EPISODE 1 - The Dawn of the Omegapaths

CHAPTER 1 - "Awakenings"
pages 1 - in progress
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The midday sun shone through the immense skylight, casting radiant beams, some thirty stories below into the dim of the mid-city streets. It was one of many openings in the concrete canopy that covered the heart of the vast city-scape of Niagra, a window the size of ten city blocks that allowed the natural elements to cultivate the foliage that grew below. Walking beneath the giant sun-port one could stare up and see the spires of the second-city, rising high above the raised foundation, stretching into the sky and disappearing in the clouds.

Warm moist air, the by-product of the numerous poly-hydrogen cells that powered vehicles and generators, collected above the sun-ports forming billowing clouds. By the end of day they would produce rain or collect and develop into a storm, dissipate and then the cycle would begin again the next day. People were often more aware of the time of day by the coming and going of the rain rather than the daylight that only crept into less than quarter of the cities overall mass.

As the remnants of the day filtered through the mid-city so too did the last of the rain from a passing evening thunderstorm. Water trickled down from the upper street drains and sun-ports of the stone sky, fiery streams in the amber lights cascaded to the streets below. It filled the culverts and flowed down the roadways, where it drained through grates, seeping in the dark under city.

Awkwardly skipping over a puddle of water, an old man shuffled along the sidewalk, a noticeable limp in his right leg hindering his movement. An ailment that seemed would benefit from the use of a cane but the elderly man was obviously to stubborn or to proud to resort to a crutch. Plodding onward he seemed unaware of the more spry pedestrians that darted around him, focused and reaching his destination that lied ahead. Only a few blocks away were the sunlit paths and streets beneath a sky-port. The old man hadn’t felt the warmth of natural light upon his face for some time and the thought of it pushed him to forego resting his leg until he reached the square.

The old man waded into a sea of trench coats and fedoras that had swelled on a busy street corner. Wearing a red baseball cap and denim jacket the older man stood out like a buoy, haphazardly bobbing about as he made his away into the turbulent crowd. He was nearly knocked down by a hurried young man, who was the spitting image of an old film noir character. Thin and garbed in a long white raincoat, the youthful gent sported a white hat with a blue band. The most popular brand names and logos were printed upon the jacket using pale grey ink, just dark enough to allow legibility and light enough to not detract from the clothes. Most men sported felt hats and the roomy garments of a Zoot-suit style or woolen plaid sportswear while women dressed in conservative a-line skirts with belted jackets or more racy outfits that were replicas of World War II pin-ups. The elaborate corporate emblems appeared commonly on the clothing of the pedestrians as well the shining vehicles that motored past. Just like the city around them, people were adorned with corporate brands that were displayed throughout the cityscape in massive billboards and murals. These symbols represented a prestige, everything, even automobiles had bright emblems covering at least a third of its surface.

Running past the old man’s leather boots, water trickled along the street’s gully and into a sewer drain, increasing in depth and intensity as he neared the sunlit square. Crossing into the open area the streets and buildings became wet and puddles gathered in the streets. Natural light replaced the dull glow of the street lamps, and the fresh scent of rain filled the air. The old man flipped up the collar of his denim jacket and dipped the brim of his old cap as he passed into the sun shower, be-speckling his aged white-stubbled face. The lowered cap was meant to shade, rather than divert the rain, as his eyes, like most in the mid-city, were often unaccustomed to bright sunlight, but his were presently more sensitive than usual. He crooked his neck and scowled up at the sky letting the rain wash away the dust that had settled on it, he forced his squinting eyes to bear the light, pin prick pupils in vivid blue-green irises seeing but a glimpse of the sky before being fused shut. The shock of the brightness, caused him to waver a little, but he quickly steadied himself and proceeded on into the area beneath the sun-port, called ‘Penny Square’.

In the square, grand buildings some dating back to the early 1900’s were coloured amber by the evening light. Taller more modern structures shot into the sky above while others were nestled among the barrel vaults. The canopy was uneven structure of enormous slabs set upon colossal arches and buildings of varying height creating the illusion of an inverted landscape of mountains and valleys.

In the sunlit square, majestic old trees lined the grassy boulevards and vines and ornamental shrubs adorned the architecturally diverse structures. The foliage was well maintained but more for necessity rather than decoration, since the oxygen produced and carbon dioxide that they extracted was essential to maintain healthy air in the enclosed sectors. These areas were in sense environmental islands naturally regulating the air of the mid-city.

The old man strolled along the busy streets, delighting in the warm light rain as he rested briefly before a wrought iron gateway that had the name, ‘Turner’s Lane’ written over the archway. Behind it was a cobblestone lane, exclusively for pedestrians, winding its way through a twisting labyrinth of quaint storefronts and parks in the heart of the Penny Square. The man swiped his identification bracelet before the gates scanner and passed through.

He knew the area well. The old man often cut through Penny Square on the way back to his home and had at one time or another walked every route and patronized every coffee shop and pub. His favorite place in the plaza was, however, neither. That was in the middle of the square where the lane opened into a small courtyard. Shops enclosed the rectangular coutryard and at its center surrounded by a low, circular shaped fence was an old oak tree, its great bows spanning the court, opening wide and welcoming. With a renewed energy, the old man walked briskly toward the tree, stepped over the low barrier with surprising spryness and laid a hand against the thick, gnarled bark.

“Good day to you old friend.” he whispered, caring little for the curious eyes of the few spectators that were watching him. It was obvious to most that the old man meant no harm to the tree, and the barrier only served to prevent kids from climbing it, but one indignant young woman marched over to him and stood at the fence, perched like a bird about to peck a worm.

“Sir!” she announced in a sharp tone. “You are not supposed to go in there.”

He did not acknowledge her as he walked about the oak, inspecting the branches above as if he were planning to climb to its top. With a huff, the woman procured from her purse, a pair of silver optical frames and angrily put them on.

“Last chance.” she warned.

No response.

“Fine then.”

Through the 1920’s styled glassless frames, the woman was able to access the net via a cognitive three-dimensional browser, which appeared within her own area of vision. In a second she was able to connect to Tuner Lane security services and dictated her complaint. A response immediately appeared beneath her text informing her that a guard had been dispatched.

“I’ve called security.” The indignant woman announced triumphantly.

A small robot in the form of a trumpet fly maneuvered its way through the park, circled the tree a few times, then hovered a few meters away from the woman. She stared impatiently into its two, bulbous camera-eyes and anxiously awaited it’s controller to arrive.

A few moments later, a large, middle-aged man in a grey coloured uniform emerged through a nearby service door. Noticeably irritated, his large, thick fingers strangling the napkin from his interrupted dinner. He had been watching the video from his ‘fly’ and the woman’s ‘i-glass’ camera in two small windows projected into his field vision, and was well aware the situation. As he approached the tree the ‘fly’s’ surveillance was no longer required and it zipped toward it’s silver charging pad located on the guard’s shoulder where it sat like an ornate brooch.

The indignant woman noted the approaching guard. “That’s him!” she said pointing her finger.

The old man seemed oblivious to the woman’s presence.

The women glared at the guard. “Well,” she spurred, “aren’t you going to fine him?”

The guard’s bemused expression quickly hardened at the woman’s command and calmly told her, “Thank you for your concern. I will be sure to recommend the appropriate citations to your account. Now, if you would be so kind as to go on about your business I’ll deal with the situation.”

The bird was reluctant to leave without her worm, but the guard just stood and stared at her until she complied, and by that time the old man had crossed over the fence again.

“Who painted her?” The old man asked the guard as he slowly rested his bones on a comfortable bench.

Red and blue spray paint had been used to write nearly incomprehensible words across the grey bark at a level of height comfortable for your typical twelve year old. Judging from the grammar and the fact that it was written in ‘gutter-speak’, a conglomeration of many different languages also narrowed down the age of the vandals.

The guard walked over and lowered his large frame beside him.

“Kids”, he answered, leaning back. “They have no respect.”

As the guard and the old man began to speak in a rather chummily manner, the woman realized quickly that they knew each other and that it was more than likely that the rules, for whatever reason, didn’t apply to the senior citizen. The future crone scowled but her protest was ignored and seeing that she wouldn’t get the satisfaction of having the rules enforced on her behalf returned to her blanket and her book.

The old man smiled as he watched the young woman leave. “They never do, Michael. Don’t suppose you were able to chase any of them down?”

The big man rumbled with laughter and removed the cap from his shiny brown head. “What do I look like to you, a running back? Shoot! I didn’t even get their picture. Too damn fast. Too damn smart.” Griped the security guard, then he smiled again, “Hell, maybe I’m just too damn old!”

The old man grinned and stared at the ancient tree. “Time enough.” He said quietly.

Michael gave the old man a strange look and chuckled. “Still the same ol’ Faeyt.”

The security guard extended his beefy mitt and shook the older man’s hand. “It’s good to see you. How ya been keepin’?”

“So, so.” Answered Faeyt. “Damn knee keeps acting up.” He grumbled.

The security guard furrowed his brows. “Too bad. So how the hell old are you now? Last time I saw you, you were pushing a century.”

“One hundred and one.” Answered Faeyt glumly.

Michael nodded, leaned back and joined his old friend as he continued to gaze at the tree. Most people these days made it past a hundred years old and seeing a centurion out for a stroll wasn’t all that odd any more. People were commonly living to the age of one hundred and thirty, but one could sure bet they weren’t taking strolls in the park at that age, although the oldest woman in the world used to. It was hardly possible not to know about Miss Chang. Faeyt swore he saw her on the damn news every night. At one hundred and sixty three she wasn’t much one for conversation and he just watched in horror, unable to avert his eyes as they propped up the dried out old husk, blinking once for ‘yes’ and twice for ‘no’. If he ever got that old he hoped he would still have the strength to put himself out of his misery and throw himself off a building or under a car.

“Keeping yourself busy?” Inquired Michael as he glanced over at the woman who had the complaint.

“I’m looking after an atrium over in Bridgings.”

“Bridgings? They must be payin’ ya pretty well.”

Faeyt scrunched up his face and bobbed his head side to side. “The money’s okay. Don’t really care much about that. It’s just nice to still be of some use, y’know, just about everything is automated these days. Not much of a need for gardeners anymore.” He explained.

“I here that.” Agreed Michael, “Won’t be long before we’re all obsolete.”

The big man, placed his hands behind his head and looked up at the sky. He stretched then stood up. “Well I gotta be gettin’ back.” He said, “Been nice seeing ya again, Faeyt. Y’all take care now, ya here?”

Michael reached out and shook the ex-green keeper’s hand once more and left Faeyt alone. The old man studied the tree a little longer before he too slowly rose and carried on his way, continuing on down the lane contently, while other people were rushing about to avoid the rain. After another ten minutes the shower had stopped and the old man was standing at Duke Street, a main thoroughfare. The steady drone of passing vehicles speeding along the six-lane roadway broke the pleasant spell of Turner Lane and sullen once more, proceeded across the over-pass that took him to the train station located on an boulevard island in the middle of the road. Descending stairway to the roofed platform he took a seat on an empty bench; it felt good to take the weight off of his knee once more. There were plenty of open spots so he hoisted his leg up onto the bench, careful not to touch his wet boot to the sitting area, and stretched out. Leaning back, he touched his finger to the thin, glassless wire frames around his eyes and called up the station’s schedule. His ‘i-glasses’, generated a three dimensional holographic viewer and his thoughts were able to manipulate a mouse pointer. It was an older style interface, but he was used to it and didn’t really care to learn a new browser when his old one worked just fine. The train would be in at the station in precisely eleven minutes, so, Faeyt set an alarm and initiated his music player to pass the time. The melodic ambient sounds of one his favourite songs was just beginning when he was alerted of the time and right on schedule the sleek silver train emerged from beneath the road and silently glided into the station. He flopped his leg to the ground, slowly stood and joined the other passengers on the platform. The doors of the train swung open and people filtered in, waving their id wristbands before a payment-scanner as they entered. The transaction flashed before, Faeyt’s eyes for a few seconds after he swiped his band, but like most it went unnoticed as he sought out a window seat.

Faeyt found an isolated window seat and eased into the chair; careful not to bend his knee too quickly else he may suffer a painful joint lock. The doors closed and the sleek train began to accelerate as it descended into a transparent underground tube in which it was magnetically suspended. There was no friction and during a straight away one could stack a house of cards if they so desired.

The train passed into the tubes that wound their way through and over the underground city, a vast network of office buildings, shopping malls and residential dwellings, nestled within the earth or built within massive caverns. Sun-ports in the bright squares of the mid-city cast light into the underworld which was reflected by enormous mirrors that slowly adjusted their angle throughout the day, to ensure even distribution. Faeyt stared out his window and watched the city below him rush by; structures dominated by gothic architecture illuminated by amber coloured second hand light. A third of the cities population dwelled in the underworld, mostly the poor unable to afford a topside apartment, or even qualify for a security pass to walk the sky-city. Little had changed in his time; the world was and always had been a passage out of the works of H.G. Wells, there were even accounts of cannibalism in the darkest corners of the underworld. Faeyt turned his eyes from the window and hoped he would not have to return to the bowels of the city for a very long time.

The old man tucked his tall frame into his seat and made himself as comfortable as possible for the short ride. It would take ten minutes at the most to reach his neighborhood and to pass the time he called up the local newspaper. The time and date flashed before his eyes then a graphic representation of an interactive newspaper appeared in his field of vision. He enhanced an article, hidden away in the ‘special interest’ section and read up on the latest ‘terrorist act’ committed by one of the costumed freaks that had invaded the city of Niagra.

Faeyt was midway through the article when larger read letters flashed before his eyes, alerting him that they were nearing his home. The light flashed over and over again, then he was awoken by an automated voice saying, “Next stop, Delaware Square.”

A much younger version of the old man opened his radiant blue green eyes and squinted at the bright lights that ran along the ceiling of the train. He reached into his pocket, procured is ‘i-glasses’, and accessed the public transport database to see specifically where he was. The date read about three weeks into the future and yet the man who was clearly Faeyt was young again.

