Agents: Power Level

A/N: Here at last is the first part of the long awaited Powers Trilogy. I worked my butt off during Easter vacation to bring it to you. I think it is also worth mentioning that April 24th and this story mark the one year anniversary of Greer's creation and my part in the ATS universe.

I'm looking forward to many years spent similarly.

As always denotes something Greer hears, denotes earpiece talk, {} denotes song lyrics.

Also, for those of you who can't get enough of my Greer stories, or the Tib ones for that matter, I've put together a short list of works, published and internet, which would most likely amuse you while you're waiting for the next installment.

'Idoru' by William Gibson, 'The Hacker Crackdown' by Bruce Sterling (can be found online too), texfiles.com, ed each other down. The agent was daring him to say something, daring him to step out of line. And Greer was tempted to take up the challenge.

But he bit it down, and forced his words to contain at least the semblance of polite respect.

Greer gritted his teeth.

"Agent Brown, is my presence here a problem?" the query was charged with double-meaning.

The Agent regarded the brash young man steadily.

"Not," he said, "at the moment. See that it does not become one."

Slowly Greer nodded, never breaking eye-contact with Brown.

With out further adieu the agent turned sharply on his heel and marched from the training hall, his footfalls echoing behind him, and closed the double doors.

/ White Knight will be waiting/

The power broke into his thoughts unbidden.

"Arrrrraahhhg!!" Greer growled with pent fury and frustration, and leapt into the air, delivering a powerful roundhouse kick the a nearby punching bag. He fell to the earth, landing in a spider-man-like squat, panting through gritted teeth, his hair in his face.

The Agency was constantly monitored and recorded from every possible angle, which is to say, three hundred and sixty degrees. While Jones knew this logically it had not really occurred to him at the time that he had promised himself that he would go over the Edmund records from 'every possible angle'. He sighed, twisting the camera this way and that as he inspected the footage of the twins' rampage for what was now the fifty-eighth time. He hastily adjusted the angle when he found himself looking up from the floor at the underside of running Nicholas Edmund's leather pants.

It was getting him nowhere. He had no new information whatsoever. It was just a mad jaunt, played over and over again, and then to watch the man massacre his sister that way… Jones shuddered. Neither of them said anything that was useful either, most of what they said was incoherent babbling, screaming and grunting.

Nor had the tape of his examination of Nicholas' comatose body revealed further clues, that he hadn't discovered on the day in question. It was strange to this day, however, the way the rebel had lingered in the matrix. Jones had hurried at the time, to get whatever information he could from the body before the rebels pulled the plug, but the hours had dragged on, and Nicholas breathed still. Curiously Jones had run check, only to find that Nicholas Edmund had indeed been unplugged soon after his capture. His mind though, had somehow remained trapped inside the matrix, unconscious, but there.

Nothing like that had happened, so far as he knew, before or since.

In disgust Jones shut the monitor off. It was completely futile. If there was a solution he would have found it by now. He had searched through every bit of documentation relevant to the problem. He had even searched through every line of coding that had anything to do with the twins, and with Greer. There was nothing wrong. The programs that read their brain impulses and translated them into the matrix worked perfectly! Was it possible that there was really nothing to worry about? That the Edmund twins had simply been insane?

But if that was the case why couldn't he find the source of the telephonic powers either? He should at least be able to find that. It was not something that people could do outside of the matrix. ESP, telekinesis, all those things sometimes happened because of the way the human brain interacted with the matrix. They could be analyzed, quantified, software errors that could, in most cases, be rectified. This was something different.

But if it was not a software error….

Jones' green eyes widened considerably, and his hands froze over the keyboard. Why had it not occurred to him earlier? If there was nothing wrong with the software; what about the hardware? The agent's fingerers sped over the keyboard anew. This would take a few minutes. It would be very difficult to dig up from the bowels of the mainframe the number of, let alone the information on, the pod of a twenty-years dead rebel.

She turned to her friend and fellow recruit Tasha, a kind of short girl with brown hair pulled back in a braid. "Great, I'm with James again all week. He never shuts up." She rolled her eyes thinking of the greasy blabbermouth. You'd think he'd run out of things to say after an hour or two but no…

Casey giggled. "He does like the sound of his own voice, doesn't he? But look at it this way; at least you didn't get the death magnet." She pointed to her own name, which was listed with one Vincent Greer.

"Oh my god, Case, I am so sorry," Anne gave her a sympathetic look.

"Well, you can have my clothes when I'm gone," she shrugged.

"Casey like, don't talk that way! You're not going to die just because you've got one patrol with that freak."

"Oh no? Tell that to Tom and Sean," Casey said flatly. "I don't think the guy is even human. And not just because he seems a little too good with a gun. Have you seen that stare of his? It's like ice." She shivered. "Anne, I don't think it's an accident that all his partners die either. I think he kills them."

"Casey! That's horrible!" Tasha replied shrilly.

"I think it's true. So did Sean. He tried to get Smith to change his assignment, but he said no," Casey's voice had dropped to nearly a whisper. "Sean died, but the ice prince didn't have a scratch on him."

Tasha shivered too. "What do you think he is?"

"An agent? rebel maybe? Or maybe he's some kind of experiment gone wrong. Some kind of monster."

Anne rolled her eyes. "Like, you two are a couple of babies. Casey, do you want to trade patrols with me?"

They stared at her blankly.

"Uh… I guess so… sure," Casey said. "Are you sure?"

Anne crossed her arms and nodded. "And. I'll even prove to you once and for all that he's human."

"How?"

She blithely inspected her rose-painted fingernails. "The same way I prove any man human. I'll have him eating out of the palm of my hand by the end of the week."

"Uh-uh!" Casey objected. "Annie it's too dangerous."

"And anyway," Tasha added suspiciously, "how would you prove it. Even if he will sleep with you, I doubt he'll go around talking about it."

"Tch, fine. What do I need to prove it to you?"

Casey thought for a moment. "A lock of his hair. He won't let anybody touch it. If you think you can really get him to succumb to your charms, then you can get it from him willingly."

"How do you know I won't just cut it from him in the hall sometime or something?"

They goggled at her.

"Duh, Anne. Because he'd kill you."

Greer was doing one-handed pushups in an out of the way corner of the training room. At this point he wondered what time it was, and whether or not he was actually hungry. There were other recruits training now, trying their very best to ignore him, so it must be after breakfast time.

The recruit studied the ground intently. Sometimes the fact that the other recruits feared him vaguely amused him; other times gave him a thrill of satisfaction. Today it just pissed him off. Who were they to pass judgment on him? It wasn't his fault all his partners ended up dead. They were just stupid. If they'd get their heads out of their asses maybe they'd be able to see the bullets before they ripped through their tender flash.

A pair of pink Nike sneakers appeared in his field of view, and Greer stopped mid pushup to see who they belonged to. His gaze traveled up a pair of shapely and tanned female legs, to a pair of pink shorts and a white tank top that didn't cover a navel, up to the shoulders, neck and finally face of the golden haired harlot of the agency, Anne.

"Yes?" he snapped, wondering what in the hell she could want. He stood up, towering head and shoulders over the girl. His body was drenched in sweat and his shirt and sweatpants clung to him, as did the moist bits of hair that fell over his face.

