5 Grey Matter, Part 3

1.

Alright, Silas thinks as he plunges to his death, this might hurt a bit.

His hands find the length of rope tied to his belt in wide loops, and in an instant, he's flung a lasso up into the sky. It tightens around a spire along the roof ledge. Using the momentum of his fall, Silas swings in a loose arc and then releases as soon as he's within safe distance to the ground. He lands in a tangle of bushes.

Silas emerges, no worse for wear save for a few scratches. But he's startled to find dark patches of hair on his hands, and long, gnarled claws beginning to grow from his fingers. His face, usually dusted with a five-o-clock shadow, has grown to a full beard. His gums are starting to hurt, too, which means the incisors are pushing through.

"No, no, no. Not now, damn it."

"This is what you meant by hairy?" Mateo smirks, crouching above him from the ledge. "Who knew Spectre ran with such a freaky crowd?"

Growling, Silas raises one of his revolvers and shoots. The shot goes wide above Mateo's head. It ricochets off something the operative can't see.

"You missed, Wolf Man."

"Did I?"

A metal chain snaps, end then a gargoyle rips free from its stone platform and drops solidly on Mateo's head. He goes out like a snuffed candle.

"Punk," Silas sniffs. He stumbles onto the clear pavement as a whoosh of air announces Captain Alpha descending from the sky. "Hey. Took your caped ass long enough!"

"My earpiece isn't working. What the fuck is going on? Do you realize now isn't a great time to be turning into a werewolf?"

"Crossed my mind," Silas growls. A jab of pain forces him to his knees. The familiar sensation of his insides ripping beneath his muscles is getting hard to ignore.

Captain Alpha grabs his shoulders. "Hey. Look at me. You need to control yourself."

"I can't."

"You can. When you don't, people around you get slashed into flank steak."

"You think I don't know that? Look, partner, I just—urrgghh—took out the male twin."

"I know. I saw some unmarked vehicles at the perimeter. I think we've got a party on our hands."

"Grrrrraaarrrrrggghhhhhhhh."

"Hey, hey! Stay with me. Think of nice things you like. Saloons and, fuck, I don't know? Horses? Root beer in a mug? Think about your world. What was your world called?"

"Grrrragaggghh-it was also called Earth, you dung brain."

"Right, I forgot. You guys never advanced beyond the American Old West."

"You calling my world slow? Grrrrrrrrrrrr-"

"Not slow. Traditional. I think you're- uh- you're- fucking hell. Do they have books that tell you how to be more comforting? I should read a couple, right?"

The whistle of an incoming projectile is the only warning both men get before an explosion rockets them into the air. Captain Alpha grabs Silas and shields him from the fiery debris.

"Still with me, furball?"

But Silas slumps over in his arms, unconscious. Cap sets him onto the ground, grimly noticing the black fur that sprouts from his neck and arms.

Another missile screams toward them. Pinning it with a hard glare, Captain Alpha's eyes glow like twin stars. A beam of pure energy strikes the projectile a safe distance away. Through the explosion, Cap spots a panicking Echelon 7 operative trying to reload a rocket-propelled grenade launcher.

Cap launches across the parking lot and slams into the ground near the operative. The force of his landing blows the other man backward. The grenade launcher goes flying.

The terrified operative aims a Glock at the superhero's chest.

It takes all of Captain Alpha's willpower not to laugh. "Look, I could be at home with a pitcher of martinis right now. Don't insult me."

The operative fires. Bullet after bullet ricochets uselessly off Cap's body. His annoyance grows with every step.

"You done?"

The gun clicks empty.

"Yep. You're done."

Cap backhands the operative. It's a simple, light gesture, but his immense strength sends the man corkscrewing through the air until he hits the side of a parked van.

Cap's face screws up in embarrassment. "Oh, shit. My bad. I keep forgetting how delicate everyone is on this world."

Then his superior senses pick something up. A voice, whispering into another person's ear.

"Hemlock, this is your chance," the voice says. "You're up."

A second voice responds. "Yes, sir."

Someone skulks in the shadows surrounding the parking lot. Captain Alpha can't pinpoint the lurking figure's location – there must be some sort of sensory jamming equipment involved.

"I'm Halcyon City's strongest superhuman," he shouts in to the darkness. "I know that means fuck all in your world, but in mine, it means no one wastes my time playing hide and seek. Not even the psychokinesis of Dr. Crisis could-"

And then a figure leaps from seemingly out of nowhere and pounces on Captain Alpha's broad chest. It's another operative, male, going by the shape beneath the matte black stealth suit. Cap only gets a glimpse of a face – ivory skin, high cheekbones and full lips – before the operative kisses him deeply.