Carefully, the much younger version of the oldman, looked over the seat behind him. He then, threw his eyes forward and read the schedule listed on a small video screen on the back of the seat in front of him. Delaware Square was on the fringe of the train route and he was hoping it was remote enough to throw those agents of his trail. They had been relentlessly pursuing him now for a few weeks, ever since the accident had changed him. Every time, he was sure he had lost them, they somehow were able to find him as if maybe he had a tracking device on him, but security scanners had not located any such things on his person. He hoped this time he could have at least six hours of interrupted sleep. Between the headaches and constant fear of waking up in the hands of the IDS he had hardly slept over the past three days. All he knew was that he needed sleep and could very well pass out on his feet at any minute.

The Grecian columns were like needles piercing the sky and plowing straight through it. To the small boy, it may have stabbed eternity itself. There was no end to it, it just sort of faded away into the amber light and vanished into the mysterious recesses of the Mid Core. For a long time, the child stood stock still, staring up the column, his jaw lax, pale gray eyes straining to see past the hazy lights, to maybe get a glimpse of the Mid Core in real life. Finally, his eyes began to dry and sting and he squeezed them shut, lowering his head and letting the muscles in the back of his neck relax finally.

Glancing around himself again, the lone eleven year-old child tightened the jacket he had tied inside-out around his waist and slipped into the dense crowds as they moved along the shadowy streets. He kept his head down, letting his dark hair fall as much into his face as the short locks would allow. The idea of sleep barely touched his consciousness though it had been at least two days. Maybe it was how his body had been engineered and he'd just never known thanks to the strict sleeping schedule he had been placed on, or perhaps the mere wonders of the world outside of the Sector. Whatever the case, his body moved readily, his wits sharp, constantly looking out for agents. As much as he'd tried to get into what was happening at Sector, all he could ever get were tiny, mostly incomprehensible snippets of images or sound. All he knew was that they were looking for him and this did little to help him stay even one step ahead. He was left to do the best he could, moving along as though the steps were merely covered in darkness, there but almost impossible to tell where he was in relation to them.

So far, the outside world was a great many things. It was a wonder and a chore, a dream and a nightmare. It was only when he'd dropped outside of the fence and broken into Niagra's Sub Core that he realized how many gaps his collected visions really had and just how many truths had been left out of their lessons. Almost immediately, the selective nature of his schooling nearly hit him in the face. It was clear all he had ever been taught was what he would need to know when he served as their personal weapon. Now, thrown into reality, the boy felt constantly lost. Every movement was on a whim, which held him in a state of constant terror and excitement, which he quickly learned was the state of true freedom.

Still, the dark, crowded streets threatened to suffocate him. While he was used to the metallic hallways of the Sector, they were nothing compared to the outside. Here, everyone was enormous, a constantly moving forest of legs that ebbed and flowed with undercurrents of sweeping dresses and overcoats that pushed and knocked him in every direction. He was used to being relatively unnoticed, ignored even, but at least at the Sector, he could move, breathe, even if it was all within the strict confines of their rules. Riding out one particularly hard bump, the boy shoved his way out into an alley, away of the crowd and took in a deep, long breath. Even the stale taste of the city air was better than the vacuum that was the crowded street. Lowering himself to the ground, he hugged his knees to his chest with his pale, thin arms and curled into a tiny little ball.

After a moment, the boy loosened himself a little and looked down at his hands, which were now flecked with bright red scabs from the barbed wire fences surrounding Sector. It had been two days. He'd barely eaten, hadn't slept, but was still free, if only for the time being. Now, suddenly with no one to tell him what to do, he could only guess at what to do next, let alone how to go about doing it.

A man in a black trench coat walked slowly and purposefully down the alley, a narrow gap between two buildings that reached up and through the dark canopy more than seventy stories above. His bright green eyes were almost luminescent in the dim light cast by a single dust covered ultraviolet lamp. It was more than enough for him see by, however, not that he was actually looking for anything in particular. What he saw was the past.

Agent Parsefal Raiko had developed many talents over his many long years in service with ICOR's I.D.S. but his one unmatched trait which made him invaluable as tracer was his powerful psychometry. Naturally gifted with the power, it had taken as many years to control it as it had to perfect it and now there were not many who eluded him.

"He went through here." Reported Raiko to the smaller female form that strolled behind him.

Parsefal's eyes stared ahead in the empty alley, but he saw much more than what was revealed by that singular moment in time. He saw into a multitude of events that had transpired, significant moments that left enough of an impression that could be read, and so sensitive was his ability that he could see even the most minute of details. A power that if not properly regulated would have driven him insane long ago but Parsefal was from the beginning determined to rule it.

Focusing on his target, Agent Raiko saw the tall, blonde haired man make his way down the alley. The man, he knew to be called, Faeyt Dunn, paused by a dumpster and rubbed his temples and Raiko stood still, observing in real time what had occurred approximately six hours ago. The Genomorph knew well the signs of emerging omegapathic skills and their target was exhibiting them. He watched as the man was forced to kneel down from the pain, and remembered the headaches that felt like two hot blades being driven through his eyes. A trickle of blood began to pour from the man's nose, then the seizure was over an episode that would have killed a normal Human, but not an ever regenerating omegapathic brain. Scientists called it an 'omega-seizure' but the Genomorph's themselves referred to them as 'o-sodes'. Some got them worse than others but they all went through it when their abilities began to manifest, this one though, was the most latent case Parsefal had ever encountered.

"What about the boy?" Asked the other agent.

Parsefal shook his head. He hadn't picked up on any impressions for some time and since he knew it was unlikely the child had the strength to countermand his psychometry he figured that he probably was in the Sub-Core and he honestly was not too anxious to start his tracing down there. Thankfully, the boy known as Peter Stance, was a Sector runaway and they appointed their own agents to the task of collecting him. The legendary, Priam Winter himself was rumored to have volunteered his services to rectifying the situation and that meant that retrieval was an option and that retirement would most likely be the outcome. Agent Pasefal had been made to perform many duties during his time some of which he did not agree with but killing a child was where he drew the line. He would follow orders and track this escaped Synthgen, but that was where it ended. Only were he forced to defend himself or protect others would he intentionally harm the boy, but until then he would do all he could to return the boy to Sector.


Agent Lorryen Boshun placed her hands on her hips and looked up at the flickering lamp. Even in the dull glow her hair possessed a lustrous sheen and her violet eyes were radiant. She, like her partner possessed unusually coloured eyes and in her case, even her hair had a different quality to it. Traits that these days were achieved through genetic enhancements that people paid for so they were both more or less regarded as vain people with more money than they knew what to do with.

"So where's Dunn headed?" She asked.

Parsefal contemplated the information he had received then concluded, "He took the train, southward."

"Going further into center." She sighed.

Her partner acknowledged her sentiment with a nod. He also was not too fond of journeying deeper into the heart of the city but they had little choice. While both of them were confident they could handle most situations thrown at them, the dark centers of the city were vile places ruled by gangs and the enforcers did not travel the streets unless it was necessary. Any law abiding citizen with half brain knew to avoid these areas and those that didn't were considered to be the victims of natural selection. Dunn was indeed desperate, but then again, Parsefal considered that he knew that their orders were to retire him, so what choice did he have?


Faeyt got off the train and stepped into the last station at the edge of one of the forgotten areas of Niagra. Blocks and blocks of condemned, rat infected buildings spanned what could easily be considered another world. There in the shadowy corners of Delaware Square, Faeyt's out of style blue jeans and old trench coat did not stand out, but his healthy skin and bright eyes did. His fresh face lacked the hardness and greyness of all those who dwelled in such places acquired and immediately a rough looking group lingering in the station took notice of him. Faeyt saw them too, and quickly made his way up the stairs and out into the streets.

Faeyt had never in his entire life ventured into such a place and his heart skipped a beat when he stepped out of the station. The city suddenly looked like something out of time, it was dark, not just shaded like most areas of the Mid-Core, but really dark. There were very few light sources and what did exist were like the old style of street lights used in the early twenty-first century. There were also no cars driving about, the streets were quiet, almost as if all around him was abandoned but, Faeyt knew he couldn't be that fortunate. Something kept the people off the streets and in the buildings, he didn't know what, but the Genomorph fugitive felt that best way not to find out was to get into one and out of the open.

Faeyt ducked down an alley. The people he had see in the station were following him and so he thought to elude them the only way he knew how. As soon as he turned the corner he started running, not the struggling gate of a lame old man, but the full out sprint of a well trained athlete. Never in his wildest dreams did he ever think it possible to experience such a thing again and he ran like a man possessed. In fact, even in his younger days, Faeyt did not remember being able to move with such speed and agility, his rejuvenation had obviously done more to his body than he suspected. With long powerful strides he flew down the alley and before his pursuers even turned the corner he had reached the end and make a leap he didn't think possible to grab onto a lower landing of a fire escape. He easily pulled himself up and ran quickly up the stairs until he found a door that was ajar on the fifth floor. Entering into a dark corridor, Faeyt figured the dilapidated building was most likely abandoned and from what he could see by the light of the street lights below that shone into the windows he was in an old office building. Most of the rooms he passed by had glass doors and had only a few pieces of furniture left in them, one, however, had couch which he figured would make a fine bed and so he cautiously entered the room looking around to see if there were any squatters about.

Faeyt was pleased to see that the office was vacant and he figured that for the time being he was safe. How could anyone possibly find him? Satisfied that he could finally get some sleep, Faeyt decided to move the couch into one of the rooms not visible from the main hallway. He was rather surprised at how light the heavy looking piece of furniture was and easily maneuvered it round the corners and placed under the window. There was a desk that he slid in front of the door for some added security, the satisfied that all was secure laid down of the soft cushions and fell fast asleep.

Faeyt had wedged the couch in between the wall and desk blocking door so the only way anyone was going to get in would be to bust through. If that happened, he figured he'd have enough time to get out the window and calculate his next move at that point but at the moment he was just too tired to try and plan for the unforeseeable. Over the past week he had only been able to catch a few hours of sleep here and there and when his head hit the couch he almost immediately fell into a deep sleep.

Two weeks earlier...

Faeyt Dunn got off the train and slowly made his way out of the station. Thankfully his building was only a few blocks away as the arthritis in his knee and ankle were beginning to pain him. He could hardly wait to get home, make himself a cup of tea and lounge on the couch but 'even the best laid plans go awry', and true to that saying trouble was waiting for him outside of his apartment.

A few months ago, a group of miscreants had moved into the Chapman Arms and with their arrival gang activity increased significantly. The old man's beloved neighborhood had been in decline for some time, but over the course of a single month people had become afraid to walk the streets after the reflected rays of the sun ceased to shine and the natural-light streets lamps were dimmed. Black clad punks in leather jackets had begun to prowl the streets, snapping at anyone who dared crossed their path, but Faeyt didn't have any time for their antics. He alone had stood up to them and called the enforcers in to deal with them. The concerns of a law abiding citizen was all the enforcers needed to raid the gang member's apartment and in doing so found enough illegal drugs to send them all to jail for a very long time. Unfortunately the cops couldn't arrest all of them and the remaining members of the gang had obviously learned who to blame for the incarceration of the senior members.

As the old man approached the front doors the kids began to babble their gutter speech at him, which Faeyt simply ignored. He could barely understand what they were saying so it was easy to turn a deaf ear to them, but then one barred his way, mid-way up the stairs. Faeyt braced himself for a hit, but then the young men backed off and started to clear out when a police car drove by.

"Keep walking ya punk asses!" Shouted Faeyt after them, brave now that the enforcers were in the area. Despite their presence, however, he was still quick to enter the lobby and take the elevator to the one of the highest floors in the old building.

Wincing from the pain in his leg, Faeyt walked at a fast pace down an ill-kept hallway and unlocked the five dead-bolts of his heavy reinforced door. The modern electronic locks, were rarely used anymore since they were susceptible to the effects of solar storms. Although the occurrences of them were rare, no one wanted to risk using the technology if one day it may be rendered useless.

Faeyt swung the heavy door shut and re-locked all five dead bolts. At one time he wasn't so paranoid but since the gangs had started moving into his neighborhood he installed the heavier door for added security. He had just turned the last lock when the door buzzer went off.

"Hey, Mr. Dunn." Greeted a young man who appeared in the monitor beside the doorway.

"Oh, hi, Jacob." Replied the old man, "What can I do for you?"

"Nothing, Mr. Dunn. I saw you enter the building and I just wanted to tell you that I watered your garden."

"Thank you very much, Jacob. Can I pay you for your time?"

The young man raised his hands. "No, no. It's no problem. It's the least I can do. See ya."

"Good bye, Jacob. Thanks again."

Jacob was a good kid. He came to live at the Chapman arms about three years ago and during that time, Faeyt had kind of taken him under his wing, or under whatever sort of wing he had to offer. The young man didn't have much, but he loved growing things, and this shared passion for plants had sprouted a friendship. Turned out, Jacob was putting himself through school. He wanted to be a botanist and he was quite impressed with the old gardener's knowledge of plants, so much so that he spent a lot of time with him in his biosphere on the roof of the building. Faeyt, honestly wasn't that good with people, he preferred the company of his plants to most, but Jacob was different. He possessed a quiet temperament that put the old man at east and he had a genuine gift for nurturing life into the earth. Jacob didn't know it but he had made a big impact on Faeyt's life, and not having any children of his own or family to pass on his estate to, he planned to leave it all to Jacob when he was gone. He knew the kid would take appreciated the biosphere and make good use of it.

Faeyt limped down a long hallway and turned into his kitchen. The room like the entire apartment reflected an era long past with its high ceiling and crown moldings. Appliances made to look older than they were and the many bundles of drying herbs were hung about completed the 'country-look'.

The first thing, Faeyt did was put on the kettle, then he prepared a concoction of herbs for his arthritis which he placed in a tea-ball. Not only, was the old man knowledgeable in growing plants but he knew how use them medicinally and had for most of his life treated his own ailments.

While waiting for the kettle to boil he walked over to large monitor embedded in the wall and touched the screen. The image of an ornate faerie with glowing, fluttering wings then flew in from the side and hovered in the middle of the black screen which slowly changed into a beautiful forest background.

"Good evening, Faeyt." She said, "During your absence, you have received no new personal messages. All monthly bills have been paid and your groceries will be delivered tomorrow. Is there anything you require at the moment?"

"No, thank you, Una." Answered the old man then he touched an icon at the bottom of the screen and brought up a TV schedule.

"Crap, crap, crap..." Announced Faeyt as he scrolled through the programming schedule.