"You looked like you'd been working out for a while. I thought you might appreciate a glass of water, at least." she held one out to him.

"Thanks, I've already got one," he said blandly requiring his own and taking a sip. He didn't know what sort of game she was playing but he certainly didn't trust it not to be the 'let's poison/drug Greer' game.

She shifted defensively, and the water disappeared from her hand, and eyed him as he drank his water coolly.

"How long have you been out here?" she asked.

"A while," he said, draining the glass. "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasantry?" he asked, jumping to the chase.

He expected her to hesitate, but the reply rolled off her tongue smoothly. "oh you know, just saying hi. We're on patrol duty together for the week." She smiled brightly, as though there were little else in the world that she'd rather do than patrol with Vincent Greer.

"Ah," he nodded. That explained it. "I see. Have you got your affairs in order?"

"What?" she blinked fiercely.

"You know, your will, your estate. In case you die," he said nonchalantly.

"Like, I repeat, what?"

He was baiting her, but hey, it was fun.

"Well we are recruits you know. And the rebels aren't exactly toting water- pistols," he smiled.

They stood there in silence for a moment, staring each other down.

"Is this about that silly curse thing of yours?"

"I'm not sure," he said, feigning concern. "Why don't you tell me about it."

"Duh, you know what I'm talking about. You've got practically every recruit here thinking if they get paired with you, they're dead."

"And you don't believe it?"

"No."

Greer quirked an eyebrow. "What if I told you it was a gypsy curse?"

"Yeah, right."

"A gypsy curse laid on me a hundred years ago. One moment of true happiness and I'm cursed." Okay, now he was just being funny. She wouldn't get the joke but it was funny anyway.

Anne rolled her eyes at him. "Now I know why no one will give you the time of day. You're an asshole."

"Look, it does have a brain!" he exclaimed with a grin.

Suddenly Anne went to kick him; a well executed roundhouse that would have caught Greer completely off guard, except that he'd noticed the change in her posture probably before she'd consciously decided to kick him. He grabbed her ankle in the air, and held her tenuously balanced, as she glared at him.

"I don't appreciate that," he told her, waving a finger at her as if to say 'naught, naughty'.

"Jerk," she wrenched her foot away, completely ruining her balance, but managed to catch herself in a frog stance instead of tumbling to the floor. She stood and dusted herself off.

"Are you going to attack me again?"

"Are you going to insult me again?" she demanded.

"What about insulting me?"

"Well if you weren't such a wiseass!"

"So sue me," he shrugged. "Look, what the hell did you want anyway?"

"I told you, to introduce myself, since we were going to patrol together."

"Fine, you know me, I know you. Now go away."

She didn't move. Greer stared at her, her high cheek bones, rouged, her pouting lips, painted, and her eyelids sparkling.

"You want to spar?" she asked.

Greer was slightly taken aback. "And here I thought you were just some kind of club mascot. Won't I ruin your makeup, precious?"

She required a rubber band and pulled her blonde hair back tightly. "Not even if you tried." She stood ready.

Greer came at her. He attacked slowly at first, getting a feel for her skill, and for her technique. She wasn't bad. A bit heavy on the kicks, but that was just because she was a female, he supposed.

She got one good hit in though. He was about to block when a snippet of a conversation cut into his mind.

/I'd really rather see Secret Window, you know-/

Anne's fist landed solidly in his gut, but he managed to absorb the blow relatively well, and shove his power back where it belonged. He could feel though, that his range was wider than ever.

They traded blows for a few minutes until Greer picked up his pace and Anne was sweating, the scent of in mingling with that of her perfume. As Anne got more and more tired it became easier for Greer to deflect her blows, and harder for him to resist delivering the last punch. He finally gave in after a particularly ill-timed kick, and once again grabbed her by the ankle, but this time swept her to the floor before she could do anything.

She landed on the mat with a dull thud.

Greer looked down at her. "Not too bad I suppose. You might survive the curse after all."

He swung around sharply and stalked away.

She wiped her brow feeling the thick perspiration on her arm. First he insults her, the he insults her again, and the he has the nerve to, to… continue insulting her! And all she had been trying to do was be nice to him. Why was he so suspicious? Well, okay, so she was just being nice to him in order to get him into bed, so she could prove to everyone that he wasn't some super-human monster. Freak of nature yeah, but not superhuman. Well, at least not any more than any other recruit.

Anne opened the door to her 'apartment' and collapsed onto the couch. If you had told her a few months ago where she would be now, she never in a million years would have believed you. In fact, she probably would have had you committed and then gone into intense therapy herself, just for having the idea suggested. Less than a year ago Anne was a nineteen year old college co-ed with a rich father and a future in modeling. Now she was a whacko secret agent.

It had all started with that serial killer a few months ago, the one who tortured his victims and destroyed their faces. Anne had been out, palling around with her fake ID, and she'd been drunk, the reason she hadn't seen the guy in the first place. Someone came up behind her, and put something over her face, so that she passed out.

When she woke up she was shackled to a table, and a man was standing over her with an array of knives and surgical tools. She's started screaming, and when he'd gotten close to her she'd wrenched her body away, and somehow broken the thick chains that bound her. Not gotten loose from, broken. The killer had attacked her while she was trying to run, and they fought. Despite him being nearly twice her size she threw him into a wall. He'd only cut her once, and thank god, it didn't scar. When she'd gotten out of the building, which turned out to be the basement of an abandoned warehouse, she'd immediately gone to the police, who in turn got the FBI.

It tuned out that the chains she'd broken through had not been rusted or compromised in any way beforehand. They were thick stainless steel. That was when she was questioned by the men in dark glasses.

When they sprang the choice on her she was in shock. She didn't know what to believe, if they were crazy, if she was crazy, or what. But here she was with these brand new talents and nothing to do with them. Her then- boyfriend Mike had been a big fan of action movies, and had dragged her along to more than a few. That was what the whole thing sounded like, an action movie, and the girls in those movies were glamorous, smart and sexy.

She said yes.

Anne hugged one of the couch cushions close to her body. Little had she known that with that choice she was forsaking her great big beautiful do- anything life for a continual battle arena. Yes it was glamorous, and sexy, and action-packed, but it was tiny. Her days were those of continual training and fighting. She got three hours of free-time a week, and that was a special privilege the Agents had tossed them just recently.

James Bond traveled the world and gambled in casinos; Charlie's Angels got vacations on the beach.

Action movies lied.

It was rare for Jones to have occasion to look at images from the 'real' world, but that was what was currently being displayed on his main monitor. It was a pod, the pod that had once held Nicolas Edmund. Or rather a complete computer model of it, since the actual pod was currently occupied. Along the edges of the image were dissections of the function of various parts and their workings. The representation was so minutely detailed that in even included the little points of wear, which was good because they were exactly what Jones needed.

It had taken Jones two hours to locate the male Edmund's pod number, and another hour to call up the schematics and model. He had been inspecting it with the proverbial fine toothed comb for several hours besides, having so far discovered nothing remotely unordinary about the pod. But he kept looking, because he knew the answer was here somewhere. How he knew was a mystery, but he could tell that this vulgar shell held answers. So patiently he went over it again.

