G22: Avalon

[The Ghost Writer]

Table of Contents

1 – Moms are Tough
2 - The Alliance
3 - The Escape
4 - Blood of the Innocent
5 - Growing Pains
6 - Human Nature *
7 - Regrets
8 - A Captain's Call to Arms
9 - Under the Veil

Asterisks designate chapters that include author commentary at the end of the post. Readers can automatically unlock the hidden commentary by posting comments in this thread.

Previously…

The world has just seen the end of another cold war between the west and east. With the global economy crippled and armistice declared in every country, a secret organization, calling itself G22, patiently sits and watches as the global security they have tried to construct for so long through espionage, leaking of information to both sides of conflicts, and assassination, finally begins to produce benefits. But the two leaders of the organization, the acting director known only by a codename, Albatross, and his twin brother, Arcades, find themselves in disagreement about the future. Arcades argues that G22 should take up a more active role as the world police, making themselves known to the populace, and remove the veil they have used to keep them a secret for so long. Albatross, on the other hand, believes it is best to remain unknown to the world, and continue to carry on the legacy of their fathers and grandfathers; as the codename Albatross is only passed down through a bloodline.

Arcades, jealous of his brother’s power, resentful of his decisions, and furious that he wants to return to a mysterious island called Caligo that he had disappeared to for nearly fifteen years a decade ago, murders Albatross in cold blood. The execution is witnessed by two individuals that have worked under Albatross’ command for years; Lieutenant Captain Selma Granger, a deadly G22 commando, and Christopher Miles, a “shadow agent” that specializes in the arts of espionage and sabotage. Together, these two form an alliance and agree to avenge Albatross’ death, but before they can do anything, Arcades uses advanced medical practice and alters his face using bionano technology within a matter of minutes to look exactly like his twin. The only difference in the twins that the drastic transformation was unable to fix, was the different eye colors. Albatross had cerulean irises, and Arcades was unable to alter his own silver irises.

Selma and Chris know that the only way to convince G22 officials to investigate their masquerading leader is to find the only two legitimate sons of Albatross; whom he pleaded Arcades to spare before he was murdered. The two live on the uncharted island that Albatross had ended up on fifteen years ago when his private jet had suddenly vanished over the Bermuda Triangle. According to a journal entry, among several discovered by Miles’ own investigations into his disappearance, he had given the island the codename “Avalon”, because it is, and has apparently always been, shrouded in a mysterious fog and abnormal storm that stretches for several nautical miles all around the landmass, eerily similar to the fabled island in the Arthurian legends.

After stealing a state-of-the-art stealth bomber from a G22 hangar, the two fly at high speeds across the ocean and penetrate the storm unaffected. They land safely under the canopies of trees, surrounded by an eternal fog and mist. There, Miles discovers a strange signal wave all around the island that seems to disrupt the jet’s scanners. He uses G22’s incredibly advanced A.I. system, Computer Handler Assistant (CHASSI), to detect the signal’s origins and decrypt its purpose. As they travel across the island to find a technologically-advanced civilization of natives, they meet a strange friend that is also, apparently, dead.

In the island’s capital city, Phasmoenia, they manage to locate Malek and Aaron, Albatross’ sons, and his widow, Teresa, a native to Caligo. There, they come into contact with two more strange entities of the island. These creatures, called shades, act as counterparts to the natives and take the form of one of three types: Grimalkins, Bownytes, and Inklaws.

After Malek, the oldest of the brothers, agrees to assume his father’s codename and set things straight with G22 (much to his younger brother’s disagreement out of resentment towards his father’s abandonment of them fifteen years ago), the friends are attacked by G22 commandos and chased through the city. Among her pursuers is Selma’s former supervisor and love-interest, Captain “Galahad” Tyrone, whose team chases the protagonists to the edge of a cliff outside the city.

It is the romantic affections so briefly shared between them, before their world was shaken by Albatross’ murder, which forces Galahad to hesitate before carrying out orders to kill Selma. When a fellow commando notices his hesitation, he deliberately fires upon Selma, forcing her to dive backward off the cliff. Other than simply carrying out orders for Selma’s elimination, the commandos are tasked with capturing Malek, Aaron, and Chris. The boys are separated from their shades upon being taken hostage by a separate team of commandos that deviously and silently waited for their opportunity to apprehend them in the mist.

Selma survives the attack on her at the cliff, dangling from the face below, and climbs back up to the surface with the aide of Charlie, the ghostly (literally) friend they had met after their arrival on the island. Chris, on the other hand, wakes up days later in a cell deep within a G22 installation and is offered his title as a shadow agent back by Arcades, but on one condition. Succumbing to the threat that Arcades will kill the two boys if Chris refuses to cooperate, the shadow reveals the purpose of the island’s mysterious signal that CHASSI had decrypted shortly before the attack by the commandos.

Now, Caligo’s future lies in the ominous shadow of G22; and does an enemy from their past return? Selma, Chris, and Albatross’ sons are their only hope. Arcades already has the key to their undoing, and is prepared to act on that opportunity as soon as possible. The playing field is about to be leveled, and Caligo will have to learn how to quickly adapt to the cruelty of war before they lose everything they hold close to them. Will their fabled “gods”, however, hear their prayers? Find out by reading the second part of this thrilling story, G22: Avalon.

From the Author

Just as in G22: Unclassified, I'm allowing commentary in this thread. The table of contents will provide links to all available chapters so you can skip directly to them should you choose to bypass comments from other readers or skip through longer chapters. As in the first part, the Epilogue will be "classified", kept secret with Hide BBC tags, and can only be unlocked at the end of the story if you have posted a comment in this thread.

Hopefully, G22: Avalon will progress at a faster rate since the entire plot is now completely planned out on the following:

-Napkins
-GIMP
-Laptop
-All-weather notepad (I highly recommend everyone gets one of these, they're freaking awesome!)
-On the bottom of a Dr. Pepper can with permanent marker
-Verbally spewed out onto a patient coworker of mine, who has supported me and offered several very good ideas since the beginning (Thanks, Daniel!)

[The Ghost Writer]

Moms are Tough
Thirty Days Prior…

A battered and exhausted Selma staggers through the thick fog of Caligo, following her ever optimistic tour guide, Charlie. Humming to the tune of some folk song, the ghost uses aura as the commando’s beacon of light in the strange, eternal shroud of secrets. It wasn’t long before they heard the sound of something approaching. To Selma, it was foreign, but definitely a machine. Charlie looked back and said, “This i’ where I leave off, lovey! Good luck!”

Selma, surprised by Charlie’s sudden goodbye, yelled after him as he disappeared into the mists. “Hey! Charlie!? What do you mean?!” She attempted to chase after him, but she was too exhausted and the absence of her strength from the climb up the cliff that was supposed to deliver her fate prevented her from barely breaking to a slight jog. The sound of the strange machine grew louder and closer, and then she saw the bright lights of whatever it was pierce through the fog where the friendly ghost had been standing merely seconds ago. It was a small, open-top hover craft with several occupants on board. They were Caligoans, according to the presence of their shades and their glowing, colorful eyes. Three men, dressed in gray uniforms with black armbands bearing strange symbols, appearing to be hieroglyphs of some kind, were seating on the craft. Among them was a familiar woman, one stricken with worry and concern upon seeing Selma… and only Selma.

“Where are they?” was all that Teresa could muster from her quivering lips.

Selma looked away and down at the dew-covered grass of the field she was wondering in, only saying after several seconds, “I’m sorry. They were captured. Chris along with them.”

The grief-stricken mother did not panic, nor did she burst out in tears or even so much as mutter a word. She nearly placed a clenched fist to her lips and struggle to hold back the tears that Selma knew had every right to flow. The man appearing to be piloting the strange, low-altitude hover craft looked over at the foreigner and asked, “Are you Selma?”

“Yes.”

The other two and their shades leaped down from the craft and took up positions both in front and behind Selma at tactical angels. Strapped around their waists were utility belts of different pouches and what appeared to be holster for a strange weapon. Both men looked tough, and their stances and positions showed the commando that they were well trained and experienced fighters. Defending herself in her current state would be futile, and their shades, both dog-like creatures with silver horns in between both of their ears, would no doubt tear her to pieces within seconds. “Under the jurisdiction of the district of Phasmoenia,” the pilot said, “you are being placed under arrest by the Caligo Security Force for unauthorized arrival, provocation of violent conflict, and disturbance of the peace.”

Selma Granger, a former M15 operative, Lieutenant Captain, and highly trained commando under the direct authority and contractual employment of a secret organization unknown to the world, raises both hands in surrender. “Alright, love,” she said, her Irish accent providing a genuine and calming confirmation, “I’ll go quietly. Just be gentle, alright? My arms are a little sore right now from climbing up your damn cliff.”


Four gray walls with an unbroken bar of cyan light midway up surrounded a chrome table, with similar cyan light bars on each edge, and two chairs on either side of the table. Each chair was occupied, one by Selma, and the other by the uniformed policeman questioning her. The commando’s prying for information every now and then throughout the conversation had revealed the man’s name was Felix, he worked for a defensive military branch called the Caligo Security Force, and that he, ironically, wasn’t fan of seafood even though he was born and raised on an uncharted island.

Selma had been explaining to Felix everything; starting with the fact that she formerly worked for an organization called G22, and ending with her jumping off a cliff backward, only to defy her pursuers into thinking it was her demise, and then being picked up an hour later by her buddies in gray tights and their vicious dog-like shades. “They’re called Bownytes, ma’am,” he said after her careless description of them. “And this is all quite a fucking mess you’ve caused, I hope you know that.”

“I do know that,” Selma said, her eyes full of resentment. “And I’m sorry. But coming here was our only choice. Otherwise, Caligo would have met even worse fate.”

Felix seemed a little more interested now. “And what fate would that have been?”

“That you would have never seen G22 coming. Arcades already plans in mind for this island, and they wouldn’t have been pretty. At least, this way, you can be prepared for his assault. You’re obviously militarized, so you should be able to prevent any preemptive strike. And with the fact that you have these shades at your side, you’re unstoppable.”

The man rested his chin on two interlocked hands and studied the foreigner for several moments. Finally, he spoke. “You’ve brought a foreign military power to our island, put an entire decade of peace at the mercy of a conspiracy that has nothing to do with us-”

“-It has everything to do with you,” Selma interrupted, correcting him.

“-and placed innocent civilians in danger through a firefight in our city; making buildings as targets as you leaped to and from them. Not to mention, you deliberately two children in harm’s way and failed to protect them. I’ve got a poor mother sitting in the other room, worried sick about her two sons, the same two sons that have been kidnapped by your former employers.” He paused and stared directly into Selma’s eyes. “Give me one damn good reason I should trust you.”

The commando simply stared at him with a shocked expression on her face. Her eyes showed bewilderment and her mouth was agape in awe. Eventually, she replied, “Boy, you don’t do this interrogation thing much, do you? When does the bad cop come in to slap me around a bit?”

Before Felix nearly lost his temper with her, the door behind him hissed and slid open. Another uniformed officer was standing in the threshold, beckoning his partner to come out and have a word with him. Felix did so and got up to leave Selma in the room by herself. Minutes later, the door reopened and she was surprised to find Teresa entering and closing the door behind her. She sat down in front of Selma, not bothering to pay her any look.

“I don’t have much time,” she whispered. “I’m not even allowed to be in here right now, and I’m sure they’ll come escort me out when they see me talking to you. But I have to ask…” She looked up at Selma and to the commando’s surprise, there were no tears in her eyes. In fact, it appeared that she had never let the water works flow at all sense learning of her sons’ capture. “If I convince them to release you, will you bring my boys home?”

Selma had already deciding she would be doing just that, from the very beginning when she chose to jump off the cliff. As a matter of fact, before she had made that rash decision, she convinced Terus and Adyna, the boys’ shades, that she would come and find them at their home later and devise a plan to extract them from G22. The commando knew that Arcades wanted them alive for something, the same goes for Chris. It would have been pointless to fight two teams of commandos, with falcons to boot, then. In agreement, the shades took off into the fog, knowing they were not targets of the commandos, and Selma through herself over the edge of the cliff to fake her death so she would have a chance at escaping the fate of being shot. She was going to get Malek and Aaron back, no matter the cost. They were the key to undoing Arcades’ treachery.

“There is no question about it, ma’am,” Selma said. “I’ll bring them home. We’ll put an end to this chaos; you have my word.”

