Grey Matter, Part 1

1.

Greyson 'Grey' Liu thinks about how he'd describe himself in a police report. He'd say mid-twenties, male, five-foot-ten with perpetually messy black hair, green eyes, and a complexion like that one key on a piano nobody can reach. He unfolds that morning's newspaper, ignoring the headline ('MUSEUM MASS SHOOTING AVERTED BY ANONYMOUS TIPSTERS') and squints at the accompanying photo (Marek, handcuffed in front of a police cruiser). In the background, you can barely make out four figures, standing in the distance like smudges. They're the Blades, but only Grey can tell. He faintly traces his outline - his smudge - and wonders if anyone would be able to recognize him through the photo's haze. Could they see his messy hair, his lanky frame?

Then the bus lurches forward and Grey spills his iced coffee everywhere. Welp, there goes his last two dollars and fifty cents.

"Fucking fuck on a stick," escapes his mouth. Two elderly women up front shoot him icy glares.

Grey leaves at his stop with soaking wet thighs. Thankfully, it's only a block and a quick jog to the magic library. He's still not used to calling it that, but what else can it be called? It's an enchanted building full of books that the Blades use as their headquarters. Eoin, Silas, and Captain Alpha also live there, since filling out a rental application is tough when you're from another universe.

At his approach, the mystical shroud protecting the library parts like a curtain, a process that still makes the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand straight. The shroud doesn't necessarily make the building invisible but it does strongly compel any non-Blade passersby to keep passing by.

The building's interiors are a curious blend of mystical and modern. Some rooms feature domed ceilings and arched doorways, while others favor stark, wall-sized windows with modular furniture. The only commonalities between the spaces are the rows upon rows of books. The collection is vast and surprisingly varied, containing both supernatural tomes and the latest bestsellers. Grey learned a while ago not to think too much about where it all comes from.

"Does anyone have a pair of pants?" Grey calls as he enters from the main doors. The hall continuing from the foyer leads mostly to reading rooms but there are living spaces as well, a dining area, bedrooms, a den, a living room.

"Hello? Pants? Anyone?" He steps into the kitchen where Silas, completely nude, is pouring himself a cup of coffee. "Oh, god! Pants!"

"Hey there, darlin'."

"Silas, we talked about this. The kitchen is not a clothing optional room."

The man yawns, scratches his bare ass. The only thing he's wearing is the elastic band keeping his neck-length, chocolate-colored hair back in a knot. "Hey, I turned hairy last night. Clothes got shredded and I didn't feel like putting new ones on. It's not like I have anything you haven't seen before."

He doesn't think Silas looks bad naked, quite the opposite. His build is hearty and rugged and it would take a lesser person than Grey not to admire the play of muscles under the cowboy's skin. But still. Couldn't there be a time and place for this?

Silas pours Grey his own mug and takes great interest in the newspaper he's holding. "Huh, what do we have here? Nice of the ol' gang to finally get some recognition, even if it looks like we're the size of ants."

"We might want to consider how much recognition we actually want. Or need."

"Pssh. You need to relax, son. You worry too much."

Grey takes a long sip and smiles ruefully. "I'll relax when my debit card doesn't get declined at Starbucks."

"Hah, that why you paid us a visit? Mooch off our coffee supply? I'll have you know I got it under lock and key."

"If I wanted to steal something, it would already be gone. Trust me."

"I'll take your word for it."

"Alph texted me this morning, said I should drop by."

"I forget you and the Captain have those things that talk to each other. Sharp phones?"

"Smartphones."

"Yeah, that's what I said. What'd the Cap want you dropping by for?"

"He said Forward wants to talk to me."

"Ooooh. Sounds like you're in trouble, darlin'."

"Please." Grey tries to roll his eyes, but his fingers rhythmically clink the porcelain mug. Forward makes him nervous. Probably because he still doesn't know what Forward is, exactly. None of the Blades do. "But, um, I don't suppose I could convince you all to join me? The basement gives me the creeps."

"Well, your caped buddy is at work. Just left about an hour ago."

"What about Eoin?"