The sudden intimacy freezes Cap in place. But there's no time to appreciate the softness of the operative's lips, the sweet taste of his tongue, nor the slight moan that escapes his mouth, because the kiss injects him with a dark, poisonous energy that forces the hero to his knees.

The operative known as Hemlock retreats into the shadows with a dark grin. "Enjoy."

The darkness spreads through Captain Alpha's mind like a virus, leaking into every thought and drudging memories so unbearable that the paralyzed hero has no choice but to relive them, again and again, while a tortured scream erupts from his throat.

2.

In the museum's display room, the smoke begins to settle, offering Grey and Eoin a view of the ring of Echelon 7 operatives that surround them. The only figure in the room who dares to move is Margot. Casually twirling her Bo staff, she circles the two Blades like a hawk to her prey.

"I was right beside you through all seven years of training," Margot says. "I know you were taught better than to walk into a trap. Honestly, I've seen more intelligent maneuvering from the pervs who DM me every time I wear open-toed shoes in a selfie."

"We're stopping your organization from irreparably damaging this world's time-space," Eoin states.

"Ugh. Is this one always so dramatic?" Margot wallops him across the face with her staff. On instinct, Eoin goes for his sword, but the clicks of one hundred guns stops him in his tracks. "I'd keep it in your pants, Aragorn."

"Margot," Grey says. The sound of her real name makes her nose pinch. "I'm not sure if you realize this, but you and Echelon 7: The New Class are masterminding a metaphysical apocalypse and it needs to stop now."

"Nice spin, fake news. Why exactly do you think you're in a position to give orders?"

"Because the young are always stubborn," a new voice announces.

Everyone turns to watch a tall, formidable man in his 50s enter the room. With a shock of greying hair, a salt-and-pepper beard, and steel-colored eyes, he has an air of sophisticated danger to him. He wears the same stealth suit as the other operatives, and despite his age, he's in just as good shape. If not better.

"Sir," Margot nods as he passes.

Grey notices the ripple of deference that runs through the room at his approach. "Who are you?"

"You may not have met me before, but I know all about you, Spectre. I'm Echelon 7's director. Call sign: Zenith." He watches with a smile as indignation bristles across Grey's face. "If you're gearing up for a heroic lecture about how I turned this program into something dirty, I'd save it. The only thing I've changed is our area of focus. We may not train street youth anymore, but there's no need. As you can see from this turnout, our return on investment was quite staggering."

"You used us."

"Hah, I did no such thing. You knew what you were signing up for all those years ago."

Fury slashes Grey like a knife. "I was a child!"

"And children obey, as long as they understand. You understood what we did quite clearly."

"You took advantage of disenfranchised kids with nowhere else to go."

"Oh, what a convenient time to develop scruples!" Zenith addresses his subordinates with raised arms. "What did I just tell this young man about heroic lectures?"

A titter of laughs. Zenith takes notice of Eoin, glowering at him from Grey's side. "You. Sword man. You're not one of ours. What's your story?"

Margot scoffs. "Looks like he got lost on his way to the Medieval Times Dinner Theater."

More laughs. Eoin's face betrays nothing.

"You're a traveler, aren't you? I can always tell. You have that... frisson of someone from another world."

Eoin keeps his voice neutral. "I'm not sure what you're talking about."

A hearty laugh from Zenith. "That's cute. But there's no need for secrets here. Echelon 7 has been monitoring those portals ever since they've started appearing on our powerless, magic-less planet. You think you're the first traveler I've met?"

A flicker of eye contact between Eoin and Grey. They can't play ignorant anymore.

"You call them portals," Grey says.

"Do you have a better term? Perhaps 'multigates'?" Another smirk from him as Grey's eyes flare wide. "It's as if you slept through every one of your tech surveillance classes."

"Enough of this. What exactly do you want?" Eoin demands.

"We want what mankind has been striving for since we first stood upright. We want to understand. The multigate in this very museum will perhaps be the closest we get."

Grey shakes his head. "Then why orchestrate a massacre here? It doesn't make any sense."

"Ah. Yes, that ugly business with one Marek Ranskahov. We did not anticipate that he and his men would attempt mass murder. That is not what he and I agreed upon. I suspect his greed got the better of him."

Eoin, growling: "You put innocent people in danger."