The door hissed and opened again. Felix came storming into the interrogation room with an angry look. “Mrs. Nguyen,” he said.

Teresa, without looking at the man, shot up from her seat and snapped back. “That’s Miss Nguyen, officer.”

To Selma’s amusement, Felix was taken aback and instantly appeared to regret his address to her. “Sorry, ma’am; but, I’ll have to ask you to leave the room. You’re not authorized to-”

“-I was just on my out. I believe you and I need to talk, anyway.” Teresa slipped a wink to Selma, who sat back in her chair and crossed her legs. Felix, confused as to what was now going on, simply stood out of the way as Teresa walked out of the interrogation room. He scratched the back of his head and gave one last look of suspicion towards the foreigner sitting across the table from him.

All Selma could do in response to his glare was smile and offer a teasing wave. “Moms sure are tough, aren’t they?” she asked rhetorically.

[The Ghost Writer]

The Alliance
Thirty Days Prior…

The man in the charcoal suit slammed a clenched fist down on the head of the glass conference table. A bead of sweat trickled down from his brow and stopped midway across his jaw line. When his anger had been exhausted through his heavy, short breaths he used his other hand to wipe away the annoying bead. And then he spoke. “God dammit, Theodore. How many times must I say this until it finally breaches through that thick skull of yours?! The war with the Caligoans is over. We lost. I’m not risking another man’s life and according to the treaty we signed with them, they’re expecting the same ultimatum; peace!”

The man he was speaking to, sitting directly across from him on the other end of the conference table, far down the room, was Theodore McMillan. He was a bold and ambitious man; the very man that was – until recently – in charge of all paramilitary operations within and around the secret organization known as Blue Trinity. Patiently, the man leaned back in his chair and placed two clasped hands over his ankle, which was crossed over and resting on his other leg. “Mr. Gambit,” he replied, speaking to the CEO of Blue Trinity, Malcolm Gambit, “believe me when I say that I realize we have been defeated.” Malcolm continued to give him an icy stare; one of disbelief and aggravation. “But I am not a man to fall of a bike and just sit around on my bum as if I could never ride that bike again. You and I know very well what the indigenous population – these… Caligoans – are capable of. And we also know now that the connection they have with their beasts is very… fragile. We have learned a great deal with our past encounters with them for the last fifty years-”

“-And yet we still know so very little, Theodore,” Malcolm hissed.

Theodore simply sat and boldly gave him an ‘are you finished?’ look before proceeding. “From we do know,” he said, raising an index finger in the air to symbolize he was about to make a presentation – as he always did when he spoke, “aside from the unexplainable creatures they call ‘Shades’, the indigenous people rely very heavily on technology they know little about. Much of the technology we have observed them using on a daily basis from our intelligence reports and reconnaissance teams, is useful for only everyday tasks – such as cleaning, cooking, and learning even. Before we arrived on their shores back in the late nineties, they had absolutely no idea about national defense or even how to use the weapons they have acquired from their ruins. By the end of the war, they obviously understood how much of what they had forgotten about worked. It is because of this that I plead Blue Trinity to continue the expedition in Caligo.”

“So you can help them unlock more of their ancient technology to use against us?” Theodore crossed his arms over his chest and gave a look of completely disappointment to Theodore. “Why on earth would you suggest such a thing?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Theodore snapped, insisting through a look yet again that Malcolm should simply shut up and let him finish explaining. “It’s that technology that has me worried most right now. We have pulled every team we had on that island right out; all eyes, all ears, every asset that we possibly had is now useless to us. We had given them the incentive and motive to unlock their past and that could lead to dire consequences very quickly. God knows what else is buried on that island, Malcolm… and I’d hate to be the one at the end… holding the smoking gun.”

The rest of the room, Blue Trinity’s Board of Directors, turned from looking at Theodore with expressions of disagreement, to looking at Malcolm with total worry. He was right, they thought. What if the Caligoans had more on that island; something could pose a threat to more than just Blue Trinity’s little research experiments?

“And what is your proposal?” Malcolm asked after a while. “What if I were to give command of BT’s paramilitary resources again? What would you do? Launch another invasion and watch as more men are lead to their slaughter?”

“No.” Theodore glanced down at the edge of the table and smiled. It was one of those cunning, devilish smiles that a child normally conjured before launching his most deviating prank of his childhood. “We enlist some help… and fight fire with fire.”

“What?” Malcolm leaned over the edge of the table, curious, but greatly confused.

“Your predecessors, Mr. Gambit weren’t so naïve. Did you honestly think that Blue Trinity was the only secret organization not held accountable for their actions by any government entity?”

“I’ve heard stories. But let’s not delve into rumors and put up posters calling out for a miracle.”

Theodore reached in his inside jacket pocket and then turned a closed fist to hovering just inches above the glass conference table. He then cocked his arm back and swung it forward, throwing an object that gleaned with silver sparkles under the ceiling lights. It bounced a few times off the glass, ticking and tacking like the sound of metal. When it stopped bouncing, it slid, grinding and scratching against the surface until it stopped just short of Malcolm’s torso, touching the edge of the table. “Bravo to myself, I must say,” Theodore said, a slight chuckle under his breath. “How many points is that now for not going off the table?”

Malcolm picked up what Theodore had tossed to him. The whole room could now see that it was a coin; but slightly larger than the average currency. When Malcolm weighed it in his palm, it was heavy; probably made of silver, but it looked a little too tan to be that. Platinum maybe? Yes, Malcolm was sure it was a platinum coin. On either face was the same symbol, a triangle within another triangle. The tips of the larger and outer shape continued off from the body, and it appeared that each side never made contact with the other; instead, only mimicking as if it was placed up against mirrors. The inner triangle was complete, and small enough to fit in the void created by its larger and broken brother. “What is this?”

“That coin bears the symbol of another organization; much like ours,” Theodore said. “It’s also a calling card. You see the inner triangle there - by the way, the organization likes to refer to it as a Tetragrammaton? Press down on it with your thumb until your fill a click.”

Malcolm gave Theodore a puzzled look; simply staring at him across the room as if he were nuts. He half expected the coin to shock if he followed through, like some toy out of a joke store. But Theodore gave an affirming, and oddly serious, nod. So he pressed his thumb against the cold face of the inner Tetragrammaton. As soon as he though nothing was going to happen, he felt and heard the faint click inside the coin.

Theodore only sat in his chair – leg still crossed over the other, hands still resting gently over his ankle – and smiled that same mischievous grin.

Present Day…

The roof of his mouth was as dry as a bone, and his lips were so cracked that he could taste blood when he tried to use what saliva he had left to keep them moist. Malek and his younger brother, Aaron, had been there for days, or perhaps well over a week; kept as their pets for science experiments. They thought it was the infamous Blue Trinity, an outsider organization that they thought had become peaceful after the war, that had captured them. It wasn’t long until Malek had discovered a disturbing truth. While Blue Trinity seemed to be in control of them, it was another entity that had performed the kidnapping. It was also this new entity that was currently interrogating them. They were far more direct than what Caligo’s old rival had ever been; bold and cunning at the same time.

Malek’s wrists were clamped and shackled in some kind of metallic cuffs, suspended by a powerful magnet above them. He was dangling like a rag doll, and his brother was right next to him, stuck in the same unbearable position, in the same exhausted and drained state. “Aaron?”

“Yeah?” his brother whispered back, keeping his head lowered to the ground.

Aaron stole a quick glance at his younger brother. His heavy eyes had been zapped of his childhood, and he knew that he would never be the same again if they made it out of this miserable place. “Hang in there, okay buddy. Just hang in there. They’re coming for us; I know they are.”

His brother gave no reply.

---

As soon as Ronen darted into the observation room his eyes began scanning hastily for his estranged colleague. They finally zeroed in on him filling up a glass of with an unlabeled bottle. Angry, he appeared at the man’s side before he ever knew that Ronen was there and slapped the glass onto the ground, making it clear – with his hands on his hips – that he was not in a good mood. The glass had slammed to the floor and shattered into dozens of pieces, sliding in every direction across the chrome-plated floor.

“For heaven’s sake, Mendoza,” Ronen exclaimed, “they’re just kids! How long do you plan to keep this going?!”

Dr. Emilio Mendoza raised a finger to his lips, gazing gently into Arthur Ronen’s scowling eyes, let out a faint shhhh. “Mr. Ronen,” he said in a near whisper, “you should learn to be more calm. Such negativity is bad for the air. It’s like a virus; it spreads uncontrollably from one individual to the next. Why do you think the world despises politicians so much?”

“That doesn’t answer my question, old man.”

“I plan to keep the young Caligoans under intense interrogation until G22 gets what they were hired for.” Mendoza began to pour what was left in the water bottle down a drain on the nearby counter. “Such a waste,” he said to himself, but loud enough for Ronen to hear.

“Don’t play games me, doc,” Ronen snapped. “You’ve had them in there for nearly nine days with little food or sleep and they haven’t been able to tell us anything that we can use.”

Mendoza stopped pouring the water into the drain, tilting the bottle back slightly, and turned to reveal a single, surprised eye towards Ronen. The look reminded him of Edgar Allan Poe’s The Beating Heart and his old character’s eye that the narrator couldn’t stand. “Why, Mr. Ronen,” he said, “G22 isn’t looking for information. They want their Shades. Each Caligoan’s Shade cannot survive long without their human counter-part close to them. The longer these two are away from their Shades, the more desperate the creatures will be to find them. And when they come…”

Ronen was completely confused. His superiors never said anything about capturing Shades. According to the intelligence received from BT’s archives, Shades were incredibly dangerous to deal with and it was recommended to simply kill them rather than abduct them. “What on earth does G22 want with Shades?” he asked, scratching the back of his head.

Twenty-Eight Days Prior…

The white-walled room was exceptionally quiet. There was no sound of air conditioning, outside weather conditions, or even the usually audible mumbles of individuals lingering about elsewhere in the facility. If one could describe white noise, it would be this room. Only the sounds of Theodore, readjusting in the leather chair, could be heard. Across from the two gentlemen, being Theodore and Malcolm, was a large glass rectangle standing up on the floor. It was no more than two inches thick, about seven feet high and probably nine feet long. It looked like a window without walls to hold it, just sitting there in the middle of the room. The two Blue Trinity higher-ups had been in the room for no more than two minutes when the giant glass panel sprung to life with an array of colors. Within seconds, the colors formed a fuzzy picture, and the fuzzy picture formed a room in the background. In the foreground, directly in front of what was obviously a camera projecting live feed, was a man with short-cut brown hair, silver eyes, wearing gray uniform jacket with a black undershirt around the neck. Malcolm and Theodore weren’t too sure what to say.

The man on the screen spoke first to break the silence. “Gentlemen, it’s a pleasure to finally see you.” Theodore and Malcolm simply exchanged odd looks. “I apologize,” the man went on, “for not being able to meet you in person. It’s standard G22 protocol. There are times, of course, that I like to bend the rules; but since we’re dealing with such a delicate situation is such delicate times, my advisors recommend that I stay where I’m at for now.”

“So,” Malcolm began, leaning forward a bit in his chair, “you must be the man that my Director of Paramilitary Operations, here, told me about.”

“Yes,” the man replied. “You can call me Albatross. I’m the leader of the G22 intelligence and special task force organization. Like Blue Trinity, G22 is an organization that is kept out of America’s playbooks. Where you specialize in research and engineering, we specialize in weapons technology and intelligence gathering.”

“So G22 is an American organization, like us?” Malcolm asked to confirm.

“It’s a deniable organization under the U.S. government, yes,” Albatross said, “but it’s comprised of former intelligence and special operations members from around the world. We have both former CIA, KGB, NSA, GIGN, and even Spetznaz operatives under our umbrella.”

“And how has G22 managed to stay out from under the radar for so long?” Malcolm was already intrigued with the organization and wanted to see how much information he could personally attain from speaking with their leader himself.

“My organization has extensive funding, Mr. Gambit. I don’t mean to sound competitive, but G22’s resource stockpile far exceeds Blue Trinity’s.” There was a moment’s pause and awkward silence, but Albatross broke it by saying, “But let’s stop discussing G22 and start talking about the mission you need our assistance with.”

Theodore noticed that Malcolm’s apparent frustration with Albatross’ blunt boasting was preventing him from speaking, so he took the initiative and spoke for him. “Albatross,” he began, “how much do you know about the island called Caligo?”

“I’m assuming you’re talking about the little archipelago in the Bermuda Triangle, correct?”

“So you know that there’s more than just the main island out there?”

