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X stands erect at the edge of his property, gazing out towards the ocean, his vision scanning the trees, past the sandy beach and deep into the aquamarine waters. It is time and he is ready, although the outcome will not be his doing. Much like a scientist playing with atoms or pushing chemicals about, the first time that you try something, maybe you end up with sludge. Maybe you get shaving cream. Maybe a household cleanser or penicillin. And maybe it blows up in your face. His bulging arms dangle at his side. A soft breeze cools his flushed skin, every inch of his flesh exposed to the night, eyes squinting as they shift to a glow. Clenching and unclenching his fists, grinding his teeth, a succession of subtle sounds drift to his hungry ears. Like a soap bubble they pop one after another. Pop. Pop. A nightingale chirps in the jungle and leaves rustle in the air. Pop. The jasmine washes over him calming his jangled nerves. Pop. A mist drifts to him, carried many miles from the encompassing ocean on a wayward gust, just a spray of salt and seawater. Pop. They are all accounted for. The sextet is complete. What kind of rashoman waits for him he does not know, and that is half the fun. He grins at the island, ivory teeth exposed. And then he is gone. Pop.

Somewhere on the mound of dirt they call home, alarms go off and readings spit out. Green text shoots past black screen, rapid pronouncements of panic and misgiving. It’s one thing to look away for a second and to lose track of an energetic child. It is quite another to look up from your Thanksgiving dinner as you shovel in the turkey and mashed potatoes and be totally alone.

• • • • •

Placed around the roaring bonfire that reaches high into the night, six poles are planted in the ground, deep into the earth. The pyramid of logs and branches crackle and spit with a voracious hum of heat and light. The light shoots deep into the jungle as the marriage of gold and crimson swirl into the blinding white core. A circle of stones has carefully been placed around it, a ring of fire contained by the rocks. The hole in the ground that is the center of this circle has been dug deep and wide. It is filled with glowing coals.

Strapped to these poles are Jacob, Marcy, Jimmy, Gordon, and Roland in a semi-circle at one end. At the other end is X. They are upright but not of their own volition. Tied to the posts with rope, smaller rods extended beneath their armpits so that they hang there limp, for now. Their heads are tied back as well, so that their empty faces shine bright in the firelight. Blood trickles from their ears, a minor side effect from playing with the laws of physics and nature. The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step.

While the fire crackles, their eyes blink open. Frightened glances dart from side to side, and confusion eases over them like slow moving lava.

“This isn’t a dream, or nightmare for that matter,” X says.

“Brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers. I’ve brought you all here for a reason. On purpose. We are a family, a unit, a group of entities that has sought each other out for hundreds of years. We are syndicate. We are the future.”

Glances shoot from face to face, some with recognition, some with alarm, others with anger and hate.

“Mom, are you okay?” Roland asks.

“I’m fine. I think,” Marcy answers. “Where have you been?

I’ve been looking for you.”

“Really? Where, in his crotch?” Roland says, gesturing with his head towards X.

“Now, now...” X says.

“Roland...” Marcy says. “What are you talking...”

“Oh save it for somebody who gives a shit. You always go for the power trip, Mom. Who’s in charge? Can somebody please help little old me? I’m lost and can’t find my way. Well, maybe I should suck your dick, just to be sure.”

“Roland!” Marcy yells.

“Save it,” X bellows. “We have things to do, and I don’t have time for this. We have to hurry, we’ll be detected soon.”

Jimmy flickers, his outline fading for a second.

“Look, you assholes,” X says, “Jimmy is losing his connection. So shut up and listen.”

“Hi guys,” Jimmy whispers from a great distance, his eyes pinched in pain, his face contorted and pale. “I’m okay, but there’s something I have to tell you, whatever you do...” he starts.

“Jimmy, not now,” X says. Jimmy’s mouth hangs open mid sentence, but silent.

“And who the fuck put you in charge?” Gordon growls. “And why are we tied up? Why don’t you just let us loose, and we’ll talk, up close and personal,” he smiles, eyes squinting in the firelight, toothy grin hiding his hunger.

“Gordon, it’s not what you think. You’ve been misled.”