He was not so engrossed however, that he did not notice that Greer had not yet been in this morning. Normally the recruit would have been in to see him soon after he'd awoken, but it was past noon and still made no appearance. Worried, but feeling vaguely intrusive, Jones had checked up on him on the monitors several hours ago. At that point he had still been training. Jones supposed it was best to let him. Surely he would come in later.

Jones' eyes were on the screen, and his mind was sharply analyzing what it saw. There was no damage to the feed-tubes, and nor any on the pumps. He focused the view on the gleaming metal spike that connected the occupant to the Matrix. That spike was both a doorway and an anchor. It brought a human into the Matrix, but still tied them to that world of hard reality. And it gleamed sliver, seeming never to loose it's polish, although, there was one spot of dullness.

Jones blinked suddenly and narrowed his eyes at the screen. That definitely should not be there. It was a dull, darkened spot on the metal near the base, and Jones had no idea what could have caused it. He tightened the angle of vision and magnified it by ten. It looked as though the metal had been somehow burned. He ran an inquiry. Several minutes later it came back with the answer that yes the metal had been burned, by electricity in fact, but there was no indication as to how it had been caused.

By all rights there was in fact no way it could have been caused, since the part of the metal where the spot was, was inserted into the plug at the base of the human's neck.

What a puzzle this was.

There was a knock at the door, and Jones looked up sharply at the monitor showing the hallway. It was Greer.

"Come in," he said, after hastily saving his work and switching the pod display to scrolling code.

The recruit opened the door, stepped through, and closed it again. He was freshly showered, and wearing a blue sleeveless, and black jeans.

"Hey Jonesy," he greeted with a grin, and gave the agent a quick kiss. Jones felt the thrill he always did when Greer touched him.

"Good morning," he replied.

"Is it still morning?" Greer wondered aloud.

"For a short time, yes. I take it you were busy?"

"Uh yeah. Sorry, I would have been around earlier but I kind of lost track of time," he apologized.

"I'm not upset," Jones assured him, "simply glad that you are here now."

Greer grinned at him. "So, you wanna go a few rounds..?" he asked suggestively.

Jones eyes widened and he nearly choked. "It's the middle of the day!" he protested.

"Well I know where your mind is Jones," the recruit chuckled. "I meant of VWS."

Jones crossed his arms. "You intended for me to believe…" he trailed off, a bit embarrassed.

"Couldn't help it," Greer shrugged. "That was a beautiful face you made."

"What ever possessed me to take up with such a scoundrel?" the agent demanded in mock exasperation.

"Yeah, well, what would my mom say if she knew I was dating a fed? And more than twice my age," Greer raised his eyebrows with a grin.

Jones sighed and shook his head. "Such is our forbidden love," he said playfully. But he meant it to. The unworkability of their relationship plagued the two of them every day. They lapsed into silence for a moment.

"So I'm patrolling with the whore of Babylon tonight," he said finally.

"I was unaware we had any such religious figure in the agency," Jones said, knowing full well who he meant. He'd seen the two of them sparring earlier and with Greer's notoriously mutual dislike of the other recruits he had been curious.

"You know who I mean," Greer said. "Anne. If there's a male recruit she hasn't slept with, well, it's me."

"Good to hear," the agent said with a slight tinge of jealousy.

"Yeah," Greer said, running his fingers through his hair. "Funny thing is she came over to talk about it this morning."

"The fact that you had not slept with her?" Jones asked eyes wide.

"No!" Greer said with a chuckle, "although I can fully imagine her doing that; she wanted to talk about patrol."

"Ah." Perhaps Greer was right about the agent and where his mind was today.

"So anyway, first she comes over and offers me a glass of water, which I decline, since I think she probably has it poisoned or aphrodisiacked, or something."

"I do not believe that 'aphrodisiacked' is a word, Greer."

"It is now. Add it to your spell-check, Jonesy."

"Oh yes, I am certain my fellow agents would be highly amused if it turns up in a report, wouldn't they?"

"Brown would love it. We should send it to him as a birthday present. Happy Birthday Agent Brown. Aphrodisiacked."

Greer laughed, and Jones joined him.

Maybe there wasn't anything wrong with him, Jones thought. He seemed normal now. Maybe he was just moody. Maybe the power had nothing to do with the Edmund twins' insanity. But much as Jones wished it were so, he couldn't really bring himself to believe it.

"Anyway, what was I saying? Oh yeah, Anne. I think she was trying to seduce me."

"It was not working, I would assume."

"Of course not," Greer rolled his eyes. "Anyway, I think she thought she was doing it for her own safety."

"You are going to have to explain that to me."

"Did you know there's a rumor going around about me?"

"That you are a homosexual?" Jones asked with a wry smile.

"Haha," Greer replied dryly. "Actually there are two versions of the rumor. The first is that I'm 'cursed' so that all my partners die. The second is that I kill them."

The agent sighed. "I must confess that I was aware of such a rumor."

"And?"

"Are you deliberately killing your partners?"

"Of course not!" Greer said indignantly.

"I thought not. And you are not to my knowledge under any such curse. Therefore I would advise you not to worry about the matter."

What Jones did not say was how perhaps it was his reckless fighting style that caused his partners' frequent deaths. In battle he seemed to care very little about even his safety, let alone his partners, when he was going for the kill. Rather like the Celtic Berserkers of ancient human history.

"So, are we going to play VWS or what?" the recruit then asked.

"Certainly," Jones said with a smile, and with a few keystrokes the brightly colored mélange that was the Virtual World Smackdown title screen appeared. In the past few weeks of their relationship Jones had been trying to worry too much about possible futures, and to enjoy the time he did have with Greer.

He was trying, but sometimes it was very, very hard.

Greer straightened his hair and clothes as his walked down the corridor. As often happened these days their innocent VWS session had turned into a furtive and rather less innocent make-out session. The clandestine nature of their relationship not only called for the careful use of any time they had together, but also seemed to make it even more appealing.

It hurt Greer every time he thought about Agent Jones' immortality. It was unfair that their time together would be so brief. It was doubly unfair that Jones would have to live forever without him. Would Jones forget about him after a few centuries? Would the pain lessen? Greer didn't know if he which he would wish for, to be forgotten and ultimately unloved, or to have Jones carry that hurt through eternity. It was selfish of him to want to be remembered, but…

Damnit, why couldn't he just be made an Agent like Stef had been? Right now. Why did it have to wait until he died? And even then, Jones had told him it was no certain thing at all that it would happen. The mainframe had to be convinced.

It wasn't wrong for him to want to live forever, was it? Not when he was surrounded by immortals. They would never die, never grow old. And if he didn't die fighting a rebel? What if he just kept fighting as he got older and older? Did the Agency have a mandatory retirement age for recruits? Would he one day, when they deemed his usefulness gone, have his memory erased and be sent back to the world of humanity to live the rest of his life with a false identity he thought was real? Like Agent K in Men in Black. That was how it worked. He would not remember the truth, or the Agency, or Jones, or any of it. And that was a fate worse than death, wasn't it?