"We did what was necessary under our hypothesis. As I said, I've been observing these multigates. The majority seem to be randomly triggered. But a few, such as the one in this very museum, are sensitive to trans-temporal stimuli." At their confusion, Zenith clarifies, "Emotions."

"You're saying our feelings affect this multigate?"

"Ah, fear, excitement, anger, and anxiety more specifically. The more concentrated those feelings are around it, the likelier it will open."

Grey stands his ground, but the spray of goosebumps down his neck and arms forces a shiver to his voice. "That's why you had Marek try to rob people here."

"The key word there is try. Our experiment was thwarted thanks to a band of oddly dressed men. Don't suppose you'd know anything about that?" Zenith chuckles, shrugs. "What do you say we put this tension behind us, Spectre? Have you and your pal help us finish our experiment?"

Grey senses the attention of everyone in the room on him. "We're not helping you open shit."

"Oh, you're not?"

Zenith motions to touch Grey but the Spellblade at his throat stops him. Around the room there is a furious click of guns but Zenith gestures for them to stop. He spares a glance at Eoin. "I'm sensing some overprotectiveness. May I propose we respect each other's boundaries?"

"If we are to speak of boundaries, I would think very carefully about what that hand does next."

A beat, and then Zenith backs up a step. "I was afraid of this… unwillingness of yours. But your participation is required. Without you, this would just be another waste of time."

"Last time I checked, I kicked your program to the curb. You can't make me do anything."

A grim smile. "How about this. Think back to your days as a trainee. Do you recall your weekly therapy sessions?"

"Yes, but what does that have to do with-"

"Do you remember what happened in those sessions? What actually happened?"

"What are you talking about? I sat down with Dr. Agnew every Wednesday and we-" Grey blinks, confusion clouding him.

"Come now, Spectre. Think."

"I… I can't remember anymore. They're just… gaps in my memory now."

Zenith watches him closely. "Those sessions weren't actually for therapy, were they?"

Eoin, frowning: "What is this man talking about?"

"Do you remember the graveyard?" Zenith is so close that Grey can smell his cologne, his breath. "Do you remember what happens there?"

"No..." the young spy responds, not an answer, but a strangled plea.

Eoin's voice rises with panic. "Grey. What is he trying to do?"

"Naïve little child," Zenith says through gritted teeth. "Did you really think we let you walk out the door, back to your pathetic excuse of a life, without a way to pull you back in?"

Grey's breathing becomes rattled and hard. He's only capable of saying one thing. "Stop."

Zenith looks at Eoin next. "Do you by any chance know what a 'trigger phrase' is? It's a post-hypnotic suggestion. We embed one in all of our operatives. A failsafe contingency, you see. The phrase itself activates an operative's subconscious state. In that state, their minds and bodies have been programmed to execute only one order: kill."

"I said stop!" An angry tear streaks down Grey's face.

"Sometimes it can be a note of music, a combination of certain colors, or even a specific scent. In your case, Spectre, a spoken phrase. We went classic."

Grey grabs Eoin, his grip strong and desperate. "Whatever happens, you have to make sure I don't hurt anyone." Shaking, more tears spill down his face. "You have to stop me. Do you understand?"

"I believe it goes a little something like this," Zenith clears his throat.

"No."

"In the graveyard at midnight…"

"NO!"

"In the graveyard at midnight…"

"STOP!"

With an upturned flick of Zenith's chin, two operatives restrain Grey while a third roughly clamps a hand over his mouth. Eoin tries to intervene but several operatives surround him with guns.

Zenith finally completes the phrase: "In the graveyard at might, a spectre haunts alone."

Grey becomes very still. All emotion and color drain from his tear-stained face. An invisible switch has been pulled. He goes slack.

The operatives pull back, putting as much distance between them and Grey as possible. As the young spy lifts his head and squares his shoulders, Zenith nods in approval.

"You know what to do. Kill your friend here."

Without hesitation, Grey rockets forward and floors Eoin with the hardest punch the demon hunter has ever taken from another human being.

"Eulkyrin's eyes," Eoin spits blood. "Grey, what are you-"

He doesn't have time to finish. He narrowly dodges another strike, then another, and another. Each punch and kick are thrown with all of Grey's weight and strength. Eoin might have more height, reach, and muscle on the younger man, but he's not nearly as agile or quick.

Grey lands a crushing kneecap into Eoin's stomach before pulling himself onto the demon's hunter body and closing his legs around the man's shoulders and neck. Trapping him, Grey wallops Eoin's head with several sharp strikes of his elbow.