Silas shrugs his broad shoulders. "Who knows where Mr. Sword 'n Sorcery goes when he's off duty. Doesn't say a word to me unless he wants his eggs over easy." He considers the stove, hands on his bare hips. "Speaking of which, you look like you could use a good breakfast. Your sister ain't feeding you?"

"She buys the groceries but I don't touch them. I can't afford to pay my half right now."

Silas gathers pans and utensils from the cupboards. "But she's your dang sister. Surely that doesn't matter to her."

"No," Grey clinks his mug again, too shy to meet Silas' questioning gaze. "But it matters to me."

"Uh huh. I'm guessing she's just as much of a spitfire as you."

"Trust me, she's the whole volcano."

"Hmm. Let's see if I can remember your usual: eggs scrambled, bacon extra crispy, toast with jam?"

Embarrassed warmth fills Grey's cheeks. People doing things for him is weird. "You really don't have to make me breakfast."

Silas tips the imaginary rim of the hat he's not wearing. "Where I come from, we look after our own."

"Well, can you just do me one favor?" He throws an apron at the naked man before he can respond. "Please put that on when you're frying the bacon."

2.

After breakfast, Grey wanders around some more until he finds Eoin in the courtyard. He's cleaning his sword under the shade of a drooping willow tree. The weather is nice today and he looks right at home in the sun-dappled outdoors. Free of his battle uniform, he wears simple slacks, scuffed leather boots, and an off-white cotton shirt that's laced down the center. His chest is taut and hairy, and lightly sheened with sweat. The sleeve of his good arm is pushed up and Grey can see the thick band of muscle on it, tense with effort. His scarred eyebrow points skyward.

Grey doesn't know the stories behind Eoin's various physical nuances - the scars, the prosthetic left arm that looks like it's made out of Optimus Prime's spare parts - but they all seem to make sense with the man's features, which are chiseled and haunted. Trips to the barber are his one concession to this modern, unmagical world. He keeps his beard trimmed and his hair, the color of honey, short and neat. Rough edges aside, Grey finds him handsome, the way men on Harlequin book covers are. He wouldn't say such a thing to the man, who seems to detest compliments like he's allergic to them.

"What's wrong?" Eoin asks without looking up.

"Why would something be wrong?"

"You only come to see us when something's wrong."

"That's not true." It is true, but he ignores that. "What if I just wanted to, you know, hang out?"

Eoin stops midway down his blade. "Hang out?"

Grey takes a seat by the tree, thankful he waited in the kitchen for his pants to dry. "Didn't people hang out in your world?"

"We had more pressing issues in Zeshaia. Drought. Disease. Harsh weather. Corrupt royals who cared more for riches than the welfare of their people. The blood curses and dragon invasions didn't have too many of us dancing in the streets either, if I recall."

Grey blinks. "No hangouts then."

"No. None."

Talking to Eoin is challenging on a good day, and it drives his other teammates to half-hearted shrugs. Unless they have a mission on the go and there are logistics to discuss, the man is as impenetrable as a mountain. Though Grey hasn't been a Blade for very long, he should still know more about Eoin than his name and former occupation. Shouldn't he?

He clears his throat. "Do you ever miss Zendaya?"

"Zeshaia."

"Right. Sorry."

"You must not have been listening when I was describing that troll's armpit of a world."

"But there's got to be people you miss. Family, friends? A special someone?"

Eoin waits a beat, then goes back to cleaning his sword. Sensing a sore spot, Grey timidly digs around his feet for a stone and then flings it to the nearby pond. It skims the surface only once before sinking.

"Hmm. Well if that wasn't the perfect metaphor for the chat we just had…"

Silence. Grey stares at the unbroken surface of the pond. Perhaps he wishes he was lying face down in it rather than trying to work his way through this conversation. But he's sympathetic to Eoin's gruffness. Being taken from a place you understood and in which you played an intrinsic role, and then abandoned somewhere new and hopelessly confusing would be an enormous burden on anyone, to say the least.