He was almost to his room when he saw Stef Mimosa coming down the hall, the lady in the black suit, the Agency's nod to women's rights. Greer couldn't help grinning as he saw her.

"Hey Stef," he greeted.

"Hi Greer," she said with a smile, stopping to chat with him. "How are you?"

Greer shrugged. "What've you been up to?"

"Not much," she said, and lowered her voice, "I swung by the mansion."

"Oh, how's Brooke?" he'd only met her once, but Greer liked the idea of Smith having a daughter.

"Pretty good."

"And you?"

"Pretty good," she said with a smile. "What about you?"

"Eh," he shrugged again. "Can't tell really."

"What do you mean?"

"First I'm bad, then I'm good, then I'm not so good again. You know what I mean?"

Clomping footsteps echoed through the hallway, coming towards them. Agent Brown turned the corner, and came towards them. They fell quiet. For a moment it looked like he was going to stop and admonish them, but he walked past, giving them only a long, cold glare from behind mirror shades as he walked by, turned another corner, and was out of sight.

They stayed silent until they were sure he was out of casual listening distance.

"You know," Greer said. "I think we're his two least favorite people."

"That's fairly accurate."

"Wonder where he was going in such a hurry? I mean, he didn't even stop to yell at us. And he looked grouchier than usual."

"Probably out hunting Exiles," Stef said with a frown.

Greer wrinkled his brow. "Exiles. What exactly are Exiles? I've heard you and Jones mention them, but that's it."

Mimosa looked at him. "Didn't I tell you before?"

He shook his head. "Not that I recall."

She shrugged. "Well, I'll tell you. But let's go back to your room in case Brown comes back. Recruits aren't technically supposed to be informed on that particular subject."

"Why not?" he asked, as they began walking.

"It's not 'necessary' information."

"Oh."

Greer put his hand on the knob and opened his door. None of the recruits' rooms had lock, it was pointless, since no malicious party could possibly enter the Agency, and any recruit could simply 'require' a key.

Greer couldn't remember if this was Stef's first time in his room, and so he was a little self-conscious about it. It looked a lot like his old apartment, computer and CD player in one corner, strew about with disks and cds, TV and game systems in another corner, the games neatly packed in shoeboxes, another corner held his unmade bed with thick black comforter, and spider-man sheets. The final corner held his kitchenette, there were doors to a bathroom and a closet, and there was a black leather couch and wooden coffee table in the middle of the room, covered in magazines and comics which sprawled their mess onto the floor; it was badly lit and there were a multitude of posters wallpapering the room, most for games or anime, some for movies or bands, or comics. The carpet was deep blue.

"Er, sorry about the mess," he said.

Stef rolled her eyes and closed the door behind her. "It's okay." she assured him. "It looks better than my apartment." She plopped down on the couch, immediately making herself at home.

"Glad you like it," he said with a half-raised eyebrow. "Wanna cup of coffee?" he asked, sitting down on the couch as well.

"Sure."

He required two mugs and handed one to her.

"What service," Stef said with smile, and glanced at her coffee nonchalantly. It changed color slightly; she had just required a large amount of sugar in it.

Greer drank his black.

"So," Stef said after a minute. "You want to know about Exiles."

"I figure I might as well," he said with a shrug, sipping his coffee. "Unless it's really boring, I guess," he added.

"Nope, it's not boring."

"Then I'm all for them," he said with a grin. "Especially if they make Brown unhappy."

"Oh that they do," she assured him.

"More power to them."

"Do you want to hear what they are or just send them funding checks now?" Stef laughed.

Greer chuckled. "Why don't you tell me?"

"Okay then. You know there are more programs than just Agents, right?"

He nodded.

"Sometimes a program is deleted, whether it's because a more efficient program has been created, or because the program has decided it doesn't want to do it's job, or is 'misbehaving' in some conspicuous way. Got that?"

"Got it." Like how Jones would be deleted if anyone found out about them, or simply just for having a personality.

"After a program is deleted it is given a choice, to stop existing or to become an Exile. If they choose Exile they return to the matrix, to do whatever they want, a purposeless program, living for its own sake. Another job of the agents, one that Brown takes very seriously, is to hunt down and destroy these 'corrupted' programs, because they are a danger to the system."

Like ronin, Greer thought, the masterless samurai of ancient Japan. "So what do they do, just hang around?"

"Some do fight against Agents with the rebels," she told him, "but not many, they prefer to avoid us altogether. Like I said, they do whatever they want, hang around, watch TV, drive cars, work at McDonalds."

"You're kidding."

"How else are they going to support themselves? Some of them have special talents, but they can't require."

/-don't know what you wanted the limes for-/

Greer winced, and pushed his power to the back of his mind for the third time today. He tried to ignore what was happening, and he hadn't told Jones, because he was scared, and he didn't want to worry him any more. But the power was slowly swallowing him whole.

"What kind of special talents?" he asked.

"Sometimes it relates to what their duty was as a program, sometimes not. There's a whole number of them, left off from the first matrix, whose coding doesn't quite mesh with this world. Do you want to guess what they are?"

He held his hands up. "I give up."

"Vampires."

"Vampires?" he demanded, eyes wide.

"And werewolves, and ghosts, and the creature from the black lagoon, UFOs, Angels, demons, the loch ness monster, they're all Exiles."

"They really exist?" he asked, still stunned.

She nodded. "They do exist. There's a whole little world of Exiles, they're very human."

"That's probably why Brown hates them."

"I'd imagine so. But it's an Agent's duty to track and destroy Exiles," she said distastefully.

"Kind of a shame," Greer mused.

"Yeah, it is." Stef finished her coffee and set the cup down on the table.

"Wanna play some Mortal Kombat?" Greer asked, after a moment of mutual quiet reflection, and gestured at the television.

She shook her head. "I'd like to but I can't. I was actually heading over to see Smith when I bumped into you."

The recruit nodded. "Well, it was nice seeing you. You'll have to drop by again some time." He grinned

"I certainly will," Stef stood and stretched, she wasn't tall, but her form was slendered and well-formed from her battles, and the suit was rather flattering on her. Trade the pants and shoes for a skirt and high heels, Greer thought she'd look a lot like Elena from the Turks, in FFVII. Stef probably had great legs.

Greer watched her leave, turning to give him a last nod before closing the door. She left him sitting on the couch, mind full of vampires, Exiles, his intruding power, and other, equally strange thoughts.

He looked down at his coffee, and required it intro sake liquor instead.

She knocked on Greer's door, and when he answered he looked surprised.

"This is patrol, Anne," he said gruffly, "not a date."

She crossed her arms. "You expect me to go outside looking like trash?" she demanded. "You're not exactly armed to the teeth."

She thought he looked disgusting, in point of fact. He was wearing more jewelry than she was even, with at least seven piercings in each ear, most in the cartilage, and that gaudy dragon thing handing down from one lobe. His hair was perpetually pulled back and hanging over his face menacingly, and a number of large pendants with skulls and things hung from his neck over a dark blue wife-beater shirt, which in turn was under a black straight-jacket-like coat with silver buckles, a heavy belt hanging over tight black jeans, and he had a pair of combat boots on.