“That’s correct,” Albatross nodded. “Our thermal satellite scans have detected not only several small islands with dense vegetation, very closely assimilated to the main land mass out there, but also what appears to be complex infrastructure. My organization discovered the oddity back after the new millennium, when we had lost contact with several of our stealth aircraft en route through that area of the Triangle. Further investigation revealed what we know today. We are also aware that your organization has launched several expeditions on and around the islands – mostly the inner-most island – and had even initiated a private war.”

Malcolm’s face look contorted with surprise. “How did you know about that?!” he asked, trying his absolute best to remain calm and refrain from blurting it out.

“As I said, Mr. Gambit,” Albatross replied with a look of disappointment, “G22 specializes in intelligence gathering. We are an evolving hub of information with covert links to server farms all across the globe. If you’d like, to prove it to you, I can provide a dossier on each member of your board of directors.”

Theodore quickly changed the direction of the conversation to avoid any more confrontation. “Albatross, Blue Trinity needs your help with another expedition on Caligo. If you’re intelligence archives contain the same information as ours on the island and the indigenous population, then you are no doubt aware of their advanced, yet ancient technology. They used it to defeat us in that private war you know about, and I fear that we’ve given them the incentive to unlock more of their past.”

“You fear they have a weapon of mass destruction hidden on the island, yes?”

“That’s correct, sir. Now Blue Trinity has exhausted nearly all of our resources on trying to defeat the Caligoans and disassembling their technology and weapons, but we have failed, and I’ll be the first to admit that. However, you and I have worked with each other in the past, and I’m well aware that G22 has some surprising tricks up their sleeve; tricks that, I believe, can turn the tables in our favor.”

Albatross thought for a moment, taking his time to consider his options. Theodore knew that Albatross would ask for nothing in return. He may be an arrogant son of a bitch, but he was bound by a personal moral law to do what was best for the world; even if that meant bending the rules, which he had a knack for doing quite often. “Very well, “Albatross announced. “G22 will assist Blue Trinity in the renewed expedition. But you must understand that whatever decision I make is not to be argued with. Is that understood?”

“Of course, sir,” Theodore said.

“I was asking, Mr. Gambit, Theodore.” Albatross was staring directly at Malcolm through the glass screen, intent on making his term clear.

With an aggravated sigh, Malcolm cupped his hands and leaned back in the chair, placing two index fingers together and tapping them gently against a growing goatee. “Fine,” he finally said. “I agree to not questioning your decisions. But know this, Albatross,” he stuck a finger out towards the screen, “don’t make a mockery of this organization. We may not be as secret-squirrel as you, but we know how to throw a few punches.”

Albatross simply stared at him for a moment, as if he was struck by an unexpected thought. “Erh… very well,” he eventually said. “I’ll have a limited database of our available resources that Blue Trinity may utilize during the expedition transferred to your archives.” He nodded to the both of them before the screen flickered and shut down.

Theodore looked over at Malcolm and then leaned across the edge of his seat. “Are you serious?”

“What?”

“We know how to throw a few punches?! You couldn’t come out with a better pair of balls than that?!”

[The Ghost Writer]

The Escape

Terus and Adyna had recruited the help they needed to free their counterparts from their G22 captors. Felix, from the CSF, had used an impressive system of long range scans to detect the nearest facility that had belonged to Blue Trinity during the war. After the conflict, the enemy withdrew from Caligoan shores, but had never dismantled the facility and left the region entirely. Whether or not the installation was abandoned didn't matter to Felix and his men; it was always a dark reminder on Caligo's doorstep that they should never let their guard down. Selma had suggested that it was probably the only place that Malek and Aaron would be. If their superstitions were true - and considering she had made friends with a ghost named Charlie, they probably were - and that Caligoans could not venture too far from the island, then that facility had to be where they were at.

The commando's original plan was to lead a CSF-comprised extraction team with Adyna and Terus onto the aquatic station and simply bust the boys out of whatever predicament they were in; but Felix refused it almost immediately. "I still don't trust you," was his argument. He refused to put his own men under Selma's command, and the woman almost wanted to snap his neck in half. "The shades can go," he said, "but I prefer no CSF soldiers do. I need every man I have at my disposal on the home front."

"You're kidding, right?" Selma argued. "What's your plan then? Send in a bunch of untrained, unarmed civilians? Put them in harm's way?"

"The two girls are capable of handling themselves on their own."

Selma simply stared at the stubborn man in shock, eventually muttering ass hole under her breath when he turned his back. If Teresa was to ever see her boys again, and if Selma was going to put an end to this conspiracy, then the two shades would need help getting in and out of the facility; especially if the kids were being guarded by G22 commandos.
The warrior knew that if she went anyway, then Felix would know simply by her absence. Even though Teresa had her pardoned of all charges and released from CSF custody, she was still under heavy surveillance being an outsider - anyone that wasn't a native, as a matter of fact, were under the same scrutiny. Drifters, they were called. Innocent people that ended up stranded on Caligo, eventually integrating into society. After this infamous war between the islanders and a privately-funded research organization with paramilitary power, prejudice against drifters had skyrocket to an unbelievable high.

Selma knew she would have create a team of native Caligoans...


Malek restlessly awoke to the sounds of gunfire and yelling somewhere outside the interrogation room. His brother was already awake and staring at the door, a look of relief on his face. “You were right, Malek!” he exclaimed. “They’ve come for us!”

Is it true? Malek’s own excitement began to show and he struggled to drawn in as much breath as he could. His lungs were weak from gasping through the horrendous torture they had put him through. A rag over his mouth and the sensation of drowning had severely exhausted him. They called it “waterboarding”. He never understood how the Outsiders could be so cruel to their own species. When he had gained enough to breath and strength, he yelled out to the door. Giving every bit of power he could muster into a desperate cry for help so that they would be heard.

Seconds later, the door to the interrogation room hissed open and slid into the wall. Through the threshold appeared two familiar blonde women. They were young, attractive; and they were also Shades. Malek and Aaron’s Grimalkins, Terus and Adyna, had the ability to shape shift into human form. Their usual appearances were two young twin blondes that posed as the boys’ sisters in public. Since they were able to take on the appearance and bodies of human beings, they had every capability of them as well; making them more than capable holding their ground in a fight. It was quite rare for two shades in the same generation of a family to have the same power, especially when the two brothers they were bonded to had completely different personalities and ages. However, this compared to the rest of the Caligoan people, their culture, and even the world of the Outsiders, this rarity was simply another of the million.

“Malek, Aaron!” Terus called towards them. To distinguish between the two twins, Terus always blue; while her sister, Adyna – who was Aaron’s Shade – always wore white. Terus was dressed in a black leather jumpsuit with blue tones in some of the seams and pockets. Adyna was dressed in similar attire, but with her preferred white tones.

“Terus!” Malek called back to his Shade. “Can you get us out of these things?!” He wrestled with his wrists to show that they were still suspended by the magnetically grappled cuffs above them.

Terus glanced up towards the ceiling and spotted the source of the magnetic energy suspending their Caligoan counterparts. A large, silver disk – almost like the underbelly of a bowl – was hanging down and emitting a barely audible hum. In her hands was a Caligoan plasma rifle, property of the CSF. How she got it, Malek preferred not to know, but he was grateful that their Shades brought them. Terus raised the rifle to aim at the magnet and squeezed the trigger. A bright plasma bolt surged forward from the rifle’s barrel and slammed into the device with a loud boom. Suddenly, Malek and Aaron both dropped to the floor with a hard thud and their cuffs came loose from their wrists.

Free at last!

In the corridor outside, the four met up with more familiar faces; friends of Malek from school. They had all volunteered to head out with the Shades to rescue the brothers. “We managed to liberate a CSF hover transport and some of their arsenal,” Adyna explained.

“How’d you guys do that?” Aaron asked.

“It was easy,” replied Vixon, one of Malek’s mates, “once we distracted the armory personnel with the cheerleading squad from school.” He had a big grin on his face, like a cartoon character would.

“Hey! Over here!” a foreign voice called in English. The language translators embedded within the Caligoans’ DNA had given them a great deal of assistance in the war against Blue Trinity a decade ago. They were extremely grateful that their gods had gifted them with something that was probably more valuable than the rest of their technology. The group spun around to see a Blue Trinity soldier readying his rifle at the end of the hall. Their projectile weapons weren’t has reliable as the CSF’s plasma technology, but they were brutally deadly.

Terus laid down suppression fire towards the end of the hallway. “Get back to the transport!” she yelled. “I’ll catch up!”

“But you’ll need help!” Malek said. “I’m not separating from you again!”

Terus glared back at him with a serious expression. “Trust me, Malek,” she said. “I can handle these cronies. It’s not Blue Trinity you have to worry about now.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Just go!”

The only reason that red flashing would start up in the JIO room would be because of a situation in the brig. The war had been over for nearly a decade now, and 1st Lieutenant Rachael Gibbons knew that G22 had yet to enact their plans on Caligo; so there was no way that a retaliation of any kind from the indigenous population would be happening right now against Blue Trinity’s naval station. When she turned her gaze upon the security screens for the detention center she saw exactly what she had expected to see.

Rachael, though a young G22 officer and only recently deployed to the base, found that taking command of a situation and all available resources was easy. She had a commanding voice that demanded respect and discipline right up front; and as one of the most trusted intelligence liaisons to the organization’s leader, Albatross, she was a Lieutenant that even higher ranking officials showed a magnitude of respect towards.

“Reece,” she said aloud, keeping her eyes on the security feeds, “contact Major Jericho. We’ve got a breech in the brig. Inform him to ready his team and prepare to ‘his execute his mission’.”

“Aye ma’am,” the intelligence officer responded and picked up a small headset, attaching it around his ear.

Rachael kept her eyes on the screens. After a while her own reflection became noticeable and she looked at the woman she had become. From birth, she was a military brat, born into a family with a father, grandfather, and great grandfather that served in the British Royal Navy. The concept of war coursed through her veins. At the age of nineteen, she enlisted in the SAS, taking a different approach than what that of her father’s and grandfathers’. After the world’s second cold war – the Allies versus the People’s Republic of China and North Korea – there was little work left for her talents. That’s when G22 first made contact with her. They saw her ties to the SAS as a valuable resource to their intelligence network. Now twenty-two, Rachael was being paid three times as much as what she earned from the British, plus a few bonus credits here and there for acting as a direct advisor to Albatross. True, she no longer fights behind enemy lines, but G22 doesn’t specialize in that. In the SAS, she was mostly conducting recon operations and also acted her squad’s transmissions officer. She knew how to communicate effectively and deliver details without hesitation, no matter how dire the circumstances.

“Ma’am,” the intelligence officer said as he removed his ear piece, “the Major’s team has located the intruders’ extraction point. He said he’ll stand by there and cut them off.”

“Very good, then,” Rachael acknowledged and turned back to gazing at the security screens.

[The Ghost Writer]

Blood of the Innocent

Aaron was the first out the door and onto the landing platform annex to the rear of the aquatic Blue Trinity research complex. From the looks of the skies, which were pouring heavy rain on top of them, they were near Caligo. The familiar, ominous storm clouds the steadily lowered closer to the restless surface of a raging sea was the natural, outer protection of the island. The never-ending storm served as a dangerous and deadly barrier and almost perfect concealment. Immediately behind the boy were his classmates and Adyna, his shade; who had skidded across the wet, metallic surface to a halt.

"Aaron, stop!"

The boy's feet came to a dead halt just as Adyna had commanded and began to looking around nervously. When he saw nothing, he looked back and called over the rain and ocean winds. "What's wrong?!" He gestured toward the stolen CSF hover craft parked on the helipad. "We're almost home! Come on!"

"Aaron, look!" Adyan was pointing to somewhere just ahead of Aaron, but there was nothing there but the hover craft. Then he saw them. Outlined by the falling rain and the pitter-patter of drops impacting prematurely, were several figures barely visible before him.

Suddenly, with a slight flicker, the figures materialized into fully-visible soldiers in slick-black armor. There faces were concealed by combat helmets and balaclavas appeared to be made of the same material as their uniforms. Aaron also noticed that they were not Blue Trinity, but others. The logo they bore was unknown to him. He knew what their enemy should like from images in his history classes, and even through personal contact during the interrogation. Out of nowhere, these new soldiers simply materialized before the escaping teens and their shades.