One of the latest fads was the amalgamation of old programs, generating absurd shows which had no meaning whatsoever. The most popular one right now was called 'Sexy friends in the E.R.', and Faeyt for life of him couldn't figure out who in their right mind would watch such a show or even what demographic it appealed to. He just shook his head and resigned as usual to watch a nature show. It was a documentary on the, Grizzly bear but Faeyt was far more interested in seeing the Rocky Mountain back drop and wished he could have in his life afforded more passes to allow him venture into the wilderness. Long before he was born, ICOR passed a world law that made accessibility to forests beyond cities off limits unless one had a special pass. These security passes could be purchased for a handsome fee, but those who not afford them would only see the outside world from the window of transport on the highway or perhaps on a school field trip when they are kids. It had been years since Faeyt had been outside the walls, and he doubted he would every make it out again. It wasn't just a matter of cost, there was also the requirement of a certain amount of citizenship citations which were attained by being active in community and doing volunteer work, activities were which more readily accessible to those people who lived in wealthier neighborhoods.

The kettle began to whistle. Faeyt added the steaming water to his cup and while it steeped placed some biscuits on a plate and then carried the lot in the living room where the program he was watching automatically transferred to the larger screen set into the wall there. He placed the food and drink on a pedestal table near a brown leather recliner sat down and threw a blanket over his legs. It was good to be home.

Faeyt was nibbling on the last of biscuits and washing it down with the remainder of the tea when he heard a muffled cry. He was hearing wasn't what it used to be, but he was positive it came from the hallway. As he slowly eased himself out of his chair and started to rise he heard the noise again, followed by a loud bang.

The young man's bright coloured eyes flashed opened from the sound. He sat up, peering through the darkness and the still closed door held shut by the desk in front of it. There was then a bright flash, followed by the low rumble of thunder and Faeyt knew then that it had to be a 'mid-core storm', an uncommon meteorological event where clouds actually formed under the canopy and became charged from all the residual electricity about. They usually started in sun-port, but then were sucked into the mid-core from the pressure change, but instead of dissipating continued to build and produce lightning.

The sound of the thunder reverberated through the mid-core and was much louder since it was contained. The office building vibrated from the after shock of the lightning, but despite the noise and movement, the now much younger man drifted back to sleep. He was so exhausted that even the powerful booms of thunder that echoed throughout the enclosed middle section could not force him to stay awake not matter how much he desired to watch the storm. Quickly he was sleep once more falling back into that same memory that he would like nothing more than to forget.

Peter started as thunder shook the cores overhead. With wide, gray eyes, he turned and stared up into the bleakness above him, the misty amber light filtering down to just barely scrape the surface of the dark world in which he struggled to navigate. His head felt hazy and he knew something wasn't right. He wasn't sure what would come out of these walls when the storms came, but he was sure he didn't want to be in any vulnerable state when they did. Turning back around, Peter stumbled down the alley, his head pounding painfully in quick bursts like lightning in his brain. As he reached the end of the alley, Peter paused again and blinked up at the mid-core above him. He expected there should have been rain, and maybe there was, but he couldn't see anything and it didn't feel like a normal storm. In fact, as far as he could tell, there was nothing but thunder rumbling in the distance.

Looking up and down the street, he finally noticed a battered, metallic door that hadn't been closed properly, or the lock broke on it or something. Whatever it was, it was shelter and the building looked all but abandoned, a regular haven for squatters. Glancing around the emptying streets, the boy made a beeline for the door and slipped quickly inside before anyone could notice. The run seemed to cause another charge to lick in his head and his eyes watered with pain as the electricity seemed to reverberate through his body. His muscles felt weak, almost trembling and he stumbled again, grabbing hold of a rickety old railing barely holding on along a set of stairs. There, Peter slipped around to the shadowy space beneath them and ducked under.

As soon as the shadows engulfed him, Peter's vision faded. His muscles stiffened and his eyes rolled back into his head. Alone in the darkened crevice beneath the stairs, the child's body dropped against the wall, hitting his head on the stairs before he fell to the floor. His eyelids fluttered as his arms and legs jerked. Then everything stiffened and his eyes snapped open, staring through the darkness above him. Peter's teeth ground hard against each other. His back arched and his fists clenched, digging his fingernails into his palms as every muscle in his body seemed to tighten. His breaths came in deep, heaving gulps.

Through the black mist came the off-white steam that filled the streets . . . two figures . . . two targets . . . who was the other one? . . . they lost him again . . . dammit all! He couldn't hide forever . . . the third hunter will find him, all the better as they couldn't bring themselves to kill a child . . . he must be eliminated. . . run the scan again . . . trackers . . . he can't hide . . . the other one . . .

Peter's eyes only barely fluttered open. He was drenched in sweat and his body was sore, as though he'd just been beaten senseless after a hard day's training. His head still pounded and tiny lights still burst in front of his eyes, bright in the shadows around him. A tiny moan escaped him as he tried to curl up into a more comfortable position. He was always useless after a vision. It was like his body put every ounce of energy into torturing itself. He almost felt too drained to curl up. He just let his eyes drop shut again and tried to explore the hazy, broken images he'd seen. They so rarely made any sense, if only he could just fill in the gaps. Frustration flared up within him which only seemed to exhaust him even more. Within minutes, his exhausted mind shut off and Peter fell into a deep sleep.

The old man adjusted the angle of his hallway camera. At first he could only hear the sounds of what sounded like a scuffle, then as his view increased and he could see further down the hallway, he saw some gangland punks putting their boots to Jacob. They had the kid down on the ground and were kicking him and laughing as the young man desperately tried to protect his head.

Faeyt didn't even hesitate. His last remaining bastion of tolerance toppled when he saw, Jacob being beaten by the degenerates. He walked to the end of the hallway and opened a closet and reaching far into the back retrieved an old twentieth century shot gun. On a top shelf he found the shells and started sliding the shells into the chamber as he walked back to the door.

Jacob was near unconsciousness and still the punks continued to kick and taunt him. One a boy who could not have been more than thirteen then reached into his pocket and pulled out a vicious looking switch blade.

"I'm gonna cut you, asshole!" Threatened the kid but as he bent down and placed the knife against Jacob's neck there was a loud noise.

BOOM!

The kid's head literally exploded from a point blank shot gun blast. The punk's brain's, blood and shards of skull splattered the three other miscreants and they stood dumbfounded as they watched the boy's body shamble in a horrid display and start to fall over as arterial blood spouted from the punctured neck.

The old man wasn't even phased. Years of suppressed rage steadied his hands as he pumped the shotgun and blew a hole in the torso of another. Then, their flight extinct finally kicked in and the other two fled, but not before Faeyt reloaded and took one last shot that ripped through the back of a third. The fourth escaped down the stairwell, and though the old man considered going after him, he knew that he'd never catch him. He just slowly walked down the hallway, pumping his shot gun once more until he stood over the third young man who had been shot in the back. He was still alive and crying like a baby. The punk begged for mercy, but the old man just laughed and put the barrel of the gun to the back of the coward's head.

"Piece of shit." Faeyt said coldly then he squeezed the trigger and painted the floor red.

The old man then saw to Jacob. The young man was in pretty bad shape so Faeyt thought he would do better if he took him into his apartment and let him rest on a soft surface while the paramedics arrived. Putting the shot gun aside, he grabbed Jacob by the arms and pulled him along the floor. When he was inside, he struggled to get him into a sitting position, then thankfully, Jacob was able to assist, Faeyt as the old man guided him onto his couch.

"You're going to be alright, kid." Said Faeyt encouragingly.

The sound of sirens echoed in the distance but they weren't from an ambulance but rather the police. Faeyt wasn't surprised they were quicker on the scene and knew they'd know doubt come down pretty hard on him, but he didn't care. As far as was concerned he had just performed a public service and felt he had contributed more to society in the ten seconds it took to kill the three punks then he had his entire life.

The sounds of footsteps caught his attention and Faeyt stood up and made his way down the hall to his open doorway. The cops had arrived faster than he thought but as he rounded the corner he was confronted by three other gang members accompanying the one that got away.

The beating was brutal. In the ten minutes that it took the police to arrive on the scene after, Faeyt had heard them the punks had beaten him within an inch of his life then riddled his body with repeating railguns, that punctured the floor and shot through the dining room table of the apartment below. They then mercilessly killed, Jacob and tossed the old man's body down a garbage chute and still had more than enough time to make a clean get away.

Back in the present, the now much younger Faeyt stirred in his sleep but did not awake.

Faeyt continued to relive his past through his dreams...

The body of the old man had been collected by an automated sanitation vehicle and dumped into a canal that filtered waste into a cavern far below the sub-core. It was not uncommon for the result of violent acts to end up so and unfortunately the police rarely brought themselves to journey into the subterranean dumps. Often they sent robotic probes into the vile black pits but their success rate was forty percent and many a missing person was never found. Such was the case with Faeyt. His body ended up buried in the quagmire and there it remained encased in garbage.

Faeyt didn't remember much prior to breaking though the layer of congealed garbage and slime. He burst through it and breathed deeply, filling his lungs with air as if they had not drawn air for some time. He then hacked up, then vomited a foul smelling dark bile and despite the sight of it was still overwhelmed with a painful hunger. He was positively famished and though many questions ran through his mind they were all overshadowed by his need for food. Firstly, though, he had to find his way out of where ever he was. All was black, and he considered he might have lost his sight, until he came across the soft glow of a discarded display panel that still had some power coursing through it. By the low light, he was able to make out that he was in some kind of garbage pile, then utter terror gripped him when he realized where he was.

The world's waste was dealt with responsibly and in the best interest of the environment, at least on the surface. There still were, and would always be companies that cut corners and though it was frowned upon, all knew they existed. Unfortunately to meet the demands, the existence of these environmental rebels were necessary, people just chose not to consider what they did with the waste, but most could guess. That's where Faeyt was. He was in an illegal dumping ground deep within the earth. A crevasse used as a garbage can for the overflow waste of Niagara City.

He was so weak, but oddly the usual aches and pains he felt from common movements were gone. Despite his current state he hadn't felt as good in years and he learned he reason when he caught sight of his reflection in the reflective surface of a discarded appliance.

"Jeezuz!" Exclaimed Faeyt aloud.

He just stared at his reflection, struggling to comprehend how such a thing could have happened. He was young again! Faeyt touched his face with his grimy hand, it felt so real but he had to wake up. He had to be dreaming or he was dead. One way or the other he knew this could not be real and yet it was. Somehow he had not only survived a brutal and what should have been a disfiguring beating, and being shot repeatedly but also had been given back over eighty years of his life.

Several theories rushed through, Faeyt's mind, but he was too fatigued and too hungry to consider them. All he knew is if he was alive he wouldn't stay so much longer if he stayed where he was. He had to find his way up the sheer walls, back up to the city.

For three days, Faeyt climbed. When he could no longer stay awake any longer he found a ledge and slept, not expecting to wake up again for some reason he did. How he survived was a mystery, he subsisted on nothing. No food, no water... nothing. He should have died, not that he should have been alive in the first place, but he just kept on going, pulling himself up sheer walls or scrambling along lesser inclines until at last he stood within a shaft of light.

The beam of light was reflected off of one of the giant mirrors used to divert sunlight into the subterranean city known as the sub-core. It stung his eyes, and after he adjusted mad his way up a narrow ledge that lead him up into an area sealed off by fences and razor wire. He was in a restricted area and the sign on the gate showed that it was owned by a contractor, which obviously just a front for the waste management company that was using the natural crevasse as a dumping ground.

As Faeyt staggered toward the fence, searching for a way out a bright light was suddenly shone in his eyes.

"Hold it right there!" Shouted a deep voice.

Faeyt, stopped and the ground began to shift beneath his feet, or rather he began to waver. He was so frail that the shock of the light at that point literally knocked him over. Later he woke up in a small room. He was laying on a type of sofa, the kind one would commonly find in the waiting area of a public building.

"Damn. You scared the shit outta me." Said a burly security guard when he noticed that Faeyt was coming around, "You okay? You look like you clawed your way out of a hole, kid."

Kid? Faeyt couldn't remember the last time he had been addressed in such a manner. He tried to respond, but his throat was too dry.

"Here, drink this."

The security guard handed, Faeyt a bottle of water and he guzzled down so quickly he nearly choked.

"Take it easy, kid. Just take your time. It's not going anywhere." Said the guard.

It was difficult to do, but Faeyt slowed down. He was so thirsty, but as he started to take his time the craving seemed to subside.

"Thank you." Faeyt gasped, handing the empty container back to the guard, "You wouldn't have anything to eat, would you?"

The guard stood up, walked out of the small room and returned with a bag of jerky.

"My wife says its bad for me, so he I keep here." Mentioned the guard with a smile.

Faeyt wolfed down a few strips and as they slip down he felt like he was going to throw up. His stomach was completely empty and so the food didn't sit too well.

"When's the last time you ate?" Asked the guard with genuine concern.

Faeyt just shook his head. He had no idea how much time has passed since he was beaten, shot and dumped into that stinking pit. Days? Maybe longer.

The guard sat back in his chair and stared at the young man for a moment. "Homeless, eh?" he figured, "I ran into some bad luck when I was your age. Would have died too if it hadn't been for the charity of a woman who had no business helping out someone like me, but she did."

The security guard tipped back his hat and scratched his head as he struggled to make a decision.

"Look. You can stay here for the night. My shift ends in about five hours, but after that you gotta be on your way. You got that?"

Faeyt nodded and the security stood up and headed for the door. "Gotta do my rounds." He said, "You get some sleep."


A strange sound awoke, Faeyt. Slowly he lifted his head and looked toward the desk that was blocking the office door. A flash of light streaked across the threshold, and he instinctively ducked his head down and lied still. Whoever it was they probably had no idea he was there, but what if it was the agents! He looked up at the window and considered escaping, but it was a last resort. If he could he would rather make his way through the building rather than scale the outside of it.

He could hear the sound of muffled voices now and from the way they spoke, Faeyt go the idea that it was those gangland punks from the train station or people along those lines anyway. They'd been looking for him all this time? Faeyt couldn't believe they didn't have anything better to do, but then again they were basically what he referred to as troglodytes and such behaviour really wasn't out of the ordinary for such creatures.