He grunted noncommittally. "Come on, let's go." He closed the door of his room and they headed out in silence. Anne hoped he wasn't going to brood the entire time.

When they got to street level Anne immediately went to require her car, but Greer grabbed her wrist.

"Hey!" she protested.

He shook his head. "There is no way I'm going to be seen with the Barbie- mobile. We'll take my bike."

"For your information-" she began to protest, but stopped when she saw the motorcycle he'd required. She stared at its midnight blue and chrome. Now there was a sexy bike.

"Fine," she said with a shrug.

"It's require a coat if I were you, or you'll freeze."

She required a white Pleather duster, and put it on, as well as a white and pink helmet.

"Get on behind me," he said, mounting the bike.

She got on, and asked, "Where's your helmet?"

Instantly he was wearing a blue helmet with an Asian green dragon. "Happy?" he asked.

"Sure, whatever," she replied boredly, wrapping her hands around his waist. He was skinnier than most recruits were, but also impossibly well muscled. She could almost count his ribs, but he had a firm stomach. She leaned up against his back. Maybe sleeping with him would be more fun than she thought.

He didn't bother to warn her to hold on, just started the bike, revved it twice, and sped off onto the dusk.

Inconsiderate jerk.

Greer felt Anne's hands around his waist and tried to ignore them as he drove. Would she be trying to vamp him all night? That was the only goal she could have in mind, hanging around him this morning, the outfit, the roaming hands…

Well there was no way. First of all he was loyal to Jones no matter what. Second of all sure she had a great body, but Anne was nothing but a tramp, right down to her heavy makeup and exposed bellybutton. If she hadn't become a recruit she probably would be sleeping her way around Hollywood or somewhere equally glamorous. How on earth did she get recruited in the first place? She had no mind behind those looks, so far as he could tell, unlike Stef, who Greer thought must be some sort of closet genius. Not only that, but she didn't have to try to be sexy, she just was. The walk, the smirk, the casual way she held herself and her gun. Stef was a woman, Anne was just a girl.

Maybe, thought Greer, if he hadn't gotten involved with Jones, he and Stef might have had a relationship. But he was in love with Jones, and he was happy with that, discontent as he was with the secrecy of it all. Maybes were another lifetime.

Right now he just wanted to figure out a way to keep Anne from getting too friendly. He was trying to be as unpleasant as possible, but he got the feeling that wasn't enough to turn her off. He did wonder though, if she was genuinely attracted to him, or just took the idea up on a whim. He suspected it was the latter.

He pulled into the parking lot of a cyberpunk club, the destination of their patrol. Anne wasn't really dressed for it, but that was her problem, not his. He made sure nobody was looking and 'required' away their helmets.

"Come on," he said to Anne, who stood first, before he followed.

"Eugh," she said, looking at the club with distaste, and it's patrons with even more. The place was called Final Heaven, but the neon lights were in Japanese, and Greer had been there many times in his pre-recruit days. Unlike Monkey Boxing, it was the sort of place that rebels spread propaganda, in fact, it had been here, after a long chat with the bartender, that his own search for Morpheus had tentatively begun.

Anne followed him inside, as he walked into his old stomping grounds with more confidence than he felt. Would he recognize anyone? Would anyone recognize him? It had been a year practically, since he'd been there; but it hadn't changed a bit.

The whole place was a cement bunker spray-painted a mishmash of black, and Technicolor graffiti, some put there by the owner deliberately, and some by zealous patrons. Along the walls and ceiling there were sharp metallic outcroppings at odd angles, the chairs and tables were metal, and painted to look rusty in spots, strewn around the dance floor haphazardly. The multi-colored strobe lights, which were the only illumination, flickered sporadically, sometimes fast, sometimes slow, and once in while they would go out entirely, leaving the club pitch black for a moment. One wall was dominated by a huge flatscreen TV on which clips of various dark sci-fi movies flashed in silence, except that at odd intervals, a nuclear blast would rock the screen, sound at full volume. The greatest effect was when this corresponded with one of the strobe blackouts. The patrons were awash in makeup and glitter, studs, spikes, torn clothing, black, neon, plastic, heels, leather, and just about anything they wanted to wear. It was very post-apocalyptic.

The DJ tonight, set up on a dais that was sometimes used for a band, and had tattered blood-red curtains pulled halfway around it, was wearing a particularly large amount of black leather with blue, red and green wires sticking out and tangled around him. He was shaved bald and had large, suction-cup-like goggles on his forehead. The music right now was to an echoing, rather schizophrenic techno-beat, the remix of one of Greer's favorite songs by the band 'Shadows'. It was called Nightmare Seduction, and it had just started.

{Crawling… crawling… crawling… through the darkness oh and the blood}

Anne was sticking very close to him, as they waded through crowd, looking for rebels, and rebel potentials. Greer wondered if they would find any tonight. He needed a good fight.

"What is this place?" Anne asked trying to whisper, and be heard above the din at the same time.

{falling… falling… falling into your arms covered in sweet blood and I'm}

"Final Heaven, cyberpunk club," he told her. "Named after the club in ff seven, actually."

"What?"

He shook his head.

{calling… calling… calling but you're too busy licking my wounds}

"Never mind," he told her. "See any rebels?"

"They all look like rebels," she hissed. "Why don't we get something to drink?"

"You're not even eighteen," he protested.

{oh and tasting the blood… blood}

"So?" she demanded.

"We're not supposed to drink on the job, anyway."

"So?"

{But that's what you do and god knows, it's know harm to you}

Greer rolled his eyes. "Fine, okay, come on. Let's get over to the bar. I just hope Risen isn't tending tonight."

"You know the bartender?" she asked.

"I used to come here a lot," he shrugged, pushing people aside so they could get through. Nobody minded. A woman with large DJ headphones over her ears that weren't plugged into anything, the cord wound around her belt, shoved him back with a grin that he returned.

{lick your fingers, in the morning no one will remember and no one will care… care}

There were no stools at the bar, just a lot of people. Behind, tending, was just who Greer did and did not want to see; his old pal Risen. The man was a couple of years older than Greer was but much shorter and skinnier, with short blonde hair dyed green at the tips, and brown eyes. He was wearing a black fishnet shirt with plastic Halloween spiders stuck all over it, and a lot of black and purple makeup and glitter. His lips and eyes had more color than Anne's. His pants (or was it a skirt today? So baggy he couldn't tell) were covered in excess chains and zippers.

{as long as I'm bleeding you'll be happy, as long as I'm wounded, baby you'll be there}

Risen stared at him. "Yo, Greer, man is that really you?!"

The recruit grinned at him. "Yeah, it's me. Been a while, eh?"

"Damn sure has," he slapped Greer on the shoulder, and then saw Anne, standing behind him. He took her in with a dubious eye, "who's the Chiquita?"

{nobody said… nobody said… nobody said it was fair… }

Greer jerked a thumb at her. "Just a chick. Name's Anne."

"Excuse me, just a chick?" Anne glared at him.

Risen chuckled. "Well you sure ain't his girl, babe."

"And why not?" she demanded.

To his credit, Risen just laughed.