"Stop!" one of the soldiers, who appeared to be their leader, commanded. "You will proceed no further." The man lifted the visor from his helmet and lowered the balaclava to reveal a man in his forties with gray eye brows and a stern expression. His eyes were once a deep brow, but had faded over the years. Aaron has never seen someone so old before and was reminded of how lucky he was to be a Caligoan, despite his father being a drifter. "By the orders of Supreme Commander Albatross," the man continued, "you are to disarm yourselves and cease your escape."

"Albatross...," Aaron whispered.

"Aaron!" the boy turned to see his brother, Malek, and Terus sprinting through the door and onto the helipad. Malek hesitated when he saw that Aaron was only feet away from a group of armed men and grabbed a plasma rifle from Vixon and aimed at the man who had removed his head gear.

"Malek, no!" Terus screamed, but she was too late. One of the soldiers was faster than the young, untrained Caligoan teenager and had countered his attempted shot with a solid blast through his chest. As if Terus had been shot herself, the shad fell backward with as much force and hit the ground at the same time as Malek.

"No!" Aaron screamed to the top of his lunges and darted over to his brother, just as Adyna had rushed to her sister shade. One hand supporting his brother's head from the cold steal of the platform, the other attempting to apply pressure to the bloody wound. "Malek?! Malek, no!" Malek's gaze was distant, lost. His fading stare would not leave that of his little brother's and he attempted to lift a weak hand. Aaron removed the blood-covered hand from the wound and grabbed Malek's, clutching it tightly in his grasp. "No... don't leave me, Malek! You're supposed to be the one! You're the one!"

Unable to speak from the pain, Malek could only smile and shed a single tear; letting go of the last breath inside of him. Before Aaron could even say goodbye, his shoulder was grabbed by Vixon's hand right when a loud explosion went off somewhere behind them.

"Come on!" he heard the friend yell. "We only had one of those thermals! We have to go now!"

"Not without my brother!" Aaron cried, trying to fight the grip, but it was no use. His body was still in shock and far to weak to fight Vixon's athletic might.

"He's dead, Aaron! There's nothing we can do for him now. We have to leave! This is our only chance!" Vixon guided and pushed Aaron, who had eventually gave in and jumped into the hover craft, which had started up and was now levitating inches from the ground. When Aaron looked back, he saw only a blinding flare slowly extinguishing in the center of the helipad and the dazed soldiers of an unknown entity, stumbling in bewilderment.

Weakened and in a state of shock and confusion, Terus had stayed behind on the platform, cuddling next to her Caligoan counterpart and weeping. She was now in her true form, a large Grimalkin with pure cerulean eyes. Tears were not normal for a shade, but when their human was lost to them, gone forever, and they had seconds to live... anything could happen. Emotions that Terus had never felt before were now surging through her very core. Anger, sorrow, regret...

"Man, I hate those eyes," a spiteful voice said aloud from behind her. The Grimalkin turned her head, revealing the glistening silver talons, flashing with an ominous blaze under the bolts of lightning in the storm, daring anyone to test what little of her fading strength and flaming spirit was left. She saw only a man in the gray and black military attire of the entity she had discovered was called G22. Selma had warned the four of them of the man she had to be Arcades. A ruthless murderer, responsible for the taking of the boys' father. A deep growl surface inside of her, and the commandos that surrounded her took a cautious step back.

Arcades, approached her without a care in the world. "What are you going to do?" he mocked. "Drive those talons into my skin? You and I both know that you don't have the strength left to do that now. How long can a shade live after the death of their Caligoan, I wonder." A man in a white lab coat now proceeded onto the platform. He was carrying in one of his hands an empty syringe, a thick needle attached to the end. "Dr. Mendoza," Arcades said, turning towards the new arrival with a devilish smile, "would you be so kind as to extract what we need before the poor thing dies?"

"Oh, with pleasure," replied the maniacal mad man with the look that only a schizophrenic sociopath could muster. The stranger cautiosly approached Terus and knelt down on one knee beside her. He leaned fearlessly closer to her large cat ears and whispered, "Such a pretty thing, you are." He stabbed the cold needle through her thick fur, penetrating the tough skin layers. Terus let out a weak growl and the color of her radiant eyes began to dim.

Terus felt the life drain from her with every second that the needle drew her blood. What these strangers were needing from her, she had not a clue, but nor did she care. Her time was up. She had failed to protect Malek, and now she only hoped that he would forgive her in the afterlife. Just like the young man lying next to her, she gave her last breath when the doctor withdrew the syringe full of the precious blood.

"Do you have enough, doc?" Arcades asked.

Mendoza looked towards the man appearing to be Albatross, whom even he was fooled by, and put on his wicked grin. "Oh, yes sir," he muttered, "all we need."

Arcades turned towards the man that had removed his head gear and said, "Major, I want you to take your team and locate the others that escaped. The young boy is now G22's most valuable and dangerous target. He must be eliminated, understand?"

"Aye, commander." Major Jericho snapped to a rigid position of attention and presented a sharp salute to G22's fearless leader.

The man at the end of the line of commandos, however, chose a less disciplined move. After removing his own head gear, Captain "Galahad" Tyrone looked towards who he thought to be Albatross in complete astonishment. "Commander," he said, "I just an innocent child... and for what?! So you could get a blood sample from a wild animal? Now you want me to kill another child for no god damn reason. Just what the hell is going on here? I'm tired of carrying out orders that don't make any sense! First it was my Lieutenant Captain, and now it's-"

"-If you were wise, Captain, you would hold your tongue." Arcades shot him a deadly glare through ice-cold eyes. He then hastily approached him and got so close to Tyrone's face that the commando could feel his breath fighting against his own. "I know you're my friend, Captain Tyrone, but I'm playing this one awfully close to the chest. Now I'm giving you this one chance to withdraw your insubordination before I have you shot."

Galahad stared back into Albatross' eyes. It was then that everything seemed to hit at once, like a bullet train at maximum speed. The silver eyes had explained everything at that very second. The Albatross he knew would never act in such rash ways, would never target his own men and innocent civilians, and would never - in a million years - address him as "Captain Tyrone". It was always, and should still be, "Galahad".

"My apologies," the commando said through gritted teeth, "commander Albatross."

Arcades, foolishly sensing no further insubordination, backed off from Galahad with hands behind his back as if a child in an antique store, and said, "Very well then. You will accompany your new team leader, Major Jericho, on this mission, and you will make sure that boy is terminated."

[The Ghost Writer]

Growing Pains

The thirteen year-old Aaron was in a state of shock and panic. His heart could be seen beating under his chest and his eyes were swollen with tears of anguish, red with hatred, and widened in disbelief. Fighting to break free of Vixon’s strong brace around him, he wanted to dive out the side of the CSF hover transport, return to be with his brother’s body on that cold surface of the now-distant Blue Trinity facility. “Let me go!” he screamed to the top of his lungs.

Vixon refused to obey the boy’s commands and simply held up onto him from behind, seated against the back of the craft. Adyna, Aaron’s shade, was no longer in her human form. She had become the tiny Grimalkin kitten hidden within, sharing in Aaron’s sorrow next to the two of them. When her Caligoan had finally calmed himself, finally given up is struggle against Vixon, she jumped up to his lap and curled herself into a ball of fur. Her warmth soothed the boy, offering him reassurance that she was still there, still with him.

I’m so sorry, Aaron, her voice said through the thick of his thoughts. It had pushed everything else aside. The regret, the hatred, the sorrow; all kept at bay from Adyna’s echoing voice in his mind.

What about your sister? he asked. Don’t you want to go back for her? He tried to come up with some kind of excuse to turn around; he had to try.

There’s nothing we can do.

The young Caligoans and their shades sat in silence as the craft flew back to the island, skillfully piloted by a girl whose Inklaw served as her second pair of eyes in the winding storm. Vixon’s Bownyte lay asleep at his side, his heavy paws hanging over the edge of the seats. Another young man was keeping watch out the window of the closed boarding door for pursuing Blue Trinity craft, a stolen CSF plasma rifle in his hands. His own Bownyte, alert and vigilant, stood on all four legs and scanned through the storm with him with his yellow, glowing eyes.

Aaron was now free of his friend’s hold. Adyna and the Nguyen boy had moved towards the front of the craft and sat down up against the back of the co-pilot’s seat. Adyna pretended to be fast asleep on his lap, hoping that she would make the boy any more anxious than he already was. Aaron, on the other hand, made no attempt to hide the anguish that made him restless. He stared off into space, past Vixon and his shade across from him. Thoughts of Malek and Terus swam in his head, memories that served as his only reminders now of who they were. What was he to do now that his older brother was gone? His father had abandoned them, years ago; leaving with Blue Trinity to resume a life of secrecy. His mother had been left to raise him and Malek for nearly fifteen years, and suddenly his life thrown into chaos when a commando, working his father, of all people, comes to tell them that the man he barely knew is dead and that Malek must take his place.

Hatred towards Selma had sparked a fire within Aaron’s heart. If she hadn’t been blown off that damn cliff by her own kind, and rightfully so, he thought, then he would have plunged a knife in her himself. Her, and everyone else like the commando and that sly snake named Chris, deserved to die.

“It doesn’t make sense.” The voice of the girl piloting the transport stirred Aaron from his fiery thoughts. He turned his head only enough to see her through the corner of his eye. Her long, blond hair dropped down to her shoulders. She appeared to be close to his age, but he couldn’t recall seeing her at school. Then again, Aaron was always the lonely kid, even at home. He secluded himself from group projects, and stayed far away from crowds. During meals, he would opt to eat in his room, or skip out on meals in between classes. He barely knew anyone that wasn’t one of his teachers, a library employee, or a museum curator. “Malek shouldn’t have died,” she continued. “Terus was still alive, right? So how is it possible to kill one of us when the shade is alive?”

Aaron turned away, once again lost in thought. His gaze tilted downward to the sleeping Grimalkin feline on his lap. Adyna’s ruse had slipped away into a genuine slumber, a gentle and tickling purr vibrating from within. The girl was right, he though. There was no way that Malek could have died. Not when Terus was still alive. Aaron raised a blood-stained hand and stared at the dried crimson. “But I held him when he gave his last breath,” he whispered, audible enough for the girl to hear. “This blood should be Terus’; not his.”

The girl removed her gaze briefly from the storm in front of her to the hand that Aaron had raised. She sighed and then returned her concentration to flying. “If that’s the case,” she said, “then something has changed.”

“Is because we were off the island?” Vixon had asked the question. He had roused himself from a light nap and had been listening to the conversation. “I mean,” he continued, “Caligoans aren’t supposed to leave, right? Since we did, didn’t we forfeit the protection that the gods gave us?”

“I don’t believe in gods,” Aaron said, looking away. “Superstition didn’t protect my brother. That alone is enough evidence to convince me of their absence.”

The handsome Bownyte that had been standing next to the young man keeping watch out the side window of the craft turned around to face Aaron. His Caligoan had been distracted from his watch and turned his gaze briefly toward his shade. “Hmm?” The question had been meant for his shade. It was apparent to the rest of the group that they were communicating telepathically, as all shades and their Caligoans had the ability to do. The young man then turned to the others and said, “He says something about the bond between the Caligoans and shades has been disrupted.”

“What’s your shade’s power, Bryce?” Vixon asked the young man.

Bryce responded with a smile, “You mean other than his appetite for biscuits?” His shade’s pupil-less eyes widened in surprise and he turned his large snout on his Caligoan with lowered ears. “Relax boy, I’m just teasing.” Bryce patted his shades head and then said to the others, “He can temporarily transfer his own strength to me. I become faster, stronger, and more agile than what my human body naturally is. Because of this, Lucifer here has a better sense of the connection between us. Shoot, my dreams are sometimes his dreams and vice-versa.”

“Creepy,” Vixon said with a slight humorous tone in his voice. But this only aggravated Aaron even more. Sighing, the boy hastily stood to his feet, rousing Adyna from her sleep and forcing her to jump off his lap. Aaron stepped up further into the cockpit and sat in the co-pilot’s seat, crossing his legs and arms and turning his head to stare out the window into the storm.

[The Ghost Writer]

Human Nature

"Idona," the girl piloting the air craft said aloud after a long moment of silence amongst the young Caligoans.

Aaron was roused from his grieving thoughts when she spoke and looked to her with a confused expression. "Sorry?"

"Idona," she said again, adjusting the controls to prepare the craft for its final descent as they neared closer to the Caligo Security Forces landing platforms. "That's my name."