“We’ve all been misled,” Gordon continues. “Jimmy, who don’t you tell them what you’re doing right now. Where you are. What’s going on in your part of the world? What happened after your release.”

X raises his right hand, palm open towards Gordon, forcing Gordon’s head back against the wooden pole. The ropes creak as Gordon’s neck strains in pain, flushing red even in the dim light, veins pumping hard against the taut skin.

“Enough Gordon,” X hisses. “Jimmy, shut it.” X keeps his hand held out while compressing his thumb and finger. Gordon gasps and passes out, his neck falling limp, chin to chest as X

lowers his hand.

Murmurs dot the ring of fire as the remaining captives glance at each other. Eyes dart back and forth, unsure of what is happening, or what is next.

“We need to work together,” X continues. “There are things to be done. Here, and on the mainland. I need you to listen, and listen closely if you want to survive.”

“Honey,” Marcy asks, “One quick question.”

Hissing through his teeth, X takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes.

“Yes,

Marcy?”

“How did you leave your house? And why are YOU tied up?”

• • • • •

//

system alert

checking

............................................

.......................end/error

............................................

............................................

......end/error

//::12345678910987654321

test

testing

acquiring

signals....................................

chip 298312

negative

chip 298631

negative

chip 299112

negative

chip 000000

negative

chip 300021

negative

chip 298632

negative

alert

heat surge

sector 87

X:0123, y:398

irregularities

radar assigned

body mass: xx6

security breach code:01

darkness assigned

end system test

END

//

• • • • •

Silently the two figures head for the caves. The only sound is the rubbing of the denim and canvas of their uniforms as their arms swing from side to side and their legs pump up the hill to the gaping yawn that is the entrance. Visors down, a dim crimson glow emanates from the two large ruby orbs embedded in their skulls. Strapped to their backs are long weapons, a unique amalgam of shafts, triggers, and handles. Black on black they drift through the jungle. Slow and steady they creep up the path to the opening of the caves and the mossy smell of earth and decay.

A solitary branch hangs low, recently snapped by strong winds, the exposed wood jutting out into the air. As they pass by the pointy exuberance, it slices the air of the first, missing his bulging bicep by inches. But the second wave of darkness has a wider gait and rumbles past it with a movement and pace slightly more erratic than the first. Its shoulder wobbles to the right, shoving the tip of the exposed wood through the fabric and deep into the muscle. Tearing the flesh, the fleshy grin widens, red seeping out of the gash, threads exposed. Not a flinch or a pause as it continues forward, the velvet darkening the sleeve.

Shaking in the air from the brutal encounter the branch bounces up and down as droplets fall to the quiet earth below. The stained tip turns brown, as if rotting, as the branch grows limp and dips towards the earth. A crack before a rustle as the heavy limb separates from the tree, crashing to the jungle floor. Where it had been attached to the trunk, smooth exposed bark shines in the sliver of moonlight that penetrates the foliage. On they go.

Easing into the pitch black caves they are gone in an instant. There is a whoosh and a flash of light fills the mouth of the cave, illuminating it for a second, picture negative shot against the dark, every detail captured for a moment. The is a pause in the gentle breathing of the jungle as the heat rushes out. The two silhouettes rasterize and fade into the back wall as they pass through an arc of metal and sculpture. The air sizzles with electricity, and they are gone from sight.

Drawn by the noise, the heat, and the brilliant flash of light, the humble brown chipmunk scampers up the path only to pause at the mouth of the cave on shaky hind legs. Wrinkling its nose repeatedly, he brushes the sides of his furry face with his tiny human hands, shakes his head from side to side, and collapses in the undergrowth. Raymond twitches and is still.

• • • • •

The babbling of the voices overlaps each other as questions bounce around and eyes turn to friend and foe. Shouting mixes with whispers and glares shoot from face to face as panic overwhelms them.

“People...” X says.

To no avail. Mother and son yell profanities back and forth, while an assassin loosens his ropes, awake. A distant friend flickers and fades as a humble shopkeeper breaks down and cries. Chaos reigns, elevated in volume and ferocity.

“People...” X says again.

Like a swarm of bees, the voices bounce off each other, the humming and biting of words and phrases.