After the voices fell silent, Faeyt waited for a good fifteen minutes before he moved. He shifted the desk over as quietly as he could, then slipped out of the office and crept toward the door to the corridor. He couldn't hear a thing and opening the door poked his head out and checked both directions. Nothing, then there was a light to his right. They were at the end of the hallway and hadn't seen him, but he didn't want to get trapped and so decided to make a break for it.

Faeyt opened the door and sprinted down the hallway away from the punks, who immediately pursued. His plan was to trace back the way he had come, but he must of missed a turn since things got unfamiliar really quickly. He ran down another hallway, darker than the one he had previously been and couldn't see the doors at the end until they right in front of him. Faeyt hit the doors. Locked! Not for long. He threw his leg into one and snapped the lock with one kick then sighed gratefully that the doors were dilapidated. He was then in a stairwell and wasted little time running downward, moving as fast as he could and found that when he finally what he estimated to be the street level they continued on and on. The building descended into the sub-core he figured and so Faeyt decided right then and there to continue downward and lose himself in the darkest streets of Niagara.

The sound of footsteps clamoring down the stairs above Peter's head jolted him back to consciousness. As his body jumped, his muscles screamed and the boy grimaced in pain for a moment before his own instincts took hold and he scrambled back into the darkness. Crouching there, his hand slipped towards his hip where his sidearm was hidden in his belt beneath the jacket tied inside-out around his waist. He waited, watching with wide, sharp eyes, already completely awake. He knew better than to pull a gun on anyone. It was a quick way to get yourself shot. He didn't know much about the outside world, but he knew that.

As a young man emerged, Peter crept slowly towards the edge of the darkness and surveyed him. Something flashed in the back of his head and he gasped at the sudden pain, only to clap a hand over his mouth and cease breathing for a moment. He knew the tiny sound had echoed out from beneath the stairs and all he could do was hope for a terrifying split second that the man hadn't heard. Of course, he had, and he whipped around revealing sharply colored eyes that stared straight in Peter's direction. Something clouded Peter's vision as he looked back at him, aside from the searing pain that shot across his head from behind his eyes like a fiery migraine.

The other one . . . they lost him . . . he can't hide forever The words echoed not so much in language but in understanding through his head like a mist, just barely corporeal, an almost imaginary shape that he somehow knew was there. At the same time, there was a connection he had only ever felt when looking at others in the Sector, like any other of the random little inklings that hit him once in a while. Finally, the realization hit him and Peter's eyes widened still as he slowly crept out from the shadows so that only his eyes and part of his face were visible. The thin hand reaching towards his waist dropped a way, if only a little though he kept it close, unblinking eyes locked on the man. There was definitely no denying it. This man was like him, different, higher, and on the run...

"They're looking for you," said Peter in a quiet voice. Then he turned, the pain flashing through his head again as he did. He blinked through the pain and followed the "invisible sight" as he called it, when he saw-- but not really-- something different like some transparent layer laid over reality. "There's a back door," he said, "they don't know about it." For a moment, the boy just looked off into the shadowy area beneath the stairs, squinting in pain and letting out a small moan as he pressed his fingertips to his head. Then he said, without turning back, "it's over here," before vanishing again into the shadows beneath the stairs.

Ever downward, Faeyt ran. Deeper and deeper into the earth. It had been a few days since he had a decent meal and his endurance was suffering for it. Sweat poured from his brow and his belly quaked but surprisingly enough his legs yet remained strong and agile. He was thankful his renewed muscularity possessed the stamina necessary to run on little sleep and food from his relentless pursuers.

He was nearing the bottom now and it was only then that he realized that he had gone too far. He had descended below street level and it didn't look like there was a ready escape!

"Shit!" Cursed Faeyt.

He started back up the stairs but it was too late. The voices were getting louder and he could now hear their foot steps getting closer. Faeyt silently moved back down the stairs and that's when his eye caught sight of movement beneath him. Startled he leapt back, landing on the floor a ways from the stairs. He cautiously peeked round into the shadowy alcove under the stairs to see what he was up against and gave a sigh of relief when the boy stepped out into the dim light cast by a single wall fixture. The panic in his eyes quickly returned, however, as his attention was drawn to the approaching foot steps. Now not only did have to worry about himself, but the boy as well. He had little doubt that his pursuers would take out their anxieties on him as well like the vicious jackals they were.

"They're looking for you." The boy had said quietly to which Faeyt could only a reply with a sarcastic, "No shit?"

He had no idea at the time that the kid wasn't talking about the street thugs, but the ICOR agents that were on their trails. At that moment, Faeyt was more concerned with finding a quick escape from both the gang-bangers and the strange kid who he figured was probably an addict and on something. He ran past the kid, hoping to find an open door, but the one he found was locked tight. It looked as if it were too heavy to kick in and the attempt would make enough noise to spur on his pursuers so he looked around for another exit. That's when his head began hurt. Not just a dull throb, but an all out ripping head ache that nearly knocked Faeyt to his knees.

Faeyt gasped and threw his hands to his temples in an attempt to rub out the pain or hold his head together because it literally felt like it was going to explode. There was bright flash of colours before his eyes and the room spun, but then he was fine. A small trickle of blood flowed from one of his nostrils but other than that the episode was over.

The awakened Genomorph had no idea what he was or what had just occurred but it was a natural reaction that commonly occurred when an undisciplined omega wave pattern invaded the space of another telepath. The result was not unlike two positive charges repelling one another as the natural defenses of both minds reacted to one another. The omegapath's experienced the clash as pain from the small brain hemorrhage that would occur. Their regenerative brains would heal the damage preventing any lingering effects but they would be tender for a while. Experienced telepaths learned how to minimize their range, specifically, how not to be invasive, but Faeyt had absolutely no idea he was a telepath, let alone how to control the ability.

The approaching thugs sounded like they were only a couple of landings away when the boy made mention of a door under the stairs and disappeared into the darkness. Faeyt looked up at the stairway then the way the kid went but it was pretty obvious what the better of the two choices was, although he did consider that where ever the boy was leading him there could be more 'meth-heads', or whatever he was on. He'd have to take that risk as he felt he'd have a better chance dealing with some strung-out druggies rather than the angry gang-bangers.

Faeyt found a small service door. Once in, he managed to spin his tall frame around and carefully, and quietly close the door, then he waited not wanting to risk making any noise when he heard the thugs come running down the stairs. He could hear them swearing as they checked the room. At one point their voices seemed to be getting louder and Faeyt was ready to kick the first person to enter the small passage right in the face but then they seemed to give up. He heard them climb up the stairs, then after waiting another five minutes to make sure they didn't leave a spy behind, Faeyt crawled along the dark passage, moving toward a faint light at its end. He could just make out the outlines of conduit piping and electrical junctions that lined the sides of the passage, verifying that he was indeed in some sort of electrical service tunnel.

Faeyt eventually reached the source of the light. It was a small green service light at the bottom of a ladder that lead upward into another concrete tube. The tunnel looked liked it went up several stories and there was a green glowing beacon every five meters or so. The kid was no where in sight, so he either kept heading down the passage or climbed the ladder. Either way, Faeyt really didn't care. The kid kind of gave him the creeps and it would be just as well if he didn't run into him again but as he started climbing upward he caught sight of him hanging out on the ladder looking down at him.

"Ah, there you are." He said, "So. Do you have any idea where in the hell we're going?"

The brain sure is a mysterious organ. If anything Sinclair was pretty sure he knew what his particular flavor of skull filling could dish out in terms of never ending pain. But boy, was he wrong. Right now though, his head felt better. Though, the fact that there was no immediate sensation of incredible pain didn’t necessarily mean he was all better. In fact he had trouble seeing straight or for that matter hearing properly. His sight was blurry and every sound seemed distant and muted and his body was sluggish to respond to his thoughts as well. Clumsily he looked around, for as far as he could tell he was still in the train he remembered before losing consciousness. Someone had been kind enough to drag him out of the walkway and propped him up on one of the benches on the train. They had even put the case of scotch next to him, and despite for however long Sinclair had been unconscious it was still there when he came to. There was no one immediately near him, so apparently no one had been very concerned about his condition. That was fair, though, Sinclair could have cared less if one of the far too many people in this city decided to practically drop dead in front of him. Cleaning the mess up was someone else’s responsibility, not his.

If only he could tell where the train was headed, or what time it was to give him a better indication of what had been going on. Not that any of that could explain what he was doing on a train in the first place, since he was clearly held at gun point prior to that. What could do something like this to a man? What could make him forget how he got from one sticky situation onto a train and then make his brain explode? Poison? Did Floyd have a leaking canister of nerve toxin in the back of his store? That didn’t make a lot of sense, and someone poisoning him in any other way wasn’t really credible either. Whatever made this happen to him, something was clearly wrong. He knew his noggin was broken, but this was not part of the deal, he needed to have this looked at. God knew how long this clarity would last, for all he knew he could have another incredibly painful episode within minutes. He didn’t particularly feel like dying today, so he’d rather try and find the nearest hospital.

There was little else for Sinclair to do than to try and use his handy P3. Surely the good old Pocket Processing Platform would be able to tell him his current location, the time and how to get to the nearest hospital. He had gotten the device for his graduation, many years ago, when his headaches had yet to manifest themselves and it was going to be the all in one device he’d need to manage all his affairs with. It had so many functions that trying to wade through the list of them all was tiresome. Luckily the P3 listened to voice commands and understood a stunning array of them, which was incredibly handy. These days the original P3 had been copied and improved upon a hundred times, but even so the original was still adequate to this day. If only Sinclair could manage to fish the thing out of his pocket, that’d be great.

It took far longer than it should, but eventually the device was firmly in Sinclair’s hands. After a tedious encounter with the on-switch the P3 booted and soon it made some familiar, though warped, bleeps and bloops. Sinclair tried to ask the device his current location but the P3 remained unnaturally silent. It did not respond to his commands in any way, even though it shouldn’t be such a problem for it to triangulate his current location. Despite his senses being dulled, there was quite clearly a complete lack of response. He shook the machine a few times, though that wasn’t going to do much, of course. He tried talking to the machine once more, but again without effect. Actually, he noticed that his own words sounded odd. Apparently when your entire body is screwed up that also includes your ability to speak properly. That’s just peachy.

Attempting to decipher and navigate the menu of the P3 was a pointless endeavor and his energy was better spent doing basically anything else. Instead of investing any more time into the device he looked around some more. It felt as if the train was slowing down, it was probably a good idea to get off and hopefully he’d find his way towards a place where they could help him. Sinclair’s attempts at getting onto his feet were met with great difficulty. His body wouldn’t listen nor had the strength required to pull itself free from gravity. After quite a struggle he did manage to get onto his feet and went, as steady as he could, towards the exit. The weight of the case of scotch wasn’t helping him much either, making him even clumsier than he already was. While bumping into about every obstacle on the train he steadily made his way forward. Oddly enough he hadn’t seen another human being all this time, either it was very late, or wherever he had ended up was pretty much Niagara’s asshole. Neither was a good sign.

Despite Sinclair’s best efforts he wasn’t even near the doors before the train already accelerated out of the station. He cursed his condition, though nothing intelligible materialized from his mouth. Now he’d have to stand there and wait for the train to reach the next station. It’d only take a few minutes, but even so it was a struggle to remain upright. Sinclair threw himself again the side of the train and tried to prevent himself from falling to the ground. The minutes passed in what felt like an eternity but eventually Sinclair was out of the train and onto solid ground.

There were few other people around in the station, for as far as Sinclair could identify his surroundings at least. Things were relatively quiet, making him suspect even more that it was very late on the day, perhaps the middle of the night. His surroundings also looked quite a bit like Niagara’s asshole to boot, so it was pretty much double trouble for him. The only bright side that came with this realization was that he was at least capable of identifying his surroundings a lot better than a while back. He was getting better instead of worse, but he was a pessimistic individual, so he wasn’t assuming he was alright. He still needed help.

Surely the best way to get help was to walk up to the nearby security station and get the attention of the guard present. These people were like the lowest denominator of public servants, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t get lucky. There was a very good chance he was going to be seen as some kind of drunk, but Sinclair was pretty much out of ideas. After what was at least five minutes, Sinclair had made his way towards the nearby security station and banged his P3 against the window. At least it was good for something.

“Hey! Cut that out!” The guard on duty shouted annoyed, though he didn’t really budge much, continually staring at a television screen.
Sinclair wasn’t about to give up. Honestly, who’d rather look at television than look at the person banging on your window? Lowest denominator indeed.
“Hey, jerk-face. Don’t make me come out there!” He yelled while remaining glued to the screen.
Sinclair however did not stop, far from it he made sure his latest banging was the loudest yet.
“Alright, mister funny pants, That’s it. If you’re going to make me miss a part of ‘The Lewd and the Dangerous’ I’m at least going to book you for damaging public property!”
At long last the guard turned away from the screen, though instead of coming right out and addressing Sinclair his attention was drawn to a flashing light next to another screen. When the screen turned on there was apparently something on it which required the man’s attention. He looked at the screen for a few moments and then looked at Sinclair, immediately looking back again.
“Holy crap.” He heard the man utter and grab for a nearby microphone. What kind of an emergency was being displayed on the screen that it was worth missing that stupid show for and not coming out here to deal with him, Sinclair wondered.
“Yes, dispatch? I’ve got a 10-20 on Dreyfous, Sinclair. Please advise.”

Was that a good thing? Sinclair focused on the screen for a moment and was shocked to find it had his picture on it with flashing bright letters saying ‘WANTED, USE CAUTION’. That was certainly not a good thing, luckily the lowest human denominator didn’t have the guts to take him on and preferred calling in reinforcements. That allowed Sinclair the chance to get out of the man’s sight as quickly as he could. Though, that wasn’t particularly quick and once his back-up would arrive he’d be in trouble. Once again he noticed getting more and more control over his body, but if only he could figure out what had happened, perhaps he could explain everything to the police? It’d have to be a damn good explanation though, they wouldn’t say ‘USE CAUTION’ if they weren’t seriously suspecting him of wrong doing.

Sinclair sure was glad he chose to run an errand for his mother today… Yeah… This was just peachy…

Agent Pasefal Raiko lead the way into the station. He kicked aside a discarded coffee cup and watched it roll into the pile of trash that had accumulated in one of the darker corners of the wide open room. To describe the place as a dump would be an understatement and it was quite obvious to the agents that few people dared use this particular station anymore although the automated train still continued to routinely make its stop.