Aaron nodded, saying nothing. She obviously knew his name by now, and he wasn't in the best of moods for introductions. Furthermore, his usual anti-social mannerisms would step in the way in other situation and keep him from speaking then as well. The boy always longed for close friends, people that he could rely on that weren't necessarily family; but he was never to cross over from his comfort zone. Malek had always tried to get his little brother more involved in school activities and extra curricular events, but Aaron, every time, would refuse to have anything to do with them.

The transport finally touched down on the landing pad, with surprisingly delicacy from its young pilot. When the opened the side door, all of them were met with a surprisingly defensive welcoming party. A few plasma rifles here and there, and what appeared to be a couple of light assault vehicles in the distant fog, where all aimed the craft's innocent occupants.

"Good to be back home, I guess," Vixon mused, staring down the barrel of the plasma rifle pointed directly at his forehead from merely feet away.

Bryce's Bowynite let out a soft growl as his eyes narrowed in on the closest CSF member. His counterpart reached a gentle hand and scratched between the horns on his head. "Relax," he whispered in his over-sized ear. "They're just being cautious, that's all. You would be too, if you were in there shoes."

One of the CSF members stepped forward from his entourage at the end of the landing platform. His significantly different rank insignia clearly designated that he was the man in charge of the party. His own Bownyte shade, with deviously glowing red eyes, kept obediently at his side, standing tall and proud to be the man's sentinel. When the soldier was just in earshot of the craft, he finally called to the occupants on board. "All of you, and your shades, are under arrest by the CSF for-"

"Yeah, yeah, pops," Vixon cried out, interrupting the man and causing the soldier to stumble over the last of his words in shock, "we know. We stole your fancy transport, a few weapons, and went against Caligo law by leaving the island. We'll go peacefully... so long as there's free food in my cell, of course."

Idona reached around her seat and waved at Vixon hastily to get his attention. When he turned to her, she had a deathly scowl on her face and hissed, "Who the hell do you think you are?!"

"Nobody's bitch," the cocky teenager replied, "that's for sure."

One by one, the young occupants were escorted off and away from the transport. Aaron was the last to go and when he had stepped off with Adyna directly in front of him, using her larger Grimalkin form to ward off any CSF members that came too close to the boy, he looked ahead and came to a startling halt. Adyna immediately picked up on what - or whom, really - he had seen. The boy's pent-up anger erupted like a volcano and he yelled aloud "You!" before charging towards the foreign woman with short blond hair, wearing a uniform completely different than that of the CSF. "It's all your fault!"

Several of the soldiers attempted to grab and stop the sprinting teen, but he had taken everyone on the platform by surprise and easily dodged their attempts to stop him. Finally, only feet away from the woman responsible for his brother's death, the very woman that should have died from the fall off that cliff, he was abruptly stopped by the officer in charge. The man's tight grip around the teen's waste prevented him from running any further. Adyna, choosing not to become involved, simply walked up behind his counterpart and rested on her hind legs. From the gaze in her cerulean eyes, she had just as much anger and hatred toward the woman as Aaron, but she chose to simply stand aside rather than start a brawl in the middle of a crowd of men with weapons.

Aaron struggled in the man arms, all the while fixing his tear-filled, blood-shot eyes on Selma Granger. "You did this to us! You killed Malek! It's all your fault!"

Selma took a step back, clearly surprised at what Aaron had just cried out. It was evident that she had no clue what had happened back at the Blue Trinity facility. Yet, Aaron failed to yield his hatred and anger. He continued to fight the officer holding him back, and continued to try and reach for Selma. Finally, when he realized that his hands were too far out of reach, he made a decision that forced Adyna to no longer remain silent. The moment Aaron groped around and attempted to reach for the officer's sidearm, Adyna shifted into her human form as a beautiful, and young blonde female. The glowing, pupil-less eyes were replaced with identical human ones, maintain the cerulean color in the irises. Her gentle hand reached for and grappled onto Aaron's; keeping him from obtaining the weapon he so desired to use against the former commando that he blamed responsible for his pain.

"No!" he bellowed. "Let go! Adyna, I have to do this! I have to!"

"Aaron!" she cried back, forcing the boy to snap out of it and actually stop. The restless impatience in her voice, like that of a tired mother, clearly evident. When he had calmed down, she loosened her grip on his wrist and knelt down next to him. "Aaron," she whispered.

The calm voice his shade was all that was needed to keep him at ease. When the officer came to realize that the boy was no longer a threat to anyone at the moment, he released his hold on him and let him drop his knees, embraced by the human-form his shade. "Why?" he asked after a minute of silence from everyone on the platform.

At first, Adyna thought that the question was meant for her; to ask her why she had stopped him. But she soon realized, through his own thoughts, that it was meant for the other woman standing before them, for Selma. The foreigner lowered herself down to both knees, a posture that a soldier would only put themselves in to show their surrender, and maintained her distance from the grieving boy. Finally, she said, "I know that saying I'm sorry will never be enough, Aaron. If you want to kill me, I don't blame you."


Teresa and Felix had been briefed on everything that had happened by each of the teenagers, except for Aaron, who had been escorted home by a party of CSF members personally selected by Felix for his protection and safety. Teresa, later, was similarly sent home to be with her son. She was also grief-stricken at having lost her oldest, and even more so after learning that he had died before his shade. This very truth, confirmed by everyone that made up the daring rescue team, made the most concerning bullet of the entire ordeal.

Felix, however, remained doubtful later in a closed meeting room. Selma and several other higher ranking members of the Caligo Security Force were present. "It doesn't make a damn bit of sense," the man said. "Shades have acted as our supernatural guardians since our calendar began."

Selma was intrigued by this claim and asked aloud, without feat of sounding ignorant of the fact, "And when was that, exactly?"

Felix stopped the pacing he had been doing at the head of the conference table taking up a large portion of the center of the room. Everyone else, seated around the table, turned in their seats to stare at her in awe. Finally, the stubborn leader rolled his eyes and shook his head. "I forgot we have an outsider among us," he said under agitated breath. "As of now, that was a little over five thousand years ago."

Ignoring his snark comment prior to his answer, Selma whistled and leaned back in her seat. "You lads have been around for a long time, haven't yeah?"

"Yes," one of the officers replied, placing cupped hands on the table and leaning a sharp chin slightly over them. "The shades have been around for just about as long as our race has. And that's why we find it hard to believe what your," he stopped to find the right words, "unauthorized, hastily assembled rescue party of teenagers is laying claim to witnessing. A Caligoan cannot possibly die without their shade first succumbing to death."

Another of the officers spoke up and picked up where the first left off. "Indeed; it's been proven time and again through both a series of our own tests, and even the war ten years ago with the outsiders."

Selma interjected, raising a finger. "Okay, first off, let's get something straight," she snapped, agitation in her voice. "First off, that little 'war' you claim to have had only escalated to the point of militarized action on Blue Trinity's part in the final year of a long, heated conflict. There was no war to begin with; I'd hardly even call it a skirmish. You people have no fucking clue what real war looks like, and still wouldn't if it bit you in the arse. Second, correct me if I'm wrong, but you people are just as human as every other homo-sapien on this planet. The only difference is that you've obviously been genetically enhanced, or some sort of science put into play with your lifespans, to have existed and thrived on this god-forsaken for so long. You have no more chromosomes than the people you call 'outsiders', and your egotistical prejudice, the size of Kilimanjaro, is only a result of you being blessed with technology freely given to you by your gods and being sheltered and pampered like children from the world as it truly is. You may be an advanced, utopian society, but you Caligoans are just ignorant as the rest of the world in regards to humility, compassion, and the law of human nature."

The room was quiet; clearly stunned by the words of the foreigner sitting before. Even Felix, though gritting his teeth at her harsh and blunt words, had to yield to them. As far as he was concerned, who were they to even question the outside world when not one Caligoan has even ventured but five miles from the safety of their fog and mists. Selma was right, their prejudice was dramatically unwarranted, and so was their pride. Both outsider and Caligoan would have to work together if they were to overcome this new and unexpected challenge.

"One question," one of the senior officers asked, raising his hand and looking towards Selma. "What is Kiliman-whatever you said?["


Next time on G22: Avalon (boy haven't done one of this preview snippets in a while, have I?), Felix and Selma settled their differences as outsider and Caligoan, sitting down to figure out what happened to the break in the protective bond between the natives and their shades. Meanwhile, senior leaders of the CSF are forced to make the startling announcement that the island's inhabitants are not as invulnerable as they thought they were. With the island on the brink of civil unrest, Arcades and Miles meet again to discuss the shadow agent's key role in his plotting against Caligo. Also, Adyna continues to try and convince Aaron that exacting revenge against Selma will not bring his brother back, and will only cause more harm to not only himself, but others closest to him. Does the distraught adolescent yield to the words of his wiser counterpart? Find out next time, only in G22: Avalon.

[The Ghost Writer]

Update: If you scroll up to the Table of Contents in the first post, you'll notice that an asterisk has been placed next to the title of the latest chapter. These designate which posts have unlockable commentary explaining my thoughts about that particular chapter. If you wish to unlock and unravel more secrets and interesting trivia to the story, you can do so by posting comments in this thread. The Hide tags will then automatically reveal the content within the selected chapters.

[The Ghost Writer]

Regrets

The large, double-sided television screen was displaying a live news broadcast from an American east coast media outlet. The brunette news anchor was seated upright behind a tall, glass desk with several images displayed behind her of the recently elected Russian prime minister. Her report centered around the incident that happened nearly a month ago. "Prime Minister Vitaly," she said, "made an unannounced visitation to the Russian parliament yesterday evening, finally revealing that the Russian intelligence communities were unable to find any leads concerning the sniping-bombing incident last month during his acceptance speech at Moscow's Red Square. The nations new leader simply smiled in the end and said what he claimed to be a 'well deserved thank you' to whomever 'saved his life' that night."

Christopher Miles turned off the television using the touch pad nestled in the arm of his chair. The slouched against the back of the seat, sighed, and ran stressed fingers through messy hair. He had lost count of how many hours he had gone without adequate sleep. A nap here and there for sure, but nowhere near the typical seven-to-eight hours that the human needs daily. His mind, full of thoughts of regret and queries of conundrums, wouldn't allow him to close his eyes for much longer than that. His bloodshot eyes pulsed with caffeine, and his trembling fingers from anti-depressants. All he needed now was some alcohol, and he would have successfully put together the perfect suicide concoction.

"You look like you've been through hell and back," said a painfully familiar voice from behind him. Chris turned around to see Arcades standing in the doorway of the lounge he had been hiding away in for the past few days, only to venture out every once and a while to see if he was needed.

The shadow agent grimaced and turned back to the blank television screen, pretending that the broadcast was still playing, so as to remove the image of the imposter from the backs of his eyes. "You could say I'm in hell right now," he eventually replied.

Arcades' footsteps could be heard entering further into the lounge across the tiled floor. Finally, he came back into Chris' line of sight and sat down on a sofa at an angle from him. He crossed his legs and leaned back against the cushions, folding his arms back behind his head and resting it against interlaced fingers. "You know," he said, "being the man that you are, I was expecting someone less... fragile."

Chris shot him a deadly stare, daring him to continue, but simply replied, "Then you read me wrong, sir. I'm a man with tough skin; but I'm also a sane man with a sense of morals."

"I've offended you?"

Chris looked away in disgust, not bothering to answer the facetious question. Later he said, "Why in God's name did you murder your own flesh and blood?"

Arcades never answered the question. Instead, he chose to simply put on a cute smile and nod his head as if he was pretending to understand something. Seeing Chris become even more agitated by this, the man changed the subject. "I have a job for you," he said.

"Does this involve taking anymore innocent lives?"

"Are you referring to the boy?"

"I saw what happened out there, today." Chris's mind was suddenly full of images he desperately wanted to forget. He saw how Captain Tyrone reacted in self-defense and shot Malek nearly feet away from him. He saw how Aaron held his dieing brother in his arms, covered in his blood. Chris remembered Terus' last breath as Arcades' psychotic geneticist drew his much desired blood sample. Upon remember this particular image, a question surfaced that he had been wanting to ask. "What do you need the shade's blood for?"

Arcades grinned once more, this time showing his pearly white teeth; the smile of a politician before they answer any question about their plans. "That's why I'm sitting in this room, right now," he replied. "You job as a shadow requires you to practically become a chameleon; playing the role of powerful, influential persons in order to gain favor with the world's leaders, and acquire valuable information for own archives. You and your fellow shadow agents are master deceivers."

