for a moment before saying his piece, "I'm not entirely sure; I don't talk to the press. Knowing the Cabinet, it'll likely be affirming that you're human, not a danger to society, and there will be a formal press conference at a later date. However, that's just presumptions."

Snorting, "Ok, but what about the... incidents? How are you covering that up? Or are the press going to have a field day?"

Exasperated, he responded in a slightly annoyed tone, unregistered on the device, "They're already planned. We're... thinking about things. We'll get back to you closer to the weekend, and I promise, the press won't be in great spirits for it."

Slightly confused at his words, Mark ignored them, "So, what about the leaks? I... want my own place, away from everyone else. Like a normal person, unbothered by all this shit and not having my life out for the public."

"The leaks will be handled internally, don't worry. As for your own home, that can be arranged, but you won't ever be normal, Mark. We're long past that." Sighing in between his sentences, "You should go get some rest or think about what you're going to say come the end of the week."

'Jenny was right... they treat me like a kid.'

He almost declined in frustration but stopped himself. He realised he could use that time wisely and responded after a momentary pause, "Alright. Just one question before I go, Barak."

Raising an eyebrow at the tone used, "...Yes?"

"Has my appearance changed anything? No, has Britain gained anything from me?"

Rubbing his chin, shallow hair bristling against his skin as he pondered what to tell Mark, he replied, "We... have. I'm not sure if you've heard, it isn't hugely public, but Mars is currently in the process of colonisation by France and Russia. Britain has gained a spot, following revelations surrounding yourself and the... incidents."

"Hmm, I see. That's good to hear, at least. Thanks."

Abruptly turning around, Mark strolled away from the slender, suited man. Barak stood there, somewhat stunned at the strange way the conversation ended. He was still for a minute, thoughts passing through his mind as he questioned why Mark would ask.

He smirked as he wondered, 'Something has changed. Interesting.'

Collapsing onto his comfy bed, Mark could barely tell it was comfortable. The only indication was how the foam was shaped into his image.

He whined, slightly, as he thought, 'It's getting really bad. I can't fucking feel anything!'

Shaking his head and bringing himself out of his emotions, he cooled down, consciously breathing in a rhythm like a yoga practitioner. Telling himself to concentrate, he closed his eyes, the light fading as reality turned black.

Spreading his sense across the room, he grasped the energy? The concept? He grabbed it, his brain extensively straining as he did so. Mark had done so beforehand, using it to feel the emotions of the technicians, further testing it on Barak, gaining a limited understanding of his thoughts as well. What he lacked, however, was control. The energy was poorly understood, poorly used, and poorly grasped. It leaked through his senses like water through rocks.

Grunting in annoyance, he spent the entire evening and the next day trying to utilise the energy and bend it to his will. Mentally, the strain was immense as his head throbbed and ached incessantly. Yet, he had the time to persevere, battling the ache as he did in the gym throughout the past few years. It helped, of course, that food and sleep were bygone concerns of his. Mark didn't necessarily forgo those functions, more so forgetting them, the desire and need never arising.

Opening his eyes as a loud knock vibrated against his quarter's door, the energy pulsing very slightly, he answered uncertainly. He was unsure why he was wanted so soon, even more so by the pulse, never being noticed beforehand.

"Yes?"

"Sorry for disturbing you, but I've been told to remind you the funeral is at 9am. The brigadier wanted to leave at 7:15."

With a scrunched face as he looked at the tablet on the bedside cabinet, he glanced towards the clock.

'6:45am? Wait, isn't the funeral on Friday?'

More uncertain than the last time, he puzzledly asked the man sent to wake him up, "Sorry, but erm. I thought it was on Friday."

There was a slight pause as he awaited the man's response, "Sorry, Sir, but it is Friday. We presumed you were resting all of Thursday. We knocked to give you food, but you didn't answer."

"Ah, right, thanks... Anyway, I'll be ready on time."

Getting no reply, the person likely going to pass on what he said, Mark got off the bed and stretched.

"How have two days passed?" He muttered, "I swear it was only a few hours. Damn."

Annoyed for a moment, he shook himself out of it, broadly grinning at his discoveries. His vision locked on the tablet, and his mind surged as he winced; the device started to hover in the air and floated slowly towards his palm. Taking it from the air, he laughed cheerfully.

'Fuck... That was so worth the time.'

"Hmm, still. So much effort for so small a thing." Mark quietly uttered to himself, "Now, just to test the other theory."

Getting ready to redress, removing the tattered rags from Wednesday, he stood still for a moment.

'Do I have a suit?'

Deciding to check the sides of the wardrobe, straining himself to mentally open the doors, he spotted a pre-prepared suit. Nodding in appreciation at the army's foresight, he spent the next few minutes trying its fitting. It matched perfectly to his dimensions. The suit was quite special; a high-quality brand. Furrowing his brows, upon the realisation it was the same type as Barak, he was unsure what to think. Should he appreciate the care taken by him, despite his apparent traitorous actions? Deciding not to think about it, coming to the conclusion it would only rile him up, he checked himself in the mirror.