Parsefal slowly strolled through the station house apathetically studying the graffiti painted walls while agent Boshun wandered over to a cash dispenser which had been hacked apart and robbed a long time ago.

"How do people live like this?" She stated looking over to her partner for one of his sage responses but he was distracted.

Parsefal was looking into the past, reading the most recent impressions. He could see, Dunn, but the presence of his pursuers overlapped his 'ghost'. He could see the five gang-bangers follow the now much younger man out of the station and so he followed the 'tracings' out of another exit and toward a dead end alley. As usual, agent Boshun followed a few paces behind, not because her presence disrupted his ability but simply because it offered her a better position in case they ran into trouble, which was very likely in this neighborhood.

Lorryen, possessed psychometric skills as well, but hers were no where near as strong as one adept with the ability and could not even be compared to Parsefal's level. She was able to get fleeting impressions from items, mere flashes, that provided hardly enough information to distinguish her from those fools who made false claims of being 'psychics'. At one time, Parsefal had attempted to train her and it was at that point she learned that psychometry was not one of the omegapathic she excelled at.

Agent Raiko watched as the phantom image of Dunn sprinted down the alley with surprising speed, well, not so surprising to the agent. He was already aware that this Genomorph was naturally endowed with psychokinises, but to what extent? That was the question. It was always the question and part of it was answered when he saw how high the man had leapt to grab hold of the fire escape on the side of the building. He himself could make the seem exceptional leap but he had been training and developing his psychokinetic abilities for over a decade and so he realized then just how dangerous Dunn really was.

"Eight-eight." Announced Raiko as he returned to the present.

Lorryen nodded. Eighty-eight, was the code for a rogue Genomorph that unknowingly possessed dangerously strong omegapathic abilities. It basically meant to approach with caution. Their target was unaware of what he was and would not consider using his abilities but they might naturally be initiated when forced into a defensive position. Diplomacy was thus in order and were they able to appeal to the man's common sense then perhaps they might be able to convince him to come along with them peaceably.

"We're closer than I predicted." Stated Parsefal who was preparing to leap up to the raised ladder. He was just about to leap when a nearby door was kicked in and five young gangsters clumsily made their way into the alley, or so it seemed. Their unusual gates, fake limps, and exaggerated slouching made them seem extremely uncoordinated to onlookers, especially the agents. Lorryen personally thought that at least two of them must have been suffering from constipation or at least a bad case of hemorrhoids.

"Hey, Spider!" One said to a taller leanly built kid, "Must be tourist season."

The one named Spider responded with a malevolent laugh, sporting a gleaming gold tooth as he swaggered up to agent Boshun throwing up his arms in a display which he must have been convinced was menacing. Lorryen was, however, not intimidated.

"She's hot!" Said Spider, swiveling his head back to his gang with his tongue obscenely hanging from his mouth. He then looked over at the well groomed man. "You don't mind if I dance with your old lady, now do ya, homes?"

Parsefal ignored the juvenile request, flashed his identification and asked a question of his own. "IDS. You were pursuing a young man with blonde hair. Where is he?"

"We killed that @$#&^." Piped up the one girl in the gang and by her response it became quite apparent that the kids had no respect for, or fear of authority whatsoever.

"You're lying." Retorted Parsefal with certainty. "Where did you last see him?"

Agent Raiko's serious tone immediately set off the dogs.

"You shut the $#@^ up!" Growled another as he drew a blade and took swing at the agent.

Parsefal blocked the attack as easily as one brushed aside a curtain, grabbing the punks wrist and snapping it in one motion. The kid screamed and fell to his knees, then even as another was about to reach into his coat for what both agents immediately read as an old twentieth century style nickel plated .45 caliber hand gun, drew his gun with inhuman quickness.

"#$%@ you, man!" Cursed a stocky kid wearing black bandana, "You ain't gonna shoo...."

The punk was silenced as a bullet ripped through his head.

As the corpse slumped to the ground and the girl screamed neither of the agents so much as flinched. They had immediately assessed the value of the thugs and on their scale they came up as negatives so they had little compunction of killing them all if they had to. The punks could sense this in their mannerism over the death of their friend and they instantly became compliant.

Parsefal had already telepathically relayed to Lorryen that these were the gangsters that had chased their target into the building and so she had realized from the start that possessed information that could save them some time.

"Still feel like dancing?" Said agent Boshun with a sinister grin.

The small woman then grasped, Spider's belt and with a display of uncanny strength lifted him high above her, easily pressing the tall man with one arm. As he doubled over and his face fell toward hers she stared menacingly into his terrified face.

"Now. My partner asked you a question."

"Ah, there you are," said the blond stranger, "so. Do you have any idea where in the hell we're going?" Peter looked at him for a moment, then turned to look above himself, his wide eyes filling his blank face with a youthful innocence that didn't quite fit with his quiet, flat-toned voice.

"No," he replied simply as he turned to look unblinkingly back at Faeyt, "but it's safe this way. We can't stay here." Without another word, the strange child turned his back and resumed climbing the ladder. He moved fast, his movements smooth and mostly silent as though he'd consciously worked on climbing ladders discretely (little did Faeyt know that he had). Eventually, he the ladder terminated into another metallic service tunnel where Peter got onto all-fours and began crawling with a blank expression. He'd had good luck just following his instincts like this ever since his powers manifested and so he didn't even blink as he moved otherwise blindly through the tunnel. Finally, they came to a dead end in front of a large, metal grate. Here, Peter pressed his face against it and peeked through the thin bars before he turned back to Faeyt, his face slightly lined with the faint impressions of the metal on his skin.

"If we go through here, we'll be on the street level somewhere. It's crowded. We should be far away from them but . . . " Peter paused, his eyes suddenly growing distant as he stared past Faeyt seemingly into space. Quietly, the boy relaxed his mind and tried to reach back to his vision and see if he could locate the young man's pursuers. After a moment, he failed to find their exact location but knew enough to say, "they're far away but they're looking for you. This should give you some time." Then he paused again to peek out at the blurred streaks of swiftly moving legs and feet as they passed by the narrow metal spaces. Then he suddenly turned back to Faeyt and asked "Who's looking for you anyway? And why?"

"I'm not really sure who they are." Faeyt answered the boy as he maneuvered his body round in the tight space.

It was actually impressive just how flexible the large man was. The way he managed to fold his torso against his legs and turn around was a feat that quite often your average man could not easily perform. To Faeyt, however, he though little of it. In his younger days he had always been flexible, much more so than anyone he knew and now that he had somehow gained those years back he simply moved as he remembered.

"I just have a feeling they're not after me 'cause I won the lottery." He lied, deciding it was best for the both of them it Peter didn't know the truth. He then motioned with his hand for the kid to move to the side and with one solid kick knocked off the grate. The metal covering clanged against the pavement and nearly struck a pedestrian as he skipped out of the way.

"What the hell!" Cursed the man as he looked over his shoulder at the hole in the wall where the grate had obviously come from. He paused for moment staring into the black tunnel, but quickly hurried away when a pair of long legs in faded blue jeans shot out of it.

Faeyt rose and acknowledged a few passerby's with a nervous nod as he waited for the boy to exit the service tunnel. Thankfully nobody actually took the time to stop and consider just why a young man and kid had just emerged out the side of a building. They were too busy minding their own business, and so Faeyt and Peter just started to move along with the crowd and make their way down the busy sidewalk.

It never ceased to surprise Faeyt just how busy the shadowy streets were. The sub-core literally had its own time-zone. It was around two in the morning but it seemed more like two in the afternoon as people went about their business as usual, which was quite typical for the subterranean city. Despite the reflected day light that offered some natural illumination to the underworld's dark corners, sub-core society had evolved to work odd hours in comparison to the upper levels.

The dull glow of dirty UV street lights turned the people sallow. Hollow, pasty skinned faces staring blankly ahead as the two fugitives made their way through them, but occasionally a set of eyes flicked, Faeyt's way. He was hardly in a friendly mood, though, and glared back until he forced them away. All Dunn wanted to do was get as far away from the building they used to access the sub-core as quick as possible, just in case those agents happened to pick up on his scent once more. How they had managed to keep on finding him so quickly, when he had no I.D. to trace and used money for everything was baffling. As he and Peter navigated the busy walkway, Faeyt's thoughts turned back time. He recalled when he had last made to his home after digging his way out of that hole.

Months had passed, but to Faeyt his supposed death seemed like yesterday. He still wasn't exactly sure why or how but while his bleeding body lay there in the garbage, instead of dying and decomposing he rejuvenated. It was a miracle! At least, that's what he would have thought were he a religious person, but in his entire life he never found his 'burning bush' or anything else that would made him a believer for that matter. There had to be a scientific explanation and so the gardner fell back on what he knew and considered that maybe, just maybe, some kind of plant or concoction of chemicals got into his blood stream while he was in that garbage pit? It seemed far fetched, but he was grasping at straws. He was sure now that he wasn't dead and stuck in some kind of limbo... well as sure as he could be... and so there had to be some sort of explanation.

Faeyt wiped the steam away from the mirror and stared into the face he only recalled from pictures. The situation was so bizarre he was literally bursting to scream his story at the top of lungs and make everyone in the homeless shelter aware of it. Naturally, that wouldn't go over very well and the silent young man went on inspecting his flawless features.

He had to admit that he never looked better and he noticed that the scar he had the side of his face was gone. In fact every little imperfection that he had from accidents to acne, had been repaired. It was like he had been completely rebuilt.

"Hey, Hulk!" Called a voice behind him which, Faeyt ignored since his old body hardly fit the description.

"Hey! You done yet, man?" Asked the same voice again, and it was at that point that it occurred to Faeyt that he was indeed a rather muscular fellow, even more so than back in his youth. The stranger had been addressing him.

"Sorry." Said Faeyt as he gathered up his donated toiletries and stepped away from the sink.

A grizzly old street gypsy pushed past him and took his turn, although by the looks of him, Faeyt couldn't imagine that the man even knew what to do with running water. He hadn't even showered and smelled like a brewery.

Gripping his towel tunic, the athletic young man made his way to the garment room where he took advantage of the many charitable donations to the shelter. His above average size was a little more difficult to fit, but eventually one the volunteers, a cute girl that could be his granddaughter helped him find some clothes. It helped that the style he preferred had been out of date for about fifty years and he felt more than comfortable in the faded blue jeans, sweat top, and old grey long coat.

The volunteer worker had been extremely curious how he had come to be in such dire straights and to avoid suspicion, Faeyt just told her that he used to be a drug dealer. After that, her attitude significantly changed toward him, but he didn't care. His survival instincts told him to be extremely cautious for many reasons but the main one was playing on the morning news when he walked into the dining hall for his free meal. As he picked up a tray and fell in line, a large, wall mounted TV screen was airing the latest coverage of one those costumed vigilantes who were fighting against ICOR. This one, must have had some kind of hidden flame throwing device on them, Faeyt figured. The brief clip showed the person setting a car on fire, but it was so censored that it was hard to tell exactly what happened. The commercial which immediately followed the clip was one of the common advertisements asking people who suffer from migraines to please visit a ICOR clinic, because 'you may not be suffering a normal headache and may be the victim of over exposure to gamma radiation...'. It then ended with a list of things that caused the exposure, which to Faeyt had always seemed a little unbelievable. For example, he found it hard to believe that certain brands of microwave ovens emitted gamma rays. That always seemed a little fishy to him, but then again what did he know about such things? All, Faeyt knew was that he didn't trust ICOR. Sure they basically saved the world, but all that power they wielded just wasn't healthy in the long run, and rest assured these migraine sufferers were probably effected by something they wanted to keep quiet. Who knew what would happen to him if they ever found out! This was why he decided to keep a low profile and try and figure out what happened to him without involving the authorities and especially ICOR.

After wolfing down his meal, Faeyt still felt ill. It made sense. He hadn't eaten for months and his body needed to replenish itself. He had no idea what he was currently running on, but whatever it was would soon be drained. Thankfully, a few kindly bums seeing how hungry he was shared some of their food and told Faeyt that he if helped out in the kitchen the shelter would pay him with another meal. This sounded great to him and so, Faeyt washed the breakfast dishes and then helped out with any other odd chores they required. He spent the better part of the afternoon cleaning floors then playing the part of a handyman, fixing wiring and plumbing problems all for three large meals which he devoured in one sitting. After that, he finally felt Human once again, but Faeyt seriously began wonder if that was in fact what he was. He had heard rumors, everyone had, that these vigilantes had real powers. That they were a new species of Human trying to get the attention of the public to expose ICOR for their creation but there really wasn't anything to substantiate this. Until now. What if it was all true? What if he was one of them?

"Hey, Jake." Called one of the volunteer workers.

Faeyt had given a fake name when he entered the shelter. They did not demand I.D., specifically in case some one wanted to protect their identity but they did require a DNA sample. In today's society law enforcement, hospitals, employers and even homeless shelters had the right to demand a blood sample but the system was designed to only alert authorities if a person had any outstanding warrants. Otherwise no other information was released. Faeyt had considered the implication of giving a blood sample but then he realized that the scan was not designed to determine whether or not a person was deceased. In such a case it was most likely rule that they the sample was incongruent. He had seen it happen before to a friend of his a few decades back.

"What is it, Mel?" Asked Faeyt as he placed his trays in the sink.

"Wow! I can't believe you ate it all! You're one hungry guy." Commented the small, plump man.

"Not anymore. Thanks. So what's up?"

"We got a call from the IDS dna scanning service. There's something weird with you sample." Explained Mel.

"Really?" Replied Faeyt already suspecting that the system got confused.

"Yeah. It's nothing really, just a glitch I guess. One of those mix-ups."

"Oh, yeah. Sure. No problem."

Mel nodded. "Funny thing, though. When this sort of thing happens they usually give me a heads up and tell me what to do. I guess your free and clear, bud. You sure don't seem like a trouble maker to me." he said with a smile, "When you're done in here, swing by the office and I'll set you up with a bed, okay. Oh and take this."

He handed a Faeyt a few dollars.

"Thanks." He said gratefully, "I don't know what to say."