"Your point?"

Arcades reached into his pocket and revealed a small bottle of clear serum. "Doctor Mendoza can be quite a hard worker when it comes to the things he loves. And there's nothing he loves more than the advancement of genetic science. The whole reason why I wanted to capture those particular boys was to lure their shades into a trap. I only needed one, but why not both, in case I needed a backup? I wanted them because of their unique ability to mimic any human appearance."

"And how were you aware of their unique ability?"

"Please, agent," Arcades said, setting the vial of serum down on the arm of the sofa and rolling it back and forth under his index finger, like a child with a toy. "You think you're the only one who has read my brother's journal entries?" He was right. Chris knew that the real Albatross had kept records of not only everything he had discovered about Caligo, but the family he had raised there as well. His sons were even mentioned in several of the last of the journal entries that were written during his stay on the island. "This little magic potion," he continued, picking up the vial again and holding it before his eyes, admiring the serum that Mendoza had concocted, "is all you need to become the perfect shadow agent. Derived from the DNA of that Satan-spawned creature, Mendoza has managed to engineer several of these samples that, when injected into the bloodstream, will give you the ability to rapidly alter your own genetic make-up at will through the aide of a nanocortex."

"Nanocortex?" Chris asked.

Arcades looked to him, the same grin across his face. "A network of several nanobots implanted within the brain that will control the shape-shifting according to the will of the subject. All you have to do is think it, and the nanobots will do it."

Chris leaned forward in his seat and buried his face for a moment in his hands, rubbing his eyes of the sleep that they demanded. He looked back up at Arcades and sighed, knowing fully well that it was pointless to deny the madman's orders. "And what exactly is my job in all of this?"


Selma worked tirelessly in front of the holographic control panel projected within the cockpit of the Aurora, still sitting exactly as her and Chris had left it when they arrived on the island nearly a month ago. The reason for her return was to try and figure out what Chris had tried to tell her before the incident at the edge of that dreaded cliff where everything seemed to go wrong all at once. She had told him that then wasn't the time, but the commando founder herself regretting that now more than ever. Explaining to Felix that what the shadow agent had uncovered might hold the explanation to why the protective connection between shades and their counterparts was broken had been painfully unproductive. Finally, the stubborn Irish woman simply dragged him out to the Aurora to show him herself.

The CSF officer stood on the ground below, watching her as she angrily attempted to deal with CHASSI and all of her annoying demands. "So this thing has just been sitting out here for an entire month and you never bothered to tell us about it?"

"Not now, Felix," she said, completely ignoring his complaint and continuing to tap away at the projection. "Oh come on, already!" she yelled throwing clinched fists in the air out of frustration.

"Please verify authorization," the A.I. program pleaded.

"I told you already, you virtual bitch! Lieutenant Captain Selma Granger, G22 Commando division; thirteenth class."

"I'm sorry," CHASSI responded, "but you do not have authorization to access this data. Please try again."

Selma grabbed her hair and gestured to pull it out, sighing in aggravation while doing so. "God! You've got to be kidding me!"

Felix simply began shuffling his feet in the moist dirt below. The commando finally gave up and climbed down from the cockpit. "No luck, I take it?" he asked with a mocking grin. The commando only glared at him and mouth derogatory words. "Look," he said, "this Chris guy said there's a signal he found, right? Are you able to find that signal again so we can look at it ourselves? We have several computer systems just as complex, if not more, as your A.I. that I'm confident can decrypt it."

"I resent that," came CHASSI's voice from somewhere within the Aurora, startling Felix and forcing him to look somewhat apologetic. "I am unable to detect the same signal as before," she finally said.

"Oh sure, you can tell me that," Selma mused through gritted teeth.

Felix resorted to scratching the back of his head and eventually said, "So what I'm hearing from you is that you come to this island for the first time a month ago, and you just happen to stumble upon a signal that we've never noticed that you think is the source for the lost connection between us and our shades. How in the world do you suppose that is?"

Selma shrugged her shoulders and honestly attempted to think about an answer to his question. This is where she really missed that nerd of a shadow agent that had tagged along with her since the incident at the G22 facility. Up until the moment at the cliff he had been the one that seemed to have a logical answer for everything. He's the one that knew how to program the Aurora, the one that found Albatross' journals, the one that worked with CHASSI to originally decrypt the signal, and the one that even pieced together where it was coming from. So how would he answer Felix's question now?

"I can't be sure," she finally said. "The only reason that makes sense to me is that our communications equipment is different from yours. We run off of radio frequencies, something that your civilization may find barbaric or even arcane, but that's how we managed to run into the signal in the first place. We tried to use similar frequencies for long range scans from the Aurora, attempting to gain a better a reading on the island and even reach out and communicate to any possible friendlies in the area. But the scans were interrupted by a constant signal that Chris and CHASSI managed to trace to three different points of origin on Caligo."

"And you know where these points are, yes?" Felix actually looked hopeful, but all hope vanished with a sigh when Selma shook her head.

"Sorry," she said, "but that information vanished with Chris' capture, and CHASSI is refusing me access. It seems that my former employers have blocked me from using her."

Everything started to put itself together. Even though the information that Chris had found out about the signal was locked away by G22, the very fact that the signal was no longer broadcasting around the island and the sudden break in the bond between the shades and the Caligoans, was all too coincidental. The signal they had discovered upon their arrival had to be the answer to it all, and there was no question about it. The problem now was: how in the world were they going to fix it? Without Chris, they had no clue where the three points of origin for the signal were. If the Caligoans had lived on the island for nearly five thousand years as their calendar had claimed, and they have never, not once, discovered the signal nor its possible origins, then it was going to be as difficult as finding a needle in a hay stack, as the saying goes. One thing was for certain, however; whoever created the signal in the first place, supposedly being their "gods", had placed the transmitters in hard-to-reach places for a reason, and kept their broadcasting very discreet for the same. It was like a child lock on a cabinet.


Adyna and Aaron sat together in silence in the boy's room. The Grimalkin was in her usual human appearance, sitting next to her counterpart at the foot of his bed, seated on the floor with their backs resting against the end of the mattress. In her hand was a warm, damp cloth. While the distraught boy stared out the tall windows into the home's misty courtyard, still scared by the unwelcome fire fight that took place there a month ago, she used the cloth the clean the dried blood from his fingers. The dark red stains were difficult to lift from the cracks of his knuckles and underneath his finger nails; and she refused to rub any harder to remove them, wanting to be as delicate as possible.

"You'll need to shower," she eventually said, setting what was once a purely white cloth now stained with shades of red on the floor beside her. "You'll feel better."

Aaron looked away from the window, and away from his shade. His eyes were downcast toward the floor of his room, distant and hardly aware of his reality. "No it won't," he said eventually with a solemn and gloomy voice. "Nothing will."

Adyna leaned in and embraced him the best she could, attempting to comfort the boy and protect him from his own thoughts through the gesture. But Aaron shrugged her away and turned his entire body in the opposite direction, bringing his knees to his chest and resting the side of his head against the foot of the bed's mattress. The shade knew that he was now withdrawing to his comfort zone, and that it would be nearly impossible to drag him out of it. Aaron had to come out on his own time, and provoking him or trying to influence him otherwise would be pointless and counter productive. Such was his anti-social nature.

"Aaron," she said, placing her hands on his shoulders. "I know what you're thinking. Killing her won't-"

"I know," he snapped, practically startling her. He realized his tone upset her from the feelings he felt in his mind from their connection as shade and Caligoan. Instantly regretting the harshness of his voice, he calmly repeated them in a whisper. "I know. It won't bring him back. But she deserves to die."

Adyna morphed into the petite Grimalkin feline that nature intended her to be. Quietly, she walked away from her Caligoan, leaving him to be alone in his room, knowing fully well that's what he desired for the time being. Before she walked on her four legs out the open door to his room, her cerulean eyes glanced back at him and her echoing voice reminded him over the noise of his thoughts, No one deserves such a fate.

[The Ghost Writer]

A Captain's Call to Arms

Aaron punched in the desired temperature for the steam shower and closed the curving glass door as he turned around to stare at himself in the mirror. His typical mop-like hair style was twisted and gnarly, full of grease and countless days of being grabbed by foreign hands and dunked into basins of ice cold water. His eyes sagged and were full of exhaustion, the color of his father's had dimmed slightly over the past month, no longer as vibrant as they once were. He removed his shirt and examined the bruises around his upper torso, evidence of the beatings he had taken from his captors during interrogation. He was still alive, though, and he had that to be thankful for. It must have been Adyna that had kept him going, even though she was so far away. Whatever had happened to cause Malek to die, though, Aaron was unsure about. Whatever changed must have done so sometime shortly before their rescue... or Aaron's rescue.

Before returning to step inside the heated shower, Aaron opened the bathroom's thin, tall window in order to let out the constantly building steam. It slid open like any door, but it was far to narrow to walk through. Caligoan architecture fancied such window styles for small rooms. The idea was inspired by an architect who once made what was thought to be an absurd statement at the time: "No matter how tight a situation, there's always a sliver of hope." Thus, from that point on, such narrow windows that stretched from floor to ceiling were called "slivers of hope".

The boy braced himself as he stepped inside the shower, not used to the feeling of pure water touching his skin to heal and wash, rather than to harm and torture. The steam blown up from below sooth his sore legs, and the water raining down through his hair gentle wrapped around his face and washed away the dried sweat and oil. Soon, he picked up a scrub and picked up where Adyna had left off minutes ago, washing his brother's blood from the cracks on his fingers and scrubbing it out from under his nails. When he thought it was all gone, his eyes saw more red; what appeared to be a dried drop on his chest. Yet his eyes had deceived him and he only realized it upon his attempt to bring the scrub over the red dot, seeing that it suddenly appeared over his hand.


"You have a clear shot?" Major Jericho asked, kneeling down in the brush at the top of a hill over looking his target's residence.

"Yeah, I've got one," Thaddeus replied, lifting his non-firing hand very carefully and gently adjusting the multi-spectrum scope mounted onto his dispersion-powered sniper rifle. "The fog's a pain in the ass, but... I can take it."

Behind them, standing amongst the rest of the commando team that was mostly kneeling down in the brush like the Major, was Captain Galahad. The man was contemplating a plan and he knew that he would have to think and act quickly if he was going to save anyone else from being shot. He blamed himself for the death of the boy's older brother, and now there was no way that he could stand there and let them, especially his own subordinate, Thaddeus, kill him off, too.

Quietly, Galahad sneaked a hand behind his back and unbuttoned the holster strapped around his waste. His usual sidearm was the standard dispersion H&K, like the rest of the commandos, but he always had a spare weapon; one that didn't rely on the explosively loud and devastating power of dispersion technology. The Five-seveN tactical passed down to him by his father and grandfather carried an attached suppressor. It was just as deadly as his H&K, and far more stealthy. When he was sure that no one heard him unsnap the small button, Galahad ripped the pistol upward and swung it around.

After one whispering shot to the back of the head, Major Jericho's limp body slumped to the ground. Thaddeus, seeing his superior go down, carefully turned his head along with the others and simply stared in shock and fear at the captain. "Uhm... sir?"

"Safe that weapon, Thaddeus," Galahad ordered. "You've all been deceived."


Aaron was sure that he was losing his mind after an entire month of being in captivity. The tiny red dot was now gone and he blamed his eyes for playing tricks on him. Turning off the steam and water, the boy stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel to dry himself off. He then closed the sliver of hope, but after doing so, looked out into the distance, up the hill that loomed over his home. Something didn't sit right in the back of his mind, as if someone had been watching him.

"Aaron?" came a voice and a knock at the bathroom door. Without so much as a warning, Adyna slid it open and instantly through a hand over her human eyes. "Sorry!"

For the first time in a long time, a smile crept its way onto Aaron's lips. He quickly finished wrapping the towel around his waste and slightly raised it to hide his nakedness. "Adyna!"

"I'm sorry!" she pleaded. "At least I knocked this time!"


Thaddeus had never been more lost in his entire career. He had carried out strange orders in the past, and trusted Galahad with his life countless times before (one time, most notably, at twenty-seven thousand feet and hanging on to his hand for dear life after being nearly blown out the back of a C-17). This, however, was truly a test of his faith in the captain.

"So," he said, "you're telling us that Arcades is actually Albatross, and that because of this we should ignore orders and not shoot this kid." He placed a finger to his chin and then said, "Right. I think I've got it.... not."