Overall, it looked clean and fresh, if not a bit morbid. The outfit was entirely black, fitting for a funeral, whilst still holding a form of elegance and slight superiority, or aristocracy, from its high-quality design. Certainly, a suit which would be worn by the Asshole. He spent the next few minutes becoming increasingly annoyed at the tie, walking out unceremoniously. With the fabric in one hand and a tablet in the other, he hoped someone could do it for him.

"You alright, Mark? Was just coming to see if you're ready, there's a small run-down we need to go through. If you don't mind?"

Spotting the ever-present suited man, walking down the heated hallway, he brought the tablet into view after pressing the button, the screen barely flickering to life.

"Fine by me. Seen as all you wear is suits, you mind... erm... helping me put the tie on? Also, need a new tablet or charger. The battery is starting to die..."

Chuckling as he was handed the tie, placing it around Mark's collar, "Thought you'd be able to do a tie. And I'll arrange a replacement."

Frowning slightly, "Yeah... Amelia used to do it for me. Heh, she used to do it for Jake and my dad as well..."

Finishing up on his tie, he tapped Mark's shoulder, "Try not to dwell on it too much. Come on then, let's get this sorted."

Following him out of the building, they passed into the reception. Mark sighed as he stood beside the circular desk, his face drooping.

Barak glanced at his phone before speaking, "Right, it's 6:58, so we aren't scheduled to leave for another 15. However, we can leave earlier, if you want? Everyone should be ready... you ok, Mark?"

Reading the text in front of him, he replied in a low voice, "I'm good, don't worry about it. We can leave whenever. It's not like I have much to do nowadays."

Glancing at the desk in the corner of his eye, Barak clicked his tongue, "It's a shame what happened to her. She fought bravely, as did everyone. But sometimes... bravery isn't enough." He sighed, "She's at peace, Mark. We can't change the past."

"I hope she's at peace. She was only an hour from ending her shift. If only... she wasn't here. Maybe she wouldn't..."

"Such is the way of the world. The smallest and most insignificant of things can have unlikely consequences. We know that better than most."

Shaking his head, "Let's get out of this morbid mood. We're not even at the funeral. It's weird though... the closer I get to it... the more the scars come back. I thought I was over it... but yet, it won't leave me."

"It never does, Mark. How you react to it determines everything. You either move on positively or waste away in depression. Therapy, I've heard, does wonders. It's a bit delayed, but your therapist should be here next week for you."

'Therapy, huh? Wonder how that's going to go.'

"We should do the run-down, Mark." Barak interrupted his thoughts, "The funeral should be over by 11 or 12. We've given you 20 to 30 minutes to make your own peace. There will be no one nearby, no one listening, no one interrupting. That good for you?"

Smiling lightly, "That's fine. I appreciate you getting it for me."

"Don't worry about it. Now... don't get too annoyed, but I have a confession. With the explosion at your house and, coupled with uncertainties surrounding you, we made the decision to pronounce you dead. I hope you understand." He paused, expecting some kind of response from Mark, but continued as he got none, "Considering your face has been all over the news, we elected to inform your relatives and friends, attending the funeral, that you're fine. However, they might already know because of... well... the news. On that note, you can speak to them for a limited time. Maybe for a few minutes in total. It was the best I could do."

"That's... going to be awkward." Mark uttered.

"Well, there were some things I couldn't adjust. You're disallowed from answering any questions about your powers and changes. No informing them of any incidents or the truth behind them. No explanation as to how the government or military is involved. Pretty much, anything that's changed or happened in the past few days doesn't exist. Unfortunately, I couldn't get them to budge on this."

"Ugh, but that's all they're going to ask. Well, besides condolences. Thanks anyway, it's better than I expected, and I begrudgingly accept the necessity of everything. I presume that'll all be for the press conference?"

"From my current understanding and what I've been sent, yes. Now, that's everything, and it's currently... 7:09, so we better get moving. Jenny will be joining us in the car."

"What about Fatima... she is fine, right? I never checked, but I cleared out the soldiers before they got to the lab."

"She's fine, alright. Arguably more than fine, considering she's slept in the lab reviewing the footage of you... disposing of the enemy."

Mark shook his head, walking at a steady pace towards a line of cars waiting near the front gate. Their windows were tinted black as night, the paint only slightly lighter. There were no markings to distinguish them as property of a person or corporation.

Led to the middle car, two protection vehicles in front and behind, they got in as Barak spoke into a watch on his wrist. Ducking inside the vehicle door, he spotted Jenny as he greeted her, unable to respond if she said anything. Barak got in the front, seated next to the driver as he spoke into his watch again.

"Let's get going then. Control, Enigma is on the move."