"Hey, you earned it. You did more around here this afternoon then any of those high priced repairman ever do. Thanks."

Faeyt smiled as he watched Mel disappear around the corner. It was nice to be able to help out but what Mel had said about the dna check was bothering him. Why wouldn't they have given him any instructions one way or the other? The answer dawned on him then and Faeyt quickly started to look for an exit. Police don't tell you they're coming when they don't want to spook their suspect. They had probably called about, five or ten minutes ago which meant he only had minutes to get away.

Faeyt didn't waste any time. He grabbed his coat and bolted out of the kitchen. He quickly made his way down a long corridor and saw at its end an exit sign. Sighing with relief he ran toward it and that's when he heard the shouts behind him.

"Faeyt Dunn!" Called a male voice.

Faeyt didn't turn around. He knew better than that, 'Faeyt Dunn', as far as the world was concerned was dead.

"Faeyt Dunn! Stop right now!" Shouted a female voice.

Faeyt was panicking now. Who ever was after him seemed to know who he was. He pushed opened the door and slammed it shut behind him and ran as fast as he could down the alley. Everything was a blur after that. A dark haired man and a yellow haired woman were chasing him. He ran out into traffic and directly into the path of a speeding car, but somehow he managed to get out of the way and across the four line thoroughfare in a matter of moments. His heart was almost beating out of his chest he so frightened. Faeyt had no idea how long he had been running, only that by the time he decided to slow down he had no idea where he was. His youthful legs had sprinted and hurdled him away from his pursuers, whom he was sure wanted to question him about the punks he murdered. Even under these strange circumstances, he had still killed three kids in cold blood.

A typically old fashioned looking car of the model ‘Lightningbird’ cruised the few safe streets known to this particular part of the Sub Core. It’d just be a little further until the car would take a left and onto the winding ramp leading out of the lowest regions of Niagara, from there it wouldn’t take very long to get it safely to its home along one of the many high-speed arteries of the city.

For Indigo Nichukha the train wasn’t really a viable alternative, though certainly quicker to get from one part of the city to another, it wasn’t quite as flexible and Indigo needed to be flexible and go wherever she was lead. Not right now though, she had done plenty of that already and as per usual it hadn’t gotten her very far. It was far too late and her search had brought her a long way from home. She wanted to climb into her bed, crawl right up to her husband and fall into a blissful sleep.

“If you’re calling to tell me I should be at home getting some shut eye, chief, don’t bother. I’m well aware.” She responded proactively to the translucent image appearing in her car’s wind shield.
“That’s right Indy, I always call to remind my people of their beauty sleep. Not today though.”
“Whatever you’re about to say, it’s not my problem. I’m off duty, and have been for at least half an hour.”
“Sorry, Indy, you’d best find yourself one of those all-day convenience stores and grab a coffee, because I’ve got bad news.”

“Ugh.” Indy complained when Sinclair’s picture appeared in her window, “Who’s ugly mug am I looking at here?”
“Sinclair Dreyfous, identified as a genomorph earlier today. A security guard at a nearby station spotted him no longer than 5 minutes ago, and you’re the closest agent we have.”
“But not the only agent, chief. You can’t do this to me.”
“You’re the only omicron anywhere near him. If he teleports we need someone like you to keep up the chase.”
“A plinker? Just my luck!”
“The station where he was spotted is just two minutes from your current location, I’ve sent you a route.”
“Fine!” Indy took a right at the last moment, where she really would have preferred a left onto the ramp, but it was not meant to be tonight. “So tell me about this guy.”
“He plinked out of an armed conflict he got in the middle of at a trader. His record is completely clean, it is in fact very empty, apparently he’s a nobody, really. We’re pretty sure he’s harmless.”
“Somehow I’m not convinced.”
“Well, lets put it this way, you’ve got a gun and he doesn’t. You’ll be fine.”

“Uh, yeah, right.” Indy said. Sure she had a gun… Somewhere. She didn’t actually carry the thing with her though, she didn’t like the thing. Besides, she was practically a consultant, she didn’t normally get her hands dirty chasing loose genomorphs. Divining where to find people using objects they had owned was her job. A difficult job too, it wasn’t often she could precisely tell where someone was, but her help was better than none. She could clearly remember many different visions, sounds and smells of locations where people they were looking for had been. Her somewhat aimless cruising through the vast city was her only way to help continue the search for these people when they didn’t have an immediate job for her. On the backseat of her car there was a pile of items they had collected from fugitives, most of them had ‘gone cold’ but she’d try gathering information out of them from time to time anyway. On the seat next to her were her most promising subjects, but she hadn’t gotten any closer to them today.
“So, what else? How am I supposed to recognize him in the dark?”
“He’s wearing a brown suit, white shirt and a grey tie. Fedora too.”
“So that’s him and a million other people, there has to be more.”
“He disappeared out of the trader with a wooden crate, the cop who saw him said he still carried it.”
“A wooden crate? Yeah, that’s unusual enough to stick out.”



Sinclair knew enough about the Subs to know that trouble lurked around every corner. The only people who knew this even better, were the people who frequented these places, or those unfortunate enough to live here. Nobody really wants trouble so everybody tries to leave everyone else be. In a sense it was the perfect place to be left alone, even though the Subs were quite crowded. Then again there were always those who kept their eyes peeled for opportunities, those who knew a lone man, dressed too nicely to be local, carrying a crate was a potential target. From the shadows there could be half a dozen of people sifting through the people walking by. Only one of them needed to decide to take a chance.

He had taken a minute to gather his wits in a dark corridor not far from the station. Sure, it was a terrible place to sit around when you know the authorities could come around the corner any minute. Still, he was fortunate there was no such quick response and all the while he continued to feel better and better. He was pretty confident he could get up and walk out of the alley and pretend he had never felt better. He’d casually stroll the streets, check his P3 to figure out where he’d go next. No one would figure his brain had nearly melted, that he carried anything worth taking or that he was a fugitive. Well, that was the plan anyway. It wasn’t much of a plan, he had to admit, but he was going to stick with it regardless.

As he emerged from the alley, scotch case under his arm, he wandered away from the station and took the next decently illuminated street to get out of sight of the station. He had carefully glanced at the station, but for as far as he could tell the fuzz still hadn’t arrived. No sirens or any sign of the cops. He had his doubts about ever getting out of sight of the station, but now that he had, he felt a huge wave of relief. He took his P3, happy to find he could actually see it as something other than a blurry grey object and began commanding it to bring up a map and find nearby landmarks.

Sinclair had given little thought to the fact that it had been more than time enough for half a dozen police officers to arrive and start looking for him. Nor did he think about the possibility that ICOR had set their sights on him. Even if he had noticed the short woman with a piping hot ‘mocha-licious latte-rific’ in her hands walking out of the station, he wouldn’t have given it any second thoughts either. Indigo, however, was very well aware of the situation, and frankly, couldn’t believe her luck she spotted a man matching the fugitive’s description to the letter.



She had parked her car just behind the station and began surveying her surroundings while she went over to the security guard’s booth. There had been no sign of Sinclair, but when she started feeling around the booth with her hands she got a glimpse of his location. Sinclair had barely touched the booth, but Indigo still got an image of him sitting on a wooden crate in dark alley. Of course, he had to be in a non-descript dark alley somewhere in the Sub Core… What good did that do Indy? He could be anywhere! The guard who was still on the line with dispatch had looked at her with a puzzled look on his face. He was probably still waiting for his backup, little did he know he was staring at the only backup he’d get.

There wasn’t a whole lot Indigo could do, she was just one woman and there were numberless alleys that could all be the one Sinclair had chosen as his current hideout. She couldn’t just call it a day either, even if she wanted nothing else, they’d have her badge for it. She’d have to pretend to do a thorough investigation of the site and report back in an hour or so. She’d check out a few alleys perhaps, touch the booth some more, if it’d still give her any visions she could use by that time, and that’d be it. But first things first, she needed a coffee, or rather, something that kind of had some coffee in it but more-so a lot of other stuff. Preferably with an expensive sounding name.

She had been keenly observing the station while carefully sipping her very hot drink. She sure was glad there was a Coffee-Tastic right around the corner. They served the worst possible coffee in the whole city, but they were nearly everywhere and convenient. The completely automated brewing process gave you a cup of your choice within seconds. Even so, you could use an application on your ‘life line’ that would tell the Coffee-Tastic machine your favorite kind of coffee and it’d have it ready before you had even approached the machine. Needless to say, Indigo’s wild goose chases across town often ended up at one of these dispensers.

Indigo had nearly let Sinclair walk out of sight as she stared at him from a distance. Her mouth was wide open as she considered the chances of seeing her mark walking in the distance. Clearly she was imagining things, this was her mind jerking her around. She blinked a few times, but that didn’t make Sinclair go away, so she had to consider it wasn’t the sleep deficit she was carrying around that was behind this. Suddenly she was forced to remember her training and get on with the program, or she’d lose the genomorph. Luckily, IDS made sure you weren’t about to forget anything they taught you, they were quite meticulous. Her training surfaced quickly enough and she began trailing Sinclair as swiftly as she dared. Genomorphs with little to no idea of their powers always irked Indy, who knew what they’d do next? They didn’t know it themselves, so it could be virtually anything and she didn’t like it.

It took her two minutes before she had comfortably caught up with Sinclair and noticed him fumbling with a small pocket processor. Aside from his activity with the device and the crate under his arm he didn’t do anything out of the ordinary at all, though, busying yourself with a pocket processor wasn’t anything special either. The thing about them was that they could do a large variety of things and Indy couldn’t be sure what he was using it for. Was he taking notes about what happened? Was he going through his agenda for tomorrow? Was he calling someone about the crate? It could be any one of those things and about a thousand others. Whatever he was doing, he didn’t look like someone on the run. Certainly not like someone who had just manifested genomorphic powers for the first time.



Sinclair had been practically walking around aimlessly through the streets of the Subs, not being able to find any place he could go to, or at least nothing nearby. On the bright side, he was still very much a free man and had yet to be mugged or killed or anything. On top of that, his head was aching again. The good kind of aching, if he could put it like that, the normal kind of aching. Despite of what had happened earlier, things were returning to normalcy. Of course, there was still the matter of the law being after him. One thing the P3 had been able to reveal was that he was very far from home and it was the middle of the night. After his failed attempts at finding a safe haven nearby through the device he figured any really safe haven won’t pop up on a virtual screen which gets its information directly off the global network. One thing it was good for was for finding the latest news, so Sinclair decided to try and catch up with the latest happenings of Niagara.

Naturally a whole bunch of semi-news articles about ICOR and its exploits popped up, but Sinclair was more interested in any reported oddities near Floyd’s earlier this day. None of his attempts at finding such a news article came up with a result. What exactly was he wanted for then? Besides, clearly someone was shot, something happened at Floyd’s thus there SHOULD be some news out there regarding the shooting at least. He could imagine that shootings in the Sub Core weren’t about to get on the front page of any news, but still the event should be floating on the network somewhere. Oddly enough none of the most logical queries Sinclair could come up with yielded any results. He was starting to get a bit frustrated with the device, which was if no use at all. He turned it off and returned it to his pocket.

Sinclair had to come up with something, this pointless wandering wasn’t going to do him any good. All he knew was that he was wanted, and not just the regular kind, but the ‘USE CAUTION’ kind. The chance of there being an unfortunate mix-up on the side of the authorities was pretty much slim to none at that point. On top of that he had seen a man get shot, of which he could not find any trace on the net, and he couldn’t account for a lot of hours of the day. And as if that wasn’t enough, there might be something wrong with his head, apart from the problems he was already aware of. Where does a man with such problems go? What does he do? If anything, it didn’t seem like the answer was; ‘grab a cab home to your mother so you can give her the scotch and get some sleep’. What in the world was he still doing with the case of scotch anyway!?

The nearest dark alley was as good as any as far as Sinclair was concerned. He turned into the dark side street, walked a few paces and then put the case against the wall. He could see some garbage heaps cluttering the alley. It had an odd kind of organized feeling to it, perhaps this was some bums ‘home’. Well, he wasn’t going to make his mother happy with her scotch, but some bum was certainly going to appreciate the sudden windfall and celebrate with getting drunk.
Or drunker, that is.



Indigo saw Sinclair suddenly turning into a small alley and was pretty sure she couldn’t just follow him in there without getting his attention. Luckily she didn’t need to follow him to keep tabs on him, her mind’s eye could go where she would not. She stopped walking along the sidewalk and instead slouched against the wall, sipping her coffee and pretending to be contemplating the nearby graffiti. In reality she was focusing her mind’s eye and guiding it into the dark corridor Sinclair had disappeared into. She could see him putting the case down and looking further into the darkness of the alley, but then quickly turned around and continued walking along the street.

She could care less why he had suddenly decided to leave the case behind, for as far as Indigo was concerned she had hit the jackpot. Dreyfous had been hugging that thing for so long he must have left an enormous imprint on the case and she’d be able to keep tabs on him from a very safe distance. Even if he’d manage to teleport away from her, she’d find him again. Oh no, she’d never lose sight of him!

Indigo finished the last of her ‘mocha-licious latte-rific’, quickly went up to a garbage bin to toss the cup away and then made her way towards the alley to retrieve her prize. She could still see Sinclair casually walking away before she darted towards the case. She knew exactly where it was and approached it swiftly. Even the lightest touch and a little bit of focus gave her a flash of Sinclair’s face. She couldn’t help but smile.

“Hey honey!” Someone shouted behind her. “Don’t you touch my stuff, you hear?”
Her smile was quickly gone when she turned her head and found some Sub Core punk walking up to her.
“This isn’t yours.” She nearly hissed at him.
“It so is!” He replied.
“Go bother someone else.” Indigo said and waved him away, but the punk came ever nearer.
“I saw the dude first, long before you came along. Don’t you try and be igno…ignor…” He sputtered, “I ain’t stupid, ok.” He tried to recover, “I know what you’re up to, but I saw him first!” He proclaimed.
“What?” Indigo wasn’t sure what the guy’s beef was with her, but he seemed offended.
“You’re the worst stalker I ever saw.” The punk continued, “No feeling for blending in with the environment. And, yo, what’s with the clothes, honey? Pretending you don’t belong? Lookin’ all posh makes you feel better?”
“Posh?” Indigo had a hard time following whatever this kid was talking about.
“Yeah!” The punk yelled right in her face, he was apparently of the opinion she brought shame to his honorable profession of stalking and then mugging people. “Screw you, bitch.” He said and pushed Indigo aside.