“SHUT UP,” X screams, his baritone reverberating through the open gathering, rattling the logs and tree branches alike. Silence. All eyes are on him.

“Listen,” he whispers. In the distance a deep whoosh sounds, as if a fire has been lit. There is something moving in the jungle. There is a distant thudding and crashing in the bushes, as things are pushed aside, trampled flat and broken in half.

“Damnit. They’re here already.”

“Who?” Roland asks, glancing around. The others follow suit.

“It’s not important. We’re going. Just listen to me. Whatever you think you know about this place, it’s not true. It’s not ALL

true. The rumors you may or may not have heard about me, there is much speculation, and little proof.”

In the dark X flexes his arms, bound tight to the post, wrapped around and around. On top of that are thick metal chains, the kind that would pull a tractor trailer. Closed with a lock, the weight is wearing him down. Like a fish out of water his breathing labors and his words become short.

“We have to go soon. Keep your eyes open. Listen,” he wheezes.

“What’s the matter?” Marcy asked. “Are you okay?”

“Pay attention to your dreams,” he coughs, his massive body wracked with spasms. A glossy coat of sweat shines in the firelight. “I will come to you when I can. We are one. We are not enemies.”

A large crash to the right and all heads turn. Branches snap and the ground shakes. Mustering up his last bit of strength X

raises his arms and holds them wide and apart.

“Pay attention,” he gasps as he brings his hands together in a mighty thunderclap.

White washes over the gathering and they are gone. Into the void the two dark men step, face to face with nothing but a fire gone cold, the hint of coals peeking out from the ashes.

• • • • •

Jacob looks up at the others gathered around the dinner table. The honey-glazed ham sits center stage, surrounded by green bean casserole with deep-fried onions, sweet potatoes, and cranberry sauce. Fighting the dinner is the underlying scent of pine, wafting over from the living room. Colored lights flash on and off. Christmas. His family is all here. His gigantic father at the head of the table, carving the ham. His younger sister sits to his right. Across the table his nephew beams. His brother-in-law next to him twitches his beady eyes. The room flickers and he reaches down to caress the markings on his wrists, the rope burns.

Marcy sits in the corner of the shelter shaking. Her arms are pocked with needle marks, her battered jeans soaked in urine. Her son lies on a cot nearby asleep while carols drift over from the tiny radio at the food line. A bookish man makes his way through the line, getting his dinner, shuffling his feet along. Behind the counter an attractive, well-built man, the shelter’s director, ladles gravy onto the potatoes, smiling wide in her direction. To her left a bearded man grumbles into his plate, every once in awhile raising his stale roll to his mouth and whispering threats. His friend wanders around with weary eyes asking for his Madison, and warning that the apocalypse is upon us. She rubs her wrists as a lone tear falls to the cheap, dirty tile.

Jimmy stands in the graveyard as the large wet flakes cascade down around him. Staring at the set of gravestones, his hands burrow deeper into his pockets. Dates are etched in the stone - 2007, 2044, 2027, 2044. The familiar names of his wife and son, Marcy and Roland, eat at his chest with gnashing teeth. A caretakerbot drifts by, hovering inches off the ground. Glancing over the license plate reads JAK-008 before it fades into the night. To the right an imposing mausoleum looms, its shadow close his feet. Two giant swords form an impressive X in the middle of the archway. A pat on his back and he turns to face his brother. He is not surprised that Gordon is here. He knows what day it is. Rubbing his wrists warms his frozen digits but the ache encircles his wrists.

X stands in the hanger as the winds whip around the building. At attention in line just in front of him, in full body armor, are his elite, his assassins, his invisibles. Walking to the first of five soldiers he looks up into his eyes. They lock their gaze and his hand comes up. X reaches out to the man’s chest and pinches off the tiny green tree from his shirt pocket and flings it to the ground. There is no room for sympathy, and no time for nostalgia. His eyes run down the name tags: J.Millhouse, M.Descartes, J.Dugan, G.Richards, R.Descartes. Pale skin and empty eyes stare back at him. Outside the snow falls thicker, their flight now in question. They have to move now. With a quick nod of his head, X turns to the jet fighter, as his men (and one woman) follow. Storming to the open cabin door he rubs the red rings around his wrists.