"Thaddeus," the captain said, still holding the Five-seveN in a tight grip in case any of the other commandos, especially the ones he had never worked with before, would try and make a move against him, "I wish I could explain the whole thing, but remember what I told you before. We exist to provide a balance."

"Yeah," his subordinate replied, "but you also said that sometimes what we have to do makes little sense; but we do it anyway. Right?"

"Yes, but that was when the real Albatross was leading us. Not this poser." Galahad finally holstered the pistol, showing no more hostility and wanting to give his commandos the chance to trust him again. Taking a few steps back, the captain raised both arms in the air and said, "If you want to kill me right now for what I did, then go ahead and take your shot. But if you want to know the truth, like I do, and you want to do what you know is right... for Albatross... then join me."

Thaddeus glanced over his shoulder and back down the hill towards the house. The fog was already too thick again to line up another shot, and besides that, by now the target was probably done taking his shower and moved to another room of the home. Other than that, there was also the thought of shooting a kid barely in his adolescence with a sniper. There was just no way that he could bring himself to live with that memory forever. Thaddeus had carried out several hits before in Albatross' name; and each one of them served a higher purpose, one that actually ended up making the world a slightly better place. What possible gain was there in carrying this one? Perhaps Galahad was right.

The sharpshooter commando reached a gentle hand and flipped the safety selector lever to "safe" and powered off the multi-spectrum scope, reattaching the covers to each lens as he did so. Thaddeus climbed to his feet amongst the brush and his fellow teammates and walked towards his captain, turning around when he approached to stand at his side and face the others. He looked back at the still-astonished gazes and suspicious glares of the rest of the team. "Well?" he asked them. "You guys gonna stand by your captain, or what?"

[Kalon Ordona II]

Awesome so far.
We're really learning a lot about Caligo as well as the outside world in this era.

I've noticed little mistakes here and there every once in a while. Just little things like extra or missing words evidencing edits during the writing process, or a couple usage errors such as using 'her' instead of 'she' in an object/subject mixup--the old 'you and I' versus 'you and me' problem--and a couple switched-letter spelling errors. Those kinds of things are to be expected, of course, especially when writing so much. I just wanted to let you know that they're there.

And, I don't know if it's because I'm using Firefox or if it's because the Hide tags don't work or because I've posted in Unclassified, but I was able to see the commentary before posting in here.

Also, I had a question that at first seemed so dirty-minded that I didn't want to ask, but which now I think might actually be legitimate. It might not be possible in the first place, but, hypothetically: what would happen both physically and mentally if a Caligoan and his/her human-shape-ability Shade ever engaged in intimate relations? The reason I decided to go ahead and ask is that the Shades were originally provided in the first place as a source of companionship. When a Companion and Shade are of opposite genders, already I would imagine a certain jealousy when the Companion takes a spouse. It just seems all too likely that the romantic aspect would be there, even faintly, just from the innate strength of the connection, not as a natural desire but as an observation-based curiosity. If the Shade can shift into a human shape, then, with these same principles in effect, and if personalities or circumstances facilitate a physically intimate relationship, what would be the likely physical and mental/emotional results?

[The Ghost Writer]

And, I don't know if it's because I'm using Firefox or if it's because the Hide tags don't work or because I've posted in Unclassified, but I was able to see the commentary before posting in here.

It's because you're a moderator, Kalon. You have special powers that only gods can grant (no, Fate, I'm not saying you're a god(dess) ).

Also, I had a question that at first seemed so dirty-minded that I didn't want to ask, but which now I think might actually be legitimate. It might not be possible in the first place, but, hypothetically: what would happen both physically and mentally if a Caligoan and his/her human-shape-ability Shade ever engaged in intimate relations? The reason I decided to go ahead and ask is that the Shades were originally provided in the first place as a source of companionship. When a Companion and Shade are of opposite genders, already I would imagine a certain jealousy when the Companion takes a spouse. It just seems all too likely that the romantic aspect would be there, even faintly, just from the innate strength of the connection, not as a natural desire but as an observation-based curiosity. If the Shade can shift into a human shape, then, with these same principles in effect, and if personalities or circumstances facilitate a physically intimate relationship, what would be the likely physical and mental/emotional results?

That is very interesting...

Coincidentally, I'll actually be introducing a bit of jealousy with Adyna. I was planning on having a "thing" between Aaron and Idona (the girl from earlier on the CSF transport).

As far as the possibility of having an intimate relationship between a Shade and their human counterpart (the Shade, of course, having the ability to shift into human form, just as Adyna): I don't think it would be entirely approved by Caligoan society, but definitely possible. Shades like Adyna and Terus present a unique case. They're both the opposite sex of their counterparts, and they both have the ability to dynamically and rapidly alter their DNA and mimic the biological construct of another human being.

Physical and emotion results? In Adyna's case, I'll gladly reveal that she has feelings for Aaron that are well above the level of a "companionship", and she'll definitely suffer emotionally when seeing Idona move in. Since Shades are "born" (this process is never fully explained, but I hope to touch on it in a third installment [hintity-hint-hint]) at the same time as their Caligoan, then Adyna would be the same age as Aaron (who's an adolescent) and probably just as influenced and driven by hormones as he is. We have the understanding that shades are more than likely supposed to be the wiser half of the pair, but wouldn't they experience a moment of adolescence as well? We also have to look at Adyna's ability to actually shift into a human being. By altering her DNA, she would fitting herself with the same organs, the same biological chemicals, and the same hormones that every other human would have. What kind of effect on her own psyche would that have? It would be a freaking mind-bomb at times; I can only imagine.

I don't think what you brought up was "dirty-minded" at all. It could very well be the next big discussion concerning Caligo. I wonder what Fate thinks of this considering she created the world. We'll have to get her involved in this.

[Fate Flyer]

Also, I had a question that at first seemed so dirty-minded that I didn't want to ask, but which now I think might actually be legitimate. It might not be possible in the first place, but, hypothetically: what would happen both physically and mentally if a Caligoan and his/her human-shape-ability Shade ever engaged in intimate relations? The reason I decided to go ahead and ask is that the Shades were originally provided in the first place as a source of companionship. When a Companion and Shade are of opposite genders, already I would imagine a certain jealousy when the Companion takes a spouse. It just seems all too likely that the romantic aspect would be there, even faintly, just from the innate strength of the connection, not as a natural desire but as an observation-based curiosity. If the Shade can shift into a human shape, then, with these same principles in effect, and if personalities or circumstances facilitate a physically intimate relationship, what would be the likely physical and mental/emotional results?

The Ghost Writer pointed me to this, so I thought I'd respond. :]

My answer: In most ordinary circumstances, no, there should not be any intimacy between a Shade and their human, for the mere fact that that would be like being in love with yourself, as a person's Shade is like a copy of themself. Both the Caligoan and their Shade share the same soul. They feel the same things. They are like one individual almost, but at the same time not.

A Caligoan's Shade represents the person at their core, so if a person has more masculine or feminine tendencies or a personality/likes/dislikes/interests/etc. that would be closer to relating to that of the opposite sex, then their Shade will take the form of the opposite sex. As an example, if I personally were a Caligoan, I'm sure my Shade would be male, since other than caring about my appearance, I share almost no similarities to other girls. My interests are almost completely different, and I get along far better typically with guys than girls, simply because we have a lot more in common.

So, while a Caligoan's Shade may be of the opposite sex, that doesn't mean that they can feel romantically about one another, only because that would be a lot like having romantic feelings about yourself. While that's not impossible, I'm sure it's quite rare, even if a Shade could shift into a human-like form. It's probably not out of the question to think of your Shade as being attractive, if they were of the opposite sex (or same sex, if that's what you're into) and they could change into a human as their power. But most likely any feelings would be dissolved quickly. However, like anything else in Caligo, there are things that are up to the authors themselves, so if you did wish your character to form a romantic relationship with their Shade, then that isn't impossible.

[Kalon Ordona II]

I figured it was something like that.

Taking, then, the hypothetical rare situation that both the companion and shade are narcissistic and attractive and adolescent and curious enough for things to get to that level, I'm assuming nothing would really happen? Obviously a Shade is a different type of creature from a human, even if it's in a human body, so there couldn't, say, be any sort of reproduction or anything, right? Or could there, if the shade stayed in the shape long enough? They get tired from using their ability, if I recall correctly, so even if a human-shape shade was capable of reproduction with humans, they wouldn't be able to maintain it throughout the necessary gestation period. Unless the embryo, too, changed DNA along with the shade. Except I don't even think shades can reproduce among themselves, so it's probably not even a possibility.

However, even if companion/shade romance is difficult-to-impossible, humans do engage in sexual self-indulgence, too. Ideally the sheer amount of companionship would eliminate that idea or desire, but if perhaps they've had a hard life making their way in the city or something, or if they're rich and bored and have been exposed to the worst of society--AND happen to have a shade with that ability, AND have enough hormones or curiosity or random circumstances to put it all together.... I can just see Internet Rule #34 having its way.

You have to wonder if there've been cases like this over the millenia of Caligo's history. Societies do tend to degenerate, and the human mind is pretty curious and creative. Somebody somewhere must have tried something like that, or worse. Would the gods have been angry, if they knew? Or would it just be part of the overall experiment?

And, if this is part of it, what else might compose the dark side of Caligo society? Obviously there's technology and education and all that good stuff. And on the opposite end, I suppose there'll always be crime in one form or another. But what about vices? Like, is there drugs and gambling and everything? I'm sure with such a small space there's bound to be more than enough enforcement to keep things clean, but Caligoans have their shade abilities, too. Or would the companionship dramatically reduce most crimes and vices?

Wow, that got long. Not too off topic, I hope.

[The Ghost Writer]

Not off topic at all, I think. I'm quite enjoying this conversation so far. But alas, I just had a friggin' mind nuke and absolutely must carry on with these chapters before the radiation dissipates.

The battle cry of Captain Underpants: Tralalaaaa!

[Fate Flyer]

I suppose if the circumstances were exactly right and a Caligoan's Shade did have the ability to transform into a human, and both parties were interested in one another by said circumstances, then it is possible that people have, throughout Caligo's long history, entertained such notions. However, as you said, Shades are unable to reproduce amongst themselves, thus unable to reproduce period, especially with a completely different species.

Shades are more like a ghost copy of yourself rather than an actual, TRUE living being. Sure, they're alive...to some extent, but in another respect, they're also temporary. If a Shade dies, it disappears into a puff of black smoke, gone from this world forever, not even leaving a body behind to be buried. This is because they are more like walking, talking souls, and as such, they do not require the things us living people do to sustain themselves other than food and water. They do not normally desire to mate, since that isn't an instinct of theirs, seeing as they can't. It's physically possible for them to, sure, but it's not something I'm sure the normal Shade would think about.

As for the darker side of Caligo, you're absolutely right -- pretty much everything we engage in, they do to, be it drinking, drugs, violence, what have you. They're only human, after all.

[The Ghost Writer]

Under the Veil

The intelligence organization that knew everything there was to know about the world and everyone on it was not outfitted with a military division, with the exception of their commandos, but most of their assets and employees wore distinguishing uniforms nonetheless. G22 personnel wore gray uniforms made up of nanofiber material that would ensure comfortable insulation in most climates. The collar was narrow and did not have the traditional fold-over of most military blouses, and the “geek button” was always fastened, hidden under a small flap. The rest of the blouse was zipped to the top, but the zipper itself was off-centered to the right on the torso, where the women’s was to the left. The zipper, like the button at the collar, was also hidden by an extension of the nanofiber. The blouse fell several inches over the waste, where a black belt was hidden underneath. The pants of the uniform were of the same material and not bloused above the boots. There was no need to blouse the pants as, once again, G22 was not a military branch and no such operations would be conducted wearing the uniform.

Metals, consisting of bars of no more than six, were pinned over the left breast. There were no names on the uniforms, or other marks of identification, except for the G22 Tetragrammaton on the end of each side of the collar. The shoulders of officers were black, and they were also distinguished with black lines running down either side of the legs on the pants. Initiates, as they were called, considering that G22 does not openly “recruit” enlisted members, wore all-gray uniforms. Unlike traditional military organizations, and to further separate themselves from such classification, G22 did not require officers and initiates to wear head coverings while outdoors.