The spy's every move is merciless and precise, guided not by thought but pure, lethal instinct.

Zenith breathes in. Relief surges his body. "Finally, we can begin."

And then startled voices and screams erupt from the crowd of operatives. A ghastly figure appears at the room's entrance. At least seven feet tall, it's a monstrous, humanoid wolf covered in dark hair and sporting a mouthful of snarling, pointed teeth.

Silas. Fully transformed. And very, very angry.

Zenith hears Margot's panicked voice behind him. "Is that a fucking werewolf?"

"Dandelion, what do the readings look like?"

"The what-?"

"The temporal fabric readings!" he shouts, losing patience. "Don't ever make me repeat myself again!"

Momentarily blinded by her panic, and the sight of the wolf beast charging through the crowd of operatives like a mad bull, Dandelion reaches for the tablet at her hip. "Level orange, sir. Getting close to red."

"Good," Zenith stares at the air in the room. A faint crackle of energy appears above the maelstrom. He feels it in his bones. The multigate is answering their call. "Nomad, Octave, you two set up the portal stabilizer. Dandelion, make sure everyone does their job."

"Sir, yes sir."

Echelon 7's new director stands back as the operatives execute his orders. He watches the chaos unfold before him. It's a fusion of different choreographies – on one side of the room, his subordinates versus the rampaging werewolf, and on the other, the brainwashed spy versus the overwhelmed demon hunter. At last, he's synthesized the perfect storm of adrenaline, anxiety, and fear, and soon it will prove Zenith's hypothesis correct.

He loves the feeling of being right.

3.

In the abyss of Captain Alpha's mind, he is trapped.

Trapped back on his world, in the ruins of what he was supposed to protect. What was formerly the bustling metropolis of Halcyon City is now a massive crater of fallen buildings and debris obscured in a thick haze of smoke and dust.

Hemlock's kiss has frozen him in place, forcing him to bear witness to this sepulcher of his former world. Everything he's running from, everything he's tried to hide, is scattered among the destruction at his feet.

Beyond this prison of thought, Captain Alpha feels a familiar ripple. The fabric of time-space is straining again, and someone or something is staring out from behind its obsidian mask. The presence casts a shadow over Captain Alpha with an intimate, cruel gaze. Whoever or whatever the presence is, the desperation of its fury is enough to make the superhero catatonic with fear.

The presence is angry. And it's coming closer.

4.

"Grey. Grey! Listen to me - stop!"

Eoin's frustrated pleas are muffled by the repeated kicks, punches, and strikes the brainwashed spy levels against his body. He's never seen Grey like this. It scares him, this hollow shell, this automaton whose only drive is to hurt and kill.

Even with Eoin's considerable strength and stamina, the fight wears heavily on him. He's not used to squaring off with one opponent longer than ten, maybe fifteen seconds. His sense of time has distorted, measured only in punches taken and kicks absorbed.

As their battle wages on, Eoin becomes faintly aware that the Spellblade is quaking with energy. He dares not use it on Grey - it is a weapon suitable only for blocking projectiles or ending a fight with a killing blow. He's not sure how useful it would be anyway given its shuddering movement. Something is happening in the air, both around and above them, and it's provoking the Spellblade like a chemical reaction…

Suddenly, light splits the air above them like a knife wound. The crease widens as energy crackles from within, the color of colorlessness, like the deep sea or the vacuum of space.

The multigate. It's open now.

The thought lasts only a moment until Grey socks him across the jaw. Eoin stumbles backward. The spy pounces, putting all his weight on Eoin's body and gripping his throat. Grey is lithe, but surprisingly compact, and Eoin fights to free himself.

Above them, a maelstrom of energy rages and boils like a furious storm. It's like peering into a giant window in which the other side is a vista of chaos – all non-Euclidean landscapes and constantly morphing shapes.

"Grey," he calls, strangled and desperate. "You asked me before. About who I missed from my world. I said no one. I lied."

Grey's face betrays no emotion, he's still hard set into his programming. But his grip around Eoin's neck stops tightening.

"I... I had a squire," Eoin says, the words bunching uncomfortably at his throat, "His name was Rolf. I loved him. Very much. But he didn't love me back."

A flicker of emotion, faint and smoke-like against the stoniness of Grey's expression. Eoin takes advantage of the distraction to bring his knee hard into Grey's stomach, and then a round punch to the side of his head. All the fight leaves the younger man immediately. The demon hunter shrugs him off and finds his footing again, only to run face first into Werewolf Silas.