She hadn’t really considered the punk capable of carrying his own weight, let alone push her aside, but before she realized what was happening she lost her balance and while she recovered the case was in the punk’s hands. Indigo jumped up and immediately gave chase into the street.
“Hold it, you bastard!” She yelled after him as she hit the street, but obviously yelling at him wasn’t going to do her much good. He certainly was nimble, she’d have to give him that, he weaved through the people on the street with minimal effort leaving Indigo pondering how she was supposed to get the crate back. She quickly looked around and noticed Sinclair had turned around and was asking himself what the commotion was all about.
“Oh shhhh-“

Faeyt was starting to feel more at ease now that they had put some distance between them and the building that had emerged from. He couldn't explain it, but those agents were like bloodhounds... Faeyt considered what he had just thought. What if they sort of were like bloodhounds? What if they could somehow track him, not by scent, however, but by some sort of psychic means. That would explain it, but then how in the hell were they supposed to get away?

"Hold it, you bastard!"

The old-young man was alerted to the shout of a woman who sounded like she needed some help. They had wandered into some dark allies that took them off the 'beaten path' and down one echoed the voice of a woman.

"This way, Peter." Said Faeyt as he guided the boy around a corner and into the path of a pretty young woman sporting the classic roaring twenties look. Seems she was pursuing some bum who had something that she wanted back. 'Piece of shit probably robber her.' Faeyt thought.

Faeyt didn't waste anytime. He jogged toward the woman in the most non-menacing style of run he could manage, his hands slightly raised in a peaceable manner.

"You alright?" He asked her and it was at that moment, that Faeyt felt the piercing pain his temples again, but this time it was much more brief

Pausing to rub out one of his temples, Faeyt looked at the woman through half closed eyes. "Did that guy steal something of yours?" He asked staring down the alley at the bum who was making off with the crate.

The elevator descended deep into the earth, down into the sub-core where the streets were darkest and technology stood still. Standing in the corner like statues, the two IDS agents stood out from the crowd, their oddly coloured eyes and fine features illuminated by the blinking lights as the subterranean floors counted off.

Raiko observed that many of the elevator's occupants were using hand held data processors as opposed to 'i-glass' technology that provided a complete 'hands free' interface. A system that was even more convenient for a telepath, but despite its merits the agent himself still carried a P3 with him, just incase his 'i-glasses' ran into interference, which was very likely to happen in the sub-core. Signals just didn't travel as well, and the P3 technology tended to be more reliable underground which was probably why many of the under-dwellers tended to use them. Naturally, Raiko's P3 was top of the line, the P3-T-Generation XII, equipped with all the bells and whistles, including a holographic projector. As an IDS agent he received the most advanced technology to ensure that he could do his job to his best ability.

"You have arrived at sub-core sector nine street level." Announced a mechanical female voice as a green light began to glow brightly.

Most of the occupants shuffled out of the car, including the agents. Instead of walking the endless flights of stairs as their quarry had, they opted to take the elevator of an adjacent building which they were able to access after only a six story descent.

Standing beneath the white light of a UV street lamp, agent Raiko looked up and surveyed the rocky ceiling of the immense chamber that housed just one of the subterranean sectors. Many of the buildings touched the ceiling and some, like the one they had just exited, passed right through to the surface. In a sense it was really not that much difference from the shadowy streets of the mid-core with the exception of a lack of light. It was night time and the enormous mirrors which reflected sunlight deep into the earth were dark.

"When is the last time you were down here?" Raiko asked his partner.

"Never." She answered.

Raiko nodded. He was not surprised. Many Genomorphs of Lorryen's generation were commonly kept isolated from the general population until such time as they could control their abilities. She like most of their kind was born in captivity, but what separated her generation from most was the fact that she was grown in an artificial womb. Her Genomorph group never established a bond with their carrier, and would never know a mother's undying love. Raiko recognized the effects this had on his partner every day and was thankful he was able to experience a childhood. While Lorryen was being raised in a laboratory, Parsefal was experiencing life as a boy growing up in the mid-core. It was only when his powers began to manifest that he learned that his mother and father had been apart of the Genomorphic program and while they themselves showed no changes ICOR was careful to observe their child.

"This way." Raiko directed with a sideways motion of his head while he was checking the ICOR database for any other agents in the general vicinity.

"There's an active agent in the area." Raiko told his partner, surprised to find one.

Lorryen checked the ICOR database. "Hmmm, agent Indigo Nichukha, married and living in the population." She commented, "A regular 'Molly Homemaker'."

Raiko could detect his partner's disdain. She had always resented those agents that were allowed to live in the world with little strings attached. In the beginning she even disliked him, until she learned that because of his powerful ability, ICOR was forced to keep their thumb on him, else he might see something he shouldn't.

"The locator pin-points her around Darkwater Lane, about five blocks ahead. We should catch her up and check and see if she's seen anything." Mentioned Raiko.

There was no question as to why neither considered calling agent Nichukha. Protocol dictated that they maintain silence when an agent is in the field and potentially in a situation. It would not take them that long anyway to catch up with the agent.

Peter looked back and forth between the woman and the man taking off with the box, the vacant look in his young eyes suggesting that he wasn't sure why the woman was upset. When he looked back at her again though, something twinged in the back of his mind that he couldn't quite interpret. He furrowed his brow and took a step back, tightening the jacket he had tied inside-out around his waist. The feeling faded and though he didn't dismiss it, he couldn't be bothered to think about it just then. Glancing back in the direction of the fleeing man, he decided to put the situation together.

She needed that crate. That man was running off with it.

Peter took off after him.

Indigo found it hard to look away from Sinclair and they had been staring at each other for a moment too long at this point. She felt the distinctive ‘touch’ of a genomorph and was quite surprised, seeing how Sinclair was a fair distance away. He didn’t appear to do much besides staring back either, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t unwittingly using his gifts. Though, along with the pinches to her brain there was also someone talking to her.

“Yeah, yeah…” She muttered, “I’m fine.”

She was still looking at Sinclair while the young man who had approached her asked her if the punk stole her wooden crate.

“No…” She muttered, but pretty much immediately realized what she had said and turned to Faeyt, “I mean, yes, he took my crate. The low-life!”

The blond man seemed distracted, rubbing his head. The little kid, who she had hardly noticed wasn’t one to stand around, it seemed. Was he even with the man who had concerned himself with her? She mostly just assumed. The boy appeared less concerned with her, but more with the punk who had taken the case and took off before anyone could really do anything.

Of course, whoever these people were, they weren’t important and she turned back to see if Sinclair was still watching the situation unfold. Unfortunately he had left, yet, the feeling of the gift remained with her. She realized that was highly unusual and when she looked at the blond man again she couldn’t help but get a sneaking suspicion. He was plagued by a headache and the reason suddenly seemed so obvious. Was he sensitive to her waves? The thought of following Sinclair with her mind’s eye had to be dismissed, or she might just worsen the man’s reaction to her presence. She’d have to give up the hunt for one genomorph, but might just have found a different one. As a matter of fact, the man looked out of place in a neighborhood such as this, she realized. She could only hope he wouldn’t get suspicious of her, obviously she too was well out of place.

“Oh!” She lamented, “I really need that case too!”
She wasn’t sure how she was going to keep the possible genomorph sympathetic to her, but acting more distressed seemed like a good place to start.

The pain in his head was subsiding and Faeyt was able to focus clearly once more. Of course he was still expecting to wake up from a dream as well, as everything in his life was just too fantastic. He tried to force the questions to the back of his mind else he go mad, but he was ever wondering how his body could rejuvenate itself or had something else happened to him?

When the woman admitted that the punk had indeed made off with her property, Faeyt was pulled back to the present. Young and strong once again he could hardly pass up the opportunity to play the role of the knight in shining armor, but it seemed the kid had beat him to it.

Peter... yes that was his name, which he somehow knew... had taken off after the punk without any hesitation.

"Shit!" Faeyt cursed under his breath, fearing the boy was just going to end up getting hurt.

"I better catch up with that kid before he gets into trouble." Faeyt said to the woman, "We'll bring your stuff right back. Don't worry."

Faeyt sprinted off after the boy, weaving through the dark alleys, following the sound of Peter's foot steps. Burdened, the punk couldn't move as fast, so the boy was going to catch up to him quickly which was why Faeyt was double-timing it. The foot steps were starting to slow down as Faeyt rounded a corner. Beside a trash can, was a rusted lead pipe and he scooped it up as he ran past, just in case the punk had a weapon, which was very likely.

“Thank you!” Indigo yelled after the young man speeding away to catch up with the little boy.

Indigo sighed, luckily the young man was too distracted to be suspicious of her and went on to save the day together with the kid. They were a bit of an odd couple, running around the slums like they were. Perhaps they were related? Indigo couldn’t be sure. Two brothers trying to survive in the Sub Core, maybe? Poor boys, Indigo thought. If anything, they were lucky they came across her, ICOR could take care of them. It might not be a perfect world, but surely ICOR could provide a better place for them than the unforgiving Sub Core. Of course, looking at the young man running away, it was obvious they could manage, but even a psychokinetic -she deducted from his physique and speed- needs help once in a while. And in Indigo’s experience omegapathics always got into trouble sooner or later, for whatever reason. They were better off in their care, at least until they understood and could control their powers, like her. They could probably find the kid brother a foster home even, if they had to.

Now where had Sinclair gone off to? She briefly tried using her mind’s eye, but quickly felt it was useless with this many people about. She hardly knew where to start looking, though around the corner from where Sinclair had stood was the obvious place, but she couldn’t spot him near there anymore. If on the other hand she could get a hold of the case once more, she’d surely be able to sense him again. She pointlessly looked at the spot he had been staring at her from but quickly took a small leather wallet like object out of her pocket. She flipped it open and turned the device inside it on. The leather pouch snuggly held the multifunctional processor as well as some wireless earpieces for making calls, but she wouldn’t be calling anyone right now. That wouldn’t be a very smart thing to be doing out here in the open, instead she quickly composed a message using only a hand full of preprogrammed commands.

‘Agent Contact’, ‘Chi’

There was a chance she was mistaken, but since the young man seemed to respond to her attempt at keeping her omega waves to herself and he quite simply had the look of a psychokinetic, she was willing to take the risk and get the word out. The simple message would be more than enough for IDS to know what she had come across. She sent the message and put the device back where it belonged. With that out of the way she began jogging after the two men who had given chase to the punk with the case. At the very least she’d have to keep an eye on the two, but if she could, she’d love to get her hands on an item from either of them.





Sinclair couldn’t help but worry. He was wanted, yet so far there had seen no sign of the police. If he hadn’t stumbled headlong into an officer staring at his picture he would have been completely unaware of any wrong doing. Even so, he couldn’t imagine doing anything that would get the police to be out looking for him. If only incredibly whimsically. And then there was apparently some kind of argument or fight over the crate he had left behind in an alley only a minute ago, or something. What was up with that? Who were these people? He felt the need to get to safety, even though he didn’t really know how he’d manage it, but the urge to get some answers was starting to become more prevalent in his mind.

He cursed himself for deciding he should go back and figure out what the hell was up with these people and his mother’s liquor. But he had to be very cautious, so he made sure to take the long way around to get a view of the alley where the woman had been staring at him from. He spotted her jogging away just as he managed to get a view from afar and through the people walking along and minding their own business. There still wasn’t any police to be heard or seen. He figured it was alright to follow the woman from a distance for now.

Raiko and Boshun were on Darkwater Lane when they both received the alert. Seeing the 'Chi' symbol flashing in their monitors they both surmised it was their target and proceeded cautiously to the area from which the signal originated.

When they saw the woman they assumed was agent Indigo Nichukha, in an alley off of Darkwater they strolled by as if they hadn't noticed her. Once more they were just following protocol and did not want to risk exposing the agent. They were unaware of her situation and they could not know off hand if her very survival was reliant upon her anonymity.

Boshun placed a call.

"Agent Nichukha, this is agent Boshun. What is your current situation?"

The agent advised her fellow IDS officers of the two supposed omegapaths she had encountered and of the boy, whom Raiko and Boshun seemed very interested in. Apprised of the situation, the two agents walked down the alley and met with Indigo face to face.

As Raiko and Boshun approached their minds touched upon one another revealing them all as Genomorphs but despite this they still flashed their badges. Event with their telepathy, the mind could still lie and so they took every precaution to ensure that they were all legitimate. After their brief and formal introductions, Raiko motioned to Boshun with his eyes and she drew her weapon and immediately took off down the alley that the suspected psychokinetic had ran down.

"Do you have a sense of the other one?" Raiko asked Indigo as he too drew his weapon while he quickly did a visual sweep of the area, "What is your assessment of him?"

Sinclair had trouble keeping up both a casual appearance in the crowd and an eye on the woman he was following. To his dismay she went off the street and into an alley, following her in there would be far riskier. He tried speeding up his pursuit, otherwise he might completely lose the woman, but was almost glad he hadn’t been quite as quick when a man and a woman also went into the same alley.

Now who were these people? Was this a coincidence? The two didn’t look like they had any business in an alley such as that. Sinclair decided that it was best to be as pessimistic as possible and assume this made six people involved with his mother’s scotch. These people were going to be damned disappointed with that case. At least, if they thought it held something valuable. Actually, Sinclair hadn’t opened the case, so perhaps… No. no, his mother was just an old nurse who liked a drink now and then, there was no need for Sinclair to get paranoid. Or was there? It’s not paranoia if you’re actually in the middle of a conspiracy. Might also explain why the police was involved. Sinclair would have given it more thought but his head ached enough as it was, he didn’t need to hurt himself more thinking about conspiracies and all that.
Baby steps, Sinclair, baby steps. Just stick with finding out more about this woman who is after your crate.

Sinclair made sure to hold station for a moment to let the man and woman get deeper into the alley before he’d follow them in. He couldn’t see them right away, as he came into the alley, but they could be around any of the backstreet’s corners, so he had to be careful. He carefully moved through the darkness, peeking around corners and keeping his ears open for any signs of these people. It took him a minute, but he finally spotted the two women and the man when he poked his head around one of the many backstreet corners. The three were talking it seemed, though he couldn’t hear about what, he could barely make out their silhouettes as it was. He looked around to see if he could sneak closer, otherwise he was never going to find out anything. He snuck from discarded furniture to piles of miscellaneous garbage to a container and ever closer to the little meeting.