Despite the strict uniform regulations, it was not uncommon to see personnel walking around G22 installations wearing civilian attire, especially business-casual fashion. Suits were typically worn by the organization’s shadow agents, men and women whose jobs are to blend in and shape their habits for the success of the mission. One such shadow agent was present in the operations room of the recently re-activated Blue Trinity facility off the island of Caligo. Theodore McMillan had entered the room alongside his would-be employer, Malcolm Gambit, the current director of Blue Trinity. The man was shaking hands with Lieutenant Rachael Gibbons, the primary communications handler for G22 field ops for the Caligo theatre and the direct liaison between Blue Trinity officials and Albatross.

“It was a pleasure to have met you, miss,” he said before taking his leave out the door. His Director of Paramilitary Operations, however, chose to stay.

Upon hearing the locks on the security shield outside the door engage, Theodore approached Rachael. “You’ve made quite a reputation for yourself, I hear,” he said, now standing immediately at her side and watching the wall of intelligence data and tactical maps of the island displayed before him on large monitors.

“And so have you,” she said, turning her head only slightly to look at him through the corners of her eyes. “Director of Paramilitary Operations… That’s quite a title you’ve got there, shadow. I hear tell that your former colleague has been busy lately, also.”

Theodore smirked, knowing exactly who she was talking about. “I haven’t seen agent Miles since… well, I actually can’t remember when I last saw him. It’s been so long since Langley, and after we both started up this gig we’ve been pretty distant.”

“I thought you two were always distant,” Rachael said, crossing her arms and shifting her weight to the side as if to give herself a questioning posture. “Aren’t you supposed to be rivals, or something?”

“Or something, yes,” Theodore replied. “I heard from somewhere up the chain that he’s been assigned a similar mission to mine. Is this true?”

Rachael checked over her shoulder to ensure that any of the other intelligence officers and liaisons in the JIO room weren’t eavesdropping on their conversation before answering his question. “The new shadow program? Yes, you and agent Miles are the guinea pigs for one of Albatross’ upcoming missions. I don’t have a lot of details yet, other than the fact that you two are supposed to play the role of a politician – which would be Miles – and a leader of the island’s recently-established security network – which would be you.”

“He was always the one to get to play the political game.”

Rachael shifted her eyes toward Theodore and saw a grimacing look on his face. “Well, someone’s jealous,” she mused.

The shadow agent eventually brightened up and placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll get over it, little sis. I always do.” Before departing the JIO room, Theodore turned to ask her, “Oh, how’s that brother-in-law of mine?”

“A good-for-nothing husband, as usual,” Rachael called back. “You should stop by sometime after this whole op. I think he could use another dose of your intimidation techniques.”

Theodore was already on his way out the security door when he called back to his younger sister, Rachael. “I think I will! Take care now, sis!”


Aaron was surprised, to say the least by the expression on his face, to find Idona sitting on the sofa when he entered the living room after putting on a fresh pair of clothes. His hair was still damp from the shower and he had to brush the heavy bangs from his eyes to double check who he was looking at that was smiling back at him with one of the most enlightened grins he had seen in over a month. The same girl that had flew him and his friends back to Caligo was now sitting in his home. Adyna was also surprised, but her expression was far different than Aaron’s. The human Grimalkin looked a little more… shocked, than pleasantly surprised.

“Hi!” Idona said with a shy wave of her hand. “Your mom said it was okay that we could come in and check up on you.”

“We?” Aaron asked, wondering who else was in the house.

Idona smiled and nodded. “Mhm! Selma’s in the kitchen speaking to your mom.”

Before the fire in Aaron’s heart could spark to a full inferno, he felt Adyna’s hand resting on his shoulder. Now’s not the time, Aaron, she said in his thoughts. You can tell her how you feel later. You don’t want to upset your mother.

Bowing his head in surrender, Aaron let go of his hatred long enough to listen to his shade’s advice. At the beckoning of Idona’s patting on the sofa, the boy moved over and sat down next to the girl that had helped save his life. Her raven-like Inklaw was perched on the corner of the sofa’s back, looking around the room and scanning their surroundings, ever aware of the situation. He seemed more focused, however, on the windows and slowed his scanning whenever his glowing white, pupil-less eyes passed them over. “His name is Alfarinn,” the girl said, referring to her shade. “He has what’s known as far sight, able to cast his corporeal self as a separate entity to roam around and relay what it sees back to his physical self.”

Other than their ability to wield unique powers and shift into larger versions of themselves, shades could also transform into a corporeal spirit-like entity with the ability to phase in and out of sight and even pass through objects. In a sense, they could become like “ghosts”. Aaron looked at the magnificence of her shade, the upright stature of his bird-like body, perched graciously on the corner of the sofa. Alfarinn’s silver beak glistened in the natural lighting of the home, with a complimented aura given off by the glow of his eyes. “He’s pretty cool,” he finally said, not knowing how else to phrase his appreciation for her sharing her shade’s talent, let alone presence. After the conflict with Blue Trinity, Caligoans took great care to protect their shades from people they didn’t know; even if they were fellow natives. As the source of their invulnerability – or what was, after knowing better from Malek’s own death – the Caligoans had practically reversed the roles between them and their shade, acting as the sentries rather than the protected.

Aaron soon noticed that Idona was no longer looking at into his eyes, but rather somewhere on else on the boy. She leaned in closer him, much to Aaron’s discomfort, and gently touched the base of his neck where it met his shoulder. “You’re bruised,” she said. Idona had pointed out a faint discoloration on his skin at that very spot, an evidential result of the agony he had been put through over the last month of captivity. “Does it hurt?”

The boy covered up the bruise and tugged the collar of his t-shirt up over the spot. “A little,” he said. “It’s more like an annoying knot.”

“I can help,” she said, adding later, “If you want.”

Adyna’s face had contorted into an annoyed frown and she instantly shifted into critter form as the Grimalkin she was. The feline leaped up onto her Caligoan’s lap, circled several times and then laid down. You’re my companion, her thoughts echoed, not her’s.

Adyna! Aaron looked down angrily at his shade. She’s only trying to help.

She starts touching you in funny ways and I swear I’ll eat that damn bird of hers for dinner.

Ignoring his shade Aaron looked back at Idona, who was wondering what was going on between the two, and asked, “How?”

“Here,” the girl replied, raising both of her hands to the height of his shoulders. “Turn around and face the other way. Just relax.” Aaron shifted, trying his best not to tick Adyna off any further, who was still on his lap and being rudely disturbed from her resting place. When he had finally twisted himself around, with one leg laying on the cushions of the sofa and the other supporting himself on the floor, he felt Idona’s gentle hands on both of his shoulders. Her fingers tightly squeezed and pressed into the sore muscles that were causing him so much pain. He grimaced at first from the discomfort, but Idona’s soothing hands eventually began to work out the knots in his muscles and actually helped him start to relax.


Selma leaned against the counter in the kitchen and face Teresa, who was preparing a small entrée for lunch. It was evident that she was still grieving, the fake smile revealed more than it was trying to hide. Nonetheless, the former commando had to admire the mother’s tough skin and the want to not worry anyone any further. Largely, Selma felt completely responsible for everything that had happened. She held the blame for Malek’s unfortunate death at the Blue Trinity facility, and she also carried the burden of Aaron’s hatred. She was prepared to accept any and all blame that the two Nguyens could have toward her. If it meant standing trial, even, in Caligo’s own courts, she would gladly do so.

“Don’t blame yourself,” the woman eventually said as she chopped an exotic-looking meat into tiny, bite-sized pieces to be spread amongst freshly baked bread slices. “You did what you could to bring my boys home, as you promised. It’s not your fault that one couldn’t make it.” Teresa never looked up at Selma. She simply continued to prepare the meal.

Selma, on the other hand, couldn’t take her eyes off the woman. “If I had only been allowed to go, I swear to you, ma’am, this never would have happened.”

“No one is at fault,” Teresa said with resounding words. “Neither you, nor Felix. What happened was completely out of anyone’s control. We all have a fate, and no one can outsmart it, out do it, or outrun it. I know it’s not what my late husband would have said, but it’s what we Caligoans believe.”

“And what would Albatross have said in this situation?” She was curious now, more than ever, to learn about the real leader of G22; the father of the now-only Nguyen boy in the other room, and the husband of the grieving woman in front of her.

A genuine smile reached Teresa’s lips. It was not another fake one like the many she had been wearing to conceal her fear and sorrow. “He would have said something about a god that all of you outsiders tend to believe in.”

Selma smirked and attempted to hold back a sarcastic laugh. “I wouldn’t say everyone,” she replied. “We have a lot of people in our world that have chosen to ignore superstition completely. They argue fate is just as much as a reason for why bad things happen as it is here on Caligo.”

“And you’re one of these thinkers?”

The former commando crossed her arms and thought for a moment about to answer the question. Finally she offered, “I believe there’s a higher being out there, sure. I believe someone’s always watching us, always in control. But do I believe it’s the “God” that everyone capitalizes in the outside world? I don’t know. I would definitely like to think so; but I don’t believe He’ll approve of everything I’ve done with my life.”

Teresa had finished preparing the first of several sandwiches and handed one of them to Selma. “Here,” she said. “Try this and tell me what you think of it.”

Selma took the warm sandwich in her hand and smelled the heavenly aroma emanated from the freshness of the wheat bread and the tantalizing smells of the meat within. A special sauce layered on either slice of the bread inside the sandwich also added a faint pepper-like smell. When she bit into the soft food, her taste buds lit up with delight. The meat tasted similar to chicken, but it was softer, more delicate. The sauce did, indeed, add a slight spice, but it was mild and easy. It was far better than the processed meats and breads she would find back in the outside world. Since her “immigration”, as Felix liked to refer to it as, to Caligo, Selma had tried a variety of odd foods and dishes. Strangely enough, the Caligoans had many familiar entrees. Their version of cordon bleu was called “platishka” – in their language – and consisted of wheat bread, as most of their breads were usually wheat, and a similar bird meat stuffed inside with a cream that Selma honestly didn’t care to find out more about. Spaghetti to the Caligoans was called “brynahldish” and they had swapped the meat grounds in the sauce with fish. The sauce itself reminded Selma of caviar more so than tomatoes.

“This is wonderful,” she said, swallowing her third bite.

Teresa smiled and said, “Thank you! It’s Aaron’s favorite lunch choice.”

As the mother returned to preparing the next sandwich, Teresa asked, “So tell me about your gods, ma’am. How are they different from Albatross’ God?”

“We don’t know much about them,” she replied. “They are more so figures of legend than idols of religion. As a matter of fact, a lot of us dismiss the idea that they ever existed. We still attribute our calendar to them, however, as well as the existence of our shades. But that’s out of tradition, not academia.”

“And there’s multiple of them? Or… their would be multiple of them?”

“Yes. But they’re all the same. Albatross had told me stories of other gods of the outside world. Ancient ones of a civilization that started with a ‘G’, but I can’t remember-”

“-Greece?” Selma asked.

Teresa raised the cutting knife in her hand with a show of realization. “Yes! That’s the one he was talking about. Apparently your ancient ‘Greece’ had many gods, but they each served a different purpose. We believe that our gods – of legend, mind you – were all the very same. They had no separate roles amongst each other, and all shared the same goal in the protection of Caligo and the thriving our very race. They blessed with the technology that you see today, and our knowledge of science and the laws of the physics. Of course, after the great cataclysm that befell Caligo in the beginning of our calendar, a lot of the technology they gave us… we fear to use to this day.”

Now Selma was even more intrigued with the conversation. She pushed off from the counter she had been leaning on and strode over to wear Teresa had been preparing the sandwiches. “Cataclysm?” she asked with rising curiosity.

“A great tragedy that befell Caligo a very long time ago as a result of our people messing around with the technology given to us in a manner that the gods found… displeasing.” Teresa paused for a moment from preparing the sandwiches and looked at Selma, who had made her way over exceptionally close. “Blue Trinity,” she said, “started that ‘less-than-war’ conflict, as you have been referring to it as, in an attempt to find what our forefathers had been meddling with all those thousands of years ago. The gods of our legends gave us our shades in an attempt to appease us and stop us from building a very powerful device of destructive power, but even such a gift as great as the shades could not slow the passion we had then for power.”

“So your gods,” Selma began, “did what, exactly?”

“They took the lives of those that had been working on the machine, among countless others… and buried it.”

[The Ghost Writer]

I'm happy to say that I've found a very talented individual who has agreed to develop unique soundtracks for my G22 installments. Each chapter will feature one of his tracks to help envelope the reader in the mood, but without distracting them too much from the story. The tracks will be made available first in G22: Unclassified, and then later on for G22: Avalon.

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