"Oh, for Eulkyrin's sake!" is all Eoin can say before the werewolf lunges.

5.

The multigate in the ceiling spits and swirls. Wind picks up in the museum's cavernous space. No one notices at first, but a small screw, knocked loose from a display, rises into the air and disappears into the gate's vast opening like a vacuum cleaner sucking up dust.

After several moments, Grey opens his eyes. His entire body is wracked with pain, especially his throbbing head. He forces himself to sit up. Focus. The last thing he remembers is Zenith, standing next to Eoin, and...

Someone's gun hurtles through the air, nearly missing Grey's face before disappearing up into the multigate. Grey blinks, not quite believing it's real. And then an old vase is sucked up from its display case.

Fuck.

Grey snaps to his feet. He tries to get his bearings, images of a dark graveyard still fogging his head. The operatives in the room – those that haven't already fled – are spread out and panicking. Not because of the increasingly unstable multigate, but the seven-foot werewolf rampaging through them. Eoin is straddled onto Silas' hairy back, trying desperately to bring him to the ground, but the beast bucks and swipes at him.

Fuuuuuuck, Grey thinks again. Okay. Prioritize. Werewolf Silas. No. Seal the gate. Somehow?

At the center of the room sits a box-shaped device tethered to the multigate by way of a blue chain of energy. He vaguely remembers seeing two operatives set it up. He tries to remember what it was called. A stabilizer?

That's gotta be what's keeping the gate open. I have to turn it off...

The other operatives are distracted by Silas – it's the perfect opening. Grey starts for the stabilizer, but the pain lashing his body keeps him from running. He drops to his knees, crawls toward it. Above him, the multigate increases in size, as do the howls of wind bearing down on the room. More objects are being sucked up into the unforgiving maw of energy: shattered glass, sections of velvet rope, some of the lighter chairs...

And if you don't move your ass, you're getting vacuumed into that thing next.

His pace increases. His body shrieks with pain, he wouldn't be surprised if he had bruised organs and internal bleeding, but he ignores it. He's only several feet away, when-

"Little puppet," Zenith tuts at him.

Zenith's boot stamps down on Grey's outstretched hand, making him cry out in agony.

Next, he grabs Grey's collar and brings their faces uncomfortably close together. "I think it's time to tighten those strings again, little puppet. Your knight in rusted armor is still alive and you were never one to leave a job unfinished, were you?" He pauses, licks his lips in anticipation. "In the graveyard at midnight, the spec-"

Grey interrupts him with 50,000 volts into his neck. Zenith flies across the room in a shower of sparks.

"Consider the strings cut."

Summoning what's left of his strength, Grey manages to stand. But he's only a few feet away from the stabilizer when another operative steps in front of him.

Margot.

"Hold on," Grey says with his hands up, "I don't normally like to speak in such black and white terms, because you know, moral ambiguity and shades of grey, no pun intended. But let's think about this practically. Do you pledge loyalty to a shadow program that brainwashed you into submission or do you stop a massive rip in time-space from consuming all reality? It's not what I would call a complicated choice."

Margot's hands tighten around her staff. Briefly, anger flares across her face. Something new replaces it - long hidden pain, surfacing just beyond her model features.

"Zenith has gone too far," Margot says, her voice shaking. "He's fixated on these multigates and what they can do. The directors under him told him he's obsessed, told him how dangerous these experiments have become. But none of us can challenge him. If we do..."

The words sound uncomfortable and awkward out of her mouth. Her first time being honest with him. And perhaps herself.

"You can stop him," Grey says reassuringly.

"You don't get it. I can't do this by myself."

"You're not going to. I promise."

A moment. She nods at him. A truce.

Grey points to the stabilizer at the center of the room. "How does that thing work? It looks like it's been connected to the multigate."

"Once a multigate is open, the stabilizer helps keep it open," Margot explains, "But it can't close the gate."

"What? How did Zenith plan on sealing it back shut?"

Grimly, she looks away. "He didn't."

"Wait, press rewind. Say what?"

"When he said was trying to understand these portals, he didn't mean for their effect on our world. He meant from the inside. He's been trying to open one so he can hitch a ride into it."

"Ah. So, he's... crazy?"

"He thinks there's something on the other side of the gates. He saw it once when he studied a previous multigate. It was some kind of presence, a person, or an energy, I don't know. But he says it's been calling to him, promising him…"

"Promising what?"

Margot steels herself. "To make Zenith a god."

TO BE CONCLUDED IN... GREY MATTER, PART 4 .