Sinclair wasn’t sure how much further he dared go and instead of moving up the alley he decided to just sit tight and listen closely to pick up their conversation. It wasn’t difficult for him to decide to sit tight when the other woman decided to move further down the alley. Good thing she didn’t come his way. He’d just have to concentrate hard on what the two were saying, and luckily he could just about hear what they were saying.

“Do you have a sense of the other one?” The man asked the woman he had been following all along.
“No.” She said and shook her head.

A sense of what? Sinclair must have missed the relevant bits to decipher what they were discussing, but with a bit of luck he’d at least get some clue of what was going on.

“What is your assessment of him?” The man asked.
The woman was silent for a moment, gathering her thoughts, but eventually said; “Unexpectedly calm under the circumstances. He might not even be aware of his omegapathic abilities.”

What? Omephalic? Who?
Little of what the two were talking about made a lot of sense to Sinclair, he was starting to wonder if he was even hearing them right, maybe he should consider getting nearer.

“If your Chi manages to get his hands on the wooden box the Phi will be a walk in the park.” The woman continued.

Sinclair wished these two would stop talking code with each other. This was getting frustratingly vague.

“I guess we should get to it then, hmm?” The woman said, “Just tell me what you need me to do, as long as I get the crate I’m good.”

Was his crate really that important? Sinclair found it hard to believe, but everything pointed towards the fact that it was right in the middle of all of this. Where all these people came into the equation Sinclair couldn’t tell, though these three well dressed people were obviously in cahoots. The others were a mystery.

His own tunneled vision and pounding footsteps deafened Peter to everything outside of his goal, which had become the punk that bounded down the alley. He was fast, there was no doubting that, but Peter was not only faster but trained. His short legs carried his small, light body through the streets and his fit lungs and heart propelled him easily without his even breaking a sweat. With an impassive expression, Peter leapt over every obstacle the punk tossed in his path and easily dodged whatever he tried to kick at him. In a matter of minutes, Peter had gained on him and at first reached out to grab the other guy's shirt.

"What the f#$*! Get away from me, kid!" the punk shouted, ripping away from him and turning to swat at the pest that had caught up with him with admittedly disturbing efficiency. As the thief swiped at Peter, however, the young boy quickly darted around to the side of him, ducking beneath his fist. Before the thief could find him, Peter had crouched low to the ground and brought a perfect sweeping kick along the punk's ankles taking his feet straight out from under him. The thief went crashing to the ground, crate jarring from his hands which Peter quickly snatched up. He began to make off with it when the punk jumped up screaming and swearing in rage. Just as Faeyt would turn the corner, the older kid pulled a gun and aimed it straight at Peter's head.

Faeyt wouldn't have time to even move when the muffled sound of a silenced, top-of-the-line gun pierced the thick air.

The street punk dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes, landing in a crumpled heap on the dirty black top.

Peter stood turned slightly to the side, crate tucked in his back arm which was closest to Faeyt. His other arm was outstretched towards the body, a smoking gun Faeyt would have only seen on armed soldiers clutched in his small hand.

Faeyt rounded the corner weapon ready but only arrived in time to hear the clean, crisp sound of a pulse arm reverberate through the narrow alley and see the punk crumpling to the ground; dead on his feet. He could only stand their and watch in horror as the boy produced a weapon he had no business owning and mercilessly kill the street punk over something so trivial as a small box. Damn it, whatever was in it had better of been worth a life was all Faeyt was thinking, that and he had to get the hell away from this kid. There was something... wrong with him. What was a kid his age doing with a gun like that? Why wasn't he showing any regret or anger for the matter? His expression had hardly changed. His eyes a vacuum.

A cold chill crept up Faeyt's spine as the sight of the dead body brought him back to that moment two weeks ago when he shot those bastard gangsters dead. That was different though, they had nearly beaten Jacob to death, a good kid who never did anything wrong his entire life. Faeyt didn't believe anyone had the wisdom to play judge and executioner but dammit at his age, after all he had seen, he knew the difference between right and wrong, and was sure those gangsters knew it too. He had no regrets for their deaths but still the fact he had taken three lives would haunt him until the end of this new life that either God or the Devil had granted him. He wasn't which one was behind his 'resurrection' but so far things weren't exactly looking heavenly.

Faeyt dropped the pipe, the loud clang breaking the ominous silence. "Jeezuz Christ! What the hell did you just do?" he gasped and stated to move away, back into the cross road of the alleys. That's when something in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He turned just in time to see that female agent with the yellow hair sprinting toward him and Faeyt didn't waste any time. He took off in the opposite direction, glaring at the boy one last time with a fearful and confused look as he bolted down the other side alley, away from the gun toting kid; away from the madness.

Faeyt's long strides propelled him through the narrow alley with exceptional speed. He couldn't believe how fast he could move and how good it felt. No one could catch him, but then his confident expression turned to panic as he glanced over his should and saw the woman was keeping pace with him. If the small woman had a more length of the leg she'd probably be on him, but even as it was she was still slowly but surely, steadily gaining.

Loryann was impressed. This one was developing quickly, unfortunately that meant that retirement would be necessary if they were not able to take him alive soon. While she continued the chase, he placed a call to her partner.

"Raiko. In pursuit of our Chi. Spotted the boy back at an intersection. He's armed! I also believe that he killed the thief. Approach with caution."

Up ahead there was a barrier. A yellow and black coloured wall, a head higher than the tall man. An opportunity to make up some ground he figured and he leapt up to pull himself over and actually found that he sprang so high he literally hopped over the obstacle. He landed in mid-stride and kept right on moving as he threw his head over his shoulder to see how much distance he would gain but his heart sunk as the agent straddled the barrier with spectacular grace and kept right on after him.

"Shit!" Was all Faeyt could say about that. Could this get any worse? Just as he had thought it, he regretted thinking the question. There was indeed something else that could go wrong. The yellow and black coloured wall he leaped over had a sign on it. A sign that he didn't have to time to read, but as he approached a vast expanse of open air he could pretty much figure what it said.

The alley bordered on a sun-port. An immense opening in the ground that provided air flow and sunlight from the other port above it, and another above that one. The is vast expanse, however, was yet another lower level to the sub-core. A deep pocket in which more building had been constructed and the tallest of them reached up to the sub-core's main level. The alleyway, like so may streets in the underworld simply terminated, but this wasn't a dead end, it was a drop off down into another sub-level.

It became apparent to Faeyt that the two buildings he was running between were constructed upon another and it's edge was coming up fast. Less than a stone's throw away was another building and the closer Faeyt got the more he believed he could make the leap. He was nearing the point of no return and something in him was screaming, "Go for it!", but then Faeyt came to his senses. "Are you out of your freaking mind!" he asked himself and put on the breaks. Unfortunately, he was too close to the edge and his momentum carried him over the ledge.

"SHIT!" Screamed Loryann as the big guy tumbled over the side.

She was sure that this guy was aware of his psychokinetic abilities and knew he could make the leap but he chickened out at the last second. Already prepared to make the great stride there was no turning back. The agent had committed herself and so she hurled her body into the air, sailing across the fifteen meter gap with ease.

Faeyt, far less gracefully, spastically turned in the air and caught hold of a decorative lip that ran around the top of the building and held fast. As he threw up his other hand he witnessed the woman's amazing leap and in that split second while she was at the apex of her stride, momentarily suspended in the air she actually took the time to look down and spot him. In that ephemeral moment they locked eyes, hers cold and calculating and his, terrified.


Even before Loryann landed she was reaching for her gun. She fought hard against her own inertia, skidding to halt then quickly had her gun aimed at the last place she had seen her target. He would be helpless, that is if he were there. The agent just caught sight of the man swinging himself round the corner of the building where he was out of her sight. Even if she leaped back to the other side, she'd still have to shimmy down to the lip and hand crawl after him, and by that time he'd probably be long gone. At least that what she told herself. Truthfully, she just didn't feel like taking such a risky maneuver and was confident that another opportunity would arise. She had another fish to fry anyway.

"Raiko. You there?" Called Loryann after she leaped back across the gap and into the alley.


"Yes. Hold your position. We are currently waiting to see if the boy is going to return the crate to agent Nichuka."

Agent Raiko had considered that neither their Sector runaway nor the rogue Genomorph, realized that Indigo was anything but a civilian. Perhaps, the kid was simply bring the crate back to her. It was worth a shot, better than charging in to the labyrinth of alleyways where the boy could easily scurry away. Raiko hid down another alley and left agent Nichuka by herself to await or locate the boy of her own accord, while he waited to see if the kid would take the bait. This also, however, presented another opportunity to capture the third rogue; the teleporter. Raiko also discussed with his fellow agent about trapping this guy as well and so he basically left it up to her. They wanted Stance, but getting another rogue off the street was just as important.

An alley certainly wasn’t the best place for a conversation between colleagues, but there were worse places. Indigo was glad the capable agents Raiko and Beshun responded to her message. At least she thought they were capable, they looked it and that was good enough for her. They looked it so well they made Indigo feel inadequate and she had to keep reminding herself she was probably the best clairvoyant these two would ever meet. She could only hope that was true.
In a sense she was enjoying the thrill of the chase. Maybe it was the adrenaline, but she thought that running into the boy and the young man was exactly what she needed to shake up her routine. Not knowing what you’ll find around the next corner, not knowing where the blows will come from, having to be on your toes all the time. Yeah, that was the adrenaline… She nearly forgot she could use her powers to remain aware of her surroundings.

God, she was such an idiot some times. The drudgery of her usual routine certainly had affected her. Not that she wasn’t happy with her job, after all, if she did this kind of a thing full time it would get her killed in no time. Sure, agents like Raiko and Beshun might not be selected on their psychokinetic abilities, but at least having some proficiency was probably necessary. Indigo had the Chi of a wet towel, walking up the bloody stairs alone was a hellish task. Well, alright, it wasn’t that bad, but her strengths were absolutely not physical.

There was a time that her powers were pushed to the limit, but those were long gone, whatever promise she had, she had not fulfilled it. Now she was given the task of tracking those genomorphs who had proven themselves hard to catch and typically she was called in for keeping an eye on teleporters. Sure, they were rare, but when you came across one you were in for a wild ride. A ride of frustration and running around in circles, most of the time. Of course, Indigo didn’t do any of that, she usually stuck to keeping an eye out through her gift and aided the on-site people. Once in a while there were also cases concerning ordinary citizens, but she was told that was only for very illusive and dangerous individuals. IDS wasn’t normally in the business of chasing normal crooks, but sometimes other agencies would come begging for assistance. She didn’t think they knew what it was she did, but they were always very happy with the result.
All other times she spent looking for the most illusive genomorphs that had been lost and were no longer actively sought after until they resurfaced. Even IDS’ resources knew limits, but once in a while Indigo would get a lead, and once in a while it’d pay off. It was better than sitting on her ass, she always thought. Even when she wasn’t on the job she’d often make use of her omegapathic abilities, if only to keep them sharp. In fact, that was probably the only reason, because it wasn’t always fun to see who last touched the milk bottle you intend to purchase from the supermarket. People, as it turns out, are quite despicable, especially when they think no one is watching.

Either way, there were more pressing matters at hand, but she had the feeling the three of them had it more or less under control. The fact that they had lost the Chi seemed to affect Indigo more than it did Raiko, who quickly had his colleague switch her focus. Indigo thought if there was anything she could do to help them find the man, but she didn’t think there was anything he had touched simply lying around and he was too far away to attempt to have her mind’s eye travel after him.
She quickly agreed with her fellow agent that the child was their best option now, and she could only hope he’d still approach her. On the other hand, he did have a weapon and had used it on the punk who had taken her crate. Maybe she wouldn’t be all that upset if the kid didn’t come back for her. The agents had mentioned the boy was involved with Sector somehow, and that wasn’t something Indigo would consider a good sign either. She tried to stay clear from Sector and their agents, she didn’t quite know what their deal was, but they gave her the creeps so she was in no rush to get more involved with them. They were a big deal though, so the situation with the boy would have to be handled with care.

“Let’s not waste any more time, we’re finding that boy and we’re getting that crate.” Indigo decided. She tried to sound like she was tough and ready, but the reality was she was scared of what might happen next. She prepared to head in the direction Lorryen had gone and would use her powers to look ahead. With a bit of luck she’d find the child before he saw her and she’d be able to make an assessment of whether or not the child was feeling like giving her the crate, which at least seemed his intention when she last saw him.
She walked as casually as she could, concentrating heavily on her powers. She could feel her own omega waves connecting with those of Raiko, but he wouldn’t mind, if she was to use the full extent of her power any genomorph nearby would be affected, but at least she’d be able to see beyond where a genomorph could feel her, so it shouldn’t alert the child.



The man and woman finally stopped talking in a manner Sinclair couldn’t make head or toe out of and he was glad to see they were going someplace again. It seemed the man had contact with the other woman who had left them in a hurry, but whatever happened to her he couldn’t tell. It seemed these people were waiting for the boy to bring them back his crate. Sinclair couldn’t fathom why a boy would bring these people anything, let alone how he was supposed to get it from the guy who had run off with the crate in the first place.
He would have given it more thought, but there was suddenly a piercing pain shooting through his head. He would have shouted, but he knew he couldn’t. It took all his strength to stand the pain, but luckily it subsided relatively quickly. He had hoped he had felt the last of this pain, but either it was a kind of after effect, or whatever was wrong with him was still very much wrong. He feared it was the last.

Just as he opened his eyes again, feeling the pain subside, he saw the woman turning around. Sinclair was quick to duck away and he wouldn’t dare watch again until he heard the clicking of her shoes on the cold hard floor.



“Hmmmm…” Indogo hummed, she wasn’t really using her powers to look behind her, but she had the distinct feeling something was there and couldn’t help but turn around. She couldn’t see anything obvious and immediately felt silly about turning around in the first place. She really had to focus on looking forward, not backwards. Rats and vermin shouldn’t be bothering her, she had better things to do.
Forward and onwards!