When the quiet stretches too thin for him to bear, Grey sucks in a breath and tries again. "You want to know something funny? When I left Echelon 7 and went back to what everyone called a 'normal life', I just felt… like I wasn't supposed to be here. You know? Like there was some sort of mistake. I spent ten years of my life, all day every day, training to become a human weapon. And then it stopped. And suddenly I'm standing in line to buy milk at Shoppers Drug Mart? It didn't make sense to me. To be honest, sometimes it still doesn't make sense."

Eoin studies the chrome surface of his blade. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I don't know. Maybe I just want to shoot the shit about how disorienting and chaotic life is. I think anyone in Zeshaia would agree."

Eoin grunts in bemusement. "You would confuse and irritate the people of my world."

"Oh, if I had a nickel." The hardness around Eoin's eyes and mouth lifts a little, which Grey finds encouraging. "Did you notice I got the pronunciation right this time?"

"Yes. I noticed."

"Good."

Their eyes meet again. Eoin's are particularly blue in the afternoon light. Grey wonders, not for the first time, if the muted curiosity he feels is mutual.

"Um, so, Forward wants to talk to me about something."

"Hrng. And you don't want to do it alone."

"Jeez, you're awfully perceptive for a man who spends his free time cleaning metal."

"Your fears are misplaced. Forward cannot hurt you. It doesn't even have a body."

"The chorus of eerie disembodied voices aside, it's actually the long staircase down I don't like. It'd be nice to have another set of eyes on me in case, I don't know, a pair of rotting hands suddenly grab my ankles."

Eoin tilts his chin down. "This concern of yours is real?"

"Up until I met you guys, I didn't think werewolves or flying men in capes were real."

"How persistent do you plan on being about this?"

"Very."

"Where is Captain Alpha?"

"At work, that capitalist scum."

"How clothed is Silas at the moment?"

"The opposite of a lot."

Eoin's mouth becomes a flat line. "You've come to me out of sheer desperation, haven't you?"

"Hah," Grey finger-guns an affirmative. "And bingo was his name-o."

3.

Beneath the library is an ancient chamber that can only be accessed by a dark, winding spiral staircase that seems to go on forever and ever. Eoin doesn't like traversing it any more than the other Blades do, but he can be strong about it for Grey's sake. As a demon hunter for hire back in Zeshaia, accompanying a less experienced, more vulnerable partner into a forsaken forest or ruins of a haunted castle was an activity he repeated many times. Keeping his emotions in check for the sake of another gradually became second nature. He does not think the same can be said about Grey, however. The younger man is expressive and mobile, unaware (or unafraid) of the fact that every thought passes visibly across his face. At least those hyper-quick reactions of his came in handy during missions. All the Blades have their strengths, but Grey is by the far the fastest and most agile fighter.

His composure outside of the battlefield, on the other hand…

"Is there a spider crawling down my back? I swear I can feel one."

"There is no such creature on you."

"Blugh. Please don't call it a creature."

"Where I'm from, spiders grow as large as horses. To me they are creatures."

"Quick question. Do you mind switching out with Silas?"

Their bickering continues as their footsteps and voices echo off the cobblestone walls. It really is like stepping into another world down here. Even the scent of the air is different, ancient and earthy. Grey has that strange device of his out, the slim rectangle of dark glass that he constantly taps and occasionally yells at. One side of it glows with light, which he uses to illuminate their downward path.

"Siri, can you play something happy and light? Something that won't make me feel like I'm excavating the tomb of a demon king?"

The dark glass, apparently female, replies in a stilted voice. "Sorry, I didn't get that."

"Demon kings do not have tombs," Eoin says sternly. "Their bodies are eviscerated and devoured by their offspring."

"Noted. Siri, can you note that?"

"Sorry," she answers, "I didn't see anything in your Notes app."

They arrive in the stone chamber, a circular room that wouldn't look out of place in the ancient structures Eoin used to raze for covens and faerie nests. The jagged crystal obelisk at the chamber's center, about as tall and wide as a man, hums with sky-colored light.

"Um, hello. It's me. Reporting for duty," Grey says, saluting with two fingers. He's nervous but trying to hide it. "Sorry I'm late."