{Crawling… crawling… crawling through the darkness oh and the blood

falling… falling… falling into your arms covered in sweet blood and I'm calling… calling… calling}

Greer had met him here, two years ago, and they had been lovers for a while, not really so much dating as just being together for its own sake. He was a good friend, and had continued being one after they discontinued their relationship when he'd started going with the club's bouncer, Derrek. In addition to tending bar, Risen, whose real name was Shane, also sometimes danced in the cage suspended above the dance floor.

{This bloods for you}

"So what can I get you two?" the bartender asked dutifully.

Anne ordered some kind of silly mixed drink that Greer didn't here the name of. He was busy surveying the crowd now for rebel activity, and listening to the music. Oh and worrying. Risen wasn't a rebel as far as he knew (how could he work at the club otherwise?) but he did have sympathies in that direction. After all, it had been Risen's interest in Morpheus that had led Greer to him.

{my nightmare desire; languid lover, sanguine lover}

"Nothing for me," he said. "Hey Ris, have any e133t Haxors been in lately?"

He thought for a moment. "Nah, nobody really worth calling elite. Got a few warez d00ds around though, if you're in the market for any cheap software."

"No thanks," he said. There was a time when Greer would have eagerly snapped up any pirate software that came his way, but not any more.

{you won't let me die and I can't leave you til I'm six feet under}

"So nobody around spreading the hacker message lately?"

"Actually the buzz I've been picking up lately is that somebody heavy's gonna stop by soon," Risen said, taking a drink of his beer. "Like maybe Trinity even. Or Neo."

Well great, he thought to himself. Just what I need. He looked over to find Anne chatting warmly with one of the more conservatively dressed guys in the club.

{This blood's for you}

"So where've you been man?" Risen asked him finally.

"Around," he shrugged, "I got a job and it's eating my life." If he told Risen even the half-truth that he worked for the government he'd be tossed out of Final Heaven on his ear. To them Greer was on the nark-side.

Phone conversation suddenly cut through his thoughts.

/-almost to the club Morpheus/

His eyes went wild for a moment, but he quickly suppressed his rage. He wasn't sure what rebel's voice he heard but he knew one thing. Rebels were coming, the signal was too close for them to be headed anywhere else.

The bartender nodded and didn't ask what his job was. Risen was the type who didn't ask for more information than one offered.

{they're chasing me around in the dark}

"Got a new squeeze?" Risen asked curiously.

'Yeah actually," Greer said with a grin. "Game designer, sweet guy. Short, brown haired, really shy though."

"Hey speaking of game design, have you seen that new net game, 'Virtual World that seems really real Smackdown'?"

Greer nearly choked before he remembered that Jones had released it onto the net a few weeks ago. He made a mental note to ask what kind of feedback he was getting.

{it doesn't matter with your watchful eyes but its no walking in the park}

"Yeah, I've played it," he replied, a bit distracted. He looked around for Anne again, but now he couldn't find her. God damn it, where was she? The rebels would be here any minute.

"Isn't it awesome? Absolutely awesome game-play, hilarious characters. It must have taken years to develop, yet whoever made it released it free on the net. He woulda made a zillion bucks if he'd sold it to Playstation."

"Maybe the guy who created doesn't care about money."

{and I know you sent them, that's why I scream… scream… scream… }

"If a guy that brilliant can be that selfless I'd love to meet him. Hell, I'd love to take him home to mother," Risen joked.

Too bad, Greer thought, he's already taken.

"So, are you and Derrek still together?"

"Are you kidding?" Risen chuckled, "We went at if for like three months before he got tired of me. He's on a chick-kick right now."

"How could anyone ever get tired of you, Ris?" Greer asked with a grin.

"Beat's the hell outta me."

{It's all a dream, I'll wake up, you were never there}

"So anyway," Risen said, "Now I'm seeing this Chinese guy Hsu Hu. Do you believe it?"

Greer chuckled, "How's he treat-"

/Can you come ansh pick me up? I shink I'm drunk-/

It was just too much. He couldn't control it anymore, not reliably, and soon it would have him completely. He cried out, swept his hand across the bar in rage knocking Anne's drink to the floor, and watched it in slow motion fall, spilling pink liquid and ice in globules through the air, until it hit the ground and shattered on the cement floor. Then he buried his face in his hands.

{you're there in my sleep, I never do anything but sleep, I'll never wake up}

Risen put a hand on his shoulder. "Yo man, you okay?"

Greer's head snapped up. Outside he could hear a car pulling up and rebel voices. Yes, over the din of the club, he could hear it.

He glanced back at Risen and struggled not to see a potential rebel. 'Run," he snarled at him. "There's going to be a gunfight."

One look at Greer's eyes and the man didn't need to be told twice. He pressed a hand to the bar and with the agility of a gymnast hopped over it and dashed out the employee exit. Nobody looked twice.

{Crawling… crawling… crawling through the darkness oh and the blood}

Greer stood up and his eagle eyes found Anne with her 'new friend' in a corner. He stalked towards her quickly, pushing people roughly aside, no trace of joviality now.

Anne was lost in a deep kiss form Jaren when suddenly he was pulled violently away, and shoved several feet across the room. Anne looked up, who the hell would-

{falling… falling… falling into your arms covered in sweet blood and I'm}

It was Greer, but he wasn't his usual sulky self. His eyes were flashing and his lips were twisted in a snarl.

"What the hell?!"

"Shut up, we've got rebels," he growled, and grabbing her wrist and twisted her around so that she was facing the doorway. He scared her.

{calling… calling… calling through the darkness}

Six people filtered through the doorway slowly. The first was a stocky blonde man, the second, wiry and red haired, there was a tall brown haired man, a skinnier blonde guy, a kid who couldn't be any older than fourteen, and last was a tall woman with black and red hair. They were all wearing heavy black clothing.

"Them?" she asked in a whisper, shrinking back from the feral Greer.

{Crawling… crawling… crawling}

"Don't move until I-" he stopped mid sentence, surveying the rebels. "Yami," he spat, and, almost forgetting to let go of Anne's wrist, leapt forward, towards the rebels, howling.

The rebels were startled by the man rushing towards them with such animal furry.

"The hell?! Greer!!" the woman rebel screeched. "He's an agent!!"

They drew their weapons in the blink of an eye.

Greer didn't seem to notice or care, but took a flying leap towards the woman, and Anne saw that he was holding a long curved sword.

{oh and the blood}

Now people were starting to notice, and hurry out the emergency exits.

Anne was caught between two and a half impulses, on the one hand she was trained to fight, on the other hand she didn't want to get anywhere near the crazed Greer. And she just generally wanted to leave. To run away and never come back.

She drew her gun and leapt dutifully into the fray.

{falling… falling… falling}

Greer had been fighting all of them at once, though obviously trying to get to the woman who knew him specifically. But with five against one his odds weren't great.

Anne joined him now, picking off the lanky guy from a distance with one well placed bullet, and jump-kicked the stocky blonde.

Greer paid no attention to her, but had grabbed the brown haired guy who was staunchly keeping him from the woman, by the ankle. The woman was running around the club trying to find a good distance to shoot from.