"Linear time does not exist to us," says the collection of spectral voices known as Forward. "Therefore, you are not late."

Eoin still can't figure out where the voices come from. There are many, both male- and female-sounding, and they seem to echo within his head rather than emanate from the obelisk. During their first encounter Forward introduced itself as, quote, 'an extradimensional entity tasked with guiding your development as warriors'. As far as explanations went, it was awfully vague, which felt deliberate. Deepening the mystery was the fact that it referred to itself with plural pronouns but insisted - gently, mind - that the Blades refer to it as, well, a singular 'it'. All he really knows is that Forward was responsible for bringing the Blades together and creating this enchanted building as their center of operations.

"You've brought the demon hunter," Forward says neutrally.

"He practically begged to come with me," Grey sighs, then turns and sticks his tongue out. Eoin's eyes flare, but the half-smile tugging the corner of Grey's mouth stops him from saying anything. He's a strange one, that boy.

"We find your presence fortuitous, demon hunter. You can accompany Grey on this task."

Grey's half-smile disappears. "Accompany who on a what?"

"We detect abnormally porous time-space in the location of your previous mission."

Eoin steps forward with a dark expression. "You're not saying the museum is sitting on another multigate?"

"That is what we suspect, demon hunter."

"A which?" Grey asks. "Sorry, I'm like a million miles away right now. What's going on?"

"Allow us to enlighten you. A multigate is a rip in time-space. In effect, they create passageways to other worlds in the multiverse."

"You mean those portals you all came in from?" Grey looks at Eoin, who nods. "Got it. Caught up now. Thanks."

"Your world's time-space is still damaged from the arrivals of your teammates."

"Before you joined us," Eoin began as he circled the obelisk, "The majority of our missions were centered on multigates. Where they were, what came out, and how we might close them."

Grey scratches the back of his head. "Well, it sounds like you guys have more way experience than me. I do the street-level stuff, remember? The spying, the stealing, the backflips. Multigates aren't in my portfolio."

The crystal's light pulses. Angrily, almost. "This Earth is your world, Grey. Every open multigate exposes the fragility of the systems holding your existence in place. As of now, they are in your portfolio."

Grey considers the weight of this, saying nothing. Eoin watches him out of the corner of his eye.

"That said," Forward continues, "This next task is uniquely suited to your skills. You need to look deeper into who hired Marek's company that night and determine what they are after. If they are aware that multigates exist, we have a considerable trial ahead of us."

"I haven't been able to find anything concrete on Marek's benefactor yet, but-"

"Then try harder. The Blades cannot risk the multigates becoming public knowledge. Your people will exploit them, plunging all of time-space into an unending, torturous state of unlife."

It takes Grey a moment to respond. "Okay. Great."

"The connections you have in this world are valuable. Use them to your advantage."

"I would be honored to assist with this task," Eoin says as he draws his shoulders back and subtly puffs out his chest. He catches Grey rolling his eyes.

"Very good, demon hunter. This is sensitive work. You will be the shield at Grey's back."

"Uh, do I get a say in this? Because I can manage a little snooping on my own. No offense."

"Perhaps Forward would be interested in hearing that you would have died during our last mission if I hadn't saved you," Eoin remarks, every word pointed and tight.

"Forward would not be interested in hearing that," Grey volleys back, "because it's not true."

"It is entirely true."

"It's an exaggeration of the truth."

If an extradimensional entity is at all capable of clearing its throat, Forward manages an approximation of it. "If that is all, Blades, consider this task assigned."

The glow disappears from the crystal, stranding the pair in the chamber's dull darkness.

4.

Here we go again, Grey thinks as he charges down the busy downtown street. Another day of being treated like he's not capable. Like he's the team's kid brother. Blurgh.

Eoin follows at his heel like a guard dog. Grey at least managed to coax him out of that Renaissance-y shirt and into a Henley, dark sunglasses, and leather jacket. The magic library is stocked with 'normal guy' clothes for occasions when the Blades have to be inconspicuous, but it usually takes some cajoling on Grey's part to get them appropriately dressed.

"At least tell me who they are," Eoin says as they weave through the sidewalk traffic.

Grey raises a finger. "Let's get one thing clear. You're not going to talk to them. You're not even going to look at them. The only thing you're doing is sitting as far away as possible and sipping a cappuccino. Okay?"

"That was actually three things. Four if you include the cappuccino."

"And now he's a comedian."

"I am not here to partake in social niceties. I am keeping you safe. And I must know who you'll be speaking with before we go into that café."

Grey stops, breathes, squares his shoulders. "Alright, listen. I'm meeting two of my former colleagues from Echelon 7. Mateo and Margot, twins. My age. They're civilians now but they still have roots in the intelligence community. I think. It's been a while since we talked."

"They'll know who hired Marek and his company?"

"Probably not. But I'm working blind right now and they were the biggest gossips of everyone I trained with. I might get a few leads out of them. Better than nothing, right?"

"How dangerous are these twins?"

"Mateo runs a vape startup and Margot is an Instagram influencer. I know those words don't make any sense to you, but trust me, they're not dangerous. You might as well have stayed home."

They resume their path toward the café. Grey's a little less tense now, but the feeling of being infantilized by his own teammates still gnaws at him. He tells himself to let it go for now. Can't let a bad mood ruin his focus.

"Tell me more about this Echelon 7," Eoin says behind him. Smartly, he's keeping his distance. "You've mentioned it before."

"Do you want the short or long explanation?"

"Tell me everything you can."

"It was a top-secret black ops project that turned teenagers into the deadliest covert field operatives on North American soil. They trained us in all flavors of espionage: stealth, surveillance, infiltration, theft, information security breaching. We learned how to render men unconscious barehanded and without a sound. It was co-run by American and Canadian intelligence entities but both countries will deny it ever existed. It was shuttered five years ago."

Eoin looks at him. "And the short explanation?"

"Spy school."

"Your own country did this with adolescents? Why?"

"Because we were old enough to understand discipline and young enough that no one would suspect what we really were." If there is pain in his voice, he hopes he's the only one to hear it. Eoin remains silent the rest of the way.

They arrive at the café and, after a renewed bout of bickering, Eoin grudgingly takes a seat at the far edge of the room while Grey commandeers an empty table near the entrance.

The twins enter not long after; Mateo all angular and handsome with a fresh fade and a tailored blazer, and Margot in a summery dress, expensive boots, and a curtain of shiny, auburn hair. They are not precisely identical, being fraternal siblings, but they are synchronized in a way that Grey and his older sister Thea have never been. The duo could be a bit much at times during their spy days, but he was lacking for companions and they found him amusing enough, and so they fostered an unlikely friendship.

After a round of hugs, hellos, and how are yous, Grey wonders how to bring up the business with the museum and Marek's company. Ease into it first? Or just bluntly ask? Margot, always the chatterbox, makes the decision for him.

"This is so weird seeing you again. Weird but great. You're super cute. You really grew into your face."

"Uh, thanks. Listen, I-"

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

"Not right now, but-"

"Mateo and I know this super handsome sales exec. He's into younger guys."

"I'm not really looking for-"

"Ugh, Grey, I love this. Don't you love this? Your text was such good timing. I've been thinking, lately-"

Mateo nudges her, his grin easy and lopsided. "Forgive her, she's new to this kind of thing."

"Shush! I mean that I've been wanting to reminisce about our Echelon 7 days. Remember those god awful call signs they gave us?"

"I sure do, Dandelion," her brother replies. He prods her nose with his finger, which she slaps away.

"Oh please, Kestrel. I don't even know what a Kestrel is."

"It's a hunting bird," Grey says. It's the first sentence he's managed to finish.

"Thanks, Spectre," Mateo arches an eyebrow, forcing Grey to recall the blush of humiliating attraction he felt when they first met. It wasn't reciprocated. "Man, that call sign was badass. How did you end up with it?"

Margot sighs, her voice light with appreciation. "Because his enemies never saw him coming. Isn't that right, Spectre?"