{Into your bloody abyss, your hell}

As she was trading martial arts blows with the stocky rebel, she grabbed him in a punch and managed to throw him to the floor. Her gaze followed him, and she was nearly physically ill from what she saw.

Lying on the ground was the mangled body of the skinny blond rebel. One on his arms was severed clean off, pooling blood on the cement floor, there were numerous lacerations all over his body, and his intestines were pouring out from a deep gash in his stomach. The worst part was that she wasn't sure the rebel was quite dead yet.

{Trapped by your demonic voice, crooning sick lullabies}

Greer had done that.

Anne looked terrified up at her fellow recruit, and as she did so, another mutilated corpse fell to the ground in a pool of blood and gore. A victim Greer had just tossed aside.

{I never could say my goodbyes}

The rebel she had thrown had gotten up, and was aiming a shot at her when she bent over to be sick. The bullet just grazed her shoulder, and it made her stomach empty even more of its contents.

{in sweet blood and I'm in your arms covered}

But the rebel didn't finish her. She wasn't worth it any more. All the rebels were running for their lives. Every man for himself.

Still sick, shaking and drooling vomit, Anne scrabbled back, and cowered in a corner. Greer had the woman rebel pressed up against a wall; he was laughing. Anne squeezed her eyes shut.

{You've made me a demon… demon… demon}

He was a killer, just like the killer who had tried to hurt her before. Just as cruel, just as cold, and horrible. Only he wasn't just a man this time, and she couldn't fight him.

Run, she thought. Run from the monster.

Greer chuckled, a deep hollow sound in the back of his throat, as his piercing gaze penetrated the terrified eyes of the woman he held, Yami Yamashita. The beast, Grimoires, had lied. Yami has escaped alive, and now her blood was his to spill.

"Any last words?" he rasped, pressing his blade up to her throat.

{Tasting the blood… }

"You-you're dead," she whispered in terror. "The jabberwockies got you."

"Dead?" he croaked. "I'm invincible."

Something hit him in the back of his head, and he crumpled. The katana, covered in slick, crimson ichor, clanged on the hard floor.

{… calling… calling… calling… }

Yami stared at the small rebel boy, Obsolete, in relief. He held a heavy metal pipe in one hand, and with the other, grabbed her wrist.

"We have to go," he said urgently, peering around at the gruesome spectacle.

"I-" Yami too surveyed the atrocities. She reached down hastily, and pulled the dragon earring from her foe's ear with surprising care. She shoved it in her own ear, nodded at 'Lete and the two sprinted out of the building. They paid no notice to the blonde girl, sobbing and trembling in the corner.

Jones had not been watching Greer's patrol; he had had other things on his mind. In fact, he had looked in once to make sure everything was all right, and found Greer chatting it up with the bartender, who seemed to be an old friend. Jones was almost jealous, and he hadn't checked on him again.

He had however discovered what had gone wrong with the Edmund twins and the cause of their power. He had checked Claire Edmund's pod, and the same electrical burn marks were on her spike. Both burn marks were also twenty years old, the same time frame as when they'd died.

With trepidation Jones had finally checked Greer's pod. He had wanted to avoid it, because it made him think of Greer's mortality and his real world body, but it had to be done.

And there were the burn marks, slightly less extensive, but much, much more recent, current in fact. And with this discovery came the origin of the burns. There was a slight but fatal flaw in the plug that was inserted in the back of Greer's head. Every so often it would emit a spark, causing the burns, firing neurons in his brain allowing him to pick up telephone signals, driving him slowly insane, and killing him.

The power of the Edmund twins, their insanity and their deaths were now inextricably linked, and tied to the fate of recruit Vincent Greer.

Jones sat with his sunglasses off, his face in his hands, crying.

He didn't notice that a light on his monitor was blinking softly.

When Greer regained consciousness a few minutes later, it was with none of the fury of his berserker rage. The whole incident was clouded in a fog, and he could barely remember it. But by what he could remember, and by the macabre scene around him, the blood on his sword, and the torpid, sweet smell in the air, he was horrified, and sickened.

He stood.

What in god's name had he done? This wasn't getting rid of dangerous rebels; this was murder, simple and disgusting. Greer gagged and was nearly sick.

What had he, how had he lost control like that? He'd become a monster. What would Jones think? Had he killed any innocent bystanders? What would the Agents do to him if he had? What would he do if he had? There were only two bodies and he was sure they were both rebels, but that was no excuse, what he'd done was… inhuman. Bestial.

He heard muffled sobbing coming from a former and turned. There, curled into the fetal position, and covered in stale vomit, was Anne. He stepped over to her, and knelt down.

"Anne?"

She looked up, and immediately cowered backwards, closer to the wall. Greer winced visibly. No doubt she'd witnessed his rampage.

"Anne, listen to me. I know you saw what I did."

Her eyes got wider.

"I don't have the time to explain to you what happened. But you have to trust me that-" he stopped mid-sentence. That what? That it wasn't him? That he was temporarily insane? That he wouldn't do it again? The only one he knew was true was the second one, and he wasn't so sure about the temporary part.

"Listen," he began again. "You have to promise me that you will never, never tell anyone about this. Can you promise me that?"

She nodded weakly.

"Do you think you're okay to drive?" he asked.

She nodded again.

"Go back to the agency, I'll come back when I can. Alright?"

Nod.

"And remember, tell no one. Now go."

She stood up, avoiding Greer as he proffered his hand, and hurried out of the club as fast as her shaking legs would carry her.

Greer stood and looked again at the bodies, simultaneously trying to banish the image from his mind, and to fix it in his memory forever, a grim reminder of his own inner demon. He held out a hand and made a few requirements. Most of the blood dissolved away, and the bodies repaired themselves except for a few bullet holes. There, a nice, clean pair of dead rebels.

He touched his earpiece.

"Cleanup crew to Final Heaven club."

Several agents, whose only duties were to remove bodies, wipe witnesses memories, and come up with plausible explanations for when the media arrived. Greer nodded at them and strode out of the club.

He got on his motorcycle, helmetless, and sped away into the darkness.

Anne knocked on the door, her knees still shaking a little.

Agent Smith answered it.

"Yes?" he asked.

Agent Smith had recruited her, and so she was a tiny bit more comfortable around him than around the other agents. But only slightly.

"May I come in, please, sir?" she asked in a small voice.

Smith nodded. "You may."

He led her into his office, and gestured to the chair before his desk, as he took the one behind, and laid his hands on the desk.

Anne sat down gingerly.

"Something is troubling you," Smith stated.

She stared at the desk, feeling sick, and ashamed, and scared. "I want to go home, sir."

The Agent seemed to be surprised. "This is a rather sudden change."

She swallowed, trying to moisten her dry throat. "No, sir. I've been thinking about it for a while. I'm not cut out to be a recruit. I'm an average fighter, and I don't like killing people, even rebels. And I know… I know that if I stay a recruit, I'll just die really soon."

"I was under the impression that you were satisfied as a recruit."

"I have friends here but…" she didn't know what to say. She couldn't tell him what had happened; Greer would come for her if she did. "Do you remember the day you recruited me, sir?"

"Of course."

"The only reason I have any ability as a recruit at all is because of that man. I was going to die if I didn't do something. I wanted to live so bad that I bent the laws of physics. I still don't want to die, sir."

Smith nodded. "I understand. It does not happen often, but be do have provisions for when a recruit wishes to leave us."

"Can I have my old life back?" she whispered.

"Yes, you may."

There were tears in Anne's eyes as she looked up at him. "Thank you. Thank you so much, sir."

"You know that you're memories of the last few months will be erased?"

"Yes sir."

"This is what you want?"

"Yes."

"Do you wish to say goodbye to your friends?"

She nodded.

"Do that now, and report to the infirmary when you are ready."

Anne stood, and walked out the door.

She turned momentarily. "Thank you."

The door clicked closed softly behind her.

Smith felt sorry for the girl as she left his office. It was one of the times when he wondered if the Agents were any more right to take recruits than the rebels. But this same action proved that they were; the Agents let their recruits go home if they wanted.

He wondered what had happened to upset the girl so much. Was there something different about this patrol that had made it her last? But then, according to clean up, several rebels had been killed, so perhaps it was simply the straw that broke the camel's back.

Smith sighed.

Driving back to the agency, leaning low over the handlebars of his motorcycle, Greer had stopped halfway there, and stood at the side of the road, indulging in an old bad habit.

He put the cigarette to his lips, lit it, and took a long drag. He hadn't smoked since he was sixteen, but right now he needed it to calm him and clear his head. Lungs be damned.

He puffed on the cigarette for ten minutes successfully thinking about nothing, then dropped it to the grass, and ground it out with his boot heel. He got back on his bike.

Shane Montgomery, sometimes called Risen, huddled close to his boyfriend Hsu, as they sat on the dirty old couch in Hsu's living room.

What a day. His old buddy Greer shows up for the first time in months, chats for a few like it was old times, then has a major freak out and tells him to get out because there's going to be a fight. Guns are going to be fired. Not waiting to find out what's going on Risen books, only to find out later on the news that two guys were shot dead in the club. Greer was not one of them, but why did he have a feeling that Greer had been the one to pull the trigger? What the hell kind of street war had the boy gotten himself involved in?

He looked up at Hsu's warm, slanted brown eyes.

"Are you alright?" Hsu asked.

He shrugged. "I'll be okay."

Yeah, he would be okay; times healed all wounds for Risen. But he felt sure that tonight was the last time he would see his old friend.

"You wanna put in a movie Hsu?"

"Sure."

Anne walked into the recruits' lounge, where they often gathered and hung out when they weren't out on assignment. She had many fond memories of the place over the last few months; soon she wouldn't have any.

Tasha and Casey, and a few other friends looked up when she came in, and saw her distress.

"Annie, what's wrong?" Tasha asked, and both girls got up hurriedly from their movie to comfort their friend.

Anne hugged them both and put her arms around them each in turn.

"I'm leaving," she said simply. "I wanted to say goodbye."

"Goodbye?" they asked, shocked.

She nodded. "I'm going home."

"What, why?" Casey demanded.

"Because I want to. I can't take it anymore."

"What happened?" Casey asked her.

She just shook her head.

"I won't remember you," she said softy with tears rolling down her cheeks, "But I'll miss you anyways."

"Oh Anne," Tasha embraced her fondly.

"Promise you'll remember me?"

"I promise," Casey breathed.

"Cross my heart," said Tasha.

She let go of the one friend, and then hugged Casey. She whispered in her ear, "You were right Casey, he isn't human; he's a monster."

Casey gasped, and began to speak, but Anne shook her head and pressed a finger to her lips.

She spent a few more minutes with her friends, and said goodbye to a few other recruits, then she turned and left their presence for the last time, heading for the infirmary.

If she passed them on the street now she would never realize, except for a quiet murmur in her heart, and a missing piece of her affection that she would always carry deep inside, unknowingly. Innocent once more of the world's abomination, and content.

Greer knocked softly on Jones' office door, and immediately knew something was wrong.

"Come in," Jones said softly.

He unlatched the door, and looked in, Jones had his head rested on his arms, on his desk. Greer closed the door behind himself.

"Jones, what's wrong?"

"I…" Jones took a deep breath.

"You've been crying," he said. Fear gripped Greer's heart. He'd seen; Jones had seen the horrible thing he'd done.

"Sit down," he said tiredly.

Greer collapsed heavily into the chair. "Jones I didn't mean…" he began, but couldn't finish. "I didn't mean to intrude," he gulped instead. Would Jones say anything about it?

The agent shook his head. "I needed to talk to you."

Greer braced himself. Jones hated him now. He didn't want anything to do with such a murderous creature.

"I found out what's causing your powers."

Greer stared at him, open mouthed. "You, did?"

He nodded. "I worked the entire time since you left my office. I had a breakthrough while you were on patrol."

Greer breathed a mental sigh of relief. If Jones had been working the whole time, then he hadn't seen it! He was saved. Or was it out of the frying pan and into the fire? Jones had found the source of his power, but he'd been crying. The news could not be good.

"What is it?" he asked, bracing himself for the worst again.

"The cause of your power is a slight malfunction in the equipment that connects your mind in your real world body to the matrix. A small spark fires neurons and allows you to hear things, but, but," Jones voice broke.

"But I'll eventually go insane?" Greer finished heavily.

Jones nodded. "And… it will kill you, eventually."

Greer swallowed. "H-how long?"

Jones shook his head. "Judging by the current extent of structural damage, a year, at the very most."

Greer stood, walked over to Jones and embraced him tightly. They stayed that way, silent for many moments, comforting one another with their simple presence.

Finally they let go, and Greer drew his chair up right next to Jones, sitting down again.

"What can we do?" he asked the agent.

"I don't know," Jones whispered. "Maybe Stef will have an idea."

He nodded, and looked over at Jones monitor. A small light was blinking.

"Jones," he said, "your computer wants you."

"Oh?" Jones looked up, morosely, and inspected the light. "Ah. That just means a new Exile has appeared. You know…" he trailed off.

"Yeah, I know what Exiles are. Stef explained to me." It didn't seem like that had been only that morning. It seemed an entire lifetime away. He had less than a year to live. It was as if he had been told he had AIDS, or terminal cancer, only worse, because he was going to lose himself to a monster first.

Jones clicked the monitor, and the profile of the new Exile came up. Greer envied him, free to live his life how he wanted. Not handed this death sentence by fate.

Jones gasped as he looked at the screen. "What in the mainframe?"

Greer's head snapped over to look at him, puzzled. "What it is?"

The monitor held the visage of a young man in his early twenties, pale skin, with small round glasses and a long blond braid.

Jones continued to stare at the screen. "That is Nicholas Edmund."

A day later, Anne lay in the sun on a lawn chair, by her Olympic sized swimming pool. It was warm, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky, and she was perfectly relaxed. Later tonight her father was holding a big party, just for her, just because she'd asked a few weeks ago, to have a party before she went back to school in the fall. The last few months of vacation were a bit of a blur, but that was okay.

Life was good, and Anne was happy.

… To be Continued in Power Surge

Part Two of the Powers Trilogy