Memories of gymnastics and fight training flicker by. Grey shakes them off and hopes his laugh sounds sincere. He tries easing back into his original topic, but Margot again plows through before he can form the words.

"Not to be that girl, but do you have an Instagram? We should follow each other. I have a lot of gay followers."

"That's, um, nice-"

"Hey, you smoke, man?" Mateo interrupts, "I don't know if you heard, but Vapefully Yours is really taking off. I could hook you up."

"No one cares about Vapefully Yours," Margot says, her smile still alarmingly sunny, "Grey, here, get out your phone. My handle is m-a-r, underscore-"

"More people care about my business than you hawking diet pills for a couple of hundred bucks, okay?"

Margot's disposition curdles. "They're not diet pills, they're appetite suppressants."

"So?"

"So, they're GMO free!"

Right, Grey thinks. He'll do this the direct way. He drops that day's newspaper onto the table. The twins snap to it in perfect unison.

"Huh," Mateo says after a beat, "Do people still read newspapers?"

"Do either of you know anything about this?"

"Oh, I know, right?" Margot's amber eyes go wide as she clutches her chest. "The Royal Ontario Museum was almost blown up with all those people in it. So scary. I posted about it this morning. See?"

She holds up her phone, which displays a heavily filtered picture of Margot in a sports bra sipping a bottled green juice. Under the caption 'Thoughts & prayers :(:(:(' is a like count that notches over one hundred thousand.

Grey drops the volume of his voice. "No, I mean, have you heard any whispers about who was behind the attack?"

"It's all there in the article, isn't it?" Mateo squints at the page. "Marek Ranskahov, notorious criminal and mercenary leader, Russian as fuck, blah blah. Looks like they finally nailed his ass."

Grey shakes his head. "Marek and his crew didn't orchestrate the attack. They were hired hands."

"Hired by who?" Margot says a little stiffly. She tosses a glance to her brother, who only shrugs.

Grey can't help but feel a little deflated. "Exactly what I want to know."

"Sorry bud, but we've been out of the spy game since Echelon 7 was decommed." Mateo drums his fingers against the table and notices the menu for the first time. "Hey, they've got affogato here."

"Why are you curious about this anyway?" Margot asks without looking up from her phone.

Grey watches both siblings carefully. Why do they now seem so distracted?

"Yeah, man. I thought you were a civvie. Hmm, a café romano sounds good."

Margot's perfectly plucked brows shoot to the ceiling. "Wait, don't tell me you became a free agent. That field's crowded enough as it is."

"No," Grey starts, but finds it inexplicably difficult to come up with a cover. He can't tell the twins about the Blades and the magic library and the talking crystal. He was good at this sort of thing as a trainee, but now he's woefully out of practice. "I'm just, you know, helping out with a criminal research project."

The twins' gazes briefly meet each other. "Sounds pretty dark for a research project, bud. You might be in over your head."

"Right? Stress isn't good for your immune system," Margot adds.

"Sorry we can't help you out."

"Yeah, I feel bad. Like that time my followers called me out on getting cornrows."

Grey hides his disappointment behind a lame smile. "It was kind of a longshot, anyway. But thanks."

"No prob," chirps Margot, "But really, whatever this is about? You should drop it, Grey. It could be like, dangerous, or something."

"Yeah, man. Poking at this kind of stuff was fine when we all had Kevlar stealth suits and smoke bombs, but that was years ago. We're not about that life anymore. Move on."

"Mmhm. Yeah. Move on."

"Seriously," Mateo intones. "Move on."

The humor and warmth in their expressions vanish. There's something stiff and strange about the twins now, like they're holding back something that they're also eager to share. Grey suddenly feels the need to get out of the café as quickly as possible.

"Well, a lot to think about. I'll... definitely... consider… your advice. Thanks! Great seeing you two again. Gotta skedaddle." His attempt to stand up is stopped dead by the sound of a metal click. He understands, immediately, that Mateo is pointing a gun at him from underneath the table.

"Actually," Mateo says flatly, "Why don't you stay."

"Yes," his sister agrees with an equally lifeless voice. "I think it's time we all started telling the truth. Don't you, Spectre?"